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“So you felt that, too?”

“Strongly.”

“When we go back to the turn-off . .. yes. I’ll show you where to change tracks this time .. . we’ll detour a little and you can see our lagoon. There's no obvious reason for a lagoon, yet a lagoon is still there. '’

“With gulls?”

“Gulls,” Chris said. “Also whenever your godfather’s geo mates came up here exploring and sank a hole, the hole would be filled in a flash.”

“So you aren’t annoyed like some of the pastoralists?” Gemma asked.

“Never yet seen a beast break its leg on water,” Chris returned. “Ready to move now, Gemma?”

“Yes.” But Gemma said it a little unwillingly. She could “have listened to Chris all day.

While one of the stockmen brought round Chris’s car, Chris told Gemma the aboriginal version of Boothagullagulla.

Years ago in the Dreamtime a great snake lived here, and every day he cooled himself from the burning heat in the great water that was also present. But one day a great bird swooped down on the great snake, whereupon the great snake went under the ground, taking with him his cooling water. He intended to remain there until the bird had gone and it was safe for him to come up. Some of the cooling water he left behind in his hurry to escape the bird, and that water had spread and become today’s lagoon.

“Ludy told me that,” Chris said, “and laughed as she related it. But I’m not sure if she didn’t really believe it deep down. Now you follow me, Gemma. First to the lagoon, then to the Mannering turn-off.” It was not far to the lagoon, and Gemma drew up her car beside Chris’s and looked in wonder at pastel blue, faintly silver-tinged water, with insects weaving gauzy patterns over it, frogs singing in a busy chorus. It was not deep, in places only measuring several inches, but it was very wide and very strange, even mysterious.

She turned back to the car.

Now she followed Chris along the track she had taken over an hour ago ... there had followed perhaps the most pleasant interlude she could remember, she thought . . . and at the signboard he drew up and showed her an arrow to Mannering Park and another arrow to Boothagullagulla.

“I must have been dreaming,” she admitted.

"It’s Dream time country up here. Well, best of luck, girl, and don’t forget the welcome on the mat for Harriet.”

“And me?” Gemma smiled.

'Oh, yes, for you.” He said it warmly, sincerely. He waited till she turned into the right fork, waited until she went down the other track, then turned a bend and was out of sight.

For a while the pleasure of Chris Mitchell’s company remained with Gemma and made her feel lighthearted. Then slowly, insidiously, something else crept in. Even the scenery took on a different aspect, it seemed to crowd her, to enclose her. I’m being silly, Gemma tried to tell herself, I’m being unfair. It’s just that I’m tired, I expect.

Whether Harriet was tired, too, Gemma could not tell, but the calf was distinctly restless. When Gemma came to the first of the gates, she began to moo.

A second gate was passed, a third, fourth, fifth . . . this property appeared to be much larger than Boothagullagulla.

Then Mannering Park began to take shape, and Gemma could see that it was quite expansive, that as well as a number of bungalows, all with barns and sheds and outhouses, there was a private airstrip.

The bungalows were set well apart, Bruce had assured her of that, but because the land was dead level, you still could see each of the houses quite plainly, from the first villa to the last, and there were four of them.

Which one? Gemma thought uneasily. To which one do I go? After the friendliness that had seemed to reach out at her from Chris Mitchell’s, she felt like going to none of them at all. For... and again she told herself she was being unfair... no friendliness seemed to reach out here, in fact—

But she had to stop somewhere, knock somewhere, present herself somewhere, and it might as well be this first place, a timber house with a verandah, not all that unlike Chris’s, and yet... and yet as different as it possibly could be.

Gemma could not have explained it, explained herself, she could not have put a finger on it, but every step up to the verandah was an ordeal, the ringing of the bell she found on the door a torment. Suddenly all she wanted to do was turn and run, run anywhere before it was too late. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here . . . how ridiculous, Gemma said to herself, can one get?

But she still would have left, and even had turned to leave, when the door opened, and a woman looked out and smiled.

That kindly smile belonging to Hannah Jason, Mr. Bruce’s housekeeper, as Hannah was soon explaining to Gemma, did the trick. It brought Gemma to her senses and into Bruce’s home.

Gemma followed Bruce’s housekeeper down the long hall.

“SO you’re Mr. Bruce’s young lady.” Despite Gemma’s protestations that she did not want tea. . . more tea . . . tea again was being poured.

