Elsa sat hunched over Nebo’s body. She dared not look anywhere but at her hand covering his eyes. Couldn’t bear to see what she might see. Her own breath ragged, she heard Rosie sobbing breathily, but the raw scraping in her sister’s throat had been silenced after the last gunshot. From Ezekiel, she heard nothing after his agonised bellow.
Was she next? Or Rosie?
Eerie, terrifying silence from the gunman.
She couldn’t turn her head. Did not want to see Ezekiel, his life gone, her heart gone with him.
Dear God. Footsteps. Boots.
A slim hand landed on Elsa’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘You can breathe, missy.’ It was Tillie. ‘Take a look. Your man’s alive and well.’
Elsa stared. Ezekiel. He was unharmed, staring at his brother’s prone body. She heaved in a breath past the lump in her throat. Reaching up, she grabbed Tillie’s hand, trying to get off her knees.
‘I can still shoot straight,’ Elsa heard Glen Barton say. She looked up and he was scratching his head. ‘Thought I mighta got soft.’ Then he wiped his eyes, bowed his head and fell to kneel by Nebo, his shoulders shaking as he bent over the body. ‘I was too late for ye, me old mate,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for it.’
‘We seen Watson creeping around and had decided to circle back,’ Tillie said, her hand under Elsa’s arm. ‘Bastard woulda been up to no good. But murder? Never thought it of ’im.’
Elsa lurched to her feet. Saw the man who called himself Curtis slumped, dead, over his saddle, blood pouring from a large hole in his neck. Then his body leaned over and fell off the saddle, one foot stuck in the stirrup. The horse skittered nervously as imposter Curtis’s head bounced on the dirt.
George had resisted this man, paid with his life, all for a tin of coins, all for a worthless piece of dirt. Ezekiel reached her, caught her as she stumbled trying to step away from the sight.
Rosie hadn’t wanted Pete Southie loaded in the back of their cart, but Elsa insisted. ‘He has to go home, Rosie.’ Elsa had her eye on Ezekiel. He stood over his brother’s body.
Rosie paced. ‘But that means he’ll be in the back of our cart for three days and nights. I won’t allow it. What if we break down—we’ll have to bury him where we stop. We can’t do that. The ground is like granite.’
Elsa rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. That was true enough. ‘Yes, but—’
‘He’s got no family at home, Elsa,’ Rosie cried, still pressing her point. ‘I know that from Frank. We should bury him here.’
‘Not with those other two,’ Elsa said, and pointed at a mound made of tree branches on the edge of the clearing. ‘He might’ve been a stupid, leery galoot but he was just caught up in it, not a part of it. Didn’t deserve to be murdered.’ Her shakes had stopped, finally, and her head was clearing.
Rosie stamped her foot. ‘I insist his body stays here. Otherwise, it’s all too much.’ It sounded like the beginning of a wail, and her face had screwed up, her eyes fierce.
Glen had stepped in. ‘Tell you what. After dark tonight, follow Tillie and me, take his body in your cart to the old cemetery in Casterton and leave him at the gate. The good folk there will look after him in the morning. He’ll get buried, all proper-like. How’s that?’
Ezekiel’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face gaunt. He stood by Elsa’s side. ‘That’s a good idea. Then you and Rosie can come on to my place before you decide—’
‘Rosie needs to get home, Ezekiel,’ Elsa said softly, and looked at her agitated sister. ‘Best to leave quickly.’ She almost couldn’t believe what she was saying, knowing what it would mean to her. To him. The weight of it filled her chest. ‘I have to go with her,’ she said, hoping the tremble in her voice wasn’t noticed.
Ezekiel, bleak, started. ‘I know, but Elsa, I can’t let—’
‘Please don’t. If I wait it’ll hurt too much,’ Elsa whispered, gripping his arm. She turned to the others. ‘If someone is willing to do it for us now, we need to get supplies for three days. Rosie has money to pay. Then we follow Glen tonight like he said and leave Pete at the cemetery.’ She took in a breath and glanced at her sister. ‘We’ll head straight back to Penola from there.’
‘In the dead of night?’ Ezekiel wasn’t happy.
‘And you and Judah can bury your brother.’ Her chin wobbled. Ezekiel had said earlier that he’d take Nebo in Mrs Hartman’s cart and bury him at home on the hill.
Rosie threw her hands in the air. ‘At last,’ she grumbled, ‘someone making sense.’ She looked away, and Elsa knew that her sister felt she’d won a small victory.
‘I’ll go get your supplies,’ Tillie said then pointed to where the two dead men lay. ‘No one will find that lump over there in a hundred years but let’s not waste time, just in case.’ She memorised a list from Elsa, took Rosie’s money and on Salty, headed into town.
