‘It was a joy,’ said Jed softly. She put the receiver down and looked out at her laughing daughter, whizzing down the rope between two trees, at Sam, only a faint limp and a tendency to fatigue remaining from his accident. At William, solid as a gum tree making some adjustment to what she hoped — no, knew — would be a safe landing site at the bottom of the flying fox.

Something cold shivered on her cheek. A tear. Happiness? Yes, but sorrow too.

She would miss Scarlett dreadfully.

Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Shearers’ Brownie

1pt strong tea, ½pt golden syrup, 6oz dried fruit, 1tbsp lemon essence, 9oz SR flour, 2 eggs

Soak the fruit in the tea overnight. Next morning drink the lemon essence. Mix the rest. Bake in a medium oven till firm. Cool, slice, then butter each slice thickly.

MOUNT HELEN, VIA YASS, NEW SOUTH WALES, 1883

CLANCY

He first met Andrew Paterson at Mount Helen, a day’s ride from Yass. He’d been with the shearing team awhile now — somehow he had lost count of the months, possibly of the year, though they’d had Christmas up near Nyngan.

He’d learned to modify his accent too, and to spend his cheque, or some of it, at the first shanty the crew found after shearing was over, though he never blew all of it as many shearers did. If you kept too much cash, you might never shear again, with the ache in your back and the burrs in your hands and up your arms and the scent of frightened sheep and the stain of their blood on the shearing shed floor that you dream of every night, sheep’s rear ends and sheep’s blood. But at least those dreams pushed away the other nightmares, the ones where a wife and a child weren’t there, or worse, the ones where they were.

It was a fair cow of a job. But the life of a shearer suited him just then. Your mates were too tired — or too drunk — to ask questions. No one spoke about the families they left behind, either from guilt, drinking the cheques that should have gone to clothe their children, or because they had none, or because of that ever-present weariness. Work bound them in mateship. So did the false camaraderie of drink. The Boss made the decisions. Clancy had made too many bad choices. He no longer had the will to make any at all.