The Convict and the Cattleman (2 page)

Her stomach turned at the suggestion. Such a development hadn’t entered her mind, but the relief that her employer didn’t expect it calmed her.

“Second, you will not steal from me. You’ll be fed the same as everyone else at the station, three meals a day. And I’m very much aware of where the curios belong in my house. I’ll notice if anything goes missing.”

She stared hard at her shoes. It seemed that once branded as a thief, she’d always bear the cross.

“Third, you’re not to wander around or leave the station unless someone is with you. I won’t have a convict running amok on my land. Especially not a female.”

Bridgit nodded. Australia was much larger than anywhere she’d ever been. New South Wales was a very big territory itself. There were dangers beyond her comprehension. Running away would get her killed, or sent somewhere worse than Parramatta.

“Fourth, you will mind your manners. You’ll address my other employees with respect and obey any orders they might issue. I won’t tolerate any sass. I don’t expect the staff to, either.”

She’d always respected authority, but suffering the indignation of being no more than a slave was almost too much for her.

“Finally, I’ve decided you should have your own room.”

Puzzling. His fancy clothes and gig suggested his house teemed with other employees. “My own? Won’t the other servants have something to say about that?”

He glowered. “It’ll be us alone in the house at night.”

“Alone.” Wary of the word, she leaned away from him.

He didn’t appear to notice her discomfort. “You room is situated across the hall from mine. I’ll know your every move if you attempt to leave at night. The only reason you should be out is if the baby needs tending.”

“Baby?” Bridgit echoed.

Mr. Andrus sighed. “Mrs. Bell said you were qualified. The baby needs someone to care for her until I can arrange a proper nurse. You do know how to look after a baby, don’t you?”

It wasn’t too soon to turn the gig around and take her back. She nodded to pacify him. “I looked after my younger brothers and sister. I can manage a baby.”

“My housekeeper ran off with a jackaroo from another station. Along with the house duties, she was to see after the girl. She left me in quite a bind.” His eyebrows formed a sharp line as he scowled.

He wasn’t the type of man she expected to be a father. Her own had been gentle, with laughing eyes and a broad smile. Perhaps Mr. Andrus’ attitude resulted from being left without anyone to watch the wee one.

“Your missus needs the help, then?” Bridgit hoped his wife would be of a better humor.

The way his pupils dilated she saw the question pained him. She cast her eyes down, unable to watch as he muttered, “I have no missus. The child isn’t mine. She’s an orphan who needs looking after.”

An orphan? An interesting turn. He didn’t seem the fatherly type and it was difficult to imagine him taking in a child of questionable origins. “Forgive me for making assumptions.”

“Too right. It isn’t your place.”

She took the chastising in stride. She loved children and had hoped to someday have a family of her own. Since her conviction, she feared her reputation ruined. The horrific journey across the ocean and the weeks at the Factory left her with doubts that any decent man would want to marry her. Many women traded their bodies for security and no one expected her to be different, no matter how she protested her purity.

The guards at Parramatta often made rude suggestions or tried to entice her into employment when she really knew they only wanted her body. Those men were difficult to ignore. Their leering eyes and taunts made her feel unclean. Some of the women married to escape the gaol, but she couldn’t see trading one prison for another. It didn’t seem like much of a life to slave away for a husband she didn’t love.

She stole a glance at Mr. Andrus. He looked anxious as he watched the road. A muscle in his cheek jumped every so often. Bridgit didn’t need to ask if he was sorry he’d hired a woman from the Factory.

She wanted to believe most of the convicts were like her–forced to make the choices that brought them before the court and to Australia. It was a blessing, getting a job like this. He might’ve turned her away and taken another woman. She had six more years of servitude under her sentence. Perhaps if she was obedient, the governor might grant her a pardon in another year or two. If she could find someone to vouch for her character, it would help shorten her duration. Unless some miracle occurred between now and the time Mr. Andrus no longer needed her, she doubted he’d be the one to assist her in the pursuit.

2

The sun burned high overhead before Mr. Andrus slowed the horse and parked under the shade of a tall gumtree along the Parramatta River. Small bears called koalas ate the leaves and sometimes lived among the branches. The creatures didn’t appear dangerous, but Bridgit remained wary.

Before her transportation, the other inmates at the gaol had described New South Wales to frighten those who had no choice but to go. She’d tried not to listen, but often couldn’t shut out the tales. They left images in her mind of natives more murderous than the worst convicts. The beasts swarming the bush bore stingers, claws, or mouths full of sharp teeth. The employers were so cruel, swinging at the gallows sounded like a better option. She'd entered the transport ship
Margaret
with a heavy heart and doubting she would survive her incarceration.

Thus far the worst creatures she’d met were large mosquitoes and biting black flies. Lizards scuttled through the vegetation and over the rocks, but they didn’t frighten her. Kangaroo herds could sometimes be seen far off; the timid animals reminded her of deer, swift and gentle. The most frightening animals were the packs of wild dogs that howled throughout the night. They sounded more ferocious than wolves. They never came close to the colony, but she was afraid of setting foot outside the barracks in the evenings.

The station might be a few days’ ride away. It was possible they might run afoul of those fiendish beasts. Bridgit wanted to ask Mr. Andrus if he had brought a gun, except she was afraid he might take the question the wrong way.

