Outback Heritage

by K'Anne Meinel

  Alinta took an interest in their cooking too, amazed at the bounty that was in their wagons. The rice and peas were a favorite of hers, but she didn’t really like the fat from the mutton, preferring the meat to be nearly raw rather than well done. Salt pork gave her a taste that left her in awe, and beef was her favorite meat. She searched for and found seeds and other things off the trail as Mel allowed her to roam, only worrying once or twice that she had run off.

  “She’ll have to go eventually, won’t she?” Carmen asked as they rode their horses at the front of the column, the dust that the sheep kicked up on the track too thick to ride drag very often. She glanced back to see the flock going on endlessly behind the wagons on the track. Her other glance took in the two men assigned to their remuda, the horses being herded alongside their long column were moving much faster than the slower wagons and sheep, who were permitted to graze as they went.

  “I hope she will be happy to be returned to her family,” Mel said, watching the aboriginal woman effortlessly club a lizard and put it into the bag she had given her. Carmen had watched Alinta, who was amazed at the fine bag, much finer than any she could have woven from spinifex. She had turned it over and over after Mel gave it to her, examining it closely.

  “You think they will want her back?” Carmen asked knowingly, comparing the Aborigine to the native Indians she had known and dealt with in California.

  “I have no idea. That’s one thing I hope to ask her as she learns English.” Mel did worry. The woman, almost a girl, seemed cheerful, well-meaning, and bright. Did she want to go back to her family? There were many things she wanted to ask her, but the language barrier was only part of the problem. The woman didn’t seem to have what Mel would have termed common sense. She didn’t seem to understand that things could be broken and everything wasn’t made of iron. Alinta had cringed in terror when she accidentally broke a bottle and their cook, one of Carmen’s men, had started yelling in consternation over the broken glass. The rapid phrases in Spanish had sounded musical, but the tone had frightened the wild woman.

  “Easy there, easy. It can be replaced, right, Jose?” Mel asked as she came running up where Alinta cowered, expecting a blow to fall. She pulled the girl up and into her arms. She towered over her at least a foot, and her heart went out to the terrified girl. Carmen came rushing up, talking rapidly to Jose as Mel asked him.

  “Si, si,” he said contritely, upset and swearing over the mess of the glass in his carefully prepared food. He began shoveling it into the fire. No one could eat food that had glass in it. “I am sorry, Alinta,” he said, trying to touch her on the arm as she cringed away. His face told how sorry he was as he watched her.

  Alinta might not understand the words, but the tone told a lot more, and his body language gave away a lot more than he intended. She looked at him wonderingly, understanding him as little clues gave her ideas about what was being said. She realized that Mel was holding her but not so hard that she couldn’t get away if she wanted. She looked up at the big man with as much wonder as she had looked at Jose, then glanced at a concerned Carmen. Realizing no one was angry at her and no one was going to strike her, she relaxed. Hearing the concern in Mel’s voice towards the man named Jose, she began to fit these things together in her mind. Things had changed a lot for this primitive woman, and she was trying to figure out these white people.

  Alinta could see that Mel and Carmen were vastly different white people, and although the Hispanic people were dark too and getting darker from the hot Australian sun, they were still a lot lighter than her own people. She didn’t think of them as Hispanic because that concept hadn’t been explained to her, but at the same time, she wouldn’t have understood it yet either. Mel was obviously one of those white men but nothing like the ones who had captured her. His kindness alone intrigued the aboriginal woman.

  “Did Alinta do something bad?” Rachel, Carmen’s young daughter asked worriedly as she came running up, her nurse a few paces behind her.

  “No, it was an accident,” Mel explained to the little girl, her voice softening.

  Alinta was fascinated by Carmen’s children, not having seen white children this close before. The children she had seen in the towns they had gone through, some which she had seen again as they retraced the previous route, never came near the wild woman. The offering of friendship between the town’s children and the travelers, even if only temporary for an evening, was immediately accepted, and she watched avidly as they played together.

  Alinta left the safety of Mel’s arms to help Jose. He was at first surprised by her attempts to help him clean up, then she cut herself on the glass, not understanding that it was sharp and the shards dangerous.

  “She’s bleeding. Alinta’s bleeding!” Rachel announced upon seeing the blood as she watched the adults interact.

  Alinta put her thumb wonderingly in her mouth, tasting the food, the dirt, and the blood on it immediately and spitting it out.

  Mel gently pulled her thumb out of her mouth and handed her a handkerchief, which she showed her how to wrap around the bleeding thumb. The red color of the material seemed to fascinate the woman as she stared at it. Mel applied pressure, amused at the primitive woman’s fascination and wondering what would happen to her when they parted ways. She too had noticed the rounding belly and knew it wasn’t just from their good food. She felt strangely maternal towards the woman, but at the same time, she knew she cared deeply for her and worried what would happen when they found more Aborigines and Alinta went with them.

