Forgiving Michael Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Wiseman's Creek, January, 1868

 ‘I'm sorry we've seen so little of each other these last few months. Kathryn hugged Nora at the front gate. ‘I was going to drop in a few times but this is the first day I've been out on my own and I did want to speak to you alone.’

     ‘Tis all right, Kathryn. I know Hamlet doesn't want us to be having so much contact, what with the business with Tom and Elizabeth. I don't know what we're to do, sure I don't, for Tom is quite determined that they'll marry sooner or later, even if they have to wait until they no longer need Hamlet's permission. Nor Michael's for that matter, for he's home again. He arrived out of the blue right on Christmas with the usual few trinkets and the hide to believe he'd be welcomed with open arms.’

     ‘So he doesn't approve of Tom and Elizabeth's intentions either?’

     ‘Goodness, no. He heard Mary talking about it. Tom tells him nothing but Mary's not inclined to keep quiet about much at all these days and so out it came. Michael thrashed about like a mad man, saying things I'd not repeat. What is it with these men? Surely they can see their children are deeply in love and what's the harm in it? I don't understand. Tom and Elizabeth would make a good life together. Anybody with half a brain ought to be able to see that.’

     ‘Hamlet and Michael are not considering this with their brains, sure they're not. But I'll not be kept from my dearest friend over it forever. I'm being a wee bit careful at the moment for Hamlet's upset about our Johnny as well and I'm worried his health is suffering. He's not a young man anymore, as he keeps reminding me.’

     ‘What's happened to Johnny?’

     ‘He's decided that he's going off on a stock drive up north. It seems he can't wait any longer and what with James working at the Quinns, Hamlet fears the farm will go to rack and ruin. Johnny just announced it a few days ago and he's off in a week or so. One of the big properties has a large herd they want shifted and he wants the experience. He says he'll be back by the end of the year but Hamlet's afraid once he's gone he won't come back at all. The boys want to make their own way in the world and we have to accept it. But it means we'll only have the three girls at home and while they work as hard as the boys, they're younger and not so strong and Hamlet just can't see us keeping things going.’

     ‘I'm so sorry, Kathryn. I wish I could say my boys would help but the way Hamlet is he'd not want that and there's really only Tom, for Joseph and Mick are not much use.  Especially now with Michael at home. He's such a bad influence on them. He keeps babbling on about the adventures they'll have with him out in the big wide world one day. He makes them so discontented. I don't know what to do about that, either.’

     ‘Tis the worries of the world we have upon us at the moment, is it not? But it'll change, sure it will. It always does and in the mean time, we must bide our time and ask the good Lord to help us through it.’

     Norah nodded. ‘I'd best get back inside. Mary has the little ones out the back feeding the chickens but they'll be done, I'm sure. Michael was still in bed when I came out for a bit of fresh air but he'll be wanting a feed soon, no doubt.’

     ‘And I'll get back to O'Connell. I've a cart full of fruit and vegetables here and it might cheer Hamlet up if I can sell them all.’

     Norah heard Michael's snoring as soon as she opened the door so she pulled it closed quietly and headed back outside. She could see Mary with William and Therese playing in the shade of the large gum tree in the back yard. It was her favourite tree. She had watched it grow very tall in the sixteen years they had been at the farm, its leafy branches spreading widely across the paddock. Magpies had nested in it for the last few years, their chortling often the first thing she heard in the mornings as she woke. They were a comfort to her, a reassurance that life here on their tiny piece of land was fruitful and good.

     She turned her attention to Tom who was turning over ground in the garden. As she approached him she could see the muscles rippling in his tanned arm, the sweat dripping from his forehead.

     ‘It looks like you could do with a wee break. You hardly stop for a moment these days.’

     ‘I've nothing to stop for, Ma.’ Tom kept digging, his teeth clenched tightly.

     ‘I wish you'd take it a little easy, son. I worry about you.’

     ‘It's not me you should be worrying about. Joseph and Mick are the ones who'll end up in trouble.’

     ‘I know it's hard when your father is around but it's likely he'll take off any time. The boys will be better then.’

     Tom drove his shovel into the ground and looked at his mother. ‘I'm not sure they'll ever be better, Ma. I'm afraid they have too much of their father in them.’

     ‘He's your father, too,’ she said quietly.

     ‘More's the pity.’

     ‘Kathryn just came by.’ She saw Tom's expectant look. ‘She worries about this situation with you and Elizabeth.’

     ‘I'm sorry that it's causing you and her heartache, Ma. But there's nothing I can do about that. I'm twenty-one in a few months and as soon as Elizabeth comes of age we'll be wed and there's nothing her father can do about it. She's beside herself with – ’   ‘You've been seeing her?’

