I washed the filth and grime from Bill’s body and decided not to dry him. I was hoping the evaporating water would lower his temperature a little. I waited for several minutes. Bill’s eyes closed but his limbs looked more relaxed. In spite of his protests it seemed the bathing had made him more comfortable. I offered the jug of water again. This time he drank deeply.
I found Bluey and Florrie sitting together outside in the shade of the hut. The dog had moved slightly to make room for them.
‘You’ll have to bring him into town, Bluey. His temperature is coming down, but he really needs the doctor,’ I said.
‘He won’t go!’ Bluey shook his head. ‘I’ve tried to make him. He just says he ain’t goin’ nowhere. He’d rather die here.’
‘I’ll get Mac to come out with his donkey cart. When he arrives, you and Mac will have to pick Bill up and get him into it. He’s in no state to put up a fight. Just be firm with him, Bluey.’ The old prospector sucked in his bottom lip, but nodded his head. ‘Take him to the nurses,’ I insisted. ‘They’ll have a bed for him. Then find Doctor Foreman.’ The doctor had recently moved into town, but was often called out to the nurses’ tent.
‘Right, miss.’ Bluey stood up and straightened his shoulders. For a moment, I thought he might leap to attention. I felt a giggle coming on in spite of everything, or maybe because of it. After the relentless heat, the long walk and the effort of trying to help a man who didn’t want my help, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
‘Will he recover?’ Florrie asked as we made our way slowly back to town. I felt drained of every last ounce of energy and could barely place one foot in front of the other. I simply shrugged and spread my hands.
The sun had set by the time Florrie and I reached the hotel, but there was still no cooling easterly wind. We went into the kitchen, took off our hats and flopped down onto the chairs. Florrie took off her shoes and stretched her legs straight out in front of her. I dumped my boots and folded my body forward, resting my aching head in my hands.
Mrs Fagan took the jug from the Coolgardie safe and poured a glass of water for each of us. As usual, in really hot weather, she had a wet cotton handkerchief draped around the back of her neck. She kept taking it off, dipping it in a bowl of washing water, and putting it in place again. It kept her cool, she said, although her face was so red and her brow so sweaty that I wondered if it had any effect at all.
‘Is old Bill Derby still alive, then?’ Mrs Fagan asked, sitting down and lifting her skirts to fan herself with them.
‘Barely,’ I said.
‘Cantankerous as ever, I’ll be bound,’ she muttered.
‘I don’t think he’s eaten in days,’ I told her. ‘He’s in a desperate state.’
‘And filthy,’ Florrie added, holding her nose.
‘His clothes are so ragged they’re falling off him,’ I said. ‘He needs a new shirt and flannel at the very least.’
‘Aeh, lass, just leave that to me now,’ Mrs Fagan winked. ‘I’m thinkin’ that our friend Evan Wisdom will be after losin’ another one of his shirts in the wash, so he will.’
‘Mrs Fagan!’ Florrie sounded shocked. ‘You haven’t stolen Mr Wisdom’s shirts before, have you?’
‘Well now, he’s plenty of ’em,’ she said. ‘And he’ll not really mind, even if he does miss it. I’ll be after choosin’ one he doesn’t wear.’
Florrie and I looked at each other and laughed. It was the best pick-me-up we could possibly have had.
December 1893
‘Florrie!’ I called as I ran into the kitchen. She looked up. ‘Mr Faahan’s piano has arrived at last! He’s going to put on a ball at his hotel, for Boxing Day. Won’t that be such great fun!’ I had expected Florrie to join me in the waltz I was doing around the kitchen. She put a slight smile on her face, but I could see that it was only because she thought my dancing was funny. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. The smile disappeared.
‘Oh, Clara, I don’t have anything to wear to a ball, and I can’t stand this any longer.’
‘What?’
‘Everything. The heat, the flies, the “dunnies” – I’ve had enough of living rough. I’ve decided to leave Coolgardie.’
Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. All my excitement escaped through my open mouth.
‘I’ll miss you,’ I said when I got my breath back. ‘Anyway, I’m the same as you. The soles of my shoes have gone through and if Mother doesn’t send me some soon, I’ll be completely barefooted.’
Florrie’s smile came creeping back. ‘I saw some brand-new leather bluchers in Tobias’s Store the other day,’ she said.
