Charlotte's Creek

by Therese Creed

  Once the captives had been released for the day, Lucy sought Mel in the kitchen. She was put in charge of washing the dirty dishes, of which there seemed to be an endless supply, while Mel continued with the food preparation. While they were working, Lucy took the opportunity to quiz Mel about the Grey Lady.

  ‘Don’t encourage them,’ Mel said, snorting with disgust. ‘It’s a load of rot!’

  ‘They seem absolutely convinced that this woman exists,’ Lucy replied.

  Mel shrugged. ‘I don’t waste any time worrying about people I can’t see. Have enough trouble with all the living ones I gotta deal with. As long as she doesn’t need nothing from me, she can float around and do what she bloody well likes.’ She opened the oven door and slid in an enormous dish of macaroni cheese. ‘You’re sounding like batty old Mollie,’ she added as she slammed the oven shut. ‘She won’t even set foot on this place since the twins got up their tune about the Grey Lady.’

  ‘Old Mollie?’ Lucy asked in surprise.

  ‘Old black lady who used to live here,’ Mel explained. ‘She’s about the same age as Noel, a few years younger, maybe. Born and bred on Charlotte’s Creek, when there was still a camp of blackfellas here. She was like Dennis’s second mum. Practically raised him, he reckons.’

  ‘Is that who your Molly’s named after?’

  ‘Yep.’ Mel gave a short laugh. ‘Got right up Gwenny’s nose, that did. She’s never got over us naming her granddaughter after one of the staff.’

  ‘Does old Mollie see the Grey Lady, too?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Mel frowned in sudden annoyance. It was clear she hadn’t wanted to get into this discussion. ‘Old Mollie thinks the Grey Lady is the ghost of Loony Lotte, the old woman who used to live here in the hut when Mollie was a kid.’

  ‘The hut . . . do you mean the cottage I’m staying in?’ Lucy was intrigued.

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘Is this the same Charlotte that the property is named after?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Yep. She was the wife of the fella who owned this place before the Wests.’

  ‘Why was she still here? Did her husband die?’

  ‘Look, darl, that’s about all I know, and it’s more than I wanna know, believe me,’ Mel said dismissively. ‘Gwenny might be able to shed a bit more light on it for you. Less you know the better, if you ask me.’ She strode to the fridge, clearly wanting to be finished with the matter.

  ‘Do you need any more help with dinner?’ Lucy asked, accepting that the subject was closed.

  ‘I’d rather have some peace and quiet. Afternoon’s yours.’

  As Lucy meandered towards her cottage, musing over what Mel had told her, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a commotion over at the stockyards. She impulsively altered her course, making her way towards the noise, past the machinery shed, the chicken coop and around the hayshed. Here she encountered Noel West, who was returning to his house from the yards. A well-preserved, sturdy older man, with thick white hair, he smiled on sight of Lucy, the expression replacing the one of annoyance he’d been wearing before seeing her. He looked hot and bothered, but his greeting was friendly enough. He shook her hand and told her he hoped she’d enjoy her time at Charlotte’s Creek. Before continuing on his way, he told her that Gwen was looking forward to a ‘chin-wag’ and that he supposed Lucy would be over at their place before long.

  Lucy smelled the pungent odours of the working cattle yard as she approached—dust, urine and grassy manure. Driving away from a loading ramp was the stock truck, laden with restless cattle. The cab was very full, Dennis and all four children sharing it with a multitude of yapping dogs. The human occupants waved and called to Lucy as they passed by, heading towards the cattle grid.

  Lucy waved back, then continued walking towards the far end of the stockyards, curious to see what was going on. Too late she realised that only Ted remained. Standing at the hub of some smaller yards, in a circular enclosure with gates on all sides, he was busy sorting cattle. Lucy started to back away, hoping to retreat unnoticed, but Ted glanced over and saw her. He shut the gate he was holding and stood regarding her, his face unreadable beneath his hat.

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you,’ Lucy said nervously. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Drafting these weaners.’

  ‘Do you mind if I watch?’ she asked.

  ‘Better if you helped,’ he said laconically.

