The Post at Gundoee

by Amanda Doyle

  In other circumstances, Lindsay might have been grateful for such an abrupt finish when she was acquitting herself so badly, but just now it was difficult to feel gratitude, to feel anything, indeed, but that searing pain in her left eye, that peculiar knocking in her head, that distant woolliness in her legs.

  She could only stand rooted to the spot, her racket at her feet, her hand clapped hard against the injured eye, while its companion watered in sympathy.

  ‘Gosh, Lindsay, I’m sorry!’ Mickie had hurdled the net and come quickly to her side. Voices gabbled all about her.

  And then someone spoke a little louder. Lindsay recognised that tone of brusque authority even though she was unable to see its owner.

  ‘All right, everyone, I’ll take care of it. There’s no need to break up the party, that game was a foregone conclusion anyway. You others have another set now, and I’ll look after Lindsay.’ She felt a firm grasp on her upper arm, leading her away. ‘Come with me,’ said the voice near her ear, in very much the same tone as it had done on her very first day—that forbearing, polite, no-nonsense tone that had bidden her, ‘You come with me.’

  Lindsay permitted herself to be led into the house. Rod took her straight to the bathroom, pushed her gently but firmly into the cane chair there, and flicked on the overhead light. Then he pulled her fingers away from her streaming eye, and cupped her face in his hands.

  ‘Let me see, Lindsay, please. Look up. Look down.’

  He was completely impersonal in his efficient inspection. Finally he squeezed out a cloth in cold water, formed it into a neat, square pad, and placed it against her eye, putting her own fingers back over it.

  ‘Just hold that there for a while, and I’ll get some iced water from the kitchen for the next round.’

  ‘W-will it be all right?’

  Rod grinned.

  ‘You’re going to have a corker of a black eye, I should think, but in all other respects it’s fortunately unharmed. You must have shut it instinctively as you turned to avoid the ball. One’s reflexes can be surprisingly quick and effective under those circumstances.’

  Lindsay derived cold comfort from his words.

  ‘A black eye? Oh no! You mean, the kind that then goes purple and yellow by turns?’ she asked in dismay.

  ‘That’s the kind I mean, exactly. A pity, I grant you—I prefer them green and soft, myself, just as you do. Green and soft, like a mist on a lily-pond.’

  Rod was saying that, about her eyes? He couldn’t be! She bit her lip in vexation that the lily-pond greenness, in one of them, at least, was evidently gone for some time if his diagnosis was to be trusted.

  ‘Maybe a piece of steak—’ she suggested timidly. ‘I’ve heard that it sometimes works.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Haven’t you had enough steak for today?’ he asked whimsically, then, shrugging, ‘Very well, Lindsay, I’ll get some. There was plenty left over from lunch—but I’m afraid your optimism will go unrewarded. Nothing is going to prevent that eye from turning black.’

  When he returned, he took her out on to the veranda and adjusted one of the deck-chairs near his office door into a reclining position.

  ‘Sit down there, Lindsay, and lean right back. You’ll be more comfortable and cool here. Does your head ache at all?’

  ‘Only a tiny bit. It’s nothing.’

  Rod drew up a chair close beside hers, and leaned over her, putting the piece of steak he had brought gently in place. He was devastatingly near. Even the faintly nauseating odour of uncooked meat right next to her nose did little to inhibit the emotion that Lindsay felt go surging through her at his proximity.

  ‘Close the other eye, too, Lindsay. I’ll hold it in place for a while, and then I must do some work. I shall be very near in my office, though, so you must call me if you want me at all.’

  Lindsay obediently shut both eyes. She was glad to, because she couldn’t have gone on looking at Rod’s square jaw-line, brown column of throat, and wide shoulders much longer, and since his chest across her line of vision rendered any other view virtually impossible, it seemed prudent to obey.

  She sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry I messed up the afternoon for everyone. I can’t think how I did it.’

  ‘Never mind about it now. These things happen; although’—she could detect the smile in his voice—‘I must say you’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you, little one?’

  A light touch brushed over her brow—just the barest suggestion of a hand’s caressing movement. Lindsay must have imagined it. She kept her eyes shut tightly because she did not want to discover that she had been wrong.

