Ironbark (46 page)

Keziah's wistful expression suggested Gem was on her mind. Or was it Jake?

He steeled himself against her reaction, hoping the wine had mellowed her.

‘You think you know me, Keziah. You don't. I'm more despicable than you know. Don't you understand? It isn't Gem's shadow that lies between us. It's Jake Andersen.'

Keziah held his gaze for a long moment as she felt the impact of his words. Daniel broke away from the intensity of her eyes.

He knew that, at last, Keziah understood.

Keziah looked at Jake sprawled in ‘his chair' in front of her fireplace with his boots propped on the fender, his hat on the back of his head. It was summer and no fire was really needed except at night, but she always lit one whenever Jake visited because it clearly put him at ease. She was reminded that he slept under the stars and had no home of his own. Her hearth was the closest Jake came to family life.

She watched with amusement as he tucked into her Romani cakes and drank her teapot dry. Fair exchange for his relaying the news from Sydney Town and bringing her the pile of three-month-old English newspapers he'd brought straight from a vessel anchored at Port Jackson.

Although she was avid to read all the news from Home, right now she was delighted to hear Jake's details about the Royal Family that he'd gained first-hand from the ship's mate in The Kings Head at The Rocks.

‘How romantic,' she said. ‘So little Princess Victoria Adelaide Mary Louise must have been conceived on the Queen's honeymoon!'

‘Yeah. But the kid's only heir to the throne until a son comes along to push his sister out of the running. I reckon the Queen's German cousin Albert – what's his name?' Jake asked irreverently.

Keziah jumped in quickly. ‘Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha is now our Prince Consort and very handsome. I'm sure they'll have many children.'

‘Yeah,' Jake said innocently, ‘I'll bet Albert's already being pressured to go to bed early and do his duty like England expects him. Poor bloke wasn't even allowed to propose marriage to her 'cos the Brits reckon Victoria outranked him.'

‘That's royal protocol,' Keziah explained.

Jake grinned. ‘I wonder if
she
got down on bended knees to propose. And what would she have done if the poor bloke had said no? Chopped off his head?'

Keziah jumped to the defence of her queen. ‘So what if she
did
choose
him
? What's wrong with that? Women in my tribe have always had the right to choose our Roms.'

Jake tried to recover lost ground. ‘Sounds like Albert's heart's in the right place. I hear London's all agog about his latest invention. A silk parasol lined with chain mail to protect his bride in case some joker tries to take a pot shot at her in her carriage.'

‘How clever of him.' Keziah was full of admiration until she saw Jake had trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Well, what's wrong with that?'

‘Nothing. Except the chain mail's too damned heavy for your little queen to hold the umbrella upright, so it's bloody useless.'

‘Mock all you want to. Queen Victoria will reign over us for decades. Outlive us all!'

Jake looked serious. ‘You saw that in Her Maj's teacup, did you?'

Keziah finally allowed herself to smile, but added wistfully, ‘At least those two have the real thing. No marriage of convenience.'

Jake shifted in his seat, aware of her reference to Daniel. He quickly headed the conversation back to home turf.

‘I hear The Gypsy's gang overhauled the Jackson place two nights back.' When Keziah held her breath he added quickly, ‘No one hurt. Only Jackson's pride. Seems a new member of the gang nicked all Jackson's clothes. Left him standing in his unmentionables. Poor bloke had to go to the police office wearing his wife's dressing gown.'

Keziah bit her lip to contain her laughter. She mumbled a blessing, ‘
Maduveleste
, Gem.' Then asked, ‘Has that American helped you in your own search?'

‘Stalemate. Till Jenny comes back from New Zealand. One thing's
damned clear – her fancy man didn't take my little Pearl with them.'

‘When you see Jenny I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive her – if she's truly sorry.'

Keziah watched for his reaction but Jake just gave her a sidelong glance and stood up.

‘Let's hit the road to Bran's forge and buy the brumby a new pair of shoes.'

• • • 

Keziah had been avoiding another visit to the forge, but the brumby now desperately needed to be re-shod so she was grateful to have Jake's company. But her fear of the place remained and the moment the forge came in sight she felt her head begin to ache again.

