Authors: Margaret Tanner
“How’s business?”
“Up and down,” Glory chortled her favorite joke, causing Jo to laugh at the crudity.
“Got myself a couple of new girls, too. A pretty little Eurasian turned up a few days ago. She’s popular already. You’ll never guess what happened? Katie up and got herself married.”
“Oh, Glory.” Jo smiled her pleasure. “I’m really glad for her.”
“Me too. I’ll miss her, but I’m glad she’s found a decent man.”
“I passed Mrs. Kilvain in the street gossiping to old ma Jones. She deliberately turned her back on me. Horrible old thing still thinks of me as a whore.”
“Old bitch ought to talk, with that poor little bugger of a husband coming here so regularly. As for Clive Jones, he likes brown flesh better than white.”
“It’s disgusting. There are half-caste children down at the aboriginal camp with carroty hair like him, I saw them,” Jo said.
“You didn’t go down there, surely?”
“Yes I did.” She told Glory what happened. “And I’m going to that meeting no matter what.”
“Luke won’t like it, things could turn ugly. You know what those old bitches are like. Still, I’ll fix them if they give you too hard a time. Just let me know. If I wasn’t so busy, I’d come with you.”
“You wouldn’t say anything, I mean...”
“Not to the wives personally, I wouldn’t break a client’s confidence unless I had to, but the men aren’t to know that, are they?”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Watch me. If Mrs. Kilvain doesn’t pull her horns in and shut that dirty mouth of hers, I’ll have to let her find out where her husband spends Wednesday and Saturday nights. Anytime you say, I can fix them.”
Jo bust out laughing. “Honestly, you’re terrible.” She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “Couldn’t you visualize her face? I’d love to be a fly on the wall if it ever came to that.”
“Do you know what old mother Kilvain did to Benny?”
“No, I saw him out the front.”
Glory explained how she rescued him from a screaming mob. Stirred on by the hysteria of Mrs. Kilvain, the decent, upright ladies of the town decided he had become too corrupt to even sweep the police office and stable area.
There were only three or four ringleaders, but because they had the stronger personalities their voices overpowered everyone else. Benny’s cardinal sin was sketching Mrs. Kilvain with the face of a pig, but with all her features intact, so there was no mistaking who the caricature portrayed.
It must have been terrible. The woman became hysterical and poor Benny feared for his freedom as Mrs. Kilvain thought it her Christian duty to have him incarcerated in the lunatic asylum.
“That woman should be locked up, she’s positively evil,” Jo said.
“I know, old bitch. I’ll give Benny plenty of time off so he can paint. You know, several of his water colors have been sold in Melbourne.”
“Yes, I’m so pleased for him.”
“I bought a couple of his pretty landscapes myself, as well as the sketch of Mrs. Kilvain. I’m going to hang it in the public bar and call it, ‘Porky Prude.’
Jo laughed. “I don’t know how you dare.”
“Have a cup of tea before you go?”
“No thanks, I can’t stay long. I have to be back because Mark needs to be fed.”
“About time you started weaning him off the breast.”
“He is having some solid food.” Jo fiddled with her hair.
“I’m surprised Luke got you with child again while you suckled Mark. After this baby’s born, you see me before you let him touch you again. There are things a woman can do.”
“Glory!” Jo’s cheeks burned.
“Well, there are. Why do you think the girls working here aren’t breeding all the time?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it.”
“You either do something or make Luke abstain, and there’s no bloody hope of that,” Glory chortled. “He’s like a rutting bull when you’re around.”
Jo laughed. “You’re awful.”
She departed half an hour later, feeling considerably cheered up. Nothing like a dose of Glory’s bawdy humor to lighten the day.
***
The next few days slipped by uneventfully. Luke shuffled around inside the house now, but fretted and fumed because even this small amount of exercise drained his puny strength.
On the day of the meeting, Jo dressed with care. She wore a gown of brownish pink satin that should have clashed with her hair yet somehow didn’t. She dressed her hair up over a pad from a center parting. Two horizontal ringlets were pinned one below the other at the crown of her head, the rest of her hair hung in long ringlets.
Without vanity, she knew she looked well. Luke’s smoldering eyes as he surveyed her from head to foot told her he thought so too, even if he did not say so.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Into town to see Glory,” she lied.
“Done up like that?”
“I felt like dressing up.”
He snorted but said no more, except she should let one of the men drive her into town. She instantly refused this offer.
Jo arrived at the hall a few minutes after the meeting had started. Numerous people filled the hall. Ah yes, old mother Kilvain and Marion Jones from the Temperance Society, with several of their pious cronies. So much for the parson saying it would be an all male meeting. These women had done more to castigate her than the whole district. Things would die down if Mrs. Kilvain did not keep on maliciously resurrecting the affair.
When Luke found out she was still waging her spiteful vendetta, there would be trouble, big trouble, and the old biddy had herself to blame. Hatred and intolerance were terrible things, yet these women, so religious and sanctimonious, were eaten up with it.
When Jo entered, she caused a stir, and it was reassuring to know she looked well. Looks, as such, had never bothered her overmuch, but when an occasion such as this arose, it was useful to flaunt one’s attributes.
I’ll go right up the front so I don’t miss anything. She was set for battle. The blood coursed rapidly through her veins, her back was straight, her shoulders taut, nothing better than fighting for a worthy cause.
