On a hot late spring afternoon, the train pulled to a halt on the old familiar country station. East Driscoll opened the compartment door and jumped down. Eight years. So many things had changed. He looked about him and realised that not everything changes. Some things are timeless. This sleepy little station was exactly as it had been on an afternoon that seemed to him to have happened in another life. The day the ostriches had come to town and he had first set his eyes on Grace McAlister.

For a second, he closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar scents of the hot earth and the strong breeze and his mind recalled the noises of the excited townspeople as the beaters tried to control the path of the startled birds and then the screams of fear and amusement as they took off into the bush. He remembered watching, leaning on the pommel of his saddle and then seeing the fine lady set off after them. The moment his fate and hers had been sealed when he had been stirred to the chase - and his real quarry, the beautiful Mrs. McAlister, proved to be a lot easier to catch than the damned elusive bird had been. But like the bird, he had not been able to hold her. How strange that he had been the elusive target that so many women had sought to rope and tame but to no avail. And the three women who had meant something to him in his life had all eluded him for one reason or another.

Wasn't that just typical of life?

"Good God! East Driscoll? Is that really you?" He turned and saw the round face of Father Finnegan smiling at him. "Well, I'll be damned if it isn't!  Welcome home, my boy...what a wonderful surprise...! I'd heard you were recovered but not that you were well enough to travel home. God be praised! It's good to have you back!"

East was shocked by the effusive welcome. The last memory he had of this man was the night he had been drunk and abusive at the dance and had to be dragged out, shouting and swearing, embarrassing all the women and children and making a complete show of himself and Grace. And yet it was as if those events had never happened. Would people really be so forgiving of his mistakes and care that he was back again?

"Father...thank you for your words. I can't tell you how glad I am to be back...."

"Well, this calls for a drink. Come on...straight to the hotel and I'll stand you a pint and you can tell us all what you've been up to, lad..."

It was as simple as that. Whatever he had done, however much of a fool he had been, these were his people and he was one of theirs. They could shrug away his youthful indiscretion and still be ready to be overjoyed to see him back among them. It was sort of humbling to know how ordinary folk were, many of them simple people whom he had thought little about in the past. It made him feel ashamed for the selfish young man he had once been.

So he sat in the bar and told the men there about his travels and the war...not much detail but enough to fill in the story of the missing years. No one mentioned Grace McAlister and he was grateful for that. In passing however, he learned a few things of interest. Bushman had been taking care of his horses and looking out for his cottage. Alan was now away at University in Sydney. Some of the lads of the town who had gone to the war were never coming back. Little Elsie Marshall was now married with three children and she and her husband were running the general store while Bushman had returned to the life of a horseman. And McAlister was still up at the big house, a fairly reclusive man but kindly enough to the people of the town.

It wasn't easy to disengage himself from the men in the bar - a new face, especially a local boy who had been about the big wide world was always a talking point and everyone had much to ask him- but finally he managed to make his excuses and one of the chaps, Barney McDougall, gave him a ride in his trap out to East's place.

And he was home. He stopped for a while at the bottom of the hill just staring at the old cottage, noticed the smoke from the chimney and smiled to himself. He had feared the worst, squatters maybe having claimed it, but here it was as if he had never been away and old Bushman there taking care of it for him.

Throwing the bag over his shoulder, he loped up the hill, a sense of peace descending on him as he fixed his eyes on his home. Now he was actually here it seemed almost impossible to believe, a dream that he simply could not accept could finally have come true.

There appeared to be no one about, so he strode over to the stables and had a look in. He was recognized even before his eyes had time to register the unfamiliar darkness. A whinny from the nearest stall and he saw Nero. And Nero had known him straight away. His eyes filled with tears at his beautiful stallion on whose back he had almost lost his life. He was older now, no more the fiery young horse of years ago- just as East was no more the wild young buck with the fire blazing in his belly. He moved over and embraced his horse and let a few tears fall.

The noise disturbed a man working on the far side on the barn, sitting polishing some brasses. Bushman looked up sharply and his suspicious glare turned first to amazement and then to delight.

"Bloody hell....East! You could have let us know! We'd have had the town out for you!"

East broke away and rubbed at his eyes before striding over to the older man; they threw their arms about each other and slapped each other on the back.

"You look a sight for sore eyes, mate! I can hardly believe it after how you were in the hospital! Bloody miracle!" Bushman exclaimed as he took a good look at East.

East grinned. "Don't lie, mate. I'm older and uglier - but at least I'll never catch up with you! So...hear you've been keeping an eye on things for me?" East looked about him. There was nothing amiss. A few new horses and a couple of changes here and there but Bushman had done a fine job. Why wouldn't he? He'd been a horse man before East was born, even if he had decided to choose the settled life in the end.

"I did my best. I'm slowing down these days but...well, I couldn't see the old place go. We didn't know what to do with everything at first. No one thought you'd be back, that's for sure, but we couldn't just let it all go to rack and ruin. I always regretted the loss of my old life at heart, so I thought maybe I could keep my hand in. The younger lads and lasses helped me at first, Alan did what he could, young Joe Carmichael, little Lucy Taylor, a lot of their mates....we managed. Later when Elsie got married, I decided to move up here and give her the house. Her and her fella Jimmy run the shop and they need the space...I'll move out, of course, now..."

"No you won't. Stay. We'll sort something out. This is your home if you want it, Bush. You earned the right, partner, eh?" The two men smiled and shook hands. Bushman was overcome. He had wondered what he might do should East ever return. At his age, it was hard to start all over again. Elsie would always take him in but he didn't want to be so much of a charity case or cause her extra problems with her ever-growing family. He had never wanted to be a burden to his children.

"Reckon that calls for a drink...you eaten? I got a bit of stew on in the pot and a nice few bottles in the cold box..."

"Now you're talking. Let's go and crack 'em..." East smiled and they stepped out of the barn to greet the early evening sunset. He breathed in deeply. There was nowhere in the world like home.

The spring passed and the summer arrived hot with its usual unrelenting force; East took a while to adjust to the heat and dust, the flies and the sweat. His skin burnt and peeled before it toughened up. Together he and Bushman had set to work. First they had built on another room to the cottage to accommodate the two of them and furnished it simply. What did two men together need anyway? They worked hard all day - exercising horses, stud work, repairing fences, visiting fairs and trying to build up East's name again as a wrangler and a breeder. Night times they sat outdoors and had a few beers, East often strumming on his old guitar or the two of them talking softly about local gossip and reminiscences.

Bushman used to go into town a few nights a week to have supper with his daughter and family and meet up with the mates in the hotel. Once or twice, East joined him but generally he reverted to his quiet private world, spending increasingly longer times away from the cottage, camping out in the wilds, riding over the countryside, swimming in the creek. Bushman left him be and wondered how a young man coped alone, remembering his earlier taste for the ladies. But he showed little signs of chasing after that anymore.

