Billabong Bend

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Now another egg was moving, and as they watched a little pip raised on its shell. The unhatched baby joined in the peeping. Sophie’s tear-stained face had turned luminous with wonder.

  ‘Put the chick back and leave it be until it dries off and goes fluffy,’ said Max. ‘Then it can go in a brooder box. I’ll set one up right in your bedroom. Now, come and have breakfast.’

  Sophie put the chick back. ‘I can’t leave them. Can I have breakfast here? Can I leave the incubator door open and watch?’

  ‘Sure you can,’ said Max. ‘It’s warm enough for them. Ric and me, we’ll go make that omelette.’

  The little girl didn’t seem to hear. Max pulled a chair over for her in front of the incubator and Sophie sat down, her eyes never leaving the miracle of birth happening inside.

  In the kitchen Ric beat eggs as Max chopped bacon and grated potatoes. They worked for a while in silence. Ric was grateful to have his father there, grateful to share this problem with somebody who cared. And Dad did care; he cared a lot, that was plain. Cared about both of them. He’d changed so much. Why couldn’t he have been like this when Mum was still here? How different things might have been. She could have loved this man, they all could have. But change didn’t happen in a vacuum. Maybe it had taken losing everything to make his father take stock.

  ‘Can she stay?’ asked Ric. ‘Don’t know for how long. Don’t know when Rachael will be well again.’

  ‘You have to ask?’ said Max.

  ‘Thank goodness for those birds,’ said Ric. ‘Whatever they are. She’d be a wreck without them.’

  ‘Povero bambina,’ said Max. ‘Such a sweet child. Those chicks, they’ll help every time she misses her mother.’

  ‘Just make sure the goddamn things don’t die on her. Then we’d really be in trouble.’

  ‘I’ve raised plenty of ducks,’ said Max, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Don’t you worry. They’ll be fine.’

  ‘But they’re not ducks, are they?’ Ric poured egg mixture into the pan. ‘And they’re not swans either.’ He needed to find out what those big black and white birds were quick-smart. Sophie’s happiness depended on them surviving. Time to talk to Nina.

  ‘Magpie geese,’ said Nina, after Ric described the birds to her over the phone. ‘At Billabong? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Dad said those birds sure looked like geese . . . black and white, with kind of a crest on their head.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like they could be anything else,’ said Nina. ‘Although magpie geese aren’t strictly geese at all. They’re the last of an ancient waterbird family and they haven’t lived along the Bunyip since Eva Langley was a little girl. They used to breed in the wetlands and migrate north to permanent lakes along the Paroo River in the dry season. It would be a miracle to find a pair breeding here again. And for somebody to shoot them? It’s disgusting. I feel sick.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Ric. And he did, as much for the lie as for anything else. Max had been hunting rabbits, he’d said, and discovered the birds shot dead by the nest. ‘At least the eggs seem okay. One’s hatched already, in our old incubator.’

  ‘How exciting,’ said Nina. ‘You’ll be able to tell straight away if it’s a magpie gosling. They’re very distinctive. Head and breast a kind of pinky-orange, and the rest of the body grey.’

  ‘That’s them. Now, how do I look after them? Dad says he knows, but he’s only raised chickens and Muscovies.’

  ‘I imagine they wouldn’t be that different from raising Muscovy ducks. Muscovies are half-goose anyway . . . but wouldn’t you rather bring them here?’

  ‘Nah, Sophie’s had some bad news about her mum. The birds are a good distraction.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing I want to talk about on the phone.’

  ‘Well, tell me in person when I come visit the goslings,’ said Nina. ‘Maybe when your dad’s not around? I’m dying to see them.’

  This was a turn-up – Nina asking to come. He gave silent thanks to the little birds. ‘Come round about ten,’ he said. The coast would be clear by then. Max would be off on his regular Wednesday trip into town for supplies.

  CHAPTER 14

  Nina sat on the quilted blue bedspread, cradling the peeping gosling, while Sophie hovered about, anxious as any new mother. ‘That’s Odette,’ said Sophie. ‘Like in the cartoon Swan Lake. She’s the youngest.’

  ‘How can you tell them apart?’ asked Nina, bewitched by the small marvel in her cupped hand.

  Sophie gently extended the bird’s leg. ‘See? She has a bit of a bent toe. They’re all different.’

