"He was seeing to the cow a short time ago," Lavinia replied, looking toward the barns. "Aye, there he is now. He must have heard the buggy."
A tall, lanky man in baggy homespuns came toward the house, a wide smile on his sun-browned face as he took off his cap. "G'day, Mistress Hammond," he said. "I'm mightily pleased to see you again."
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Tom. I don't believe you've met my escort, John Fitzroy. John, this is Thomas Delaney."
The men greeted each other, John straining to be civil, then Alexandra told Tom about the need for a retaining device in the wheel nut on the buggy. "Aye, it's a cotter pin you want, Mistress Hammond," he replied, "and I have plenty in my tool shed. I'll put one in for you."
"Thank you, Tom. John, I'll be out presently."
He nodded, getting back into the buggy to sit and wait as Alexandra followed Lavinia into the cottage. In the warm, spotless kitchen, the baby was sleeping in a cradle beside the homemade table. Alexandra smiled in delight, leaning over the cradle to touch the small face tenderly.
Lavinia ladled water from a bucket into a teakettle, then placed it on the fireplace hob to heat. "You can stay long enough to have a cup of tea, my dear," she announced firmly. "Let me take your coat, or you won't have the benefit of it when you go back outside. I see that you're still keeping company with that one out there to pacify your father."
Taking off her coat, Alexandra smiled wryly and nodded. At best, her relationship with her father was an uneasy one, her need to be involved in productive activity clashing with his desire for her to be much less independent. He had gone to lengths to encourage a relationship between her and John, and she cooperated to an extent in order to avoid arguments.
"John is under no illusions about my feelings," she told Lavinia, handing her the coat. "We are social companions, no more."
"He's trying to wear you down, my dear," Lavinia warned her somberly, hanging the coat in a corner. "You must keep your wits about yourself and not let him, because you can do much better than that. I trust that your mother and grandmother are still in good health?"
Alexandra sat down at the table, replying that they were. Then she told Lavinia what the members of her family had been doing recently, the woman bustling about the kitchen and preparing the tea. As they talked, the baby began whimpering, and Alexandra rocked the cradle gently.
Glancing out the window, Alexandra saw Tom kneeling beside the buggy wheel, putting in the cotter pin. Thoughts of the man she had met on the road immediately raced through her mind, and it occurred to her that anything even remotely associated with him made her think of him. Once she did, it was difficult for her to dismiss those thoughts.
A vague memory from years before surfaced in her mind, and she mentioned it to Lavinia. "Didn't one of the cooks we used to have in England have some sort of saying about strangers and not being able to forget them?" she asked. "I think it was the Corliss woman."
"No, it was Darcy Hubble, my dear," Lavinia replied, placing a cup on the table. "Let's see now, how did that go? Aye, it's, 'If you meet a stranger whom you can't get out of mind, he'll no longer be a stranger if you'll only bide your time.' That's what she used to say."
Alexandra nodded, looking down at the baby as she rocked the cradle. "Yes, that's right," she agreed musingly. "That's what she used to say."
Chapter Four
"G'day. I'm Frank Williamson."
David stopped on the road, returning the greeting and introducing himself. Ever since he had started going to the river, he had passed the man in his horse-drawn cart every Sunday morning. Wearing heavy work clothes and a stockman's hat with the wide brim turned up on one side, Frank Williamson had once been a burly man. Now he sagged with age, his flowing beard and mustache snowy white, but his eyes were still alert and youthful.
"I'm not one to try to mind another's flock," Frank said, "but I appreciate a word of caution myself when I have mine on pastures I don't know well. You could encounter trouble whilst camping at the river."
"Am I trespassing there? From the look of the land, I thought it was property held by the colonial authorities."
"The verge along the river is, with the edge of my property reaching down to it, but that isn't what I meant. Bushrangers use this road, and some of them could notice your fire sometime. If you've as much as tuppence in your pockets, that's what your life is worth to them."
The warning well taken, David thanked the man. "I've seen no one about down there," he continued, "and I didn't realize I had drawn anyone's attention. How did you know I was camping near the river?"
"It wasn't hard to unravel," Frank replied, amused. "When I began passing you on my way to visit my family in Sydney every Sunday, I began noticing smoke in the trees down there when I came back on Sunday evening. I thought that it had to be you."
"Yes, I suppose that follows," David agreed, laughing. "So you own the station bordering the river on the south side of the road?"
The aged man smiled sadly, shrugging. "Such as it is. I used to be a grazier, just as I used to ride a horse. Now I graze a few thousand head on that patch of land and I go about in a cart most of the time."
"It looks like very good property to me, as it would to most. Did you have one of the large stations over at Bathurst?"
"No, those are mere patches as well, David," Frank replied, gazing reminiscently into the distance. "I used to have a real sheep station and as much land as a man could want, in the outback."
"The outback?" David exclaimed, fascinated and pleased to have at last met someone who had actually been to the distant region. "I've heard talk about it, but very few have been there."
"Aye, only a few," Frank agreed. "A good friend of mine is there now on what used to be my station. A drayage company in Sydney sends him supplies every year and brings out his wool, and I hear that the drivers are always glad to get back, liking the clatter and crowds." He lifted his reins. "If you're going to be down near the river, I'll stop on my way back from Sydney this evening and talk with you."
