Fiery Possession (38 page)

Luke lost consciousness before the doctor arrived on the scene.

“Is he going to die, doctor?” Jo asked in a harsh whisper. Dread, like a lead ball, weighed down her heart. All her hopes and dreams for the future had been crushed by a murderer on a lonely, dust choked road.

“I don't know.” He glanced up from cutting Luke's shirt away. “The bullet seems to have passed right through his chest. Missed all the vital organs as far as I can tell, but he's lost a lot of blood. Bloody fool should have stayed put, only made things worse by moving.”

“I guess he wanted to make sure he would be found quickly,” she explained, pushing the words out past a lump in her throat.

The doctor snorted. “We'll take him to Kangaroo Gully, it's closer.”

The doctor and the parson with her help managed to get Luke into the doctor's cart. She sat in the back with his head resting on her knee. She wanted to cry and scream at the injustice of it all as she stared down into his ashen face. The tightly applied bandage had stemmed the worst of the bleeding, thank goodness.

It proved a nightmare trip, as they proceeded slowly so they could avoid the bumps. At her insistence, the parson returned to town, little for him to do except say a few prayers over Luke if he died.

“You're not going to die,” she vowed fiercely. “You're not.”  Once they got to Kangaroo Gully there would be plenty of help to get him inside.

She anxiously watched the stallion tethered to the back of the cart. He kept tossing his head around but otherwise seemed reasonably docile. Probably too tired to play up.

Kangaroo Gully at last. “We're home,” she whispered, squeezing Luke’s hand. It wasn't her imagination; she did feel his fingers exert slight pressure against her own.

Once inside the homestead, Mrs. Osborne took control, and in no time Luke lay on the scrubbed table in the kitchen where the doctor, with Mrs. Osborne's help, tended his wounds. Jo, on the verge of collapse, staggered into the bedroom and let a maid help her into bed. Her shoulder throbbed, her head ached, but this wouldn't have stopped her from helping out in the kitchen. Only the fear of damaging her unborn baby made her obey the doctor's order to rest.

Mrs. Osborne bringing in a crying Mark to be fed woke her.

“How's Luke?” she asked as she put the hungry baby to her breast.

“He's doing quite well, under the circumstances. Luckily the doctor’s got experience treating gunshot wounds, says he saved dozens of men worse off than Mr. Campton in the Crimean war.”

“Can I see him?”  Jo asked. “When I've finished feeding Mark?”

“The doctor gave him something to make him sleep and he won't wake up for hours. Finish feeding the baby and rest, Miss Jo. You've got the other child to think of as well now.”

***

A couple of weeks after Ashley Wetherby had tried to murder Luke some of the local aboriginal women and children wandered over, with a wizened old man who was apparently their leader. He spoke in broken English. Some of the women wailed and beat at their chests, and from what Jo could gather, they had been ordered to leave the lean-tos they occupied near the river.

“Boss man help.”

“I’m sorry, he’s ill at the moment, and I don’t know what I can do to help you.”

“Missus with hair like fire help.”

She hated herself for doing it, yet her eyes scrutinized the children. She was shocked to see two light-skinned toddlers whose hair, under the grime and filth, had a definite gingery tinge.  What did Glory say?  Rumors abounded in certain circles, that Clive Jones, one of the pillars of respectability in the town, had seduced young aboriginal girls. How disgusting. She suppressed a shudder of distaste.

One girl who could not have been more than sixteen or so had a baby resting on her hip. This child looked light-skinned. Its nose was running and flies clung to its mouth and eyes. Worse still, the girl was obviously pregnant again.

Sensing her interest, the girl pointed to the child. “Him belongum white fella, one in belly belongum same white fella.”

“Would you like some flour and sugar?”

“Yes tucker, missus, make them let us stay.”

“All right, I’ll do what I can. Off you go now, I’ll call on you later with the food.”

The pathetic little group shambled off. What had the white man done to this once proud race?  Taken their land, seduced and raped their women and introduced liquor and disease. They had destroyed their way of life, leaving them fringe dwellers around country towns, living on handouts or whatever they could scrounge. It was criminal and now some of the townsfolk apparently wanted to be rid of them.

No point waiting for Luke to be well enough to do anything. She had to help these pathetic people. Mrs. Osborne gasped in shock when Jo told her what she proposed doing.

“You can’t, you aren’t well enough. Those places are quite dreadful. Mr. Campton will be furious, he doesn’t even let any of the workmen go there. He tells every man who starts working on Kangaroo Gully if he’s caught near the aboriginal women, he’ll be instantly dismissed.”

“I’m going; something has to done for those poor souls.”

Jo saddled a horse, slung a bag containing flour, salt and sugar over the saddle and, ignoring Mrs. Osborne’s entreaties, set off.  She couldn’t afford to be away too long in case Mark needed to be fed.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the camp. Having never ventured this way before, the putrid state of the place appalled her.

Rusting pieces of tin and rotting bark made crude lean-to huts. Several thin, mangy dogs snapped and snarled at each other as they fought over a piece of maggoty meat. There were eight or ten of these huts, each with children playing outside. Disease would be rife here. As for the flies, they swarmed everywhere. She waved her hands frantically, trying to keep them away from her face.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have come.  Luke would fly into a rage if he found out, but he didn’t need to know. What if she brought back some germs to Mark? She felt ashamed for thinking in such a way, but couldn’t help it.

The children crowded around, causing her horse to stomp nervously. Poor little mites, their clothes hung in rags, held together by dirt and filth. How could any baby be born and survive here?

She dismounted and the children swarmed around, touching her shiny black boots and running their hands along the leg of her moleskin breeches. The fretful wailing of a young baby came from the nearest humpy. She nearly took a peek inside, but didn’t quite dare.