  ‘So there you are! I’ve been searching for you everywhere!’

  Lindsay opened her eyes abruptly, struggling to a sitting position and said, slightly breathlessly, because she had been startled by the other girl’s silent approach, ‘I—I’ll take it now, Rod. There’s no need for you to hold it, any more. Th-thank you for all you did.’

  ‘How is she, anyway?’ Carleen did not bother to address herself to Lindsay. ‘We’ve had another set, and now the other three are having to play cut-throat.’

  There was a waspishly accusing note in that statement that was not lost upon Lindsay, although it appeared to escape the man beside her.

  He stood up, stretched in a leisurely fashion, and said equably,

  ‘She’ll live, I think, Carleen. Did you have a good set? Who won this time—you and Barry?’

  ‘Of course, darling. I always win—if it’s at all possible.’ A pretty, deprecating smile took the boastfulness out of her reply. ‘I was just telling Lindsay that the other day, wasn’t I, Lindsay? I suppose some of us are born to win, others to be defeated—it’s probably all a matter of destiny. So far, I’ve been lucky.’ She yawned complacently. ‘I’d love a cool drink, Rod. Could I have one, do you think? And then we could carry some more out to the lawn for the others, couldn’t we?’

  ‘You may prefer to stay there and rest for a while, Lindsay,’ Rod suggested kindly, as he turned to accompany Carleen along the veranda.

  ‘I—yes—I think I shall, if you don’t mind,’ she mumbled confusedly. Anything to be spared the sight of that slender hand resting possessively on his bare brown forearm, those guileless eyes turned up to his, the inviting intimacy of that smile that effectively shut out the rest of the world, and left just two people—Rod and Carleen.

  By evening Lindsay’s eye was swollen and darkening, and when she got up next morning she saw that the entire area was puffy and discoloured. Alas! As Rod had forecast, no measures known to man could have prevented her from ending up with a black eye that would have made many a prize-fighter’s battle scars look pale in comparison.

  She was down in the store later on when Carleen approached, looking elegant and appropriately cool in a sleeveless turquoise tabard over matching shorts. She clucked sympathetically at the sight of Lindsay bent over her log book at the far end of the room.

  ‘Hello,’ she greeted her amicably. ‘You appeared so miserable at breakfast this morning that I thought I’d come down and offer my services. Don’t look so surprised, Lindsay. I really was sorry for you yesterday, but there didn’t seem much point in not going on with the party. I’m sure you’d have only felt worse if we’d all stopped, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, I would!’ Lindsay assured her eagerly, warmed at this unexpected volte-face on the other’s part. ‘I’d have felt dreadful if everyone had stopped playing just because of me. And Rod was really awfully kind.’

  ‘Wasn’t he! I thought so, too, I must say. With him there to administer first-aid and comfort, there was really no need for anyone else, was there?’ Carleen surveyed the store with idle interest. ‘What are you doing now, Lindsay? What are all these things, for goodness’ sake?’

  She picked up one of an assortment of unfamiliar objects from the pile on the counter and turned it between her fingers.

  ‘Those are machinery spares—windmill ones there, and those are
for the bores. This pile is mainly electrical, and that lot are for Rod’s plane.’

  ‘Goodness, aren’t you clever, knowing which ones are which!’ Carleen’s voice held genuine admiration.

  Lindsay flushed.

  ‘I didn’t at first,’ she admitted humbly. ‘I got into some awful muddles, but the men rallied round and helped, so that Rod wouldn’t find out how ignorant I was. They taught me how to identify them, and there are some illustrated catalogues—look, these ones here, all numbered, you see—and I still refer to these any time I’m in doubt.’

  ‘And after you tick them there? What then?’

  ‘Then they go to the machinery shop or the blacksmith’s shop, and the men just take them when they need them. All I’m doing here is checking them against the invoices to make sure that everything has arrived that was ordered.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Carleen ran her hand along the counter thoughtfully, inspected her fingers, and wrinkled her pretty nose at the dust she had gathered on them. ‘Rather a depressing place, isn’t it? And so is the whole homestead, if one never had a break, I should think. Of course, once Rod is married, I don’t suppose for a moment he’d want to five away out here in the back-blocks—he’d probably just visit occasionally in his plane.’ She bent down to inspect the shelves under the counter. ‘Heavens, what stuff! And what’s in those cupboards there? The locked ones?’

