Читать книгу Breakaway Creek - Heather Garside - Страница 9

Brisbane, 1897

'You're mad, wanting to go out there,' Fanny Watson declared. She tilted her silk fan in soft white fingers and wafted hot air on her face. 'Nothing but dust and flies and smelly cattle - I can't think of anything worse. I don't know how Lucy puts up with it.'

Emma gritted her teeth.

'She loves Breakaway Creek, Mother.'

To Emma, even the name of the property was romantic, conjuring images of wild cattle, campfires and dusty stockmen. Her cousin's invitation to visit had been the most exciting thing to come her way for quite some time. Surely her mother wouldn't be so cruel as to stop her going.

Lucy had married a grazier from Central Queensland six months before and wrote glowing reports of life on a remote cattle station. Her only regret was the distance separating her from family and friends in Brisbane. Emma missed her too; the girls had practically grown up together and she considered Lucy the sister she'd never had.

'I'm not happy about you travelling alone,' Mrs Watson persisted.

'But I won't be alone, Mother. Mrs Dexter's on the same steamer and will chaperone me. Lucy said they would meet me in Rockhampton. And I'm twenty-one, hardly a school-girl.'

'You needn't remind me of that.' Her mother tossed the fan onto her lap with an impatient air. 'I know you're no beauty, but you've had your admirers and you should be settled by now. Besides, Mrs Dexter's a common woman. If she wasn't a particular friend of Sarah Baxter I wouldn't consider it. I'll have to see what your father thinks.'

Emma looked the other way, smarting. She knew she wasn't beautiful but she'd had plenty of compliments. When it came to dealing with her only child, her mother seemed to think tact was unnecessary. And she was such a snob! Personally, Emma liked Mrs Dexter, appreciating her down-to-earth manner and absence of airs and graces.

Fortunately, Emma's merchant father was too engrossed in business affairs to be bothered with her mother. Henry Watson looked up from his papers long enough to take but a fleeting interest in Emma's plans.

'The girl's your cousin - I can't see any objections to the visit. A change of scenery may help you appreciate what's been offered to you here.'

Emma recoiled inwardly. Her father was referring to his intention to marry her to the son of a business associate. It didn't matter to him that she cringed every time Cyril Timms came near. Money and position in society were important, not girlish fancies about marrying for love.

She was determined not to marry Cyril Timms, but so far she hadn't found the courage to tell her father. Most of the time he seemed remote, even disinterested, but she knew from experience how quickly he could erupt into a rage if crossed. At least this visit to Central Queensland would postpone the inevitable confrontation.

****

A month later her ship entered the muddy Fitzroy and steamed up-river, finally dropping anchor at the port of Rockhampton. She hung over the rail, her stomach a flurry of nerves as she took in the hive of activity on the wharf. Piles of sacks, barrels and wooden crates lined the dock and a host of wagons, buggies, sulkies and gigs waited to meet the steamer.

Emma anxiously scanned the crowd for a familiar face, wondering what she'd do if Lucy wasn't there. Her cousin had promised to meet her but it was a long journey by train from Breakaway Creek. Emma's companion, Mrs Dexter, had been kind, but was leaving her to travel on to Mount Morgan with her husband.

'Of course it's no trouble to meet you. I seize any excuse to come to Rockhampton for shopping,' Lucy had written. 'George is wonderfully indulgent. He knows I find it lonely on the property at times.'

Stepping onto the wharf, relief made Emma light-headed as she spotted her cousin clutching her husband's arm. Lucy's petite figure was dwarfed by a wide-brimmed straw hat with a cluster of pink fabric flowers stuck in the crown. With his drooping, fair moustache, George was ruddy and good-natured, the silver watch-chain across his waistcoat glinting in the bright sunlight.

'Emma!' Lucy enveloped her in a warm hug, her face flushed with excitement. 'It's so wonderful to see you.'

She stepped back and surveyed Emma's dark green travelling dress.

'You look so pretty in that colour. You remember George, don't you?'