     ‘Best you don't ask. Then there's nothing for you to tell. I won't be kept from her and that's that.’ Tom began digging again, his determination evident as he drove the shovel into the ground. 

     Norah sighed and headed back into the house.

     Stepping through the back door she could still hear Michael's snoring. She moved quietly to the small shelf against the back wall and lifted up the pile of newspapers that lay there. She pulled out a small package and opened it gently. It was a copy of Henry Kendall's new book of poems. She had bought it last time she had been in Kelso, but she was determined not to show it to anyone until Michael had gone from the house, for she was afraid he would destroy it. He hated her reading. And she hated keeping it a secret, especially from Mary, who would enjoy it as much as she did herself. She pulled the small book out and opened the cover but then closed it again quickly when she heard Michael stir.

     She had just replaced it under the papers when he staggered into the room. 

     ‘What's all the blasted noise out here?’ he said roughly.

     Norah could see none of the old softness that used to surface in Michael once in while. Since he had been home this time, his voice had been harsh, his eyes had a haunted look and he was constantly glancing behind him, as if he expected someone to be sneaking up on him. 

     ‘There's not a sound in the house,’ she answered evenly. ‘You must have been dreaming.’

     ‘Don't argue with me, girl. Where's the boys?’

     ‘I sent them to the creek to get water but they've been gone for an age. They're probably swimming. It's what they usually do.’

     ‘An' don't be pickin' on 'em, either. ou an' Tom are always pickin' on the boys,’ he mumbled as he swerved towards the table and dropped into a seat. ‘What's to eat?’

     ‘I'll heat up some porridge if you like.’

     Michael didn't answer. He dragged his hands through his unruly beard and slumped onto the table. Norah pulled the pot of porridge back over the fire and began to stir it. A moment later, she felt her skirt being tugged roughly and as she turned Michael dragged her across his knee.

     ‘You weren't so nice to me las' night.’

     His breath was putrid on her face and Norah was disgusted by the leer in his eyes. She had been grateful that he had fallen asleep quickly the night before after groping at her body for a few minutes. She was finding it increasingly difficult to abide physical contact with him, although most nights his attempts at love making ended in him giving up in frustration with his own impotence or slumping onto her body heavily as he fell asleep. It was only her want to avoid waking the children that prevented her from resisting his attentions altogether.

     Now, as she gathered her thoughts, she pushed herself back onto her feet and straightened her clothes, glaring at him.

     ‘Don't presume to be having your way with me, Michael. You've long since lost the privilege due to a husband, for you've not behaved like one for many years. So I'll thank you for leaving me be. Now, I'll get you something to eat and if you'll take off those filthy clothes I'll wash them for you.’

     Her eyes flashed with determination and as she stood over him, she saw him cower at her words. Feeling satisfied that she had made herself perfectly clear, she turned back to the porridge pot. She didn't hear Michael stand, and the crashing thud to the side of her head that sent her reeling to the floor took her completely by surprise. 

     ‘You'll do just as yer told,’ he bellowed, standing spread eagle across her body, swaying as he struggled to maintain his balance.

     Although she had almost blacked out, Norah forced herself onto her side, and while she was trying to stand up, he rammed his foot into her back, pushing her flat again, this time on her face. She cried out as the breath was knocked from her. Then, horrified, she felt Michael's body drop heavily onto hers as he began to grapple with her skirt with one hand, pushing her face into the hard dirt floor with the other.

     Suddenly, the back door opened and she cringed as she heard her son's voice calling Michael names she had never heard Tom use. Then, the weight lifted from her body and Michael was thrown across the room. 

     ‘Get out! Get out and don't come back!’ Tom yelled, dragging his father towards the door.

     Norah watched in horror as Tom banged his father's head against the doorjamb and threw him onto the ground outside the hut. She pulled herself to her feet and hurried towards Tom, grabbing his arm.

     ‘No, Tom, no. He's not worth it. You'll regret it if you hurt him.’

     ‘I'll not regret it if I kill him,’ he snarled, pulling his arm from her grip and charging towards Michael's prostrate body.

     He took hold of his father's shirt with both hands and hauled him to his feet, spinning him around. Michael's eyes were blank with shock. Drool poured from the side of his mouth, which hung open in a hideous grimace. He lifted both arms to protect his face and staggered backwards away from his son. Tom looked at him with contempt and dropped his arms to his side, breathing heavily.

     ‘You're right, Ma. He's not worth it.’ He brushed his clothes down as if they had been contaminated by contact with something putrid. Then he took a deep breath and moved a step closer to Michael, who backed up instinctively.

     ‘You're not welcome here. Ma's worked her hands to the bone to make this place a home for us and you're not part of it. Do you hear me? Now you get your things and get back in that cart of yours and get out of here before I do something I might well be sorry for.’

