The rain came a little harder, smacking into them. There were the beginnings of tiny puddles in the holes they were digging.
‘Grandma, I really think it’s time —’
‘You go! I’m busy!’
Damn. She couldn’t leave while the old bird was standing up to her ankles in mud working like a machine. She grumbled, but she kept it to herself.
When the rain was running down her back and turning everything to sludge now, they started pulling aside lumps of concrete and stone and rotten pieces of timber. Nothing. The wind was lifting. ‘Grandma!’ she yelled. ‘Stop! It’s really raining!’
‘You go!’ Deirdre yelled back at her, fed up. ‘You go, do you hear?’
Deirdre threw her shovel into the mud, and there was a clonk. She fell to her knees at the spot, rain half-blinding her. There was no reason for them to think it was the damn vase. But nothing else had been yet. They both looked at the muddy hole for a second, delaying the moment.
‘Dig,’ Deirdre said simply, and Teddy did, with her hands. When the mud started sliding back into the hole, Deirdre got down next to her and dug with her hands too.
‘It’s here, it’s here!’ she chanted, and with her muddied hands, Deirdre pulled a dirty vase from its grave.
Teddy stared at it blankly through the rain, splattered with mud, while Deirdre wiped the vase against her ample bosom. She was grinning – no, she was laughing. She hugged the vase like a long-lost friend and howled like a wolf at the moon. Teddy nearly fell into the mud. Deirdre was struggling to her feet with the ugly thing, whooping and shouting, stamping her feet in the quagmire and shrieking like a baboon. Teddy dragged herself up too and stared at her grandmother, who finally appeared to realise she was there.
‘Take this!’ She thrust the vase at her and Teddy almost staggered in surprise. It was heavy. They squelched to the edge of the hole and Teddy stepped up and out. ‘And give me a hand up!’ Deirdre demanded.
Teddy pulled her out, still grinning, still jigging about on her tired old feet. The rain had eased to a spit, and the fire had caught the logs and was hissing. Deirdre snatched her prize and danced.
Teddy fell back onto a drum and watched her, amazed.
Deirdre was dancing, moving in and out of the flickering light of the fire; she was dancing a foxtrot, a gypsy tap, a Boston two-step. She was a silly old chook, dancing around a fire in the rain. Her legs were stumpy and her girth impressive, her floral dress was muddy and faded, her cardigan stretched hopelessly out of shape. Her grey hair was wild in the rain and her face – her face was aglow with light. She shouted, she sang.
She was a crone casting a spell, she was a dragon prancing by the fire, she was a princess with a heart of gold, she was a phoenix spilling from the flames. She was magnificent, she was the Firebird. And Teddy thought her the most magical thing she had ever seen.
‘It’s yours, Theodora, it’s yours!’ She held the vase aloft. ‘Here!’ she shouted. ‘Take it in your hands!’ Teddy took the vase.
‘Look inside!’
She looked down into the dark base as the rain poured across its surface and found it was catching the weak firelight and that the light was making it glow.
‘Gold. Goldrush gold! Treasure! Jewels! Melted into the base, waiting for over a hundred years, just for you!’
Deirdre stopped dancing and came to stand before Teddy, who was gaping back at her.
‘You hold in your hands your future, my girl,’ she said. ‘It isn’t here.’ She threw her arms about. ‘It’s out there!’ she shouted. ‘It’s whatever you want. Wherever you want. You go – go now! Find Will, live the life you choose!’
Teddy exploded into tears.
This was impossible. There was a weight that had been settled on her shoulders for so long that she would feel too cold and too light without it, as if she might fly away on the wind.
‘No!’ she sobbed. ‘Grandma, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t go anywhere. Who will look after you?’
Deirdre laughed. ‘I will, my girl! I will!’
‘But, what about Hamish?’
‘Married!’
‘What about Cow?’
‘I can milk Cow or I’ll sell her for some magic beans! Who cares? Don’t cry, dear girl, just leave me here with my friends. I’m content if I know you have your freedom. One day I’ll die here, and I’ll damn well die happy because I gave you what my mother didn’t get, what I didn’t get. Because even though I was selfish to you, poor Teddy, I’ll know that one day I found a way to give you your freedom.’
