A twig snapped and Davidson walked his horse out from behind a tree. The black man was less than ten feet from the manager, his rifle directed at Fernleigh’s back.
‘That’s enough for today I think, Fernleigh.’ Although Hamilton tried, he couldn’t keep the patronising tone from his voice. ‘I’ll be sure to mention your enthusiasm for your work to your employers when I meet with them to discuss the future of Ridgeway Station.’
The manager grunted and with a cark of his throat spat a large glob onto the ground at Davidson’s feet. Holstering his rifle he walked his horse into the trees.
Hamilton ran a finger between shirt collar and skin. ‘If not for your arrival, Davidson, I fear I may well have ended up like that poor sheep.’ And it may yet happen, Hamilton considered, wiping a slick of perspiration from his brow, if he didn’t do something about Mr Fernleigh first.
Chapter Fourteen
On Monday morning Edwina was sweeping the leaves from the verandah outside her bedroom when Will emerged from the fruit trees ringing the homestead. She’d been thinking of her mother’s locket. The loss of it upset her deeply. Apart from its value, being of fine sterling silver, and the lock of hair within, the necklace was her mother’s favourite. At the sight of Will, Edwina grew uneasy. They’d not seen each other since their night-time ride back from Wywanna two days before. Edwina concentrated on the broom moving across the uneven timber boards. She’d had time enough to recover from yesterday’s pounding headache, and to try to forget the fateful trip to town. But with Will’s appearance the memories of that afternoon and night immediately returned. Because of him her locket was gone, and Mason had left abruptly. Because of him she had no idea where Mason lived and a stolen lion cub was secreted somewhere on their run.
He looked different in daylight. Taller, with a sun-tanned face and the greenest of eyes. Edwina guessed he would think her quite the fool, regardless of his part in the day’s events and she rather wished Will Kew would vanish back into the trees and never show his face again.
But Will didn’t vanish, even though Edwina ignored him as she concentrated on completing her chores, the broom circling the growing pile of plant life. She didn’t need to look in his direction to know that the man was watching each swish of the broom across the verandah, the desultory stab at cobwebs matting the wall. Edwina knew she should speak first. He was an employee, after all. However, there was a growing tightness in her stomach as she re-swept a section of the veranda, her gaze falling on his dusty boot resting nonchalantly on the edge of the veranda.
Will tipped his hat in greeting. ‘How are you, Miss Edwina?’ He wore an old pair of trousers and a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows.
Jed walked from the bedroom directly to Will, receiving a prolonged pat as reward.
‘Busy.’ The leaves swirled as Edwina swept the pile off the timber boards and onto the ground. They’d shared more than she cared to remember and yet the man before her, with his unruly brown hair and bristly chin, was a stranger to her. ‘And you?’
‘Cutting firewood, carting water. I didn’t realise you grew sheep as well.’
‘We don’t, we only keep a handful of killers for meat.’
He ignored this, his gaze taking in the plainness of her bedroom with the sagging bed and patchwork quilt. Edwina immediately closed the doors to her room, feeling somehow invaded.
‘And you’re feeling alright now? I mean after what happened at the circus?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ Edwina leant on the broom, keeping the sweeper directly in front of her body, a boundary of sorts. She lowered her voice. ‘What did you do with the baby cub?’
‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about.’ Will removed his hat, twiddling the brim between his fingers. ‘I’ve had him hidden in the stables but it’s a right thoroughfare in there at times what with Davidson coming and going and your brother. I think Aiden knows we told him a pretty story. And that black of yours, well, I reckon he’s on to me.’
Her father would never approve of such shared intimacy between a member of his family and the hired help. ‘Forget about Aiden. He won’t say anything. He took Father’s buggy without asking. And Davidson can’t speak.’
Will relaxed a little. ‘Then there are your dogs. They’re always sniffing around. So, I was wondering if the cub could stay with you today until I find somewhere else to hide him. Maybe in your room. He wouldn’t be any trouble and he’d have some company what with this old dog of yours.’
