Escape to Koolonga

by Amanda Doyle

  communicate!’

  ‘O.K., O.K., you little spitfire.’ He put up a protecting hand in mock defence, with a glimmer of his usual gentle smile. ‘Look, lay off, will you, Emmie? I’ve enough on my plate as it is, without you throwing any more crazy ideas into the melting-pot.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kev. I realise it’s none of my business—it’s just that I get so mad, seeing you two going on like this. All the same, will you do something about it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll see.’ He smiled, faintly, noncommittally, and Emmie had to be content with that.

  When he left them back at the store and said goodnight, Kevin’s face still had that dazed, bewildered expression which her words had somehow managed to produce, and as she followed the children inside, she found that she was almost sorry that she had spoken at all. Sorry, because she might have been personally responsible for raising Kevin’s hopes quite falsely. Perhaps it would have been better if she had made no mention of the matter at all.

  Sighing, she reflected that perhaps it was a pity that she had ever gone to the rodeo with Kevin in the first place!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The days continued in a pleasantly regulated manner. By now a certain routine had formulated itself—a routine that centred mainly around the children—getting them off to school each day, cooking their meals and packing their school lunches, washing and mending their clothes which, because of the incessant heat, were fortunately few, consisting mostly of shorts and shirts and a pleasing absence of socks.

  Every morning Emmie stood at the front step with the shop bell still tinkling behind her and waved the three of them off.

  And every afternoon she stood in more or less the same place as she had in the morning, with the smell of the freshly baked tea she had made wafting from inside the store, shading her eyes against the sun and watching for the first figure to appear on the horizon. At that distance the children were nothing but tiny black indeterminate dots against the sky. One by one they would pop up beside the scraggy monument of ironbarks that crested the distant ridge, and then as the dots drew nearer they would emerge into proper figures with bobbing heads and swinging arms and moving, hastening brown legs. And by the time they got to the big yellow box tree where the track forked left, it became clear that two of the figures were spare-limbed khaki- clad boys, and the third a thin, mercurial, dusky little girl with a head of riotous black curls.

  Emmie would wave, and they would all wave back, and presently the sound of their voices would drift on the still white sunshine right to where she waited—snippets of conversation, laughter, singing. Then, at the step, there was usually a cry of ‘What’s for tea, Emmie?’ and a concerted rush for the door, where they delivered up their school satchels and followed that tantalising smell to its source.

  After tea, as the sun sank low and the west blazed with colour, Emmie would often take Daisy with her as she filled a watering-can and walked around to the back to water the apricot tree.

  It had taken root well. The leaves which had at first been wizened, and which had crackled dishearteningly beneath her fingers, had lost their furling edges and were fresh and dark and green. The trunk was straight and proud, and already it had sent out small sappy resilient branches.

  It obviously liked being here, that apricot tree. It liked the small, white store beside the railway gates. It liked the scattering of sheds and the two lofty sugar gums, the yapping kelpie pup, the contentedly lazy cat, the three boisterous children.

  It liked it here as much as Emmie herself. It was happy, and it must have decided that it wanted to live here too, since it had lost no time in thrusting its roots down further into the deep plains soil, so that it could shoot sturdily upwards and

  outwards in that satisfying manner.

  Emmie knew exactly how many leaves and branches her apricot tree had. She counted them as they appeared, and sometimes she found herself talking to her little tree, almost as if it could understand what she was saying. It was a friend in which she could confide her happiness and contentment, and sometimes she could have sworn that its leaves whispered in a rustling reply. As its roots gulped down the pool of water that she poured carefully around its base, Bingo the pup would race round and round herself and the tree, as she stood there waiting for the water to go away, and when the water had completely disappeared, Quinty would come treading delicately along to rub herself back and forth against the staked stem before retiring to lick the mud from her paws. She did it, fastidiously, in the fading sun on the roof of the woodshed.

  Even the boys would stop their scuffling and chasings from time to time to come over and mark the small tree’s progress. It was a routine which somehow managed to involve them all.

