‘True. Nor can I assure you the servants would have agreed to wait on her if you’d brought her here now, though by the time you do bring her here I will ensure they do.’ He took Clancy’s hand in both of his. ‘You are my brother, my only family now, and she will be my sister. And if the opinion of a remittance man, who deals better with plants than with people, matters — you are doing the right thing. And, after all, the life you have led the last few years . . . it’s not the life of a man who wishes for elevated social gatherings.’

Nor do you wish for them, thought Clancy. But that was not the same as being banished from them. Even the shanties he frequented did not allow natives indoors. Any son he had would be banned from the lowest echelons of white society.

He sat back and gazed at the river, glinting between its she-oaks. A mob of grey roos rested under a tree at the end of the garden. How many places, he wondered, would allow roos within their gardens, even cherish them? He was lucky in his brother-in-law. Glad beyond price that his sister had been given her portion of true joy.

He strapped his swag to Big Red’s saddle the next day, heavy with plum puddings, corned beef in waxed cloth to keep it from the flies, a bag of flour for damper, a twist of sugar and a tin of tea. All a man needed on his journey to find his love.

Whatever it took, however long it took, he would find Rose and they would make a life together.

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

From the Notebooks of Maria Fitzharris

As you will see, the native currant has green tubular flowers in dense spikes about 1/10 inch long on a low shrub and is common near native camps. The fruit may be pink to dark purple, but is always succulent and good, eaten fresh or in jam. It makes a most acceptable jelly and may be useful if grown in other hot, dry climes.

NEW SOUTH WALES, 1888

CLANCY

He finally got word from a passing swaggie that McKenzie had been buying cattle up Lachlan way. Clancy rode up the track of the first likely property. They were shearing — the sound and smell of penned sheep was unmistakable — and he headed to the shearers’ quarters. The boss would be more likely than the station-owner to know who was on the road and where.

‘McKenzie left here a good month ago. You up for a job of shearin’?’ The latter was a kind offer, for the boss already had a full team. The nearest bank was several days’ ride away and he’d forgotten to cash a cheque; nor would any pub cash one for a man they didn’t know. He accepted, his muscles screaming for the four days left of shearing.