‘With me? In my bedroom?’
Will stepped up onto the porch and squatted, scratching Jed on the neck. ‘He’s a baby, miss, as you well know, and it would only be for a few days. When my time is up here, I’ll be on my way.’
‘A baby? He’s the size of a dog! Anyway, I can’t. I couldn’t. If my father found out –’
Will stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘Realise what?’
‘That you’re scared of him. Scared of your father. If I’d known I wouldn’t have asked. I know what it’s like to be flogged.’
‘Flogged?’ repeated Edwina. Resting the broom against the verandah wall, she crossed her arms. ‘I am not afraid of my father. And he has certainly never hit me, if that’s what you think.’ She lifted her chin. ‘We’re not like that.’
Will shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Of course you’re not.’
‘It’s just that there is a difference between right and wrong,’ continued Edwina, ‘no matter how righteous you may feel about something. Anyway, you simply can’t expect me to look after stolen property. Especially when you involved me in the theft.’
‘I did nothing of the sort. You just got caught up in the moment,’ Will told her. ‘That wasn’t my fault. Besides, you’re not really worried about the baby lion; it’s the thought of your father finding out about your visit to town that’s giving you the willies.’
Edwina’s nails cut into the soft flesh of her palms.
‘If you ask me, if anyone’s to blame for Saturday night it’s your father. I mean what gives someone the right to stop a person going to the circus?’ mumbled Will.
Placing the blame on her father for the zoo debacle was not something Edwina had considered. But as Will stood before her, his green eyes bright and clear, it occurred to her that Will did have a point.
‘I can see I’ve riled you and I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have bothered you or even asked. You’ve already done me a favour letting me stay here.’ Turning abruptly, Will began to walk away.
One minute ago, she was fuming at this man. Now, as Will weaved through the knobby trunks of the orchard, she felt quite at odds. How was it imaginable that this man could make her feel bad when he asked the impossible? Jed got to his feet and ambled after him.
‘Jed, come back here!’ called Edwina. ‘Jed?’
But the old animal didn’t respond. The dog padded straight ahead, following Will.
Edwina caught up with Will under one of the oldest orange trees, under the pretext of ensuring her dog didn’t wander away. ‘Traitor,’ she said to Jed who sat nearby. She was determined to explain herself, to make Will realise the difficulty he placed her in, even though the man was outspoken and impolite and thought he knew everything. As she marshalled the courage to speak, Will was gathering a handful of leaves and rubbing them briskly between his palms. He held them towards her, encouraging Edwina to smell the offering.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘You’re very pretty when you’re angry.’
Edwina thought him the most irritating person she’d ever had the misfortune of knowing.
‘Go on,’ he enticed.
He clearly wouldn’t leave her alone until she did so. Edwina reluctantly leant over his cupped hands.
‘Close your eyes,’ he invited, ‘and breathe.’
The bruised leaves were both sweet and sour in scent, but she could also smell something else – him.
&n
bsp; Will’s smile revealed a dimple. ‘Best smell in the world,’ he declared, throwing up the leaves so that the breeze caught them. ‘Here.’ He reached for her hand, lowering her mother’s locket into the palm.
‘You found it?’
‘I would have given it to you sooner, if there’d been an opportunity.’ He didn’t give her a chance to say more, for as Edwina hung the locket around her neck he asked her about the orchard.
‘Father planted the fruit trees years ago. My mother complained awfully that they were too close to the house, but he insisted.’ Behind them the homestead roof was littered with vegetation. Beige and yellow interspersed with green mottled the iron roof, which shone silver in some parts, rusty in others. ‘I worry that one of the trees might get struck by lightning and fall on the house, but it’s never happened.’
‘I’d worry the roof would collapse under the weight of those leaves,’ commented Will.
