Territory (12 page)

She didn't know how long they held her dangling there as she prayed for them to release her, to let her sink to the bottom of the ocean and find oblivion in a watery grave. Perhaps she lost consciousness for a moment, but she didn't feel them haul her back on board, she didn't hear them scuttle away into the darkness. She suddenly found herself curled up in a dark corner of the deck, still gibbering, still gagging. She pulled the ribbon and the rag away from her mouth and tried to breathe normally. She couldn't. She was shivering and her breath came in sharp gasps. She was alive, wasn't she? She should be grateful
for that. But she couldn't think reasonably, the smell and the taste of her degradation were too vile. Then she thought of the locket. Had she lost the locket as they held her over the side? Feverishly she fumbled beneath her bodice. Something told her if she had lost the locket then she had lost her life. But it was there.

Between her fingers, Lucretia felt the carved shape of the mountain and the diamonds of the sun, and she clasped the locket to her breast as she sat rocking back and forth, whimpering in the darkness.

Victory in Europe. On 7 May 1945, Germany surrendered. The Allies had won. But as Europe celebrated, the war in the Pacific raged on. Some said it was merely a matter of time, but men were still dying, Australia was still a country very much at war, and Darwin, broken and wounded as she was, remained of central military importance.

At Bullalalla cattle station news of the victory in Europe was greeted with jubilation, but Henrietta Galloway had double cause for celebration. She was eight months pregnant, a fact which had altered the course of her life.

A year previously she had visited a doctor in Darwin in an attempt to discover the reason for her inability to conceive.

‘There's no reason at all as far as I can determine,' the doctor had said following his examination. ‘It's quite possible your husband has a low sperm count, perhaps he should come and visit me.'

It was impossible, she replied, her husband was a fighter pilot. He stayed mainly at the RAAF base and was constantly on call.

‘Ah yes, well there is a war on isn't there.' The doctor
didn't intend to sound sardonic, but there was something in his tone which intimated he had more important things to worry about than a young woman's fertility. ‘Perhaps he could come and see me when the war's over, it can't go on forever. In the meantime, keep trying. These things sometimes take time.'

‘What did the doctor say?' Terence asked.

‘He said to keep trying,' Henrietta replied. ‘These things take time, he said.' Low sperm count? No, she could never tell Terence Galloway that.

Now, as her healthy body bloomed with impending motherhood, it seemed all was forgiven. Her husband was loving, ever solicitous of her well-being, and in the eyes of her father-in-law she could do no wrong. She had become old Jock Galloway's favourite, the mother of his son's child.

Much as Henrietta was aware that, to them at least, she had finally fulfilled her duty, she couldn't help but respond to their kindness and she had never been happier. Even the reaction of her sister-in-law Charlotte, who might have been forgiven a touch of jealousy, was generous to the extreme.

‘Well, you took your time, Henrietta,' she said in her usual blunt manner when she first heard the news, ‘but good for you.' Then her weathered face broke into a grin, ‘I was worried you were going to end up like me.' Henrietta had been very touched at the time and, as her pregnancy progressed, Charlotte continued to be responsive and caring. So much so that Henrietta had to insist she was perfectly capable of continuing with her chores about the house.

‘All right, all right,' Charlotte agreed. But she insisted upon no more horseriding. ‘Florian can live without you for a while,' she said.

It was sensible advice and Henrietta complied, although she missed Florian. She and the animal had become good friends. She still couldn't control him if another horse took
off in his presence, but he no longer frightened her, and he behaved impeccably during her riding lessons with Charlotte. Henrietta had even insisted on riding Florian when Terence had taken her up to the escarpment to show her his long-promised view of the waterfall.

Henrietta was convinced that it had been that day—that glorious day which would live in her memory forever—that had been the turning point in her life.

The day had augured well from the very outset. Terence had been in one of his good moods, and when they'd completed their painstaking climb to the top of the escarpment the landscape had been as enthralling as he'd promised it would be. The rock formations, intricately carved by the forces of nature, were as ornate as the pillars and domes of ancient temples, and the gorges and the waterfalls were breathtakingly dramatic.

‘The Northern Territory in all her glory,' Terence had boasted as they stood on the peak of a ridge and gazed across the gorge at the waterfall, cascading sixty feet to the blue-green pool below.

