Jillaroo

by Rachael Treasure

  When she at last worked out the figure she said, ‘Holy schnappers! That’s just injected a bit of adrenaline into the farm budget!’ She grinned and pushed in a cassette tape, turning it up loud.

  Despite the pounding tunes of Killing Heidi, Rebecca couldn’t help the sadness in her heart. Charlie Lewis. The river kiss.

  In the high-rise carpark Rebecca smoothed down her hair and tugged at her skirt. She put the jacket of her suit on.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a million dollars,’ said Sally.

  ‘Good. That’s what we’re after.’

  She sucked in a breath. She had settled into a quiet nervousness, and her stomach felt queasy. Sally, however, looked as neat and sleek as a cat. She strode towards the lift with her stylish briefcase in hand. When the doors slid open, she walked in and pressed the button, like an attorney in an American movie.

  As they were ushered into the plastic-smelling airconditioned room, the bank manager half stood and indicated the seats, then got confused as to whether to shake their hands, or just nod in greeting to the two young women.

  The strength of Rebecca’s handshake and the coarseness of her hands surprised him. She was such a pretty little thing, he thought. Rebecca pulled her hand away, sensing the man’s thoughts and hoping he hadn’t noticed the dried cuts and blisters that covered her palms and fingers.

  Sally and Rebecca sat, each crossing their legs the same way, at the same time. Sally’s legs, long, pale and elegant. Rebecca’s, toned and honey brown. They were both so young, the manager thought. Sally Carter had sounded so much older on the phone. The blueness of the eyes of the blonde one stunned him. The unusual freckled brown and green in the eyes of the tall one intrigued him.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you face to face, ladies,’ he said in deep, smooth tones. His eyes slipped below their necklines, and as he spoke he was drawn to the large, perfectly rounded breasts of the blonde one. He cleared his throat and smoothed a hand over his grey lacquered hair. His gold wedding band caught a hair, tugged it out and it fell on the lapel of his navy suit. As he spoke, he continuously ran a hand over his red tie which lay on the contours of his stomach.

  ‘I received a copy of your business plan and loan proposal in yesterday’s mail.’

  He moved the neatly bound documents in front of himself and shuffled forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk.

  ‘I was very impressed with the boldness of it. It’s an ambitious plan for two young ladies such as yourselves. I’ve taken on board your request for a loan, however, there are a few questions we need answers to. Especially in regard to the ownership of the land and in whose name the loan will be drawn.’

  Before he could continue, Sally pulled from between the folds of her black case a crisp white envelope. She handed it to him with a charming smile.

  ‘I think this letter should answer all your questions on the loan proposal. It provides full backing from the property owner.’ She slid the envelope across the desk.

  There was silence in the room while the bank manager opened the letter and read the neat typing, his eyes resting on the scrawl of Harry Saunder’s signature at its base.

  ‘Well, with full support from your father, Miss Saunders, the proposal is looking more favorable. Shall we get down to business …’

  Outside the bank Rebecca bit into her fist and tried hard not to scream. Sally clutched onto Bec’s arm and jiggled up and down on the spot.

  ‘We did it!’ Bec said. The girls laughed and hugged. They jumped up and down holding hands, looked into each other’s tear-filled eyes and screamed … just a little. Then they walked quickly away from the building, hoping the bank staff inside hadn’t seen their disguise of professional cool slip away.

  PART FIVE

  CHAPTER 46

  The first few weeks at Waters Meeting were an edgy time for Rebecca as she settled into the big house on her own and began work on the farm. Daily calls from Sally and Frankie kept her going, but in the evenings she ached for Charlie and always on the periphery of her thoughts was Harry. She would look out the window at night and through the trees see the lights shining from the cabin. She imagined him watching the news or sipping on sugary cups of milky tea.