The same could not be said for Bushman himself. He'd been aimlessly courting a widow out at Dunmore for years but he began to think about the future. Theresa McCarthy was a good woman who had raised a couple of daughters, all married now, and buried a good husband. She had a neat little house and a small income from the little shop she ran in the township. On a few occasions she had hinted that she could do with a partner and Bushman knew that he wasn't going to get a better offer. The widow was a fine looking woman, rather fuller in the figure than she'd once been, but still a woman who could turn a man's head. He had dallied with her a few times and of late she had allowed him into her bed and he had discovered that she had a taste for what a man and woman do together that had rather surprised him. She wasn't one of those who only let you fumble under her night gown in the dark. Theresa left the lamp on and loved nothing more than to lie naked in his arms and she had shown a real appreciation for his body. She said she liked a big man and had modestly lowered her eyes to show him exactly where she thought him big.

One night about three months after East had returned, Bushman and he were sitting sharing a bottle together and he told him his plans. "I've asked Theresa McCarthy and she said yes. No need hanging about. Alan's home for the holidays in a few weeks. Thought we might tie the knot before Christmas. I don't want to leave you in the lurch though, mate. If you need me around any longer...."

East grinned. "I can manage alone. Always did before. You know you're welcome to stay but I'm pleased for you, mate. Nothing like a good woman. You deserve it. Can't say I know what she sees in ya... She know about your snoring?"

Bushman laughed loudly. "As a matter of fact she does. A swift kick and she says I settle down a treat..." he winked at East.

"So you've had the wedding night already, have ya, mate...good onya...." The two friends clinked their glasses and stared off into the night. In his heart East wasn't sorry to hear that he would be left alone again. He preferred it if the truth were known.

The wedding breakfast was held in the big barn and the whole town was out in force. Bushman was a much loved character and they had all been trying to marry him off for years. It was also going to be a chance to meet a few faces who had moved on - several had made their way back for the festivities, most notably Alan Marshall, Bushman's only son, back for the summer from his University in the big city. Another son of Turalla who had made the trip was young Joe Carmichael who had left the town a few years back to make his way in Adelaide. He now worked for Cooper's Breweries which impressed the other men who reckoned that was a job most fellas would pay to do.

East had stood at the back during the church service, uncomfortable in his old fashioned suit, the only one he had ever owned; it had been cleaned up by someone and left hanging in a cupboard his cottage, one of the many unexplained charities that he had found on his return. Small things like that had made him think long and hard about the meaning of friendship and respect.

Out in the sunshine as the happy couple were receiving their congratulations, Alan came over to East. He was a young man now, an attractive dark haired youth, still with the shy smile and the bright intelligent eyes, taller than East now, despite his leaning on the stick. He no longer wore the brace; an operation a few years ago had helped his mobility but he would always be crippled, he observed without any apparent bitterness. Life had dealt him a poor hand from the start and yet, in many ways, it had been to his advantage. East wondered if there was more to be learned from sadness than joy in the end.

"Oh, East, I can't tell you how fine it is to see you standing there! I've been writing to Miss Grace over the years and she kept us all posted. There were times when it looked very bleak and I never expected to set eyes on you again. You're looking so good, mate! Quite like the same old East Driscoll I remember!" Alan grinned and shook his hand vigorously.

East smiled back. "A bit of a wiser man than the one you knew. Funny thing is, the older I get, the less I think I know." Alan acknowledged the thought with a nod. "I've always wanted to tell you how much I owe to you, mate. I was a bloody fool and a larrikin - even a kid like you could see that - but you stuck by me. I pulled you in where I shouldn't as well. But I'm glad I did. I'd be long dead now if not for you. You were the truest friend a bloke ever had and I'm not sure I ever deserved it."

It was rather more than East normally said in a whole day, and he looked down bashfully at his feet as he finished. Alan slapped his back.

"You were a wild one, I know that now. But...you were the only adult who ever treated us kids like we had something to say. That meant more to us than you could know. And you were a good mate too. Just crazy in love. Happens to all of us eventually."

East laughed. "So who's the lucky lady then? You brought her home?"

Alan shook his head. "None of your business...but there is a girl I'm sweet on in Sydney and well, you never know your luck in a big city, hey?"

The two men grinned and strolled over to the barn where the proceedings were already livening up with a band playing and the glasses of beer and sherry being handed out. "Last time I came to a dance here..."East began as he supped on the chilled ale.

"We boys let out stinks...I think you missed that. Now that was the fun part of the evening..." Alan grinned.

East shook his head and looked about him at the young men and girls who had all been children when he had last been there. No one was making eyes at him - there were far too many younger bucks now to catch the attention of the ladies. He watched a few of the girls and wondered if he ought to ask any to dance but hung back. They were too young and he didn't want to give the wrong impression.

"Well then, East Driscoll, don't pretend you've forgotten how to dance then!" A pretty dark haired girl was grinning up at him; she looked vaguely familiar. "I'm Lucy...Lucy Taylor, don't you remember me? I used to muck about with Alan and Joe when we were kids."

He remembered; Alan had been sweet on her and she had been sweet on Joe. "Yeah, love...Lucy...dance? Shouldn't I be asking you?" he teased.

She tossed her hair and giggled. "You weren't exactly showing any signs there...so I thought I'd better do it for you. Come on...I don't bite!" She pulled on his hand and led him onto the floor and they began to dance. It was different from what he remembered. This was just a pleasant girl who was bringing him into the fun and games; he felt a little like some older uncle. Time had passed him by. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or saddened by that thought. At least he was still here. He expected that counted for something.

Later that day when the drink had been flowing and they had already had to break up a few fights amongst some of the younger men, East was out the back with some of the men hitting the whisky. Joe Carmichael joined them. He was now a stocky young man with blond curly hair and a ruddy, handsome face. East reckoned he must be twenty, twenty one, something like that and was faintly amused by the swaggering walk and the affectation of a mature man he put on.

"Good to see you back, mate."

East smiled and offered him a shot of whisky. Joe took it and knocked it back, somewhat unwisely as he was already half cut. "Surprised you came back here to this backwater. Wouldn't do for me. I want to see something of the world. Make my mark. Not settle back here and marry some local girl and end up just like my Da."

"I've seen the world, son, and it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Some of the finest people I've ever known live in this valley. It'll do me all right," East observed.

"Yeah well, you were always one for ducking life, weren't you? I suppose it's easy to be the big man back here with all these little people. Me, I want to prove myself in the real world...," he boasted, lighting up a cigarette and smoking with bravado.

He was beginning to irritate East. "Yeah, I can see that, mate. Shovelling hops in a brewery. That really is a useful way to spend your life. Bet the good folk of Adelaide really look up to you..." he retorted and took a drink from the bottle, wiping the back of his mouth on his hand as he eyed up the younger man.

Joe laughed. "That's just for starters. I'll be the bloody boss one day, just see if I'm not!"

"Then bloody good luck to you, mate. I hope it keeps ya happy!' East answered. Young men. They thought they knew it all. What the fuck did they know about life and what it costs you? Or what was really important in the end? But he smiled wryly to himself as Joe wandered off. Like the young East Driscoll who had thought all the other people fools for conforming to life while he did whatever he pleased whenever he pleased? He hoped Joe wouldn't have to find out the truth as bitterly as he had, although he suspected that however you finally come to self knowledge it can only shatter the secure arrogance of your youth.

