Keziah woke in fright in the vardo at the sound of banging doors in the house. Had Jake’s Irish temper finally shattered his patience?
She wrapped a towel around her head like a turban and peered through a crack in the door. Jake marched towards the vardo as if responding to some Viking battle cry. He was naked except for moleskin trousers. Little Yosie was anchored on his hip with the tail of his nightshirt flapping behind him.
‘Unlock the bloody door, will you?’ He pushed Yosie into her arms. ‘Here, I believe this is yours. I’ve been cleaning him up for months. This is the last straw. I’m off to a shanty. And I won’t lie to you, Kez, I intend to get very, very drunk.’ He flung a note of sarcasm over his shoulder. ‘Don’t bother to wait up for me.’
Riding past on Horatio a few minutes later, he fired his parting broadside. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pay the bills. I’ll stick by the kids. I made you a promise. I’ll stand by it. But you don’t need to bolt your door against me. It’s safe to sleep in the house. I won’t trouble you again!’
When he galloped off as if a ninety-mile-an-hour bushfire was on his tail, Keziah knew he was headed for Bolthole Valley – at best on a bender. At worst? That red-headed Lily Pompadour had flown the coop a few years ago with Jake’s help and made a new life for herself in Melbourne Town, but Keziah knew there would always be a ready supply of fallen women to take her place.
Keziah felt a tight sensation in the pit of her stomach. Fear? Jealousy? She told herself it was justified anger. Jake had bolted leaving three children in her care. She had no choice but to shoulder the full weight of the farm. I’ll show him what it means to be a strong Romani woman. I don’t need him!
During the days that followed Keziah encouraged Yosie to stay dry most of the time in ‘big boy’s pants’ – no more baby dresses beloved by the Quality.
She was touched by the children’s tact. Gabriel and Pearl asked no questions about their father’s absence and were as patient about showing her the farm’s routine as if she were a child.
Keziah stayed out of Daniel’s way and he also seemed to be avoiding her, but Bran called daily on the pretext of checking the horses’ shoes and collecting any broken equipment to repair at the forge. When he brought her a bunch of bush flowers, his eyes showed he understood the status quo. Keziah was too proud to ask for his help so she offered her own.
‘Bran, we all know how very bright you are inside your head. If you want to learn to read and write I’m happy to teach you. We’d keep it a secret, right? So one day you could surprise Daniel by writing a letter. What do you think?’
A dazzling smile of agreement lit up Bran’s face.
Keziah sounded out each letter as she wrote BRAN on a slate and chalked in the arrows to show him the direction of the strokes. When he copied it she was full of praise.
‘See how easy it is? You’ll be able to write your Lord’s Prayer in next to no time.’
Bran marched back to the forge clutching the slate as if it was the crown jewels.
Keziah milked the cow but relied on young Dick Gideon to care for the horses. He cheerfully continued to groom and exercise them on the training circuit he had built with Jake. As Wiradjuri manners demanded, he asked no questions about Jake’s absence.
She knew that neither Leslie Ross, Janet Macgregor, Mac Mackie nor Polly Doyle would call uninvited.
Collecting eggs in the chicken coop, Keziah snapped at the guinea fowls from the Cape of Good Hope that were prolific egg-layers. ‘Those romantic fools think we want privacy to fall into bed day and night.’
Pride did not allow her to confess to their friends she had never come home as Jake’s wife.
She kept her anger in check until the rooster strutted arrogantly amongst the hens. ‘You males are all the same! I bet Jake’s holed up right now at the Four Sisters.’
• • •
Jake tried to quench his anger at The Shanty with No Name.
In the cracked mirror he hardly recognised his own face. It was creased like the peel of a mandarin and his eyes were a bit hard to find. Was he only just thirty? He felt closer to ninety. Reflected in the mirror was the equally seedy face of a shearer Jake had often passed on the stairs at the Four Sisters.
‘How’s life treating you?’ the shearer asked.
‘Been better,’ Jake said bleakly.
The shearer looked sage. ‘Ah. Family man!’
‘Never bloody learn. Promised myself I’d never let another good woman into my life.’
‘Then one of them smiled and you was a goner, right?’
‘Not exactly. I got bailed up by bushrangers and she saved my life.’
