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On the night train to Junee, Lottie reached into her voluminous bag and pulled out a knitted lap blanket that her Nan had given her for a recent birthday. It brightened the dim compartment, the coloured squares stitched from leftovers of wool catching the weak light from the frosted globe above. And it was warm, a comfort as the night air crept in through the ill-fitting window frame and the carriage windows juddered and rattled with the rhythm of the rails.

Lottie had hoped for some company on the trip, but it was a limited service, mainly shifting mail and farming produce to the nearest railway junction, where it would be delivered or despatched in another direction. The train didn’t carry much in the way of comfort: no dining car, no bright chatter from crowded compartments—just a handful of passengers and the steady, tired labour of the engine. This wasn’t her first trip to Junee to visit her sister and brother-in-law, but it was the first time she’d travelled this way at night.

Lottie sighed and pulled the blanket in closer. There would be at least two stops, one of them lengthy as additional carriages were added, but it was unlikely that the refreshment rooms would be open for the night service. She’d packed a thermos of tea and a chipped enamel cup, plus two sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see her through until morning. At one of the stops, a porter passed with a kerosene hand-lamp, its light sliding over the windows before the darkness closed in again.

She leaned towards the window, feeling the chill as her eyes searched for any lights or landmarks. Now and then a siding lamp or a signal flashed past and was gone, leaving only her reflection and the dark sweep of paddocks beyond. As a light sleeper, Lottie doubted that sleep would claim her now. The call for help in her sister’s letter had worried her so. She felt that she might only be able to relax once she was at their farm, a dozen miles out of Junee, and could see for herself what was happening.

Lottie closed her eyes for a heartbeat or two, murmuring a prayer or promise to the heavens. A rattle and thump startled her, and Lottie blinked, her face turned towards the carriage door. A shape loomed, then lurched towards her. Instinctively, Lottie shifted back towards the window, one hand reaching out to block the shape that must surely land upon her. She’d heard stories of what happened to women travelling alone on a train. Lottie wondered if she could reach the thermos. A good thump from that would stop most people in their tracks.

There was the bumping of limbs, but the person managed to twist and fling backwards on the seat opposite her. With a groan and a sigh, they relaxed into the seat. Lottie stared, unsure of what to say. She searched the stranger’s face in the half-light, somewhat surprised to find that he was smiling at her with a sheepish expression.

‘Sorry to wake you,’ he said; his voice carried in the chill air between them.

‘I wasn’t asleep.’

‘Are you on your own? Travelling far?’

Lottie blinked at the man, taking in his rumpled suit, the frayed edge of one cuff, and the hat he held on his knee. ‘Junee. I’m visiting family there.’

‘Me too,’ he grinned. ‘Heading to Junee, that is. Not visiting family. I’ve got a job lined up. Well, at least I hope the job’s still there when I arrive. Times being what they are.’

Lottie nodded, but her mind had skittered away. Her sister had mentioned that they were needing a farm labourer. Surely, they wouldn’t be heading to the same destination. She took another look at him, and found his eyes waiting for hers, crinkled at the corners in a smile.

‘Where’s the job?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

‘At a property called Iona, about ten miles out of Junee.’

‘Working for the Turners? Near Billabong Creek?’

He frowned at her, leaning a little closer across the space between them. ‘How’d you figure that out?’

Lottie smiled back at him. ‘I’m Lottie. Looks like we’re heading in the same direction.’

‘Stuart Wood. My friends call me Stu,’ he said, reaching out a hand towards her.

His hand was calloused but warm in hers. ‘Nice to meet you, Stu.’

Lottie released his hand and relaxed back into her seat, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Whatever situation she was walking into at Iona, she wasn’t entirely on her own.

Photo: Railway platform, Junee, NSW.