  ‘There’s no doubt about it,’ said Nina. ‘These are magpie geese – the first born at Billabong in eighty years.’

  ‘Poppi told me they were swans.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Nina. ‘These babies are much more special than swans. Are they eating?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘They like me to feed them. Watch.’ Sophie put a pinch of chick crumbles between her thumb and forefinger and tapped the gosling’s bill. It stopped peeping, opened its mouth and gobbled the food down.

  ‘Amazing. Magpie geese are the only waterfowl that feed their young beak-to-beak like that. They’ve imprinted on you,’ said Nina. ‘They believe you’re their mother.’

  ‘I am,’ said Sophie proudly.

  ‘How many are there?’

  ‘Eight,’ said Sophie. ‘But there’ll be ten. Two eggs still haven’t hatched.’

  Nina gazed down in wonder at the gaggle of little goslings, all calling for Sophie’s attention. Their brooder box was spotless, their drinking water clean. Some shredded lettuce floated in a separate bowl, mimicking duckweed. The girl was doing a great job of looking after them. ‘Whose idea was the lettuce?’

  ‘Poppi’s,’ said Sophie. ‘He knows a lot about birds.’

  She had to hand it to Max. He’d done a wonderful thing rescuing these rare geese. ‘Thank goodness for your Poppi,’ said Nina. ‘Without him, these babies didn’t stand a chance.’

  Sophie’s eyes were shining. She lifted her chin and set her shoulders a little straighter. ‘I love Poppi so much.’

  ‘Maybe your children have had enough excitement for one day.’ Nina returned Odette to her brothers and sisters.

  ‘Want a cuppa?’ asked Ric. ‘Fresh brewed. Dad grows and grinds his own coffee beans. You haven’t lived till you’ve tasted it.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Nina. ‘Never thought of growing coffee.’

  ‘Coming, Soph?’ asked Ric. The girl shook her head, absorbed again with her small charges.

  They slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. Ric filled a stained aluminium moka pot with water. ‘Dad says you should never clean it, only rinse it,’ he said by way of apology. ‘Theory is, the build-up of scum helps the flavour. Don’t know if it’s true or not. Might just be that Dad’s lazy.’ He added grounds to the inner chamber, and in a few minutes the kitchen was filled with the delicious aroma of fresh coffee.

  ‘So,’ said Nina, taking a seat at the table, ‘why can’t Sophie go home?’

  ‘Her mother overdosed.’ Ric kept his voice low. ‘She’s back in hospital.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Nina. ‘Poor Sophie. How’s she taking it?’

  ‘Pretty hard,’ said Ric. ‘It’s the first time she’s said anything much about Rachael to me. Then those geese started hatching and she seemed to forget all about it.’

  ‘She’s probably holding it in,’ said Nina. ‘Trying to hide the hurt.’

  ‘Guess you’re right, but I’m not having much luck getting through to her.’ The pot bubbled over, liquid hissing and spitting on the stovetop. Ric turned it down. ‘She’s put up a wall.’

  ‘Bring Sophie round this arvo for that riding lesson,’ said Nina. ‘Maybe she’ll open up to me.’

  He poured them each a coffee. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate it.’

  This was Nina’s first time in Donnalee’s kitchen. Grimy walls, co
bwebbed corners, the long-time absence of a woman’s touch. She studied Ric’s anxious face. Their eyes met and something passed between them. Or did she imagine it?

  He handed her a mug and Nina took a sip. She was normally a tea person, but the brew tasted fabulous, rich and mellow. Though anything would taste better than the stale instant coffee at her place. ‘How about a favour in return?’ she said. ‘I’m taking Eva Langley back to Billabong Bend for a visit. Could you come along to help in case she falls or something?’

  Ric looked thoughtful. ‘That might be a bit of a shock for an old lady. The place is pretty neglected.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nina. ‘That’s partly the idea. Maybe then she’ll realise that Billabong needs looking after. Maybe then she’ll sell it to me.’

  ‘Tough call.’ Ric whistled low through his teeth. ‘I wouldn’t want to make it.’

  ‘Well, luckily, you don’t have to,’ said Nina. ‘So will you come, or not?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll come.’ He drained his cup. ‘Be happy to. When do you want me?’

