Matilda's Last Waltz

by Tamara McKinley

  Matilda was on her knees in the mud, the pup slithering unnoticed from her coat and racing to its siblings. She stroked Lady’s neck, following the familiar contours of her once powerful body as tears slid down her face and mingled with the rain. Lady had been a true friend – her only friend in that first year or so – she’d shown courage right up to the end.

  ‘Mike’s coming across,’ Wally yelled close to her ear. ‘Give us a hand.’

  Matilda sniffed back the tears and grabbed the rope. Mike was already halfway across the river with Bluey riding pillion. As the water swirled over the gelding’s back, the dog almost lost his footing and Matilda held her breath.

  Bluey had no intention of swimming. He crouched low against Mike and steadied himself, then gave a sharp bark and windmilled his tail.

  ‘Little bastard’s enjoying that,’ yelled Wally as they pulled on the rope. ‘I swear he’s grinning.’

  Matilda was speechless with fear and grief. She’d lost one mate today. She didn’t think she could bear it if she lost another.

  Mike’s gelding struggled on the bank but was soon on firm ground. Bluey jumped off his back and shook himself all over them before lunging at Matilda in a whirlwind of muddy paws and darting tongue. She and the two men collapsed on the ground, winded and exhausted, no longer caring that they were growing colder and wetter by the minute. They’d made it.

  After they’d caught their breath, Matilda climbed up behind Mike and they began the long trek home. The dogs ran beside them, eager for a warm kennel and dinner. Matilda could think only of Lady. They’d had to leave her behind – an ignoble end for such a brave horse. Matilda grasped her saddle close. She would miss her.

  * * *

  The rains had brought waist-high grass. The squatters of New South Wales breathed easily for the first time in five years. The stock that had survived the drought would grow strong, healthy wool. They would breed well and life would return to normal.

  But life in the outback was cruel, the elements deceitful, and their relief was short-lived. The water which had fallen in such a deluge ran over the impacted earth and disappeared. The sun rose high in the sky, brighter and more searing than ever. The land steamed, and soon the lush grass was silver again, the pastures veiled in dust and heat haze.

  Tom had lost a few sheep in one of the lower pastures but his mob was much bigger than Matilda’s and he counted himself lucky it hadn’t been more. Matilda bought one of his stock ponies to replace Lady, and life began the inevitable cycle of mustering, breeding, shearing and selling.

  It had become a ritual for her to visit Tom and April at least a couple of times a month. The news from Europe wasn’t good, and Prime Minister Menzies was warning it could be war if Hitler advanced his attacks in Europe.

  ‘What will Hitler’s invasion of Poland mean to us out here, Tom?’ They were all sitting in the kitchen and the atmosphere was tense on that September night in 1938. ‘Why should a war in Europe affect Australia?’

  ‘It means we’ll be dragged into it,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘Only to be expected I suppose, seeing as we’re part of the Commonwealth. Chamberlain needs to do something about it, and bloody quick.’

  Silence fell and April’s hands stilled over her knitting, her face pale in the lamp light. ‘But you won’t have to go, Tom? You’ll be needed on the station. The country will be crying out for wool and tallow, mutton and glue. If there is a war,’ she finished fearfully. She looked expectantly at her husband but he kept his gaze averted and switched off the radio.

  ‘Depends on how things go, luv. A bloke can’t sit out in comfort while his cobbers are being shot at. If they need me, then I’m going.’

  Matilda and April looked at him in horror. ‘What about Wilga? You can’t just walk away from it,’ Matilda said sharply. ‘And what about April and the kids? How are they supposed to manage without you?’

  Tom smiled at her. ‘I never said it was definite. I just said I would go if I was needed. There might not even be a war.’

  Matilda saw the excitement light his eyes and knew his words meant nothing. He was fired up by the thought. He could hardly wait for call up. She looked across at April and knew she’d seen that look in his eyes too, for her pallor was more pronounced than ever, her hands for once still in her lap.

  Matilda bit her lip and came to a decision. She had vowed to return his kindness – perhaps now was the time to fulfil that promise.