     Norah saw Michael shudder at the strength and anger of his son. He flinched and sniffed loudly, his eyes darting about as if he was trying to think of some way to challenge what was being said to him. But after a moment, his shoulders slumped and Norah knew he was resigned.

     ‘I've me coat…inside…an' me bag. Then I'll be goin'. I was ready t' leave anyway.  I've things to be about.’

     Michael’s attempts to sound in control were almost laughable, but Tom kept a straight face and stood to one side as his father shuffled into the hut and returned, his coat, stiff with the grime of many years, under one arm. His canvas bag, which he had not opened in anyone's presence since he came home, was under the other arm, its torn handle hanging loosely over the side. He limped to the cart, which he never unpacked, and which, as far as they knew, still held the camping and gold digging equipment of the poor miner from whom he had stolen it.

     As he readied the horse and climbed onto the bench seat, Norah was aware that Mary stood watching from under the gum tree; William and Therese either side of her.  Michael didn't even glance in their direction as his horse started slowly towards the open gate. Only Joseph and Mick would be upset at their father's departure, she thought sadly.  And this time, they would know that he didn't leave of his own accord, for Mary would surely give them a full description of his last few minutes at home. 

Tom worked feverishly over the following months, driving the boys hard so that they helped around the farm, and in his spare time, he built an extra room on the hut and lined the walls with old newspapers to keep out the winter cold.

     Elizabeth was terribly impressed when she saw it, although at first, she was sure that he had done it so he could lie in bed and read his favourite news stories. The roof was made of iron – a continuation of the roof he had built earlier over the other rooms – and it had rained enough times for him now to feel confident that he and Elizabeth would keep perfectly dry no matter what the weather. 

     ‘I'm so happy, Tom.’ Elizabeth said quietly as they sat close together under the large tree at the back of the hut. ‘I know you'll look after me well, even if Pa doesn't think so.’

     ‘We'll have more, Lizzie. A place of our own, just as soon as I can get the boys working well enough to keep this place going for Ma. Joseph's eleven now and he’s getting better. I'm not sure Mick will ever shape up.’

     ‘It's fine, Tom. I won't mind being here. As long as we're together, I'll be happy.’

     ‘I know, but if I'm ever to have your father's approval, I'll have to do better than this.’

     ‘Pa has made his choice. It makes me sad but I'll not let him spoil our happiness. It's Ma I feel for. She's so mad at him and she hates to be. But he's just so unreasonable when it comes to you. I don't understand. He's always been such a fair man.’

     ‘Except when it comes to my Pa, if you can even call him that.’

     ‘I wonder where he is, Tom. He's been away a good while again, and you had that terrible fight. Do you think maybe he won't come back at all?’                               

     ‘I wish he wouldn't, but it won't surprise me if he turns up again just as bold as you like, expecting to come right back into the home.’

     ‘What would you do?’

     ‘I don't know. It would depend on Ma, but I don't think she wants him back either.  She's well able to manage without him, with some help from me, of course. She does still have her work cut out with the boys, but he's no help there.’

     ‘And she gets so unhappy about Rebecca. I feel sad for her. Do you think your sister's still alive?’

     ‘I imagine so. But she deserves a whipping for not letting Ma know where she is.  One day all these things will sort themselves out, Lizzie. Don't you worry yourself.’

     ‘I won't.’ She pressed in close to him. ‘When I'm with you I'll have nothing to worry about at all.’

It was a cold and windy June night and the first thud on the iron roof woke Norah from a deep sleep. Thinking it must be a branch fallen from the tree, she rolled over and drew Theresa close to her body for warmth. The next thud became a clattering bounce directly above her and she sat up feeling about the floor for her coat. There was no sound of movement from behind the curtain which hung between the boys' beds and the one she shared with Mary and Theresa. She moved as quietly as she could into the kitchen, only to find Tom was already there, stoking the fire under the stove. The dim light it provided flickered into life and threw pale shadows across the walls. There was another bang outside. 

     ‘That wind's bad out there. Must be branches flying about,’ she said, hugging her ragged shawl around her.

     The next crash onto the roof made Norah and Tom realise that it wasn't branches.

     ‘That was a rock! Somebody must have thrown it.’ Tom said quietly, holding his finger to his lips.

     ‘Tom, no. Who would…? Dear Lord.  Do you think it might be your – ’

     ‘Who else? I've been wondering when Pa might turn up. But why would he be throwing rocks on the roof?’

     There was another crash and a small cry from Theresa.

     ‘I'll go to her, Tom. But don't go outside. Tis dark as pitch out there. Goodness knows what your father's up to.’

     The sound of a man's voice stopped them both in their tracks.

     ‘Mick Kearns!' The shout came from just outside the door. ‘Don't make us come in after you. We know you're in there.’

