Ironbark (75 page)

Keziah was unflinching. ‘I was five years old when that
gaujo
bent and kissed my mouth. She told me, “Remember your father is innocent. Be a good girl, Keziah, and I will come back soon.” She
lied
. I never ever saw her again!'

Mrs Hamberton covered her mouth. Her hand trembled slightly. Her wedding band glinted in the firelight. The sight of that hated symbol stiffened Keziah's resolve.

‘My mother is dead to me. There can be
no resurrection
for Stella the Whore.'

The expression in the woman's eyes became old and defeated.

‘Stella the Whore. So that is what they called me. Who could blame them?' She grew resolute. ‘Mrs Browne, I understand perfectly. It was most courageous of you to come here and tell me to my face. At your trial you showed the world you place truth above all. No doubt
my
perspective of the truth is of little value to you, but please hear me out. I offer no excuses. I was the spoilt little darling of aged parents. The summer I turned thirteen I ran off to play with the Gypsies in the woods, seduced by the music played by my passionate young Rom. I found perfect happiness in your father's arms. Enough to last me a whole lifetime.'

Her eyes seemed to look inward on a past so bittersweet that Keziah was unable to turn away from her.

‘After Gabriel was sent to prison I did what I did. That can never be undone. I never forgot you. After your father's death I begged your
Puri Dai
to allow me to adopt you. She cursed me as only a Romani can curse. Told me you were the only child I would ever have. She was right. For years I watched you from afar – your childhood, your love for
Gem, your marriage. When I discovered you had sailed to this colony I was distraught.'

She gave a self-deprecating laugh that broke into a little cough. ‘I used all my feminine wiles to pressure a family friend, Elizabeth, to have her husband, Sir George Gipps, appoint my husband a magistrate in New South Wales.'

Keziah cut across her words. ‘The governor! So I
do
owe my freedom to you!'

‘If I played a small role in that it was the least I could do. I realise I can never wipe out the past. You have my promise. I shall never attempt to see you or Gabriel again.'

Keziah saw that the woman's face had turned grey as if all life, all hope, had drained from her. Keziah wanted to feel victorious but all she felt was emptiness.

Stella Hamberton said the words softly. ‘I have no right to ask but I have one last request. With your permission may I say goodbye to little Gabriel?'

For years Keziah had hated the memory of her beguiling, golden-haired child-mother, whose shallow love dissolved when her Rom was gaoled. Hated the girl who was seduced not by another man but by her
gaujo
world of wealth and comfort.

Keziah's verdict was final. ‘Stella the Whore is forever dead to me but Gabriel's
grandmother
is not dead to
him
. I swear By My Father's Hand, I will never stop Gabriel visiting you, I will never colour his affection for you with my own contempt.'

Stella Hamberton appeared to search for words. She then spoke from her heart. ‘You are truly your father's daughter.'

‘If only that were true.' Keziah's honesty was stronger than her pain. ‘But the life I have lived proves I'm no better than my mother. Whores
do
breed whores.'

The woman's blue eyes flashed. ‘I will not allow you to condemn yourself in my presence. I proved myself to be weak, malleable, a fool
who clung to the false security of my class and destroyed the happiness of those I loved. You do not possess a single trait of mine – except your eyes. You are pure Romani! I saw the truth in court. You have exceptional courage, loyalty and honesty. You are indeed Gabriel Stanley's daughter!'

Her voice cracked and she turned her face away to disguise that sign of weakness.

Keziah rose. ‘I believe in telling children the truth. Gabriel has experienced so many changing loyalties. He needs time to absorb this new truth.'

Keziah swept from the room as regally as a queen who has dismissed her subject.

Moments later she returned and prompted Gabriel to make a courteous bow to Mrs Hamberton. Keziah's heart beat like one with Gabriel's. She knew his thoughts. As he peered from under his blond mop of curls, his dark blue eyes fixed on the older lady with whom he shared some strange bond.

‘Good day to you, Mrs Hamberton. I trust I find you well?'

‘Indeed I am, thank you, Gabriel.' She coughed into her handkerchief.

