The Cattleman's Daughter

by Rachael Treasure

  Sam, who could only ever tolerate droving in short bursts, had absconded a couple of days before to see Bridie, restless to get the songs he’d thought of on the road down on paper. Evie was minding the girls at Tranquillity and cooking up an end-of-droving feast for them all. Emily knew by this afternoon she and Rod would have the herd tramping into the township of Dargo and into a paddock there. Then a big dinner by the fire.

  Rivers of rain fell from the brim of her hat and cascaded down the back of her oilskin. She wore waterproof trousers, but beneath her wet-weather gear she was damp right through, her clothes steamy against her skin. But at least her body and limbs were warm. At one point the rain was so heavy some of the cows stopped, pinned their ears back and turned about, looking at her as if to say, ‘Are you mad? How can you make us walk in this?’ She answered their query with a loud crack of her stockwhip. The leaders jolted, mooed, then turned to walk forward once more.

  So loud was the rain, Emily didn’t hear the vehicle approaching from behind until it was almost upon her. The gelding danced a sideways step at the sudden sight of the white four-wheel drive, but she soon had him steadied.

  Emily drew in a breath. There in the rain shone the bright VPP logo on the door of the four-wheel drive. The lairy green paint was at odds with the muted sodden bush surrounding them. She steered the horse around to the driver’s side. Luke wound down his window, frowning at the rain that dashed inside.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Wet enough out there?’

  Emily looked at his handsome face. He’d cut his hair short, which gave him an almost military look in his khaki uniform. Gorgeous though he was, when Emily saw him sitting there in that flash four-wheel drive, with all the bells and whistles, all she felt was sadness and resentment. How could she ever love her way around the fact he worked for an organisation that had just unhinged her life?

  So far, not one man had been brave enough to speak to the Flanaghans about the bans directly. Instead, their life as they’d known it had been brought to a halt by letters sent from Melbourne on weighty, expensive paper. The responsibility was never delegated to just one man. It was dished out by men who could stand behind another, then another.

  ‘Have you come out to make sure we’ve got all the cattle off the mountains?’ Emily said coldly. She saw the look of shock on Luke’s face before he covered his response with a smile.

  ‘No, I trust you. I was just out doing the flood monitoring. Might have to close the Lower Dargo Road if this rain keeps on.’ He looked skyward, then glanced back at the horse. ‘How’s he going?’

  ‘Good,’ said Emily, not giving Luke anything, but feeling guilty, knowing the horse was far from good. He was brilliant, and she should tell him so.

  ‘Thought of another name for him yet?’

  Emily squirmed. ‘Not really. Not officially. Evie nicknamed him Hot Stuff.’

  ‘Hot Stuff, eh?’ Luke gave her a wink. ‘Like Salsa. Bit like how you danced in the pub that night.’

  Oh, God, Emily thought. He’s flirting with me. Part of her was delighted. Part of her devastated. How could he flirt when here she was taking cattle down the road for the very last time? Didn’t he get it?

  ‘I think I’ll just stick with Bonus,’ she responded dully.

  Luke picked up on her continuing coldness, realising he wasn’t going to warm her, realising the gap between them was too huge. He fell silent for a time, the rain drumming on the roof of the vehicle, the gelding shifting his feet, ears back, rain trickling down his already soaked rump, not happy to be standing in the rain.

  Emily whistled Rousie and growled at him to stop hassling the cows, who were now also standing, resting, steam rising from their backs.

  ‘I tried to call you,’ Luke said softly.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Should I try again?’ he asked hopefully.

  Emily shook her head and rain spilled off her hat. ‘No. Don’t.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Luke. ‘It’s your call.’ He started the vehicle so that the gelding jumped a little. Luke looked out through the fogged-up windscreen waiting for Emily to speak. She didn’t. She sat staring ahead at the big herd of beautiful cows they would be forced to sell.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said. His voice was cold now too. There was hurt in it. He drove round the cattle, tooted the horn at Rod, who was waiting at the top of the hill for Emily and the herd to keep coming, and then was gone from sight.

  ‘C’mon, Mr Bonus-Salsa,’ Emily said to the disgruntled gelding, ‘move your hot arse. We got cows to yard and boys to forget. We’re almost home.’

