It was hot. So hot, I could feel sweat trickling down my back.

I looked at the kids. Their eyes were shining; it wasn’t every day I suggested an impromptu picnic lunch on the property. They were excited, running ahead.

I glanced at Bianca, trying to be cool about it. But it took all my effort not to stare; I felt like my tongue was in danger of falling out of my mouth. Panting after her, like a dog. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking of our night time tryst down by the fence. If it hadn’t been for Robbo’s interruption, where would it have ended? I felt my cock stiffening at the thought.

The invitation was impulsive. I just wanted to spend some time with her, be next to her. And I guess I was pretty chuffed she was interested in the station’s history; I was so proud of it. But now, I didn’t know if it had been a great idea. I was finding it very hard to keep my hands to myself. She was so effortlessly sexy.

“How much longer, Daddy?” Harper was starting to lag. The remains of the old house weren’t far away, but sometimes I forgot that the kids couldn’t walk as far. I turned to her.

“How about I give you a piggy back?” I said. “Bianca can take the picnic basket, if she doesn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Bianca said, reaching for the basket. Our hands touched as I passed it to her. An electric current seemed to course between us.

She pulled back, yanking the basket. She wouldn’t look at me. I frowned, flexing the hand she had touched as if it had been burnt. Then I hoisted Harper onto my back.

“There!” Max was running ahead, pointing. “I can see it!”

And indeed, there it was. We could all see the top of a chimney, pointing up into air. I set out into a run, bouncing Harper on my back. She loved it, laughing gleefully.

We walked the last couple of steps, each of us gazing at the ruins.

It had been a grand house, in its time. Not as big as the current one, but still impressive. The ruins spread out over a good half acre. Two old chimneys survived at either side of the house, almost like sentinels standing watch. We were all silent as we walked amongst it.

“Daddy.” Poppy looked up at me with her big eyes. “What happened?”

Bianca looked at me, too, waiting for the answer. I could tell she was very curious. So were the others. We all gazed around the ruins. I tried to picture what it would have looked like, before it was burnt to the ground. Had I seen a photograph of it, once?

“It was just after the house was built,” I answered, trying to recall what my own father had told me. “I think Benedict and Florence had not long moved in. It had taken them a year to build it. Legend says that it was the fault of a housemaid; she left the main fire unattended at night, didn’t put the fire shield up. A big log rolled out, and caught. Before they knew it, the house was on fire. It burnt to the ground.”

Bianca gasped. “How awful,” she murmured, looking around. I could see she was trying to picture the house on fire, the way it would have been, that night. “To have just moved in! Was anyone caught in it?”

I frowned, thinking. “Not that I know of,” I said. “They were all sleeping, but as far as I know, they managed to escape. No one was hurt.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said, her eyes wide. “At least they were safe, and able to start over.”

I turned to her. She was completely absorbed, wandering around. She picked up what must have once been a kettle. It was black and charred.

“It’s hard to imagine,” she said. “Starting over. Everything gone.”

“Yes,” I agreed. I wandered over to where she was standing. I looked at the kettle in her hands. “They lost just about everything; furniture, clothes, personal items. When my father told me the story, he always emphasized what survivors they were. They had risked everything, coming to the Outback from Sydney, to run cattle. This…” I spread my hands over the ruins “…would have destroyed a lot of people. Most would have packed it in, said it was too difficult.”

“But not Florence and Benedict?” Bianca had turned to me. The wind had picked up a bit, and was whipping her dark hair over her face. I caught my breath, my eyes wide at her beauty.

“No,” I answered. “Not them. They started over, and built the current homestead. And the cattle station. Hard work, grit and determination.” I couldn’t keep the pride out of my voice. This was my family’s history. It was a legacy, which I was determined to pass down to my own children. It was something that Jo had never understood, constantly pressuring me to move away.

“You must be so proud,” said Bianca. She looked at me, a softness in her eyes. “Of your ancestors, and what they did. It’s amazing.”

“Yes, I am,” I answered. She really seemed to understand, how important it was to me. “It’s like…” I struggled for words. How to explain? “It’s like I’ve been given a gift, to cherish. It’s a responsibility, no doubt about that. But then, nothing good in this world isn’t worth fighting for.”

She looked up at me. Our eyes locked, filled with meaning. Was she remembering last night? I hoped she was. Because I simply couldn’t forget it.

“Dad!”

Max had gone exploring further. The moment broke, and our eyes slid away from each other. We all followed his voice, walking beyond the ruins. The little girls chattered excitedly, and I smiled. It was like an adventure. What would we discover next?

“Look!” Max was pointing. We gazed to where he indicated. It was the old graveyard. I hadn’t been there in years.

