by Di Morrissey
‘Be careful though, Sal, you walk a fine line between being an employee and part of the family. Lorna is a fierce lioness as far as her cubs are concerned.’
‘You know her news?’
‘Yes. It’s lovely, but it might take a bit of a toll. I don’t think Lorna’s health is one hundred per cent. She’s more suited to a grand drawing room in town than a cattle station.’
‘She does seem to miss the culture, concerts and so on.’
‘Yes, she loves music,’ said Donny.
‘I like dancing, I enjoyed myself at the races.’
‘Then you’ve got something to look forward to – dancing under the moon in Darwin with Sean.’
She started to feel a quiver of excitement at the thought of handsome Sean dashing up to Darwin to meet her for a romantic interlude. She closed her eyes and fantasised in the sun.
When they landed the boys were there to meet her, Ian driving the Land Rover. After giving them time to climb over the plane, sit in the pilot’s seat and chat to Donny, Sally thanked him and they watched him take off. Then the three boys jumped around her.
‘Dad says we can go brumby trapping!’
‘Rob says there’s a big mob out by the gorge.’
‘Dad says we’re leaving on Friday.’
‘But you have to come too. Otherwise we can’t go.’
‘What?’ Sally looked at the three excited faces. ‘What’s your mum say?’
‘She says okay. She wants a rest.’
Sally gave Marty, sitting on her lap, a quick hug. ‘Well, brumby trapping it is then. I’ll have to ask Rob to tell me how it all works,’ she said and felt Marty stiffen. He looked at Tommy, but Ian answered.
‘He’s a bit crook about us going. Says we shouldn’t go, it’s too dangerous.’
‘We really want to go, Sally.’
‘Then we’re going,’ she said, and meant it.
Chapter Eleven
LORNA STOOD IN THE cool shadows of the verandah watching her three boys and Sally sort through what they were taking on their ride the following day. Rob was supervising the swags, rations, clothes and gear spread over the front lawn.
‘You’re each responsible for your own stuff. What you leave behind, stays behind. Yella-fella Bluey will be keeping an eye on you, and you obey anything he says. Wally is camp cook and in charge of the trap. Your dad will come along in the truck to herd the animals down to the water.’
‘I don’t understand how it works,’ said Sally.
‘There’s plenty of time to explain. When you’re on horseback you are in charge of your horse – its safety, saddling, hobbling, watering and feed. Clear enough?’
The boys nodded and Sally cheekily saluted. ‘Aye, aye captain.’
‘Don’t be flippant, Sally, this is dangerous work. You’re there to watch out for these three.’
‘Of course. I understand that,’ she said, somewhat chastened.
Sally’s banter was a veneer over the fear she felt. She knew enough about horses to imagine how wild stallions, some never having seen humans, protective of their harems, could react in a stressful situation. She’d have to keep her wits about her, knowing what little cowboys the three youngsters could be when they were on horseback.
A scuffle broke out between Ian and Marty who were both tugging at Marty’s blanket.
‘No, stop it. Leave it!’ shouted Marty.
‘I saw it. Don’t be a baby,’ teased Ian. ‘Baby, baby, baby.’
Sally stepped in and separated them, realising what Marty was hiding. She crouched down in front of him. ‘Did Pooh want to come too?’
Marty nodded, looking at his boots.
‘There’s nothing wrong with keeping something very special close to you,’ said Sally gently. ‘See, I have a little kiwi a good friend gave me.’ She pulled out a silver chain from inside her shirt with a good luck charm on it that Sean had given her. ‘And Rob has his special silver belt buckle.’
‘That’s different. A teddy bear is baby stuff,’ sneered Ian.
‘Pooh Bear isn’t just a teddy bear,’ said Marty crossly. The little bear was a special talisman for him.
Sally knew that at eight years old now he was possibly too old to cling to his Pooh Bear. ‘Tell you what, Marty. Sounds like it’s going to be pretty rough where we’re going. Might be a bit dangerous for Pooh. Why don’t you leave him here with your mum? She can look after him and Pooh will keep her company while we’re all away.’
He looked doubtful for a moment then gave a short nod and went over to his mother. He held out his worn Pooh Bear with a stiff arm. ‘Will you look after him, please, Mum?’