  On the river-flat road into Dargo the rain eased and a cold wind was racing through the grasses. The early autumn leaves of the giant walnut and elm trees that flanked the main street were falling like silver confetti. The iridescent leaves stuck to the dark wet road so the cattle looked as if they were walking over a pathway of shining coins.

  As Emily and Rod drove the cattle through Dargo and past the pub, some locals came out to the verandah, beers in hand, toasting the cattlemen’s last drove.

  Across the road at the general store, Emily paused for a tourist, who was hellbent on taking a thousand photos. As she smiled for the man, Emily felt the sadness at knowing she and her family were no longer living history, but dead history. What they were doing on this day was now a thing of the past, to be captured on some bloke’s digital camera and shown to people who didn’t really understand. The last drove in Dargo.

  She neck-reined her horse about and hunted the cheeky, curious cows in the mob away from the store’s gardens and outdoor coffee tables. In the town’s heart, the cattle were perky, knowing they were close to home. They trotted for a few hundred metres before Emily and Rod guided the leaders into an open gateway that lay between an old miner’s cottage and the river. It was one of the Flanaghans’ paddocks that was flush with fresh grass.

  The cows instantly had their heads down, grabbing up great mouthfuls of feed. Emily sat listening to the rhythmic sound of the cattle eating as they tore at the sweet grasses that had been rested over the summer months. She observed their glossy coats and knew they would make top dollars in the sale yards in such condition, but she had no desire to see them go. It broke her heart to know that these quiet beasts, bred selectively over generations in the mountains, would now go elsewhere. Perhaps to slaughter, perhaps to another farm where they weren’t treated kindly and with respect. She shook the thoughts from her head and chose to think instead about the night ahead with her family. Emily manoeuvred the gelding around the gate and swung it shut, marking the end of an era.

  Twenty-eight

  Passing by the dining-room window of the Flanaghans’ family homestead, Emily looked in and smiled. There were Tilly and Meg, bright-faced, helping Evie carry dishes for tonight’s feast over to the old redgum table. The table was decked out with fine old crockery and silverware, and at the centre sat a candelabra ablaze with white tapering candles. Emily recalled her grandfather had won the candelabra with a Hereford bull at the 1955 Bairnsdale show. The light from the flames cast an angelic hue on the girls’ faces.

  At the old sideboard, Rod was pouring port into delicate crystal glasses, also trophies won by long-gone livestock at a long-gone agricultural show. Emily hadn’t seen some of these old things in years. They had mostly been shoved to the back of the sideboard cupboard, but Evie had declared tonight was special.

  So things had been dusted off, polished up and were now being used and enjoyed. Even the big old dining room, normally shut off from the rest of the house and used as a storage place, had been cleaned out and restored to its former beauty. The open fire burned brightly, illuminating the beautiful big painting above it of a cattleman’s hut, and there were fresh flowers in the vase on the sideboard. Evie had brought the house alive.

  Emily, hungry now and keen to get her jobs done so she could join the others inside, walked over to the feed shed and scooped dog pellets into a bucket as the kelpies danced in t
heir pens. Flo’s cat, Muscles, wove in and out of her legs, miaowing up at her.

  Above her, the stars were bright in the crisp night air. She felt tired from droving, but exhilarated that her body had coped so well. It was her mind that had not. Not since seeing Luke today on the road.

  In the near-darkness, Emily rattled out biscuits into the dogs’ bowls, talking to each dog but making a particular fuss of Rousie, as she always did. Then she made her way to the shed, swung her leg over the four-wheeler bike and revved it into life, Muscles leaping onto her lap for his moggy joyride. Zooming away down the road, she travelled the two kilometres to Bob’s house.

  There were no lights on. Flo had said he’d shot through again, though no one knew where to. When Bob left, they always took it upon themselves to check his animals. He’d been known to leave horses in yards for days without food or water so that they had chewed the top rails down to thin splintery sticks. Once, he’d left his dog, DD, on the chain for so long in the summer that the animal nearly perished from thirst. Emily hated going to Bob’s house. It was snaky and spidery and a constant reminder to her of the loss of her grandparents, who had kept the garden as a child’s paradise.

