Ironbark (2 page)

A Currency Lad, Mac also wore his hair long, but his beard was a permanent fixture. He beckoned Jake to follow him to The Australia Arms public house.

‘I thought it was closed on Sundays,' said Jake.

‘Not to me it ain't, mate.'

Mac emerged with an armful of bottles and led Jake to his one-room timber hut. The floor was made of rammed earth, the interior walls
papered with newspapers. In one corner was an unmade bunk bed. Unwashed tin plates littered the table. Mac's hospitality was legendary. He swept the plates aside and they clattered across the floor. He then placed the bottles in pride of place beside two tin pannikins and drew a bench up to the table with a courteous wave of his hand.

Jake downed the first ale for his thirst, the second for sheer pleasure.

‘Ah! Can't beat Albion Ale. Cold as a creek in the Snowy.' ‘Our publican is the sole Proddie in the village but he's dead popular,' said Mac.

Jake wasn't surprised. ‘No bloody wonder. I've discovered his secret. He keeps his grog cold by stashing it down a well he dug in his cellar.'

‘Trust you to ferret that out.' Mac cast Jake a wise look. ‘Come on, out with it. What's your problem?'

Jake shrugged. ‘Nothing money can't fix. What's the strength of this Bulldog Kane's challenge? Last man standing – winner take all. What am I up against?'

Mac's raised eyebrows registered a close call. ‘Bulldog Kane's a professional from the East End of London. Y'know what that means. A gutter fighter. Rough as guts and dead dirty.'

There was a knock against the open door. Father Declan's visit seemed to come as no surprise. Mac put a pannikin of whisky in the priest's hands and introduced him to Jake.

‘I take it you're not of the True Faith, Jakob lad?' Father Declan seemed sure of the answer to his question before he asked it.

‘Mam thinks she is. She's Irish-Catholic. Pa's a Norwegian Lutheran. Me, I'm second cousin to an atheist. I only believe in three things. My wife's good name, Albion Ale and my horse's unfailing sense of direction. No disrespect intended, Father.'

‘None taken. And it's Dennis.' He sank the whisky. ‘I'm hearing from Mac that you're a fine fighter.'

Jake tried to sound modest. ‘On a good day I can hold my own.'

Father Declan leaned forward. ‘Then you'll be taking on the Bulldog when he comes to our neck of the woods?'

Jake hesitated, aware that some religions got funny about work and sport performed on the Sabbath. ‘Yeah, Father. Is that a problem?'

‘Problem? I'm the referee! And we're raising money for a roof on my church. There's a tithe on all bets. And every man better dig deep when the hat is passed around. Will you be fighting, lad?'

‘Count me in,' said Jake.

Mac refilled Father Declan's pannikin.

‘A fine drop it is, Mac. Traded on Sunday? See you mention that in confession. Meantime let's drink to next month's challenge match. I'll be putting my money on you, Jakob!'

• • •

When Jake drew up at the front gate of his farm it was at the eerie moment that heralds the pink trace of the piccaninny dawn; the bush's rehearsal for sunrise. Currawongs and kookaburras had yet to greet the day. The garden he had left months earlier now sprouted some English autumn flowers but Jake noticed it needed weeding. And the bark slab of Wally's gunyah lay on the ground as if flattened by a recent storm.

Jake unsaddled Horatio, led him to the water trough then let himself in the front door. He placed his swag of presents on the kitchen table, ready to give to his girls at breakfast.

He lathered his face with soap and went to work on his beard with the cut-throat razor, checking his reflection in the mirror.

Feeling the urge to kiss Jenny awake, he crept upstairs and past the nursery where Mrs Troy would be sleeping with Pearl.

The marital bedroom was as neat as a pin. The curtains were drawn but a chink of sunlight fell across the lace bedspread. An envelope lay on his pillow. The words of the letter scattered through his brain.

Dear Jakey,

I have gone away to begin a new life. I know how hard you
tried to make me happy, but I can't pretend anymore to love you as you deserve. This is the best solution for both of us. Don't worry about Pearl. I am travelling with someone who'll protect us always.

Your Jenny

P.S. I sent Wally back to his people – and made him take Flash with him.