“I’ve been wondering what you’d be like. You see, I’ve been with the Mannerings since Mr. Bruce was born, you could say in a way we arrived at the same time,” Hannah laughed. “But I didn’t think I’d find out about you for a week yet. Mr. Bruce was not expecting you until then. He knew you’d be getting married from Mannering Park after all and not from Rudhill as you’d planned, not after your godfather’s death, but he still thought you wouldn’t arrive quite yet.”

“He—Bruce knew of Godfather’s death?” Gemma said it a little hollowly. He could have come, she thought. He could have got in touch.

“There’s very little we don’t know up here,” said Hannah proudly, “it’s like reading a newspaper, the latest is always out by the next day at least, sometimes before that. I think you were very clever to have come straight to Mr. Bruce’s house like you did, dear, not knowing it as his place.”

“It was the nearest,” said Gemma, still a little hollowly. Surely Bruce could have done something, she thought, sent a message, telephoned. Come.

“Not that you can stay, of course,” Hannah was saying busily. “Mrs. Mannering wouldn’t like that.

You’ll be staying at the main house with her until the big day. Oh, dear!”

“What is it?” asked Gemma.

“She’s away. Mrs. Mannering and Vida are in Adelaide. It’ll have to be Miss Janet, then. I still call her that, though she’s not now, of course.”

“Where,” asked Gemma as steadily as she could, “is Bruce?”

“Up country. In a place like this there’s always a lot of up-country and out-country work.”

“But he knew I was coming.”

“I told you, dear, he didn’t expect you yet.” Evidently Hannah was thinking romantically that Gemma was concerned about Bruce’s return. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all the nicer when he does get back,” she cheered.

. . . Will it ? Gemma thought.

She only sipped at the tea and only nibbled at the cake Hannah provided.

“I’m sorry, Hannah, I’m not hungry. I took the wrong turn-off and found myself at Boothagullagulla instead of Mannering Park. Mr. Mitchell gave me tea.”

“Mr. Bruce,” said Hannah rather unhappily, “won’t like that.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know how it is with country neighbours, they’re not always the best of neighbours.”

“I liked Mr. Mitchell,” Gemma said firmly.

“I’m sure you did, dear, and I know he’d like you,” Hannah said sincerely. “Now go into the lounge and rest, then I’ll have one of the men drive you across to Miss Janet’s.”

“Who is Miss Janet ?”

“She’s Mr. Bruce’s elder sister, Mrs. Willis. Vida is a younger sister, and still unmarried. There were three Mannering children—Janet, Bruce, and Vida. But of course you know all this.”

“No,” admitted Gemma, “I don’t. I didn’t know Bruce long before we—”

“Now that's what I call real romantic,” beamed Hannah, ‘'it’s like in a book. I’m sure Miss Janet will tell you all you should know.”

“
If
I was going,” said Gemma. “But I’m not.” She saw Hannah’s startled look and asked rebelliously: “Why should I?”

“Well, Mrs. Mannering is a—a—”

“A stickler?”

“Yes, dear, that’s it. A good woman, dear. Very good. But things always have to be done properly, and after all, it doesn’t hurt us to do them that way, does it?”

“It would hurt me right now to go across to another house, Hannah. I’m too tired. I respect Mrs. Mannering’s views, and if she were here I certainly would do as she wanted because of her seniority But seeing Bruce is absent, I know of no reason why I shouldn’t stop here, or why I should go to his elder sister.”

“No,” agreed Hannah, “I suppose that does make sense with Mr. Bruce out of the house the way he is, but you will tell him when he returns, won’t you, that it was your idea.”

“Of course I will. It is my idea. And now if you’ll show me my room I’d really like to rest.”

“Certainly, dear, I always keep the bed made up and everything aired. You just take a nap, and later
on you can ring Miss Janet and tell her. I mean, I wouldn’t like her to think I’d taken it all on myself.” For an old employee, Gemma thought, Hannah sounded apprehensive.

“I’ll do that,” she assured her, and, about to follow the woman, she said:

“Oh, there’s Harriet.”

“You brought someone else?”

“No need to fuss, Hannah, it’s just a very small person.” Gemma smiled fondly. “Actually a baby.”

“You—have a baby?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Bruce never said ... I’m sure Mrs. Mannering doesn’t know ..."

