Ironbark (39 page)

Keziah nodded then ran to the bark
goondie
where Nerida and little Murphy slept. After a quick exchange of words about Gabriel she headed for the paddock where the brumby grazed. Gem's gift had become a symbol of the travesty of their love.

Jake's words halted her. ‘No! Ride this mare I brought you.' He jerked his head in the direction of Evans's property. ‘Don't want to give that bloody informer no clues about Gem.'

He tried to sound casual. ‘There ain't no brooms where we're going.'

Keziah stood stock-still. She read in his eyes he did not want to hurt her by saying the word.
Divorce.
When she fetched him her broom, he attached it to her saddlebag.

‘A man'd look a fool riding with a broom. I'll get you back Monday for school.'

‘Where are we going?' she asked.

‘No need to know, Kez. What you don't know the traps can't trick out of you.'

‘I'm no fool.' She added with pride, ‘I've dealt with
gaujo
police all my life.'

They rode single file through sparsely timbered country. At nightfall they ascended into the mountains. Keziah had no idea where they were, but she tried to block her emotions by memorising bush landmarks. Moon shadows of giant trees stretched to the sky like the walls of a vast prison. It was a beautiful night spoilt forever; a night fated to play silent witness to the Romani rite that would sever her life from Gem's.

Mi-duvel. Grant me a miracle. Let me touch Gem's heart.

Jake dismounted. His imitation of a crow's call sounded like an echo of the Anglo-Saxon four-letter word for intercourse and drew the expected response from its ‘mate'.

‘Stick like glue to me at all times,' he warned. ‘No knowing how many bolters are hiding out here. Or how drunk they'll be. Some won't have seen a woman's face in months.'

They skirted massive boulders that had fallen aeons ago to lie in majestic disarray, the perfect camouflage for a cave entrance only visible when she was close enough to touch it. Were these the Wombeyans she had heard about?

A youth squatted at the mouth of the cave. Moonlight etched the outline of his rifle. Keziah's keen sense of smell detected the pungent odour of rum.

‘Gem's expecting us,' Jake told the youth, who turned to the cave and whistled through his teeth.

It was then Keziah saw the shadow. Outlined against cave walls turned orange by firelight was the shadow of the man Keziah loved above all men. She could not read his face in the darkness, but the cynical rasp of Gem's voice hit her like a body blow.

‘Welcome, Jake. Can't say the same for that whore you've brought with you.'

‘No whore,' Jake said quickly. ‘Your
wife
. Does The Gypsy's promise hold good? Or is he a welcher? If so I'm ready to take you on!'

Jake's voice held an open challenge Keziah considered both brave and foolish. The three armed bushrangers sprawled around the cave looked bored, itching for trouble. She was only too conscious of the pile of weapons stacked in a corner.

Gem aimed his derisive laugh at Jake. ‘I could lick you every time, pal.'

‘Yeah? I was good enough on the day to win your promise.'

Keziah saw him furtively hand something to Gem, his voice lowered. ‘Here's your half as agreed.'

Keziah was startled by the truth. So Jake had only fought to gain Gem's promise.

Gem was restless. ‘Let's get down to business. You bring stores with you, pal?'

When Jake jerked his head in the direction of his horses two of the gang members ran off like eager children to unload rum, flour, tea, salt beef and mutton from the saddlebags.

Jake turned to Gem. ‘No ammunition. You know me, mate. That's where I draw the line.'

Gem nodded. Keziah's eyes traced every line of his face.

• • •

The cave was silent except for the sound of the fire crackling. Jake observed the Rom and his wife as they faced each other like two duel-lists prepared to fight to the death. It was painful to watch, but Jake felt tense, knowing Keziah was about to face even more anguish.

It was Keziah who broke the silence. She offered Gem the traditional Romani greeting, ‘
Sarishan.
How are you?' Gem's only response was to turn his back on her in contempt.

Jake saw that Keziah's heart was in her eyes when she asked, ‘Is this what you really want, Gem?' There was no answer from Gem so she drew closer and her words rushed out in desperation.