'Of course.' She'd been bridesmaid at their wedding after all and she liked George. Emma extended her hand. 'How do you do, Mr Baxter?'

He pressed her hand, smiling broadly.

'I'm so pleased you could come, Miss Watson. Lucy's been looking forward to it for a long time.'

'We're staying at the Criterion Hotel,' Lucy informed her. 'We catch the train back to Clermont tomorrow evening. That will give us time for shopping tomorrow. I know you'll find the stores here rudimentary, but please indulge me. They're the best I've had access to for a while.'

Still reeling from her latest shopping expedition with her mother in Brisbane, Emma was inclined to think the pastime overrated, but she wouldn't disappoint her cousin. Of course, Lucy was a much more congenial companion than her mother, who was too concerned with creating the right impression to be able to enjoy clothes for their own sake.

'I'm sure we'll have a splendid time,' Emma replied. Her enthusiasm was only partly feigned.

That evening, Lucy came to her hotel room before they went downstairs for dinner.

'I just had to come and tell you my exciting news.' Her round face beamed but she lowered her voice, even though they were alone in the room. 'I'm expecting a happy event in January.'

A little thrill ran through Emma.

'Oh Lucy, how wonderful!' She glanced at Lucy's middle and knew she was blushing. 'I thought you'd put on weight - I should have guessed. What does Mr Baxter think of this?'

'He's delighted, naturally. Only our family know, at this stage - I've written to Mother and Father. But I had to tell you.'

Emma didn't like to ask if her cousin was concerned at the prospect of motherhood in the bush, so far from medical help. At least Lucy had her mother-in-law for support.

'George is hoping for a boy,' Lucy prattled on. 'To inherit Breakaway Creek after him.'

Emma looked at her sharply.

'Doesn't he have an older brother? I remember meeting him at the wedding.'

It was hard to forget him. Alexander Baxter, or Alex as everyone had called him, had made an impression with his quiet manners and steady dark eyes. She had spoken to him only briefly, but she'd found herself wishing she could get to know him better. Hopefully she would remedy that during her visit with the Baxters.

'Oh, Alex.' Lucy sounded dismissive. 'He's not really George's brother. He's some sort of cousin, I think. He was orphaned and Mr and Mrs Baxter raised him as their own.'

That explained why Alex didn't physically resemble the other fair-haired Baxters. Lucy had been struck by his almost-black hair, dark brown eyes and smooth, tanned skin that bore none of the freckles that characterised his siblings. He was also a few inches taller than his brother.

'So he's not really a Baxter at all?'

Lucy shrugged.

'I'm not sure. He's known as Alexander Baxter and everyone treats him as one of the family, but George assures me he'll never own Breakaway Creek. He's the overseer now, and George is happy for things to stay that way once he takes over from his father.'

In other words, Alex didn't have prospects, Emma thought, conscious of her parents' ambitions for her. What a shame.

The train journey to Clermont was hot, tiring and dirty. Coal dust blew in the open windows, stinging their eyes and leaving a fine gritty layer on their skin and clothes. The leather seats grew hard and more uncomfortable as the night wore on. Emma barely slept, but she was too excited at the prospect of visiting her first cattle station to mind.

She and Lucy had spent a pleasant day shopping in Rockhampton's East Street. Although the town's amenities compared poorly to Brisbane's, they'd found several decent stores, James Stewart and Co. in particular. Emma had enjoyed helping Lucy select fabrics and wool to make garments for the coming baby and maternity clothing for herself.

They arrived in Clermont in the early morning. From the railway station Emma was able to look down the hill to the centre of town, which appeared to be built on both sides of a large lagoon. When she voiced her surprise at the size of the town, George informed her that the surrounding goldfields were booming, leading to an influx of people and increased prosperity for business.

After a breakfast of steak and eggs in the railway refreshment rooms, George left them to wait while he fetched the double buggy and horses from the livery stables. On his return, he loaded their luggage, stowing it with the three swags that already occupied the space under the seats.

'The trip to Breakaway Creek takes two days,' Lucy said as Emma looked apprehensively at the swags. 'We'll camp beside the road tonight.'

