"What was it like?" Neal murmured. He looked back five months to the day he disembarked from the survey vessel at Fremantle. He had hated to see it end. What an adventure! And yet, at the same time, something had happened . . .
Neal had looked toward the shore and to the distant horizon, and he had felt mysterious shifts and eddies within himself, as if something had been gently dislodged. Beyond the mountains lay the mysterious back country which men called the Outback. No one knew what lay out there. Maps of Australia showed coastlines in detail, with names, topographical features, and the gradual mushrooming of human settlements. But the middle was blank. It was like the blank spot inside himself, he thought. Neal had no idea where he came from, what his family name was, who his ancestors were. He felt tied to no one and to no place. Australia seemed like that to him, without identity until men uncovered its precious secrets. And when he had stepped ashore at Fremantle, he had felt the irresistible lure to be one of those men.
"We explored islands and estuaries," he said, "archipelagos and reefs. We sailed as far north as Port Hedland and as far south as Point Irwin. It was exciting but it was also frustrating being on the government ship and seeing the distant horizon, feeling something call to me, a big mystery in that vast unknown. When Sir Reginald offered me the chance to join his expedition, I jumped at it."
Neal grew animated. "It will be a scientific expedition, Hannah," he said, turning to look at her and flash a grin. "We will be measuring and quantifying, analyzing and recording everything we encounter. We will be opening up the continent for progress, for the telegraph and railway, so that someday one can travel from Sydney to Perth without taking a ship." He sighed and snapped the reins. "I would love for my adoptive father to experience this place. Josiah and I used to go hiking in the woods when I was young. He is a watercolorist. We would pack food and water, his easel and paints, and we would go trekking in the hills. Josiah would love this new country. Unfortunately he is terrified of ships and ocean travel."
As he looked at her, Neal felt his heart do an aching tumble. And suddenly he was wondering if it was possible for him to leave a day later. Could he travel at high speed and arrive in time for the launch of the expedition? If I do, I can spend one more day—and one more night—with Hannah. "What about you? Tell me what you've been up to."
Hannah had written to him about her time with Dr. Davenport; her revelation in Kirkland's Emporium to go out into the countryside; meeting Mary McKeeghan, and moving into Liza Guinness's hotel. She had even told him about Alice, but not the precise circumstances of how they met. Hannah was still embarrassed about her naiveté and how her association with a bordello had almost ruined a good doctor's reputation.
Instead she spoke of her new passion to own a place of her own. "Run a few sheep, raise medicinal herbs. A place that will still be here a hundred years from now. But it isn't turning out to be as easy as I had hoped. I am doing well as a midwife, but people hesitate to call me for any other help, even though I have assured them of my education and experience and competency. Once in a while, if the local doctor is miles away on another call, I will do in a pinch. But I am, in the end, just a midwife. But I won't give up. One way or another, I will have a place of my own."
Neal said nothing, but pondered this news with a troubled heart. How could he tell her that the restlessness that had caused him to leave Boston was continuing to grow within him? That the more mysteries he encountered, the more he needed to seek them out and solve them? His sojourn on the Borealis had not only not quenched his explorer's thirst, but had made him thirst for more. It worried him now to think that, in the seventeen months since they had said good-bye on the deck of the Caprica, they had both changed, their paths had continued to diverge until it suddenly frightened him now to think that, with Hannah determined to put down roots and he himself committed to further exploration, they could never hope to be together.
Unless one of them gave up his or her dream.
Neal had thought of asking Hannah to go exploring with him, to join Sir Reginald's expedition and wander the unknown heart of Australia at his side. And he suspected that Hannah wanted to ask him to stay with her, to buy some land, build a permanent home and become part of this new country. They could not do both.
"Tell me about the expedition," she said, seeing the sudden tension in Neal's neck and jaw, wondering what had caused it.
"We will be crossing the Nullarbor Plain," he said, "an area of flat, arid and almost treeless country that lies to the west of Adelaide. It's very desolate, I hear. The word Nullarbor itself is Latin for 'no trees.' It's believed to have once been an enormous sea that is now dried up."
