{Alexandra} The First Muster
May. 26th, 2011 10:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wayfarers_lodgeOOC I've been planning to write this one for a while, but then ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miss_madb put up a meme, so here it is. Of course, this one's probably a little big for the meme prereqs, so if anyone thinks it is, let me know- I have another story I can write.
IC
Monday, March 11, 1885
It was the night before Alexandra's father left for the big Newcastle horse sales, and Alex was missing him already. For about ten days every six months, most of the stockmen on the property left to take the latest generation of horses to the Newcastle stockyards to sell and trade away. This was, as she had discovered a few years ago, when her father had returned with most of those he'd taken with him and a dreadful frown, the main income earner for the household, and very important business.
She wanted to go with him, but as her mother frequently insisted, the stockyards were no place for a lady. No, a lady needed to favour her reading and her needlework and her lessons at the small upright piano where her mother insisted that she practiced. She never liked piano, anyway- it made her feel graceless and stupid when she inevitably stumbled at the notes. So ladies stayed at home, while her father and her men rode the 85-odd miles to Newcastle, and with that in mind, she waited up for her Papa to come and say goodnight.
When he did, she was surprised that he was carrying a cloth bundle with him.
"Papa, wha-"
"Shhh, my poppet," he replied, holding one work-hardened hand to his lips as he carefully eased the door closed, "Your mama is feeling poorly, so she has retired early. Would never wish it upon her, of course, but it couldn't have been at a better time..."
James Hamersley fumbled into silence, pinned by his daughter's sharp and uncomprehending gaze. He had never been very good at words, so he unrolled the bundle, so that it may speak for him.
Alex very tentatively reached out to touch the serge pants, the soft cotton shirt and tan vest. When he set down the long, oiled broadcloth stockman's coat and hat with a set of saddlebags, she looked up at him, wild-eyed.
"Papa, what is this?"
"This is for you, poppet. There isn't an easy way to say this, but I'm taking you with me on the run."
"R... really?" Alex goggled, and carefully put the hat on her head, blinking at her reflection in the mirror.
"Yes, really. You need to pack now. I wish I could have said something earlier, but your mother... well, anyway, you must pack light. I have a change or two of these for you in my bags, but you must bring two dresses for when we are in Newcastle, and nightclothes. And you must pack quietly."
"But what will Mama say?"
"Your mother... doesn't know, Alex. Couldn't bring myself to ask her. So pack quiet-like. We'll be leaving at four, alright?"
Alex nodded silently, shaking with excitement and nerves, before jumping up to hug her father.
"Thank you, Papa."
"You can thank me once this is all over, poppet," he said softly, stroking her hair briefly before putting his hands on her shoulders, "Because you'll be sore as the blazes and then we'll have to deal with your mother, alright? Now, bed. We set out early."
Tuesday, March 12, 1885
The Autumn air was cool in the morning, but not chilly enough to make Alex uncomfortable as she saddled Rufio. Many of the men were doing the same with their horses, and as far as she can tell, none were at all surprised to see her, least of all the grizzled head Stockman, Ivan, who came over to double check her straps.
"You don't need to, Ivan, you know me." She said softly, amused at his fatherly concern.
"Beh, yes, I do," he replied, waving a hand, his strong Russian accent breaking up his speech, "Everyone get cocky, morning of first muster. I am best horseman, they say, I round up one hundred horse before smoko. Then first thing happen, they get a start in the saddle and end up ar-" He paused, and considered his audience "Well, they end up back over top end, if you get my meaning, Sashenka."
He straightened, and patted Rufio's flank. "But this is good and tight, so bring Rufio out, your papa want to address everyone before we ride out."
Grinning to herself, she lead Rufio out of the stalls. He flicked his ears forward excitedly, and whickered softly.
"Shush, you." Alex murmured, stroking his neck as she came alongside the other men, and waited for the last few stragglers to arrive before her father could speak.
"Good morning, lads," he said, smiling brightly, "And what a pleasure it is to see your beautiful, shining faces here before me."
The men chuckled, and murmured back their greetings. He'd been starting every day of work the same way since any of them had known him.
"And good morning to you first timers with us. A few rules. We stop for smoko when I say, and every man looks after his own horse. You address me as Sir on the road. You tell me or Ivan if something happens to you or your horse- everything from rubbing straps to saddlesores to snakebites. Is that clear?"
