The Homestead Girls

by Fiona McArthur

  Rex looked very dapper with his white RM shirt and fawn trousers, even the riding boots were polished and looked perfect. Lord, she was lucky. She couldn’t wait to see him with the black akubra he carried in one hand.

  ‘You are a stylish man when you decide to dress up.’

  ‘Aw shucks.’ It seemed Rex didn’t have any problems taking a compliment. To her delight he added a snippet of personal history. Something she’d heard more of in this one trip than in all of the last six months.

  ‘My mother used to sew all the time when my father was away. She’d make clothes for people. School uniforms for kids and me, of course. I was an only child. I guess I think of her when I buy a new shirt because I tend to choose the ones that would make her smile.

  ‘Well, you both have good taste.’

  ‘I’ll take you to meet her. She doesn’t get around as well as she did and she lives in a unit in the retirement village. But she still sews.’

  ‘I’d like to meet her, Rex.’

  ‘It’s on the list,’ he said cryptically. Then he glanced at his watch and took her arm. ‘Let’s go to the races.’

  Fifteen minutes later when they arrived at the track, the picnic tables under shade sails beside the track were filling fast. The throng had the full spectrum of fashion, from jeans, shorts and thongs on feet, summer shifts vying with designer outfits and Sunday best, as people streamed in the gate. Hats were everywhere.

  She nudged Rex and pointed out a face they both knew. The big man had a beer in his hand already and it was barely eleven o’clock. Daphne couldn’t see how his reattached finger looked from here, but he seemed to have five.

  Rex leaned down. ‘We’ll stay away from Accidental Al.’ They turned the other way. No work today.

  Designated-driver buses spilled their cargo of happy racegoers and Daphne looked around with unexpected enjoyment.

  ‘Great isn’t it?’ Rex was watching her face.

  ‘It is,’ she answered, admiring a young woman in a bright-yellow sundress and purple accessories. It was the smile and joy in life that shone from her happy face that completed the picture. ‘She’ll win.’

  ‘Fashion in the field?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘You look perfect. You should go in it.’

  Daphne raised her brows. ‘I would rather have all my teeth removed without anaesthetic.’

  Rex laughed. ‘Okay then.’ He chuckled again. ‘I won’t ask again.’

  ‘You should go in it. Now that I would enjoy.’

  ‘Give me the chair at the dentist next to you,’ he said fervently and took her hand and squeezed it.

  After four races, and the crowning of Daphne’s pick for Fashions on the Field, the mood on the course had risen to new heights as the runners in the cup surged into the mounting yard. Brightly coloured jockeys bounced and leaned to their horses’ heads and the crowd drifted to the rails to admire their chosen contenders.

  It was slightly tricky on the uneven dusty ground for those in high heels, but the men were up to the task of steadying their ladies. Rex’s arm was solidly around Daphne.

  Rex’s horse stamped her feet and Daphne’s bet seemed to have a smile in his equine eyes that resonated with Daphne’s own feeling of euphoria.

  Then the horses were out on the track trotting towards the starting post and anticipation raised the swell of voices from the crowd again. The racegoers drifted back towards the trackside viewpoints and the tension increased as the race caller’s voice announced the field was almost ready. There was a small hold-up at the starting gates, and people became more desperate to see over the heads of others.

  Groups of young men were clustered, some with the serious faces of those who had plunged too heavily on this heady but precarious way of making money, and others were climbing onto low walls to see.

  Daphne soaked in the thrill, lost Rex’s arm for a moment as he bent down to pick up a hat that had blown off a woman’s head and returned it to her, and heard a tinkle of breaking glass from behind her just as the gate bell clanged.

  They were off. The horses bounded from their starting gates, but Daphne turned in the opposite direction to the rest of the crowd in time to see a young man, late teens, standing by himself at the back of the wall, the remains of his beer glass falling at his feet.

  He was holding his wrist in a useless attempt to stop the blood that was spurting through his clutching fingers and crumpled in a faint just as Daphne reached his side.