Keziah tried to assume a friendly manner for Gabriel's sake. ‘I understand you share a love of toy soldiers and re-fight the Battle of Waterloo.'

Gabriel's eyes darted between them. ‘I always offer Mrs Hamberton first choice. She always chooses to take Napoleon's side.'

Mrs Hamberton smiled wryly. ‘Yes, and for some reason I always lose.'

Keziah felt something stir within her. She turned quickly to Gabriel.

‘Papa told you Mrs Hamberton is the magistrate's wife but she is also much more than that. Long before you were born she knew your Romani grandfather, Gabriel Stanley. If you ask her nicely she
will tell you wonderful stories about him.'

Keziah bent to kiss his forehead. ‘I will collect you at four o'clock. Mind your manners. Never forget, Gabriel,' she cast a defiant glance at her hostess, ‘you are a Rom.'

With a polite nod of farewell, Keziah retraced her steps down the corridor as the little housemaid rushed ahead to open the front door for her.

Keziah wanted nothing more than to leave but she paused on the veranda.

‘How long has your mistress had that cough, girl?'

The servant girl looked startled. ‘I only been in service a few weeks, Ma'am. But oftentimes she coughs through the night.'

Keziah struggled to reach a decision. ‘Next time my son visits he'll bring a parcel of herbs. Brew it as you would tea. See your mistress drinks it four times daily.'

She hurried down the path.

Jake waited as she seated herself beside him in the wagon and stared straight ahead.

‘How did it go?' he finally asked.

Keziah's voice held an edge of self-loathing. ‘I have just betrayed my father.'

Jake met her eyes. ‘I reckon you made a choice between avenging the past and young Gabe. You've given the little Rom a gift he'll remember all his life.'

He cracked his whip in the air as if to relieve the tension. ‘Enough of this. Let's join Dan. You know how
your other husband
hates to drink alone.'

• • • 

As they drove home to Sarishan Farm, Keziah was not surprised that Daniel was curled asleep in the back of the cart. He never could hold his liquor. Gabriel cheerfully recounted all Mrs Hamberton's stories, how the first Gabriel Stanley's violin made people either weep or dance

with joy. How clever he was at taming horses. How he fought cleanly and always won his bare-knuckle fights.

Keziah had a lump in her throat but she did not dare utter a single word.

‘He sounds like a great bloke, your grandfather,' Jake said. When he looked searchingly into Keziah's eyes, he gave a wry clown's grimace.

For the rest of the journey home Jake slouched dejectedly over the reins. Keziah knew the truth as well as he did. The crack in the ice had frozen over.

Keziah woke in fright in the
vardo
at the sound of banging doors in the house. Had Jake's Irish temper finally shattered his patience?

She wrapped a towel around her head like a turban and peered through a crack in the door. Jake marched towards the
vardo
as if responding to some Viking battle cry. He was naked except for moleskin trousers. Little Yosie was anchored on his hip with the tail of his nightshirt flapping behind him.

‘Unlock the bloody door, will you?' He pushed Yosie into her arms. ‘Here, I believe this is yours. I've been cleaning him up for months. This is the last straw. I'm off to a shanty. And I won't lie to you, Kez, I intend to get very, very drunk.' He flung a note of sarcasm over his shoulder. ‘Don't bother to wait up for me.'

Riding past on Horatio a few minutes later, he fired his parting broadside. ‘Don't worry. I'll pay the bills. I'll stick by the kids. I made you a promise. I'll stand by it. But you don't need to bolt your door against me. It's safe to sleep in the house. I won't trouble you again!'

When he galloped off as if a ninety-mile-an-hour bushfire was on his tail, Keziah knew he was headed for Bolthole Valley – at best on a bender. At worst? That red-headed Lily Pompadour had flown the coop a few years ago with Jake's help and made a new life for herself in Melbourne Town, but Keziah knew there would always be a ready supply of fallen women to take her place.

Keziah felt a tight sensation in the pit of her stomach. Fear? Jealousy? She told herself it was justified anger. Jake had bolted leaving three children in her care. She had no choice but to shoulder the full weight of the farm.
I'll show him what it means to be a strong Romani woman. I don't need him!

