Читать книгу Ella - Virginia Taylor - Страница 11

That night, Ella dreamed of a bubbling, boiling cauldron. She dreamed of hauling herself out of deep pools of suds, surrounded by sheep droppings. She dreamed of sheep circling her and laughing...baaing...

With a bump, she awoke. She sat up, noting the moonlight reflected on her silver hairbrush and the close bleating of a sheep...more than one, directly under her window. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she peered through the muslin and saw a few white, newly shorn wraiths wandering between the henhouse and the laundry. Somehow the creatures must have escaped from their enclosure behind the woolshed. She immediately slid out of bed and into her dress shoes and raced through the kitchen to the yard. The moon lit her way. Trees rustled urgently, and the wind whispered low.

The track from the main road came straight between the orchard in front of the house and a wooded area, running parallel to the river and leading to the loading bay of the woolshed. Ella headed toward this track. “Shoo, shoo,” she said in a tight murmur to an old ewe she passed near the back corner of the house.

She reached the track and peered toward the main road. Four sheep trotted through the trees in the orchard, glancing at their green haven. More sheep plodded through the wooded area, grazing at will. She turned around the front of the house, taking the long way to her vegetable garden and ending almost where she started, on the kitchen side of the house, hoping to find her vegetables as yet undisturbed.

She groaned as she watched five sheep pick their way through her turnips and the last of her carrots, and she ran forward, freezing when she spotted Cal and his dog.

He put up his hand in a gesture of recognition while his dog kept the sheep in a huddled group. “There may be more out on the road,” he said in a deep undertone, “but I’ll go after them later.” With effortless ease, he lifted the rear end of a sheep to set its course in the direction of the path between the rose garden and the front part of the veranda. “I think it’s more important to return this lot and secure the fence. You go back to bed. Girl and I can handle this.” He tucked his shirt into his trousers. Apparently, he’d left his bed in a hurry, too, but he hadn’t been as careless as she.

Caught in her nightwear, she almost did as he asked but, however justly served by embarrassment, she couldn’t let a virtual stranger assume her responsibilities. Awkwardly clutching the embroidered linen to her neck, she said, “Thank you for your kind offer, but these are my sheep and my problem.” She spotted the herb garden. “Oh, no! They’ve munched their way through the last of the plantings.”

With waving arms, she herded the scattered sheep into Cal’s group. His dog kept them moving along. She and Cal barely spoke. The mob had to be rounded up before they did any further damage. Aside from that, she didn’t want to wake anyone else to see her acting like a demented windmill.

When the last visible sheep had been put behind the broken fence, Cal retrieved a rope from the stables. He tied the length from post to post and leaned back. “I’ll rebuild this part tomorrow. The rope is only good enough short term.”

“You can’t. You have to shear. Jed will do it.”

He shook his head with reproof. “Jed will need to take this mob out to pasture. Before he can bring in the next flock, the fence needs to be able to hold them.” He tapped his leg and his dog came to heel.

“Was this my fault? Should I have told him to take the last lot to pasture before he went back to his camp?”

He sighed. “He needs someone to tell him where you want the sheep to graze.”

“I don’t think Papa minded. The sheep move onto fresh grass when they need to.”

“That’s one theory.”

“If there’s another...?”

He shot a cynical glance at her. “Your sister knows nothing, either?”

“Oh, less than me. She also cares less than me, but she has so much else to do that she doesn’t have time to worry about the little things.”

“On a sheep station, the most important job is the sheep.”

Tired and feeling more than useless, she said, “I suspect Girl woke you when the sheep began to escape. And since she never barks, I have to assume she wasn’t penned. I can only be grateful, and I won’t say another word on the subject of unconfined dogs.”

Reaching out, he tugged Ella’s braid. “What? No more little lectures, Miss Dorella?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been teased or offered a gesture of warmth. “Ella.” She cleared her throat. “Miss Ella.”

“Cinderella.” He stared at her from beneath hooded lids.

