His Brother's Wife Page 6

  Several customers smiled at her, then let their gazes wander to her belly.

  “Pick out what you need,” McIntyre said before stepping up to the counter. “I’ve got my order here.” He handed over a piece of paper to the young man behind the counter.

  “Very good, Mr. McIntyre.”

  “My wife will require a few things. See that everything is loaded onto my wagon, it’s out the back.”

  The young man smiled at her and she forced herself to smile back.

  “You have fifteen minutes to get it ready. I pay in gold dust.”

  “Yes, Sir.” The man glanced at the paper. “Certainly, Sir.” It was obviously a good order and he looked ready to rub his hands in glee. He snapped his finger and a pimply faced youth dashed up. “Fill Mr. McIntyre’s order immediately.”

  “Where’s Higgins?” McIntyre asked.

  “He died three months ago. I’m his nephew Cecil, the store belongs to me now.”

  McIntyre grunted something. “Get what you need, wife.”

  “Oh Mrs. McIntyre, let me help you.” Cecil stepped out from behind the counter.

  “No need,” McIntyre snapped. “She’s quite capable of doing it herself.”

  In any other man, Mattie would think he was jealous, but it was only possessiveness on McIntyre’s part. He owned her, body and soul, and wasn’t prepared to share her.

  “Are you all right, dear?” An elderly lady came up to her, obviously noticing her slow, awkward gait.

  A hostile glare from McIntyre had Mattie saying. “Yes, thank you. The baby is lying in an uncomfortable position.”

  “I understand, you poor dear.” The woman patted her arm before bustling away.

  Under McIntyre’s cold stare, Mattie bought wool, knitting needles, linen and lace, also a long length of flannel. As she gazed longingly at a pretty rose patterned bolt of material, he savaged her with one sweep of his cold eyes.

  Cecil minced up to them. “The color would suit you perfectly,” he said with a smile. “I could let you have it for a good price. It needs someone as pretty as you to do it justice.”

  She laughed. “You are too kind, Cecil.”

  “Wife!” McIntyre’s gravelly tones interrupted them. “Finish your shopping now then wait for me in the wagon.”

  Hurriedly she did so, knowing full well he would refuse to pay for what she had chosen if she didn’t obey him. Cecil picked up the bolts of material and carried them to the counter.

  Moving as quickly as she could, she grabbed up some buttons and pins, then shuffled over to a wicker-work crib.

  “You won’t need that,” McIntyre growled. “I can make a better one.”

  As she moved over to the counter, Cecil smiled broadly. “How much material do you need?” He unrolled the bolt against the measuring tape on the counter.

  “Six yards,” McIntyre said.

  “All right, six yards of each thank you, Cecil.”

  After he measured and cut the material, he wrapped everything in brown paper. McIntyre reached over and snatched it out of his hand.

  “Wagon, now.” The icy contempt in his eyes and the threatening tone of his voice scared her.

  What had she done now to make him angry? With a furtive glance around Cecil picked up a pink and white candy stick and the moment McIntyre’s head was turned, handed it to her.

  She shoved it in her pocket. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I…I wish you weren’t married.” Cecil shocked her by saying. So do I, she nearly said, but dared not utter the words. It was dangerous to even think like this. Had Cecil not been such a weed of a man she might have asked him to help her, but he would be no match for McIntyre. They would probably both end up dead.

  McIntyre held the brown paper package in one hand, grabbed her by the arm with the other, and practically dragged her out of the shop.

  “Slow down,” she panted. His stride shortened, but it was still too fast. Her lower legs worked like pistons to keep up with him. She tripped. His steely grip stopped her from falling to the ground. His fingers bit into her flesh as she stumbled along.

  By the time they reached the wagon, her heart was pounding, the skin on her inner thighs felt lacerated.

  He picked her up and dumped her on the wagon seat. “Don’t move,” he growled.

  She couldn’t move even if she wanted to as exhaustion overwhelmed her.

