Heart of the Country

by Tricia Stringer

  “This isn’t my place.” Thomas wished there was some way he could help the lad. “Perhaps the Smiths?” Even as he said it he realised there was no way the Smith family needed any more help.

  “You don’t need to pay me and I’m good at finding me own food. I just need somewhere to stay for a while.”

  “You don’t think Wallis might come back looking for you? There’d be no one to help you if he did.”

  “He won’t be back.” Wick stuck his hands in his pockets and gave a shrug. “Least not for a long time. They keep moving, those blokes. Shearing or whatever they can to earn some money.”

  “Looks like you’ve found your help.”

  Wick jumped at the sound of Lizzie’s voice.

  “I’m glad to see you’re not lost, Wick,” she said. “Mr Baker was only saying last night that he needed some help and here you are – the answer to his prayers.”

  Thomas looked from the smiling Lizzie to the startled face of Wick. The gangly lad was not what he’d imagined the Lord would provide but he decided he had little choice but to give him a try. If he worked out, he may become the replacement shepherd.

  Later that morning, his wagon loaded high with wool bales, Thomas began the journey back to Adelaide. The Smiths had suggested they would take turns at visiting Wick, who had promised most solemnly to look after the sheep until Thomas’s return. And so it was, with some small degree of excitement, mixed with an element of uncertainty, that he cracked his whip and urged the bullocks forward.

  Twenty-five

  1848

  “I hope your wife isn’t encouraging mine to buy frivolous trinkets, Mr Wiltshire. She has no need of such rubbish out here.”

  Septimus lifted his head from the bag of wool clippings he’d been checking. The rotund man next to him was an ugly figure with small beady eyes, a bulbous nose and a bushy beard. Bull by name and bull by nature. Septimus couldn’t imagine how the man had attracted such a young woman as his wife. Then he recalled his own travels with Harriet, and decided anything was possible in this isolated Australian bush.

  He looked over at the two women seated beside the wagon. They were drinking tea from dainty china cups, deep in conversation. He knew he could leave it up to Harriet to make a good sale if there was one to be had but he thought she’d have her work cut out. The farmer’s wife was young and probably had no sway with her grotesque husband. There was no spark in her eyes, her hair had no shine and her dress was a deep brown, which did nothing for her sallow complexion. He could see no indication of feminine charm and who could blame her, stuck out there with such a man.

  Septimus shifted his gaze to her husband. “Your good wife is probably taking the opportunity to enjoy some female conversation, Mr Bull,” he said and went back to testing the wool.

  Harriet was proving to be quite an asset. When he recalled the day, almost a year earlier now, he’d returned to camp with the new wagon all loaded up with supplies and found her in a wet and bedraggled heap by the cold fire, he still felt a jolt of dismay. He’d thought she was dead but, like a cat, Harriet seemed to have nine lives. He’d plucked her from the soggy ground, warmed her up and watched over her as she recovered.

  When the blue had left her lips and she’d been well enough to talk, he’d asked her why she hadn’t looked after herself.

  “It must have been something I ate. I took sick,” she’d said.

  Septimus had given a quick thought to leaving her behind. He had no use for her if she couldn’t do her share but she’d recovered quickly and now very profitably spent her time with the women in the isolated huts, farms and even hotels they visited.

  Harriet was his wife in every sense but the legal and he was happy for people to accept her as that. He had to admire her tenacity. It had been her suggestion they buy the small table and dainty wooden chairs from a downtrodden squatter. Harriet had taken to setting up under whatever shade she could find close to the wagon. She used a tablecloth and the china tea set and in no time had the lady of the property engaged in conversation as if they were in a tea shop in town.

  “If it’s of no use, I may as well throw it away.”

