Matilda's Last Waltz

by Tamara McKinley

  The days followed a seamless rhythm, melting one into another with a soothing influence that brought her inner strength with which to face the future. The mornings were spent tramping the fields or riding out to the winter pastures to capture the sights and sounds of the men and the great white flock. The stock horses were mean-mouthed and half wild, the men who rode them just as tough and unforgiving. Here was rugged colour set against pale grass and blue mountain, and as her pencil flew over the paper, Jenny tried to capture the movement and strength in the scenes.

  Ripper trotted along beside her. When he was tired, she would put him in the saddle-bag where he sat grinning with pleasure as the cooling breeze flapped his ears. In the heat of the afternoon, they would find a cool spot on the verandah and Jenny would put the morning’s work on canvas. She worked with a speed and skill she’d never known before – as if there was a time limit on what she was doing, an inner force that urged her not to waste a second.

  With autumn slowly creeping towards winter, the early-morning dew sparkled in the grass and the nights became cold enough to light the cooking range and snuggle in a chair in front of it. Ripper snuffling at her feet, Jenny once more immersed herself in Matilda’s world.

  This was the largest diary, covering the greatest number of years. The writing was more forceful than in the previous books, the sentences shorter, as if Matilda had had little time to record the events of that busy time.

  * * *

  1930 brought the Depression into the outback. It had swept through the cities, leaving women and children to fend for themselves and collect the dole as their men went tramping. These itinerant swaggies humped their blueys from one station to another in search of food and employment. They were a ragged army of nomads, searching for something that existed only in their minds. There was a restlessness about them which drove them into the unknown, and they never stayed in one place for very long. It was as if the purity and vast loneliness of the land beyond the Black Stump encouraged them to drift and it beat sleeping in the Sydney Domain.

  Matilda buried her money beneath the floorboards and kept a loaded rifle by the door. Although the majority of the swaggies were harmless, it wasn’t worth taking the risk. There were rich pickings around Wallaby Flats, especially after word got out of an opal find in a long disused mine, and as the recession deepened it brought the bad men from the cities. Men who looked at her with eyes like Mervyn’s. Men who wanted more than a hot meal and a bed in a barn.

  But the women who accompanied their men Matilda admired and could empathise with. As tough as the land they traversed, this new generation of Sundowner meandered across the outback in wagons that clanked with pots and pans and billy cans. Like Peg some of them were cheerful, others sour – and yet she could understand why they hid the sorrows their lonely lives brought them. She knew that somewhere in the vast Never Never was a special tree or stone that marked the burial place of a child, a husband or a friend. These places might seem unimportant to others but their significance would forever be carried in these stoic hearts.

  The men helped with the chores in return for flour and sugar and a few shillings. And as food was cheap, Matilda always made sure they left Churinga with full bellies. When they left, they were replaced by another man, another wagon, another family.

  Matilda knew what it was to fight for survival. Thanks to Tom, who still let her share his shed, the wool cheques enabled her to restock with good breeding rams and ewes, and to hire a couple of drovers. These men were generally easy to come by but finding the ones who would work for a woman was more difficult. The bushmen had their own set way of thinking, which did not include woman bosses, and yet this taciturn attitude soon turned to respect when they stayed long enough to discover that Matilda asked no more of them than she was prepared and able to do herself. She took on Mike Preston and Wally Peebles who’d come down from Mulga country where their boss had gone bankrupt, and was glad of their company with so many drifters coming on to the property.

  Ethan Squires was proving a wily adversary. Although he never came to Churinga again she could feel his malignant influence on her land. Fences were dismantled so her mob wandered into his pastures, their markings obliterated by the green dye of the Kurrajong pine tree. Lambs were snatched as the ewes dropped them and one of her rams found with its throat too neatly cut to have been the victim of a boar or dingo. Yet she and her drovers had no proof against Squires. Despite the endless patrolling of her fields and the long nights spent sleeping rough it was impossible to cover every acre, and he always seemed to know where Matilda was most vulnerable.

