And Those Who Trespass Against Us

And Those Who Trespass Against Us

by

Helen M. Macpherson

Copyright © 2001 by Helen M. Macpherson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Parts of this work are fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or events is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-935053-41-5 (eBooks)

eBook Conversion August 2010

(Originally 1-930928-21-1)

Second Edition "author's cut" edition, revised, and re-edited

Cover design by Donna Pawlowski

Published by:

Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

4700 Hwy 365, Suite A, PMB 210

Port Arthur, Texas 7764

Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

Published in the United States of America

Acknowledgments

Writing and reading styles change, and mine certainly have over the years. I remain profoundly grateful to Barb and Linda for their initial assistance with the first edition of Trespass. However, it was understandable that, when I submitted Trespass for republication, I would tweak a few things. In doing so, I hope the story remains as enduring to you, the reader, as it does to me. Once again I must thank Regal Crest for republishing this work. I would also like to thank Donna for her great cover art. Lori, as my editor, you've consistently demonstrated the patience of a saint, capably dealing with the subtle differences in the Aussie language. I can't begin to thank you enough for the trouble you've gone to in ensuring this version of Trespass remained true to the original storyline. Robin, thank you so much for your efforts in finding those little bits I missed. To Chris, many, many thanks for reading the manuscript for me. And I also thank the many people who wrote to me, regarding whether there would be a rewrite of Trespass. Without you, I don't believe Trespass would have re-entered publication. Finally, I'd like to thank my partner, Kate. She is once again doing a happy dance at the prospect of having me back with her, instead of seeing me spend days on end in front of a computer screen. Thank you for your love and forbearance, and the many snacks as I sat in front of the computer.

And Those Who Trespass Against Us

by

Helen M. Macpherson

Chapter One 1872

THE MOMENT KATHERINE Flynn stepped from the train she knew something was wrong. The station was deserted--no stationmaster, no porter. She placed her bags down and glanced along the length of the platform. All was quiet, except for the wind which blew in a spiraling fashion along the platform, spreading dust in its wake. Observing her greater surroundings, she realised not only the station, but everything was covered in a fine film of dust.

She'd heard dust storms were a regular part of Australian country life, and were said to be more fierce than the Reckoning itself. Until now she'd never witnessed the effects of one, and had chosen to dismiss such descriptions as the Australian way of over exaggeration, something she'd frequently experienced since her arrival in Australia.

I've come a long way to be greeted by nothing but the wind, Katherine thought. She wistfully smiled. If someone had told her two years earlier that she would find herself in the remote Australian countryside, she wouldn't have believed them, for two years ago to the day had been her wedding day.

Katherine had been twenty-two when she'd finally succumbed to the parental pressures of finding a husband. The threats her mother weaved regarding a prospective life as a spinster were too much to bear. The problem being it wasn't marriage which was the greatest worry. In all honesty, she hadn't yet found someone who she could imagine spending the rest of her life with. That was until the day her father brought home a client who wished to continue business discussions which had not been finalised at the offices of Flynn and Company. Iain Fihilly was the only person Katherine had met who came close to what she expected in a lifelong companion and, so after the acceptable months of courtship had elapsed, she consented to marry him.

The day of their wedding was no different from any of the many other days she'd experienced in the countryside of Ireland. Gray and overcast, a light drizzle fell as the family coach approached the town church. Alighting from the coach, Katherine's hem dragged along the ground, causing a brown ring to form at the base of the white silk gown. On reaching the ornately carved wooden doors of the ancient church, a flustered pastor informed her the groom hadn't yet arrived, but assured her of a good explanation for his non-attendance. Truth was--he wasn't coming. He had instead elected to elope with a younger woman who possessed not only good looks but also a sizable dowry. Thus, Katherine was left, a somewhat nonplussed bride, standing and listening to the weeping ravings of her mother in the minister's quarters of All Saints Church, in Kilmarney, Ireland.

Katherine's mother wouldn't be consoled and talked of nothing but the disgrace brought onto the Flynn name. In her own unsettled way, she placed the guilt for the farce of the wedding at Katherine's feet. Katherine, unable to spend her days living with the ranting of an unrepentant mother, packed her meagre belongings and left home the following day. She'd left no note, nor had she told anyone of her intended destination.