Two of the boys, about Alex's age, joined her in nodding and muttering their agreement.
"Very good. And one more thing. My daughter's coming with us. You all know Alex. She'll follow the same rules as everyone else. If you don't like it, you're welcome to stay behind."
He had to have talked about it before now, for although there were a few dirty looks, none of them dared dissent. Several of her 'Uncles' even smiled and waved at her.
"Alright then, that's all. It's four days to Newcastle, and we've got a pretty good mob this year, so I want to be well on the way to Singleton before the sun comes up. Hop up, lads, let's go."
And with that, thirteen men brought four dozen horses around to move out onto the Great Northern Road.
Thursday, March 14, 1885
Alex looked around as the men broke up after afternoon smoko, and smiled. It hadn't been an easy run- it had rained on the Tuesday, and they'd spent the entire morning picking their way through the muddy backroads, trying not to let the horses get chilled- but it had been a good one, and they had otherwise made good time. Some of the men were still grumbly about her presence, but most had been mollified by her quiet behaviour and willingness to pitch in around the fire. Satisfied that no one would need her help, she kicked herself up into the saddle to wait.
Afterwards, Alex remembered the next few moments with startling clarity. Burt, the old, calm gelding who had been leading stock to muster for years, very rarely startled or misbehaved when on the run. The only thing that tended to scare him nowdays was unexpected movement around his feet, so when the black snake reared up right in front of him and hissed, Burt had done the only sensible thing for a horse and bolted.
Unfortunately, the rest of the mob knew how unflappable old Burt was, so when he ran, they did, too.
The decision came to Alex in a moment of crystalline realisation. She was the only one anywhere near saddled, only Ivan's Magda came anywhere near Rufio for long distance speed, and the stampede had crossed in front of her, putting her to the left side. Before any of the other men could react, she flicked her reins and nudged Rufio in the ribs. "Hop up, boy! Get 'em!"
Rufio surged forward like a wave breaking, even as Alex heard her father shout unintelligably after her. As she pounded over the Maitland flats, the trees and bushes whipped past her face and legs, even keeping low along Rufio's neck. The miles were eaten up under the mob's flashing hooves. Burt was old, but he was old for a reason. His ligaments were steel wires, and although his gait was on the shorter side for a horse, he made amazing time, even when he wasn't running for his life.
Eventually, Alex drew alongside Burt as the leader of the mob. She kicked herself up so she was standing on the saddle, keenly aware that any stop in Rufio's gait, any uneven surface, and she would be dead under the hooves of the mob.
Papa's going to tan my hide for this she thought grimly as she jumped from Rufio's back and onto Burt's, landing with a jarring thud. Twining her fingers through his mane, she dared to look up, and cursed as she did so. The soft turf was giving way to the mangroves of the Kooragang marshes, which meant nothing but trouble for a stampeding mob- broken legs and wrenched backs for the unlucky, and hoof rot, fever, and worms for those that survived.
James Hamersley had always been open with his daughter about they way he raised and trained his horses, having nothing to hide from the girl who loved his work as much as he did- except for what he referred to as his Horseman's Word. It was one of the standard stockie's tales, that there was a magic word that could be spoken to any horse to bring it to rein and calm it down when it was agitated. Alex's papa had always told her that it 'wasn't for girls' to use his Horseman's Word. But his Word wasn't a subtle, whispered thing, and so, in spite of her father's naïvete, Alex had learned what the fuss was all about.
So Alex pulled back with all her strength against Burt's mane, and shouted "BURT, YOU BASTARD, STOP!" And whether it was the reining in, the Word, or both, he stopped, and the mob staggered to a standstill around him.
Alex slid off Burt's back, trembling with exertion, and ran one hand over his neck and shoulders as she reached for an oatcake with the other. The other horses gathered around, craning their necks to reach their share.
"Oh yes, you're glad to see me now, aren't you?" She chided gently, taking the rope from her belt and tying a halter around Burt's head. "All happy and pleased to see Alex when she comes bearing oa- Oh, hello, Rufio," she paused to stroke the stallion's neck for a moment as he stuck his head over her shoulder, "Yes, you're a moocher too, aren't you?"