Emma had not expected to be forced to sleep outdoors, although she supposed that had been naive of her.

'I haven't camped out before,' she admitted nervously.

Lucy laughed.

'Don't worry, you'll love it. There's nothing like sleeping under the stars.'

Once they were all aboard, George drove them down the street, stopping at the bakery to purchase bread and at the general store where Lucy selected tinned meat and packets of dried fruits.

'We get a wagon-load of stores brought out three or four times a year but everything is soon infested with weevils,' Lucy said. 'It's a pity we haven't room for any fresh supplies.'

Emma shuddered inwardly, wondering how long it would take her to become accustomed to eating food flavoured with weevils. The buggy was loaded to capacity, with everything piled under the seats and beside Emma at the rear.

Although it was only September, the sun beat down on them in the open vehicle. Emma was shocked at the state of the road, which was nothing but a dirt track through the bush, filled with potholes and wheel ruts from the last rains. She felt for her cousin, who didn't complain but must surely, in her delicate state, feel every bounce. As they left the black-soil downs behind they encountered patches of bulldust into which the buggy wheels dug deep, forcing the pair of horses to heave into their collars. The dust floated up over them in a haze as fine as talcum powder, painting their faces and clothing a dirty shade of grey.

That night they pitched camp beside a creek. George filled their billy and waterbags from a muddy waterhole before allowing the horses to drink. Later, as Emma lay in her swag close to the dying campfire, she tried to convince herself this was an exciting adventure and refused to think of snakes, spiders and other insects. Just as she relaxed an eerie howling jolted her upright, prickling the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

George, rolled in his own swag on the other side of Lucy, chuckled softly.

'It's a dingo, Miss Watson. Don't fear; they rarely attack people.'

She tried to feel reassured, taking her cue from Lucy who appeared unconcerned. But her anxiety, combined with the discomfort of lying on the hard ground, made sleep elusive. At last she slipped into a fitful doze and awoke some time later to crackling flames and the sting of smoke in her nostrils. Surely it couldn't be morning already. But apparently it was, for birds were twittering and an orange glow lit the eastern sky.

Looking towards the fire, she could see George's dark figure hovering over it, stoking it with fresh wood. She scrambled out of her swag, yawned and stretched her stiff muscles. After a second night of little sleep her head ached, and the thought of resuming their journey in the buggy was uninviting. But she resigned herself, knowing that the sooner they got it over with, the sooner they'd be at their destination. She busied herself filling the billy from the muddy creek, saving the clean water in the waterbag for the remainder of the trip.

Late in the afternoon they arrived at Breakaway Creek. George drove the buggy on past a large house, which was his parents' home, and drew up in front of a new weatherboard cottage a hundred yards away.

'It's only small,' Lucy said cheerfully. 'But George has assured me we'll build more rooms as the children are born.'

'It looks charming.' Emma eyed the flowerbeds that bordered the veranda. 'You've been busy in the garden.'

Lucy smiled in obvious pride and pointed to the line of trees in the near distance. 'There's a permanent waterhole in the creek, so there's some water to spare for my plants.'

She showed Emma to a small bedroom, which had been made homely with white lace curtains at the windows. The tongue-and-groove walls were painted pale yellow.

'This will be the nursery when the baby comes,' Lucy told her. 'But for now, I hope you'll be comfortable.'

Emma gazed at the white damask counterpane on the bed.

'It's lovely. The bed looks tempting. I hope you'll excuse me early tonight.' She eyed Lucy's face, which was drawn with fatigue. 'You must be exhausted.'

'I am,' Lucy admitted. 'Unfortunately I don't think I'll be travelling again before the baby's born.'

The next morning, Emma woke to birds calling outside her window. For a moment she lay still, enjoying the familiar warbling of a butcherbird and the twittering of a willy wagtail. A decent night's sleep in a soft bed had restored her and made her eager to face the day.

Lucy also seemed to have recovered and at breakfast described her plans for Emma's entertainment.

'We must go for a picnic one day, Emma. What a pity I can't ride anymore. But we can take the sulky.' She smiled persuasively at her husband. 'What do you think, George?'

