Power of Pinjarra

by Sandra Dengler

  Mungkala looked ready to collapse. All color had drained from his lips and fingernails. Sweat ran down his face and neck.

  “Sit here and wait,” said Goonur.

  They sat and waited, on the edge of the camp, while she went into the largest building. At least this much was familiar and comfortable, but Indirri already knew what his relationship was to these people. No blood relation. Enemy.

  Someone beyond some trees shouted. Someone else closer to the largest building yelled and the black girl with the baby ran inside. Indirri leaped to his feet and helped Mungkala up.

  From among the trees a horse came pulling a wheeled box up the track. Two young white men sat on a seat and a black man sat in back. The black man wore brilliantly colored clothes on top. Everyone was smiling brightly. People of all sorts came pouring out from everywhere to greet the three.

  It appeared to be a joyous occasion, with much laughter and happy-sounding yabba. The two whites hopped down out of the box. Carefully they helped the black with the amazing clothes out the back of it. More expressions of joy and pleasure. Indirri watched carefully for any sign of trouble, but he didn’t see the slightest hint of a problem. He and Mungkala were being completely ignored.

  Finally he saw Goonur separate herself from the crowd and come striding over to them. She paused beside them. “As soon as the excitement is over the manager will take you on. He asked me if you were dependable and I said yes.”

  “What is the yabba?”

  “The man with brown hair there is the boss cocky’s son and the other one is his sister’s son. The black’s name is Gimpy Jack and he’s been here about six wets, come and go. Those three and some others were working at another station down south of here when Gimpy Jack got hurt bad. Everyone thought he would die. But these two wouldn’t let him—took him in a hurry to a whitefeller’s doctor ’way south.”

  “They blackfeller’s friends?”

  “If they make you a friend, you’re a friend. We never thought we’d see Gimpy Jack again and there he is. The doctor was about thirty miles from where the accident happened. A day’s walk and some, but the horse and cart’s a lot faster, of course. And it’s almost two hundred miles from here.”

  Indirri listened as she spoke with admiration for the boss cocky and his son. She spoke with warmth and with gladness for the survival of this Gimpy Jack. There was a kind of clanship here. Gimpy Jack was being led into the largest building. And look! He walked with a limp! These people, black and white, cared for a limping man. Mungkala’s chances of survival without Indirri were looking better and better by the minute.

  Indirri found himself not just listening to Goonur but watching her as well. The velvet skin. And those eyes. The rest of the world probably saw nothing more than a half-caste girl in a plain dress. Indirri saw one of Baiame’s brightest flowers.

  Chapter Seven

  The Ruins of Fire

  The pastor was up at Aramac today doing a double wedding and a funeral, so Papa was preaching for the service. That suited Pearl. She felt quite important as she sat in the front pew watching her father do what he loved best. He was very good, too, for a lay assistant.

  Prayer, benediction, amens. Over.

  Mum was already at the door beside Papa, all smiles, greeting the parishioners as they left. For a woman who would rather be home right now, she was very good, too.

  A squat little lady with thinning gray hair cornered Pearl to tell her about a new selector up the road a piece toward Ilfracombe. The selector had a wife and five children to support on his parcel, but he also had a brother. And that brother was not only unmarried, he was just Pearl’s age. Wasn’t that interesting?

  If Mum could keep the smile pasted on, so could Pearl. Therefore, Pearl remained a model of politeness on the outside, pushing her angry annoyance at the old busybody inside, safely out of sight—though not out of mind. The old biddy.

  Pearl spotted the two sisters who worked at the hospital as they went out the door, smiling and shaking Papa’s hand. And there, over by the south wall…Pearl excused herself, neatly avoiding two other ladies who were descending upon her, and made her way across the church toward the south wall. Marty Frobel was all gussied up in a suit and tie, talking to a small, square-built man in sweeping muttonchop whiskers.

  Pearl put on her most genuine smile and extended her hand. “Mr. Frobel. All the way down from Torrens Creek. We’re honored.”

