by Joy Rhoades
‘But if Amiens is still worth more than we owe you …?’
He shook his head. ‘We never allow a loan to approach so close to the value of the security. It puts the bank’s capital at risk. We must take action very soon, Mrs Dowd.’ He reached into a desk drawer, removed a metal letter opener and tapped it against his open palm.
Kate had an unhealthy urge to plunge it into his aorta. ‘Does this cheque make any difference at all?’ She leaned forwards, her hands on the desk between them.
He shrugged, his eyes on her hands. ‘Oh, out of respect for the token payment, Sydney will probably give you a little more time. To pack.’
‘So when would that be, Mr Addison? By when would we have to leave?’
‘The end of June.’
It was still awful but more time than Kate had expected.
‘Bank procedures require the interval, Mrs Dowd. If a borrower, after a long period in arrears, makes a payment, I must report that to headquarters and make a recommendation as to whether full repayment, or any substantial amount, is likely to be forthcoming. A decision is then taken by the next quarter, which is why your payment of this amount, even small as it is, means we cannot proceed with repossession steps before the end of June. But that’s it, then, given there will be no more repayments. You know what my recommendation must be.’
She knew. But at least the pearl money had bought a reprieve. ‘Until then, Mr Addison? Can I keep going? I need to pay the wages every week, you see.’
He reached across. His hand was cold on hers, and Kate steeled herself not to pull away.
‘It must be difficult for a lady on her own to deal with these things.’ Addison’s voice was soft again. ‘I want to help, Mrs Dowd, I do. And I will help you today. I shall instruct Emma to make this deposit and withdrawal for you. But just today.’ Addison pushed the cheques across the desk to her and patted her hand before rising. ‘We should meet regularly. To discuss your situation and progress. I want to hear how the packing is going.’
He walked round his desk but paused at the closed door, his hand on the handle. ‘And we must get to know each other better.’
CHAPTER 14
The ‘bloat’ is a most serious condition arising from failure to allow the animal’s system to acclimatise to the introduction of grains to its fodder.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
With the office door closed behind her, Kate stood for a second to register what she’d heard.
‘You all right?’ Emma asked from behind her cat’s-eyes.
Kate nodded slowly.
‘Sit here.’ Emma took the cheques from Kate’s hand and shuffled her into a chair. ‘Hot today,’ she said, putting a glass of water next to her. ‘Have a sip. Do you good.’
Emma completed deposit and withdrawal forms with the speed of practice. ‘Here you go.’ She put them in front of Kate and held out a pen.
‘You’re a signatory too, you know,’ she said as Kate signed.
‘A what?’
‘A signatory. You can sign cheques. If your father’s … busy.’
Kate avoided her eyes. Emma probably knew all about Amiens’s debts.
‘I’ll be back in a jiffy. Get this deposited for you and the cash as well.’
Kate took a sip from the glass. Town water.
Emma was back. ‘Feeling better?’ She dropped her voice. ‘A lot of hot air in that office.’
Kate smiled slowly.
‘Cheque’s gone in. It’ll clear in about ten days. Cash’s in small denominations so you’ll have enough change for the pay.’
Emma might well have been speaking French. Kate did know that she could trust her, though, and she had an idea. ‘Would you come out to Amiens one day?’
Kate felt her mother turn in her grave. Graziers and their families – people on the land – didn’t socialise with town people, except maybe the doctor. Everyone else was beneath them. But now it didn’t matter; Kate and her father might not be long on the land, anyway.
‘Will you? Come out for a cup of tea?’
Emma shot a glance at Addison’s door. She nodded, a tiny shift of her head.
Back outside in the sunlight, Kate looked across from the bank steps at the Amiens vehicle, parked in the shade of the acacias. There was just Canali, spruce in his plum-coloured POW uniform, sitting on the end of the truck tray, swinging his feet as if he were at the Picnic Races. As much as she wanted him gone, he was still needed on Amiens. The only thing to do was avoid him, and make sure Daisy did the same.
Grimes wasn’t yet back from his chores and Kate needed to buy the grain, or try to. She’d told the manager she’d go to the stock and station agent for it. She wanted to buy it herself, without him, in case they asked questions about the overdue account.
