"Are you sure he's dead?"
"He jumped off a waterfall on to rocks a hundred feet below, of course he's dead."
Harry sucked in a noisy breath at how callous the two men sounded?
"I'm sorry." Ross dragged his hands through his hair. "I didn't mean to sound so brutal."
His face was drawn with fatigue, his eyes red rimmed from lack of sleep, he looked to be at the end of his tether.
"Write out what happened." The constable pushed a paper and pen at Ross. "Who's he?"
"I'm Gilbert's sister."
"Sorry, miss, I'm having a bad day. You better make a statement as well. Put down your brother's details, full name and physical description. We'll instigate a search, but I don't think we'll find anything. That waterfall area is full of underground caverns."
With a shaking hand, she wrote down what he asked for. When they were finished, they walked outside into the sunshine.
"That was awful," she whispered.
"I know. I saw a tearoom when we rode in, how about I buy you some lunch?"
"I couldn't eat anything, thanks, but a cup of tea would be nice."
They entered the tearoom and made their way to an unoccupied table. It was set with a pristine white lace cloth, and carved mahogany chairs were upholstered in burgundy brocade. Coach lanterns displayed at various intervals along the walls gave it a cozy feel.
"We'll have sandwiches and a pot of tea," he told the hovering waitress. "Would you like anything else?"
"No thanks."
"Don't look at me like that. Going to your aunt's is the only sensible thing to do."
"She won't want me." Harry hunched her shoulders. "I'm not genteel enough."
"If you were only three or four years older."
"I'm nineteen."
"You don't look it. Anyway, I'm twenty-nine. It couldn't work between us. You know it as well as I do." He tilted her face upwards with a finger under her chin. "Don't make things harder on yourself."
"I can't help it," she sniffed and glared at two elderly women who sat watching them. "What are you staring at?"
Ross rolled his eyes. "Don't start a brawl in here. I couldn't stand it."
The sandwiches arrived, a mixture of ham and pickle, curried egg and tomato. He poured the tea as Harry's hands shook too much. She picked at a sandwich, but drank every last drop of the milky tea.
As he devoured the sandwiches, she noticed his white, even teeth, his slightly full, sensuous lips. She hadn't lied, the scar had faded, but what a tragedy for the perfection of such a handsome face to be marred.
"I think there's a late morning train leaving for Melbourne. I'll get you a ticket to Benalla."
"You don't have to. Give me the wages owing and I can pay for it."
"No arguments, Harry."
"What's the use?"
She lowered her head. She would get on the train, but wouldn't be getting off at Benalla. She was going to Devil's Ridge to hide out in the mountain hut. Unlikely he would go up there again in the near future. She needed somewhere to lick her wounds and grieve for Gil. No way could she do it at Auntie Bertha's. Later on she would get a housekeeping position somewhere. Train to become a nurse and help the war effort, maybe.
"You're not plotting anything, are you?"
"Who me?" she asked meekly.
"Here." He pulled out his wallet and peeled off some notes. "I'll pay you Gilbert's wages as well."
"Thanks."
He placed four five pound notes in her hand.
"That's too much."
"Keep it." He closed her fingers around the money.
Harry saw the old dears staring at her again.
"Oh, thank you, sir. I hope you enjoyed your time with me?"
One of the women nearly choked on her tea, and Harry hid a grin behind her hand—pious old biddies.
"Harry!"
"They think I'm a prostitute."
The breath hissed noisily through his compressed lips.
"So I only confirmed it for them."
"Thank heavens I won't be passing through here again in a hurry," he muttered. "They look as if they want to lynch me."
"Tar and feather I think you mean."
"They'll put you in a ducking chair for being a witch."
They left shortly afterwards, and stepping out into the street, a furnace blast of heat hit her like a physical blow.
"It's going to be a long, hot summer," he predicted as they went to their horses. He suddenly halted. "Wait here for a moment. I want to get a paper, see how the war is going."
