February 2020 Newsletter
This week I have actually uploaded the novel, “Shadows on the Goldfield Track”, which is the sequel to “Shadow of the Northern Orchid”. At Ingram Spark printers it will go through a few more hoops before it becomes available For Sale on the 11th March 2020. Whew, I think that deserves a drink – rainwater of course.
Here is a snippet from Part One of the “Shadows on the Goldfield Track”.
Abigail stood guard outside the door. Jane and Eve delivered the smaller articles and placed them on the carriage seats while the men manhandled the trunks one at a time.
“What on earth have you women put in here, rocks?” George complained at every step. “Thomas, are you sure you are lifting your end?” He questioned his off-sider.
“Doctor George, Sir, I was just going to ask that question of you.” Giggling like schoolboys they cautiously moved out to the coach.
It was not a task to be completed at speed. Abigail’s sitting room clock pinged the half-hour after four when the trunks along with the smaller articles were finally packed inside the carriage. Everything was safely concealed when Thomas pulled the curtains across the windows.
“Hurry, hurry,” Jane said in hushed tones. “Mr. Goldfinch will be coming home at any moment.”
Thomas flew up into the driver’s seat. George was not so graceful making the climb on the other side of the vehicle. The rear-end of his trousers barely touched the wooden seat when his mother’s voice fell on all their ears.
“Oh, George, is that you? I thought I heard your voice.”
Five pairs of guilty eyes turned to stare at Mrs. Goldfinch as she stood near the back wheel of the coach. In her gloved hands, she held her flower basket and a small sharp pruning knife.
“George, your Papa will be home shortly. He will be wanting to talk with you if you have a moment.”
Current Weather and Tides
Are we all over the silly season? I do hope so because the year has already bolted away.
Where did January go?
If I see a chocolate Easter egg on the shelves early, to tempt me, I will go ballistic. The hot-cross buns are already out but they are so yummy; how can I complain.
School holidays have disappeared in the wind. The scholars groan; mothers sigh.
For those within Australia, don’t forget to check with my website to order your copy. For those new to my works “Shadows on the Goldfield Track” is the sequel novel to “Shadows of the Northern Orchid.” Refer to the snippet above.
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Pearls for your Enjoyment
Continued: Third Installment of four: The following is a piece I wrote in 2017. It was published in a booklet by our local library.
By Elizabeth Rimmington
It was during those few seconds the guard chose to grab the hidden pistol under his seat. The barrel pointed at the lad’s chest. This proved to be the last thing the guard was to do. The explosion of Jack’s second weapon sent the birds bursting from the foliage about the coach. The man’s body hung upright for several seconds before it fell forward, with a thud, on to the rumps of the two rear horses of the team. The pair bucked within their harness restraints. The front horses tossed their heads and stamped their feet. The body rolled over, falling to the dirt alongside the rifle. Blood dribbled from the hole between the man’s vacant eyes. The white-faced driver reached down as if to check his wounded offsider but his right arm stretched out towards the gun.
Jack’s hand was on the handle of his knife at his waist but it was Max who spoke up. His pistol was steady in his hand.
“Do you want to think about that, mister?”
The driver moved back to the coach door with the flour-sacks at his side. Jack slid from his horse and closed in beside the man.
“You won’t do anything silly like look for another gun, will you?” He jabbed the point of his weapon into the man’s kidney.
The blade shone where the whet-stone had been worked repeatedly. With a single slice, the leather harness of the coach horses was split. Max and Jack sent the animals bolting off into the bush.
“What about me?” The now, trussed-up driver wailed from inside the coach.
Mounted again on their horses, Jack called through the window.
“Stop moaning. You’ll be okay. At least you’re out of the weather. Looks like a storm is brewing. Someone’s sure to come along before you get a chance to die of thirst.” He laughed and kicked his horse up into a gallop, racing off into the approaching dusk. Max, on his horse, thundered behind.
She tucked her feet in under her and brushed the dust and flour from her patched grey skirt. A tanned arm swung out to prevent a fall when the wobbly log upon which she sat threatened to buck her into the fireplace. Heat rose up from the bed of coals as she shovelled the red-hot cinders up onto the top of the camp oven. Perspiration trickled from the tendrils of hair hanging loosely around her face. Her head spun around as a twig snapped nearby but it was not her brothers that walked into the clearing at the front of the cave. No, of course not, they won’t be back before midnight, at least. A large grey kangaroo stood erect and glanced her way before hopping off down the ridge away from the human smells at the rocky cave. A shadow passed over the land as the threatening rain clouds reminded her this could be a dangerous ride for Max and Jack if they were caught in a thunderstorm. From the bottom of the hill came the splash, splash, splash as the roo crossed the shallows of Eel Creek. The waiting was always the worst. It wasn’t so bad when Max remained with her, but today, with him gone too, it was endless.
To be continued