Chapter Eleven
With each passing day as they drew closer to their destination, Colin’s anticipation grew. Robbie had regaled him with tales of Matthew Barnes’s large home, and Colin hoped Stephen Grant had commissioned a house and outbuildings that would offer a degree of comfort.
It had been many months since he’d slept in a bed, and although he’d grown accustomed to the hard ground and long hours in the saddle, the thought of laying his head on a pillow once more was quite appealing.
One night after stopping the herd, Robbie took his rifle and rode off in search of food. Although Colin eagerly ate whatever Robbie managed to catch, he didn’t think he could bear the thought of seeing the animal take its last breath. Instead he rooted about in some shrubs and small trees looking for fruit. One shrub bloomed with white flowers, and Colin bent to get a closer look.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for food?”
Colin jumped at the sound of Patrick’s voice. “Don’t sneak up on people, Patrick Callahan.”
“I thought you liked it when I get up close behind you.” Patrick’s words were heavy with innuendo.
Colin had to laugh. “Shhh. She’ll hear.”
“She’s off in her own world.” Patrick gazed down at the flowering shrub, which sprouted long stems with clusters of white flowers all along them. He reached down to touch one and yanked his hand back with a curse. “Damn it!” He waved his hand around in agitation.
“Thorns?”
Patrick didn’t answer and swore under his breath, turning away.
“Stop. Let me see.” Colin took hold of Patrick’s arm and turned him around. With a sigh, Patrick held out his hand. An improbably large, hooked spike from the clever plant had deeply imbedded itself in the flesh at the base of Patrick’s pointer finger. Colin leaned in and prodded gently.
“Just pull it out. It’s nothing.”
Colin quirked an eyebrow upward. “You’re awfully agitated over nothing.”
“I’m not agitated.” Patrick tried to free his arm, but Colin held fast.
“Come. Sit.” Colin knelt on the ground and tugged Patrick down beside him. He examined the troublesome spike and pinched it lightly. “Have to go slowly, or it’ll break off and, with your luck, become infected.”
“Bloody stupid flowers,” Patrick grumbled. “Everything in this backward country is dangerous.”
“Mmm hmm.” Colin let him whine as he worked. “Did your grandfather make that ring himself?”
Patrick gazed at the darkened metal on his finger. “Aye. It’s worthless, but…it’s a piece of home.”
Slowly but surely, Colin eased the spike out of Patrick’s finger. Colin pressed against the small wound to stop the bleeding. “There you go.”
It seemed Patrick couldn’t resist a smile. “Aren’t you going to kiss it better?”
“Many apologies. Of course.” Colin lifted Patrick’s palm and pressed his lips to it soothingly.
The brush crackled nearby, and they turned to find Emily standing a few yards away. Since the day she’d lunched with Matthew Barnes, she’d taken to wearing men’s clothing every day. Her shirt was untucked and hung almost to her knees. She shook her head as she backed up. “I…I thought I’d help with the fruit.” She turned and made her escape back to camp.
Colin still held Patrick’s hand. They shared a resigned glance and parted. As they walked the short distance back to camp, several gunshots sounded in the distance. Robbie rarely missed, and it meant he would likely be returning shortly.
At camp, Emily was nowhere to be seen. Patrick pointed to the wagon, which had the back cover drawn. Robbie rode up a few minutes later, a wallaby slung over the back of his horse. He immediately sensed the tension. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.” Colin shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant.
Robbie peered between Colin and Patrick, who said nothing. Then he looked at the wagon. “Is she all right?”
Colin answered. “Yes. She’s fine. Just resting, I suppose.”
After a few moments, Robbie went about skinning the dead wallaby, a process that Colin could never bear to watch. Instead he worked on the fire, building it up. Robbie had taught him his fire-making techniques, and although Colin hadn’t yet been able to start his own campfire, he had become adept at maintaining a fire once it was going.
