I Can't Live Forever

By Linda McCarthy Shum

I Can't Live Forever is the story of a mans struggle to provide for his family and to cope with life as it deals out fortunes and losses. It is the story of a womans struggle to provide love and security for her husband and children under the primitive conditions of the Australian bush as it was in the 1890s. Her greatest desire is to give her husband a son and heir. When a son is born prematurely, they show their grief in different ways, but the mans grief leads him to further complicate his life and endanger the security of their home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503502321

Linda McCarthy Shum

Linda McCarthy Shum was born in Inverell, New South Wales, in 1948. She and her late husband, Greg, have three children and nine grandchildren. In 1998, she joined a team which began working to improve the lives of abandoned children in China. Long story short, she and Greg founded an organization that takes children out of orphanages and puts them in family groups in apartments in the community. Just before they were to open their first family group home, however, Greg died suddenly. Many people rallied to keep things running smoothly so that more and more children can be taken in. Nothing gives her more pleasure than to have a lap full of children. It doesn’t matter whether the children are biological or foster children. She believes they all have a right to a happy childhood and for this purpose, she works tirelessly with a team of volunteers and paid local staff to make this happen. Some have even been adopted. All profit from the sale of this book goes to help raise the children. If you would like to know more, contact Linda on [e-mail] or go to www.eagleswingschina.org. She also hopes you enjoyed the book.

Book preview

Chapter One

The sun had risen, set and risen again since her labour pains had begun. This, she felt, was her punishment for conceiving a child out of wedlock. He had married her three months before, in a quiet ceremony at the home of the Methodist Minister in Wallerton, a small town in the Australian bush. With a swollen belly as proof of her sin, there could be no white satin as she had always dreamed .….only a loose-fitting garment to try to hide her shame. Ringing in her ears was the reassurance that at least the child would have a name .…. I, Stefan Zeiger, take thee, Wilhelmina Bischoffen to be my lawful wedded…… Yet another pang of childbirth overcame her with its tormenting agony…… Mutti!

Where was her mother in her hour of need? Succumbing to a strong desire to suck her thumb and retreat into her childhood to find comfort at her mother’s bosom, she felt a rough hand rip her thumb from her mouth………

Bist du blödsinnig? His voice showed his disgust. Even in her exhaustion, she could think retaliation, but could not utter it.

No, I am not mad! …..

The sound of his voice brought her back to the present. She could sense his impatience. The baby should have come by now. The desire to push was strong. With each pain, she pushed with all her might. Her energy was almost gone……. Bitte Gott!

Stefan’s gruff voice ordered her not to push. Somehow, she obeyed him. An agonized scream rent the air in that hut….. travelling out into the surrounding bush-land to mingle with the gurgling of magpies.

It was too much for her, and the room went momentarily black. The next thing she knew, a gush of warm water flowed from her body, along with a slippery lump that felt like several pounds of wet sausage.

This was the cause of her shame and so much pain. This was what had caused her parents to disown her. She was sure that Stefan had lost his respect for her the moment she had given in to his persistency. She was glad to be rid of it from her body.

Was it a boy or a girl? A mild curiosity caused her to raise her head and watch as her husband covered the severed umbilical cord with cooled ashes from the open hearth. Tears of disappointment flowed freely. A son might have caused her to regain Stefan’s respect, but on sighting her daughter’s naked body, she felt doubly punished for her wickedness.

For the first time since she had known him, Billie (as he had begun to call her) looked perceptively into the weather-beaten face of her husband. His parents had migrated to Australia from Germany when he was four years old. He spoke only German until he was thirteen, when he had run away from home to make a life for himself in some of the wilder parts of North West New South Wales.

Working with drovers and shepherds, he quickly acquired a rough version of the English Language that was used by bushmen in those parts. Several old newspapers and an ancient drover helped him learn to read, while negotiating business for his employers soon enabled him to write and use money with quite a degree of competence. Billie hoped that she was the only girl he had made pregnant. Now, here she was, fifteen years old, the wife of a hardened bushman, the mother of that flailing wrinkled screaming bundle. They were living in a one-roomed hut with a leaking shingle roof and a dirt floor.

Stefan wrapped the infant in a length of unbleached calico, which bore the letters….