  She had decided to leave him alone at night, but each morning she would walk down over the paddock, with Mossy or Dags, Bessie or Stubby, always at her heels. She’d knock nervously on the door of his cabin, and she’d hold her breath when she heard him call out, ‘Come in.’ She had been fearful her father would snap back to his old ways and slowly start to crush her dreams. But instead she mostly found him dozing in his armchair in the morning sun, reading a book or a newspaper, or listening to the ABC on the crackling radio. He seemed content to stay where he was. Rebecca suspected he was still in a great deal of pain, but if he was, he never complained. He always pointed to the kettle and said cheerfully, ‘Help yourself to a cuppa.’

  ‘When are you due for your check-up?’ she asked one morning as she nodded towards his stump.

  ‘Next week.’

  ‘I’ll drive you.’

  ‘No need. I can manage the automatic,’ Harry said.

  She had watched him one day from the window of her bedroom. He had snuck up to the sheds and got into his old car. He had driven it slowly down the drive, past the shearing shed and then turned in a wide circle in the paddock. Then he had driven it back to the shed again.

  Rebecca had at first been puzzled at what he was doing. Then she had realised. He was practising driving – practising with one arm. She had felt a sudden sorrow for her father at the realisation of how difficult and frightening it must be to come to terms with his disability.

  She looked at him now, sitting in the chair in the patch of sun. His grey hair cropped short, his work clothes clean and neat.

  ‘No, Dad, don’t go to town on your own. I’d like to come too, so I might as well drive you to your appointment. And besides, I need you there. There’s a herd dispersal sale on Tuesday … and I’d like you to come too. See what you reckon. But I have to warn you, they’re Angus cows. Not your preferred breed of red and whites, but they’ve got great genetics. All performance recorded, all certified BJD- and HGP-free. Good cows for a foundation herd. Best to get them now while the prices are still lowish.’

  Harry’s reaction surprised her. ‘Sounds good. I’d like to go.’

  ‘Great.’ She smiled at him. ‘Oh, and Dad, another favour, if you’ve got time …’ She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. ‘Here are the numbers of a few contractors in the region. Would you be able to organise some quotes from them? I’d like to get started on the dam construction as soon as possible. I’d phone them myself, but it’s just that I’ve decided to head up to the hut tonight. The cows up there need salting and I thought I’d check a few fences.’

  Harry held up his hand. ‘Bec, it’s fine. I’d love to help. You know me, I’m great at haggling. I’ll get you the best damn dam-building deal yet. And,’ he said firmly, but with a friendliness to his tone, ‘will you stop pussyfooting round me. Your old man’s mellowed in his old age, can’t you see that? I’m not going to make the same mistakes twice. You’re going to do great things with this place. I trust your good judgement, so you don’t have to explain it all to me. I’ll help you however I can.’

  He gave her a wink. Rebecca felt a warm tingle run through her body. She smiled at him. He continued. ‘When you get back down from the hut tomorrow, call in here. I’ll cook you a roast.’

  ‘That’d be great, Dad!’

  ‘I want to talk business with you over dinner.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Yep. I’d like to buy a pup from you.’

  ‘A pup?’

  ‘Well, if I’m going to be any use to you with one arm, I’d better learn how to work one of your fancy dogs. It’s not like I can drive a manual ute any more, or roar round the stock on the bike. I’d be better off doing it the quiet way. Horse and dog. The way it
should be done. Could you help me out on that one?’

  ‘Sure Dad,’ said Rebecca warmly. ‘You can start by reading a great kelpie-training manual I’ve got, one by Tony Parsons.’

  ‘You’re giving me homework already!’

  ‘Do you want to get some new ideas or not, Dad?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Of course I do. I’m tackling life differently from now on.’

  ‘Who said you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks?’ said Rebecca as she turned and walked out the door into the sunshine. Her dogs danced around her as she jogged towards the stable where Inky stood, tied to the rail.

  Just for the hell of it, Rebecca let Ink Jet have her head. The mare grunted with effort as she cantered up the steep rocky slope, hooves clunking on stone, shoes chinking on rock, black mane flying. Bec leaned forward in the saddle and urged the mare on. Her saddlebags were weighted down with fencing strainers, pliers and food for her evening meal at the hut. A hessian bag with salt for the cattle was rolled up neatly and strapped to the front of the saddle, resting on Inky’s strong neck.

