“Where?” 

     “North Queensland. While you were at the dressmaker I gottalking to some chaps in the Imperial bar, and they were telling methere’s money to be made up in cane country, if a man’s strongand not afraid of hard work.” 

     “But Luke, you already have a good job here!” 

     “A man doesn’t feel right, battening on his in-laws. I want to getus the money to buy a place out in Western Queensland, and Iwant it before I’m too old to work it. A man with no educationfinds it hard to get high-paying work in this Depression, but there’sa shortage of men in North Queensland, and the money’s at leastten times what I earn as a stockman on Drogheda.” 

     “Doing what?” 

     “Cutting sugar cane.” 

     “Cutting sugar cane? That’s coolie labor” 

     “No, you’re wrong. Coolies aren’t big enough to do it as well asthe white cutters, and besides, you know as well as I do that Australianlaw forbids the importation of black or yellow men to doslave labor or work for wages lower than a white man’s, take thebread out of a white Australian’s mouth. There’s, a shortage ofcutters and the money’s terrific. Not too many blokes are big enoughor strong enough to cut cane. But I am. It won’t beat me!” 

     “Does this mean you’re thinking of making our home in NorthQueensland, Luke?”        “Yes.”She stared past his shoulder through the great bank of windowsat Drogheda: the ghost gums, the Home Paddock, the stretch oftrees beyond. Not to live on Drogheda! To be somewhere BishopRalph could never find her, to live without ever seeing him again,to cleave to this stranger sitting facing her so irrevocably there couldbe no going back…. The grey eyes rested on Luke’s vivid, impatientface and grew more beautiful, but unmistakably sadder. He sensed it only; she had no tears there,her lids didn’t droop, or the corners of her mouth. But he wasn’tconcerned with whatever sorrows Meggie owned, for he had nointention of letting her become so important to him she caused himworry on her behalf. Admittedly she was something of a bonus toa man who had tried to marry Dot MacPherson of Bingelly, buther physical desirability and tractable nature only increased Luke’sguard over his own heart. No woman, even one as sweet andbeautiful as Meggie Cleary, was ever going to gain sufficient powerover him to tell him what to do.So, remaining true to himself, he plunged straight into the mainthing on his mind. There were times when guile was necessary, butin this matter it wouldn’t serve him as well as bluntness. 

     “Meghann, I’m an old-fashioned man,” he said.She stared at him, puzzled. 

     “Are you?” she asked, her tone implying:Does it matter? 

     “Yes,” he said. 

     “I believe that when a man and woman marry, allthe woman’s property should become the man’s. The way a dowrydid in the old days. I know you’ve got a bit of money, and I’mtelling you now that when we marry you’re to sign it over to me.It’s only fair you know what’s in my mind while you’re still single,and able to decide whether you want to do it.”It had never occurred to Meggie that she would retain her money;she had simply assumed when she married it would become Luke’s,not hers. All save the most educated and sophisticated Australianwomen were reared to think themselves more or less the chattelsof their men, and this was especially true of Meggie. Daddy hadalways ruled Fee and his children, and since his death Fee had deferredto Bob as his successor. The man owned the money, thehouse, his wife and his children. Meggie had never questioned hisright to do so. 

     “Oh!” she exclaimed. 

     “I didn’t know signing anything was necessary, Luke. I thought that what was mine automaticallybecame yours when we married.” 

     “It used to be like that, but those stupid drongos in Canberrastopped it when they gave women the vote. I want everything tobe fair and square between us, Meghann, so I’m telling you nowhow things are going to be.”She laughed, 

     “It’s all right, Luke, I don’t mind.”She took it like a good old-fashioned wife; Dot wouldn’t havegiven in so readily. 

     “How much have you got?” he asked. 

     “At the moment, fourteen thousand pounds. Every year I get twothousand more.”He whistled. 

     “Fourteen thousand pounds! Phew! That’s a lot ofmoney, Meghann. Better to have me look after it for you. We cansee the bank manager next week, and remind me to make sureeverything coming in in the future gets put in my name, too. I’mnot going to touch a penny of it, you know that. It’s to buy ourstation later on. For the next few years we’re both going to workhard, and save every penny we earn. All right?”She nodded. 

     “Yes, Luke.”A simple oversight on Luke’s part nearly scotched the wedding inmidplan. He was not a Catholic. When Father Watty found outhe threw up his hands in horror. 

     “Dear Lord, Luke, why didn’t you tell me earlier? Indeed and togoodness, it will take all of our energies to have you converted andbaptized before the wedding!”Luke stared at Father Watty, astonished. 

     “Who said anythingabout converting, Father? I’m quite happy as I am being nothing,but if it worries you, write me down as a Calathumpian or a HolyRoller or whatever you like. But write me down a Catholic you willnot.”In vain they pleaded; Luke refused to entertain the idea of conversion for a moment. 

     “I’ve got nothing against Catholicismor Eire, and I think the Catholics in Ulster are hard done by.But I’m Orange, and I’m not a turncoat. If I was a Catholic andyou wanted me to convert to Methodism, I’d react the same. It’sbeing a turncoat I object to, not being a Catholic. So you’ll haveto do without me in the flock, Father, and that’s that.” 

     “Then you can’t get married!” 

     “Why on earth not? If you don’t want to marry us, I can’t seewhy the Reverend up at the Church of England will object, or HarryGough the J.P.”Fee smiled sourly, remembering her contretemps with Paddy anda priest; she had won that encounter.            “But, Luke, I have to be married in church!” Meggie protestedfearfully. 

     “If I’m not, I’ll be living in sin!” 

