Shadows in the Valley

by Elizabeth Haran

  A pew up front had been left vacant for the Hawkers. Abbey joined Jack and his mother there.

  Father Quinlan came inside and strode to the pulpit, greeting everyone.

  “Good morning, and welcome,” he said. “I’d like to introduce you all to a new member of our congregation.” He looked at Abbey, who realised that he meant her. She blushed self-consciously, praying he wouldn’t make a fuss over her attendance.

  “Some of you may have met Miss Abigail Scottsdale,” he went on to say, “but for those who haven’t had the pleasure, she is Mrs. Hawker’s new companion. I hope you will all make her feel welcome here amongst us.”

  Abbey dropped her head, but she could feel Sybil and Jack looking at her from either side.

  “Would you mind standing up so everyone can see you, Miss Scottsdale?” Father Quinlan asked.

  Thinking they must have all seen her come in, Abbey was reluctant, but Sybil nudged her, so she got to her feet and turned to smile shyly at everyone. She then sat down again, hoping the priest would move on with the service, diverting the attention from her. With everyone’s eyes on her, Abbey was relieved that only Jack, his mother, and Father Quinlan knew her situation. Even though she’d been Ebenezer Mason’s unwilling victim, she still felt a sense of shame for being found in his bed, undressed. She didn’t know if she’d ever stop feeling that way.

  Father Quinlan went on to say Mass. His sermon was of particular interest to Abbey. He talked about the cross that nearly everyone had to bear at some stage in their livesthe loss of loved ones and the pain sometimes inflicted by others. He talked about how adversity and heartache made us all stronger, even though, at times, they tested our faith. Abbey was sure his words were directed at her because of her confession. She suspected that he’d been giving her situation some thought and was trying to help her, and perhaps others who had also suffered at the hands of fate or someone unscrupulous. She thought about those sitting around her in the church and found it difficult to imagine that any of them could have been victimised by someone worse than Ebenezer Mason. Because of his selfishness and greediness, she’d lost her father and the man she’d loved and planned to marry. Judy McManus was without her husband, her young children left to grow up without their father. And poor Neal’s sisters were growing up in an orphanage. It was hard to just let go of her anger. She didn’t think she’d ever forgive Ebenezer Mason for what he had done. How could she?

  As Abbey left the church with Jack and Sybil, she was introduced to other members of the congregation. Some were farming families who lived on properties nearby. She also met the hut builder, Kenny Finch, his wife Beryl, and their two small children. Mr. Finch, Jack explained, erected huts for other workers on the property, including wool classers, packers, fencers, and carters. Kenny had some bad news for Jack, however. He told him that, as the station was short-staffed, and he had so little work to do, he was going to try his luck on the gold fields. Jack wasn’t pleased to hear it, but wished him and his family luck.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing more of Bungaree this morning,” Abbey said as they walked back to the house. She needed a distraction. Dwelling on what had happened to her had left her feeling dejected. She missed Neal and her father so much. She also hoped to take Jack’s mind off the fact that another staff member was leaving his employment.

  Jack stopped and looked her over. She was wearing the gown that his mother had given her, but she intended to change into her own dress for their outing. “You will need something to ride in,” he said. He turned to Doris Hubert, who was walking a short distance behind with her husband, Oliver, who did all the station carting. He brought supplies from town, feed and grain, or whatever was needed. “Will you find an outfit for Miss Scottsdale to go riding in, Mrs. Hubert?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. She took Abbey’s arm and led her in the direction of the store.

  ***

  Outfitted in a light blouse, a riding skirt that was split down the middle, and some comfortable riding boots, Abbey was ready a short time later. Elias had saddled a quiet mare for her. Although it was still early enough not to be blazing hot, Jack insisted that she wear a hat, lending her a spare one of his.

