Kookaburra Dawn

by Amanda Doyle

  Rennie swallowed.

  The legitimacy, the extent, of this man’s claim upon Magda was evident in that portrait—patently, incontrovertibly evident.

  Had that vivacious blue-eyed woman been younger, she could have been Magda’s own mother, for the child did not resemble Betty in looks at all. And when Magda herself grew into middle age, it was not inconceivable that she might resemble that portrait to an extraordinary degree. Magda, in looks, was all Sandasen, and Rennie had a feeling that that fact alone was going to make her own arguments over the child’s guardianship less convincing, more difficult.

  Even so, what could this man offer? A lonely existence in the isolation of the Outback, on a vast cattle run where the only person whom Rennie had so far seen, other than Chad, was an ageing stockman who confessed to a distaste of black horses and a liking for palominos, and the only apparent means of entry and exit appeared to be a sleek silver aeroplane that swooped down out of the sky into a veritable township of iron-roofed buildings and sheds—uninhabited, unmanned.

  Worse still, unwomaned!

  She cleared her throat, which was dusty and dry.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘Where are all the people of whom you spoke? The—the friends?’

  ‘Magda’s friends?’ His voice was cool, his eyes hard. ‘If you think I invented them, Renata, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment. I’ve no intention of providing you with ammunition to shoot down my own case!’ He glanced after Magda’s distant figure, excitedly exploring, before adding bluntly, ‘You don’t trust me an inch, do you?’

  ‘Should I?’

  Her chin tilted stubbornly.

  ‘It’s not important, but it could have been helpful, all the same.’ He was looking at her in a strange but unfathomable way. It made Rennie feel suddenly, acutely uncomfortable. ‘On the question of Magda, Renata, neither your trust nor your liking is essential, and there can only be one outcome, one conclusion, so far as she is concerned.’

  ‘We can decide that in three months’ time.’

  ‘On the contrary, it’s already decided. And you’re under no obligation to remain here for the full three months, if Magda settles down quickly. I dare say you’re even now breaking your neck to get back to Sydney to that old friend of yours, in any case. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘That has nothing whatever to do with the topic under discussion,’ said Rennie evasively.

  But it had, hadn’t it? she thought unhappily. Rennie plus Magda. Rennie minus Magda. What was it to be? Whichever it was, it made all the difference in the world so far as Keith was concerned!

  It made a difference to Rennie, too. The difference between a full, happy heart, and an empty, lonely one. She must put that fact right out of her mind just now, however. Whatever decision she came to in the end, she must act in Magda’s best interests, this much she was quite determined upon.

  ‘Cheer up!’ chided a deep voice above her, breaking into her preoccupation. ‘You can always write.’

  ‘Write?’

  ‘Write a letter. To the old pilot friend. We do have mail deliveries out here, you know! What’s his other name, by the way? Keith—?’

  ‘Stamford.’ Rennie turned away abruptly, seeking a change of subject. ‘Where has Magda gone? She has disappeared.’

  ‘I sent her to find Elspeth. She’ll be in the kitchen.’

  ‘Who is Elspeth?’

  ‘Elspeth Brodie, my housekeeper. One of those friends whose existence you doubted,’ he told her a little grimly. ‘Apart from Elspeth, the two lubras who help her—Nellie and Mayra—will be in the kitchen just now, and Ashley Ryarton will be in for lunch. Ash is our book-keeper—and storeman, too, of course. The others won’t be in till sundown, and as they eat down at the quarters, you may not meet them until tomorrow.’

  So there were other people here, after all!

  ‘Who are the others?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘The rest of those friends, Renata. All the people who help to make Barrindilloo the efficient property which it is. Jackeroos, station-hands, the aboriginal stockmen—and Murtie you’ve already met. You and Magda will get to know each one of them in a surprisingly short time, you’ll find. The people of the Outback are noted for their friendly disposition.’

  All the people of the Outback except the Boss of Barrindilloo, thought Rennie, somewhat bleakly.