George's brow furrowed.

'I think you should be resting, Lucy. You've had a strenuous few days. If you're well enough, we can think about a picnic on Sunday.'

'Mr Baxter's right,' Emma said firmly. 'It's important for you to rest, and there's all your shopping to unpack. A picnic sounds delightful, but only when you're ready for it.'

'You're a pair of fusspots,' Lucy pouted. 'I'm not an invalid, you know. I'm perfectly well.'

'And we want you to stay that way,' George said calmly.

Emma spent a pleasant day with her cousin, unpacking and chatting. Late in the afternoon while Lucy rested, she decided to go for a walk.

She followed a well-worn track to the creek. Tall river coolabahs lined its steep banks and were mirrored in the dark, still water that lay six feet or more below. Emma walked along a twisting path that followed the top of the bank, under the welcome shade of the trees. A flock of drab brown birds flew up in front of her, shrieking noisily. "Happy Jacks", George had called them. She kept a careful eye out for snakes, remembering Lucy's warning that the deadly brown was prevalent in this area.

Intent on watching where she placed her feet, the snort of a horse brought her to an abrupt stop. Her gaze jerked up, flickering over the startled animal to meet its rider's amused brown eyes, shaded by a broad-brimmed hat. He steadied his mount and for a moment Emma stared at him in silence. He was the first to speak.

'Miss Watson.' He swung out of the saddle and turned to face her, politely doffing his hat. 'How d' you do?'

'Mr Baxter,' Emma nodded, recovering her equilibrium. She moved forward and held out her hand. 'I was in a world of my own.'

Alex Baxter took her hand briefly in his hard, calloused one.

'My apologies for startling you.'

The smell of horse and saddle leather assailed her senses as she took in his tall, lean figure and deeply tanned skin. At the periphery of her vision she was aware of his mount watching her with nervous, pricked ears.

'This is a beautiful place, Mr Baxter.' She heard herself gushing in her need to fill the awkward moment, and winced inwardly. 'The creek is so peaceful. Is the water deep?'

Alex nodded.

'Over ten feet in places. Me and George used to swim here a lot when we were kids.' He grinned. 'Still do sometimes, when it's hot.'

She noticed the lapse in grammar with mild surprise. She'd hardly conversed with Alex at the wedding, but she knew George had been educated in Brisbane and his speech was without reproach. Had his adopted brother been given the same advantages? Though not roughly spoken, Alex's choice of words seemed less refined.

'How is Lucy?' he asked. 'Did the trip to Rockhampton knock her about?'

Emma shook her head, smiling. The warmth in his voice indicated he was fond of his sister-in-law.

'Not really. She's resting under sufferance.'

'Would you like me to walk you home?' He hesitated, seeming suddenly unsure. 'Unless you planned to go further?'

'No, I'd like to walk with you.' They fell into step on the narrow path, the horse following behind while Alex loosely held the reins.

'I've been shifting cattle,' he told her. 'One of the waterholes has gone dry and I've had to move the stock onto the creek. We're usually dry here at this time of year, but I hope the storms come soon.'

'I love riding. Perhaps I'll be able to help you with the stock work. Lucy tells me she used to go mustering.'

'She's a game little thing. She won't like being left at home if you come with us, I reckon.'

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea, Emma thought, feeling suddenly discouraged. She didn't want to upset Lucy. Alex's spurs jingled on his boots as he walked. Emma glanced covertly up at his profile, thinking there was something elemental and earthy about him, as if he truly belonged to the dry, dusty land. Her head reached only up to his shoulder, and in her crisp white blouse and dark skirt she felt feminine and fragile in contrast to his masculine strength. His white moleskins were saddle-stained and, like his striped Crimean shirt, covered with a fine layer of dust. But instead of being repulsed Emma was overly conscious of his presence, and her pulse raced.

