Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

  Ellie turned and shrieked with joy. ‘Clipper! You’re safe.’ She ran to the pony as it trotted towards her, the grey in his wake, and flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Clipper,’ she breathed into the dusty coat. ‘I thought I’d lost you as well.’

  ‘Steady on, mate. It’s only a scruffy old pony.’

  Ellie turned on Charlie. ‘Might be scruffy to you but he’s all I got,’ she yelled.

  ‘Sorry I spoke.’ Charlie backed off and returned to help his brother at the camp fire.

  Ellie heard them laughing and realised she’d overreacted and had probably blown her cover by blubbering over Clipper, but as she took the saddles off and brushed them down she relaxed. They would have said something if they’d been suspicious.

  After a supper of smoky billy tea and damper drenched in golden syrup Ellie began to enjoy their company. The twins seemed honest enough – just ordinary country boys. They were handsome and strangely similar despite their different colouring, and she liked the way their eyes creased at the corners when they laughed. And they did a lot of laughing. ‘Where you from?’ she asked in a quiet moment.

  ‘Small town south east of Brisbane called Lorraine. Probably never heard of it,’ said Joe as he blew on his tea. ‘Just finished mustering brumbies over in the Territory.’

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ said Ellie. She glanced across at the magnificent chestnut hobbled under the trees. ‘That where he came from?’

  Joe nodded. ‘Broke him meself. Satan’s a devil of a horse, but there ain’t none better.’

  Ellie smiled but kept silent. She felt the same way about Clipper, even though he was past his prime and most people probably saw him as just an ordinary old stock pony. She emerged from her thoughts aware Joe was watching her. His scrutiny made her uneasy, for it was as if he suspected she wasn’t all she seemed. ‘Something bothering you, mate?’ she asked.

  ‘I was wondering what you’re doing out here on yer own,’ Joe said, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. ‘What happened to yer mum and dad?’

  It was obvious he wasn’t going to let it drop, so Ellie decided to tell him the truth – or at least part of it. ‘Me and Dad were signed off from the drove up to Longreach and was on our way to the Curry when the storm hit.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Dad died,’ she said curtly. Tears blinded her and she angrily dashed them away. ‘I buried him back there somewhere,’ she said, waving her arm towards the darkness.

  Charlie gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘Good on yer mate,’ he said kindly. ‘Must have been real tough.’

  Joe swept the dark hair from his forehead and scratched his chin, his green eyes gleaming with humour as he looked at her more closely. ‘You sure you’re tellin’ us the truth, kid? You ain’t running away from somewhere are you?’

  Ellie rammed her hands in her pockets and stood over him. ‘I ain’t a liar,’ she snapped. ‘Dad’s dead. Mum shot through years ago and I’m on me way to Gregory Downs. So stick that up yer arse.’

  Joe leaned back, his hands up in submission as he roared with laughter. ‘Whoa there mate, I didn’t mean to get yer back up.’ He looked at his brother who was also laughing. ‘Jeez. He’s fiery for a little bludger. Worse than you Charlie.’ He finally stopped laughing and his express grew serious. ‘How you planning on getting to Gregory Downs?’ he asked. ‘It’s a fair cow of a way. What’s there for you?’

  ‘I got an aunt at Warratah Station,’ she said stoutly. ‘And it ain’t that far. I’ve walked further.’

  She saw the interest flair in their eyes. ‘Walked?’ said Charlie. Joe whistled. ‘Looks like we’ve met the youngest swaggie in town,’ he murmured. ‘Where you from originally, kid?’

  Ellie sank on to her bedroll as memories flooded back. ‘Sydney,’ she said quietly. ‘Dad lost his job and the house a coupl’a years after the stock market crashed in twenty nine. We lived in the Domain for two years and been on the road for nearly nine months.’

  The boys nodded as if they understood what this meant – had experience something similar. Encouraged, Ellie carried on. ‘Dad was an accountant. Had no idea what it was like out here in the Great Wide, but he learned pretty quick. We both did.’ She stared into the camp fire flames as she thought of their long trek north. ‘Work wasn’t easy to come by, especially not with a kid in tow,’ she said bitterly before falling silent.

  ‘So what happened?’ prompted Joe softly.