  Jack and Abbey set off in the direction of the shearing sheds. Opposite the sheds, Jack showed her the shearer’s quarters, a long building with a veranda along the middle section of the front. It was deserted, but Jack said in a few weeks it would be occupied. They didn’t dismount to go inside, but he told her that on the southern end was a kitchen with a brick oven and fireplace.

  “There’s also a mess hall, an area where they eat,” he said. “The main part of the building is a large dormitory-style room. There are twenty single beds in there, but plenty of room for extra shearers to lay their bedrolls down on the floor.”

  “What’s this one used for?” Abbey asked, referring to a small building beside the shearer’s quarters.

  “It’s a swaggie’s hut,” Jack said. “It’s a tradition that we never turn away a swaggie. If a traveler stops by, he’s offered the hut and a ration of tea, bread, meat, and sugar.”

  Abbey liked this idea very much. “Do the shearers prepare their own meals?” she asked, imagining them cooking in the brick oven in the kitchen, or over an open fire in the hearth, or even outside, like the miners on Creek Street.

  “They usually travel with a cook. Sometimes it’s a man, a retired shearer, but most of the time it’s one of the older shearer’s wives. The younger wives usually have children and don’t travel with their husbands,” he told her. “But if they do, Doris Hubert also teaches the workers’ children,” he added. “She gives them lessons in a room off the store for a couple of hours each week day during the afternoon. Did she tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t mention it,” Abbey said, impressed with how things worked at Bungaree. It seemed everything had been thought of, which only increased the admiration she felt for Jack.

  A bit further on, they went through a gate that led up a hill. At the top of the hill, they had a view for miles.

  “All you can see in a westerly direction is Bungaree,” Jack said proudly, looking over his land.

  Abbey gazed down into the valley to see hundreds of sheep grazing in fields dotted with gum-trees.

  “When my family first arrived on this land,” Jack said, “we were not so concerned about the quality of our stock as obtaining reasonable sheep in the right numbers at a good price. Things have changed dramatically now, however. I think I told you that our first sheep came overland from Yass and Gundagai.” He laughed. “My brothers and I refer to them as the unimproved colonial type.”

  “What kind of sheep were they?” Abbey asked inquisitively.

  “Capes and Bengals, and a few long-wool Teeswaters,” Jack said. “I think there were even some short-wool Southdowns amongst them and a sprinkling of Merinos. Luckily, the South Australian Company began directly importing some good stock from England, Van Diemen’s Land, and the Cape. Some of them were high quality Merinos. We bought some and began breeding better quality sheep. As it happened, some of the ewes we bought were in lamb to Steiger rams.”

  “I’ve never heard of the South Australia Company,” Abbey said.

  “It was started in 1835 to develop what was then the new settlement of South Australia. You may recognise the names of some of the founding shareholders. There are streets in the city of Adelaide named after them: John Rundle, Charles Hindley, Raikes Currie, John Pirie, and Henry Waymouth.”

  “Oh, yes,” Abbey said. “My father and I spent a few nights in a hotel on Rundle Street before heading out to Burra. How did Bungaree get its name?” she asked curiously.

  “This area around the Hutt River was known by the local Aboriginal clan as Bungurrie. The name evolved from that.”

  “So, there’s a river nearby?” Abbey hadn’t seen it.

  “It’s not very near,
and it’s not much of a river at this time of year. In fact, if you fell in, you’d have to dust yourself off,” Jack said.

  Abbey smiled. “Bungaree is a wonderful place,” she said, admiring the countryside. “I’m so pleased you asked me to look around this morning.”

  “I’m happy that you’ve taken an interest in the station. If you like it here, you are more likely to stay on as Mother’s companion,” Jack said honestly. “And you ride well.”

  “Thank you. I love riding,” Abbey replied.

  “I’ve heard they have very good horses in Ireland.”

  “There are some good horses bred for hunting and racing, but I’ve never had my own horse. Not even a nag.” Abbey blushed, recalling how poor her family had been. At times, especially in Ireland, just getting enough food for themselves was hard enough, let alone feeding a horse. To hide her discomfort, she leant forward and patted the mare’s neck. The horse was a chestnut with a white blaze that stretched down to her nose. She had a wonderful temperament.