     ‘Not again,’ Norah whispered, her voice shaking. ‘Someone's after him, Tom, like before. God knows what he's been stealing now.’

     ‘Go in with the children, Ma. I'll see to this,’ Tom said fiercely. ‘And send Joseph out here. It sounds like there's more than one.’

     After a bit of shuffling, Joseph appeared in the kitchen, his hair dishevelled, his face drowsy with sleep.

     ‘What's up?’ he said wildly.

     There was a loud banging on the door and a different voice this time. 

     ‘We'll not be leavin', Mick. Open the door or we'll smash the bloody thing in.’

     ‘Who is it?’ Joseph grabbed at Tom's shirt.

     Norah stood in the doorway of the bedroom, fearful for her little ones behind her and watching her sons trying to be brave.

     ‘I don't know who it is,’ Tom said, his eyes fixed on the door.

     He moved to the stove and picked up the poker, handing it to Joseph. Then he ducked around the table to where their gun was leaning on the wall. He loaded it and moved back so that he was standing in front of the door. Motioning for Joseph to stand further back he reached out for the handle, then threw the door open and raised his gun so that the barrel was almost touching the man who nearly fell into the room.

     ‘What the...’ The man stumbled and regained his balance. ‘Whoa there, son,’ he said, backing away from the gun. ‘We've no argument with you. Where's Mick?’ He had to yell over the noise of the gusting wind which nearly whipped his hat off. One hand flew to his head to hold it on.

     Norah was relieved to see the man had no weapon.   

     ‘If you mean my father, I've no idea,’ Tom said. ‘He hasn't been here for months.  He's not welcome here and neither are you. Now leave or I'll...’

     Tom waved the gun at the man. Norah could now see that there were at least two others standing in the shadows outside. She could hear their long coats flapping in the wind. Joseph moved up closely behind his brother, raising the poker in the air. Norah knew he could easily be provoked into a fight, for she had seen him start one on more than one occasion. She was glad when Tom spoke to him quietly.

     ‘Easy, Joseph. I'm sure these men will go now that they can see Pa's not here.’

     ‘How do we know the little weasel's not hidin' in there?’ A gruff voice came from the dark.

     ‘Cause I'm telling you he's not here. That's why,’ Tom said firmly. ‘My Ma and brothers and sisters are inside. That's all. What do you want Pa for?’

     ‘He's taken our gold, is what,’ the man in front of Tom snarled. ‘We worked hard for it and he tricked us. Made out he was one of the soldiers come to ride guard for us back to Bathurst. It's mad out there since the new vein's been discovered. Men everywhere.’

     ‘Out where?’ Tom asked.

     ‘Hillend. Haven't yer 'eard about it?’

     Tom peered over the shoulders of the man in front of him at the sound of this third voice. ‘No, we're not much interested in news of gold diggings. We're just farmers, minding our own business. Like I said, we haven't seen Pa in months. What he gets up to is not our concern.’

     ‘I'll tell you what he's been up to,’ the front man said loudly. ‘After he got our haul we made it our business to find out who he was, and if we'd been warned he'd have lost his head before he got near our cart. There's plenty have suspected him of bein' up to no good but they've not been able to prove anything. Men work damned hard for what they dig, and it's the likes of Mick Kearns that turns hard workin' men into killers. He'll get what he deserves one of these days.’

     ‘If we get 'old of 'im, it'll be sooner rather than later,’ one of the other men cut in.

     ‘I understand,’ Tom said, ‘but I can't help you. I doubt he'd show his face here either.  He's done his family no favours with his thieving over the years. None of us have benefited one bit.’

     ‘I'm inclined to believe him, boys.’ The first man half turned to his mates. ‘I just hope some of the other diggers he's robbed don't come after him. They'd not be so ready to talk before they shoot, I reckon. Your father's made quite a name for himself…well a few names, it seems. But now the word's about he's not likely to fool too many more. I'd get your family well protected if I were you, son.’

     The man backed away, still watching Tom's gun, and the three disappeared into the shadowy night. Above the wind in the trees, Norah heard the retreating hooves of their horses. Tom was shivering as he pushed the door closed. Joseph's face was pale. 

     ‘Get by the fire and warm up before you go back to bed,’ Tom said to his brother. ‘I don't think they'll be back.’

     ‘No but others might,’ Joseph spat. ‘And what about Pa? Sounds like there's more than them would like to shoot him.’

     ‘So what's new about that?’

     ‘You don't even care, if they shoot him, do you?’ Joseph stoked the fire roughly and then stood tall, challenging his brother.

     ‘No, I don't, to tell you the truth. He's a thief and a madman. I'm surprised someone hasn't done him in already.’

     ‘That's enough, boys,’ Norah said, coming up behind them. She stoked up the fire and pushed the kettle back over the heat. 

