Flight of the Eagle Page 7

  The cool summer's eve held the mists of magic – at least it felt that way to Patrick when he bid his host good evening and stepped into the open air. Or was it that he had drunk too much port and was feeling the romance of the land of his Irish ancestors? Despite his last glimpse of Catherine in the company of Brett Norris, he was determined not to let the bitter memory spoil his last night of leave in Ireland.

  ‘Would ye be likin’ a lift back to the village, Cap'n Duffy?’ the coachman asked from the seat of the gig. He had been hired by George Fitzgerald to ferry the Reverend and his wife from the vicarage, as well as pick up Patrick from Bernard Riley's pub. Between visits to the kitchen of the Fitzgerald manor for fine table scraps and some alcoholic refreshment he had waited patiently while puffing on his battered pipe for the guests to leave.

  ‘No, but thank you. I think I will walk home tonight,’ Patrick replied politely. ‘It will do me good.’ There would be a lot of walking ahead when he reached the Sudan's arid and rock strewn deserts with their craggy hills …

  ‘Very good, Cap'n Duffy, and top o’ the eve'n to you then.’

  SEVEN

  The twitter of bush birds, and the snort of a horse being saddled in the soft light of the predawn, were now familiar sounds to Kate Tracy.

  Kate Tracy, sister of Michael Duffy, had once been known as Kate O'Keefe. In Sydney at the age of sixteen she had married a shiftless handsome son of Irish convicts. A marriage motivated out of infatuation for the man who would leave the young girl almost destitute and pregnant at Rockhampton when he ran off with the wife of a local publican. That had been in 1863 and Kate had not seen her estranged husband until she visited his grave at Cooktown twelve years later. But her ill-chosen marriage had put her on a path north to the untamed Colony of Queensland and eventually to amassing a personal fortune through bullock teams transporting sorely needed supplies to the people of the frontier.

  Approaching her fortieth year she was now one of the wealthiest women in the colony and although she could afford a lavish lifestyle she lived modestly with her prospector husband Luke Tracy in their rambling house in Townsville. The frontier and its people had ownership of her soul and the desire to return to Sydney was long gone.

  ‘Just about ready to go,’ she heard her husband's gentle American twang. ‘Figure I should be into the hills before sunset,’ he added.

  Kate unconsciously reached out to touch the old scar on his face that marked the point of an English soldier's bayonet – a scar that reminded all of his stand with the American miners at the Eureka Stockade over thirty years earlier. She had since married the man who had continued to love her through the lonely years of his life prospecting at the edges and beyond of the Queensland frontier. The tall, taciturn Luke Tracy had always carried his love for Kate as he struggled through the tropical rainforests of North Queensland, trekking the wide arid plains of scrub tree in the west and into the ancient dry hills of central Queensland. He was a scarred veteran of the Stockade of fifty-four when he stood and fought as a young man with the California Independent Ranger Brigade against the redcoats on the goldfields.

  ‘I know,’ she replied, hoping she would not cry at his departure west on his journey to the little frontier town named in honour of the ill-fated explorer Burke. ‘Have you spare ammunition?’ she asked.

  The tall man standing over her smiled reassuringly as he stroked her face with a callused hand. ‘You needn't worry ‘bout the Kalkadoon,’ he said. ‘I'll be riding well north of their territory.’ He ran his hand down to her swollen belly. ‘I'd be more worried about you, Kate,’ he added. ‘This time you've got to look after yourself – not go worrying about the business. Let the people you employ look after things.’

  Kate nodded and forced back the tears. It was the pregnancy, she told herself, that had made her so emotional lately. The terrible spectre of two babies lost still haunted her. The first lost had been a son who had died hours after he was born and was buried at Rockhampton. She had been seventeen at that time and the father of her child had been Kevin O'Keefe, her first and worthless husband, who had deserted her on the eve of their son's premature birth.

