I looked through the drawers in the dressing room, and found some simple cotton underwear and a cool white cotton dress to wear with some sandals, truly more practical in the heat than the clothes I had worn the previous night. I brushed my hair and put on some powder and a little lipstick, then drawing a deep breath, I walked out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Maisie, the aboriginal girl was busy washing up when I entered the kitchen. I had no idea how she would respond to seeing me in a dress and make-up, and hoped she wouldn't scream and run out of the room. Instead, she looked up and gave me a bright smile.

“Morning Missus,” she said.

I was slightly startled. She was so matter of fact, as though it's every day that someone you've only seen in male clothes should appear dressed as a woman. Not only that, but by addressing me as 'Missus', she obviously took it for granted that my status was now enhanced as the partner of John, who was invariable addressed as 'Boss'.

“Err, good morning Maisie,” I replied, and desperate for something else to say, went on “Thank you for the lovely breakfast this morning.”

She laughed. “Don't thank me, thank the Boss. He insisted he do it all himself, with a little help of course,” she chuckled.

“Well, there's hope for him yet.” I replied. I'd never seen John do so much as boil an egg, although he must have cooked when he and the men were camping out. We both laughed together, like two women affectionately commenting on the lack of skills in a man of whom they're both very fond. It felt good.

“Well, I have to do some work in my office. I'll see you later. Oh, and I'll cook tea for John tonight, so you can go early if you like.” She smiled her thanks and actually seemed a little less shy than usual. Was this a bonus of me joining the sisterhood? I walked into my office and did a few small tasks rather slowly while I pondered my next move. John had obviously explained something to Maisie as she didn't seem in the least surprised at the sight of me. The men outside though, that could be a different matter. Should I wait for John to return? They wouldn't dare whistle or catcall in his presence. 'No' I said to myself, 'You've come this far, and you can't chicken out now.'

Taking an even deeper breath, I walked outside and stood in the shade of the verandah. There were only a few of the men still around, as most had gone on horseback with John, but those who were there looked up, tipped their broad-brimmed hats and greeted me with “Morning Missus” and a cheery smile, as though my appearance in a dress was the most natural thing in the world. This was feeling a bit eerie. I was fairly sure that John hadn't spoken to all these men, but Maisie might have. I had a very light tenor voice anyway, and with my long hair, and now the dress, the thought suddenly struck me that perhaps in their eyes I had been a woman all along, who had for reasons of her own decided to dress and present as a young man. Now the natural order was restored, and I was dressing the way I was meant to. I certainly couldn't think of any other explanation. I only thought of that afterwards, I was so relieved at that moment that they had accepted me without question, raised eyebrows or a snigger.

After hanging around for a few minutes more and exchanging a few pleasantries, I retreated into the cool interior of the homestead. It was on my mind what to cook John for tea. I had used a chicken the previous night for my supposedly 'farewell' dinner, and it didn't seem appropriate to serve up the left-overs for what I hoped was a 'Welcome to our New Life' dinner. Then I had an inspiration. John had fairly simple tastes in food, and some months back I had introduced him to shepherd's pie which he absolutely loved. That was it then — and perhaps apple pie for dessert, and for 'after' desert — me! Stupid, but I found myself blushing, even though I had only said it to myself!

I had little to do that day, so it was easy to devote most of the day to preparing the dinner, and also preparing myself. Last night it had been quite dark when John first saw me, and to be frank he had had more than a little to drink. Today he'd be seeing me when he was cold sober and in daylight, so I wanted to make sure he was not disappointed. I walked into what I must now get to think of as 'my' dressing room to select what I would wear. Some people might think it a little strange for me to wear the clothes of John's dead wife, but in my view, they were just clothes, and anyway I had permission, both his and I was sure, hers. John had already promised me some new clothes of my own, but for now, what was here was more than adequate for my needs.

I selected another pretty lingerie set in pure palest yellow silk, with a French lace trim on the bodice and hem of the full-length slip. When I say French, I mean it as I checked the label — Simone Perele, with an address in Paris! Mary must have bought the set in Brisbane or even Sydney. I selected some genuine silk stockings, some matching shoes, and then of course there was the dress. There were so many, and I chose a pretty cocktail dress in lemon chiffon, which my lingerie perfectly complimented. I dare not risk dirtying these lovely clothes until my dinner preparations were completed, so I returned to the kitchen and set about cooking.

Once I was happy that the meal was as good as I could make it, I returned to the bedroom and had a luxurious bath, shaving my legs again, although they probably didn't need it. I had found a set of heated rollers still In their box, complete with instructions. I was taking a bit of a risk, not having used rollers before, but I carefully read what to do and set about applying them to my long hair, and in due course I was thrilled with the result. My hair looked wonderfully feminine with its gentle curls. Then I settled down to do my make-up and get dressed. In my eyes this is where the evening begins. I will never lose the thrill of dressing in pretty lingerie; the sensuous feel of drawing silk stockings up freshly shaved legs, the feel of silk around my thighs and breasts, the gentle tug of the suspenders attached to my stockings, and finally lifting the silk slip over my head and letting the material flow down over my body. Finally I stepped into the dress and the heels, and critically examined how I looked in the mirror. I did a little twirl and was so pleased with the result. What would John think? I prayed that he would love what he saw.

I was waiting on the verandah as the sun started to dip behind the surrounding hills and was enjoying the cool of the evening when John rode up on his horse. He caught sight of me, and leaping out of the saddle, he took the homestead steps two at a time and gathered me in his arms. He was so strong I could hardly breathe, but I didn't care.

Finally he eased back, smiled down at me and said, “You look so beautiful.”

Then a stricken look came over his face and he gasped “What was I thinking? You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine, and I'm covered in dust.”