     Tom quietly herded Joseph back to bed and sat with her. They drank tea together in silence, an unspoken understanding between them. 

To be continued....

Carol Preston

http://www.carolpreston.com.au

http://www.amazon.com/author/carolpreston

http://www.facebook.com/writingtoreach

 

Forgiving Michael Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

 We make of forgiveness a law of 

reciprocity. And this never works.

For then both of us say to ourselves

‘The other fellow has to make the first move.’ 

Then I watch like a hawk to see whether 

the other person will flash a signal to me…

which shows that he is sorry. I am always

on the point of forgiving…but I never forgive.

I am far too just. Helmut  Thielicke

Wiseman's Creek, September, 1860

Norah was awakened by a rustling outside the hut.  She knew it was the early hours of the morning, for she had not long been up to Mickey and seen that the moon was still high in the sky. It was a clear night and she had been glad to feel the warmer air of Spring after the wild Winter, when winds and downpours of rain had undermined her vegetable garden and caused a minor flood around the pigsty that had eventually banked up and washed away the side of the pen. Tom had quickly rebuilt it and the pigs had not even tried to stray for they were too well fed with food scraps, turnip and carrot tops and the outside cabbage leaves which Norah sacrificed to keep them happy. 

     It had been a hard Winter because both Joseph and Mickey, now three and a half and almost two, had contracted the flu and at one point she thought she would lose them both. If Hamlet hadn't ridden to Kelso and brought back the doctor…well, she didn't like to think about it.

     It was always at night when the most frightening thoughts came; fears for her children; of sickness, an accident or a snake bite which might leave her with a dying child or worse and no one to hear her cries for help. In the daylight, she was confident that she could manage whatever crisis came and if not, that help was not so far away.  But at night, as it was now, it was too easy to imagine crises that she might not be able to deal with. She squeezed her eyes shut and focussed on her prayers. Prayers that God would look after them. Prayers that Michael would return soon for he had been gone for over six months now.

     He had gone just as her hopes had risen that he would not leave her again. Young Mickey was the apple of his eye, and he had seemed to be enjoying watching him grow. He had worked more in the garden, clearing some scrub to enlarge the chook pen and putting in a tank to collect water so they wouldn't have so many trips to the creek with buckets. But then at the end of March, he told her he was going. He said there were bushrangers out west of Bathurst and there was big rewards to be had. She had heard it all before, but her pleading did not stop him. He packed up his dray and left within a day of talking about it.

     Rebecca had stormed about the hut, furious because he had not taken her with him. He had laughed at the idea which had made her more angry and she had taken it out on Tom for the next week, calling him names and saying she should have been the boy and he the girl. Which, of course, was ludicrous, for Tom already worked harder than most men and Rebecca hardly lifted a finger until she was stood on her ear. 

     The rustling noise came again, this time louder, disturbing her thoughts. Norah felt her heart begin to beat strongly. She sensed danger but told herself this was more than likely a possum or a roo rat, scavenging around the yard. It was close to the back door now and she sat up in her bed, grabbing at the light cover and pulling it around her shoulders. She was talking herself into getting up and finding out what the noise was when the back door flew open and slammed against the wall.

     ‘Michael Kearns!’ a rough voice shouted. ‘Michael Kearns, I know yer here. Get yerself up and face me, yer braggart. I've a score to settle, an' I mean to 'ave it out.’

     Norah jumped to her feet, grabbed her coat from the corner and headed for the door.  She could hear the children stirring as she reached the door and came face to face with a large man who towered over her. He smelt of whisky and sweat and even in the darkness she could see that he was carrying a rifle which he swung around and aimed at her chest as she came up short in front of him.

     ‘It's Michael I'm after, missus,’ he growled. ‘Just send 'im out and you'll not be hurt.’

     ‘He's not here,’ Norah stuttered. ‘He's not been here for months. I don't know where he is…please.’ She looked at the barrel of the rifle, terrified. She was conscious of her children beginning to whisper and whimper behind her. 

     Suddenly, she felt herself being shoved sideways as the man roughly pushed past her and moved inside. He would not be able to see who was in the room, she knew, and if he were to believe that one of them was Michael… The thought made her pull him back by his vest and, although she hardly made any impression on his bulk, it caused him to swing around and face her.

     ‘Who's in there, then?’ He could not have mistaken the whimpers for Michael.

     ‘My children,’ she said. ‘Five of them. Please, you're frightening them.’

     Tom was already making his way to the door, shepherding Joseph and carrying Mickey. Norah could hear Mary crying and Rebecca yawning; always the last to wake. 

     ‘What's happening?’ she whined. ‘It's still dark…what's going on?’

