by Amanda Deed
‘Yes. It was mighty fine.’ Price nodded, giving the expected answer.
‘Will we see you next week?’
Price let his eyes search for one face among the people gathered out in the sunshine and spotted Miss O’Reilly. He grinned and shifted his gaze back to the minister. ‘Yes. I believe you shall.’
Having dismissed his cordial duties with the pastor, he pressed his hat onto his head. He made his way toward Miss O’Reilly, who stood half behind the woman he’d observed sitting in the same pew.
‘Good morning, Miss O’Reilly.’ He tipped his hat to her.
‘Mr Moreland,’ her mouse-quiet voice replied while she kept her eyes averted.
‘How’s that tooth going? Or rather the hole where it once was?’
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, or perhaps it was over her words, the other woman butted in. ‘So, you’re the new barber and dental surgeon we’ve heard so much about? I’m Mrs O’Reilly. Jane’s mother.’ She thrust out a hand in greeting.
Price lifted an eyebrow in surprise. They were Miss O’Reilly’s family. How odd. He offered a slight bow. ‘Mrs O’Reilly. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
The sound of giggling met his ears and he turned to see two girls tittering away behind their fans. The two he’d seen with Miss O’Reilly in church. Both were blonde and beautiful.
‘May I introduce you to Harriet and Nancy, Mr Moreland? My daughters.’
The two young women dipped into polite curtsies.
Mrs O’Reilly slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and led him toward her buggy. ‘We are grateful for your help with Jane, you know. She has been in ever so much pain.’
‘It was nothing. All in a day’s work.’ Price tried to check over his shoulder to see if Miss O’Reilly followed. He suspected she did, although she managed to remain out of sight, while her two sisters sidled up to him on the opposite side to their mother.
‘Well, it is my Christian duty to invite you, as a new member in our congregation, to our farm for lunch on Sunday next. Will you join us?’
Price couldn’t have found a better opportunity if he’d tried. A visit would give him a chance to speak to the reclusive Miss Jane O’Reilly. ‘I would appreciate that very much, Mrs O’Reilly.’
‘’Til next Sunday, then, Mr Moreland.’ The lady offered him a small smile before stepping up into her buggy. The three girls followed her, while the gentleman, Mr O’Reilly, he presumed, sat at the reins ready to drive them home.
‘Next Sunday, ma’am.’ He nodded, doffing his hat. I hope this week passes quickly.
4
Jane awoke to the incessant screech of Moses, as she did most mornings. As soon as the sun hinted at rising every day, he called to her for his freedom. She peered at the clock on her windowsill in the dim light. Half past six. ‘All right. I’m coming. I’m coming,’ she muttered as she rose from the pallet on the enclosed part of the veranda, which she called her room.
When her stepmother moved in, she had insisted her two daughters did not have ‘the constitution to survive the chill nights’ in the make-shift veranda-room. Thus, Jane had to move from the bedroom she’d known since infancy. Jane still remembered the distressed sound in Mother’s voice as she explained their unfortunate situation to Father. She sounded convincing, even to Jane.
Father had succumbed and Jane had given it up without argument at the time. But now she suspected it had been a ruse, an excuse. Her stepsisters always received better, whether they deserved it or not, just because they were her flesh and blood, while Jane was not.
No matter. Jane pushed the bitter memories from her mind. She didn’t mind sleeping on the veranda so much. The night noises comforted her, and the bright stars closed in, giving her a sense of closeness to her dear mama.
In the dead of winter, though, rain dripped through small gaps in the roof and the wind snuck in through tiny cracks in the tin walls. On those nights, she took her bedding and lay by the kitchen hearth, making sure she removed everything before Aunt Ruby began her work for the morning.
Moses greeted her with a loud ‘hello’ and a few loop-the-loops on his perch. He always made her smile. She opened the cage and he flew straight onto her outstretched arm.
‘Good morning, boy.’ Jane scratched the back of his neck. ‘Let’s go and see Aunt Ruby, shall we?’
‘Ah, here she is,’ the cheerful cook greeted as Jane entered the warm kitchen. ‘Top of the morning to you, Jane. And to you, Moses.’ Aunt Ruby tickled his feathers in much the same way Jane had a few minutes earlier.