She paused long enough to give the tired, sweating horses a rubdown before gingerly easing herself up into the saddle again, Burt's lead rope clutched tightly in her left hand.
"Come on, you troublemakers. We should get you back to Papa before he murders me."
~*~*~
Alex was certain that the ride out wasn't this long, even taking adrenaline and the gallop of the mob into account, even with the twice she'd had to stop when Burt had twitched nervously, the tremor of his agitation shaking the lead rope in her hand, not wanting to risk a second flight now that her shoulder was on the other end of it. But the camp was not far ahead, just a little further now.
The sun was well down before Ivan and the lads found her. The old stockman hissed when he saw her, and held his arms up as if to help her down, but she shook her head.
"No, sir," she murmured, "I'm stayin' up here. Can't make me get down. Lead on. Take the lead."
Burt's lead rope slid out of her grasp and into the waiting hands of one of the green lads.
"Don' you startle old Burt, you," she sighed, shoulders rolling forward with relief, "You can fetch'em back next time if you do."
"No one's going to startle anyone, Sashenka," Ivan replied, his voice soft, "Let's get you back to camp."
When they reached the camp, at long last, her father was waiting for her. His face was unreadable, a perfect blank mask, and he didn't make a sound when Ivan had to lift her down from the saddle. Very carefully, Alex walked towards him, and when she stopped, she couldn't meet his eyes.
"So, my l- girl," he said, "Would you mind explaining to me what that was all about?"
She longed to call him Papa, to tell him how scared she had been, and how sore she was, but the rules were the rules. "We would have lost them otherwise, sir. They were headed into the marshes. I was the only one in the saddle, and Rufio has the staying power to catch old Burt with some urging. There was nothing else to be done."
"When Burt has his head, he won't stop for just anyone. What happened?"
"I... jumped on his back, sir." Alex murmured, keenly aware of every eye around the fire being on her. She could practically hear her father's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.
"And then?"
"Then... I used the Horseman's Word, sir." She muttered, flushing.
"In that you called him a bastard?" The other men flinched, as if expecting the sky to crack open at the cussing in front of a lady.
"Y... es, sir."
"So... you jumped from Rufio's back onto Burt's, at full gallop, at the front of the mob, and then proceeded to use the Horseman's Word upon him, and then lead the mob back to us, not losing a single one?"
"That is more or less the case, sir."
The silence that followed was, by far, the worst part of Alexandra's day. It stretched on and on as she waited for her father to tell her that he would never ride with her again.
"Alexandra Marie Hamersley."
She hadn't expected him to sound so exasperated and amused, so she glanced up. He was smiling and shaking his head.
"Never let your mother even THINK you know about the Horseman's Word, or she will have my guts for your garters."
"I'll do my best, sir." She replied with a ridiculous grin, thoroughly relieved. And then, to her chagrin, she fainted.
Sunday, March 16, 1885
The last day of sales, and Alex was still sore. Gingerly, she climbed down the hotel stairs in her nightgown and robe, clutching the bannister tightly in case her legs spasmed, and drew herself a cup of water from the kitchen.
As she walked back to the stairs, she heard her father talking to Mr Olsen, the proprietor of the Hunter Street Hotel.
"Now, come on, Jimmy," said the barkeep, one of her father's oldest friends, pouring out two pints of Squires, "I've kept my peace all weekend. Why'd'you bring your little girl along? This isn't the right place for her, she should be at home with her learning and her stitching or something."
James Hamersley stretched out, propping his feet on the chair next to him, and lit up a cigarette before answering. "Let me tell you a little story, Jacky," he said, taking a mouthful of his beer, "You remember Rex?"
Jack laughed. "Yeah, I remember that bastard. Surprised he didn't kill any of your mares with his meanness, Jim, I always told you that."
"Exactly. Now, I was working with the geldings around Rex one day, had him hobbled so that he couldn't come over and take a chunk out of them. Everything was all going well, until I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alex had come out into the yard. I'd left the gate open enough that the lads could push it open, but it would give a horse some pause, you know how it is. The gap was big enough for a four year old bit of a girl to squeeze through without making a sound. She'd managed to wander up to Rex before I even knew she was there."
Jack whistled. "How bad was it?"
