Matilda's Last Waltz

by Tamara McKinley

  Diane eyed her as she lit a cigarette. ‘I still think none of this is doing you any good, Jen. Why dredge up the past, relive those years of abuse, isolation and loss, when you’ve only just come to terms with it all?’

  ‘Because Matilda has become my inspiration. She’s taught me that nothing can kill the human spirit if it’s strong enough.’

  Diane smiled. ‘You’ve always had enough spirit to put two fingers up to the world, Jen. But I suppose if Matilda’s diaries can help you see that, then it’s a good thing you found them.’

  Jenny stared at her friend. If she had been asked to describe herself, she would have used the word dogged, and as she had never seen herself as spirited or brave. Diane’s words surprised her.

  ‘Let’s go out on to the verandah. It’s already too hot in here,’ she said distractedly.

  Diane followed her as she pushed through the screen door. The yard was deserted but they could both hear the ring of the smithy’s hammer. Despite the onset of winter, it was one of those days when the sky seemed to be closer to the earth than usual. The humidity had risen with the sun and not a breath of air lifted the dusty earth or rustled the trees. Even the birds seemed to have lost the energy to chatter.

  Jenny stared out over the yard. A strange kind of silence hung over everything. It was as if the great red heart of Australia had stopped beating.

  ‘It’s at times like this I wish I was back in Sydney,’ muttered Diane. ‘What I wouldn’t give for the smell of salt and the sight of those great curling breakers crashing on the rocks of Coogee.’

  Jenny remained silent. She wanted to commit all this to memory, to carry it with her back to the city, so that on cold, wintry nights when the seas thundered on the rocks she would be warmed by them.

  ‘Looks like you’ve got a visitor.’

  Jenny followed her line of sight and groaned. Charlie Squires was just riding through the last gate. ‘What the hell does he want?’

  Diane grinned. ‘Probably coming courting. You know how this hot weather affects men.’ She ground out her cigarette. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ hissed Jenny as Charlie got down from his horse. But she found she was talking to herself. Diane had already gone back into the house and it was too late for her to do the same.

  ‘G’day, Jenny. I hope I’m not too early to call but I wanted to make sure everything was all right.’ He took off his hat and smiled. The silver at his temples enhanced his handsome face, and his immaculate moleskins and crisp shirt were a refreshing change from the dusty, sweat-stained clothes of the men who worked Churinga.

  She shook his hand and smiled back. He’d been pleasant company over the weekend. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Charles, but why should you think anything was wrong?’

  ‘You left in such a hurry the other morning. I hope nothing happened at the dance to make you feel unwelcome at Kurrajong?’

  She shook her head. ‘Your hospitality was wonderful. I’m sorry I never got the chance to say goodbye properly but I had to get back here.’

  ‘That’s the problem with being a squatter. The work is never done.’ He smiled again and lit a cheroot. ‘I was hoping I could show you around Kurrajong. Still, there’s always next time.’

  Jenny saw no point in telling him she would be leaving in six days. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said politely. ‘And it will give me a chance to see Helen again. She and I got along real well, and I promised her one of my paintings.’

  ‘Helen asked me to send her best wishes. She enjoyed having you and Diane to stay. She so rarely leaves Kurrajong nowadays, what with Dad and everything, but your brief visit really cheered her up.’

  ‘Come in and have a cuppa, Charlie. Diane’s about the place somewhere, and I know she’d like to see you.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Not so sure about that, Jenny. I saw her duck out when she saw me coming. Hope it wasn’t something I said?’

  Jenny laughed as she poured tea. ‘Now what on earth could you have said to offend Diane?’

  He laughed with her. ‘I don’t know,’ he spluttered. ‘But I can’t afford to damage my reputation, you know.’

  Jenny was still smiling when she caught sight of Brett in the doorway. Her pulse quickened and she was immediately on the defensive. ‘What are you doing lurking out there, Mr Wilson? Can’t you see I have a visitor?’

