"There, a wagon maker," Fergal pointed down a side street leading back toward the harbor.

"John, see what it will take to buy six or seven wagons. We'll need enough to haul our goods and give us shelter while we find places to build houses." Mauro turned to the older shipwright.

"I'll speak to them. I'll also make inquiries about who to hire to haul goods between the city and your land." John's blue eye met his with steady sureness Mauro immediately trusted.

"Good thought. We won't leave until after we find a priest who can marry us, at least Pansy and me. I don't know about you men?" he looked from one to the other as he spoke.

"I speak for all of us, let us all be married on the same day or a closely as possible. I'm Anglican and Fergus is Protestant. You and Alex need a father from St. Patrick's. But didn't the judge give us names for two priests?"

"Aye, he did. If you remember who they are, then take yourself in search of them, and see if you can make arrangements for ceremonies?" Mauro suggested.

"I can see the church spires and I'll find the priests. Father Francis and Father Andrew, I think."

Fergal pointed at each of the bell towers visible above the roofs lining the street and turned toward them on the next side street.

"We'll meet at the inn where I'm staying," Mauro decided, "after we finish our errands. Deri, you're with me. We need horses, both draft and riding, so let us continue. The innkeeper has given me names of several people we can inquire with."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Fergal continued toward the great spire of the nearest church. Somewhat smaller than the cathedrals he remembered from home, it was still and impressive sight. He climbed the steps to the great doors and tugged one open. It had been years since the last time he'd gone to confession, but the routine returned easily as he knelt to cross himself.

Sitting in the hard pew, a small grin crossed his face, and he began to recite the familiar punishment for a child who couldn't quite stick to the rules.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with you," Fergal whispered under his breath.

"And can I help you?" The priest was tall, his chest robust. He could have been a blacksmith with the muscles rippling under his robe.

"Hello, father. I was transported home," Fergal answered. "And yes, you can help me."

"Tell me how, I am here to serve. I am Father Francis," his voice was kind.

"I arrived in Fremantle yesterday. A group of us who have arrived at the same time, have our betrothed with us, and request your assistance. We have three catholic couples who would wed as soon as possible. Not tomorrow, but the following Sunday. Can you waive the banns?" Fergal asked coming directly to the point.

"I can, and I will do so. However, I must speak to each of the couples. Where can we meet? I must hear confessions before and administer communion as well, before I can wed you."

"I'm sure it can be arranged. I'll speak to the rest of the party. I'm going to be bold, but we have two couples who are not Catholic. Do you know Father Andrew?"

"I do, I'll speak to him. Here in Australia we don't hold with the old distrusts and dislikes from England. The feuds between the churches are done. We work together for the good of the people here." Father Francis declared this with a fiery passion, his face animated with sincerity.

"Then hear my confession now," Fergal said, "And come to the Billabong Inn later today and join us for our evening meal."

"Come along my son, the confessional is over there," the priest agreed. "I'll be happy to meet with you and I'll bring Father Andrew with me."

Fergal stood, finding himself at eye level with the black robed man. His eyes reflected his smile, and his hand on his shoulder spoke of strength. He grinned in response, for some reason he felt like a lad barely in breaches.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

John Woodhouse ambled down wooden planking passing two small homes and a blacksmith's shop. He could hear the clanging hammer blows as two men worked metal inside the gaping open doors. He made note of them, there would be need of their goods. Hinges for gates and doors, nails, axes, and other building tools. He wondered if they could make the tools he needed to build fine furniture.

Crossing the dusty road, puffs of dust rising from his boots, he made his way toward the wagon builder's yard. A great barn stood at one end and across the sprawling enclosure, wagons stood in various stages of finishing. Wagon wheels were propped against the back fence close to the harbor cliff and great timbers lay stacked in huge piles waiting to be cut and shaped.

The man he spotted swung an adze and peeled long shavings from a log he was shaping, his back rippling with his rhythmic movements, and John stood quietly. Accidents in shipyards were generally messy and he didn't think this would be different. Doc Smith wasn't close at hand.

After some minutes the wagon builder rested his adze and took a kerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow.

"Excuse me," John said, "but who might I speak to about buying several wagons."

"That would be the boss," the big man had whirled at the sound of his voice.

"And where can I find him?"

"In the barn, where we keep the finished wagons. There's carriages as well," he waved his hand toward the other end of the yard. "Step carefully, there are sharp tools along the way."

"Aye, mate," John made his way down the row of half-finished German wagons. Reaching the open door of the barn, he walked inside. Great square timbered drays lined the long aisle with one well sprung carriage at the end.

"Anyone here?" he shouted.

A smaller door to his right opened, and a girl beckoned him over.

"Papa is in his office, he's doing ledgers, so you'll be welcome."

"Thank you, dear. Lead on."

The child couldn't be more than ten years old and she led him down a long hallway. To his left he saw harnesses hanging from hooks through an opening, and saddles to the right. He knew where to come for all their needs. This man understood, it would take more than the wagon to meet his customer's needs.

The sprite knocked and then pushed open another door.

"Papa, a customer," she danced away and outside through another opening, racing toward a home he could see standing on the cliff edge.

"Well then, come in, sir. Let's see how I can help you."