Heart of the Country (21 page)

“Time for dancing,” Jacob said. Lizzie laughed as her brother pulled her to her feet.

“The shed's the best place for that,” John Gibson said, and he pulled a harmonica from his pocket. He ran it across his mouth, producing a merry blast that stirred everyone to movement.

The men helped clear the boards in the shed. They carried in some logs for seating while the women cleaned up the dishes and food. In no time they were all gathered again in the shearing shed.

The breeze had cleared some of the heat and smell. Baskets of wool off-cuts were pushed to the sides and Lizzie draped small branches of flowering eucalypt along the tops of the pens. She and Anne had removed the outer coats they'd worn all day to reveal patterned dresses underneath, adding to the festive look. Lizzie's dress was deep blue, with small white swirls on it. The neckline was cut straight across her shoulders and, while the sleeves puffed out around her wrists, the bodice was tapered to hug her chest and her trim waist. She looked like a princess.

With the light from some lanterns and the music played by Gibson, the atmosphere in the shed became quite celebratory. Duffy danced with Mrs Gibson, and Isaac with his mother. Jacob twirled Lizzie around the floor before stopping in front of Thomas and bowing out. Lizzie's face shone. Dancing with her made him feel carefree and even light on his feet, although he'd never been much of a dancer.

Even the shearers joined in. One of them dragged Wick to the floor. They tied an old sweat rag around his waist like an apron and pulled his hat down with a cord so it resembled a bonnet and whizzed him around. All Wallis's animosity seemed to have evaporated with the music. Thomas suspected it was also something to do with the flask that Duffy was happy to share with him.

Lizzie was swept away by Samuel. Thomas danced with Anne Smith and with the dour Mrs Gibson, who threw herself in to the activity with great enthusiasm and even managed a smile. After several dances, Thomas found himself without a partner for a while. With all the movement, the shed had warmed up again, so he strolled to the door to take in some fresh air. There were no clouds and little moon: a million stars glittered across the velvet sky.

Thomas thought of England and the life he'd lived there. Back then he could never have imagined this. If his parents could see him now, what would they think? It was harder work than they'd done in England. The land here was much harsher than the Dowlings' lush green pastures. Was this what his father had been hoping for when he'd booked their passage? Thomas looked down the sweep of the hill to the glowing coals of the outside fire and the dark silhouette of the rough hut. It all seemed insignificant under the huge sky.

His spirits dipped at the thought of the big trip ahead of him. Then there was the problem of who would look after the place in his absence. AJ hadn't given him any instructions about that.

“You're deep in thought.”

Thomas looked down into Lizzie's upturned face. She was puffing slightly and a little bead of sweat glinted across her brow. Behind them the music continued and the laughter got louder.

“There's a lot to do tomorrow,” he said and looked back at the night sky.

“You've done a good job so far. I am sure Mr Browne was right to put his faith in you.”

“I'll be gone a long time.”

“My brothers can take turns checking your sheep.”

“I don't like to ask them for help again.”

“Why not? That's what neighbours do. I'm sure you'd help us if we needed.”

Thomas gave a soft snort. “I can't see that being necessary. Your family is a small army.”

“You never know.” She leaned forward to look out at the stars and he was surprised by her hand gripping his arm. “Anyway, the good Lord will make it right. Just look at this beautiful night he's provided.”

“Yes, it is beautiful,” Thomas said, but he was looking at Lizzie. Some wisps of hair had escaped the upwards-sweeping knot at the back of her head and they floated over the pale skin of her neck. The gentle hint of lavender followed her, reminding him of England.

Suddenly there was a bellow from behind them and the music stopped. Thomas spun in time to see Wallis strike Wick a blow with the back of his hand. The lad sprawled to the floor with a yelp. He scrabbled backwards as Wallis went after him.

Thomas strode over and stood between the wild-eyed shearer and the whimpering lad. “That's enough, Wallis,” he said.

“The young idiot stomped on my foot and he'll pay,” Wallis bellowed.

Thomas was sprayed with spittle and boozy breath. “I think we all need to turn in.”

