‘Did you ally yourself with the Germans during the war to protect your child?’ The words spilt forth, they’d not meant to sound so condemnatory.
Athena laughed briefly and then her features soured. ‘Because you know nothing of me, I forgive you. Because you have not been in war, I forgive you.’ She took a breath, smoothing her hands across shapely hips. ‘My fiancé was shot by the Germans.’ Athena waited for this brutal reality to be absorbed. ‘Dragged by his hair out into the street and shot. No, we were not married. Yes, I carried his child. And I will never regret loving him. I have nothing to be ashamed of, while you, Eleanor Webber, what do you have to be ashamed of? I will tell you. You live in a free country, a country untouched by war and this man you say you do not care about. This man that you looked for on arrival in this place. That you stared at through the corner of your eye, hoping no-one would notice. Yes, I noticed. This man,’ Athena’s speech grew faster and more difficult to understand, ‘he cares about you and he has left you. He has walked out of this building into the darkness, because you dismissed him like he was nothing. That’s what you should be ashamed of.’
They were in the middle of the shearing shed and Athena’s passionate outburst had attracted the attention of nearly everyone. Mortified, Eleanor would have run. Anywhere. Immediately. Anywhere to escape the intrigued faces on the men around them.
‘Athena, I’m sorry, I really am so terribly sorry. I didn’t mean –’
‘Forget me. What is the problem?’
Eleanor thought of the kiss she’d shared with Hugh during the storm, of Dante. ‘I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, look at Lesley. Look at what she’s been through for love.’
‘If you don’t go to him,’ Athena’s tone grew low, ‘you will never know if it is love.’ She left Eleanor alone, returning to the wool table and the men clustered there. Reluctantly, the shearers went back to their drinking and stories.
Confused and feeling more than conspicuous, Eleanor walked down the steps, her fingers trailing the wool bins on either side.
Hugh was waiting at the entrance to the woolshed. Flicking away the cigarette he smoked, he ground it out with his riding boot and then walked back inside towards Eleanor.
‘Hugh, I thought you’d gone.’
‘I came back to talk to you. I was just in time to hear Athena.’
Eleanor was dumbstruck. ‘You heard what she said? Oh, Hugh, I’m sorry. Athena says what she thinks, not that she has any idea what she’s talking about.’
‘Actually, I thought the woman appeared to be pretty intuitive.’
He leant nonchalantly against the timber wall. From the little she knew of this man, Eleanor guessed he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. ‘Hugh, I –’
‘Eleanor, can you please be quiet for just a moment? Every time I’ve tried to speak with you since the storm, you either walk away or pre-empt our conversations. I just heard that Greek woman’s opinion and she’s clearly picked up on something between us.’ He moved towards her. ‘Why do you have such a hard time admitting there’s something there?’ Hugh’s confidence faltered. ‘I mean, there is something between us, isn’t there?’
‘I guess.’
Hugh frowned. ‘You guess?’
‘Hugh, do you honestly think it would work for us? I mean, you being who you are, and me being me? And you’re older,’ she added, although in truth that meant nothing.
In not denying their mutual attraction, Hugh was emboldened. He took another step forward, Eleanor one back, as if subconsciously retreating. ‘Don’t forget the two different-coloured eyes. That could be a real deal-breaker.’
He was now so close to her that they were mere inches apart.
‘I’m not offering marriage straight off, Elly,’ he told her lightly. ‘Let’s start with dinner sometime. Take things slowly, see how it goes.’
‘And,’ dare she even ask the question, ‘how do you think it will go?’
Hugh drew her into his arms. ‘Damn fine, Eleanor. Damn fine.’
Eleanor relaxed into his embrace. Maybe this was what Lesley meant about finding the right man and letting go.
Author’s Note
In the early 1940s my father, Ian, not averse to adventure, decided to run away from home. With his saddlebag packed with tinned food from the pantry, taken while the cook wasn’t looking, he jumped on his trusty horse Garnet and rode the mile and a bit to the Whalan Creek. Here he climbed his favourite tree, the one he often used as a lookout in case of a suspected Indonesian invasion. Armed with a .22 rifle, he intended to wait out the night before deciding on his next move.
And so I had the kernel of an idea that would become River Run.
Setting River Run in 1951 during the heady days of the booming wool industry – wool was worth a pound a pound – reminded me of my childhood. Escaping from the homestead, I would wander down to the shearing shed to peer through the timber slats at the action inside. On one such occasion I boldly strolled into the shed and down the board, clutching a much-loved doll dressed in bridal attire. Interrupting my favourite shearer, I showed him my dolly with pride. Dripping with sweat, his hand-piece poised above a struggling sheep, he grinned. ‘Why, Miss Nicole,’ he said, ‘I have one just like yours too.’
As always, I have had great fun digging through the family archives while researching this work. Thank you to my family and friends for their support in the writing of this novel and to Mr C. Munro, General Manager of Egelabra Merino Stud (HE Kater & Son Pastoral Co Pty) for allowing me access to the historic Egelabra woolshed. To Random House – my publisher, Beverley Cousins, and managing editor, Brandon VanOver – and my agent, Tara Wynne. Thank you for your professionalism and guidance. Lastly, to the many booksellers, libraries and readers: thank you.
I am indebted to the following texts and recommend them for further reading:
Concessions, Conflicts and Collusion: Graziers and Shearing Workers, 1946–1956 by K. Tsokhas; Afternoon Light by Sir Robert Menzies; Pulp Confidential, State Library of NSW; The Communist Movement and Australia by W. J. Brown; The Reds by Stuart Macintyre; The 1950s by Stella Lees and J. Senyard; A Home of My Own compiled by Mary Murray; Back on the Wool Track by Michelle Grattan; Mateship and Moneymaking by Rory O’Malley; Wool by G. S. Le Couteur; Governing Prosperity by Nicholas Brown; Australian Woolsheds by Harry Sowden and The Australian Merino by Charles Massy.
About the Author
A fourth-generation grazier, Nicole Alexander returned to her family’s property in the early 1990s. She is currently the business manager there. Nicole has a Master of Letters in creative writing and her novels, poetry, travel and genealogy articles have been published in Australia, Germany, America and Singapore.
She is the author of six previous novels: The Bark Cutters, A Changing Land, Absolution Creek, Sunset Ridge, The Great Plains and Wild Lands.
Also by Nicole Alexander
The Bark Cutters
A Changing Land
Absolution Creek
Sunset Ridge
The Great Plains
Wild Lands
Divertissements: Love, War, Society – Selected Poems
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Version 1.0
River Run
ePub ISBN – 9780857989475
First published by Bantam in 2016
Copyright © Nicole Alexander, 2016
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t of the author has been asserted.
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National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Alexander, Nicole L., author
River Run/Nicole Alexander
ISBN 978 0 85798 947 5 (ebook)
Families – Fiction
Country life – New South Wales – Fiction
Farm life – New South Wales – Fiction
Nineteen fifties – Fiction
A823.4
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Cover photo of woman © Rekha Garton/Trevillion Images; landscape © Getty Images
Extract from ‘My Country’ used by arrangement with the Licensor, The Dorothea Mackellar Estate
c/- Curtis Brown (Aust) Pty Ltd. ‘Don’t Fence Me In’, lyrics by Robert Fletcher and Cole Porter
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River Run Page 39