by Bonnie Leon
“The heat must ’ave kept everyone home,” Cambria said. “If not for the show, I’d be at home resting on the porch meself.”
Woodman stopped in front of the small theater house at the center of town.
“Right, then. Here we are,” Daniel said, stepping down from the surrey. He offered his hand to Rebecca, helping her out, and then assisted Cambria. Jim stepped out last.
“I’ll be at the stables,” Woodman said.
“Right.” Daniel took Rebecca’s arm and moved toward the theater door. Jim and Cambria followed as Woodman coaxed the horses down the street.
The theater was nothing like the show houses in Boston, but Rebecca found it respectable enough. The floors were made of finished wood and had been polished to a high sheen. A doorway leading into the theater was framed with velvet draperies, pulled aside to allow for passage.
“It’s much cooler in here,” Rebecca said, feeling a prickle of excitement as she stepped through the door and started down an aisle. Rows of chairs were already filled with spectators. Daniel spotted a group of four empty seats and steered Rebecca toward them. She moved to the third one in and Daniel stepped around her, which allowed Rebecca and Cambria to sit side by side. Jim took the aisle seat.
“This is so exciting,” Cambria said. “I’ve never been to the theater.”
“Really?” Rebecca asked in amazement.
“Truly. I’ve never been. Dad always said it was an unnecessary luxury. And the Taylors aren’t ones ta waste money on luxuries,” she said, mimicking her father’s voice.
Rebecca giggled. She opened up an ornamental fan and cooled herself. “I’ve always loved the theater, but I must admit, I’ve never been to a variety show.”
“What did ya see at the shows in Boston?”
“We had the opera and ballet. But what I loved most was the symphony.” She smiled at the memory. “It was marvelous. I guess I still miss it.”
“We went there together while I was in Boston,” Daniel said. “The orchestra played music like none you’ve ever heard.”
“Sounds thrilling. Maybe one day if I go to Brisbane or Sydney, I’ll get ta visit a theater with an orchestra.” Cambria settled back in her seat and gazed at a stage raised several feet above the floor so that those in back could see. “Do you miss it terribly, Rebecca?”
Gazing at the small stage and the shabby drapes, Rebecca had to admit to a yearning for the magnificent performances of Boston. “I miss the wondrous music and the grand plays. It all seems quite glamorous now. But mostly it was a lot of high-society types promenading for one another. I don’t miss that.”
A small man with a tiny mustache stepped through the heavy draperies onstage. He moved closer to the audience. “Welcome. Welcome. Glad ta see so many good folks. We have a real fine show for ya.”
Rebecca felt like giggling. This was definitely not Boston, but surprisingly, she was happy it wasn’t. Her anticipation peaked as the heavy curtains were pulled back, revealing a group of musicians. Three men stood alongside an upright piano. One held a violin, another a viola, and the third a banjo. A woman sat at the piano, her hands resting on the keys, and another woman stood a few steps away, hands clasped in front of her. The men were dressed in identical blue-striped suits, and the women wore rose-colored satin gowns.
Daniel took Rebecca’s hand and settled back in his seat. Feeling content, she nestled close to him.
The crowd clapped and whistled their enthusiasm as the curtain opened once more and the performers walked out hand in hand and took their bows. “That was grand!” Cambria bubbled. “I think I liked the opera singer the most. Her voice reminded me of the songbirds that sing first thing in the morning.”
“I must admit, she was quite good,” Rebecca said, realizing she hadn’t expected proficiency from a troupe of entertainers on the flats of Queensland.
“I can’t remember hearing better,” Jim said.
The foursome wandered out of the theater and down the street to a small café.
As they stepped inside, Rebecca asked, “Is there a necessary?”
“Of course. We’re not all that primitive,” Cambria said.
“I know. I didn’t mean . . .”
“I’m only teasing ya.” Cambria grinned. “Come on, then. I’ll show ya the way.” She walked toward the back of the eatery.