"I'd like that very much indeed," David replied emphatically.
Frank nodded, touching his hat and snapping the reins, and his cart moved away. Walking on down the road, David was elated at having met the likable, friendly man with firsthand information about the outback, and he looked forward to talking with Frank at length.
It was the middle of August, the weather cold and unsettled, with a scum of ice covering the puddles on the road. Gusty wind shredded the smoke rising from the farms' chimneys, and the people were bundled against the chill as they went about their tasks. A mile beyond the last farm on the road, David identified the track leading into Frank's station. A narrow, muddy trail, it stretched to the south across rolling hills covered with acacia, grass, and open forest.
Reaching the track that branched off the road at the river, David went down it and into the trees to his camp. During the past Sundays, he had enlarged the first crude shelter into a bark hut with a frame of sturdy limbs. He kindled a fire in the ring of stones in front of the hut, then unrolled his blanket and took out food and cooking utensils he had bought in the village.
With his wages, he could afford tea and other luxuries. Following the stockman's practice, he brewed it in a billycan, a tall, slender pint container with a bail. He filled the billy and a small pan at the river, then set them on the fire and sliced up vegetables into the pan. When the billy boiled, he took it off the fire and put a piece of mutton on a spit.
The food he bought was so much better than convict fare that his meal was one thing he looked forward to on Sundays. However, his main pleasure by far remained the quiet solitude and reflecting on when he could begin a new life. After eating, he passed the hours in walking along the river, thinking of when he might have his own sheep station.
During late afternoon, he returned to the hut. Soon, he heard the rattle of harness chains and rumble of wheels as Frank turned off the road onto the track. David moved through the trees, exchangin
g greetings with the grazier as he clambered stiffly down from the cart, then they unhitched the horse so it could graze.
The trip to Sydney was a considerable distance, and David commented that the old man had spent only a short time there. "No, not long," Frank agreed. "I don't like being in towns. Also, my wife and sons don't enjoy my visiting them any more than I enjoy doing it."
"I wonder why you do, then."
"Because they're my wife and sons, and I think that I should visit them," Frank replied, taking a fire-blackened billy and tea from a bag in the cart. "I'm a man who does what he thinks he should."
David commented that it was a good rule to follow, as he and Frank went into the copse. After filling their billys at the river, they made tea and smoked their pipes. David talked briefly about himself, telling the grazier that he was an engineer and the overseer of the building in Parramatta.
Frank made no attempt to find out more, avoiding asking personal questions for many men had reason to resent prying into their background. "Well, when you get a ticket-of-leave or pardon," he observed, "you shouldn't have trouble finding work that pays well."
"Perhaps, but I want to be a grazier."
Frank puffed on his pipe, studying David, then nodded. "Aye, you have the look of a man who can stand to be alone, and moreover who would prefer it. Getting started as a grazier can be hard, though. Land is very expensive here but considerably more reasonable at Bathurst."
"And more reasonable still in the outback."
"Indeed, because the use of it is free. You can simply get a grazing license and squat on as much land as you need. The license costs only a guinea, but the land won't belong to you, and not everyone can live in the outback. People either love it or hate it, nothing in between."
Taking a drink of his tea, David asked, "Is it anything similar to the land here?"
Frank shook his head, replying that it was more arid, with different vegetation than the coastal region. Fewer sheep could be grazed per acre, and water was very scarce. Grass fires, floods, and droughts were a menace, along with dingoes, the wild dogs of Australia. However, if those difficulties could be overcome, he said, it was an excellent region for grazing, and flocks multiplied rapidly.
He described the outback and related his experiences there. Dusk had gathered when he fell silent for a moment, musing. Then, the firelight flickering on his wrinkled face and white beard, he began talking again and tried to convey a more abstract impression of the outback. Not a particularly articulate man, he searched for words to describe its beauty, vastness, and the effects it had on people who went there.
"In one way or another," he continued reflectively, gazing into the fire, "it gets into one's blood and bones. As for me, I wanted to stay there for eternity, finishing out my years and being buried there. It took my wife the other way, because she went a bit daft, and it took my sons the same way. They were only boys when we brought them back, but they still don't like to venture away from the streets of Sydney."
"The loneliness?" David suggested.
"That, as well as being all alone, and there's a great difference between the two. Also, it seems that people who like it there have to be able to look at themselves squarely and be satisfied with what they see. Whatever it was, my family couldn't stand it there, and I felt that I had a responsibility to bring them back. So that's what I did."
"And you sold the station to a friend."
Frank drank his tea, nodding. "I sold it to Pat Garrity, who worked for me from when he was a lad. The sons of my body are in Sydney, but Pat is the son of my soul. He calls the place Wayamba Station, and it's by far the largest in Australia. He has a wife and children, and a good number of stockmen who like life in the outback."
"His wife and children apparently like it there, then."
"Aye, and little wonder," Frank replied, amused. "His wife, Mayrah, is an Aborigine and has been a big help to Pat. Together, they can deal with bushrangers or any other problem that comes along."