His ears caught a shouting match taking place outside the barn. Two young men were pushing and shoving each other with their shoulders and waving their arms about. The older men were watching amused. "What's it about?" East enquired.

"Usual crap. Billy thinks McDougall's been too matey with his Sheila. The girl's been making eyes at Billy all night and slipped behind the barn with him for a bit of a feel. Young men - they're just full of spunk. Now if someone were to make eyes at my Lizzie and take her out back, I'd stand him a beer...see how long the poor bastard could put up with her bellyaching..."

The group of men laughed and threw a few rejoinders into the growing tension. The pair would be exchanging blows in minutes and would probably do some damage. Meanwhile the Sheila in question was dancing with Joe Carmichael. East grinned and then realized that to the rest of the people here this was just a bit of fun - a talking point, a bit of town gossip. Two lads fighting over a woman. How did they know that Billy or McDougall wasn't about to break his heart over the same girl?

You think when you're in love it's the end of the world if you don't get the girl you want. You talk about not being able to live without her. So you either get drunk enough to kill yourself on the back of a horse - or you wake up the next morning with a bad head and feel a bit low for a week or two until the next woman comes along. East laughed ruefully. He had fallen somewhere in between those two outcomes and eight years of his life and Grace's had been sacrificed to his youthful pride and selfishness. But to everyone else if had been a nine day wonder. Or would have been, had he dealt with it like a man and not a damned fool.

"Come on, lads," East stepped forward and stood between the two young men. "It's not worth fighting over. She's already forgotten the pair of you... let's see ya kiss and make up. Not worth letting a sheila come between good mates, hey? You want to be sport for the old fellas? They're already taking bets on who goes down first...don't let them make fools of you, boys..." he chivvied the two young men until the flare up subsided and they settled down, smiling shamefaced and taking a few deep breaths. He gave them each a glass of whisky and they all clinked glasses and downed it in one; in no time they were talking and laughing and the two boys had their arms around each other singing.

The weeks of summer passed swiftly after the wedding had come and gone. There was a lot more work about the place and he began to realize just how much Bushman had done. The physical labour suited him though and as the new year began he was burnt brown by the sun and his muscular body was hardened and firm with the healthy outdoors life. He might have been eight years older but he was probably at his finest shape ever: the body of a man in his prime, honed by honest labour and sweating under a hot sun.

Each night as he settled down in the cool of the evening, that virile body, even tired as it was, still felt the urge for a woman. He would sit and strum on his guitar and think until he had to go and find a corner of the barn to relieve himself in. It made him feel ashamed but he knew he would not sleep unless the ache was dissipated. Sometimes he cursed his body. Now and again he rode to other outlying towns and took a whore for the night but it never seemed to make him feel much better. In fact he often felt worse. When he was with someone, he would close his eyes and picture pretty Molly with her tumbling curls and her bright flashing eyes, the little turn on her chin and her hands on her hips, laughing merrily.  Then he would hear the woman speak and the powerful image would be shattered as he found himself rutting into some fading beauty who would push him off as soon as he had finished and grab at his money. "And my name's not Molly, love," one had snapped to him as she had rolled away and pulled her skirt down.

Such an encounter would simply raise the ghost of Molly Diffley again in his head for the days to come. He would try to put her aside and tell himself that she was just a girl he had met along the way but somehow he knew deep inside that she had been the one. He hardly knew her really but the impression she had made on him was strong. In his head, he felt that the way he thought about her was different. It was not the infatuation for a fine lady in his bed as Grace had been. It was not the desperate need of a lonely man facing events that bewildered and sickened him as it had been with Marianne. This time it had been a man and a woman on equal terms drawn to each other by both powerful attraction and the curious charm of each other's personality. Molly was what he needed. But he was not what she wanted.

He would never blame her for her dreams and her desire to put her ambition before anything else in life. There had been a time in his life when he had refused to let anyone inside his life lest his freedom be taken from him either. Everyone had the right to choose their path - and he hoped that things had worked out for her in the big city.

But no amount of reasoning in the world could stop him dreaming of her. He would imagine taking the train across country, reaching Melbourne and then walking street after street until he found her little shop. In his mind's eye it was called Chez Molly and there she would be dressed in a fine silk dress with fancy ladies coming back and forth. He would stand with his face pressed up against the window and just love her from a distance. Just to see her would be enough. Just to know that she was safe.

He turned back to the old guitar in his hands and strummed softly singing out the old folksong that best seemed to suit his lovelorn nature.

If I had the wings of an eagle
O'er the lands far below I would fly
I would fly to the side of my loved one
And there I would lay down and sigh
I'd take you into my arms and protect you
Surround you with love all your life
For though miles may divide us...
It's your touch I think of tonight
It's your touch I think of tonight

He didn't know many other ballads but that old one still made the most sense of how he felt. It would always be Molly's sweet touch he thought of before he slept every night.

One late afternoon, riding back with a horse he was putting to stud, he noticed that there was someone sitting on the porch of the cottage. Closer inspection told him it was a woman, dressed in a bulky coat and a hat. He rode up, dismounted and strode over to where the trespasser was.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" he asked, holding the rein behind his back. The woman turned - and they both gasped in surprise.

"East!"

"Molly?"

She seemed to pale slightly as she looked at him, tried to stand and then he realised that her knees were buckling; she was about to faint. Rushing forward and letting the horse go, he managed to catch her before she crumpled to the wooden floor and he carried her inside. Gently resting her down on his bed, he went to fetch water and a cloth to wash her face. He loosened her coat to give her some air.

"E....East?" she muttered as she began to come round, pushing the wet cloth from her face and trying to sit up.

"Easy there, girl. You just went out for a few minutes...must be the heat..." Molly raised herself to a sit and that's when he noticed her dress. Or rather what was inside it. Her tiny slender frame was much the same as he remembered it but her stomach was distended and swollen, straining the cheap flowery cotton dress that she was wearing beneath the greatcoat. His mouth fell open and he knew she had seen his expression.

"It's not what you think, East...I didn't come to lay this at your door..." she exclaimed, pulling her coat round her as if to hide her condition from him.

He pulled up a chair and sat down, frowning. "Then why are you here, Molly Diffley?"

At that, she simply began to cry, large tears rolling down her pale cheeks. "I don't have anywhere else to go! I....couldn't manage, East! Not like this. I can't work for the next few months and then for a while after the baby's born and....well, people talk, you know? They won't come to me if they think I'm a slut. I just need a place for now. You're the only person I know. I remembered what you said. The Clare Valley. Place called Turalla. Everyone in town knew you. A man drove me out here in his car."

East groaned inwardly. He could imagine how far the news had traveled already. Some woman has turned up with a baby in her belly, asking for Driscoll. He could hardly kick up a fuss though, could he? He'd slept with Molly once - so it had been possible and he couldn't complain just because he hadn't been the man to hit the target.

"Lie there awhile till you feel better. I'll make us a cup of tea," East whispered as he patted her leg and stood up. He needed thinking time and he also knew she needed to compose herself. He wasn't much good at dealing with crying women anyway. Busying himself at the range, he got the water boiling and warmed the pot, the way his mother had always done. She'd been fussy about her tea and when he had company he tried to do it the proper way still. Rummaging on a shelf, he found his few china cups and saucers and ran a bit of water over them to clean them up. There was a bit of milk left in the cold box and he added a drop, before straining the tea in. Molly had meanwhile stood up and wandered over to watch him, sitting down at the little wooden table.