The letter was dated only two days earlier.

Jake rocked on his feet. The legs that were capable of keeping him dancing around the boxing ring were now unable to carry him a step further. He sank down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His brain exploded with questions.
Do I know the bastard? Where's he taken them? They're only two days ahead of me but which bloody direction?

He ran to the nursery in the hope he would find his little princess asleep. Pearl's cot was neatly made up as though it had never been slept in. Mrs Troy's palliasse was stripped of its covers.

He rummaged through every closet for some clue that would prove Jenny had been forced to write the letter under duress, abducted by some bushranger. Only a single valise was missing. Three empty coat-hangers hung in mute testimony that Jenny had taken nothing but her own Sunday best dress and a few of Pearl's garments.

His daughter's dolls were neatly lined up on her toy box. Their silent painted faces seemed to wear cruel little smiles that mocked his anguish.

And then he saw it. Jenny's discarded wedding ring. The small duplicate of his own wedding band had their names and wedding date engraved inside. Stunned, he held her ring in the palm of his hand and read the inscription.
5 May 1833 Jakob and Jenny – Eternal Love.

Eternal? She couldn't even last four years!

Blinded by rage Jake threw her ring across the room. He punched
the wall, causing the mirror to shatter into jagged reflections of his face. He froze at the foot of the staircase, realising the significance of Jenny's words after his last failure in bed.
‘Don't put me on a pedestal.'

Jesus wept! Did she know even then that she planned to leave me? Was that mongrel already in her life?
Her ritual farewell now cut at his heart.
‘Will you love me forever and ever, Jakey?'

Jake felt as if the walls were caving in. Yesterday he had everything that mattered. Today – nothing. Jenny had done what no man could ever do. Destroyed his world. He vowed that he would never again allow any woman to hold power over him as Jenny had done.

He slammed the front door and turned his back on family life forever. The bloody bank of New South Wales was welcome to reclaim his farm and all he owned. Out in the sunlight the whole world seemed to have turned grey. Drained of all colour. Unreal. Time and space had fragmented.

He saddled Horatio and galloped off towards Parramatta to file a police report. What the hell could he say?
Missing. One wife and child, now in keeping. Last seen travelling with unknown gent.

As he tethered Horatio to the railing in front of the police office, Jake was suddenly aware he was holding the miniature muff pistol. He had taught Jenny how to protect herself in his absence. But some bastard had got under his guard. Jake pressed the spring that released the hidden blade and turned the weapon into a dagger.

‘God help you, you mongrel, I'll hunt you down and kill you!'

Keziah Stanley looked furtively through the doorway of her
vardo
. The other travelling houses on wheels were ringed around the Romani camp on the edge of the village common. Dawn filtered through the mist. Horses grazed quietly beside the stream. Traces of smoke rose from the embers of small campfires that had burned last night at the heart of each family group.

Behind Keziah lay the distant mountains of her birthplace in the Clwydian Range of North Wales. Before her lay the Cheshire route that led to Liverpool. Today was a milestone – her seventeenth birthday – the day she planned to escape her mother-in-law Patronella's dominance.

Last night Keziah had sobbed herself to sleep with her husband's beloved face in her mind and her heart. Gem was in chains somewhere at the bottom of the world, but the memory of his lovemaking was as vivid as if he had lain with her all night.

Keziah stiffened at the sound of Gem's parents in the
vardo
next to hers. In contrast to Patronella, her father-in-law's grey hair had brought him tolerance. Keziah heard Ivano sleepily rebuke his wife.

‘Today is her birthday. Don't be so hard on the girl, Patronella. It's natural she cries for our son. As my mother used to say, “Just as the mare beats the road, so the young wife wants the penis”.'

‘Yes, but with Gem in prison she's ripe for any man to provide it!'

Keziah consoled herself with the knowledge that Patronella's insult would be the last she would ever have to suffer. Today she would place her trust in
baxt
and leave the loved
vardo
that Gem had built for her before he was dragged before the magistrate. The charge of horse theft had earned him the sentence almost inevitable for a ‘Gypsy vagabond'
– transportation to New South Wales. Keziah knew he could easily have been given fourteen years or life, but his ‘lenient' seven-year sentence was no consolation.

