14

Faster, faster. Pressing out the forest and gold and fawn, white.
The hope.

Finniss River, Australia 1887

George pulled hard on the rope, dragging himself and his raft to the side of the river. The raft hit the muddy bank harder than he intended, rocking it violently backwards. He heard several of his boxes of medical supplies shake and cursed his impatience. He had been traveling the river in this manner for some eight and a half months now, tending to the many families and small communities along its banks. Thus far, the horror stories of men gone crazy from isolation or roaming natives on the war path, had proven just that, stories, though George had come across many unhappy farmers, and even more unhappy farmer’s wives.

Unfortunately, there was nothing his profession could do for them but be a listening ear. This night, George had come from one such depressive homestead. The rains had failed the previous winter and their crops were down. George had tended their sickly infant, whose golden curls were not made for this oppressive heat and allowed his parents to vent their frustrations at the ways of this harsh land.

At least the river still ran strong, and now, with the coming of spring, even more flow pushed him along. Someone had told him it was the melting snow from the Colonies upstream; George found it hard to believe any place in this hot and dry land could generate the conditions required for snow.

Tying up his raft, anchored by a tree stump, George set about making his campsite, pitching his tent, collecting firewood and lighting the fire that would keep the cold at bay while he slept. As he did, a smile formed on his lips. It had been a lonely time tending to the remote families of the river. Though always welcoming, George was still an outsider here. But tomorrow, almost ten months since they parted on such prickly terms, George would get to see his friend Edward Barrington again.

He washed extra well that morning, using the last of his soap, brushed his hair and donned his best suit. The sail was gentle, a light breeze pushing him down the river towards his friend. Banks, lined with reeds, green and lush from the winter cool, rustling gently in the breeze that transported him so calmly down the tributary. As the waterway narrowed, its paths split by islands of sand covered in reeds, George lowered his sail, the wind too fickle whistling through the surrounding hills, and rowed the last few miles

Nearing midday a square of land cleared of reeds and scrub appeared before him. Grass ran up the gentle slope of the hill atop of which stood a colonial style stone house, full verandah across its front. To the left of the homestead were a set of stone stables, out from which three horses, two brown and one stunningly black, grazed peacefully in the shade of the eucalypts. Jutting out from the grassy bank was a small jetty, a sign stuck to its side reading: ’Barrington’.

George pulled in his oars and looped a rope around the jetty pole. He paused a moment to allow the spring sun to shine on his face, its rays soft and soothing. It was time to make things right.

Edward was sitting on the verandah writing a list of supplies in his notebook as George approached. Seeing his friend walking up his hill, arms loaded with belongings, brought Edward to his feet.

‘Rosalind, George is here!’ he called inside before swiftly walking down to meet and greet his sailing companion.

‘I see you still prefer water travel?’ Edward joked, nodding his head at George’s small boat.

‘Only way to get to my patients with ease.’

George smiled and the two men embraced. Rosalind walked out onto the deck, dishcloth in hand. She was dressed in a light green dress, hair swept back gracefully from her neckline. While still remarkably small, she had gained good weight around her hips and a fullness of cheek. When she smiled, George saw new dimples. The effect was stunning. Rosalind was much, much better.

After settling in his rooms, George joined his hosts for a cold lunch on the verandah table. The view was amazing, sweeping down on both sides. George looked out at the tributary and rolling hills, stuffed full of bushland, wild and free. But around this house was order, grass and paddocks for horses and some crops around the back, sheep grazing by the river. The muddy water reflected green in the midday sun. George kept thinking about Rosalind’s shining eyes.

‘So,’ he began as he stuffed another piece of preserved pork into his mouth. As common as ham was in Australia, this one tasted especially nice to him, ‘Things appear to be well?’

Edward beamed at George. ‘Yes, I think my wife is almost fully recovered. She has gone from strength to strength. The summer here, though terrible to bear, seemed to dry out her infection and with the milder winter she has done wonderfully.’

George started. In all their months of friendship upon The Orient, Edward had never once openly acknowledged Rosalind’s condition.

A gentle smile came over Edward’s face. He took Rosalind’s hand, as if for strength, and took a deep breath.

‘My friend,’ he began, ‘I owe you an apology.’

George opened his mouth to disagree but Edward held up a hand for silence. George sat still.

Edward’s soft brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. George saw Rosalind squeeze his hand tighter.

‘When your letter came, asking to visit, it was the opportunity I feared and longed for. When we parted I was… rash. Rude even. I believe fear of losing my wife caused me to lash out.’ His voice caught in his throat, a single tear tracking down his cheek. He did not wipe it away. ‘It’s no excuse for my appalling behaviour. But perhaps it can be an explanation of something forgivable?’

George was speechless. Where had this new found freedom to express his emotions come from?

‘I have also longed to make amends,’ George began. ‘I knew your pain and I pushed. No really, I believe… I believe there was fault on both sides. I hold no anger towards you. If you can forgive me too.’

‘There is nothing to forgive.’

Both men sat, staring, unsure of what to say or do now all was resolved. Rosalind released a joyous laugh, breaking the moment. ‘You see husband,’ she exclaimed, ‘I told you all would be well. And now, Dr Harbot can examine me and prove what we already know. That this country has healed me, and we can start our plans to return home.’

