Outback Bred Read online

  OUTBACK BRED

  A Novella by K’Anne Meinel

  Kindle Edition

  Published by:

  Shadoe Publishing for

  K’Anne Meinel on Kindle

  Copyright © K’Anne Meinel August 2019

  OUTBACK BRED

  Kindle Edition License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Dedicated to anyone who thinks I’m writing about them.

  I am.

  K’Anne

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mel had come ashore wearing only the bedraggled clothes on her back. Sleeping, hidden on the rocks, she had to dry herself from the ocean water in the harbor before making her way into Sydney in the morning. She passed the pismire—the poor area—and many chain gangs, and she realized she better find clothing soon before they mistook her for an escaped convict instead of an escaped sailor. Shanghaied or not, she had deserted her ship. Finding a public outhouse, she gingerly pulled her pants down. She was afraid, not for herself but for what she had stored between her legs. The rolls of gold coins were disgusting from being bathed in her bodily fluids, including the blood she’d had to hide for those many months. The men had been too concerned about her pockets when they had rolled her, drugged her, and shanghaied her. They hadn’t touched between her legs, or they would have found the fortune she carried there. On ship, she had rarely found time to change the coins’ coverings, as she was forced to hastily use a bucket to poop and pee in when she found time alone. She knew her life would be in danger if they discovered her two secrets: the fortune and the fact that she was a woman. Her size and appearance had intimidated most men into believing she was a hard-working man. She extracted just one gold coin as she squatted over the hole and did her duty. There wasn’t much to expel as she hadn’t eaten in two days. She put the coin in her battered trousers, knowing she would be suspect if she held gold in her hand in any store. She headed away from the pismire, which was full of sharpsters, prostitutes, and people looking to take advantage of the unwary. Her size kept most people away, although she recognized the pickpocket children and kept her hand in her pocket, so the coin wouldn’t disappear. Once in a better area, she made her way warily inside.

  The establishment was like many common mercantile stores back in the states. There was a little of everything, and Mel began to look for trousers that would fit her.

  “May I help you?” the man behind the counter said haughtily after a few customers backed away from the sailor, who wore no shoes, had dirty feet, and looked worse for wear in disreputable and well-worn clothing. She knew she probably smelled too.

  “Yes, I need a whole new outfit,” Mel said cheerfully, trying to keep her voice low and indistinguishable as she had trained herself so long ago.

  “Can you afford to pay for that?” he asked disdainfully, looking the man before him up and down and not finding him pleasing to the eye. He also recognized the American accent.

  “Yep, I was paid today and thought I’d treat myself. You got any ready-made shirts?” Mel asked, hoping the man wouldn’t report her, but she knew news of an American sailor would spread quickly in any town, and she wanted to be dressed and ready before the authorities came.

  There was quite a stack of clothing and other things Mel felt she needed, but the shoes would hurt her feet after many months of going barefoot on the deck of a ship, and she knew she would have to get used to wearing footwear again. Shoes alone were not going to do it; she needed boots and that meant a bootmaker.

  “How much do I owe you for all this?” she asked as they finished up her business and the man’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his bangs when she pulled out the one gold coin she had in her pocket. It more than paid for the supplies she was buying, and she began to stuff things in the satchel and saddle bags she had put on the counter as the man got her change. “Aren’t you a little short?” she asked him when he returned.

  “Short?” he asked, and when he hesitated, they both knew he was trying to get away with something.

  She quoted the price for the supplies she had asked him about, the gold coin’s value, and easily subtracted in her head to arrive at the sum she should receive. She was being shorted quite a bit by the amount he had given her.

  “You aren’t allowing for the difference between American money and coin of the realm,” he tried, but Mel wasn’t an idiot. Gold was gold.

  “Look, I can call the constable in here, and he can hear both sides of our story, but stories of you cheating me will get around pretty quickly, if I do that,” she pointed out. The man gulped. Mel’s size hadn’t gone unnoticed either.

  “And how do I know you haven’t deserted your ship and stolen that coin?” he asked in return.

  “Who do you think the constable will believe when he hears my story and what you tried to do?” she bluffed. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it pounding against her skull. He was right. They wouldn’t believe her, and she’d probably be arrested.

  He quickly came up with the rest of her change, and she swiftly folded it into her pocket. “You got somewhere I can change into my new clothes?” she asked as though nothing had transpired between them.

  Mel changed out of the sailor clothes, using some cloth she had bought from the man to rewrap her breasts under the new men’s shirt she eagerly buttoned up. It was long enough that she could wear it as a nightshirt, and she knew many men did just that. She fished out her money from her front pants’ pocket. She needed to buy a purse or a wallet to keep her money in. She didn’t want to tempt the pickpockets. She left the rolls of coins between her legs, used to them being there after all this time, but she knew she would have to deposit some of them, and soon.