"Not at all, Jacky. His ears were forward and he was sniffing her hair, curious as a foal. She had an oat biscuit, probably from Cook, and held it up to him, hand flat as you please, and bless me if he didn't take it from her like she'd just offered him the Crown Jewels. So up I go, and damned if he didn't bare his teeth at me like the nasty old sod he was. I called Alex to me and asked her what she thought she was doing, and she said 'Papa, he was lonely,' as if it were the most natural thing to her in the world."
Alex's father studied his beer for a moment, lost for words, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft but intense. Alex risked craning her head around the door to hear him.
"You know I always wanted a boy, Jacky, who doesn't, but I couldn't help but love my little girl the first time I saw her. Then with Elaine's troubles with the birth, I'd gotten used to never having a son. But you know what Alex did out there? She ran down Burt out on the flats. First hard ride, never been on a muster in her life, and saved the mob. Ivan doesn't think he could have done that. I'm not sure I could have either. I love my daughter, I love her to Hell and back, but by God, Jacky, that girl is the son I have always wanted."
Alex smiled softly, and then jumped as a hand came down on her shoulder. She turned, and Ivan was standing behind her. She hadn't even heard him, and wondered how long he had been there.
"Come on, Sashenka," he said quietly, ushering her back towards the stairs "This is grown-up talk, and not for little girls up past their bed-time."
Wednesday, March 19, 1885
The homestead was all but dark as the drovers came in, relieved to see the familiar sights of home, even if the ride back had been at a laid back pace.
Alex dismounted and lead Rufio into his stall, and went to fetch his blanket as she reflected. The men had all behaved as if she were one of them on the ride back, if a somewhat quieter, smaller and more genteel one, and the silence between them and the songs and jokes that broke it were easygoing and relaxed. She smiled as she threw the blanket over Rufio's back and then pulled down some fresh feed for him, certain that she would remember this ride as some of the best days of her life.
Her smile dimmed as she walked out of the stable, and saw her mother standing under the cover of the verandah, in intense conversation with her father. Her stomach sank as her mother spotted her, and pointed to the door.
"Inside, young lady," she said, voice icy, "You will wash yourself down before you go to bed, you are filthy."
Alex looked to her father, and was dismayed to find him just as chastened as she felt, and so she went inside.
Monday, September 14, 1885
Alex sat at her writing dress, trying to ignore the ball of unhappiness in her stomach. Her mother hadn't metioned the muster again, and for a few weeks, things had been painfully polite between her and her father. Gradually, though, things had begun to loosen up- until now. In preperation for the spring muster, her father had been awkward around her, and her mother's tone and behaviour had taken on a steely edge whenever Alex could find time for Rufio.
So it was with trepidation that she told her mother that she could come in that evening, and she wondered if this was the point that she would be sent away to a finishing school, or something else equally proper but intimidating.
Elaine Hamersley sat on the bed, looking around, as if trying to find something to focus on, before her eyes fell to her hands with a sigh.
"I've... never understood your father's passion for horses," she said, "He says he inherited it from one of his uncles. He took me out with him to one of the yards when we were first married. It was dreadful. I was sore and filthy and flybitten for days afterwards, and he promised me that he wouldn't bring me out again unless I wanted to. I haven't been out on a muster with him since."
She looked up at her daughter, and smiled sadly.
"I don't want to keep you from this thing that you love, Alex, that you share with your father. When you came home... you just looked so alive, so at ease, and I won't lie to you and say it didn't hurt me, that you could share this with him and I can't. But that's a ridiculous and a ungracious thing for me to think or feel."
She stood, and took Alex's hand, leading the confused girl into the master bedroom down the hall.
On the bed lay a pair of dresses in lawn fabric, one in tan and the other in mint green, trimmed with simple lace, with matching bloomers.
"They call this part of the Dress Reform Movement," Alex's mother explained as her daughter shyly reached out to touch the dresses, "Such designs maintain a woman's modesty, while leaving her able to exercise in many ways, such as riding a bicycle- or a horse."
"Mama..." Alex said querelously, hands trembling, "are you saying I can go on the muster with Papa?"
"As long as you stay clean and keep your own clothes in good order, Alex. You are a Hamersley, and have a name to uphold."