  Septimus gritted his teeth at the grumbling sound of Bull’s voice but he pulled his face into a smile and stood tall. How this ridiculous man had come to own this place and run sheep was beyond him. Although he wouldn’t own it for long the way he was going. Septimus had already loaned him some money. It was a small amount but the interest was high. Bull’s lack of management skills would soon see him owing a lot more. His wool had been sent to the port but there was quite a bit of quality left in the bags of daggy off-cuts if one was prepared to take the time to clean it. If Bull had realised the money to be made he wouldn’t have needed to borrow more.

  “I can take them off your hands if you like.” Septimus watched the piggy eyes opposite him narrow.

  “How much?”

  So the man wasn’t a complete fool. Septimus made a quick calculation. There were several bags and with the new wagon there was plenty of room. They’d been on the road for a couple of weeks. Many of the supplies had been sold, leaving space. If they bought this wool, Harriet could clean it. Then they wouldn’t be travelling back to Adelaide with an empty wagon as they’d done in the past. He knew he could sell clean bags of wool for a tidy sum. It made good sense to have a return cargo rather than an empty wagon.

  Septimus made his offer. He stepped back quickly as Bull snorted and sprayed him with spittle.

  “There’s another traveller comes through here pays better than that.”

  “Very well, sir,” Septimus said. He took care to mask his contempt for the man with polite words. A minute ago he was going to throw the wool away. “We won’t trouble you any longer. My wife and I must be on our way.”

  As much as Septimus would love to have punched the vile man on the nose and have nothing more to do with him, there was the future to consider. Bull had purchased several items from the wagon and return trips should be profitable.

  “Wait a minute,” Bull said. “Don’t you want the wool?”

  Septimus turned back with his head slightly bowed, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “It’s not my usual fare, Mr Bull. If you can make better money with your regular buyer I won’t interfere.”

  “I don’t know when he’ll be back this way.” Bull began to huff and tug at his beard. “It would be better for me if it was gone.”

  “I shouldn’t have suggested it. Our wagon doesn’t have much space –”

  “I want to be rid of it,” Bull cut in.

  “You didn’t like my offer,” Septimus said in a low voice.

  “Well you can make me a better one.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Bull.” Septimus put on his most pitiful look. “My dear wife and I are simple merchants. We don’t have a lot of money. That was my best offer. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Well.” Bull almost hopped from foot to foot. “Well,” he said again then puffed himself up. “There will be more wool soon and I need to clear my shed. If you can take it all I’ll accept your offer.”

  “Very well, Mr Bull.” Septimus bowed his head again. “I will see what space we can make.”

  Harriet saw Septimus striding with purpose down the slope towards her. She couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on him. He had recovered well from the broken leg. She only noticed him limp when he was tired. She was careful with their provisions but fed him well. He cut a fine figure now, tall and lean with his dark hair swept to the side. She noticed most of the women they met gave him a second look. Not this poor mouse of a woman she was engaging with tea and conversation, though.

  “Well, Mrs Bull,” Harriet smiled sweetly at the woman opposite, “it has been very nice to talk with you. So good to have female company, isn’t it?”

  The woman gave a fleeting smile as Harriet reached across and began collecting the ribbons she had laid out on the table.

  “If you’re sure you won’t want anything I’d best p
ack up.” Once again Harriet smiled. She could see the wistful look in Mrs Bull’s eyes but knew from their conversation there’d be no sale there. Mr Bull was aptly named. He bullied his wife and gave her no money for herself. She was lucky she had the rough dress she wore. The fabric was so thick – Harriet didn’t know how she coped with the heat. The temperature had been steadily rising for a week. Even though the day was early and they had the shade of the trees, the air was warm.

  Septimus stopped beside them. He gave Mrs Bull a charming smile. “Do you favour one of these colours, Mrs Bull?” he asked. He waved his hand over the ribbons Harriet was yet to collect.

  Mrs Bull jumped to her feet, making the china cups rattle in their saucers. “They’re very beautiful,” she said, “but I don’t have the means to purchase –”

  “I think the emerald,” Septimus said. He scooped up the ribbon and held it close to the young woman’s hazel eyes. “Don’t you think the colour suits, my dear?” He glanced at Harriet and gave a wink, then pushed the ribbon into Mrs Bull’s hands. “Your good husband has made several purchases. I think it only fair that you have something: a gift from us for entertaining my wife.”

