Wild Lands (35 page)

1838 July – heading east

Kate wasn't sure when the exhaustion ebbing at her bones gave way to numbness. At some stage the feeling simply dissipated into something dazed and unknowable. Perhaps it was the speckled light shining through the leaves of the timber they walked through or the enticing glimpses of a watchful sky that drew thoughts away from the most immediate of concerns. But gradually the placing of one foot after the other, the constant caution of watching where one trod and the never-ending breathlessness of keeping pace with the others overtook all else.

In an attempt to block out the awful images of the previous night, the memory of the Reverend intruded, making Kate ponder on the possibility of a God. For years she'd been a non-believer, never even considering the concept of faith except in terms of the authorities using the church as a way of keeping the masses at bay, curtailing them into righteousness with the threat of fire and brimstone. Kate knew now that she'd been right. Out here, beyond the outer limits, where there was no threat of religion, no pretend salve
for the needy, the weak and the lost, only the misguided attempts of settlers trying to recreate pastoral life on Sundays, life existed at the most basic level. Men, women and children were left to rot where they fell. Convicts ran away, the natives rose up against the whites, the whites against the natives and the haves still suppressed the have-nots. If ever a body needed proof that there was no great and almighty God, the far-flung reaches of the colony of New South Wales had shown as much.

On only one point could Kate ever find herself in agreement with the Reverend Horsley – there was indeed a hell, and it was here.

At a small creek Kate drank greedily. She desperately wanted to dangle her aching feet in the cool water that fed down from the mountains, but their escorts were determined to press on.

‘Miss Carter needs to rest,' James called out for the second time that day.

Ahead, Bidjia and Jardi slowed. Adam grimaced at the thought of a delay, but aware that the girl would be refreshed by even a short break, he reluctantly agreed. It would be in everyone's best interest. He quickly set all the men on guard at each point of the compass. The Major complained about being dictated to, intent on staying by the girl's side, until Mr Southerland approved of their guide's caution.

When the men had merged with the trees and Adam had checked their surroundings and been assured of their safety, he returned to where the girl sat by the trickling creek. She was fiddling with a shoe again, retying the leather strap and flexing her foot to ensure it was good and tight. He knew he shouldn't stare from afar but he couldn't help but notice that most of her dark hair had come loose from the bun at the nape of her neck to hang in curly tendrils in the middle of her back. She moved to kneel at the water's edge and, cupping her hands, began to wash her face and neck. Kate Carter was as pretty as he remembered.

‘You should have had that shoe mended.'

Kate started at his approach and jumped up quickly. Beads of water trickled down her skin as she did her best to brush the moisture from her face. ‘I've not the skill, and the man who might have repaired it for me is now dead.'

‘A friend?' Adam asked.

‘Yes, and a good man.' She dabbed at damp skin with her sleeve.

‘Then I am sorry for your loss.' He sat down on the ground and stared at the water. ‘True friends are hard to come by.'

Kate wondered if he too had lost a friend. She stood awkwardly for a moment and then joined him on the ground. ‘Why didn't you tell Mr Hardy that you were travelling with natives the day you came to the farm?'

‘You know the answer to that.' Adam picked up a pebble and skipped it across the surface of the water. ‘Some whites are not so welcoming where blacks are concerned.'

‘You speak as if you were one of them.'

Adam didn't respond. He wanted to know how she'd got the scar that cradled one eye like a question mark. Instead he asked why she had journeyed so far.

Kate removed the few hairpins left holding her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. There weren't enough left to secure it properly so she threw the useless pins in the water. ‘There are few opportunities available to women. I came where I was wanted.'

‘It is a fair journey for a woman.'

‘It is a fair journey for anyone, man and beast alike.'

Adam chuckled.

Kate turned to him. ‘Are you laughing at me, sir?'

He lifted his hands in mock defence. ‘Not at all, it's just some time since I've been in the company of a woman who speaks her mind.'

Kate sighed. ‘Well, it will not be the first time that I've been accused of outspokenness.'

‘On the contrary,' Adam argued, ‘you have a brain and an opinion, why shouldn't you share it with others?'