She clung to the memory of Gem's bravado as he was led from the assizes.
‘Keziah! No beak on earth has the power to keep me from you!'

She vowed she would make his words reality. She tied her few possessions in a bundle: her Tarot cards, a change of clothing, a warm shawl and headscarves to proclaim her status as a married Romani woman. She wore two layers of skirts over her red petticoats to avoid carrying them, and over her blouse she added the waistcoat fringed with foreign gold coins that testified to her ancestors' flight across Europe.

She was halfway across the open space to the road to Liverpool when Patronella's voice shattered the early morning tranquillity. Keziah bolted across the green with Patronella in pursuit. The older woman's grey plaits snaked in the air as she seized Keziah's hair with a cry of victory.

Keziah fought down her fear, holding fast to the image of Gem's face.

‘I'm leaving you, Patronella. I belong to Gem – and I'm going to find him.'

Patronella released a tirade of abuse that allowed Keziah no chance to defend herself. Drawn to the sound of conflict, men, women and children emerged from under the wheels of their
vardos
and the hedgerows where they had dossed down. The older women urged Patronella to bring Keziah into line, but the men were more guarded, out of respect for Gem.

Aware of Ivano's scrutiny Keziah lowered her eyes in deference. She flushed with gratitude when he quietly admonished his wife.

‘Enough! Let the girl go with your blessing.'

‘Blessing! Bah! My Gem's well rid of her. A barren wife is no good to any man.'

Keziah faltered, overwhelmed by a shaft of pain at her failure to be a real wife, but she remained silent.

‘See what a viper she is? She'll force me into poverty!' Patronella twisted the gold coins that edged her own waistcoat, unaware of the irony of her gesture.

For years Keziah had shown Patronella respect, but now she lost her temper.

‘Be honest! You're just afraid to lose the money my Tarot readings bring to the family purse.' She pushed a silver coin into the woman's hand. ‘Here! This will buy your meat till a child learns the Tarot to keep you in the same luxury I have.'

‘Bah! Your fortune-telling is worthless,' Patronella spat out. ‘Only the gullible
gaujo
are stupid enough to fall for your lies.'

‘I
never
lie!' cried Keziah.

‘You lying
posh rat
! Your
gaujo
blood pollutes you! You'll dishonour Gem just like Stella the Whore dishonoured your father.'

Keziah's cheeks flushed as if Patronella had struck her. The men stiffened at the word ‘dishonour', but softer faces in the crowd flinched in sympathy at this brutal reminder Keziah was a half-blood Romani.

She addressed the crowd. ‘I refuse to trade insults with Gem's mother, but you all know how clearly I see the future. I
will
cross the seas to the ends of the earth. I
will
find Gem and lie in his arms!' She turned to Patronella. ‘While you will never see your son's face again!'

The crowd sucked in its collective breath when Patronella pointed her finger at Keziah.

‘Abandon your people and I will riddle your body with my curses. You will bury the child of your heart. Gem will spit on you. Even before the death of summer, when the moon's eclipse falls in your sign, you will earn money on your back!'

The crowd drew back in horror. Keziah stumbled away, barely registering the stones that Patronella threw at her. The physical pain was nothing compared to the inner torment that flooded her as the Romani
words of Patronella's ultimate curse rang in her ears.
‘The Devil be in your bowels!'

• • •

Keziah walked down a lonely country road deeply rutted by generations of farmers' carts. Her eyes were bathed by the vivid green beauty around her, the wildflowers and herbs growing at random, flights of birds swooping against soft banks of clouds. As always, she trusted the power of the natural world to heal the wounds caused by human cruelty.

She prided herself that she would cross the ocean to Gem with money she earned honestly by her hands and her wits. She would not let the fear of Patronella's curses overwhelm her.

From the age of six Keziah had been aware she possessed the Gift. Through her eyes day and night were not measured by the mechanical progression of clocks; time flowed like a river where past, present and future were tributaries linked by a continuous current. She travelled along this current at will, but at other times she was transported in dreams and visions. Now, to comfort herself, she summoned up a vivid fragment of the past – Gem's beloved face on that autumn day in 1831 when he turned fourteen.