  Carmen wondered if Mel was aware that she was falling for Alinta. She found it fascinating to watch and observe. She attempted to help where she could, but she could see that Alinta wasn’t aware of her dependence on the big American yet either. She wondered how crushed Mel would be to lose her pet or if Alinta would even go.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They traveled steadily to the west, and it got hotter and hotter. They tried to stop near a pond, a billabong as they called it here in Australia, whenever they could. Creeks and streams were not plentiful here, but the farther west they went, the less water there would be. Carmen remembered that many parts of California were like this and yet, the feel of the Outback was completely different. It was older and more oppressive than anything she had ever felt before.

  As their large flock and contingent paused at the top of a hill that led down to a large river, their guide announced it was Menindee. He pointed to the track that was visible on the opposite side of the river. Carmen thought it atypical of a western town, being dry, dusty, and raw. There were streets, but they weren’t tree-lined or cobbled as had they would have been in a more settled city like Sydney or San Francisco.

  “You’ll have to arrange for the ferry to take your sheep across, missus,” he addressed Carmen since she was going to the station where he was taking these supplies. He didn’t trust the men who rode with her, but an attractive woman always seemed to garner compliments along with flirtation and respect. He grudgingly respected the big man who frequently rode with her, the other Yank, but only because he had heard of the one punch knockout in the shearing sheds back in Sydney. He’d eyed the man several times but knew better than to start anything with him. The big American was curious about everything and frequently asked about animals, birds, and even grasses and trees they encountered. Carmen listened as well, learning the names. His men kept well away from the big man for the most part, just in case they unintentionally offended him.

  Carmen and her people kept to themselves, not socializing as the Australian and English men found the Hispanic Californios very different. Even Mel, who they continued to call a Yank, was like the swarthy men from the southwest part of the United States, and the Australians eyed them suspiciously. Carmen and her men were used to this back in America, which was still young, but their people had been in California for hundreds of years and here they were the newcomers.

  Mel was grateful that the vaqueros were willing to help with the sheep;
they weren’t stock snobs as she had seen in the west. Some cattlemen wouldn’t associate with sheep ranchers and vice versa. She’d known it to come to violence. Here it seemed to be reversed. Sheep were much more numerous than cattle, and while she hoped to also obtain some beef, right now, her focus was on the sheep she had purchased with Carmen.

  “We’ll do that,” Carmen said, giving the blushing man a smile as she nodded in agreement.

  “Can’t we swim them across?” Mel asked, eyeing the dirty river and trying to gauge its depth. They’d swum the flock across many nameless creeks on the trek out here.

  “No, sir. It’s deeper than it looks,” the man explained respectfully, trying to stop from blushing in the presence of a beautiful woman and having to talk to Carmen. The drayage company would pay to ferry his wagons across too.

  They stopped in the town to pick up a few odds and ends, and Mel arranged to load the sheep on the ferry in batches, so they could take them across the large river. Leaving some of the dogs on the other side with a couple of the men, the ferry returned to take more and more of the sheep before taking the wagons and people across. Carmen was amused watching Mel, knowing that the men who did business with the Yank had no idea they were dealing with a woman. They ignored Carmen for the most part, only talking to the big Yank they assumed was a man. Other than curious stares, admiration for her dusky looks, and an odd ‘G'day’ here and there, most of the men they dealt with didn’t talk to the Californian.

  “Someday, they will have steel rails leading to towns such as this,” Mel commented, looking back as the town receded across the river.

  “I hope it doesn’t ruin the land,” Carmen agreed as she imagined it. She knew since California had become a state in 1850, men had already been talking about the steel rails running from one end of the country to the next. With the changes that had already threatened her family ranch and her sale and emigration, she could imagine the fights, the influx of less than desirable men and women, and the crime that would increase once it was finished. She wasn’t to know it, but it wouldn’t happen in the United States for many years. The railroad wouldn’t be complete until 1869 with the Transcontinental Railroad.

  They rode on along the track, stopping every third day or so, so the sheep could graze and maintain their weight.

  “This country is larger than I had given it credit for. No wonder my letters to my cousins and uncle took so long to be answered,” Carmen confided as they rode along.

  “Mama do you think I could ride today?” one of the boys called from the back of the wagon where he rode with his brothers, sister, and nursemaid. This nursemaid looked exhausted from taking care of the four children.

  “Don’t you think it’s too hot?” Carmen answered, looking at the sweat that dripped down the boy’s face. She herself felt the same way and frequently used her delicate handkerchief to wipe away the dust and sweat from her face. The handkerchief was no longer a pristine white lace. She had drawers filled with these feminine fripperies, and she was glad she had stopped wearing her dresses and now wore the stockmen’s clothes that Mel had recommended she purchase back in Sydney.

  “No, Mama. I think being on the back of a horse will be cooler than sitting here in the wagon. If there is any breeze, I think I will feel it better there,” Philippe insisted logically.