‘Let’s get Nebo into your cart, Zeke, before we deal with that.’ Glen tilted his head at the other two bodies.
In the cart, they covered Nebo with his swag and Ezekiel sat with him. Tiredly, he wiped a forearm over his face then palmed his eyes. Glen took up Mrs Hartman’s shovel and the pick and headed towards the other two bodies. Ezekiel followed, reached for Elsa’s outstretched hand as he passed her, pressed it to his lips and let her go.
Wielding the pick, Glen swung hard. Ezekiel shovelled out the loosened soil until the hole was deep enough. They rolled both bodies in and returned the dirt, pounding it down. Evil had been buried, and the earth would deal with it. In silence, Ezekiel headed back to the cart where Nebo lay, and hung his head.
‘Rosie,’ Elsa said quietly so no one else could hear. ‘You need to pay your respects.’
Cutting her sister a look, her mouth pressed in a thin line, Rosie trudged to the cart and climbed in. Hesitating, she patted Ezekiel’s arm and sat by his dead brother.
They waited for Tillie. Blowflies buzzed, leaves rustled, and the pure fragrance of a flowering shrub drifted here and there on a cool breeze. Time passed. Elsa was sitting by the campfire, the crutches close by, lost in thought when Ezekiel came to sit with her.
He took her hand. ‘Write to me, Elsa, after you get Rosie home. I’ll come and get you.’
‘I’ll write,’ she said, and squeezed his hand. She had to think some more, had to sort all this out in her head. In her heart. She looked across at Rosie. ‘I—need to be with her now. She’ll have a great deal to do when we get back, a lot to cope with.’
‘So will you,’ he said, frowning.
Elsa knew he could hear what she was saying. ‘But her more so. If it’s known she left Frank, if Pete told anyone, there’ll be hell to pay for her back there.’ She pressed her head to his. ‘I am so very sorry about Nebo.’
Ezekiel folded his hand over hers and took a deep breath. ‘At the last, he’d found some happiness, he finally had hope, wanted to marry. We’ll hold onto that.’
Elsa remembered the look on Nebo’s face when he’d first laid eyes on her sister. Now Rosie would have to start a new life as a widow in Robe; not the new life she’d expected. Elsa looked down at her hands linked with Ezekiel’s. Finally had hope. Her own hopes were slipping away.
Tillie returned with supplies and dumped them into a corner of Elsa’s cart. Glen smothered the campfire with dirt and poured the last of the billy water onto it. Then he headed for where Rosie still sat with Nebo in Mrs Hartman’s cart. ‘Time you and your sister was off in your own cart, Miss Rosie,’ he said kindly.
She nodded, and after a moment waved him away, climbing out unaided. Straight-backed she headed for her cart. Elsa stood and limped over, Ezekiel carrying the crutches. He slipped them into the back alongside Pete Southie’s shrouded figure.
Glen, on his horse, and leaning down to Ezekiel, said, ‘We’ll not meet again, Zeke,’ and held out his hand. Ezekiel took it in both of his but couldn’t speak. Glen called over to Tillie. ‘Let’s go.’ He nodded at Elsa. ‘Ladies, get on board and gee-up that horse of yours.’
Ezekiel reached for Elsa’s hand, pressed it to his cheek. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said, his eyes searching hers. He reached around and gently tugged her hair. He kissed her cheek, hugged her, and after helping her on board, draped the reins in her hands.
‘I won’t.’ She thought she’d feel a rock in her chest, or the emptiness in her heart, but she felt only numb. She was leaving him behind.
‘Elsa, my love, I don’t want to have to tell Jonty that I failed him.’
She gave a sob, a laugh. She had nothing to say that would change things. She didn’t know about anything anymore, only that leaving him so overwhelmed her that words would not come.
At her silence, he pushed away and trudged to his cart, climbing into the driver’s seat. He lifted his hand in a wave and gave her a long, last look before he flicked the reins. Milo trotted away, taking Ezekiel, and Nebo.
Elsa glanced at her sister who stared without tears into the distance. Dry-eyed herself, her throat aching, she thought how hollow her life would be without Ezekiel Jones in it. She couldn’t face that yet, wouldn’t weep. She’d never get home otherwise. There were things she had to do. Rosie. Frank. The farm. The bakery. Her last brother was gone. Her pa was gone. There were things … She felt the shriek rise in her throat, but she couldn’t scream. Wouldn’t.
She gee-upped Peppin and he trotted after Mrs Hartman’s cart. Following Glen and Tillie to the Casterton cemetery at the turn-off, she knew Ezekiel had gone on, straight ahead. Her heart wrenched. Tears came.
They left Pete Southie’s body by the gates. As Glen and Tillie waved them off, Elsa turned the cart for Penola. Now leaving Ezekiel was real.