At the station, she insisted that he buy only a second class rail ticket. They waited without speaking as the train steamed into the platform.
"Goodbye, Harry." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Good luck."
Warmth surged through her. "Thanks, same to you. If they find Gil, you’ll let me know?"
"Yes."
He stood on the platform, feet planted slightly apart, hands shoved deep into his pockets. As the train pulled away, she waved to him, but he did not return her salute.
When she finally sat down in her seat she peered into the paper bag he had thrust into her hands at the last minute. It contained a pretty cardboard box full of sweets. This kind gesture warmed her heart. Gave her hope that he felt something other than annoyance for her.
Her carriage was empty, thank goodness. She looked untidy and scruffy and not too clean. Rolled up in a blanket tied with a piece of string were her and Gil's belongings. Pathetic really, not much to show for nineteen years on the earth.
I'll buy a horse. No point wasting money on a saddle when it would be easy enough to ride bareback to the outstation. Plenty of food there, and spare saddles as well.
She could hide in the hut for a few weeks until she sorted herself out. She remembered hearing him say they would be away from Devil's Ridge for at least a fortnight.
* * *
When Harry arrived at Ashborne, she alighted without a qualm. The station was not manned. She swung her swag across her shoulder, and with the brim of her hat turned down, tramped towards town.
I won't think of you Gil until I get to Devil's Ridge. I have to keep my grief in check until then.
She trudged down the main street, past the rotunda where Gil had been handed the white feather, and on to the stables.
"Do you have a horse I could buy, mister?" she asked the man.
"Only a couple of hacks here at the moment, pretty ordinary they are too, boy. I can let you have one cheap, though."
"I'll take that bay. It looks all right."
Not much of a nag but it would serve the purpose. She paid over the money, led the horse down the road to the bakery and bought a couple of loaves of bread. Meat would be a problem, but she could fish, and trap rabbits. With any luck, Ross might have left his rifle there; on the other hand, gunshots would echo and maybe carry down to the main house. Too risky.
Darkness had closed in by the time she set herself up in Ross' hut, with the fire going and the billycan boiling for tea. In a kerosene tin, she heated up some water to fill the old tin bath she had found in a lean-to out back. What bliss to soak in it for a while. She had more than earned this little luxury.
While the water boiled, she dusted the place with an old shirt, and swept the floor. No mirror hung on the wall, but she could see where one had once been. Had he taken it down so he didn't have to see his scarred face?
She filled the tub with hot water and threw in a piece of soap. Warm, frothy bubbles caressing her skin was pure luxury. She lay back and closed her eyes, letting her lower legs and feet dangle over the edge, because the bath was so short. She was just over five feet, so how could a tall man like Ross fit in it? Of course, he may not have used it anyway.
Her skin was tanned to a light honey color where it had been exposed to the sun. Elsewhere, it looked lily white. If I'd been beautiful, he would have let me stay. She had made him a reasonable offer, pocketed her pride, and he rejected it out of hand.
* * *
For two weeks, Harry roamed the mountains. Down in the gullies, hidden behind mossy rocks, wild violets grew in profusion. Clumps of everlastings, honeysuckle and wild hops covered the slopes. She explored caves decorated with aboriginal paintings. Such tranquility and beauty soothed her. The longer she stayed, the more enthralled she became.
Bracken ferns covered the flats. Lyre birds mimicked other bird cries. So many colorful parrots fluttering around, the beauty of a rainbow paled into insignificance. She felt close to Gil on the mountainous spurs. Up near the roof of the sky, the solitude lessened her pain and loss. His spirit could wander free, unburdened by the grief and pain of war.
Snow gums stood guard over the secret places she discovered, and a shy kangaroo family listened to her weep for the tormented soul of her brother. The ground hugging ferns and alpine grasses were anointed with copious tears.
