The Great Plains

by Nicole Alexander

  ‘Thank you, Mr Crawley.’

  ‘Now, if you’ve finished playing nursemaid to that horse of yours, the boys are waiting to have a drink with you. There’s a bit of an event happening.’

  Will slipped the money into his pocket. ‘I thought everyone had gone for the weekend.’

  ‘They soon will be but Tobias Wade is meant to be arriving before dark.’ Evan patted his hip pocket and winked. ‘There ain’t never been no Wade here since they purchased the place and I’d sure like to clap eyes on the man with all that money. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Hell, yes,’ Will agreed.

  Evan threw his head back in laughter. The action reminded Will of an ageing horse. The man was all bedraggled beard and lank hair. ‘Then let’s go take us a look at a real, live money-bag.’

  They passed the bottle of grog around slyly. It was instant dismissal if anyone was caught but Will figured the boss would have some sorry tale to share if the manager caught them. The men lounged on the bunkhouse verandah. In the distance, hills were just visible. Pale and insignificant in the dwindling light, Will still wondered what might be on the other side of them. The bunkhouse was opposite the windmill, a short distance away the station storehouse. Will hadn’t met any of the families that lived in the small houses that lined the other side of the road. He recalled the day he’d ridden in with his father and the people and activity they’d witnessed. Since then the majority of Will’s time was spent in the saddle far away from the lives of the people who lived across the road. There was a home apiece for the housekeeper, the one-handed gardener, farrier and butcher and another one for the maids, who were locked in their rooms every night.

  ‘For safety,’ Sprout informed him in his first week.

  ‘From what?’ Will asked.

  ‘Us of course, although a man would have to pull the sheet over their faces to get the job done.’

  Evan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, belching, passed the bottle to Nicholson. Chalk and Jim were sitting under the windmill near a horse trough. To Will’s knowledge, neither of them drank. They had separate quarters up the road a bit, although all the stockmen and boundary riders ate in the mess next door.

  ‘Some show this is turning out to be,’ Sprout sniffed. ‘I would have thought Kirkland would have got him here before dark so we could have had a bit of a gander.’

  ‘I’m surprised Kirkland didn’t want us to line the road in deference,’ Nicholson added.

  ‘He did,’ Evan revealed, ‘but I don’t stand for no man.’

  Will took a glug of the rum, his third since he’d joined the men on the verandah. ‘Well, he’s got it all set up for a parade, what with the buildings and all.’

  ‘Most stations,’ Evan began, ‘have all their outbuildings and sheds and suchlike behind the main homestead. So when the nobs have guests the first and only thing they see is a sturdy entrance and then a fine looking homestead.’

  ‘I haven’t ever been to a big spread where it’s laid out like this,’ Nicholson interrupted. ‘But the Wades being American are different.’

  ‘How?’ Will figured people were people; some rich, some poor, others good and bad, some pleasing to the eye and others wart-ugly, like Sprout.

  Evan flicked a smoke out onto the dirt. ‘Hocking, the station manager before Kirkland, said when the family first bought the place they ordered the bunkhouse and some of the other buildings from behind the homestead to be moved to where we are now. Made a right street, they did.’

  ‘Why?’ Will asked.

  Evan shrugged. ‘Hocking said something about the Wades having made their money on them big cotton plantations. Where they come from they have slaves to do the work and they’re kept in bunkhouses.’

  ‘Sounds familiar,’ Nicholson replied.

  ‘The bunkhouses are out the front,’ Evan continued. ‘That way everyone sees how much you own. It’s a sign of wealth.’

  ‘Whatever that is,’ Nicholson replied curtly.

  ‘Now don’t get crotchety, Nicholson. You’re paid well enough and there’s board and keep thrown in for good measure.’

  ‘So do we wave or hide when the old man finally arrives?’ As Sprout shifted in the cane chair there was the hum of a vehicle. Delivery trucks and the odd T-Model Ford or Holden were a common sight on the roads but the vehicle that currently crawled up the track was shiny black with gleaming chrome fenders. Although covered in a fine layer of dust, the car looked brand new.