  McIntyre helped the pimply faced youth load up the bags and boxes. The whole back of the wagon was piled high with their supplies. He covered it with a sheet of canvas and tied it down.

  Leaving her in the wagon, he strode into the store through the back entrance, presumably to pay for their purchases. On his return, he unhooked the reins and vaulted into the seat. As always, three slaps got the horses going.

  As they passed down the main street, he stared straight ahead. It was left to her to raise a hand in acknowledgment to the few people who called out a greeting.

  They travelled along in their usual silence. Mattie started to feel light headed with hunger. She withdrew the candy stick from her pocket, broke off a piece and handed it to him.

  He knocked it out of her hand and it flew onto the road. Her gasp was followed by a cry of distress as he snatched the rest of the candy out of her hand and threw it away.

  “You slut. Prepared to whore yourself for a stick of candy.”

  “I didn’t do anything. He was just being kind.”

  “Kind? No man is kind to my wife unless I say so.”

  “Please, husband, I’m hungry.”

  “You can wait until supper time like me.”

  “But…”

  “Have I not warned you about defying me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well take heed. I could kill you, throw you down a disused mine shaft and no-one would even miss you.”

  They lapsed into silence. Mile upon mile, no word was spoken between them. Hatred festered inside her. She was not a violent person but feared that one day he would go too far and she would kill him, or even more likely, he would kill her, and dispose of her body like he threatened.

  What if something happened to her? What would happen to the baby? She clasped her hands protectively over her belly. He head ached from the tears she dared not shed, the backs of her legs throbbed and her inner thighs felt as if they were rubbed red raw.

  Would he take the cuffs off once they arrived at the farm? She wouldn’t be able to do her chores while shackled like this. Even an animal shouldn’t be treated this way.

  Late afternoon, and the cabin finally came into view, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted her down and tossed her parcel at her before driving the wagon toward a large storage shed.

  She shuffled over to the porch and placing the parcel down, grasped one of the posts and pulled herself up. Picking up the parcel, she struggled into the kitchen. She would get supper on cooking, then change her clothes. If only McIntyre would come back and remove the shackles.

  She reheated the leftover stew from yesterday, changing the flavor by seasoning it with herbs and spices. A few potatoes sliced thinly, wouldn’t take long to cook.

  McIntyre returned and sniffed the aroma from the simmering stew. Without speaking he grabbed her by the arms and placed her hands flat on the table. He flipped her skirt up and squatted down, and she could have cried with relief when he unlocked the cuffs and removed them. “Don’t move.”

  Her frightened gaze watched him removing the wide belt he always wore with his braces. He wrenched down her drawers and seconds later she felt the sting of the strap on her bare flesh.

  “I will not have my wife whoring herself.” Slap. The force of the blow forced both elbows to contact with the table. “I am your husband.” Slap. “You will not speak to another man unless I say so.” Slap.

  She gritted her teeth to stop the yelps of pain as he flailed her trembling buttocks. Six times the strap fell on to her quivering flesh. He pulled up her drawers and dropped the skirt back into place. He s
tood staring at her, one hand thrust into his pocket, the other holding the strap. “Take care. Remember, I could murder you and no-one would ever find out.”

  He stalked over to the stove and lifted the saucepan lid. “We’ll eat as soon as you dish up.”

  After supper Mattie cleaned the kitchen. McIntyre started to leave the room. He stopped in the doorway and swung around. “I’ll be in bed. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  She glanced at the clock, snuffed out the lamp and trudged into the bedroom. One ordeal over, another about to start.

  McIntyre was in bed. Under his cold scrutiny she undressed and pulled the nightshift over her head.

  Suddenly he kicked the bedcovers off. “Get up on your knees,” he growled. “I can access you better without your belly getting in the way.”

  She did as he asked, it was easier to placate him rather than risk the consequences of thwarting him. He grabbed her hips and speared into her. Six hard thrusts then with a grunt he emptied himself inside her. Rolling away he turned his back on her and within minutes was snoring.