  She put out her arms, not silly enough to take all his weight, but to slow his descent to the ground. Unfortunately, the arc of crimson blood sprayed her face and neck, and she wiped her cheek with her arm as she reached over and clamped her fingers around the jagged tear in the flesh of his wrist.

  She had to blink through the film of blood that dripped off her forehead and hoped he hadn’t given her any bloodborne diseases. The blood was still pumping out. This was serious.

  She was just about to call Rex when she realised he was already by her side, his face creased in concern.

  ‘I can’t let go. Take his tie off. I need a tourniquet,’ she said, as the blood welled and splattered beneath her hand, and she wondered just how much more blood the boy would lose before they could contain it.

  Rex slid the tie up the young man’s arm above the elbow and tightened it. The flow of blood lessened and Daphne allowed her death grip on his arm to loosen. She wadded the handkerchief poking out of the jacket under her fingers across the wound and checked her watch. ‘Tourniquet on at three thirty-six.’

  A woman screamed and pointed. Not at the white-faced young man on the ground, but at the blood-spattered spectre of a woman beside him. Her.

  Bloody hell.

  People began to crowd around. She heard a whir as a camera clicked. She ignored the blush of colour heating her face, ignored the mumble of horrified onlookers. She could imagine the gore and the gossip. She simply waited, with her hands pressing down on the wound to stem the flow, and shut the thought of how she must look away for later when no doubt she would wallow in it miserably. The people staring at her didn’t matter.

  ‘I’ll call an ambulance? He’ll need surgery.’

  She nodded thankfully at Rex, and he pulled out his mobile phone just as the course paramedic arrived.

  The next ten minutes passed quickly and Daphne was handed a damp towel by a course official, who thanked her profusely for saving the boy’s life but couldn’t help his look of revulsion at the mess she was in.

  Rex took the towel from her and wiped her face and neck, then produced a light raincoat from somewhere that covered the rest of her and she could have kissed him.

  He helped her to her feet, took her across to a tap and washed some of the blood off her hands and dried them. She felt like a baby, but for some strange reason her mind wasn’t functioning at that moment. Luckily Rex’s was.

  He ushered her towards the car past curious onlookers and she watched the ground in front as she was led away.

  She’d done it again. Been a magnet for drama and mess and social awkwardness and all in front of Rex. He was stuck with a blood-soaked robot when he should have been enjoying himself. Though, now she thought about it, thank goodness it had happened in front of Rex.

  ‘Thanks, Rex. For being there,’ she said, her voice a faint whisper.

  ‘I think that young man should thank you for being there. I’d say he would’ve died if that lot had been responsible for saving him.’

  A few minutes later they pulled up at the pub and she leaned with post-adrenaline weariness back in the seat until he opened her door.

  ‘Come on, Florence Nightingale. Upstairs and into the shower.’ He took her arm gently and even prised her key from her shaking, bloodied fingers and opened her door.

  He urged her in, turned back and closed the door to the corridor, then led her past the huge mural on the wall of her room through to the bathroom and turned on the shower. There he helped her strip off until her lovely dress w
as a ruined heap on the shower floor and tenderly pushed her in.

  The blood ran from her hair and her arms in a crimson whirlpool that splashed against the white tiles before it twirled down the drain. It had even soaked through into her bra. She unclipped it and dropped the messy lace confection into the swirl of bloody water on the floor of the shower stall.

  Rex coughed. How had she forgotten Rex? Her head jerked up and then Rex whistled. She had to grin sheepishly at that. She slid another peek at him and suddenly realised it was okay. This was Rex. His eyes were filled with caring and pride, and a suggestion he was trying to be good and not look at her in a predatory way.

  That made the beginnings of a smile lift her lips. She looked down then at her saturated lacy underwear and back at Rex.

  Then timid, demure Daphne slid her hands over her hips and made a show of removing her panties burlesque-style, and that was too much for him.

  She started to laugh as he removed his own blood-splattered clothes and stepped in.

  EIGHTEEN

  A new Daphne returned on Sunday after lunch and Billie grinned at the sight of her. She couldn’t help feeling a little envious of her friend’s obvious glow of happiness, but it was so good to see Daphne, head held high and happy, and Rex handing her out of the car like she was a fragile china doll.

