Page 5 of The Men From Echo Creek

“Don’tyou think you should tell him to stop?” Albie asked from the window. He sipped his mug of tea.

“Nah,” Des replied. “I reckon we should see how long it takes before he stops all on his own.”

So far, in the first few hours of Percy’s arrival, he’d mucked the stables, rotated the feed hay in the loft with a pitchfork, fed the pigs, covered the chickens from the cold, and now he’d chopped enough firewood to last them a week.

“He takes pride in his work,” Des said. “I’ll give him that. Got those stables in neater order than you, and that’s no small feat.”

Just then Percy came inside with his arms full of chopped wood. His nose was red, as were his fingers. “I rotated the wood,” he said, kneeling by the fire to stack the wood. “This is from the driest of the lot. And the rains are about to hit. Those clouds are real dark. Never seen ’em so low. Or is it because we’re up so high? Feels like I’m walking in them.”

“Because you are.” Albie poured some hot tea into a mug, and when Percy stood up and turned to face him, Albie handed him the mug. “You’ve done enough for today, and you’re cold and damp to the bone. Warm yourself by the fire. Have you got an oilskin coat? You’ll need it up here.”

Percy wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and sighed as he sipped it. “Thank you. I appreciate this. And no, I don’t. Have another coat, that is.”

Albie pursed his lips and tried not to be mad about it. The weather in the mountains had claimed more lives than most, and to be ill-prepared was foolish. But he reminded himself that Percy wasn’t from here.

He didn’t know where he was from, exactly. The qualifier of ‘from down south’ could have meant anywhere.

“Stay here,” he said, urging Percy to sit in the seat closest to the fire. He disappeared into his room and came out with his old oilskin coat and gloves. “Here,” he began. “They’re not fancy by any means, and I grew out of them before I could wear them through. But it’s a damn sight warmer than the one you have on now.”

Percy put his mug of tea down and stood up. “Oh, I don’t need to be a bother. I mean, you don’t have to?—”

“I’ll not have you catch your death on my farm,” he barked, quickly taking Percy’s coat off him. Yes, he knew Percy was a little shorter than him, his pants only held up by his suspenders because he was so lean. Maybe too lean. And he remembered that he’d overheard Percy say he’d perhaps have to eat grass with his horse...

Albie put that out of his mind for now and helped Percy into his old coat. “Here, try this on.” He slid his arms through, then tugged the front to see the fit of it. “It fits anyhow. And like I said, I outgrew it so it was of no use to me. At least you’ll be warm and dry.”

Albie picked up Percy’s damp coat and hung it by the fire. It was a fine coat. Maybe it had even been expensive at some point, but it was no match for winter in the highlands. “This will serve you best in warmer months, but you’ll wear this one in winter.” He turned back to Percy and flattened the lapel at Percy’s collarbone, ignoring the realisation that he’d just touched him in a manner not usually fit for a man...

Ignoring how Percy was watching him with those big blue, imploring eyes and ignoring the prettiest blush he’d ever seen...

“Right then,” Des said loudly, making them both startle. “Robert’s back. I’ll go explain the new horse in the stable and tell him to wash up for supper.”

“Yes, please. And thank you,” Albie said, remembering his place.

He was the boss now; he needed to act like it.

Des closed the door behind him and Albie, needing some distance between him and Percy, turned for the kitchen. “Supper’s in thirty minutes,” he announced.

“Oh,” Percy said, bringing his mug of tea with him over to the stove. He peered into the pot of stew. “Did you cook this?”

“I did.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

“I can’t.”

“Smells good to me.”

Albie looked him up and down. Aside from how much Albie liked to see his coat on him, he could really see now just how lean Percy was. “A belly full of stew and bread is just what you need,” he said. “Warm you right up.”

Percy grinned behind his mug of tea. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”

“You proved yourself this afternoon.” Albie uncovered the risen dough and poked at it, unsure of why, only that he’d seen Marcy do it.

“You can so cook,” Percy said. “Look at you.”

