He laughed dryly. “Were you drinking earlier, before coming here, because there is no bloody way I could ever—”
“Francis, a great wealth awaits the stout of heart who aren’t afraid to brave the Never-Never.”
He made an exasperated sound. “A pipe dream, my girl."
“A pipe dream?" she scoffed in turn. “Not when one can get hundreds of acres for merely applying for a grant from the governor. Or you can do what Sin and others are doing. Simply become a squatter. With your connections, I would imagine thousands of acres would be more applicable. Think of it, Francis! With a sheep station, you could create your own empire.”
“Sheep station? What do I know of sheep?”
“I know enough to make a start.”
Those weeks of preparation would now be tested. She had made it a point to talk to anyone who knew anything about sheep: a former convict who had herded sheep in Ireland; an old woman who had worked in a carpet shop, weaving wool; a retired soldier who was running a few imported Merino sheep on land granted him by the governor.
She had even ridden to Elizabeth Farm to talk to Macarthur’s wife, who ran the place in his absence in England. Elizabeth had told her that sheep were more important than cattle. Sheep had two advantages over cattle. One, they needed less water and did less damage to the edge of the creek; the other was that sheep produced income from wool without having to be slaughtered.
Amaris leaned forward. “Francis, there are vast open areas in the Never-Never with potential grazing land belonging to no one. All you have to do is apply! Most of the sheep stations have been started by people who knew very little. I’m not afraid to try. I’m not afraid to take risks. I can learn. Most important, I have saved enough from my writing to buy a small flock.”
“You’ve already given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Francis, a wagon train leaves for the outback in a week. You weren’t afraid to take risks as an insurer of ships and cargo. Can this be any more risky?”
“What about Celeste?”
She looked straight into his eyes. “She’ll never marry you. I think she would kill herself first.”
He looked at her in amazement. “Am I to understand that I am that repulsive?”
“She is a woman in love—and you’re not the man.”
He raised his tankard to finish off its contents, and she placed the flat of her hand over the tankard’s rim. “Francis, I am the woman you need.”
For a second, the expression in his eyes was bleak. “But am I the man you need?”
“You suit my purposes perfectly.”
“Which are?”
“A home, someday children. The usual things a woman wants.”
“I have the distinct feeling, Amaris, that you are not the usual woman.”
With a slightly bewildered expression, William Wilmot intoned the words for the early morning marriage ceremony. Clearly, the hasty double wedding wasn’t quite proper, even though it was understandable with the wagon train leaving within a mere matter of hours.
The two brides wore hastily sewn gowns of blond lace over white satin and blond lace veils held in place by wreaths of orange blossoms. Francis Marlborough had donned the traditional black coat and pantaloons and gold-trimmed chestnut-colored cashmere waistcoat. Sin Tremayne was dressed more conservatively in a double-breasted blue coat and drab-colored breeches.
William’s gaze passed over Celeste Livingston’s radiant face to settle on that of his daughter. Radiant, no, but a calm, serene expression transformed that wistful, defiant look that he often caught in her eyes when she didn’t know he was watching her. His daughter was doing what she wanted, what she needed to do, and that was enough for him.
The two grooms each wore dispassionate expressions. This troubled the rector. What was going on in their minds? Why did they take no joy in the occasion? He peered at Amaris again, and his heart overflowed. She had brought such joy to his household.
The little changeling was so different from him and Rose. Headstrong and determined she was. But where his wife’s mercurial emotions bubbled to the surface for all to view and his own ran like a quiet, shallow creek, Amaris channeled her emotions into a subsurface stream. He was never quite certain what his beloved daughter was feeling.
More than that, he wondered every so often what her natural parents were like. Convicts of the lowest class, most likely. But from somewhere in their ancestral lines had come that challenging intelligence inherent in Amaris.
Amaris rolled off her garters and carefully peeled down her white silk stockings. Meanwhile, Celeste unfastened the heirloom pearl necklace her mother had bestowed on her as one of many wedding gifts, few of which would fit into the bullock dray Sin had purchased for the trip.