Kate didn't know what to say. This man was unlike any she'd ever met. They sat quietly, companionably. He selected stones to skip across the water, while Kate thought of all the things she wanted to question him about. Specifically, she wanted to ask why he'd left the Hardy family without giving them a proper burial, but she had not the strength to argue and, although she'd wondered initially if he and his companions could be trusted, it now seemed wrong to query a man's actions when he was trying to help. She recalled his conversation with Mr Hardy. ‘And you, are you really travelling to the coast?'

‘Yes, we are.'

‘Can I ask why?'

He flicked at the sand between his boots. ‘To start a new life.'

That was a reason Kate could understand.

‘We have to keep moving.' Taking a knife from his belt, he trimmed a length of leather from the musket strapping crossing his chest and gestured to her foot. ‘Can I?'

Kate watched as he deftly wound the leather around the broken shoe, tying it firmly. ‘That should keep it secure for a while.' Extending a hand he helped Kate to her feet.

‘Thank you. It seems that you are always coming to my assistance.'

Adam didn't answer. He adjusted the musket on his shoulder and, cupping a hand around his mouth, made a series of birdlike noises. A few moments later Bidjia and Jardi appeared with James and Mr Southerland. All of the men drank from the creek, filling the waterbags they carried.

‘You think that man is after me, don't you?' Kate hadn't wanted to ask the obvious, but it was clear from the earlier glances and innuendos that Bronzewing thought as much.

‘Come on then,' George Southerland finished splashing water on his face, ‘let's keep moving.'

James cleared his throat as he moved to Kate's side. Taking her by the arm he led her away.

1838 July – heading towards
the Stewart farm

‘I think a hot bath and something warm to drink is in order, Kate.' James did his best to cheer her. It had been some hours since they'd rested and, in spite of her best efforts, Kate knew she was tiring.

‘Soon you'll be resting under the protection of the Stewarts.'

‘And you?' Kate asked. Her skirt was damp where she clutched at the material as they stepped over fallen timber. ‘Will you go directly back to Sydney?'

James kept a watchful eye on her, assisting Kate over the sometimes steep and rocky ground as they continued to weave up and down and around unfamiliar foothills.

‘Eventually.' He took her hand once again as they crossed a dry gully. ‘But when I do, you'll be coming with me.'

The feeling of relief was indescribable as she felt the brief touch of the Major's hand on the small of her back. There would be soldiers, of course. A rider would be sent south and troops would be mustered to quell the bloody skirmishes. Then once peace was
restored, Kate would be escorted back to Sydney by the military. A spurt of energy enticed her onwards. Nothing would stop Kate from leaving this place. Since her arrival there'd been little reason to stay.

‘You should never have left Sydney. I told you as much then.'

She wouldn't admit that he'd been correct. ‘I did what I thought was right at the time.'

‘And in the doing made me understand the benefit of resilience. You have shown yourself capable of enduring more than some of the men under my command, Kate. A man needs more than a pretty face in this colony, and you have been graced with beauty and more. I have given the matter some thought,' he continued, offering his arm for support as Kate stepped over a large log. ‘A well-born girl may not take to life out here. For it is here in the colony that I intend to stay. Granted, there has been little discourse between us, but I sensed a growing friendship while escorting your expedition north and I believe you were quite glad on my arrival at the Hardys' farm. Am I wrong in my assumption?'

‘Yes, no, that is to say, it has been difficult, and a friendly face is always welcome.' Kate wondered where the conversation was heading, for she was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

James gave her a smile that suggested he did not quite believe her. ‘It has come as somewhat of a shock to myself as well, Kate, what with my position in society, but the dangers of the past day have made me understand much about my own, shall we say, desires, and I am not immune to the mutual benefits that would stem from our union. People have married on less. And a lifetime is ample enough for the knowing of another, don't you think?'

Kate was sure her lips opened, but no words came forth.

‘I have witnessed firsthand how this journey of yours started and I hope to see it through until the end.' James halted, so that his meaning was understood. ‘The very end.'

‘James, I really don't know if –'

‘Think on it, Kate.'

