by Amanda Doyle
Andy Matherson, at any rate, did not seem to find Tad Brewster intimidating. The two men enjoyed an easy, friendly relationship, respecting one another’s opinions. They became so absorbed in their exchange of views that neither man noticed how horribly lumpy and inedible was the glutinous blancmange that awaited each of the four diners, already served out on to pudding plates at each place. Kerry ate hers with an effort, marvelling at the rate at which the portions on the men’s plates disappeared, and even Hilary disposed of hers with every appearance of resignation if not actual relish. Kerry decided that it was quite the worst pudding she had ever tasted—and she had a fairly wide experience, when one considered the number of indifferent cooks who had come and gone at the orphanage!
Everyone had finished now but herself. Aware that Tad Brewster’s eyes were boring into her, and that there was an ominous pause in the exchange of deep-voiced conversation, she hurriedly forced the last mouthfuls down, and put her dessert spoon and fork neatly together.
The boring eyes withdrew, transferred themselves once more to the man at the other end of the table.
‘Right, Andy. We’ll average out those wethers, and check the returns on the Brindoo Downs bullocks tomorrow. You might let Lawson have a note of the bore replacements, too, by the mail on Friday, if you can.’
Chairs scraped back, and everyone rose.
‘Sure thing, Tad, I’ll see to that. Who’re you taking out tomorrow?’
‘Beaver and Jackie, I reckon.’
The men’s conversation continued.
Nobody took the slightest notice of Kerry.
Hilary had scuttled off, and Kerry stood there, at a loss, wondering what was now expected of her. If there had been a mistress in the household, she would now have been told what to do. Should she have followed the child, or should she start to clear the table? Or would that perhaps be encroaching on Bluebell’s preserves? If only she knew!
It was awkward having to stand here so uncertainly, listening to talk upon subjects that were quite foreign to her, but no one had given her the faintest hint of what to do next. Kerry did not want to antagonize this big impatient man by doing the wrong thing, so she just stood, feet together, hands clasped a little anxiously, trying to assume a distant but relaxed pose so that Tad Brewster would realize that she was not actually eavesdropping upon himself and the station book-keeper.
The talk continued. It went on for perhaps five minutes more, and Kerry, feeling foolish now, was beginning to wonder if she could possibly steal out unnoticed, when Tad Brewster seemed at last to become aware that she had remained.
He swung around, fixing her with a gaze that was weary, resigned.
‘Well, Miss—er—Kerry, what is it, then? What do you want now?’
Kerry flushed.
‘I—I just wondered what you would like me to do next?’ she said, but the moment she had spoken the words, she knew they had been a mistake.
‘For goodness’ sake, girl, how should I be expected to know what you’ll do now?’ Tad Brewster exploded impatiently. ‘I’ve got more important things to think about. This is what happens when Stenning sends out a half-baked juvenile scarcely out of the nursery! Bleached brows drew together in a glowering, green scowl. ‘I thought you were supposed to be resourceful?’ he barked.
‘Yes, I—I am.’ Kerry regarded his angry countenance, wide-eyed.
‘Well, go and use some of your initiative to employ yourself until Hilary’s bed-time,’ he commanded mercilessly.
‘Yes, of—of course.’
Kerry plunged out of the room on to the dark verandah. There she leaned against the gauze, blinking back hot tears.
She wouldn’t let them overflow. She mustn’t.
A man’s footsteps sounded behind her. Andy.
‘G’night, Kerry, I’m just going to get some kip, so see you at breakfast.’ Kerry couldn’t see his face in the dark, but his voice was kind. ‘I just come up here for my meals,’ he went on to explain. ‘I live in the book-keeper’s cottage. You’ll see where that is in the morning.’ Another pause. ‘Things often look better in the morning, I reckon, Kerry.’
Kerry blinked unseeingly into the gauze screen.
‘Do they, Andy?’ she questioned forlornly.
‘I reckon they do,’ he maintained stoutly. He hesitated, continued, ‘Don’t let Tad’s lack of welcome bother you, Kerry. He’ll come round. He’s fair dinkum, Tad is—always on the level.’
Kerry turned to face him.
‘Why does he resent me so much, Andy?’ she asked quietly. ‘Why does he, when he said he wanted a girl for Gillgong?’