  ‘It’s a Buick,’ Nicholson announced. ‘The latest model I’d guess. It won’t last on these roads.’

  The inhabitants of the buildings opposite spilled out to line the road. A woman jiggled a child on a hip, another wiped her hands on an apron and gave a shy wave. More children appeared, held back by their fathers lest they run after the car and make a nuisance of themselves. Will began to stand. Evan placed a hand on his shoulder, ensuring he stay seated.

  ‘We’re not slaves,’ Nicholson reminded Will. ‘That man might have the money but it’s us and those before us that’s been running the station for him all these years.’

  Kirkland was driving the vehicle. His burly shape filled the window. Behind him, seated in the rear of the car, were two passengers. Will caught sight of a dark-haired girl and a man sitting beside her.

  ‘Look at Kirkland,’ Sprout chuckled, ‘the Boss has got him playing chauffeur.’ His comment quietened the men. With the arrival of the owner they had suddenly all slipped down a peg or two in the station hierarchy.

  As the Buick continued on towards the house, the men observed Jim walking to the middle of the dirt track. He stared after the slow-moving vehicle and then looked skyward.

  A blackish-brown bird was circling overhead. Will craned his neck along with the men to see the bird a little better. Finally they walked from the verandah and stared as the massive bird rode the wind current, spiralling downwards.

  Evan pointed to the distinctive wedge-shaped tail. ‘That eagle’s wing span must be bordering on nine feet.’

  ‘Never seen one so close to the homestead before,’ Nicholson admitted.

  Directly opposite the bunkhouse Chalk had joined his son in the middle of the road. The two Aboriginals were talking animatedly. Finally both turned briefly towards the homestead before walking quickly away.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Sprout scratched at his hairy nose. ‘It takes a bit to get those two roused.’

  Evan watched as the eagle flew across the homestead roof to disappear among the leaves of the fruit trees. ‘Could be nothing,’ he murmured, ‘but it always makes my skin crawl when the blacks get edgy.’

  ‘It’s just a bird,’ Will pointed out.

  ‘There’s the truck,’ Nicholson announced when an engine could be heard. The Ford truck rattled around the corner of the building and stopped outside the bunkhouse. The rear of the vehicle already held four men.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to come, boy?’ Evan asked as the three men clambered up into the rear of the vehicle to sit with their legs hanging over the edge.

  The truck moved off before Will could answer.

  Evan’s brow, although permanently creased, wrinkled a little more. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open, boy, and rest up. We’ve a big week ahead,’ he shouted.

  Will watched the truck until it rounded a rise and then disappeared. He’d never believed in good or bad luck, or signs for that matter, but it seemed to him that his mates were unnerved. His father would say that they’d lived in the scrub for too long, that they needed some civilisation. It could happen to a man, the isolation, the grog. The land could close in around a person and squeeze him until there was no breath left in his body.

  He sat in the cane chair Sprout had scavenged from somewhere and sucked on the dregs of the rum bottle, imagining he was curled on the horse-hair couch at home. Working dogs barked intermittently, competing against the whir of the homestead generator as stars began to spot the sky. In the distance the rooms in the big house were illuminated, one by
one. Will imagined Mr Wade and the woman looking through the house, surveying the fine furnishings or complaining that something was too old and shabby. He dozed where he sat, staring at the well-lit house and thinking of the moneyed family who were seeing it for the first time. Will couldn’t help wonder why, after so many years, they had finally decided to come to Australia.

  Chapter 45

  September, 1935 – Condamine Station homestead,

  Southern Queensland

  Tobias poured a measure of rum into two glasses and handed one to his old friend. Wes accepted the drink and both men sat in cane chairs on the wide verandah surrounded by cool stone and trailing plants. Their evening meal, a cold collation of roast pork and potted black duck, was accompanied by potatoes tossed in butter and parsley, string beans and julienned carrots. The tinned oyster soup had been less than satisfactory and Tobias was considering hiring a new cook until dessert arrived. The marble jelly was light and refreshing and was apparently the only item that Abelena consumed from the tray delivered to her room.