He set down the cup and saucer before her and she helped her self from a bowl of sugar. "There are ants in the sugar!" she cried out.

He shrugged. "Don't know how to keep them out. Just fish them out of the tea later..." Molly laughed and used her spoon to remove the little insects. In a way, the matter of the ants broke the ice.

"Fancy crockery, East..." Molly grinned as she sipped her tea.

"Belonged to my Mum. Not much else of hers left but I hung onto those. She didn't have much, but she was proud of her china....She used to say, 'Tea doesn't taste right unless you have it in a china cup'..." he smiled at the memory. Jesus, she'd been dead more than fifteen years already.

"I agree with her. She had good taste," Molly answered with a soft smile.

"Not in men..." East mumbled in reply. Molly gave him a curious stare.

"My Dad...he was a waster." East explained. "A no-good Tinker Irishman. She could have done better..."

Molly smiled as she stirred her tea thoughtfully. "I'll bet she couldn't resist him though, could she? Was he as fine as you?"

East frowned. "He was a drinker and a gambler and he did nothing for me or her. But, yeah...she loved him. More fool her. Brought nothing but sorrow."

Molly looked at him directly, her eyes bright and full of tears. "He gave you to her. I'll bet she was proud of you!"

At that he blushed. "She was my mother. Thank God she never saw what I became..." he answered obliquely. "Anyway...it's not about me, love. Tell me what happened. How you got yourself into this mess..."

And so Molly put down her cup, folded her hands across her stomach protectively and told him the story of what had happened after she had arrived in Melbourne. Despite her initial feeling that all was going to be well now, things had very quickly begun to take a turn for the worse. The savings she had brought with her were not enough. Melbourne had proved to be more expensive than she had expected and it was impossible for her to think of renting premises of her own as she had hoped.

Not daunted, she had taken a room in a hostel for working girls and then found herself a job in a dress shop in the town. She had felt better then and imagined that it would turn out all right after all. If she could work a year or so and scrimp and save she might then have enough and anyway would be more familiar with the clientele by then to spread the word around about her business. In the meantime Molly had worked in her room late into the night and in all the free time she had on a few private designs of her own. Finally she had plucked up the courage to show them to the owner of the shop and the kind lady had allowed her to display them there. The hats she had made were soon snapped up and Molly had begun to make more, until she was allowed to use her quiet times in the day to work on others and even to take a few orders for hats from ladies while they were being fitted for dresses. So far so good.

The owner of the business was an elegant lady called Elizabeth Buchanan whose husband owned an iron foundry in the city; they were quite an affluent family and this shop was merely a hobby of hers. Mrs. Buchanan had taken to Molly and recognised her skill and business acumen; she was soon eager for Molly to sell her hats in her establishment and happy enough to take a majority share of the profit for herself. But Molly was realistic enough to see that this was an important start and was glad for her support. In fact Elizabeth Buchanan had taken Molly under her wing in more ways than one and within a few months, she was inviting her to various occasions at her home or out and about in society. It was there that Molly had met Kenneth Buchanan, her son.

Kenny was a handsome and rather spoiled young man, the only boy in a family of three children, a carefree young man about town. He worked for his father who was grooming him to inherit his business one day - but he didn't work too hard. In fact he spent most of his time simply enjoying his privileged position and was little more than a debonair playboy. The moment he had set eyes on Molly, he had made such a fuss of her and they had soon become firm friends, regularly walking out or going to dinner or a concert.  Together he had shown her the bright lights of Melbourne and the world that she so much craved.

Kenny had told her not to let his mother know about their 'friendship' at first because his parents were trying to match him up with one of the daughters of rich acquaintances in the town. He had, however, assured Molly that, when the time was right, he would approach them. He claimed to be head over heels in love with the beautiful Molly and would make her his wife if she would kindly consent. It had all seemed too perfect to Molly. In fact, of course it had been. Already she had everything she wanted: her business was starting up, she had an influential partner and she had met a rich man who wanted to marry her. It was even better than she had dreamed possible. Molly had expected a stuffy old man as a husband and instead she had the charming and handsome Kenny courting her.

Molly stopped at that part and East realized her discomfort. But she wiped her face down and went on with her story. Young Kenny had persuaded her that they didn't need to wait until the wedding day as they were so in love-  and she had agreed; well, it wasn't as if she had been a virgin, was it? A few weeks later, she discovered that she was pregnant. When she had told Kenny about it, he had blanched and made an excuse to leave. She hadn't seen him again. One day soon after, she had called him at his office and he had told her point blank that it was over. His parents had found a girl for him and there was no way he was going to marry a woman who would sleep with a man before she was wed. After all, how did he know he had been the only one? Molly had simply slammed down the telephone in anger.

Enraged by his cowardice, she had confronted his mother with the truth and Elizabeth Buchanan, her friend, had sacked her on the spot. Molly had not even received her full severance pay or the monies accrued to her for the sale of the hats she had made. Mrs. Buchanan said that she was owed the rest for the wear and tear on her nerves caused by the lies Miss Diffley had told about her precious son. When Molly had tried to get work elsewhere, she had found that her reputation had preceded her. Mrs. Buchanan had spread it around that Molly Diffley was a little slut who was trying to sleep her way to the top. Their husbands and sons were not safe.

Molly added quietly. "Which, in a sense, I had been doing..."

East flinched at her brutal assessment of herself. "Did you love this Kenny?"

Molly shook her head. "Not really. I liked him. He was fun, but a bit immature. An overgrown boy. But I would have been a good wife to him..."

"Then he's still a bastard..." East muttered angrily. "What are you gonna do, Molly?"

She shrugged. "Have the baby and then give it to the nuns. I can't raise a child. The pair of us would starve. But if I could just stay here until then....I'll earn my keep, East. I'll cook and keep house as best I can. Please...I won't be any burden to you. As soon as I'm well enough I'll leave..."

He held out his hand and took hers. "You can stay as long as you like, of course you can. I've got a spare room now. It's not much but it's clean. There's no door, mind, but I won't disturb you. There's a woman in the town who births babies and a doctor too. You best go and see them. I'll knock up a crib of some kind. We'll manage, hey?" He smiled at her tenderly.

Molly's eyes filled with tears. "You know I wouldn't put you in this position unless I was really desperate, don't you? I don't mean to make life hard for you. You were good to me. I just had nowhere else..."

He placed his finger on her lips. "It isn't a burden. I have no one and you'll be company for me. I have the space. People helped me when I was in need. What kind of man would I be if I didn't do the same for you? Anyway, it could have been mine, Molly. I was no saint. I lay with you and walked away. What's the difference between me and Kenny, really?'" he admitted.

She took his hand and kissed it. "A whole world. You and Kenny Buchanan are like different creatures. Don't you dare think I can't tell the difference, East Driscoll!"