  When the holidays began and the school was closed, Emmie found that life was more fun than ever before. Now there was any amount of time in which she and the children could explore and picnic, and they even began to lead her around on one of the fat, frisky ponies which Ridd had sent over from Koolonga to keep them amused. Jim and Daisy were accomplished riders, Morris slightly less daring, and Emmie most backward and cautious of all. She insisted upon having a saddle, saying that it gave her at least a measure of security. To her it was no joke to find oneself sitting bareback on a pony that wouldn’t stop trotting, feeling one’s balance gradually slipping out of control, even though it wasn’t far to fall.

  When she invited Susan over for tea one day, the other girl chose to come over on horseback, and it was faintly discouraging to see what a splendidly composed and efficient figure she presented on her lively chestnut mare. Obviously the tailored riding outfit in which she had looked so smart at the gymkhana was not merely for decorative purposes.

  ‘How pretty this little house looks, Emily, now that it’s white.’ Susan looped her reins over the post and followed her hostess indoors. ‘You were right, after all, to paint it. One can sec it shining in amongst the trees on the plain whenever one comes over the ridge. All it needs now is something done to the roof.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that too. I’ve ordered some paint, in the same red as it had on long ago. I think it was red, don’t you, that bit that’s left? I shall have to borrow a ladder, though, to get up there.’

  ‘Hmm. Perhaps Kevin might do it for you. He still helps around here a lot, I suppose?’ It was difficult to detect what was behind

  that tone of Sue’s, as usual. ‘Sometimes, yes. And he keeps the truck running for me, quite wonderfully. I’m afraid I was badly

  taken in there, you

  know. I paid more than I should have for the wretched thing in the first place, but thanks to Kevin it hasn’t been an altogether disastrous purchase. Do have a scone, Sue, or another sandwich?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Susan leaned back in her cane chair, munching absently for a moment. Then—‘Strange that Kevin should be turning out to be quite an adequate prop of support, isn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  A shrug. ‘Nothing too profound. Just what I say, really.’

  Emmie put her tea-cup down carefully.

  ‘If you mean that Kevin is a weakling, Sue, you couldn’t be more wrong, you know. I thought you knew him better than that.’

  For once, Susan had the grace to blush. Not a true blush, just a reluctant trace of colour, that crept uncomfortably up beneath the smooth honey-brown of her cheeks as she shrugged again.

  ‘I know him better than anyone else, I should think.’ There was reproof in her voice. ‘That’s why I’m surprised.’

  ‘You knew him, you mean,’ Emmie corrected firmly, gathering courage from somewhere and coming to an impulsive decision to be nothing other than frank. ‘You knew the boy, but not the man, Sue. You haven’t made the effort, you just keep saying he’s changed and leaving it at that. You knew him, when you were both young and a little too selfish to study each other’s real needs. But you don’t know him now, Sue. You can’t! Because, if you did, you’d also know how he feels—that he still cares for yo
u, very deeply, and you wouldn’t make those snide remarks and disparaging insinuations that you seem given to doing whenever his name crops up, whatever you may think of him.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying, Emily.’

  ‘I do!’

  Emmie stared back defiantly, as hot colour flowed into Susan’s face. She appeared positively angry now—outraged and offended, too.

  ‘I forbid you to discuss me with Kevin!’ she said furiously. ‘You overstep the mark, Emily, upon my word you do! You can do what you like with him, so far as I’m concerned, but just leave me out of your intimate little heart-to-heart discussions, understand? I refuse to have my name bandied about between the two of you, do you hear? And if you’re foolish enough to believe all his confessions of undying devotion and self-pitying soul-barings, you’re more stupid than I took you for! If he truly felt like that ---- ’

  She broke off, trembling, put down her cup and saucer with a shaking hand and walked over to the window, striving to control herself.

  Emmie followed, placed a penitent hand on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sue, truly. I had no right---- ’

  ‘No, it’s I who should apologise,’ the other mumbled.

