Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer Page A

tidy yourself up and put on your best face. I’m taking you to meet some people.”

Twelve
    Thomas slithered from the saddle. The throbbing pain in his backside eased, only to return with each step he took towards the hut. He’d been away for five days and most of that daylight time had been spent in the saddle. Derriere had gained in strength and was proving to be a steady worker, but the pain in Thomas’s left buttock had increased.
    This morning he had gingerly tested the area with his fingers and found a large lump that throbbed at his touch. He suspected it might be a boil. Some of the men he had shared quarters with back in Adelaide had suffered with the large pus-filled sores on their arms and legs and Duffy had pulled up a trouser leg to reveal one when they’d sat by the fire.
    Thomas hobbled from the trees towards his hut then pulled up, gritting his teeth as the pain radiated further. His fire, which should have been cold, was sending up puffs of smoke. He cast his eyes around the camp but there was no other sign of movement or change. Carefully he stepped forward again. The fire had been burning long enough to make coals, over which his pot was steaming.
    He pushed back his hat and scratched his head. Maybe Duffy had come back and was sleeping off his drink in the hut. No tell-tale snores reached Thomas’s ears as he slowly made his way around to the door at the front. It was closed. The hinge creaked as he opened it. A quick glance showed nobody inside. He looked towards the stream but could see nothing. He didn’t want the pain of walking that far.
    His thoughts were on the coals and the pocket knife he carried. If he could heat the tip of the knife he might be able to cut open the boil. Back at the fire he threw fresh twigs and wood on the coals to make flames then lay his knife on the stone beside the pot. He undid his belt and buttons, lowered his trousers and twisted to try to see the cause of his pain.
    A footfall and gasp made him spin. Beside his hut stood a young woman carrying a small bag and an armload of sticks. It was, God help him, the very same young woman he’d seen in the shop when buying his hat. He staggered and tried to pull up his trousers but tripped and fell to the ground, landing with full force on his bottom; the pain knifed up his body and he let out a yelp.
    The woman dropped her load and rushed toward him. “Are you hurt?” she said, her face lined with concern.
    Thomas pushed one hand towards her to stop her coming any closer. Besides the merciless pain he was aware that his garments were still tangled around his legs and he was sitting in his drawers. “I’m all right,” he gasped.
    â€œYou don’t look all right. Can I help?”
    Thomas scrabbled backwards and cried out as he put his hand too close to the coals of his fire.
    She took another step forward. “It looks like you need –”
    â€œStay back,” he gasped.
    She held him in a piercing gaze. A puzzled look crossed her face as if she was trying to remember something, then it was gone.
    â€œAll right,” she said, “but I have four brothers who have had all kinds of injuries and ailments. I am quite used to the male form, from helping Mother mend them.”
    â€œPlease, Miss …”
    â€œElizabeth Smith.” She nodded her head. “But as we’re neighbours, you can call me Lizzie.”
    She spoke so fast Thomas thought his head would spin, and oh dear, she looked like she was going to step forward again. “Please, Miss Smith, can you turn away?”
    â€œMen,” she huffed. “Too much pride.” She spun on her heel and walked back to where she’d dropped her things.
    Thomas got to his feet as quickly as he could, eased his trousers back around his waist, did himself up and inspected his hand. A red mark was forming. He must have put it on a coal. All the while the woman continued to speak about the