The Stockmen

by Rachael Treasure

  ‘I thought you were dead,’ he said, so softly Rosie could hardly hear him. ‘But then my dogs seemed to get on a scent and I knew. I knew you were up at the hut.’

  ‘Thank God for the dogs and horses. I’d still be out there, lost or drowned, if it wasn’t for them.’

  Rosie shivered as a vision of the swirling floodwaters flashed through her mind. Jim pulled his horse up and looked at her.

  ‘I can still hardly believe you’re real. But it’s okay now,’ he said. ‘We’re both here. Together.’

  ‘It’s the same for me,’ said Rosie. ‘I thought you were drowned too. It’s made me realise … well, it’s made me realise life’s too short.’

  Jim leant over on his horse, shut his eyes and kissed her.

  At the top of the ridge they pulled their horses to a halt, checking the river levels in the valley below. The swamp area, where cattle once grazed, was now completely underwater. The floodwaters reflected the greyness of the sky. In the distance they could see the swollen river. It had escaped the sturdy red gums that normally flanked it like sentinels and was running riot.

  ‘Not a hope in hell of crossing that,’ said Jim, casting his eye over the awesome sight of the flood. ‘We might as well turn back to the hut. We’ve got enough tucker for a few days. We’ll just have to sit it out.’

  ‘It’s funny, but I really had hoped the flood was this bad. I don’t want to go back, Jim. I want to stay out here forever.’

  ‘We might have to. It doesn’t look like your mum’s done anything. Do you think she’s okay?’

  Rosie shrugged, not wanting to think about her family.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said. Then she remembered Dixie, shut in the stable with her pups, and Jim’s old dog who needed special soft food because he now had only worn-down stubs for teeth. She imagined poor Dixie, her thin frame getting thinner as the pups sucked her dry, and old Bones trying hopelessly to bite through the old sheep hocks that lay about the yard. At least Sassy and Morrison would be okay out in the horse paddock with plenty of feed and shelter.

  ‘If you’re fretting about the dogs, don’t. They’ll be fine,’ Jim said, reading her mind. ‘Dogs are tougher than you think. And ingenious. They’ll figure it out.’

  Jim tethered Oakwood and his mare in a clearing near the hut so they could graze on the native grasses. Rosie went to boil the billy. She filled the blackened kettle from an old 44-gallon drum that was set to catch run-off from the roof. Beside the campfire, she sat back on her heels and looked up at the low grey sky. She shut her eyes and breathed out slowly.

  ‘What is it?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to live up here? Just you and me.’

  ‘And the dogs and horses,’ Jim added.

  ‘Of course and the dogs and horses,’ she said, throwing the driest gum leaves she could find onto the fire.

  ‘Could you really handle it?’ asked Jim, dragging a log of wood over for them to sit on.

  ‘With you, I could handle anything.’

  He stooped down next to her and kissed her lingeringly. I really could stay up here forever, Rosie thought dreamily. Live the simple life, like Jack Gleeson. A life full of hard work, horses, dogs and stock. A life lived out in the bush with the simple things to bring joy, like rain and sunsets and birds and the antics of animals.

  When Jim broke away from their kiss he shook his head ruefully.

  ‘I’m not sure your family would be too pleased about it, though.’

  By the next afternoon the flood had subsided and the roar of the river had calmed. At the crossing the rocks were covered in sticks and grasses where the water had sunk away. Oakwood snorted at the edge, and Rosie felt his body tense beneath her, but at her urging he stepped into the water and carried her across to the other side. They rode on in silence along the track, splashing through pools of water that lay trapped in the dips and sinking into mud in the gateways. The dogs trotted behind, hollow and hungry from their days away.

  Jim, Rosie and the dogs had gone nearly three days without a proper meal. They’d found a few tins of peas and carrots and baked beans in the hut and combined them with Jim’s Cup-a-Soups. By this time all of their stomachs had started to rumble, and they had laughed at the strange chorus they created in the hut.

  ‘Symphony of hunger,’ Jim had called it as he poured hot water on the last packet of Cup-a-Soup to share between them.