“So the local children used to call me when I was a youngster. That’s why I use the shortening. I should also thank you for pulling me out of the billabong.” She pushed the loosened curls from her face. “But, I didn’t throw myself into the billabong, as you know.”

“Are you insisting I apologize for Girl’s mistake? I do.”

She drew a deep breath. “You’ve made up for that by being amazingly generous with your help. I’ve been ungracious. Thank you for hauling me out of the water.”

“My pleasure.” He lowered his lids and stared at her. His mouth thinned. “As for rounding up your sheep, it’s apparent you can’t run a sheep station. You should move to the city as soon as you can.”

“Or marry a landed gentleman who will take on this property and my sisters.” Contrarily, she objected to being told to do what she meant to do.

“I don’t doubt you’ll find one if you try.”

“Really?” she said with goaded inflection.

“You’re comparatively attractive.” Without meeting her gaze, he checked the knot on his rope fence.

Her jaw clamped. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Rose is amazingly beautiful, but during her two years in the city, she didn’t find any husband, let alone a rich one.”

“Perhaps she had another plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps she wanted to marry for love. People do, you know.”

“Papa wouldn’t have prevented her marrying anyone she chose, though, like any parent, he would have preferred her to choose wisely. No, I just don’t think there are as many available men in the city as we suppose.” She glanced at him sideways. “Then again, we need quality rather than quantity.”

“I agree. Too many men would be hard to bear.”

She propped her fists on her hips. “So, you think this is amusing?”

“I’m agreeing with you.” He held her gaze.

“Why start now?”

“Cowardice.”

She laughed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in bemoaning my fate to you.”

He glanced away. “We discover our strengths during trying situations.”

“You would have left me to drown if you believed I would discover my strength.”

“There is a difference between what can and can’t be changed.”

She sighed and turned toward the house. “A woman’s place is in the home. I know. Jed is managing the sheep, and he is a godsend. If we had to pay him...”

“You don’t pay him?”

“Not with money. He has no use for it. We pay him with flour and sugar, meat when he wants it, and the skins of the slaughtered sheep.” She glanced back at his chiseled, moonlit face. “Good night and thank you. If you want sugar and flour, or a sheep...?”

He shook his head. “Make me a hearty breakfast in the morning and that will be payment enough for my services. Now, off to bed with you.”

She skittered off, now shown beyond doubt that the fences had been in a bad way for some years. Instead of noticing, she had congratulated herself for managing without servants, and she had patted herself on the back because she maintained a vegetable garden and a grove of fruit trees. Assuming the sheep only needed to eat and drink until she and her sisters left had been as easy as closing her eyes.

Sometime in the next few months, she had to put the property on the market. A run-down holding would not sell for the price needed to meet their obligations. As she climbed into bed for the second time that night, she mentally rearranged her daily tasks.

She was certain Cal wouldn’t doubt that a fit, twenty-one-year-old woman could mend fences.

* * * *

Cal slept until dawn. As the sun yawned behind the hills, he rose out of bed, washed, and shaved. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to teach Miss Ella how to run her station. He had his own way to make, but at least he could give her a helping hand. With this in mind, he freed the station’s dogs. Girl stood close to heel while the others sniffed his shoes and bounced happily.

They sat and stayed on instruction, giving him enough confidence to lead them to the pump by the stables. He filled a bucket, from which they lapped with enthusiasm. After letting the dogs settle for some minutes, he took them to the holding yard, which contained the escapees from the night before, and he tried a few commands.

Distant choral bleating warned of the arrival of the next mob of sheep. “Heel,” he said, and the dogs followed. Girl didn’t let him out of her sight. The mounted Aboriginal stockman herded the sheep toward the woolshed paddock. Cal sauntered around to the gate and opened the latch for the native, commanding the dogs to guide the sheep through the space. They managed, but if they hadn’t, Girl would have. She, however, stayed with Cal.

As the last sheep leaped frantically through the opening, the stockman gave Cal a wide grin, showing a set of strong white teeth in his shining black face. He wore old canvas trousers belted with a frayed piece of rope and a sweat-stained calico shirt. “Boss’s dogs,” he said, looking pleased. Leaning down, he closed the gate.