Henrietta had been overwhelmed. The waterfall symbolised something powerful, she realised as she looked down into the huge crater, surrounded by its towers of rock, to where the growth was lush and verdant and the animal and birdlife thrived. In all its majesty, the waterfall symbolised the very force of life itself. She'd stood in awe, and Terence remained silent beside her, gratified by her response.

They'd sat on a flat rock at the top of the gorge, sipping from the waterbag, watching the waterfall whilst the horses grazed quietly nearby, and he'd kissed her. So gently. Then a little more fervently as his passion grew. When she'd looked self-consciously about, realising that he wanted to make love, he'd laughed out loud.

‘For God's sake, Henrietta,' he'd said with genuine humour, none of the customary sarcasm in his tone, ‘who's
going to see us? A few blacks maybe, and they wouldn't mind, they'd probably applaud.' At which she'd looked about again, nervously this time.

‘No, my darling,' he'd assured her, ‘no blacks, I promise, I was only teasing.' And they'd made love, high up there on the ridge.

Henrietta had experienced no fresh awakening. She was only slightly aroused by the time he climaxed, but she had long ceased to expect anything different, blaming herself for being unable to keep pace with his sexuality. But something else had happened, something far more important to Henrietta than her own satisfaction.

‘I love you,' he'd said as he lay on his back looking up at the sky. Then he'd propped himself up on his elbow and looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I love you more than you could possibly know, Henrietta, don't ever forget that.' There had been such passion in his gaze and in his voice that Henrietta, moved, had been at a loss for words. Then, only seconds later, he'd stood and helped her to her feet. ‘Let's go,' he'd said as if nothing had happened. But it had. To Henrietta something vast had happened. For the first time since she'd come to this strange outback land she felt assured of her husband's love. And the assurance had been wrought by the very land itself, she was sure. High up here where the force of nature demanded truth, Terence had been moved to declare his love. In that moment, Henrietta felt at one, not only with her husband but with the land itself, and she was glad she had come to the Territory.

Terence teased her during the ride back down the escarpment. ‘What would you have done if we'd been surrounded by blacks whilst we were doing it?'

‘You said there weren't any around here.'

‘Oh yes there are,' he replied in all seriousness. ‘This is Warai land. We were damned lucky we weren't clubbed to death, they can be a pretty wild bunch.'

‘Terence!' She was aghast, until he let out a burst of laughter and she realised he was joking.

‘No, they're not dangerous,' he assured her, ‘but Warai do live around the escarpment. They camp up here, and we have an agreement. Have had since my grandfather's time. If the odd dumb steer wanders up to the ridges then they're welcome to it, so long as they leave the rest of the herd alone. It works well for both sides.'

‘Do you think they saw us?' Henrietta felt stupidly girlish, but she couldn't help blushing at the thought.

‘No. But like I said, they'd probably have applauded if they had, they're a highly sexed bunch, they approve of that sort of thing.' He laughed as her blush deepened.

Two months later, when Henrietta discovered she was pregnant, she knew she had conceived that day up on the ridge. Just as she knew, in the very depth of her being, that the force of the outback had willed it.

There was only one person at Bullalalla who didn't appear particularly happy about the impending birth of Henrietta's child. Margaret was constantly disgruntled these days, which surprised Henrietta. Given the number of jibes she'd received from her mother-in-law about her barren state over the past three years, Henrietta would have expected Margaret to be the happiest of them all. Then she realised why she was not. It was old Jock Galloway. More than ever, he ignored his wife, lavishing attention on Henrietta every minute of the day. It was a simple case of jealousy, Henrietta realised, and she tried as hard as she could to redirect Jock's interest towards his wife, but with little success.

‘Let me feel that grandson of mine,' he'd insist and she'd reluctantly stand by his chair as put his hand and his ear to her distended belly. ‘Kick, boy, kick!' he'd demand, and the baby always seemed to obey. Then Jock would roar with delight. ‘That's a Galloway in there! The next generation!' And Henrietta would look apologetically at
Margaret nearby, ignored and forgotten, and she'd wonder what on earth Jock would do if the baby was a girl.

 

The birth was two weeks premature, completely unexpected and very quick. It was mid-afternoon, Terence was at the RAAF base, Jock, Charlotte and Jackie were out fencing and it was young Pearl who discovered Henrietta. She was crumpled up outside the door of the chook-house, the feed bowl dropped at her feet, birdseed scattered in all directions and angry fowl squawking on the other side of the door, demanding to be fed.