  Jim and Rosie had cast their eyes out across the river regularly, looking for CFA members who might be searching for them. They had turned their faces to the skies to look for helicopters and stood still, listening for four-wheel-drive engines. But none had come. Rosie had begun to worry about her mother. Had she taken too many of those tablets that lay beside her bed? As they rode on towards home, Rosie began to fear the worst.

  She squinted ahead in the distance.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Jim followed her gaze.

  ‘Looks like your dad’s ute.’

  As they got closer to it, Margaret jumped out and began to run towards them. The dogs bolted over to her, barking and wagging their tails.

  ‘Oh, thank God! Thank God!’ she said. ‘I thought something terrible had happened! I didn’t know what to do!’

  Rosie got down from Oakwood and Margaret hugged her tightly. Then she turned to Jim.

  ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for bringing her home safe to me. I was so worried.’

  ‘Mum,’ Rosie said, trying to calm her, ‘what are you doing out here anyway?’

  Margaret turned red. ‘I got your note very late. I slept, you see, right through until dark. I thought I’d wait for you, that you’d be home by morning. But when you hadn’t got back by lunch, I thought I’d better come looking for you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call someone to help you look?’

  Margaret shook her head. She said quietly, ‘I didn’t want anyone to know Gerald had left me.’

  Rosie cast her a dark look. ‘For God’s sake, Mum, we almost drowned!’

  ‘I know! I know how stupid I’ve been! I put you at risk because of my bloody pride! Rosie, I’m so, so sorry!’ She hugged her again. ‘I’ve realised.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ Rosie said, prising her off. ‘What are you still doing out here?’

  ‘Come with me,’ Margaret said, turning and walking back towards the ute.

  As they neared the ute, Jim let out a laugh. ‘You did a proper job of that, Mrs Highgrove-Jones!’

  It was as if the back end of the ute was being swallowed up by the earth.

  ‘Bogged, to kingdom come,’ Margaret said. ‘And when I got so cold last night I started it up to put the heater on, but then I ran out of petrol.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Rosie tiredly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a diesel.’

  ‘Oh. But it was awful in the cold, and it was dark too, so I put the lights on.’

  ‘So now the battery’s flat too?’ Rosie asked. Margaret nodded. ‘Then why didn’t you just walk home?’

  Margaret shut her eyes for a moment, then looked down at her muddy tennis shoes.

  ‘I was lost.’

  ‘You were lost on your own property!’ laughed Rosie. ‘That’s bloody hilarious!’

  A small smile crept onto Margaret’s face. ‘I did find some peppermints in the glovebox.’

  ‘That would make all of us very hungry then,’ said Jim, swinging out of the saddle. ‘Let’s give you a bunk up on to Rosie’s horse and let’s get home.’

  Rosie climbed back onto Oakwood and waited while Jim helped hoist Margaret up behind her. Rosie felt her mother’s arms clasp around her waist. A few days ago she would have been angered by her touch. Now, after nearly drowning in the river, she felt differently. As Jim swung onto his mare’s back, Margaret turned to him.

  ‘Thank you so, so much, Jim. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, you really have. I’ll make sure you’re paid a generous bonus, or you can take some time off in lieu fo
r your trouble.’

  Rosie saw a cloud pass over Jim’s face as he kicked his mare on towards home without saying another word.

  Jim rode into the yards looking surly, barely smiling as old Lazy Bones waddled out barking a greeting. He swung off his horse and landed solidly on the flagstones, then helped Margaret to scramble down from Oakwood.

  ‘Let’s get showered and warm, then I’ll fix us something hot to eat,’ Margaret said to Rosie. ‘Jim, you’re very welcome to join us if you like.’

  He nodded to her as she walked away.

  Rosie hitched Oakwood to a rail and followed Jim inside and into Dixie’s stall. The pups scrabbled at Jim’s feet, yapping and wagging their little tails. Their eyes were now fully open and were a pretty marbled blue. Dixie was overwhelmed to see Jim and Rosie. She put her paws up on Rosie’s hip and licked at her hands, whining and bouncing on her hind legs in the stale-smelling straw. At least she’d had water, but Rosie was worried about the lack of calcium for the lactating bitch.

  ‘We ought to get her a special meal of milk and eggs,’ she said to Jim, trying to search out his eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ he said and walked past her. ‘I’d better get the horses fed.’

