Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [44]
In the soaring heat of a summer’s morning, Olivia worked in their small house. She was tired from lack of sleep, as James had been fretful and cried most of the previous night. Conrad was completing the shed he was building, while the two hired men were across the property, fencing a holding paddock around a dam. At mid–morning she tied Conrad’s lunch of pickled meat and damper in a small cloth and prepared to take it to him with a billycan of hot tea. She checked the baby, who was sleeping in a cradle crudely fashioned from a wooden box and set up near their bed. Normally she carried him with her in a sling like she’d seen the Aboriginal women use, as it kept him calm and seemed to stop his fretfulness by being close to her body. But for once he was sleeping well after a long feed instead of short bursts of fussy eating. She decided to leave him where he was and set out to where Conrad was working.
Conrad was having difficulty stretching a length of wire and asked Olivia to help. They worked together, talking little, until the task was finished.
Wiping his brow Conrad looked about him. ‘A hot wind has sprung up,’ he observed, then smiled at her, ‘Come and share my lunch.’
‘I’ve eaten, and I’ve left James sleeping.’
‘Olivia, do sit with me for a moment.’ They moved to the shade of a tree and sat with their backs against the tree trunk. ‘I know it is hard at present, but I feel sure the sheep will do well. We need the wet to boost the feed and I will look into other means of making our way. Maybe cattle at some stage.’ He talked on with a desperate buoyancy, describing how he saw the eventual layout of their land. She knew he was seeing sheep and cattle grazing and yarded in organised paddocks dotted with sheds and horses, and herself tending flowers she loved so much before a large and gracious homestead.
But for Olivia, tired and depressed, all she saw was the hardship of the reality before them—heat, flies and loneliness. And smoke, and a strange smell …
Olivia jumped to her feet. ‘Conrad, that smoke … there’s too much for the chimney … quickly!’
Scrambling to his feet Conrad raced with Olivia through the trees and over the little crest to where they saw their cottage partially smothered in flames and smoke.
‘Oh my God—James!’ screamed Olivia, tripping over her long dress as she ran. Conrad, fear clutching at him, sped ahead of her. The kitchen lean–to was already burned out, the roof was alight and as they ran they saw to their horror the fiery roof cave in over the rear section which they used as sleeping quarters. Like some voracious monster, fanned by the hot breath of wind, the flames swallowed their little home. With gasping wrenching cries of agony, Conrad tried to push forward, but the heat, smoke and flying sparks seared his skin and hair and choked his breath. Olivia, not hearing the screams that were torn from her chest, grabbed at him and they fell to the ground, clutching one another as if mortally wounded while their son and their future, died before their eyes.
In the silent bush, partially burned by the fire that had leapt from the house to nearby trees, no bird sang, no small creatures moved. Olivia had lost track of time, and squatted, motionless at the graveside, seeing only the nightmare scenes unroll, rewind, and roll forward once more, and she could do nothing to change the scenario of events that had burned into her soul. She crumbled a handful of the red dirt from the tiny grave, staining the palms of her pale hands, still blistered from her puny grab at the wild thing that had taken her child. She nursed her grief, crouching by the mound of earth marked by a plain wooden cross, her hand still clutching the coarse, dry red dirt.
She heard the slow steps but did not look