by Isobel Chace
“Mostly they’re known as plain turkeys,” he said.
Once I had seen one, I kept on seeing them. The cock would stand three to four feet high, and was much larger than the hen. Andrew said they were very good eating and that they made a pleasant change to the normal menu that is eaten in the Outback,
“They’re pretty rare now,” he told me, “They’re protected nowadays to try and keep their numbers up, but their curiosity makes them a tempting morsel for a bushman’s billy. They can’t bear to see anything strange without having a good look-see for themselves!”
There were some more emus a little further down the road, their striped chicks running down the verge of the dirt-track.
“Look out!” said Andrew. “Here’s a sight you’ll see nowhere else but in Australia!” He drove off the track straight across the clay plain. “Now do you see them?” he asked me.
“Where?” I demanded.
He pulled the old ute round in a full circle and came to a stop. In silence he pointed straight ahead from where we were sitting. “Kangaroo,” he said so quietly I was scarcely aware he had spoken. “A whole mob of them! We’re down-wind from them here, so they might not see us. See that boomer there? I reckon that’s the leader.”
The old-man kangaroo that he pointed out was doing his best to doze in the shade of a thin, tall tree. His does browsed through the grass, never going very far away from him. Other boomers, lesser gentlemen than their leader, slept in the full sun, twitching at intervals in an effort to get more comfortable. The young bucks boxed each other in a constant effort to increase their status in the group, ignored by their elders.
Then, quite close to the ute, a doe hopped straight towards us, a young joey tucked away in her pouch.
Seeing us, she stopped, startled, her nose twitching to catch our smell and, a second later, the whole mob awoke to her warning and hopped rapidly away from us, their giant strides covering the ground at a tremendous pace.
A little way away, the older boomer turned and took a last look at us, licking his wrists in an effort to cool himself off. He stood all of seven feet tall, battle-scarred from his battles with challengers for mastery over his does.
“Did you see the wee bairn?” I asked Andrew.
He started the engine again and drove back towards the road. “He wasn’t as young as some I’ve seen,” he said. “He’ll be leaving the pouch quite soon.”
“But he’ll never keep up with the others!” I exclaimed, fearful for his safety.
“I expect his mother will give him a lift in an emergency,” he laughed at me. “And anyway, they don’t shoot them round here like they used to.”
“How could they?” I mourned.
He shrugged his shoulders. “They eat out the sheep’s feed in no time at all,” he explained. “Worse than rabbits!”
I looked at the miles of space all about us. “I should have thought there was room for both out here,” I observed.
“Space maybe,” he said. “The problem is water. There isn’t any, except for the bores, and the occasional rain.”
Remembering some of the water I had already tasted in Australia, I felt it was better left where it was.
“It must ruin the whisky,” I said with feeling, “It tastes brackish after the water from the burn at home.”
“I reckon that's why we all drink beer,” Andrew admitted.
I made a face. “It’s not the same,” I sighed.
“We’ll convert you yet!” said Andrew.
We went straight through Meekatharra, hurtling on and on down the road towards Cue. There were quite a few people in the street and the men tipped their hats to Andrew in silent greeting, Everybody knew everybody for miles around. They met only rarely, but they spoke to one another on the radio frequently, and took a great interest in everything that was going on. I could imagine how it would be that evening when they would report that they had seen Andrew Fraser with his new wife from Scotland. It would have been nice if they could have said that I was a worthy bride and not a wee bit of a thing in a Fraser shirt. But then they wouldn’t know the difference between one tartan and another, any more than Mary did.
After the near desert where we had spent the night, the mulga appeared quite lush. It no longer seemed dull and all of the same hue. I could now pick out the grey-green leaves from those of other trees and scrub. It would not be long now before we would be home.
“Tired?” Andrew asked me.
I was ashamed of my weakness. “I expect I shall become accustomed to the heat,” I said gravely.
“It won’t be long now,” he consoled me. “Tell Mary to run you a hot bath the moment we get in.”
