by Di Morrissey
‘It won’t be the same here without you, Sal,’ said Tommy. Lorna’s direction that they call their governess Miss Mitchell had long been discarded as the bond between them grew.
‘You’re going into a new life too – boarding school, new friends, the big smoke. And then home for holidays,’ said Sally, trying to sound cheerful. She was also finding the idea of leaving Barra Creek difficult.
‘Maybe I don’t want to spend every holiday here,’ said Tommy.
Ian shot him a furious look. ‘But you have to. Where else would you go?’
‘Oh, maybe we could go to New Zealand, see Sally one time.’
‘Of course you could. Come skiing or see what a sheep farm is like. We could do lots of things.’
‘I’d like to go to England too,’ said Tommy, warming to the idea of travelling.
‘We have to stay and look after this place,’ said Ian stubbornly. ‘Dad will be too old and he won’t change anything.’
Sally laughed. ‘Come on, he’s not even fifty yet. You fellows have to see the world, have a bit of fun before you settle down.’
Tommy nodded enthusiastically but Ian’s face set. ‘Not me. I hate cities and stuff. I like it here best.’
Sally decided to shift the conversation. ‘School will be exciting. I want you to write to me.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Tommy. ‘But I’m not looking forward to it. Ian will be in the big school so I won’t know anyone.’
‘Nor will I,’ said Ian.
‘There are a lot of country boys there, I bet you’ll find someone you know, or who you’ve talked to on the wireless,’ said Sally. ‘Now come on, let’s eat. Then we’ll go back and see Rob before they go out after that mob Donny spotted.’
Tommy bit into a sandwich and asked casually, ‘Are you going to marry Rob?’
‘Goodness! Why do you say that? We like each other, but, well, we both have things to do like I said – travelling, deciding where to settle.’
‘Why don’t you both stay here then? Work for us?’ said Ian.
‘That’s too far away to think about. You might end up doing something quite different.’
‘I’m going to England,’ said Tommy. ‘And I’ll write stories about it.’
‘I’m staying here,’ said Ian firmly. ‘I’ll never leave Barra Creek.’
A slight shudder ran through Sally. Marty had said the same thing.
Later that night, lying in Rob’s arms, Sally talked about the picnic.
‘I feel so sad that I can’t watch them grow up. I’m sure Tommy will keep in touch, though. Ian is adamant about taking over here, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah. I foresee trouble. It’s not unusual for fathers and sons to butt heads over running the family farm.’ He paused. ‘I’ve had my own confrontation with my dad, but I’m sure we can resolve things eventually. But Ian is so . . . angry.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s got so many issues with John.’
‘He blames John for anything that goes wrong,’ said Sally, thinking of Marty, of Jasper, of dozens of small incidents.
‘Let’s not worry about it. We’ll both be gone from here soon enough, too soon.’ He rolled over and kissed her.
Sally returned the kiss but she was feeling fretful. There seemed no definite plans for their future and the more casual Rob became the more she wanted to hold onto him. She understood that he had to deal with the future of his father’s station eventually but he told her he didn’t want to talk about it, that he’d sort something out. She sighed and knew she’d have to be content with that for the present.
He felt her sigh and tightened his arms around her. ‘Feeling sad about going?’
‘Of course. But I was thinking I might stop over in Sydney for a few days.’
‘A rest before the wedding chaos.’
‘Yes, maybe play a bit. I had a good time in Sydney on the way here, and I still know a few people there.’
‘Good idea. Gee, we never did have a holiday together.’
‘Bit hard when Lorna and John are watching us like hawks.’
‘They feel responsible for you while you’re under their roof. We’ll make up for it one day.’ He sat up and started to dress. ‘I’d better get some sleep. We’re leaving early tomorrow.’
At three-thirty the next morning John Monroe decided to repack the Land Rover, and in the dark dropped a box on his foot. His cursing woke Lorna who had to treat the small cut. He then wanted breakfast and decided to cook a full meal as they’d be on the road all day. By that time Rob, Snowy and Fitzi had all come up to the house and joined him for breakfast.