Edwina spun towards him. ‘That’s what I always think. Especially when the gums lose their leaves as well.’ She looked back towards the homestead, tempering her enthusiasm at the shared thought. ‘Some years the orchard hardly loses any leaves at all. Father says it’s a combination of things. If we have a cold spell and there’s been little rain, the leaves fall off. And, of course, when it doesn’t rain in the summer quite often all the trees turn yellow.’ When Edwina turned to face Will, he was staring at her.
‘Yellow gold leaves. I can see you surrounded by gold.’
Edwina blushed.
As if suddenly aware of what he’d said, Will pointed to the tree at the end of the garden. ‘Tell me about that one. Why has it got all those things hanging off it?’
With a sky patched by cloud, the usually glimmering plant was dull and lifeless; worse, it appeared quite out of place. ‘It’s nothing,’ replied Edwina. Having never needed to explain the plant’s significance, nor the items strewn at its base or tied to the branches, she felt awkward at trying to rationalise its existence.
‘Nothing is never nothing. Come on,’ urged Will as he moved in the direction of the tree.
Edwina had little choice but to follow Will as he led her past the stables and the building that garaged the buggy. Her mother’s tree claimed the space between the homestead surrounds and the dense scrub beyond, but what had been a tangible link with the past now made her uncomfortable. This man would think her an idiot, thought Edwina, as they approached the object-laden branches and the pile of refuse scattered on the ground. Worse, she didn’t want to share this special place.
‘I like glass,’ Will announced, squatting by the pile.
Edwina watched as he sifted through the mass of broken odds and ends. Objects that had been set purposely by her in a specific place. ‘Don’t,’ she said.
Selecting a dark blue square, Will lifted the glass to the light, examining it. ‘Are you the bowerbird then?’ he asked.
Edwina took the fragment from his hand, laying it carefully back on the pile before meticulously rearranging the disturbed pieces.
‘Don’t tell me you have a spot for every bit of this stuff?’ asked Will.
His cheeks became square when he spoke and then dropped naturally into softer planes. Edwina felt her breath easing. He was asking her about the tree. Repeating his question of who the bowerbird was in the family.
‘It was my mother’s idea. It started as a Christmas tree, which my mother kept adding to over the years. I continued the habit in her memory, I guess.’
‘And where is she now?’
‘She died.’
‘Well, it’s a fine tree,’ Will said approvingly, ‘and you’re very good at it.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Collecting things,’ said Will. ‘Finding and saving bits and pieces that nobody sees value in. You found me,’ he explained, ‘even if it wasn’t intentional. Here I was ready to leave the district and instead I find myself back where I started. Except this time I have a roof over my head and I’m standing beside a pretty girl who collects broken thingamajigs instead of hair ribbons.’
The bottles and tins hanging from the branches tinkled in the morning breeze. If her mother were still alive Edwina guessed she would have liked this young man who stood next to her. A poor boy, trustworthy enough to return her locket.
‘Edwina?’ Hamilton Baker’s voice reverberated through the orchard.
‘It’s Father.’
Will winked. ‘God save us all,’ he whispered with a smile.
Hamilton located them and, with a quizzical lift of an eyebrow at finding them together, spoke without addressing either. ‘Ah, yes. My wife’s, may she rest in peace, monument to feminine nonsense. So, Will, you ran away to join the circus? Rather ridiculous in hindsight, I’m sure you’d agree, especially in light of the fact that my son said those showpeople turned you down. I’m sure that ring-barking doesn’t seem such a bad profession now.’ He paused. ‘And here you are, back in my employ.’
‘Yes, sir. I appreciate the opportunity, Mr Baker.’
‘Aiden seems to have kept you busy enough,’ confirmed Hamilton.
‘Yes, sir, he has, Mr Baker. Sun-up to sun-down.’
‘Well, as this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you since your inglorious return, you must be earning your keep.’
Edwina saw Will through her father’s eyes – the dusty, damaged boots, trousers threadbare at the knees.
