Authors: Margaret Tanner
The sky was devoid of birds, except black crows circling over bleached bones. Nothing lived here. It was like riding through a desert. Every property he passed seemed deserted, as if the people as well as the countryside had all perished.
On arrival at Ferguson’s, his jaw dropped with shock. About a mile in from the road he saw sheep. Poor, lean creatures with their wool turned red brown by the dust that covered everything.
A single storied, rambling homestead slumbered in the sun, its one time garden obviously grazed over by hungry sheep.
“Tom Ferguson?” He asked the middle-aged man who met him at the door. “I’m Luke Campton, Samuel’s son.”
“Well, you’ve grown a bit since I last saw you. Heard about Sam passing on, I’m sorry.”
Luke shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Things look pretty grim here.” He followed Ferguson into the house.
“I’m finished. I’ve sent the wife and daughter into town to stay with relatives. Our well has dried up. I’ve got no water or feed for the stock, and the bank is getting ready to repossess the place.”
“How did you let things get so bad?”
“We had three or four poor years, then this drought. There hasn’t been any decent rain for two years or more.”
“Don’t let the bank take the place. I’ll buy it from you,” Luke offered on impulse. “I’ll give you a fair price.” He wondered why he didn’t try to beat Ferguson down, so he could get the land for next to nothing, as he once would have done, relative or no relative. Jo’s influence, most likely.
“You could stay here and manage the place for me. I’ve been wanting to improve the quality of my sheep for a while now. My father always maintained you bred the best sheep in the colony.”
Over a mug of tea, he discussed the options with Ferguson. “Cull everything except your best breeders. I’ll buy feed, water too, if necessary, to keep things going until the rain comes. If you can give me a bed for a couple of days, I’ll organize everything. We’ll have to go into town and see the bank and get papers drawn up. I have to catch up with my men now, they’re taking cattle into the high country for summer grazing. I’ll send a couple of them back here to give you a hand.”
***
Jo had been at Glory’s only a few days when drama erupted. One of Glory’s competitors enticed Yasmin to join his establishment in Sydney.
“Ungrateful little bitch,” Glory stormed. “I took her in literally off the streets. She would have starved except for me.”
This was the first time she had seen Glory upset about a staffing matter.
“You still have me.” Katie grinned. “Why don’t we all have a drink?”
“Yes, why not. I might take a trip to Melbourne after Christmas, recruit some more labor, eh.” Glory dug Jo in the ribs and chortled loudly. “Don’t know why I even gave Yasmin another thought. You come with me, Jo. We can have a fine time.”
“It would be nice, but there’s Mark.”
“We’ll take him with us. I can pay someone to mind him if we want to go out in the evening. What do you say?”
“I’ll have to think about it, but it does sound tempting.” It might stop her dwelling on Luke’s callous behavior.
“We should have a Christmas party,” Katie said.
“Yes, plum pudding, brandy sauce, turkey, I’m starting to drool already,” Glory enthused.
“I might take a few days break,” Francy drawled.
“All right. We’ll invite Benny, the smithy and his boys too.” Glory pursed her lips. “That’s about it, no one else worth worrying about. Maybe the Doc, he’s not a bad fellow when he’s sober.” She laughed. “What do you think?”
“It sounds good.” Jo smiled. “We need something to cheer us up, I’ve been morbid for too long.” Luke could rot in hell as far as she was concerned, selfish, uncaring brute.
***
The next few days passed quickly. Jo took over from Glory, and did all the bookwork now. It wasn’t a demanding position, a couple of hours work each morning, and the counting and sorting of the previous night’s takings, which left plenty of time for Mark.
Three other women worked in the private lounge. Two of them were married, and because they worked on Saturday night, and did not live in, she didn’t really know them. Maggie, an unmarried mother, resided with her parents some distance from town on an isolated farm.