  There was no doubting his chilly tone, although he preserved a carefully impassive face along with it. Why she should mind, she just did not know. After all, one could not, and should not, expect one’s enemies to be friendly, should one? Civility was the most one could expect, and that was precisely what Rennie was receiving right now. Cool, careful civility. Therefore she had no good reason to experience this strange feeling of hurt and rebuff!

  Chad was right, as it turned out.

  In the next few weeks, she and Magda got to know everyone on the property—or at least the people in and around the homestead. Chad had found it necessary to explain that there were others at the several out-stations whom she perhaps would not meet at all in her brief sojourn at Barrindilloo, unless they happened to ride in to the homestead block for supplies. There were also boundary-riders, well-sinkers, drovers, horsebreakers, prospectors, bagmen, moving about out there in that vast tract of lonely country, seemingly absorbed in the isolated existence which they had chosen to pursue, either working for the station bosses as they travelled from one property to another, or for themselves in the hope of ‘striking it lucky’, depending upon what they had chosen to do in life.

  Nearer home, there were the station hands, and Murtie; also four young jackeroos who were a year or two younger than Rennie herself. They spent a good deal of their off-duty time in entertaining Magda, who no doubt amused them in return with her citified remarks and quaint observations.

  The aboriginal stockmen did not live in the weatherboard buildings where the station hands and jackeroos were. They preferred to have their own settlement, down on the creek. When Rennie and Magda walked in that direction, they could see their dwellings—a huddle of tin-sheeted wurleys amongst the sprinkling of gums and tall paper-barks, where wispy rags of clothing were strung out on wires amongst the branches of the trees, and strange, fatty smells emanated from the smouldering ashes of the fire nearby. Bulging-tummied, wiry dark-skinned children played in the shade at the water’s edge, while the ubiquitous camp dogs watched half-heartedly, or nosed around with disconsolate curiosity amongst the bones and litter beyond the camp’s immediate vicinity in the hope of unearthing a decaying morsel of food.

  It seemed to Rennie that there were almost as many dogs as there were piccaninnies. When she remarked on this one day to Ashley, the book-keeper, he laughed heartily.

  ‘Possibly you’re right, Rennie. I haven’t taken a count lately, so I can’t tell you for sure.’

  Rennie and Ashley had become firm friends. There was something inherently gentlemanly about this shy, humble, sixtyish man who had been quite prepared to accept Rennie without attempting to judge her in the way that Chad did. From Ashley she did not receive those long, speculative looks, those snide remarks which suggested that she was a—a frivolous, insincere sort of person, following an equally frivolous and shallow career.

  Well, if that was how Chad Sandasen saw her, why should she worry? His good opinion was of no interest to her!

  ‘What do they want them all for?’ she asked now, intrigued.

  Ashley shrugged. He was sitting in his office with a couple of files and a leather-bound ledger in front of him, plus the tray of tea and scones which Rennie had offered to bring for Elspeth for his morning smoko. She had added an extra cup for herself, and was now perched on a corner of Ash’s flat-topped desk, an unconsciously lovely figure in a sleeveless yellow shift and thonged sandals that wound, criss-cross fashion, up her slender, bare brown legs, to calf level.

  ‘It’s just that those dogs are there, and always have been, I reckon.’ Ash wrinkled his nose consideri
ngly. ‘They don’t need them for hunting now, the way they used to, because they get plenty of station tucker, and number one tucker at that—generous rations of tea, flour, sugar, and meat. Very few of those station stockmen are of absolutely pure aboriginal blood any more, you see, Rennie. They’ve become admixed, over the years, with all the people who opened up their country to modern development—the white pioneer, the squatter, the Afghan camel-driver, the drover, the Chinese station-cook—and these outside influences have in some instances produced an unhappy sort of “half-way” status in society, which creates its own difficulties for them. In places they have been maligned and exploited, I’m afraid, but they are intelligent people basically. They possess an instinctive animal sense which makes them natural stockmen—some of the best in the world—for which men like Chad are sensible enough to have a great respect. Old Harry Goola out there is of almost pure descent, and his sons are skilled trackers, wonderful horsemen, grand stockmen. Chad often takes Harry to the places further north at musters, because Harry’s very good at sitting there in Chad’s helicopter, instructing the horsemen on the ground with his two-way radio just where to look for the strays, because otherwise they could be riding blind up and down gullies all day, wasting a lot of precious time. Harry took to the air like a duck to water, believe it or not. Chad often teases him about it, and calls him a “properfella chopper king, eh, Harry”, and Harry in his turn is proud to think that he has mastered modern methods so readily. Chad thinks the world of him, and he of Chad. I reckon they’d do anything for Chad, Rennie. And in return for their loyalty and love, he looks after their every need, and helps them to manage their finances, too. They each get their “finger money” out of their wage, and then I bank the rest for them in a savings account, which gives them financial security. It’s a thing they don’t really understand very well, because it’s their way of life which counts with them, above everything else, and beyond buying gay shirts and hair-oil and a few knick-knacks, they aren’t tempted to spend money in the way that we might choose. If they want things, they ask Chad what he thinks.’