  Fragile! Daphne, who could throw herself headlong into the most traumatic and tense situation, and take control of disaster with aplomb.

  ‘You look fabulous, Daphne,’ Billie said.

  Daphne rolled her eyes at her companion. ‘How do you think Rex looks?’

  ‘Pretty damn good.’

  Rex laughed. ‘I have to go before I start blushing.’ He kissed Daphne’s lips softly but passionately. Billie’s eyebrows rose and she looked away. It seemed all had gone well and she couldn’t wait to hear Daphne’s side of it. Finally Rex reluctantly climbed back into his car and Daphne was waving.

  Billie waved too, and they stood together and watched his dust go down the driveway. ‘So it’s like that, is it?’

  ‘Oh yes. Oh my goodness, yes.’ Daphne turned a dreamy face to Billie and sighed. ‘He’s wonderful.’ Then her brows drew together. ‘What’s been happening here?’

  ‘Wow.’ How could Daphne tell anything was wrong? Especially when she’d just been floating on cloud nine. ‘Let’s enjoy your story first.’

  ‘Mine can wait. It has a good ending.’ Daphne looked Billie up and down. ‘Something’s worrying you.’

  So she told her about Lorna, about Morgan’s assessment agreeing with her own, about Lachlan’s concern, and the slight improvement they could all see today.

  ‘So it looks like it was a urinary tract infection that set her off. But Lorna’s taking it hard. She says she doesn’t want to be a burden. That she’ll go quietly into an aged-care facility before she does something silly. I can’t seem to change her mind.’

  Billie felt better even though Daphne said, ‘I can’t see an answer we can act on right now except allowing her some time. Maybe we take it day by day. It’s Mia’s birthday tea tomorrow night. Lorna can’t go before that. And we’re working all week.’

  Billie nodded. ‘Day by day sounds at least like a plan. I guess we could all just refuse to take her anywhere and she’d have to stay here.’ A path of subtle resistance.

  If they worked together, between the four of them, with all that women power, they could work it out. ‘It’s good to have you back, Daphne.’ Billie hugged her impulsively. ‘And now, I’m dying to hear about your weekend.’

  Yesterday had been Mia’s seventeenth birthday. It fell on the Monday and had been the best one yet. No stinking bus trip home because her mother had finished work early to take her for her driver’s test.

  Soretta had told her not to be stupid and just concentrate when the assessor asked her to drive places. Lorna had kissed her on the cheek, and wished her well. Daphne had bought her a new wallet to hold the licence when she got it. And her mum had a surprise for afterwards.

  Even a day later Mia couldn’t forget that feeling of walking away from the Motor Registry, after the harrowing experience of the test, with her photograph on her new provisional drivers licence. It had to be one of the most exhilarating moments of her life.

  Then her mother had taken her to the one used-car yard and she still couldn’t believe she was sitting behind the wheel of her own sporty red utility with the music she wanted to play blasting out of the iPod dock driving home from school on a Tuesday.

  Her little red baby had a few dings and a couple of rattles, but it was streets better than the ‘cute’ yellow compact sedan her mother had fancied for her.

  Mia patted the dash with proprietary pleasure. This pint-sized workhorse with its useful tray in the back, towing bar, and bucket seats in the front, had caught her eye. She loved the shiny silver roo bar and the big spotty headlights and the fact that she could go off road if she wanted to.

  She felt like she could conquer the world in this.

  She grinned at herself in the mirror. And hadn’t Trent been impressed when she’d driven it to school this morning. Her chest tightened with pleasure. This beat riding in the bus hands down and she still couldn’t believe her mother had let her have her wings. Trent was coming out on the weekend and they’d do some off-road driving over the property and check fences for Soretta.

  She glanced at the speedometer and made sure she was below the speed limit. She was not going to do anything to jeopardise this freedom.

  Then she saw the old American muscle car that belonged to the farmworker, Joseph. He was standing beside the road with the bonnet up on his car, and he looked like he needed help.