     ‘Out here, the lot of yer.’ The gruff voice came again as Tom laid Mickey on the floor in front of the fire and hurried back to usher Mary out of the bedroom. 

     Rebecca stumbled from her bed and joined the others, staring wide-eyed at the man with the gun.

     By the light of the still burning fire, Norah could see that his beard was matted and had leaves caught in it. His clothes were ragged and dirty. He looked similar but much worse than Michael often looked when he returned from the bush. And this man's face was much meaner. There was slobber around his mouth and when he spoke she could see that his teeth were yellowish stumps. She had never felt so frightened.

     ‘Please, Mister.’ Norah tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Michael is not here. I don't know why you want him but it has nothing to do with my children and me. I don't know anything about his…work.’

     The man threw back his head and laughed. ‘His work? That's a joke. He wouldn't know the meanin' of the word. How long since you seen 'im?’

     ‘Six months. He left in March. He always goes when the days are getting shorter.’    

     ‘Yeah, because there's more dark for 'im to skulk around in, is why. Mongrel stole somethin' o' mine and I don't intend to let 'im get away with it. He's done it too often, to too many people. No honour among thieves for 'im. It's all for 'im, every time. Well, no more. Are you sure 'e didn't come 'ere and stash somethin' before 'e took off again?’ The man waved his rifle around menacingly, causing the children to shrink back against the wall.

     Norah moved herself between them and the man, holding out her arms to shield them.

     ‘Don't worry, missus. I don't shoot children.’ He lowered his rifle and moved to the stove, looking into the large pot that sat on top. ‘Is there anythin' in there to eat? I'm right hungry an' seein' as I'm not goin' to get anythin' else, I might as well 'ave a feed.’ He slumped onto the stool beside the table and laid his rifle down. ‘Get 'em back to bed, eh, an' you get me a feed an' then I'll leave you be.’

     Norah motioned to the older children to move back into the bedroom. As she picked up Mickey she was aware that her hands were trembling. Joseph and Mary clung to her side as she hurried back into the bedroom.

Afterwards, Norah wasn't sure if she had dreamed the whole thing. She shuddered, as she thought about the sight and smell of the man, the low growl of his voice and the rifle he had brandished about. She lay in the dark after he had gone, listening to every sound, praying that angels would guard her door. Some time in the early hours of the morning, she drifted back to sleep and woke up with a start with the sun streaming through the small window. When she looked about her and saw that all the children had gone from their beds, she jumped to her feet and rushed into the next room, shouting their names.    

     They were all there, sitting quietly at the table. Mickey and Joseph sat either side of Rebecca, chewing on bread and jam. Tom and Mary sat on the other side, scraping the last of some porridge from their plates.

     ‘How long have you all been up?’

     ‘A little while, Ma,’ Tom answered. ‘We didn't want to wake you so we thought we'd get breakfast. There's hot tea made.’

      ‘Thank you, Tom. I didn't get back to sleep for a while. I don't suppose you did either.’

     ‘I couldn't sleep at all. I was sure he was going to come back an' kill us all.’ Rebecca spoke slowly, her face pale.

     ‘What do you think he'll do to Pa when he finds him, Ma?’ Tom asked quietly.

      ‘I don't know, luv, sure I don't, God help him. I don't know how he’ll find him, though he obviously found out where we live so I suppose he'll come for him eventually.’

     ‘I've seen him before,’ Rebecca said. ‘We've got to warn Pa.’

     ‘We can't warn your father, Rebecca. I don't have any idea where he is. And where on earth would you have seen that man before?’ Norah hugged a mug of hot tea to her chest.

     ‘I saw him outside one of the dances…with the Foley boys. He was talkin' to the old one, John. It was dark but I swear it was that man.’

     ‘What were you doing in the dark near the Foley boys? I've told you –’

     ‘Yeah, yeah, Ma, but I weren't doin' anything wrong. I was with Mary Anne Foley.  We were just talkin', that's all, and her brothers were at the corner of the shed. There was some shoutin'…that one I reckon…and then we moved inside.’

     ‘Rebecca, you really must be careful. I'm afraid some of those boys are headed for trouble. Please just stay out of their way. When your father comes back, we can warn him but until then we can only pray for him.’ Norah poured herself another cup of tea and wrapped her hands around it. ‘Goodness knows how many men are out there after your Pa. That one's not the first one he's stolen from and likely not the last. I don't know what we can do about him, sure I don't. But I do intend to get better at using that gun of ours and keep it handy with me at night.’

     ‘Ma, you wouldn't shoot anyone, would you?’

     ‘If I had to, I would, Rebecca. If I had to protect you children, I would.’ Norah slapped one hand on the table.

     ‘Ma, you know I'm a good shot,’ Tom said. ‘I'll take care of you. I'll keep the gun near me at night.’ He moved behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. 