Jake drove the wagon with his eyes fixed on the track ahead. Gabriel sat between them, singing at the top of his voice. She sensed there was something awkward Jake wanted to say behind the words he actually said.

‘I reckon blacksmiths like Bran are worth their weight in gold in the colony. On a par with physicians. The Doc saves lives and brings new ones into the world. Bran keeps our lives functioning – transport, horses, farm implements, machines, firearms, the lot. And now he's forging the fancy wrought-iron work Daniel designs.'

Jake seemed to be fishing for something when he added casually, ‘Seen Daniel lately?'

Keziah was too distracted to answer at once. They were drawing closer to the forge and the pain in her head grew stronger by the minute.

‘I've only seen Bran once,' she said, ‘that day your wheel was smashed. I know he's a mate of yours, Jake. But to tell you the truth, he scares me.'

Jake gave a short laugh. ‘Jesus, he wouldn't hurt a bloody fly! He's just a gentle giant. Can't talk except for the odd word, but he can forge metal like magic. His father ran out on him when he was twelve. Bran
works like a dog every day of the year except Sundays, Good Friday, Christmas and Foundation Day. Beats me how cruel people are to his face.' Jake mimicked a female voice, ‘“A clean-living lad. Teetotal. Pity about his simple brain.”'

Keziah said absently, ‘His father was smaller than Bran. Ugly in drink with a violent temper.'

Jake looked at her, startled. ‘How'd you know that? Old-timers reckon Penrose Senior beat up his missus when he was shickered. After she died Bran copped the beatings. That explains his crook nose.'

Keziah remained in the wagon with Gabriel when they pulled up at the forge. She tried to fight down her rising fear.

She watched how Bran's face lit up when Jake recreated his latest prize fight in Windsor, springing alternatively from left to right in a light-hearted enactment of his own and his opponent's tactics. Keziah was moved by Jake's kindness in communicating without words so Bran wasn't forced to answer.

When Jake finally won the shadow contest, Bran was so elated he grabbed Jake's arm and raised it in a victory salute. Bran's guttural crow of delight and the bright laughter in his soft brown eyes caused Keziah to catch her breath.

Bran isn't simple-minded. The problem is his intelligence is locked inside his head with no keys to release it!

Fired up by this insight Keziah took Gabriel's hand and entered the forge. It was filled with all manner of metal shapes, horseshoes, chains, wheels, carriage poles, tools, balustrades, bedsteads and leg-irons. At the heart of the forge was the furnace that Jake said only went out on the Sabbath.

When Jake introduced them, Bran made a little bow. Keziah bobbed a curtsy and offered him her hand, hoping she wouldn't tremble and betray her fear.
If there's any evil inside him I'll feel it the moment our hands touch.

Bran shyly offered his hand and Keziah felt a surge of pain like a
current springing from his hand to hers. What on earth was wrong?

When Bran moved to the anvil to work on the brumby's new horseshoes, Gabriel gravitated towards a broken hobbyhorse.

‘Don't go near the fire, Gabriel,' Keziah warned him.

‘I'm keeping an eye on him,' Jake assured her.

Keziah drifted down to the shadowy recess at the rear of the forge – a room so dark only a chink of sunlight filtered through a crack in the timber slab walls. Suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea, she tried to scream. No sound escaped. Swinging from the rafters inside this room was the body of a man in an army greatcoat. His skin was mottled and grey, bulging eyes rolled toward heaven in a final look of agony. She smelled the sickly sweet smell of putrefaction. Salvation was too late.

Keziah reeled back in horror and stumbled into a metal wheel that clanged against its brothers. The noise drew all eyes to her. She saw the look of terror on Bran's face but she couldn't speak.

Mi-duvel. How long has this corpse been hanging there?
And then her vision went black.

• • • 

When Keziah regained consciousness she found she was lying on Bran's giant iron bed. Jake sat beside her, chafing her cold hands while Bran sponged her forehead with a wet towel.

She gasped in fear. ‘Have you taken him down?'

Jake mistook her concern. He nodded to where Gabriel squatted in the corner, his eyes anxiously fixed on his mother.