He wiped his hand on his pants. “I don’t even know what it’s supposed to look like. Only that I saw Marcy make it and that’s what she used to do. Poke it, then flour a tray and put it in the oven. I don’t know how it’s supposed to look. Should it sink or bounce back when I poke it?”

Percy clearly found that funny. “Who’s Marcy?”

“One of the wives of the men who worked for my father. There were two, Marcy and Evalyn. They took care of all household duties.” He shrugged. “Now it’s just me.”

“Well, now you got me too.”

Albie wasn’t prepared for the thrill at his words or the warmth of his smile, his eyes. He had to collect himself. “Can you make a damper?”

He made a face. “I can try.”

“Tomorrow. It’ll be your turn. So, no laughing at mine until you’ve had a go.” Albie floured the tray like he’d seen Marcy do. Then he plopped the dough onto it and slid it into the wood stove. “Be kind to us,” he said.

Percy laughed but he straightened up when Albie shot him a look.

“Yes, be kind to us,” Percy echoed, raising his mug of tea like an offering to the stove.

Albie hated that he wanted to laugh.

No, he hated that he felt he couldn’t.

That, as the boss, he should keep a professional distance. And as a grieving son, he felt guilty for finding a glimmer of happiness when his father was dead.

Albie frowned. “Right then,” he said, taking a step back. “I need to get the table ready. You should go get cleaned up for dinner. We’re not high society by any means, but we shall keep the table manners my father insisted upon.”

Percy nodded and, seeing his mug was empty, he was unsure what to do with it. Albie took it, and Percy offered a smile. “Thank you. For the tea, and the coat.”

Albie gave him a stern nod as his reply, then went about his business in the kitchen.

It was a trivial thing, setting the table and expecting manners, but it was something Albie felt strongly about.

In all his years growing up, the likes of Des and Robert never ate at the dinner table in the main house. None of the staff did. They ate in their quarters, and Albie and his father ate in the house.

But after the funeral, when it was just Albie, Des, and Robert, it made sense that they’d eat together. Albie insisted they eat in the house with him, and he could tell himself all the lies he wanted: that it was for morale, that it was easier, that it made sense, given there were just three of them.

But the truth was, Albie didn’t want to eat alone.

He couldn’t bear the thought of sitting at the dining table next to his father’s empty chair.

It sat empty still.

Though Albie was certain Des saw through him, and perhaps Robert hadn’t been too keen on the idea and Des had insisted, for Albie’s sake.

So every night they cleaned up, hands and faces washed, hats off, and using manners as if there were a lady in the house. A far cry from how they spoke in the yards.

Albie liked it though, he had to admit. And he reckoned his father would like it too.

When the three men came in, Albie was serving up plates of stew on the table. The damper was done, slightly burned on one side, and the stew was more potatoes and gravy than beef.

It wasn’t anything like what Marcy could cook, but he was proud of it. He’d made it from scratch, without any lessons or guidance, and he was providing food for his hard-working men.

Des, Robert, and Percy all took off their coats, brushing drops of water from their hair, and Percy’s smile was wide, made even brighter by his clean face. “Sure smells good,” he said.

His smile was contagious.

And breathtaking.

When they went to the table, Albie noticed Des steer Percy away from his father’s seat, for which he was grateful. That also meant that Percy now sat beside Albie, and he was kinda grateful for that too.

Percy literally sat on his hands to stop himself from eating before he was allowed, and Des seemed to approve of that. As the foreman, he was responsible for all staff, and that included Percy. He’d probably given him a stern talking to before they’d come in, but Percy clearly had manners.

He was hungry, though, and underfed.

“Please, eat,” Albie said.

The only sound for a long while was cutlery scraping plates. The stew wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t exactly great, but they sopped up the gravy with the damper, and it mustn’t have been too bad if the cleared plates were anything to go by.

If you’re hungry enough, you’ll eat anything, his father used to say when he was a young boy, turning his nose up at vegetables.

It was true. As he got older and started growing, Albie had been grateful for any food on the table.

Percy patted his belly. “Thank you for the meal. It was... good.”

That didn’t sound honest. “Good?”