  Brett glowered at Charlie and stepped into the kitchen. Ripper jumped up to be patted, but was ignored. ‘I came to collect the last of my things. They’re in the store-room.’

  Jenny nodded her assent, furious with herself for not remembering the boxes and bags he’d left behind when he’d moved out. She was horribly aware of his presence in the house as his boot heels rang on the floorboards, and wished Diane would show her cowardly face and rescue her. She turned back to Charlie who was looking at her curiously, one brow raised.

  ‘I didn’t realise that was the way of things,’ he said with relish.

  ‘Brett moved out when I first came here,’ retorted Jenny. ‘There is absolutely nothing going on that couldn’t be discussed at a vicar’s tea party.’

  ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ he murmured with a sly arch of his brow. ‘But then, who am I to cast the first stone?’

  ‘Charlie, you’re impossible,’ she sighed.

  Brett strode into the kitchen, his arms laden with boxes. He glared at them both then slammed through the screen door and out on to the verandah.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Charlie. ‘Your Mr Wilson does seem to be out of sorts this morning. Obviously pining after that saucy little barmaid of his.’ He turned very blue eyes on her. ‘They make a good couple, don’t you think?’

  She looked away, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. ‘I have no opinion on Mr Wilson’s love life,’ she said firmly.

  His chuckle was soft and very telling. ‘Well, I won’t keep you, Jenny. I know you must be busy. Give my regards to Diane for me, and don’t forget your promise to visit. Helen would love to see you both.’

  He took her hand and held it a fraction longer than was necessary. ‘I would like to see you too,’ he said softly. ‘You have brought colour and life to Churinga. It wouldn’t be the same without you any more.’

  ‘It’s always rewarding to know one has made an impression,’ she countered.

  ‘I can see you aren’t easily flattered, Jenny. And I admire that in a woman. I must try harder next time. Wouldn’t like to think I’d lost my touch.’ He smiled and kissed her hand.

  Jenny eased away from him and led the way back out on to the verandah before he could say more. This conversation was getting out of hand and as the night of the dance was still crystal clear in her mind she felt uneasy. She could remember how closely he’d held her as they waltzed, and the way she’d had to tilt her chin and look into those mesmerising eyes. There was no doubt about it, Charles Squires was a rogue and a womaniser. Although she was not in the least bit fooled about the real reason behind his flirtation, he had a sense of humour and she liked him for that.

  ‘Reckon you could be all right there, Jen. Might be worth hanging around here a bit longer.’

  She whirled round to face Diane who was standing, arms akimbo, watching Charlie’s dust disappear into the horizon. ‘Just what the hell do you mean by that?’

  ‘Temper, temper,’ mocked Diane, one long painted fingernail wagging back and forth. ‘I just meant that if you really have finished with Brett, then why not hang out for the really big fish? Old Charlie Squires must be worth a bob or two.’

  Jenny’s exasperation had reached boiling point. ‘You have no taste, Diane, and you’re a coward as well. You left me with Charlie when you knew I didn’t want to be alone with him, and to cap it all Brett turned up as well.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘My, my. So many men – so little time. You have had a busy morning.’

  Jenny laughed. It was impossible to stay angry with Diane for long. ‘You should have seen Brett’s face,’ she sp
luttered. ‘If looks could kill, I reckon Charlie and I would be stone dead by now.’

  ‘You might be able to fool him but you can’t fool me, Jen. You still care for Brett and I reckon you’ve made a big mistake letting him go the way you did. You gave him no chance to defend himself, and seeing you with Charles would only have made things worse.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear this, Diane.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ she retorted. ‘But I have a right to my opinions too, you know.’

  Jenny stared at Diane, then pushed past her. ‘It’s too hot to argue. I’m going back to my reading.’

  Diane shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. But sooner or later, you’re going to have to live with your decision to leave – and losing yourself in Matilda’s diaries isn’t going to make it any easier.’

  Jenny reached her bedroom and stared out of the window. Diane was right, of course, but she would never admit she had made a mistake. She picked up the diary, found her place and began to read.