  Harriet watched the little glimmer of hope appear on Mrs Bull’s flushed face and felt a pang of sorrow for the poor woman. Septimus must have made good sales. He rarely gave anything away and in this case it would do no good. The horrible Mr Bull would probably throw the ribbon out the moment he laid eyes on it.

  “Please take it, Mrs Bull,” Harriet said. “You’ve been so kind to keep me company while the men did their business and the colour really does suit you.”

  “Thank you,” the young woman said then jumped as her husband bellowed her name. “I must be off.”

  Harriet watched her hurry away, pushing the ribbon up her sleeve; perhaps it would be worn when the monster of a man wasn’t around.

  “Pack up, Harriet.” Septimus was already collecting the chairs; the charm he had oozed for Mrs Bull had evaporated. “We have to make space for some wool bags.”

  Harriet lifted the cups and saucers. She had barely removed the cloth before he took the table to pack with the chairs in the wagon.

  “I’ll lead the horses and wagon up to Bull’s shed, load up, then come back for you.”

  Harriet still felt a thread of doubt when he said those words but she straightened her spine and nodded.

  “Make sure you have everything packed ready. I want to make the creek with the deeper water before dark. We’ve work to do.”

  “Yes, Septimus,” she said but he was already moving away. Harriet knew there was no point in asking what the job was. He would tell her when he was ready.

  She rinsed the delicate cups with their dainty blue flowers in water from the billy and packed them back into the little wooden box he’d found for them. They were enveloped between layers of jute so they didn’t rattle against each other. The other things from the big trunk had either been sold or packed somewhere else and the trunk itself had become the storage box for special supplies like bags of sugar, tea and dried fruit.

  She’d used a little of the precious dried fruit in the damper and Mrs Bull had eaten three pieces. Harriet wrapped the remaining loaf in calico. Septimus could eat it for his supper. If he had a job planned, she might not have time to prepare anything else. She was packed and ready in time to see him leading the horses and wagon back down the hill. Even from the distance she could see the self-satisfied look on his face. She felt a flutter of anticipation for whatever task he was planning. Life with Septimus was never dull.

  Twenty-six

  “This second load of wool is bigger than your first, Thomas, and the quality is excellent.” AJ gripped his shoulder as they left the wool merchant’s office together. “You have certainly been doing well. It was my very good fortune to put you in charge at Penakie.”

  “A lot has happened in two years.” Thomas nodded at the man who’d become his friend as well as his employer. “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  “Let me buy you a meal,” AJ said. “We have more to discuss.”

  They had come to a halt in front of a new building. The solid stone British Hotel with its tiled roof and shuttered windows had not been built the last time Thomas had been in Port Adelaide.

  “Thank you,” he said and followed AJ thought the thick wooden door. Inside, the main room had high ceilings and a bar that ran the length of one wall. Several patrons were already seated at sturdy wooden tables with mugs of ale, even though it was not yet midday.

  How much had changed in the two years since his arrival in South Australia. When he’d first stepped ashore here he had no idea of what was in store for him. He still felt the loss of his parents but he’d grown to love the bush and life on Penakie. Working for AJ was a good arrangement, one he hoped his employer would want to continue for some time.

  AJ directed him to one of the empty tables and returned from the bar with two mugs of ale.

  “I hope you like fish. There’s little else on the menu,” AJ said as he sat.

  “I look forward to it,” he said. “No fish in the streams at Penakie.”

  “You have plenty of water though?” AJ’s eyes darkened as he got down to business.

  “Yes, we’ve had rain in the hills and on the property. The streams continue to have some water even during the hottest months.”

  “And Wick has taken to the life of a shepherd?”

  “He’s a quick learner.”

  “Like you.”

