Haunted Creek (17 page)

Martha and Bert sometimes killed a pig and gave Rose some meat and once or twice, Charlie brought rabbits for her. Jim Carlyle walked over to visit Rose from time to time after his work was done and he offered to cut firewood for her, but there was plenty of dead wood lying under the trees, so she was able to
maintain
a wood pile near the hut.

Rose had never before seen trees that dropped their branches so often and she was careful not to walk under them in a high wind. You never knew what was coming down next. For weeks she
practised
with axe and splitter and was then able to manage the bigger branches. As Martha told her, it was a knack, not just brute strength. Martha was a good wood chopper and she told Rose that most settler women were. ‘You need wood all the year for cooking and of course you can’t rely on the men to fetch it in,’ she said.
‘Their work’s more important. But they’d soon notice if they didn’t get fed.’

Jim didn’t call often, and when he did his attitude was respectful and rather formal. Perhaps the black dress made her look like a nun. Rose didn’t invite him inside, but sat with him on the veranda or by the cooking fire outside. He told her on one of his visits he had nearly finished building his house, a grand affair with three bedrooms and a corrugated iron roof to catch the rainwater. He looked across at Rose’s hut and added, ‘My house will be good but I feel guilty, you know. I shouldn’t have taken Luke off to Noojee like that, and you with this hut and a small baby.’

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Rose told him gently. ‘Luke loved to be off. If you hadn’t been there he’d still have gone with Tom Appleyard. He was doing what he loved to do, that’s a bit of
consolation
.’ Although at first she’d thought that Jim was a bad influence, she had since decided that Luke’s friend was the steadier of the two.

One evening they’d been talking for a while and Jim said, ‘Did you ever think of getting wed again, Rose?’

Rose shook her head, but didn’t explain. Her guilt and sadness were receding, but she felt bound to Luke still. ‘I was going to ask the same of you, Jim. Have you found a good young woman yet?’

‘Well, Ben Sawley has a daughter, Ellen … do you know her? Nice girl, she’s a teacher in Warragul so she don’t come up here much.’ He gave her his cheeky lopsided grin and added, ‘But I wanted to find out whether you’re … er, well, whether you would be likely to consider matrimony … some time in the future, maybe … before I made a move. Didn’t want to upset you, before. But it’s a year ago now, since we lost Luke.’

Rose was shocked. Real love didn’t work like that, she knew it now. Real love meant one person only, no second choices. ‘Now, Jim, you’re trying to cheer me up again, talking nonsense. I met Ellen once – she’s just the type for you. Invite me to the wedding!’

There was another surprise; Jim’s face cleared and he said, ‘Well, I’m glad that’s settled, then. You see, Rose, I thought maybe you
expected me to … well, offer for you, after we’ve been friends and all. Luke would’ve expected me to look after you, a woman on your own. And … I’ve tried to help, but you’re very independent. There’s nothing I can do, it seems.’

Rose smiled at him. ‘You’re a kind lad, Jim. But to think of marrying me out of kindness! That’s daft. Bring your Ellen here to see me when you can – and forget all about any duty to me. I’m doing very well.’ The hut didn’t matter any more, she welcomed visitors. Was she getting used to living in poverty? Maybe it was just that people were more important than possessions. She should have known that when she first joined Luke.

They had a cup of tea and as Jim was leaving he said, ‘It wouldn’t be too much hardship for a man to wed you, Rose. You’re still a bonny young woman.’ He kissed her quickly on the cheek before she could move away, and was off.

‘W
E’RE WATCHING OUT
for you, these days. When we see the donkey coming we know the eggs and stuff are on the way – and we need them. But where’s the bairn?’ Emily Watson was new to the district, very friendly and determined to succeed. She and Sam had put all their savings into their new retail business. ‘WATTLE TREE GENERAL STORE PROP S WATSON’, a large sign in fresh paint, advertised the shop to all passers-by.