  Lindsay showed her, explained that these were not drugs in the medical sense, but simply potentially dangerous fluids, for which the men had to sign if they received them.

  ‘And of course the people down at the creek aren’t allowed them even if they could sign for them—which of course they can’t.’

  ‘You mean, the blacks?’

  ‘Yes, the aborigines.’

  ‘Why ever not? They could always put an identification mark in the book, surely? You know, a cross or something in the way of an individual squiggle.’

  Lindsay shook her head.

  ‘Rod says not. He says there’s no reason for them to need any of those things anyway, not in the course of their particular work, he meant.’

  Carleen folded her arms, smiling faintly.

  ‘What an archaic set-up, isn’t it!’ She gazed out of the window, with which the saddling-yard was aligned. There were only two horses remaining, reins looped over the rail, heads dropped close together, as though they were exchanging whispered horse-talk in the heat while they waited. At this time of day the men were usually all away, but evidently there must still be a couple of them about the place, still to ride out. ‘And do the blacks ever come and bother you to give them things?’

  Lindsay ticked off an item in her book, and put it into its correct pile.

  ‘No, never. At least, one did just once. He pointed to some bottle or other—I forget what—and said he wanted it to clean harness with. But when I said he couldn’t have it, he just laughed and went away.’

  ‘Here, let me do some of that with you.’

  Carleen was in such a pleasantly friendly mood that Lindsay would have felt churlish had she refused.

  Together they listed all the spares on the bench, Carleen reading them out and ticking off the quantities while Lindsay identified them and put them into the correct pile. It was a laborious business, and it was not difficult to guess that the transparent Carleen was very soon utterly bored by the monotony of it all. Her attention was inclined to wander, but she resolutely struck to her post, and the two girls had actually completed the task, and were preparing to go back to the homestead, when the door opened and Artie and Tommo came in.

  Artie appeared quite taken aback to discover that Lindsay was not alone, and even more surprised that her companion was none other than the stand-offish young woman whom he had disdainfully classified as a dame, and who up till now had been in the habit of treating him as if he didn’t exist at all.

  He touched his hat, and became very red.

  ‘G’day,’ he mumbled, his eyes shifting back to Lindsay as quickly as possible. ‘I wonder if them galvanised staples ’ave come in yet, Lindsay, the ones we was waitin’ for last week?’

  ‘They’ll be here somewhere, Artie.’ She eyed the unopened packages still to be checked. ‘It will take me a while to find them, though, I’m afraid. Could you come back, maybe?’

  Artie prodded the boards with the toe of his dusty boot, undecided.

  ‘I’m supposed ter be out with ’Erb right now, mendin’ a fence, see. ’E’s goin’ ter think I’ve lost me bloomin’ way in the scrub, ain’t ’e, I’m that late. I’ve got everythink else we’re needin’ ter take out except fer them rakin’ staples.’ He hesitated, brightened. ‘Tell yer what, Lindsay. When you come across ’em, you leave ’em out on the counter, and Tommo ’ere’ll bring ’em after me, see. ’E’s ridin’ that stretch anyway, this arvo, and I reckon maybe we’ll ’ave enough ter keep us goin’ till ’e comes. You leave ’em out and ’e’ll get ’em. ’E can go down ’ome fer some grub in the meantime. O.K.?’

  Tommo rolled his eyes and nodded sagely to show that it was O.K. by him, too, and then he and Artie disappeared together, leaving Lindsay and Carleen to start sorting frantically through packages and parcels once more.

  ‘Drat those men! I thought we’d finished.’ Carleen’s good humour had evidently been tried too far. She helped halfheartedly after that, impatient to be gone, and heaved a sigh of relief when at last the carton had been unearthed and put conspicuously on the bench-top above the shelves.

  As they went out together, Lindsay reached up to the nail above the door and retrieved her bunch of keys.