  Mattie lay with her eyes full of tears, feeling used and degraded. She was married to a man who felt nothing but contempt for her. Who treated her like a whore in bed and a slave in the kitchen.

  She was bound to a man like this. A man with the fleeting look of madness in his eyes, until death do them part.

  Chapter Eight

  William and Mattie – Castlemaine

  It took seven months for Will to journey to Australia, the land of his birth, and to make his way to Wilbur’s farm. Purposely, he had kept well away from any large town in the unlikely case his face was on a ‘Wanted’ poster.

  The life stretching out before him was bleak, but he inhaled the perfume of the gum trees growing near the road, felt the warm sun on his back. Colorful birds flew skyward, startled by his approach. Dust, kicked up by the horse’s hooves swirled around him.

  In the distance he could see mounds of dirt and a few dusty, ragged tents on the once busy goldfield. It was virtually empty now, ghostly except for a few hardy or desperate souls trying to eke out a living from the unforgiving earth.

  Over eleven years he had been gone, and the farm hadn’t changed much he realized as he veered off the road. He had spent only a few weeks here at the farm after the family had shifted from Ballarat.

  Smoke drifted from the homestead chimney. Sheep grazed in paddocks with poorly maintained fencing. It was a wonder they didn’t escape and wander off. From somewhere close by, the lowing of cattle drifted to him on the slight breeze. White pebbles strewn all over the property, shimmered in the afternoon sun.

  A shot from close by knocked the hat off his head. Sonofabitch, someone was trying to kill him.

  “Get off my land.” A man carrying a rifle stomped toward him. “Next time I’ll blow your head off.”

  “Wilbur, what the hell are you doing?”

  “Will?” Wilbur moved closer, but there was no welcome in his cold eyes.

  “Yes, you damn near killed me.”

  “It was a warning shot. I don’t like trespassers.”

  “I’m not trespassing, I’m your brother.” Will dismounted, and looped the reins through his arm.

  “I didn’t know that. What do you want?”

  “To stay for a while, I’m not long back from America.”

  “This is my place,” Wilbur growled.

  He had always been a surly brute. “Half of it belongs to me.”

  “No. Pa signed it all over to me.”

  “What!” Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “He thought you were dead.”

  “So, you’re not going to let me stay until I decide what I’m going to do?”

  “If you work for your keep you can stay.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “I’ve got a wife.”

  “What!” I’m beginning to sound like a parrot. Who would marry a surly brute like Wilbur? The years hadn’t mellowed him, he was exactly the same. Strange was the word that jumped into his mind first. Dangerous quickly followed. Fleetingly, a look of madness had flared in his eyes, quickly replaced by animosity.

  Wilbur obviously still held his childhood hatred of him. He shouldn’t have come here. Wouldn’t have, had he anywhere else to go. Miles from town, isolated, the farm had seemed the perfect place to lie low for a time. He had forgotten what his twin was like. They were identical in looks, but nothing else, thank God.

  They walked toward the house. Out the back, Will spied someone hoeing the garden. The figure straightened up and turned around. It was a heavily pregnant woman dressed in a faded skirt, a blouse stretched tightly across her stomach.

  “Wife,” Wilbur yelled out when they got closer. “Meet my brother.”

  Will blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was so young. Sad hazel eyes widened with shock as she glanced from one man to the other.

  “I’m William, Wilbur’s identical twin brother. Call me Will. You are?”

  “Mattie.” Her voice was low, as if weighed down with exhaustion and despair, if he was any judge.

  “Well, don’t just stand their gawking,” Wilbur growled. “You’ve got two more rows to hoe before you finish.”

  “She shouldn’t be doing this kind of heavy work in her…um…condition.” Will blurted the words out before he could stop himself. Sonofabitch, what kind of man expected this of a very young, heavily pregnant wife?

  “It needs doing.” Wilbur scowled.

  “Here, give the hoe to me.” He took it out of her hands. “I’ll finish it.”

  “Thank you, Will,” she said softly. “I am finding it hard now.”

