Undercurrents Read online

  The images of that burned–out shell when he’d returned home to Leanora Station after the war still lived with him. He could still see the simple gravestones in the little cemetery. They had already looked abandoned and were terrible reminders of nature’s power. A man could fight all his life against that power, but it always won in the end. It had been a harsh lesson.

  With a sigh he stuffed the dead match back in the box and eased his shoulder against the rough wood of the stable wall. The will to fight had been knocked out of him then. He’d had to accept that resilience was for younger men. They had the strength for it – the hunger to keep going. His war was over in every sense, and now here he was, the owner of a shabby hotel in the far northern reaches of Queensland.

  Sam pushed the gloomy thoughts away and watched Maggie through the lighted window. She was moving swiftly as always, mouth going nineteen to the dozen as she talked to the lubras in the kitchen. He grinned. She was a dinkum sheila and no mistake. Skinny as a rake, but not bad–looking when scrubbed up for a special occasion, Maggie had proved she was the perfect choice to run his establishment. But he’d guessed a while back that poor old Maggie had had it rough all her bloody life, and admitted he wasn’t exactly helping matters by staying out late and leaving her to cope on her own on a Saturday night.

  He finished his smoke and ground it beneath his boot heel. His absence hadn’t been totally selfish, he acknowledged, for it was in Maggie’s interest that he kept his distance. He’d noticed how she looked at him and had understood what it meant. He’d been flattered that someone so much younger should find him attractive – though why this should be confounded him.

  Not that he hadn’t been tempted, he thought with a grin. Maggie had fire in her and he’d always admired that in a woman. Yet his instinct told him Maggie wasn’t the sort to accept a fling and then forget about it. They lived in the same hotel, in a tiny town where gossip was rife and everyone knew your business and he was reluctant to enter into any kind of relationship that might cause complications.

  Sam picked up his tackle and catch and loped towards the back door. If he was lucky Maggie would remain occupied in the kitchen and wouldn’t hear him come in. He reached for the latch, but the door was snatched open.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ she snapped, arms akimbo, feet planted squarely in his path.

  Sam stood in the stream of light pouring out through the open door, his fishing gear dangling from his hands. He scuffed the dirt with his boot, his face hidden by the brim of his hat. ‘Forgot the bloody time.’ He looked back at her and grinned, hoping this would better her mood. ‘Sorry, Maggie.’

  She laid the flat of her hand on his chest and pushed him back out into the darkness. Slamming the door behind her, she faced him. ‘Sorry ain’t good enough, Sam,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been on me own since six this morning. The bar’s heaving and we’ve got eight rooms rented out.’

  He felt the embarrassment heat his face as he tried to avoid her accusing glare. ‘Fair go, Mags,’ he drawled. ‘I got a nice bit of fish for tea.’ He held up the catch, his smile winsome.

  ‘I’d like to tell you where to shove it,’ she said angrily. ‘But I’m too much of a lady.’

  Sam knew he shouldn’t grin, but just couldn’t help it. Maggie was so comical when she was angry.

  ‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ she hissed, her index finger inches from his nose. ‘This isn’t funny, Sam. I’ve been on me feet all day, and I’ve had enough.’ She threw the tea towel at his face and stormed into the enveloping darkness. ‘I’m taking tomorrow off,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘And might very well not come back. So put that on your line and go fishing.’

  Sam bit his lip and tried not to laugh. He turned away and pushed through the door into the light of the passageway. She’d be back. She always came back. Yet, as he deposited the fish in the kitchen and left for the bar, he had a sneaking suspicion he’d pushed her too far this time. One of these days she’d carry out her threat, and the thought of running this place without her wiped the smile from his face. However would he cope?

  *

  ‘Looks like the workers are revolting,’ murmured Giles as they heard the last of this exchange and watched Maggie storm into the night.

  ‘Good for her,’ replied Olivia. ‘She’s entitled to let off steam.’

