‘Well,’ Dora said. ‘Here’s an idea. How about you go with them? That will show them that you have no fear.’
‘Dora, you really are very clever.’
'‘And,’ Dora added, her face pink with excitement, ‘Carly and I will come too!’
‘What?’ Carly gaped. She had no wish to risk a meeting with a bushranger. Or a bunyip, for that matter.
‘Come on, Carly,’ Dora said. ‘It’ll be fun.’
The bullock dray was big and flat with huge wheels. The girls climbed into it — a tricky thing to do in a long dress, petticoat and corset. There were no seats. It was like being in the tray of a ute, except bigger and made of timber. When it got going, the differences became more obvious. The ride was bumpy and painfully slow.
‘I’ll ride ahead,’ Mrs Chisholm told them. She was mounted on a beautiful white horse. ‘His name is “Captain”,’ she said.
Carly reached over the side of the dray to stroke Captain’s nose. He reminded her of home. She loved horses. Stroking Captain gave her a twinge of homesickness. Butterflies spread their wings in her stomach.
Mrs Chisholm was an excellent rider. She sat tall and proud in the saddle.
‘Isn’t she amazing? ’ Dora whispered.
‘You just like her ‘cos she thinks you’re so smart,’ Carly whispered back, but she agreed with Dora. Mrs Chisholm was amazing. It seemed there was nothing she couldn’t do. Carly wished she could be so brave. ‘Where are we going?’ Carly asked Emma, the darkhaired girl with the fear of bunyips and bushrangers.
‘Parramatta,’ she replied.
‘Parramatta?’ Dora repeated. ‘I thought we were going to the country!’
‘Parramatta is in the country,’ Emma snapped. ‘Don’t you know anything, smarty-pants?’
‘Maybe it was in the country in the old days,’ Carly whispered in Dora’s ear.
Dora smacked herself in the forehead. ‘Of course,’ she said.
The dray rumbled out of the city and into the bush. The warmth of the sun and the rocking of the dray made Carly drowsy. She fell asleep with her head on Dora’s shoulder and dreamed of Tim Tams and burritos with chilli sauce.
‘Wake up!’ Dora was shaking her. ‘We’re here.’
Carly rubbed her eyes and stretched. A corset bone stabbed her in the chest. ‘Ow!’ she yelped.
They were parked in the driveway in front of a low stone house with wide verandahs. There were shady trees all around and a sparkling river in the distance.
‘No bunyips along the way, then?’ she asked.
Dora grinned. ‘Not one. No bushrangers, either.’
Emma scowled at her.
Mrs Chisholm was walking towards them from the house. A white-haired man strolled on her right and a lady walked on her left. Mrs Chisholm was chatting happily and waving her arms about.
When she reached the dray, Mrs Chisholm smiled at them. ‘Carly and Dora,’ she said. ‘I’ve found positions for you. Mr and Mrs Smith would be happy to take you on.’
Carly and Dora looked at each other.
‘But—’ Carly began, but Mrs Smith cut her short.
‘Welcome, Carly. Welcome, Dora. We hope you will be happy here.’ Mrs Smith had grey hair and smiling blue eyes. Her husband looked like Santa Claus, but thinner.
‘Umm ... thanks,’ said Dora.
Carly couldn’t speak.
Mr Smith held out a hand to help the girls down from the dray. They tumbled clumsily onto the grass, and he helped them up. Carly was grateful for his help; it was pretty hard to move in the heavy dress and corset.
‘We’ll go and prepare your rooms,’ Mrs Smith said, and the old couple turned and walked back to the house.
‘Well, cheerio, then,’ Dora said to the girls on the bullock dray.
‘Bye!’ said Sophie. ‘Good luck! And thank you.’
‘Mr and Mrs Smith will be kind to you,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘Work hard and be polite. I have no doubt that soon you will find good husbands and start families.’
Husbands! Carly and Dora gaped. They’d only just finished primary school!
‘... but don’t be in a hurry, dears,’ Mrs Chisholm went on.
‘We won’t,’ said Dora.
‘Wait until you are at least eighteen and have found a man who will respect you and treat you well. A man with good prospects, who will support you and your children in all that you do.’ Mrs Chisholm’s nose turned red and she brushed away a tear.
‘Mrs Chisholm,’ Carly said, alarmed. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, dear,’ she replied. ‘I’m just thinking of my own dear husband and children.’
Carly blinked. This was a surprise. She had assumed that Mrs Chisholm had no family.
‘Ah, you’re surprised,’ Mrs Chisholm smiled sadly. ‘I see my family rarely. My husband, Archibald, is with the Army and is often overseas. My children live just outside of the city. I tried to keep them at the Home with me, but it was impossible to keep them safe and do my work. I only see them on weekends.’
‘They would be proud of you.’ Dora smiled at her.
‘Thank you, Dora. And goodbye,’ said Mrs Chisholm.
‘Well,’ said Dora, ‘this should be right up your alley.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Farm life,’ she said. ‘Farm work.’
Carly stared blankly at her. ‘We have electricity on my farm. We have tractors. And fridges. And motorbikes. We have pesticides for the crops and antibiotics for the animals.’
‘OK, OK,’ Dora said. ‘I get the picture. But how hard can it be?’
The girls had settled into the servants’ quarters. They were pleased to find that they were to share a room, but less pleased that they had to share a bed. Mr and Mrs Smith were kind. They had fed the girls a hearty meal of beef and vegetables and given them fresh clothing: plain wool dresses, caps and aprons. (‘Good grief!’ Dora had whispered, and Carly had struggled not to laugh.)
‘So,’ Dora continued, ‘about these chores. Can you do the milking? I’m not a morning person.’
Carly groaned. ‘I can’t get up at dawn!’
‘But I don’t have a clue about milking! You live on a cattle farm; you’ll know what