F L O U R. As tenderly as his rough manner allowed, he bared her breast and, with some encouragement, the little one latched on to the nipple with a powerful sucking action. At that moment, the eyes of the man and the girl met. She saw tenderness she had never seen in him before and she was encouraged to think that life was not as forlorn as she had previously thought. Her thoughts were suddenly shattered as her body was once more racked with pain.

For a moment, she feared that another baby was coming. She had heard that two babies were born together sometimes. The man reassured her as he pulled away the placenta. He had never seen a human birth before, but he reasoned that women were not all that different from cows.

Through all this, the infant had been sucking at a tender nipple that was very soon to become cracked and raw. Billie had difficulty separating herself from the child, so Stefan placed his large forefinger on the little chin, thus forcing the jaws to let go their grasp. He told his wife to allow the baby to suck at the other side while he made an attempt to clean up and restore order.

Charlotte, he said. That will do for a name…. Lottie Zeiger.

Sometime later, Billie felt Stefan take the baby from her side and place it in the wooden box he had made. The box was placed on a bench above the ground away from snakes and other vermin. The bench was at the foot of the roughly hewn bed, where, with a great sense of relief, the mother gave in to her exhaustion and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Some hours later, Billie was awakened by what she thought was a tomcat yowling. It was, however, her newborn daughter.

Lottie. Her lips mouthed the word, but no voice came out.

Yes, her thoughts ran on, I can get used to that……. Little Lottie.

While she was wondering what to do to stop the noise, Stefan returned. He looked drawn and weary. It was then she realized that he had been without sleep all the time she had laboured. Tenderly, he lifted the baby out of the box and handed it to its mother to be suckled once again. While Lottie enjoyed the nourishing fluid, Stefan stoked the fire to brew Billie a cup of black tea. In a metal tucker box on the table, he found two stale pieces oof bread. This would have to do until tomorrow, when he hoped that Billie would be strong enough to replenish the supply.

It was dark when they finished their meal. Billie enjoyed being waited on and she watched contentedly as the man tidied the room, secured the fire, stripped down to his long flannel underwear and crawled into bed beside her.

At dawn the next morning, Stefan was awakened by the clink of the metal poker as his wife stirred the coals in the fire to cook the morning meal. After the last few days of eating what he could find, the thought of cracked wheat porridge made his mouth water.

On rising, he first checked the contents of the box at the end of the bed. The words, F L O U R rose and fell slightly as the infant breathed softly. Silently congratulating himself on his efforts, he took his clothes from the wooden peg behind the door, dressed and went outside to chop some wood and milk the old cow he had bought cheaply from a neighbour.

After a silent breakfast, Stefan told Billie that he had a mob of bullocks to be driven to Ellworth. He would be back in less than a week if all went well.

With a full tuckerbox strapped to the saddle, he set off to collect the bullocks from their owner. More than ever, he would appreciate the little cash this job would bring. Winter would soon be upon them and there would be some cold hard times before spring arrived.

Billie turned back to the hut after seeing her husband off. A wailing noise was coming from the box and F L O U R was rising and falling furiously……

Well, you won’t let me forget that you are here, will you Lottie? She lifted the bundle of calico and held it close to her. The warmth of mother-love engulfed her and she felt guilty for wanting to be rid of the baby at that moment of birth. White creamy stuff had dried in places where it had not been absorbed into the baby’s skin. Her hair stuck closely to her head, giving her the appearance of a bald monk.

Billie found the small enamel dish, warmed some water and proceeded to sponge her new baby. Lottie protested loudly, until, with ablutions complete, and dressed smartly in a new flourbag nightdress, and a diaper made from the same material, she was allowed to nuzzle at her mother’s breast and take her fill.

The first week passed quickly for Billie. The baby certainly added to her workload, but she was strong and youth was on her side. Somehow, with the advent of motherhood, she felt fulfilled. Stefan arrived home to find the woodshed brimming with cut logs, the house animals well-tended and his new daughter settled into a scrupulous routine of bathing, feeding and sleeping.

On a small bush near the outhouse, several items of baby clothes were spread out to dry. The word F L O U R had begun to fade from the clothes, because, even in that first week, they had been constantly washed and dried in the sun. The smell of fresh bread led Stefan to the side of the hut where he had built a clay oven. The young wife was collecting two loaves to take inside. Neither spoke as they went indoors. Stefan sat on his chair while Billie prepared a meal of bread and fat rendered from mutton chops they ate daily. Strong, black, billy tea was a luxury, so they enjoyed it when they could.

