by Amanda Deed
‘Yep.’ Clark shifted from one foot to the other in an agitated movement.
‘You do realise that horse teeth and human teeth are vastly different, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, but you might be able to figure somethin’ out. Better’n any animal quack around these parts anyways.’
Clark obviously held Price’s talents in high esteem and he should be flattered by this request. While he drew in a deep breath and blew it out, Price considered the invitation. It wouldn’t hurt to examine the horse, he supposed. Dinner would have to wait. He gave Clark a brief nod. ‘Lucky I’ve been around horses most of my life. I’ll go down there.’
Price unlocked the door and went in to gather his tool kit. Not that implements designed for humans would be useful on a horse. He assumed the drovers had other equipment with them that might help—if he could figure out the cause of the trouble.
Ten minutes later, Mitch directed him to a horse called Floss.
‘She’s dropping most of her feed an’ she’s not handling well at the reins. We’ve had to stop riding her the last couple of days.’ The boss drover explained with this deep gravel voice.
‘How long has this been going on?’ One glance at the tan mare told Price she was unwell. Her coat lacked the normal healthy sheen. She mustn’t have eaten a decent feed for a long time.
‘Well, she’s been fussing at the bit for a while now, but we thought she was misbehaving at first. She’s still quite young, ya see.’
‘How old?’
‘Almost three.’
‘When did a vet last examine her?’ Surely a professional animal doctor would have picked up a problem.
‘Before we left with that last mob. We always have the horses checked before we go droving. We’re on our way back now, so it’s been close to six weeks.’
Price remembered what Clark had said about quacks. ‘Was he a respected vet?’
Mitch looked sheepish for the big burly man he was. ‘Nae. It’s hard to get a good vet. We live out in the interior—the middle of nowhere.’
Price set his bag on the ground and approached the horse. ‘Well now, Floss. Let me have a look at you.’ Unlike Essie, this mare did not have any issues with his white hat, nor with strangers in general it seemed. He spent a few minutes getting acquainted with the stock horse and stroking her nose, speaking in a soothing tone to her all the while.
When she was comfortable enough with him, he ran his hands down the side of her face, along her cheeks. On one side, she didn’t flinch, but on the other, with only mild pressure on her cheek, she jerked her head away from him. ‘All right, Floss. So, you’re a bit sore there, are you?’
He prised her mouth open and, keeping away from the sore flesh of her cheek, he felt along her teeth. He wouldn’t be able to identify a problem without any light, so he hoped his fingers might give him a clue. The first thing he recognised was feed bunched down between her back molars and her cheek. He scraped off as much as possible, pulling it out and shaking it onto the ground. Once again he explored inside her mouth along the upper and lower molars.
Mitch must have seen him frown because he was quick to ask what was wrong.
With a soothing whisper to the horse, Price removed his hand and turned to the big drover. ‘Well, her teeth have very sharp edges from uneven wear. And I’d say those edges have cut into her cheek, which would be then irritated by the bit, and she would have several painful mouth ulcers as a result. She needs to have her teeth floated. Something that vet should have taken care of.’
‘Flamin’ lousy mongrel,’ Mitch mumbled. ‘I won’t be callin’ on him again.’
‘Do you have a rasp? It’s just a matter of filing those sharp edges down.’
‘Aye. I keep one about in case a horse throws a shoe.’
‘I’ve seen it done before on my father’s horses, and it doesn’t hurt them. I’m willing to try if you wish. Unless you’d rather find a decent vet, or do it yourself.’
Mitch let out a scornful snort. ‘No chance of finding a proper vet in a hurry. Ye seem to know yer way around a horse. Go ahead and have a crack. I’ll fetch the rasp.’
While he waited for the tool, Price noticed a familiar basket propped on a stump near the camp fire. He stepped over for a closer inspection. ‘What did Mrs Ferguson make y’all this time?’
‘Old Darcy brought ’em over not long ago. A great hoard of biscuits in various flavours.’ O’Grady grinned with a hungry expression.
‘Don’t you mean scones?’ The difference between their word uses always confused Price.
