‘I imagine that he will.’ He considered her. ‘Look, Matilda.’ She could see he was trying to keep his temper in check. ‘The boy and I quarrelled, I admit it. I admit I want something else for my son. Is that so wrong?’
‘Am I so bad?’
‘You’re wrong for him,’ he said harshly. ‘Neither of you can see it, but you are.’
She thrust her own doubts away. ‘It’s our choice. Not yours. Your son is not a boy. He’s a man. You made your life — a different one from what your father expected. Why can’t you let him make his?’
She saw something in his expression. Oh, I know you too, you old biscuit, she thought. You are so like your son. ‘What did you say to him yesterday? What did you say to make James leave?’
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, ‘I told him he could choose. You or Drinkwater. If he marries you the place will go to Bertram.’
Fury filled her like the flood down the river — anger for the property as much as for the man. ‘You … you stupid old man!’
He stared at her. Good! How long had it been since anyone — apart from maybe James — had spoken to him like this?
‘Bertram is a … a slug. He doesn’t even like the bush! It’s James’s heart. It’s not fair to the place either. You can’t give land to someone who doesn’t love it — understand it.’
‘Then James will know which to choose.’
The stupidity of it made her want to stamp her foot. ‘Mr Drinkwater … if someone gave you an ultimatum like that, what would you do? Would you give in?’
He took his hat off, almost, she thought, like he was pleading. ‘Then you do it. Let him go.’
‘Whatever happens between me and your son is our business. Can you understand that? Not yours.’
‘If it’s money you want —’
She gasped as though he had thrown a bucket of water over her. ‘You are lower than a snake’s belly. Get out. And don’t come back.’
‘Matilda … Matilda, I apologise.’
‘Apologise to your son. I don’t want to hear it.’ She turned and went inside.
Chapter 44
My very dear Matilda,
It seems I am always apologising to you, first for my father’s unforgivable behaviour and now for mine. I left Drinkwater in a rage last Saturday night, too late to see you and, if I am honest, too furious also. Nor did I want to risk gossip if anyone saw me going to your home at night.
To put it briefly, Father told me to choose between you and Drinkwater. I told him to, well, never mind that now. The important thing is that I love you, and have no intention of bowing to Father’s temper in this or any other matter.
I’m heading up-country to my chum Feather’s place. We were at school together. It’s remote, and I’m not sure how often I can get a letter out. But I need to be away so Father can calm down. He needs me at Drinkwater, and he knows it. If you need to write to me, it’s care of Beecroft Station, via Umbergumbie.
I hope to see you soon. Till then, will you wear this for me? It belonged to my grandmother, my mother’s mother.
Yours, always,
James
She put the letter down, almost in a dream, then opened the tiny box. The ring was gold, with a blue stone. A sapphire, she supposed. Was it an engagement ring? Once more he hadn’t asked, had just assumed.
She tried it on her left ring finger automatically. It was a bit loose, but it fitted. If she wore it she’d need to get it resized or wrap a bit of cloth around her finger.
She took the ring off, and stared at it. If she wore it she would be admitting to everyone who saw it that they were engaged. James obviously thought that they already were.
She placed the ring back in its box, then moved into the bedroom, reaching behind to undo the hooks on her dress. No need to wear a dress now that James wouldn’t see her. She would change into her trousers, put out hay for the sheep.
Her hands were shaking. She took a breath and tried to open the hooks again.
A sound rumbled through the valley now. A motorcar. Of course Mr Drinkwater would know a letter had come for her. All mail passed through Drinkwater. And yet he hadn’t opened it.
She hesitated, then opened the box again, and slid the ring onto her third finger, clenching her fingers so it didn’t fall off.
This time she put the kettle on while she was waiting for Mr Drinkwater to come in.
‘Matilda.’ He stood at the doorway; he was looking even older. His eyes were shadowed. She had forgotten that she had told him not to come back.
‘Mr Drinkwater. Sit down. I’ll make some tea.’
She gestured with her left hand, so he saw the ring. His eyes widened, but he didn’t comment. He looked around the house. ‘Is the old woman here?’
‘No.’ Auntie Love was none of his business either.
He sat at the table, waiting while she handed him his cup of tea. ‘You have a letter,’ he said abruptly.
‘Yes.’
‘From James?’
‘I’m sure you examined the handwriting before you let it come here.’
‘What does it say?’
Anger made her voice sharp. ‘You gave your son a choice. He’s made it.’
He shut his eyes, looking so tired she almost relented, told him that she hadn’t made up her mind, that James could come home. But she had put the ring on, and if James came back the arguments would just begin again.
‘You can write to him care of Beecroft Station, via Umbergumbie,’ she said instead.
‘Feather’s place?’ He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’m not going to change my mind, though.’
Why was he being so stubborn? It couldn’t just be because he hadn’t been asked, nor because she wasn’t a wealthy bride. Once again she had the feeling that she had been told the truth, but not the whole truth.
Suddenly she had had all she could stand of the Drinkwaters.
‘I need to check the water troughs,’ she said abruptly. ‘Please, stay and finish your tea.’