“Oh no!” I exclaimed. “Why ever should she wait on me?”
He shook his head at me. “Will you be able to manage if Margaret asks a whole crowd to visit us over the races?”
“Oh yes!” I assured him.
“Make sure that she helps you with the chores,” he warned me.
“I shall be glad of their company,” I said. “It’s quiet with the shearers gone.”
The lie of the land was by now familiar to me as we branched off the road just north of Cue and set out for the Mirrabooka homestead. I counted the miles until we reached the home paddocks and the house came in sight, the water bore idly turning beside it, and the sheds stretching out from the back.
Someone had left the Holden, Andrew’s other car, outside the front of the house.
“Looks like we have company,” Andrew murmured.
“How can you tell?” I demanded.
“Margaret and Mary like to keep their cars under cover!” he said dryly.
He drove right up to the house and blew the horn. I got stiffly out of the old ute and stretching my aching limbs.
“Hullo there, Kirsty!” a woman’s voice said from the steps of the house. I turned quickly and looked straight into the smiling eyes of Miss Rowlatt. Without a word, I went straight into her arms and she held me tight.
“My, my,” she gasped, “I thought I might be welcome at Mirrabooka, but I didn’t think I’d be hugged to death!”
She pushed me away from her, holding me at arm’s length while she looked at me. Her eye fell immediately from my face to my tartan shirt.
“I see you’re wearing Andrew’s colours!” she said with deep satisfaction. “Was that his idea, or yours?”
CHAPTER TEN
The week before the races was one to remember, and yet I scarcely remember it at all. It was nice to have Miss Rowlatt staying. Her salty common sense was enough to reduce any problem to the size of a molehill—except Margaret. If there was one person in the world whom she could not abide, it was Margaret Fraser.
“I can’t understand why you allow her to shirk every chore!” she said with exasperation the day before the great race, when I would be up on Birrahlee’s back for the honour of Mirrabooka.
“It is my job to see to the smooth running of the house,” I answered her gently.
“She takes advantage of you!” Miss Rowlatt went on, just as if I hadn’t spoken. “And so does Mary, if you want it straight!”
“Mary’s time will come,” I said comfortably.
“And when was your time?” she shot at me.
I attempted a laugh. “Mine is now,” I said.
She was tactful enough not to comment on that. “At least you’ve made the house more comfortable,” she congratulated me. “Mary says you acted as cook while the shearers were here. You’re not doing too much, are you? Andrew comes first, doesn’t he?”
I mumbled something to the effect that Andrew could look after himself.
“My dear girl—” Miss Rowlatt began.
I stopped her with a looks “I’m nervous about this race,” I confided to her, knowing that this was a subject dear to her heart.
“Oh, you needn’t worry! These races are small fry compared to the autumn races. Now those are something! Everybody comes for miles around!”
“But you’re he
re now,” I reminded her judiciously.
“I had a special reason for that,” she avowed. “How dared that woman break in on your honeymoon—?”
“She didn’t!” I said, quite sharply. “Andrew and I decided not to have a honeymoon, or anything like that. Besides, she is Mary’s mother.”
Miss Rowlatt glared at me. “I’m sick of hearing about her!” she said flatly.
I hesitated, wondering whether to risk her anger. “I like her,” I said firmly.
“You what?”
“I like her,” I repeated.
“Kirsty!”
“So I do,” I said solemnly. “Mind, I’m not saying that I liked her folk much at home, but I daresay that’s why she married Donald so quick,” I reasoned. “I would have done myself!”
“As you married Andrew?” Miss Rowlatt remarked wisely.
“That was different,” I said.
Miss Rowlatt’s lips twitched with curiosity. It had not occurred to me before that she had a romantic turn of mind, but then she had a weakness for Andrew and she liked me well enough too.
“How different?” she asked.
“He came up to the manse,” I remembered, “and my father had just died. It was plain that there was nothing else to do with me!”