‘Of course I will.’ Lorna crouched down and reached for them both. ‘I’ll be very pleased to have him with me while you’re gone. He’ll keep me company.’
‘I want him back though.’ He hesitated. ‘’Course if the new baby wants my Pooh . . .’
‘No, Marty. He’s yours, always has been and always will be.’ Marty had begged for the Pooh Bear after hearing the story and it was one of the few toys that hadn’t been handed down to him. Lorna watched him run across the lawn with a twist in her heart. She had no doubt Pooh would eventually travel to boarding school in the bottom of Marty’s luggage. At least when the boys left home she’d have a new child to fill the hole in her heart. Instinctively her hand went to the swell in her belly. ‘Please, Lord, keep my children safe.’ She tried not to think of the problems of what she’d been told could be a difficult childbirth and being so far from help.
The younger boys plunged into the bath that night with gusto, their shyness in front of Sally long forgotten. Tommy was out first. Dripping and naked he led them in a merry ‘Aborigine dance’ along the verandah, with Ian and Marty giggling and mimicking his emu antics. Sally chased after them, grabbing the slight figure of Marty and wrapping him in the towel in her arms.
He hugged her tightly, his damp hair against her cheek. ‘This is going to be an adventure, isn’t it, Sal?’
‘I suppose so. You sure you want to go? No one will think you’re chicken if you don’t go. I’m worried about your mum being alone.’
‘I really want to go, please. I don’t want Dad and Ian to keep calling me a baby.’
‘Oh, Marty, they don’t think of you as a baby. You know how they are. They just don’t want you to grow up.’
‘Why?’
‘It makes your dad feel older when his youngest child starts to think and act for himself. And Ian feels threatened too. It’s natural. You just be yourself.’
He looked doubtful. ‘But I don’t want to grow up. I like being me.’
She rubbed the towel on his back. ‘Marty, you always just be yourself and you’ll be okay in this world.’
The dinner bell rang. Not the clanging cow bell John Monroe bashed for breakfast, but a discreet tinkle from the dining room. Lorna was getting impatient. She wanted them all to gather before dinner, this being their last meal together for a little while. Sally slicked the boys’ hair, checked that their shirts were neatly tucked in and sent them ahead as she quickly looked at herself. The new shampoo and hair crème had made her hair shine with bright red-gold streaks, her complexion looked better and she was paying attention to her nails. She smoothed her dress, slipped on her sandals and walked into the living room where the family was gathered. Rob, in an ironed clean blue shirt and hair smoothed with Brylcream, looked relaxed. Again Sally was struck by how much a part of this family he seemed. And it hit her that she too was finally fitting in, comfortable with life at Barra Creek. When she woke each morning now her thoughts turned to the day ahead rather than days back at home. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt homesick.
Rob smiled at her and raised his glass. ‘Cheers. I’ll hold the memory of how you look now for the next couple of nights.’
‘I might surprise you,’ said Sally with a grin.
John Monroe handed her a rum. ‘Sally is always full of surprises.’
She smiled at
Lorna who gave her a look in that unspoken language women shared. It was a swift understanding of the difference between men and women, of women’s sense of superiority, that men were simple creatures and that women understood each other’s motives. Especially how easy it was to manipulate men.
This evening the boys were included in the pre-dinner drinks. Sitting in the living room, sipping their cordial, they endured the questioning of their father and the testing of manners from their mother. Shooting quick glances at Sally for approval, noting the faint shakes of her head if they weren’t doing something right, they were on their best behaviour. This was the price they paid for being allowed to ‘go wild’ over the next few days.
Lorna insisted on playing a new LP record she’d brought from Sydney, by Nat King Cole, and as the boys sat with bored faces, Rob came to their rescue. He put down his glass and went to Sally, giving her a short bow.
‘May I have the pleasure of the next dance?’
She smiled and rose. Rob swept her up and swung into a full dance, no half-hearted shuffling. The boys applauded as he spun her along the verandah.
‘Go on, Dad,’ sang out Marty.
John Monroe, looking as attractive as Lorna always remembered him, took up the challenge. ‘You’re as beautiful as the day I first saw you, Lorn. Shall we?’ She stepped into his outstretched arms with a slight smile.