Rose laughed as she tied the donkey to a rail outside the store. ‘Ada’s started school. I can hardly believe it myself. I’ve been here six years now …’ She brushed the flies from her black dress, unloaded a bag from the panniers and followed the woman into the shop, which had been enlarged by the new owners. The population of Wattle Tree was growing and so was Rose’s business.

The years had flown by for Rose, as she watched her baby grow and struggled to earn their living. She supplied Haunted Creek and Wattle Tree with vegetables, herbs, eggs and just recently, goat’s milk. There were three goats in the clearing now, with Gertrude very much in charge. The donkey plodded up and down the track three days a week and Rose was kept busy on the farm for the rest of the time. It was a little farm now, although nothing like she’d imagined it would be. The proper house was still a dream, but she had no time for serious housework, so it was just as well.

Rose had kept away from Wattle Tree for a long time because she thought Bert Carr sold his produce there, but one day Martha
had told her about the new people at the store. ‘They’re set to get bigger, you should go and see them,’ she advised. ‘Get in at the start and offer them good stuff for a fair price.’

‘Doesn’t Bert sell there? I thought …’ Rose frowned. ‘You’ve been good to me, Martha. I didn’t want to get in his way.’

‘You’ve had your head down, Rose, working so hard you don’t know what’s going on. Bert’s got Charlie helping him now. They’ve bought another wagon and they cart our vegetables to Moe and bring stuff back – they’re carriers, you might say. They go for large loads, you see. Charlie does the mail run twice a week as well, on his pony.’

‘So Wattle Tree’s too small for Bert. Well, that’s a good thing. I’ll go to see them.’ So Rose had another customer, who also supplied the little hamlet of Fumina. She could sell all that she was able to produce.

Things hadn’t gone smoothly all the way. A spell of warm weather with hot north winds killed off Rose’s first carrot seedlings and she had to start again. She would never forget the day she came back from the vegetable round and found all her plants flopped over, wilting before her eyes. Most of them recovered in the evening, but by the end of the day the carrots were gone.

The beautiful brightly coloured parrots and rosellas happily ate the fruit from her apple and plum trees before it was ripe – and this was after several years of waiting for a crop. Some creature made holes in cabbage leaves; was it rabbits or birds or even caterpillars? It was nothing at all like Yorkshire.

‘Growing vegetables is harder than you’d think,’ Rose lamented to the Carrs, who laughed and agreed. Haunted Creek was slow to warm up in spring, but the hot summer sun was too much for some of the plants from milder climates. Rose learned to watch the weather, to water often and to be ready to shelter tender plants from the sun or the wind and even from hail or heavy rain. The next summer she wrapped the fruit trees with net curtains and managed to save some of the crop.

Gradually, she learned the secrets of growing things and the last few years had been tranquil and quite satisfying for Rose. She was at peace, partly because she had learned to accept the setbacks.

Luke was by now a distant memory, although his daughter
sometimes
looked at her with the same brown eyes and mischievous smile. As soon as she could talk, Ada was a wonderful companion; they explored the world of the creek together, learning the names of the plants and animals. There was no time for regrets, no time to feel lonely.

From cuttings Freda gave her, Rose had grown beds of perennial herbs and they proved to be very useful. They needed very little care and she was amazed to find that they grew through the winter.

Sometimes she dried herbs to make creams and tonics, but most of them could be sold fresh, in bunches. ‘You can take cuttings from these and grow your own,’ she told her customers, even though that would eventually lose her a sale. Herbs were for everyone, Grandmother had said. Rose told her neighbours from her own experience that rosemary and lavender would thrive here, as would sage. You had to keep mint damp or plant it near a pond.

Even with Rose’s advice, some of the settlers found it hard to get plants to grow in the variable conditions of Haunted Creek, where it was often too hot or too wet or too dry. This worked in her favour, as many people gave up the struggle and bought her produce instead.