‘For your own sake, give yourself up before you kill someone. That could only end on the gallows. Give yourself up now! You're young,
you'll be free one day. I'll wait for you. I beg you, Gem, don't cast me off. Don't jump the broom with me.'

Gem's voice was soft, dangerous. ‘What would you do to win back my love?'

‘Anything!'

‘Then
beg
me.'

Keziah knelt at Gem's feet. Jake felt envious at the sight of a proud woman driven to beg for love.

Gem savoured the moment. ‘Good dog! Now prove it. Get rid of your little bastard.'

Jake felt a stab of anger at the sound of Keziah's choked cry.

‘Cut out my heart, Gem, but don't ask that of me!'

‘Then get out of my sight, you
gaujo
whore!'

Keziah's distress cut Jake to the quick, but this was no time to challenge Gem. Time was running out. He hadn't told Keziah the whole truth. The traps were combing this whole area to flush out bushrangers believed to be holed up in the network of caves. He must take control.

‘What happens next, Gem? You forget I'm new to this Romani divorce business.'

Jake clutched the broom like a rifle. As he waited for the answer, shadows danced along the cave walls like a procession from the Wiradjuri spirit world. There was no sound except the crackling of the fire. One look at Keziah told him this was her moment of truth.

Gem's eyes narrowed as he looked into Jake's eyes, delaying the moment, as if reluctant to take the broom from him. When he leaned across his mocking whisper was for Jake's ears only.

‘I always knew you wanted my whore.' Gem finally accepted the broom and turned away.

Jake hated his role as silent witness, but he had given his word. They stood with their backs to him, the broom lying behind them; the symbol of severance. Gem's hand twitched as if wanting to draw his pistol. Keziah extended a trembling hand to him.

An unnerving cry shattered the silence – Gem. He grabbed Keziah's face between his hands and uttered the most painful words Jake had ever heard, like flesh torn by the lash.

‘Keziah! Understand me. It's too late. I can never give myself up. But I swear by God's breath, I will never love another woman.
Kurraben!
Forgive us both!'

Jake felt his gut wrench as Gem gently closed Keziah's eyes then kissed his wife full on the mouth. A kiss that numbered all the days of their lives. A kiss of mourning. When Keziah refused to jump, Gem lifted her in his arms and leapt backwards over the broomstick.

Jake heard the approaching sound of galloping horses, recognising the sound of pistol and rifle fire. He spun around to face Gem.

‘It's the traps! We'll head them off. Give you time to make your getaway.'

The Wombeyan caves lay behind them as Jake dragged Keziah at a run to their horses. Her eyes held no trace of emotion but Jake sensed the depth of her misery. He lifted her into the saddle. No time for sympathy. His voice was a harsh command.

‘Pull yourself together, Kez. This is for Gem! Hold on with everything you've got. You're in for the ride of your life.'

Jake rode at an angle in a desperate bid to draw the traps away from the cave. A glance back at Keziah told him she read his mind and her every muscle was now attuned to the bay mare.

Jake hacked his way through the virgin bush. Only when they reached the road did he realise his face was lacerated. A broken twig was pinned in Keziah's hair like an arrowhead and he automatically pulled it free.

In one rapid movement he dismounted, drank a mouthful of rum from his flask then poured the rest of the contents down his shirtfront, aware that Keziah was fiddling with the empty saddlebags. He leapt back into the saddle but confined their horses to a sedate pace.

When Jake saw the troopers galloping towards them he began
singing at the top of his voice. ‘I would swim over the deepest ocean for my love to find.'

Carrifergus
was the song that both the Irish and the English claimed was theirs. By the time the troopers were right behind them Jake was roaring the final lines:

‘… but I'll sing no more till I get a drink.

For I'm drunk today, and I'm seldom sober

A handsome rover from town to town

Ah, but I'm sick now, my days are numbered.'

‘Halt!' ordered Trooper Kenwood, ‘your days certainly are numbered!'

Jake feigned surprise in words heavily slurred – he'd had plenty of practice as a drunk to give a convincing performance.

‘Good evening to you, Sergeant. By the saints, I declare it's our good fortune to be having your company on the road to Ironbark. What with so many rascals on the loose.'

Kenwood failed to disguise his fury that The Gypsy had given him the slip again.