Too doughy, he complained about the bread. She uttered a quiet apology.

Baby Lottie soon became aware of the noises and smells around her. When she was four weeks old, she grasped her father’s large rough forefinger and opened her lips in a round, toothless grin. Billie, on seeing this, was overcome with envy. A baby’s first smile, she reasoned, should be for its mother. She watched a close relationship develop between her husband and her daughter and felt disappointed….even excluded.

At six weeks, Lottie, while learning to grasp the wooden doll her father had made her, was not aware that her younger sister, Esther, had been conceived. Billie was not aware of it either, until four months later, she felt the child quicken within her. Stefan had guessed when he heard her retching in the outhouse morning after morning. She had put her sickness down to weevils in the flour upsetting her stomach. Stefan had thought to mention that it might not be the weevils, but they both worked long and hard, and there was little time for unnecessary conversation. Even as they went to bed, it was rare for either to utter a word. Almost every night, Billie was sound asleep before Stefan had finished his nuptial rights.

ICLF leaves

Chapter Two

Lottie knew that she was alone in the hut and confined to the playpen that her father had fashioned from saplings. She cried for her mother and did not understand why she was ignored. Billie heard Lottie crying, but she had other things on her mind just then. Five times in the last hour, she had been compelled to race for the outhouse. Just as she was coming out from the last episode, her foot slipped on a patch of mud. She heard the thud as her back hit the ground. She felt nothing but a curious numbness. Momentarily stunned, she was breathing heavily. A warm liquid gathered next to her body. She tried to rise to go back into the outhouse. As she did so, she heard the muffled wail of her newborn daughter coming from under her heavy black serge skirt.

With her mouth open in disbelief, she lifted her skirt and peeled back her large calico bloomers to be greeted by the wriggling slippery mess that she found there.

Esther protested long and loud at being so rudely removed from the secure warmth of her mother’s womb, to the wet cold grass near the outhouse. Billie waited for the placenta to come, then she bit the umbilical cord and tied it in a knot as if it were a length of sausage casing.

For half an hour, she could not move more than to cuddle the infant’s tiny naked body to give it warmth. Esther should have been grateful that it was not winter when she was dropped like a calf on the damp green grass. Gratitude, however, was not in her mind as she wailed her high-pitched newborn siren.

After a time, Billie bared her breast and Esther became quiet as she greedily drank the mature milk that was meant for her older sister, who had not yet been weaned and would now have to share the bounty. Gradually, before her birthday, Lottie would have to give over her full share.

Wenn sahe Mutti jetz mich!

If her mother could have seen her at that moment, she would have wept bitterly. In three more days, it would be Billie’s birthday. Sixteen years before, her mother had held her for the first time, loving her with all the love that was now given to little Esther as those two forlorn females lie side by side in a wet, messy heap near the outhouse door.

From inside the hut, a baby voice was protesting at being too long alone. Billie knew that she would have to get inside for the sake of both her children. When she tried to sit up, her whole body was stiff. She forced herself to rise to her feet, with Esther wrapped in the hem of her skirt. The journey into the house seemed endless. However, when she arrived, she was rewarded with a happy gurgle from Lottie, who had soiled her calico diaper and spread the contents from one end of her sapling enclosure to the other.

As Billie walked, the stiffness in her body was eased and she found strength enough to wrap Esther in the inevitable flourbag wrapper and place her in the wooden cradle at the foot of the double bed, where she was soon sound asleep.

Lottie reached out to her mother with her chubby baby arms. Before Billie went near her, she found soap and water… enough to clean herself as well as her first-born. Two hours later, Stefan returned from the bush carrying the carcass of a big grey kangaroo he had been lucky enough to shoot.

Billie! he called from the other side of the outhouse. Her failure to answer angered him, until, on seeing the evidence of the earlier event near the outhouse door, he dropped his trophy and rushed into the house to find his wife and his two babies sound asleep in the end of the hut where the beds were.

Glancing at the sleeping Esther, he was reminded of the difficult time Billie had had when Lottie had been born. Stefan did a mental count. Lottie was just nine months old…. She had been at least six weeks old before the new baby could have been conceived…….. This tiny creature must be at least six weeks early. He touched the almost transparent cheek with his grimy finger and was satisfied to see a slight stirring. The baby was alive at any rate.