  ‘You were right when you said it was a journey and a half. I can see why you never returned to Oklahoma for a visit.’

  Wes took a sip of the drink, resting the glass on his thigh. ‘I thought about returning a couple of times but in the end I couldn’t see much point. Besides, I like it here. The landscape reminds me of home in some respects, the wide open spaces and grasslands, the sense of this still being a frontier land. This country’s been saved by distance. Australia’s practically empty of people compared to the rest of the world and I quite like that aspect of the place.’

  ‘You never were much of a humanitarian, Wes.’

  He laughed. ‘I spent half my young life riding with your father and Sheriff Cadell. I can’t say I saw a lot of honest men during those days and in some respects the experience made me doubt the good in most people.’

  ‘Well, the frontier days are gone. Oklahoma’s changed. It’s in the grip of a depression and then there’s the shocking drought. On the east coast the New Yorkers are complaining about the dust clouds rolling in from the west and engulfing the city. While half the farmers from the mid-west are either in California or heading that way in search of work.’

  ‘From what I hear, Roosevelt’s been introducing all sorts of new measures.’

  Tobias poured more rum. ‘The work programme has been very successful. Many of the unemployed have been put to work on a range of government-financed projects building bridges, roads, airports and dams. The standing joke at home at the moment is that Roosevelt’s going to put down so many dams in our state that he’ll raise the humidity and alter the climate.’

  ‘So he’s literally putting his stamp on the American landscape.’

  ‘He is indeed.’ Tobias settled back in the chair. The lights of the station outbuildings shone feebly through the trees.

  ‘I was sorry I didn’t get to see your father one last time.’

  ‘He thought the world of you, Wes.’

  ‘He didn’t agree with you bringing the girl, did he?’

  Tobias ran a finger around the rim of the glass.

  ‘She’s a lot younger than you, Tobias. You’re old enough to be her father,’ Wes replied pointedly. ‘I’ll give your grandfather’s brother his due, he certainly produced a line of fine-looking women, Indian or not.’

  ‘What was I supposed to do? Let Abelena undergo electrical shock therapy? That’s what my father had in mind, that followed by boarding school.’

  ‘So you decided to save her?’

  ‘You make it sound as if I’ve done the wrong thing, Wes.’

  ‘That depends, I guess, on whether you’ve brought her all the way to Australia for her sake or for your own. Don’t look at me like that, Tobias. You and I go back a long way, but you forget that I was working for your father as a stable boy when you were in Dallas with your mother.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘Well, I was there when your grandfather died, I was there when news came of Serena’s disappearance from Fort Sill, I was there when Philomena came to stay, I was there when she died, when your grandmother died.’

  ‘Are you giving me a family history lesson?’ Tobias asked. ‘Because I’m only too well aware of the litany of dramas that have befallen the Wade family.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand why I’m wondering why you brought Philomena Wade’s great-granddaughter to Australia. You’ve got a grandfather and a father who were both obsessed by Philomena and both had no end of grief dealing with Serena. After everything that’s happened, I would have thought that that girl was the last thing that was needed in our lives.’

  Tobias drained the dregs in the glass. ‘Who was left to look after her? Her murdering brother will meet his end via “Old Sparkie” and the other two are in a state home. And, let’s face it, my father’s preferred alternative was just brutal.’

  ‘It might have worked,’ Wes said. ‘Helped the girl lead a normal life.’

  ‘She’s already leading a normal life.’

  ‘Rubbish, you’re keen on her. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Tobias.’

  ‘I have their money. Their share.’ Tobias swirled his glass.

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Money left to Philomena, which should rightfully have then gone to Serena and her descendants.’

  This time it was Wes who reached for the rum bottle on the side-table. ‘Now you’re looking for excuses and guilt is the worst of reasons to do something.’