King’s School had taught him well and he swung into a waltz. They spun and dipped to the claps of the boys.
‘What did I ever do to deserve the likes of you?’ John asked softly.
‘You were just yourself, I guess.’
‘With all my flaws and troubles?’
‘I like to think I know what’s in your heart, John. You’re a good man.’
‘Remind me more often, love.’ He spun her around, the moment now lost.
‘Careful,’ she gasped. ‘I don’t want to fall.’
Rob and Sally danced back to the room after their circuit of the verandah and fell into their chairs as the boys laughed and cheered. Lizzie, looking somewhat taken aback, stood stiffly in the doorway.
‘You wantum grub?’
‘Yes, yes, put it on the table please, Lizzie,’ laughed Lorna.
As the last track on the record played, Marty stepped shyly forward. ‘Can I try, Mum?’
John poured drinks for Sally and Rob. Ian and Tommy went to their table as Lizzie carried in the food. And in the shadows on the verandah, Marty formally slipped his arm around his mother’s waist, took her outstretched hand and, concentrating hard, counting to himself, solemnly danced with his mother.
This was the end of the dry season and the brumbies, desperate for water, were coming down from the surrounding hills to the waterhole on the boundary of Barra Creek’s far western paddock, half a day’s drive from the homestead. Two fences ran from the base of the small hill ten miles into the big waterhole that abutted the fence of this paddock. They made a direct funnel to the waterhole where the men had built a permanent trap. The fences corralling the water were partially pulled down when not in use. Rob and Wally had gone ahead a few days earlier to erect the trap yard and the bough hides where they would wait during the night until the brumbies came to water.
When they’d finished the trap they returned to the homestead to let the brumbies get used to coming down to the waterhole past the fences. They were suspicious creatures, and smart, but after several trips they became familiar with the look and smell of the fences, humans and the yard.
Rob, Sally and the boys set out to ride to the camp established by Bluey and Chilla. There was a campfire with the packhorses hobbled nearby, the men and their horses were settled under trees a short distance away. Everyone was prepared to move downwind at a moment’s notice. John Monroe would drive out in the Land Rover two days later.
They arrived mid afternoon and Rob showed Sally and the boys the waterhole with the yards and the trap railing gates ready to be slammed in place once the brumbies went in.
‘Tomorrow night we’ll sit in the hide to see what mob turns up. If it’s a decent group, we’ll try to trap them the next night.’
‘There’s no water up there?’ asked Ian.
‘Nope, and the small waterholes close to the hills have dried up. This is the main watering place, always has been.’
‘How many horses are out there?’ asked Sally, looking at the silent, still landscape.
‘Thousands. Some escaped from stations, most have bred in the wild, but John and some other station owners have released decent bloodstock over the years to build up the quality of the herds. This is payback time, we hope.’
‘Sometimes they’re mangy and scrappy, with no good horses in the mob,’ explained Ian.
‘Can we watch them being broken?’ asked Tommy.
‘It’s a rough business, we geld the young colts straightaway. The breaking is pretty exciting.’
‘Rodeo time, huh? Is that how you won your silver buckle?’ Sally teased.
Rob didn’t answer and swung his horse, leading them away from the marshy water.
That night, grouped around the campfire after their meal of salt beef and damper, the men started telling stories. The boys sat entranced as the stockmen told of ghosts, of mysterious murders, strange events, Aboriginal beliefs, great rides, bronco and buffalo busting, and accidents. Sally and Rob sat behind the ring around the fire, watching the light flicker over the faces of those who talked and those who listened. Sally was fascinated but Rob leaned near her and whispered, ‘Don’t believe a half of what you hear. Bushies’ tall tales!’
‘Don’t disillusion me. I was intrigued by the mummified family.’
Bluey had told of working years back in the sandhill country. A sand storm had blown away half a sandhill showing something buried in it, so they dug and dug and found an old shack. Inside was a family sitting around a kitchen table. A sand storm had buried them alive and in the dry airless heat the bodies had mummified.
Rob shrugged. ‘Could be true. Though these fellows tell some strange stories at times.’