  Despite her burden, the strong, stocky mare was enjoying the canter in the mountain air. Bec watched as Inky pricked her ears forward as she reached a plateau. A cold wind lifted Bec’s hair off her shoulders and stung her cheeks red. She whistled a release command which sent the dogs scooting ahead on the track. She ducked beneath the contorted white limbs of the snowgums and rounded a curve in the track, which took her onto an open treeless area of the plain. Spring was on its way and the yellow-brown grass emerging from patches of snow was starting to recover and shoot out vibrant new stems of green.

  On the edge of the plain, in a fringe of trees, Bec sat back suddenly in the saddle. The cantering mare propped and stopped on a cliff edge. Inky’s ears shot forward. Rebecca, her four dogs and mare gazed out across the expanse of dips and ridges. Bush as far as they could see. Heaven’s Leap they called it, a name given by the gold miners. It was the spot she’d imagined bringing Charlie to. She’d imagined pointing out towards the gullies, showing him the source of the two rushing creeks. Two creeks, meeting in a rocky gorge and rushing down towards the rich river flats of the property as one. One river, the Rebecca River.

  The wind up here was so icy it stung her lips. She drank in the view as she thought back over the past few weeks. The change in her father. The exhilaration of being granted the loan for the new-look farm business. It still made her tingle. She’d felt an inner strength again which, she knew, stemmed from the support and comfort of her family. She smiled at how things were turning out. Yet up here, on the edge of heaven, Rebecca also felt the sadness. Two men in her life. One dead. One gone.

  She looked out again across the beautiful expanse of wilderness. Too rugged ever to be tamed. So massive, wild and ancient. She felt the exhilaration of life and had the realisation that she, Tom and Charlie were all part of it. All part of that huge breathing wilderness laid out before her. Then she turned the mare towards the direction of the hut and rode away from the blast of wild air which had rushed over and through millions of gum trees.

  Rebecca was surprised at how saggy and old the hut now looked. Low mountain clouds had wrapped everything in dampness and caused wood to rot and tin to rust. She must bring Sally here, she thought. Perhaps Sally would know if Heritage Funding could help keep it upright. It was obvious Tom had done some work on it while he lived up here. Rebecca ran her fingertips over the shining nails which were hammered alongside rusting old ones on the verandah floor.

  She unhooked the door and moved inside, into the still air. Wind whistled through the nail holes in the tin and the slits between the handsawn wood, but despite the draftiness of the hut, Rebecca felt comforted in here. Sheltered.

  Running her fingers over Tom’s initials and those of her grandfather and great-grandfather, she said each name out loud. Then she pulled a pocket knife from the leather pouch on her belt and flipped out the blade. In the wooden post she began to carve her initials deep in the thick timber. And, as she did it, she realised that it was wasted energy to be heartbroken over Charlie. This was where she belonged. This place, she thought, where two rivers meet.

  CHAPTER 47

  From outside, Rebecca could see her father framed in the window of the log cabin. He was at the sink, washing up. As she rode past on Inky, she called out to him.

  ‘I’m going to get the mail.’ He waved a dish mop at her in acknowledgment and watched her ride away with Mossy trotting behind.

  Mail came on Tuesdays and Fridays. On Tuesdays Harry drove to get it. On Fridays, when she had time, Rebecca rode. She sometimes checked the stock on the way or rode the fence lines with her pliers and fence strainers in her saddlebag and a loop of wire slung over her shoulder. The rides gave her time to think. She liked Fridays. The past two years had been such a whir. Days rolling by at a frenetic pace. Friday was her time-out day.

  Today she was happy just to feel the sun on her face. She put decision-making, business plans and debt out of her head and let the sun warm her right through. She looked over to the merino ewes and lambs. As the ewes grazed, the lambs lay stretched out in the sun. Little bright white dots on a blanket of green. In the next paddock, sleek, fat Angus cows lifted their heads and watched her ride by, chewing slowly and turning their heads to check on the curious calves which roamed from their mothers’ flanks.