Two cars were parked outside Babbin’s, which didn’t bode well. That’d be two customers, plus Grumpy, the parts manager. Mr Babbin himself was in his office. She didn’t want to have a conversation about the overdue account in front of other customers; the bush telegraph would get the news out by lunchtime. But she had no choice. She needed the grain.
One of the customers turned out to be lovely old Mr Riley. That was a stroke of luck: Mr Riley wouldn’t say anything even if Grumpy made a row about the account. The other customer might be more of a problem. It was the younger Wilson boy, the wild one, off Tintara up north. A roll-your-own cigarette burning in one hand, he squatted beside a Franklin water pump, with an old tin on the floor next to him. It looked to be full of sapphires to barter, from the Wilsons’ mining lease.
Kate waited at the counter but Grumpy didn’t acknowledge her, just went about his business. He was her height, with braces over a round gut. He went into one of the rows of parts shelves behind him, pulled a long narrow box off the shelf and leaned it on his gut to sort through for a bearing. Then he banged the bearing down in front of Mr Riley, who turned it over carefully.
‘Mrs Dowd. What can I do for you? Grain, maybe?’ Grumpy asked, his palms on the counter.
She nodded.
‘Bit of a problem with that for you,’ he said, pleased. ‘The boss’ll want to know about it.’
Kate stood very still. Grumpy took a file from under the counter and went to Babbin’s office. The Wilson boy stood up, arms folded, his rolly smoking in his fingers.
Through the glass panel in the office wall, Kate saw Grumpy speak to Mr Babbin, then point to her.
‘Kate,’ she heard. Babbin was out now, by the counter, folder in his hand, Grumpy behind him.
‘Hullo. Is there a problem?’ she asked, and wished she hadn’t.
‘Grumpy with a problem? Not our Grumpy,’ Babbin joked.
Kate smiled uncertainly.
‘Get one of the men to move your vehicle,’ Babbin said.
‘Vehicle?’
‘For the grain. You need to get the truck moved so they can load it,’ he said, handing the file to a frowning Grumpy.
‘Yes,’ Kate said quickly. ‘Thank you,’ she said on her way out. ‘Thank you.’
On Amiens later that afternoon, Grimes backed the truck up against the shed for the men to unload the grain, the two POWs and Ed on deck. Kate stood watching, with Gunner at her feet. Up in the truck, Ed crayfished the first bag across the tray with those big arms and off onto Canali’s shoulders. The POW walked the ten steps across the shed’s cement floor, dropped his shoulder and swung the bag off. It landed with a bang as it hit the corrugated iron wall.
‘Don’t stack em up against the wall, y’drongo,’ Grimes called. ‘We don’t want to cook it.’
Canali pulled the bag away. Bottinella, a cigarette set in his lips, took the next sack from Ed in the tray, carried it back across the shed and dropped it on top of the first, shifting it to line it up. Bottinella seemed all right today, not sad, and that was a blessing. Dust from the truck and the bags floated around Kate.
‘We gotta start slow with the grain, otherwise they get the bloat,’ Ed said to the POWs. ‘Over a coup
la weeks, eh.’
‘You got that?’ Grimes said to Bottinella and Canali loudly. ‘Not too much of this stuff, orright? You’ll kill em.’ Canali translated as Grimes turned to Ed. ‘Bring some of that bloody corrugated iron down. Put the grain on top so they don’t tread it in the dirt.’
Harry appeared round the corner of the shed, his school case on his back. He came to stand beside Kate, and Gunner jumped at his hand for a pat. The boy ignored the dog at first. When Gunner was persistent, Harry took a swipe at him with his boot.
‘Hey,’ Kate warned, then looked hard at the bruising round Harry’s right eye. ‘Someone at school give you a black eye? Who did that? Was it that Bert Patterson?’
‘Nobody did, eh.’
‘Nobody did a good job.’ Kate worried about how school was going.
‘What’s in the bags?’ Harry asked.
‘Grain. To feed up the ewes and the rams for joining.’
‘Aw.’
‘Aw,’ Kate mimicked, pleased to see him. ‘You want your smoko? Let’s go to the house.’