A fat old lubra with several front teeth missing appeared to be the head woman, if there was such a thing. As she waddled closer, the missing teeth gave her a hideous look. The bodice of her paper-thin gown did not quite meet at the front, leaving her bulging breasts half-exposed.

No young men were about. The smoke from several cooking fires did little to cover the nauseating smell of human and animal excrement.

“Here’s the food I promised.”  As she shoved the things into the woman’s hands, she wanted to suggest they try and clean the place up, but didn’t want to risk offending them. It had been foolish coming here alone. What if they turned nasty?  She glanced nervously at a long spear stuck into the side of a tree.

The old man came out to them, gabbling away to his womenfolk, apparently telling them what a clever fellow he was for getting a white missus to bring them food.

“I’ll go into town and see the authorities for you,” Jo promised several times before he got the message. As she mounted and rode away, she heard the women squabbling.

What a scandalous state of affairs forcing people to live in such degradation. First thing tomorrow, I’ll ride into town and find out what’s going on. She wouldn’t let Clive Jones and his cronies get away with this outrage, but for the moment all she wanted was to get home and wash and change. The smell of the place had even seeped into her clothing.

When she arrived home, a worried Mrs. Osborne met her in the front yard. “Thank the Lord you’ve arrived home. Mr. Campton’s been asking for you. Getting himself into quite a state he is.”

“You didn’t tell him where I went?”

“I wouldn’t have dared, Miss Jo, I mean Mrs. Campton. I swear, he would have got out of his bed and dragged you back.”

“Probably would have, thank goodness he doesn’t know about it. I’ve never seen anything so shocking, Mrs. Osborne. It would break your heart to see those little children. I have to change out of these clothes and have a wash.” She shuddered. “I doubt if I’ll ever feel really clean again.”

An hour later, Jo tip-toed in to see Luke. “What have you been up to?” he asked harshly.

“Nothing much.”

“Liar, you’ve been over to that aboriginal camp, haven’t you?  I know they called in here.”

“All right, don’t snarl at me. I went over with some food.”

His hands bunched into fists on the bedclothes. “So help me, if I could get out of this bed…” His face looked white and haggard but his eyes blazed. “Are you mad?”

“Someone had to go. It was shocking.”  Angry tears pooled in her eyes. “If you could have seen those poor little children, most of them were half-castes.”

She unclenched his hands and held them between her own. “They helped us find Mark and Cassandra, we owe them.”

He gave a weary sigh. “None of the men from here are responsible for those children. I’ve made it clear …”

“I know,” she cut him off. “Mrs. Osborne told me. It is men from town like that hypocrite Clive Jones. Quick to castigate me, yet half those aboriginal children have gingery hair like him.”

“For God’s sake, you can’t go around making those kinds of accusations.”

“Why not?  It’s the truth.”

“I’ve got no time for those religious zealots either, but there’s such a thing as slander.” He gave a low grunt of laughter. “Oh, my willful beauty, there’s only one way I can silence you.”

He pulled her closer until her cheek touched his, then he took her lips with a desperate hunger. Like a starving man suddenly having a banquet set before him. Forcing her mouth open with his darting, thrusting tongue, he groaned with frustration because his weakened condition wouldn’t allow him to do anything else.

The next day after she finished eating breakfast with Luke, Jo asked one of the men to prepare the buggy for her journey into town. The parson would be the best person to approach since he proclaimed himself a man of God. Surely he would not idly stand by and let these unfortunate people be forcibly removed from what they considered their home.

After asking about Luke, the parson listened without interruption until she finished telling him about the aborigines.

“It is a frightful thing,” he said. “The conditions under which they live are quite horrific, but several influential people on the town council are keen for them to be moved on. Clive Jones thinks they’re a blot on the community and could cause disease. Mrs. Kilvain is worried about the immorality.  While I don’t entirely agree with them, they do raise some valid points.”

“Have you been down there?  Hygiene is non-existent.”  She tried to keep her temper in check. He was procrastinating and they both knew it. She had put him in an awkward position, but the plight of those people screamed for justice, and until Luke recovered enough to do something about it, she was their only hope.

“I went down there and the conditions are fearful. The most disgusting part of all is the number of half-caste children. Where are the fathers?  Why aren’t they compelled to support their offspring?”

“Mrs. Campton, really.”  He mopped his forehead with a checked handkerchief.

“White men go there, seduce those young girls, impregnate them and disappear.”

“I know, I know, but there are such a lot of men passing through. Shearers, drovers and the like, it would be impossible to keep a check on all of them.”

“Some of those children were fathered by men in this town and no one will ever make me believe anything different.”

His handkerchief moved frantically now. “There’s, um, there’s a public meeting called for next Sunday afternoon to discuss the whole matter.”

“Is there?”  She shot back, trying to hide her elation. “What time and where?”

“Mrs. Campton, you can’t attend.”

“Why not?” She stared straight into his face and her eyes never wavered.

“Because it’s men’s work to discuss such things.”

“When and where?”

Grudgingly he gave out the information. “I’ll be there Reverend, and believe me, I’m going to have my say.”  She left him opening and closing his mouth like a stranded fish.

On the spur of the moment, she decided to pay Glory a quick visit. In the front yard of the impressive house, Benny energetically pulled out weeds.

“Benny, what are you doing here?”

“Howdy, Jo. Helping Glory.”

Glory answered the door herself. “How are you, Jo?  Nothing wrong?  Is Luke all right?”

“Yes, everything is all right, Luke’s getting stronger. He’s angry and frustrated by having to stay in bed so much, though.”

“I bet he is.”  Glory dropped down in a chair. The purple, almost violet gown did nothing for her appearance, yet her cheerful smile compensated for this.