CEDAR

The Cedar Cutter 9
She patted the envelope tucked into the pocket of her skirt, relishing
the reassuring crinkle of paper; a letter of introduction to the
Reverend Benson, who would provide the key to the house. The
owner, Mr Martin, had assured her there would be no problem,
saying he was pleased the property could be used and the women in
the town would more than welcome Roisin’s services. She couldn’t
wait. This would mark the end to all of the uncertainty and the
beginning of a lifelong dream. Every penny she’d saved, she’d
gambled on this venture, and she had every intention of making
it a success. The idea had grown from the moment Aunt Lil had
told her half the businesses in Sydney were run by women, some
of them even ex-convicts. That was when she began to think that
perhaps her plan wasn’t as far-fetched as she’d originally believed.
‘Come on.’ She smoothed Ruan’s tousled hair behind his ears
and opened the door. At least she didn’t have the stigma of convict
hanging over her head. She was as free as the day her mam had
birthed her. If convict women could make a go of a business, then
so could she.
When they entered the front room of the inn the woman behind
the bar tipped her head towards a small table tucked against the
wall. ‘There’s room for you over there, lovey.’
‘Thank you, Mrs …’
‘Me name’s Maisie. And you’d be?’
‘Roisin, Roisin Ogilvie.’ She swallowed, praying Ruan didn’t
overhear her lie. ‘And my son, Ruan.’ He was too busy staring
around the room, wide-eyed. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation
when Maisie pushed two huge helpings of stew across the
counter.
‘And you take this.’ She leant across the bar and handed Ruan
a basket full of sweet-smelling damper.
Roisin glanced across at the rough-looking men sprawled in
front of the smoking fire, hogging the best spot.