"Will the expedition be a dangerous one?" Hannah asked, not liking the sound of an enormous dried-up sea called nullarbor.
"It's a vital one and has to be done," Neal replied, leaving out the part about men going in and never coming out. "It isn't just an expedition of exploration, it's to survey and study the lay of the land for further expansion. Surveyors and geologists will be along, but what they need most is a good photographer. That will be me. But Sir Reginald is very experienced. He has written books about his adventures. My favorite describes a harrowing incident at the Khyber Pass. When the British invaded Afghanistan from India during the Afghan Wars, Sir Reginald was an advisor to the Army, and it was his quick thinking that saved the day. So, yes, it will be a dangerous journey, but I have every confidence in its leader."
Conversation died after that, as neither had the desire to talk when stronger passions governed them, and presently they were joining heavier traffic, and passing more buildings until they entered the city itself.
The Clifford Hotel on North Terrace, a posh street that faced the River Torrens and grassy parkland, was a three-story building made of locally quarried bluestone and boasted twenty rooms with "dining and laundry services available." Neal guided the carriage to the rear yard, a busy enclave of stables and horses. Neal's newly hired assistant, Fintan, was there loading their wagon with supplies, Neal's instruments and photographic equipment.
When Neal introduced Hannah to Fintan, she could not help but stare. She had never seen so beautiful a youth, with large soulful eyes framed by the longest lashes she had ever seen on a male; a true cupid's mouth over a cleft chin; and inky black hair that grew out in extraordinary curls. He must melt every feminine heart he encountered, she thought. Yet when he tipped his hat and smiled, it was in a bashful way, and his cheeks flamed most endearingly. Hannah instantly liked him. She also thought it was too bad that Alice was away in Sydney. Fintan was about the same age, twenty-one she would guess, and it occurred to Hannah that they would get on famously.
"I just have to get my valise and pay my bill," Neal said as he took Hannah by the elbow and escorted her into the lobby which was small and tastefully appointed with horsehair furniture and potted plants. A fat-faced tabby cat slept in a sun-filled window.
Neal paused and looked into Hannah's eyes that made him think of morning mists. He took in the black hair that so perfectly framed her oval face, sweeping over her ears and up into a dainty bun that supported her bonnet. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs, and leave Sir Reginald to fate. "I won't be a minute," he said.
"I'll wait right here," Hannah said, realizing it was a useless statement as what else could she do? But she had to say something to stop herself from blurting, "Take me upstairs."
Neal was down again in five minutes, carrying a leather valise and a handful of monetary notes which he gave to the desk clerk, with effusive thanks. They went around back where Fintan was checking the ropes on crates stenciled with warnings: DANGER! VOLATILE CHEMICALS. KEEP FROM HEAT.
Before they climbed into the buggy, Neal said impulsively, "Hannah, I want to show you something. It's a secret—not even Fintan has seen this. In fact, Sir Reginald didn't want me to have this information but I wouldn't agree to go along unless he told me."
Her curiosity piqued, Hannah watched as Nea
l retrieved a map from his inside pocket and, unfolding it, said, "You've heard of Edward John Eyre?"
It was impossible to live in Adelaide for more than a few days without learning about the famous explorer who had opened up much of the unknown wilderness north of the city—and it was impossible to travel about the district without encountering streets, lakes and mountains named Eyre.
"Eight years ago, in 1840," Neal explained, "Edward John Eyre set out from Fowler's Bay, which is here along the coast a couple hundred miles," he pointed to a coastal spot on the map west of Adelaide, "with a friend and three Aboriginal men. When they reached Caiguna, two of the Aborigines killed Eyre's friend and made off with the supplies. Eyre and the third Aborigine, Wylie, continued on their journey, miraculously completing their crossing in June 1841, here, at Albany in the south, which as you can see is quite a distance from Perth.