  ‘Could you meet me at Red Gums tomorrow morning round eleven?’

  Sophie ran into the kitchen. ‘They’re hatching,’ she said. ‘The last two eggs.’

  ‘Now this I’ve got to see.’ Nina followed the girl out the back door, Ric’s words echoing in her head. Tough call, he’d said, and it was. But Eva had seen the photographs. She knew a lot already. And if she was Eva, she’d want to know the truth. The whole truth. Wouldn’t she?

  Nina had Flicka saddled and ready when Ric arrived with his daughter later that afternoon. The girl was wearing shorts and sneakers.

  ‘Hasn’t Sophie got jeans or something?’ asked Nina.

  ‘They’re in the wash,’ said Ric.

  ‘She’s got just the one pair then?’ Sophie squirmed and hung her head. Oh no, she’d embarrassed the poor girl. ‘It’s just . . . I was wondering if she’d like my old pony club stuff. I’m sure it’s packed away somewhere. Seems a shame for it to go to waste.’

  ‘What do you think, Soph?’

  The girl gave her father a shy nod.

  ‘Right then,’ said Nina. ‘Hop into the yard. I’ll show you how to take off Flicka’s gear. Don’t want to leave her standing around all tacked up while we’re up at the house.’ She showed Sophie how to release the surcingle and girth, unbuckle the reins, slide off the martingale rings and run up the stirrups. ‘I’d better take off the saddle,’ said Nina. ‘Flicka’s a bit tall for you.’ That was an understatement. The mare stood sixteen hands. Nina had to stand Sophie on a box to take off the bridle. What the girl needed was a pony or a nice little galloway.

  Up at the house, Nina rummaged through the drawers in her old room. She’d cleared out most of them, but was sentimental about a few things. Her old school blazer, her Brownie badges and her riding gear. She pulled out a tangle of green sashes and ties. Blue woollen jumpers, white shirts and fawn jodhpurs. She chose several outfits of various sizes. ‘Sophie,’ she called. ‘Come in and try this on.’

  Sophie stood before the full-length mirror, smiling, while Nina brushed her knotty hair. Nina fastened it back with a band and placed the white helmet on the girl’s head. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Ric, come and have a look.’

  He swung into the doorway. Must have been standing just outside. ‘You look great, Soph.’

  Sophie smiled self-consciously and stood a little taller. Of course there was no need for the tie or the sash or the tenth-anniversary rally pin, but Sophie had insisted. She pointed to a framed photo of Nina at a similar age, riding her piebald pony Bambi. ‘Now I look like you,’ she said happily. ‘Dad, take a picture of me for Mum.’

  Ric obliged. ‘Looking like that, you should be able to ride already,’ he said with a wide grin. He really did have the most charming smile. Sophie inspected the picture on the shelf, then stared down at her sneakers.

  ‘Boots,’ said Nina quickly. ‘We need boots. What shoe size is she?’ Ric and Sophie looked at each other and shrugged in unison. Nina fetched a tape and measured the girl’s foot. ‘Dad sells boots at the produce store,’ she said. ‘I can get a pair wholesale, if you want. Right,’ said Nina. ‘Now, let’s get to it. There’s more to riding than dressing the part.’

  They trooped back down to the yards and Nina resaddled Flicka while Sophie watched, perched on a rail. ‘Okay, up you go.’

  Nina spent an hour showing Sophie the basics. How to sit deep in the saddle and use her legs. To keep a gentle hand on the reins. To stay tuned to the mare’s body language: the angle of her ears, the set of her neck, the rhythm of her walk. Sophie tried hard and Flicka was on her best behaviour, as if she somehow appreciated the youth of her rider. Nina was proud of them both. Ric stood by, taking photographs. He wasn’t making a bad fist of this father caper.

  ‘That’s enough for today,’ said Nina, as Sophie brought the mare to a square halt. She fell forward on Flicka’s neck for a hug, startling the mare into a half-rear. Ric leaped forward and plucked his daughter from the saddle.

  ‘Dad!’ Sophie was red with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t need your help.’

  Nina darted for the mare’s head. ‘Your dad did the right thing. A rearing horse is a very dangerous animal. Flicka’s no pet pony. She’s a high-spirited thoroughbred, only six months off the track. No more sudden movements, okay?’