  Wilbur gave an angry snort. “Get back to the house and prepare the spare room for Will.”

  “That’s not necessary, I’ve got my bedroll.”

  “You might as well use the room, it’s empty since Ma died. As for you.” He turned his attention to Mattie. “Cook something special for supper to welcome my prodigal brother.” He gave a mirthless laugh.

  Will picked up the hoe, surely that slight slip of a gal hadn’t hoed the twenty or so neat rows in her condition. By the look of her, she was not too far off being ready to give birth.

  “We eat supper at six,” Wilbur said. “I’ll see you then.” He stomped off.

  Will dropped the hoe, strode over to his horse and unsaddled it. Not much of a nag, but at least the gelding wasn’t exactly crow bait. He hadn’t been able to afford anything better. He propped his saddle against a tree. It wasn’t much, either.

  Picking up the hoe he commenced work. The ground was hard, but looked fertile enough to grow a good crop.

  He had worked his way back to Australia on one of the new fancy clipper ships, but his small supply of money soon disappeared, otherwise he wouldn’t have come here. He needed to build up a bit of a stake, then he would be off.

  Any hope he might have nurtured about staying for any length of time here, were dashed. Sonofabitch, he didn’t want to stay here. Pa had bought this place then shifted them from Ballarat. They had barely moved in when he had had a God Almighty argument with his parents, instigated by Wilbur, he realized later, to get rid of him. His brother wasn’t very bright, bordered on being a simpleton for some things, but he had a rat cunning, which made him dangerous.

  It intrigued him how a pretty young woman like Mattie had gotten mixed up with him, let alone married him. Half an hour of hard work and he had finished. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  Carrying the hoe over one shoulder and his saddle in his hand, he trudged toward the back of the house. It didn’t look much different from when he was last here in what seemed another lifetime.

  Dumping the saddle on the porch, he leaned the hoe up against the wall. The back door hadn’t had the steel bar across it in his time. He knocked and waited, debating about whether to enter or not.

  It swung open with the creaking of hinges. Mattie stood there with a tremu
lous smile on her lips. “Come in, Will. If you weren’t wearing different clothes, I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart.” She stepped back a pace to allow him entry.

  “We’ve always looked identical. Ma used to cut Wilbur’s hair short, and let mine grow so she could tell us apart. Didn’t always work though.” He grinned. “A few times Wilbur cut off my hair so mine would be short, too. Naturally the blame always fell on me, and I was the one who copped a belting. He was much too cunning for me.”

  “Would you like a mug of tea, the kettle is boiling?”

  “Yes, thank you, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “No trouble. It will be nice to have someone to talk to. Will.” She grasped his hand. “You will stay for a while?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

  “Please.” Her eyes beseeched him. “At least until after the baby is born. I won’t have anyone if you go.”

  “Wilbur will get a midwife for you when it’s your time.”

  “No, he won’t. He said I have to birth it myself.”

  “What!”

  “Said it was natural for women, and I didn’t need any help from him or anyone else.”

  Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Well, yes he could, knowing his brother’s way of thinking.

  She placed the mug of tea in front of him. “How do you take it?”

  “Black thanks, can’t remember when I last had a cup of tea.”

  Her hand trembled as she handed him a plate containing a slice of cake.

  “Aren’t you having one?”

  “No, there isn’t time. I have to make up your bed and have supper ready by 6 o’clock. Your brother gets angry if he has to wait.

  Will saw the fear in her eyes, the anguished hopelessness. “Does he beat you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He exhaled an angry breath. “Why would a pretty gal like you marry him? You must have had plenty of other suitors.”

  She kept dicing the vegetables as they spoke. He bit into the cake and it tasted good. She was obviously a good cook.

  “I did it for my grandfather. He was dying and wanted to see me settled before he passed.” She brushed the tears from her eyes. “He thought your brother was a good man who would take care of me. There was only grandpa and me. He dropped dead a couple of minutes after we signed the marriage certificate. It was my seventeenth birthday.”