No one came near the place, exactly the way she liked it. Numerous frogs living in the reedy shallows of the creek serenaded each other at night. The mopokes, while spooky sounding in the Australian bush at night, did not frighten her. Even the eerie cry of a mountain dingo calling for its mate did not disturb her.
Chapter Seven
"I tell you, Ross, there's someone up at the outstation."
"Rubbish, Jack."
"Hughie saw smoke coming from there one day last week while he was rabbiting."
"His eyes aren't very good. He's suffering from imagination, most likely."
They had returned from the drive yesterday afternoon. He had received a good price for the cattle, and except for what happened to Gilbert and the shenanigans with Harry, it had been an uneventful trip. Why did he feel so restless?
"I miss young Harry," Jack mused, "and poor Gilbert. They were a rum pair, those two."
"I'm sorry about Gilbert, but I was glad to see the last of Harry. She was a danger to herself and anyone who came within a mile radius of her." Ross heard the lie falling from his mouth. He did miss her. It infuriated him to think she had stormed past the wall he erected around his emotions. Wild, spirited Harry. How would a maiden-aunt cope with such a firebrand?
"Jack." Ross stared into his uncle's eyes. "I have to go back."
"I know, boy."
"The war is going badly, the English are taking a terrible hammering, whole battalions virtually wiped out. My shoulder has healed up now. I'm duty bound to volunteer. A man would be a coward if he didn't."
"I've watched you wrestling with your conscience, son. My opinion is you've done your share. Your brother's dead and you've been wounded. The Calverts have given enough to the war effort."
"If the battalion take heavy casualties in France and lose field officers, the army will probably call me back anyway. I've never been officially boarded out. Indefinite convalescent leave, they said."
"You've done your share," the old man maintained stubbornly. "Wait and see what happens."
"I don't want to leave here, you know I don't." Ross clenched his fist. "But I'm duty bound to fight for the Empire."
"Stuff and nonsense," Jack shot back. "You're a fine man. I've known you since babyhood. I've seen you agonizing over the casualty lists, but if something happens to you the Calvert line will die out. And for what?"
"For God's sake. After what Virginia did, I could never trust another woman."
"I'd even welcome her into the family," Jack said. "On bended knee if necessary, if she'd give you an heir."
He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Useless arguing with Jack once he got an idea fixed in his head. He could be as stubborn as a mule.
"Do you want me to go up and check on the smoke?" Jack asked.
He realized the old man wanted to stop their argument developing any further. "No, I'll go," he decided on the spur of the moment. "I don't know why, but I feel restless. A bit of mountain solitude is what I need to clear my head. I might even stay overnight."
If he went back to the army, Jack would keep things going as he did before. I'll get him to move into the main homestead with Mrs. Bates. Jack liked to be independent, but if he thought the old housekeeper needed him, he would agree.
He rode easily in the saddle and the majestic snow gums and mountain ash grew more profusely as he neared the high country. A plume of smoke drifted skywards from the outstation. Bloody swagmen. I don't mind them camping out up there if they'd only ask permission first.
An eagle soaring overhead. It dived and disappeared behind the mountain, obviously homing in on some prey.
By the time he arrived at the outstation, annoyance turned to rage. Some swagman actually had the gall to use his hut. Of all the damn cheek.
He dismounted. Tethering his horse under a tree, he strode into the hut. It looked clean and tidy, neater than he had left it. No personal belongings lay around, just a bed roll in the corner. Even using my bloody bed.
Checking the men's quarters and the kitchen proved fruitless. Nothing to be seen there. He wandered around but found no one. Finally, he headed towards the creek. It was a hot day. Maybe the cheeky bugger had decided to have a swim.
He spied a blanket laid out on the sand with a towel dropped carelessly in the middle and heard someone splashing about in the water.
I'll scare the hell out of him. He hid behind a bush. Impossible to see the culprit in the water from here, but the moment he set foot on the blanket he would know. Finally, he saw scattered showers of yellow sand being kicked up into the air, and got ready to pounce.