She walked out on her family and into a vocation guaranteeing never again would she be hounded to marry. This vocation, although not exactly of Katherine's choosing, provided a means of escape from her mother and the supposed shame brought on the family name. And so, Katherine spent her next twelve months at Our Sister of Mercy Convent. There she lived a frugal existence, no longer harassed by the social pressures strangling a woman of the 1870's. The sisters were a group who asked no questions, with most of their calling being exacting work, involving residence in countries far from Irish shores.

Nothing could have suited Katherine better when Mother Superior raised the matter that their work was again needed in Australia, and she was to replace the sister residing there. Mother Superior made it clear that she didn't have to go, for the sister stationed in the western New South Wales countryside was a woeful correspondent, and no one at the convent was fully aware of what life would hold in store for Katherine. The Mother Superior advised, once she arrived in New South Wales, if she didn't like her position in the young, flourishing state, it would take the convent some time to raise sufficient money to secure a return passage. What the Mother Superior couldn't know was that the opportunity presented Katherine with just what she needed to finally sever the ties with her old life, and she wholeheartedly grasped at such a fortuitous coincidence.

After an uneventful sea journey, save for the occasional bouts of seasickness, followed by an extremely slow four-day train trip, Katherine had eventually arrived at her destination--a deserted train station.

Chapter Two

THE SUN WAS stifling. God obviously didn't have Australia in mind when he invented this habit, Katherine thought. Beads of perspiration ran down the middle of her back, settling in a wet spot at the base of her spine.

Katherine walked the length of the platform, trying the two doors of the cement-rendered building. They were both locked. She rubbed the glass of one of the dust-covered windows to see if someone was inside and merely asleep. The room was bare except for a bench that travelled the length of the walls, its path only broken by a fireplace, centrally positioned against one of the walls. She stepped back and looked at the walkway to the left of the room, which formed an exit from the station. She glanced through the walkway and saw only dust-covered countryside. The place truly looked deserted. Katherine frowned. The town's sister knew she was arriving today. Why had no one come? Katherine thought she'd best wait. Despite the platform having a verandah, the time of day afforded little respite from the unrelenting heat of the sun.

Not clear on where she should go next, her only choice was to wait. She moved down the brick platform. Taking shelter in a recess in the wall, she made herself as comfortable as possible, and closed her eyes.

SHE AWOKE WITH a start, unsure of how long she had slept. A man in uniform, who could have only been the stationmaster, stood over Katherine. In his hand was a flask, the contents of which he was tilting towards her lips, as if he meant to pour the liquid down her throat.

"Thank heavens you're alive, Sister. Sitting here the way you were, I thought you'd fainted and died in the heat. Here take some water, but sip it, don't gulp it or you'll find yourself bringing it up again."

Katherine gratefully accepted the flask. She quenched her thirst, taking the time to look at the man. He wore a deep blue jacket and trousers which, like his surroundings, were covered in a fine film of dust. His uniform and hunched shoulders didn't strike her so much as his face; for she didn't believe she'd ever seen so many creases on a man's face. Even her Grandfather's face hadn't told the tale of hard years this one did. It was as if the wind, which had weathered so perfectly the surrounding landscape, had created this face also.

Katherine realised she was staring, like an inquisitive child. "Thank you. I don't know what happened. No one was here when I got off the train. At first, I thought the convent had sent me to a ghost town. I tried to get inside but the doors were locked."

The stationmaster looked at the doors and back to Katherine. "I'm sorry, but we had to lock the doors because..."

"That would be the 1:15 weekly train from Sydney," another voice said. "That was two hours ago. If you're going to live out here you're going to have to learn not to fall asleep in the sun."

Until then Katherine was oblivious to the presence of anyone but the stationmaster, and was surprised when a figure stepped out from behind him.

"How can you be expected to bear the heat with all those clothes on? What's that cloth?" The person reached forth and ran the fabric of the habit between two dusty fingers. "It looks like wool. If you want to survive more than a week out here you're going to have to find something lighter than that."

Katherine looked up, only now realising the station's other occupant was a woman. Her manner of speaking wasn't coarse; in fact her speech was impeccable. Yet the clothes which adorned her figure were bewildering and entirely unexpected for a woman. She wore no dress, favouring instead a pair of pants and a shirt. The trousers were a dusty brown colour, similar to the dust on the stationmaster's jacket, and were the same width all the way down her leg. The blue, dust-covered shirt looked like it had been fashioned from light cotton. The shirt covered a tapered upper body, accentuated by the woman's slender hips, giving her a no-nonsense air.