‘Nah. These are biscuits.’ O’Grady lifted the cloth which covered them, keeping the flies away.
‘Ah. Cookies.’ Price recognised the round, flat treats and understood.
‘Take yer pick.’
‘Why, thank you. But I might wait until I’ve finished with Floss over there.’ Price hiked his thumb toward the horse. ‘You say Old Darcy brought them, not Miss O’Reilly this time?’
‘Nah. It’s normally her, but …’ O’Grady shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno. Maybe she’s sick or somethin’.’
Mitch reappeared at his side with the rasp and Price returned to the mare, his stomach churning now. Was Miss Jane ill? Was it serious? Concern filled his mind, making it hard to concentrate, even though he needed to focus on what he was doing. Price shook his head to clear his thoughts. ‘I’ll need you to hold on to her, so she doesn’t back away. And we’ll need to wedge her mouth open so I can get at the back teeth.’
Mitch complied with everything Price suggested and soon he was filing away at Floss’s teeth. Apart from the occasional movement, if he managed to touch the ulcerated cheek, the stock horse stood still and allowed him to fix her problem teeth. Fifteen minutes later, the two released the mare with more soothing words and the horse tailer led her off to tether her with the other horses.
‘She should start eating better now,’ Price told Mitch as he washed his hands in a bucket. ‘Her cheek should heal up nicely and you’ll be able to handle her better in the saddle.’
‘How much for your services, Bob?’
‘There’ll be no charge today,’ Price shook his head, ‘considering I’m no vet. One or two of Mrs Ferguson’s fine cookies will do me.’
Mitch chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. ‘Help yerself mate.’
O’Grady handed him a tin cup filled with billy tea to go with the cookies and Price sat on a log to enjoy them. It was not food one should replace dinner with, but it would tide him over until he found a decent meal. As he sipped at his tea, his mind turned again to Miss Jane. Would it be too bold to visit her and learn if she was well? Perhaps he should just make a few careful inquiries around town, or bake a new batch of scones and fulfil his promised visit to Mrs Ferguson as an excuse.
While the ideas rolled around his head, his eyes drifted toward their property further along the river. Yes, maybe the latter of these ideas would suit best. It meant leaving the store shut for the afternoon, which in turn, meant missing out on business, but it wouldn’t hurt for one day. And Patrick wouldn’t mind taking a half-day off either, he was sure.
As he considered it, he became more and more convinced. But then, just as he tossed the dregs of his tea and stood to his feet, he saw the glint of metal, or was it glass, in the distance. He stood still, scanning the yonder trees for it again. Yes, there it was. Someone, or something, was moving far away near the O’Reilly farm. At once the notion hit him. Could it be Miss Jane herself? Perhaps even in her tree? Too curious, he bid a quick good day to the men and strode off in that direction.
Jane lowered the spyglass with a gasp. He was coming this way. At least it appeared to be so. She had seen him turn directly toward her moments earlier. But he couldn’t have seen her from so far away, could he? Jane raised the glass again. It took her a few seconds to find him, but yes, there he was, walking straight
for her along the river. Mild panic rose in her. What should she do?
One of her grandfathers, or great grandfathers—she wasn’t precisely sure which—had been a seaman. The spyglass had belonged to him and it had been handed down till it was hers. Many a time, Jane had brought it with her when she climbed her tree. As a little girl, she had imagined she was the captain of a ship and watched for pirate ships sailing on the river. As she grew, she had still observed the paddle steamers coming through the spyglass, or as she had today, the drovers.
She had seen Old Darcy deliver the baked goods and had then been surprised when Mr Moreland appeared. She watched the scene unfold as he worked with one of the mares. ‘Well, well, he does know his way around a horse,’ she mumbled. He had a way with the animals. It had been simple misfortune with Essie and her aversion to white hats. Why, that tan stock horse stood so still while he did whatever it was to her, Jane could only be impressed.