The February sun was hot on her head as Rose walked back with empty panniers from Wattle Tree one day, passing the site for the new church on the way. She planned what she would do with the next few hours before she toiled up the path again to collect Ada from school. She would do some washing and then pick some flowers to take for Freda. It was a pity that they were both so busy that they hardly saw each other, although the teacher had told her that Ada was a good pupil. ‘Not many children can read before they come to school. You’ve made my job much easier,’ she said one day.

Erik was seldom seen. His mother said he’d bought more land
and was busy building a house on it. Miss Sinclair must have agreed to marry him, Rose decided. The Jensens had given a small plot of land for a church and the skeleton of a wooden building was already there. Everyone hoped it would be finished for Easter.

Wattle Tree would soon be a centre of civilization, although the settlers had already decided that they didn’t want a pub. Drinkers could make their way down to the All Nations and try not to fall in the creek on the way back, they said.

Rose hoped that the drinkers wouldn’t pass too near her house. The hut now had a fence covered in climbing plants to screen it from passers-by. Over the years a few people had called in, but not many because there were other, wider tracks to the Haunted Creek settlement.

When she got back to the hut Rose ate some bread and cheese and then put on her oldest dress to do some work. A row of carrots needed attention, but first she picked some beans. Her basket was full and as she straightened up to ease her back, she heard a moaning sound from the bushes fringing the vegetable plot. Was it an animal in pain? Rose set down the basket and listened again. Something or somebody was in trouble and it couldn’t be ignored.

Rose trod among the bushes carefully, holding up her skirt in case of snakes. The noise had stopped. Had she imagined it? The next moment she nearly fell over a large body lying on the ground, one arm flung out.

‘Lordy! What happened?’ Rose knelt down beside the man and touched his hand; it was feverishly hot.

Lord Barrington opened one eye and groaned, then shut it again. ‘Benson, bring round the horses,’ he commanded hoarsely. ‘There’s not a moment to lose.’

His wits were wandering and Rose tried to rouse him without success. What should she do? Her mind went over the things Martha had told her about first aid in the bush. ‘Water’s often the problem. Folks can go very strange without water,’ she’d said. Then Rose saw the blood and bruising on his face and hands. His lips
were dry and blackened and the livid scar stood out in the bony face. She would try water.

A few minutes later Rose knelt beside Lordy again with a mug of water. He was heavy, but she managed to prop him up a little. ‘Lordy, please drink this.’ No response. ‘Jasper!’ she said in a loud, commanding voice and the blue eyes opened. He drank some water obediently and then flopped over.

Several times Rose gave him water; Martha had said that it was better to give little and often rather than all at once. Gradually some life returned to his battered face. ‘I’m going to take you home now,’ Rose said. ‘Perhaps you could try to get up, and lean on me?’

‘What a perfectly splendid idea,’ mumbled his lordship and fainted again.

Rose stood looking down at the man as the flies buzzed round them. He was tall and well built, but she would have to move him. She would try later. Ada would be waiting for her at the school. Rose brought a blanket and covered the man with it, to keep away most of the flies. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she promised, but he was not conscious.

Freda’s flowers were forgotten as she sped up the track. Not waiting to speak to the teacher, Rose rushed home. She could have asked for help, but there were two little children in her care while their mother had another baby. Freda had her hands full.

Some time later, it was Dougal’s patient strength that got Lordy out of the bushes and down to the creek. Rose helped him to his feet and, leaning on the donkey, he struggled along. ‘Madam, I must insist on bathing,’ he muttered, so Rose left him to it, giving him a large towel and a bar of soap. The donkey waited for him and when he finally fell onto her veranda, Rose thought he looked a little better. The bruises remained but the blood had been washed away. His clothes, she noticed, were wet; he’d probably tried to wash them.

Lordy had more to worry about than a few bruises. He drank tea and ate some soup with difficulty and then he fainted again. ‘I am
so sorry. It’s Rose, isn’t it?’ he said when he came round. ‘The Rose of Haunted Creek. I don’t want to inconvenience you … I’ll be off now.’ He stood up and fell down again, clutching his side.