So that was how Molly Diffley moved into to East Driscoll's cottage, much to the fascination of the local townspeople. After they had shared a simple supper he showed her to the bedroom off the main room and left her to unpack her meagre belongings. She mentioned she needed to 'go' and he directed her to the rudimentary dunny across the yard, but kept an eye out for her, checking it first for snakes or spiders. He reckoned a city girl like her would be unaccustomed to such basic amenities as a country dunny.

The next morning, he persuaded her to come into town with him and took her to Dr. McTavish before going off to buy some supplies and then have a drink at the hotel. A few men gave him the eye when he walked in but he didn't engage them in conversation, just supping quietly, leaning on the bar and having a smoke. Nobody asked him anything embarrassing although he imagined they were thinking plenty. By the time Molly had finished and was standing on the step of the doctor's neat little house, he strolled over to pick her up.

"So I'll see you next month then, Miss Diffley?" The doctor called to her as East walked up. Molly nodded primly and bustled towards East; McTavish stepped out and called East over, speaking to him in lowered tones.

"You ought to be doing some serious thinking, young man. She's a fine girl and she doesn't deserve to be left holding the baby like this. You could do a lot worse..."

East gave him a stony stare. "Do I owe you anything?" he asked. 

The doctor sighed "I'll give you my bill at the end, after the delivery." East nodded and made his way back to where Molly was waiting.

"I'm sorry. This is getting you a bad name, isn't it?" she murmured blushing.

He shrugged. "They can think what they like. They always do." He led her back to the buckboard and eased her onto the seat, aware of eyes watching him from all sides. "Why did he say, see you next month?" East asked. "I thought you had three months to go...?"

Molly looked away and pulled nervously at her shawl. "He wants me to have a regular visit. He's very careful. A good doctor." 

East might have been familiar with the labour of horses but that part of a woman's life was a mystery to him, so he shrugged and accepted her answer, driving the horses forward down the street in the direction of his home. Molly looked out at the curious faces of the local residents. They were not exactly hostile towards her but they were certainly weighing her up and she could imagine what was going on in their minds. But she took no notice. Glancing over at the straight back and brawny arms of her former lover, she felt no apprehension. Whatever he thought of her inside she knew full well that East would never let her down. He just wasn't that kind of man.

For the next few weeks the young couple managed to coexist happily enough in the tiny cottage without too many difficulties. Most of the day he was out and about and Molly was left to her own devices. She would wash clothes, cook, clean and tidy up the place, take a nap, wander around the hillside, sit and dream and finally be back in time to set a decent table for his supper when he came home. They exchanged a few pleasantries about their day but little else; he seemed reticent and she was shy with him. The lingering memory of their one night of love remained as an unspoken ghost hovering in the air between them which neither seemed inclined to resurrect.

Often East would excuse himself after dinner and go outside where she would hear him strumming on his guitar and singing something softly while she undressed, washed and slipped between the sheets. Lying there in the darkness, Molly took comfort from the sounds of his nearness, her hand stroking her naked belly, feeling the rippling and kicking of her child within. All she lacked for comfort was his presence beside her in the bed - but even without it she still felt safe and cared for. It was the first time in many years that she had felt so secure.

Although they lived as chaste as brother and sister, both East and Molly were more than aware of each other. They did a lot to mask their interest but there was no doubt that he spent a lot of time watching her as she moved about tending to the domestic chores and serving his food. There was that familiar feeling of contentment he had felt with Marianne when he saw a woman in the act of nurturing a man; it must have been an image from his childhood but it was powerful and resonant to his senses.

She was so fair and delicate if not for the ungainly swell of her belly; he noticed that her feet when bare were a little swollen and that she was soon out of breath doing simple tasks. He watched as she would brush a stray hair from her face which was flushed with the effort of working; she always seemed to looks tired and drained these days. And then he thought of the wild young beauty who had once danced the night away in his arms and felt a knot of regret and longing that he could hardly bear.

Part of him wanted to touch her, run his hands over her swell and feel the quickening of the child in her womb, as he would do to calm one of his mares in foal. Another part of him was still pruriently watching her when she was half dressed or as she washed or brushed her hair and he felt ashamed in the knowledge that this woman, heavy with child, could still fire his loins. It seemed a shameful thing to him.

Many times he walked out abruptly when she affected him too much and Molly would turn in surprise as he slammed the door behind him. His moods unnerved her and she wondered if he regretted his decision now to let her stay. She had no idea that his sudden retreat was caused by the desperate desire that he felt for her and the increasing difficulty he had in hiding his feelings. At first, when he had caught sight of her on his porch, he had for a moment thought she had come back to him. He had seen her state and imagined that it was his child and that she was going to tell him that after all she wanted him. He wouldn't even have minded if she had been angry, accused him of deserting her, slapped his face and thrown her fate in his face. But to discover that she had merely run to him as the only safe haven she knew after she had let another man into her life, had hurt him deeply - and as the days passed he began to see just how much it affected him. He was in love with this woman. It was not the wild and impetuous passion of his youth when he had met Grace McAlister but the quiet and profound love of an adult man for the woman he wished would be his partner in life.

Molly was similarly watching East just as she had once observed him day by day on the ship. She knew every angle of his face and body from the many hours she spent in contemplation of him while he was otherwise engaged. Sometimes he would look up suddenly to catch her glance but Molly would turn her head swiftly or pretend to be looking up at the sky or down at her feet, and he would return to his task with no comment. Often he worked bare-chested in the sun and his naked torso gave her a sense of thrill and wonder. She had never really seen him in that state apart from that one night together and the memories of that occasion were hazy viewed through the gloss of lust-soaked passion. But here every day, she got to see that broad golden back rippling with thick muscle, his solid arms furred with golden brown hair, the ripe swell of his smooth pectorals and the bands of sinew on his taut belly. Even the light covering of chest hair spearing down and fanning out above his belt made her heart skip a beat and cause her to remember the thick coarse thatch of hair below, the plump flesh of his manhood and the soft droop of his sturdy balls, all chastely hidden now in his work pants.

She knew he went to the creek to bathe most days when he watered the horses and had even once wandered over to watch secretly from the brow of the hill - but she had stopped herself after glancing him cavorting in the shallows. It wasn't right to try and catch him naked just to appease her prurience. It would have embarrassed him to know that he was being observed as an object of lust - so she had hurried home. But the one more innocent treat she often allowed herself was to steal a look at him when he was lying fast asleep in his bed in the early morning. Sprawled out, snoring softly, his naked chest rising and falling as he breathed, he looked to her both like a man and a boy all at the same time - and her heart bled for what she had so casually thrown away in the pursuit of a shallow and empty dream.  Now she would have given every hope and wish she had ever possessed merely to be his woman and stand by his side. The rich could keep their fancy houses and their elegant social whirl. She had had her fill of that, if the truth were known.