  ‘Of course!’ Lucy cried, delighted to be asked. ‘I’d love to!’ Detecting a shade of scepticism in Ted’s look, she felt immediately foolish. ‘I mean, that is, if I can . . . I’m not sure I’ll be any use.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Are your hands just painted on?’ Without waiting for an answer, he turned and indicated a small raised wooden platform with a ladder leading up to it, close to where he stood. ‘Righto, then. Jump up.’

  Lucy climbed awkwardly over the thick wooden rails to the enclosure, and climbed the tower. On the platform were five handles attached to long rods, which were connected to the five gates around the enclosure. She pulled on one handle and a gate opened a fraction. She closed it again and looked at Ted, awaiting instructions.

  ‘Big fellas in there, little ones in there, real little ones in here,’ he said, pointing to three of the gates in turn. Seeing Lucy’s bemused expression, he added, ‘We’re making three smaller mobs out of my big mob here, see?’

  Lucy peered at Ted’s mob. She couldn’t see a significant difference in size between the biggest and the smallest cattle. Next she examined the gates frantically, trying to remember which ones Ted had pointed to, and work out which of the handles she needed to pull to operate them.

  ‘Righto?’ Ted walked to the far end of the enclosure. The mob were milling around on the other side of the gate. ‘I’ll let them in one by one,’ he called. ‘You just open the right gate.’

  And then it was on. Lucy peered through clouds of dust at the cattle Ted was sending through, trying to coordinate gates and hands, and to gauge from above whether the rushing youngsters were ‘big’, ‘little’ or ‘real little’. After the first six had gone through, Ted stopped and walked back towards the tower, frowning up at Lucy.

  She looked down at his face, her forehead furrowed with worry. ‘Did I get any of them right?’ she asked stupidly.

  Unexpectedly, Ted hoisted himself up beside her. Lucy looked up fearfully, but his tawny eyes were kind. Standing beside her on the little platform, he was so tall, but he wasn’t threatening.

  ‘Here.’ From his pocket he produced some coloured plastic baling twine and a knife. With strong, calloused fingers, he tied a piece of twine onto one handle, and two pieces on another. ‘Number one, and number two, righto?’

  ‘I see . . . I think . . .’

  ‘And that one is number three. You just keep your right hand on that. The bulk of them will go in there, eh?’ Ted descended again to return to his cattle.

  ‘Three!’ he yelled, and Lucy pulled with her right hand. The weaner steer galloped past and shot through the gate that Lucy had opened for him. Ted looked up and gave a slight nod of approval. Lucy took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and readied herself to finish the job.

  ‘That’s that tidied up then,’ Ted said by way of dismissal when the last weaner had been drafted. He latched the gates, tipped his hat and stalked off. Feeling a little drained from concentrating so hard for the past half hour, Lucy stayed up in the drafting tower, perching herself on a rail. From here she had a magnificent view of the rugged semicircle of hills that surrounded the buildings, and a glimpse of some distant lagoons through the trees. It was such a beautiful setting, but no one seemed to have time to notice. And why wasn’t she happier to be here herself? If only she could find a sense of belonging, or at least some slight hope of succeeding with the children, she would feel less desolate. But she doubted she’d be able to win her young charges around on their own turf; how could she capture their enthusiasm and interest them in ‘school learning’ when so
much natural stimulation and purpose already existed in their world, the world in which she was a stranger, and generally useless?

  The lengths of baling twine that Ted had tied to the gate handles caught her eye, and she remembered him standing up there beside her. She was certain he must think her ridiculous. Why did she even care what he thought? she asked herself sternly. But she had to admit to liking his dimple, just a bit, in spite of his lack of manners. Suddenly she wondered what her sister would make of him; after all, Gemma had had far more experience with boys. Lucy was so much more reserved and cautious, and had always been too caught up in her studies to have much time for socialising. Lucy pictured Gemma’s wealthy, polished, middle-aged husband, and then recalled with a smile, tall, lean Ted in his battered hat: could two more different men possibly exist?

  Chapter 6

  ‘I know you wanted a challenge, Lucia,’ Graham was saying, ‘and I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but you sound tired. You can’t fix things overnight, you know.’