  * * *

  Matilda had spent the last month patrolling the Churinga pastures alone. Gabriel had gone walkabout a few days after April had left for Adelaide and the drovers were busy with the breeding programme they’d begun at Wilga. She was tired, hot and thirsty after her four-day stint and needed to get back to Churinga to refill her water bag.

  As she rode over the dusty, rustling remains of the silver grass, Bluey trotted along beside her. He was getting old, she realised. Soon he would no longer be able to work the pastures. When the time came she would make sure he got his well-earned rest. Not for him the bullet, but a blanket in front of the fire.

  Her thoughts strayed to that devious old scoundrel Gabriel. Trust him to disappear just when she needed him most. He was work-shy and cunning, and must have realised that April’s leaving would mean more for him to do. She hadn’t been surprised to find him gone from his gunyah – they had known each other too long to be able to surprise one another any more – but she was crestfallen that he should desert her when he knew how much she would need him now she had two properties to look after.

  Something sharp on the warm breeze made her forget her problems with Gabriel and she froze in the saddle. She lifted her head and sniffed, pulling on the reins to still her horse.

  Smoke. She could smell smoke.

  Matilda’s throat constricted with fear as she searched the horizon for sight of fire. It was the one enemy she was powerless to fight.

  The grey tendrils that drifted into the clear blue looked too fragile to cause harm, yet she knew that this could become an inferno within seconds, sweeping everything before it in a rushing, roaring tide of destruction.

  Her heart thundered as she kicked her horse into a gallop. The smoke was coming from the direction of the house. Churinga was on fire!

  She spurred the horse to take the last fence and thundered towards the yard. The smoke was thicker now but still coming from the one place. There was a chance she could dowse it before it spread. Racing around the corner of the shearing shed, she saw the source of the fire and brought her horse to a skidding, dancing halt. Matilda slid from his back. She was trembling with rage.

  ‘Gabriel,’ she yelled. ‘What the hell do you mean by starting a fire in the bloody yard?’

  The old man unfurled his crossed legs and sauntered towards her with a cheerful grin. ‘Gotta eat, missus.’

  She eyed him crossly. He’d been away for a month and she could count his ribs. There was silver in that great bush of black hair and the last of his teeth had finally dropped out.

  ‘Where the hell have you been? And who are all these people?’

  He looked casually at the circle of men and women who squatted around the deeply dug bush-tucker fire and sucked his gums. ‘Bring black fellers to help, missus. Work good for baccy, flour and sugar.’

  She regarded him for a moment, then took in the wattle and twig humpies they’d built down by the dry river bed, and the ragged children playing in the dust. There must be nearly thirty people here, she thought in horror – and they expect me to feed them. She turned her attention back to Gabriel.

  ‘No baccy, no flour, no sugar. I never met one of you lot who knew what a day’s work was. I can’t afford you.’

  He eyed her soulfully. ‘Womens and children hungry, missus. Work alonga good you.’ He flexed a scrawny arm and grinned. ‘Plenty muscle. Good worker me.’

  Matilda had heard this before and was not impressed. She’d seen what Gabriel’s idea of a day’s work was. Yet, as she looked at the ragged assembly and the skinny children, she relented. If it was hard for her, it had to be worse for them. They lived in a hand-to-mouth existence even in the good times, and although she doubted she would get much work from Gabriel and his motley crew, it was the only help she was likely to get while the bloody war was on.

  ‘You’re on, Gabe. But everyone stays out of the house and barns unless I give the say so. I catch any of them near the chooks or pigs, I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. You understand?’

  He nodded.

  She looked at the simmering billy-can and sniffed suspiciously. ‘No stealing my vegetables either – and if you don’t work, you won’t get baccy.’

  ‘Yes, missus. Most these black fellers from mission place along Dubbo. Good mens. Like baccy.’

  ‘Right-oh. You can start by chopping wood for the stove. You know where the axe and the wood-pile are. One of the boys can take care of the horses, and he can start by rubbing this one down and giving it feed. Get some of the men to clear the dead trees and make a start on a much wide fire break. Don’t want to take chances in this drought. And tell one of your women I need her to help me in the house. The place is filthy now I hardly ever live in it.’