  Sophie looked chastened. ‘Can I really keep these clothes?’

  Nina smiled and shrugged. ‘They don’t fit me.’

  ‘When can I have another lesson?’

  Ric still had a protective hand on Sophie’s shoulder. ‘Soon.’

  ‘Can I trot?’

  ‘That’s up to Nina,’ he said. ‘Now we’d better go home and check on those geese. You’re a mother now. You have to be responsible.’

  ‘Not all mothers are responsible. Mine’s not.’

  Nina’s sudden intake of breath was audible. It was the matter-of-fact way Sophie said it, as much as what she’d said, that moved her. Nina suddenly felt absurdly fortunate. Two strong, loving mother figures in her life – Mum and Eva. It seemed Sophie didn’t even have one.

  Ric tipped his hat in that cute way he had, and escorted his daughter to the car, an affectionate arm slung around her shoulder. It was a far cry from when Nina had first met the girl at Dylan’s house, when she’d twisted away from her father’s touch. Despite Ric’s concerns, things were changing, had changed between him and Sophie. Nina almost envied them.

  That evening Nina sat on the verandah, lights off inside as darkness fell. Most people liked dusk, liked the lengthening shadows, the winding down towards night. But for Nina it was the one time of day she felt restless and alone. And as she waited in the gloom for a phone call from Lockie, Ric and Sophie were never far from her thoughts. She couldn’t help it. She missed them.

  CHAPTER 15

  ‘How marvellous to be this free,’ said Eva. ‘It’s like I’m alive again.’ The old woman turned from the window to smile at Nina. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, her voice pitched high – as excited as Sophie on her first flight. ‘Don’t you ever take this freedom for granted, my girl,’ she said. ‘There’ll come a time when it’s gone.’ She pressed her face against the glass again. ‘Will you look at those pelicans down there? Just sailing on the breeze. I’d forgotten how big they are, like squadrons of little aeroplanes. Do you know, Nina, I might go parachuting once I get settled back home. My friend Valda did. Said she was too old to be scared any more.’

  Nina concentrated on the control column, the instruments, the far horizon; anything to avoid thinking about the day ahead. So many things could go wrong, so many unknown quantities. She didn’t know what to worry about first. They began their descent. Keep it together, she told herself as her heart beat a little faster. Ric would be there for moral support, and who knew? Today might not be such a shock for Eva as she imagined.

  The Skyhawk banked and came in for landing, hopping and bumping down the rough airstrip, causing Eva to hold
onto her hat and utter little cries of alarm. The ute was parked near the gate. As the plane came to a halt, Ric emerged from the shade of an olive tree and assisted Eva to disembark. Nina unloaded her walking frame. Eva scowled as she took hold of the handles, wrists seeming too frail to bear even her slight weight. ‘I won’t need this darned thing when I’m settled back home,’ she said. ‘Not once I’m in familiar surrounds. But I suppose I should use it until then.’

  ‘You certainly should,’ said Nina. ‘Don’t want to risk a fall.’

  Eva turned her attention to Ric. ‘And who is this handsome young man?

  ‘My neighbour, Ric, Max Bonelli’s son,’ said Nina. ‘From Donnalee Station.’

  ‘Donnalee . . .’ Eva searched her mind. ‘Your father grew cotton there.’ Ric nodded. He kissed her cheek and she patted his arm. ‘Hope you’ve put a stop to that. This is no country for cotton.’

  Nina cut in before Ric could reply. ‘Eva, we’ll have to go by boat. Part of the Billabong track was washed away in spring and there are a few trees down.’

  Eva frowned and blinked a few times. ‘It’s a wonder Barry hasn’t got onto it. I suppose he’s had a lot on his plate since Walter died. Never mind, it will be grand fun going down the river. Perhaps you can ring Barry for me when we get back, tell him the road needs clearing?’

  Nina didn’t respond until Eva was safely seated in the car. ‘Eva, Barry lives in Sydney now. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘No.’ A cloud of concern, almost of panic passed over Eva’s face. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Ric, could you take Eva to the mooring, please?’ asked Nina. ‘I’ll go back to the house for the lunches and then meet you down there.’ He nodded, but his face had darkened with something close to disapproval. The ute moved away towards the river.