‘Women! There’s nothing they won’t do to trap a man.’ The shearer downed his ale. ‘Well, got to get back home or the missus will skin me alive.’
Jake continued drinking, telling himself how great it was to be a bachelor again. I’ll show Kez I need her like a hole in the head.
But he soon realised that the grog wasn’t doing its job properly. He glanced around the bar. No one here worth fighting. Wonder how the kids are getting on without me.
• • •
As dawn broke Jake opened one eye and flinched. He lay on the back veranda of Bran’s forge house. The door flew open and Bran’s naked figure emerged, armed with a chamber-pot ready to empty into the bush. Oblivious of Jake’s presence, Bran sprawled on top of him.
Daniel, dressed in old clothes splattered with oil paints, eyed Jake from the doorway.
‘Well, aren’t you a fine specimen of manhood,’ he said kindly. ‘Don’t think you’re setting foot inside till you’ve cleaned yourself up.’
He returned with a bucket of water and threw it over Jake.
‘Shit!’ Jake shook himself like a dog emerging from a waterhole.
‘Bolted, have you?’
Jake tried to resume the role of a man of action. ‘I’ve got big plans, but I need a shakedown for a night or two.’
‘Wash yourself at the tank. I’ll fetch you clean clothes. Put the kettle on, Bran. From the length of his whiskers, he hasn’t eaten in days.’
Jake stripped off his shirt. ‘I reckon I could go a bit of breakfast,’ he conceded.
Freed from his rank clothes he felt his dignity gushing back. ‘If either of you drop a hint to Kez that I’m holed up here, it’s curtains for you!’
‘It’s your business, mate. If our wife doesn’t ask me, I won’t tell her.’
‘She’s too bloody proud to ask. You can put money on that!’ Jake was intent on changing the subject to something less painful. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
Fortified by the bottomless teapot, Jake gratefully attacked a pile of Bran’s famous golden pancakes, smothering them with Canadian maple syrup. When Bran marched around the corner to work in the forge, Daniel gave the order.
‘Now you can sing for your supper. My studio on the double. Strip off your clothes. I’ve got a painting roughed out. You’ve got the perfect body for it.’
‘A prize fighter?’ asked Jake.
‘A bushranger. Lying asleep in a cave, naked except for his boots, a rifle within reach on guard against the traps. The pose will suit you perfectly, you can doze off under your hat.’
As the brush flew across the canvas, Jake saw that Daniel had already withdrawn into the private world where he was most truly alive.
Under his hat, Jake felt trapped into confronting his major decision. What next? He tried to unscramble his thoughts.
I’m too bloody young to be celibate. Let’s face it, I’m a one-woman man – I even prefer to go to the same prostitute. I can live without a woman if I have to but I need children to anchor me. No matter how good a man is in bed (or out of it) there’s no pleasing a good woman. And with a Romani good woman – a man can’t bloody win. The only thing a bloke can trust with his life is his horse.
I’m bloody sure of one thing. I will never do time in the sturaban again – never! And before I die I’m gunna breed a champion racehorse.
Honesty forced him to face something he didn’t like. I’m a lousy son. Never did a damned thing for Mam and Pa except cause them grief. I run around fixing other people’s problems to avoid solving my own.
He recalled that last thought had been Lily Pompadour’s opinion of him.
He was trying to piece these random thoughts into a plan of action when Daniel broke his train of thought.
‘Want to tell me what’s up with you and Keziah?’ ‘It’s over. Finished.’
Daniel’s brush froze. ‘Does that mean she’s only got one husband now?’
Jake peered out from under his hat. ‘Why are you asking? You don’t find women’s bodies attractive. Do you?’
‘I’m surprised you need to ask. I love painting them, the more voluptuous the better. Problem is I can’t get local girls to take their clothes off for me.’
‘I meant as a man?’
‘What are you driving at? Beauty excites me both as an artist and a man.’
‘What about Kez? You painted her nude. I can’t imagine there’s a man on the planet who wouldn’t want to bed her.’
Daniel took time to weigh his answer. ‘After the hell of Gideon Park, I wanted to be alone. But later I grew hungry for human warmth. I was curious to test myself. Keziah was a woman I came to like and trust. Sometimes she was gentle, sometimes aggressive – almost like a man. I found that contrast exciting.’
Jake felt even more dejected. ‘Noticed that too, did you?’