The others, Mary and Charlotte, were neighbors whose husbands were itinerant laborers chasing work from town to town. Between the two of them they had eight children, but somehow managed to retain their looks and figures. Of course, the extravagant gowns Glory provided did a lot to help. As they drifted around the private lounge they were bright as peacocks, yet when they left on the Sunday morning in their serviceable serge or cotton, they turned into nondescript little sparrows.
Their men would be home over Christmas, so they decided not to attend the party. Jo was surprised to see them on the last Saturday, leaving the premises loaded up with a hamper full of food and a dozen or so brightly colored parcels.
“A few things for the children,” Glory confessed, looking almost shamefaced. “I hate to think of little ones having nothing to open on Christmas day. They’re married to a couple of no-hopers. Mary’s husband is an ex-convict, Charlotte’s hits the drink. If the girls didn’t work here, the family would starve.”
They decorated the private drawing room with a Christmas tree. The smithy made miniature horseshoes and Katie decorated them with brightly colored ribbons. Benny made a nativity scene from wood, the carving itself not very expert, but the way he painted the background and the figures turned it into a thing of beauty.
Christmas Eve proved to be extremely busy. Jo, helping George behind the bar, paused only long enough to attend to Mark’s needs. A surprising number of young men wished her Merry Christmas. Many of the men came, not for the women, but for the company, because they were lonely.
Katie, in a pale pink tulle gown, with a silver braid along the sleeves and hemline, only needed a wand to look like a fairy princess.
“Sing us a song, Katie,” a ruddy-complexioned young man called out.
“Yes, Christmas carols,” said a voice with a thick Scottish brogue.
Glory played the piano and Katie started singing. They were quickly joined by a crowd of men who wanted to sing songs in praise of the infant Jesus. Jo would not have believed such a thing possible. Christmas carols in a brothel.
Bar trade slackened off somewhat and she joined in the singing.
“Wait a minute, boys.” Glory stood up and they all groaned their disappointment. “I’m coming back.” She laughed loudly making her double chins wobble. A bright yellow gown, trimmed with black feathers and with a plunging neckline did nothing for her figure. “Jo can play for you.”
“Well, all right,” she laughingly agreed. While not as expert as Glory, she nevertheless could play the simple tunes, and the singing started up in earnest again.
Men discreetly left then returned after a time. Jo noticed Mr. Griffith sitting with Francy at a table and he certainly hadn’t come for the singing. Poor Mr. Kilvain arrived, but scurried off like a scared rabbit when Jo spoke to him.
Two of the girls from the kitchen came out bearing loaded trays of miniature pies and Cornish pasties, and plates loaded up with cold chicken, pork and salad. An impromptu Christmas Eve party, how generous of Glory. A cheer went up from the men on seeing this gesture.
They soon demolished the fruit cake, macaroons, miniature pies and pastries. Jo laughed as she was pressed into service as a waitress.
“Drinks on the house,” George announced. “By order of management.”
Everyone cheered. Later the lamps were snuffed out and small candles distributed to various individuals, before the singing commenced again. The customers were not poor men, most of them just lonely in a vast, empty continent with few unattached women. With a dozen or more flickering lights in the otherwise darkness, Jo had never witnessed such poignancy. Because of the summer heat, the windows remained open. A gentle breeze wafted in, laden with the perfume of summer roses and the scent of the gum trees.
The singing continued, not all carols now, but requests for songs from the distant shores of England, Scotland and Ireland, and Katie obliged with them all. If she didn’t know the words, someone else did.
At midnight, Jo decided to retire. It had been an enjoyable evening. She waved to Glory before making her way to bed.
***
On Christmas day, a beaming Glory came into the bedroom with an armful of brightly wrapped presents. “Merry Christmas, Jo.”
“How do you do it,” Jo groaned, as she raised herself up on the pillow. “You can’t have got to bed before one o’clock.”
“Two to be exact,” Glory chortled. “I don’t need no beauty sleep, wouldn’t help if I did. Little fellow awake yet?”
“No, I fed him about four.”