During the days that followed Keziah encouraged Yosie to stay dry most of the time in ‘big boy's pants' – no more baby dresses beloved by the Quality.

She was touched by the children's tact. Gabriel and Pearl asked no questions about their father's absence and were as patient about showing her the farm's routine as if she were a child.

Keziah stayed out of Daniel's way and he also seemed to be avoiding her, but Bran called daily on the pretext of checking the horses' shoes and collecting any broken equipment to repair at the forge. When he brought her a bunch of bush flowers, his eyes showed he understood the status quo. Keziah was too proud to ask for his help so she offered her own.

‘Bran, we all know how very bright you are inside your head. If you want to learn to read and write I'm happy to teach you. We'd keep it a secret, right? So one day you could surprise Daniel by writing a letter. What do you think?'

A dazzling smile of agreement lit up Bran's face.

Keziah sounded out each letter as she wrote BRAN on a slate and chalked in the arrows to show him the direction of the strokes. When he copied it she was full of praise.

‘See how easy it is? You'll be able to write your Lord's Prayer in next to no time.'

Bran marched back to the forge clutching the slate as if it was the crown jewels.

Keziah milked the cow but relied on young Dick Gideon to care for the horses. He cheerfully continued to groom and exercise them on the training circuit he had built with Jake. As Wiradjuri manners demanded, he asked no questions about Jake's absence.

She knew that neither Leslie Ross, Janet Macgregor, Mac Mackie nor Polly Doyle would call uninvited.

Collecting eggs in the chicken coop, Keziah snapped at the guinea fowls from the Cape of Good Hope that were prolific egg-layers. ‘Those
romantic fools think we want privacy to fall into bed day and night.'

Pride did not allow her to confess to their friends she had never come home as Jake's wife.

She kept her anger in check until the rooster strutted arrogantly amongst the hens. ‘You males are all the same! I bet Jake's holed up right now at the Four Sisters.'

• • • 

Jake tried to quench his anger at The Shanty with No Name.

In the cracked mirror he hardly recognised his own face. It was creased like the peel of a mandarin and his eyes were a bit hard to find. Was he only just thirty? He felt closer to ninety. Reflected in the mirror was the equally seedy face of a shearer Jake had often passed on the stairs at the Four Sisters.

‘How's life treating you?' the shearer asked.

‘Been better,' Jake said bleakly.

The shearer looked sage. ‘Ah. Family man!'

‘Never bloody learn. Promised myself I'd never let another good woman into my life.'

‘Then one of them smiled and you was a goner, right?'

‘Not exactly. I got bailed up by bushrangers and she saved my life.'

‘Women! There's
nothing
they won't do to trap a man.' The shearer downed his ale. ‘Well, got to get back home or the missus will skin me alive.'

Jake continued drinking, telling himself how great it was to be a bachelor again.
I'll show Kez I need her like a hole in the head.

But he soon realised that the grog wasn't doing its job properly. He glanced around the bar.
No one here worth fighting. Wonder how the kids are getting on without me.

• • • 

As dawn broke Jake opened one eye and flinched. He lay on the back veranda of Bran's forge house. The door flew open and Bran's naked figure emerged, armed with a chamber-pot ready to empty into the
bush. Oblivious of Jake's presence, Bran sprawled on top of him.

Daniel, dressed in old clothes splattered with oil paints, eyed Jake from the doorway.

‘Well, aren't you a fine specimen of manhood,' he said kindly. ‘Don't think you're setting foot inside till you've cleaned yourself up.'

He returned with a bucket of water and threw it over Jake.

‘Shit!' Jake shook himself like a dog emerging from a waterhole.

‘Bolted, have you?'

Jake tried to resume the role of a man of action. ‘I've got big plans, but I need a shakedown for a night or two.'

‘Wash yourself at the tank. I'll fetch you clean clothes. Put the kettle on, Bran. From the length of his whiskers, he hasn't eaten in days.'

Jake stripped off his shirt. ‘I reckon I
could
go a bit of breakfast,' he conceded.

Freed from his rank clothes he felt his dignity gushing back. ‘If either of you drop a hint to Kez that I'm holed up here, it's curtains for you!'