‘What? Oh, of course. I must be going.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you, Matilda.’
It was all too much. ‘For once in your life, can’t you do the right thing?’
‘I am,’ he said heavily. ‘Don’t you see? I am.’
Chapter 45
JULY 1899
Dear Mrs Thompson,
I hope you are well.
I do not know if you got my last letter. I would very much like to get in touch with Tommy. Could you please ask him to write to me? There are things I really would like to talk to him about.
She stared at the words. She couldn’t plead with Tommy to come back like that. It wasn’t fair.
She crumbled up the piece of paper. Paper was precious, but if she used this again even for a grocery list someone in town might read it.
She tried on a fresh sheet of paper.
Dear Mrs Thompson,
I hope you are well.
I do not know if you got my last letter. I would very much like to reach Tommy. Could you please ask him to write to me? Please tell him everything is well here, we even had a shower of rain last week.
Was that better?
She dipped the pen in the inkwell again, then put it down. She’d try to write tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow there would be another letter from James. He’d written every week, though sometimes two letters arrived together. He’d told her he rode fifty miles each Saturday to get to the mail.
She looked at the ring on her finger. It tied her to him, yet she had been the one who put it on, who even wrapped a rag around her finger to make it fit. I can take it off any time I want to, she thought.
She didn’t think she had ever felt so alone.
This wasn’t getting the hens fed, the eggs collected, the cow milked. She stood up from the table, then stared.
Auntie Love smiled at her from the sofa, Hey You at her feet. ‘Auntie!’
It was so good to feel the thin brown arms about her, to smel
l the gum leaves and smoke in her hair. Mum’s dress looked no more worn than when she’d seen it last. ‘Where have you been?’
Auntie laughed. She stood up, then calmly opened the chest to get flour to make damper.
Suddenly the valley felt right again.
It was a cold winter, the sky too high and clear to keep the warmth in the soil. The scanty grass seemed hardly to feed the sheep at all. They grew so thin that Matilda bought hay for the lambing ewes, and left bales by the water troughs every three days.
The morning sunlight flickered through the trees as she walked back toward the valley. The land was quieter in winter, most birds saving their songs for spring, the cicadas’ summer duty done. A currawong’s long liquid note drifted out from the valley, a branch cracked somewhere and fell, and behind her a steady snick, snick, snick …
She turned. It was a bicycle, coming up the track. Happiness, pure as the sunlight, poured through her at the sight of his dear familiar face. He looked different — grey serge trousers, white shirt, a waistcoat, even a bowler hat — but somehow totally the same.
‘Tommy!’ She ran to him, beaming. ‘Tommy, I’ve missed you so much!’
She meant to hug him, but the expression on his face stopped her. She took a step back and he stopped his bicycle. ‘How are you? Where have you been?’
‘Setting up a place of my own.’
A place of his own means a workshop, she thought, not a home.
‘Got a loan from the bank.’
Why didn’t he smile? Why didn’t he say he’d missed her too?
‘Good,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Come on up to the house. Auntie Love is here, so you don’t have to eat my cooking.’
He shook his head. ‘Need to get back to catch the train. Just came to settle things up, see that you’re all right.’
‘Of course I’m all right —’ She broke off as he stared at the ring on her finger.
‘Mrs Lacey said you were engaged. I wanted to know if it was true.’
‘I’m not engaged. Well, not officially. I don’t even know … Tommy, it’s been so difficult —’
‘Is that his ring?’
‘Yes. But …’ How could she explain to him what she didn’t even understand herself? But if she could just talk to him maybe she could sort it out. ‘Tommy, please, come and have a cup of tea.’
‘No time.’ He looked down at the watch attached by a chain to his waistcoat pocket. ‘I’ve got to go. If you ever need anything you can write to me at Mum’s. She’ll always know where I am.’
‘Tommy, please, can’t you catch another train? Just stay a few days?’
Somehow she had to find the words. Tommy of all people could help her through her confusion. They had talked about so much together, for so many years. Why couldn’t they talk about this too?
But he was already turning the bicycle.
Suddenly she remembered her father’s words. He had wanted to plead, to kneel in the dust, as he watched his wife and daughter leave. But he hadn’t, because it was best for them.
She could run after him. If she kept calling surely he would turn back. She just had to say she needed help and Tommy would be there …
Instead she stood in the middle of the road, watching him get smaller and smaller as he pedalled back to town.
Chapter 46
AUGUST 1899
Dearest Matilda,
It was wonderful to get your last letter. I’ve been getting the hump badly, these last few weeks. Feather is a good chap, but I’m not cut out to work on someone else’s place.
Still no word from Father. I’m writing to him today too. He is stubborn as a donkey sometimes. I plan to head south and stay with Bertram and Florence for a while, so you can write to me there.
My love always,
James
PS I saw brolgas dance yesterday afternoon, a whole great mob of them, and thought of you.
Matilda put the letter in the chest with the others. It was good to hear from James. Of course it was good to hear from him, she told herself.
But it didn’t help the hurt place inside that there was no letter from Tommy. Was he working in his city workshop? Did he miss Gibber’s Creek at all or ever think of her?