‘I knew if I was ever going to be able to do it with a woman, it would be her, but I also knew it couldn’t last. I didn’t want Gabriel growing up with that confusion in a father. So I kept my brother-sister pact with Keziah. Answered my needs in my own way.’
Daniel looked as if everything between them hung in the balance. ‘That answer your question?’ He carefully examined his paintbrush. ‘Let’s get back to work.’
Jake closed his eyes, but his mind was restless for answers. How do I answer my needs? Where the bloody hell is home? Nowhere. I’m not cut out to be a family man. Tried my damnedest twice – failed twice. What’s next? I used to be a man of action.
Action! It came in a flash. A plan that would shake the foundations of the ménage. But before he could begin it the distant peal of chapel bells reminded him. Keziah! Shit. It’s Sunday again.
Bran charged into the studio urgently miming his concern that Keziah must not miss chapel.
Jake tried to sound offhand. ‘It’s up to Kez. She knows if she doesn’t front she’ll be sprung back in the Factory.’
Bran slammed the door and ran off in the direction of Jake’s house, yelling over his shoulder.
Jake turned to Daniel. ‘Jesus. I could have sworn Bran just said, “Bugger you both!”’
• • •
Later that day as Bran baked his traditional Sunday side of mutton and Daniel was absorbed in the finishing touches of ‘The Bolter’, Jake laboured over writing a pile of invitations.
He cursed his spelling but was determined not to ask Daniel’s help. He addressed the first to Reverend Parsons at Berrima Gaol. He gritted his teeth writing one to Caleb Morgan in Melbourne Town. I must be off my rocker to trust that smug Pommy within cooee of Kez, but I owe it to Gabe.
A storm broke just as Bran marched from the cookhouse bearing a huge platter of baked mutton and roast potatoes. The three males in the Sarishan ménage hungrily devoured it in silence as the rain hammered on the iron roof. The oil lamps swung from the rafters when the gale pierced the cracks in the unsealed walls and made the fire jump in the hearth.
‘You’re a bloody great cook, Bran,’ said Jake. ‘Thanks for the shakedown. I’m throwing a party at the Doc’s place to announce my big plans. You two had better be there.’
‘Won’t it be difficult to get Kez to face our friends?’ Daniel asked. ‘She hasn’t seen anyone since she came home.’
‘Yeah, but I’ll fix that somehow.’
Daniel looked irritated. ‘Pardon me for being nosey but how do these big plans affect me? Our ménage is for my protection as well as hers, remember?’
‘You’ve got our wife for camouflage. Kez’d never give you away in a million years.’
‘So what’s the big mystery? Why can’t you tell me now?’ ‘It’s not all firm yet. Just turn up on the day and I’ll set you all straight.’
Jake refilled Bran’s glass. ‘There ought to be a law against how hard you work, Bran. Can you finish your smithing in time? And you, Dan?’
Bran’s upturned thumbs signalled his pleasure, but Daniel was reluctant.
‘I’ll come but only because it’s my duty as Keziah’s husband.’ When Jake jerked two fingers in a graphic response, Bran’s laughter broke the ice.
It was time for Jake to write the toughest letter of all. He knew the spelling was original but he hoped the message between the lines was clear.
Dear Mam and Pa,
This letter proves I’m a hypocrite. Last time we met we all agreed I was dead. Well things have changed a bit. Jenny shot off with her bloke to Cape Town. I’ve got Pearl. She’s ten and tries so hard to be a farmer’s daughter she’d break your heart, Pa.
Maybe you’ve heard some odd stuff about me on the grapevine. I’m living with my woman who’s just done time in the Factory. I reckon anyone can do murder under the right circumstances, so don’t hold that against her. Anyway she’s a bloody good little mother. Her boy Gabriel’s nearly seven and game as they come. And we made another lad together. Yosie is just walking. He’s the spitting image of you, Mam – poor kid. Red hair and covered in freckles. He can’t even go out in the dark without a hat on.
I know you won’t come Saturday fortnight to the Haunted Farm at Ironbark to hear my plans because no one carries a grudge longer than the Irish and there’s no man more stubborn than a Viking. But if you did come you’d like the youngsters. Remember my woman has had a rough time of it. She ain’t herself yet.
Your Andersen Black Sheep