Sally turned to say something and caught Rob looking at her. They were sitting close, the firelight catching a gleam in their hair, their faces in shadow, but their eyes bright. It hit her forcibly as if she’d been burned, how attractive, desirable, strong and dependable Rob looked. She closed her eyes for a second, almost winded.
‘Are you all right?’ He touched her arm and she felt again a searing tingle.
She nodded and scrambled to her feet. ‘I have to go pee.’ She could have kicked herself for saying something so common – as her mother would say. But it was all that came to her mind. She wanted to put a little distance between them, catch her breath. The sensation she felt shocked her.
‘Take the torch and look where you walk.’
She headed into the darkness taking deep breaths. Why had such a feeling just hit her? She’d always liked Rob and, despite her first impressions, he was a handsome man. And a nice man. She respected him and enjoyed his company. She and Rob and the three boys were a solid unit in the face of John Monroe’s bluster, Lorna’s bouts of withdrawal and the unpredictable life at Barra Creek. While she hadn’t thought of him exactly as a brotherly figure, she had always felt comfortable and secure around him. This wild spark of sexual electricity was unexpected and confusing. She turned the torch off and stood quietly. Glancing back she saw figures moving around the campfire as swags were unrolled. Glad of the diversion of settling the boys, she headed back.
The three boys, as usual, encircled her swag and she saw old Fitzi nod to them as he joined the group of stockmen who were settling down. Sally stood by the glowing embers, warming her hands.
Rob crouched down and stuck a length of wood rolled inside thick grass into the fire where it flared then glowed and smoked. ‘I’m going down to the hide. See what kind of a mob turns up and if it’s worth the trouble.’
‘When do the horses come and drink?’
‘Not long after moonrise, when it’s
bright. They feel safer. I want to get settled before then.’
‘Can I come?’ The words came naturally but Sally thought that her voice sounded strange.
Rob didn’t seem to notice. ‘Settle the boys and rug up, it’ll be cold.’
He tested the wind direction and quietly told her the rules. ‘No talking, no smoking, no strong odours.’
‘John told me before I left not to wear any perfume, deodorant or use any fancy soap.’
‘Right. I’ll show you some hand signals. We’ll be there for about two hours. If they haven’t turned up by then, Wally will take the next shift.’
He was businesslike and, after checking the boys, Sally pulled on her fleece-lined jacket and gave a brief wave to the boys, rolled in their swags, their heads just visible. The campfire had been put out.
‘Tell us how many brumbies there are, and pick out a good one for me,’ whispered Ian.
Holding a smoke torch, which she waved in front to light her way and keep insects at bay, Sally followed Rob down to the waterhole. It took fifteen minutes through the open country following the fence line. Rob stopped as the dark water came into view and signalled for Sally to go to one side where, twenty yards away from the waterhole, she could see a little shelter made of brush and boughs.
Inside there was just enough room for the two of them to sit, leaning against a rock, and peer through gaps between the branches. They were on a slight rise, which gave them a good view of the hill and the waterhole in front of them. The boundary fences led from the base of the rocky, tree-studded hill straight to the yard around the waterhole. As Sally’s eyes grew accustomed to the dim light she could make out the gates that would bar any exit when they were swung shut across the corridor.
They sat quietly, barely moving. She heard the rush of a bird’s wings, the crackle of insects in the grass, the croak of a frog.
The proximity of Rob, hunched in his jacket, staring across the water, was becoming claustrophobic. Sally wished she hadn’t come and hoped either the brumbies or Wally would come to relieve the building tension she felt in her body. She put her head on her knees, willing the suffocating sensation to pass, and Rob gently stroked her hair. She didn’t move, didn’t dare lift her head to look at him, but gradually she felt her neck and shoulders relax and the knot in her stomach loosen. Then he slid his hand onto her shoulder and pressed it firmly. Sally looked up. The moon was now shining across the still water, lighting the reeds and waterlilies around its bank. Rob tilted his head, listening, then she heard it too. A loose rock rolled, a gentle snort, a cracking twig. She imagined she could smell the horses. Shadowy movement on the hillside caught her attention. The pale glimmer of one shadow followed by others. The leader emerged alone into the clearing at the start of the run down to the water.