‘My son tells me you can shoe a horse, make saddlery repairs? Is that right, Will?’
‘I’m a blacksmith by trade, sir, yes, Mr Baker, but my leather work comes a poor second.’
‘Then you must practise. The only gift God gives us after life is time, my son. And that time should not be used precipitously, but wisely and with dedication to the task at hand.’
‘Yes, Mr Baker.’
‘With that in mind I have a task for you. Our well has dried up and you, my boy, are going to dig down until you find water. After that I’ve a whip that needs re-plaiting.’
‘Yes, Mr Baker. I will do my best, sir.’
‘And, Will, as you don’t appear to have been able to afford the services of a barber, my daughter will cut your hair.’
‘Me?’ said Edwina.
‘And you will make good use of a cut-throat razor and clear that fuzz from your face. Place a chair on the verandah, my girl, and give this man the short back and sides required.’
‘But …’ Edwina tried to interrupt.
‘Hair. I can’t abide hair. It’s over your ears, man, and scraping your collar and I’ll have no man about this house whose appearance isn’t suitable. Are we clear? And, Will?’
‘Yes, Mr Baker?’
‘Don’t speak to my daughter again unless it be to ask for instruction or to receive it. Are we understood?’
‘Yes, Mr Baker.’ Will waited until his employer left. ‘I’ve never dug a well.’
‘Father’s right. We shouldn’t be talking. It’s not proper.’
‘Perhaps, but it seems you still have to cut my hair.’
Edwina pressed her lips together. She was well aware of her father’s fastidiousness. A characteristic she felt was more suited to the regular churchgoer than a man who was happy to read the Bible occasionally at home on Sundays, but was far from interested when it came to travelling to Wywanna for a service. Returning to the house in silence, Edwina consulted her father on the mechanics of hair-cutting as Will, supplied with razor, soap and water, shaved.
Scissors in hand, Edwina set a chair on the veranda with a thud, wrapping a towel about the stiff-backed man.
‘I am sorry about this,’ he said, pushing the bowl of shaving water to one side with the toe of his boot. Jed clambered slowly onto the veranda to sit at Will’s feet.
Edwina’s answer was to sit a cooking pot on his head. ‘Now don’t move a muscle, otherwise you’ll be all higgledy-piggledy.’
‘What are you doing!’ complained Will, immediately removing the pot and standing abruptly.
Edwin
a snatched the vessel from his hand. ‘It’s how Father said I should cut your hair.’
‘I know the basin cut,’ replied Will angrily, ‘and I’ll not be going about looking like a boy from the slums.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘If you put that damn thing on my head and cut around it, how do you think I will look?’
Edwina tried to envisage what he described.
‘Well?’ persevered Will. ‘I’ll tell you. You’ll follow the rim of the cooking pot above my ears, in a straight line, all the way round.’ He grabbed the container from Edwina’s grasp. ‘I’ll not look like that again. You’ll just have to do your best without it.’
Edwina hadn’t thought about how Will would appear. Her only concern was obeying her father. ‘If I had a choice I wouldn’t be cutting your hair at all.’
In response Will sat back down in the chair and, with the pot clasped firmly on his lap, he told her to get on with the job and be quick about it.
‘What, no pot? Let’s hope you can cut straight, daughter, otherwise your customer’s self-esteem will suffer.’ Her father placed a chair on the veranda and crossing his legs waved a hand for his daughter to begin. Lifting the scissors, Edwina rested them against Will’s neck.
‘Don’t cut me,’ said Will.
‘Be quiet, young man,’ replied Hamilton. ‘Well, get to it, Edwina.’
Nervously Edwina pushed Will’s head slightly forward with her hand. The warmth of his body seeped into hers. Uncomfortably aware of her audience, Edwina’s gaze moved to where her father sat.
‘Don’t look at me, Edwina,’ advised Hamilton. ‘A drawing of blood is not recommended.’
An Uncommon Woman Page 13