He said no more, but slowing his pace, drew level with George Southerland. The two men began to speak in whispers, as Kate increased each stride. Major James Shaw and Kate Carter … she could not see it. He was right in that she had been incredibly relieved and pleased when he'd arrived at the Hardy farm, and Kate was flattered and liked his attention, but his wife? His declaration was so unexpected, so beyond the daydreaming of a lonely, scared woman, that Kate didn't know what she should think or how she should reply. Only one thing came to mind. If her mother were alive she would tell her daughter to seize the opportunity with both hands. It was, for a girl of Kate's background, the very best of offers.

Some time later, James was at Kate's side again. The two natives, Bidjia and Jardi, changed positions frequently, sometimes leading, or moving to the left or right, at others slowing so that it appeared they barely moved at all. Behind her, George Southerland kept up with the rhythmic pace of the group, his musket loaded and ready for action. Initially every time Kate glanced over her shoulder, the man who'd delivered her safely to the Hardys' holding was also looking behind, as if he expected the arrival of an unwanted visitor. As the day drew on, however, and Kate became attuned to the overseer's footfall, she knew that Mr Southerland concentrated more and more on the business of walking, although he still stopped occasionally to ensure they were not being followed.

James extended a hand, assisting her over a rocky outcrop and down the other side. Her shoes slipped and slid on the loose gravel, but Kate held her footing, pushing off a tree-trunk and speeding her descent so that level ground was quickly reached. The concern on the Major's face was obvious.

‘We will discuss things further once we reach Sydney, Kate.'

‘I am flattered, James, but we barely know each other.'

‘But we are friends, yes?' he urged.

‘Of course we are.'

‘Well then, isn't that a good enough place to start?'

Kate gave an awkward smile. What was wrong with her? Any other woman in her position would be accepting his offer of marriage with open arms.

A single raised hand from the man known as Bronzewing brought their party to a sudden standstill. They were entering a heavily wooded area. Ridged and knotted, the great woody plants extended upwards to where their branches met, thickly intertwining to form a dense canopy.

On command they silently dropped to their knees. Kate was sure her heart grew as noisy as a beating drum.

James released the safety on his musket and, turning to the right, wedged the stock against his shoulder and looked down the length of the barrel to scan the dim spaces between the trees.

Kate's hand went to the waist of the dress she wore, to the constrictive bodice with its boning. Trembling fingers reached for the folds of the skirt, but the flintlock was not there. The pistol was where she'd left it, on the table, in the burnt-out kitchen hut.

Ahead in the timber Bronzewing kept perfectly still, a single shaft of sunlight accentuating the dense black of his hair. Kate observed the man, poised like a cat, ready to spring. Outwardly he appeared to be quite the opposite of the Major. James's steadfast solidness, the appeal and security of his rank, the allure of uniform, hid an outwardly aloof man difficult to understand and, as of today, more than surprising. But was this stranger, this man who would guide them to safety, any different? Both men shared strength and exerted authority. And their guide could indeed be a stripped-down version of James Shaw. Lithe and lean, quick to anger and even quicker to a fight, based on this morning's altercation with the Major, he ran easily and nimbly over and through the terrain he was clearly at one with.

Bronzewing aimed his musket for long seconds. The seconds became minutes. Kate was beginning to feel sick with fright. The
stillness emphasised the slightest of noises: a fluttering bird, the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves high above them. She sat carefully on the ground as a leaf spiralled to the earth, coming to rest near her hand. The movement diverted her line of sight. Opposite to where she crouched, the bark of a tree had been scarred. Only yards away another trunk was similarly disfigured. Feet away a large bush spider was scuttling towards her. Kate searched for something to throw at the creature. She had to move. She had to get away from it.

‘Come.'

Kate ignored James's outstretched hand. She was already on her feet and moving away from the spider. ‘The danger has passed?'

The Major shrugged. ‘I saw nothing.'

Bronzewing gestured animatedly to the two natives. The younger of the group, Jardi, padded towards Kate and the Major.

‘It is dark soon, we rest here.' The area Jardi directed them to was slightly uphill, across a narrow open space to where trees grouped as if planted. ‘Stay, all of you.'

James and Mr Southerland led Kate to the stand of trees.

‘Who do you think that man is, James? You know this Bronzewing, don't you?' It was not the first time the overseer had asked the question.

‘I know of him, yes, but as you said earlier, George, for the moment he is someone in whom we must place our safety until such a time as his service is no longer required,' James replied stiffly.

Kate squirrelled her eyebrows together. ‘That is too cryptic.'

