I had been in Australia for just over a year and had grown to love the wild untamed land where man seemed to exist under sufferance. I kept the books up to date, and spent much of the rest of my time housekeeping. The stock-men seemed to like me and even taught me to ride a horse, an old grey, past his working days but gentle and easy to ride. He didn't seem to have a name, so I called him Dobbin, and by judicious use of sugar lumps, he seemed to learn his name very quickly and came to me when I called him. On my time off, I took him for long slow rides through the bush surrounding the homestead. I had learned that the great bowl of land in which the homestead was situated was formed from a huge meteorite crater, many millions of years old. Surrounded by a ring of low hills, the great advantage was that it was impossible to lose one's way, and after hearing tales of people lost in the bush, this was not something to be taken lightly. Dobbin and I spent many a pleasant afternoon riding through the scrub. He was a good listener, and I told him things I'd never tell anyone else. I felt truly content now, my only concern being John's drinking which seemed to be getting worse.

One evening when John arrived home after a day riding out with the stock-men, we dined on steak as usual, and having now grown accustomed to his moods, I felt that he seemed unusually on edge, and drinking more than usual. However nothing was said until afterwards when we settled into the armchairs for the evening. I had a book open on my lap but was paying little attention to it since I was concerned about John's mood. Finally the silence was broken.

“Les, there's something I have to say to you.”

I looked up, alarmed at the tone of his voice. Whatever was coming was serious.

“You've been here a year now, and you've done everything I've asked of you. The accounts have been sorted out, and they always balance to the penny, plus you've done a lot of work around the house, which is more than I expected of you. The fact is, I've made a decision — I've decided to terminate your contract.”

I was shocked into speechlessness as he hurried on, “I'll pay out the rest of your contract of course, and I'll help you get another job, at another cattle station if you wish, or you can return home to England.”

“But I don't want another job,” I wailed, “I love it here and I want to stay here. I can't go back to England or they'll think I've messed up again.” I stopped suddenly, my face aflame, aware of what I'd said. John stared at me.

“Messed up - again?” I suddenly realised that he didn't know the real reason I had come to Australia. Slowly, haltingly, I told him the story of my stupidity in England, and how Mr Jenner had given me the ultimatum — jail or Australia. For a brief moment a slight smile passed over his face.

“Sooo,” he said, “They're still using transportation from Mother England, after all this time.”

I couldn't smile too since I was on the point of tears. “Please John, don't send me away, I love it here. I love the place, the people. John, you need me!”

“Need you?” he shouted, and his sudden anger frightened me. “How do you know what I need? This is my property and I say what I need. Tom is calling by the day after tomorrow, and he'll take you to the train, and that's the end of the matter.”

I stood up slowly, trying to hang on to some shreds of dignity. “In that case I'd better start packing.”

I walked slowly out of the room. I held it together until I reached my room and shut the door. Then I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. I cried until I had no more tears to cry, and then I lay there quietly in the dark. Much later there was a quiet tap on the door, but I didn't answer it. I just couldn't face John again.

It was daylight when I awoke. I was still lying fully dressed on my bed, but there was a blanket half over me, and I couldn't remember putting it there. I slowly showered and dressed, going over the events of the previous evening in my mind. It still seemed like a hideous nightmare. I walked down to the kitchen. It was obvious John had already breakfasted and left. There was a note by my place. 'Gone to check on reports of cattle duffing, back for dinner. J.' I made some toast and coffee, eating it slowly, desperate to hold back the tears until at last, they overwhelmed me, and I buried my face in my hand and wept.

“Missus!” The voice was quiet but urgent. I slowly looked up. An elderly aboriginal woman was standing in the kitchen. Her feet were bare, and I had not heard her come in. With my long hair and my face covered, she must have mistaken me for a woman.

“Jingara” I said, greeting her in her language “Can I help you Aunty?” I used the word 'Aunty' out of respect, assuming she was a tribal elder.

“It is I come to help you.” she replied. How did she know I needed help? I did not recall ever seeing her before, and surely John had said nothing to anyone about last night.

“I knew the old Missus,” she continued. “I helped her too. She kept Mr John on the right track so he was never thirsty.” I realised what she said might have two meanings. For thousands of years her people had wandered the vast outback, travelling from one waterhole to another, following well-known tracks. To lose the track was to risk death in the fierce sun. She might also be referring to John drinking too much alcohol.

“When she left, Mr John lost the track, but you came, and he found it again for a while. If you go, he'll lose the track and never find it again.”

I shuddered. She was surely foretelling John's death and saying it was my task to save him, but how?

“Mr John is sending me away.” I said “How can I stay and save him?”

“In your heart you know the way.” she replied, and her eyes seemed to bore deep into my soul. “Mr John is like a tribal warrior, tall and strong, a leader. This man a woman would desire.” I felt myself blushing hotly, how did she know so much?

She went on. "But he is a man and men must be made to see what they know in their heart is true.”

She suddenly changed the subject and said “I would have a share of your water.”

I felt embarrassed I had not offered her hospitality, so murmuring 'Of course', I stood up and turned to the kitchen cupboard, taking down two glasses and filling them with cool water. When I turned around, she was gone. I know that it was useless to run after her, so I sat down and pondered on all she had said, especially that final remark. It was curious that she hadn't talked to me as a man at all. I thought back to my school days, the skinny kid with the long hair and delicate fingers; the sensitive one, the one never picked for sports teams; the one who preferred to hang out with the girls until the crude jibes of the other boys made it impossible. Suddenly it was as if the blinds of a darkened room had opened and the light flooded in. Of course! I had been so blind, deliberately so. I had one last chance.