Making conversation with the opposite sex had never troubled her before, but now words flitted just beyond her reach. She mentally searched for a suitable topic, thinking of the domestic details she and Lucy had chatted about. Even the shopping they'd done for the baby seemed an indelicate topic to share with a man, and hardly of interest to him. Her life in Brisbane was so far removed from his world. Would he care to hear the latest city gossip when he probably didn't know the people concerned? She thought not.

'Do you have any other brothers?' she asked, at length. 'I remember meeting your sisters at the wedding, but obviously none of them still live at Breakaway Creek.'

'No, me and George were the only boys. We have four younger sisters who have all married and moved away.' By the time he'd finished telling her about his nephews and nieces, they'd arrived at the horse yards. She watched as he unsaddled his sweaty bay mare, who still eyed Emma warily.

'Will she let me pat her?'

He glanced at her as he slid the saddle onto a rail.

'If you take her quietly. She's a bit of a one-man horse.'

He held the bridle as she cautiously approached the mare and stroked her smooth neck.

'What's her name?'

'Doll.'

'That's short and to the point.'

He flashed the quick grin she was already beginning to know and like.

'I don't go for highfalutin names.'

Doll sidestepped and tossed her head, ears pricked in the direction of her paddock. Emma gave her one last pat.

'She wants to go. I suppose I should do the same. I'm sure I'll see you soon, Mr Baxter.'

He touched his hat.

'Too right. Thank you for your company, Miss Watson.'

Emma turned away and retraced her steps to George and Lucy's cottage, a new anticipation humming through her veins. Would she be seeing a lot of Alex Baxter in the coming days? If so, the prospect pleased her.

As she entered the kitchen Lucy moved away from the window.

'I was watching you.' There was something cautious about her expression. 'You were with Alex.'

'Yes.' Emma smiled, pretending not to notice the guarded look on her cousin's face. 'I was walking by the creek and almost bumped into him. He's charming.'

Lucy's eyes softened.

'I'm extremely fond of him and I'd love to see him marry some nice girl. But remember your parents, Emma. I don't think Uncle Henry and Aunt Fanny would approve of him as a suitor for you.'

'Goodness.' Emma kept her tone deliberately light. 'It was just a chance meeting. I hardly know him.'

Lucy said nothing more on the subject. Of course he was not the sort of man her parents expected her to marry, Emma told herself. But away from her mother's eagle eye, there was nothing to stop her from indulging in a little light flirtation. She had enjoyed Alex's company and saw no reason to keep him at a distance.

A couple of days later Lucy took her to the big house and she renewed her acquaintance with George's parents, whom she had met briefly at their son's wedding. George's mother, Sarah, was a small yet formidable woman. Her wiry frame hinted that hard work was the core of her existence and her stern face suggested she had forgotten how to smile. Frank, her husband, was gnarled and wiry with fair, freckled skin that the years of Queensland sun had not been kind to. He made little effort to converse with the two young women, and Emma thought his pale blue eyes were the coldest she had ever seen. Here, perhaps, was the key to his wife's unhappy expression.

Sarah, who seemed to do the talking for both of them, invited them to stay for morning tea. Aided by Molly, her Aboriginal maid, she served them a feast of fresh scones with jam and cream, a fruit cake and biscuits.

'These scones are delicious, Mrs Baxter,' Emma said as she spread one lavishly with thick strawberry jam and whipped cream. 'I didn't expect to eat so well in the bush.'

Sarah's lined face relaxed slightly.

'Ah, but we're nearly self-sufficient out here. Mr Baxter milks the cows every morning and I skim the cream and churn it into butter. I even grew the strawberries to make this jam.'

'I'm surprised strawberries will grow in this hot, dry climate.'

'Only in the winter. It's the best time for gardening here. I grow vegetables and preserve them to see us through the summer. And of course I have my own hens to keep us supplied with eggs. I bake bread and we kill our own meat. The only things we buy are staples like flour, tea and sugar.' She passed around steaming cups of tea. 'What do you think of the bush, Miss Watson?'

'I'm enjoying it. It's quite different from Brisbane.'

Mrs Baxter pressed her lips together.

'It can be hard for a city girl to adjust, especially if she's not used to working hard.'