  Rosie followed him, watching his broad hands stir the rich-smelling horse feed in a bucket. His face was stern and the muscles in his jaws were clenched.

  ‘Jim, what’s the matter?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No! You’re not. Tell me what’s wrong.’

  Jim flashed an angry look at her.

  ‘Didn’t you see how she treated me?’

  ‘Who? Mum? Oh, don’t be silly.’ Rosie waved her hand. ‘That’s just her. She’s like that with everyone. Don’t worry about it.’ She put her hand on Jim’s arm. ‘We’ll tell her what’s happened between us. She doesn’t even know yet. Then she’ll be fine.’

  Jim shook his head. ‘Maybe I should find work on another place?’

  Rosie frowned. ‘Don’t be daft. How can you say that? Besides, I need you! How am I supposed to run this place with both Gerald and Julian away? I need you, Jim. In more ways than one.’ She pulled him to her and reached up to kiss him. ‘Don’t the last few days count for something?’

  Jim looked down at her. ‘Sure they do,’ and he held her tightly. ‘I’m sorry, Rosie. I’ll get over it. You go feed your dogs and I’ll meet you inside for some of your mam’s famous cooking.’

  ‘You’re a legend, Jim Mahony,’ Rosie said, with another quick kiss. She had almost said ‘I love you’, but something stopped her. Maybe it was too soon for him? But Rosie knew that’s just what she felt for Jim – total, undying love.

  BALLAROOK STATION, I871

  Mary no longer came to teach the station children. Word was out that her father had banned all his daughters from Ballarook, after he’d learned of Jack and Mary’s courting. Even Jack’s friend Mark Tully had rolled his swag and gone, taking his good dogs with him. The week after he left, Kelpie at last came on with her second heat. Instead of being joined to Mark’s dog, as they’d planned, she was now shut up in the bitches’ box, and miserable.

  The station owner had put Jack in charge of the livestock and men at Ballarook. Jack spent long days debating whether he should confront Launcelot Ryan again on the matter of his daughter. But each night Jack came home exhausted, dusty and sunburnt, and in no frame of mind to go anywhere near Ryan. His animals were in the same sorry state from the work and the heat. The leathery pads on the dogs’ paws were split from walking on mile upon mile of rocky ground. And they limped, lame from the sharp pricks of burrs. Some days, old Idle just lay on the verandah and refused to come to work. Even Kelpie was looking ribby and gaunt, despite the scraps Jack saved for her from his own plate.

  The late afternoon was still sizzling hot as the sun set below the horizon. At the bore, Jack pulled off his dusty shirt and hauled up a bucket of water. It was laden with minerals and had an unpleasant smell about it, but Jack sloshed it over himself and savoured the coolness of the water. He rubbed a rough cake of soap over his body.

  ‘Don’t forget behind your ears,’ called toothless Cookie as he ambled from the meat shed with a leg of mutton slung over his shoulder.

  Jack was just rinsing off when he heard hoofbeats approaching. He swung about to see Mary cantering her black pony towards him, but his smile faded when he saw anguish on her face. The pony propped at the well and Mary slid down from the saddle. She ran to him and put her arms about his neck, her cheek on his wet chest.

  ‘Hey, hey. What’s all this about?’ comforted Jack as he held her at arm’s length and bent to see her face properly. He saw that her eyes were red from crying.

  ‘Oh, Jack. It’s all gone through. The bullock dray’s packed and Ma’s sweeping out the house.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘My da. He’s sold up … all three places.’

  ‘Sold?’

  ‘He’s got it in his head he wants a grander run. And now we’re going. Leaving first thing. I had to come see you. Despite what he says.’

  Jack frowned. ‘Leaving? For where?’

  ‘We’re headed up the Bygoo way – he’s bought a place there. A property called Wallandool.’

  ‘Doesn’t he know that his stock will be dyin’ of thirst in country such as that? I’ve heard tell the Mirool will not always flow and it has conned many a grazier.’ Jack pulled her to him and held her close. ‘But whatever your old man’s choice, I won’t be kept from you, Mary Ryan. I’ll follow you.’

  ‘But my da –’

  ‘I’ll be following you as soon as I can, Mary. I promise.’

