ANNIE’S RISING

The ground yielded to Annie Lawson as she slammed down the arrow shaped head of her hoe and cracked the sun-baked clay. This hard-won soil was to be her vegetable garden in the spring. The previous year, drought had beaten her, but the autumn rain would arrive soon— she was certain of that. A cloud of red dust enveloped the woman, clogging her nose and throat, while rivulets of rusty sweat trickled down her neck, creating crimson stains on her shirt.

‘Ma—there’s somebody coming.’

She crossed the broken soil to stand beside her son. A skinny, pubescent boy; William’s bony arms and legs looked to be stuck onto his body like an afterthought. He stood near a pyre of tree roots and branches dragged together over several days into the home paddock. Removing her broad straw hat, Annie scraped the sweat from her brow with the inside of her sleeve. She shielded her eyes against the western sun, turning her gaze to where he pointed across the shimmering plain.

‘Where? Oh wait—yes, I see him now.’

‘Is it Pa?’ he asked, squinting at the man on horseback cantering in their direction.

‘It’s not your father’s horse—could be one of our neighbours.’ 

As they drew closer, the boy noticed a change in his mother’s stance. Annie clenched the hoe until her knuckles turned white. 

‘Ma?’ Her expression frightened him. 

A little girl played under the shade of a mallee tree nearby. ‘Mary, get over here,’ said Annie.

The horse pulled to an abrupt halt before them. The rider pushed his hat back from his forehead and grinned, revealing a mouthful of misshapen discoloured teeth. ‘Well—Annie Jones, as I live and breathe, I swear you’re still as pretty as the last time I saw you.’

‘It is Annie Lawson now, Snaggle.’ 

The man held a rifle easy across the front of his saddle and hawked before leaning over to spit. ‘The name is Silas Smith! It’s bad manners to be calling me names, especially before these children—you should know better, woman.’

‘I heard you were in prison.’

‘They let me out early for good behaviour,’ he chuckled, as he dismounted. ‘So … is the boss about?’

‘He’s out checking on the sheep—he’ll be here soon.’

‘You’re lying to me, Annie. All the farmers around here have gone droving for wages. They won’t be home til the rains arrive—could be awhile before then. I hear the drought’s been going on in these parts for more’n two years.’

Snaggle tossed the reins at William. ‘Here, boy—go tie up my horse.’ He withheld his rifle, looping it across his back by the strap.

‘And who do we have here?’ He dropped to one knee and leered at Mary, peeking from behind Annie's skirt. ‘Come and say hello to your Uncle Silas, darling.’

The little girl walked obediently towards him.

‘Get back here,’ said Annie, snatching at her daughter. Too late. Snaggle gathered the child into his arms, holding her up and away from her mother’s reach. 

‘My, my,’ cooed the man, as he stroked Mary’s head, ‘how precious.’ He plucked at her grubby smock. ‘You could dress this pretty baby better. Maybe put a ribbon in her hair—like you used to wear, remember, Annie?’ He glared at William. ‘I told you to go tie up my horse!’

The boy looked at his mother. ‘Do as he says, Billy.’ 

Mary became restless and squirmed to be let down, but Snaggle tightened his hold on the child.

‘Well now,’ he said. ‘Time for a cuppa, I reckon, Annie—what do you say about that? I could do with some hospitality in that hut of yours over there.’

With a wooden smile, she held her hands out, palms up. ‘Please, Silas, give me back my daughter and ride away. Your mum is still living in Bradford—have you been to see her yet?’

He scowled. ‘Lordy no. Why should I visit that vicious old bat? There’s nothing and nobody there for me in that one horse town—never has been.’ His face brightened. ‘Why go to Bradford when I can make myself very comfortable with you and Mary here?’ 

Turning away, he strode towards the homestead carrying the little girl in his arms.

Annie weighed the hoe in her hands for a second before shaking her head and throwing it down. She hurried to catch up with him.

After William had attended to the horse, he returned to the shack. The man finished a mug of strong black tea with Mary encircled on his lap. The child, usually a chatterbox, held a blank stare in a silent trance. Avoiding her son’s questioning eyes, Annie placed a plate of bread and cold meat on the table before Snaggle and returned to the kitchen bench. 

‘That’s my pa’s chair. He wouldn’t want you sitting there, holding Mary like that.’

‘Well, your pa ain’t here now, is he? It’s a dangerous world out there, chances are he’ll never return.’ Unperturbed by the boy’s antagonism, he directed his voice over to the woman. ‘I think this arrangement will suit us both, Annie. I need a nice place to stay and you need a man about the property.’ Snaggle sighed, closed his eyes, and drooled into Mary’s hair. He wriggled the little girl deeper into his lap and began rhythmically stroking her back.

‘My pa said I must be the man of the house when he’s gone.’ William’s fists clenched. ‘He asked me to look after my mother and sister until he comes home.’

Snaggle picked up Mary and stood her beside his chair. He brushed a crumb from his shirt front—then he walked across the floor and slapped the boy so hard his body slammed against the wall of the shack. Mary screamed, extended her arms and lurched towards her brother. Snaggle grabbed the little girl by the arm and yanked her back behind him. 

Shaking his head and bleeding from the nose, William struggled onto his feet. 

Wrapping his hands around the boy’s throat, Silas yelled into his face. ‘Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? You piece of shit! I’ll show you who’s the man of this house.’

‘Oh, Silas,’ called Annie, sweetly. She’d slid away the curtain screening a bed from the rest of the shack. ‘Why don’t you leave them kids alone and come play with me instead?’

William’s jaw dropped as his mother pulled the sleeve of her dusty shirt suggestively down along her arm; she smiled and winked at the man. 