“Have you worked with them?”

The stockman shook his head. “Boss’s dogs,” he repeated, smacking his dusty hat against his thigh. “Belonga ’im.”

From that, Cal assumed that Mr. Beaufort had not let the stockman use the dogs. The aborigine seemed competent. He’d certainly started rounding up at first light. If he’d not been allowed to work with the dogs, this rather pointed to Mr. Beaufort being one of those people who disliked delegating responsibility. Cal had spent his life with an old man who had the same inability to ease his grasp.

Knowing the shorn sheep needed to be returned to their pastures today, he indicated the flock in the woolshed paddock. “I’ll take these fellas to the river with the boss’s dogs. When they’ve had a drink, you can move them back to the hills.”

After Cal had let the dogs work the sheep to the river and back and had retrieved a sturdy log from the water’s edge, he walked them to their yard, the log on one shoulder. Since someone had left a pile of meat and cooked bones for them, they seemed overjoyed to be penned.

Next, he cut and shaped the log, depositing what was now a strong post by the roped fence. A quick glance at the homestead’s chimney showed that the ladies had started their cooking. He strode to the house and knocked on the door. By his calculations, he had barely an hour until breakfast.

Miss Ella came to the door, dressed in a green riding skirt. Apparently tailored for her in more affluent times, her outfit clung to every curvaceous, gorgeous handful of her. A slow ache curled in his belly.

“Good morning,” she said, smothering a yawn.

Normally, carnal thoughts didn’t disturb him, but normally he managed six hours of unbroken sleep. He jammed his hat on his head and concentrated on the task at hand. “I worked the dogs. You shouldn’t have any trouble with them. They know their job.”

“I don’t know their job.” She drifted outside.

“They respond to the regular commands. Heel. Sit. Stay. Down. You only need point them in the right direction and they’ll follow your lead.”

“I can’t have a lead until I know what they’re supposed to do.”

Amused, he scratched his chin. “In that case, I’ll show you tonight after the shearing is done.” He moved off toward the lean-to near the stable, where he had found the ax.

“Why not now?” She trailed behind Girl.

After shoving a pair of pliers and the cutters in his pocket, he retrieved a roll of fencing wire. Her persistence made him smile inside. “I’m going to fix the fence.”

“How did you know the wire was there? I meant to buy some.”

“It’s the logical place to keep fencing wire—sheltered and handy.” He collected a mallet and a shovel and walked toward the woolshed, practically grinning.

She followed beside Girl. She cleared her throat. “You mentioned the dreadful state of the fencing on the property... Although the sheep aren’t worth much after shearing, every shilling counts. Do you mind if I watch you? Knowing how to fix a fence might come in handy.”

He nodded although he doubted she would do more with the information than check on the aborigine’s skill. Cal would have been ready to swear Jed could do any task on the farm. He also would have been ready to swear that the man had Miss Ella bluffed. “I’ll dig this old post out. Your job is to pass me the tools I require.”

She stood, glancing warily at the collection of tools he had placed on the ground.

Highly entertained, Cal untied the rope from the rotted center post and kicked the wood out of the way. A few shovel loads of soil revealed the base, which he lifted out. She passed him the mallet, with which he hammered in the new post, and then the roll of wire. He threaded the fallen end around the notches he’d cut and pulled. With the pliers, he made a neat twist.

“This wire doesn’t need replacing. We only needed a new post here. When the wire is broken, you need to rejoin it thus and thus.” He demonstrated with the lower strand. “I had a word with your stockman this morning. I told him to take the shorn sheep to the eastern pastures. He seems to think the feed out there is adequate.”

She nodded and took a breath. “I was wondering if, when I am out riding, I see a sheep with a broken leg or one badly injured, what should I do?”

“You would have to kill it.”

“That’s what I suspected.” She took the pliers from him.