“I feel as if I’m going to melt,” Rebecca said, gazing into the mirror. “Look at my hair. It’s an absolute mess. It’s sticking to my face.” She lifted a damp strand and tucked it back into place.
“I think it looks nice, actually.”
“It’s awful. Sometimes I feel as if my hair looks like a wild horse’s mane.” Rebecca turned and faced Cambria. “It’s nothing like your silky blond hair.”
“I wish mine was thick and curling like yours.” Cambria lifted a strand. “It’s flat and dry.”
“No. It’s lovely.” Rebecca turned back to the mirror and stared at her reflection. “I don’t know that I can tolerate another summer.”
“It always seems extra hot when the heat picks up quick like it has. Give yerself time, eh?” Cambria leaned closer to the mirror and pinched her cheeks. She grinned at Rebecca. “Got to keep up me looks for Jim.”
Rebecca stepped back. “Cambria, are you and Jim serious about each other?”
“I’m not sure what we are. I care for him and I quite like his company. I think he likes me well enough. Otherwise why would he keep asking me to go on outings with him?”
“He’s not said anything about marriage?”
“No. Not a word. I’m beginning to wonder at his intentions.”
“Would you like Daniel to speak to him?”
“Oh no. If it comes to that, me father will sit him down. But I pray not; that would be absolute humiliation. Please don’t say a word.”
“I won’t.” Rebecca folded her arms over her chest. “What will you say if he does ask you to marry him?”
“Yais, of course. He’s a fine bloke and would be a grand husband and father.” Cambria blushed. “I’m quite fond of him.”
Rebecca circled an arm around her friend’s waist. “I agree. He’s a fine catch.” She gave Cambria a quick hug. “I suppose we ought to get back.”
“We ordered for you. Hope you don’t mind,” Daniel said, standing and pulling back a chair for Rebecca.
She sat, thinking she’d have preferred ordering her own meal. Not wanting to spoil the occasion, she said, “I’m sure whatever you ordered will be fine.”
Jim seated Cambria just as a waiter carried a tureen of beef and vegetable pie to their table, along with a platter of bread. “Why, we’ve all got the same thing,” Cambria said.
Jim laughed. “It’s all they’ve got.”
“Oh, and ’ere I thought ya’d taken care ta order me something special.”
Rebecca leaned on the table and smiled at Daniel. “You are a sly one.”
He grinned and then held out his plate while Rebecca spooned a mix of meat and vegetables onto it. After that she served everyone else.
Daniel took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Good. Not as good as Lily’s, but it will do.”
The foursome settled down to their supper, and for a few minutes nothing was said while they ate and sipped tea. Jim drank coffee.
“Can I have a taste of yer coffee?” Cambria asked. “Me mother always makes tea. I’d like ta try it.”
“Sure.” Jim handed her his cup.
Holding it between both hands, Cambria sipped, then grimaced. “Oh. It’s bitter.”
“I didn’t think you’d like it much,” Jim said, reaching for the cup.
“No. Wait. I’ll try again.” Cambria took another taste, holding it in her mouth a moment before swallowing. Returning the cup to Jim, she said, “I suppose I could get used ta it.”
Jim made a point of taking a big gulp, then set down the cup and leaned on the table. “We ought to go out more often.”
“I agree.” Daniel speared a chunk
of potato and put it in his mouth. “But if the drought continues, there’ll be no money for such outings.”
Silence settled over the table. Finally Cambria asked, “Do ya think it will come ta that? I know me father’s worried. Worse than I’ve seen. I hear him and me mother talking at night. And I know they’re scared.”
The food suddenly lost its appeal, and Rebecca set down her fork. “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about.”
“Wish I were so sure,” Daniel said. “Figure if God chooses he’ll bring the rains.”
A soft knock sounded at Rebecca’s door. She set down her brush. “Come in.”
Mildred opened the door and stepped inside. Her face looked flushed, and her eyes were red rimmed. She gripped a handkerchief.
“What is it, Auntie? What’s wrong?” Rebecca crossed to her aunt.