‘And I’m sure you would just love to see me trying to dance in men’s shoes!’ I pulled a face at her. ‘Please stay, Florrie.’ I squatted down in front of her chair and took her hands in mine.
At first, she wouldn’t look at me. Then she said, ‘All right. I’ll stay until after the ball.’
I leapt up, pulled her to her feet and whirled her around the room.
‘Away,’ Mrs Fagan said, shooing us out of the kitchen. ‘Ye’ll be upsettin’ me trays, so ye will, and I can’t be startin’ again with these biscuits.’
Everyone was talking about the ball. Consignments of fine lace, linen, even lengths of silk arrived at Tobias’s. The women were all busy sewing, altering dresses or making new ones. Dressy shoes were rare in Coolgardie, so bows and colourful ribbons were being added to make their boots look a little more glamorous.
Christmas drew closer and we baked extra batches of biscuits and cakes so that some could be set aside for supper at the ball.
I hadn’t seen Jack for six weeks and I missed him terribly. There were so many things I wanted to talk with him about. When I asked Mr Snell, he said Jack and his father were often out of town working. They were finding it hard to keep their business going since the levels in their dams and soaks were at an all-time low.
‘I was hoping he would be here for the ball,’ I said.
‘Perhaps he hasn’t heard about it,’ Mr Snell replied. ‘Write him a letter.’
I did, but I heard nothing from Jack.
On Christmas Eve, Florrie and I joined in the usual singalong in the dining room. Dryblower Murphy was there, leading the singing and keeping everyone entertained. He had come from Victoria to try his luck in the west and immediately fitted into the town. He was a poet and storyteller with a great singing voice. Florrie’s sweet soprano blended well with his strong tenor and he suggested that they sing a duet.
‘Oh, no. I couldn’t,’ Florrie was shaking her head, but shouts of encouragement and drumming on tables convinced her to say yes. After a short consultation, they sang the folk song ‘Scarborough Fair’. The hushed crowd swayed in time until their voices died away with ‘Then she’ll be a true love of mine.’ Amongst the applause there were murmurs of, ‘We wish’, shouts for Dryblower to recite his latest bush ballad, then calls for Padraig to tell us some of his Irish jokes.
‘Have ye heard the one about the Englishman travellin’ through County Cork?’ Padraig asked his audience.
‘Sure ya’re goin’ to tell us anyway. Get on with it, Padraig.’
‘The Englishman sees a farmer comin’ along the road towards him,’ Padraig began, ignoring the banter from his mates. ‘“Excuse me, my good man,”’ Padraig said, putting on a posh English accent. ‘“Can you tell me how to get to Limerick?” The farmer takes off his hat and scratches his head. He looks up and down the road. Then, shakin’ his head sadly, the farmer says, “Ah, well, I’d like to help ya, so I would, but if I were goin’ to Limerick, now, I wouldn’t be startin’ from here.”’
There were shouts of laughter. Someone called out, ‘That’s an old one, Padraig.’ Someone else yelled, ‘Aye, but a good one, so.’
‘Worth a drink, anyways,’ Padraig yelled back, and someone handed him a glass of beer.
It was getting late and I still had to sew on some lace I had bought to make my good dress look a bit more
festive. I said goodnight to Florrie and headed towards my room. There was no moon, but as I came out through the kitchen I saw a familiar shape on the verandah.
‘Jack!’ I ran to him and he hugged me tight. When I leaned back in his arms and looked at him, I saw that he was wearing a bow tie and a new waistcoat.
‘Don’t you say anything,’ he warned, and placed his finger across my lips. Then he stepped back and made a bow. ‘Miss Clara Saunders, will you do me the honour of being my partner at the Boxing Day ball?’
I wanted so much to laugh, but I pulled my face as straight as I could.
‘Mr Raeside,’ I said. ‘I am delighted to accept your invitation.’
‘Phew,’ he sighed, and the tension went out of his body. ‘I was afraid you might already be spoken for.’
‘You’re lucky I’m not,’ I said. ‘When you didn’t answer my letter, I thought you’d ditched me.’
‘What letter?’ Jack asked.
