Progress

So, it turns out that sitting down and actually forcing yourself to write is a very effective way of actually writing. Who knew?

                                                       *****

At about this time a new family of groupies settled on a farm directly behind Albert’s new block. The narrow band of scrubby jarrah that formed the barrier between the neighbouring group settlements separated the two farms. Their name was the Moriarty’s, an Irish family of 7 that had been moved from their farm near the south coast, which had been acquired by the government for the establishment of a mineral sand mine. They had reportedly had some success with their dairy farm on the saltbush flats, and now had to prove themselves again, in a different environment, and re-establish their farm. They had managed to either convince or force the Midland Railway Company into paying for their resettlement and the droving of their dairy cows the hundred miles through the bush to their new home. Their new block already had a house established on top of a ridge, and though it was perhaps too small to comfortably fit all seven of them, they made do admirably and straight away started building an extension onto the back of the shack.

To make himself known, welcome them to the district, and out of general interest, Albert wandered over the back fence across the ridge to their house. He was greeted behind the workshed by the bark and snarl of a wary wolfhound. He raised his hands in a gesture of submission and passivity and stopped in his tracks. With a low voice he started talking to it; trying to calm it down and convince it he was not a threat. The dog ceased it’s barking and began its slow stooped approach, keeping its teeth bared. Albert slowly, guardedly matched the dog’s movement with the back of his hand outstretched. Snout and knuckles came within 6 inches of each other when the dog gave a sudden yelp and scampered off towards the shed with its tail bent between its legs. Albert gave a start, stood and scratched his forehead in bewilderment and relief.

A laugh peeled out from a thicket of young apple trees on the other side of the shed. Albert jerked his head around and caught the flash of flax through the new leaves. A short but strong young woman in a short-sleeved summer dress (despite the cloudy wintery weather) strode out of the orchard; her head tilted back in laughter. He stood there, culpable. Lost for words he merely stood there and shook her proffered hand as she introduced herself as Sarah, the daughter of the proprietor. She looked at him confused by his silence.

Albert eventually regained some form of composure and introduced himself. She offered him in for a cup of tea and to meet her mother and sisters while they waited for her father and brothers to return from inspecting the fences and meeting with a neighbour. He sat and made small talk with the matriarch for what seemed an interminable time. He was constantly fiddling and taking hurried glances around the kitchen for an escape or a chance glance of Sarah through the open doors as she walked about the house conducting normal house duties. He was captured by her ease- of movement, of speech- and confidence, while he was the antithesis- nervous and fidgety and stilted and awkward talking about anything other than work. While there in that kitchen his mind began to wonder to thoughts hitherto untapped- of the future outside of work, of love, a wife, children. He was surprised by this sudden change in his train of thought and tried to shake it out of his head and concentrate on the conversation he was supposed to be involved in, but these thoughts kept popping back into his head. Even while Mr Moriarty and his teenaged sons returned home and engaged Albert in talk of his farm, his stock, his crops, his machinery these thoughts kept gnawing away at the back of his brain. He resolved then and there that this girl, Sarah Moriarty, would be his wife.

It took 18 months to convince her, but he got there in the end. He would take any chance or excuse he could find to go over to the Moriarty’s; generally on the pretence of learning how some new tractor or steam-powered crosscut saw worked. He would help them out with any lifting, and be there when engines were dismantled so as to learn the inner workings of these new machines and apply his new-found knowledge to purchasing his own new farm machinery. And all the while he kept his eyes peeled for any glimpses of Sarah. He would engineer himself into circumstances where he could talk to her one-on-one and his heart would race with anticipation of their meetings.

For her part, Sarah noticed Albert’s infatuation almost from their very first meeting. She didn’t mind the attention and kind of enjoyed the feelings of vanity it gave her. Something about this man, so in-tuned with the earth at the expense of the rest of humanity was captivating to her, and despite her best efforts to the contrary, she found herself also anticipating the fleeting moments they would share. She was a personality brimming with life and excitement with a passionate temper that would quickly give way to sorrow. She could not keep hidden what was on her mind; everything was writ large in her face and body.