  Carmen shared a smile with Mel. The boy would ride every day if he could. Neither of the women felt the aches in their legs anymore. They had worked them out before they had even crossed the Blue Mountains back near the coast. The boy tried to ride for several hours a day and had built up his stamina each time.

  “Okay, when we stop for the nooning, you can saddle one of the horses for you and your brother,” she indicated Sebastián, who was sitting behind him looking hopeful.

  “But, Mama, I wanted to ride alone,” he protested, not liking the idea of sharing.

  “Then perhaps, you don’t need to ride at all.”

  He thought about it for only a second, not willing to lose the chance to ride instead of being stuck in the wagon with his younger siblings. “He can ride with me,” he conceded.

  “He won’t last long,” she assured him with a smile, and she and Mel rode on ahead of the wagon. They had only stopped back by the wagons to be assured that Alinta was riding in one after having caught her foot on a thorn.

  “Wish I could get her to wear shoes or boots,” Mel groused as they checked on her, and she smiled, pleased to see the Yank.

  “Are you trying to civilize her?” Carmen questioned, amused. She remembered hearing of whites trying to do this to American Indians…and failing.

  “No, not at all,” Mel shook her head. “I just want her to be comfortable…” she began and then left off. “Hell, she was probably comfortable with no clothes for generations.” They’d seen a few wild Aborigines as they headed west, each time making Mel worry that Alinta would take off and go with them. So far, though, she hadn’t seemed to want to go with any of them even though they looked at her curiously. She was still wearing the long, white man’s shirt…and that was it. The clothes that Mel had bought for her were rolled up with her bedroll and becoming all wrinkled. The hat was her one concession, and she wore it proudly.

  “Thinking we can change the natives has caused more problems than anything else. My ancestors were conquistadors, and look how well that turned out,” Carmen mentioned, remembering the stories of the Spanish who came over and took over Mexico, killing thousands of natives, breeding with them, and trying to conquer them. Eventually, they had civilized some and taken some as their wives, but they were far different from the original Spanish men and women their ancestors had been. Even the Californios she had known were different from those who visited from Mexico or Spain. They were becoming Americanized, and she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Still, she didn’t regret leaving and was looking forward to seeing Twin Station and her inheritance.

  “You’ve been on Twin Station for a day now,” the carter told her one day as they traveled. They had been on the track for months because of the sheep slowing them down considerably, and he could have left them behind, but because she was one of the owners, he had instead stayed with them. Carmen appreciated it.

  “When will we be at the home paddock?” she asked, looking about the land now with a proprietorial air. She found it dry and dusty, very much like the desert.

  “Tomorrow,” he promised, calling to one of his men to go on ahead and warn them. Carmen looked nothing like the Englishman, but she stated her uncle had been English, and he had known the man. If she had made the whole story up, then why would she travel this far with all these animals for nothing? She had to have money in order to transport those horses, her people, and all this baggage from the Americas, much less purchase those sheep. He knew that the big Yank owned half the sheep, but he didn’t know why they were traveling together. He had gleaned from the campfire talk that the Yank was going to look for his own station nearby Twin Station.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Carmen was restless that last night, wondering what they would find at the station tomorrow. The children were excited, the end of their long and grueling trip ahead of them. They’d talked about what they wanted in a home, speculating what they would find, and remembering the ranch house back in California. Nicolás already had fading memories, and Rachel wouldn’t remember the ranch at all, but they both acted up because their older brothers were excited.

  The land looked arid, and as they came over the last rise, Mel rode ahead to direct the sheep away from a flock she saw grazing on the hillside. They were at least half a mile away, but if two flocks came into the vicinity of each other they would flow together, their herding instinct mandating it. She didn’t worry about separating her part of the flock from Carmen’s when she left, but she wanted the breed she had paid for, not the sheep she’d seen grazing on the stations on their way out here. Carmen had already agreed to give her three- and four-year-olds from the flock. These would help establish h
er station quicker as the animals were more likely to give birth to twins or more at that age.

  Two people came riding down the track. As they got closer, they saw it was a man and a woman, and Mel nodded to acknowledge them as she also watched the oncoming wagons and sheep. Carmen saw them too and rode up just as they reached her.

  “Are you Carmen Pearson?” the man asked, eyeing Mel.

  “I am Senora Mary Carmen Valenzuela Pearson,” Carmen said with a flourish in her voice as she reined up. “You may call me Carmen.”

  “Ah, cousin Carmen,” the man said with a bright smile, relieved that the pretty woman was his cousin and not the other…woman? He was curious and then realized it was a man…or was it? He eyed Mel and then looked back at his cousin. “I am Harold Polaski, and this is my sister, Fabiola.”

  At the names, Carmen’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised.

  “I know, most people don’t expect such a name,” Harold explained. “I believe your uncle may have had a hand in influencing the name of my sister,” he said with a smile, trying to be charming.

  “This is Mel Lawrence, who is traveling with us,” Carmen introduced her traveling companion, and Mel nodded.