  She remembered the pond with golden fish swimming lazily in the sparkling water and the stepping stones leading to a soft, ferny fairy glen. There were flowers and windchimes and special places to sit. But since Bob had lived there, he ran the crossbred killers in the yard and the garden was all but gone now. The place had a depressing feel to it.

  Tonight, as she approached the house, she frowned. DD wasn’t bouncing madly up and down on the end of his chain. Emily shone the headlights over to the empty kennel. Tied to the upright starpicket on which the dog was normally tethered was a piece of cardboard torn from a beer carton. On it, in Bob’s scratchy hand in permanent marker: Thank you, Emily, but have sent DD on holiday.

  Emily sucked in a breath. Surely he didn’t mean he’d shot the dear old dog? Mad though it was, it was a character and so much a part of the place.

  She frowned and made her way to Bob’s henhouse. Again, a ripped-up beer box.

  Gave all the girls away to Donna. Emily took in the dark interior of the empty chook shed. She marched over to the paddock where Bob kept his riding mare. Normally Emily would throw her a bucket of chaff when Bob wasn’t about as he kept the mare in a sparse and weedy paddock and she often looked ribby, her coat dull. Another piece of cardboard was inside the feedbucket that hung from the fence. Gave the mare to Kate.

  What was going on? Emily ran over to Bob’s house and a sensor light flicked on. She saw that the back lawn was mown short, and all the rubbish on the verandah had been taken away. The curtains were drawn. The place looked completely deserted but, more surprisingly, it also looked clean and tidy.

  Emily jumped back on the bike, waited for Muscles to join her and then sped along the drive to the homestead. Just as she was heading inside the house she saw headlights. Sam’s sporty ute drew up, and he and Bridie tumbled out, laughing.

  ‘Hi, drover!’ Bridie said, looking stunning in a red top with funky black jeans. Sam, all in Johnny Cash black, gave Emily a quick hug.

  ‘I can see you’ve made an effort,’ Sam teased as he took in Emily’s old farm clothes.

  ‘What do we do with her?’ said Bridie, her blonde hair swept up Jane-Mansfield style in a thick red ribbon.

  ‘What’s wrong with this?’ Emily said, looking down at her chunky woollen work jumper.

  ‘We are going to pick out something for you to wear. You’re not coming to our special dinner like that!’

  ‘What a bossy pair you make,’ Emily said, as they rambled along the big hallway into the heart of the house.

  Once they were all gathered at the dining table, Emily, now wearing a pretty checked cowgirl shirt, couldn’t hold back her news any longer and blurted out, ‘I think Bob’s in trouble. I’m really worried about him.’

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  ‘We’ve been worrying about Bob for years,’ said Flo dryly.

  ‘But this time it’s different. There’s no sign of any of his animals and he’s left all these strange notes and the place is tidy. I mean really tidy.’ Emily twisted her hands in her lap. ‘You don’t think he’s done himself in?’

  ‘No, of course he hasn’t,’ Evie soothed. ‘Bob’s been coming to me for healing.’

  ‘Geez!’ said Flo, recalling Bob at Evie’s house. ‘The only healer Bob would’ve ever heard of is a blue heeler, not a spiritual healer. Evie, how did you get the man to come to you?’

  ‘I didn’t. He came to me after the bans.’

  ‘Yeah? Why?’ Sam asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you why,’ Evie said, ‘but I can tell you he’s okay. He’s not going to do anything silly … well, I can’t guarantee that, but you know what I mean. He’s not going to do himself in.’

  ‘Phew,’ said Emily.

  ‘Let’s drink a toast to Bob then, wherever the flock he may be,’ Flo said, the pre-dinner port already warming her up. And they raised their glasses.

  ‘To Bob!’ they toasted. ‘Wherever the flock he may be!’

  Emily sat watching her family eat in the flickering light of the candles and the open fire dancing across the old walls. Evie’s roast beef and vegetables kept them all so busy that for a time the conversation was slowed to a series of ‘Mmms’ and ‘Oohs’ and ‘More please!’ But as they finished their dinner Evie sat at the end of the table looking at them all. ‘What now?’