She put the vase down and hugged Teddy close to her heart.
‘You go find him, dear, and if it isn’t him, then find someone and something else. We’ll all be here, loving you from here. And you’ll be over there, wherever you are. But you’ll never be far, will you? Because we love each other too much for a silly little thing like distance to separate us, don’t we?’
Teddy looked at her grandmother’s face to see the scars of her life were lifting, as if by magic, and the furrows of disappointment were uncomfortable in this new expression and trying to get away. Her grandmother took her face in her hands and kissed her again and again. She had never really kissed her before. She had patted her on the shoulder once or twice, or muttered, Well done, or, Good girl, occasionally. But here was Deirdre, gripping the sides of her cheeks and planting enthusiastic kisses all over her face while Teddy laughed.
‘But Grandma,’ she whispered, ‘I’m afraid.’
The rain had stopped, the wind had dropped and the night was still and listening, fascinated.
‘Of course you are. Don’t be so silly! Of course you are.’ She kissed her again. ‘Because who knows what will happen to you now? Who knows?!’
It is late at night and her father is roaring. The fear sits like stone in her stomach and it spreads out to chill her skin. Her mother hurries the girls to the back room and pushes the dressing table against the door. It scrapes horribly on the floorboards. Her mother takes her girls onto the little bed and huddles there with them.
Bitch! I’ll get you, you know! I’ll smash you when I get to you. You won’t escape me, you lazy bitch!
He is screaming now, but his words are slurred from drink and tears, and they come bumbling out of him, falling sloppily over his teeth. He is shambling about the house breaking things, kicking the walls, attacking the kitchen table, throwing himself against the bedroom door.
Come out here and face me!
The girls cower behind their mother’s soft, fragile form. They squash their faces into her back and Deirdre squeezes her eyes shut, which forces out hot tears. She wants to block her ears to shut him out but she can’t, because she can’t let go of her mother. Her world will collapse if she doesn’t hold onto her mother.
He is crashing against the door. Again. Again. The girls hold on tighter, as if they might press themselves inside her and be safe. Their mother is chanting to them, We will be all right we will be all right we will be all right, but Deirdre knows she’s lying.
Then the crashing against the door stops and their father’s tirade moves like a cyclone to the lounge room.
We will be all right, girls. I have a secret, their mother whispers. You must never tell, you must never say a word. The girls climb onto their mother’s lap. It is too small for both of them but they pull themselves to her.
Do you remember the ugly old vase on the bookshelf? she says, and they nod. That vase is your future.
Deirdre gasps. Why?
Promise me you’ll never tell, their mother urges them, or he’ll sell it all for drink.
I promise, says Viv.
Me too. I promise, says Deirdre.
There is a thump and a grumble from the lounge.
My darlings, let me tell you a story. When my grandfather was a young man he went to the goldfields of Kalgoorlie to find his fortune. And he did. Well, he found a little gold, but that wasn’t the treasure. Oh, no, that wasn’t my grandfather�
��s treasure.
There is the sound of moaning coming from the lounge now, but the girls are transfixed. The fear of their father is fading into the lounge; they are already lost in their mother’s eyes as she tells them her tale.
He used to go out prospecting for days at a time, in the heat and the flies. There was hardly any water, there was disease, but he was determined.
One day he found a nugget of gold. It was small but a decent size and he headed into town to find a gold dealer to trade with. When he got to town he started to drink, with the nugget down his sock. He had a fine old time and then he started to gamble. Now, your grandfather was always a gambler and there was a man there, terribly drunk of course, who had spent too much time in town. They started to gamble and your grandfather started to win. He was good with cards. Eventually his poor opponent had given your grandfather everything but the shirt off his back – and yet he still thought he could win. He was reckless.
‘Come outside with me,’ he said.
And when your great-grandfather followed they found a two-up game on the street.