‘State your business. Show me your convict pass!' he demanded.

Jake assumed an attitude of drunken pride. ‘No pass needed. I'm a free man, Officer. Jakob Andersen. We're celebrating this lady's coming wedding. You're all invited.'

‘Save your blarney. I've caught you red-handed supplying stores to The Gypsy's gang.'

Jake's smile froze.
Shit! Empty saddlebags a stone's throw from a known bushranger's hideout!

Kenwood opened Jake's saddlebag with a triumphant flourish. His faced reddened as he took out a pair of frilly, long-legged ‘unmentionables'.

Keziah challenged him in the tone of authority an English schoolteacher might use to a none-too-bright child. ‘Is this quite necessary, Sergeant? Surely you remember me? I aided your enquiries in Ironbark
concerning those scoundrel bolters.'

Jake knew she had given Kenwood nothing of value apart from herbal ointment for his mosquito bites. Kenwood flushed scarlet.

‘Forgive me, Miss Plews. I didn't recognise you. Pray continue on your way.' He added pointedly, ‘As you say, Andersen, there
are
rascals on the road tonight.'

When the sound of the troopers' horses had disappeared, Jake's curiosity got the better of him.

‘That was quick thinking. I didn't know you'd packed a change of unmentionables.'

‘I didn't,' she said haughtily, making a modest gesture to smooth her skirt over thighs that Jake realised were naked.

In a hasty ploy to save her embarrassment, Jake sang his favourite version of
The Wild Colonial Boy.
Mid-song he realised his mistake. This was no time to remind Kez of a dead young bushranger.

‘You can sober up now,' she said tartly. ‘And spare me your singing. The Irish do it far better.'

‘Well, I'm
half
Irish,' said Jake.

‘Then it must be your Norwegian half that does the singing.'

‘Jesus! Women. You always manage to have the last word.'

‘Not tonight, I didn't.' She angrily wiped away a tear. ‘I don't blame Gem for rejecting me. But why won't he give himself up – to save his own life?'

Jake didn't doubt the answer lay in the hell ruled by the Devil Himself. But there was no way to make the truth palatable. ‘To a man like Gem, freedom is everything.'

As they continued along the road to Ironbark, Jake felt more and more out of his depth. Keziah was howling as though her heart would break. Her blouse was soaked with tears. Her eyes pleaded with him as if he had the power to fix everything.

Jake tried to avert his gaze.
Kez really makes a mess of herself when she cries.

‘Isn't it crazy, Jake? If only Gem would marry me under
gaujo
law, he could be assigned to me but his Romani pride will never allow him to accept Gabriel. So here I am about to set Daniel Browne free when it should be Gem!'

Jake knew the system wasn't quite that easy to manipulate. It was one thing for a respected schoolteacher to gain the governor's indulgence to marry a hard-working assigned man like Daniel. Magistrates didn't hand out marriage permits like lollies to bushrangers.

He tried to console her. ‘You did right. Put Gabriel first. Children don't ask to be born.'

Keziah seized on that one bright thought to sustain her. ‘That's true. Gabriel is what really matters!' She gave him a smile that Jake knew most blokes would consider ravishing. He was immune. Kez was just his mate.

Keziah's heart was racing as she drove Hobson's cart across the log bridge and came in sight of the Haunted Farm. She had long managed to avoid Dr Ross's property due to its ghostly reputation, but today she had no choice.

Dr Ross had earned the respect of the whole locality during the recent epidemic but after snatching scores of patients from the jaws of death, he had succumbed to the disease himself.

When Jake had suggested her herbal ‘bag of tricks' might speed the Doc's recovery, Keziah decided she must bury her fear of
mulos
as Jake seldom asked anyone for a favour.

When she arrived at the doctor's whitewashed, double-storey farmhouse she was surprised by the peaceful atmosphere. Despite its spooky legend of Barnes, the wife-beater murdered here by an Irish convict, Padraic, the old house appeared to be in good shape. In contrast the grounds and orchard clearly needed restoration. She knew that Dr Ross had applied for an assigned man to work the farm before the rules changed in favour of free settlers and fresh sources of convict labour dried up.