  ‘I never dare to leave them in my pocket,’ she explained, ‘in case they drop out when I’m bending down somewhere and I lose them. I’ve made a point of hanging them up when I come in, and the same in my own room up at the house. Funny how things get to be a habit. You soon find yourself doing them automatically.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to lock just now?’

  ‘No, because Tommo will have to come back for those things. I’ll just take the keys with me, though. It’s only for an hour or so, in any case, while we have lunch.’

  The two girls had their meal with Mannie—just the three of them. When Rod was out all day, there did not seem much point in preparing anything elaborate. Carleen was a light, selective eater in any event, always preoccupied with her figure, and Mannie had the elderly person’s dislike of anything too heavy or substantial, so they usually settled for salad, or a simple snack of eggs.

  After lunch was over, Carleen asked Lindsay to come to her own bedroom, and once there she stood for a moment, hesitating, before asking the younger girl, with a noticeable display of diffidence, if she could possibly do her a favour. The customary demanding note was quite absent from Carleen’s voice just now, and as she made her request she smiled with unfamiliar warmth, and Lindsay found herself responding. What else could she do but comply, in view of Carleen’s amiable overtures and her help in the store that morning?

  ‘It’s this, Lindsay. The hem of this frock. I must have caught it on something—look!—and I’ve ripped some of the stitching out. Quite a lot of it, I’m afraid.’

  Lindsay inspected the garment. It was of fine lawn, a rather lovely tobacco brown print.

  ‘I’ll do it for you this evening, if you like.’

  Carleen’s lips pursed with disappointment ‘Oh dear, I’d hoped to wear it this evening,’ she murmured plaintively. ‘It’s so hot today, and my other dresses all have sleeves. Couldn’t you be a dear and do it now? How long would it take? I’d do it myself, but you know how hopeless I am with things like that, and it’s such very fine material, I’d be certain to make a hash of it.’

  Lindsay glanced from her watch to her cousin’s hopeful countenance, and gave in.

  ‘Sit in my window-seat, here, then, Lindsay, and I’ll get Mannie’s work-box for you. I saw some thread there exactly this colour the other day. The light will be at your back there.’ She darted off eagerly, brought back the s
ewing kit and thanked Lindsay prettily once more.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said from the doorway. ‘Just put it on the bed when you’ve finished, and I shall hang it up later.’

  Carleen wore the dress that night. It had been a painstaking task to make all those tiny unseen stitches, but one would never have known that anything had been wrong with it at all. Indeed, its wearer had seldom looked lovelier, decided Lindsay impartially. There was a certain glow about Carleen this evening, a translucent beauty in her classic features, an unusual serenity in her sometimes discontented blue eyes.

  Rod himself seemed aware of her in a different way tonight, too. Gone was the bantering, teasing tone he so often adopted, the sophisticated sparring and amused cynicism which he and Carleen so often employed in their verbal jousting. Tonight he was responding to this new, serene Carleen with a flatteringly serious and masculine interest which the recipient evidently found inordinately pleasing. Her thoughtfulness to Mannie, her inclusion of Lindsay in the conversation, reflected a mysterious but by no means unwelcome change in her attitude, and after dinner she even helped to carry out the dishes before joining Rod in his office for a cigarette.

  Whether it was that Carleen’s newly acquired good humour rubbed off on everyone else, or whether it was the fact that it induced an answering affability in Rod in particular, Lindsay could not have said. Whatever was responsible, there was a subtle alteration in the atmosphere at Gundooee homestead over the next couple of days, and Lindsay basked in the change. No undercurrents of uncertainty, jealousy, or sarcasm were there to disrupt the pleasant state of existing harmony. Carleen was noticeably kindly disposed to all and sundry, Rod was less watchful and critical, and Mannie almost purred with satisfaction that life was now as pleasantly peaceful as it had been when she and Rod were alone.

  Indeed, if anything, it was even nicer now, she confided to Lindsay in the kitchen. It did Rod good to have the girls around. An old lady was no fit company for a young man of thirty, who should be thinking about marriage and a family of his own. Mannie had strong views on the subject, and did not hesitate to air them when she felt inclined.