"This is private property," he snarled. The next lot of words jammed in his throat.
Harry! Stark naked! Her creamy breasts, glistening with water, were peaked with rose-tipped nipples, and a triangle of damp curls nestled between her thighs. There was a split second of silence.
"Ross!"
"Here." He picked up the towel and threw it at her. "Cover yourself, for God's sake."
She snatched it up and with trembling fingers wrapped it around her body.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He attacked straight away, to hide the effects such an exquisite little body had on his libido.
"I didn't go to Auntie Bertha's. I came straight here."
"That's obvious."
He clenched his fists in his pockets. Did she know how she affected him?
"I wanted to come here for a while so I could grieve for Gil on my own."
"You were supposed to go to your aunt. I put you on the bloody train."
"Please, don't be angry with me." Her lips trembled.
Angry? His whole body vibrated with rage. "Get dressed. You're going to Benalla whether you like it or not."
"I won't."
"By God you will." He reached out and gripped her shoulder. "You will." He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. "You hear me?"
He shoved her away. She tripped, and as he made a grab to save her, the towel slithered to the ground.
Harry watched Ross' eyes smolder with desire, his nostrils flared and his teeth gnawed his bottom lip.
Now or never. She threw caution to the winds. If she could make Ross desire her, he wouldn't send her away. She mustered every ounce of courage. "You don't find me pleasing?" Standing mere inches away from him, she made no move to retrieve the towel. The hot sun warmed her naked skin, but inwardly, flames engulfed her body.
Her gaze remained fixed on him. His eyes darkened to black. His whole body trembled.
"Oh, God," he groaned. "You'd try the patience of a saint."
He dragged her into his arms and crushed her body to him, capturing her mouth in a desperate, wanting kiss. His tongue forced her lips apart, staking a claim on the moistness within, thrusting, probing, tasting and still wanting more.
His knee moved between her thighs. His hand went to cup her breast and she gasped with shocked de
light as his fingers massaged her nipple. When his mouth followed, heated excitement swirled through her. The stubble of his beard grazed her soft skin but she didn't care, just buried her hands in his thick, luxurious hair and arched into his body.
She had never been kissed with passion by a man before, but wasn't afraid of Ross. He lowered her onto the blanket and without lifting his mouth from her breast, suckled the damp, aroused flesh.
"God, Harry. I should be flogged for this."
He sighed, a soft, drawn out sound of wanting that made her forget her inhibitions. She frantically worked at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his hot skin rasping against hers. She put her lips to the puckered redness of the ugly, deep scar gouged into his shoulder. Never had she known anything like the hot, exquisite pain of her ripening womanhood as he worked her with his fingers, touching, caressing, drawing back then caressing her again until she became a trembling mass of need.
Her fingers went to his waistband. They trembled so much he impatiently brushed her hand away and wriggled out of his pants. He was naked now, hard, throbbing and fully aroused. She noticed all this in the split second before he slipped between her thighs.
She was hot, moist and convulsing in the depth of her feminine recess. Her need for him so great now she barely felt the pain as he stormed through the barrier protecting her virginity.
He cried out her name as his lovemaking reached its final, earth shattering crescendo.
"I love you, Ross." Firecrackers exploded inside her head, and she closed her eyes as the explosion threatened to blind her.
"My God, what have I done?"
He rolled away, jackknifed to his feet and reached for his pants while she still lay on the blanket unable to move. He dressed in quick, jerky movements.
"I'm sorry." He squatted down beside her, running his fingers along her cheek. "Hell." He rummaged his fingers through his hair. "I ought to be horsewhipped." He gave her a neatly folded handkerchief. When she gave it back to him, stained with the blood of her lost virginity, his face turned a sickly gray color and a pulse convulsed in his jaw.
"Get dressed."
He reached down and handed over her clothes, turning his back as she struggled into them.
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