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‘Well, in front of you he’s fine. But if you’re not there he, well, makes faces to me. And once he touched me up.’
‘Huh! Faces? Touched ya? Wadda ya saying, woman?’
‘I’m suggesting I don’t trust him. And I don’t think you should either. He makes eyes at me when you’re not around.’
‘I know what ya on about, woman. Jist tryin’ to stir up feelin’ between me an’ Karl. We been real mates for a long time. He’s a good bloke.’
‘No, I’m serious I —’
‘Karl wouldn’t do nothin’ ta upset me. He depends on me for everythin’. Can’t do nothin’ without me so he’s not gunna try an’ take me woman.’
‘I just think he’s not all he —’
‘Now ya tryin’ ta stir up trouble between us. He reckons I’m ta soft on ya. I don’t treat ya proper like a man should a wife, an’ ya should be obedient like what the Bible says. Wants to know why ya sleep on ya own. Wadda ya think?’
All her efforts at being friendly, almost submissive, to try to get Benjamin to think that she accepted her confinement suddenly evaporated. Her frustration at not being able to go and the loss of a potential escape plan caused her anger to boil over.
‘I am not your wife, no matter what you and your Bible say. I am still another man’s wife! Alec’s wife. You kidnapped me and that’s a serious crime. We’re living in the twentieth century, not two thousand years ago. Can’t you get that into your thick skull? Even after all this time I still desperately want to go home. I don’t want to be your wife, or have anything to do with you. I hate you. You keep me here in a prison, you rule me. I don’t even have a name here, you just call me “woman”—’
‘Ya know from Genesis, God told us man is to rule over woman and jist as Adam named Eve, it’s me right to name ya.
An’ I named you ‘Woman,’ my woman, ya belong ta me. Ya mine. I own ya.’
‘Belong to you? Own me! I’m not some property, a slave, something to be bought and sold. I am a person, a woman. I don’t belong to anyone. Not me, nor my child.’
‘Is ya kid yours? Does she belong to ya?’
‘Yes, she is mine. But she’s a child.’
‘An’ a woman is like a child. Men must look after em. An’ a wife belongs to her man. God says so. He made woman to be a help ta man. An’ you belong to me. Jist like ya bubs belongs to ya.’
Katherine realised she was not going to make any head-way in this argument. She switched tracks. ‘Carolyn is nearly ready to start school. My child is growing up to be a weirdo, no friends, no father, no —’
Benjamin interrupted her, his voice rising. ‘No father? I’ve bin a father to her. I feed her, talk to her. Brought her toys an’ even them kids books like ya wanted. I didn’t want, but I gave in ta ya. I’ve bin like a husband to ya, but you ain’t been a wife to me, eh. Anyways, she’s a girl, so ya kin teach ‘er everythin’ she needs ta know.’
The noise of an approaching vehicle made them look up, ending the argument. A short while later a swirl of dust in front of the gates heralded the arrival of the dogger.
Benjamin reached into his pocket and threw the keys to Katherine. ‘That’s Karl. Go, woman, an’ let him in.’ He emphasised the word, ‘woman’.
Katherine carefully put down the cotton thread and needle; simple implements became valuable under these conditions. She pulled on her partly-repaired shirt and slowly walked over to the gate. She no longer cared much about her appearance. Only a few years ago she would never have dared to appear in front of a stranger without being properly dressed, her hair combed and face made up. Yet here she was, wearing only a threadbare shirt and worn-out skirt. She lacked make-up to cover her perspiring face and her ash-blonde hair, now grown long again, hung past her shoulders. She slouched forward, unlocked the gate and opened it.
‘Ta, luv,’ was the laconic comment Karl made as he slowly drove in, pausing to look out the driver’s window. His dark eyes stared at Katherine’s face then down to her chest and her shapely, tanned legs. He grinned, one of his self-rolled cigarettes hanging in the edge of is lip, and drove in.
The men were already seated on the veranda by the time Katherine returned from locking the gate. She started to sit on the steps but Karl spoke to her, ‘There’s beer in the esky, should still be cold. Go get us a couple.’ He pointed to his vehicle.
Katherine stood, turned and obediently walked to the truck. She opened the door to pick up the esky sitting on the passenger seat and saw the rifle. She’d seen it before, but since the argument with Benjamin, she looked at it with new eyes.
She glanced back at the men on the veranda. They were deep in conversation.
She leaned in and touched the rifle. Fear overcame her as she realised that she knew nothing about guns: not how to load one or even aim. Perhaps it was already loaded. Nervously she lifted it from the supporting clasps. It was heavier than expected. Slowly she fingered the mechanism, trying to decide if it had a safety catch, how to work it and discover if it was loaded.
A gnarled hand suddenly grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. Another curled around her hair, pulling her head sharply back.
‘Put it down, bitch. Don’ ya mess with me fuckin’ rifle, ya stoopid bitch.’
In shock she dropped the rifle back on to the seat. ‘Ouch, sorry. I —’
‘Shuddup.’ Still holding her head right back, Karl pulled the esky to the edge of the seat. ‘Open it, ya bitch an’ get two stubbies.’