She gave me a suspicious look. “And you agreed to marry him then and there, I suppose?” she said.
I nodded blandly. “I thought maybe, otherwise, marriage would pass him by!”
Her laughter had something in common with the bleating of one of Andrew’s merinos. “Oh, my word,” she said. “I must tell that one to Andrew!”
“Don’t you dare!” I threatened her. “He—he wouldn’t appreciate the joke!”
“Of course he would!” Miss Rowlatt said heartily. “Andrew Fraser has known all about his attraction for every female west of Adelaide since he was a boy! Why even Margaret’s heart beats faster when he appears on the scene!”
“No,” I contradicted her. “Everyone else’s, but not Margaret’s. I think she loved Donald.”
“He learned better than to love her, that’s all I can say,” Miss Rowlatt said with decision.
“Oh, never say so!” I exclaimed.
“My dear, everyone knew that! They hardly lived together at all, and when they did, it was always on her terms. When Donald went down to Perth to be with her. Of course Donald’s interest in Mirrabooka didn’t compare with Andrew’s, but Andrew doesn’t hand out money for nothing. Donald had to do his share of the work and take his share of the responsibility of the station. It’s the same with Mary. Donald left everything to her and it wouldn’t do for her to skip off to Perth like her mother! Andrew wouldn’t stand for it!”
“Perhaps Margaret would have liked to have taken an interest,” I said mildly.
“She doesn’t know one end of a sheep from the other!”
“Nor do I,” I reminded her.
Miss Rowlatt sniffed. “Nor would she cook for a mob of shearers!” she said in triumph.
“Nobody has ever asked her to,” I said evenly.
Miss Rowlatt considered this. “Do you really believe that?” she asked.
I nodded. “I think she was very hurt when Donald left her nothing. It isn’t easy for anyone to live out of her daughter’s pocket. I think Margaret has never been allowed an interest. It makes her a mite difficult, maybe, but I like her nevertheless.”
“So you keep saying!” Miss Rowlatt retorted in disgruntled tones. “I suppose you’ve told Mary as much!”
I was surprised. “Do you think I should?”
“No, I do not! But it would be just like you to do so. Don’t you do anything without asking Andy first!”
I shook my head. “The Fraser property is nothing to do with me,” I agreed. “Besides, Andrew wouldn’t thank me for interfering in his affairs.”
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant!” Miss Rowlatt said dryly.
In a way it was a relief to escape Miss Rowlatt’s conversation for a while and go flying over the home paddocks on Birrahlee’s strong back. The horse and I had a strange understanding. It had been love at first sight for both of us and, while I would ride none other, convinced that I’d never stay on, he resented having anyone else up on him and would fret and jolt his way forward, not at all like the smooth, Streamlined motion when I let him out into a full gallop, allowing him to go where he would.
“He’s well named,” Andrew remarked the day before the race. He had come to watch the final try-out at Mary’s insistent request, although it was a Friday morning.
“What does Birrahlee mean?” I asked him.
“It’s the Aboriginal word for child,” he told me.
“They call me Teeri-yetchbeem,” Mary added with a laugh. “The red-headed one!”
Andrew tossed me up on to Birrahlee’s back. “Two children together!” he teased me.
“He’s a trifle particular,” I admitted.
“Is that what you call it?” he grunted.
“He’s jealous!” Mary laughed. “He wants to have all your attention himself! Isn’t that right, Andy?”
Andrew was not smiling. “Too right,” he said.
I blushed fiercely and turned away, urging Birrahlee forward with my knees. What did he expect? I wondered. Nor could I understand how Mary could tease him about such things. Besides it being improper, how could she bear for him to pay any heed to another woman?
Andrew was a hard taskmaster that morning, He placed Mary at the start of the track he had marked out and himself at the other end, where he stood, stopwatch in hand, watching grimly as Birrahlee and I pounded down the course towards him.
“You’re not trying!” he told me roughly. “You’ve got to press the brute!”
It was about the eighth time we had run the distance and we were all tired.