‘He's on the run then?' George Southerland queried, as Kate sat tiredly within the naturally curved ring of timber. ‘I'm not surprised. Only convicts or those of mixed blood take to the bush. Still, we've got nothing worth the taking and he didn't have to help us.'

They passed a waterbag back and forth. Kate wanted more of the liquid gold. She could have drunk a river. But the overseer was
adamant that the precious water be conserved and so she contented herself with the bark-tinted residue that laced her tongue.

‘How far is it to Mr Stewart's run?' asked Kate. Her tiredness was making her head ache.

‘I don't know, Kate.' Mr Southerland rested the stock of his musket in the dirt between his legs. ‘Rest now while you've the chance.'

Kate awoke, teeth chattering. Something hard and cold pressed against her skin. She scrabbled in the gloom, rubbed at her eyes, wondering where she was. She had no sense of time or place, no recall as to location. The dark was an unending blackness. The earth freezing and the air beyond cold. But there was something … soft snoring, and it came from nearby. The noise eased Kate's mind, turning the pitch-black familiar. Mrs Horton was not a quiet sleeper. The woman was worse than Madge if that were possible, the way she tossed and turned. And her bowels? Kate would never understand how a woman's body could turn food so sour. She sat up, wiping a thin line of saliva from her cheek, brushing at the dirt that had stuck to the drool. The scratchy blanket must be somewhere on the floor. She reached out a hand, searching for the covering, but all that she found was a handful of dirt and leaves.

It wasn't the cook snoring next to her. It was James. And no blanket had slipped from the bed. The acknowledgment of where Kate was and why struck her forcefully.

A murky light began to stream through the dense timber, throwing into relief the straight-sided trees that towered all around. A little further downhill the figure of their guide, Bronzewing, was visible. He lay on his stomach. The moon rose gradually, tinting their surrounds in a sepia light, sending beams of paleness to coax away distant shadows. It was as if the man who lived on the bright
orb had come down to earth and was busily pulling at branches and shrubs so that the light could inch its way into the very worst of places.

A few feet away from Kate, James coughed and sat up, stretching out his legs. ‘You should be sleeping,' he told her. ‘I'll change watch with George.' Bent low to the ground the Major moved inconspicuously, the crushing of leaves and twigs the only sign of the direction he travelled.

The moon lifted above the ridge of trees in the distance, rimming the jagged skyline. Bronzewing hadn't moved. The man's long legs were slightly apart, the toes of his boots braced by the ground. He angled a musket in the direction of the moonlight and was partially concealed by brush to any that may approach. There was no sign of his native companions.

Getting carefully to her feet Kate travelled the short distance downhill. She was only a few yards from her destination when Adam heard her. He moved swiftly, reaching up to grab hold of an arm and pulling her roughly to the ground. He flipped her onto her back and covered her mouth with a hand. Kate bit down hard and stared up at him, her chest heaving.

‘Quiet,' he murmured.

His attention remained on the area in front of them. Kate released his hand, the taste of blood in her mouth. She could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his arm on her shoulder and still he hadn't freed her. Then, very slowly, he turned back to where she lay. He studied her almost lazily, as if it were not impolite to do so, as if they had all the time in the world. Then with deliberate slowness, he withdrew his hand and resumed his sentry duty. Kate lay quite still. In the moonlight the muscles in his forearm strained against the cream of his shirt. A vein pulsed in his neck. When he caught her staring Kate rolled onto her stomach.

Briefly examining the bloody bite mark on the soft fleshy part of his palm, Adam pushed a pistol across the dirt towards Kate,
along with an ammunition pouch. Swiftly unplugging the stopper from the powder bag, he passed it across as well. Kate carefully loaded the weapon and then pointed it out into the semi-darkness, although she had no idea at what.

Slowly three figures emerged. Dark shapes that moved soundlessly towards them, the tips of long spears glinting in the light of the rising moon. One of the men Kate recognised. She'd not soon forget that mass of hair or the scarred torso, nor his murder of Mrs Horton.

Kate took a long, slow breath. Bronzewing's finger rested on the musket's trigger. The men trod noiselessly towards them, stealthy, and then just as abruptly they became unsettled. They backed away to merge once again with the dark.