  They made their way up the broad staircase with the shabby red carpet and crossed the square landing to their adjoining rooms. ‘Nightcap?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘I’m absolutely whacked, but my mind is still on full alert. Perhaps a brandy will help me sleep.’

  Giles poured them both a hefty slug from the bottle he’d bought earlier and they sat in companionable silence listening to the squeak of the ceiling fan and the soft thud of insects hitting the screens over the window.

  Olivia relaxed into the soft comfort of the faded armchair and closed her eyes. The sounds and scents of her childhood were returning, their persuasive allure drawing her ever closer to the reason behind this homecoming. She would soon have to face the consequences of this journey, of the events that had been out of her control and beyond her understanding when she’d been a child. The images of those early years were vivid, and she frowned as she remembered that not all of those days had been filled with sunlight – but rather with fear.

  ‘What are you thinking about? You look very solemn.’

  She opened her eyes and gave him a wan smile. ‘Ghosts,’ she replied.

  He lifted a brow as he fumbled with the top button of his shirt. It was still warm, despite the lateness of the hour. ‘Sounds ominous.’

  Olivia looked away, her gaze finally settling on the doors leading to the verandah. She could just make out the glow of the moon through the screens, and she was once again the little girl at the window, watching the stars, listening to the terrible arguments that went on in the other room. ‘Why do we only remember the sunny days?’ she murmured. ‘Why do we never remember the rain, the clouds, the wind that cut like a knife?’

  ‘Because we don’t want to,’ he replied gruffly. He shifted in the chair. ‘Talk to me, Olivia. Tell me what’s really worrying you.’

  She plastered on a smile she knew wouldn’t fool him, but helped her to overcome the dark thoughts. ‘Later,’ she said. ‘I haven’t finished telling you about Mother’s awful introduction to her new life in Australia.’

  He cocked his head, his gaze thoughtful. ‘You’re tired, and obviously troubled. Perhaps we should leave it until tomorrow?’

  She shook her head. ‘I won’t be able to sleep. Mind’s too active.’ She took a drink of the brandy and her good mood was partially restored. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘there are things I have to do tomorrow, and there might not be time for story–telling.’ She saw the curiosity gleam in his hazel eyes and laughed. ‘One thing at a time,’ she teased. ‘You’ll know as much as I do soon enough.’

  *

  Eva sat shivering and crying in the bottom of the little boat as the storm raged and the men struggled to wield the great wooden oars and keep them afloat. Eva thought their labours in vain, for how could mere mortals keep them from drowning in such a ferocious sea? How could any of them survive this terrible night?

  For the first time since leaving England she was sick. So sick the spasms eventually exhausted her and she slumped in the icy embrace of the water that sloshed around her in the bottom of the boat. The cold had robbed her of the spark of will that had seen her defy her parents and marry Frederick. Had robbed her of the thirst for adventure that had brought her across the world. She’d had enough and no longer cared what happened to her. If Freddy was gone, then she was prepared to go with him. Her eyelids were heavy as her head drooped and the water seeped into her nose and mouth.

  ‘Come on, ducky. No sense in drowning before you have to.’

  Eva heard the woman’s rough, cockney voice and was only vaguely awa
re of the strong hands gripping her beneath her arms, tearing the fabric of her dinner gown. Only vaguely aware she was being hauled along the bottom of the boat and manhandled until she was sitting propped up between what felt like two stout legs. She tried to open her eyes to see who was misusing her so roughly, but the lids seemed glued together by the salt and the wind. ‘Cold,’ she shivered. ‘So cold.’

  ‘I know, darlin’, we’re all cold.’

  The boat lurched and rolled and the stinging salt lashed her face as the strong arms enfolded her and held her close. Eva could smell the wet wool of the woman’s dress and the strange musty scent of her skin. She felt a vague resentment for this stranger and her almost insolent familiarity, but was too ill and downhearted to protest. Her neck bowed and she rested her head against the protective arm. Her last thoughts before she fainted were of Freddy and that terrible wave that had swept him away.