  ‘If you do go, Tom, then I’ll look after Wilga. The sheep can be mustered together and I can use your sheds for the shearing. Hopefully some of the men will stay to work the land, but we’ll manage somehow until you get back.’

  April burst into tears and as Tom went to comfort her. Matilda left the room and wandered out on to the verandah and into the pasture. They needed to be alone – and she needed space and time to think.

  She stood by the home paddock and watched the horses for a moment, then looked up at the sky. It seemed endlessly wide, almost encompassing this small patch of earth in its star-studded embrace. Hard to believe the same sky looked down on war-torn Europe. Men would fight and die. Land would be left to women, and boys too young to know what they were doing. Or to old men who no longer had the strength to fight nature’s onslaughts. For the first time in many years she was glad not to be a man. Glad she wouldn’t be forced to leave Churinga for a foreign killing ground.

  She shivered. She would do her best for April and the boys, but she still had memories of how it had been for her mother during the Great War. And God help them all if that should really happen all over again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The light was gone for the day. Jenny had stacked the finished canvases against the wall and was cleaning her brushes when she heard Ripper barking. She turned at the sound of footsteps on the verandah and felt a jolt of pleasurable surprise to see Brett standing in the doorway.

  ‘Hello.’ There was something wrong with her voice, it was too high, almost breathless. She cleared her throat and smiled. ‘You’re back early.’

  He grinned as he took off his hat and mopped his brow. ‘I see you’ve been busy,’ he said, nodding towards the stacked canvases. He gave a long, low whistle. ‘Strewth! You must work quick.’

  Jenny turned her attention to the paintings. She was flustered by his unexpected appearance and needed a moment to escape those grey eyes and gather her wits. Whatever’s the matter with me? she thought. I’m as twitchy as a schoolgirl.

  ‘What do you think of my efforts?’ she said finally as Brett stood beside her and examined the dozen landscapes.

  He rammed his hands in his pockets and looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know much about this sort of thing, but you’ve certainly got the feel of the place.’ He pulled out one of the canvases and set it on the easel. ‘I especially like this,’ he murmured.

  Jenny relaxed, her smile warm as she looked at the pastoral scene of sheep and drovers. ‘I rode out with the drovers for that one. The light was extraordinary, and I wanted to capture the essence of what Churinga is all about.’

  He looked at her and nodded. ‘Reckon you did that all right. I can almost smell the sheep.’

  She glanced back at him, wondering if he was teasing her, but his expression was merely thoughtful, his attention still on the painting before him. She turned and kept her hands busy tidying brushes and scraping paint from the palette. She didn’t know what to say to this tall, quiet man who stood so close to her she could almost feel his body heat. His absence over the past few weeks had made her realise he was a part of Churinga that really mattered to her – and her conflicting loyalties and emotions waged a silent, inner battle.

  ‘Have a good holiday?’ she finally asked when there was nothing left to tidy up and the silence had grown awkward.

  ‘Brother John’s crook and needs to go to hospital, or at least have a break from the cane. But he’s a stubborn bastard, and there was nothing I could do to persuade him to give up and find something better to do with his
life. The journey was wasted really, but it was nice to see Gil afterwards.’

  ‘Fancy a beer and a sandwich?’ She heard her own clipped tones and wondered again why she couldn’t have a decent conversation with this man without her throat closing up. She took the makeshift supper out on to the verandah. She needed air.

  Brett strolled out after her and leaned against the railings as he watched her set the table. ‘It’s ANZAC day tomorrow and the picnic races. Thought you might like to come along.’

  This was safe ground, and his tone was almost impersonal, so perhaps she hadn’t made too much of a fool of herself. ‘Too right. It’s over at Kurrajong, isn’t it? I’ve been listening in on the two-way and it seems to be the only topic of conversation.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s the biggest place around so it got to be the custom over the years. The shindig goes on for three days so be prepared to stay over.’

