Chapters (53)
- Cover
- About Alison Stuart
- Also by Alison Stuart
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Preview of The Goldminer's Sister
‘I thought he went to Melbourne to finalise his report on the smallpox case?’ Russell handed him back the paper. ‘We can’t have the town without a doctor. Job’s yours, Hunt.’
Caleb drained his glass. ‘I don’t have a choice, do I?’
‘No. You don’t have a choice, at least for now. The town’s growing. We need more than one doctor.’
Caleb stowed the envelope in the pocket of his waistcoat. ‘Is this the right time to mention that the town needs a hospital?’
Russell laughed. ‘We are painfully aware of that fact, but we need to raise the money, and to do that we need the mines to start producing viable gold.’
‘They’re not?’
Russell shrugged. ‘Not in big enough quantities to justify the labour that’s going into them. Gold fever is just that, Hunt—a fever. Those who have it are convinced the mother lode is in the next strike of the pick.’ He cast Caleb a quizzical look. ‘How’s your mine?’
‘Claim,’ Caleb said. ‘Not a mine, and frankly, I’ve been a little distracted since I returned to Maiden’s Creek. Can’t see when I’m ever going to get to give it some proper attention.’
‘If you need any help with investors and the like, come and see me.’
Silence descended as Mrs Gulliver brought out a meal. The warm, purple night wrapped around them, silencing the raucous parrots that roosted in the old gums beside the creek. The circle of days would continue, despite the violent death of the man now lying in the hastily constructed wooden box who would be buried in the morning.
Twenty-One
Twenty-One
Maiden’s Creek
4 February 1872
A bright hot sun rose above the line of hills that flanked the valley, already baking the hard earth of Maiden’s Creek’s main street. The very air crackled with the heat and the congregations in the churches sweltered through long sermons. Rumours of Bowen’s death were circulating and after the Sunday service at St Thomas’s, Adelaide, who had taken the telegram from the Buneep constable, found herself accosted by curious townspeople wanting to know what, if anything, she knew. They went away disappointed.
Late in the afternoon, Adelaide heard the familiar cry of ‘Coach!’ that heralded the arrival of the Shady Creek coach. Netty came hurrying through from the house and the two women stepped onto the verandah. A larger crowd than usual had begun to gather outside The Empress, all turned towards the road into town, where the carriage made its careful way down the treacherous slope of Little John’s Sleigh Ride.