In the kitchen, Harry slung his case hard against the floor by the stove. It fell with a bang and knocked the Tablelands Clarion off the bench.
‘Hands, Harry,’ she said.
He came to her at the sink, washed up, then wiped his wet hands on the towel. She grabbed it when he tried to wipe his face and nose as well. Then he plonked himself at the end of the table.
Daisy appeared and put a bikkie and some milk in front of him. She picked his school bag and the newspaper off the floor, and hung the bag on the doorknob.
‘How’s school?’
Harry ate.
‘Mrs Pommer give you any homework?’
He shook his head.
Kate was tempted to go through his school bag but resisted. ‘Will you read for me?’
‘Got nothin t’read.’
‘Reading’s reading,’ Kate said. ‘Here you go.’ She put the local paper down in front of him.
‘The – Tablelands – Clarion,’ he read out loud, then pushed it away.
‘Ha-de-ha.’ She pushed it back. ‘Read one of the articles. Please.’
Much of the front page was taken up with a big map of Asia. Curving arrows marked Allies, all pointing towards the Philippines and Burma.
Harry looked across the front page, dropping biscuit crumbs from his mouth. ‘Abor …’ he began, frowning.
Kate looked over his shoulder. ‘Aborigines,’ she said. Luckily Daisy was outside, in case it was bad.
‘Aborigines Moving Camp,’ Harry finished and smiled.
‘Good. That’s the headline. Now read the article.’
‘A resolution protestin against the pro—’
‘Proposal.’
‘Proposal to transfer Aborigines …’
Kate read the next words. ‘… from Baryulgil to Woodenbong …’ She tapped the paper for his turn.
‘Has. Been. Passed by …’ Harry said and took another bite of his biscuit.
‘… the district council of the Primary Producers’ Union.’ Kate tapped the page again.
‘The. Local. President said. Once a blackfella was removed from his own dis—’
Kate heard Daisy come into the laundry from outside. ‘Let’s stop there, Harry.’
‘Nuh. I wanna read it. Listen. Once a blackfella was removed from his district —’
‘Please stop,’ Kate said.
Behind Harry, Daisy appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the laundry, the wicker basket of white sheets in her arms.
‘Once a blackfella was removed from his district he seemed to pine away and so the race was dying out.’
Daisy set the wicker basket on the bench and went out the way she’d come in.
Kate shook her head. ‘I wish you’d stopped.’ He didn’t even know Daisy had been there.
‘Daisy ain’t from round here. She gunna die?’
‘Who?’ Kate wanted time to think about how to answer that.
‘Dais. It says, The race is dyin out. She gunna die soon? She’s only little, like me.’
Kate got up and rinsed his cup. ‘No. They mean the race, not one person.’
He frowned, his chewing slow. ‘Struth? All of em’ll die? They mean that?’
She glanced into the laundry, glad that at least now it was empty.
Harry looked at her. ‘Poor bloody Dais, eh.’
Kate frowned. ‘Poor bloody Dais’ was right. Her mind went to the bruises on the girl’s wrists.
Harry shook his head slowly. ‘Bert tole me they shot a whole lot round ere one time, way back. Abos. Thirty of em in one go.’
Kate opened her mouth and shut it again.
‘Mile Creek or somethin?’
Kate swallowed. ‘Myall Creek. It’s thirty-five miles from here.’
‘So they shot all them Abos?’
‘It was a hundred years ago. That doesn’t happen any more.’
‘Old Grimesy tole Johnno one time, but.’
‘Told him what?’
‘Said he’d give im the Myall Creek treatment.’
Kate cursed Grimes. ‘Perhaps it was a joke.’
‘Johnno never laughed.’
Harry picked up the newspaper again. ‘I reckon they wrong, but. Bout the dyin out. They ain’t seen the Mission, eh? Abo kids everywhere. Big mobs of em.’
Kate shrugged. ‘Well it’s in the paper. It must be right.’
Harry’s face moved into a smile, as if he had a secret. ‘Nuh. They wrong.’ He laughed, looking again at the paper. ‘Dead wrong.’
He grabbed one strap of his school case and dragged it after him, out the door and across the dead lawn.