Rose put Ada to bed and then stood over her guest. ‘Jasper,’ she said in the strong voice that seemed to get most response from him. ‘Jasper, let me see your side. Have you a wound? It might need attention.’

‘Not from you, dear lady,’ the man gasped. ‘You have done enough….’

‘I am a herbalist,’ Rose said firmly. After all, she had been an apprentice to her grandmother, long ago. ‘A medical person. You must let me see.’

A gaping wound in Lordy’s side had obviously been washed in the creek, but a few maggots still crawled in it. Rose gagged, but persevered. It looked like a stab wound and it was hot to the touch. Rose thought quickly. What would Martha do? ‘I’m going to wash this with water. Please sit down here,’ she said.

The billy had boiled, so she poured boiling water onto a big handful of gum leaves, remembering what the dark women had told her. When the water cooled she tore a strip from an old piece of cotton and gently bathed the wound. She got rid of all the fly maggots and eggs. This gash was a few days old but the fragrant eucalyptus oil might stop infection. A wound like this could kill, if it were not treated; the badness could spread through the body.

‘You must have lost a lot of blood,’ she said quietly. This man was critically ill. Tomorrow she would fetch Martha to see him, but tonight she was on her own. A fresh piece of cloth was spread with honey and she bound it over the wound. Lordy gasped a little, but kept still.

When it was done he looked across at Rose. ‘Thank you. I had been staggering about for a couple of days, I think … not sure how many. Confused and all that, you know. I am deeply indebted to you, Rose.’

Well, thought the herbalist grimly, let’s wait and see whether you
survive. Lordy was hot and sweating in spite of the cool evening air. Rose brought cold water from the creek and bathed his brow with it. She gave him a bowl of soup, but he could take very little. She moved the sleeping Ada into the hut and persuaded Lordy to lie down on the bed in the cabin. There she left him for the night with a mug of water beside him. To ask him what had happened might make matters worse.

By morning Lordy was cooler, but still so apologetic that Rose had to silence him. ‘Lord Barrington,’ she said very firmly, ‘if I were in need of help, I’m sure that you would help me.’

‘Of course, my dear, absolutely. Not much use at the moment though,’ he said, looking down at his side. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

‘I’ll reserve it for when I do need help. Meanwhile, let’s have no more apologies.’ Rose explained that she was going to fetch Martha, who had been a nurse.

Lordy said he knew her. ‘Do bear in mind that I don’t need a midwife, my dear.’ He was trying to make a joke; that must be a good sign.

Martha inspected the patient and then they had a conference in the garden. She said that Rose had done the right things. ‘The wound should heal in time. Keep checking, change the dressing every day and don’t let it go bad. But he mustn’t go off for a week or two, he’s in need of a rest. You don’t mind having him here, do you?’

‘I don’t mind him here,’ Rose said truthfully. ‘The cabin is
separate
, he can have it for a while. I don’t know whether he’ll stay, though. He seems uneasy.’

Martha smiled. ‘I won’t come again unless it’s desperate. He’s your case. Well done.’

When Martha had gone Rose informed her guest that he was staying for a few weeks, the cabin was his and there was to be no argument. It seemed best to establish the situation right away and he seemed to respond when she put on the voice of authority. Maybe he’d had a bossy nursemaid as a child.

Lordy had also been thinking about his situation. ‘I should go back to my house, but it would be difficult at the moment,’ he agreed. His voice, usually melodious, was hoarse and weak, but his brain seemed to be working. ‘I will be delighted to stay as your guest, providing you will allow me to pay for my keep. As a paying guest, that is.’ He drew out a notecase with difficulty and passed over some money. ‘This is for one week.’

Rose looked at it. ‘Too much!’ she said at once.

‘I include medical treatment, consultations and general
counselling
,’ the patient said loftily. ‘Not to mention the cost of the
materia medica
, you know. Cheap at the price, I think you’ll agree.’ They both laughed, although Lordy winced and held his side.

‘Of course,’ Rose said gravely, ‘eucalyptus swab and honey
poultice
are very expensive items.’