One morning, she rose and slipped to the open door that separated the annexe from the main room, hoping to catch East asleep and to daydream of him for a moment before she began to prepare the breakfast. But as she rounded the corner, she saw that he was already up, wearing only his trousers, the braces hanging loosely as he shaved before a broken mirror, brushing soap over his lower jaw, his chin raised. There was something about the scene, so intensely masculine as he drew the cutthroat blade down over the bristles and then rinsed out in the water, before making another sweep. His beard grew thick and strong, down his neck even and gave her a thrill. This was a man, not a soft-cheeked boy. She felt a blush steal over her own cheeks and a loosening in her body; her loins pulsed with want at his proximity as if she could almost smell his masculinity. The air about her felt thick and clammy, her head pounded and her sex watered. The baby in her womb kicked out hard and she made a slight gasp.

The noise made him turn; she saw his face clean and soft on one side and white with soap foam on the other. "You all right, Molly?" he asked casually.

She nodded and slunk back inside the room ashamed that he had caught her staring. It was then that suddenly she realized that she was not all right: a sharp contraction seized her and she bent over, crying out softly at the sudden shock of the pain. East must have heard the whimper for the next moment he had walked in, wiping the residue of the soap away with a small towel. Even now his every movement seemed to resonate on her brain.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern.

"I don't know," she answered. "I had a bad pain." He came to her and helped her to lie back down on the bed, smoothing down her petticoat modestly before resting his hands on her stomach, pressing down lightly. Molly grabbed at his hands and made a vain attempt at a protest but he shook his head and shushed her. For a few minutes he observed and then he grimaced.

"I think you've started, love. I can feel the muscles contracting. If you were a mare I'd say so anyway...I'd better get the doctor." She could sense the note of anxiety in his voice. She had told him that the baby wasn't due for another ten weeks; no wonder he was concerned.

"I'll be fine...it's probably a false alarm," Molly began but he wouldn't listen, rushing to the outer room to throw on a shirt and find his boots.

"I'll be as quick as I can. You stay there and try and rest. It'll be hours yet..." and he dashed out of the door. Moments later she heard him saddled up and riding, already picking up speed as he hammered down the hill and away. But at that moment another sharp pain struck almost taking her breath away; and then she felt the gush of water down her legs. Her baby was on its way; East had been right about that.

The day passed in a flurry of visitors. Dr. McTavish called to examine her and said it would be a few hours yet. Shortly after that Mrs. Burrows turned up - she was a local midwife sent out to home births by the doctor and she had with her one of her own daughters, Beryl. The two women set to work with gusto, boiling water and preparing the little room. East put his nose round the door to check how Molly was getting on but he was promptly chased out and told to keep out of the way. Molly looked a little pinched faced, he thought, scared and weepy, so he gave her a smile and backed off, leaving the women to it.

It wasn't easy keeping his mind on the work of the day knowing what was happening inside the house and he stayed fairly close to home but out of the cottage, preferring to sit in the barn whittling when he finally gave up on his other chores. From time to time he heard a plaintive cry and winced at the thought of how she must be suffering. She was such a little slip of a thing and that baby looked like a sturdy one if the size of her belly was anything to go by.

It occurred to him that if he felt like this about another man's child, how it must be for a man to linger outside while the woman he loved brought forth their child. What kind of torment must that be for a bloke, wanting both of them and scared to lose either? Or the awful unspoken fear that neither might make it and he would be left alone to mourn them both. His mouth felt dry and sour, his gut heaved and his heart beat a tattoo at the horror of it all. He had attended before when mares had died whilst foaling and the heartrending agony, the long slow death, the blood and mutilation of cutting a much loved animal to try and save the young one still resonated on a mind that had witnessed the awful devastation of war. That had been the savagery of man. But nature could be savage too, as well as beautiful and noble.

It was early evening before little Beryl Burrows came out to find him in the barn; he had been drinking for a few hours and had nodded off, sitting on the floor, leaning against the door of a stall. "Mr. East...come...the baby's here...it's a little boy..."

He woke with a shudder and it took a few moments to clear his thoughts. "She all right?" he mumbled.

"Yes, sir. She's sleepy but it went all right. He's a fine little thing. Crying with temper and kicking around already. Looks just like you, sir. Well..." the young girl blushed..."I mean, as much as a baby can, sir"

East gave her an impassive stare. "Thanks for telling me. I'd better settle up with the doctor and your Ma...."

"Aren't you going to come and see them? She's been asking for you an awful long time, Mr. Driscoll, sir..."

"Stop calling me sir. I'm not some kind of boss," he snapped. But he stood up and dusted himself off, aware that he was dirty and dishevelled and smelling of whisky. Following the girl, he staggered out of the barn and along to his house where he found the doctor washing and packing up his bag. "Ah...there you are...he's a fine little lad...healthy and strong. Nothing to worry about. Molly's had a hard time but she's a great girl and put up with it with hardly a murmur. You've got a good one there, Driscoll. Pity you don't recognize it. She deserves better than this 'living in sin' business. What's it going be like for the child in years to come? You know what people will say! It's none of my business but...well, I think you should put your house in order. You could do worse and you need a woman about this place..."

"Yeah, you're right. None of your bloody business. What do I owe you?" was the only answer East gave him. The doctor frowned and shook his head; they completed their transaction without further conversation and he said his goodnights. "I'll call in tomorrow to check on her," he added as he left.

"You do that," East replied coldly and shut the door on him with a bang. He wasn't about to explain anything to anyone - but he hated the speculation. It looked like he had taken advantage of a young woman- she was barely nineteen- and was refusing to do the decent thing. Too bad. They could think what they liked. People invariably did.

Mrs. Burrows came bustling out, her arms full of soiled sheets and clothes. "I'll take these and get them laundered for you. Can't have a man left with that now, can we? I'll be along tomorrow and we'll give her a good wash and seeing to. She's be fine, East. She just needs to sleep now; the poor thing's worn out. But...she's still asking for you. Go and see her, lad. And the baby. Don't be hard on her today. She's needs a bit of support..." He handed over what he owed her and she put on her hat and coat while her daughter toted the washing, staring wide eyed at East as if he was the devil himself. He saw them to the door and asked if they could get home alone all right. She had a pony and trap and said she could manage quite well, thank you very much, before taking her leave.

Back in the cottage, East walked slowly to the door to the inner room and leaned on the lintel. Molly was lying in the soft glow of a gas lamp, staring at the ceiling, her face turned away from him. He saw the little wooden cradle he had made now by the side of the bed and heard the little snaffling noise of a sleeping child. The whole picture astounded him. Soft light, beautiful woman and newborn child. Like a Madonna. It made his heart ache for how much he wished it could all be his.

"You alright there, Mol?" he asked in a whisper.

She turned and he saw how pale she was, dark circles ringing her eyes, her hair a wild mess of curls; he thought she had never looked more fragile and perfect to him. "It's a boy. He's so lovely. Come and take a look at him..." he leaned forward off the door and came to the bed, reaching down to where the child lay on the floor in his tiny crib. "Pick him up. Hold him. I want to have him with me tonight..." she murmured and then smiled as she watched East take the tiny boy in his large rough hands and raise him awkwardly against his chest.

He couldn't help but smile at the little head with its wisps of golden hair. Instinctively he murmured to it much as he might quiet a horse, rocking the little bundle in his arms. "He's a pretty little thing. You sure he's not a girl?" East grinned and sat down on the bed beside her. She reached out and opened up his blankets to reveal his little naked body. At the sight of his tiny penis, they both laughed. "Okay boy, I'll give you that. Nothing wrong with you down there..." but he covered him over quickly, afraid that the cool night air would give him a chill.