Alex shrieked with delight, and hugged her mother with such ferocity that it pulled them both to the floor. When her father came up to see what all the fuss was about, he walked in on the two women tangled in their clothes and each other, laughing with joy, and with many questions to answer to the confused Mr Hamersley
miss_madb put up a meme, so here it is. Of course, this one's probably a little big for the meme prereqs, so if anyone thinks it is, let me know- I have another story I can write.IC
Monday, March 11, 1885
It was the night before Alexandra's father left for the big Newcastle horse sales, and Alex was missing him already. For about ten days every six months, most of the stockmen on the property left to take the latest generation of horses to the Newcastle stockyards to sell and trade away. This was, as she had discovered a few years ago, when her father had returned with most of those he'd taken with him and a dreadful frown, the main income earner for the household, and very important business.
She wanted to go with him, but as her mother frequently insisted, the stockyards were no place for a lady. No, a lady needed to favour her reading and her needlework and her lessons at the small upright piano where her mother insisted that she practiced. She never liked piano, anyway- it made her feel graceless and stupid when she inevitably stumbled at the notes. So ladies stayed at home, while her father and her men rode the 85-odd miles to Newcastle, and with that in mind, she waited up for her Papa to come and say goodnight.
When he did, she was surprised that he was carrying a cloth bundle with him.
"Papa, wha-"
"Shhh, my poppet," he replied, holding one work-hardened hand to his lips as he carefully eased the door closed, "Your mama is feeling poorly, so she has retired early. Would never wish it upon her, of course, but it couldn't have been at a better time..."
James Hamersley fumbled into silence, pinned by his daughter's sharp and uncomprehending gaze. He had never been very good at words, so he unrolled the bundle, so that it may speak for him.
Alex very tentatively reached out to touch the serge pants, the soft cotton shirt and tan vest. When he set down the long, oiled broadcloth stockman's coat and hat with a set of saddlebags, she looked up at him, wild-eyed.
"Papa, what is this?"
"This is for you, poppet. There isn't an easy way to say this, but I'm taking you with me on the run."
"R... really?" Alex goggled, and carefully put the hat on her head, blinking at her reflection in the mirror.
"Yes, really. You need to pack now. I wish I could have said something earlier, but your mother... well, anyway, you must pack light. I have a change or two of these for you in my bags, but you must bring two dresses for when we are in Newcastle, and nightclothes. And you must pack quietly."
"But what will Mama say?"
"Your mother... doesn't know, Alex. Couldn't bring myself to ask her. So pack quiet-like. We'll be leaving at four, alright?"
Alex nodded silently, shaking with excitement and nerves, before jumping up to hug her father.
"Thank you, Papa."
"You can thank me once this is all over, poppet," he said softly, stroking her hair briefly before putting his hands on her shoulders, "Because you'll be sore as the blazes and then we'll have to deal with your mother, alright? Now, bed. We set out early."
Tuesday, March 12, 1885
The Autumn air was cool in the morning, but not chilly enough to make Alex uncomfortable as she saddled Rufio. Many of the men were doing the same with their horses, and as far as she can tell, none were at all surprised to see her, least of all the grizzled head Stockman, Ivan, who came over to double check her straps.
"You don't need to, Ivan, you know me." She said softly, amused at his fatherly concern.
"Beh, yes, I do," he replied, waving a hand, his strong Russian accent breaking up his speech, "Everyone get cocky, morning of first muster. I am best horseman, they say, I round up one hundred horse before smoko. Then first thing happen, they get a start in the saddle and end up ar-" He paused, and considered his audience "Well, they end up back over top end, if you get my meaning, Sashenka."
He straightened, and patted Rufio's flank. "But this is good and tight, so bring Rufio out, your papa want to address everyone before we ride out."
Grinning to herself, she lead Rufio out of the stalls. He flicked his ears forward excitedly, and whickered softly.
"Shush, you." Alex murmured, stroking his neck as she came alongside the other men, and waited for the last few stragglers to arrive before her father could speak.
"Good morning, lads," he said, smiling brightly, "And what a pleasure it is to see your beautiful, shining faces here before me."
The men chuckled, and murmured back their greetings. He'd been starting every day of work the same way since any of them had known him.
"And good morning to you first timers with us. A few rules. We stop for smoko when I say, and every man looks after his own horse. You address me as Sir on the road. You tell me or Ivan if something happens to you or your horse- everything from rubbing straps to saddlesores to snakebites. Is that clear?"