Fifteen-year-old Pearl took one look, dumped her basket of washing on the old wooden table by the clothes line and yelled, ‘Hang on, missus!' Then she belted through the back door to the kitchen screaming, ‘Mum!'

But Nellie wasn't in the kitchen. Alerted by young Pearl's screams, it was Margaret who was the first to reach Henrietta's side.

‘Can you walk?' she asked briskly, tucking one of her hands under Henrietta's armpit and circling her wrist in an iron-like grip with the other. Henrietta nodded.

‘I can't find Mum,' Pearl arrived panting beside them.

‘Take the other arm,' Margaret said, and between them they helped Henrietta inside.

They got her upstairs and Margaret started undressing her. ‘Put some water on to boil,' she ordered Pearl, ‘the big stew pot, then go and find your mother. And bring up some towels.'

‘Breathe deeply,' she told Henrietta as Pearl scuttled out the door. Then, in one swift movement, she ripped the coverlet off the bed and laid Henrietta down. ‘They're coming quite fast aren't they?' Henrietta nodded, trying to concentrate on her breathing. ‘How long have you been having them?' she asked bluntly, in the same matter-of-fact manner with which she discussed the distribution of rations.

‘A couple of hours.' Henrietta had felt the first pains at
the lunch table but she hadn't said anything. They couldn't be contractions, she'd thought, she wasn't due for another two weeks. ‘I thought it was a false alarm.'

‘No point in being heroic, girl,' Margaret said as she pulled the coverlet over her.

Nellie was at the top of a ladder picking mangoes, it took Pearl fifteen minutes to find her, by which time the labour was well in progress.

Margaret and Nellie were both efficient midwives, and when Jock, Charlotte and Jackie returned just before dusk, the baby was nestled comfortably against Henrietta's breast.

An hour later, when Terence arrived home, he was informed that he had a son.

Henrietta tried, in every way she could, to show her gratitude to Margaret. Her mother-in-law had been a tower of strength throughout the birth, stroking her hand and her brow, telling her when to push, when to rest. ‘It's an easy birth,' she'd said, ‘you're strong and you're healthy and it's going to be quick, there's no need to be frightened.'

Had Margaret forgotten how kind she'd been to a young woman fearful in the throes of labour? Surely not. But it would appear so. The more intimate the contact Henrietta attempted, the more withdrawn Margaret became. And again Henrietta knew why.

Jock Galloway was a tyrant, she realised it now more than ever. Just as she now realised that she had been scarcely more than an incubator during her pregnancy, as far as Jock was concerned anyway. She'd been an incubator for his precious grandchild. Nothing existed for Jock but his son and his grandson. Least of all his wife. His wife knew it, and she seemed to blame Henrietta. But didn't Margaret realise, Henrietta wondered, that she too was now redundant?

Henrietta could make no inroads with her mother-in-law so she tentatively approached Charlotte on the
subject. ‘Jock has other grandchildren,' she said. ‘Your brothers have given him four grandchildren between them.' Henrietta had met neither the brothers nor their families, but she knew of them through conversation—with Charlotte more than Terence.

‘They weren't Terence's children,' Charlotte replied simply. ‘This was bound to happen.' Charlotte Galloway was fully aware of the problem. ‘Poor mother,' she said, more to herself than to Henrietta, ‘it was bound to happen.'

Henrietta found herself praying that Terence would not desert her now that she had produced a son. Surely she was not a mere incubator to him. But Terence was so like old Jock in so many ways, as Charlotte was always ready to point out. ‘A breeding mare', that's what Charlotte had told her in the early days. Was it true? Was that all she was to the men of this family?

But Terence appeared as proud of his wife as he was of his son, and, even as he encouraged Jock's indulgence with the baby, hurtfully ignoring his mother, he displayed more affection towards Henrietta now than he had throughout their marriage. And grateful, Henrietta determined she would do everything she could to maintain his affection.

 

Little Malcolm Galloway was two months old. It was a pleasant afternoon in late July and Henrietta was sitting in the rocking chair on the front verandah, the baby asleep in her lap, when the flywire door slapped open and Jock appeared, a glass of beer in his hand. He pulled up a chair beside her, plonked his glass on the small coffee table between them, and held out his arms.

‘Bring him here,' he said with an affable grin, but it was an order nonetheless, ‘bring him to Grandad.'

‘He's asleep, Jock.'

‘Not when he's with Grandad, he always wants to give Grandad a smile, bring him here.'