"Sir Reginald is not going to follow Eyre's route, which tended to hug the coastline. He plans a much more ambitious one, farther north, deeper into the interior," and Neal traced a new route, from the top of Spencer Gulf, westward through big bold letters that said UNKNOWN TERRITORY, until his fingertip arrived at Perth on the west coast, thirteen hundred miles away. Hannah noticed, just eastward of Perth, a place marked Galagandra, circled in red. "Hannah, I am telling you this," Neal said as he folded the map and replaced it in his breast pocket, "because I want you to know where I will be. But I ask you to tell no one else. Sir Reginald is adamant about keeping our route and destination a secret."
When he saw the worry on her face, he said gently, "Don't worry. Edward Eyre went in a party of five, ours numbers over thirty. And Eyre made the mistake of relying on native guides, who ultimately betrayed him. We will have no native guides."
"But would they not be a help?" she asked in alarm.
"Sir Reginald has never trusted natives, ever since a nasty incident in the Sudan from which he barely escaped with his life. He believes natives have only one motive: to get the white man out of their territory."
With Fintan ahead driving the wagon, Neal and Hannah followed in the buggy. Tension grew between them. Neal's knuckles were white as he gripped the reins. Hannah clasped her gloved hands so tightly that her fingers hurt. Neal did not want to leave her. Hannah did not want him to go.
A mile from the Australia Hotel, as Fintan continued ahead in the wagon, Neal impulsively pulled the buggy off the road and, dropping the reins, swept Hannah into his arms.
They kissed without taking a breath, as if this were their last hour on earth. Neal snatched Hannah's bonnet away and drove his fingers into her hair. Hannah dug her fingers into his linen jacket. "I won't go," Neal said in a husky voice. "There will be other expeditions."
Yes! she thought deliriously. Stay with me. It will be heaven. "You have to go," Hannah said breathlessly. "You know that. It's your calling." Because if you miss this, and other expeditions do not come along, how long will it be before regret turns to resentment?
He cupped her face in his hands and looked into her mother-of-pearl eyes. "Then come with me, Hannah, on this great adventure! We are going to make historic discoveries!" But in the next instant he knew he couldn't ask her to come on a journey that was going to be fraught with danger. And it would be highly improper. If they were married . . .
With great reluctance, Neal took up the reins and goaded the horse into a trot, and presently the Australia Hotel came into view, where Fintan was chatting with the stable boys. As Neal helped Hannah down from the buggy, there were so many things wanted to say to her. I will capture the wonders of Australia with my camera and lay them like treasure at your feet.
"I can't leave you again, Hannah," he said quietly as they stood in the sunshine.
Hannah wanted him to take her into his arms once more, but they kept a respectable distance between themselves, as Liza Guinness and Edna Basset had come out to watch. "You must go, Neal, and I must stay. We are both called to things which we must do. And that is what will be your greatness. You will make wonderful discoveries. You will be in the history books."
"I didn't think it was going to be this hard."
"My father had a saying: most people are ready to carry the stool when there's a piano to be moved."
"A wise man," Neal murmured. There was so much more. He wanted to say, I love you, he wanted to shout it, carve it in tree trunks, tell strangers on the street. But an old pain—perhaps two old pains, the first being his mother, the second Annabelle—stopped the words on his lips. Intellectually, he knew Hannah would never reject him, never hurt him. But living with the fear of it for so long had conditioned Neal to keep silent about his feelings. When I come back, he told himself, when I have proven my greatness to Hannah, as she predicts, then I will be free to shout it to the world that I am in love with Hannah Conroy.
She watched him ride off northward along the road that would take him past the farthest outlying farms and homesteads, beyond the boundaries of explored territory and into the mysterious Outback. Hannah trembled with fear and excitement. What was Neal going to find out there in the Great Unknown?
16
S
O ME AND MY MATES ARE PLAYING CARDS IN RIORDAN'S PUB," Jamie O'Brien said as he tipped back in his chair and studied the cards in his hand. "When all of a sudden, Paddy Grady jumps up and says, 'Muldoon, yer a bloody cheater!'"
