Ard had been discharged before Linley had come back to see him. Not that he thought she would, but he’d hoped for it.
Over two weeks now. Two weeks of listening to his father boom about the plans for the new block. ‘Rivermore’ Pa wanted to call it, though Eleanor had her reservations, so as yet the place was still unnamed. Ard thought ‘O’Rourke’s Run’ would be the obvious name, but his mother shrugged and glanced at his father. Liam had come and gone again, stating that he didn’t care what it was called as long as he had somewhere to stay when he returned.
They’d ordered root-stock of apricot and peach and olive. Lorcan had visited a Mr Lenne over the way on the Campaspe River, only a few miles away. He’d introduced himself to the orchardist, keen to glean his advice and to strike up a friendship. Mr Lenne’s place was remarkably productive and Lorcan had indeed been impressed.
On their new block, vegetable stock of potato, cabbage and cauliflower was already in the ground, and runners had been constructed for peas and beans. Eleanor looked forward to the first crop of her own apricots, though she knew it would be a few years off. She was happily surprised and delighted that Mr Lenne had sent some home with Lorcan for her.
While Ard convalesced, his was the job of measuring up and ordering timbers for the house’s flooring. He drove the cart back into Echuca to pick up supplies—his body adjusting to the ride to and fro. He was also to bring back bits and pieces of furniture so they could get by until their own came upriver by boat.
Loading up the last of the stores from the grocer’s, he heard a familiar voice call out.
‘Ard!’
And there was Sam Taylor, driving a laden cart covered with rope taut across its cargo. Pie was tied to the cart and Bolter was harnessed.
‘G’day, Sam,’ he called and waved. He had written to Sam as promised, once his parents had arrived. ‘I didn’t expect you for another week.’
Sam pulled his cart over to the side of the road to tail Ard’s. He tied off the reins and leapt off the seat. ‘Told you no point staying in Bendigo. Me pa said I could help you out. So here I am. And there might be paid work besides, somewhere.’ Dusting himself down, he lifted off his ragged and sweat-stained hat and swiped his forearm over his face.
‘If you’re lucky.’ Ard leaned on his cart, rested a bit. Sometimes the wind just got knocked out of him for no good reason. Didn’t last for long, but he wasn’t pushing it. He looked past Sam to the cart he’d pulled in. ‘What you got in there?’
‘Your ma’s table, lad, and everything else I could fit on that wasn’t burned. Took me four days to get here.’ Sam drew up an elbow and knocked Ard’s shoulder. Then he balked at Ard’s face. ‘Oh, your shoulder. Sorry, mate. You said in your letter.’
Ard’s eyes watered at the soft thud. Pain shot up his neck and into his face. He knocked off his hat and slid to the ground.
Sam’s eyes popped. Dropping to his haunches, he laid a hand on Ard’s other shoulder. ‘Jesus, look at you. I’m sorry, laddie.’
Sweat broke out on Ard’s forehead, and for a moment it felt like his eyeballs were spinning.
‘Ard? Ard!’ A woman’s voice rang out.
His gaze widened. He felt Sam slide around beside him to see who was shouting.
A whoosh of feminine skirts and a faint whiff of something flowery wafted up Ard’s nose.
‘Ard, are you all right?’ She dropped beside him and a slender hand gripped his forearm.
He stared at Linley.
Sam stood up. ‘Miss Linley. Fancy seeing—’
‘Help me, Sam. Help me get him up.’
Sam held his hands out. ‘No, no, perhaps he’s best on the ground a minute. He took faint or something. He’s all right, I reckon.’
Linley stayed where she was, staring at Ard. He tried to focus properly on her.
Linley.
A man from the footpath had a grip on her pram. ‘Miss? Your baby carriage … Miss!’
Linley broke away from Ard’s side. ‘Thank you,’ she said to the gentleman. He eased the perambulator off the footpath and handed it over to her. She checked inside at its occupant and breathed a sigh.
Ard swallowed down a curling nausea. Stars in his eyes were fading and his scalp had returned to normal but the aching thud at the back of his shoulder still sucked the voice from him.
Sam turned to her. ‘Miss Linley.’ He peered into the baby carriage. ‘Is this Mary’s baby?’