  After Rebecca opened the first gate on the road, she urged the mare on to a trot up the steady climb of the hill. The rhythmic beat of the horse’s hooves echoed up through the trees and into the gullies.

  At the mailbox, Rebecca leaned over Ink Jet’s sweat-covered shoulder and lifted the heavy canvas mailbag. She undid the big buckle and loosened the leather strap. Her mare shifted her weight, rested one hind leg and dropped her head, preparing for a doze. Mossy lay panting beneath the shade of a wattle in the long grass.

  For the first year the mail contained bill after bill. Bills for stock, for fertiliser, for grain, for hay, for machinery parts, power, phone, groceries. It seemed endless. Sometimes Rebecca held fistfuls of the stiff pieces of paper in her hands and sobbed. The debt to the bank felt as though it would crush her. Then she’d pull her shoulders up, wipe her tears away and ride home to phone Sally and they’d work out a plan to manage payments.

  On some days a letter from Charlie arrived. Most were written on thin, lined paper, his loneliness spreading out across the page. In other letters his passion was so real Rebecca could feel the touch of his hand on her skin. Sometimes he just wrote about his father’s farm and refused to let love into his words. There was still bitterness underlying their long-distance friendship. As Rebecca read his letters, sitting astride her horse, fat tears sometimes fell from her eyes. At other times she would ride home and look out through the bush or along the dusty road, trying to ignore the presence of Charlie, folded, sealed and stamped in her saddlebag.

  As the second round of seasons came and went, Charlie’s letters slowed to a small trickle and then suddenly stopped. She assumed there was someone else for him now. She stopped writing too.

  So much had happened since Charlie. The work had been incredible. Hard and exciting. A new three hundred megalitre dam now filled up one of the gullies, the smooth water stretching along grassy banks, which had become a home for wild ducks. The dam filled Rebecca with a quiet confidence about the future. The water stored in it guaranteed an income from the crops and ensured water for the stock in the driest of times when the river would again be reduced to a trickle. She had already started a rotational grazing program with the stock, altering fence lines and gateways and putting in water troughs. With the improved pastures and the efficient grazing program, it meant they could increase stock numbers without exhausting the land. In this Harry helped her wholeheartedly – the troughs meant they could fence off stock access to the river, which would protect its fragile banks and, in Harry’s eyes, that was a huge plus. He’d stand on the edge of the dam, his feet set wide apart, one hand on his hip, hi
s stump sticking out as if the other absent hand also rested on his hip, and he’d shake his head.

  ‘We should’ve done this years ago,’ he’d say, more to the memory of his father than to Rebecca.

  The dam was the first stage of the farm’s irrigation project, something that would boost returns even more next year. Already the semitrailers had lumbered into the property loaded up with parts for the brand-new pivot irrigator. Harry, being more machinery minded than stock minded, was looking forward to the introduction of irrigated specialist cropping. It would mean scouring the countryside at clearing sales for old machinery that he could do up, weld, modify and fix.

  He was getting quite ingenious at coping with only one arm. But Rebecca often worried about him. Sometimes she’d hear him in the machinery shed swearing and raging. There would be a crashing sound as he threw an object, sometimes a shifter, sometimes a screwdriver, against the tin walls in frustration. There were days of dark depression and silence. Days when Tom’s death kept Harry locked inside his cabin and curled up in bed.

  But most of the time the days rolled on, Rebecca working and her father helping when he could. He still avoided the stock work, but he had stuck to his plan of training up his lively new pup. He’d called her Cloe. She was out of Stubby. Cloe was a little red and tan bitch that had been sired by a Karawarra dog in the district. She danced at Harry’s feet and looked willingly up into his eyes. He took her with him everywhere, and on the deck of his cabin he’d made a cosy kennel for her out of an old tea-chest filled with blankets. Every day Harry had worked on her obedience training, as Rebecca had shown him, and he’d been amazed how the early training had paid off when he’d first cast her out around a mob. Rebecca marvelled at how much her father had changed. Harry had at last found a companion and some compassion for working dogs.