Annie wasn’t a sophisticated woman and her seduction methods were clumsy, almost comical, but Snaggle had never been one for subtlety. He released his hold on William's throat, allowing the boy to fall to the floor.

‘Billy, take Mary outside with you and care for Mister Smith’s horse. Brush him down like your pa showed you and give him a hard feed. Don’t come in until I call you—you hear me?’

#

An hour later, she saw William's face peering in at her lying on the bed beside Snaggle. Annie placed one finger to her lips and waved at the boy to go behind the curtain. Pulling on her skirt and cotton shirt, she left the man snoring on his back and joined her son.

First, she checked on Mary. Asleep on her cot—the little girl’s body twisted into a foetal position, thumb in mouth. As she pulled a sheet over the child, Annie’s lips set into a hard, straight line as she kissed her daughter’s face and tucked a rag doll next to her cheek. 

She turned to whisper to her son. ‘I put laudanum into Snaggle’s tea. It should keep him asleep a little longer.’ She glanced around the room. ‘Where’s his gun?’

When Silas had entered their shack earlier, he'd left his rifle outside, propped against the side of the door. William brought it in and handed it to his mother, who inspected the weapon. ‘It’s not loaded.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve already checked it and searched through his saddle bags—no bullets there either.’

‘Damn, oh well—there’s more than one way to skin a cat, isn’t there, Billy?’ She considered the situation for a moment. Her forehead cleared. ‘Go bring me a 6-inch iron nail from the shed. Your pa was using them for fencing before he left.’

When William returned, his mother waited for him, holding a club headed mallet. She took the spike he handed her, tested the tip with her thumb and smiled at the needle sharp point. 

Sometimes sheep were put down this way when bullets were scarce, but the idea of her doing something similar to Silas Smith horrified the boy. ‘Ma—this is a man’s job. I’ve watched Pa do it many times. I know how to do this.’

Her eyes glittered. ‘No—I’ve waited too many years for this. Stay here with Mary; I’ll call you when I’m done.’

Annie stood over the sleeping man and held the nail above his face. The point extended an inch below her little finger; the head protruded between her index finger and thumb. When the mallet drove the spike through his right eyelid, he let loose a shout. Snaggle's chest heaved up, then collapsed with a hiss. She leaned the point of her elbow on his sternum, in the same way he’d fixed her down a short time earlier, then struck the nail twice more. Quick and clean, the execution left very little blood behind to stain the pillow case. 

She took hold of his feet and called William for help. Together, they pulled Silas Smith off the bed and dragged him out of their house. They laboured, hauling the body to the place where they’d been working that afternoon, pulling the dead man in amongst the dry mallee roots. She ran to the shack, returning with Snaggle’s boots, saddlebags, and a can of kerosene. While she threw the gear onto the pile, William scattered the kerosene around the base of the bonfire. After a glance at his mother, the boy lit a match, setting the tangled edifice alight.

They stood, hand in hand, watching the flames erupt until the heat forced them to retreat. Suddenly, the fury of the inferno petered out, leaving behind a bed of glowing hardwood stumps. 

‘Ma?’ the boy’s voice shook.

‘Yes, Billy.’

She turned their backs to the fire and lead him to a log twenty feet away where they sat together. Before them, a sickle moon hung like a beacon in the indigo sky.

‘Do you remember last year when we were in Bradford with your pa? A dog savaged a child in the street—was your father wrong to shoot that stray?’

The boy shook his head. ‘No. But we’ve killed a man, not a dog. That’s different … isn’t it?’

'Your pa shot the dog, so it couldn’t harm any more children. I put down Silas Smith for the same reason. God was right there watching—he knows what we did and why—do you believe God will punish us for that?’

William considered the question for a moment. ‘No, but maybe someone who wasn’t here wouldn’t understand what happened … or why.’ He gripped his mother’s arm. ‘We mustn’t talk about this to anyone.’

She hugged him. ‘If you need to speak of it, we can talk to each other as often as you like, but it must remain our secret. Oh—Billy, look!’ She pointed to the forked lightning on the horizon, and the ground rumbled beneath their feet. The moon disappeared, smothered by the thunderheads tumbling over the landscape towards them. A warm wet wind slapped at their faces, bringing with it the delicious muddy smell of autumn rain.

‘Pa will come back if it rains.’ William looked at Annie, his face radiant. ‘He’ll bring the seed we need to put in a crop. Tomorrow, I’ll break that man’s horse to harness and get these paddocks ploughed, ready for seeding.’

‘Yes—your pa will be so proud of you when he gets home. Good idea, my darling.’ 

The boy stood, eager to be with Mary, when the thunderstorm arrived. 

‘You go on, Billy—I’m going to stay out here a little longer.’

Her son gone, the woman returned to the perimeter of the fire. She busied about reviving the blaze, throwing in sticks and branches from the edges into the ashes.

Storm clouds boiled above her, flashes lit the sky and thunder snarled as if to drive her back to her hut. Annie could see William’s silhouette against the inner lamplight, watching her from the doorway. The air was so thick with smoky humidity, she struggled to breathe as she fed the coals. 

A flaming spear of lightning sliced down so close, the eruption threw her to the ground.

As she dragged herself back to her feet, rain pelted down on her defiant face, and she shouted at the sky. 'It’s just you and me who know it was Billy’s father I killed today. You watched me while I murdered him, but where were you fifteen years ago when I called out to you for help as I lay bleeding and broken by Silas Smith? Were you a witness then? I don’t recall any thunderbolts belting down on his head. I enjoyed killing him … did you hear me? Are you going to strike me down for that? Go ahead—I’m ready for you.’ She waited, listening intently. ‘No?’ Her eyes reflected the flames as she kicked the remnants of a boot into the coals and spat into the fire. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

THE END