Outback Station

by Aaron Fletcher

  With isolated farms and flocks of sheep scattered over the hills, the landscape was a vast expanse. Although it was almost overwhelming in size, David knew it was only a promise of what lay beyond the Blue Mountains. He had heard about Bathurst, a village west of the mountains in an enormous grasslands plain, much of which remained unused even with sheep stations encompassing tens of thousands of acres scattered across it.

  And even the far reaches of the Bathurst plain were only an indication of the land beyond. West of Bathurst was the outback, a gigantic, mysterious region that remained unexplored. He had heard some people had been there, but very few. On maps, it was a blank with an extent like that of the seas. Information about it was scarce and unreliable, a web of hearsay facts mixed with a large amount of supposition and fanciful tales.

  One absolutely certain fact, however, was the concrete reality that it was there. When he had heard about the outback, it had meant little to him. He had been disinterested, burdened with sorrow and his energies centered entirely on his work. But now, as he looked out across the landscape, its significance to him was vital. Standing on Prospect Hill and gazing to the west, he had come to a crossroads in his life.

  A feeling unlike anything he had ever known gripped him. On the day he had walked to Parramatta, he had experienced a premonition of it in his deep contentment while sitting beside the river, but he had failed to realize what had created that mood. Now he understood completely, and it was a revelation as intense and profound as a religious awakening.

  In the forested glade beside the river, with no indication that others were within miles, he had found contentment in peaceful solitude. It had lasted only a few minutes, but a lifetime of it lay beyond the mountains. In the outback, he could build himself a new life, cutting himself off from all that had happened to him and leaving his agony of sorrow behind.

  Exuberant happiness swelled within him, too much for him to contain. In a boyish impulse, he lifted his arms over his head, whooping at the top of his voice and shouting his joy to the world. For the first time since the bitter day when he had discovered his wife's infidelity, he was able to think about what lay beyond the present moment.

  He had a future once again, bright with promise. A new, fresh world seemed to have opened up around him as he walked on down the road, almost running. The sun looked brighter on the wintry July day, the chatter of the birds more lively and cheerful. Gazing from side to side, he drank in the scene as he hurried toward the river.

  After he passed the last farm, he had the sense of peaceful solitude once again. The wide, fertile river valley was taken up in sheep stations, the nearest houses and flocks miles away. A track, a narrow trail, branched off the road to the south, weaving in and out of the thick trees beside the river.

  Although the track was evidence that people were within a few miles, the place felt much like a wilderness to David as he walked. Wildlife he had never seen before was abundant. Wallabies and kangaroos bounded away ahead of him, and a wombat scurried through the brush. Small animals similar to flying squirrels glided between the trees, and other animals stirred the foliage.

  Green clouds of budgerigars whirled overhead, so thick they cast shadows on the ground. A gum tree with a flock of white cockatoos on its branches looked like it was covered with chalky blossoms. Yellow crests on the birds' heads stood erect as David walked toward them, then they burst from the tree in a bedlam of hoarse cries. A seemingly endless variety of other colorful birds chattered and swooped between the trees.

  At sunset, David entered a thicket of trees and brush near the road. The chill of evening settling in, he picked up sticks and slabs of eucalyptus bark to build a small shelter, then found dry, decayed bark for tinder and used his flint and steel to kindle a fire.

  With the fire blazing in front of it, the shelter became comfortably warm. At nightfall, David was hungry, but his contentment was infinitely more satisfying than any amount of the most delicious food. And the fire, holding back the cold night with its warm, cheerful glow, gave him a sense of comfort at a deep, primal level.

  Gazing into the fire, David thought about what he had to do. The governor had stopped just short of promising him his freedom, which had now become of paramount importance. The only means of a livelihood in the solitude west of the mountains was as a grazier, so he had to learn how to care for sheep and other livestock. Then he would have to work and save to buy a flock and other necessities. All of that would take time, but at twenty-six years old, he had his life ahead of him once again.