“There's still plenty of music left in Gibbo yet.” Duffy's words were slurred and he struggled to get to his feet.

“Everyone has an early start in the morning.” Thomas kept his eyes locked on Wallis's brooding face.

“That's right,” the shearer said. “We'll be on our way.” He leaned forward and peered around Thomas. “Then you won't be able to hide.”

Thomas put his hands up as Wallis swayed into him, and got a shove in return.

“Don't touch me,” Wallis growled.

Jacob and Samuel moved in either side of Thomas.

“It's been a wonderful night.” Anne Smith spoke brightly. “But Thomas is quite right, it's getting late and we ladies will retire. I think the gentlemen should too.”

Wallis stepped back and suddenly the shed was alive with movement again as everyone bade their good nights. Duffy continued to suggest they keep dancing but no one took any notice. The women gathered their coats and left to share the small space inside the hut. The men would spread bed rolls by the fire and Thomas had hung his hammock in the trees again.

He remained rigid on the spot and nodded as each of them bid him good night and left the shed. Wallis was the last and didn't speak until he reached the door.

“Come on, Wick. Get back to camp,” he said.

“Wick can stay with me a little longer,” Thomas said. “I've a couple of jobs still to do here.”

Wallis's eyes flared. Then he twisted his mouth in to an ugly smirk. “Don't keep him too long. We want to be gone by sun up.”

Finally there was just Thomas and Wick. The lad scrambled to his feet. Now he had a red mark on the right side of his face to match the other.

“What do you want me to do, Mr Baker?”

Thomas was saddened by the eagerness in the lad's voice. He knew Wallis was right. He couldn't protect Wick for much longer.

“Stack those logs by the door and turn out the lanterns,” Thomas said. “Then perhaps you can sleep in here tonight. Get a good rest before your journey.”

Wick flashed him a grateful smile and Thomas left the shed. He felt an ache in his muscles and the weight of deep tiredness. He was only a few years older than Wick but tonight he felt ancient. He climbed into his bed and gazed at the stars through the branches of the tree over his head. Even though the evening had ended on a sour note, nothing could spoil the memory of his first cut-out party and dancing along the boards with Lizzie in his arms. Very quickly, he drifted off to sleep with a smile on his lips.

Thomas was awakened by a rough shake of his shoulder and the puff of unpleasant breath in his face.

“Where's that young imbecile?”

Thomas felt as if he'd just shut his eyes but beyond the looming figure of Wallis he could see the pink glow of the rising sun.

He rolled out of his bed away from the foul man. “What are you talking about?”

“Wick,” Wallis said. “We're ready to go and the young idiot's nowhere to be found.” He jabbed a dirty finger towards Thomas. “You've hidden him somewhere.”

“I've done no such thing.” Thomas pulled on his boots. “I gave the lad permission to sleep in the shearing shed and that's the last I saw of him.”

“Wick!” Wallis bellowed.

“Quiet, man,” Thomas hissed. “You'll wake everyone up with your noise.”

He strode to the shearing shed. Inside, the logs had been stacked and beside them on the floor were the cold lanterns. With Wallis right behind him, they looked in every pen and every corner.

“He's not here,” Thomas said.

“I can see that for myself,' Wallis said.

“Perhaps he's asleep somewhere in the bush.”

“I've called all around. He's always close by … until your place. You've made him soft.”

Over Wallis's shoulder Thomas saw a small movement in the wool swept to one side of the shed. It was a mound of dags, the dung-caked locks trimmed from the backsides of the sheep.

“Perhaps he decided to go his own way,” Thomas said and made his way out of the shed. “He could be anywhere by now.”

“We can't waste any more time looking for him,” Wallis pointed at Thomas again, “but we'll be back this way one day and if he's here –”

“He's a free man to go where he pleases.”

Wallis snorted and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again only to spit at Thomas's feet. He turned and strode away, past the yards with the last of the shorn sheep, to where the other two shearers stood with their meagre possessions over their shoulders. Thomas watched as Wallis gathered up his things, including a collection of pots and pans that clunked together as they moved off.

“I'm not sad to see them go.” Jacob's voice startled him.