  But Luke had been there to provide a strong shoulder to lean on in the weeks and months following. It was then that she knew she loved him but dared not expose herself to the pain of admitting her love was for a man who saw only lonely places where gold might be. The American prospector had seemed to be one of those men fated to ride out and die in one of those forsaken parts of the frontier. She wanted the man who would share her life to be with her – not always riding out of her life.

  Ten years past she had finally admitted to herself that she would rather risk losing him than not having him in her life at all. And that was when she also proposed marriage to him in a miner's tent outside the goldfield's port of Cooktown.

  A child was born eight months after they had been formally married but the baby girl died from a fever six months later. Her grave was one of many at Cooktown where Kevin O'Keefe, Kate's first husband, also lay buried. But his death was the inevitable outcome of living a life steeped in crime.

  The death of their daughter had caused Kate to retreat grief stricken from the world. But Luke had been with her and his quiet strength had nursed her through the self-recriminations. What had she done to cause the baby's death, she had asked herself. Could she have done something to prevent it?

  Luke had reassured her that death on the frontier was not always explainable – nor should one blame oneself. His pragmatic advice came from personal experience as he had many years earlier lost a wife and child to fever. At that time he had ridden the Queensland frontier alone with his grief and often similarly questioned himself under the vast panorama of southern stars. As there was never any answer he came to learn that the grief must have a natural end. It was this blunt pragmatism he was able to eventually convey to Kate.

  Years later she now carried their baby. She sensed that this time God would be kind and deliver them a healthy child who would grow to inherit all that she had fought to obtain in life.

  ‘I know God will look after you, my husband,' Kate sighed, realising the tears would not be constrained by her conscious efforts. ‘I pray that you will return home as soon as you can to hold our baby.’

  Luke noticed the tears and felt a surge of love for this beautiful woman who had honoured him with her unconditional love in spite of his wandering ways. ‘I'm not much at being a good Christian,’ he said quietly, pulling her to him in a gentle embrace. ‘And I don't think God takes us old Yankee prospectors seriously when we make Him promises when the chips are down. He kind of knows we stray a bit but I will make you the promise that I will be there when the baby is born. I know God will be on your side to make sure I am.’

  Kate sensed his gentle mocking of her strong Catholic beliefs. Luke was a man more in harmony with the beliefs of the Aboriginal people of the vast lands beyond the towns of the Europeans. She often mused to herself that this might be because the purpose of his life was to dig in the earth to find his precious gold. That the earth held the secret to life itself.

  Although he was in the early years of the second half of his century on earth Luke was still tough and capable. His trip to a property near Burketown he felt was essential – although Kate did not. Luke had heard a rumour that a new breed of cattle was being shipped from Asia. It might be the tropical north's answer to the tough conditions that killed cattle from the south. His interest in cattle breeding had been a result of his years of self-imposed exile as a cowboy in the Montana territory just before his return to Queensland for the Palmer River gold rush.

  Kate had unsuccessfully argued for him to remain but saw the look in his eyes that told her he was still trying to prove he could be a stable businessman and be part of her enterprising life. It was really his love for her that had caused him to set out on the journey – a way of showing her that it was not gold that ruled his life but a need to help Kate's ventures. She relented and they now s
tood in the paddock behind their house as he completed his tasks for his departure.

  ‘I'd better be going,’ Luke said gruffly as he reluctantly turned away from Kate. ‘Sun will be up soon and it looks like it's going to be a hot one.’

  Kate let him slip from her arms and he strode to the horse waiting patiently for the chance to leave the fenced paddock. With years of experience he swung himself into the saddle and pulled down on the reins to wheel away. Kate waved and he acknowledged her wave with a broad smile. Then the bush swallowed him as he rode away.

  Kate lingered for a short time in the paddock as the early morning shadows touched the dry grass. He would keep his promise she told herself. He would be with her when their baby came.

  Kate was to farewell a second person that day.

  The hoofbeats of a horse, the clink of bridle metal and the heavy clomp of boots on the verandah told her that young Gordon James was visiting. The sounds were familiar as Gordon often visited – not to see Kate but Sarah.

