Heart of the Country (11 page)

Thomas frowned. It was hard to keep up.

“The pie that is.” She continued to talk at speed. “I made it myself from the delicious little red fruits that are ripening now. We call them wild peach. That's why I wasn't here when you returned. I was checking to see if you've got any of the trees nearby and you have. Only one but it's loaded with fruit. I've picked some.” She raised the bag she held in one hand. “You can dry them. They keep well.”

She spoke so fast and the pain of his burned hand along with the throbbing boil was making it hard for Thomas to concentrate. “Your father left you here, alone?” he said.

She pulled herself up. “You're alone. Women are often alone when the men are all working. It's the way it is in the bush. No point in putting on airs and graces out here. Although names are helpful.”

“I'm sorry; I'm Thomas Baker, from England, and more recently Adelaide and now here.”

“Pleased to meet you, Thomas Baker,” Lizzie said.

The smile on her face took his breath away. She was the prettiest woman he'd seen in a long time. Then he couldn't help but smile at the thought she was the only woman he'd seen in a long time.

She strode forward.

Thomas stepped back. The movement made him wince.

“Oh,
what's
the matter? Please let me help you, Thomas. I can see something is bothering you.” She put down her bag, dropped the bundle of sticks close to the fire and brushed off her hands.

He turned over the hand that he'd touched on the coals. “It's a bit of a burn.”

She took his hand gently in hers. His looked like a meat cleaver in her small grasp. She bent her head over it and inspected the red welt on his palm. “You're right, it's not too bad and the best thing for it is cool water.”

“Shouldn't it be butter?” Thomas said, remembering a similar burn from his childhood.

“If you have some I'd be happy to apply it for you.”

Thomas watched the sparkle in her eyes grow brighter until her face burst into a grin again.

He couldn't help responding with a small smile of his own. He hadn't had any butter since the meagre scrapings they had sometimes put on their bread at the Square. “Water will be fine,” he said. He didn't mind what she did as long as she didn't remember the original pain site was his rear end.

“Sit yourself down and I'll have that seen to in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

“I'll stand,” Thomas said.

“Suit yourself.” Lizzie hurried away to the keg beside the hut and brought back a dipper of water and an empty pot. “Hold out your hand.”

He obeyed. She trickled the water over his palm to the pot below. The cool water gave immediate relief from the sting of the burn.

“How did you know this would help?”

“I stumbled too close to a campfire once myself. I burned my leg but there's hardly a scar there now.”

Thomas was appalled to see her put down the dipper and reach for her skirt. He bent to the pot, which was now full of the water, and submerged his hand.

“You can reuse the water. It's a good idea to keep your hand in it. Luckily my father did that for me. It was when we first came here. There was no hut and our fire was a hole in the ground. I was in my shift preparing for bed and somehow fell on the edge of the flames. My hem caught fire. It was my good fortune we were beside the creek. My father threw me in. Over the days that followed I discovered the cold water of the creek was the only thing to bring me relief from the pain. We didn't have any butter either.”

Lizzie paused and smiled at him. This time Thomas smiled straight back. She was certainly a chatterbox but there was warmth in her words that lifted his spirits, and those
eyes
. They were the blue of cornflowers and mesmerising.

“I spent a lot of time in that creek,” she said. “The leg blistered but by the time the blisters came off, I had new skin growing underneath. A miracle really.” She poked at the fire. “The coals are ready. I was going to make you a kangaroo stew. Father will be ages yet. You keep dipping that hand in the water while I set to work.”

Thomas did as he was told and watched as she carried food from his hut, including kangaroo meat that she must have brought with her. He leaned one hip against the side of his makeshift table while she worked. She dropped the meat in a pot with seasonings and vegetables, some of which he'd never seen before. She talked the whole time. He stopped cooling his hand and shifted himself to a different position. The pain in his backside was growing stronger.

“Whatever else it is that's bothering you, you should let me help.”