‘Never mind. You’re here now and I can’t wait for Boxing Day. We’ll have to bring Florrie, though. She’s been a bit down lately. She’s decided to leave.’
‘Florrie?’ Jack looked worried. ‘Why is she leaving?’
‘She says she’s sick of heat and dust and flies,’ I said.
Jack nodded. ‘It must be hard. So different from England.’
‘I persuaded her to stay until after the ball,’ I said, ‘but I’ll miss her so much.’
Jack took both of my hands in his. ‘Hey, cheer up,’ he said. ‘It might not happen.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, feeling the smile spreading across my face. It was so good to see him. I looked him up and down. ‘My, you are formal tonight.’
‘I need to break in these new clothes. This tie is killing me,’ he said, running his finger around inside the collar of his white shirt.
‘Now you’ve made it go crooked,’ I told him, and reached up to set it straight. There was a faint smell of starch and shaving cream about him. Combined with the new clothes, it made him seem different, distant even.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I can’t dance if I’m not comfortable. Oh, I nearly forgot. I have something for you.’
I tilted my head and looked at him curiously while he stooped down and picked up a box from the verandah. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. I felt the weight of it, shook it to see if it rattled and turned it over. Something moved inside as I tugged at the string.
‘Come into the kitchen,’ I said. ‘I can’t see out here.’
The kitchen was deserted, but coals still glowed in the fireplace. I brought the lamp down from its shelf and lit the wick with a taper. With Mrs Fagan’s sharp knife, I cut the string on the parcel. The brown paper fell away and I opened the box.
‘New shoes! From Mother!’ I hugged Jack and did a little dance, then brought the shoes to my nose and breathed in the wonderful smell of new leather. They were a deep burgundy colour, easy to keep clean in our red-brown town. Best of all, when I turned the shoes over in my hands, I saw the elegant tapered heel. These were the first pair of real shoes I had ever had; practical, but stylish, and so much lighter than my working boots.
‘Perfect!’ I exclaimed.
Christmas Day was so busy that it passed in a blur for me. All the regulars came into the hotel for Christmas dinner and we did our best to provide traditional fare. A dozen chickens had been killed and plucked the day before. Potatoes and pumpkins were roasted in the fat and served with large quantities of Mrs Fagan’s famous gravy. We had made the Christmas puddings a week before because there was not enough room on the stove to cook everything at once. The heat in the kitchen at midday was so intense that although we had planned to reheat the puddings, we decided to just pour the hot custard over them. The dried fruit had softened while the puddings sat resting in their calico wrappings. The flavours of cinnamon and nutmeg, glazed cherries and candied peel had spread through them and produced a wonderfully moist, mouth-watering pudding. Florrie said she had never tasted better, even in England.
By Christmas night we were all exhausted and Mr Wisdom decided that, with the ball the following evening, he would not open the hotel until midday. We could sleep in for an extra hour in the morning and still get our chores done in time.
December 1893
Boxing Day seemed to drag by. I couldn’t wait for eight o’clock, but I was nervous, too. I had been looking forward to the ball so much that, now that it was almost here, I worried that something would go wrong and spoil it.
At last the sun went down and the temperature began to drop. Jack arrived in his white shirt and waistcoat. It was too hot to wear his jacket, but he carried it slung over his shoulder.
‘I was looking for Clara. Have you seen her anywhere?’ Jack teased as I stepped out to meet him in my lace-trimmed dress and new shoes.
‘Lucky you needed your tie straightened the other night, or I wouldn’t have recognised you either,’ I said as Jack offered me his arm.
As we passed Florrie’s room, I called to her, ‘Are you ready?’
‘Won’t be a minute. You go on,’ she called from behind the door.
‘We can wait,’ Jack called back. ‘Mind you, I’ve never known a woman who can be ready in one minute. I’ll wager five pounds it will take longer than that.’
The door opened and there was Florrie. Her hair was piled up and pinned in curls on the top of her head. Her best dress was washed and pressed. She had even contrived to add a white lace collar that showed off her smooth English skin.
‘Florrie, you look wonderful!’ I exclaimed. ‘I thought you didn’t have anything to wear.’
‘So did I,’ Florrie said, and did a pirouette to show off the matching lace she had sewn around the hem of her full skirt.
