After Sundown

by Anne Hampson

  Stopping automatically, she listened to the cry of a dingo in the far distance, and to the lowing of cattle somewhere in the shadows cast by the jagged profile of the heights rising in starkly dramatic outline against the starlit sky. So alone she felt as, striding out again, she allowed her mind and footsteps to wander where they would. Absorbed now by thoughts that shot about from one thing to another, she failed to notice such things as time and distance. One moment her mind was occupied with the people who first came to this harsh and brooding land, those indomitable pastoralists, facing terrible hardships like bush fires, drought and flood, but determined to carve a future for themselves in the lonely wilderness. From these beginnings had sprung domains such as Farne River Downs Station, self-contained empires in the vast untamed Outback, empires ruled by members of the distinguished squatocracy, graziers like Charles Sands who, because of the enormous size of their properties, would always be the focus of a certain amount of envy.

  The next moment Tina’s thoughts switched of their own volition to Moira, and the way she behaved when in Charles’s company. It was clear that she liked him ... and yet it was difficult in the extreme for Tina to accept that anyone in their right mind could really like the Boss of Farne River Downs—with his manner of superiority and arrogance, and his sarcastic turn of phrase. Of course, he had not been anywhere near so sarcastic with Moira as he had with Tina, nor had he treated her with a lack of interest that amounted almost to boredom, as had been his way with her younger sister. The explanation seemed to be that, having met Moira, he had reviewed his opinion of her, whereas his opinion of Tina had undergone no such change. Tina once again very much feared that while there was a strong possibility that Moira would receive a favourable report, she herself would not be nearly so fortunate.

  Automatically turning to retrace her steps she saw with a swift sense of shock that she had lost the homestead lights and, heart jerking, she stood still, staring all about her. No sign of light anywhere in the wide purple distance. Only the indeterminate flatness in one direction, the rolling infinity in another, and away to the west the dark shape of the mountains, with flat-topped residuals in the foreground, rising like Crusader castles, bizarre and turreted above the spinifex slopes. How far had she walked? Three miles, perhaps, she admitted as, glancing at her watch, she managed to see that it was an hour since she had left the homestead. What on earth had possessed her to go on without even once thinking of the time, and the distance she was covering? Her heartbeats raced as she stood there, irresolute, swinging round on the one spot, trying to locate some landmark which would be a guide. But it would be difficult enough by day; by night the place was like a maze. Which way must she go?

  Surely towards those low hills, since somehow she must have put them between herself and the house, skirting round them, she supposed, and, reaching a firm decision, she proceeded towards them, veering to the right, as this appeared to be the best way to get round them.

  An hour later, fear enveloping her and catching painfully at her nerves, Tina admitted that she was lost. Lost in the bush, and at night. It didn’t bear thinking about, for there were wild bulls and dingoes—Would she ever reach home unharmed? Tears of sheer fright stung the backs of her eyes, but she staunched them. Tears would avail her nothing out here, alone in this hostile terrain. Coming to a halt, she stared and stared into the distance, unable even now to understand how she had come to stroll sublimely along, without one single thought to the warning she had received from Charles. He would know by now that she was lost—he and everyone else. Had he a temper? she wondered. She had never seen him roused; always he maintained an unruffled calm

  She braked her thoughts, stiffening with increased fear as an onrush of sound stabbed at the darkness. And then she saw it—what looked like an enormous shape, rampaging through the undergrowth, the snapping branches of the trees sounding like claps of thunder in the deep silence of the bush. Paralysed with terror, she slid down into the long grasses, recalling the tales the stockmen recounted each morning over the huge beefsteaks she gave them for breakfast, tales of the wild scrub bulls that would make a head-on attack on a three-ton truck and often manage to turn it over. It was always best to carry a rifle when out in the trucks or cars, Oily had said, going on to relate stories of hungry packs of dingoes who would attack humans if the opportunity came their way.

  The scrubber’s hooves thudded closer, shaking the ground beneath where Tina lay. It stopped, pawing and snorting, and in one moment when she thought she must surely lose consciousness with sheer fright, Tina actually felt the bull’s burning breath on her face. She caught and held her own breath until it seemed her brain would be affected. The scrubber still prowled around, obviously aware of a presence other than its own; its breath reached her again through the low bushes among which she lay, in the tussocks of prickly spinifex grass. How she managed to remain still, with the scrubber pawing and sniffing only feet away from her, Tina would never know; her instinct was to rise and run, wildly, anywhere, so long as she could feel action in her body, for it was this inertness which terrified her as much as anything, as it seemed impossible that the bull would not discover her in the end. But she crushed the impulse, fully aware that she would have no chance at all with a savage bull at her heels.

  She was beginning to accept a terrible fate when, miraculously, unbelievably, the creature reared his head, stood for a silent second, then roared away, and the cracking and snapping of branches became fainter and fainter until they were heard no more. But it was a long time before Tina was able to move, and when at last she did stand up it seemed for a moment as if her legs would refuse to support her. A dingo barked, sending a bloodcurdling echo through the bush, and she froze with terror again. The cry was repeated, then silence reigned once more. Putting a trembling hand to her heart, Tina took in a great gulp of air; this relieved the tightness in her chest, a tightness caused not only by fear but partly by the unnatural holding of her breath as she lay there, with the scrubber so close that she felt that if she did breathe he must surely locate the spot where she was hiding.