     ‘Tis not your responsibility, Tom,’ she said, patting his hand.  

     ‘Ma, I'm thirteen. I'm bigger than you now, in case you hadn't noticed. The biggest should be in charge, I say, so you have to let me use the gun if we need to. You know I'm a good shot.’

     ‘You are, son, to be sure, and you are taller than me, but it's still not your responsibility. So you'll be doing as I say for now and if I need you to shoot someone for me, I'll let you know.’ She tousled his hair as he sat beside her, then chuckled softly, trying to lighten the heaviness of the mood in the little hut. 

‘An' then he made us go back into the bedroom an' he ate all our stew.'

     Tom shook his head as he watched Rebecca hanging over the Pollard children dramatically and recounting their night of terrorl.

     'We could hear 'im slurpin'. He was a big one…about six foot,’ she said, raising her arm well above her head. 

    ‘Probably not quite that big, but a lot bigger than Ma.’ Tom corrected his sister. ‘I wouldn't like to be Pa when he finds him either.’

     ‘Probably ravaged yer Ma when he finished eatin' too,’ Johnny speculated, his imagination obviously in full flight as he listened to Rebecca's account of their traumatic night.

     ‘What would you know about ravaging?’ James cuffed his brother's ear.

     ‘He didn't,’ defended Tom. ‘I'd have shot him if he'd touched her. I was listening and I'd have run out and shot him for sure.’

     ‘What's ravaging?’ nine-year-old Elizabeth piped in.

     ‘Never you mind…and you just watch your tongue, Johnny.’ Mary Ann chided her brother. ‘I think it's just horrible. I'd have been terrified…and I think you're very brave, Tom.’ She looked at him admiringly. As did Elizabeth, who sat on the other side of him in the circle they had formed on the grass behind the shed. 

     They had finished their lesson for the day. It had been a short one and they could all see that Norah was not herself. They had hurried outside to hear the story, leaving their mothers inside with the smaller children.

     ‘You shouldn't have been listening to this story, Elizabeth,’ Mary Ann continued.  ‘You should have stayed inside with the others. You'll have nightmares, you will.’

     ‘I will not.’ Elizabeth leaned across Tom's knee and pulled a face at her sister.

     ‘Well, at least I'm old enough to know what ravaging is.’ Mary Ann's voice rose a little. 

     Suddenly, Hamlet's voice broke into their hushed exchanges. ‘What's this talk of ravaging, Mary Ann? That's hardly a term I'd expect you to be using…or even understanding. And what's this huddle about anyway? I thought you were all inside with your reading class. If you're done, you boys can come and help me with the new calves.  A couple of them need feeding by hand.’

     Mary Ann breathed a sigh of relief. She was clearly glad her father had moved on to talking about calves, so she didn't have to explain what she had been talking about.

     However, Elizabeth was not so reticent. ‘A man broke into Tom's house and ravaged his mother so we had a short class.’

     ‘What did you say, Elizabeth? Tom, what's happened?’ Hamlet dropped the shovel he had been carrying and moved around the circle as Tom rose.

     ‘No, Mr Pollard,’ Tom explained. ‘He didn't do anything to Ma, except frighten her half to death, and all of us. He was after Pa, ’cause Pa had something of his, I think. He didn't stay long, just had a feed and then he left.’

     ‘Dear God, when was this?’

     ‘Two nights ago. Ma's talking with Mrs Pollard about it now we think. We came out here so they could, you know, have some time. I think Ma's still pretty upset.’

     ‘I'm not surprised.’ Hamlet puffed and turned and strode toward the house.

     Tom could hear him mumbling to himself about how it was a pity someone didn't catch up with Michael Kearns and give him what he deserved. Tom looked around at the circle of faces; all silent and solemn.

     ‘I think Pa's real mad,’ James eventually said quietly. ‘He doesn't like your Pa much.’  Tom nodded and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I guess he figures your Pa should be home more, lookin' after you.’

     ‘We'd all like Pa home more.’ Rebecca sighed deeply. ‘But Pa is not one for farmin'.  He prefers to…ah...’ She seemed lost for words to explain her father's behaviour.

     ‘He prefers to be out finding someone to rob…is what she means, James. That's what he prefers to do, and one day someone will shoot him, for sure…if I don't do it myself.’ With that Tom jumped to his feet and headed for the house.

There was a collective gasp around the circle and all eyes went to Rebecca.

     ‘He's not that bad,’ she said defensively. ‘At least he has exciting stories to tell. His life's not boring…like living here is. Tom's just a Mama's boy. Pa always says so. He wouldn't shoot Pa, or anyone. He's too soft…he's – ’

     ‘No!’ Mary Ann and Elizabeth chorused.