  “Miss Fowkes. Edward Frobel, Pearl Fowkes, daughter of the presiding minister today. My Uncle Edward, Pearl.”

  His gold watch chain and a diamond tie pin had already impressed Pearl, but Edward Frobel poured on the charm anyway. He turned a marvelous derby hat over and over in his hands as he spoke in warm tones as deep as Marty’s. Pearl made small talk on the outside, but inside, her head was a-buzz. Did Marty come clear down here to court, or for some other reason? And if that was the case, what would she do about it? She really didn’t want to consider marrying this far from real civilization, pinned down forever in the desolate outback with a pack of children. But he certainly was good-looking, and quite well off to boot.

  The three of them worked their way to the door, the last in line, smiling and shaking hands as they went. When they were outside, Pearl noted with satisfaction that the gray-haired biddies looked fit to burst.

  “So how is Jason? Doing well, I trust.”

  “Yair. Guess so. He’s down in Anakie. Packed up and moved off the station to dig jewels.” Marty licked his lips. “Keeps telling me to come down and help him; says he’s got a good claim started, but he needs another set of hands.”

  “The lad’s dreamin’.” Uncle Edward grumbled. “The sooner he comes to his senses, the better.”

  Pearl twirled her parasol. “Sounds like hard work.”

  “There’s work and there’s work,” Marty shrugged. “Station isn’t doing so well, really. Those two dry spells, one right on the heels of the other, reduced the grazing so bad we had to sell stock off for less than cost. Then—”

  “Freeze ’em!” boomed in Uncle Edward. “I tell you, lad, the secret is freezing. Freeze the meat here and sell it all over the world. Tap a whole globe of markets.”

  “They put in a freezing plant in Townsville and it loses money, Uncle Ed.”

  “‘Cause they’re not doing it right. Done right, it’s a sure-fire moneymaker. Gunner make that a top priority in my editorial column. Local freezer plant.”

  “Your editorial column?” Pearl craned her neck to look at him better. “You have a newspaper?”

  “Going to start one, right here in Barcaldine.”

  “But we already have one. The Western Champion. It’s been here half of forever.”

  “I’m aware of that, young lady, and I’m acutely aware of the paper’s quality. I believe I can do better. Much better. Marty, you said something about pointing out a William Campbell somewhere.”

  “He’s usually at the Commercial having tea about now. We’re headed that way.” There was a tightness to Marty’s voice that Pearl hadn’t heard before.

  Pearl felt a discomfort here between the three of them and she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t causing it. And yet, Marty seemed at ease with her. His Uncle Edward was most gracious. Curious. They paused at the Commercial only long enough for Marty to step inside, introduce his uncle to Mr. Campbell and excuse himself.

  He escorted Pearl back outside and drew a deep, relieved breath. “Uncle Edward figures all he has to do is dive into something and it’ll work right for him. He doesn’t know the first thing about the newspaper business. A month ago he was a clerk supervisor at a bank in Brisbane.”

  “I heard the Western Champion is a rather good one, as newspapers go.”

  “It is. Fair. Unbiased. Gives you the drum. Doesn’t lean toward Uncle Edward’s political way of thinking, though. If you see the picture.”

  She saw the picture, although she didn’t really care one way or the other about it. “So Jason is digging for jewels.”r />
  “Just as well. He certainly wasn’t interested in being a stockman. Thought the work was too hard, the pay not so good.”

  “Are you going to go down with him?”

  “I was thinking about it maybe. I, uh, was kind of expecting Enid would be in church, too.”

  “She gets her church on Saturday night, listening to Papa practice his lay readings and sermons and offering suggestions. Then she works at the hospital on Sunday morning so that the sisters and ward men can attend service. Believe me, Sunday morning is better than Papa’s Saturday night practice. Doesn’t take as long, either.”

  The mysterious tightness was gone from Marty’s voice. “That must be a real sacrifice for Enid. I know she enjoys church; she’s said so a couple times.”

  That was true, though Pearl hadn’t thought of it that way before. “She’ll be home shortly. Would you and your uncle join us for luncheon?”