  “We’ll have to remedy that,” Jack said, taking her by surprise. “Let’s ride north to the boundary of Anama, my brother Tom’s place.”

  Abbey followed Jack as he set off.

  As she came alongside him, he said, “You’ll see huts in some of the paddocks. When there’s no labour shortage, I employ shepherds, and they stay in the huts. We call them outstations.”

  “Outstations?”

  “Yes, during the day the sheep graze in open paddocks, as they are doing now, but at night I would have the shepherds herd them into pens made of portable hurdles near the huts. I don’t have any shepherds at the moment because I can’t get any, so Ernie and Wilbur do all they can. The lambs are the priority at the moment, however, because they are the most vulnerable.”

  “Is it really necessary to guard them so fiercely?” Abbey asked. She couldn’t think of any imminent dangers.

  “Yes, indeed. I don’t mind losing a wether here and there. They are castrated males and no good for breeding. But I don’t like losing a prize ram to the spear of a hungry Aboriginal hunter.”

  “Does that happen?” Abbey asked, alarmed.

  “Compared to kangaroos, who can jump fences, the sheep are easy targets for the Aboriginal people. An average sheep is just as filling as a prize ram. I’ve lost plenty in the past, so I hire shepherds when I can. Dingoes will go after the lambs, too.”

  “Oh,” Abbey said, thinking of the sweet baby lambs she had seen with Father Quinlan.

  “Sheep farmers are always trying to produce the best quality sheep, so my brothers and I often exchange ewes and rams with other large stations for breeding. I show my best rams, and I have several that have won prizes.”

  Abbey was impressed.

  “I’ve ordered some Rambouillets from a farm on the Murray Flat, near Truro,” Jack added, proudly.

  “Excuse my ignorance, but I have no idea what a Rambouillet is,” Abbey said. “Is it an exotic food, a French bread or pastry, perhaps?” She was half-smiling, so he knew she was joking.

  Jack laughed. “It’s a French breed of sheep, actually,” he explained. “They have long, strong wool, a straight back, and a large frame. I intend to crossbreed the rams with my Merinos, and hopefully produce better quality sheep and animals better-suited for this climate.”

  “Oh,” Abbey said, smiling. “I never knew there were so many types of sheep. Breeding is quite an involved business, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but there’s a lot of satisfaction in breeding a sound animal with admirable qualities. Farms in the Riverina have had a lot of success with crossbreeding Rambouillets, and I hope to do the same. One of the rams I’ve bought has very good bloodlines. He’s a champion show animal and even has a name.” Jack laughed again.

  “What is it?” Abbey asked, sensing it was going to be something amusing.

  “Would you believe Napoleon?”

  “Napoleon? After Napoleon Bonaparte, the French Emperor?”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Jack asked, surprised, but with no criticism in his voice.

  “Yes, I have had some schooling,” Abbey said, but she laughed at the thought of a ram being named after an emperor.

  For a few moments, they smiled at each other. Jack suspected that a sheep named Napoleon would not amuse Clementine, and that thought saddened him a little.

  Abbey noticed that the sparkle left Jack’s eyes for just a moment and wondered why.

  ***

  Abbey and Jack continued the tour. The sheer size of Bungaree astounded her. Jack showed her fields of lucerne hay, which was feed for the livestock. They also saw the vegetable garden, which must have been an acre in size. Fortunately, the bore was close by, so the garden could be watered during the dry months. He then showed her the stables and sheds, where there were carriages and plenty of tack. They went to the stallion box, where his prized breeding stallion was kept. He explained how the mares were taken there to be mated with him.

  “My brothers and I have about a hundred horses between us,” he told Abbey proudly.

  “Why do you need so many?” Abbey asked. She knew they couldn’t all be working animals.