  It was winter, the air frosty enough to cloud her breath as she lay silently beside Lady in the dry gully that traversed the far corner of the southern pasture. The others were patrolling nearby fields where the breeding programme was in full swing. She’d opted for the more isolated corner of Churinga. It was quiet in the darkness, the thin blanket poor insulation against the chill. Even the sheep huddled together in miserable silence.

  The sound that jarred her from a light sleep was soft, stealthy and very close. Too sly to be a wild pig, but careful enough for a dingo. Matilda eased back the firing pin and crouched in the shadows. Her night vision was good and she soon spotted the moving figures near her fence. These hunters came on two legs, and their purpose was obvious.

  She moved silently down the gully, keeping low and in the shadows until she was behind them. Bluey followed her, teeth bared, hackles rising. There was tension in his stance, a pent-up readiness to spring in his powerful shoulders, but he seemed to understand the need for silence and waited for her signal to attack.

  The three men began to cut through the smooth wire and dismantle the fence posts. The sheep shifted uneasily. Dogs whined. Matilda waited.

  ‘Keep those bloody dogs quiet,’ hissed a familiar voice.

  The coldness that ran through her had nothing to do with the chill of winter but was akin to hatred. Billy, the runt of the Squires litter, was doing his father’s dirty work.

  ‘I wish I could see her face when she finds half her mob gone!’

  ‘You bloody will if we don’t get a move on,’ rasped Squires’ stockman. ‘Get those dogs working. Now!’

  Matilda waited until her mob was almost gathered then stood up, rifle poised, fifteen-year-old Billy Squires in her sights. ‘That’s far enough. One more move and I shoot.’

  Bluey’s growl accompanied her threat, but still he waited for her signal.

  The three men froze but their dogs kept working the sheep nearer and nearer to the gap in the fence.

  Her shots thudded into the ground at Billy’s feet, kicking up dust and making him jump. The sheep took fright as she knew they would and scattered to every corner of the field. She pumped two more cartridges into the barrel and held the stock firm. ‘Call off the dogs and get off my land,’ she yelled.

  Blue’s belly scraped the earth as he sidled towards another Queensland Blue – a brute of a dog, the leader of the pack, with long fangs and a nasty snarl. Still the three men hesitated.

  ‘You ain’t gonna shoot that thing, Matilda. You wouldn’t bloody dare.’ Billy didn’t sound as confident as his words.

  ‘Try me,’ she replied grimly. Her finger squeezed the trigger, the boy clear in her sights.

  The men muttered uneasily but it was Billy who first broke away and headed for Kurrajong land on the other side of the fence.

  The two dogs were at stand off. Drooling, wild-eyed and with hackles high, they circled each other on stiff legs. ‘Call it off or I’ll kill it,’ she warned.

  The sharp whistle was almost lost in the thunder of approaching hooves. Matilda didn’t have to take her eye off Billy to know Wally and Mike had heard her shots. ‘Round ’em up, boys. They’ve got a fence to mend and sheep to catch.’

  The men from Kurrajong ran for their horses, but they were no match for a stock whip, a lasso and a very angry dog. Matilda climbed on to Lady’s back and joined Mike and Wally whose rifles were
covering the working men. Once satisfied her fences were back in place, she turned to Mike. ‘Tie them up. It’s time Billy boy went home to Daddy.’

  Mike grinned as he helped to round up the horses and truss the squirming, furious men over their saddles. With Bluey snapping at their dangling feet and hands, they began the long trek to Kurrajong homestead.

  The sun had almost set on another day as they passed through the final pasture and saw Kurrajong sprawled before them. There were lights glimmering from every window of that elegant stone house, spilling over the formal gardens that swept down to the river, highlighting the deep shadows in the trees and surrounding barns.

  Matilda hauled in the reins and all three of them stopped to stare at the majestic sight. Known as one of the richest stations in New South Wales, it had nevertheless come as a shock to see it for the first time. She gaped at the two-storey house with its fine balconies and intricate iron lacework. Sighed when she saw the lush lawn and the sweep of rose bushes and weeping willows. How beautiful it all was.