‘Morning, Aunt. Morning, Darcy.’
Old Darcy sat at the work table with a huge tin cup filled with steaming black tea and the daily newspaper spread out before him. Aunt Ruby fussed over the stove, preparing breakfast, filling the cookhouse with delicious aromas of cooking meat.
Jane sat opposite him and Moses hopped from her shoulder to the table top. The large cockatoo waddled over to Old Darcy and onto the middle of his paper. He leaned his beak towards the tin cup.
‘Git orf me paper. That cuppa’s mine.’ Old Darcy pushed at Moses, grinning despite his cross-sounding words.
‘Oh, it’s a cup of tea yer after, is it?’ Aunt Ruby chuckled. She reached onto the mantle above the large hearth and collected a small cut off tin. ‘Next you’ll be wantin’ a piece of farl, I suppose?’
‘He thinks he’s human.’ Jane reminded her.
Aunt Ruby nodded. ‘He probably thinks he can part the Red Sea, too.’ She rolled her eyes as she placed the tin with tepid tea before Moses.
The cockatoo gripped the edge of the cup and tipped it up, drinking the liquid. Aunt Ruby shook her head. ‘I’ll never get over that. A bird wot drinks tea from a cup.’ She harrumphed and then looked up at Jane. ‘Now that the hungry beast is satisfied, would you like a cuppa, too?’
‘Yes please.’
Aunt Ruby poured the strong brew into another cup for her and then hummed as she went back to cooking breakfast. Soon she had set a platter of fried eggs and bacon, sausage, black pudding and liver on the table between Jane and Old Darcy. Beside it she placed another platter with thick slices of potato and tomato, both fried, and a plate of farl, the pan-cooked Irish bread.
Jane served herself a hearty breakfast. It was the one meal her sisters never interfered with, as they never rose before eight o’clock. This food would sustain her most of the day. She tore off a corner of the brown soda bread and held it out for Moses, who snatched it from her without ceremony. ‘Hungry this morning, Moses?’
In between her own mouthfuls, she offered him several morsels, including a piece of meat here and there. When he’d had enough, he hopped over to perch on the back of a chair and preened his feathers, leaving Jane to eat in peace.
‘Looks like the drovers is comin’,’ Darcy drawled, his eyes never lifting from the newspaper.
Jane came alert at that. ‘When?’
‘Says here, tomorra.’
‘Which team?’ Would it be, Danny?
‘Mitch’s mob by the look of it.’
Yes. That was Danny’s father, Mr Mitchell and his team. Jane rested her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand, breakfast forgotten. She stared with unseeing eyes at the buffet, while her mind pictured another meeting with Danny. Would he say something this time? They were both old enough. If only she could know for certain.
She brought her gaze back to the present just as Aunt Ruby refilled Darcy’s cup, one hand patting his shoulder as she did so. Those two were so good together. ‘How did you two fall in love?’
Old Darcy’s eyes came up to hers, the intense blue twinkling with pleasure, and Aunt Ruby giggled.
‘Ah, lovey,’ Aunt Ruby sighed. ‘’Tis a mystery. The Good Lord looked upon me with favour in a time of great hardship, that I know.’
Jane understood he
r to mean the death of her first husband. Much like Father, Aunt Ruby found herself alone when her husband of many years passed away. With no children to help her, no income and stricken with grief, she hadn’t known what to do. Jane had heard this part of the story often enough. Providence shone on Aunt Ruby when her sister, Jane’s stepmother, deigned to employ her as a cook. To Jane this was an insult. Why would a loving relative put their own kin to work, instead of opening their home without condition when they were in need?
‘I’ll never understand why you have to work here.’ Jane shook her head.
‘Well, I’ll not complain. They needed a cook, and I do love to cook, and I’d never have met Darcy otherwise.’
Old Darcy had worked on the farm ever since Jane was in leading strings. He came out as serving man to her late grandfather in 1821, whom, after trying many different occupations, settled with his family in Wagga Wagga in the ’60s. Grandfather was already aging by then and his heart failed him soon after, leaving Father to care for the family.