  ‘Dessert?’ said Tilly hopefully.

  ‘Yes, darling, but first I’d like to hear from each of you. What now for your lives? Rod, how about you go first?’

  Rod set down his glass and cleared his throat. He laced his fingers together before him and thought for a time.

  ‘Firstly, we’ll sort out the cattle. Keep a third of the best and sell the rest of them. Then, I don’t know. I thought I could go fencing and slashing. There are plenty of hobby blocks round here that need a handyman and the Melbournites who own them aren’t short of a penny. It’d tide us over financially until we find something else. Might even be a nice little business.’

  Emily could hear her father talking himself into this new life. She felt a prick of sadness, but she was also proud that he was open to trying new ventures after a lifetime of being a cattleman.

  ‘Flo?’ Evie said.

  ‘Mmm, well …’ began Flo, ‘I’ve had a proposition from Baz.’

  ‘Not another one!’ said Sam cheekily.

  ‘Not that sort of proposition. Well, yeah I’ve had plenty of those sorts of propositions from Baz. But he’s goin’ into livestock cartage and wants me to run a truck this side of the mountains for him.’

  ‘Flo’s going truckin’!’ said Bridie delightedly. ‘Can I be your stylist? You’ve got to look good. You’ll get more clients that way. I’m thinking translucent tops, tight jeans, sexy boots. But still classy, kind of like Nicole Kidman in the Australia movie. Oh, Flo, your business could boom.’

  ‘Look out! We’ll have a heap of understocked properties round here ’cause all the blokes will be selling their animals in the hope they get lucky with the truckie,’ Emily said.

  ‘That sounds great!’ Evie said. ‘Now, Sam? You?’

  ‘Well,’ he began, his eyes shining as he gathered up Bridie’s hand, ‘I’ll have to answer Bridie’s part for this too, because …’ They looked at each other joyfully. ‘We’re moving to the New South Wales north coast – the hub of country music! She’s helped me write enough songs for a new album and we want to record them. We’ve booked a house and a studio for the winter there. Once I’ve done some demos, Ike’s going to look about for a really good contract. We’ve written some great stuff.’

  ‘All written lying down, I presume,’ Emily joked and Sam kicked her under the table hard on the shin. The pain in her leg wasn’t enough to stop her happiness at hearing Sam’s news. But as all eyes fell upon her, she felt the pressure.

  ‘Yo
ur turn, Emily,’ Evie said.

  ‘I … I …’ she stammered, ‘I don’t really know.’

  ‘C’mon, Emily,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, I’m thinking of heading up to the plains for the winter. Just the girls and me.’

  ‘Yay!’ chorused the girls.

  ‘We can live in the snow!’ Meg said.

  ‘And build igloos!’ said Tilly.

  Rod looked concerned. ‘Are you sure? It’ll be tougher than you think.’

  ‘I know. But Evie’ll be down the way. We can ride or ski to her. We’re only likely to be snowed in for three weeks max. It’s not like a Flanaghan hasn’t lived that way before.’

  ‘Are you sure you want the girls in such isolation?’

  ‘Yes! I’m sure. I need the isolation. I’m not like you all. I haven’t got a clue what I’m going to do next. I had my heart set on being a cattleman and I need that time to figure out what to do.’

  They all sat contemplating Emily’s suggestion. They knew she was still healing emotionally. Still healing from her broken marriage and the loss of her dreams. None of them, save for Evie and Bridie, knew the full extent of her confusion over Luke, though, and the part that he played in her wanting to bunker down in the snow.

  ‘Then it’s settled,’ Rod said at last. ‘Emily, off you go into self-imposed exile with your girls. But please, please, remember you can always come back here before the spring, if it gets too much.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Dad. I’m sure.’

  Twenty-nine

  One week later, on her first night on the plains away from her family, Emily couldn’t believe the depth of her loneliness. In the darkness, she led Bonus and Snowgum from the float to the stable. She could feel the wind bite her lips, so cold she had to pull the neck of her jumper up over her mouth. With just the low gleam from her head torch lighting the way, she put the horses in a stall and returned to get the girls’ ponies, who shared the third bay of the float. Her breath hazed before her in a chilly mist.