  ‘Good morning,’ Kate said, addressing the young, grim-faced police officer at the door. ‘I …’ She did not have a chance to finish her words as Sarah bounded down the stairs to stand at her shoulder.

  ‘Gordon!’ she exclaimed, as if surprised. ‘Why are you visiting so early in the day?’

  Gordon's face reflected his pleasure at seeing Sarah but he did not smile. ‘I came over to say I may be away for some time. Maybe months,’ he replied. ‘I have to ride to Cloncurry. We got word that Inspector Potter's patrol was ambushed and that he is dead along with nearly all his men.’

  Both Sarah and Kate paled.

  ‘Was Peter with him?’ Kate asked in a whisper. She had never approved of her nephew – whom she had raised as she would her own – joining the Native Mounted Police. But she knew the bond between Gordon and Peter had been stronger than her concern for Peter's choice of careers.

  ‘Peter is safe,’ Gordon reassured. ‘It was he who rode back to Cloncurry to tell us what happened.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Kate whispered.

  ‘I just came over on my way out to say goodbye.’

  Kate glanced at her niece and noticed that she was impatient to be alone with Gordon. ‘Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Ah, no thank you, Missus Tracy’ he mumbled. ‘I had better get going. They want me in Cloncurry as soon as possible to organise an expedition to hunt down Inspector Potter's killers.’

  ‘Then I will leave Sarah to wish you a safe journey and know that you go with my fondest regards. When you see Peter please tell him that he has our love and prayers.’

  ‘I will,’ Gordon replied and added, ‘I would ask a favour before I go, Missus Tracy.’

  ‘I hope that I may oblige,’ Kate answered, with just the faintest trace of reservation in her expression.

  ‘I was hoping that you might look in on my mother from time to time. She is not always well.’

  Kate's expression instantly softened. ‘That does not require a favour,’ she replied. ‘Your mother remains one of my dearest friends despite my expressed feelings towards you convincing Peter to join your damned police.’

  Gordon glanced with a touch of guilt at a space beyond Kate but his guilt dissipated when he noticed Sarah step past her aunt. Kate fell silent. It seemed like only yesterday that Gordon's father had brought a chubby little girl to her, along with her brothers Peter and Tim. Now she stood as a young woman beside the man whose frequent visits were her reason for the day existing. They were a striking couple, Kate reflected. He, dashing in his neatly pressed Native Mounted Police uniform, with his knee-length boots and pistol at his side. She, with her striking golden skin and jet black hair flowing past her shoulders. Kate knew that the exotic beauty of her niece had been noticed by more than one or two eligible young men around town but her eyes had always been for the son of Henry and Emma James. It had been that way since they had left the innocence of their childhood behind and realised it was the attraction between a man and a woman that they had for each other. Gordon was in his twentieth year and Sarah a year younger. At that age passion ran deep and commitment for life was a presumption. Kate left the young couple alone to say their farewells.

  Gordon took Sarah's hands in his own. ‘I don't like going and being away from you,’ he said. ‘But I have to do my duty.’

  Sarah felt the warmth of his hands and the calluses brought about by his years of horsemanship. ‘You know that my wish is that you and Peter were not part of the Native Mounted Police,’ she said gently. ‘You know how I feel about them.’

  Gordon looked away. His own father had been present when the Native Mounted Police had hunted and killed both her parents years earlier.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘Things are different now.’

  Sarah did not answer his statement as she knew the argument that would follow. Instead, she preferred to separate Gordon, the officer of the police she hated, from the man she loved with a passion. ‘If we are ever to be together,’ she said quietly, ‘then you will have to choose me over your love for your bloody police.’

  Gordon looked into her eyes and saw the fire of her convictions. He knew she had good reason to hate his job. ‘I love you more than anything else in this world,’ he replied lamely, although he also knew that he loved his job as a leader of men living a life of adventure away from such dreary jobs as clerks in stores or tellers in banks.

