Falsely Accused, page 16
The ache in her back grew steadily worse, every so often pain knifed into her stomach. Was she about to give birth? Where was Jake? Probably lusting after those young native women while she suffered here alone.
“What in the name of hell,” he snarled, pushing his way inside. “That bloody fire can be seen for miles.”
“I’m frightened of the wild dogs.”
“Jesus, how many times have I told you?”
“Selfish pig,” she attacked him. “I know where you’ve been.” She dragged herself into a sitting position. “Fornicating with those black women.”
“Shut your filthy mouth or I’ll shut it for you.”
“That’s right, brutality is all you understand,” she shrilled.
“Shut up.”
“Bastard, adulterer, murderer.”
He raised his hand to strike her, but with a superhuman effort let his arm drop back down to his side. Violence throbbed between them in the confines of the hut, until it became an almost tangible thing. Even after Jake stalked off, she could still feel it pressing down on her.
The pains intensified, but she did not cry out. When her bladder suddenly emptied itself, she bit her knuckles to stop any noise from coming out, so Jake wouldn’t accuse her of being weak again.
The next few hours turned into an agonizing nightmare. Her insides felt as if they were being ripped apart, even though she tried to stop them, an involuntary scream pierced the night.
“For God’s sake, Maryanne.” He rushed to her side.
“The pains are terrible.” She clutched at him. “I’m going to die.”
“No, you aren’t, you’ve gone into labor. It will be over soon.”
Only it wasn’t. The pains intensified until she became demented with agony, but nothing happened. Dawn came, the sun climbed high into the sky, and she lay writhing on the ground, while a grim-faced Jake sponged her sweat soaked body.
“It’s stuck. Our baby’s going to die. Do something,” she sobbed.
“There’s little I can do, nature must take its course.”
“Get those native women,” she panted. “They might be able to help me, please.”
“They’ve gone walkabout. Anyway, I can’t leave you alone, you have to push.”
“I’m trying, but I’m so tired.”
Jake gazed down at Maryanne who lay on a pile of skins, and he hated himself for having reduced her to this. Her hair still shone like silver, even though it was drenched with perspiration, her skin looked so white and transparent the blue veins showed up in her face.
It should not have taken this long. She had been bleeding for some time, yet the child did not come. He suddenly felt the gut wrenching sensation of real fear. What if something happened to this fragile slip of a girl who had got under his skin from the first time he saw her, shuffling aboard that wretched convict hulk?
He had sensed immediately the untouched air she wore, and he had been prepared to make a pact with the foulest creature on earth, so he could claim her virginity for himself. Fate threw them together, separated then reconciled them, now she might be taken from him again, this time forever.
He desperately wanted a son. He needed one to claim what he himself could not, but if it came to a choice, and his unfinished medical training told him this time was not too far off. Maryanne would live.
She was weakening badly and soon she would not have the strength left to push at all. To hell with white man’s medicine he thought savagely. The child would come into the world the same way as the American Indians he had once read about.
“I’ll be back in a moment, my lovely,” he soothed Maryanne’s fear and strode outside. He found two stout pieces of wood, and picked up his tomahawk. When he returned to the lean-to he drove the stakes into the ground at the top of their bed.
“Now, this is how Indian women give birth.”
He helped Maryanne on to her knees and elbows so she could grasp the stakes. “Please, I can’t,” she panted.
“Yes, you can, it’s the only way. When the urge to bear down comes, push like hell.
She pushed. Oh God, she pushed. Nothing happened. Jake swore softly as he knelt beside her, and through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she felt his hand sliding into the birthing canal.
“No. Stop it,” she gasped.
“Save your strength. When next you push, I’m going to see if I can grab hold of the head, he must be caught on something.”
The pain became excruciating, she felt as if her insides were being ripped out, but she heard Jake mutter, “I’ve got it,” so she pushed with the last of her strength.
“It’s coming.” She felt a sliding sensation, almost like a rush of air, followed by Jake’s triumphant. “It’s a fine big boy.” Then there was nothing.
Maryanne did not see him breathe life into the blue-faced baby’s mouth as he frantically worked to unwind the umbilical cord from around his neck. Didn’t hear the first cries of their son, nor know how he worked to stem the flow of bleeding that could have destroyed her.
She floated in and out of consciousness. Everything seemed fuzzy. She vaguely remembered a baby crying, and felt the little wriggling creature suckling her breast.
When Maryanne finally surfaced, she realized she was lying on their bed of skins. After several attempts, she focused her eyes.
Everything appeared the same, or did it? Groggily she glanced around and saw a wooden cradle in the corner? Dear God. Their baby hadn’t died after all.
She tried to get up, but couldn’t because everything spun. “Jake,” she croaked.
“Maryanne.”
Tears of relief pooled in her eyes, because he hadn’t gone off somewhere.
“You’re awake then.”
He squatted beside the bed. He appeared the same, yet different. His cheeks were gaunt beneath the beard, his eyes as deeply green as ever, but somehow, they were changed, softer perhaps?
