Power of Pinjarra

by Sandra Dengler

  Enid didn’t seem to mind his leaving. Her voice was as light as ever. “Can’t you just buy it all outright? Eventually, I should think…”

  “The government keeps title. If the population grows in the district, they open your run to selection, and there’s nothing you can do about it. But when these small farmers—the selectors—come in and settle on their parcels, they provide a new market for wool and meat. So it’s not a hundred percent bad. And I don’t think this run will be opened to selection for a good many years. It’s a fine opportunity for me.”

  “And I suppose you have a name for it and everything. All ready to go.” Pearl couldn’t believe he’d give up digging if he made money at it.

  “Pinjarra.”

  “The master of Pinjarra. A pastoral tenant of the crown.” Jason slapped Marty’s shoulder. “Ladies, you’re looking at the newest member of the landed aristocracy here—the squattocracy. Gunner be a powerful man. Squatters throw a lot of political muscle around.”

  Enid smiled. “I can’t picture you as a political bigwig, Marty. What is it you used to call such people? Silvertails?”

  “Better’n having no power at all.” He grinned, throwing Pearl’s feelings into further confusion. This wasn’t quite the Marty she remembered.

  They were interrupted by someone shouting from down the track. Here came Charlie lumbering over at sort of a gallop. Charlie had to be in his sixties, but day after day he forced a twenty-year-old’s amount of work out of his aging body. And day after day he promised everyone that his Kookaburra Mining Company would shortly produce the world’s finest emerald. Or sapphire. Or whatever gemstone he had happened to see minute quantities of that week.

  Charlie arrived at the verandah huffing and puffing, totally worn out. He plopped down and leaned against the roof support. After he got his breath somewhat, he blurted out in gasps, “Jenkins come running to my place—says there’s a big problem down at the Dijirru claim. Tol’ me to come up here an’ pray Mizz Fowkes was back; some people are hurt—”

  “Dijirru!” Pearl stared at Enid. Sark and Riley! “Did he say who?”

  Charlie shook his head. “They went back to help dig. You two lads might go along; they’re needing strong backs.”

  Marty and Jason were already off the verandah. They both had their horses loosed and were vaulting into the saddle before Pearl could gather her skirts and follow them. In unison the two boys kicked free of a stirrup and reached a hand out…

  To Enid, of course.

  She grabbed the closest—Jason’s—stuffed her foot in his stirrup and swung up behind him, her dress all scrunched up.

  Pearl gripped Marty’s warm hand and pulled herself up behind, and they were off. They rode wildly, dangerously. Pearl wrapped her arms around Marty’s waist tightly enough to pass for a mustard plaster. Even so, she kept getting jolted to one side or the other, and all the while she marveled at how firmly Marty stayed in the saddle. A few times during her girlhood she had conceded to riding a horse at a gentle walk. This was another universe of experience altogether.

  Of necessity they ate Jason’s dust the full mile and a half; Pearl knew in general where the Dijirru was, but Enid knew precisely. The well-used lane was covered with powdery dust a foot deep. Pearl pressed the side of her face against Marty’s back and squeezed her eyes shut, choking on the dirt.

  As they neared Dijirru, they heard cheering up ahead. Marty dragged his horse to a halt. Pearl raised her head to see Enid being helped from Jason’s horse by half a dozen willing hands, and escorted into a dense cloud of orange dust on the shallow hillside. Pearl slid off Marty’s horse by herself, aided only by the hand Marty offered her.

  Unlike more elaborate workings, this dig was merely a crude, open gash extending two rods back into the hillside, reinforced here and there with posts. At the far end, though, either the posts had given way or they had not been placed in time. Here at the shallow entry end, the walls were crisp-edged and perhaps two feet high. At the far end, where half a dozen grimy miners toiled, the walls had probably been six feet high before they had collapsed into the dig.

  Marty got there just ahead of Enid. Tall, gangly Pete Sark was not one of the victims. He stood in the ruins of his own dig and stared at Marty. Marty said simply, “I want to help.”

  Sark turned away and began digging again with his shovel. Marty took it as a tacit yes and began to dig the loose dirt beside him. Pearl wanted to help, too, but there were so many men already digging that she couldn’t see any place for one more person.

  Enid’s frail back, surrounded by broad backs, bent over the very middle of the dust-ridden mess. Her voice came through strong and clear, though. “He’s dead. There’s still hope for the other. Leave this one and dig there!”

  Pearl could see, just barely, the cavity in the loose dirt where Enid a moment before had been hunched.

  Jason and Marty slaved in the middle of it. A coat of dark, ugly dust caked their perspiring faces. Flies and more flies—millions of flies—swarmed around the sweaty men. As confused and disorderly as the operation looked, there was a method to it. Six men became human posts. By sheer muscle power they held timbers and boards in place, keeping the passage open wide enough for the diggers.

  “Get her down there!” Sark shouted. Pearl maneuvered in closer. He was talking about Enid, and they were forcing a way for Enid down into the bottom of their frantically dug hole. Had Enid been Queen Victoria these men would not—could not—have treated her more respectfully.

  “He’s still alive!” Enid crowed triumphantly. “Be careful with that timber; it’s crushing against his chest.” She disappeared into the mass of churning dust and scrambling miners.

  Marty and Jason had plunged in, boots and all. Amid cries of jubilation and Enid’s warnings to be careful, a score of filthy hands lifted the second victim out of the choking cloud. Riley.

  Jason called out, “Don’t stop yet, mates; let’s dig the body out before this collapses for good.” Three or four men joined him in the gruesome task. Pearl turned her back on the dusty pit. She did not care to see the soil-crusted death mask.