  “Now that he no longer has to fear a beating for every mistake, he’s become more relaxed and has taken to the work well.” Thomas still detected a hint of edginess in Wick’s manner from time to time. Life had been rough for him with the shearers. They’d treated him badly. Thomas suspected something in his past had bound him to them but Thomas found Wick a hard worker and enjoyed his company.

  “He was lucky you discovered his plight and let him stay,” AJ said.

  “He couldn’t have without your formal offer of employment.”

  A pretty barmaid put steaming plates in front of them.

  “Thank you,” AJ said.

  Thomas stared down at the large bowl brimming with pieces of fat fish in a thick white sauce. His mouth watered as the aromatic smell of herbs and onion wafted up from it. The girl returned with a plate of bread and cheese and left them to their meal.

  “Eat up,” AJ said and immediately took a mouthful.

  Thomas did the same and was rewarded with the delicious flavour.

  “This is very good,” AJ murmured.

  Thomas nodded his head in agreement and took another spoonful. The fish was a welcome change from his predominantly meat and damper diet; he was also looking forward to some of the fresh bread and cheese. They spoke little while they enjoyed the food.

  “So you would like to keep Wick on as shepherd?” AJ asked once they’d mopped the last of the sauce with a chunk of the bread.

  “I would. With Wick and some help from Gulda, I manage quite well.”

  “Gulda is the native you’ve spoken of before?”

  “Yes.” Thomas straightened his shoulders. He didn’t mention the extent of Gulda’s help in case AJ objected to having the native work for him, like so many others.

  “And you pay him with rations and goods?”

  Thomas couldn’t read from AJ’s expression whether he was going to object or accept the native’s presence.

  “It seems only fair.” He spoke firmly. “Gulda has no use for money. Giving him the odd sheep seems to cut our losses to other natives and he makes use of flour, sugar, tea and some clothing.”

  AJ studied him a moment then reached forward, and cut a piece of cheese.

  “I have no objection. You are the man on the property. If it works for you then it works for me.” He put the cheese in his mouth and chewed.

  “The Smith sons have also helped out when we need extra hands, but on the whole Wick and I manage with Gulda’s help.”

&nbs
p; “It’s good to have company and neighbours you can rely on. I seem to remember the Smiths also have a daughter, don’t they?”

  Thomas felt a prickle of heat course over him at the thought of Lizzie. He was head-over-heels in love with her but he kept that to himself.

  “Yes, both Miss Smith and her mother have been most generous in providing food from time to time. Wick and I eat a basic diet. We have learned a few different ways to cook kangaroo and some of the smaller animals are quite tasty. There are also fruits and berries that we can eat. Between us we do well.”

  “You’re a good man, Thomas.” AJ sat back in his chair. “I am grateful I have someone as hard working and honest as you to manage Penakie for me.”

  “Thank you, AJ.” Thomas held his employer’s steady gaze. “That means a lot to me.”

  “I understand.” AJ let out a long sigh. “My father was a gentleman farmer back in England but I am the youngest of five sons. I had to find work in a shop. I had a good head for figures but I didn’t enjoy the confines of being inside all day. One day I read about the opportunities in Australia and from that moment I could think of nothing else.” His gaze softened as he spoke. “You and I have much in common, Thomas. When I finally got passage here, I was alone and had very little. I found work on a property in New South Wales. I quickly grew to love the bush, the rich colours and smells, the pelting rain and the pressing sun. I was lucky to have a benevolent employer. He also used convict labour but everyone who worked for him was treated fairly, convict or free man.” AJ paused. He looked beyond Thomas as if he wasn’t there. “I learned so much from him. He was like a father to me. We talked a lot about the future. He knew I wanted a place of my own. I earned enough to make a start for myself.”

  “Is that when you came to South Australia?”

  AJ turned back to him. “I worked my way here. I was never lucky enough to work for someone as generous and wise as my first employer again but I’ve remembered what he taught me always. An honest wage for an honest day’s work, expect loyalty and trust and reap the rewards.” AJ smiled at Thomas. “You’ll have your own place one day.”