“I don’t know how!” I wailed.
“That’s what we need! A horse that won’t run and a jockey who can’t ride!” he exclaimed bitterly.
I drew up beside him, eyeing him thoughtfully. “It doesn’t help for you to be unkind,” I told him clearly. “The beast and I are doing our best!”
He swore with that special fluency that is reserved for men of the Outback. I pretended I had not heard him. I turned Birrahlee’s head and we trotted back towards Mary.
“Dig your heels in! Show him you mean it!” his voice followed me.
“I’ll ride him my way or not at all!” I flashed back. We came level to Mary and turned again. “Now, Birrahlee!” I whispered in the great horse’s ear. “Do it now!”
But Birrahlee would not. The sweat had lathered round his neck and the flies bothered him.
“You haven’t got a clue!” Andrew shouted at us in a rage. “You can’t flirt with a horse! You have to make him do what you want him to!”
“Perhaps that’s why he won’t go for you at all!” I tore back at him, tears in my eyes.
‘You’re well matched!” he snorted. “Neither of you can bear my hands on the reins!”
I fell off Birrahlee’s back at his feet. “Birrahlee has pride! You have to like him first!”
He said nothing. He took the reins from my fingers and walked the horse up and down, working his anger out as he did so. There was nothing more for me to do, I thought, and so I left him to it, limping slightly as I walked the whole way back to Mary.
Andrew walked back after me, leading Birrahlee all the way. “The Frasers have pride too,” he said bleakly.
I held my head up high. “The MacTaggarts—” I began.
“Don’t go too far, Kirsty,” he said, gritting his teeth. “The Frasers have enough pride not to like it to be trampled in the dust!”
“Especially by MacTaggarts!” Mary added, grinning. “Are you two rowing again? My word, Kirsty, and who was it who said Andy had a right to your loyalty? And—”
“Did she say that?” Andrew enquired, his face softening a little.
Mary looked at me sideways, her eyes dancing with amusement. “And she
prefers the sound of Kirsty Fraser to Kirsty MacTaggart! She told me so!”
“Oh, Mary, I did not!”
“Well, you said you weren’t saying,” she dismissed my anguished protest, “and we all know what that means!” But I wouldn’t listen to either of them any longer and I fled into the house and the sanctuary of my own room, away from their mocking laughter.
I had forgotten my annoyance with her, however, when I sought Mary out that evening to find out what one wore to the races in the Outback.
“You see,” I explained to her, “I haven’t ever been to such an occasion. Is it very smart?”
“Smart enough,” she commented. “But you’ll have to take jeans and a shirt for the race.”
“That’s another thing,” I said uncomfortably. “Can I borrow one of your shirts?”
“What’s wrong with your own?” she countered.
“They’re a wee bit tight,” I whispered, hating the lie even while I felt obliged to tell it.
“Are they? I never noticed.” She pulled half a dozen shirts out of her chest of drawers and handed them to me. “Take your pick,” she said.
I chose one in a cool blue and white check. “Th-thanks very much,” I said, and hurried away.
In the morning, I dressed with enormous care. I chose a cream and gold dress that I had bought in London. The colours suited me well, making my hair look more gold than sandy. When I took the breakfast in to the others, I expected compliments, and I got them.
“Very fetching, Kirsty,” Miss Rowlatt growled across the table.
“You look beautiful!” Mary echoed her generously. Andrew said nothing.
“I—I wasn’t sure if it were dressy enough?” I temporised, eyeing Andrew with a touch of desperation. It was unkind of him not to make some remark.
“Just right,” Margaret said lazily. “Mirrabooka will be proud of you!” She winced as if she were regretting her words as soon as they were uttered, but I was pleased all the same. “It has the advantage of being easy to get in and out of,” she added. “Unless you intend to ride in it too?”
I made a face at her, for no one laughed at her intended joke.
“She’s wearing jeans and a shirt of mine for that, Mother,” Mary said with heavy patience.