Thomas looked up. Lizzie had finished rearranging the coals and settled her pot among them. Now she stood with her hands on her hips, studying him closely.

“It's probably only a boil,” he said and straightened up. “I'll be all right.”

“Samuel had a patch of them on his back a while ago. I had to deal with them. There was no way he could reach them.” She paused then her lips turned up in a gentle smile. “I'm guessing from the way you were nearly twisted inside out when I appeared that your pain is in a … delicate spot.”

Thomas could feel heat rising in his cheeks. “It's only a lump; I'll manage,” he said.

Her gaze softened. “It could get very nasty and you've no one to help you. I'll go into the hut and finish putting away my things. You get yourself organised so the ‘lump' is exposed but all else covered and I'll come back and take a look.”

“Miss Smith …”

“Lizzie.” She smiled again. “Now come, Father wouldn't forgive me if I let our neighbour take so ill that he died before we all had the chance to become acquainted.”

Thomas frowned at her. “Died?”

“People have died from a nasty case of boils, you know.” Once again her smile sparkled with kindness. “But no one in my care. Now you give me a call when you're ready.”

Thomas watched as she disappeared around the corner of his hut. He scratched his head and looked around. He couldn't reach the troublesome lump on his own. What was he to do? The boils he'd seen on others were certainly nasty-looking things but they surely wouldn't kill a person – would they?

“Are you ready?”

“No, not yet,” he called and hobbled over to his horse, where his bedroll was still hooked to the saddle. He brought it back by the fire and with a series of manoeuvres, he managed to uncover the troublesome area without too much of the rest of him being exposed for Lizzie's eyes. Finally when he was stretched out on his belly, he called out and tucked his head back into his arms under his hat. He felt a movement as she settled on the ground beside him.

“Oh, poor Thomas. However did you stay on your horse?” she said. “That's a nasty boil but I am sure I can bring you some relief.”

Thomas heard the rustle of her movements as she busied herself at the fire.

“I'll need to bathe it in very hot water. It might be a bit painful but I'm sure it will improve once the poison is released.”

He pressed his head further into his arms, not sure which was worse, his extreme embarrassment or his alarm at the treatment.

“Now this will be hot.” He felt her kneel beside him again. “It looks ready to explode so you should have relief in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

He gritted his teeth as the first press of heat was applied. Lizzie chattered away as she worked and after a while he forgot about the pain and listened to the soothing tones of her voice. Finally there was a sharp sting and then the throbbing pressure eased.

“There you are,” Lizzie said. He could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “I'll bathe all the poison away and it should clear up. I am wondering though, Thomas, if you have more drawers.”

Thomas kept his head buried, suddenly remembering he was stretched out with his rear end partially exposed to a young woman he had barely met. How was he to extricate himself from this position?

“It would be a good idea if you went down to the creek and had a wash,” Lizzie said. “If you don't have clean trousers I could wash these for you and –”

“I can manage now.” Thomas twisted his head sideways. “If you could give me some privacy, Miss Smith, I'll go to the stream.”

“All right,” she said. He watched her bite at her lip to hold her twitching mouth in check, then she stood and turned away.

Thomas scrambled to his feet and pulled up his pants and, with the blanket draped over his shoulders, he made for the stream. What he saw there pushed his mortification aside. There was more water in the stream than before he'd gone bush, but to his dismay, his carefully built barrel-filling structure was nowhere to seen. There were a few pieces of timber scattered on the highest part of the bank – it was obvious that a lot of water had been through the stream while he'd been away although there had been no rain while he had worked the sheep. He looked towards the distant hills and recalled Duffy's sharp laugh. Damnation but perhaps the smug man had been right. The water must have come all that distance and in large volumes, judging by the damage.

Further downstream he lowered himself into the water. He sucked in a breath against the cold. The pool was deep enough for him to submerge himself. The level was much higher than when he'd bathed there previously. He could see the ripples lapping at the bases of trunks that had been well out of the water before. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was low in the sky, taking the warmth of the day with it.