She needed a moment of privacy, but the idea that something might be lurking in the dense vegetation frightened her. Mr. Andrus untied a bundle and appeared not to notice her distress.

“Sir, I–”

He jerked his head toward the brush and pointed with his free hand. “You can go over there. I wouldn’t recommend trying to run.”

She followed his finger with her eyes. “What about animals?”

“What about them?”

Bridgit blinked, taken aback. His attitude suggested he wouldn’t mind if she disappeared, the victim of some monster.

“If I get eaten, it will serve you right,” she muttered under her breath, marching toward the undergrowth. If he heard her, he gave no sign. For the best.

Bridgit took care of her business with haste, keeping an eye out for animals like a hippopotamus, whatever it might be. If she saw one, she wasn’t sure she could name it. She’d heard a fellow inmate say it was big enough to bite a man in two. The story could be another lie, but she remained uncertain. She’d have to ask Mr. Andrus about the wildlife. She had a great deal to learn about her new home. If she ever earned a pardon, she’d seen Ireland for the last time upon boarding the ship.

She pushed her sleeves up to clean her hands and splashed water on her face. The swiftly-moving water felt cool and refreshing on her heated skin. Bathing was a privilege seldom granted at the Factory. She’d give anything to shed the hated dress and slip into the river. Unless flesh-eating fish lived there. She drew back, flexing her fingers. Perhaps when they arrived at the station she could see to the task.

Mr. Andrus sat on a rock near the river, slicing cheese off a quarter of a wheel. “You’d best have a bite and we’ll be on our way. I don’t like to linger out here.”

A bird called out above their heads, adding to the unease she felt. He gave her a portion of cheese and bread. Her stomach growled and he cocked an eyebrow, though he didn’t comment.

He watched her take a seat and look over her meal.

She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. Heat rose to her hairline. Perhaps he desired a quick roll with the prisoner to finish off his tucker.

“Is the weather getting to you?” he asked.

“I’m used to cooler seasons,” she admitted. Thank heavens he wasn’t able to read her thoughts.

“It’s autumn in Ireland, isn’t it?”

“Aye, sir. I have a hard time imagining Christmas in the summer.”

A look came over Mr. Andrus’s face, as though the thought of the holiday caused him pain. It came and went. He shrugged. “It’s merely another day. You’ll be back at the Factory by then.”

“I know.”

Sadness settled over Bridgit’s heart. Would her family think of her at Christmas this year?

He stood and brushed off his dungarees before tossing his bread crust in the bushes. “Let’s get some more distance covered before dark.”

Bridgit followed his example and settled into the gig while he finished packing away the remains of supper.

Under different circumstances she’d have felt right smart, riding in such a fancy buggy. Before her father died, they’d never gone without the essentials, but she’d never ridden in anything this fine.

She ran her fingers over the velvet seat cover, her mind drifting toward unpleasant thoughts. The gaolers had removed the chains when she boarded the
Margaret
, yet she still felt as shackled as she had at her trial.

Bridgit rubbed the scars circling her wrists. She caught Mr. Andrus's stare and tucked her hands beneath her. A timid smile formed on her face. “I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

“It’s temporary.”

The smile faltered. “Even so.”

“Let’s see how you feel at the end of the month.”

She balled her hands into fists on her knees. “I’m not afraid of hard work. Misfortune brought me here, not poor morals.”

He stared, disbelief obvious from the set of his frown. “Indeed.”

“Indeed,” she repeated hotly. No sooner did the word come out than she realized she'd spoken too boldly. “I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me.”

She waited to be reprimanded, unable to meet his gaze.

“I don’t strike women, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I expect I can come up with some unpleasant chore if you’re dead set on punishment.”

Surprised, she glanced up and saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

“You said I was to behave. Forgive me.”

She didn’t want to imagine what heated words would’ve gotten her at the gaol.

“As long as I don’t have any more trouble out of you, I’ll let it pass.” He paused. “This time.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Her shoulders slumped, a combination of relief and exhaustion.

As though he sensed her weariness he said, “A few more miles and we’ll make camp.”

She sat up straighter. “I’m not tired.”

“I bloody well am. I’ve been staring at this horse’s arse for four days. We’re making camp soon.”

* * * *

“Not tired,” Jonah muttered as he watched Bridgit’s head drop against her chest.

The crust of bread in her slackened fingers fell on the ground. Dark circles created shadows beneath her eyes. She was exhausted, and truth be told, he wasn’t far behind.

The two bundles of blankets landed with muffled thumps when he tossed them out of the gig. Thin quilts wouldn’t do much to protect them against the rocky ground, although they’d be better than nothing. At least it wasn’t raining. The last thing he wanted to do was pitch a tent and spend the night close to Bridgit.

A small flock of colorful birds roosted above them, chirping and fluttering their wings as they settled in. Jonah untied the strings around one of the bedrolls and spread the blankets out.

“Cheerful little buggers, aren’t you?”

One squawked in alarm and the whole lot flew away. He tensed, doubtful his voice alone had scared them. The mare raised her head, ears erect and nostrils flared. Loud, tuneless whistling broke the silence.