  Ellie stared into the fire. She’d realised by the time they’d reached Charleville that she would have to do something to help. If she’d been a boy, then it was possible they’d have been more welcome on the cattle and sheep stations. Once her hair had been cropped and she’d adopted the stance and swagger of the boys she’d known back in the Domain all she’d had to do was persuade dad to accept her as Ed. It was the start of better times. ‘Me and Dad got a job at Gowrie Station. I worked with the cook, Wang Lee, and Dad helped the horse tailer.’

  ‘We know the place,’ said Charlie eagerly. ‘Head stockman’s a mate. Snowy White. Good bloke for an Aborigine. Tells bonzer stories.’

  Ellie grinned. ‘The best,’ she agreed. ‘Wang Lee was all-right once you got past his bad temper. He was a good bloke too.’ She fished in her pocket and pulled out the ornate mirror. ‘Gave me this at the end of the drove. Saved me life.’

  ‘Funny thing to give a bloke,’ muttered Charlie as he eyed the gilding and brightly coloured stones embedded in the frame.

  Ellie shoved the mirror back into her pocket. It had been a mistake to show them such a feminine present. She hurried on to explain how the mirror had saved her from certain death – embellishing the tale, drawing it out, making it more daring and exciting, just like the men used to do around the camp-fire each night. ‘Wang Lee was always giving me presents,’ she added. ‘Had a bit of a fall and hurt me foot on the drove, and he made me this stick so’s I could walk easier.’ She pulled the gift from the saddle bag and the intricate carving of bison and coolies on the walking stick was duly admired.

  ‘Reckon it’s time we had some sleep, mate. Early start in the morning.’ Charlie unrolled his blanket, placed his saddle more comfortably and settled down. Within moments he was snoring.

  Ellie looked at Joe and grinned. There was something still within him that she recognised in herself – an ease with his surroundings and the life he led. ‘Reckon I wore him out,’ she said quietly. ‘The blokes on the drove were always telling me to shut up, but I can’t help it if I want to learn everything.’

  Joe smiled, his eyes dark emerald in the dying flames. ‘Everything’s a lot to learn in a few months,’ he drawled. ‘Reckon you’ll get there soon enough.’

  *

  It was dawn when they woke. The ashes were cold, the chill of outback winter still glittering frost on the red earth. Joe rolled over beneath the blanket, gleaning the last of the warmth before he had to face the day. He watched as Ed got the fire going again, set the billy and prepared his horse and pony. The kid certainly knew his way around a camp, but the niggle of doubt made him frown. He was smart as a whip, that was obvious by the way he’d survived – but he wasn’t telling them the truth – he was sure of it. Yet there was something else. Something less tangible that made him uneasy. For he was being drawn to this kid, and it had suddenly become important to protect him.

  Impatient with his thoughts he shucked off the blanket and went to sort out his horses. He was probably comparing Ed’s experiences with his own childhood. Of the loss of his parents and the heartache of seeing the only home he’d known taken from him. He moved around his string of horses, rubbing them down, releasing the hobbles, tacking up – yet his thoughts were miles away.

  Dad had built the house when he and mum had first moved to Lorraine as newly-weds. The verandah was shady, if a little off true, the roof was corrugated iron that had been much mended over the years, and termites had done their best to bring down the timber walls and frame. On leaving, he’d made the mistake of looking back. The three roomed shack already look
ed abandoned. The walls sagging just that bit more where weeds pushed through the wooden slats, the roof settling lower on the rotten rafters making the verandah more askew than ever.

  Joe sighed as he scratched his chin and headed back to the makeshift camp. It never did any good to look back, for the past couldn’t be changed. It was a harsh lesson – one that Ed would have to learn on his own.

  Breakfast was cold damper with a hunk of corned beef and a mug of steaming tea. They ate quickly and almost in silence. They needed to be on their way before the sun rose too high and the heat and flies became unbearable.

  Charlie threw the last of his tea over the fire, then kicked dirt over it to quench the remaining embers. ‘Better be off then.’ He gathered up his saddle and blanket and looked across at Joe. ‘We’ll take the kid to the homestead when we get there. They’ll know what to do with him.’

  ‘What homestead?’ Ellie’s brown eyes regarded them solemnly beneath the ragged fringe.