  From her perch on the side of the desk, Rennie stretched out one leg and eyed her painted toes critically.

  She had no wish to talk about Chad.

  For no particular reason, the mere thought of him caused a painful tightening within her. When in his company, she felt even more uncomfortable than when she was just thinking about him. With his physical presence, the feeling almost always seemed to intensify alarmingly, and that was why Rennie spent her time in keeping out of his way!

  ‘I think we counted eleven dogs down there, Magda and I,’ she told Ash now, reverting quickly to their former topic of conversation.

  ‘Quite likely. And a motley collection they are, I grant you.’ He grinned. ‘They’re useful as blankets, if nothing else, I dare say.’

  ‘Blankets?’

  ‘Yes. Bed-cover,’ elucidated Ash, amused at her dubious expression. ‘Imagine yourself a round-tummied, skinny-limbed little piccaninny, curled up on a cold bright night between two warm, wire-coated, adoring canines, and you have the picture, Rennie.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She glanced at him suspiciously, but he did not appear to be joking. ‘No gammon?’

  ‘No gammon.’ He chuckled. ‘You mightn’t believe it, but I can assure you it can get very cold indeed out there in the middle of the night. Inland in a continent of this size, the temperature drops suddenly and sharply, from one extreme to the other. In places, it’s so sudden that even the rocks start cracking and chipping under the strain of trying to adjust. I’ve a pile of nice grey blankets in that store for Harry and his kin whenever they want them, but they seem to actually prefer a dog or two thrown in with the bedding for good measure.’ He replaced his cup on the tray. ‘Thanks, Rennie. That was really beaut.’

  Rennie beamed. ‘I made the scones this morning, Ash,’ she confessed, flushing with pride at his unwitting compliment.

  ‘You did, Rennie?’ His bushy brows rose in surprise. ‘I’d no idea that you were such an accomplished cook as that! You look much too decorative to be useful, do you know that?’

  She laughed, pleased at his commending tone.

  ‘Don’t be silly, scones are easy compared with a lot of those lovely things that Elspeth turns out so beautifully.’

  ‘Are they? I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,’ he grinned. ‘But talking of Elspeth, I’m surprised that she’s allowed you to take over in her domain. She guards that kitchen jealously, or always has done, up till now. Even Nellie and Mayra only go in at certain times, you know, because Elspeth has always insisted on doing all the cooking and baking herself.’

  ‘I know. But she and I have reached a—well, a sort of understanding,’ Rennie informed him proudly. ‘We’re friends, Elspeth and I. And she’s been so kind to me, Ash. Since Chad keeps insisting that I drop into the background more and more, to allow Magda the opportunity of getting to know you all, so that she will gradually transfer her dependence from me to all the people here at Barrindilloo, I—well, I sometimes find myself at a loose end. Sort of shut out. Elspeth knows how I feel, and she gives me things to do, you see.’

  She had difficulty in hiding from Ash the hurt which she felt at the present state of things.

  Magda was being drawn away from her relentlessly, ruthlessly, it seemed to Rennie. Already, Chad had succeeded in cultivating a close relationship with the little girl. He took her with him whenever he could.