Two of the boys, about Alex's age, joined her in nodding and muttering their agreement.
"Very good. And one more thing. My daughter's coming with us. You all know Alex. She'll follow the same rules as everyone else. If you don't like it, you're welcome to stay behind."
He had to have talked about it before now, for although there were a few dirty looks, none of them dared dissent. Several of her 'Uncles' even smiled and waved at her.
"Alright then, that's all. It's four days to Newcastle, and we've got a pretty good mob this year, so I want to be well on the way to Singleton before the sun comes up. Hop up, lads, let's go."
And with that, thirteen men brought four dozen horses around to move out onto the Great Northern Road.
Thursday, March 14, 1885
Alex looked around as the men broke up after afternoon smoko, and smiled. It hadn't been an easy run- it had rained on the Tuesday, and they'd spent the entire morning picking their way through the muddy backroads, trying not to let the horses get chilled- but it had been a good one, and they had otherwise made good time. Some of the men were still grumbly about her presence, but most had been mollified by her quiet behaviour and willingness to pitch in around the fire. Satisfied that no one would need her help, she kicked herself up into the saddle to wait.
Afterwards, Alex remembered the next few moments with startling clarity. Burt, the old, calm gelding who had been leading stock to muster for years, very rarely startled or misbehaved when on the run. The only thing that tended to scare him nowdays was unexpected movement around his feet, so when the black snake reared up right in front of him and hissed, Burt had done the only sensible thing for a horse and bolted.
Unfortunately, the rest of the mob knew how unflappable old Burt was, so when he ran, they did, too.
The decision came to Alex in a moment of crystalline realisation. She was the only one anywhere near saddled, only Ivan's Magda came anywhere near Rufio for long distance speed, and the stampede had crossed in front of her, putting her to the left side. Before any of the other men could react, she flicked her reins and nudged Rufio in the ribs. "Hop up, boy! Get 'em!"
Rufio surged forward like a wave breaking, even as Alex heard her father shout unintelligably after her. As she pounded over the Maitland flats, the trees and bushes whipped past her face and legs, even keeping low along Rufio's neck. The miles were eaten up under the mob's flashing hooves. Burt was old, but he was old for a reason. His ligaments were steel wires, and although his gait was on the shorter side for a horse, he made amazing time, even when he wasn't running for his life.
Eventually, Alex drew alongside Burt as the leader of the mob. She kicked herself up so she was standing on the saddle, keenly aware that any stop in Rufio's gait, any uneven surface, and she would be dead under the hooves of the mob.
Papa's going to tan my hide for this she thought grimly as she jumped from Rufio's back and onto Burt's, landing with a jarring thud. Twining her fingers through his mane, she dared to look up, and cursed as she did so. The soft turf was giving way to the mangroves of the Kooragang marshes, which meant nothing but trouble for a stampeding mob- broken legs and wrenched backs for the unlucky, and hoof rot, fever, and worms for those that survived.
James Hamersley had always been open with his daughter about they way he raised and trained his horses, having nothing to hide from the girl who loved his work as much as he did- except for what he referred to as his Horseman's Word. It was one of the standard stockie's tales, that there was a magic word that could be spoken to any horse to bring it to rein and calm it down when it was agitated. Alex's papa had always told her that it 'wasn't for girls' to use his Horseman's Word. But his Word wasn't a subtle, whispered thing, and so, in spite of her father's naïvete, Alex had learned what the fuss was all about.
So Alex pulled back with all her strength against Burt's mane, and shouted "BURT, YOU BASTARD, STOP!" And whether it was the reining in, the Word, or both, he stopped, and the mob staggered to a standstill around him.
Alex slid off Burt's back, trembling with exertion, and ran one hand over his neck and shoulders as she reached for an oatcake with the other. The other horses gathered around, craning their necks to reach their share.
"Oh yes, you're glad to see me now, aren't you?" She chided gently, taking the rope from her belt and tying a halter around Burt's head. "All happy and pleased to see Alex when she comes bearing oa- Oh, hello, Rufio," she paused to stroke the stallion's neck for a moment as he stuck his head over her shoulder, "Yes, you're a moocher too, aren't you?"
She paused long enough to give the tired, sweating horses a rubdown before gingerly easing herself up into the saddle again, Burt's lead rope clutched tightly in her left hand.