  After a while Tina became calmer and she began looking round, endeavouring once more to find some landmark, but failed.

  ‘It isn’t any use!’ she cried, filled with self-pity even while chiding herself for her stupidity and telling herself that this was all her own fault—which of course it was. But in this moment of fear she failed to discipline her thoughts and decided she hated the land and the people and even wished with all her heart that her father could have her terrible plight communicated to him so that he would suffer agonies of suspense and remorse. She glanced upwards, to the great dome of the sky where Betelgeuse flaunted its dazzling colour and the Southern Cross lit the surrounding darkness. So peaceful it all was, up there, in the vault of the heavens ... but the land below—How harsh and forbidding!

  As she walked, aimlessly, the small bout of self-pity, and the animosity towards her father, were dispelled and she fell to dwelling on what was going on at the homestead just now. Would a search party be gathering—receiving orders from Charles? They’d have no idea which way to go, she thought, yet automatically glanced all about her, almost willing a light to appear. But even the moon’s illumination was shadowed as during the last few moments a mass of sombre woolpacks—as the Australians usually referred to the cumulus clouds—slid over the moon’s face, throwing the whole landscape into shade. It would be better not to go any further, Tina suddenly decided; she would remain here until daylight, which could not be very long now, and then surely she would be able to find her way back to the homestead.

  And so, finding a place among the grass, she settled down, resigned to a few lonely hours of sleeplessness and fear, when every breath of moving air would set her nerves on edge.

  ‘How utterly unthinking of me, to get myself into this awful position!’ The words were uttered when, after actually dozing, she was jerked into wakefulness by a sound she failed to identify. Not a scrubber, nor a dingo
...

  Suddenly her heart bounded. A human voice—there it was again and—yes! A flashing torch!

  ‘Tina!’

  Charles! In the midst of her relief apprehension plucked at her nerve-ends. He would be furious, no possible doubt about that. His torch was pointing upwards, so that the beam could be seen over a wide radius.

  ‘Tina!’ The light was moving away and she almost screamed, after having tried for several seconds to respond to his call.

  ‘Here—I’m here! Don’t go away—oh, please!’ Frantically she started to run, and was presently relieved to see the torchlight coming towards her. But the distance between her and her rescuer was covered slowly, as the undergrowth was thick, with no sign of any bush-paths. The clouds dispersed and suddenly it was a brilliant night, flooded with moonbeams, blue-white and intense. A breeze fluttered the leaves of the kurrajong trees and spread the scent of acacias over the air. Tina breathed freely for the first time for hours. Charles’s appearance eclipsed the terrors of the night and Tina found herself enveloped in the soft still peace which normally characterized the entire landscape. But her swift, ‘Oh, Charles, thank you!’ came to a sudden stop as his dark and glowering expression silenced her.

  Tall and straight, and menacingly quiet for one unendurable moment, he then said,

  ‘So here you are—at last! What the devil do you mean by going off like that? Do you realize the trouble you’ve caused?’ The torch was directed full in her face and she blinked rapidly as the light became hurtful to her eyes.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ she began in trembling tones, choking back the rest on noting the crimson drifts of rage creeping up under his skin.

  ‘Sorry!’ he blazed. ‘You stand there, brazen and calm as can be—not one whit perturbed at the inconvenience you’ve put everyone to! Sorry! Is that all you can find to say?’

  Not one whit perturbed? And to describe her as calm! This, after what she had been through with the scrubber! Perhaps she did appear calm and unperturbed, but if only he knew how she had been stricken with terror, and how overwhelmed with relief she was, now that he had found her; if only he knew just how deep her gratitude went. He spoke again, in a voice harsh with fury, declaring her to be totally thoughtless and irresponsible, lacking in consideration for others, and ended by saying that she was not worth bothering about and it would have served her right if he had left her to find her own way back.

  Angry colour flooded her cheeks. All too ready had she been to adopt the humble and contrite manner, to apologize profusely for all the trouble she had caused and to express her deep thanks for his coming out to find her. But at his harshness and callous indifference to her sufferings, and at his highhanded behaviour towards her, black rage swept through her and she forgot altogether the caution which from the first she had been intent on practising.

  ‘I didn’t ask you to come out and look for me! If that’s how you feel—that I’m not worth bothering about—then why didn’t you stay at home? I’ve managed to get through half the night already and in daylight I shall have no difficulty in finding my way—so you can go back if you like—!’ She broke off as three furious strides dispensed with the distance separating them, and a little squeal of pain echoed through the silence as, taking a vicious grip on her arms he relieved his feelings by shaking her till she started to cry. Her tears seemed to appease him and he let her go, but she continued to cry, the tears caused as much by the release of pent-up anxieties as by the hurt Charles had inflicted on her. He was still close and at last she glanced up at him, a quivering hand to her cheek as she rubbed at the dampness there.