Emma glanced quickly at Lucy, who stared silently at her plate. It seemed obvious where that comment was intended, but she couldn't think what had provoked it. In her opinion Lucy had embraced the harshness of bush life with remarkable cheerfulness.

After that, conversation was stilted. When Molly brought in a fresh pot of tea Emma watched the maid curiously, thinking she wasn't as dark-skinned as the two stockmen she'd seen riding out with the men. Perhaps Molly wasn't fully Aboriginal.

The Aboriginals had a camp further down the creek but there appeared to be only half-a-dozen who lived there, including women and children. On afternoon walks Emma had observed them from a distance, intrigued by the way they cooked and socialised around open campfires. With regret she noted the rough shelters of corrugated iron dotted amongst their bark gunyahs, and suspected European influence was perhaps spoiling their traditional culture.

Emma was relieved when they were able to take their leave of the senior Baxters. Reluctant to criticise her cousin's in-laws, she waited for Lucy to comment on the visit.

'Mrs Baxter makes me feel inadequate,' Lucy confessed. 'She works so hard - I don't think she ever stops to indulge herself in any way. She never reads, apart from the bible, and when she sits at night she's always busy with needlework.'

'It sounds a dull way to live.' Emma slipped her arm through her cousin's. 'You don't need to be like that, Lucy. Don't lose your ability to laugh and enjoy life.'

Lucy stopped in mid-stride, turning surprised eyes to Emma's face.

'You know, you're right. Too bad if she thinks I'm a flibbertigibbet - I don't want to be like her. It's as if she's martyred herself for her house and family.'

That summed her up precisely, Emma thought. Had Sarah always been that way, or had life sapped the joy from her? She'd found the visit disheartening and she wondered how Alex endured living in a house that seemed full of unhappy undercurrents. Being an adopted son must make it even harder for him.

****

The afternoon had made Emma appreciate just how lonely Lucy's life must be. There was so little friendship to be had from Lucy's mother-in-law, so Emma set out to compensate. The two girls occupied their time with housework, sewing, and walking by the creek. Their enjoyment of each other's company made mundane tasks pass pleasantly. On Sunday, with George at last free to join them, the picnic came to fruition as promised. When he drove the buggy up to the house to collect them, Alex accompanied him on horseback.

'Look who I talked into coming with us,' George indicated his brother with a grin. 'Thought I could do with some male support. A chap gets tired of all this girlish chatter.'

Lucy tossed him an indignant look.

'That's hardly fair, George. You spend so much time working, we seldom see you.' But she welcomed Alex, who swung off his horse to greet Emma with a warm smile. 'Of course we'd love to have you, Alex.'

As he took the picnic basket from Emma's hands, Alex touched his hat in his gentle, courteous way. He smiled as his brother and sister-in-law exchanged their banter. Then he turned away to place the basket in the buggy, all without speaking. With fingers tingling from the brief contact, Emma wondered how a man could be so quiet, yet command so much of her attention.

George drove the buggy down the creek to a waterhole Emma hadn't visited before. The men lit a fire and set the billy to boil while the girls laid out the food on a large checked tablecloth. George twisted a leafy branch from a tree and used it to brush away the flies. He seemed to be in a teasing mood.

'It's been jolly rough, Alex. I don't know what these women find to talk about all day, but they're still at it when I get home at night. I warn you, cobber - when you get married, don't let your wife's relatives come to stay.'

'George!' Lucy tapped her fingers sharply on his arm. 'Don't be so mean to our guest.'

Alex smiled and rubbed his clean-shaven chin.

'I don't like to side with the ladies, George, but Lucy's spent a lot of time with no one to talk to.'

'There you go, George.' Lucy flashed him a triumphant smile. 'See, Emma. I told you Alex was a darling.'

Alex coloured and looked down at his boots. George muttered something good-natured about traitors and added some wood to the fire. Though it hadn't been exactly what Lucy had said, Emma didn't correct her. Lucy was right: her parents wouldn't approve of Alex as a suitor for her. But the more she got to know him the less inclined she was to care.