"There are bushrangers in the outback?"
"They don't loiter because the brigands like to stay near whores and rum, and they're not the sort who would like the outback. But they've been known to go there, shoot stockmen, and make off with the flocks. Some have also got lost out there and either died of thirst and starvation, or become so daft that they didn't know up from down."
"Where does the outback begin, Frank?"
"That depends on who you ask. Most people will say west of Bathurst, but in my opinion, it begins well to the west of that. There's a great river out there that the Aborigines call Cobdogla, which means land of plenty or something of the sort. I'd say when you get to the Cobdogla River, you're well into the outback, because you're out where things are different. For instance, that must be the only river that flows upside down."
"Upside down?" David echoed, laughing.
Frank laughed, nodding. "If you ever see it, you'll know what I mean. It must be the muddiest river in the world."
The conversation continued, and David became more and more fascinated with the immense land to the west. The isolation and other characteristics that some regarded as drawbacks were advantages to him. As the aged grazier talked, his voice had a note of wistful longing to return there, and it was a feeling that David could understand. Most of all, David became certain that it was indeed a place where he could shape a new future for himself, leaving his past behind him.
It was late when the two men fell silent for a few minutes. David stirred the fire's ashes and tossed sticks on them. The wood crackled as it began burning, driving the darkness back with a circle of light. "I'd like to have a sheep station there, Frank," David commented quietly. "I want that more than anything I've ever wanted in my life."
"Aye, I gathered you wanted to go there." The grazier chuckled, then he sobered as he looked at the young man reflectively. "Well, you're the kind of man who'd like it there, David. And I daresay you'll have a sheep station in the outback one day, because you're also the kind of man who does something when he sets his mind to it." He sighed, picking up his billy and stiffly climbing to his feet. "It's time these old bones were in a blanket."
"I'll help you with the horse," David offered, standing up.
"I appreciate it. That horse can be tetchy and we'll need a light to keep from getting kicked, but I have a lantern in the cart."
They went through the trees to the cart. David took the lantern, bringing it to the fire to light it, then returned to the cart and helped the grazier hitch up the horse. As they were fastening the harness chains, David expressed the hope that they could talk again soon.
"Aye, we'll have plenty of chin wags," Frank assured him. "While we were talking, I thought of something that would help both of us. If you'd like to work at my station on Sundays, I'll pay you three shillings and found for the day. How does that sound?"
"It sounds too generous by far, Frank. I don't know enough about sheep to earn three farthings a day, much less three shillings."
"You'll learn, and if I don't miss my guess, you'll learn much faster than anyone else. Also, you'll be learning what you'll need to know if you're going to be a grazier. Lambing time will come soon, and it's most important that you know how to attend ewes when they're lambing. Further, you would be of considerable help then, because many of the ewes lamb at the same time, and every available hand is valuable."
"I'd like to do it, but I don't see how I can. By the time I reached your station, part of the day would be gone. And I'd have to be back in Parramatta in time to muster my workers on Monday morning."
"That's easily cured. For some time, I've been thinking about seeing my wife and sons on Saturday instead of Sunday, which would be better for everyone concerned. I'll start doing that, and as I come back through Parramatta on Saturday evening, you can meet me and ride to the station. On Sunday night, you can use a horse from the station to return to Parramatta, and one of my stockmen can go with you to bring it back."
David fastened the
last harness chain, then turned to the aged man in the dim, yellow light of the lantern. While they had talked beside the fire, the beginnings of a very warm friendship had developed between them, but he felt that the grazier was being too obliging. "Your offer is more than kind, Frank," he said, "but that would be an unreasonable amount of trouble to have someone work at your station for one day a week."
"That depends on who the someone is, David," Frank replied firmly. "This will be of help to both of us, and it's something I want to do. I've reached the time in life where I should be able to do as I wish about some things, and beyond that . . ." He paused, his voice fading, then he laughed. "It's strange, because you and Pat Garrity are entirely different, but at the same time, you're very much alike. Pat gives me credit for helping him get started, and I'd like to do the same for you."
David hesitated, then agreed. "Very well, Frank. Needless to say, I'm very grateful, because this will be of great help to me."
"To both of us," Frank corrected him. "I'll meet you in Parramatta next Saturday evening, then."
The two men shook hands, then Frank climbed heavily into the cart with the lantern. The vehicle moved away, and David watched the spot of yellow light grow smaller. In a physical sense, he reflected, he remained where he had spent the past Sundays, but in another way and as a result of having met the grazier, he had taken a giant step toward the outback.
The next Saturday, as early dusk fell at the end of a windy, cloudy day, David met Frank on the road at the edge of Parramatta. The grazier smiled happily, and David was equally pleased to see him again. They greeted each other warmly, and David put his blanket and other belongings behind the seat as he stepped into the cart and sat down.
The cart moved briskly down the road, the horse trotting, and Frank reminisced about his experiences. He said he had been among the convicts on the initial vessels sent to establish a colony in Australia, known as the First Fleet, arriving in the summer of 1788. The first years had been difficult, crop failures and the late arrival of supply ships resulting in famine, as well as shortages of clothing and other essentials.
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