As the meat cooked over the fire, Emily emerged. She said nothing to Colin or Patrick and took her spot by the fire. They ate in a silence punctuated by Robbie’s occasional hunting stories. Colin, for one, was happy to let him chatter.
That night, Robbie was on watch, and Colin and Patrick set out their bedrolls near the fire, but more than a respectable distance from each other. On some nights when both in camp, they’d come together furtively, aware that Emily slept nearby in the wagon. But on this night, neither approached the other, and Colin let the toll of the day’s exertion overtake him into slumber.
When he woke the next morning, Robbie and Patrick weren’t in the camp. Emily was perched nearby on a low rock, rolling up the long sleeves of her husband’s shirt. Colin sat and took a swig of water from his canteen. He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Mrs. Grant.”
“Good morning, Colin.” She continued rolling up her left sleeve.
After a deep breath, Colin decided he should apologize. “I’m sorry for yesterday.”
Emily finished with her shirt and gazed at him. “What do you have to be sorry for?”
Colin paused, unsure of the response she wanted. “Patrick and I…”
“You care for each other.”
“Yes. I care for him very much.” It was strange to say the words aloud. Colin wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming.
“I never considered it, you know.”
Colin wasn’t sure what she meant. “I’m sorry?”
“Of course I knew you were both sodomites. That’s why you’re here, after all. But you weren’t what I expected. Certainly not you, especially. So well-bred. I imagine we might have met at a garden party if we’d been neighbors in England.”
“Yes. I can imagine it easily.”
“Instead here we are. Quite unlikely, but I suppose that’s the way life unfolds sometimes, isn’t it?”
Colin’s life had certainly not gone to plan. “Yes.”
“I’d always had the impression that men of your sort were base and immoral. Debauched. Animalistic.”
Colin had no response. He waited for her to go on.
Surprisingly, Emily laughed quietly. “I’d actually forgotten for the most part. That you and Patrick are”—she was silent a moment—“different. Most days I’m so lost in my own world it’s a feat that I notice anyone. But when I saw you yesterday…”
His stomach churned. “You remembered what godless creatures we are?”
Emily blinked in surprise. “No. I realized that you’re quite the opposite. I’d never considered that two men could share genuine affection. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for a great many things.”
“I… You needn’t be, Mrs. Grant.” Colin had no idea what else to say.
“Call me Emily.”
Colin smiled, pleased. “All right. Emily.”
Hooves sounded, and Robbie and Patrick returned from whatever errand they’d been on. Emily watched them approach. “He is quite handsome, isn’t he?”
“Yes. That he is.” Colin smiled and got to his feet. “They both are,” he added.
Emily looked startled. “Yes, I suppose.” She stood and hurried to the wagon to ready the horses.
Patrick dismounted and gave Colin a questioning look. Colin spoke quietly. “Not to worry.”
“Is she going to report us? Not that she saw anything that would hold up in evidence, but I doubt you need much out here.” His expression was grim.
“No, no. She won’t. She…understands.”
Patrick snorted. “Understands? I doubt it. We’ll see once they check up on us. Not that I can imagine the government coming all this way too often.”
“I suppose they must.”
“Hmm. Sometimes I wonder.”
“It’s all right, Patrick. We can trust Emily.”
“‘Emily,’ is it now?” Patrick shook his head. “The only person I can trust is myself.”
“What about me?” Colin straightened his spine as anger flared.
Robbie neared, and Colin turned and stalked over to Mission, irritated. Patrick had revealed so much more of himself over the months, but at the first sign of trouble, he seemed to shut down and erect his walls higher than ever.
They headed out, Colin’s anger simmering as the morning wore on. The sun was a constant torment overhead, and he shifted restlessly in the saddle. Finally, when he felt he might scream with frustration, he rode over to Patrick. Robbie was up ahead, directing Emily, well out of earshot.
“I said, what about me?”
Patrick spared him a glance. “For God’s sake. Let it rest.”
“No. I won’t. You don’t trust me? After everything we’ve been through?”