‘Yes. Mary’s baby.’ She ducked back down to Ard. ‘Are you all right?’ She repeated, gripping his chin. ‘Ard?’
He nodded. Linley. And the baby. ‘Linley,’ he croaked. He took her hand and held it at his face.
‘What’s the matter with you? What happened?’ Linley turned to his friend. ‘Sam?’
Sam was still looking into the pram, staring hard at the baby. He frowned, looked at Ard, then turned back again. ‘I just told him I brought his ma’s table.’ He looked into the pram again. ‘The big sook fainted.’
‘He got stabbed in his side, Sam, under his shoulder.’
‘Yeah. I forgot that for a moment.’
Ard dropped Linley’s hand. ‘I’m all right, got my breath back. Give me a hand up.’ He waved to Sam.
Sam thrust out his arm and Ard looped it with his. He clawed his way up the cart. Once standing, he rested on it, steadied, and leaned over to look into the pram.
So did Sam. ‘Ard, lad.’ His voice was low and rough. ‘Have you got something to tell your best mate?’
Ard inhaled, ignoring Sam. He felt Linley bristle beside him. ‘Linley, please, let me call on you.’ He took her hands in his. They seemed dwarfed against his callused fingers and big-boned knuckles.
Sam moved fast. ‘I’m going to, uh, get old Bolter here a drink,’ he said and climbed back into his seat. ‘I’ll wait for you over there, Ard.’ He pointed to the horse trough down the street. ‘And we’ll take this stuff to your place,’ he called over his shoulder.
Ard looked back at Linley and the still-sleeping baby.
She rocked the pram a little. ‘I would have thought you too busy now, Ard O’Rourke, to come calling.’ The pram rocked some more.
‘Busy, yes. We are.’ Ard just knew she was going to try and get away quickly. He swallowed down the urge to babble. ‘Building up the orchard. I’ve still got the floors to do in my cottage.’ He thumbed at the timber in the back of his cart. ‘I’ve got to—’
‘Very interesting.’ The pram rocked and rocked.
He looked down at Toby again, his heartbeat thudding in his throat. ‘He looks very fine, Linley.’
She rocked and rocked some more. ‘He is very fine. He is well looked after.’
Had her voice softened just a little? He couldn’t let her go, not without a promise to let him call on her. ‘I’m sure of that.’ He glanced into the pram. ‘And, um, Miss CeeCee, is she improving?’
He watched the bloom of colour diffuse her cheeks. A small shake of her head. ‘Neither improves nor deteriorates.’
Ard nodded. ‘’Tis not a bad thing, then.’
She lifted her chin. ‘True enough. Now, we must get on with our errands.’
Ard stepped away from the cart. ‘Can I help?’
‘No.’ She pushed the pram past him.
‘Linley.’ He had to stop her.
‘Good day, Ard.’
Her coppery-red hair shone as it peeked out from under her hat. ‘Linley, I have a house on the property, I’m repairing it. I have prospects again. I’ll work hard.’
‘You do that, Ard O’Rourke.’ She kept going, past the horse tied to his cart.
He followed. ‘I won’t give up.’
She stopped then. His heart hammered and that sent an ache back through his head.
‘You already did that.’ She glanced at the baby in the pram.
‘I didn’t give up. I didn’t know about the baby. I swear, if I’d have known—’
‘You must have known. Isn’t that why you left?’ Her voice was anguished, low, and her eyes darted about the street. Then she checked herself, and moved on.
He followed. ‘I swear I didn’t know.’ He fell in alongside her, patting his shirt pocket. ‘I still have Mary’s letter to me, the one where she told me—’
‘I have to get stores. Excuse me.’ She pushed away again in a hurry.
Ard stopped. His voice rose. ‘Tell me when I can call, Linley?’ Then he realised there were startled looks from passers-by.
She didn’t answer. He watched as she pushed the pram back onto the footpath again and stalked into the grocer’s shop.
Fight rose in him like a whirling dust devil. His throat dried. Mindful of his aching side, he turned and strode back to the cart, picked up his hat and climbed into the driver’s seat. Checking his clearance, he pulled out onto the road and drove towards where Sam had parked.
