Chapter 1.
The young girl looked over at the clock and noticed that the hands had hardly moved. Where on earth was the farmhand sent to take her home? How much longer would he be? She had been with Mrs Burton for two weeks now and Mr Burton was due back any day. There hadn't been any trouble with the aborigines and really she needed to get home to help Mam with the younger children and besides she wanted the comfort of her own bed. Well if Stan didn't arrive soon she would just travel home by herself, after all she was 18 now, a woman, she knew the path well enough and the weather was looking bright so she would be fine. Of course Da would not be happy if she arrived by herself, but afterwards he would probably tell her how clever she was.
She stepped outside the small wooden cabin for the second time, shading her eyes from the sun searching for Stans’ familiar figure. Nothing moved. Patience was not one of Bridget’s virtues so striding back inside she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. As they cleared they settled on the rotund figure of Mrs Burton firmly ensconced in the only decent chair in the cabin reading, and not for the first time she thought to herself how forceless the older woman was compared to her own mother. It’s not that she disliked Mrs Burton. She was not a person you could dislike, but at times her whining and trepidation put her own nerves on edge. However, it did make Bridget appreciate her mother’s strength all the more. She had often been told she was like her mother. Not only in physical appearance, for they were both quite tall for women, both had red hair but where her mother’s eyes were blue, Bridget’s were brown. So dark that at times when her temper was aroused they went almost black and people knew then to step away for fear of being on the receiving end of her sharp tongue. Her stubbornness was backed up by her ability to deal with most situations because it never entered Bridget’s mind that something could not be done. Failure was not an option. This wasn’t because she was conceited, as she had explained to Father O’Connell one day when he had reprimanded her for being “taken with herself”, it was just that she had confidence, and she knew how to learn from her mistakes.
Mrs Burton cleared her throat and pushed a limp, thin strand of grey hair back into her cap. She took in the appearance of the young girl in front of her with envy. She herself had never been tall or slim and Bridget’s whilst not beautiful, certainly made both sexes look twice wherever she went. Her hair, the colour of a summer sunset, curled, writhing like Medusa’s snakes, around her head, framing an oval face, tinged pink by the sun. Her dark eyes were large and full of curiosity, fanned by eyelashes darker than the normal pale orange of redheads. Her nose was slightly larger than necessary but instead of detracting from her looks gave an almost autocratic air. Her mouth was wide, with a full bottom lip and when she smiled she showed small white teeth, the two at the front slightly crooked. If you took the features individually of the girl they amounted to nothing less than plain, but somehow when God had thrown them all together on the palette, they melded quite beautifully
Mrs Burton blinked, realising she had been staring,
What is it Bridget? Is something wrong?”
“Mrs Barton I’m afraid I really must return home. Mr Barton is only a few hours away and you have Fred here and I would like to get home early and surprise Mam and Da, sorry Mother and Father” She replied.
Mrs Burton let the use of the common terms pass, “But Bridget, you can’t honestly think I can let you walk that distance without someone accompanying you. Stan shouldn’t be long; surely you can wait a little while longer?”
Bridget pulled her shoulders back and answered in her most adult voice, “Mrs Barton, I have travelled that same path at least 6 times with Stan so I’m sure that I can start out by myself. If Stan arrives shortly he can easily catch me up, but I really must insist. I would like to leave now before the heat of the day. It will only take me a few hours to get home and if I leave now I will be there before sunset.”
Mrs Barton took stock of the determined young woman standing in front of her. All of her instincts said she should deny the request, regardless of how capable Bridget was and she was certainly that. However she also realised that to say no may jeopardise the girls’ want to stay the next time Mr Barton was away and she couldn’t have that. With no alternative she had to agree.
“Alright Bridget, you may leave early. I shall tell Stan as soon as he arrives that he is to follow you and make sure you reach home safely. Now pack some provisions for yourself and please give my best to your parents for me.”