  ‘Wilga Station at Richmond,’ said Charlie as he saddled up. ‘Got a job there if we get to it in time.’ He gave a telling look at the sun. ‘They’ll see you right.’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ in that direction,’ came the firm retort. ‘Warratah Station’s north west.’

  ‘That’s flamin’ miles away,’ said Charlie impatiently as he buckled straps and sorted out the stirrups. ‘You’ll have to stay with us until Wilga, then work something out from there.’

  Joe grinned when he saw the stubborn tilt of the chin and the fiery gleam in the kid’s eyes. He had a feeling Charlie had met his match and was interested to see how far the kid would get before there were fireworks.

  ‘I ain’t going to no station in Richmond. I’m going north.’ Hands in dungaree pockets, chin up, shoulders squared, the kid glared back at Charlie.

  ‘Well, we ain’t takin’ you. So quit yer whinging.’ Charlie looked to Joe for support. Realised he wasn’t going to get it and with a sigh returned to eye the kid standing so defiantly in front of him. ‘You’ll have to come with us, mate.’

  ‘No I don’t.’ Ellie hoisted herself into the saddle and gathered up the reins. ‘I’ll make my own way to Warratah.’

  Charlie rammed his hat on. ‘Flamin’ kids,’ he sighed. ‘Never flamin’ do as they’re flamin’ told.’ He strode over to the pony, startling it by making a grab for the reins. ‘You’ll bloody do as you’re told, or I’ll take me belt to you.’

  ‘Try that and I’ll knock yer flamin’ block off,’ came the retort as the heavy walking stick was drawn from the saddle bag and lifted high.

  Joe had seen enough. ‘That’s it,’ he said sharply. ‘Quit it, both of you.’ He stood between his brother and the kid. ‘We’ll take you to the Gregory. If your aunt’s grateful enough, perhaps she’d give us a job to make up for the one we’re losing?’

  The grin was broad in the urchin face, the freckles dancing across the snub nose. ‘Too right she will.’ The reins were gathered once more. ‘Better get going then.’

  ‘Are you gunna let this ankle biter tell us what to flamin’ do?’ gasped Charlie in amazement. ‘How do we know this aunt’s going to give us work? It’s as dry as a snake’s arse in the Gregory, and from what I hear, most of the stock up that way’s long gone.’

  ‘We can’t let him go alone,’ retorted Joe. ‘He’s just a kid, and he’s too little to fend for himself.’ He leaned closer to his brother. ‘Drop it, Charlie,’ he warned softly.

  Charlie glowered, turned away and climbed into the saddle. Yanking his hat over his eyes he glared at both of them. ‘There’d better be a job at the end of this, mate,’ he warned Ellie. ‘Or there’ll be trouble.’

  *

  They had travelled for days, following the devastating trail of the storm as it wound itself down across the plains. The Curry had been badly hit, with roofs torn away and stock tossed for many miles before being dumped and left for dead. The long track beyond the Curry had been obliterated and as they turned off at Threeways and made their way towards Gregory Downs they saw trees uprooted and fences sagging in dunes of red sand.

  Ellie looked around her as she rode alongside the two brothers. It was a desolate place, this land where her aunt lived, and she wondered how anyone could exist out here. It was dusty, the grass silver and sparse, with mile upon mile of emptiness. The great river was a mere trickle as it ran towards the northern coast, the billabongs turned to clay pans beneath the weeping paper barks and she-oaks.

  Yet, as they headed further west she began to understand why her aunt had chosen to live out here and could imagine how it must look when the rains came. For as they rode through the gorge that would take them on to the far south western edges of Warratah they entered another world. A world of incredible green after the scorching plains, with tall pine trees and fig and cabbage palms. The creek was deep and mysterious where tortoises played and freshwater crocs lurked, and the bush surrounding it was alive with the sound of jabirus, and black and sulphur crested cockatoos. Flashes of bright reds and blues and citrus yellow darted between the trees as a myriad of birds were startled from their perches, and the gentle grey wallabies sat up, tensed for flight as they watched the intruders make camp.