  ‘It was unforgivable to mention it. You were a visitor, and at my own tea-table——’

  ‘I shouldn’t have gone off the handle like that, even so. A schoolmarm should never do such a thing. She’s supposed to be virtually unshakeable.’ Susan turned, smiled wanly, obviously having recovered her calm.

  ‘I truly am sorry, all the same. It’s none of my business, and of course I didn’t mean to interfere or anything.’ Emmie returned the smile a little anxiously. ‘Have I spoiled our afternoon? I do hope not!’

  ‘No, of course not.’ There was conciliation in Susan’s voice now. The level-headed schoolteacher part of her had supervened. ‘You were talking of making a path to the front door, weren’t you? Let’s go and see, shall we, and you can tell me how you propose to do it.’ ‘Yes, let’s.’

  Emmie led the way thankfully, glad that the embarrassing moment was past. She pointed from the step.

  ‘I thought I’d take it down to there, you see, right to the road. I don’t know whether to edge it and have gravel, or perhaps to pave it with flagstones.’

  ‘They’re tricky to fit, my dear, and you’d need to lay them with cement. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit ambitious? Why not sink the flags on their sides for edging, and have gravel in the middle? That would look suitably rustic, with half the effort and expense. You can get sandstone slabs in Berroola, and I’m sure Ridd would let you have a load of gravel.’

  ‘How practical you are! Yes, that’s the very thing.’

  The two girls wandered about the precincts, discussing ways and means of improving the premises, and by the time Susan saddled up and rode off again, their relationship appeared to have regained its former cautiously friendly footing, much to Emmie’s relief.

  Indeed, Susan must have carried her goodwill a step further, because Emmie was only halfway through laying her flagstone edging when Ridd Fenton himself turned up, and already he appeared to know about her need for the gravel.

  He must have ridden in from the south side, and tethered his horse at the back of the house, for Emmie didn’t hear him approaching at all. He took her completely by surprise, striding around the side of the house just as she was staggering up the half-made pathway with a slab of sandstone clutched against her.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Ridd stepped forward and took the slab from her, frowning. That’s no work for a woman, Emily. I thought I’d made it clear that you could come to me about anything like this. Where do you want it?’

  ‘Just—here, if you—don’t mind.’ She was mortified to find that she was panting. But then she always did seem to be a little short of breath when Ridd was around!

  ‘That’s right. Thank you, Ridd. I’ll check it before I firm it

  in, you see. I take that line and the level with that bit of string.’ ‘It’s ridiculous you carrying these things yourself. I’ll tell you what, I’ll lay them in line for you, and you can do the levelling and go on from there later. And I think Susan said you could do with some gravel to finish the job.’

  ‘Oh, she mentioned it, did she? I’d certainly be grateful, Ridd. You’re both very kind.’

  Another of those noncommittal grunts.

  ‘You can fix me a nice cold beer, just to show your gratitude, if you like? Is there any ice in that shack of yours?’

  ‘Plenty. And don’t you dare call it a shack. When I’ve painted the roof again you won’t know the place.’

  ‘Good lord, is that the next thing?’ He stood up, grinned. ‘Go on, then, and bring me a decent-sized schooner, if you expect me to say I think that the roofs a good idea. I’m not sure that that iron isn’t in too rusty a state, all the same.’

  He was standing looking up thoughtfully at the iron in question when Emmie returned with the beer. It was a surprise, when he spoke next, that the subject was not the state of the roof at all.

  ‘I was wondering’—said Ridd Fenton, removing his hat with one hand as he accepted the beer with the other—‘if you’d like to come to a dance in town next Friday night?’

  ‘A—a dance? Me?’