Giving Mrs Barton her thanks and assurance that she would be fine, Bridget packed her few belongings, some food and water in her sack, said her farewells and started off onto the familiar track.
The canopy of ancient gums kept the sun at bay and created shadows in the bush. Bridget felt no fear either of the bush or the local aborigines. She found the Australian bush with its strange animals and brightly coloured birds fascinating, but sometimes in the height of summer she longed for the mist covered hills and valleys of Ireland. Was it only 3 years ago that Father had come home one night, put a map on the table pointing to this strange country halfway across the world and excitedly told them about all the opportunities there. How a man could have his own land even if he was Irish Catholic. To plough and plant whatever he wanted and to know that with good management, a house and land could be his forever.
His enthusiasm had infected them all and before long there they were waving farewell to the green shores of their home heading for a new life.
When they had landed at Port Adelaide 3 months later, Father found them accommodation nearby, and he set off with a promise that when he returned he would be a landowner and true to his word, 4 weeks later he arrived with a wagon load of provisions and waving that precious piece of paper.
They travelled towards their new home with another family who were moving up from the plains, and the further they travelled from civilisation the more Bridget became aware of the harshness of the bush compared to the sweet softness of home. The days in the cart were long, and when her siblings became restless Da would pull over and let them get out and walk to stretch their legs. They revelled in this new found freedom running ahead like young deer but wary enough to stay in sight of their parents.
Bridget walked quietly by the wagon, eyes constantly searching the bush for strange animals and listening to the cacophony of sounds coming from within myriad of trees and plants. She had never heard such noise. Suddenly she heard a strange laugh coming from behind and wheeled around surprised to find the space empty. Again the cackle came and her father pulled the horse to a stop, turning on the seat, his hand reaching down towards the rifle by his side. Was this a highwayman laughing at them, his grip tightened on the rifle. He was taking no chances.
The McPhersons pulled up beside them just as a strange looking bird took off from a tree nearby, laughing as it weaved its’ way through the bush.
“It’s alright Conor, don’t take offence now man. They call that one a Kookaburra and he wasn’t laughing at you, just welcoming you to his part of the land.”
Bridget’s dad sat back down and repositioned the gun by his feet, “Aye, well I almost gave him my own kind of welcome and I dinna think he’d be laughin’ then.”
With the tension broken they set on their way and by dusk that day they had reached their destination. As they pulled the wagon to a halt outside the low whitewashed cottage Nessa Murphy called her brood to her.
They stood together, in awe, unable to take in the vastness and ruggedness of the new land around them. They would stay here for the night and in the morning, refreshed, they would sight their new home. The door of the cottage opened and a man walked over, hand outstretched and a smile that made an ordinary face look almost handsome.
“Welcome to McCagues’ Creek, very pleased to have you here. I’m Henry Matthews, come in, come in. The wife’s been watchin’ through the windows all day. Very excited we are, very excited.”
All the time Henry Matthews was speaking, he was vigourously shaking the means hands, ushering the ladies to the door and waving up two young boys to take care of the horses.
As they entered the cottage, a woman of indeterminate age came bustling towards them wiping floury hands on her apron and smiling as she spoke, “So welcome you all are, I’m Nora Matthews please come in and sit, I’ve got a pot of tea on and I’m sure Henry can find something to slake the means thirst” she said, her eyes twinkling as though on the brink of laughter. “Children would you like some cordial and there’s a fresh batch of biscuits on the table there or bread and jam. You must be hungry, now you all help yourselves whilst I look after your mothers.” She ushered them into the kitchen like a mother hen, showing the older ones where the bread knife and cutting board were. “We don’t stand on ceremony here, that you can be sure of. Not enough visitors around these parts to impress. Michael and Samuel will show you where everything is won’t you boys?” this last comment was addressed to two young lads who bore an uncanny resemblance to their mother. With an answering nod from the boys the children jostled for position at the table, waiting to cram thick slices of bread and jam into hungry mouths followed by hot biscuits and cordial.