  Jenny tried to hide the excitement in her eyes as she bit into a sandwich. The opportunity to meet and talk to the Squires family was too good to miss. ‘Where will we stay? In one of the bungalows?’

  ‘As the new owner of Churinga, I expect they’ll put you up at the big house.’ He glanced at her over the beer. ‘It’ll be quite something to have you as a guest, you know. The radio’s been buzzing with speculation ever since you arrived.’

  ‘I know,’ she said with a giggle. ‘I listened in.’ She munched on her sandwich. ‘Hope I come up to their expectations. I’m not used to such notoriety.’

  He grinned. ‘You have to do something bad to get notorious, Jenny. And I don’t think there’s much danger of that.’

  She drank her beer in silence, thinking of Ethan Squires and his sons. Perhaps the old man could be persuaded to fill in some of the gaps Matilda had left in her diaries – and it would be interesting to find out why Charlie had dropped her so abruptly.

  ‘So what happens exactly?’

  ‘We have a memorial service in Wallaby Flats, then it’s back to Kurrajong for the races. The elimination rounds are first – just about every man in New South Wales is hoping to make the final which is on the third day. There are several picnics, of course, and fireworks and fun fair. Then, on the last night, Kurrajong lays on a dance.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’

  Brett’s smile was slow, the warmth of it clear in his eyes. ‘It is. The women love it just as much as the men because it gives them a change to dress up and gossip.’

  ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Very early tomorrow morning. I’ve got a string of horses to take so you’d better drive the ute.’ He eyed the pup that had fallen asleep under Jenny’s chair. ‘Ripper will have to stay here. The dogs at Kurrajong would have him for tucker.’

  Ripper seemed to understand he was being discussed and came wriggling across the floor to have his tummy tickled. ‘Whoa there, mate. I already washed.’

  Brett’s laughter was soft as he played with the eager little animal, and when he looked up at Jenny, she felt a tug of something akin to longing. She quickly looked away and took a long drink of tepid beer. Solitude was making her imagination work overtime. He was just being friendly – nothing more – and she was in danger of making a complete idiot of herself by thinking otherwise.

  The sun was melting into the earth, casting an ephemeral veil of pink and orange over everything as they finished their supper. Jenny looked at her watch and yawned. ‘Better call it a day if we have to be up so early,’ she said casually. She didn’t want to go to sleep – would have preferred to sit out here with Brett and watch the Southern Cross grow bright.

  He looked at her as they both stood up. His eyes were fathomless, his expression enigmatic. There was a long silence in which she felt she was being drawn towards him, but the spell was broken when he jammed on his hat and turned away.

  ‘Five o’clock tomorrow, then. G’night, Jen.’

  She watched him amble across the clearing, his flat-heeled boots scuffing the dust, his easy, loping stride that of a man who’d spent many hours in the saddle. She smiled and wondered if he could dance, blushed at the thought of those strong hands holding her close, then snorted in disgust and went into the house. Who am I kidding? she thought. I’m his boss and he’s Lorraine’s boyfriend. And, she decided firmly, he probably can’t dance anyway.

  Yet excitement began to bubble within her. It had been a long time since she’d socialised – there’d seemed little point after Peter died, and friends weren’t quite so keen on single women at dinner parties and dances. She thought of the boisterous dances she’d gone to when she was a teenager. It would be fun to dress up and be whirled across the floor until she was breathless.

  Her daydream came to a grinding halt as she realised she had nothing to wear apart from jeans, shirts and shorts. ‘I can’t go,’ she muttered to Ripper. ‘Not when I know all the other women will be dressed up to within an inch of their lives.’

  He yapped, then began an energetic search for a flea.

  Jenny watched without seeing. An idea had formed but it seemed so outrageous she pushed it away. And yet. And yet … It might be possible. If she had the nerve.

  She went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe door. The soft perfume of lavender wafted into the room. It was a scent of bygone years, lingering like a memory. The ghostly refrain began to echo in the empty house and as she reached for the sea green dress it was as if Matilda had come into the room and was encouraging her to try it on again. As if she and her mysterious partner were willing Jenny to waltz with them.