  Lucy could tell her father was worried, which was unlike him. She’d been careful to assure him in their frequent phone conversations that she was perfectly fine, and made sure she had plenty of colourful, light-hearted stories to tell her parents about her first few weeks in her new situation at Charlotte’s Creek. Ironically, her mother, who’d been so against her leaving, was quite satisfied with these accounts, and was relieved that it had all turned out so well. But Graham clearly wasn’t convinced. Lucy suspected that he felt responsible, having encouraged her to come to Queensland against Marie’s better judgement.

  Before she’d left Sydney, Graham had tried to persuade her to take her little car, offering to drive her all the way up there himself and fly home, but she’d refused, saying that she intended to shake off all the trappings of her Sydney life. Now she almost wished that she’d agreed with his suggestion, even if just for his peace of mind. Her father had become preoccupied with her isolation, and his inability to picture her new setting only seemed to be making things worse. All he knew was that she was somewhere in the vastness of rural Queensland, with no means of escape should she need it.

  A week after their phone conversation, Lucy was in the schoolroom with the four children when she heard the sound of an approaching car. She glanced out the window and was astonished to recognise her own white hatchback, the one she’d left behind in Sydney. Now it was covered in dust, and looked extremely out of place as it limped across the grid.

  ‘Oh no!’ she exclaimed. ‘My parents!’

  ‘Don’t you like them?’ Billie jumped up from her desk and ran to the window.

  ‘Do you have parents?’ Molly asked, amazed.

  ‘Your old man’s some flash doctor, isn’t he?’ Cooper yelled excitedly as he ran for the door. ‘Gran told me! He might be able to fix my plantar wart—no one else has ever been able to . . . And Dad’s tinea . . .’ He disappeared down the hall.

  Lucy was too stunned to call him back. Fortunately, they had nearly finished for the day. She watched numbly as the white car pulled up near the shed and her parents climbed out. It was almost surreal seeing them there. Noel, who’d been busy servicing the tractor, emerged from the shadows of the shed, covered from head to toe in grease and grime.

  Collecting herself, Lucy hurried out of the house towards them. She was met halfway by her mother, who embraced her and smothered her with kisses.

  ‘Oh Lucia, baby girl, it’s even worse than I imagined! You can’t possibly stay!’ Marie lamented at top volume, all her previous doubts having evidently been reignited by the reality of Charlotte’s Creek.

  ‘Shhh, Mum. What are you doing here?’

  Ignoring the question, Marie began firing enquiries and commiserations at Lucy. Lucy looked over at her father and Noel, who appeared to be deep in conversation. Then Mel was calling from the veranda, and they all made their way over for an impromptu cup of tea.

  Afterwards, Noel took Graham on a ute tour of the eastern end of the property. In the late afternoon, Graham also had a long talk at the yards with ‘that grubby station hand’, as Marie insisted on calling Ted.

  Despite Marie’s lack of tact—or possibly because of it—Mel seemed to take a shine to her. And to Lucy’s amazement, Marie handled Mel with ease. She took over Mel’s kitchen and taught her to cook Maltese caponata. The ringers seemed to quite like the meal, but Dennis complained about the ‘wog food’, whereupon he was severely dressed down by Marie, much to everyone’s amusement. Without a moment’s hesitation, Marie had turned off the television before dinner, and she then told Mel she ought to be ashamed of herself, having such a device in the meal room. Worst of all, she made them all say grace before dinner, which the children found hilarious.

  After dinner, Marie bundled the twins onto her lap and read them stories until bedtime, while Lucy and Graham had a quiet chat on the veranda, looking out over the enchanting evening landscape as the night insects began their pulsating song. Beyond the buildings, the setting sun was fiery behind the slender-trunked gums in the hospital paddock, and further afield, the mob of station horses grazed in the last of the light.

  It seemed that the trip up to Charlotte’s Creek had gone some way to assuaging Graham’s concerns. ‘This place has something of a magical quality to it,’ he observed. ‘But I can see you have your hands full here.’ He glanced at Lucy. ‘Some troubles are afoot.’

  Lucy looked at him questioningly, not quite sure what he was referring to. What had Noel told him? she wondered.

  ‘But these are good people,’ Graham went on. ‘And it’s an amazing opportunity, to be a part of all this.’ He waved his hand at the scene laid out before them. For the first time, Lucy noticed how white his hands were, and how clean his fingernails. ‘And you’re strong, Lucia,’ he added. ‘Do what you can for them.’