Nessa Murphy and Maureen McPherson followed Mrs Matthews into another room, giving their offspring a final glance that said quite clearly ‘Behave or suffer the consequences’.
After the dust of the road and the hardness of the wagon seat it was so nice to walk into such a welcoming room. Not fancy by any means but clean and tidy, with 3 padded seats and a rocking chair by the fireplace, a small obviously home-made table covered with what could only be Mrs Matthews’ best cloth, upon which sat the china teapot and 3 cups and a plate of sandwiches and biscuits.
“I can’t tell you how pleased we are to see you,” she said as she poured the tea and offered milk and sugar. “Henry and I have been watching all day, how was the trip, no trouble I hope? Have you any news, did you meet anyone on the way?”
She suddenly sat down, her chest heaving with laughter, “Will you listen to me rattling on. You’ve probably guessed I’ve had no-one to speak to for some time but Henry, and whilst God knows I’m grateful for the man, hearin’ about horse’s hooves and the state of cows udders can get on the nerves a wee bit.
Both ladies sat with their teacups halfway to their lips throughout this little speech and in unison broke into laughter, visibly relaxing with their hostess and attempting to answer the seemingly endless questions Nora asked them.
The next morning with everyone fed, refreshed, baskets of produce in the back of the wagons and thanks given for the Matthews’ hospitality, both families set off from the little cottage on their homeward journey. This part of the trip would only take about 30 minutes for them and during this time Da described to them again, what he had found during the weeks he was away. He had bought 5 acres of lush green land on which he told them proudly was the start of a stone cottage. Apparently the previous owners’ wife had died from influenza the year before and he could not bring himself to stay there, but the cottage was nearly finished. There was the beginning of a hay shed as well and the McPhersons land was just down the track. They only had a rough bark cabin to start with but they had 2 strong lads and apparently a nephew would be joining them soon so all was good.
It seemed only a few minutes had passed when Conor pulled up and pointed across the valley. He grabbed his wife’s hand, smiling, excitement coursing through his veins,
“There it is my bonny Ness, our own home, forever and no-one, no-one, can take it from us!”
Nessa looked across at a small stone cottage and felt her heart constrict. To have a home of her own where she could raise her family in veritable peace was something she could never have dreamt of. It had been worth leaving Ireland and that long and arduous trip as well as the scrimping to make sure they had money hidden away. She smiled at Conor and nodded to the children, who without a backward glance jumped from the cart, racing ahead to the little house they would call home for many years to come.
Chapter 2
A deep growl nearby startled Bridget back to the present. She looked around and was shocked to see that she had wandered some way off the path. There was a crashing sound in the undergrowth and she gasped as what looked like a stunted cripple of a man approached her. She opened her mouth to scream just as the creature grasped the nearest tree and in contrast to its cumbersome appearance managed to climb to the top in a very short time. Of course she had seen koalas before just not this close and breathing a sigh of relief, she again, marvelled at the variety of animals in this country she now called home.
Now that the intruder into her thoughts was established in his tree, she set about making her way back to the path. She tried to work out how long she had been wandering and had a slight pang of regret at leaving without Stan. Still, it can’t have been that long, she’d find her way soon enough. After a while it became clear she had wandered quite some way off the path, but no need to panic just yet. She decided to have a break and cleared a small spot under a large gum to have some bread and cheese and a drink. She leant against the gum tree and felt her eyes starting to droop with tiredness. The sun warmed her and the sounds of the birds lulled her into sleep.
Sometime later she awoke and realised that she had slept for quite a while. The light was fading and whilst the urge to get home was strong, Bridget knew it would be folly to walk through the bush in the darkness. She had no choice but to try and make some sort of camp and wait until morning to move on. Hopefully, Stan might have started out after her and they may cross paths sooner than later. She looked around and collected as many twigs as she could find then set about creating a shelter from the fallen branches. Luckily, she always carried a box of Safety Matches, given to her by Mrs Matthews on their last visit, “just in case, my dear,” she had said. Well, this was certainly a ‘just in case moment’ thought Bridget.