We wondered amongst the tombstones. Most were falling apart, leaning precariously. The inscriptions on them were faded. The red dust of the land lay like a blanket over them. It was an eerie sight.

“This is crazy,” said Bianca, her eyes shining. “An old cemetery! When did they stop burying people here?”

“I think around the turn of the century,” I answered. I kicked a stone, thinking. “After the church was built, the cemetery was moved there.”

The silence was deafening. We wandered amongst the graves. Even the children were solemn, as we stared at this reminder of the past. Bianca was leaning against an old tombstone, squinting at the writing. Suddenly, she stood up. She turned to me.

“It’s her,” she whispered. “Florence. But there’s someone else, buried with her.”

“Benedict?” I said, leaning against the old tombstone. But even as I said it, I knew it couldn’t be. Benedict had lived beyond the time when they buried people here. At least into the 1920’s. He had been a very old man when he died.

“It’s definitely Florence,” I said.

Her epitaph read: Florence Mary Connelly 1869-1899. And I could just make out the writing below it: Violet Edith Connelly 1890-1892.

“It was a child,” I whispered. “Violet. She was only two years old when she died.”

“Florence and Benedict’s daughter?” Bianca asked. She gazed at the tombstone, as if it might suddenly speak, revealing its secrets. “Did you know they had a young daughter who died?”

“No,” I answered. I had never really spent much time here, even when I was younger. My parents had discouraged me wandering this way. I had known that the cemetery existed, of course, but I wasn’t that curious about it.

“I knew they had two children,” I continued. “Edmund, who was my great grandfather, and Peter. He died at Gallipoli, during the First World War. But I have never heard of Violet.”

“Florence was young herself when she died,” Bianca said, staring at the tombstone. “Only thirty. Do you know how?”

“No,” I said. “All I know is that she was Benedict’s first wife, who founded the property with him. He married again, I think.”

We fell silent as we continued staring at the tombstone, lost in thought about the past.

“Daddy.” Harper had wondered up to us. “I’m hungry. Can we have the picnic? I don’t like this place.” She had stuck out her bottom lip, which was trembling.

I swept her up in my arms. Enough of this.

“Of course, my darling,” I said. “Let’s go and find a good spot, maybe under those eucalyptus trees.”

I turned and started walking away. The children followed me.

“Bianca?” She was still looking at the tombstone, lost in thought. But she roused herself at my call.

“Coming,” she said. I saw her look back at it, before she turned and slowly followed us.

* * *

It was late afternoon before we returned to the homestead.

The children were tired, but happy. They chattered to Mrs. Price, telling her all the details about what we had discovered that day. I was glad I had suggested it. Despite the sadness of looking at the old house and the graveyard, it had connected them with the station’s history. It was important, to me. And, of course, it had been good to spend time with them, after everything they had been through.

It had also been good to spend time with Bianca. She was intriguing me further, the more time that we spent together. There was an overwhelming physical attraction between us, but there was more than that. She had been so interested in the history of the station, which was a far cry from Jo. Jo had never expressed any interest; she had hated this place.

Bianca was an intelligent, sensitive woman. A wonderful woman. I could see that we could have a relationship, if I let it happen. But did I want that? I was still trying to get over Jo. And Bianca had been adamant that this was a temporary arrangement. She wanted to go back to the States, re-establish her business there. This was just a means to an end for her.

Still. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I found her on the veranda that night. I didn’t stop to question why I sought her out; I just knew that something was compelling me.

She was staring at the stars, but I could tell she had heard me approach.

“It’s so vast, out here,” she whispered. “I have never seen a bigger sky. And the land! It’s brutal, but beautiful.”

“It sounds like it’s getting under your skin,” I said, staring at her, entranced.

She laughed. “Maybe it is,” she said. “I can see why people battle it out here, now.”

“I love a sunburnt country,” I said. She looked at me, quizzically.

It was my turn to laugh. “It’s a quote, from a poem,” I explained. “A famous poem, by a woman called Dorothea McKellar. All Australian children learn it at school. It’s about the contradictions of the land, its harshness but also its magic.”

“Can you remember it?” She was smiling.

“Not all of it,” I said. “It has a few verses. But I can remember the most famous verse.” I squinted my eyes, trying to remember. I had learnt it by heart, all those years ago.

“I love a sunburnt country,” I began. “A land of sweeping plains. Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel sea. Her beauty, and her terror. The wide brown land for me.” I bowed, a bit self-consciously.

She clapped, her eyes shining. “It’s wonderful,” she said. “I never would have picked you for a poetry lover.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I whispered. The air was suddenly charged with tension.

And then, we were kissing. I don’t know who started it; it was like we fell into each other.

Compelling. Undeniable.

“Shall we go inside?” I whispered. She slowly nodded.