The dining rooms at the Club Hotel were beautifully decorated with coloured streamers, artificial silk flowers and fresh leafy boughs of gum and kurrajong. The local gum trees were so tall and spindly that ladders must have been taken out onto the plain specially to reach the high branches. It was worth the effort, though. A pleasant smell of eucalyptus filled the spacious rooms. Unlike our Exchange Hotel, which had struggled up out of nothing and grown bit by bit, this hotel had been built to accommodate a crowd.
Dancing with Jack, our bodies moving easily together and our steps matching effortlessly, I looked around the room. It was full of old friends and new acquaintances. Florrie, Mrs Fagan, the warden and Mrs Finnerty, Padraig, Jock and Mac. Jock and Mac came here on Mr Snell’s coach with me, but I felt as if I had known them forever. Dryblower Murphy had arrived since then, and become part of our lives. Dryblower wrote some very funny bush ballads and sometimes read them out to entertain the crowd in the bar. He had to compete with Henry Lawson and Banjo Paterson for column inches in The Bulletin, but we felt he was one of our own and understood the goldfields better than most.
The women were dressed in the finest clothes I had ever seen in Coolgardie. Everyone was laughing, talking, relaxing, dancing, enjoying each other’s company. I felt happier that night than ever before in my life. I thought of Mother saying she hoped I would not come to regret leaving Southern Cross. If only she could see me now. At that moment there was nothing more I could wish for.
After midnight, the crowd began to thin out. With six or more men to every woman, Florrie and I were in big demand as dancing partners, but Jack made sure he didn’t miss out. We danced until two a.m. and I still wasn’t the least bit tired. While the band took a break, people gathered around the keg and began to sing. Jack and Dryblower Murphy provided the harmony while the rest of us joined in.
A cool easterly wind had been blowing for several hours but it was still hot inside.
‘Let’s go outside and cool off,’ Jack said eventually. He took off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. I didn’t want this special night to end, so we sat out on the verandah where we could still hear the music. The black dome of the sky was studded with stars. They looked so close in the clear, dry ai
r that I felt I could reach up and catch one. Jack took the handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat off his face. At that moment a comet came streaking across the sky.
‘Jack, look!’ I tapped his arm. ‘A shooting star.’ He pulled the handkerchief away from his eyes. We both stared up at the sky, but the fast-moving ball of light with its fiery tail had all but disappeared. ‘Make a wish,’ I said.
‘Damn. I missed it,’ he replied, but put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, looked up at the sky and smiled. My wish had already been granted.
It was three a.m. before the ball was finally over. The exhausted musicians packed up their instruments and the last of the dancers trickled out into the night. Florrie had stayed to the end and the three of us walked back to the Exchange Hotel together. Jack said goodnight and went to join Tobias, who had offered him a place to sleep for the night on the floor of one of his storerooms.
Over breakfast the next morning, Florrie asked me, ‘Are you in love with Jack?’ I was still not properly awake and stopped eating to think about it. ‘Just asking,’ Florrie said before taking a sip of her tea and crunching into another piece of toast with jam.
‘Jack and I are best mates,’ I said, eventually. ‘You can’t be in love with your best mate, can you?’
‘Of course not,’ Florrie agreed. ‘A best mate is, well … a best mate.’
We talked about Padraig, who was a good friend of Jack’s, as well as mine, and Arthur Williams, who was always so kind to me, but sometimes looked at me strangely.
‘You mean the way Dryblower Murphy looks at me?’ Florrie laughed.
‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But Arthur is much older.’
‘How old is Jack?’ Florrie asked.
‘Twenty,’ I said. We talked about other things, but at the back of my mind I was still thinking about whether I was in love with Jack. We had fierce arguments and there were long periods when we didn’t see each other, but we always seemed to fit back together as if we had never been apart. I loved Mother, and Pa, and Susan, in a different way. She often made me so angry I could shake her, but I knew that if anything bad happened to her I would be awfully upset. Emily was fun, but she and Mary were grown-ups, nearly twice my age. I liked them, but I hardly knew them. And the boys were almost alien creatures, needing no-one but each other. I realised that Jack was different. I knew him and he knew me. He saw through my skin, right into my soul. But being in love – that seemed to imply marriage, which, to my mind, was nowhere near as much fun as being best mates.
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