I got up and left the kitchen. I had things to do and a meal to prepare. Once I had done all that I could, I went to the stables and saddled up old Dobbin to ride out into the bush and the clean fresh air. If I failed despite everything, then I wanted to cram as many memories into my brain as possible; the sights, sounds and smells of the Australian bush. As I rode, I told Dobbin all that had happened, and what I planned to do. Dobbin kept his own counsel, nodding his head wisely as he walked through the scrub.

“So that's it, Dobbin," I said, and it seemed totally reasonable to be talking to a horse this way. “What do I have to lose if it doesn't work out? I might leave totally humiliated, but what does it matter? I will never see any of these people again, and they won't see me, and if they laugh as they tell the story around the camp fire, well, I won't be around to hear it.” Then I checked myself, “But it will work out Dobbin, it has to. Not for my sake, but for John's.”

With that I turned his head for home. Whatever was to happen would change my life forever, one way or another.

It was getting dark when John and the stock-men rode back to the homestead. He looked at me warily as he entered the house, afraid perhaps that I was going to make a scene. I greeted him pleasantly enough and he started to relax. Men like John hate it when someone makes a scene, and I had done exactly the wrong thing the previous night, but that wouldn't happen tonight. When he sat at the dining room table, I surprised him with a meal of roast chicken. This was normally reserved for birthdays and Christmas, and when he looked askance, I said.

“It's my last night here, and I want it to be special.”

I asked him about the cattle duffers, but it seemed there was no foundation to the rumour. We chatted about various topics. We had the usual bottle of wine, and I drank a little more than usual myself. My heart was pounding but I tried to look as calm as possible.

“Thank you for a great dinner,” he said at the end, “That was truly memorable.”

I thanked him, and we followed our normal routine of going into the sitting room to sit in the big armchairs and read, and in John's case drink whisky. I could not for the life of me remember what book I picked up, although I think my eyes scanned the same page over and over again. I was waiting for something to happen, and finally it did. John fell into a deep sleep, a combination of the hard day's riding, the wine and the whisky. I waited another five minutes to be absolutely certain, and then I rose silently and left the room.

I tiptoed up the corridor, through his bedroom and into Mary's dressing room. I stood there for a moment and then I stripped off all my clothes and bundled them into my suitcase that I'd left in the wardrobe. My hair had grown long since I wouldn't let the camp barber butcher it, and I'd been wearing it tied in a ponytail. Now I unfastened it and let it hang down. My heart was pounding as I looked at myself for a moment in the mirror, and then, taking a deep breathe I walked to the chest of drawers where Mary had kept her lingerie, and opened it. In addition to having a bath that afternoon, washing my hair and carefully shaving my body, I had checked through all of Mary's clothes and found what I was looking for — a set of lingerie with the purchase tags still attached that she had never worn. She had been a woman of discernment and taste, and John had obviously given her a generous budget to buy clothes. The lingerie set I took out was made of pure silk and the palest of pink. I stepped into the garter-belt and panties, and then fastened the bra which was trimmed with French lace. Fortunately, Mary had not been a big-breasted woman. Then I sat down and drew a pair of sheerest stockings up my legs and fastened them in place. Next came a matching full slip with more French lace at the bust and hem. I walked to the wardrobe and opened it.

That morning I had selected a dress to wear. There had been two prerequisites for my choice. It had to be pretty, and it had to be a dress that Mary had never worn, and I had found it. Made of Shantung silk in a gorgeous russet colour, it was calf-length with a full skirt, maybe slightly old-fashioned but that didn't matter. Then I sat down at the dressing table, brushed my hair and started to do my make-up. As I did so, I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to my cousin Marie. I thought back to the time when I had stayed with my aunt and uncle, and she had come home early and caught me wearing her clothes. Most girls would have laughed at me or gone racing to tell my parents, but Marie was not like that. Instead, she had looked at me, standing there red-faced and said. “Why Leslie, you make a very pretty girl indeed.”

On several occasions after that, when I visited them and her parents were out, we had girl time together. She taught me how to dress and walk in heels and she taught me how to do make-up. I looked forward to my visits so much because it was like the real me being let out of hiding.

One time she said to me. “I wish you had been born a girl, Leslie. We would have had so much fun, two girls on the town.”

Then one evening when her parents were out late for the night, we actually did it. Such an adrenalin rush, walking down the street together, hearing our heels tap on the pavement, feeling the cool breeze against my stocking-clad legs, the swish of my skirt. We'd called into a milk bar and had a milkshake and looked at the boys eyeing us. Nothing else happened, but I'd never forgotten it. My voice was quite high anyway and passed easily for that of a girl. No-one suspected a thing!

It was years since I last wore women's clothes, but even when I was young, I knew that it was more than the feeling of the clothes, it was an expression of the real me. I had suppressed it for so long, but was it possible that John had sensed it despite my best efforts? Was that the reason he finally made the decision he had made? Was it because he had feelings for the real me and couldn't understand them, so the only solution was to send me away? There was only one way to find out.

To be continued.