  ‘I will, Dad,’ Lucy replied, but she was puzzled by his comments. Was it Mel’s discontent he was referring to, the troublesome children, or had he perhaps noticed some deeper undercurrent of trouble?

  Graham and Marie had planned to return that evening to the motel in Ingham where they’d spent the previous night, but Gwen insisted that they stay with her and Noel. The next morning, she treated them to a first-class country breakfast and provided them with a variety of homemade pickles, chutneys and jams to take with them when they left. Noel took the day off mustering to drive them to Townsville airport.

  Lucy dearly wanted to go along, but it was a school day and she decided to fight the urge. She must let go. Instead, she joined Mel and the children to farewell them at the shed.

  Marie warmly embraced the children, then turned to Mel. She shook her head. ‘You poor woman! No lady can survive in these conditions. No wonder you’re shrewish from time to time.’

  Lucy winced and glanced at Mel, but she was grinning.

  ‘As much as I want to take Lucy home with us,’ Marie continued, ‘I think you need her here!’ She turned to Lucy then, and, sobbing, hugged and kissed her. Then in full view of everyone present, she pulled some rosary beads from her bra and pressed them into Lucy’s hand. ‘Say your prayers, Lucia!’ she commanded, gripping her daughter’s shoulders. Graham just smiled and kissed his daughter on the cheek, then climbed into Noel’s four-wheel drive.

  As she watched them drive away, Lucy felt as though her heart was breaking. Then Ted’s old red kelpie, Shep, was there, pressing his bony body against her leg and looking up at her with brown eyes full of compassion.

  The week after her parents’ visit, Lucy found some rare time to herself. It was Wednesday afternoon, the twins were napping and the older children were with Mel, who had ducked off somewhere in the paddock ute. Dennis and Noel were working away for three days, camped at ‘Prussia’, an area at the far western end of Charlotte’s Creek. Only Ted was somewhere in the vicinity of the home buildings, having stayed behind to take care of the new lot of weaners and all the jobs closer to home. It was the opportunity Lucy had been waiting for since her arrival at Charlott
e’s Creek. She grabbed an empty pickling jar and the stepladder from the kitchen, and set to work. She had only gathered a few frogs, when she was interrupted by two young voices, speaking in unison.

  ‘What are you doing, Lucy?’

  Lucy nearly overbalanced and would have ended up in the straggly bushes below the veranda if she hadn’t dropped the jar and grabbed onto the post.

  ‘Oh no!’ She peered after the jar, which fortunately was still intact, its landing having been buffered by shrubbery, then looked back at the twins. ‘You two are supposed to be asleep!’

  ‘Yeah, we know,’ Molly agreed.

  ‘But we wanted to watch you instead,’ Wade explained.

  ‘Why are you catching the frogs?’ Molly asked. ‘Is it because you never got a go at it when you were a little girl?’ She wrinkled her forehead sympathetically. ‘You poor townies never have much fun, eh?’

  ‘Or are you gonna eat them?’ Wade asked. ‘Natalie told us that fellas in some place eat them.’

  ‘No!’ Lucy said quickly. ‘I’m just getting rid of them for your mum. She doesn’t like the way they mess up the veranda.’

  ‘Just spray them with Dettol,’ said Wade. ‘No need to gin around with catching them.’

  ‘I’d much rather take them to live somewhere else.’

  Wade chuckled. ‘Those buggers just hop right back in a day or so.’

  ‘I’ll take them far away, Wade,’ Lucy said knowledgeably.

  ‘We’ll help,’ Molly declared, dragging the stool over from the end of the veranda to the nearest low beam.

  ‘No!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘You’re supposed to be having your sleep.’

  Ignoring her, both twins began to climb up onto the stool, teetering precariously.

  ‘Get down!’ Lucy said sternly. ‘Go back to bed right now!’

  ‘Got one!’ yelled Molly. ‘Yuck, I got pee in my face, little bugger!’ Wade laughed heartlessly.

  ‘You two won’t be helping cook the pizzas tonight if you don’t go back to bed,’ Lucy warned.