‘I reckon it’s—well—’ Andy was lost, and he knew it. Tad’s got a big outfit to run here, Kerry. He’s got a lot on his mind, see, and—well, you’re so young, if you’ll forgive me saying so, and so obviously a townie.’
‘I’m twenty-two,’ she said. She felt a hundred!
‘Cheer up, anyway, Kerry,’ he told her bracingly. ‘You’ll be good for Hilary if Tad allows you to stay, and, like I said, things’ll look different in the morning.’
‘I hope so, Andy. Good night, and—and—thank you.’
‘For bringing you in on the plane, Kerry? Don’t thank me for that. I’m beginning to think I should’ve turned you back at Brady’s Creek, after all.’
His boots clattered down the verandah steps, and Kerry went to find Hilary.
The little girl gave her a discouragingly unenthusiastic reception, but Kerry was determined not to be put off by that. No doubt the child would prove shy and difficult at first, especially after being left to run wild on her own for so long.
She finally allowed Kerry to read to her until her bedtime, and Kerry went on sitting on her own adjacent stretcher until Hilary’s even breathing told her that her charge was fast asleep. Even after that, Kerry sat on, gazing unhappily out through the gauze at the dark night shapes of the shrubs and trees in the unfamiliar garden.
She didn’t know how long she sat, but it must have been for a considerable length of time, because she suddenly became aware of the late-night stillness that pervaded the entire house. There wasn’t even a shaft of light at the bedroom end of Tad Brewster’s own verandah. He, too, must be asleep.
Kerry slipped quickly out of her clothes, and into her checked cotton pyjamas. Barefoot, she stole out of the little dressing-room to the pretty pink bathroom, where she cleaned her teeth and gave her hair a final brush. She felt the day’s build-up of tension draining out of her as she wielded the hairbrush with even, steady strokes over her straight fair hair. It left her feeling curiously languid and inert, mindless almost, as though the hurt and torment and disappointment she had borne had been brushed right out of her system, leaving her numb and stupid—so stupid that, when she flicked off the light and started to cross the hall again, she walked smack into Tad Brewster almost without seeing him.
He was still fully clad, having come out of his office-library place at the very moment that she had chosen to pass its closed door.
Kerry let out a small yelp of sheer fright, and his hands came up quickly to help her regain her balance.
‘Whoa there, Miss—er—Kerry! Take it easy!’
‘Oh! I’m sorry—so careless—I wasn’t really looking!’ Kerry muttered breathlessly, gazing up at him abstractedly, and pushing back her hair in a sudden, nervous gesture.
‘No. My fault,’ Tad’s deep voice assured her calmingly. ‘I wasn’t looking, either. I thought everyone had gone to bed long ago.’
He still held one of her wrists, and now he reached up with his other hand and pushed back the hair from her forehead just as she had done herself a moment ago. He peered at the angry swelling revealed in the dim light of the bulb above them, and exclaimed sharply, ‘Good God! What have you done, girl? Come through here where I can see it properly.’
‘It’s nothing. Please! Really!’ Kerry’s protests were ignored. Since he still held her hand, and was now forcing her along with him, she had no option but to
accompany him wherever he chose to lead, which happened to be into his own bathroom. At least Kerry guessed it must be his, because of the array of masculine impedimenta lining the open shelves. There was a navy towelling bathrobe hanging behind the door, a damp towel of man-sized proportions slung carelessly over a pipe, and a roomy, tiled shower cubicle in one corner. There was also a mirrored cabinet over the washbasin, with a fluorescent shaving light above. He clicked the switch and drew her into the arc of light which intensified the already generous glow from the overhead fitment.
His lean, dark face was close to hers as he turned her chin upwards and explored gently about her hairline.
‘When did you do this?’
‘It’s—nothing,’ she assured him again, wincing in spite of herself as his probing fingers found their mark.
‘When?’ He was inexorable.
‘In Bob’s truck,’ she admitted reluctantly. How oddly he was looking at her!’ In Bob’s ute,’ she amended, hoping that that was the correct bushwhacker way of referring to that shabby vehicle.