He checked the other strands of wire, standing in view of the stable area where Miss Vi had mounted her Welsh pony and had begun pulling on her gloves. In the paddock adjacent, the two stock horses and the two chestnuts grazed companionably with the Clydesdales. The morning sky above glowed pink and orange.

He saw two riders leave the main road and canter in a dusty cloud along the track past the homestead. He moved back so they couldn’t see him but he could see them. He kept an eye on the men. One dismounted and beckoned to Miss Vi. Miss Vi turned in her saddle and indicated the right of the main road. The first man spoke again, keeping his hand on her skittish Welsh pony.

“Do you know those men?” Cal pointed in their direction. Road travelers rarely looked savory, but these two had an anxious-to-please attitude that seemed out of place.

Miss Ella walked to the corner of the woolshed and glanced where he indicated. “They’re just leaving. I think they may have been asking for directions.” She turned back to Cal. “What else am I neglecting on the station? When we talk about what can be changed and what can’t, what are my priorities, other than the fences?”

The men, one tall and thin and the other short and fat, rode off at a canter.

“If you get your fences fixed and your feed paddocks plowed and fertilized, you’ll be on the right track.”

Miss Ella said, “Then, when we sell, will we be offered a good price?”

He shrugged, sympathetic but determined not to appear so. “The country has been in drought, but you have a good flow in your river. If the inside of the homestead is as well cared for as the stables, you have a fair chance.”

As if on cue, the meals’ triangle rang out. “Oh, no,” she said, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “I haven’t set the table yet.” She ran off.

Smiling lightly, he stared after her for a moment, then he left to wash his hands under the pump. If she wanted to sell for a good price, with just a few small improvements she might. If she thought she could manage more than maintenance, she would be wasting her time. Clearly, she’d not been trained to run a station.

He, however, had been trained from birth and he had worked hard, taking on untold responsibilities, hoping to earn respect. Where he had come from, a rich old man doled out his money to relatives who obeyed him to the letter. He didn’t require input from a grandson who had spent years formulating ideas only to have them grounded. Cal liked nothing more than planning improvements, but he couldn’t train Miss Ella.

To learn only a fraction of the skills she needed to run her property would take time. For him, time was money. The best shearers earned close to five pounds per week, but only for three months of a year, at most. Wanting big money fast meant he had to shear as quickly as possible.

Regrettably, he agreed. She needed to find a rich husband.

* * * *

Ella filled the buckets. Her first task after washing the breakfast dishes was normally the daily watering of the vegetables, but this morning she’d had to replant and stake the sheep-ravaged garden, which delayed the watering until mid-morning. As the pump stood alongside the stable wall, she worked in clear sight of the log seats the shearers claimed for their morning smoke-oh.

Not until her fifth trip from the pump to the gardens did she see Cal emerge from the woolshed. The sight of him now, as this morning, set her insides leaping with excitement, yet last night he’d done no more than tug on her braid. Apparently, she needed more from the man than advice, a painful thought she couldn’t repress.

“Ella,” Rose called from the kitchen window. “Can you help with lunch?”

Ella took a deep breath. “Not for a while. After this, I have to attend to the laundry. If you would put out the fire beneath the copper, you’ll save me some time.”

“I’ll do that for you,” Rose said. “I wish you knew a way to save me time.”

Not until the linen bleached in the sunshine did Ella wearily enter the kitchen. “I do know a way to save time,” she said to Rose, watching Vianna take the white plates for the shearer’s lunch from the dresser. “If we ate our meals with the shearers, we would have only one lot of serving and no dining room to prepare.”

Rose rubbed the back of her neck. “But could we bear to eat every meal with rough, sweaty males?”

“I could.” Vianna added three plates to the pile of six she had placed on the table. “Because our shearers are not very rough or sweaty, not like those men this morning.” She turned her mouth down with distaste. “The fat one wore really stinky clothes. Even Miffy backed away from him.”

“Not everyone has a chance to wash each day,” Rose said. “You mustn’t despise those less fortunate. If we ate with the men, it would save work,” she continued without taking a breath between the two subjects as if they might be a single thought—and they might well be. Ella knew her sister did not consider a shearer her equal.