Patrick’s jaw set. “Don’t make more of it than it is.” He spurred his horse and cantered ahead.
Determined, Colin followed and reached over to yank Patrick’s horse to a halt. “What is this between us?”
Patrick wrenched his reins back from Colin, and his horse shuffled in place. “A pleasant distraction.”
Colin felt as if his heart was being squeezed painfully in his chest. “That’s what I am to you. A distraction.”
“We’re trapped out here together. Might as well make the best of it.”
“So you’re just…fucking me to pass the time? Because I’m the only one out here who’ll have you?”
Patrick exhaled sharply. “What do you want me to say? We enjoy each other. Slake our needs together. There’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s nothing more.”
“I could be anyone to you, couldn’t I? If Robbie was of a mind, you’d have him too.” Colin shook his head, angry at himself for his delusions that Patrick had grown to care for him.
“You’re damn right I would. You would too, if you had half a brain. You’ve got to forget these notions of…romance.” He fairly spit the word out.
“Consider them forgotten. At least where you’re concerned.” Colin dug his heels into Mission’s flanks and sped off to catch the herd, leaving Patrick in the dust.
The days ticked by, a stony silence taking hold between Colin and Patrick. They spoke only when necessary and avoided each other when they could. When Colin and Robbie were alone one night after Patrick took watch, Robbie asked what had happened. Colin tried his best to shrug it off, and his expression must have been miserable enough that Robbie didn’t press.
Part of Colin wanted to vent his frustration to Robbie, who was quite a good listener along with being an enthusiastic talker. Yet he was too embarrassed. He’d thought there was a deeper connection between Patrick and him, but it had simply existed in his imagination. Another fantasy that had carried him away, just like the books he’d once devoured.
As if in direct contrast to the chill between Colin and Patrick, the summer was upon them in all its brutality. The sweat stains on their clothing had become tinged with white, a sign of the salt being wrung from their bodies, according to Robbie. Colin became accustomed to waving one hand in front of his face whenever he was still to combat the flies that dived for his eyes, nose, and mouth, seeking moisture. The only relief came at nightfall, when the flies vanished as if into thin air and the heat abated.
The land was drier, and they had to ration their water supply. They ate the limes straight off the trees to quench their thirst and had to rest the cattle at the height of the day. As Robbie put it, there was no sense in getting to the station faster with half-dead cattle in tow.
Whereas Colin had once eagerly anticipated the nights for the chance to be alone with Patrick, now he craved the sunset solely for a respite from the sun and to sleep as much as possible. The nights on watch were the worst, since he had endless hours to muse over Patrick’s lack of feeling for him. He wondered if Patrick missed him at all, but doubted he missed him more than Patrick would any other warm, willing body.
One stifling afternoon, Robbie whistled for Colin and Patrick from up ahead. Emily halted the wagon and gave Robbie a sour look as he hopped off his horse. “What is it, Robert?” Impatience and exhaustion warred in her curt tone. She swiped the sleeve of her husband’s shirt across her face.
Robbie didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on something on the ground before he looked off into the distance, first left, then right. You could see for miles in all directions, the land undulating with gentle swells punctuated by stark trees and rocky outcroppings.
He pointed to a shrub, and Colin wondered what he was going on about when he noticed the tattered piece of red material hanging limply from a wooden stake. “It’s your land, ma’am.”
A smile dawning on her drawn face, Emily jumped to her feet. There she wavered for a moment before tumbling off the wagon and onto the dusty earth. Robbie was at her side before Colin and Patrick could even dismount.
On his knees, Robbie tossed Emily’s hat aside and leaned over her anxiously. He patted her cheek. “Ma’am, wake up. Open your eyes.”
Colin watched helplessly. Finally Emily’s eyelids fluttered, and she groaned and moved her head. Robbie sat back on his heels, exhaling in clear relief. “You stood up too quickly. It’s the heat, ma’am.”
Emily blinked and focused on Robbie. “Stop calling me that.”