He pulled behind the water trough. ‘Mind my cart, Sam.’ He eased to the ground, tethered the reins, then began to cross the street.
Sam stepped alongside. ‘Ard, take it from me—don’t go chasing an angry woman.’
Ard pushed past him.
‘I mean it.’ Sam stepped in front and held out his hand in Ard’s way. ‘Besides, you’re in the street, man,’ he growled. ‘You’ll embarrass her more than you’ll do yourself any good. End up shooting off your own foot.’
Ard stopped. Sam was very rarely serious, but when he was …
His head still hurt, and the blood still pounded through him. He had to stop, or he’d fall in his tracks. He glanced at Sam, and nodded.
Sam nodded in return. ‘Let’s get you and me back to your block. I got these things to deliver to your ma. And on the way, we’ll stop and you can tell this whole story to your old mate here.’
‘That so, Ard? I reckon there might be. Mary’s boy is in that baby cart with Miss Linley, and he’s got the O’Rourke stamp on him, no mistake.’
They drove in single file out of town, Ard’s cart in front of Sam’s. A couple of miles down, Ard pulled over under the shade of a huge stand of gums on his left.
‘You want rum?’ Sam called as he hauled his cart to halt.
‘No.’ Ard alighted carefully, and sat on the ground amid the leaf litter and dry twigs. Shade was good. He had his water flask and swigged from that, then drew up a knee and rested his arm on it.
Sam sat beside him, his own water flask in his hands. ‘Mary Bonner,’ he said. ‘She always did have her skirts ready to go up for you.’
‘Ballocks.’
‘And I’m wrong about that kid being yours?’
Ard blew out a breath. ‘No, you’re not. I believe that it’s true. Mary wrote me.’
‘You can believe it, all right. He’s only a wee tacker, but he’s yours. If I hadn’t seen that O’Rourke brand on him, I might have doubted it, I might not have believed Mary writing you’re a da.’
Ard felt the two letters against his chest. ‘When she wrote me … what she said. I had no doubt of it.’
‘How long you known?’
Ard glanced over at Sam. ‘Only when you told me.’
‘What?’ Sam’s head came up. ‘You just said she wrote to you.’
‘The first I knew of it you told me in the pub that time. You said that Mary gave him to Linley. Before that, I thought they both died when Mary was birthing.’ Ard rubbed his head, keeping his hands away from his scars.
Sam stared at him. ‘Was that the first you knew he was alive?’
‘Shit.’ Sam took a swig of water, wiped his mouth. He frowned a moment. ‘So, what happened to your shoulder? Linley didn’t stab you herself, did she?’ He snorted. ‘Mind you, if she did, she’d have done a proper job of it. Maybe she should have. She’s loved you forever.’
Ard slid his leg down and crossed his ankles. ‘Toby—my boy— had money coming to him. Mary’s husband thought it would go to him on her death, but he had to be guardian of the baby and he wasn’t.’ Ard shook his head. ‘He came after Linley and Toby, here in Echuca. And Miss CeeCee, he grabbed her by the throat. Nearly killed her. Got me in the end.’ Ard waved a hand at his side. ‘It’s a long story. Over now. The man’s dead. Accident, they reckon.’
Sam shot him a look. ‘You didn’t do it?’
‘No.’
‘Was a nasty little bugger,’ he said. ‘Your ma and pa know about the baby?’
‘No. Only Linley’s aunt and that Mr Anderson.’
Sam sat quiet a moment.
‘What?’ Ard asked, swatting flies.
‘You gonna marry Linley?’
Ard inhaled loudly and exhaled long. ‘I want to. God knows I want to. I’ve been thinking up ways to get her to talk to me. At least, meet me to talk and …’
‘If that’s what you want,’ Sam said, hammering one hand into the palm of his other, ‘then you don’t give up, laddie.’
Ard gave Sam a sideways glance. ‘And you’re a good one to talk.’
‘I haven’t given up. I’m thinking up ways to get to talk to your sister, don’t you worry about that. Just need time. The trick’s never giving up.’
‘I won’t,’ said Ard. ‘But I don’t reckon she’ll have me, no matter what I do.’
Sam nodded. ‘I know that feeling well.’