Frontier Wife

by Margaret Tanner

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Lindsay.”

  “And I’m pleased to meet you. Call me Tommy, and may I call you Mary?” Tommy smiled, causing the young woman to relax. They headed toward the homestead to get out of the blazing sun.

  “I'm David Lindsay.” David limped onto the verandah to stand next to Tommy, sweeping his hat off as he did so. His blond hair, ruffled and darkened with perspiration, made him look younger than his twenty-three years. They all had the same thick, straight, corn-colored hair. David and Jamie wore theirs collar length, whereas hers touched her waist when released from its chignon.

  Tommy followed Mary inside the homestead. Calico lined the ceilings and newspapers covered the walls. She’d never seen such a thing before. The floor appeared to be made from wooden, butt-jointed boards. The parlor contained a round table covered by a white cloth. The chairs were of dark oak, upholstered in faded brocade.

  She took off her bonnet and appraised everything carefully. Solid and dull, just how she imagined a staid, old man like Uncle Henry would live. It wouldn’t take much to turn this place into a pleasant welcoming home. Her heart gave an excited little skip because she virtually had a blank canvas to work from.

  “The bedrooms are through here.” Mary took her into a short passageway.

  “You have two bedrooms. I thought this could be yours.” She opened the door, stepping back a few paces so Tommy could squeeze past.

  The room contained an iron and brass bedstead covered with a patchwork quilt. A washbasin and jug rested on a chest of drawers.

  New curtains for the windows, one or two of the watercolors she had brought out from England, perhaps a mat or two. It wouldn’t be hard to pretty up this room. Things were starting to fall into place nicely. Only one cloud appeared on their horizon—Adam Munro.

  “What's Adam Munro like? Your husband told us Uncle Henry had a lot of trouble with him.”

  “Well, he's arrogant and has little to do with us. Jim gives him a hand at branding time, or whenever he needs extra help. Your uncle waged a constant war against him. They loathed each other.” Her brown eyes sparkled with good humor and Tommy instinctively knew they would be friends.

  The kitchen, situated at the back of the homestead, had once been separate, but a closed in verandah now made it part of the main building. Everything appeared clean and tidy. The kettles and saucepans gleamed from much polishing. A colonial pine dresser, chairs and table were scoured white, and Tommy felt pleased with everything.

  A whitewashed stone chimney took up almost the whole of one wall. Prime joints of dried beef, filches of bacon, pumpkins, melons and an assortment of other foodstuffs hung from the sturdy roof beams. Carved wooden canisters stood on the dresser. The one valuable item Uncle Henry must have brought out from England was an engraved silver candle holder with a matching snuffer.

  “Something smells good,” Jim remarked as he and David entered the kitchen.

  “Where's Jamie?”

  “Don't fret, sis, he's making friends with the dog out back.”

  “I thought he was hungry.” She smiled, feeling relieved now their journey had ended.

  “That boy is always hungry.” David grinned. Thank goodness he seemed less drawn and anxious now.

  “These people must be choking for some tea,” Jim said, turning to Mary.

  “Won't be long, I'm getting ready to pour now. Tommy and I have been getting acquainted.”

  Mary set out baked scones, which she spread with jam and cream.

  “I used to make all the jams and preserves for your uncle when I made my own,” she explained. “I did the cooking, he supplied the sugar and we pooled our fruit.”

  Jamie rushed in when they called him, grabbed a scone in either hand and with a grin, dashed back outside to be with the dog.

  “Seems like young Jamie has found a friend,” Jim said to Tommy.

  “Jamie adores animals. I think the hardest thing for him when we left England was leaving his pets behind. We had two beautiful English sheep dogs.”

  Mary topped up their cups with fresh tea. “Touser out there has no pedigree. He's a mixture of several breeds.”

  After an hour or so, Jim decided to leave. Both he and Mary brushed aside David's thanks, refusing to stay for the evening meal. Tommy and David waved the couple off from the verandah, promising to pay them a visit once they settled in.

  “What nice people, no wonder Uncle Henry liked them so much.” Tommy buried her face in the sweet smelling roses entwined around the verandah post.