  Eva came round sometime later, startled to find herself still in the bottom of the boat, still within the woman’s embrace. There had been no let–up in the storm. The waves were thunderous, the rain and spume sharp needles that battered her exposed face as she looked around. The men were still bent over the creaking oars, pulling in ragged unison, their faces contorted with pain and fear. The other survivors huddled in groups, heads bowed against the lashing sea and driving wind.

  As she watched, one of the seamen collapsed over the oar and it was only the swift reaction of one of the other men that saved the oar from being lost overboard. With an unceremonious shove, the passenger took the seaman’s place. ‘If you can row, then give these men a rest,’ he yelled into the wind. ‘If you can’t then start bailing out.’

  The weary seaman stumbled over them to reach the locker in the bow. He fell as a giant wave crashed against the stern, landing heavily at Eva’s feet. She reached across and helped him up before taking her place at the oars. The survival instinct had returned more forcefully than ever. She had survived this far, she wasn’t about to give in.

  The seaman passed down two buckets and a collection of tin mugs which were stored in the locker. The remaining survivors grabbed the mugs and began to scoop. It was a miracle they were still afloat, for there was at least a foot of water in the bottom.

  Dawn eventually arrived. It was as grey and cheerless as the sea beneath it. Yet the storm appeared to have blown itself out, for the waves, although towering, no longer fought for supremacy. They rolled like muscular leviathans, each following the one before with only the occasional ruffle of wind to stir a creamy crest.

  Eva was resting after her stint at the oars. She sat back on her heels and watched the sky lighten. Her back was aching, her lips were dry and salt–encrusted, but the spark of life still burned brightly within. She had kept faith they would survive the night – and they had. Now she had to believe they would soon see land and find other survivors.

  She turned to the cockney woman who’d been so kind to her and was shocked by the great weariness in her faded blue eyes – at the lines etched so deeply into her youthful face. Jessie had also taken her turn at the oar. Had insisted she could pull as strong as any man after her years of working in a rope factory. Now she was slumped on the floor of the boat, all energy gone, all spark extinguished.

  ‘We’re safe, Jessie,’ murmured Eva as she gathered the damp shawl around the other woman’s plump shoulders. ‘The storm’s over.’

  ‘And the ship?’ Jessie’s voice was a rasp between cracked lips. None of them had had a drink for hours.

  Eva looked out at the swell of the ocean, hoping that at each rise of the boat she would spot some sign of life, of land. But there was nothing. She turned back to Jessie and after a momentary hesitation, put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Gone, my dear,’ she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

  ‘What about the others? Any sign of other boats?’

  Eva shook her head. If there had been other boats they could easily have missed them in such titanic seas. It didn’t need words to convey the tragedy of it all, and the two women sat together in the bottom of the boat deep within their own thoughts, their gaze trawling the endless, heaving ocean for some sight of humanity or redemption.

  The watery sun was ebbing fast, and as the boat rose on a swell a cry went up. ‘Land! I see land!’

  With hope restored, Eva and Jessie struggled to their knees in the bottom of the boat and tried to catch sight of this miracle. ‘There,’ shouted Jessie with excitement as she pointed a grimy finger towards the setting sun.

  Eva peered into the brightness, her hand shielding her eyes. She saw only the golden glow of a tropical sunset. Saw only the endless sweep of an empty ocean. Then, as she watched, she realised she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a sunset at all, but a vast hill of yellow sand that seemed to stretch along the horizon. She turned to Jessie and they fell into one another’s arms, the tears warm on their faces, the relief immense – all barriers of class and status forgotten momentarily in that one instant of euphoria.

  The men pulled even harder on the oars. They were close to exhaustion, their shirts darkened with sweat, their hands ruined by the unaccustomed labour. Yet the sight of land seemed to have given them a burst of energy and they bent their backs willingly.