I smiled happily. “It really doesn't matter. All that matters to me is that you like how I look.”

“Oh I do!” he replied. “Just give me half an hour to stable my horse and have a shower and you'll see a different man.”

“I don't want a different man!” I laughed, “Just the same man in a clean shirt.”

True to his word, John entered the dining room thirty minutes later, just as I was bringing the shepherd's pie out of the kitchen and onto the dining table. He wore a fresh shirt and jeans and he looked wonderful. We sat close to each other, and every so often I couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand — just to make sure he was real! I had opened the usual bottle of wine, but I noticed that John drank very little, and indeed was drinking mostly water. The shepherd's pie was pronounced a great success, as was the apple pie and cream that followed. Once we had finished, we followed our usual routine of going to the sitting room, but this time John sat on his chair and then beckoned me to him.

“Here, come and sit on my lap.” I smiled and obeyed with alacrity. “Now, how was your day?”

So I sat there happily, my arm around his neck, and interspersed with kisses, I told him all that had happened, including me now being called 'Missus'. “You asked them to do that didn't you?”

John looked puzzled but smiled “I didn't say a word. But it shows they like and respect you.”

“I hope they like me, but I think it's more you they respect,” I said “And I'm sure I benefit from that.”

“Don't sell yourself short.” he replied “You've done so much for this place, and for me. The men have seen that, and they appreciate it. I wasn't always the easiest person to work for before you arrived.”

So we left it at that, but secretly, what he told me made me feel very pleased. I noticed that John had made no move towards the whisky bottle, and I was so glad of that. Instead, we chatted, and he told me how they had ridden many miles that day and found definite traces of cattle duffers in the area, so there would probably be need of hard riding on the morrow.

“Perhaps we should have an early night then?” I asked tentatively, trying to quell the sudden anxiety I was feeling. Things had gone so well up to now and I prayed that I would not be a disappointment to him.

“Why not?” he replied with a smile, and taking my hand we walked to the bedroom, my heels clicking on the old wooden floors. It's funny how details like that come back to me all these years later. When we closed the bedroom door — not really necessary as we were alone in the old house, I asked if he would unzip my dress. Isn't it funny how a man never questions how it is that a woman is perfectly capable of zipping her dress up, but needs help to unzip it? As I had hoped, I felt his lips follow the zip as it slowly opened. I carefully stepped out of the dress and thanked him, enjoying how his eyes now seemed to caress my body in that gorgeous lingerie. He drew me to him and kissed me once more, as his hands moved slowly over the silk of my slip, and I felt my body quiver in excitement and anticipation.

“I'll be with you shortly.” I said as I walked into the dressing room. I stripped down to my panties, still feeling a little awkward at what betrayed my body sex. I had found the most gorgeous full length silk nightie in rose pink and quickly slipped it on. Then I sat at the dressing table and brushed my hair. When I returned to the bedroom, John was already sitting in bed, wearing his pyjamas. He stared at me, open-mouthed — a bigger compliment than any words he could utter, and he wordlessly pulled down the sheet beside him. I got into bed and snuggled up to him.

Now comes the difficult part to tell you the listeners, there beyond the lamp light. Do you silently laugh and say, 'do you expect us to believe that this strong masculine heterosexual man, made love to you?' Scoff all you want, but it's perfectly true. I'm not a religious person as I keep telling you, but I do love great literature, and the King James Bible has some of the finest writing ever committed to paper. In Proverbs 30 there are some verses that have always intrigued me:

'There be three things which are too wonderful for me,
yea, four which I know not:
The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock;
the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.'

What did it mean 'the way of a man with a maid'? That night I learned what it meant. True, it is hard to say if I was strictly a maid at that time, but I was a virgin in all respects. John of course was not, but for him this was uncharted territory too. There is a line in the marriage vows, now often omitted which says 'with my body I thee worship'. That night we truly worshipped each other, and when our bodies finally became one, our hearts and minds were joined too. I can tell you without a shadow of doubt that there was only one man in John's bed that night, and a woman who adored him.

One might imagine that after such a night we would both wake up exhausted, but nothing could be further from the truth. The night had totally invigorated us, and we greeted the dawn with kisses and hugs. I felt a little bashful, but so pleased and happy that despite my inexperience, some sixth sense had shown me what to do. John was more exuberant than I could remember.

“That was the best night since ...” he stopped abashed.

“I know,” I said and gave him another hug and kiss, and the moment was passed.

“I'm tempted to stay all day in bed with you.” he laughed, but I told him he had riders already getting ready for him to lead them out into the bush and he had better not be late or 'people will talk' I said with a giggle.

“Don't worry about breakfast for me today,” I said “And as for bed, well there's always tonight.”

I found myself blushing, even as I said the words. We both laughed at that, and John hurried to the shower. There were indeed many more nights like that night, though perhaps none exceeded it in its intensity. For over a year we had been two people afraid to show our feelings and instead had bottled them up inside us. Once the flood gates were opened, we almost drowned in the intensity of what we released.

I've just remembered something else about that time. Years later, John and I were looking through an old photograph album when I suddenly stopped and stared. It was a picture of his first wife Mary and standing next to her was an aboriginal woman. She was younger then of course, but there was no mistaking her face.

“Who is that?” I asked. John looked hard at the small black and white print.

“Oh, that's Coorah,” he replied. "She was a great friend of Mary's, but I haven't seen her in years. Why do you ask?”

“I met her once too,” I said “years ago.”

“Many of her tribe go walkabout from time to time.” he said “So what did you two talk about?”

I smiled “I guess you could call it 'secret women's business' " I replied. "So I can't tell you.”

John smiled too, but he did not pursue the matter. Like me he had great respect for the first Australians.

To be continued.