  “I think Uncle Edward had other plans for the day. But I’d be pleased to.”

  Good! Perhaps Marty’s reason for being in Barcaldine would become clear at lunch. And she knew Mum would be pleased to entertain the son of a prominent pastoralist for a change instead of the stragglers Papa usually brought to the house.

  They strolled about a little longer, seeing and being seen, and then headed home. Mum, bless her, had tidied up; the place looked picture perfect. Papa shook hands and reintroduced himself. His quiet reserve contrasted sharply with the cheerful way he’d pumped everybody’s arm at the church door. Mum greeted Marty effusively, expressed her disappointment at his uncle’s absence, and ushered Marty to the parlor. The day was going perfectly. Very elegant.

  Then Enid came bursting in, flying through the front door and into the parlor so wildly that Marty nearly knocked his chair over trying to stand up in time.

  “Papa!” She flung her arms around Papa’s neck. “Sister Ellen—you know, the taller one?—committed her life to Christ not ten minutes ago! Your message touched her and I was able to answer her questions. It was so beautiful! Thank you, Papa!”

  Mum looked dreadfully embarrassed—nearly as embarrassed as Pearl felt. Marty appeared mildly confused.

  But Papa, so rigid a moment before, loosened up instantly with a boyish laugh of pure joy. “How splendid! Your mum and I will call on her as soon as she comes off work. Does she have a Bible, do you know?”

  “I loaned her mine until we buy her one tomorrow.” For the first time Enid noticed Marty. She acted not the slightest bit embarrassed or hesitant about her previous outburst as she went to him and gripped both his hands in hers. “What a lovely surprise! You can stay for luncheon, I hope.”

  Mum broke in. “Would you excuse Pearl and me, please? We must complete luncheon preparations.” And she whisked herself off to the kitchen.

  Pearl set the table mechanically, five places, and strained her ears to listen to the conversation in the other room. She could just hear the three of them in the parlor discussing religious topics—Enid’s voice all bubbly, Papa’s voice jubilant, Marty’s rumble, barely audible, asking questions. She wished she could hear him better, to decide if what she had seen in his eyes corresponded to what she heard. Because what she had seen—and there was no way she could talk herself out of this—was puppy love!

  Marty had a full-scale crush on Enid. His comment at church about missing Enid there made sense now. The admiration in his voice when he learned she sacrificed her Sunday mornings became instantly obvious; how did Pearl miss it before? And his face when her sister walked in…. Enid was the one he had come to see. She was the reason he was in Barcaldine. His Uncle Edward was merely the excuse.

  Pearl absolutely burned. She was furious with her plain little sister for embarrassing her so badly just now. She was furious with Mum for sticking her out here in the dining room. Marty was her guest—her guest!—and here she was doing scullery chores. The day was rotten—rotten to the core.

  How Pearl managed to get clear through lunch without losing her pasted-on smile she would never know. Now that she knew, she read it in every glance, every move Marty made. And look at Mum, being so painfully gracious toward him! And why not? It didn’t matter to Mum which daughter married the prominent pastoralist so long as he was interested in one of them.

  By the time Marty left that afternoon, after tea in the parlor, Pearl had formulated a plan. This turn of events was a blessing in disguise. She had nearly fallen for the prospect of accepting a local swain out of convenience, condemning herself to an impoverished life in the outback. This close call had brought her to her senses. She would return to the city and find a more suitable match. She wanted an urbane, sophisticated gentleman. As handsome and polite as Marty might be—in a rough-hewn way—urbane he was not. Yes might possibly be pronounced yas, but never yair.

  She waited until after supper before broaching the subject. Papa was in the sitting room, reading a book about the gospel in the stars. Enid was writing letters at Papa’s little desk in the corner, and Mum was sewing buttons back on shirts, a free service she provided her better laundry customers. The hubbub of the day had long since died down. Pearl got out her embroidery (the cross-stitched napkins she’d been working on for a year) and settled into the rocker.

  Silence. Peace.