  It was dark when the boat finally ground into the sand with a bump. A full moon lit their way as they stumbled through the few inches of water and collapsed on the beach. Eva found a rock and sat down. She stared up at the sky in awe. Never before had she seen such stars. It was as if the heavens were putting on a show to celebrate her survival.

  The tears came again, hot and heavy, rolling down her face. She was alone. Freddy would never see the stars again. Would never hold her again and call her his precious girl.

  ‘No time for all that,’ said the seaman gruffly. ‘Pull yourself together and start collecting wood. We need a fire and shelter.’

  Eva’s famous temper flared. This particular man had insulted her before, yelling orders, pushing her aside as he organised the other passengers in the little boat. ‘How dare you talk to me like that you dreadful man,’ she spat. ‘I am not your servant.’

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her from the rock. ‘On yer feet,’ he growled.

  Eva was about to protest when he swung her round and made her take in their surroundings. ‘There ain’t nothing here but sand. We need water and warmth and somewhere to sleep, ‘cos tomorrow we gotta start walking.’

  Eva wrested her arm free and looked up into his grizzled face. He was the most loathsome creature she’d ever encountered and smelled simply appalling. ‘Walk? Why should we walk?’ she demanded. ‘Someone must know we’re here.’

  ‘We’ve been blown miles off course,’ he snapped. ‘No one will think of looking this far south and walking is the only way outta here.’ He pushed her from him and walked away.

  With gathering horror, Eva finally realised what he meant as she slowly turned and took in their landing place. The beach stretched for miles in either direction. Littered with jagged black rocks, it was otherwise naked of any other feature. Dunes glimmered in ghostly grandeur behind her, the frail vegetation clinging to their sides, drooping towards the sea. There were no buildings, no friendly lighthouse out by the rocks, no signs of civilisation at all.

  She turned to Jessie, who’d come to stand beside her. ‘We had better do as he said,’ she muttered. ‘We’re going to die of pneumonia if we don’t get these clothes dry.’

  The night passed quickly for the fifteen survivors were all exhausted and soon fell asleep in the warmth of the enormous fire they had built above the tide mark. Eva woke to find the heat was now coming from the sun. It struck her like a furnace, burning her face and exposed shoulders. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, wishing she could have another drink from the evil tasting canvas water bag one of the sailors had brought ashore. But there had been enough only for each of them to take a sip. Now it was empty.
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br />   She looked longingly at the sea. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a little drink of that? It might be salty, but at least it would slake this awful thirst. She gathered up her skirts and waded in. As she cupped the water and bent to drink, her hands were roughly slapped apart.

  ‘Don’t drink that!’

  Eva whirled to face him and almost lost her balance in the water. It was that obnoxious sailor again. ‘I’m thirsty,’ she rasped.

  He grabbed her wrist and hauled her, struggling, out of the water. He released her only when they had advanced up the beach to the others, who were still huddled around the fire despite the sun’s heat. ‘If you drink the seawater you’ll be mad before the sun sets.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snorted Eva.

  He turned and faced her, his expression having lost the earlier belligerence. ‘I beg your pardon, lady, for treatin’ you kinda rough, like. But I seen it ‘appen and it ain’t a pretty sight.’ He grimaced. ‘Screamin’ and hollerin’, frothing at the mouth. Death’s slow. But inevitable. Better to be thirsty.’

  Eva’s temper deflated and she looked around at the other seamen who were nodding their agreement. She returned her attention to him. ‘But I’m so terribly thirsty,’ she said with a plaintive cry.

  ‘It’ll get worse,’ he mumbled. ‘Better get moving while the sun’s still low.’

  Eva eyed the other survivors. Out of the fifteen there were six sailors, five women and four men. She recognised none of them and surmised the other passengers must have come from the lower decks, possibly even steerage. Realising she needed to lead by example, she picked up her salt–stained skirts and began to tramp after the seaman. The sooner they climbed the dunes, the sooner they would find water and civilisation.