CHAPTER 15
For a successful muster, the seasoned woolgrower will secure an early start, before a flock divides to the four winds of the paddock.
THE WOOLGROWER’S COMPANION, 1906
Standing on a kitchen chair, Kate lifted down a bowl from the top of the cupboard. She saw something inside, wrapped in white tissue paper. She’d been searching for the sapphire since she got home from Sydney a few days before, room by room, cupboard by cupboard, trying not to imagine her father moving the stone from one hiding place to another as she searched. Wrapped, the thing – whatever it was – was about the size of a lemon. Trying not to get excited she pulled at the tissue paper with shaking fingers. But as she unwrapped she heard a tinkling sound and her hopes fell. It was an old coffee cup of fine china, tiny with blue and white flowers, the handle broken off and stored inside, probably by her mother years earlier. She repackaged it carefully, and put it back.
Kate was still standing on a kitchen chair, searching, when she looked down to find Daisy in the doorway to the laundry. ‘Careful there, Missus. Mebbe I can find somethin?’
‘No. It’s nothing,’ Kate said automatically.
‘Yeah?’ Daisy’s brown eyes rested on the neat piles of cups and saucers that filled the kitchen table.
Kate laughed. ‘All right. I’m just giving things a clean.’
‘My job, eh, Missus.’
‘No. I have to do it.’
Daisy looked away and went back to the laundry. Kate frowned but carried on. After the china cupboards, she did the grocery shelves, shaking each bottle and canister in case her father had dropped the stone inside. Nothing. She was shaking a metal canister of flour, holding it up to her ear, when she realised Daisy was again in the doorway.
‘I know, Missus. Nothin, eh.’ And she went back to the laundry.
That day’s search produced only clean shelves in the kitchen. Mid-afternoon, Kate gave up and sat down with The Woolgrower’s Companion instead. She wanted to read about joining. She’d better know more than she did; it was in less than six weeks.
She had to read the chapter over several times before it started to make much sense. They were using terms she’d heard before but never had to understand properly. She got a piece of scrap paper from the kitchen drawer and started a sort of glossary. Merino im
pregnation rates, ewe cycles and ram ratios went onto the list.
The gist of it all seemed to be what she already knew, that joining was trickier in drought years. That she could understand. But what to do? Have at least three goes is what they were saying; join through three ewe cycles. And have more rams per ewe than usual? She thought so but wasn’t sure.
Her study of The Woolgrower’s Companion meant that Kate didn’t get into the garden until late, by which time the magpies had started their chorus ahead of the dusk and one or two swallows were about. Harry had been and gone with no talk of the newspaper article, thankfully.
Kate went to the far side of the garden away from where Canali was working and she kept a careful eye, shifting when he did, to keep the distance between them. He moved easily, yet there was more to it. Coiled is what kept jumping into her head. She was on her knees, weeding, when he appeared next to her. He was in an old shirt, the sleeves cut out, and shorts that were a cast off from Ed, probably, a pair of clippers in his hand.
‘I cut her, Signora?’ He held up the clippers and pointed at the Virginia creeper.
Her mother had loved the creeper, though it was long dead now in the drought. ‘Yes. Pull it out. Watch out for snakes.’
‘Snakes?’
‘I haven’t seen one about, but be careful.’ Perhaps you’ll get bitten, she thought uncharitably.
As she worked, she tried to ignore Canali and think about the worst, about what she must do if Amiens was sold up. Go to Jack’s family in Perth? In a city? She didn’t know them at all, and she’d be a burden. Kate had never actually met Jack’s family – they hadn’t been able to come all the way from Perth for their wedding, which had been arranged quickly because Kate’s mother only had a few weeks to live. What could she do? Not gover nessing; it was a job for a single girl. She had no experience of bookkeeping, not even doing the Amiens books; she wouldn’t know where to start. She could read and write well, yet she couldn’t be a teacher without somehow finding the money to go to teacher training college. She seemed fit only to run the Amiens house.
A car came up out of the gully. Not an Army vehicle and not one she knew either. A grey Humber. As the vehicle got closer, she recognised the driver. It was Emma from the bank. Kate was glad her father was off at the yards.