  She gingerly pulled the new socks on over her dirty feet, cringing and then stuffing her feet in the stiff, new shoes. Still, when all was said and done, she felt better in the new, clean clothes. She put a belt around her middle, a knife hanging from its fitted leather scabbard. She picked up her satchel after stuffing her old sailor’s clothes deep within it and slung her now full saddle bags over her broad shoulder. She nodded stiffly to the shopkeeper, who was already helping other customers and made her way gingerly out of the store and into the sunshine. The shoes felt unfamiliar on her feet. She headed for a barbershop, getting her now overly long and clubbed hair cut into a decent man’s haircut. She had the barber leave it a bit longer than she liked; she didn’t want it left so short that she looked like a hick…or a convict. She flipped a coin to the barber when he was done. He’d given her the name of a good bootmaker and directed her on her way.

  At the bootmaker’s, she stood as the man measured her in her socks for boots, telling him what she was looking for, and he promised to deliver them in a week. She headed for a hotel, one well away from the pismire but not so nic
e that only nabobs would stay there. She paid for her room, ordered a bath for that evening, and headed out again, this time without her saddlebags or satchel. She headed for another store, looking for more ready-made clothing and supplies. She also found a tailor and ordered a nice suit—nothing too dapper but better than the casual clothes she was wearing. Because she would allow no measuring or fitting, it didn’t look quite right on her. Still, she was pleased with the result. She’d purchased some ready-made miners’ pants, something they were calling jeans back in the states, that were made of a hardy dungaree material that didn’t rip easily. She was making contacts, and Mel Lawrence was now a nicely dressed young man. But when she visited a dress shop to purchase a ready-made dress, she ran into problems.

  “I’m sorry, we only dress women,” the woman began snootily.

  “And I assure you, madam, I am a woman,” Mel told her just as snobbily, drawing on her upbringing and all the women who had treated her badly for so long just because she was not an attractive woman. It felt good to allow her normal voice to be heard after so long. “I need a day dress to conduct some business, and I want to look nice. I can’t always be wearing this,” she indicated the men’s trousers and shirt she was now wearing. At least they were clean, even if her body wasn’t. She could still feel the salt on her skin and the dirt in her pores. It was so easy to hide in plain sight since she could carry off the looks of both an unattractive woman and an average-looking man.

  “Well, I never–” the woman began.

  “Well, maybe you should,” Mel finished for her. “Look, lady. My money is as good as the next woman’s, and I pay on time when the work is finished. I don’t want anything too frilly or too fancy, just stylish and acceptable to conduct business in.”

  It was the promise of being paid on time that made the dressmaker concede. So many of her customers used credit, and it could sometimes be years before she saw a farthing. “Half up front,” she found herself saying.

  “I’ll give you that, but you must work quickly,” Mel countered, pulling the wallet she had purchased at the second store from her front pocket and extracting a couple bills. She didn’t know the exchange rate, but she knew the few bills she gave the woman were more than enough.

  “Let’s get you measured,” the woman said as she scooped up the cash and tucked it in her ample bosom. “If you would, please come in the back.” She wanted to hide this unsightly woman in case anyone mistakenly thought she was dressing men these days. Business was off due to one of those eternal slumps in the market, so she really couldn’t afford to turn away any cash business.

  Mel had had countless fittings in the past. Her father had always wanted his little girl to look her best, but he could never completely cover up the homely girl he had fathered. Still, he had loved her regardless of her looks, unaware or oblivious of the shunning of other girls and later, women. Instead, he had taught her useful life skills, instilling pride in her and teaching her to stand on her own two feet. This fitting was a little odd, mostly because she stood there in her trousers, shirtless, and wearing no undergarment. The wrappings hid her assets as the seamstress measured and looked away from her customer.

  “I don’t want frills or corsets or any of that frippery,” she told the dressmaker. “I want something stylish and classy, and don’t think you can pass just anything off on me. You’ve been paid half, and if you get this done in a week, I’ll give you your payment in full.”

  The woman nodded, writing down her customer’s measurements on a piece of paper and eventually, allowing Mel to put her shirt back on. “I’ve got a couple designs I can show you,” the woman offered reluctantly, but her had attitude had thawed with the down payment.

  Mel finished buttoning up her shirt and tucked it into the back of her pants. She could feel the coins between her legs, not for the first time, but suddenly, she was feeling conspicuous about them in the presence of this other woman. The woman was attractive now that she wasn’t so ruffled up about a man coming into her shop. Mel could feel the attraction but knew better than to act on it. It was always better when the other woman made the first move, and she was quite certain this seamstress was not attracted to women.

  The sketches that the woman presented showed her that fashion had changed in the many months she had been away from New York, yet some of them were still behind what she had seen on the women back there. She pointed to a few things, making suggestions, and surprising the seamstress with her knowledge of fashion. Mel’s suggestions were doable, and the seamstress would update the designs, incorporating several of the ideas Mel had asked for.