  David limped up behind her and rested his chin on her head.

  “We're lucky to have them as friends. Jim says Munro will try to make things so bad for us we'll sell out. He flew into a rage when you refused his offer to buy the place; stormed off to Melbourne to confront the lawyers.”

  “I hate that man.” Tommy stamped her foot. “Land hungry old despot.”

  “Land hungry old des, des.” Jamie trotted up to them. “Who's that, Tommy?”

  “Adam Munro.”

  “What's a des?”

  “A despot.”

  “Tommy!” David reprimanded.

  “Despot, Jamie. It means Adam Munro is a mean old man.”

  “If you hate him, I do too.” He rubbed his cheek against her skirt.

  David muttered something uncomplimentary when she made no effort to retract her angry words.

  Feeling something warm and wet against her hand, she glanced down and saw a large black dog. “Good dog.” She patted his head. Hard to decide what breed he belonged to, but he looked at Jamie with such devotion she felt moved.

  “He's called Touser, Mr. Cavendish said.”

  “How are you, Touser?” He licked her hand in a great display of affection.

  “I like it here. Warrior likes his stable, too. There are chickens, ducks and everything.” Jamie jigged up and down.

  “I wondered where you put Warrior,” Tommy remarked as they re-entered the homestead. Red and pink still streaked the sky, although the mountains had now darkened to purple. Night fell quickly in the Australian bush.

  After Jamie went to bed, they sat in the parlor with a cup of tea, discussing their impressions of the farm so far.

  “I'm going to enjoy living here. The only sour note is that Munro creature. It makes my blood boil just thinking how any man could be so land hungry. Forty thousand acres yet he wants our land as well. It's disgraceful.”

  “They need more land out here,” David mused. “It's a big country, probably imagines himself lord of the manor. I only hope we can manage. If my wretched leg would only mend, and I could throw off this fever, we could do quite well here, as it is…” The bleakness returned to his eyes.

  She covered his hand with her own. “You will get strong, it just takes time. You know something? I think Lord Chelmsford sent you back to England so you could die there.”

  “I know.” His hands balled into fists. “Maybe I should have died with the rest of the regiment.”

  “Don't say that.” Tears pricked her eyes.

  “What use am I, a fever-racked cripple?”

  “Cheer up, you’ll get better. Why don’t we advertise in the papers about Warrior? You could ask a good service fee for him.”

  “Good idea. What would I do without you? I just hope you don't meet some wealthy land owner, no, squatter's the word, and get married.”

  “Maybe you could put a notice in some of the store windows, or spread it by word of mouth about Warrior.” With a toss of her head she ignored his comments on marriage.

  If and when she did marry, it would only be for love, and the man would have to be fond of Jamie, as well. In this rough frontier land would she be able to find a man prepared to take on a wife with a child dependent on her?

  Chapter Two

  Adam Munro scowled as he rode along. What an absolute waste of bloody time going down to see those lawyers in Melbourne. Henry Lindsay's stubbornness had been a thorn in his side for years. He wanted to b
uy the property back when the old man died. No one could call that unreasonable. I’d have offered them a fair price, damn it. To find out the relatives in England not only refused to sell, but wanted to settle here and start up a horse stud enraged him.

  He cursed under his breath at the sheer insolence of those Lindsays. Imagine having the gall to take out an advertisement in the local paper and stick up notices in the general store? His lips curled contemptuously. He had ripped down every notice he saw. Warrior. What kind of name was that for a stallion? Probably some broken down old hack.

  They would get no credit anywhere, he made sure of that. How dare they hog water he desperately needed for his stock to survive a prolonged drought. He would do everything necessary to scare off those wretched interlopers.

  I’m not prepared to stand by and let any animal suffer while Henry Lindsay’s relatives play at being farmers. If they get in my way I'll trample them into the dust. His hands clenched on the reins.

  Soon he would be home. He hated the hustle and bustle of the city. A week down there proved more than enough for him. Of course, he combined business with pleasure. Just thinking about the women whose company he had enjoyed caused him to grin. Good to be coming home, though. If only he could get rid of those wretched Lindsays, it would enable him to focus all his attention on the other problem plaguing him.