  Emmie found her eyes widening, as they looked up into Ridd’s face to see if he were joking. He didn’t seem to be. The teasing glint was absent, for once. In fact, he appeared almost sombre, his grey eyes darkly shadowed and unreadable as he met her gaze unblinkingly. With his hat off, she could see the tiny beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, and the pale strip at his hairline where the hat stopped the sun from getting in. Where the strip was, there was also a faint red mark from the leather headband of the wide- brimmed hat, and his dark hair had been flattened damply against it. Emmie took in all these details while her mind was recovering from the sheer surprise of what he had said.

  ‘That’s right—a dance. Presumably you do dance, Emily? You’re looking almost affronted. As if I’d made an improper suggestion.’ His lips twitched.

  ‘Oh no—I mean—yes—it’s not that.’

  ‘What, then?’

  He drained the schooner, returned it to her, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Then he resettled the hat in position. Now she couldn’t even see his eyes properly anymore, so it was difficult to tell what he was thinking, especially as his deep, noncommittal voice did nothing to give him away.

  ‘It’s in aid of the Red Cross,’ he told her evenly. ‘A district thing. Everyone will be going to support it, and I think you should too. It’s not a good idea to skip local charity events of this kind in a remote country area, Emily. People can get the wrong impression.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She felt somehow a little deflated at his matter-of-factness, although goodness knows why she should. It was something, surely, to have been invited by him at all! ‘Well, of course I’d love to come,’ she assured him dubiously, ‘only I don’t really see how I could. I—I’m afraid I mightn’t have the right thing to wear. It’s a long time since I—er—went to a dance.’

  Her school-leaving social, to be precise, she could have told him. Emmie could see it in her mind’s eye. The groups of excited girls, quite daringly turned out, staggering around in too-high heels and loads of unbecoming make-up. The boys, gauche and inarticulate, lining the opposite side of the hall.

  The eagle-eyed mistresses. The --‘What you wear is entirely unimportant.’ Ridd brushed that aside with ease—with much more ease than those poor, awkward schoolboys could have done I—‘I’m sure you’ll find something. Anything goes at these affairs, you know. They’re countrified, unsophisticated.’

  ‘Well, there are still the children to be considered. I really don’t think --- ’

  ‘Mrs. Bexley can keep an eye on the youngsters. I’ve already arranged it,’ he interposed. ‘You can give her a shakedown here for the night, and then it won’t matter how late we happen to be in returning. Yo
u needn’t even wake her when you come in, and she in her turn needn’t wait up either. I’ll come over for her the next morning and take her back to the homestead.’

  ‘I—see.’ What a domineering creature he was! He had done all this arranging of his on the assumption that his invitation would be accepted! He hadn’t even waited to see! Ridd Fenton was not evidently accustomed to his propositions being turned down, not where women were concerned, that is. What a conceited, autocratic man! Serve him right if she refused, after all. It would be worth it, just to see his face. That is, if she could see his face, under that concealing brim. Still, a dance was a dance, wasn’t it? And it could possibly be quite an exciting evening, going to a country hop as Ridd Fenton’s partner. Her senses were beginning to tingle treacherously at the mere prospect! ‘You will?’ The grey eyes were commanding—not pleading, as she could have wished!

  ‘Well --- ’ She hesitated for only a fraction of a second.

  ‘Very well, I will. And—thank you very much, Ridd.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he drawled. ‘The thing hardly gets off the ground before about nine o’clock. We’ll call by at about seven for you.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Kevin, and Susan and I. We might as well make it a foursome in the same vehicle, seeing we’ll all be headed in the same direction,’ he informed her carelessly.

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  And she should have seen! she chided herself fiercely, as she went back to the house after he had gone. She should have realised that of course someone like Riddley Fenton wouldn’t be inviting her to a dance, as his very own partner. It had seemed impossible—deliciously impossible!—and that’s just what it had turned out to be!

  Suddenly Emmie found that she wanted to cry. It was stupid of her. Terribly silly, really. But that was what she felt like doing. Goodness knows why she should feel all churned up and confused like this, but she did. She also felt peculiarly flat and winded, as if she had fallen right on to her stomach from a very considerable height.