Amaris had asked her parents only for her mother’s cane rocker and several of her father’s books. In the outback, where diversion and socializing were limited, one could easily go through a hundred books in one year.
The two young women hastily changed. The wagon train was leaving Sydney in less than two hours. Celeste held the necklace in her palm, as if weighing its worth. “I’m putting all this behind me, Amaris.”
Amaris sat on a low, three-legged stool, with Rogue lying patiently at her feet. “I know you love Sin, Celeste, but I don’t think you realize just how much you will be giving up.”
“Whatever it is, it is worth the sacrifice. I’m not blind with love. I’m stronger than anyone realizes, even you. Sin needs me to temper his wild streak. And you need Francis, whether you know it or not.”
She laughed. “Do I? I would say he needs my strength.”
Celeste’s mouth set in serious lines, so unlike her usually mild expression. “You need to discover that soft, nurturing part of yourself, Amaris. Francis will force you to face yourself.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at the girl. Then she smiled. “Am I really five years older than you?”
Celeste stooped to hug her fiercely. “Oh, Amaris, I can’t believe our good luck! Married on the same day, going on the grandest adventure of our lives toge—”
“Hmmm.” Behind them, Nan cleared her throat.
“Mama!" Celeste said happily. “Wasn’t the wedding wonderful?!”
Nan entered the tiny bedroom, and Rogue gave a low growl before Amaris hushed him. He lay back down again beside the stool.
“Aye,” Nan said, her voice terse. “That it was.”
Amaris often wondered how such a small woman could intimidate others. Money was power, of course. But Nan had knowledge, knowledge of people, their inner desires and fears, and she used that knowledge effectively.
“Celeste, I also have a wedding gift for Amaris, and I’d like to be with her alone for a moment.”
The girl looked puzzled. “All right, Mama. But we have to hurry.”
Nan glanced at Amaris. “This won’t take long.” When Celeste was gone, Nan faced Amaris and took a small package from her reticule and passed it to her with a shrug. “A gold and ivory brooch. Hardly useful where you’re going.”
“How kind of you,” Amaris mocked.
“You fight hard.”
“So do you.”
They spoke in hushed whispers. “I fight fairly. Until now. I want you to know that twenty-five years ago, I did what was best for everyone all around. I did not intentionally hurt anyone.”
Amaris’s hands clenched. “You thought only of yourself.”
“And you are not doing so now? You haven’t given a thought to the possibility that your revenge will hurt others besides just me. You have ruined my dreams for Celeste. Even more, you have taken her from—”
“To go to the outback with Sin was her own choice."
“She would have had second thoughts had you not encouraged her by going yourself."
Amaris shot to her feet. “You can’t control people’s lives, Nan Livingston!"
Fury blazed in the older woman’s pale eyes. “I have and I will. Beginning with yours. I shall never forgive you for this. S
omeday, I’ll destroy your dreams, as you have mine."
Amaris was all too eager to put the Blue Mountains between herself and Nan. Traveling by covered wagon, she and Francis, along with Sin and Celeste, began their honeymoon in the company of ten other families—graziers and squatters. Some of them, like Francis, were graduates of Oxford or Cambridge.
A dozen or so people walked or rode pack animals. Among those walking was Jimmy Underwood, whom Sin had hired away from New South Wales Traders. Thomas Rugsby, a friend of the family, traveled with Major Hannaby, his wife Elizabeth, and their daughter Eileen.
Molly Finn had petitioned Amaris to take her with her. “Ye will need an extra hand, ye will. I’ll work cheap.” Nan’s carriage driver had forsaken Molly, and the girl was desolate.
Apparently, half of the females in Sydney Cove were desolate at the loss of such a wonderful candidate for a husband. That Francis Marlborough had chosen to marry a mere rector’s daughter, a plain spinster at that, astounded the Exclusionists.
With her own money, Amaris purchased a hundred sheep, merinos brought in from the Cape of Good Hope. Rogue kept a mother hen’s eye on them, herding them in the trail of the wagons, along with two milk cows.