Tad Brewster’s lips twitched, but he also looked shocked.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded. “You’d better have something on it.’ He had already opened the cabinet, and now tilted antiseptic on to a pad of cotton-wool. ‘Ready?’ he continued talking as he went to work. ‘It’s going to hurt, I’m afraid. You’re dead lucky your skull isn’t cracked wide open. A little to the right. Good girl. Damn! It’s bleeding again just there. A pad, I think, but some of your hair will need to go first.’
‘No. No, please.’
‘Keep still.’
‘It’s fine. It really is.’
‘Keep still, then.’
Kerry couldn’t, somehow. In her thin cotton pyjamas, she was trembling—much to her shame—even though the night was warm. Perhaps he didn’t notice, though, because his face was perfectly devoid of expression as he held a wad of gauze over the wound with a firm, even pressure. He wasn’t going to cut her hair, after all!
‘Now, the leg.’
‘The leg?’ Kerry’s startled eyes flew upward.
‘The leg,’ he repeated firmly. ‘Where the spring caught it, remember? I don’t suppose it tore your stocking to shreds without doing some damage to your leg as well?’
‘Oh, but that’s nothing!’ Kerry was almost querulous.
‘At once, please. I’ll judge that for myself.’
Kerry hesitated.
‘Will you expose it, or will I?’ drawled Tad Brewster, suddenly, smoothly conversational. ‘We don’t have medical aid just round the corner of the street, you know—or maybe you didn’t? It’ll be an infernal nuisance if I have to call up the Flying Doctor to tell him you’ve gone down with lockjaw, won’t it? I don’t imagine Bob’s truck is a model of hygiene and cleanliness.’
Kerry was forced to capitulate. With all the nonchalance she could muster, she rolled up her cotton pyjama leg, and gritted her teeth as the liquid bit into the long, raw scratch on her calf.
‘That’s it.’
Kerry watched the brown fingers unfurl the material gently right down her leg again. Then Tad Brewster put the bottle away, shook a couple of tablets into a tooth mug, and added water.
‘You don’t have to pretend you haven’t got the mother and father of a headache,’ he told her now, handing her the mug, and to her surprise there was kindness in the gum-tip greenness of his eyes. Kindness—gentleness, almost. ‘I’m sorry it was necessary to hurt you, Kerry. Don’t drink that till it melts, will you—and put out the light when you come.’
Kerry waited until his footsteps receded and his own door closed, before she allowed any tears to fall.
It was silly, really, to cry, now that the worst was over. Kerry wasn’t sure, exactly, why she did!
CHAPTER FOUR
It was Hilary who woke Kerry in the morning. She tugged shyly at the sheet, and said uncertainly, ‘Bluebell says it’s time to get up.’
Bluebell? Oh, yes, Bluebell. The wife of the aboriginal stockman. It had taken Kerry more than a moment to remember where she was, and another second or two to think who Bluebell could possibly be. It was a pretty name, Bluebell. Unusual.
Bluebell herself turned out to be unusual, too—or rather, unexpected. Kerry had imagined that she would be a young person, but in fact she was a woman past middle age, with a light coffee-coloured, pitted complexion that bespoke her mixed blood, but the broad nose, wide mouth and perfect teeth of the true aboriginal. She was comfortably plump of body, with almost ridiculously thin arms and legs, and a grizzled mop of curls. She was dressed in a pair of faded canvas gym-shoes and a shift of the gaudiest-coloured cotton that Kerry thought she had ever seen—purple, pink, orange, blue and a particularly sickly shade of lime rioted about in gay abandon. Above them, Bluebell’s wide white smile flashed on and off like a good-news bulletin, and her black eyes snapped and laughed beneath the grey frizz of hair.
‘ ’Day, Kerry,’ she beamed. ‘That fella Tad tellun me youse comin’ longa Gillgong onetime. Tellun me youse gotta eat plenty breakfuss too, to get youse fattened up good. Reckon there’s ju’ pickin’s for the crows on them bones, so Tad says I gotta feed you up good allasame youse gettin’ round as a pumpkin.’ The white teeth flashed again gaily as she slapped down a plate of steak and egg in front of Kerry. ‘You get goin’ alonga that now, Kerry. That bigfella boss clear out plurry quick this mornin’, I reckon, but him bin tell Bluebell to keep her eye on youse plenty.’