  “Have they really gone that far in New York?” she asked, surprised and delighted by Mel’s suggestions. New York sounded like Paris or Milan to her. Here in Sydney, she was months behind fashions in London, when or if she could obtain current design sketches.

  Mel left the seamstress in a terrific mood. It was the first time in a long time that a woman had appreciated her as a woman, not sexually but as one woman to another. She’d enjoyed talking fashion for the first time in years. Ultimately, the woman hadn’t judged her once she got past Mel’s looks, and talking fashion had brought back memories of a time when she had actually enjoyed being a girl, before she had grown into a masculine woman and had been judged by other women on the marriage mart. They had been so cruel to the awkward, unattractive teen, all in the name of finding a husband and weeding out the competition.

  Mel returned to her hotel. It had been quite the day, and she was pleased to see the tub was already set up in her room. The clerk at the front desk had seen her enter, and within a few minutes, boys were arriving with steaming buckets of water and pouring them into the tub until it was half full. Locking the door, Mel propped a chair up against it before closing the window shades and undressing. It felt heavenly to immerse her body in the warm water and lather up using the soap she had purchased that day. It was a sandalwood that teased her senses and wasn’t too girly. It made her feel clean for the first time in months. The rainstorms she had lived through on board the boat had nothing over a good soak in the tub. The saltwater in the bay had gotten into every pore, and she was pleased to soak it away. Finally, she submerged her head and scrubbed at it with the soap, creating a foam and feeling truly clean for the first time in months. Emerging from the tub, she grabbed the towel and briskly rubbed herself dry. Using clean wraps, she bound her breasts, slipped on summer underwear with a flap like some men wore, and pulled on socks and some black, ready-made trousers. Carefully, she put on one of the finer white shirts she had purchased, using cuff links on the sleeves, which required her full concentration since she had no one to help her put them on. Finally, she donned a black vest, buttoned it down, and covered it with a matching jacket. Looking in the mirror, she slicked her hair back with her fingers, realizing she had not purchased a comb or brush and knowing she would have to rectify that. The clothes, while not tailored, didn’t look half bad. The creases in the white shirt should have been ironed out, and the vest was a little tight across her bound breasts, but the coat covered these faults, making her look robust and fine.

  The stylish young man went down to dine, stopping by the front desk to ask them to remove the dirty bath water and tub, then went on to one of the city’s nicer restaurants. Several people looked curiously at Mel, wondering who the Yank was and what his business was in Sydney. In a voice carefully modulated to neither reveal nor define her as a woman since she was dressed as a man, Mel asked for a table and began to peruse the menu selections. In the end, she ordered steak, potatoes, and a fine wine. She’d read that Australia was producing its own wines and wanted to try one. She’d tried American wines on both coasts, even French and other European wines over the years as she traveled with her father, and she was pleased that the Australian wine was delicious, rich, and a perfect accompaniment to her meal. She was surprised she couldn’t eat the whole meal but realized after months at sea her stomach had probably shrunk.

  “You’re a Yan
k, aren’t ya?” a voice addressed her from a neighboring table. Mel looked up at the man and nodded, wondering if she could have dined in peace if she hadn’t opened her mouth to order. “What brings you to Australia?” She realized he was just making conversation since he was also dining alone.

  “I’m thinking of investing down here and came to get the lay of the land, as it were,” she lied convincingly. Catching a boat back to San Francisco so soon after her previous voyage didn’t appeal to her now, but she was in a new country, and she realized she could start over where no one knew her…she could essentially disappear, if she wanted.

  “There’s plenty to be had with the right coin in the right wallet,” he quipped knowingly with a wink. The clothes she was wearing didn’t tell him if she had money or not, but the manners Mel displayed, even unconsciously, showed her fine upbringing.

  “Ah, that is what I figured,” she answered, deliberately sounding American since she knew that would be expected. She also didn’t want to encourage him since sharpsters existed in all levels of society, and if it were known that she had money, they wouldn’t hesitate to try and do her out of that money. Still, it was nice to talk to someone since most times she chose to be alone, especially after what she had just escaped from. The close confines of the ship hadn’t been to her liking, and her fear of being found out had not allowed her to relax. Any superfluous flesh on her frame was now gone, which she had noted in the dressmaker’s store. She chatted with the man a while, wishing she had something to do with her hands as she had finished as much of her meal as she was going to finish. She noted that several men had lit cigars or pipes, and that surprised her, until she realized no ladies were present to object. She paid for her meal when the waiter presented her with the check, using the billfold she had purchased earlier in the day. It wasn’t packed full of bills, but after having cashed her gold piece earlier, she now had the proper bills to use. She knew that pulling out a gold piece would only draw unwanted attention, and she wanted to avoid that. Bidding the gentlemen at the next table a good night, she exited into the night air, breathing in her freedom like a tonic. She must decide what she wanted to do.