"Was it hard, Molly?" he asked as he passed the child to her and she held it close to her.

"Bloody painful...!" she replied with a sad smile. "But, I'll live. It was pretty straightforward or so they said. I'll be fine in a few days."

He nodded and bit on his lip. "What happens then, Molly? When you're up and about, I mean..."

She gave a little whimper and held her son closer to her breast. "I'll have to find an orphanage to take him. The nuns. They'll take good care of him. What else can I do? I have to work and if I turn up with a baby and no wedding ring - who's going to give me a job?"

"Easy enough to buy a ring and wear it," East observed. "Who would know?"

She sniffed and tried to hold back her tears. "I can't work with a little one. You know I can't. I've made my mind up and I know what I have to do. Maybe someone will adopt him and give him a good home. Better than I could, anyway," she added sadly.

The baby woke and began to root for milk; Molly opened up her nightgown and let him suckle. East placed his hand on the child's head and stroked it, letting his fingertips touch the soft engorged swell of her breast. "No need to think about all that tonight. Get some rest and we'll talk when you're stronger. You did good, Molly. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you didn't. We all make mistakes. Nothing wrong in that. It's how you deal with them that tells you what kind of person you are. And it usually makes you a better one. One day you might understand that. Night, love,' he whispered softly, bending over and placing a tender kiss on her forehead and the soft scalp of the newborn child's little head.

Living together now that Molly was delivered and rather helpless became infinitely more intimate in those early days. Even though Mrs. Burrows engaged her girl, Beryl, to stay with her all day and assist her with the baby, East found himself at nights carrying her to the dunny and helping to look after the boy. She probably could have done it for herself but it became a sort of ritual when the child was asleep for her to join him outside and she would rest back in a wicker reclining chair he had bought for her and let him brush her hair. The attention was both intensely intimate yet completely chaste- but both found in it some sort of soporific outlet for their thwarted passion for each other.

One night, Molly asked him why he had never married and what had made him go to England to fight. Nothing about him seemed to suggest he was the sort of man to be drawn in by the war-mongering nonsense that had so clouded the minds of many men and boys at the time. The air was still; it was autumn now but it had been a fine day and the heat still lingered on the night breeze. Somewhere in the distance a bird cried out but other than that they were surrounded by inky black silence as if they were the only people in the world.

He sat down cross-legged at her side and told her about Grace and the consequences of their doomed love affair. Bit by bit he revealed to her the tale of his long descent into darkness after his accident and the eventual return to the light. Molly was astonished by the tragic story and the long hard path he had followed until he had finally reached his home again.

He stopped when he noticed that she was crying, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid as to upset a woman who was still in confinement with such a story. "I'm sorry, Molly. I don't why I said all that. I didn't mean to upset you. I never told anyone about it before. It just all came out..."

She wiped her eyes and reached a hand out to stroke his face. "I just feel how sad it is that you were alone in the world for so long. That you had to face all these trials and somehow pull yourself through alone. I always thought you were a fine man but...you're a hero, East. One of life's unsung heroes!' she exclaimed.

At that he broke into laughter. "Bloody hell, no one's ever called me that before! I'm no hero. I'm just a man getting by. Had a hell of a time doing it but I've got my health and strength back and I'm grateful for that. I've done my duty and I owe no man anything. I can live with that. It's the memories that are hard to take sometimes. I ruined Grace's life. I couldn't save Marianne and her brother. I'll always have that on my conscience..."

"That is so wrong! You told me that we all make mistakes and it is how we deal with them that counts! Grace made a mistake, too. She wasn't entirely innocent. The responsibility was on both your heads and she bore it bravely - and in the end, so did you! And as for Marianne - you were there for her when you could be. But you were a soldier. And you were injured! The men who are to blame for that hideous crime are the bastards who did it and the bloody governments who make wars for innocent people to suffer in!"

He smiled at her fierce defence of him. He didn't think anyone in his life, except his mother- God rest her soul- had ever taken his part against the world before. But he felt a sense of pride that Molly admired something about him enough to speak out. He wondered if perhaps this was the right time to raise the issue that had been on his mind for the three weeks since the child was born.

"Have you thought of a name for him yet?" East asked.

She flinched. "He's not going to be mine. The nuns will name him."

He shook his head sadly. "His mother should give him something. Even if they change it, somewhere it will still be his."

Molly blushed. "I do have a name. I whisper it to him when we're alone. It's his secret name. I do love him, you know? I don't want to give him up...But I have to be brave about it...."

He patted her arm to quiet her. "What do you call him, Molly?" he whispered.

"Ruaraidh. It's Gaelic for red. So he knows what his Mammie looked like! But it also means king. One day, he'll be a big fine man like his Daddy and he'll take the world by its collar and shake it for me!" she exclaimed through her tears.

"If he's anything like his Mammie, he will that," East whispered. His fingers toyed with a lock of her red gold curls. "Molly...I've been thinking. A lot. About the little fella and all. I'm very fond of him and I don't want to see him locked up unwanted in an orphanage. He can stay with me if you like. You just stay here until he's old enough to wean and then you can be off. Least ways if he's here you can come and visit any time you like. He can still be your boy. And maybe one day you'll be able to take him back... when you're settled, you know..."

Her mouth fell open at his simple generosity; her heart almost breaking for love of the man. "You can't take care of a little baby all on your own! You're a man!" she exclaimed.

East shrugged. "Can't see why not. Women do it. I can look after animals - why not a child? I could make a little carrying cradle, tie him to me when I was out riding. Why not? Bushman raised his kids alone. Men have done it before..."

"But...that's when they've had to...you don't have to..."

"Yes, I do. I have to. I can't let this little boy down. Someone's got to stand up for him. Molly...if things had been different...if you hadn't had a plan...if I was good enough for a woman like you...Well, I would have come and asked you to marry me, you know? I thought about it often enough. Going to Melbourne and finding you...but I respected your right to have your own life...but apart from all that...he could have been my boy. He came from you anyway and that's good enough for me..."

Her hands flew to her face as she struggled for air. "Oh my God.....oh my God....what kind of woman am I!" she sobbed out. East sat back on his haunches, bemused.

"What do you mean?"

"He is yours! Of course, he's yours! I made the story up. Well, parts of it. I did work for Mrs. Buchanan - that bit was true. And I did dally with her son but then I found out about the baby and they soon dropped me flat. But Ruaraidh is your son. I've never let any other man touch me but you..."

East stared uncomprehending. "Is that why he came early? I mean... he wasn't really early?" he gasped.

Molly nodded.

"Why did you lie to me?" He shouted in anger, rising to his feet. "Why would you come here and let me see him and then take him away from me?" East stuttered, stunned by what seemed like her cruelty to him.

"Oh no...! No! That's not why I did it! I had nowhere to go - but I didn't wish to ruin your life! I thought it was best this way if you didn't know. I was so selfish, always wanting to have it my way...and there you are offering to adopt a boy you believe another man fathered! How could I let you think that he was someone else's son! How could I have let you walk out of my life in the pursuit of money and a life of ease! When you are everything I have ever really wanted, right here in this little place. I was just too stupid to see it! I am so sorry...so very sorry...you must hate me now...!" she sobbed out.