After getting a small fire lit, a rough shelter leaning up against the tree and a bed of gum leaves made, Bridget sat and then and only then did she allow herself to panic a little.
If she had only waited a little longer she might have been home now sitting at the kitchen table with them all, making them laugh with the stories from Mrs Barton, but no, she had to do it her way and this was not the outcome she had looked forward to.
Still, there was nothing she could do for now so she leant back and nibbled on a little bread and had a sip of water and let her mind wander back to Callum.
Ah Callum! There was a face that brought a smile to her own. Hair as black as night with eyes that seem to sear through your body into your soul. He was head and shoulders taller than Bridget and since he had been working with his uncle on the farm he had broadened out and had the look of a man who spent a good deal of his time outdoors.
Of course Bridget knew he was sweet on her, and even though whenever she saw him her heart felt like it had been squeezed, she did not want to settle down yet. There were still things she wanted to do and accomplish. Firstly, she would like to help the new teacher with the little school that was opening up. Now, he was someone who had brought some colour to the area.
They had been visiting with Mr and Mrs Matthews when the coach had arrived with provisions, letters from home and passengers of which there was just the one. The man had stepped down and immediately seemed to fill the air with his presence. His clothing was more suited to the toffs Bridget had glimpsed on the ship, than here in the bush. His hair was dark and slicked back, his beard almost meticulously trimmed. He wore a large hat and a tweed cape, removing the former to flourish in a low bow as he introduced himself. “Mr Expidus Nathaniel Beaumont, at your service ladies and gentlemen. Actor, poet and most importantly, teacher.”
The men had looked at each other with eyebrows raised and the women had smiled nervously at this flamboyant creature in front of them.
“Welcome, Mr Beaumont, we weren’t expecting you quite so soon but it’s welcome you are,” said Henry.
“What an unusual name Mr Beaumont, I don’t believe I have ever heard of Expidus before”, Nora had commented. She could always be relied on to ask the questions everyone else was thinking.
“Ah, there is an easy explanation dear lady. You see my mother often commented on the fact that I could not wait to arrive in this world and that I have been hurrying through and expediting matters ever since.” “So what has brought you to this untamed land, Mr Beaumont? It seems a little wild for someone as cultured as yerself, if you don’t mind me sayin,” asked Da.
“Well sir, truth be told, and I do hope this does not shock the ladies, but my last employer Sir Herbert Angove was not all that impressed with my friendship with Lady Angove however innocent it may have been. So of the choices he gave me, it seemed that the wisest one I could make was to book the next passage out to Australia.”
Silence had followed this little announcement whilst Mr Beaumont watched their faces with just the hint of a smile. Mr Matthews reacted first, “Right you are then. That said, how about a wee dram gents and a bite to eat?”
Suddenly, everyone sprang into action, the women moving into the kitchen and the men following Henry out to the hay shed to imbibe in the latest batch of home brew.
A smile touched Bridget’s lips as she recalled the meeting. The sounds from the kitchen of the women chattering like a brood of hens about the new arrival and the laughter and back slapping from the hay shed of the men, no doubt hearing all the details about Mr Beaumont’s banishment.
Her thoughts drifted to home and suddenly the threat of tears stung her eyes. She wiped crossly at them with her sleeve, this was no time to fall apart. Someone would start looking for her as soon as they realised she was missing, but the question was when would they realise she was missing. Would Stan think that she had made it home and turn back? Her parents didn’t know she was coming home early so they weren’t expecting her. Fear suddenly gripped her whole body and she started sobbing, angry at herself for making such a stupid decision.
