Breakaway Creek. Heather GarsideЧитать онлайн книгу.
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