Father had not been at the farm long then, but was happy to bring Grandmother and Old Darcy to Hay to live with him and his beloved Maire—Mama. Jane had been just three years old at the time and didn’t remember much of it. What she did remember was four years later when that horrid influenza went through the township and claimed her dear mama and grandmother in a terrible tragedy.
Jane forced her mind away from that memory. It still hurt when she dwelt on it too much.
‘Darcy, why had you never married before meeting my Aunt?’ The dear old man was in his sixties when Aunt Ruby came to the farm.
A gentle smile stretched his shy face. ‘Guess I never met the right woman before.’
‘How did you know she was the right woman?’ Somehow they had found comfort and happiness together. Jane compared them to her father and stepmother. Aunt Ruby and Old Darcy clearly cared for one another, something she was not sure existed between Father and his second wife.
‘Well, I …’
‘So many questions, lovey.’ Aunt Ruby tut-tutted as she cleared empty plates. ‘Where are they coming from?’
Jane dropped her gaze to her plate as heat infused her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. Am I being impertinent?’
Aunt Ruby sank onto the chair beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘No. I’m the one being impertinent. You’re old enough to marry now, it’s natural you’d be wantin’ to understand the ways of love.’ She cupped Jane’s chin and turned her face to meet hers. ‘Have you met someone special?’
Jane pushed her aunt’s hand down and averted her eyes again with a shrug of her shoulders. ‘No. I … that is … I just wondered how you know’—she swallowed, uncomfortable—‘when you’re in love. And how do you know if someone loves you or not?’
‘You’ll know when the time comes, lovey. It is beyond explaining in some ways.’
‘Read yerself some Scripture—first Corinthians, chapter thirteen. That’ll give yer an idea of how to measure and recognise true love. It’s not selfish, for one thing. When someone loves ya, they’ll do anything for ya.’ Old Darcy’s blue eyes blazed with intensity beneath white eyebrows as he finished.
Jane stared at him. Was he having a subtle dig at Mother, while telling Jane what he believed about love? She’d never heard him make a speech that long. Gentle and kind but conservative—that was Old Darcy. Jane offered him a nod. She needed to digest this information before she could discuss it any further. That is, if she even wanted to. ‘I think I’ll go and feed the animals.’ She stood to leave.
‘I’ll have a basket of baked treats for those drovers tomorrow,’ Aunt Ruby told her as Jane headed to the door. ‘Would you like to take them down for me?’
Moses flapped his wings as he moved to Jane’s shoulder. ‘Of course I will, Aunt Ruby.’ Jane smiled inwardly at the thought of seeing Danny again.
‘Hey, Bobby.’
Price turned at the familiar nickname used by Kevin Clark. The carter strode across the road toward him. Price offered him a salute and returned to polishing his store window. The dust of the plains left a thin coat within a few days—more so after yesterday’s gusty winds—and he found he had to wash them often.
When Clark stopped beside him, Price straightened. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’
‘Drovers are in town.’ His eyes glinted with muted excitement.
‘Who are the Drovers? Some dignitaries? Famous sluggers?’
‘Sluggers?’ Clark screwed up his face.
‘Don’t you have big hitters in cricket?’
‘Yeah, but we don’t call ’em sluggers.’
‘What do you call them, then?’
‘I dunno. Good with the bat.’ Clark shrugged. ‘Anyways, the drovers are the blokes wot move the cattle from up north to the markets in Melbourne.’
‘Oh, you mean like cowboys.’ Price touched his Boss of the Plains with pride. It was the hat many cowboys wore back home in the States.
‘Yeah. Yeah. Cowboys.’ Clark nodded. ‘Some of ’em wants a shave or a cut. They been on the track for at least a month.’ He chuckled. ‘Maybe they got a girl waitin’ for ’em around here.’
‘I see. So, I should expect some customers soon?’
Clark shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Nah. They want ya to come down there.’
‘Where?’
‘Where they’s camped by the river.’
‘Right.’
‘Yeah. So, are ya comin’?’ Clark swivelled on his heel and started off down the street.