“I’ve got some broth ready.”
“Jake.” Clutching at his arm, she couldn’t believe how claw-like her hand was. “Our baby?”
“A fine boy, eat some broth, then I’ll bring him to you.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three weeks.”
“Who fed him?”
“You did.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I put him to your breast and fortunately he suckled well.”
“You’ve been caring for both of us on your own?”
“There’s no one else. Rest, we have to build you up, you’ve lost a lot of weight, and you’re very weak.”
“The baby, show him to me.”
“All right, then you eat.”
She watched him lean over the cradle and pick up a small bundle wrapped tightly in her wedding gown. The pride of possession shone in Jake’s eyes as he laid the infant in her arms.
The baby had a mop of black hair and periwinkle blue eyes. “How beautiful you are.” She gently stroked his milky white cheek. It felt smooth as porcelain and quite chubby.
“His name is John, the same as mine. Now I’ll put him back in his bed.”
She wanted to hold him longer, but felt too weak.
Jake propped her up, and spooned warm broth into her mouth. “Eat it all,” he commanded when she would have pushed it away. “You must get strong so we can leave the high country before the snow comes.”
“Snow?”
“Yes, winter will be early this year, that’s why the natives left for a warmer place where food is plentiful.”
“There’s plenty of food here.”
“Not in winter, we’d be hard pressed to survive. I want us out of here within the next couple of weeks.”
She slept then, and only woke when Jake put the crying baby to her breast.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, but he couldn’t wait any longer. When he’s finished I’ll attend to you, and…”
“Jake, you’ve been…” she broke off, feeling hot all over. Of course, he would have done everything for her, intimate things no man should ever have to do for a woman.
“I’m sorry; it must have been awful for you.”
“A case of necessity.”
How beautiful to feel the baby suckling her breast and to hear his contented little snuffles. It was a miracle her milk had not disappeared after such a traumatic birth.
***
For the next two weeks Maryanne did nothing but feed the baby, eat and sleep, and gradually her strength returned. It was raining when she at last tottered to the door of the hut. The sky hung dark and heavy, while the mountain peaks seemed to have been swallowed up by the clouds. Jake was nowhere to be seen and his hunting spears were gone.
How different everything looked now. The air felt sharp with the tang of damp eucalyptus leaves. She inhaled deeply.
Their lean-to had been extended down one end, but it was so low she had to stoop over. A large quantity of logs had been stacked neatly in one corner to keep dry, and a turf chimney poked through a hole in the roof.
Even with her limited knowledge she realized that Jake was preparing for them to winter here. He had stockpiled stalks and roots. A hollowed out log sealed at one end contained seeds waiting to be ground into flour.
They now had several wooden bowls, two log chairs, and their faithful iron pot. Skins draped over the walls and floor, gave the place a comfortable homely feel.
Jake had worked hard to improve their lot while she did nothing at all. How could she make it up to him? As soon as I get strong I will, she vowed, tottering over to their sleeping son. He slept snug and warm, cocooned in skins in his wooden cradle, his plump cheeks glowing with health.
“You’re strong like your father. I’m the weak link in the chain.”
Finding her comb, the one Jake had fashioned in what seemed another lifetime, she dragged it through her hair. She must look wretched, but at least her bones weren’t sticking out any more. A long sleeved dress, fashioned from pieces of hide sewn together with sinews reached to mid-calf level.
She shivered. No wonder her feet felt cold; she had nothing on them. Spying a pair of stitched ankle high boots, she put them on. Jake had crafted all this, while caring for a sickly wife and newborn baby.
Maryanne built the fire up a little and huddled over it, not so much for warmth, but for the comfort the flames gave out. It was dark when Jake returned with an opossum and a small bird.
“Should you be out of bed?”
“I’m all right, just weak. I have to regain my strength so we can leave here.”
“It’s too late now.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s snowing already on the higher peaks, safer for us to stay here. I began stockpiling a while ago.”
“Another couple of days and we could leave.”
“You aren’t strong enough. I’d prefer to sit it out here, rather than risk being caught in the open without shelter.”
“I always seem to be holding you back from doing what you want.” She came up to him and slipped her arms around his neck. “How can I ever repay you?”
“In a few weeks, when you’re stronger.” He gave a wolfish grin. “You can pay me back a hundred-fold.” His eyes blazed with such passionate hunger he frightened her.
“I couldn’t have another baby for a while, don’t ask that of me.”
“While you’re suckling the boy you need not fear I’ll impregnate you. It’s time I showed you something.”
He strode to the cradle and picking up the infant he held him in the crook of one arm. “See the nape of his neck, under the hair.” Jake spread the downy baby locks apart, and Maryanne saw a purple crown shaped birthmark.
“All Darrington males carry this sign my mother told me. It’s on the family coat of arms. Dates back to some Norman prince who, so the story goes, denied his rightful heir. A wizard put this brand on the boy. It would be passed on forever more.”
“That’s a fairy story,” she scoffed.