  Then her gaze fell on Billy and her admiration drained away. Squires already had more than enough. How dare he encourage his youngest son to steal? She took the reins more firmly and kicked Lady forward. It was time to give that bastard a piece of her mind.

  With the others following closely behind they made a strange procession down the immaculate driveway, but Matilda’s anger was far too great for such grandeur to distract her. With a signal to the others to stay put, she climbed off Lady and marched up the steps to hammer on the front door.

  Squires emerged, filling the frame, almost blotting out the light which streamed from the hall behind him. He was obviously startled to see her.

  Matilda caught a glimpse of rich carpets and crystal chandeliers – and she wasn’t impressed. ‘I caught Billy stealing my mob,’ she said coldly.

  His jaw dropped as he saw the three helpless bundles thrown across the saddles. Then hardened as he noticed Mike and Wally’s rifles pointed at his youngest son. His glacial stare returned to Matilda. ‘They must have wandered on to your land by mistake,’ he said with icy contempt.

  ‘Bullshit!’ she spat. ‘I saw them taking down my fences. They even had their dogs with them.’ She swept her arm towards the pack that snapped and snarled at one another between the horses’ legs.

  Squires’ expression was inscrutable, but his eyes were emotionless as they looked down at her. ‘Do you have proof of your accusations, Matilda? Perhaps you’d show me the damaged fence, and I’d be delighted to help you find your strays.’

  She thought of the repaired fence and the scattering of her mob into their own pasture. How easily Squires had broken through her defences. How quick-thinking and clever he was. No wonder he was so rich and powerful. ‘I have two witnesses. That’s proof enough for me,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘Not for me, Matilda.’ He stepped on to the verandah, pushing past her as if she was nothing. ‘I suggest you and your men leave Kurrajong before I have you all arrested for trespass and common assault.’

  His arrogance astounded her. ‘If I catch you or anyone else from Kurrajong on my property again, I’ll take them straight to Broken Hill. It’s about time the law knew what you’re up to, Squires.’

  He appeared to relax and took his time over lighting a cheroot. When he’d taken a puff, he drew it from his mouth and gave it close inspection. ‘I don’t think you’ll find the police much help, Matilda. What I do is none of their business – and they are well paid to leave me alone.’ He looked down at her, his smile vulpine. ‘It’s what real business is all about, Matilda. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.’

  ‘I’d like to scratch your bloody eyes out, you bastard,’ she hissed. Spinning away from him, she clattered down the wooden steps and climbed on to Lady. Gathering up the reins, she wheeled the mare to face him. ‘Next time I shoot on sight. Even the police will find it hard to ignore the death of one of your men on my land.’

  ‘Go home, little girl, and take up needlepoint,’ he said with deep sarcasm. ‘Or better still, sell up. This is no place for women.’

  He’d moved off the verandah into the shadows of the driveway, and although the light was behind him and his features were almost invisible, she knew his eyes were granite cold.

  ‘I’m glad I’ve got you rattled, Squires. It means you finally understand you’ll never beat me.’ She turned the mare towards the gate. It had been a bad twenty-four hours but this was probably only the beginning. War had been openly declared between them, and it was time to employ more men to guard Churinga.

  * * *

  April had had another boy. Joseph was three years old now, an intelligent, energetic child whom Matilda loved as if he was her own. And as she watched him and his brothers grow, she never lost the deep yearning for her own child.

  ‘You’ll wear that kid out with all those kisses,’ remarked Tom one night as Matilda dressed him for bed.

  ‘Can’t give a kid too much love,’ she murmured, breathing in the delicious smell of his freshly bathed and powdered skin.

  Tom watched her silently for a moment then opened his newspaper. ‘’Bout time you had kids of your own, Molly. Plenty of blokes about if you’d only give ’em a chance.’

  Matilda picked Joseph up and straddled him across her hip. ‘I’m too busy keeping Churinga safe from Squires to think about anything else.’