But now he was coming along the river. If she was quick, she could climb out of the tree and run home before he arrived. Jane bit on her lip. Truth be told, she didn’t want to avoid Mr Moreland in the least. But if she stayed, he might make fun of her up in the tree. Heaven help her, he might even climb up to meet her again. Did that even matter? If he’d already told everyone about her tree climbing exploits, this would be nothing new. Or would it?
Jane glanced at the brass telescope in her hands as her pulse raced. What would he think of her spying venture? For her it was just harmless fun. But for others it might feel as though she trespassed upon their privacy. Would Mr Moreland think her rude? Still chewing on her lip, she raised the spyglass again and searched for the tall American. Good grief, he was too near to climb down without being seen now. She’d wavered over the decision for too long.
As Jane viewed his progress through the lens, Mr Moreland stopped, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and waved it in the air, grinning at her. Her face tingled as heat spread from the top of her head, right through her body, and she jerked the telescope away from her eye. How mortifying! He knew she’d been spying on him. What could she say to him to convince him it was an innocent mistake? Except that it wasn’t a mistake at all. Jane groaned. Mr Moreland always made her mind run in confused circles until she didn’t know what was up and what was down. And now it was too late to climb down from the tree.
‘So, Miss Jane. Am I coming up to visit you, or are you coming down to meet with me?’ His cheery voice rose into the branches well before Jane had reconciled herself to the situation.
At least he gave her the choice this time. She gulped a few mouthfuls of air, trying to calm her nerves. She might as well face him before she lost the last of her resolve. ‘Turn around please, Mr Moreland.’ Her voice came out hoarse and low. He probably wouldn’t even hear her.
But he must have heard, for he turned his back. ‘I must say, when the drovers told me it wasn’t you but Old Darcy who had delivered their treats, I was concerned over your health. I thought perhaps you had gotten an infection where your tooth was pulled, even though it was weeks ago now.’
Jane tucked her skirts up as he talked and made the downward climb, the brass scope held fast in her waistband. It took longer than usual while she trembled with nervous tension.
‘But then I saw a flash in the distance and I wondered if it might be you. I must confess I am quite envious. I only ever pretended to have a spyglass, but you Miss Jane, have a real one.’
Jane put her feet on the ground at last and straightened her skirts. His covetous words did much to allay her fears, although her heart still fluttered in a dreadful manner. She cleared her throat and held the telescope out to Mr Moreland’s back. ‘Would you like to see it?’
Mr Moreland turned around, his smile bright, and her heart went from fluttering to somersaulting.
‘Why, yes I would. Good day to you, Miss Jane.’ He stretched out a hand to receive the glass, while nodding his greeting.
‘Hello, Mr Moreland.’ Jane shuffled her feet, awkward again.
The handsome American juggled the spyglass in his hands as though testing its weight, then raised it to his eye. He turned in a full circle while watching through the spyglass. Jane noted his open mouth and the way he squinted up his other eye and she smiled to herself. He had a boyish charm to him at times. Her heart vaulted again.
He paused when he faced the small group of graves behind her and lowered the glass. ‘Are these family members of yours?’ The question wasn’t asked in an intrusive way, but rather gentle curiosity.
‘Yes.’ Jane pointed to the nearest plot. ‘This is my mother.’
‘Mother?’
Even without looking at his face, Jane heard the slight confusion in his voice. ‘Mrs O’Reilly is my stepmother.’
‘I see.’ Price jiggled the spyglass in his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it is another good reason to come here often.’
Jane nodded. She didn’t want to explain in detail the whole subject of her stepfamily and the death of her dearest Ma.
Mr Moreland handed the spyglass back to her. ‘Well now, that instrument is quite fascinating. Thank you for sharing it with me.’
Not knowing what else to say, Jane shrugged. ‘It was my great grandfather’s, I think.’
Mr Moreland glanced around himself in every direction, as if searching for something. In the end, he motioned toward the great trunk of the red gum. ‘Shall we?’