‘Not today,’ Edward cut in. ‘Today I thought a trip to the beach, if you would agree? It is not an hour’s ride from here and will be wonderful exertion for us both. Then tomorrow, once you’re settled in, we can think on these things. I have far too much to show you!’

After months of the tug of sail force, the power of the horses felt good under George’s legs. Edward rode fast, with seeming abandon, shouting out to George the occasional landmark.

‘That far hill is the edge of my boundary. There is the road to the town of Goolwa and here… is the turn off to the beach.’

They rode for a solid hour before they hit sand but it had been exhilarating and wild and had passed swiftly. George felt transported by the freedom and wondered at its affect on Edward.

At the beach they cantered down the sand dunes, the loose ground forcing them to slow their pace. The horses, hot from the exertion, headed straight for the water’s edge, settling into a slow trot through the shallows.

George could not believe his eyes. Never in his life had he witnessed such a beach! The strip of sand was thick and wide, stretching in both directions as far as his eyes could see. Off shore waves crashed with all the might of the ocean, but at his horse’s hooves whimpered to a calm wash of tide. Its colour was grey, like the coming of a storm, melding beautifully with the afternoon sky. Behind him sand dunes rose, covered in spinifex, shining gold in the sunlight, their sharp leaves reflecting its rays in a spectrum of colours.

‘We ride here often,’ Edward said by way of explanation.

‘You and Rosalind?’ George asked alarmed. While it was clear she was well improved this kind of exertion would never do.

‘No, no, Mr. Harbinger, Alistair, and myself. You are riding his horse. Don’t worry, he won’t mind. We have become quite close. He says I have a natural gift with his land. Strange how talents you never realised you had can come to you when you least expect them.’

‘One could fall in love with this freedom,’ George heard himself say.

‘I think I quite have.’ Edward smiled, ‘I can be how I want here. I can farm. Imagine that? Me using my hands. My father would most likely not approve.’

George laughed at Edward’s clear enthusiasm and they cantered on for a while longer.

‘This land is harsh,’ Edward continued after a time. ‘So harsh that for the first few months, I thought I had brought my wife to her death. The initial thrill I had felt at her beauty vanished in sweat and fear.’ Edward paused, shook his head. ‘It was hard, but then things began to change. She, began to change. And while not everything was healed, what was not was replaced by something else, by something new. This land has given her back to me George, and I love her for it.’

Edward turned from George and looked out to sea, his eyes tracing the far off horizon, savouring the vastness. George gazed out as well, heart full of joy. The coastline swept forever before him, curving beautifully, wide and inexhaustible. Looking straight out he knew there was nothing between himself and the end of the earth; he was at the very bottom of the world. Or was it the top? The thought was exhilarating. He regarded Edward and felt he could understand all that his friend was saying. Where pain had laced his features, joy now shone.

‘Come on,’ Edward cried, ‘I will race you home!’

And with that he was off, pushing his horse hard as it charged the sand dunes. George laughed again, amazed at the man he was meeting now, as if for the first time; an Edward more changed than he had ever expected to find. Together they raced across the plains, freedom wrapped around them.

Just outside the fences of his home, Edward slowed his horse. George piped up, ‘I hear there are some interesting herbs out here… native plants that heal. I had hoped to come across some of the natives for myself, but it seems they are not among us much any more. Do you know where I could find some information?’

‘Yes, in fact, I do. We have two young aborigines from the mission working with us. They know much about their native ways, despite Mr Merryweather’s most ardent efforts to the contrary,’ Edward smirked. ‘They have taught Mary much, she has even begun her own herb garden. They are probably out in the field. Go gather them from their task. There is still a good hour or so before dinner. They can take you on a tour of our herbs, and then Rosalind and I can call you in for dinner.’

George was surprised, and excited headed off to find Allambee and Balun at the other side of the property. Such strange names.

Edward continued on to his home, savouring the moment he rounded the trees and could see his house, standing atop the small hill. Or what will soon be my house, he pondered the thought, testing its shape. Releasing his horse into its paddock, he wiped off his trousers and washed his hands in a nearby trough. Mounting the stairs he came to the entranceway. Instead of calling for Rosalind, as he often did, he crept towards the back room. She was putting flowers from her rose garden into vases in the sunroom; her ‘Piece of England’.

Silently, he stood in the doorway and watched her graceful movements. The late afternoon sun still shone softly through the windows, catching the wisps of hair that had worked loose from her clasp, shining through them, turning her deep brown hair to a golden blonde. His eyes traced down her waist, still so slender, and back up to her hands, so elegant and small. Passion rose in his throat, all he could do to stop from crying out was move towards her. Two steps were all it took and he had her in his arms. She turned to him, surprised, but pleased, and beamed into his eyes. He looked into hers and was lost, everything but this moment gone in a sweep of love and gratitude to the world. To this country for giving her back to him. She sensed his intensity and looking down at the part of his chest that covered his heart, placed her hand upon it. Gently, he took her chin and brought her mouth to his. Their kisses waves of ocean surging together. Edward swept her up into his arms, grown larger from farm work, and carried her to their room. There he abandoned all else, losing himself in her as the last of the sun’s rays licked through their window.

Next Chapter: Chapter fifteen: Dare we hope?