     “Well, as far as I’m concerned, living in sin is a lot better thanturning my coat inside out,” said Luke, who was sometimes acurious contradiction; much as he wanted Meggie’s money, a blindstreak of stubbornness in him wouldn’t let him back down.          “Oh, stop all this silliness!” said Fee, not to Luke but to the priest. 

     “Do what Paddy and I did and have an end to argument! FatherThomas can marry you in the presbytery if he doesn’t want to soilhis church!”Everyone stared at her, amazed, but it did the trick; Father Watkingave in and agreed to marry them in the presbytery, though he refusedto bless the ring.Partial Church sanction left Meggie feeling she was sinning, butnot badly enough to go to Hell, and ancient Annie the presbyteryhousekeeper did her best to make Father Watty’s study as churchlikeas possible, with great vases of flowers and many brass candlesticks.But it was an uncomfortable ceremony, the very displeased priestmaking everyone feel he only went through with it to save himselfthe embarrassment of a secular wedding elsewhere. No NuptialMass, no blessings. 

     However, it was done. 

     Meggie was Mrs. Luke O’Neill, on her way to North Queensland and a honeymoonsomewhat delayed by the time it would take getting there. Lukerefused to spend that Saturday night at the Imperial, for the branchlinetrain to Goondiwindi left only once a week, on Saturday night,to connect with the Goondiwindi—Brisbane mail train on Sunday.This would bring them to Bris on Monday in time to catch theCairns express.The Goondiwindi train was crowded. They had no privacy andsat up all night because it carried no sleeping cars. Hour after hourit trundled its erratic, grumpy way northeast, stopping interminablyevery time the engine driver felt like brewing a billy of tea for himself,or to let a mob of sheep wander along the rails, or to have ayarn with a drover.       “I wonder why they pronounce Goondiwindi Gundiwindi if theydon’t want to spell it that way?” Meggie asked idly as they waitedin the only place open in Goondiwindi on a Sunday, the awful institutional-green station waiting room with its hard black woodenbenches. Poor Meggie, she was nervous and ill at ease. 

     “How do I know?” sighed Luke, who didn’t feel like talking andwas starving into the bargain. Since it was Sunday they couldn’teven get a cup of tea; not until the Monday-morning breakfast stopon the Brisbane mail did they get an opportunity to fill their emptystomachs and slake their thirst. Then Brisbane, into South Brisstation, the trek across the city to Roma Street Station and theCairns train. Here Meggie discovered Luke had booked them twosecond-class upright seats. 

     “Luke, we’re not short of money!” she said, tired and exasperated. 

     “If you forgot to go to the bank, I’ve got a hundred pounds Bobgave me here in my purse. Why didn’t you get us a first-classsleeping compartment?”He stared down at her, astounded. 

     “But it’s only three nightsand three days to Dungloe! Why spend money on a sleeper whenwe’re both young, healthy and strong? Sitting up on a train for a while won’t kill you,Meghann! It’s about time you realized you’ve married a plain oldworkingman, not a bloody squatter!”So Meggie slumped in the window seat Luke seized for her andrested her trembling chin on her hand to look out the window soLuke wouldn’t notice her tears. He had spoken to her as one speaksto an irresponsible child, and she was beginning to wonder if indeedthis was how he regarded her. Rebellion began to stir, but it wasvery small and her fierce pride forbade the indignity of quarreling.Instead she told herself she was this man’s wife, but it was such anew thing he wasn’t used to it. Give him time. They would livetogether, she would cook his meals, mend his clothes, look afterhim, have his babies, be a good wife to him. Look how muchDaddy had appreciated Mum, how much he had adored her. GiveLuke time.They were going to a town called Dungloe, only fifty miles shortof Cairns, which was the far northern terminus of the line whichran all the way along the Queensland coast. Over a thousand milesof narrow three-foot-six-gauge rail, rocking and pitching back andforth, every seat in the compartment occupied, no chance to liedown or stretch out. Though it was far more densely settled countrysidethan Gilly, and far more colorful, she couldn’t summon upinterest in it.Her head ached, she could keep no food down and the heat wasmuch, much worse than anything Gilly had ever cooked up. Thelovely pink silk wedding dress was filthy from soot blowing in thewindows, her skin was clammy with a sweat which wouldn’tevaporate, and what was more galling than any of her physicaldiscomforts, she was close to hating Luke. Apparently not in theleast tired or out of sorts because of the journey, he sat at his easeyarning with two men going to Cardwell. The only times he glancedin her direction he also got up, leaned across her so carelessly sheshrank, and flung a rolled-up newspaper out the window to some event-hungrygang of tattered men beside the line with steel hammers in theirhands, calling:        “Paip! Paip!” 

     “Fettlers looking after the rails,” he explained as he sat downagain the first time it happened.And he seemed to assume she was quite as happy and comfortableas he was, that the coastal plain flying by was fascinating her.While she sat staring at it and not seeing it, hating it before shehad so much as set foot on it.At Cardwell the two men got off, and Luke went to the fish-and chipshop across the road from the station to bring back a newspaper-wrapped bundle. 

     “They say Cardwell fish has to be tasted to be believed, Meghannlove. The best fish in the world. Here, try some. It’s your first bitof genuine Bananaland food. I tell you, there’s no place likeQueensland.”Meggie glanced at the greasy pieces of batter-dipped fish, put herhandkerchief to her mouth and bolted for the toilet. He was waitingin the corridor when she came out some time later, white andshaking. 

     “What’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?” 

     “I haven’t felt well since we left Goondiwindi.” 

     “Good Lord! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

     “Why didn’t you notice?”