  ‘You’re only twenty years old, Moll. I just think it’s a pity no one but me and April get to see your new dresses,’ he mumbled. ‘That’s all.’

  She eyed the sprigged cotton she’d bought on her one and only visit to Broken Hill. It draped from shoulder to hip where it gathered in a broad band to fall in pleats to her knees. She had thought the new fashion very daring after the high-necked, long gowns her mother used to wear but having seen similar dresses on women at the country shows she delighted in the freedom of movement it brought. ‘No point getting dressed up to herd the mob,’ she retorted. ‘And if I turned up at the wool auctions dressed like this, no one would take me seriously.’ She left the room and helped April put the children to bed. It was almost time to switch on the radio.

  This was the latest miracle to arrive in the district and nearly every homestead had one. Matilda had weighed up the cost and decided she needed new stock horses more, but whenever she visited Wilga she barely moved away from it.

  It was an ugly great thing, taking up most of the corner by the fireplace. But it was a link with the outside world and Matilda never quite got over the magic of being able to know there was a flood in Queensland, a drought in Western Australia or a glut of cane in the north. For the first time in her life she was able to explore the world outside Churinga, but she had no yearning to leave. The cities were dangerous places, she’d seen what they’d done to the men and women who’d been forced to drift far from their homes.

  April had picked up her darning from the inevitable pile at her side and Tom was contentedly smoking his pipe as they waited for the radio to warm up. ‘You should have babies of your own, Molly. And a man to look after you. You’re so good with my lot.’

  She stared at April then across to Tom. ‘I’ve already had this conversation. Your babies are enough for me – what do I need a man for?’

  ‘To keep you company,’ April replied softly. ‘To watch out for you.’ Her needle darted in and out of the woollen sock. ‘You must get lonely, Molly, and Tom and I would feel much better knowing you had someone to protect you.’

  For a moment Matilda was tempted to tell her about Mervyn and the dead baby, but it had remained a secret so long she was unable to voice it – to give colour and shape to something she preferred to keep in her heart. ‘I’m happy as I am, April. I tried going to a party once but I didn’t fit in. Better to keep my own company and get on with things at Churinga.’

  April’s gaze was very direct. ‘You never said. When was this?’

  Matilda shrugged. ‘The end of season party at Nulla Nulla. You’d just had Joseph.’
>
  The pale blue eyes widened in the wan face. ‘You went on your own? Oh, Molly. Tom would have gone with you if you’d said.’

  ‘He was busy,’ she said flatly.

  ‘So what happened?’ The darning was put aside, and Tom lowered his newspaper.

  Matilda thought of that night and shivered. ‘I’d finally decided to buy myself some proper clothes, and when the invitation came thought it would be a good idea to accept for a change. I would know most people there – the men anyway, ’cos I deal with them each year at the markets and auctions. The Longhorns put me up in the manager’s bungalow with some of the other single women.’ She fell silent, heat rising in her face as she thought of the purgatory of sharing a small space with five other women she didn’t know and with whom she’d had nothing in common.

  ‘You hated it, didn’t you, Moll?’

  She nodded. ‘They looked at me as if I was something a dingo had dragged in, then after a lot of questions that I thought were too personal, just ignored me.’ She took a deep sigh and began to roll a cigarette. ‘In a way it made it easier. I couldn’t talk about the latest singing heartthrob or the newest film on at the travelling pictures. They didn’t know one end of a sheep from another. So I just got on with changing into my new dress, listened to their chatter about boyfriends and makeup and tailed after them when we left for the party.’

  She thought of the way she’d been left sitting on the narrow bed as they chattered and giggled and painted their faces. She’d so wanted to become part of such a lively, happy group but they didn’t want her and she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by pushing in. So she’d let them leave without her, and had taken her time strolling the short distance to the barn where the dancing was to be held. It had been a beautiful night, soft and starry, the air caressing the bare skin on her arms and legs. The dress had made her feel pretty when she’d bought it, but compared to the city gowns the others were wearing, she knew it was hopelessly dated and gauche for a seventeen year old.