The parson, who had been appointed Chairman, brought the meeting to order by banging on the table with a lump of wood. One man got up to say the aborigines should be moved on as they presented a health risk because of the filthy conditions prevailing in their camp.
“Whose fault is that?” Jo started to rise then promptly sat down again.
Another man got up to complain about the pilfering, and stealing of livestock. Muttered agreement filled the hall. When Clive Jones got up, he spoke about the drunkards. Warming to his theme, he started on the immorality and disgusting feral behavior of the women.
Jo couldn’t stand it a moment longer. Bounding to her feet, she ignored the buzz rippling through the assembly and stared at him with loathing. “It would suit you and your kind to move them on, wouldn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Mr. Jones. I’ve been to that place and it’s dreadful. No hygiene, in fact, not even the basic needs for living, and who’s to blame? We took their land, gave them nothing but a few trinkets and cheap whisky. We don’t employ them, so how are they supposed to live? You claim to be a Christian society, but does anyone go down there to give them food or clothing?”
“That isn’t the point, Mrs. Campton. They’re immoral.”
“Immoral! You hypocrite. You dare to mention that word.” She ignored the shocked gasps around her.
“You’d like them to go, wouldn’t you? You’d like to see them all go, including those half-caste, ginger-haired children.”
His face turned an ugly puce color, making his skin look even worse because of his carroty red hair.
“Yes, I’ll bet you want them to go.” She barely heard the babble of voices around her.
Mrs. Jones rose to her feet, trembling with indignation. “How dare you insinuate my husband would have anything to do with those vile women?”
“Well, someone with ginger hair fathered those children.”
“You, you, dirty whore,” Mrs. Jones screamed. “You think because Luke Campton married you, that erases the past.”
“Call yourself a Christian you sanctimonious old bitch.”
Back and force they hurled insults. Jo became so incensed she didn’t care what happened. The meeting was ruined. Those who didn’t fling abuse listened to those who did.
“You better get out of here before they tear you apart.” George the barman at Glory’s appeared at her side. The urgency in his voice pierced her fury and she let him lead her away.
“Glory sent me, too busy to come herself, but she got worried about you,” he explained as he escorted her to where she had left Luke’s buggy.
“Thanks, George, I appreciate you coming. Did you see old man Jones’ face? It clashed with his hair. I thought he might have a seizure.”
They both laughed.
***
Six weeks after being shot, Luke was up and about. He must have the constitution of an ox. They sat side by side in chairs set out on the side verandah.
“Those aborigines have left,” she announced.
“For God’s sake, I warned you about going down there again.”
“I didn’t go down there, one of the men told me. Some church people came and took them away to a mission.”
“They’ll be better off there than hanging around town, getting exploited. I might go for a ride later on and see how things are going.”
“Are you out of your mind? You nearly died. The doctor said you have to rest.”
“To hell with what he said, I'm all right except for feeling a bit on the weak side.”
“You aren't going anywhere.” She leapt off her chair and came up to him. “You hear me.”
“I heard.” He pulled her on to his lap. “I like it when you get mad. We’ll be consummating our marriage tonight, Jo.”
“You're not strong enough. You have to take care of yourself.”
“Rubbish. I want you, and I’m going to have you.” He ran the flat of his hand across her stomach. “Already our child is thickening your waistline. It excites me.”
She slipped her arms around his neck. “Luke, are we really married?”
“Yes, the parson said it was legal, and tonight I'll show you exactly how married we really are,” he promised.
“Oh?” Heat suffused her body at the thought of sharing a bed with Luke, tasting his fiery passion.
“I asked the parson when he came out to say prayers over me about the legality of our marriage.” He grinned. “I think he expected to find me dead.”
“Don't joke about it. I prayed you wouldn't die and my prayers were answered.” She shuddered on remembering the happenings of that dreadful day. Luke was a strong, determined man, but she would believe to her dying day that divine intervention, combined with the doctor's skill, had saved him.
“I love you, Jo,” Luke declared in a strong, clear voice.
Emotional tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t believe how happy it made her feel. He had never uttered those words before, even though she had craved to hear them. When she had told him over the last few weeks how much she loved him, he had never reciprocated until now.
“We're going to create a dynasty here on Kangaroo Gully, my love,” he said.
She gazed into her husband's pale, but still ruggedly handsome, face. Their union would never be a gentle one, they were both too volatile. But Luke Campton was the only man on earth she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
The End
About the Author
Margaret Tanner is a multi-published Australian author. She loves delving into the pages of history as she carries out research for her historical romance novels, and prides herself on being historically accurate. No book is too old or tattered for her to trawl through, no museum too dusty, or cemetery too overgrown. Many of her novels have been inspired by true events, with one being written around the hardships and triumphs of her pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia.
As part of her research she has visited the World War 1 battlefields in France and Belgium, a truly poignant experience.
Margaret is a member of the Melbourne Romance Writers Group (MRWG). She won the 2007 and 2009 Author of the Year at AussieAuthors.com. Her novel Frontier Wife won the Best Historical Romance Novel at the 2010 Readers Favorite Award, and another novel, Wild Oats was a 2011 Finalist in the EPIC awards. With a title of Ruthless Seduction, Fiery Possession was short listed in the 2012 Find An Aussie Star Unpublished Manuscript Award from ChocLit Publishers, U.K.
Margaret is married with three grown up sons, and two gorgeous little granddaughters.
Outside of her family and friends, writing is her passion.
Website: http://www.margarettanner.com/