‘Okay, let me just get my tools.’
Price ducked inside his store and gathered his blade, scissors, soap and scuttle, a comb, a small towel and a hand-held mirror. He placed them into a leather bag and slung it over his shoulder.
‘What’s happening, Mr Moreland?’ His young assistant came out from the surgery where he’d been sterilising the tools.
‘Oh, yes, Patrick.’ Price had clean forgot the youth in his haste. ‘I’ve been asked to trim beards at the drovers’ camp. You can come along, if you like.’
The lad’s eyes lit with interest. ‘Sure, I’ll come.’ He collected his hat from the stand near the door.
After hanging a closed sign and locking the front door, Price and Patrick followed the wiry Mr Clark to a place by the river, east of the township. Before them sprawled at least a thousand head of cattle. Price let out a low whistle. ‘Where have they come from, did you say?’
Clark shrugged. ‘About three hundred miles north of here, up near Bourke.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Nah. It’s in the middle of nowhere. But plenty of grazing land for the cattle up there. C’mon. I’ll introduce ya to Mitch.’
Clark hurried ahead to where the team had set up their camp. Not that there was much to see. A large camp fire sent coils of smoke into the sky and nearby stood a solitary canvas tent with a wagon parked beside it. Several horses were tethered to the surrounding gums, foraging for leaves, while one of the men groomed and checked over them. The rest of the team sat around the fire on logs, drinking from their tin cups and laughing as they talked.
As Price and Clark neared one of the men, he stood to his feet to greet them. Broad shouldered and leathery-skinned, he nodded and held out his hand.
‘Mitch, this is Bobby Tuppence, our new barber, and his assistant Mr Sullivan. Bob, this is Mitch.’
Price took the offered handshake. ‘Howdy.’
Mitch’s face stretched into a wide grin and turned to his team. ‘Eh, lads. We’ve got ourselves a real live cowboy ’ere.’ His voice sounded as deep and gravelly as a saw biting through dense wood, and laced with a thick Scottish accent.
Price shook his head and self-consciously touched his Boss of the Plains. ‘I’m not a cowboy. Just a plain ol’ barber. And my name’s Moreland, Price Moreland.’ He looked to Clark, but
he’d gone off to talk to one of the other men.
‘Right then.’ Mitch nodded. ‘Some of the lads want a shave and a haircut.’
‘How many of you are there?’
‘Nine. Seven drovers, a tailer and a cook. Frogga is out keeping watch for the next few hours, but the rest of us are here.’
‘Frogga?’
‘One of the drovers.’
Price nodded and looked around at the gathering. ‘Where do y’all sleep?’
Once again that wide grin stretched Mitch’s mouth. ‘On the ground by the fire. No sense in luggin’ around more belongings than necessary. The tent is for the cook and his provisions.’
‘How long are you here for?’
‘We came in last night. The lads had their bath in the river. Today we rest. Tomorrow we’ll be headin’ off again at sunup.’
‘Okay. I suppose I should get started then.’
Mitch introduced him to a drover called Bazza and sent Patrick to bring him hot water. He began to work, lathering Bazza’s chin, then dragging his blade across his skin with careful strokes. Between each movement of the blade, Bazza talked of life on the track. While he worked, Price heard wild stories about cattle rushing, horses bolting, snake bites and encounters with dingoes. What a life these men led. Yet, when he asked them if they would rather be settled in a home with their family, most of them preferred their wandering existence.
Just as he wiped the soap from O’Grady’s face—another of the drovers—the loud squawk of a cockatoo pierced Price’s ears. He glanced up to see the bird swoop in across the camp and alight on top of the cook’s tent. Moses. It couldn’t be any other bird. And that meant Miss O’Reilly must be close. He paused in his work and scanned the area.
Past the edge of the camp site, he noticed cattle hurrying out of the way. There she was, head down as usual, but walking straight toward the drovers’ camp with a basket in her hands.
Jane’s heart fluttered in her chest. The anticipation of seeing Danny grew stronger with every step. As she approached the team of men gathered around the campfire, she lifted her head briefly to see if he were among them.