Jamie discarded a card, slipped the new one into his hand. "'Now Paddy,' says I," Jamie continued, his four companions listening. "'Faith, that's a terrible accusation. Have you any proof that Muldoon cheated?' 'I got proof,' says Paddy. 'Muldoon just discarded a three, and the hand I dealt him was a pair o' sevens, a ten, a deuce and a queen!'"
The others laughed, but when Jamie put down his cards, fanning them out, their laughter turned to groans. O'Brien had won again. As the men threw down their cards and rose from the table, Jamie consulted his pocket watch. Five-thirty. The pub would be closing in half an hour. In a few minutes there would be a rush at the bar for the "six o'clock swill."
As the others lined up for a last beer, Jamie discreetly pocketed the two cards he had had up his sleeve, just in case. Puffing on his long, thin cigar and nursing a whiskey while a fiddler played a lively Irish jig, Jamie surveyed the noisy patrons at tables and leaning on the bar. They were a familiar mob, even though he didn't know their names; he had seen their likes in every drinking establishment from Botany Bay to Fremantle. They were working class types, the men who patronized this pub built of clapboard and spit—seamen and stevedores, dock laborers and itinerants. And except for Sal, the barmaid, there were no women.
There were no gentry either. The land surrounding Adelaide's river was mostly swamp, and so the city itself had been built six miles inland, requiring a carriage or horseback ride for anyone coming and going to Adelaide by ship. The harbor with its forest of masts and spars and rigging lay just down the road from this pub. Across the way, a modest wooden church was propped on posts over a swamp, with a sign that identified it as "St. Paul's-On-Piles."
It wasn't the worst pub Jamie had visited. He might not have seen the world, but he'd seen Australia. Ever since he escaped from a road gang four years prior, he'd been on the roam, moving from town to town, stopping at ports and settlements, finding work here and there, managing a few lucrative swindles, staying only long enough before his real name was known. He even got as far north as Port Hedland once, where he linked up with a pearling boat and lived a spell with the danger of getting eaten by sharks. Then he hitched a ride on a fishing vessel heading down to Carnarvon, working on the boat and getting paid at the end of it. From there he searched for gold in the Coonardoos, and when that didn't work, he joined a traveling circus. "Go a round with the Fighting Irishman," was the pitch outside the boxing tent. But the locals never won because Jamie was too tough and too fast for them.
As he counted his winnings, he entertained the two thoughts that had been foremost in his mind these days: buried treasure, and the pretty little midwife he'd encounte
red a year ago in Lulu Forchette's garden.
After that chance meeting, Jamie had left Adelaide when a swindle had gone bad and the mark had gone for the police. But now he was back and heading north into country no white man had ever seen, and the notion of finding the midwife had entered his mind.
She had not reacted when he had told her his name. Most women who had heard of Jamie couldn't resist hearing tales of his con games and how he relieved certain wealthy citizens of their money. Jamie didn't consider himself to be a real criminal. "An honest liar," was what he called himself. And he always assured the particular lady he was wooing that he lived by two strict rules: he never stole from anyone poorer than himself, and he never cheated anyone who didn't deserve it.
He thought now about the pretty midwife as she had stood in the moonlight, calm and poised as if they were at a church social. She had a forthright gaze. Honest. No guile or flirtation. No embarrassment, no apologies for being in a place where she should not have been. What would she think of his profession, the harmless swindles he pulled on self-important men who deserved to be bilked out of their money? Would she find his tales irresistible?
Jamie thought of the adventure he and his mates were about to undertake. "Plains of fire," the Aborigines called it. A wilderness that was hotter than blazes where not even the blackfellah went. It would be nice to have a send-off in the company of the lady he had met in Lulu's garden. It could be interesting to have a little wager with himself, to see how long it would take for Miss Conroy to succumb to his charms.
"Hey!" came a shout from the bar. "Can't you read? The sign in the window says no dogs, women or Aborigines allowed!"
Jamie turned to see a black man, very old and dressed in rags, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He was saying something and gesturing toward his open mouth.
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