“I liked hearing you laugh again. Here you are, the girls have sent something for both of you. Breakfast in bed.” As Glory wagged a stumpy forefinger in front of her, Jo’s eyes widened at the huge emerald surrounded by diamonds.
“What a beautiful ring, is it new?”
“No.”
“You haven’t worn it before.”
“I keep it for special occasions.” The make up was even more heavily applied than usual. “It came from my husband’s family.”
“Then he was rich?”
“Yes, the youngest son of a Lord. After a disagreement, he left home. The jewelry came from his mother’s people. Once he married me, they disowned him.”
“Oh!” She couldn’t hide her surprise. Glory had once been married to a wealthy man. How on earth had …
“I was a blacksmith’s daughter, not highborn enough.” Glory’s lips twisted bitterly. “He might not have died if there had been money for proper medical care.”
“But the jewelry, I mean it must be worth a fortune. Couldn’t you have sold it?”
“It came too late to do anything for him, sat around in a safety deposit box for years in some lawyer’s office. They said they tried to trace us, but couldn’t. When they finally found me, I was already working in the only way I could, and my baby had died. If anything happens to me, Jo, I want you to have my jewelry.”
Jo gasped, overwhelmed at Glory’s generosity. “That’s silly. Anyway, it’s Christmas and we’re supposed to be happy and cheerful.”
“So we are. They say only the good die young, so I’ve got years left.”
After Jo got dressed, she went for a walk. Francy was still in bed as were the others, all except Rosa who drove herself to early morning mass. She enjoyed walking along the deserted street, with herself and a dog or two as the only moving things.
No word from Luke, especially at Christmas, confirmed her belief that he felt nothing but lust for her. She wouldn’t have minded so much for herself, but to ignore his baby son was unforgivable.
On arrival back at Glory’s, she passed by the private kitchen and sniffed appreciatively at the appetizing smells wafting through the open window. A hot summer day, with the sky so blue it almost hurt the eyes, and the distant mountains shimmering in the hazy heat, yet there would hardly be a household in the whole country not having a traditional English meal. Hot plum pudding, roast turkey or chicken.
She stepped into the sitting room where Glory sat nursing Mark. She knew he’d been crying because his cheeks were still damp, but he gurgled happily now, as his little fingers tried to pick the stones out of the emerald ring. As soon as he saw his mother, he drummed his feet impatiently against Glory’s knees.
“I’m back my darling, have you been a good boy?”
“Of course he has, and he loves his Auntie Glory.”
“Sorry for being late. I went for a stroll and forgot the time.” Jo sat down and opened her bodice.
Benny arrived first. “Howdy, Jo. Howdy, Glory.”
“Merry Christmas, Benny,” they said. He beamed when Jo and Glory both gave him a parcel. Jo had made handkerchiefs for everyone with the recipient’s initials embroidered across one corner.
The Johnsons came next. They could hear the smithy’s booming laugh even before he entered the room. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”
“How are you, Mr. Johnson, Jacques, Henri,” Jo greeted them all enthusiastically. “Did you receive some nice presents, boys?”
“Yes, we both got a gun.”
“You’re too young, well, I mean…”
“Never too young to protect yourself, I’ll be teaching my boys how to use them properly. Guns can be a good friend to a man, but unfortunately lethal in some hands.”
The doctor arrived, his thin ascetic face set in its usual anxious lines, but a slight smile tugged at his lips. He was a short, slimly built man who walked with a stoop and he had worry lines crisscrossing his face. His voice sounded cultured, and though he had frequent drinking binges, never allowed himself to become disheveled or untidy. This man had obviously come down in the world.
“Merry Christmas, everyone. How are you feeling, Miss Saunders?”
“Fine, thank you.”
He bore no gifts, except a bottle of good wine that he gave to Glory. Considering the strange mixture of people, they all got on well. The doctor, who had spent several years in Rome, conversed with Rosa in her native tongue, much to her delight. As far as Jo knew, neither the doctor nor smithy ever visited Glory’s except in the line of duty.