She disappeared through the door to the kitchen, returned presently with a large blue enamel teapot which she banged down unceremoniously in front of Kerry, grinned widely once more, and was off in a flutter of purple, pink, lime and orange.
Hilary had almost finished her steak and egg, and Kerry was surprised to find that she was enjoying her own. She hadn’t thought she was even the tiniest bit hungry, but the meat was tender and succulent, the egg done just as she liked it best. No doubt breakfast was a distinct improvement on last night’s dinner. Bluebell appeared to have a genuine flair for cooking steak and egg!
At that moment Andy Matherson put his head round the door.
‘G’day, Kerry. Hullo, kitten.’ He pulled one of Hilary’s plaits playfully. ‘Everything O.K.?’
Kerry smiled at him. When she smiled, there was a stiffness at the top of her hairline where the antiseptic had been applied to her scalp, but apart from that she felt much, much better—relaxed, hopeful of the future once more. Maybe it was because Bluebell had told her that Tad Brewster was safely out of the way today, so that she wasn’t likely to be running into him. Or maybe it was just that she was an incurable optimist!
‘Hullo, Andy. Yes, thank you, everything is fine today,’ she replied happily. ‘Breakfast was just delicious, too! You were quite right when you said things look better in the morning, Andy. They certainly do this morning, anyway.’
‘Er—that’s good.’ Andy sounded cautious.
‘Will you have your breakfast now, Andy? Shall I get it for you, or perhaps ask Bluebell?’ Kerry was eager to start being helpful right away. She felt full of good will and happiness and succulent steak and egg. She felt resourceful and healthy, and she was sure that she could soon learn to do all the things that were expected of her.
Andy smoothed the thinning patch on the crown of his head, hitched his trousers and sat down.
‘I’ll take a spot of tea if it’s on the go, Kerry, but I’ve had my breakfast. Tad and I have it at sun-up, but I reckon he thought you women would be better left asleep, eh, kitten?’ He winked again at Hilary. ‘No milk, no sugar, thanks, Kerry. Just how she comes—the blacker the better.’
‘Do you and he always have breakfast as early as that?’ Kerry passed his cup carefully.
‘Reckon we do. Things have to start moving with the daylight out here, you see, because we’ve got to beat the sun. It gets pretty hot around the middle of the day, and we ease off a bit then, but if we didn’t get going early we couldn’t afford the time to do tha
t.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Tad doesn’t usually come back for lunch,’ Andy went on to explain. ‘He and the men take some tucker out in their saddlebags and brew up tea wherever they happen to be working, but Bluebell’s always here, and I’m generally round about the homestead some place if you need any help with anything.’
Andy sounded kindly-intentioned, but somewhat vague. Obviously, nobody was accustomed to having a girl around the place at Gillgong. Kerry was beginning to realize that, had she indeed been country-bred, she might have had a better idea of what the life involved. She would have to depend on Hilary to ‘show her the ropes’, as Tad had said. Thank goodness Andy was here, too. He was so nice, so approachable, that she felt she could ask him almost anything without feeling foolish.
And what a blessing that Tad Brewster himself would be away most of the time! She could do well without those intent, critical, gum-green eyes on her while she was trying to adapt herself to this strange new life!
Andy put down his empty cup and fished in the pocket of his khaki shirt. He took out a piece of folded paper, and passed it to her.
‘Tad said to give you that, Kerry. I reckon it’s a message from him to you. He said I was to be absolutely sure you got it.’
Kerry put out her hand slowly, and took the piece of paper reluctantly.
Surely it couldn’t be—her notice? Her heart gave a downward lurch at that thought. He had promised her a trial, though, hadn’t he, and he didn’t seem the type of man to have any but the most direct dealings with people. Kerry couldn’t somehow imagine him dodging the issue by writing what could be more effectively said face to face!
Her fingers quivered a little as she unfolded the note. The script inside was thick and slanted. Her own name leapt out at her from the top.
‘Kerry,’ it said, ‘you must on no account—ever—go out in the sun without a hat. This is an order. If you have nothing but that ridiculous straw thing you came in, ask Andy to fit you out.’ At the bottom were the scrawled initials—‘T.J.K.B.’