It was sunrise and, smelling chops, bacon and eggs cooking, Ian and Tommy got up and sat with the men in the kitchen, tucking into breakfast too. They woke Sally as they leapt out of bed, so she threw on her clothes and went to help John. It always amused her that Monroe, who saw himself as such a tough bloke, was at home cooking in the huge old kitchen that Lizzie regarded as her domain. It was a happy breakfast, with everyone helping to make toast and tea while John flipped eggs in the frying pan and turned the chops, sausages and bacon in the big pan over the open fire.
Lorna, holding Jilly, appeared in the doorway and frowned at the sight of the boys in their pyjamas shaking tomato sauce all over their eggs. ‘Is this a midnight party still going on? You’d better wake those lubras and get them in here to clean up after you.’
They watched the men leave, Lorna standing on the verandah with baby Jilly, Sally and the boys at the front gate. The house lubras stood outside the kitchen while the rest of the mob at the blacks’ camp stayed in their gundies still sleeping. Some of the older Aboriginal boys also watched them, waiting for the time they could go along on a muster. Most of them were already competent riders, leaping on horses bareback at every opportunity. But until they’d been trained by Fitzi and the stockmen, John Monroe barred the kids from the stock camps.
Sally kept her eyes on Rob, sitting easily in the saddle, his jacket collar turned up, his hat pulled forward. She noticed that he and John Monroe had polished their boots, a ritual they followed even though their boots would be dirty the first time they hit the ground. Rob gave her a smile and a wink, tipped his hat then wheeled his horse away.
Sally felt a slight lump in her throat. Rob was eating into her heart. She was determined to sort out their future – if they were to be together or not – before she left for New Zealand. She hated the unfamiliar sense of insecurity and being the one on the back foot. Briskly she turned back to the boys. ‘School today.’
‘But we’ve finished our exams!’ they wailed.
‘Come on, we’re going to have a lesson on how to write a letter.’
‘Tommy knows that stuff,’ said Ian.
‘Maybe, but you need to know too; how to set out a letter to the bank manager, or say thank you for someone’s hospitality. Come on, this will be our last lesson together.’
Subdued, they went to get ready.
They worked on the letter writing for an hour. The other kids did their best drawing and writing before Sally asked what was their favourite school activity. They all yelled, ‘Singing!’
Ian, though, dropped his head on his desk in mock despair. ‘Oh no.’
Lorna, sitting in the garden with Jilly, smiled as she heard the voices singing, or bellowing, rounds that drifted from the schoolhouse. The school bell clanged and there was a chorus of three cheers. What a treasure Sally was, she thought. A string of governesses had come and gone, and then Sally had arrived – so ladylike, so overdressed and so determined to stick it out.
She looked at the little girl in the bouncinette at her feet. If only Sally would be around when Jilly was older. John had made a rare visit to Lorna’s bedroom to chat about Sally. He suggested perhaps they should try to persuade her to stay on, be a nanny for Jilly while the boys were away at school. He even suggested they encourage the relationship with Rob if it would keep her there.
‘We couldn’t have better staff around than the two of them,’ he said.
‘Sally isn’t staff, John. She comes from a very good family who expect a lot more from her. Would you want Jillian to be a nanny?’
He didn’t answer for a moment then said, ‘She’s a good sport. I like having her around.’
Lorna had become close to Sally and she saw clearly that her husband enjoyed the company of the pretty, bright young woman who loved horses and the open spaces. Sally could give him what she could not. Even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself, and Sally was completely unaware of the fact that John Monroe found her attractive. Lorna knew he’d never make any overture towards Sally, though, because that would rock the boat too much. Besides, there were plenty of gins around to meet his needs.