Billie was in the sound sleep of the exhausted. Stefan gazed at her as she slept. He knew now that he loved her. He might sometimes stray to the neighbouring towns to satisfy his need of adventure, but that meant nothing to him when he could come home to someone he loved. He could not tell her of his love for her to her face, but as she slept, he could speak.

Today, Liebchen, you have done well… Sleep now, for tomorrow, there is much to do.

Dawn found the woman stirring the cracked- wheat porridge in the black pot hanging from the open hearth. The man returned from the cow bails that he had built some months earlier, bearing a bucket of frothy milk. Taking an enamel mug from the shelf, he dipped into the warm white liquid and handed it to his wife.

You will need to drink more of this now.

Billie was touched by his kindness, but she did not comment. When the milk was gone, she asked: What will you call the Kindchen?

Is it a boy?

Nein.

She could see his disappointment.

Esther, he answered simply, and they spoke no more about it.

By mid-morning, the hide from the big grey kangaroo was pegged out to dry in the sun. It would make a warm mat for beside the bed, where it would ease the discomfort of rising early on frosty winter mornings. The meat was hanging from the roof of the lean-to that was referred to as the veranda. Billie was making preparations to salt most of the meat to slow the process of decay, which would soon leave it inedible if left unsalted in this weather.

Constantly, however, she found herself interrupted by hunger, discomfort or other kinds of cries from the two babies in the hut.

When she had fed Esther after first light that morning, she had taken her first good look at her second daughter. It was then that she realized how small Esther really was. She had little hair on her head, tiny eyelashes, sparse eyebrows, and transparent fingernails. Billie worried that her baby was not normal. No one had ever told her how conception or birth took place, not even the period of gestation. She had no idea that Esther’s appearance was due to her prematurity.

By February, when Lottie celebrated her first birthday, Billie was able to forget her niggling worry about Esther’s normality, for at three months, the little one was smiling and gurgling and responding to Lottie’s entertainment. Lottie would have killed her sister with kindness if the young mother had not been constantly on guard.

The older child was drinking more milk from the cow lately, and she even ate some of the broth from the kangaroo meat stew, which was the staple diet of her parents. This left more mothers’ milk for Esther. Lottie, however, still demanded to suckle just before bedtime. Often, when Stefan returned from his work after dark, he found his tired wife sound asleep in the old rocking chair near the stone hearth, with two little girls suckling…. one at each breast.

Billie was often tired during February and March. She did not know why…. not even her retching every morning gave her a clue. Stefan knew, but he did not realize her ignorance.

Early one June morning, when the frost was still heavy on the grass, Stefan, who had ridden all night, returned from driving a mob of cattle to a sale at Glen Innes. He came in quietly so as not to waken his daughters, who would have still been asleep at that hour. He was surprised to see Billie still in bed, for she was usually up at dawn. Then he saw her face. She looked much older than her seventeen years. Tears had dried on her cheeks and her eyes were swollen and red. Slowly, she moved her arm for him to see the tiny, perfectly formed body of his first -born son. The baby was no bigger than his hand. She had never seen her husband weep before. Neither spoke. When he had spent his grief, he eased his little son from her grasp and wrapped him in the same piece of calico in which he had first wrapped Lottie. The material was now thin and bleached as white as the clouds. Billie gazed at the pixie face surrounded by the soft whiteness, and thought that God’s angels must look something like that. Stefan touched her hand and allowed her to place a farewell kiss on the tiny head of her son. Slowly, he walked through the lean-to, along the well-worn path to the outhouse, around the side of it to the cow bail. Next to the bail was a tall spotted gum tree. It looked strong enough to guard his son and would remind them of what might have been. He placed the little bundle on the ground while he dug the hole, then, as gently as he had put Lottie in her cradle eighteen months before, he placed his son in the small grave beneath the tree…

Sleep little Stefan, sleep.

When he returned to the hut, he found his daughters whining for their breakfast. He lifted the wet hessian bag, which kept the milk cool and handed Lottie a mug of milk. When she had finished, he half-filled it and held it so that Esther, who was seven months old now, could get milk in a slobbering sucking way.

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