Outback Wife and Mother. Barbara Hannay

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      PROLOGUE

      MUMMY was crying again.

      Lying in his bed, the boy could hear her muffled sobs and his father’s pleading voice in the next room. ‘But, Vivienne, you mustn’t go. You can’t leave us.’

      He could see the friendly silhouette of his teddy bear on the pillow beside him, but not even his favourite toy could help him feel safe or happy. Not when he could hear the desperate sadness in his mother’s voice.

      ‘I feel so—so stifled here in the outback,’ she sobbed. ‘I think I’ll go mad.’

      Eventually, he pulled the pillow over his head to shut out the frightening voices...

      Then with the first creamy fingers of dawn, his mother crept into the room, smelling as fresh as flowers. She sat on the edge of his bed and he buried his head in her lap.

      ‘Mon petit,’ she whispered, stroking his hair. ‘I will miss you so much.’

      Something started to thump loudly in his chest. ‘You don’t have to miss me, Mummy,’ he cried. ‘I’m going to stay on Wallaroo with you and Daddy for always.’

      With a choked moan, she hugged him close, cradling him with her soft, warm arms. ‘Oh, cheri,’ she whispered and, looking up, he saw her beautiful eyes fill with bright tears. ‘Always remember, I love you very, very much. But you belong here.’

      There was a crunch of tyres on gravel in the yard outside, and then heavy footsteps on the wooden floorboards of the veranda. Ned, the stockman, stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat as he fiddled with his wide-brimmed hat.

      ‘Yes, Ned. I’m coming,’ she said softly.

      The boy felt her warm lips on his cheek and she held him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Then she stood up and drifted away from him, out of the room, as soft and pretty as the morning mist on the river.

      His feet hit the cold floor as he hurried after her.

      Outside, the bush was already waking. A huge flock of pink and grey galahs rose from the gum trees along the creek, filling the reddening sky with their raucous chorus. Ned opened the door to the truck and she slipped inside. The little boy could just make out her pale face through the window glass.

      He ran faster, but as he reached the top of the steps, two strong arms caught him and lifted him up and he felt his father’s bristly morning cheek pressed against his. ‘We’ve got to let her go, Fletcher,’ he said, his voice sounding gruff and strange. ‘She doesn’t belong in the bush. She needs the city lights.’

      What was Daddy talking about? Of course Mummy belonged here. The truck’s engine spluttered to life and the station dogs barked and yapped at its tyres.

      ‘It’s just you and me now, little mate. At least she let me have you...’

      The truck rolled forward.

      Thoroughly bewildered now, the boy struggled in his father’s arms and cried out to her, ‘Mummy, don’t go!’