“Thomas is returning to Boston,” she said, struggling to maintain a brave demeanor. However, her eyes shimmered. “I’ll miss him terribly.” Her chin quivered, but she didn’t give way to tears.
“Oh, Auntie, I’m so sorry. When is he leaving?”
“Soon, but he still has to make arrangements.”
Knowing she was stepping onto forbidden ground, Rebecca asked, “Why don’t you marry him? It’s obvious you care for him.”
“I do . . . but I’ve been independent far too long. I can’t change now. Love is for the young and naïve. I’ve seen too much in my years to be easily swept away by emotion.” She sniffed and then blew softly into the handkerchief. “I’m not young anymore. I can’t imagine myself a bride, a wife. It’s absurd.”
“Why absurd? Thomas is a fine man who loves you. And you love him too . . . don’t you?” Rebecca challenged.
Mildred stared straight ahead. She didn’t answer for a long while. Finally with a sigh she said, “Yes. I love him.”
“Then tell him.”
“I want to, but I know he still loves his first wife. I can’t compete with a ghost.”
“How do you know if you don’t talk about it?”
Mildred’s brows creased and tears filled her eyes. Pressing the handkerchief to her nose, she sniffled.
Rebecca sat on the bed and pulled her aunt down beside her. “I love you, Auntie, and I hate to see you leave Douloo, but I think it’s time you returned to Boston and married Thomas.”
Mildred blew softly into the handkerchief. “How do I talk to him about how I feel? I’ve never done such a thing.”
“Just be honest and straightforward.”
Mildred nodded ever so slightly.
“Auntie, Thomas may not be willing to wait until you get up your courage. Please, speak with him.”
Mildred stood at the front door, her hands clasped. Thomas stood at the railing, gazing at the open plains drenched in gold. They soaked up the last rays of light as the sun descended toward the horizon. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch.
Thomas looked at her. Mildred could see sadness in his eyes. “Evening, Mildred. Lovely, isn’t it?” He gestured toward the panorama.
She moved to the balustrade and stood beside him. Too afraid to look at him, she allowed her eyes to roam the open flatlands. “It’s quite beautiful, especially at this time of the evening. It’s almost as if the earth is holding its breath. Everything becomes quiet and still.”
Thomas turned his back to the scenery and leaned against the railing. Folding his arms over his chest, he looked down at the floorboards. “I made arrangements.”
“Arrangements?” Mildred asked, knowing full well he was referring to his trip home.
“Yes. I purchased a place on the stage, and I’ll be catching a ship in Brisbane the first week of November.” His brown eyes were warm as he looked at Mildred. “Forgive me for asking again, but I wish you would reconsider and go with me.”
Mildred fiddled with a button on her cuff. “Oh dear. This is loose. I’ll have to repair it.”
“Mildred, I don’t care about your button. I want to know why you won’t marry me.”
Her stomach tumbled, and Mildred wondered why she’d thought she could do this. Never in all her life had she openly expressed her feelings to a man. She forced herself to look at Thomas.
“I know I’m not young,” he said, “but I’m not ancient either. And I’m not much to look at, but . . .”
“No. That’s not it,” Mildred cut in. “You’re quite handsome, Thomas. And you’re a fine man, gentle and kind. I know of no one finer.”
“Then why? Is it that you don’t love me? There are many successful marriages that aren’t based on love.” He moved closer to Mildred. “I love you, but I could be satisfied if all you felt for me was respect and friendship.”
“I do respect you, and I consider you a true friend . . . and . . . I love you, Thomas.”
He took Mildred’s hands and pressed them together between his. “Well, then why? Why won’t you marry me?”
“Thomas, you still love your first wife. You don’t really love me. You need someone.” Mildred removed her hands from his. “I’m certain you think that what you feel is love, but it’s only friendship, the need of a woman’s touch in your life. And that’s not enough for me.”
“You’re right. I do love my wife. She was a wonderful woman, and I’ll always love her. But that doesn’t mean my heart can’t love you as well.”