‘Let’s play,’ the man suggested. ‘All or nothing.’ And he held up a rock – it was the size of his fist, and in it he could see flashes of jewels. Dark red rubies, sparkling diamonds, deep green emeralds. How it glowed! It was as if the stars themselves were nestled into a golden sky. It was a treasure! ‘This is gold,’ he whispered. ‘Melted gold and jewels. I stole it from a man who died, and I took it with me. This is my future but I’m willing to toss for it. If I win I get everything and your gold nugget. If you win, you take my treasure.’
They tossed. They called. The coins spun in the air, deciding between them – who would fate reward?
Great-grandpa, Deirdre whispered, Fate gave the gold to Great-grandpa. Her mother hugged her.
It is our secret. There is gold in the vase, combined with his own, poured and melted into the base. It has been our treasure, in case our family should ever need it. I have it now, and we need it now. Don’t worry girls. Very soon we will leave this place forever.
It was done. Teddy had packed her bag. Only one bag because there wasn’t much from her old life that she thought she’d need. She threw it over her shoulder and made her way down her narrow hall to the kitchen of her tidy house, wondering when she’d see it again. Her home seemed dimmer today. The windows framed the bright light from outside as she wandered slowly to the front of the house, reluctance dragging at her, excitement pushing her in the small of her back.
Deirdre was sitting at the table, looking out to the bright paddocks beyond. And when Deirdre turned to her she saw mugs of tea and a cake tin in front of her. Deirdre pushed it forward.
‘Something for the trip to Perth,’ she said.
‘Grandma, I’ve got to leave. I don’t think I have time for cake.’
Deirdre looked annoyed. ‘Then leave it with your mum, she always needs fattening up.’
Teddy sighed and sat down, the tea’s steam rising like a ghost.
Deirdre handed her a knife. ‘You cut it,’ she commanded.
Teddy looked into the tin. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Fruit cake.’
‘It doesn’t look much like fruit cake,’ Teddy said, cutting into its moist, dense centre.
‘Well then, maybe you don’t know everything there is to know about fruit cake,’ Deirdre said. ‘Don’t leave here hungry, have a taste.’ Teddy lifted a golden piece of cake and put it in her mouth, as Deirdre watched her carefully.
When it touched her tongue she could taste apricots, pears and spices. She glanced at Deirdre in surprise and Deirdre gazed back at her in triumph.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘What is it?’
Deirdre leaned forward, giving away her enthusiasm.
‘Theodora’s Fruit Cake,’ she said, proudly. ‘It’s got apricots from ancient Mesopotamia, pears from the shadow of the Great Wall of China, white rum from the Indies, almonds from the tomb of King Tutankhamun. There’s cardamom found along the Silk Road, coriander stolen from the desk of Hippocrates and ginger bartered from the Arab traders of Zanzibar.’ She leaned closer. ‘Now, Teddy Broderick, what do you think of that?’
Teddy took another bite, and another.
‘I think,’ she announced, ‘that this is the greatest cake I have ever tasted. It will be my favourite cake for the rest of my life – and you have discovered it for me.’
Deirdre sat back, finally satisfied, and nodded, once.
‘Then it’s my favourite, too,’ she said.
‘Now, now, don’t you be a sook. It’s goodbye for now, Teddy. You write me a letter when you get to London.’ Teddy’s bag was tossed onto the back seat, Dog had accepted his final pat, and Teddy and Deirdre were standing in the sunshine next to Deirdre’s buried house. Hamish had helped the police locate a few more bones from his great-grandmother’s skeleton, and then had filled in the dig, leaving it to be inspected by Dog and some local mudlarks eager to find some grubs.
It was nothing again. The old house had sunk once more beneath the farm, like a shipwreck under an ocean. Some of its stories had leaked out, though; its secret was shared, its treasure discovered.
Deirdre knocked at the car bonnet, as if for good luck.
‘I’ll call you, Grandma.’
Deirdre made a dismissive gesture. ‘Pah! Too expensive. You save your money for having fun.’
‘Grandma, it’s not expensive any more. Hamish will teach you to Skype. Anyway, you’re fun.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘But what if I need someone to tell me off?’