Robbie raised his eyebrows for a moment before smiling. “Only if you stop calling me by my proper name. No one’s called me that…well, ever, really.”
“All right. Robbie.”
Patrick passed Robbie a canteen, and Robbie gently arched his arm around Emily’s back to help her sit up and sip slowly. She wiped her mouth. “My apologies, gentlemen. I just felt rather faint all of a sudden.”
Colin lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I think we’re all likely to swoon at sometime or other in this ridiculous heat.”
Emily slowly found her footing, Robbie hovering close. She swatted the dirt from her trousers futilely. “We’ll all need new clothing soon. Don’t suppose there’s a store nearby?”
“Not too far, ma—” Robbie remembered himself. “Emily.”
“Only two hundred miles or so?” she asked teasingly.
“About three, actually. Due east. Town called Drayton. We can go stock up once the herd’s settled on your station.”
“How far to the homestead?” Patrick asked. “If this is her land we’re standing on, we must be close.”
“Not sure exactly. Only another day or two on the move, I reckon.”
At this very welcome news, they all shared a smile. Colin met Patrick’s gaze and for a lovely instant forgot his anger. But the moment soon passed, and Colin turned away, putting his attention back on the job at hand.
The very next morning, it was Colin’s turn to end up flat on his back on the unforgiving ground.
Mission pranced around some cattle as Colin cracked his whip in the air, trying to drive the stubborn beasts out from under a large tree, the shade from its snarled branches offering the only haven from the sun.
Without warning, Mission reared up, whinnying loudly in distress. Clearly spooked by something, the horse bolted, and Colin slid half out of the saddle, unbalanced and taken utterly off guard. Panic shot through him, and he yanked on Mission’s reins, shouting a command to stop. The horse skidded and reared up again onto its back legs.
Although he clung to the animal with all his might, Colin was no match for gravity and momentum. He crashed to the ground, the air whooshing from his lungs. For a few moments, he felt paralyzed and stared at the clear, bright sky overhead as he willed his lungs to function.
The ground shook with a deafening thunder, and Colin feared he would be trampled by whatever approached. He ordered his limbs to move, yet they refused to comply. Fortunately, the noise stopped, and no hooves struck him. Patrick’s face appeared overhead.
“Colin!” Patrick’s expression was troubled.
Colin’s response was a strangled attempt at speech.
With gentle hands, Patrick prodded Colin’s arms and legs. “Is anything broken? Are you hurt?”
With what felt like a gargantuan effort, Colin was finally able to take a deep breath. Pain slashed across his back, but at least the paralysis was fading, replaced by soreness and embarrassment that he’d been unable to control his own horse. Although it made his skull ache, Colin moved his head in a tiny nod. “It’s fine.”
Patrick still poked and tested parts of Colin’s body, one after the other. “Sure?”
The ground shook again, and soon Robbie leaned over Colin from the other side. “All right, mate?”
The shock worn off somewhat, Colin sat up gingerly. “Yes. Thank you.”
Patrick stood and suddenly seemed unaccountably angry. “Be more careful.” He stomped off to retrieve his horse, which had wandered to graze.
“Thanks for the concern,” Colin muttered.
Robbie smirked. “You bet he was concerned.” At Colin’s doubtful expression, he added, “Couldn’t get over here fast enough, could he? Like I said before. Mad about you. Just being bloody-minded is all.” He winked and helped Colin to his feet.
Although he knew he should tamp it down, Colin couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope.
Any illusions Colin had harbored for a hint of the comforts of home once they reached the station were dashed as the homestead and outbuildings came into sight late that afternoon. A small, one-story wooden cabin sat atop a slight hill. Off to the side were several other buildings that could generously be called shacks. A rudimentary water tower stood sentry.
Emily rode ahead in the wagon, so Colin couldn’t gauge her reaction, but he imagined she was as disappointed as he. As they approached, an aboriginal man and woman emerged from one of the smaller structures. The man was garbed in plain clothing, not unlike what Colin wore. The woman’s dress was a simple red garment, and they were both barefoot.