  The music was mesmerising as she shucked off her clothes and stepped into the swirl of silk and chiffon, and as she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she thought she saw a glimpse of wild red hair and heard the soft laughter of another woman.

  She closed her eyes and when she opened them again was almost disappointed to find she was alone.

  Eyeing herself critically, she turned and twisted before the mirror, letting the lights from the lamps shimmer and dance in the silken folds. The ocean green was shot with violet – a perfect foil for her eyes and the chestnut lights in her hair. The bodice was boned and tight to the waist, with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. It was a little short but that didn’t matter. The mini skirt was all the rage in Sydney and Jenny knew she had good legs.

  But as she stood there listening to the ghostly music, she realised the dress was hopelessly old-fashioned. She felt reluctant to tamper with something so beautiful – something that had obviously once meant so much to Matilda.

  There was a soft sigh, and as if a warm breeze had come into the room, she felt the lightest caress on her arms. She was not afraid for Matilda was no stranger. This was merely a signal for her to do what she thought best. An acknowledgement that time had moved on and Matilda wanted her special dress to be worn again.

  ‘Thanks,’ Jenny whispered. ‘I’ll take good care of it, I promise.’

  She slipped out of the dress and laid it on the bed. She would need shoes. Then she remembered the pair she’d found in the bottom of the trunk that were obviously meant to match. Digging them out of the wardrobe, she sighed with disappointment. They were just too small and with the extra toe on her right foot, no amount of pushing and shoving would get her into them. She would have to wear the low-heeled sandals she’d packed at the last minute. They were quite smart, and as they were the nearest thing to a dancing shoe they would have to do.

  Taking the dress into the kitchen, she carefully unpicked the fabric roses at the waist and shoulder. Then, after a long moment’s hesitation, she began to cut. When she put down her needle and thread two hours later, she had a strapless evening dress that could rival the most expensive in Sydney.

  As she held it up against herself and eyed her reflection in the mirror, she realised there was just one more thing to do and the outfit would be perfect. Minutes later she tied the green ribbon of silk round her neck. The roses were now dusted with gold paint, stitched firmly to the choker and settled between the curve
of her neck and shoulder.

  Jenny stared at her reflection, amazed at the transformation. Then she giggled. ‘Well, Cinderella. You really are going to the ball. And how!’

  * * *

  Jenny was awake and on the move before the sun came up. She had showered and washed her hair, and was dressed in cotton strides and a broderie anglaise shirt as she painted her nails. Her jewellery was necessarily sparse – just silver hoops in her ears and the locket Peter had given her and which she never travelled without. She eyed her reflection critically and with a faint nervousness. It had been years since she’d been to a country party and she wasn’t at all sure she was fully prepared – but it was too late now. It would have to do.

  Ripper had trailed her mournfully as she packed her rucksack and tidied the bedroom. Following her out to the utility, he sat hopefully at her feet as she draped the cloth-covered dress over the passenger seat. He knew something was happening and suspected he wasn’t going to be a part of it.

  She picked him up for a last cuddle. He would be going back to the kennels for the weekend and she would miss him. Yet she couldn’t resist the sorrowful brown eyes that looked so appealingly up at her and after a moment’s hesitation gave in.

  ‘Come on then, you little bludger. Get in while no one’s looking.’ She tipped him into the utility and pointed at him sternly. ‘But I’m warning you: one bark and I leave you behind.’

  Ripper’s tail wagged the rest of him but he seemed to understand the order of silence. Jenny climbed in after him and switched on the engine. She’d seen Brett on the other side of the yard, a string of horses milling around him from leading reins.

  ‘Get on the floor, Ripper,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll both be in trouble if he catches you.’

  The calvacade of horses and utilities was waved off by the two men who would stay on Churinga. As Jenny joined it through the first gate she realised it wouldn’t be easy going. The route to Kurrajong was littered with potholes and the dust from the other vehicles was already billowing in a great cloud that stuck to her perspiring skin and made her feel uncomfortable. It had been a mistake to set out in clean clothes.