  He needed a wife capable of bearing him two or three healthy sons. At thirty-five he did not want to leave it much longer. Unfortunately, he didn’t have many choices.

  Fiona McKenzie was an only child whose father's property connected with his on one boundary. Old Dan wanted a match. With both properties joined together they would have more than sixty thousand acres. Could a timid, mousy little thing like her give him the strong healthy sons he craved? Hadn't he heard somewhere she suffered from a chest weakness? A pity, with all those acres involved, but a delicate wife would never do.

  The only other candidate was Sophia Bothroyd. A bit on the petulant side, but attractive enough to appeal to his manhood. She looked strong and healthy, and with young Bothroyd dead, was sole heir to her father's property. Twenty thousand acres only a few miles away proved a tempting proposition. Yes, he would start courting her in earnest now. Sophia would make him a suitable wife.

  “What the…” His horse reared as a black dog bounded out of the bush. With a muffled curse he steadied the horse. Old man Lindsay's mongrel, bloody menace, someone should have put a bullet in him years ago.

  “Touser, Touser. Wait for me, Touser.” A small boy hurtled out of the bush and skidded to a halt in front of the horse. He wrapped his arms around the dog's neck and received a lick from the animal's pink tongue.

  “Did my dog frighten you, mister? He doesn't bite unless he doesn't like you, then he might tear you to bits.”

  Adam grinned. The child spoke with an English accent. His skin was fair, his sky blue eyes alive with excitement, and his hair gleamed like ripe wheat in the sun.

  “What's your name, boy?” He did not bother dismounting, although he kept the horse steady.

  “Jamie. I'm setting a trap for Adam Munro. Touser’s going to help me attack him.”

  “You want to attack Adam Munro? Why?” What the hell was going on here? He gave a snort of annoyance.

  “I hate him. Tommy says he's a land hungry old des, des, something.”

  “Despot.” Fury raged through him like a rampaging bull. “So, Tommy thinks Adam Munro is a land hungry old despot?”

  He drew in a couple of deep breaths to get his temper under control. “You live with Tommy, do you?”

  “Yes.” Wide innocent eyes stared up at him. “With David, too.”

  “And your parents?” This could be a chance to glean some useful information.

  “My mother and father are dead, there's just Tommy and David.” His small brow puckered, his lips pursing in concentration. “Tommy looks after me most. I like David, he used to be a soldier before his leg got hurt, but I love Tommy better than anyone. Tommy can do anything.”

  For some inexplicable reason, Adam detested Tommy.

  “Tommy said we could get rich here. Warrior is going to make us a lot of money, so we can buy our own mares.”

  Adam almost laughed out loud. Tommy's plans were unraveling faster than a speeding bullet. No man would dare have his mares served by the Lindsay stallion now.

  “Can you make bread and cake, mister?”

  What an odd question for a youngster to ask. “No.”

  “Tommy makes the best cakes in the whole world.” He spread his arms out to emphasize the point, causing the dog to jump up and send him sprawling in the dirt. Adam watched as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself down.

  “Where's your hat, boy?” The ferocious Australian sun would soon fry his soft English complexion.

  “I lost it somewhere.” He frowned. “Can you help me find it? Tommy will get mad if I go home without it.”

  Adam scowled. This Tommy character would probably take his belt to the child, sounded just the type. He tethered his horse to a bush before following the boy who raced on ahead. Feeling somewhat ridiculous, he picked his way through the scrub following a track of sorts. It took them twenty minutes or more to retrieve the hat from where it hung on a bush then return to the horse.

  “I'm thirsty.” The boy flopped down on a log. The dog also lay down with his pink tongue lolling.

  Adam went over to his horse, unhitched his canteen and brought it over. The child appeared distressed, his face red and damp with perspiration.

  “You shouldn't run around in the sun until you get used to the climate.” Uncapping the lid, he held the canteen for the child who drank greedily.

  “What about Touser? He's thirsty too.”