  Mary reached up and touched his freshly scrubbed cheek. Then, standing on tiptoes, she kissed him and ran her fingers through his wet hair.

  ‘I love you, Jack Gleeson,’ she said.

  Chapter 25

  Rosie scooped up another lamb and hooked its spindly legs into the metal bars of the cradle. Gently, she clamped it down and spun the cradle round. With practised hands she clipped a small ‘v’ from the lamb’s ear, apologising as she did it, then scratched the scabby-mouth vaccination fluid over its skin. Next, she took up the vaccinating needle and pierced it through short wool and into tough skin. She moved on to the next lamb. Across from her Jim worked in silence, docking the lambs’ tails with the hissing gas knives, then picking up his knife from the disinfectant to slice the small sacs of the ram lambs.

  Rosie and Jim had their hats jammed on and collars upturned against the biting wind. Too focused to speak, they worked quickly in the hope of finishing the lamb marking early. The lambs clustered in the pen bleated endlessly for their mothers, and when Rosie lay down to sleep at night, she could still hear them. It was the third mob they’d marked this week. She felt her shoulder muscle spasm as she picked up yet another fat lamb. But she was slowly getting used to the hard physical work, the sudden, fine sprays of blood that shot from tails and ears, and the cries of pain from the lambs.

  ‘I know it looks gory, but it’s good for them in the long run,’ Jim had said when he first showed her how to mark a lamb, and Rosie had turned pale and winced. ‘The alternative to this is much, much worse,’ he’d continued. ‘In a day or two, they’ll be back, galloping about like silly buggers. You’ll see.’

  Rosie had seen lamb marking before, but had never done it. At first the feeling of metal slicing through skin and cartilage was sickening, but now, after marking over two thousand lambs, it felt routine. And she knew it was essential.

  Fencing had become routine too. She and Jim spent days beside the river, re-fencing after the flood. Rosie’s hands cramped as she slammed the post rammer’s metal sleeve over steel fencing droppers and pulled the wire tight in a twitch. Sweat crept down her spine as she lugged logs off fencelines and chainsawed tree trunks.

  Then at night, in Gerald’s office, she’d tackle the books. Her eyes were so tired she found herself not following the cash-book lines. She’d write down a drenches and
dips expense in the repairs and maintenance column. Then she’d add the GST instead of subtract. At these times her anger at Gerald would rise again, but she knew the farm’s sorry state wasn’t all his doing. She had to count her blessings, she reminded herself. This was what she’d wished for, after all. She thought back to the day she’d last seen Gerald.

  Rosie and Julian had driven down to the Peninsula for a family meeting at Giddy’s cottage, not long after the flood. Gerald sat in a chair by the small fire that ate up grey driftwood with crackling orange flames, while Giddy placed a tray of herbal teas on the Balinese table. When Rosie looked at Gerald, he seemed like a different person. He was no longer stiff and neat. Instead he wore ordinary jeans and a poloneck jumper the colour of sand. His feet were bare, and on his lap Giddy’s black cat purred steadily.

  ‘Thanks for coming to see us,’ he said a little awkwardly. Rosie glanced at Julian, his cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the room. He looked different too. His hair almost reached his shoulders and he looked more filled-out and somehow happier. Giddy came to perch on the arm of Gerald’s chair and crossed her slim legs.

  ‘I know this must be a shock for you both,’ Gerald said, ‘seeing me here with Giddy.’ He put a hand on hers. ‘But we’ve loved each other for years. I’m sorry we hid it from you for so long.’

  Rosie shifted uncomfortably in her seat while Julian reached for his mug of tea.

  ‘We never wanted to hurt your mother,’ Giddy added.

  Rosie wished Jim was with her now, but he’d stayed behind on the farm, insisting that it wasn’t his business to come … and besides, there were the animals to care for.

  And of course, there was Margaret. Since the scare of losing Rosie in the flood, she was no longer sloshing down alcohol or slinging back tablets, but she was as fragile as a china doll. Jim opted to stay.

  ‘Mum?’ Rosie had said cautiously to her. ‘I’m going to see Gerald.’ She paused, wondering how her mother would take the news. Then she added the sting. ‘At Giddy’s.’ Instead of collapsing into hysteria, as Rosie had expected, Margaret just nodded and remained silent.