She sprinkled some water on her petticoat and wiped her face and put some more twigs on the fire. It wasn’t so much for the heat as it wasn’t a cool night, it was more to keep the animals and ‘bitey bugs’, as she called them, away. As she sat staring at the fire she watched as insects flew into the flames of certain death, mesmerized by the sight. Suddenly, Callums face appeared in the flames and she smiled.
She recalled the time at the market when she had seen a poor excuse for a dog near one of the stalls. She couldn’t tell what sort it was but it was about the size of one of Da’s lambs but not so well fed, with matted fur and eyes that looked like death would be a welcome relief. As she had bent to pat the mangy dog, she gazed around for the owner. Her eyes came to rest on a short fat man, dressed in filthy clothes, leaning against the wall of the inn watching her. With an unsteady gait he came towards her, the smell of him arriving first. As he neared, he lifted his foot and took aim at the dog’s belly. Bridget spun around catching his foot with her heavy basket so that he reeled back, a look of surprise on his face.
“How dare you!” she seethed, her brown eyes almost black with anger. She stood up a good head above the drunk and gave him such a piercing look, he seem to wither before her.
‘Ah, he’s nothin’ but a mongrel, deserves wha’ he gets.” The drunk replied, baring rotten teeth, his breath reeking of ale.
“Touch this animal again, and so help me you’ll regret it. It’s a poor excuse for a man who has to beat a dog to make himself feel good.” She said, not wavering from his stare.
Looking at the young woman with red hair escaping wildly from her cap and her fist clenched at her side the drunk decided retreat at this time, was probably the best idea. He spat a great glob of tobacco at her feet in disgust, and pointed a filthy finger at her saying,
“e’s yours then love and bloody good luck to ya an all! Bu’ I won’t forget this, oh no I'll remember you alright’ darlin, don’t you worry.” Turning on his heel he lurched back to the inn and disappeared through the doorway.
Bridget bent down once more to the dog.
“Well Miss Murphy, I see you’ve sorted another one then.” She turned in the direction of the voice and a smile touched her lips.
“Why Mr McPherson what a pleasure, were you hiding behind the wall then, waiting until it was safe to come out?” she asked
“Now Bridget, when have you needed anyone to fight your battles for you and besides this one seemed relatively easy.” Callum McPherson was smiling as he spoke, enjoying the chance encounter with this young lady.
“Aye and what a fine specimen of a man he was too, picking on this poor wee defenceless animal.”
Bridget picked up her basket and made to move off when Callum gently took hold of her arm. “If you’ve finished your shopping for today can I offer you a ride home Bridget, I have my cart here and I would enjoy the company.” he said
“Why thankyou sir,” she smiled tilting her head, “I’d be much obliged”.
“I can make room for your friend too if you like”, nodding in the direction of the dog who, with a slight wag of his tail, had assumed he was included in the party.
“Well, I’m not sure if Da will be pleased but I certainly can’t leave the poor wee mongrel to the likes of that drunken beast so thankyou kind sir, we shall accept your offer,” she said giving a slight curtsey in fun.
As they walked to the stables, it was noticed by others in the small town what a handsome couple they made even if the mangy looking dog did detract from the picture somewhat.
Callum placed Bridget's basket and the dog in the cart, and sat beside her taking the reins. They spoke amiably for the first 2 miles or so and after that the rhythm of the horse lulled them into a contented silence.

As they made their way through the gate to the Murphy farm Bridget’s youngest sister Maeve and brother Alroy ran down the dusty track to meet them.
“Did you buy us anything our Bridget? Whose dog is that? Why are you with Callum?” their questions clamouring over one another.
“Maeve, Alroy where’s your manners for goodness sake, now get away wi’ you and find Da and tell him we have a visitor.” Bridget’s mother stepped out of the doorway of the small log cabin wiping her hands on her apron.
Why Callum, it’s nice to see you again, you’ll come in for a cup of tea or something a little stronger perhaps?” she asked with a smile that reached her eyes. “Conor was hoping to catch up with you.”