“Let’s do it, then.”

Rose considered. “Unless it rains.”

“I’m sure we won’t see rain for quite a while.”

After lunch, eaten with none of the hilarity Ella normally heard from the shearer’s table, Ella left for the stables. She hoped the men would learn to relax in the sisters’ presence and she hoped that Rose would begin to see them as good people rather than uncouth men who should be offered a fine example of formal manners.

She almost sidestepped when she saw Cal carrying Vianna’s saddle. Her footsteps slowed as she wondered why the dratted man had left the shearing shed.

“So you’re going to practice jumps?” he asked Vianna as Ella neared.

“Miffy gets out of condition if I don’t keep her in training.”

He spotted Ella. “And is Miss Ella going to practice jumps, too?”

She had Papa’s flat-brimmed felt hat on her head. “I’m just going out for my daily constitutional.” Self-consciously, she walked past him, snagging a bridle from the stables and palming the crumbled lump of sugar she used to bribe the second stock horse to come to the fence. When caught, she took him to the mounting block, tethered him, and fetched her sidesaddle.

Cal, hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall, lifted his eyebrows. “I thought you might ride one of the chestnuts.”

“We don’t use them as hacks.” Ella swung the saddle over the horse’s back. “Normally Jed alternates with each of the stock horses, but today I need—want—to take this horse out.” She wriggled her hands into her leather gloves, trying not to glance at the breath-stealing man.

Vianna, already mounted, rearranged her skirt over her boot tops. “The mares are lovely, aren’t they?” she said to Cal. “They’re a matched carriage pair. Papa won them in a card game. They’re Ella’s. He left them to her in his will. He left me a painting of Mama.” She looked pleased.

Cal checked Vianna’s cinch and handed over her crop. He left without saying a word.

“Why was he here?” Ella asked her sister in a whisper.

“Oh, I asked him to help lift my saddle.”

“Gracious, Vi. You must have saddled your horse alone a hundred times.” Ella left to retrieve the roll of fencing wire and the cutters as soon as Cal was out of sight. “He can’t see me, can he?” she said to Vianna, who awaited her.

“Who?”

“Cal. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing. I can’t spend my life letting a stranger do our work.”

“What work?”

“Mending fences. I thought I would see if I could repair a few. Cal saved me from riding into Noarlunga to buy another roll of wire, which spared me the embarrassment of having to ask for credit. Therefore, if I can get onto this horse, I expect I can do everything else.”

“Why wouldn’t you be able to get onto the horse?”

“You’d know why if you helped with the bucketing.” Ella cinched her saddle girth. Now, on inspecting the stock horse, she wondered if the bay had grown two hands taller since the last time she’d ridden.

“I collected the eggs, I set the table for lunch, and I took the chestnuts out this morning,” Vianna said in a hurt voice. “My arms are little. Rose should help you with the heavy work.”

“Her arms are little, too.” After tying on the wire and slipping the cutters into her pocket, Ella mounted with an overdone groan.

Vianna smiled. “Oh, Ella, you’re not truly going to repair fences?”

“Cal has already given Jed enough jobs to last for days.”

“I wish we could keep him.” Vianna put up her hand to adjust her tiny riding hat. “He looks just like a fairytale prince.”

“Good gracious,” Ella said in a superior voice. “I’m shocked, Vi, truly shocked to hear such a shallow sentiment—we certainly can’t keep him.” She shot her sister a mischievous grin.

Vianna laughed. “I knew you thought he was handsome, too. Rose doesn’t. She says no man is worth thinking about.”

Ella stared into the distance, wondering what had brought about Rose’s disdain and wishing she could agree. For the past few days, her thoughts had been almost fully occupied by the handy shearer. If he would only be here for two weeks, before she shriveled into an old maid, she would have a chance to wallow in the presence of an attractive man—perhaps even flirt if given half a chance.

Her chest ached at the thought.