He shivered and climbed out onto the bank, where he tied himself in a knot trying to see the site of the boil. It was impossible, but at least the pain was gone. He wrapped himself in the blanket and gathered up his clothes. They were a reddish brown and now that he'd washed himself he could smell them.

He peered up over the edge of the bank and scanned the open ground between himself and the hut. He prayed that Lizzie had gone but common sense told him that was unlikely. Her father was to collect her and there had been no sound of drays or bullocks. Thomas made it to his hut without encountering the bold young woman and put on his extra set of clean clothes. It was a pity he didn't have the other trunk. His father's clothes would have been useful, even if a little small.

Through the crude opening in the hut wall, Thomas could see Lizzie sitting close to the fire, stirring the pot she'd filled with kangaroo and vegetables. She had wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and removed her hat. The late afternoon sun made her hair glow like gold. There was nothing for it but to join her. He couldn't hide in the hut forever.

As he opened the door he heard a distant call and then the faint rumble of wheels. He walked around the corner of the hut and Lizzie bumped into him coming the other way.

“Sorry.” They both spoke at once then Lizzie moved around him.

“That will be Father,” she said. “He's late. It will be dark soon.”

They watched as two bullocks emerged from the bush pulling a wagon with a man seated on top.

“Hello.” She waved.

The man lifted his hand in response then called the bullocks to a halt.

“You've been a long time,” Lizzie said. “Is everything all right with the boys? We'll never make it home before dark you know and there's that treacherous stretch of gully.”

“Slow down, Lizzie girl,” her father said as he climbed from the dray. He slapped his hand on the side of his pants then extended it to Thomas. “I'm George Smith, but I'm sure if you've spent any amount of time with our Lizzie you'll know more about me than I do by now.”

The man smiled as they shook hands and Thomas saw the same sparkle that lit Lizzie's eyes.

“Thomas Baker.” The hand he held barely gripped his before it dropped away. Mr Smith rubbed at his shoulder.

“Oh, Father,” Lizzie said, hurrying forward and poking at his arm. “You've overdone it again, haven't you? Those lazy brothers of mine have had you working.”

“I'm fine, Lizzie girl,” her father said and gently pushed away her prodding hands. “I injured my arm a while back,” he explained to Thomas. “It's not as strong as it used to be.”

“Injured!” Lizzie snorted. “You did everything but break a bone. It was a right old mess. It happened a month ago and he still can't use it properly. I'll have to make a new poultice for you when we get home.”

“Our Lizzie fancies herself as a nurse, Mr Baker. If you don't watch out she'll be plying you with potions and bandaging or bathing some part of you.”

Mr Smith chuckled. Thomas cast a wary glance at Lizzie, who was still fussing over her father. Surely she wouldn't tell him about the boil.

“We should stay the night,” Lizzie said. “We can leave at first light and be home for breakfast.”

Thomas stared at the back of her fair head. He would enjoy the company but he was sure at any moment Lizzie would tell her father about her earlier ministrations and then, weak arm or no, Thomas was sure Mr Smith would want to kill him.

“Mr Baker may not want visitors, Lizzie.” The man was looking over his daughter directly at Thomas.

“Your company is most welcome, Mr Smith, but my camp is very basic –”

“Listen to you two, Mr Baker and Mr Smithing,” Lizzie said. “George and Thomas is so much easier, and your arrangements are more than adequate, Thomas. You should see ours: it's no palace, is it, Father?”

“You and your mother have made it a home, Lizzie.”

“I haven't been back from my rounds all that long, sir, but Lizzie has been busy cooking in my absence.” The wind had dropped to a soft breeze and the delicious aroma of Lizzie's stew wafted around them. “Why don't we eat?”

Thomas led the way to the fire behind the hut. He would have to keep an eye on Lizzie and make sure the conversation was kept far away from ailments. As they ate their meal, he relaxed. The talk was all about the land and managing the sheep. George had lived on the neighbouring run for over two years and had developed a broad knowledge of the conditions.