  Finally, David settled himself comfortably and went to sleep. When the fire burned to ashes near dawn, the penetrating cold woke him. He left the shelter and went up the road, walking briskly to warm himself. When the village came into view, he had a sense of returning to a grim, dreary prison.

  The convict compound was quiet, smoke from the cookhouse chimney the only sign of life. David went to the bathhouse then on to the cookhouse. In contrast to its usual uproar, it was virtually deserted. The convict cook who should have been doling out food was sitting at a table with his head on his arms, haggard from a hangover. He pointed to the pans of food, telling David to help himself.

  Having eaten nothing since breakfast the day before, David took several pieces of bread and salt pork. He sat at a table and ate, then went back to the cook. ''Do you have any potatoes?"

  "Back there," the man groaned, motioning toward the kitchen without lifting his head. "Take whatever the bloody hell you want."

  David went into the grimy, cluttered kitchen. A wide shelf was filled with baskets of potatoes, in a corner were casks of salt pork and beef, and loaves of bread were piled on a table. Finding a small basket, David put pieces of pork and beef into it, then he filled his pockets with potatoes and took a loaf of bread.

  Returning to his room, he rolled his soap, razor, and mirror in his blanket, then he set out for the road leading west. After he passed the outskirts of the village, his feeling of confinement faded, and his exuberantly cheerful mood of the day before returned. He walked down the road with a long, swinging stride, happily whistling a tune.

  With a gusty wind blowing, it was colder than the previous day, but David felt an inner warmth when he reached his shelter. In some vital way, the small, crude structure seemed like home to him. He put his things inside, then piled wood and kindled a fire.

  Work had made time pass rapidly for him, but never as swiftly as did the solitude near the river. The hours fled like minutes in his enjoyment as he explored the forest, watched the birds and animals, and cooked over the fire. He remained there Monday night, rising well before dawn the next morning, and returned to the convict compound in time to put his things in his room and go to the cookhouse for breakfast.

  As he resumed his routine, instead of dreading Sunday and looking forward to the work week, his priorities had been reversed. At the same time, the building project had taken on a crucial importance as his passport to the new life he wanted. With that burning ambition driving him, David threw himself into his work with concentrated energy.

  The days passed quickly, and the work inched ever closer to the completion schedule the governor had set for the building. On Friday, David received his first wages, pay for two weeks' work, and bought oilskins and supplies.

  The following day, activities proceeded smoothly at the construction site until noon, when an incident threatened a work stoppage. At the saw pit, a long,

  steel lever with toothed jaws attached to one end was used to turn logs while they were being squared off and sawed up into boards and support beams. While a log was being turned, one of the jaws broke off the lever. The sawyer told David that the logs could be turned with crowbars, but it was difficult and time consuming, too slow to provide the carpenters with the amount of lumber they were using.

  David gathered the pieces of the lever and carried them to the blacksmith shop on the outskirts of the village. He explained the situation to the burly owner of the shop, telling him that he
would arrange payment through Greenway if the man could repair the lever. The blacksmith examined the pieces, then nodded and told David that the lever would be ready for him to pick up on Monday morning.

  The problem resolved, David went back toward the building in a cheerful mood, looking forward to spending the next day at the river. The houses were scattered on the north side of the village, where lanes between farms were in the process of becoming residential streets. As he turned a corner at a distance from the nearest house, he saw a man and woman beside a buggy that had broken down, a wheel having come off. Then, recognizing John Fitzroy, David immediately knew who the woman was.

  "You, there," John Fitzroy called brusquely, beckoning David. "Fetch someone who can put this wheel back on the"

  "Don't be so utterly boorish, John," Alexandra Hammond interrupted him impatiently, then she turned to David. "Could I prevail upon you for your assistance? If you could either put the wheel back on the buggy or tell me the whereabouts of a wheelwright, I'd be most grateful."