He walked away trying to let the news sink in, staring out into the darkness. His son. His woman. She did want him. "I don't hate you...I love you," he said, his back still turned. "Please stay with me, Molly. I can't give it all to you, but I'll give you what I can. My arms....the sweat of my back...my heart...don't leave me, Molly...I don't think I could take another hammer...even iron can be broken in the end..."

Molly rose from the chair and slipped her arms round his waist, leaning her head against the broad back that had borne so much. "If you'll have me, Id be the proudest girl in the world! I'll never let you down again. I'll never lie to you again. I promise this with all my heart..."

He turned and took her in his arms. "You sure? You have to be sure...once you say yes, it's for life. You know that, don't you?"

She smiled up at him and touched his face with a tender caress. "For life. Not a doubt in my mind. Because I love you. And no rich man can ever give me what you can. I know that now..."

He bent to place a gentle kiss on her sweet lips but passion made it stronger as they gave into the heat of desire, kissing wild and deep as they longed to share each other's bodies. But that would come later. They had both waited long enough and a few weeks more would make no odds now. East's heart filled with joy, like a dry river bed swelling when the rain finally beats down and brings its plenty. All in one mighty flood, he had the things he most desired in life. Molly. And a child of his own. He felt blinded by the light of the blessings showered upon him.

June 

"Bloody cold day for a wedding if you ask me," Bushman mumbled as he stood outside the church with a nervous East pacing up and down like a wild stallion pulling at a tethering rope.

"No one bloody asked you, you bastard. What's the point in waiting for next summer? She'll probably be on the next one by then...I'm not made of stone, mate..." East shot back in annoyance. Then the two men laughed at each other.

"She's a fine girl, mate and that's one bonny boy she's given you. What's the little fella's name?"

"Rory. Rory Driscoll - and he bloody does roar...you should hear the paddy on him!" East beamed with pride. "She tried to spell it some fool Irish way but I wasn't having it...I can hardly write as it is...' he grinned over at Bushman. "How do I look?" he asked, fiddling with his collar and tie.

"Like a bloody dog's dinner. She'll love it. You know women...never satisfied but when we're brushed up and crammed into some tight fancy pants suit... But, got to admit...we both look a treat. Pride of Turalla, mate. You and me. Come on, best get inside, she'll be along soon and we want to let her make her entrance...."

She was beautiful, quite the most beautiful girl who had ever walked down the aisle of that country church. Molly Diffley was completely radiant, her white skin gleaming, her soft lips glossed with rouge, her russet hair piled up in a coronet with the white lace veil trailing behind.  A few gossips commented on her inappropriate choice of white dress but they were quickly shushed by the others. East and Molly were happy and in love and who cared whether they had done things the wrong way round?

Elsie carried little two-month old Rory who made his presence felt most of the time much to the amusement of all. It was a simple marriage service and then the baby was baptized; everything was done and dusted in an hour so that they could all pile into the big barn for the celebration. A typical country wedding. Everyone brought dishes, the drink was flowing and a band struck up to start the dancing off. East led Molly to the floor and they danced, eyes fixed on each other, oblivious to the wailing of their son, and the clapping of the onlookers. East merely whirled her around the floor with an intense look of pure joy on his face, much the same as the adoration in her eyes as she stared up at her man. Old women cried. Men make light of it "He'll soon get some sense into his head - maybe he needs to fall off another horse, hey?" But they all nodded and said it had the makings of a strong marriage. After all, it was a known fact that all babies take nine months, except the first.

In the chilly cold of that winter night, East drove Molly back to the little cottage. Rory was staying with Elsie for the night; she had whispered to Molly that on the first night they had to be alone and Molly had reluctantly agreed. As East jumped down and lifted his bride to the ground, he felt nervous, lightheaded, and worried whether he would be able to make her feel the way he wanted her to feel. It was so long since he had touched a woman and he was scared that he would be too quick, too greedy, when he wished he could make this the most wonderful night of her life.

Molly seemed to sense his unease for she took his hand and squeezed it softly. "Come on...let's go inside. It's too cold out here..." He slipped his arms around her shoulders and she wrapped hers round his waist; they hugged each other close as they made for the house.

At the porch he pulled away and swept her into his arms kicking open the door with style. "Well, Mrs. Driscoll...you coming to bed, or what?" he grinned and she lay back in his arms and giggled.

Inside, he placed her down on the bed and went to light the lamp, setting it on the table by the bed. The room had been decorated with fine new bedding and sweet smelling flowers. In the soft glow, he took off his cumbersome jacket and pulled away the tie while Molly sat on the bed before him and unbuttoned first his waistcoat, then his shirt with her nimble fingers. East stood quietly and let her, his own thick fingers removing the pins that held her hair up and fluffing it about her face as she removed his top clothes.

"You're so beautiful...I don't know what to say," East gasped.

Molly smiled up at him. "You should take a look at yourself one of these fine days, boyo...I've never seen a more perfect man...."

Slowly she stripped his clothes away as he stood there almost shy before her until he was quite naked and unable to hide the turgid erection that bobbed between them. She bent down and kissed the tip softly. "This is where our boy came from..." They both smiled at the thought.

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, fumbling with the tiny buttons and hooks and eyes of her wedding gown until it fell at her feet and she shimmied out of her petticoat and her bloomers to stand naked before him. He could hardly believe that she was real with a tiny baby still at her breast, for her slender delicate body was back as before with no sign of her motherhood other than that her breasts were larger than he remembered.

With a gentle pressure, he tugged on one of her full nipples and watched the drip of warm milk; he caught it on his forefinger and took it to his mouth where the sweet liquid bloomed on his tongue. And then the floodgates of their passion burst and they fell to the bed unable to keep their hands from each other any longer.  They rolled about naked touching and kissing but neither could wait this time. East rose above her, opened out her lily white legs and paused at her entrance. Then he suddenly pulled away bending down to place a kiss there on the soft warm lips. "This is where our son came from!" he muttered as he came back to join her and caressed her naked flesh with his hard cock, dipping it into her fragrant wetness to pleasure her and moisten himself. Then he took himself in hand and found her core. He slid into her with a gentle thrust and they both watched as he disappeared inside her until he was deeply embedded and their hair was entangled, brown against the golden fuzz. They both cried out their joy, hers a light fluttering gasp, his a deep groan of fulfillment.

Lowering himself down to rest on his strong upper arms, he began to ease in and out as she lay stroking his hair and writhing to his strong rhythm. Their eyes locked and he felt as if he was drowning in her green depths, falling into his future, safe and secure at last in his own home with his family at his side.

Molly cried out and he bent to still her with his kiss as he felt himself melt into her warm tight wetness. His mind shattered into the myriad fragments of utter pleasure and his world went black for an instant as he was possessed with the delicious pulsing flood of his ease. And then he came back to himself and it seemed that the dawn had risen - but his face was merely buried in the golden halo of her hair.

She filled his senses; she flooded his soul. 

She blinded him in her light.