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A GOOD PLACE
Bridget sat smoking while the fog thinned over the creek.
She hacked a piece of fabric off the bottom of her dress,
wrapped it around her hand and walked slowly back down the
field.
A little while later she saw a figure coming down the hill.
One of them coming back. Which one? Chambers. He was
limping. She had noticed it as they left this morning. He went
into Pigots place, came out with something in his fist, walked
down towards the hut that sat close to the damp of the creek,
didnt look over at her as he passed by about twenty yards
away. What was he doing back? It wasnt lunchtime yet. She
heard the hut door open and close and soon a stream of smoke
came from the chimney.
In the cottage she put damper, butter and smoked meat on
the table for Pigot, took hers outside the lean-to and ate there.
When she heard the dog bark signalling Pigots arrival, she
walked off back down to the mud patch.
After he had gone again, he and the dog disappearing up
the track and over the rise on the top side of the road, she
went up to the cottage, got the bucket and took it down to the
creek, drawing water from further down rather than her usual
spot so that she didnt have to go too close to Chambers hut
while he was there.
...
What? She had long ago dispensed with calling him sir.
Chambers never did and Pigot didnt seem to want it. He was
no gentleman, of that she was pretty sure.
Pigot slurped again, his face close over the bowl, didnt
answer.
She was confused. Chambers had his own rations, was
given them every week and cooked for himself in his hut. She
never went there.
She turned away from Pigot, spooned soup into a bowl,
went to the door and out, down the track towards the creek.
Chambers was lying on a straw mattress in the corner, the
fire casting a blanket of light over him. His right trouser leg
was rolled up to the knee exposing a yellow boil on the shin,
the skin around it red and tight. Bridget stood in the doorway
holding the soup bowl. Chambers didnt move. She went
quickly over to him and put the soup down on the ground
where she was still out of reach. She shut the door behind her
and hurried back up to Pigots cottage and into her lean-to.
...
In the morning Pigot sent her down to the hut again, this
time with oats. Inside the fire was nearly out. It was cold but
Chambers face was shiny with sweat. The boil had broken
overnight, pus and blood oozing from the middle of it. The leg
was more swollen, the whole of it from the knee down fat and
red. She put the oats down and he pointed at a bowl of water
next to him. Can you get more salt? She realised then that it
must have been salt hed had in his fist yesterday when he left
Pigots cottage. She had to move closer to him to pick up the
bowl. She grabbed it quickly.
In the morning Chambers was alive but the leg was swollen
and hot, the fever even worse. He was delirious, talking about
a storm brewing, yelling at her to shut the door, shut the door.
Then he was crying, blubbering that it wasnt his fault, some-
thingshe didnt know what, couldnt understand what he
was sayingwasnt his fault. She sat on the stool next to his
mattress. Pigot had not harnessed the bullock. He had gone
over the hill with the dog just as he had the morning before.
He was not going for the doctor.
She sat with Chambers most of the morning. She didnt
care what Pigot said or did. She couldnt be over there digging
while twenty yards away Chambers lay here like this. He hadnt
eaten last night and wouldnt eat this morning. She managed
to get some water into his mouth. He was restless, his eyes
protruding and glassy. He thrashed around on the mattress for
a long time and then fell into a deep sleep. She went out and
up to Pigots cottage, stood outside it looking up the slope and
over the road, could hear the faint stroke of the axe.
Down in the field she dug for a while and then went to
check on Chambers. She stopped outside his door then opened
it slowly. He was still, his eyes open. He was lying on his side,
staring at the wall. She had known before she opened the door.
Somehow had known.
Outside the cottage she stood looking up at the road, the
rush of the creek behind her.
When Pigot came down for lunch she put the soup in front
of him, waited to see if he was going to ask anything, enquire
after Chambers, but he only spread butter on the damper and
stuffed chunks of it into his mouth. He left again and in the
afternoon she planted potatoes in the dug dirt.
...
Later, she lay awake feeling the presence of Pigot on the other
side of the wall. She had not spoken to him that night and he
had not said a wordate his dinner as though nothing at all
had happened. Eventually she got up, lifted the lean-to door so
it would be quiet and not drag, and went outside. The moon,
almost full, cast blue light across the field. The bullock was
moving around in the yard beyond the end of the hut, the faint
sound of the creek runningthose the only sounds rippling
the silence. The brightest of the stars spun dusky fingers of
light at her. Cant stay here, it said.
Have to get away from this place.
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...
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Pigot had let Chambers die and that hed let her die out there
too if anything happened to her, if she got sick; hed just let
her die and she wasnt going back there, there was no missus
there and she wasnt staying and she was going back to Hobart
Town.
...
She sat on a rock and pulled a chunk off the damper. The day
was cool, the thin cloud cover breaking now and then, the sun
glowing weakly behind it high in the sky. Around the middle
of the day, she thought. Up ahead the faint track made its way
up a grassy slope. She hadnt thought to bring water and her
mouth was dry now. The wood below the track was solid and
dark with trees and she wondered if the creek was down in
there. She walked into it, didnt get far before the scrub became
thick and tangled. She stood there, the tall gums rising up,
each of them trying to see out over the other ones. She had a
creeping feeling of being watched. She turned around. Nothing
there. Stupid. There was no one out here. She pushed her way
further down the slope, listened. No sound of water. She turned
around, couldnt see the grass clearing above. She ran back up,
cutting grass wrapping around her ankles as she went. When
she was back in the light she stood there breathing fast, for the
first time wondering if she should turn back. Then she tied
the shawl with the remaining damper, the meat, pipe and
tobacco around her waist and kept walking.
...
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she heard the new sound. She stood up, listened. Yes. Faint,
but unmistakable. She looked ahead at the muddy slope and
then picked up her bundle and ran. Halfway up the slope she
stumbled, her foot rolling off a rock. At the bottom of the
next rise she left the track, ran limping down the hill into the
thick of the trees. Behind a fallen tree she lay on the damp
ground and listened to itthe rattle of cartwheels. Then it
stopped. She waited, listened. She thought she heard it again
but wasnt sure. She stayed there a long time with the cold
from the ground seeping into her body then she stood stiffly,
made her way back up the slope.
It had been this way, she was sure. She had not come far
off it. Not that far. So where was it? She turned around. Trees
and bushes, no break in them. How could a track just go?
Just disappear? Panic wrapped its hand around her guts and
squeezed. Behind her there was a noisea branch cracking.
She spun around. Her heart jumped like a frog in a bottle.
Kangaroo. Just a kangaroo. Thats alljust a kangaroo. She
walked a few yards, stopped. The track was close. Close by
here somewhere. It had to be. She had been on it not long
ago.
She walked one way then another. Branches snagged her
dress and scratched her arms. Her foot went down into a hole.
She fell forward hard, got up again, walked a few paces and
stopped. Twilight. A pale gold moon presented itself, called
forth an army of stars. She hit the side of her fist into the
tree trunk next to her. Bugger you! Bugger you. Bugger you.
Bugger. Bugger. She slid down to the base of the tree.
...
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...
Morning light crept over her face like a spider, and then again
the scrub grabbed at her, stroked her, pawed at her like a
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