He gave him that blinding grin. “I like my damper well-done.”

Robert covered his laughter with a cough, and Des fought a smile, even though he grumbled at Percy to watch his manners.

“It’s fine,” Albie said. He could appreciate humour, and honestly, a laugh with the men felt good. “Percy’s cooking the damper for tomorrow’s dinner. So if it’s a charred lump of coal, we can sit here and watch him eat it.”

Percy wasn’t even concerned. He just chuckled. “It’ll be the best coal I ever eat.” Then his eyes met Albie’s. “And I was only pulling your leg. Your cooking was fine, and I appreciate the meal. So, thank you.”

Albie was a little embarrassed at the direct praise, especially in front of the other two. “We’ll see if you’re still so grateful after your first full day tomorrow.”

“So, Percy,” Robert said after a few seconds of silence. “You’re not from around here. Where you from?”

Percy sipped his water, and it was perhaps the first hint of anything but confidence Albie had seen in him. He swallowed hard. “Uh, down south,” he replied. “Down Kiama way.”

Kiama.

Hm. Interesting.

“What brings you up this way?” Robert asked. “Most people are heading toward the gold towns, not away from them.”

Percy blinked slowly, his smile not quite sitting right. “Wanted to make it on my own. I’d heard stories of the mountains, and I’m not cut out for the likes of Sydney.”

It was clearly not a comfortable subject for Percy, and Albie wanted to protect him somehow, for reasons he didn’t quite understand. “I was never cut out for the big smoke,” Albie announced. “I went once, when I was ten. Too many people. And we saw a boy get hauled off by the bobbies for pickpocketing. Right in front of us, he was. A boy younger than me. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Your dad talked of that for years,” Des said, smiling fondly. “I think he thought it was good for you to see, so you wouldn’t steal anything from anyone.”

Albie chuckled. “Except that time I stole the apples. Remember that? He whipped my backside for that.”

“You stole apples? From who?” Percy asked, his eyes wide and his genuine smile back in place.

“From the cook,” Albie said. “Old Mrs West. She came to help out when my mother passed away. She was as wide as she was tall and cranky as a bull.”

“Oh, she wasn’t that bad,” Des said.

“She was mean to me,” Albie said.

“Because you stole her apples,” Des replied. Then he looked at Percy. “Weren’t even for him.”

That wasn’t exactly true. “One was for me, one for my pony.”

“Ah, Buck the grade pony. Now that thing was mean.”

“Because you didn’t give him apples,” Albie replied with a grin.

Des smiled fondly and let out a sigh. “Well, we should be going.”

“Oh,” Percy said, taking his plate and reaching for Albie’s. “Let me clean up.”

Albie stopped him. “Leave it. I’ll take care of it. It’s...” he steeled himself but went with honesty. “It gives me something to do. You guys go on. Breakfast at six.”

They stood up and put their coats on as Albie began clearing away. He didn’t miss the way Percy stopped at the door for a beat, watching him, before Des ushered him along.

He spent the next hour or so cleaning up, taking his time, because keeping busy beat acknowledging the silence. The hole in his world where his father had once been.

He’d have sat by the fire and filled in his ledgers, which Albie had yet to look at.

Now that he’d been to town, signed the deeds, and made everything official, there was no putting it off.

But not tonight.

He put more wood on the fire, got himself ready for bed, and blew out the lantern.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling in his quiet house. And for the first night in over a week, his thoughts didn’t drift to his father or to the funeral. Or to the men who’d abandoned him when he’d needed them most.

He could recall the words they’d said, feeling the anger burn behind his ribs just as hot as the moment they’d said it.

But tonight, as the storm blew and rains fell, as he sank into sleep, he thought of all he had to do tomorrow, and he reminded himself he’d need to cook enough breakfast for four people, not three.

And then his mind wandered to Percy. To how hard he’d worked all afternoon. To how his nose was pink with the cold and what it felt like to undress him and help him into the bigger coat. To those blue eyes. And as sleep claimed him, a certain smile and pale skin with flushed cheeks lingered at the edges of his mind.