Thomas turned to see the Smith family; the three men had moved up close behind him with the ladies a little further back.

Anne raised her eyebrows. “You seem to make a habit of helping lame ducks, Mr Baker.”

“It shows he has a kind heart, Mother,” Lizzie said with a gentle smile.

“Or he's easily duped,” Samuel said.

“What's all the noise about?” Duffy stumbled out from under the Gibsons' wagon.

“Time for us all to head home, Mr Duff,” Anne said. “Perhaps you'd like some tea and damper before you go?”

“No thanks, missus. Gibbo and I should be on our way. The Gwynns are due any day. Got our own sheep to attend to.”

Thomas waved them off and watched as they disappeared through the trees past the stream. The Smith brothers busied themselves with their horses and cart and Lizzie helped her mother with the breakfast. No one was paying him any attention as he headed back to the shed.

“You can come out now, Wick,” he said. He watched as the boy slowly emerged from the smelly wool heap.

“I don't want to cause you trouble, Mr Baker.” Wick picked at the clumps of wool sticking to his clothes and hair. “But I don't want to travel with them shearers no more.”

“I can give you a ride back to Adelaide.”

“No thanks,” Wick said quickly. “I prefer to keep away from busy places.”

“Where then?”

“I could stay here. Keep an eye on things while you're gone.”

“This isn't my place.” Thomas wished there was some way he could help the lad. “Perhaps the Smiths?” Even as he said it he realised there was no way the Smith family needed any more help.

“You don't need to pay me and I'm good at finding me own food. I just need somewhere to stay for a while.”

“You don't think Wallis might come back looking for you? There'd be no one to help you if he did.”

“He won't be back.” Wick stuck his hands in his pockets and gave a shrug. “Least not for a long time. They keep moving, those blokes. Shearing or whatever they can to earn some money.”

“Looks like you've found your help.”

Wick jumped at the sound of Lizzie's voice.

“I'm glad to see you're not lost, Wick,” she said. “Mr Baker was only saying last night that he needed some help and here you are – the answer to his prayers.”

Thomas looked from the smiling Lizzie to the startled face of Wick. The gangly lad was not what he'd imagined the Lord would provide but he decided he had little choice but to give him a try. If he worked out, he may become the replacement shepherd.

Later that morning, his wagon loaded high with wool bales, Thomas began the journey back to Adelaide. The Smiths had suggested they would take turns at visiting Wick, who had promised most solemnly to look after the sheep until Thomas's return. And so it was, with some small degree of excitement, mixed with an element of uncertainty, that he cracked his whip and urged the bullocks forward.

1848

“I hope your wife isn't encouraging mine to buy frivolous trinkets, Mr Wiltshire. She has no need of such rubbish out here.”

Septimus lifted his head from the bag of wool clippings he'd been checking. The rotund man next to him was an ugly figure with small beady eyes, a bulbous nose and a bushy beard. Bull by name and bull by nature. Septimus couldn't imagine how the man had attracted such a young woman as his wife. Then he recalled his own travels with Harriet, and decided anything was possible in this isolated Australian bush.

He looked over at the two women seated beside the wagon. They were drinking tea from dainty china cups, deep in conversation. He knew he could leave it up to Harriet to make a good sale if there was one to be had but he thought she'd have her work cut out. The farmer's wife was young and probably had no sway with her grotesque husband. There was no spark in her eyes, her hair had no shine and her dress was a deep brown, which did nothing for her sallow complexion. He could see no indication of feminine charm and who could blame her, stuck out there with such a man.

Septimus shifted his gaze to her husband. “Your good wife is probably taking the opportunity to enjoy some female conversation, Mr Bull,” he said and went back to testing the wool.

Harriet was proving to be quite an asset. When he recalled the day, almost a year earlier now, he'd returned to camp with the new wagon all loaded up with supplies and found her in a wet and bedraggled heap by the cold fire, he still felt a jolt of dismay. He'd thought she was dead but, like a cat, Harriet seemed to have nine lives. He'd plucked her from the soggy ground, warmed her up and watched over her as she recovered.