  Wondering why he bothered, he leaned down and filled his cupped hand with water. The dog lapped it up and he refilled his hand several times before the animal quenched his thirst. Finally, he put the canteen to his own lips.

  “Well, I better be off.” He straightened up, frowning as the boy sat there with his head drooping. The child looked exhausted. What kind of people were these Lindsays, allowing a youngster to roam around on his own in a strange country?

  “Would you like me to take you home?” What a damn nuisance. He wanted to be on his way, but couldn’t leave a small child to walk a mile or more on his own in this heat.

  Jamie struggled to his feet and stood, looking hesitant.

  “Come on.” He lifted the boy into the saddle, swung up behind him, and they set off. The child slumped against his chest, and as Adam glanced down at the golden head, he felt a strange softening towards the little fellow. Emotion welled up in his chest and a longing, so great it almost overwhelmed him, caused his eyes to moisten. He had been about the same age as this boy when his mother died.

  He could still remember her softness, her tenderness. The lullabies she sung to him each night. She always sprinkled lavender water on her handkerchief. For months after she died he had hidden a handkerchief under his pillow when he went to sleep each night, so he might smell the perfume and feel her presence.

  Hell, stop acting like a maudlin idiot. Glancing over one shoulder he saw the faithful Touser trotting along after them.

  “I like you.” A grubby little hand patted his arm. “You can be my friend. Tommy says everyone needs friends.”

  Tommy again. He bit back an oath, turning his thoughts instead to meeting him. What a pleasure it would be to ram his fist right down Tommy Lindsay's throat. It would take little provocation for him to do so.

  “You can have some tea at our place.”

  “I don't think Tommy would serve me anything.” Except rat poison.

  “Tommy will cook you something if I ask. You're my friend. In England Tommy had lots of friends.”

  “I'm Adam Munro.”

  The child jerked upright. “Tommy said…”

  “You've already told me what Tommy thinks of me.” Damn Tommy, he could become fond of this little fellow, giv
en half a chance.

  Jamie’s body stiffened momentarily, before relaxing again. He patted Adam’s hand. “I still like you. You aren’t bad, are you?”

  “No, I’m not bad.”

  Adam saw smoke curling from the chimney first. As they broke out of the trees, the homestead came into view, nestled against heavily timbered mountains. For a moment he debated about setting the boy down here, but when a figure appeared on the verandah, curiosity got the better of him. When they got closer, he realized the slim young man was as fair as Jamie.

  “David, David,” Jamie yelled. “Come on, Mr. Munro, hurry up.”

  Adam dismounted to lift the boy down. He got a surprise when the child grabbed his hand to urge him forward.

  David Lindsay nodded and Adam did likewise. “Where have you been, Jamie?”

  “I went for a walk with Touser.” The dog announced his presence with a couple of joyous barks.

  “Thank you for bringing him home, I'm David Lindsay.”

  The young man spoke with an upper class English accent. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as Jamie, but his face looked white and sick. He dragged his leg when he walked. Adam could not explain it even to himself, but he felt a sudden distaste for his actions in town just a short time ago. They were nothing short of disgraceful, but he had starving stock to consider.

  “I'm Adam Munro.”

  David Lindsay went rigid with shock. “You're Adam Munro? We assumed you were, er, older.”

  “Land hungry old despot, were Tommy's words I believe.” He watched with satisfaction as an embarrassed red flush stained the young Englishman's cheeks, then receded, leaving him deathly pale.

  “Would you care to come inside? The least we can do is offer you a drink.”

  Adam hesitated, but with Jamie tugging at his hand convinced himself it was easier to accept. Once inside the parlor he glanced around with interest. He had only been inside the homestead on a couple of occasions. Originally it had just been a bark hut, built by his father and grandfather when they first settled the area. With the mere stroke of a pen some corrupt government official handed this prime land over to old man Lindsay. No compensation for all the blood, sweat and tears the Munro’s expended on the place. His grandfather and two uncles died trying to tame what had once been a savage wilderness. The injustice of it all left a bitter taste in his mouth.