For his part, Sin had decided to wait until he was settled on a run before he bought sheep. “In addition,” he had said, “I want to diversify. I don’t like being completely dependent on sheep. Maybe start a horse farm.”
By the end of that first day of traveling, dust had mixed with sweat to form a gritty paste that the sunlight baked on Amaris’s face.
In the brief hour that she had spelled Francis at the reins, her gloved hands ached from controlling the plodding bullocks with whip and reins. Her hips hurt from sitting on the wagon’s board seat. No cushion alleviated the continual jouncing. She rubbed the area at either side of the back of her waist. The hard monotony of miles was also mentally strenuous.
Riding on his sleek black steed, Francis asked, “Spine ache?”
She managed a smile that she envisioned as more resembling a grimace. Even Molly had grown tired of riding and had elected to walk awhile. “Everything aches. How about you?” She didn’t need to ask. Since leaving Sydney, he had been in high spirits.
“You were right.” The man she had considered a London dandy cast her what was almost a shy smile. With one slender hand dangling his mount’s reins, he flung the other out to indicate the vast vista of prairie and mountain. “Out here, Amaris, I am my own man. I am being judged not on my background or my financial portfolio but on me. On me alone!”
This was something they both shared: Their marriage union was symbolic of their joint commitment to create a place for themselves in the Never-Never. Some of Celeste’s joy that came from being caught up in the “great adventure,” as she had termed it, was apparently rubbing off on Amaris.
“Why don’t you let me take back the reins now,” Francis said. “Frivolity has had his exercise for the day.”
She readily acquiesced. While Francis tied Frivolity’s reins to the rear of their wagon, she turned back and searched along the string of wagons. Dust hazed the air, but she was able to find Sin’s wagon two back of their own. Celeste’s face was upturned to his, and they appeared to be engaged in deep conversation.
Evidently, this trek was liberating in more than just the physical sense of the word. Today, Sin’s scowl was noticeably absent. This morning, when he had assisted Celeste in boarding the wagon, she had thanked him with a smile, her hand briefly touching his chest. The gesture could have meant little, but Amaris had seen the intimate glance that had passed between the two.
Around late afternoon covies of partridges began to scatter before the thudding of the wagon wheels. Francis quickly pulled his flintlock from the floorboard, loaded a ball in the muzzle, and took aim. The thunder of the shot was deafening, but his aim was true.
“Partridge for dinner tonight,” he said with a smile and handed the reins to her.
She watched him alight and retrieve a bird some yards away. Pleasure that her husband would be a good provider filled her. She had made a good choice. She recalled her mother’s concern, expressed only an hour before the wedding. “Ye forceful nature, luv, may have compelled Francis to marry you. Mayhap it would have been best to let nature take its course.”
If nature had taken its course, she might have been an unwed mother. As it was, she had had her anxiously awaited monthly.
At the front of the wagon train, Major Hannaby was waving his upraised arm in a signal for the wagons to encircle and make camp. The dreaded ascent of the steep Blue Mountains would be postponed until after dawn of the morrow.
After a full day of working the reins, Francis was becoming remarkably proficient as a teamster. “Ha ya!” he shouted at the two plodding bulls. Steam rose off their flea-coated flanks, and the smell traveled with the dust.
Francis’s slender hands snapped the reins and whip with a strength that surprised her. The bullocks fell into place in a circle rapidly forming near a line of pink eucalyptus that marked a creek. At the creaking sounds the wagons made, a screaming cloud of white cockatoos exploded out of the trees.
When Amaris climbed down from her wagon, encircled with the others, pain shot through her hips. Francis had bounded from the wagon to help her step down, but she noticed he moved with as little agility as she.
“Do you hurt as much as I do?” she asked with a small laugh that was close to a groan.
