“It’s from Kit,” she said.
“Why should you think that?”
“I recognize his handwriting. I taught him, remember?”
Nathan continued to smile, refusing to say one way or the other.
“Oh, very well,” she said, sighing. “Have your secrets.”
“Thank you. And was there anything for you?” he asked.
She shook her head and her eyes were grave now. “Nothing. It’s been a week since the robbery. I don’t suppose my letter will ever be found.”
“Probably not.” Especially if Brig had it. There had been no robberies of Cobb & Co. coaches since the one a week ago and that only reinforced Nathan’s belief that Brigham had been responsible. Nathan had no idea if Lydia’s letter had been the motive for the robbery or if Brigham had been after money and chanced upon the letter. The strongbox had been found two days after the holdup in a thicket a few hundred yards from the road. The contents of the box were scattered, some of the mail had been opened in a hurried search for money, but it appeared that a large portion of it was recovered. Lydia’s letter was not among the items. “You’ve written to your father again, haven’t you? Told him what happened?”
“A few days ago, when I realized the Cobb people most likely would never have anything for me. But it will take so long, Nathan.” She hugged her knees against her chest and stared off at the house in the distance. “Things that are happening to me now, things I want to share with my parents, won’t be known to them for weeks and it will be weeks again before I know a reply. I wonder about them: what they’re doing, what they think of the decision I’ve made to stay here. I wonder if they think I’ve betrayed them.”
“Is that what you think?” he asked.
“No…well, sometimes I thought it when I was living in Sydney without you. I felt I belonged in San Francisco if I couldn’t really be happy anywhere else. I worry that Papa will think my love for him has lessened in some way because of what I’ve come to feel for Irish.”
“I think Samuel will understand.”
“I hope so.” She blinked back a sudden rush of tears and glanced at Nathan, a sad half-smile on her lips. “Mother won’t.”
Nathan pitched the chicken bone over his shoulder, wiped his hands on his napkin, and caught Lydia by the arm and pulled her closer. When she was nestled comfortably against him he said, “Your mother’s not old enough to understand. She may never be. She’s still the reckless, spoiled girl she was of seventeen when she met Irish. Marriage and childbirth never changed her. She was jealous of Samuel taking Pei Ling to his bed, yet she never recognized that she bore some of the responsibility for their affair. She kept you in her shadow so it was a rare occasion when you shined, and when you did, she managed to make you believe you hadn’t.”
“Nathan.” Lydia said his name quietly, wanting him to stop. “She’s my mother. I don’t always like her, but I do love her. I’m more familiar with her faults than you. I’m the one who could never be bright or pretty or accomplished enough to suit her. She tried to make me in her image and failed miserably.”
“Thank God,” Nathan said feelingly. “If you were any brighter, any more beautiful, or a fraction more accomplished, you would have married that James Early fellow years ago.”
Lydia laughed. “Especially if I were brighter.”
“Especially that.”
She picked up the basket and put it on his lap. “You better eat something else, I’m not—” Lydia turned her head as something she saw out of the corner of her eye got her attention. Gray curling smoke was rising above one of the hills in the distance. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing.
Nathan was on his feet immediately, pulling Lydia to hers. “Go back down to the house and tell anyone who’s left at the stable that we’ve got a bushfire near Coolabri. They’ll know what to bring.” He caught her elbow as she started to go. “And don’t come back yourself, Liddy. I mean it. Stay at the house with Irish. He’ll want to come rattling out here in that buggy of his and it won’t be safe.”
Lydia only looked behind her once as she raced her horse back to the stable. Nathan and the stockmen had already mounted and were charging in the direction of the smoke.
From high groundBrig watched the fire march forward. Occasionally the orange-and-red flames would break rank and leap ahead to lick at the stringy bark of a gum tree or a high tuft of grass. The sheep had corralled themselves in the valley’s dead end and were bleating helplessly, struggling for position and protection as the fire approached.
Nathan was among the first group of men to arrive. Brigham saw immediately that they had nothing with them to fight the fire. That suited him perfectly; it meant he had perhaps as much as an hour before more help would arrive, if it ever did. The fire would spread and accidents could happen. It was what he had been waiting for since he seeded Coolabri with kindling.
The split among the men occurred more quickly than Brig anticipated. Most of them went to the far end of the valley in an attempt to drive the sheep out to safety. One man dismounted, tore the saddle blanket free of his horse and began beating out the small fires that broke free of the main block of flames. Brig was only interested in Nathan’s movements, and as he studied his old friend, he made a succession of wagers with himself about the next direction Nathan would take. He watched Nathan check the wind and search the smoldering burnt-out area on horseback, but it wasn’t until Nathan rode clearly into Brig’s sights and out of the sight of the other men that Brig could do anything.
Brig dug more comfortably into the grass, steadied himself carefully, and raised his gun. He was an excellent shot, but he didn’t overestimate his abilities, wanting no accidents to remind him of the last time he tried something so risky. No matter how he felt betrayed by Nathan, he didn’t want to maim him. Not for Nathan, the life of a cripple. The shot had to be clean and...
Nathan moved slowly along the outer edge of the flames. The heat must be enormous, Brig thought, following Nathan with the nose of his gun. He waited. The wind shifted.
He fired.
Lydia helpedgather supplies from the stable and the house and load them on a wagon. Axes, shovels, blankets, and picks were thrown onto the bed. Molly and Tess packed food and drink for the men and drove the wagon themselves to deliver it all. Irish wheeled into the kitchen just as Lydia was waving them off.
“What the bloody hell’s going on?” he demanded. “People running up and down the stairs. Everyone shouting.”
“Bushfire,” said Lydia. She drew his attention to the kitchen window and pointed northwest. A gray haze was lying flat on the horizon. “There. Nathan called it Coolabri. Everyone’s gone but us. I think this is what’s known as holding down the fort.”