     ‘Tom's kind, but he's not soft.’ Mary Ann went on after nudging her sister to be quiet.  ‘Tom would look after his mother and so he should, for he's really the man of the house, isn't he?’

     ‘Now, girls, let's not get into a fight amongst ourselves,’ James said. ‘There's enough strife already. Come on, Rebecca. Don't be mad at Tom. This is not his fault.’

     ‘Oh, you boys…always stickin' together,’ she sneered. ‘No one's ever on my side…well, I don't care. You can all rot in this horrible place. I'll be gettin' out soon as I can.’ She shrugged off James' attempt to reach out to her and flounced towards the house.

It was well into the summer before Michael returned and although he listened in silence to his daughter's recollections of the night they were visited by a rogue, he merely shrugged his shoulders at the end, claiming that he had no notion of who the man might be, and concluded that he had made some kind of mistake, for there was no reason for anyone to be after him.

     ‘Why, I've been out after the likes of 'im, more's the truth. Occasionally, I've 'ad to 'elp meself to a feed or a bit o' this an' that to get by,’ he admitted, ‘but tis like Ben Hall 'iself says…tis a reasonable thing for a man to take from the rich an' give to the poor for the rich 'ave taken more than their share, an' they'd not give a baker's toss for the likes of us, now would they?’

     ‘And who are the poor you are giving to, Michael, tell me that?  For you've brought precious little into this house. Not that I want the takings of others, mind.’ Norah could no longer view Michael's actions with anything but contempt.

     ‘You've not yet seen what's in the cart, 'ave yer? I've brought yer bags of flour an' tea an' sugar, sure I 'ave, loads of it. An' a few pretty things for you an' the girls as well. I can't make money 'ere, can I? A man's got to get work where 'e can.’

     ‘And if it were honest work, I'd be more than grateful but how do I know some poor woman isn't going without and unable to feed her children because you've stolen their food?’

     ‘Yer a 'ard woman to please, so you are. I bought this fair and square with the money I got for policin', so I did. We been out west, after members of the Hall gang. Nearly got some of 'em, too, for we got right to their 'ideout before they slipped through our fingers.  But we'll get 'em, sure enough. An' you should be thankful I'm 'ere at all for didn't I come close to losin' me life in the fight this time?’

     Michael paused until it seemed clear he had the children’s attention and then went on. ‘It were John Dunn we were after, one of the nastiest of the gang. A couple of trackers an' Constable Nelson, an' me, yer see. We'd 'eard that Dunn got separated from the rest of the gang an' was hidin' out in the bush around Sunny Corner. We 'ad to pass through slip rails on some private property, an' we'd all gone through an' Nelson was just about to get back on 'is horse after putting up the rails when Dunn comes runnin' out of the bush an' fired his shot-gun right into Nelson's chest. Took off again before any of us could turn about an' catch 'im. Poor sod was stone dead…never 'ad a chance. If it'd been me that was puttin' up the rails I'd be the one lyin' there on the ground.’

     Michael took a breath, puffing out his chest. Rebecca sat across from him, rapt. Tom fidgeted beside her, as if unsure if he could believe a word his father said.

     Norah watched young Mary, her eyes wide as she listened to her father. She's only six, she thought. How can she know what to believe? And if she thinks of her father as some kind of hero, how disappointed is she going to be when she finds out what he's really like? 

     ‘You don't seem to have much success with catching these rogues, Michael.’ It was all Norah could think to say. 

     ‘Ah, tis just a matter of time. Yer 'ave to keep at 'em, ’til they make a mistake…an' then, bang, you've got 'em. As a matter of fact, it was just a week later that we caught one called Slippery…for obvious reasons. We was out again, Constable Preston an' two trackers went in one direction an' me and Constable Wright in another. An' after about three hours, we 'ears this shot, an' when we got there, Slippery 'ad one of the trackers by the throat, but Preston shot 'im in the leg. Screamed in pain 'e did. We escorted 'im to Capertree railway station, an' they took 'im to Wallerawang lockup. They got a doctor to get the bullet out an' next day he was sent to Bathurst to the goal, sentenced to twelve months.  So, all in a day's work, eh?’

     ‘You've been gone eight months, Michael,’ Norah reminded him. ‘Tis a long time for a few day's work.’

     ‘I've 'ad other work, girl, so I 'ave, an' I've 'ad to rest up as well. Sometimes we're out for days at a time without sleep. Actually, I'm pretty tuckered out now, just thinkin' about it all. I'll crawl into bed for a bit, eh? Perhaps when yer get the younguns settled, you could join me, luv. I've missed yer, so I 'ave.’

     He ran his fingers through Norah's hair as he moved past her. She shuddered at his touch and her heart sank. Her husband no longer aroused more than disgust in her.

To be continued....


Carol Preston
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