Jane wasn’t sure what he meant. Did he suggest they climb again? She stood still as he approached the tree, but then he sat at the base and leaned against the trunk. ‘Oh.’ What a silly goose she was. She hurried to sit beside him, careful to tuck her unseemly shoes beneath her worn skirt. Although, she didn’t lean against the tree as he did. She was far too overwrought with nerves to relax. Mr Moreland, however, appeared not to notice that. From the corner of her eye she studied the way his arms lay across his torso, while his head tilted back against the bark. He shut his eyes, as though he might be ready for a nap.
Jane twisted her fingers in her lap, her spine rigid. Mr Moreland was taking his time to say whatever it was he wanted to say. He didn’t walk all the way over here to simply test her spyglass and then sit by a tree and be mute. His silence made her more nervous than ever. If only he would hurry up and speak. He could tell her every detail about America if he wanted. She would listen all day long.
‘Where is Moses today?’
His sudden question made her jump. Jane let out an awkward chuckle as she clasped the fabric at her throat. Glancing in his direction, she saw Mr Moreland had opened his eyes again. ‘He was with me earlier. He’ll be off playing with the other cockatoos—the wild ones. But he’ll come back. He always does.’
Mr Moreland smiled, but that was all. He said nothing more. Silence again. It made her more than uncomfortable. Perhaps she should excuse herself and go home. She could plead that she had chores to do. Would he think her impolite if she did so? But then, she didn’t actually want to leave. If it wasn’t for his blasted silence.
At last, agitated beyond endurance, she opened her mouth. ‘Is there a particular matter you wanted to discuss Mr Moreland?’
11
Price tried not to let his amusement show. He recognised the slight tension in Miss Jane’s voice as she posed her question. Poor girl. He should be gracious and make it easier for her. He opened his eyes and turned toward her. ‘Not precisely. But now that you mention it, I will confess. I rather enjoy your company, Miss Jane.’
Colour flooded her face at his words. Although she didn’t face him, it was evident even in her profile that she didn’t know what to say. An ‘oh’ slipped from her mouth with a gasp.
‘I find myself inventing excuses to come and see you. When I thought you might be ill today …’ Price swallowed. How much should he tell her? He might frighten her off if he wasn’t careful. Even this small admission made his own heart pound faster t
han usual. ‘I’d like to get to know you more. When I discovered you here, I thought now would be a perfect time to start.’
Silence greeted him. As usual he was unable to get a glimpse into her eyes to read her response. She sat beside him, rigid as ever, wringing her hands in her lap, her face flushed and her head lowered. So, this was how awkward felt. Reveal a smidgeon of one’s emotions and get no reply. Price’s determination rose then and he pressed her further.
‘So, I’ve learned that you are usually the one who takes Mrs Ferguson’s goodies to the drovers, but today you let Old Darcy run the errand. Yet, you are here, watching the drovers from a distance. I am curious as to why.’
Jane’s head and heart were reeling. He wants to see more of me? He wants to get to know me? Why? It was more than she ever imagined possible. And yet guilty feelings over Danny still warred within her. Heat rushed through her body as though it was the middle of summer and not the beginning of winter, and the faded lace at her throat seemed to tighten. She clawed at it, trying to ease the sensation.
What had Mr Moreland just asked her? Why she spied on the drovers’ camp? And now he was sitting in silence again, eyes closed, reclining against the tree. How can he be so relaxed? He enjoys my company? Was he speaking the truth? No one had ever said that to her. Not even Danny, although she had assumed it by the quantity of time they spent together.
Danny.
Mr Moreland wanted to know why she didn’t want to go near the drovers today but watched them from a distance, instead. Dare she tell him? His response would tell her much about his honesty toward her. Jane sucked in several deep breaths, but her mouth went suddenly dry. Where should she start? There was no easy place, so she drew in one last gulp of air and launched into her tale.
‘Mitch and his mob have been coming through Hay ever since I can remember. Aunt Ruby is the kindest, sweetest lady I’ve ever known, besides my mama. She always sympathised with the drovers living on camp food for so long, so she started baking them special treats every time they came through town. I’ve always been partial to horses, and so I was happy to take her baskets to the drovers.’ Jane kept her eyes focused on her fingers entwined in her lap. It was not easy to part with these difficult truths. She let out a half-laugh of embarrassment as she continued.