James Tedder rose before his house guests, eager to see them properly fed and prepared for their return journey to New Norfolk. Putting on his boots and coat, carrying the bucket to fetch water from the town water barrels, Tedder crept through the little hut.
‘No need for stealth, Tedder,’ said Cullen. ‘I’m awake and I’m sure Blay is or will be soon.’ He chuckled.
‘Just fetching some water for the oatmeal and tea.’ Tedder closed the door, stepping out into the crisp autumn morning. The rising sun filled the horizon with broken rays of orange and red; the promise of a good day. Tedder waited in line at the barrels. Convicts started work at seven in the morning, most were queued early for the water necessary to prepare breakfast.
Mr Cullen and Blay were washing their faces at the edge of