Sally was loyal to the family and as women they shared a bond with the children and each other. Lorna was determined that Sally, whom she thought of as a little sister, a friend or a grown daughter, should move up in life. She couldn’t bear the thought of her being trapped as she was. Sally might enjoy life at Barra Creek for the moment, but she was still able to make choices. As an independent, free-spirited girl she should follow her desires. Why should women always be under the thumb of their parents or husbands? From what she was reading, times were changing and if Lorna had her life over again, she’d be like Sally.
No, there was no way she was going to encourage Sally to stay. Leaving Barra Creek, and especially Rob, was the best thing Sally could do.
Following the sing-song, school was dismissed. As the black children began to unbutton their shirts, Sally waved her hand. ‘Keep ’em school clothes. No more school.’
They stood there, unsure what to do. ‘No go longa school, where ’em go, dis place?’
‘Tell you what we’re doing,’ she announced suddenly. ‘River. Swim and fish, eh?’
They broke into huge smiles and shouting to the older and younger kids who didn’t go to school they all raced away.
‘Are we going swimming?’ asked Tommy. It was mid morning.
‘Why not? It’s so hot and school’s over.’
‘Yippee! C’mon,’ shouted Tommy. And for once even serious Ian raced Tommy to the house.
When they got to the river, all the kids from the camp were jumping off the landing, swinging from the tree, and dropping like quick bombs into the water. The smallest of the piccaninnies giggled and bobbed among the waterlilies. Following Ian and Tommy, Sally dived into the cool water. If there were any crocs around they would have been frightened off by the squealing children.
Sally followed the boys, climbing the huge paperbark and swinging from the branch, then she let go and dropped into the water. They ran down the landing, leaping, hugging knees and banging into the water to make the biggest splash. They shrieked and laughed and shouted, inventing games, having competitions where age, status and culture were immaterial.
Out of breath, Sally collapsed on the bank and lay there, feeling the sun dry her, looking at the clear, bright blue sky. The rains had stopped for the moment. She felt cleansed, not just in her body but in her mind. She would never forget this place, but she was ready to move on to the next phase of her life, whatever it might be.
They walked back from the river, the girls balancing huge pink and blue waterlilies on their heads, the boys nudging, jostling, punching playfully.
Sally was going through the chest of drawers in the governess’ room where she’d slept only once, on her first night at Barra Creek. She was dismayed to find she’d have to wash the clothes that had been stored there as they were covered in gecko poo. Lorna appeared in the doorway. ‘I have to go down to the camp. Betsy is having trouble. Giving birth is normally no problem for them, those old lubras are excellent midwives, but something is wrong apparently.’
‘Can I help?’ asked Sally hesitantly.
‘Have you ever helped birth a baby?’
‘Ah, no. I guess I wouldn’t be much help.’
Lorna headed out to the verandah then seemed to change her mind and turned back. ‘You’d better come with me. Get an old sheet from the cupboard.’
Lizzie directed them past the blacks’ camp to a clump of trees. They could see Betsy, who was sitting naked, leaning against a tree, her knees pulled up; sheets of newspaper were spread between her legs and an old lubra sat cross-legged beside her.
Lorna directed Betsy to lie down and she probed her distended belly efficiently. The old woman twisted her hands.
‘Him up down,’ explained Lizzie.
‘Looks like a breech birth.’ She sent Lizzie back to the camp for fat, ‘anything greasy – cooking oil, margarine’.
Betsy kept staring from Lorna to Sally with wide frightened eyes, occasionally wincing as her muscles contracted.
When Lizzie returned with a tin of lard, Lorna, in pidgin, directed the two lubras to massage the bulge of the baby using the grease, feeling where the baby’s head was, trying to encourage the infant to turn and put its head down into the birth canal.
‘I’m going back to the house for some castor oil, it’s an old wives’ tale they say, but it could bring the baby on,’ said Lorna.
‘It looks like it’s trying to come,’ said Sally, watching the writhing in Betsy’s belly as she bit her lip and mumbled to herself.
Lorna drove away but before she returned, Lizzie and the midwife began talking excitedly. They sat Betsy up and, with Lizzie holding her under the armpits, they helped her into a kneeling position. With a great expulsion of breath and a long moan, she pushed down and the baby slithered onto the newspaper.