  Tobias let out a sound that was part-laugh and part-anguished groan. ‘But that’s what started it all, Wes, guilt. My grandfather was in love with Philomena’s mother and blamed himself for their move to Mexico and his brother joining the Confederate Army. He blamed himself for his brother’s death and Philomena’s abduction.’

  ‘Well,’ Wes said thoughtfully, ‘that I didn’t know.’

  They sat quietly as the night insects buzzed around the kerosene lamp on the table between them.

  ‘Does Abelena know about the money?’

  ‘No, and I’m not telling her. It would only cause problems.’

  ‘Do you want me to move out, give you the run of the place?’

  Tobias held out his glass for a refill. ‘Of course not. This house is big enough for ten families.’

  ‘Well, I’ll move downstairs, that way you have the second floor to yourself. That’s only fair.’

  ‘Whatever suits you, Wes.’

  ‘Where is Abelena now?’

  ‘Still locked in her room.’

  ‘Old habits die hard, eh?’

  Tobias scratched at a patch of flaking paint on the arm of his chair. ‘Just before we left Sydney, Abelena was starting to be a little more interested in things, but her change in attitude was a bit abrupt. Maybe I’m overreacting but I still don’t trust her. She comes from a family of women who have spent their lives running away from their heritage.’

  ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere, Tobias. Even if she does run off, she wouldn’t get very far.’

  ‘And that comment is meant to make me unlock her door?’

  Wes swatted an insect crawling on his neck. ‘I think you underestimate her. If you ask me, she’ll just cause you trouble like her mother did.’

  ‘I thought Serena was the bravest girl in the world when we were young. Now I just feel sorry for her.’

  ‘Sorry for her?’ Wes said bluntly. ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Wes shot his old friend a look of discontent. ‘If you’re up for it we’ll go through the stock book in the morning. The thieving started up again last year, not as bad as when Hocking was alive but the numbers have been steadily growing. Initially I put the losses down to blowfly-strike or dry periods, but when the attrition rate continued to grow I started to follow the stockmen when they were returning mobs to their paddocks, but so far I’ve come up with nothing.’

  ‘But we’re short two thousand head.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’
Wes agreed. ‘The last count was at shearing. We’ll be bringing the wethers in next week and checking them for fly. Then I suggest we start lamb-marking a week early and keep bringing the mobs in and keeping a good count. That way we’ll know if anymore have been stolen.’

  ‘Agreed, and what about your men? Any suspicions?’

  Wes scratched an ear. ‘I’d have to say that we’ve got a reasonably good team here, Tobias. It took me a while to understand their ways. They can be too casual in attitude at times and they were pretty wary of me when I first arrived, but they’re damn good workers. A handful of them have been around since your father first purchased the property. Evan Crawley, the head stockman, is one. He’s a reprobate to look at. He sneaks grog in for the men when the station is meant to be dry and I have to admit to having my doubts about his honesty at times, but I’ve never been able to pin anything on him. He also has the ear of the men. If I told the majority of them to jump they wouldn’t move until Evan gave the okay.’

  ‘This Evan was under Hocking when he was manager, wasn’t he?’ Tobias clarified.

  ‘Yes.’ Wes looked his friend squarely in the eyes.

  ‘When you sent word to Father of Hocking’s stealing and then his death, we wondered if you’d got to him first,’ Tobias chuckled. ‘Sheriff Cadell always asked questions later and you were a keen student.’

  ‘We’re not in Oklahoma anymore.’

  Tobias sighed contentedly. ‘No, we’re not. So have you employed anyone new recently? Anyone who could be considered a bit dubious?’

  ‘Only a kid off a dairy farm.’ Wes lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring into the night air. ‘He’s the Todd boy. Anyway, the local police will be out in the morning. I’ve reported the theft but I thought it just as well that Constable Maine make your acquaintance. Now if you don’t mind, old friend, I think I’ll get some sleep.’