She sat on the rug and watched Auntie Love lying on the sofa, placidly spinning strings of bark into rope. If only marriage and love and friendship were as easy to sort out as spinning. She said impulsively, ‘Auntie, who were you married to?’
For a moment she was sure she had said the wrong thing. She had assumed from the small grave that Auntie had been married to a Drinkwater stockman. But women could have babies without being married … Yet the ring that Auntie had worn that incredible time in front of Mr Drinkwater had looked like a wedding ring.
Had she offended her by asking? Maybe Auntie couldn’t talk about him, not if he was dead. But Auntie just shrugged, not even looking up.
‘Did you love him?’
Auntie did look up at that. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Does being in love always hurt? Is it always so confusing?’
Auntie seemed to be hunting for words. ‘It hurt,’ she said at last. ‘It’s good, but it hurt bad sometime.’
‘Did your husband die, like your baby?’ asked Matilda gently.
‘No. Baby die, I had to leave. Can’t stay where people die. Got to leave their spirit free.’
‘You mean you left Drinkwater because your daughter died?’
Auntie nodded, staring at her weaving again.
And his ghost can be heard as you pass by that billabong, thought Matilda, suddenly glad that no one had died here at her house. The whispers from the dead were loud enough, sometimes, without their ghosts haunting the place too. ‘What about your husband? Did he leave Drinkwater with you?’
Again there was no answer.
Never the whole truth, thought Matilda. Had the Drinkwaters or their men killed her husband? Was that why Auntie refused to say more? I’m not a child now. I can bear these things. Why won’t people tell me?
‘Auntie, where do you go when you’re not here? Do you go bush? Or do you have another home?’
‘My home is here.’
‘But when you go away —’
Auntie Love put down her weaving, and looked at her for a while. All at once she stood up, and shuffled toward the door. Matilda followed her, mystified.
Auntie signalled to Hey You to stay on the verandah. She used the railing to steady herself down the stairs, but once on the ground she was firmer. She walked a little way, then looked at Matilda, smiling.
‘What is it? What do you want me to see?’
Auntie gestured at the ground.
‘I don’t see anything. Oh.’ There were Matilda’s footprints in the dust. But there was no sign Auntie had been there at all.
Excitement thrilled through her. ‘How do you do that?’
Auntie gestured for Matilda to take her shoes off. She lifted a callused foot, with its wide-spaced toes, then placed it down again, onto its outward side, then did the same with the other foot. She took two paces, then smiled at Matilda. ‘You try.’
The dust was cold and dry underfoot. She took a few steps, then looked back. She could just see two smudged imprints, but her other steps seemed to have vanished on the ground.
‘Auntie Love! I did it!’
She looked around. Auntie Love was gone.
There had been no time for her to walk away. Surely the old woman could no longer run. But there were no hiding places either, just a few thin trees on either side of the track.
‘Auntie Love! Auntie Love!’
‘Here.’
Matilda jumped. One second there had been no one, then suddenly there she was, standing by a tree, only a couple of yards away. Surely the old woman couldn’t make herself invisible?
Auntie looked at her seriously. Slowly she began to vanish again.
But not quite, not while Matilda stared right at her. The old woman stood side on to the trees, her shadow and her
shape blending with theirs. One arm was raised, the other lowered, so she was no longer human in form, her head down, her eyes shut. Matilda had never seen anyone so still.
Auntie opened her eyes. All at once she was back.
‘Can I do that too?’ whispered Matilda.
Auntie nodded. She gestured for Matilda to come closer, then took her arms, bent her fingers into position …
I am here, but not here, thought Matilda. I am a rock, a tree. There was no one but Auntie to see her, but somehow she knew that if anyone came up the track, they would see no one, not her, not the old woman.
She shivered, and the spell was broken. She stared around at the limp leaves of the trees, the shadowed cliffs, the strong shapes of the tree trunks.
Had Auntie Love ever been away at all?
Chapter 47
OCTOBER 1899
My very dear Matilda,
I am writing this in haste, so please excuse the scrawl. I have only just discovered that Bertram has stopped my letters reaching you. He gave instructions, would you believe, for the butler to hand them to him, when I left your letters with the rest of the mail to be posted. Bertram said it was his duty to Father.
Bertram now has a black eye, and I am posting this myself, and cursing myself for a fool for letting Bertram hoodwink me.
I haven’t been able to settle since I left Drinkwater and you. I can’t hack a job on a property where I can’t be the boss, and I can’t see myself working in an office, either. Which left one choice.
I sail tomorrow, as one of ‘the soldiers of the Queen’, off to fight the Boers. It is a good fight, one that we need to win. If I hadn’t felt a duty to the old man I’d have stayed in South Africa with my friends there.
Don’t worry about me, dear girl. I can look after myself. I am still sure that Father will come round. Bertram could never manageDrinkwater — he’d sell up like a shot, and Father knows it. Father will never let the place leave the family.
Maybe this is what I should have been doing, all along. We’ll have the Boers where we want them soon enough. This time next year we will be together again. Till then I am your adoring,
A Waltz for Matilda Page 29