  Joe had caught a yellowbelly one day and dug out some yabbies which were like tiny cray-fish, and they’d cooked them over a fire, the delicate white meat so delicious she’d still been licking her fingers long after the meal was over. On another day Charlie had taken the rifle and shot a couple of ducks, which she helped to pluck before they were spit-roasted on twigs over the camp fire.

  As the days wore on Ellie found herself drawn to these boys. They were easy to talk to, easy to confide in; their shared experiences of life on the wallaby tracks brought them closer, and as each day passed she realised what a wrench it would be when it was time for them to part.

  Yet this newfound friendship was marred by her deceit. She bit her lip as they approached the first of the fences that surrounded the vast acreage of her aunt’s property. With the drought in full force there was no guarantee she’d even be able to keep her promise of work, and after the lies she’d told them, her conscience bothered her. As Ed she was accepted as one of them – a mate they were helping on the way, with a promise of work at journey’s end. Yet she’d maintained her silence on her true identity, for although they were both fun to be with, Charlie had shown signs of an erratic temperament. He’d been angry enough at having to bring her all the way out here – goodness only knew what he’d do if he discovered she’d been lying and there wasn’t any work at the end of it all.

  They rode on for most of that day and half the next. There was still no sight of the homestead and she was beginning to wonder if they would ever find it amongst the low hills that were dotted with stunted snappy gum. Yet she was taking pleasure in the timbered country with its gidyea, eucalypt, turpentine and wattle trees, and found she was enjoying her journey over the spinifex grass to the more open red soil country and pleasant waterholes that lay in the shadows of limestone caves and flowering bloodwoods.

  Ellie relaxed on Clipper’s back. The skewbald had filled out now he’d had a few days of good grass and fresh water, and his coat gleamed. Even the grey looked healthier, but she could see the animal was tired and she hoped he would last out long enough to take a well-earned rest at the cattle station. For the grey was all she had left to remind her of her father.

  They finally came over the low rise of a hill and there, in the valley was Warratah. Washed in golden sunlight the homestead sprawled at the centre of a blood red yard, its rusting corrugated roof almost smothered in the snowy blossom of a Jarrah tree. Purple Bougainvillaea and red roses clambered up the water tower and a lime green pepper tree offered shade by the cattle pens and corrals. A stand of citrus yellow wattle trees dappled the horse paddock and the sun glinted on the pool of water still standing in the billabong. To the north of the homestead yard was a dirt runway, the twin prop plane a mere speck of white against the red.

  Joe l
et out a soft whistle. ‘Strewth. That’s some place your aunt’s got.’

  Ellie felt her spirits lift. Warratah was more beautiful than she could ever have imagined, and as she gazed down at the sprawl of outbuildings and stables and the sleek cattle in the pastures, she knew that given the chance she would never leave. With growing anticipation, she nudged Clipper into a canter down the gentle slope.

  As they crossed the pasture she caught the sound of a hammer ringing against metal and noticed the forge. Men bustled in the yard, carrying bags of feed and saddles, calling to one another above the low of the cattle. There were numerous wooden shacks dotted around the homestead yard and cattle corrals and she could only guess at what they might be, but it was the fine looking horses in the paddock that drew her attention, and the cacophony of barking blue heelers in the enormous kennel yard that made her smile.

  The scent of the roses and the wattle was heady, their heavy fragrance filling the torpid air even from this distance, and Ellie felt the first tremor of doubt. Dad had never really told her much about this place, and he’d certainly never said her aunt was rich. Yet as they approached the final gate that would lead them into home yard, she noticed how the verandah sagged off to one side, the screens needed mending and the roof had been inexpertly patched beneath the tumble of white blossom. The paint was peeling, the steps up to the wooden verandah were termite chewed and the white trellis lacing the edge of the verandah had definitely seen better days.

  ‘Looks like we got a welcoming committee,’ muttered Joe as all work stopped and fifty or more pairs of eyes suspiciously watched their approach. ‘You sure this is the right place?’

  Ellie nodded as the sulphur crested cockatoo screamed abuse from his perch on the verandah. Her mouth had gone dry and her heart hammered for she’d recognised the elegant blonde who’d come to stand at the railings and knew it could only mean trouble.

  ‘Crikey,’ gasped Charlie. ‘Is that old dragon yer aunt? Wouldn’t want to bump into her on a dark night.’