“It’s a calf. Can it be let out, please ?”

Hannah’s face cleared, then immediately clouded again. “A calf! I don’t know whether Mr. Bruce—”

“Let her roam around.” Gemma pushed past the woman into the room that had been indicated, then closed the door. She did it firmly. What was all this? she thought. Where have I come to? What have I put myself in for ? Am I dreaming it all ? Chris Mitchell said it was a land of Dreamtime.

She went to the window to look out, but found to her chagrin that she couldn’t see for foolish tears.

She recalled Chris Mitchell’s steadying “Steady”, and presently found she could see again.

Not that there was much to look at. The surrounds of the homestead were strictly utilitarian. It was neat enough, concrete had to be neat, Gemma thought, but she longed for a lawn, even an untidy lawn. Lawns made her remember Harriet again. What had happened to Harriet?

She left the room once more.

She could not see Hannah, so she let herself out of the flyscreen door and looked around. There was the usual homestead “shop” with its sledgehammers, crowbars, crosscut saws, scythes and sickles hanging neatly, but somehow the smell she had always loved in her friends’ fathers’ “shops”, that smell of old leather, creosote and sweat seemed less pungent here, though the neatness, she had to admit, was greater. It was the same in the stables. Gemma had always been fascinated with stables. The hooks attached to the walls for brushes and wither pads. The bridles with their buckles in their proper places and with the strap ends in their keepers and runners. Rut most of all the clean sweet air, not the meticulousness. Here, the meticulousness definitely won.

She left the stables and examined the cattle pens, which she found empty. Evidently the cattle were up country or out country, or even recently road trained south. By Bagsworth or Maloney, she added silently, certainly not by the Territorian. Chris had told her that the Mannerings never trucked by the Territorian. Now what, she wondered, had happened there?

About to leave again, she saw a lonely little figure in the furthest pen. Harriet. Harriet looking wistfully back at her.

“Oh, darling,” said Gemma, and went up to the calf.

There was certainly no harm the small tiling could do to anything outside since everything outside appeared concrete and unable to be damaged. A little angrily, Gemma let out the calf. It kicked up its heels, but not liking the feel of hard cement came back to
her.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you out to a paddock, Harriet,” Gemma promised, “and we’ll skip. Meanwhile I’ll go and beg some milk.”

Hannah was quite agreeable . . . but still, Gemma could see, apprehensive. She had a kind heart, though, and came out with Gemma, and when Gemma grew tired, for feeding the hungry calf was not an easy job, she took over from her. She enjoyed it, too. Gemma could see that.

“I was brought up on a farm,” Hannah told Gemma, “not a station. A station’s different. You don’t get down to earth with things the same as on a farm.” She dunked her fingers in the milk then quickly transferred the fingers to Harriet’s pink plush mouth. “Only don’t say anything to Mr. Bruce,” she appealed.

“I won’t,” promised Gemma. Again she was thinking : What is all this? Am I dreaming it all? Bruce is the dearest of men, the most understanding of men, and I love him.

I love him.

The two women settled Harriet down, then went back to the house. Hannah, now that she had been reassured by Gemma that she would not be blamed for anything, seemed very happy to have Gemma there. Probably, even though country born and bred, sometimes she became a little lonely, eager for her own sex’s company. For so far Gemma had not seen any other women around.

She mentioned this, and Hannah said no, that the only women, apart from the Mannering women, were the lubras.

“When the children were very small they had a nursery governess from the city, but as soon as they were old enough they went away to boarding school.” Hannah, as she spoke, was beginning to set a place for one in the large dining room, and she was rather ruffled when Gemma stopped her.

“I’m not eating by myself in there,” Gemma protested, “I’m coming out to the kitchen with you.”

“Oh. no, you couldn’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s never been done, that’s why. If Mrs Mannering ever knew—”

“Mrs. Mannering won’t know, though what the fuss is about I don’t know myself. To my way of thinking it’s much more inhospitable to set me in there than to let me share a table here.”

“But—”

“Oh, I agree it could be different when the family was about—I mean, Hannah, I’d go along with Mrs. Mannering then even if I didn’t actually see eye to eye with her, but to isolate me now would be just too ridiculous, even unkind. Anyway, I’m not going to stay in any dining room. Like it or not, fm having a comer of your big kitchen table.”