Keziah tried to reassure the boy. ‘It was just the heat that made Mama faint.'

Gabriel gave her an uneasy smile.

She whispered to Jake, ‘No, I mean the
corpse
hanging in the back room!'

Bran covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child.

Keziah realised the truth.
That corpse isn't there. It's a
mulo.
And Bran knows it's there!

She grabbed Jake's hand. ‘Please take Gabriel outside. I need to talk to Bran.'

Jake frowned but nodded. She knew he had long since stopped trying to understand her visions.

‘Come on my little Rom, let's go and feed Bran's chooks.'

Bran slumped on the bed, still hiding his face in his hands. Keziah stroked his hair back from his forehead, revealing the thick white ridge of an old wound.

‘It's all right, Bran. I know who he was. Your father.'

Bran's fear almost overwhelmed her as it flooded her body. She accepted the transferred emotion but refused to allow it to drown out her thoughts. Resting her hands on his shoulders she offered him both the respect she gave a man and the gentleness she gave a child.

‘You know the truth, don't you, Bran? His death was
not
your fault.'

He shook his head violently and released an agonised cry of guilt.
‘Mine!'

She needed no words from Bran to interpret the pictures that filled her mind. She saw the terrified twelve-year-old Bran cut down the corpse, strip the army greatcoat from his father's body and then bury him in the red ochre-coloured earth.

She could hear Bran's fractured thoughts.
He made me tie the noose to hang
me,
but he hung himself. The Finisher will string me up. I killed Pa!

Keziah gripped hold of him. ‘No, Bran.
His
fault.
His
decision to die. He made you work like a man. Beat you like a man. Used you like a man. But you were only a child. Bran, listen to me! Terrible things happened to you. It was
never
your fault.'

She rocked him in her arms as he cried out the grief of the little boy who was locked inside him. She did not ask where he had buried his father's body. No doubt one day that rotten man's ghost would reveal its last resting place. Right now the only thing that mattered was that
Bran needed to be healed. There were no herbs strong enough for that, but she could give him the magical gift of the gods. Friendship. From the way Bran looked at her, Keziah knew that from this moment she was his sister.

She solemnly raised her hand to swear her most sacred oath. ‘By My Father's Hand, Bran Penrose. No one will ever hurt you again.'

On the homeward journey Keziah was silent. So was Jake. She suspected he was hiding something.
Men are so devious, even the best of them.

• • • 

That night was dark and sultry. Jake was well on the way to being drunk in The Shanty with No Name in Bolthole Valley. He'd promised himself he'd never interfere in Keziah's marriage, just so long as Daniel did the right thing by her. But the latest rumours on the grapevine indicated trouble too big to ignore. His ulterior motive in visiting Keziah that day had failed. He was still none the wiser if Keziah knew about her husband's double life.

He downed another drink and eyed himself in the broken mirror behind the bar.
Am I really trying to protect Kez? Or am I just bloody jealous?

Jake was startled by the sound of Daniel's name. He tuned into a conversation between two burly shearers he recognised were regular drinkers of Scotty the Shepherd's illicit grog. The first man referred to Daniel as ‘that arty bloke' and admitted he had always had him pegged as a bit of a Miss Molly, until he heard that Daniel was rooting a new wench who hung around Scotty's hut. The second bloke was scathing.

‘
Her?
That piece of skirt will go with any bloke who's got two coins to rub together.'

‘If that's his taste, he's welcome.' They exchanged a knowing laugh before their voices trailed off as they headed back to the bar.

Jake didn't want to believe what he'd overheard for Keziah's sake
but it confirmed the ugly rumours he'd heard. His next drink for the road only fuelled his anger, so he sank another to chase it then galloped cross-country to the west of Mutmutbilly.

As he rode towards the wattle and daub hut bathed in moonlight, laughter was punctuating the sound of wild Irish music from three fiddles and ‘the spoons'. Elongated shadows of dancers spilled across the earth as the door of the hut was flung open. A woman's drunken shriek pierced through the music. Jake instantly recognised the tall figure framed in the doorway. Daniel. He felt a flash of rage that Daniel risked losing his ticket-of-leave if he was caught here drinking illicit grog.