‘Then you can call me.’ Deirdre almost smiled. ‘You’re a good girl, Teddy Broderick. I don’t think I’ve got much more telling off left in me.’
Teddy laughed. ‘I can always hear you anyway, you probably don’t have to any more.’
Deirdre made an impatient gesture. ‘Well,’ she prompted, ‘get going – I’ve got work to do and I can’t be standing around talking to you all day, you know!’
She was blinking and rubbing some dirt from the roof of the car that Teddy couldn’t see.
It was time. Her grandmother pulled her close and Teddy greedily pressed herself against her beloved frame.
Here, now, Teddy felt that her young limbs were straight and strong, with journeys to take and sights to see. She pulled Deirdre into her arms, wholeheartedly, not just forgiving her old body the years that had worn its strength away, but grateful for her, for the years of work and love. That she was still there, and that she would always go with her.
Teddy held her grandmother for a long time, then released her and threw herself into the car before she thought of something else to say, before she cried.
Ignition, engine. Dog and Clancy started barking, and Deirdre entertained herself with telling them off.
‘Stop barking, silly dogs. Never seen a car start up before? I’ll have to tie you both up if you keep up this racket . . .’
Teddy gunned the engine, felt a thrill of fear and pushed it away. Deirdre wanted her gone, her back was turned to her and she knew she wouldn’t turn until she was at a safe distance. She spun her wheels on the way out.
‘Bye!’ she yelled.
Deirdre held up her hand, but she didn’t look back until she was halfway down the drive.
Teddy breathed in the farm one last time. She was leaving. If she could just get past the gate, she told herself, she could discover the whole world.
Go, don’t hesitate, just go, she told herself. The trees down the drive whipped past her in flashes of green. She wound down the window all the way and let the cold blue wind blast against her face.
‘Goodbye!’ she shouted at the top of her lungs, and she wasn’t just farewelling Deirdre, she was farewelling the farm and Hamish and her father. She was farewelling all of them: Audrey, Cate, Ida, Sarah, Trish, Mrs Beswick, Mrs Coupland, Mr Kingston and Mr Honeyman. She was farewelling afternoon teas, the working bees, the dog and the cow.
She was saying goodbye to it all.
She pushed her hand out of the window into the sky and let it stroke and push against her, greeting her from India and from Mozambique. Pushing against her, pulling her faster and faster. Away. Flying with her down the sandy road. And overhead she suddenly saw Barnaby appear, flying next to the car, screeching and swooping against the plume of air, before he circled over her and finally flew away.
It was late afternoon when Cow came back in for milking, her warm udder swinging low and heavy. Deirdre glared at her.
‘You’re late,’ she declared. ‘You think I’ve got nothing better to do than stand around waiting for you?’
Cow ignored her and moved her large head this way and that, searching for her bucket of feed. Deirdre relented and put it down for her.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Greedy thing.’
Cow rolled her eyes, and Deirdre settled down onto her stool in the weak sunlight, wiping Cow’s teats, squeezing the first spurt of milk onto the ground.
It had been a warm day with spring pushing against the tin walls of the shed. The wild oats were starting to die off, and they were rustling gently against warm tin walls.
‘I’ve got some news for you today, Cow,’ Deirdre said. ‘I’ve heard from Teddy and Will.’
It’s kind of a big deal to write a novel and, although I sit at my desk alone, there are many people around me who have helped me to make this novel the best it can be, and a good number of people who will love me anyway, even if it’s not. I’m lucky that way – and I promise you, I’ve tried my guts out.
A special thanks to my lovely publisher at Penguin, Ali Watts, for all of her support, kindness and insight. I think of her as my own personal Yoda, only less green, and a way snappier dresser. Her editorial feedback for The Cowgirl consisted of a phone call in which she said, ‘Fix three things, you must,’ which of course improved the novel no end, and after which I believe she levitated away through the Dagobah swamp to beat R2-D2 with a stick. She also routinely removes any Star Wars references from my novels, not sure why.
The Cowgirl Page 29