  “We keep some, but mostly we breed them to sell,” Jack said.

  Abbey had enjoyed the tour of the station so much that she had almost forgotten about her picnic with Heath Mason.

  “I had better get back to the house,” she said. “I have to get changed before Heath Mason arrives.”

  “Oh! Of course,” Jack said. He’d enjoyed the few hours they’d spent together and hadn’t realised how quickly the time had passed. “We can look at the deer another time,” he added.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Abbey said, fearful he’d be offended. “I’ve enjoyed all I’ve seen so far.”

  “No, of course not,” Jack said, surprised at how disappointed he was that their time together had come to an end. He’d taken more pleasure in her company than he’d been expecting. “Were you surprised when Mr. Mason suggested a picnic?” he asked as they dismounted at the stables and began walking towards the homestead. He certainly was.

  “Yes, I was,” Abbey admitted truthfully. In the distance she could see young children playing in the shade of trees behind the church and assumed they belonged to Jack’s employees.

  “You are a lovely young woman, Abbey,” Jack said candidly. “Any man would enjoy spending time with you.” He refrained from adding that he had. “Mr. Mason was so angry the last time he was here. I have to admit, I’m bewildered by his change of heart.”

  “I was, too,” Abbey said in a small voice.

  “I’m surprised you accepted an invitation to picnic with him, given what his father did to you. I don’t mean to remind you of it, but surely you have some reservations about his character.”

  “Initially, I had concerns, but it wouldn’t be fair to hold him responsible for what his father did. I believe in giving everyone a fair chance and treating them as individuals. That’s not wrong, is it?” She respected and valued his opinion.

  “No, Abbey,” he said, thinking she had a good heart. “But it’s not that simple. I know he can’t be held responsible for what his father did, but his character had to have been influenced by how his father raised him.”

  Abbey frowned, worried. Sybil’s warning about apples never falling far from their tree came to mind. “Do you know him well enough to believe he’s like his father?”

  “Most all the farmers in the Gilbert Valley know each other, Abbey, but Mr. Mason and I have never been what you’d call friends. So, in all honesty, I can’t say he has the same unscrupulous character as his father. He has been known to have a fair number of dalliances, but I’ve never heard anything truly bad said about him. I am still concerned for you, though. I have no right to tell you who you can or cannot see, but please don’t give your trust easily.”

  �
�I’ve already made that mistake,” Abbey said dispiritedly.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, either. We all make mistakes. It’s how we learn.”

  “Some lessons are very painful,” Abbey admitted sadly.

  “Yes, they are,” Jack replied. He didn’t want to see her hurt again.

  ***

  Abbey was waiting on the bench seat in the garden when Heath’s carriage rolled up the road. She was aware that she might appear eager and give him the wrong message, but she didn’t want him to go to the house and meet Jack, just in case he sensed that Jack wasn’t pleased about the arranged picnic. She wasn’t sure about it herself any more, but she didn’t feel right about backing out after he’d travelled so far.

  Abbey watched as Heath alighted from his carriage, waved, and then retrieved a picnic basket and a blanket before walking towards her. As he came up the path between the lawn and trees, Abbey had a few moments to objectively study him. She was unable to deny that he was an attractive man. He had a good physique and handsome features, and she was sure his wealth alone was alluring to most women. It was easy to believe that he was popular with women, as Jack had said, and under any other circumstances, she would have been thrilled to spend time with him. But given their recent history, and his suspiciousness towards her, she was slightly baffled.

  Abbey had always been a curious girl, and this emotion usually overwhelmed her good sense. Right now, with Jack’s misgivings still fresh in her mind, her emotions were fighting amongst themselves. He was Ebenezer Mason’s son, after all. Had she been able to see anything of his father in him, she would have had nothing to do with him. But so far, that hadn’t been the case, and her inquisitive nature was winning out. She found it difficult to believe he wanted to spend time with her just to make up for his initial hostility towards her—what did he want?