  She hesitated. Soretta had said to stay away from him, and she would be very happy to do so, but she couldn’t just drive past, particularly as she was on her way home. She put her blinker on and slowed to turn into the small lay by and rolled her utility to a stop.

  Mia wound down the window as he walked towards her. He had a strange smile on his face and she had the sudden instinct that she wasn’t safe.

  ‘Hi. Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘Mia. How nice.’ He smiled that creepy smile again. ‘A lift back to the station would be helpful, to pick up some oil, if that’s not too much trouble. I’ll just lock the car up.’ He took his time, while Mia sweltered waiting for him, but she didn’t want to get out. Then he walked around to the other side and opened the passenger side door.

  She didn’t want to look at him as he was getting in, and as soon as he put his seatbelt on she drew out onto the road again.

  ‘Nice little rig.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mum buy it for you?’

  ‘It was my birthday yesterday.’

  ‘Yesterday, eh? Happy birthday.’ There was something very strange in his voice.

  She knew he was staring at her but she didn’t turn her head. She kept her eyes glued to the road, but she could feel the heat in her cheeks and wished he’d turn away. She felt like saying, ‘Can you stop looking at me, please.’ But she didn’t, so she reached down and turned the iPod player back on.

  Finally, he swivelled to look out the window and she let out a relieved breath.

  It was only another five kilometres home and she could ignore him for that long.

  He reached over and turned the music down. ‘Hope you don’t mind. Thought we could have a chat.’

  She did mind and chatting to him was the last thing she wanted to do. She wished she’d pretended she hadn’t seen him and sailed past his broken-down car. Stinker!

  ‘Sure,’ she said, refusing to offer anything.

  ‘So where did you and your mum live before here?’

  She hesitated, but there weren’t a lot of choices. ‘Sydney.’ She didn’t know why she kept it so brief but she did. Before he could ask her to be more specific she said, ‘Where did you live?’ Not that she was interested. Three kilometres to go.

  ‘I came across from Adelaide. What about your
dad? Was he from Sydney, too?’

  ‘My dad died when I was born.’ Two and a half kilometres.

  ‘Reallllly?’ Patent disbelief.

  Now she was getting cross. ‘Yes. Really.’

  Two kilometres. Seriously, if there’d been a long way to go she would have stopped the car and asked him to get out.

  ‘Did you like it?’ If she kept asking him questions she wouldn’t have to answer any herself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Adelaide.’ Seriously, if he wanted her to talk to him he should at least listen.

  ‘Adelaide was okay. So just you and your mum?’

  ‘Yep.’ Subject change. ‘Have you seen that lamb I put back with the mob lately?’

  ‘Nope. They all look the same to me.’

  She bet they did. She’d been able to tell he wasn’t really an animal person. And thankfully there was the gate up ahead. She put her blinker on and drove across the cattle grid and up the driveway, careful not to stir up the dust and dirty her baby.

  Halfway up he said, ‘Just drop me here, I’ll walk across the paddock to the shed, that’s fine. I was supposed to help with the muster.’

  She stopped, very happy with that suggestion.

  ‘Thanks for the ride.’ He got out and closed the door softly, then waved. She half waved back with relief as she drove away. She was probably being silly.

  She saw Lorna sitting on the verandah and the elderly lady still had that sad expression on her face. It just wasn’t the old Lorna. She decided then and there that she would try even harder to cheer her up.

  After she’d parked her baby in the shed she took the verandah steps two at a time and plopped herself down on the seat beside Lorna. ‘Hello, how is my favourite person today?’

  Lorna smiled wearily. ‘Now that’s a lie. I know you idolise Soretta.’

  Mia pretended to look around furtively. ‘For goodness sake, don’t tell her that. She’ll be even harder on me than she is.’

  Lorna almost smiled. ‘A bit of hard work never hurt anyone. But your secret is safe with me.’ Lorna looked a bit brighter. ‘So how’s your new car going?’ She frowned. ‘And why did you stop on the driveway? I couldn’t see that far.’