  Walking toward them, David silently stared at Fitzroy until he looked away, but his anger over the man's attitude was almost lost in his mixture of contrasting reactions to the woman. A relative of the man who had destroyed his life, she brought back his grief and rage of that time in full force. However, he saw that her cordial manner was completely natural, not a pose to solicit help. Fitzroy was peevishly ill-tempered over the accident with the buggy, while she was taking it in stride.

  She was also the most exquisitely beautiful creature he had ever seen. Appearing to be about nineteen years old, she had long, thick brown hair tucked up under her wide hat and large blue eyes set in finely-modeled features that were far more lovely than the most perfect image a master sculptor could fashion. With ample reason to be vain, instead her eyes and face reflected a sunny good nature along with a spirited, independent personality.

  While he urgently wanted to ignore her and walk on by, a more compelling impulse made him stop. As he looked at the wheel and axle, seeing that they were undamaged, she pointed to the threads on the end of the axle. "Apparently something came off there," she suggested.

  "Yes, it's called a wheel nut," he replied. He turned away from the buggy and began searching along the street. "It came off a short distance away, because the wheel won't stay on very long without it."

  Lifting the hem of her dress and long winter coat to keep them out of the mud, Alexandra helped him look for the nut. A few yards from the buggy, he found it in weeds at the edge of the road and picked it up. "Well done!" she exclaimed happily. "Is it harmed in any way?"

  David shook his head, approaching the buggy. "No, wheel nuts are made of steel, and they're difficult to damage."

  Taking a firm grip on the axle, David lifted the side of the small, light vehicle to slide the wheel back into place. Obviously wellborn, the young woman was totally unpretentious and had an industrious, restless energy. Unable to remain idle, she gripped the spokes on the wheel, helping David push it onto the axle.

  "Alexandra, what are you doing?" John asked indignantly.

  "I am helping with a task at hand," she replied evenly, "whilst you stand there and sulk. So we are both doing what we do best, John."

  The lawyer sighed in exasperation, turning away. Alexandra glanced at David with a twinkling smile that was both a silent, humorous comment on John Fitzroy's childish petulance and an apology for his rude behavior. With the smile wreathing her lovely features, her beauty was dazzling, like gazing into a brilliant sunrise after a cold, dark night.

  As they slid the wheel onto the axle, David was acutely aware of how near she was. The alluring scent of her perfume wafted around him, and her shoulder brushed his. She remained close when the wheel was on, watching as he put the nut on the axle to hold the wheel in place. Then he pointed out the small hole in the nut where a cotter pin was needed.

  "A nail or a piece of wire will suffice," he told her. "But if something isn't there to hold it, the wheel will come off again."

  Alexandra smiled, nodding. "I'm sure something adequate can be found at the farm where I'm going. I might not have reached there today but for your capable assistance, though. I'm most grateful indeed."

  As he answered appropriately, David knew that she was going to introduce herself in a moment, necessitating the same from him. Certain she would recognize his name, he dreaded the thought of the horror on her beautiful face if she found out who he was. He quickly made a brief farewell, lifting his hat and bowing. Alexandra replied, smiling as he turned away.

  Torn by diametrically opposed emotions, David continued walking toward the construction site. In one way, his reaction to Alexandra had shaken his belief that there could never be another woman in his life. At the same time, the sorrow and anger she had resurrected from his past had reinforced that belief into an absolute conviction.

  David tried to dismiss his turmoil and concentrate on going to the river the next day, where he would have peace. He was only partly successful, looking forward to the next day, but unable to force the mental image of Alexandra's lovely, smiling face out of his thoughts.

  As the buggy moved down the street which gradually turned into a rural road, Alexandra waited for John to make a disapproving remark about what she had done, knowing that he would. When he did, she turned on him. "Are you venturing to chastise me, John?" she demanded.

  "No, no, of course not," he assured her hastily. "However, I feel that your father would have considered it unseemly. After all, the man was a perfect stranger, and perhaps a convict. I believe I've seen him among convicts somewhere or other, so he's either that or an emancipist."