The groan turned to an audible sigh at the thought that the most difficult portion of their journey was only hours away. Once through the pass, the weeks of travel to the confluence of the Darling and Murray rivers would be less arduous but certainly more hazardous. Or so the stories went from the few stouthearted pioneers who had started farms and ranches in the outback of the past decade.
In the dusk, camp fires took spark like lightning bugs within the contained encampment. The fires then erupted into blazes that lit the tired faces of the men and women as they began to fish pots and pans from their traveling chests.
There was little enough within the wagons: the most important items—a rifle and an ax, a few pots and pans, a little extra clothing, several blankets, perhaps a spinning wheel, and such prized possessions as a clock or a family Bible.
While Molly gathered firewood, Amaris lugged out a kettle, and Francis took it from her with a gallant flourish. “You should not be carrying heavy things like that.”
She had to laugh. “Francis, I have lifted a lot heavier things than this at the Female Immigrants’ Home. If you’ll start the fire, I’ll begin to peel—”
“Start a fire?” He looked at her blankly.
It was her turn to look blank. “You don’t know how to start a fire?”
In the half light, his face was visibly red. “Of course, I do. In a fireplace. But what about containment and—”
“You have never camped out on your pheasant or partridge hunts or whatever it is you shoot?”
“That’s what servants are for, Amaris. That’s why we hired Molly.”
She ignored his caustic tone. “Why don’t you amble over and talk with Sin.”
Relief and gratitude crossed her husband’s face. She observed him as, spurs tinkling, strolled over to the Tremayne wagon. He knelt with Jimmy over the fire they were building.
Molly returned, her arms laden with twigs and branches from the wattles that lined the nearby creek. She set to building a fire with the twigs and smaller branches. Every so often, she would glance toward Sin’s wagon.
Amaris thought Molly might be watching Francis or Sin. That Molly liked men, any man, was the general assumption. Then she surprised Amaris. “Jimmy Underwood, does he have a wife waiting somewhere, missus?”
Amaris hid a smile. So forty-year-old Jimmy Underwood and not Francis had been the object of Molly’s intentions all along. “Not that I know of.” She set aside the kettle of plucked birds Francis had shot. “I’m going for more water.”
Close by, Celeste wa
s stirring a broth while the three men chatted. Amaris was about to join her friend, when she saw Sin quickly rise from his camp stool to lift the heavy kettle from the fire. Celeste thanked him with a smile, her hand briefly touching his arm. His glance lingered on her hand. There was a world of gentleness in his gaze. Celeste had tamed the beast.
Amaris wisely left the couple alone and walked on down to the creek. It was a wide and shallow meandering stream. In the rainy season, so she had heard, it would overflow its boundaries and carry away any sheep and cattle grazing nearby.
When she returned with her pail of water, Molly already had the birds skewered on a makeshift spit. Dripping juice sizzled in the fire. Amaris’s mouth watered. She was tired, and her appetite voracious.
At last, dinner was ready, and she and Francis and Molly filled their plates and joined the others. Talk of the next day’s haul up the mountain, of the latest trouble with the aborigines and what kind of grazing land could be found in the Never-Never, that unknown interior, was bantered around by the pioneers.
Afterward, when the dishes had been cleaned and the men got together to smoke a pipe, Amaris and Celeste walked down to the creek. Several other women were already there, delighting in the fresh water that soothed away their aches and cleansed the dust off their skin.
“Ah, Celeste," called Elizabeth Hannaby. Her husband, after soldiering for thirty years, had sold his commission for acreage in the outback. Like most, they aspired to become landed gentry. “Tis a grand evening, isn’t it."
Her smile even included Amaris, who was now the wife of a nobleman, no less. Amaris took the change of attitude in good stride. These people would be neighbors, and it was best to be on good terms with neighbors who could mean the difference between life and death.
“Lovely,” Celeste said, “but I miss the sunrises against the ocean horizon.”
“I imagine, dearie, we’ll see sights quite as beautiful. So ’tis brides you two are.”
Her patronizing tone went over Celeste’s head. The moon’s light betrayed her blushing face.
Dream Time (historical): Book I Page 15