  “Papa? I’ve been considering my prospects here, and I’ve decided to move back to Brisbane.” She hesitated, expecting the world to blow up. Mum blanched, then denounced the idea. “Rubbish, child!” Papa never flinched.

  He laid his book in his lap and looked at her mildly. “Oh, you have now. And how will you support yourself in Brisbane?”

  “I was hoping for a small advance against wages just to get me started.”

  “An advance. Look about the room here. What do you see?”

  “A very simple but tasteful arrangement of furnishings. Three happy and contented persons.” Obviously that wasn’t the answer he had been looking for. She kept trying. “A warm and loving family. A Christian atmosphere.” Just what was he looking for?

  “Simple furnishings, you say. Quite elegant furnishings compared with most of the local homes where I call. Pearl, you are surrounded by what would otherwise be a bank account. As it is, your mother’s earnings as a laundress go to the upkeep of this elegant home, and I earn not a farthing spare. We have no funds with which to offer you an advance. Even if you found a job the day you arrived, your first pay would be several weeks coming. And how would you live until then?” He raised his book again. “I suggest you remain here at home until you’ve built up some savings with which to keep yourself in the city.”

  “You’re making sport of me!”

  “Not at all. I’m reminding you of the realities of life.” And he went back to reading.

  Mum sputtered, “You really should consider carefully before taking so drastic a step, dear. There’s much to—”

  “Tell me, Mother, how long did Papa consider before yanking us up by the roots and dragging us out to this fried and forsaken strip of nothing? I was too young then to resist. I had to come. But I’m not a little girl anymore. I can make my own choices now. And I have chosen to be done with this wretched place.”

  “I never realized you were so unhappy here, darling,” Mum remonstrated. “I’ll admit it’s certainly not the city, but it has its few good points.”

  Pearl closed her eyes and used one of Mum’s favorite ploys. “I’ve made up my mind and that’s the end of it. I’ll not discuss it any further.”

  Papa’s voice came over and around his book, which he continued to read. “You are under your father’s protection until you marry. There will be no discussion on that, either.”

  Silence. But the peace had fled.

  ****

  The dream became an obsession. Within a week Pearl had quit her job as a clerk at Meacham and Leyland builders to become an assistant to the advertising editor of the Western Champion. The rate of pay was the same—minuscule—but she could put in longer hours.

  In September Dr. Syme
s left town amid scandalous rumors involving someone’s wife. No matter how hard Pearl pressed Enid for more details—for she was right there on the inside—Enid refused to comment. She simply quoted some passage in Proverbs about tale-bearing and remained silent. Honestly! Surely it isn’t gossip when it’s your own sister.

  In October, under the guidance of the new physician, Dr. Neilsen, the examining tables were at last removed from the engine room, and the instruments were tossed back into their crate and transported to Barcaldine’s spacious new hospital. It had cost over fifteen hundred pounds to rebuild it. Had Pearl remained with Meacham and Leyland, who had built the structure, she could have attended the opening ceremonies, for all their employees had been invited. As a hospital aide Enid was there, looking as proud and happy as if she owned the whole place, shiny new kitchen and all.

  By Christmas, Pearl had salted away enough to support herself for two months in Brisbane, if she lived frugally. Or she could work in Sydney for five weeks. Sydney was looking ever better. If she were going back to the city, why not the biggest and the best?

  She kept her money not in the Queensland National Bank branch in Willow Street but in the little Barcaldine Building Society in Oak Street. Barcaldine was growing so rapidly, with new buildings going up constantly, that she could earn 2.25-percent interest there instead of the mere 2 percent the bank offered.

  The Monday after Christmas began like any other summer Monday, filled with shimmering heat. Pearl went to work early that she might garner in an extra hour’s wage. She was never allowed to write copy. She could not compose, set type, or prepare correspondence. She proofread—all day.

  The girl who had held the job previously claimed that ads are easier to proof than more interesting pieces. “You get so involved in fun-to-read pieces that you forget to search out errors.” Pearl longed for a chance to find out, for advertisements were so boring, so petty. She continued to work through the lunch hour—that gave her another hour’s wage.