"Come on, you troublemakers. We should get you back to Papa before he murders me."
~*~*~
Alex was certain that the ride out wasn't this long, even taking adrenaline and the gallop of the mob into account, even with the twice she'd had to stop when Burt had twitched nervously, the tremor of his agitation shaking the lead rope in her hand, not wanting to risk a second flight now that her shoulder was on the other end of it. But the camp was not far ahead, just a little further now.
The sun was well down before Ivan and the lads found her. The old stockman hissed when he saw her, and held his arms up as if to help her down, but she shook her head.
"No, sir," she murmured, "I'm stayin' up here. Can't make me get down. Lead on. Take the lead."
Burt's lead rope slid out of her grasp and into the waiting hands of one of the green lads.
"Don' you startle old Burt, you," she sighed, shoulders rolling forward with relief, "You can fetch'em back next time if you do."
"No one's going to startle anyone, Sashenka," Ivan replied, his voice soft, "Let's get you back to camp."
When they reached the camp, at long last, her father was waiting for her. His face was unreadable, a perfect blank mask, and he didn't make a sound when Ivan had to lift her down from the saddle. Very carefully, Alex walked towards him, and when she stopped, she couldn't meet his eyes.
"So, my l- girl," he said, "Would you mind explaining to me what that was all about?"
She longed to call him Papa, to tell him how scared she had been, and how sore she was, but the rules were the rules. "We would have lost them otherwise, sir. They were headed into the marshes. I was the only one in the saddle, and Rufio has the staying power to catch old Burt with some urging. There was nothing else to be done."
"When Burt has his head, he won't stop for just anyone. What happened?"
"I... jumped on his back, sir." Alex murmured, keenly aware of every eye around the fire being on her. She could practically hear her father's eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.
"And then?"
"Then... I used the Horseman's Word, sir." She muttered, flushing.
"In that you called him a bastard?" The other men flinched, as if expecting the sky to crack open at the cussing in front of a lady.
"Y... es, sir."
"So... you jumped from Rufio's back onto Burt's, at full gallop, at the front of the mob, and then proceeded to use the Horseman's Word upon him, and then lead the mob back to us, not losing a single one?"
"That is more or less the case, sir."
The silence that followed was, by far, the worst part of Alexandra's day. It stretched on and on as she waited for her father to tell her that he would never ride with her again.
"Alexandra Marie Hamersley."
She hadn't expected him to sound so exasperated and amused, so she glanced up. He was smiling and shaking his head.
"Never let your mother even THINK you know about the Horseman's Word, or she will have my guts for your garters."
"I'll do my best, sir." She replied with a ridiculous grin, thoroughly relieved. And then, to her chagrin, she fainted.
Sunday, March 16, 1885
The last day of sales, and Alex was still sore. Gingerly, she climbed down the hotel stairs in her nightgown and robe, clutching the bannister tightly in case her legs spasmed, and drew herself a cup of water from the kitchen.
As she walked back to the stairs, she heard her father talking to Mr Olsen, the proprietor of the Hunter Street Hotel.
"Now, come on, Jimmy," said the barkeep, one of her father's oldest friends, pouring out two pints of Squires, "I've kept my peace all weekend. Why'd'you bring your little girl along? This isn't the right place for her, she should be at home with her learning and her stitching or something."
James Hamersley stretched out, propping his feet on the chair next to him, and lit up a cigarette before answering. "Let me tell you a little story, Jacky," he said, taking a mouthful of his beer, "You remember Rex?"
Jack laughed. "Yeah, I remember that bastard. Surprised he didn't kill any of your mares with his meanness, Jim, I always told you that."
"Exactly. Now, I was working with the geldings around Rex one day, had him hobbled so that he couldn't come over and take a chunk out of them. Everything was all going well, until I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alex had come out into the yard. I'd left the gate open enough that the lads could push it open, but it would give a horse some pause, you know how it is. The gap was big enough for a four year old bit of a girl to squeeze through without making a sound. She'd managed to wander up to Rex before I even knew she was there."
Jack whistled. "How bad was it?"