“It’s a legend. Fact or fiction, nevertheless the raised crown has been clearly documented. It’s all the proof our son needs to claim his birthright.”
“Won’t others in the family have the birthmark too? “No. The family are not prolific breeders. There aren’t many Darrington males left. My half-brother will claim everything when the Earl dies, but I’m the rightful heir. There are papers in America to prove it. That’s why our marriage had to be legal, so one day our son will be able to claim my birthright.”
The explorers passed through on the lower slopes without finding them, but Jake knew it would not be too long before the stockmen followed. A few months later he heard the cattle even before he saw them. Stock whips woke every echo on the mountain, and the boy child standing with his father cringed in fear.
“No need to be afraid, son, the outside people will never find us. I have long craved the taste of beef, your mother also.”
They lay hidden, a dark heavily bearded man, and a small boy with copper lights dancing through his brown curls.
It appeared to be a large herd with several men driving them along. A supply wagon with spare horses hitched to the back trundled along in their wake. Jake decided he would follow the intruders for a day or so before declaring himself.
Once his initial fear subsided, young Johnny wriggled and squirmed with excitement. His father’s steely grip on one shoulder stopped him from rushing out to get a closer look at the first white people, other than his parents, that he had ever seen.
This herd would be the first of many, Jake knew. Once a few more passed by and people started spreading out, settling this vast Port Phillip area, no-one would know on which wave of immigration the Smith family had arrived.
Gold he buried shortly after their arrival up here, would one day pay for young John, Georgina and the other child Maryanne carried, to return to England and claim their birthright.
Hatred did not burn so fiercely in his breast now, but Maryanne’s love could not make him completely forget the injustice perpetrated upon him. She deserved a chance to integrate back into society amongst civilized people. A life of luxury after the years of hell forced upon them by the authorities. He wanted his children to be educated, so they could make their mark on society. He had started teaching Johnny the alphabet, but it proved difficult without pen or paper, and with no books for him to read.
“Johnny, go back home, I’m going to follow these stockmen for a while.”
“I want to come, too.”
“Not this time, son. I need you to look after your mother and Georgina.”
“No.”
“I’ll give you a damn good thrashing if you don’t do as you’re told.” It was an idle threat. He rarely chastised the boy, didn’t believe in corporal punishment, not after the barbaric floggings he had endured. The scars on his back might have faded, those inflicted on his mind never would.
“Listen to me.” He grasped Johnny’s shoulders. “I need you to keep watch over your mother and sister, I might be gone a couple of days. After I’ve made contact, to make sure it’s safe, I’ll come back for you so you can meet the stockmen. Is that fair?”
“Yes.”
“Good lad. Off you go, your mother will be worried about us. Stay hidden, and tell her not to build the fire up. I don’t want anyone smelling or seeing smoke.”
***
Jake followed the stockmen all day until they set up camp for the night. He loitered in the shadows, listening in on the conversation of the men as they sat around the campfire. The smell of pipe tobacco wafting on the night air proved to be a punishment all of its own. He inhaled deeply. Tobacco, whisky and tea were the things he most missed since being forced into exile.
“What I wouldn’t give for a nice tankard of ale,” one man said.
“I need a woman,” another complained
“You won’t find one out here, George, in this God forsaken place, unless you want a black wench. Plenty of them around. Ain’t seen any, but they’re here. I can feel those black heathens watching me.”
“How long till we meet up with the others?” the man called George said.
“Maybe a month. Lucky bastards, coming to this God forsaken wilderness by boat, instead of battling overland like us.”
“Those surveyors might have a permanent camp set up by the time we arrive, with any luck. Save us the trouble.”
So, there was a party coming by ship also, Jake thought, turning over the possibilities in his mind.
“A bloody redcoat garrison, what’s the good of that?” Jake heard George say contemptuously. “Just in case those Frenchies try laying claim to Port Phillip.”
“Yeah, let them have the rotten, cursed place I say.”
Jake was glad he had not initiated contact with them now, not if they were involved with the army. When a third man spoke, shock punched the air from his lungs.
“I heard the army is going out after those white men the sealers keep talking about.”
“What white men?”
“There are supposed to be some living with the natives, escaped convicts probably.”
“I heard they could be shipwrecked sailors.”
“Yeah, well there’s stories been circulating about a white woman with a couple of kids.”
For the first time in years, Jake tasted the sickening, shocking sensation of real fear. It clawed at his gut until he almost doubled over in agony.
“I wouldn’t mind getting between her legs, even if she has lain with a black man.”
Jake gritted his teeth to stop himself from bounding out and killing them on the spot. The thought of those filthy bastards looking at his beautiful Maryanne, let alone touching her, enraged him to the point of insanity.
“All I want to do is go back to O’Rourke’s tavern.”
Jake had been creeping away, now he stopped and edged closer again.
“It’s only eight or nine days ride from here,” George complained. “We should have stayed there for a couple of extra days. O’Rourke’s red haired woman can really cook, who would have known?”
“We got our orders. Get the cattle through as quick as we can.”