  ‘Words are cheap,’ Sarah flashed. ‘I would be yours if you proved your love by giving up the Mounted Police.’

  ‘I came to tell you of my love,’ Gordon pleaded. ‘But all you do in return is rebuff my words with your insistence. Sarah, it is not an easy thing that you ask. My father was a policeman and I honour his memory by being one myself. I even owe my commission to his memory.’

  Sarah could see the pain in his eyes and wished that it was not so. Especially as he was riding away for such a long time. But she also knew the ghosts of her parents would forever divide them as long as the man she loved remained with the force that had killed them. She let her hands slip from his and turned her back on him. ‘Please be careful,’ she choked, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I cannot say anymore to you than that.’

  Gordon watched her walk away and felt the turmoil of the parting.

  ‘Sarah,’ he called, but she did not respond as she closed the door behind her to go to her room where she would watch him ride from her life.

  Kate watched her niece stumble up the stairs and guessed what had transpired in the parting. She heard Gordon depart and listened at the bottom of the stairs as the muffled sobs echoed in the house. Kate sighed and began to make her way up the stairs to Sarah's room. Why was it that love was never easy, she questioned. Would it be as hard for Sarah to find love as it had been for her?

  Later in the day Kate realised her promise to Gordon.

  Emma lived alone in a cottage at the edge of town and when Kate announced her arrival she was ushered inside with hugs and exclamations of joy. As Kate's business interests expanded she had less opportunity to visit and chat. For a moment she felt apprehension when she disengaged herself from the embraces to gaze at Emma. She noticed the dark rings around her friend's eyes and how much her once flame-red hair had greyed. Emma was growing old and the observation only reinforced their shared past.

  ‘You must join me for tea,’ Emma said. ‘I insist.’

  ‘I wish I could but I must return home before dark,’ Kate replied. ‘I just wanted to see how you were coping with Gordon's departure.’

  Emma smiled sadly and turned to lead Kate into her tiny kitchen. ‘More that I should ask you how you are faring,’ she said. ‘You must be very close to your time.’

  Kate unconsciously placed her hand on her swollen stomach. ‘Yes, very soon from the way he kicks.’

  ‘So you feel it will be a boy,’ Emma said, as she poured hot water into a china teapot.

  ‘Well, if it isn't a boy then it is going to be a very strong girl.’

 
Emma laughed and for a moment Kate saw the young girl she had first met over fifteen years earlier – a vibrant, fun – loving girl just off the boat from England who had loved, married and buried Henry James. At least buried him in her memory as his body was never found.

  Both women had been close but in recent years Peter's decision to join his boyhood friend riding with the Native Mounted Police had put a wedge in the friendship. It had been Emma's support for Peter's decision that had rankled Kate. She perceived Emma's obtuse attitude as being blind to Peter's best interests in favour of supporting his happiness above all else. After Peter foolishly enlisted, Kate had found excuses to visit less and less. But their friendship prevailed and Kate often missed the easy company and conversation they had always shared.

  ‘I think that it was not a good idea for Peter to follow Gordon,’ Emma said, as she poured the tea for them.

  Kate glanced at her friend with a start – it was as if she had read her mind! ‘I have always thought that,’ she replied. And the barrier that had been the wedge between them seemed to crumble.

  ‘I was blind to how unwittingly my support for Peter to be with Gordon might place Peter in danger,’ Emma said. ‘Gordon told me how fortunate Peter was to survive that terrible massacre of Inspector Potter's patrol.’

  ‘It is more than that,’ Kate said quietly. ‘Peter could lose his soul if he continues with the Mounted Police. They were, as you may remember, responsible for the deaths of his parents in Burkesland back in ′68.’

  Emma winced and Kate knew that it would be better to drop the subject lest it open a fresh wound between them. It had been Emma's husband who had been with the patrol that hunted Peter's parents and was eventually responsible for their deaths. Kate had not held Henry James accountable as he had proved earlier in a hunt that he would have prevented the deaths had it been within his power to do so.