The old midwife pulled the cord and the placenta gushed out. She bit the cord, leaving a length that would later dry and drop off, and be kept as ‘lucky string’ for the baby’s good health. She lifted the baby, coated in a grey film, off the paper and put it in Betsy’s lap. Lizzie grabbed the torn sheet and began wiping the baby, crooning a kind of chant.
Sally was mesmerised and was relieved at the sound of the truck returning. She waved to Lorna, ‘It’s here, it’s born.’ It suddenly occurred to her to see if the baby was a boy or girl and she stepped closer then stopped in shock.
The white mucus had been wiped off the little girl and Sally saw how pale she was, how light skinned. There was no doubting this child’s father was a white man.
Betsy put the child to her breast and smiled down at it, stroking the dark down of hair on her head. The baby’s dark eyelashes fluttered closed as the mouth began working at the swollen breast.
Lorna took Lizzie aside and spoke quietly to her, then came back to Sally. ‘She’ll be all right now. They’ll look after her. They have ceremonial business to do. They bury the placenta on this spot and sing and carry on. Leave them be.’
They didn’t speak as they drove back but before they reached the homestead Lorna turned off the ignition and sat in silence for a few seconds. Finally she said, ‘You saw that baby. It’s what they call a yella-fella, a half-caste.’
‘Who’s the father? One of the stockmen? One of the workers? Does she know, do you think?’
‘Oh, she knows all right. Betsy has only ever shared one man’s swag,’ said Lorna tightly.
‘Well, does he know? Does it matter? They all seem to be one big family anyway,’ said Sally, thinking of how the kids were cuddled and carried by all the women in the camp. Then a thought struck her. ‘They will look after her? I mean they won’t kill the baby. I’ve heard things –’
‘No. They know who the father is.’ Lorna turned to Sally, her knuckles gripping the steering wheel. ‘You should know too.’
Sally stared at her.
‘It’s Rob. I’m sorry, Sally. I think you should know. It’s a good thing you’re leaving.’
Sally sat there, her mind refusing to absorb the impossible.
‘They all do it. The men say it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a need, nothing to do with their own white women. I’ve never understood it, but you’ll never change it either.’
Lorna didn’t add that many white men who had favourite women and then b
rought a white wife home were soon back with the women. ‘They like sex and don’t ask for anything,’ John had bluntly told her.
A thought flashed through Sally’s mind of the night she woke to find John Monroe watching her sleep. She then remembered the scene in the men’s quarters where Rob had passed out and the women were hanging on the men. She’d always wondered why Lorna had sent her down there that night. Now she knew that she’d been trying to tell her, warn her.
With a sob Sally stumbled from the car and ran. She ran till she had no more breath and then she fell down and hit her fists on the ground. She cried with pain and sadness. Then she got angry that she’d been so stupid and not seen what probably everyone else knew. Lorna might accept that this went on, she could not. Hurt and rage spilled from her. No wonder John and Lorna had tried to stop her seeing Rob.
Later, from the verandah, Lorna watched Sally walk slowly back towards the house. Her head was down, her shoulders sagged. She knew Sally would be gone before Rob came back from the muster. And she was glad.
*
Donny landed the plane at Cloncurry where Sally would make the hop to Townsville to fly TAA to Sydney. He took off his earphones and glanced at Sally’s sad face.
‘Darling heart, don’t feel so bad. You only came for a short time not a good time, an adventure, remember, not to change your life.’
‘I really loved him, Donny.’
‘Aw shucks, as they say in Yankeeland. Listen, I’m just a simple bush pilot, but I ferry a lot of people around and I see what happens to them out here. I wouldn’t want you to stay out here, Sal. You’d shrivel up. You’d get frustrated you couldn’t change things – him, the life, the weather.’ He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You deserve someone who’ll love you, give you the kind of life you want. Believe me, you don’t want this.’
‘I don’t want my old life in New Zealand any more either.’