By the time Colin, Patrick, and Robbie had settled the herd on a grassy area near a band of trees, Emily had already been speaking to the couple. She introduced them politely, although Colin could see the strain in her expression. This had not been what she expected. “Cobar and Tallara have been waiting for us.”
Robbie extended his hand to Cobar first. Cobar peered at it with a blank expression before meeting it tentatively with his own hand. Patrick and Colin extended their hands in turn. Cobar was a small man, probably forty years old. Tallara was the same age, short and plump and with a wide face. She smiled, her eyes crinkling.
Patrick spoke up. “Is this all there is?”
Emily answered, her tone resigned. “Apparently so. My husband made all the arrangements through a man in Sydney. Stephen assured me I’d have all the comforts of home.” She shrugged. “It would seem not.”
Tallara spoke to Cobar in their own language. Cobar was apparently the only one of the two who spoke English. “Hungry?” he asked.
Colin’s stomach growled at the thought, and Emily answered gratefully. “That would be wonderful. Thank you. It’s been a long journey.” She turned to address Colin, Patrick, and Robbie. “The main cabin is mine, obviously. Cobar and Tallara live in that building there. The last one is for you men. The smallest is storage, I’m told.”
After collecting his meager belongings from the wagon, Colin headed over to their new quarters. The wooden door creaked inward to reveal a small cabin with bunks built into the walls on the left and right. For a moment, Colin had an unpleasant memory of the Lady Harewood and being kept like animals with the other men.
The cabin slept eight, four bunks on each side with a top and bottom. He dropped his sack on one of the lower beds, pleased at least to see there was a thin mattress and pillow. That alone would be a bit of luxury.
Now that they’d finally arrived, it was all rather disappointing, he found. Robbie and Patrick arrived and chose their beds, Patrick taking the lower bunk diagonal to Colin’s on the other side of the undersized room. Robbie flung his pack on the upper bunk beside Colin. “Lavatory’s out the back. Careful not to go in your bare feet. There might be scorpions out here.”
Patrick seemed weary. “Along with the snakes and spiders.”
“Yep.” Robbie’s usual good nature wasn’t diminished in the slightest by the fact that the station was little more than a collection of hastily constructed wooden shacks.
“I suppose we shouldn’t complain. Given that we’re prisoners.” Colin laid back and tested the mattress. It would be nice not to sleep on the ground, but he couldn’t help but think of his room back home in England. It seemed a lifetime ago. Thoughts of Will and Rebecca crept in, unbidden. He wondered if he’d ever be able to mail the letters he’d written them.
They gathered in the main cabin for dinner, served up by Tallara. There was no table or chairs, so they sat on the dusty floor in a circle. Tallara placed the food in the middle on large leaves. Along with fruit, nuts, and meat that Colin thought was kangaroo, there were thick, tubular vegetables a few inches long. It seemed they were to eat with their hands, which Colin had become somewhat accustomed to, although they’d had wooden spoons on the trail for their stew.
He picked up one of the vegetables, which was a white color and seemed to be covered in a kind of ash from the cooking. He bit through the crispy outside, surprised to find the inside quite mushy. It was a light yellow and tasted a tad like almonds.
“How do you like it?” Robbie had an amused gleam in his eye.
Colin took another bite. “Tasty.” He suddenly had a sinking feeling as he realized Robbie knew something he didn’t. He swallowed thickly. “What is it?”
“Wichetty grub.” Robbie pinched one between his fingers and took a hearty bite.
After taking a large gulp of water, Colin forced a smile on his face and picked up another grub. “Delicious!”
Tallara urged Colin to eat more. Patrick and Emily chuckled, and Cobar continued eating, paying them little attention for the most part. Emily gulped down a grub, as did Patrick. Robbie raised his canteen. “Now you’re all real Australians!”
Laughing, Colin took another grub. Despite everything, he liked the sound of that.