  "My father's attitudes toward what I do don't concern you. That man may be a convict, emancipist, or a free settler, but he is also a gentleman. And a gentleman who knew how to repair the buggy."

  "Well, I don't profess to be a mechanic," John said resentfully. "I'm an attorney at law, and I can't understand why you've taken such umbrage over a passing comment about what you did, Alexandra."

  "I've told you before that I won't listen to reprimands from you, John. My brother isn't a mechanic, but I daresay that Creighton could manage to put a wheel back on a buggy if he had to."

  John lapsed into offended silence. Alexandra knew that her response to what he had said had been indeed too heated. She also candidly admitted to herself that it had been because she was defensive. While she always felt compelled to lend a hand where it was needed, in that particular instance it had been inappropriate. She had crossed over the line from being cordial and had been forward with the man.

  In part, it had been to atone for John's usual discourtesy toward those he considered beneath him, but it had also been because the man had intrigued her. A large, strikingly handsome man, clean-shaven and meticulously neat, he had been very reserved but polite. His speech and manner had indicated he was well-educated and from a good family, but his clothing had revealed that he was either a convict or so financially hardpressed that he had to buy clothes from government stores.

  None of that, she reflected, touched upon why she had been so curious about him. She decided that it had been his eyes, which had been the source of some vaguely mysterious quality about him. He appeared to have suffered an agonizing ordeal, the aftermath of it lingering, but she had also seen in his blue eyes an undeniable interest in her that had overshadowed everything else. She wished she knew more about him, at least his name.

  Stirring from her reverie, Alexandra pointed to a lane ahead. "Turn in there, please," she said.

  John pulled back on the reins, slowing the horse, then turned onto the lane. "It would have been enjoyable to attend the social gathering at the Montague home today," he mused regretfully.

  "I did say that I was perfectly willing to come here alone today," Alexandra reminded him firmly. "You could have gone to the Montagues while I came here to see my friend and deliver the baby clothes."

  "Friend?" John echoed disdainfully. "Alexandra, the woman worked as
a maid in your father's household."

  "From when I was a small girl," Alexandra added, annoyed. "Lavinia came here with the family as a maid, met a good man, and has a happy marriage. I consider her a friend, and I'll ask you to act accordingly."

  Sighing in resignation, John nodded. As the buggy moved down the lane into the small farm, the wheel on Alexandra's side bumped through a rut. It was the one that had come off, and she remembered what the tall man had said about the need for the nut to be secured. Leaning out, she looked at the wheel to make certain it was still firmly on the axle.

  Sitting back in the seat, she continued thinking about him, recalling the few things he had said and done. When he had put the nut on the axle, his hands had drawn her attention. Very large and strong, but not those of a laborer, they had also looked gentle.

  At the small, neat, freestone cottage, John started to draw up the buggy in front of it. Alexandra pointed to the rear, knowing that Lavinia would be in the kitchen. His pained expression conveying what he thought about going to the back door of a house, John drove on and stopped the buggy in the yard between the cottage and outbuildings.

  A stout, rosy-cheeked woman in her thirties came out of the cottage as Alexandra stepped down from the buggy. "Mistress Alexandra!" she cried in delight, rushing to her. "How very good it is to see you again!"

  "And you, Lavinia," Alexandra replied as they embraced. "I was ever so pleased to hear about the baby, and I've brought some clothes for her. You've met Mr. Fitzroy, I believe."

  The woman nodded, her smile fading as she bobbed in a curtsy, and John bowed stiffly in response. Alexandra took the bundle of baby clothes out of the buggy and handed them to the woman, whose warm smile returned. "You shouldn't have, Mistress Alexandra," she said, "but I'm most grateful. I'm even more grateful to see you again. Come on in, then."

  "I can stay only long enough to see the baby, Lavinia," Alexandra explained apologetically. "We had a mishap with the buggy that delayed me, and Mother will be worried if I tarry too long. Where is Tom?"