  It was a commonplace occurrence, now, to see the small, cotton-clad figure in her pretty beach-hat, perched on the back of the jeep as Chad bounced away in that shabby vehicle on some errand or another, or seated in front of his saddle on the handsome quarter-horse stallion he rode.

  Each day Magda became browner and more blooming, her limbs firmer and rounder, the scars on her cheeks fading and healing, blending with her newly acquired tan just as Chad had predicted they would. And each day took Magda further away from Rennie. She wasn’t invited on those outdoor excursions shared with such evident happiness by the small, talkative child and the tall, silent man.

  Maybe Chad wasn’t silent with Magda, though, like he was with Rennie. He couldn’t be, in fact, or the little girl would not now possess this fund of information on all sorts of surprising things of which Rennie herself remained ignorant.

  Magda had already learned a lot. She had learned, for instance, that the small furry brush tail possums which stole out at night to feed on leaves and insects, and swung cheekily upside-down by their prehensile tails, differed from their American opossum brothers because of their webbed feet and long ‘great toe’, which they were able to use almost like a human thumb. She knew that the Ringtails had two thumbs instead of one, which they could oppose to their three other fingers, rendering them incredibly dexterous as they climbed and gripped and pulled at the succulent gum-tips, stuffing them voraciously into their ever-greedy little mouths. She knew that the red kangaroos were more numerous than their great grey cousins; that the wallabies were squat and stunted by comparison, and ventured seldom from their timbered haunts in the scrub to feed on the open plains, as did the old-man kangaroo and his mate. She could identify the plaintive call of the swans that flew by night to new feeding grounds; the owl that cried ‘Mo-poke’ so mournfully from his home in the hollow tree near Harry Goola’s settlement at the creek; the screech of the sulphur-crested cockatoos and the wondrously delicately-tinted Major Mitchells; the chittering of the rainbow-coloured finches and parakeets. She knew the river red-gum with its substantial, mottled bole; the scrawny mulga with its sea of yellow blooms; the water-loving paper-bark and the hardy ironbark; the sickly damp of the gidyea, the eerie drama of the ghost-gum; the beefwood, the bloodwood, the myall and wilga and desert oak. She had seen a frilled lizard with his ungainly Elizabethan collar raised in agitation, his mouth open in alarm, as Chad pointed him out; and several species of goanna (and none of them walked on their tails, Magda had assured Rennie earnestly, in response to her tim
orous inquiry!)

  Magda had sat with Chad on the bank at the water-hole as the birds clamoured for roosts in the surrounding trees each evening—great flocks of duck and coot, egret and swan; watched the bustling of the water-hens and the gliding of the darters, the shuffling of the soft-hued pink and grey galahs as they vied for positions on the twisted, overhanging branches; suffered the inquisitive scrutiny of a pair of crested pigeons which came each night to the pepper-trees nearby. She had witnessed the manoeuvres of the sociable, ungainly pelicans as they cunningly joined ranks to ensnare a shoal of fish, invisible to the human eye beneath the dark green water; had marvelled at the patient stance of the heron that stood, enshrined in its graceful solitude, at the pool’s edge.

  Chad had shown her an eagle’s nest in the tangle of stunted mulga on the plains, and the tiny, matted abodes of the marsupial mice tucked away in the grasses.

  Chad had shown Magda lots of things. But not Rennie. To Rennie, he remained courteously detached, unquestionably aloof.

  She should have been thankful, she told herself vexedly, especially as she didn’t care for that loose-limbed, easygoing country type, in any case. But for some odd reason, she wasn’t thankful at all. In an attempt at self-honesty, Rennie asked herself now if her irritability over Chad’s imperviousness was not because she was, and always had been, accustomed to arousing interest and admiring glances from the male of the species? Chad wasn’t interested. Chad did not admire. Chad ignored—and ignored in a way that only Chad Sandasen could ignore! He ignored with a completeness that was total in its belittling and humiliating effect upon Rennie, and the realization made her so angry that she had now decided to ignore him in her turn. It was the only means of retaliation at Rennie’s disposal, stuck away out here on a lonely cattle station, surrounded by all Chad’s faithful and devoted minions, to whom it would have been folly to utter one word of criticism of their beloved Boss.