  ‘Move!’ he snapped, signalling with his torch as the sound of a Land-Rover was heard in the distance. Within a few minutes it had drawn up and they got in, Tina all too conscious of the driver’s angry glance before he let in the clutch and had the vehicle on the move again. Enveloped in guilt, she said to Charles, who was sitting beside her in the back,

  ‘Has—has everyone been brought out?’

  ‘Everyone!’

  Tina swallowed, all fight gone out of her, and her voice was timid almost to humility as she began to apologize again. But she allowed her words to trail away into silence, checked by the fury that filled the Land-Rover. What had come over her? she asked herself again. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t learned, right from the start, that it was a crime to go out alone if there was the least danger of getting lost. Not only that, but she had Charles’s warning as well. On the first occasion when he had told her not to lose sight of the homestead lights he had explained how easy it was to lose one’s way in the bush; he had told her of people who paid with their lives for flaunting the advice of the men who knew what they were talking about.

  And in spite of all this she had just gone wandering on. Looking back now it seemed quite incredible that she could have done so. But she had, and what a lot of trouble it had caused. Tina felt sure she would never live it down.

  She glanced sideways at the hard set profile and felt she just had to speak.

  ‘There’s no excuse, Charles—I don’t know how to explain, or—or what to say—’

  ‘If you know what’s good for you you’ll say nothing. The least I hear from you the better I shall like it.’ Edged with an inflection of ice now, that voice, and it silenced Tina once and for all. She spoke only when the homestead was reached and the car had left, the driver being given permission to use it to get him back to his bungalow.

  ‘I do appreciate what you’ve done, and—thank you!’ With that she was gone, running into the house and up to her room where despite the fatigue and exhaustion of body and nerves, she lay awake, tossing and turning, for the rest of the night. She was in the kitchen at half-past five; Bertha, already there, looked curiously at her, and after saying a rather cool ‘good morning’, turned away to the task of turning the beefsteaks on which she had been engaged before Tina’s arrival. For a moment Tina stood, regarding the woman’s broad back. Was everyone going to be as markedly unfriendly as this? she wondered, getting down to her own task of making porridge and stacks of toast at the same time. Unhappiness filled her whole being, for it would seem that she was to be in disgrace for a very long while.

  The men began to drift in; some cast accusing glances at her, yawning deliberately, she thought. Those who refrained from evincing accusation seemed instead to be uncomfortable. It was an ordeal to serve them; she was utterly weary from lack of sleep and tears of self-pity started to her eyes. Never could she have envisaged a change such as this in her life. From luxury and indulgence to drudgery—and embarrassment. How could she stand it for a whole year?

  But the worst was by no means over, as she was soon to discover, for immediately the men left the kitchen Susie appeared and said, eyeing Tina curiously just as Bertha had done,

  ‘The Boss wants to see you, Miss Tina.’

  Her heart turned right over. Somehow, with Charles having said the least he heard from her the better, she had drawn the conclusion that as far as he was concerned there was no more to be said. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In his study, miss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Bertha was eyeing her from her position by the sink; with heightened colour Tina left the kitchen and made her way to the study which was at the back of the house.

  High and cool, it was a stately room of old furniture and satin-lined walls. Charles stood with his back to the window and behind him the Capricornian sun bathed the landscaped gardens with warmth, highlighting the dazzling tropical colours of the flowers and shrubs. The sun streaming through the window like this threw his features into shadow, darkening his sun-tanned face even more and giving him a severity which disconcerted Tina long before he spoke. He had been perusing a newspaper; this he tossed on to his desk and, giving her his full attention, he regarded her for an interminable moment of discomfort, while her colour rose and her fingers twisted nervously about one another. The nylon overall she wore was spotted with grease and she frowningly asked herself why
she had not thought to discard it before coming in here. The knowledge of her appearance—with the black smudges of tiredness under her eyes and the hair which was far from clean—deprived her of what small degree of confidence she might otherwise have summoned up. Also, she felt fit to drop, and fleetingly wondered if Moira were still in bed.

  Charles continued to regard her through hard cold eyes; she just had to speak, and murmured into the silence,

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Close that door,’ he ordered softly, and she turned, obeying him at once. ‘And now we’ll hear what you have to say for yourself.’

  We—Tina knew she should remain meek, if only for her own good, but that word grated on her temper. We—Who did he think he was—royalty? With difficulty she curbed the natural instinct to edge her voice with sharpness.

  ‘If you’re asking for an excuse—’

  ‘There is no excuse!’ His eyes were still narrowed, his voice stinging as a whiplash. ‘I’m asking for an explanation.’

  Helplessly she shook her head, acutely conscious of the fact that her failure to offer a reason must without doubt add to his anger.

  ‘I don’t know why I walked on and on like that—’

  ‘I told you, before you went out, not to lose sight of the house lights.’ Softly spoken words, yet dangerously threatening. Last night his face was tight with fury; this morning it was set in a frigid expression that scared her even more.

  ‘Yes, you did—and I meant to take notice, truly. But I was thinking as I walked and the time passed without my noticing it.’ How weak the explanation. No wonder he was gazing so incredulously at her.