“Thomas, your house is exactly the same as it was when she was alive. You haven’t changed anything. You still have pictures of her throughout your home.”
He stared at Mildred and didn’t respond.
“I know you care for me, but you’re still too much in love with Gwenn.”
“The house is the same because I’m used to it that way. I didn’t see any reason to change it.”
“And if I were to move in? What then?”
Thomas hesitated a moment too long before he answered. “Of course you can arrange it any way you like. It would be your home too.”
“No, Thomas. It wouldn’t be, not really.” Mildred thought she was beyond heartbreak. It was something she was too old to feel. But she felt the crushing pain of it. She needed to get away. I’m not breaking down in front of him, she told herself.
“I don’t know how to convince you.” He reached for her hand and clasped it. “Please, I don’t want to return without you.”
Mildred wanted to believe him, but she couldn’t. “I’ll need time.”
“I can’t wait any longer. My business is nearly in ruins now.”
“Then go ahead. And we’ll correspond. I promise to give your proposal serious consideration.”
Thomas gazed at her for a long moment. Then finally he said, “This is not what I wanted.” He lifted Mildred’s hand and gently pressed his lips against the back of it. “I won’t forget you.”
Daniel stood silently watching Jessop haul up an auger. The thickset man knelt and emptied dirt from the drill. Crumbling the soil through his fingers, he studied it and then chucked it aside. With a glance at Daniel, he sent the auger back into the earth.
Fear of what could be had held Daniel in a suffocating grip for days. Jessop had drilled thirty feet and still not located water. Studying the staid bushie, Daniel wondered if he’d made the right choice in hiring the man. He’s found water for others in the district, he reasoned. Supposed to know all there is to know about well drilling.
Since going to work for Daniel, Jessop had come up with nothing more than dry holes and rock. And it didn’t appear the outcome would be any different this time.
Maybe there isn’t any water. Daniel blew out a dry breath. Just the thought was too fearsome to contemplate. He stepped closer, leaning on the rigging. “You have any idea when we’ll hit water?”
“Ya can’t know ’bout a thing like that, not for sure.” Jessop picked up a bottle, uncorked it, and took a long drink. After wiping sunburned lips with the back of his hand, he replaced the stopper and set down the jug. Pulling a filthy rag from his back pocket, he sopped
sweat from his deeply lined face, then stuffed the foul cloth back into his pocket. “I’ve dug through some shale; that’s a good sign. And we’ve ’ad a run of luck . . . not hittin’ rock.” He stared at the borehole. “If we don’t hit rock, the water shouldn’t be too deep. I figure a few more days.”
Daniel remembered hearing similar words when the first well had been dug. But they had hit rock. After days of pounding their way through it, the water below had been foul and unusable. “Couple of days, eh?”
“Yep.” Jessop returned to his job. Leaning against the drilling works, he seemed unaware of Daniel.
“I’ll be back later, then.”
Jessop didn’t look up.
Daniel climbed onto his horse. He watched the drill shaft sink a few inches, and then he turned and rode across the dry grasslands. We have to find water. We’ve lost too many cattle already. And too many calves. Grazing was so poor that the cows’ milk production had been down; without enough milk, calves didn’t do well.
Daniel hadn’t ridden far when he saw what had become a familiar sight—circling buzzards. He stared at the scavengers and then scanned the dry landscape. A cow lay on her side. He didn’t want to look at the animal. Not today. He’d had enough. But with a light tap to his horse’s flanks, he moved closer. There was a calf too. It was dead. The cow let out a weak bawl and blew air from her nostrils. She didn’t rise.
Daniel dismounted and walked to the suffering bovine. Her nose was dry and cracked, but her eyes were focused and alert. “You may have a chance after all.” He patted her neck and then stepped back a pace to get a better look at her. She was thin but not wasted. Two buzzards landed on the calf and greedily tried to strip away a piece of hide. “Hah!” Daniel yelled, running at them. Their heavy wings lifted them into the sky, where they joined the circling mob.