"Not at all, Jacky. His ears were forward and he was sniffing her hair, curious as a foal. She had an oat biscuit, probably from Cook, and held it up to him, hand flat as you please, and bless me if he didn't take it from her like she'd just offered him the Crown Jewels. So up I go, and damned if he didn't bare his teeth at me like the nasty old sod he was. I called Alex to me and asked her what she thought she was doing, and she said 'Papa, he was lonely,' as if it were the most natural thing to her in the world."
Alex's father studied his beer for a moment, lost for words, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft but intense. Alex risked craning her head around the door to hear him.
"You know I always wanted a boy, Jacky, who doesn't, but I couldn't help but love my little girl the first time I saw her. Then with Elaine's troubles with the birth, I'd gotten used to never having a son. But you know what Alex did out there? She ran down Burt out on the flats. First hard ride, never been on a muster in her life, and saved the mob. Ivan doesn't think he could have done that. I'm not sure I could have either. I love my daughter, I love her to Hell and back, but by God, Jacky, that girl is the son I have always wanted."
Alex smiled softly, and then jumped as a hand came down on her shoulder. She turned, and Ivan was standing behind her. She hadn't even heard him, and wondered how long he had been there.
"Come on, Sashenka," he said quietly, ushering her back towards the stairs "This is grown-up talk, and not for little girls up past their bed-time."
Wednesday, March 19, 1885
The homestead was all but dark as the drovers came in, relieved to see the familiar sights of home, even if the ride back had been at a laid back pace.
Alex dismounted and lead Rufio into his stall, and went to fetch his blanket as she reflected. The men had all behaved as if she were one of them on the ride back, if a somewhat quieter, smaller and more genteel one, and the silence between them and the songs and jokes that broke it were easygoing and relaxed. She smiled as she threw the blanket over Rufio's back and then pulled down some fresh feed for him, certain that she would remember this ride as some of the best days of her life.
Her smile dimmed as she walked out of the stable, and saw her mother standing under the cover of the verandah, in intense conversation with her father. Her stomach sank as her mother spotted her, and pointed to the door.
"Inside, young lady," she said, voice icy, "You will wash yourself down before you go to bed, you are filthy."
Alex looked to her father, and was dismayed to find him just as chastened as she felt, and so she went inside.
Monday, September 14, 1885
Alex sat at her writing dress, trying to ignore the ball of unhappiness in her stomach. Her mother hadn't metioned the muster again, and for a few weeks, things had been painfully polite between her and her father. Gradually, though, things had begun to loosen up- until now. In preperation for the spring muster, her father had been awkward around her, and her mother's tone and behaviour had taken on a steely edge whenever Alex could find time for Rufio.
So it was with trepidation that she told her mother that she could come in that evening, and she wondered if this was the point that she would be sent away to a finishing school, or something else equally proper but intimidating.
Elaine Hamersley sat on the bed, looking around, as if trying to find something to focus on, before her eyes fell to her hands with a sigh.
"I've... never understood your father's passion for horses," she said, "He says he inherited it from one of his uncles. He took me out with him to one of the yards when we were first married. It was dreadful. I was sore and filthy and flybitten for days afterwards, and he promised me that he wouldn't bring me out again unless I wanted to. I haven't been out on a muster with him since."
She looked up at her daughter, and smiled sadly.
"I don't want to keep you from this thing that you love, Alex, that you share with your father. When you came home... you just looked so alive, so at ease, and I won't lie to you and say it didn't hurt me, that you could share this with him and I can't. But that's a ridiculous and a ungracious thing for me to think or feel."
She stood, and took Alex's hand, leading the confused girl into the master bedroom down the hall.
On the bed lay a pair of dresses in lawn fabric, one in tan and the other in mint green, trimmed with simple lace, with matching bloomers.
"They call this part of the Dress Reform Movement," Alex's mother explained as her daughter shyly reached out to touch the dresses, "Such designs maintain a woman's modesty, while leaving her able to exercise in many ways, such as riding a bicycle- or a horse."
"Mama..." Alex said querelously, hands trembling, "are you saying I can go on the muster with Papa?"
"As long as you stay clean and keep your own clothes in good order, Alex. You are a Hamersley, and have a name to uphold."
Alex shrieked with delight, and hugged her mother with such ferocity that it pulled them both to the floor. When her father came up to see what all the fuss was about, he walked in on the two women tangled in their clothes and each other, laughing with joy, and with many questions to answer to the confused Mr Hamersley