  Gabriel’s dark eyes held a cunning glint, but his smile was innocent enough. ‘Plenty womens, missus. Gabe got new lubra.’

  She looked at him in amazement. Gabriel’s wife had died five years ago, and he’d seemed perfectly content to let the other women bring up his children and give him comfort.

  ‘Right-oh,’ she said, trying to hide her surprise. ‘Which one is she, and what’s her name?’

  There were several women standing around, dressed in the tattered remnants of what she guessed were mission hand-me-downs. They were shyly watching her and giggling behind their hands as Gabriel pulled three of them out of the circle.

  ‘Daisy, Dora, Edna,’ he said proudly.

  What ridiculous names, Matilda thought. The mission at Dubbo had a lot to answer for. She eyed the three women for a moment. It was very unusual for an Aborigine to take more than one wife – they were a monogamous race, and had strict rules about promiscuity. Perhaps the three women were sisters and he’d taken them in, as was the way.

  ‘Which one’s your wife, Gabe. I don’t need all three.’

  ‘Edna,’ he replied. ‘But all three womens good.’

  ‘I’ll take the one who won’t go walkabout the minute my back’s turned,’ Matilda replied tartly.

  Gabriel shrugged, his grin slipping just a little as he eyed the three women thoughtfully. ‘Edna,’ he said finally.

  ‘Fair enough.’ She tried to keep a straight face, but it was difficult when he looked at her with such obvious guile. ‘Remember now, Gabe. No work, no baccy. And that includes your lubra. Understood?’

  He nodded sagely. ‘Oh, yes, missus. Gabe know.’

  ‘Come on, Edna. Let’s get cleaning.’ Matilda began to walk towards the house, then realised all three women were behind her. ‘I only need Edna,’ she explained. ‘You two can clean out the shearer’s quarters.’

  Edna shook her head emphatically. ‘Daisy, Dora alonga me, missus, eh? Do other house later.’

  Matilda eyed each of them in turn. They were no beauties, and definitely past their prime, but there was the dignity about them that was in all these bush Aborigines, and she admired them for that. With a sigh, she gave in.

  ‘Right-oh. But I need you to work, not stand around gossiping all day.’


  Life went on at Churinga much as it had done for years, but Gabriel’s idea of bringing in the rest of his tribe had proved to be a godsend. He was a wise if cunning old bastard, and managed to get his men and women to work far harder than she’d expected.

  Of course, as befitted the leader of the tribe, Gabriel never did very much himself, but sat dreamily by his gunyah and threw orders around, making a show of being in charge.

  Matilda had never approved of the way he treated his women but had realised long ago that she couldn’t interfere. The lubras accepted their beatings with stoicism and then paraded their bruises like trophies. Their sense of hygiene and the way they cooked and looked after one another would have appalled a so-called civilised society, but the Aborigines had their own way of dealing with things and she had no intention of changing thousands of years of tradition.

  She trained the younger men to be jackaroos, and the women in how she wanted things done in the house and the station kitchen. She even got the children helping in the vegetable garden.

  They were impossibly easy to spoil, she found, with their limpid eyes, their cheeky smiles and ragged hair, and she would often make them sugary sweets to suck as a treat. She had to watch them though, they were as cunning and quick as Murray magpies. A chook went missing occasionally and vegetables had a habit of disappearing before they reached the kitchen table, but Matilda didn’t really mind so long as it didn’t go too far. Gabriel and his tribe had rescued her from extinction. The future suddenly didn’t look quite so bleak. News of a turning point in the war meant that for the first time in six years there was real hope it would soon be all over.

  Bluey died in the winter of 1943. He had slowly wound down like an old and very tired clock. One night he fell asleep on his blanket and never woke up. Matilda was heartbroken as she buried him under his favourite wilga tree. He’d been with her for so long and was her closest companion. Even though she knew his spirit and tenacity lived on in his pups, she would miss him.