  Enid was so dirty you could no longer determine the color of her dress. Blood and sweat streaked her face, and dirt cast into her eyes had brought tears. Yet her cheerful voice directed hands and kept men busy. They fetched some water from a jug, brought a towel, held this, supported that. Whatever she requested.

  A disorganized cheer went up when Riley began coughing and sputtering. Then his stuttering voice babbled about death and God. And now he was sobbing—not the least bit manly.

  Enid’s voice dropped from a bark to a purr, and Pearl recognized the sound of it. Even as she washed his bloodied arm and wrapped it firmly in a towel, Enid was delivering the gospel to Riley just as she had explained it a score of times to Pearl—regardless of how much or how loudly Pearl had objected. Incredulous, and with some disdain, she heard her sister reiterate that same message: Jesus Christ is the only sure way to eternal life. Couldn’t the girl think of anything else at a time like this? Apparently not. Next came Enid’s assurance that God loved Riley so much He was waiting eagerly for Riley to confess that he was a sinner, to accept the fact that Jesus had paid for all that sin with His death, and to let Christ’s Spirit enter him and give him a brand new heart.

  To Pearl’s amazement, Riley was agreeing. In stuttering explosions of speech he made his peace with God as Enid coached him on, prayer of repentance and all. And why not? She had just saved his life, probably more than once in the last fifteen minutes. She was selflessly ministering to him now, even though she knew all about him—and his visit to their hut. He owed her a great deal. The least he could do would be to say whatever she asked him to say. Pearl glanced over at Sark. Someone must have kicked gravel into Sark’s eyes, because tears streamed down his dirty face as well.

  While Enid was busy with Riley, some of the men brought out the deceased man from the deathtrap. The men removed their caps in respect. Then the men w
ho held the loose dirt at bay with their boards and timbers backed out. With a massive column of dust that spread for yards around, those lethal walls caved in behind the men.

  The dead man’s mates wrapped him in a blanket and gently carried him away. Willing workers lifted the injured man onto a stretcher the men had devised, then helped Sark trundle him over to their shack nearby. With gratefulness, every man there either shook Enid’s hand or kissed it.

  By degrees the dust dissipated, and voices faded into the distance. Only the heat and the buzz of a million flies remained. The crisis was past, the emergency over.

  Aside from her ruined dress and a small cut on her hand, Enid was none the worse for wear. With a flourish Marty whipped out his handkerchief. “I remember doing this once before.” He glanced knowingly at Pearl and smiled as he wrapped it around the palm of Enid’s left hand.

  “Except that mine bled a lot more. All over my favorite dress.” Pearl felt a tug of pleasure that he remembered those little details.

  “I poked a nail through my palm just before we reached him.” Enid was glowing. “Mr. Riley prayed the sinner’s prayer! Did you hear him, Pearl?”

  “Yes, I heard him.”

  Surely Enid didn’t think all that confession and conversion was genuine. It was a product of the moment, an emotional and grisly moment. Still, it obviously meant a great deal to her.

  Jason brought the horses down and without so much as a by-your-leave, Marty gripped Enid by the waist and hoisted her up into his saddle. He climbed up behind her. Fighting back a pang of jealousy, Pearl took the hand Jason offered her and pulled herself up behind him. Riding back to the laundry, the boys deposited the girls at the door and rode away.

  A bath. Ah, a bath. Both girls instantly agreed they were too dirty to take turns washing in the same tubful as they usually did, so they filled two washtubs instead. My, such luxury. They soaked and splashed in the middle of the floor, their backs to each other, as the dust and the heat and the horror of the day fell away.

  “I know we’re washerwomen, Enid, but how will we ever get your traveling dress clean?”

  “Who cares? Mr. Riley’s clean. That’s all that’s important.”

  “So you think Riley’s a Christian. Enid, you didn’t see his face that night, or hear the coarse suggestion in Sark’s voice. You have elevated a sinner to saint status, believe me.”

  “God promised His word won’t return void. Besides, it’s all I have.”

  “What?” Pearl twisted in the tub to see Enid’s face, but Enid’s back was turned.

  “I’m frightened, Pearl. What if all this that I learned from Papa isn’t really true?”

  “You mean the Gospel?”

  “I guess, sort of. I get these horrid doubts. And they’re coming oftener and oftener.”

  “No wonder, the way you claim the part-time preacher here doesn’t know his theology.”

  “I suppose that doesn’t help. I’m not being fed the way I was at home. But it’s deeper than that. What if Saint Paul isn’t exactly right and you have to do good deeds to get to Heaven?”

  “Then you of all people should be standing at the front of the queue when those gates swing open.”

  “Not inside. I have these terrible thoughts about—well, they’re terrible, anyway. I’m afraid they’ll keep me out of heaven. So I set broken arms when I’ve no training to do it, and I carry more and more soup around, visiting.”

  “Terrible thoughts about what!”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Don’t give me that spiritual insight business again.”

  “Not that. Something else. Men always look at you and drool, so to speak. I’m plain. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get thoughts about…That I don’t dream about…Oh, forget it.”

  “What? You talking about men? Getting married and that?”

  Suddenly the voice behind her brightened, lightened. “Depressing thoughts are a thing of the past. Let us enjoy this luxury!”

  To complete the luxury, they didn’t even share the same towel. After they had dried off, Enid washed her hair. Pearl considered doing so and decided it was too much effort. Instead she’d brush it thoroughly.

  In the middle of brushing out the tangles in her hair, she heard a knock at the door. The boys must have cleaned up somewhere. Now, here they were back. In all the confusion, Pearl and Enid had forgotten to invite them to dinner. Thank goodness they had assumed the invitation, and rightly so. With a smile Pearl swung the door open.

  The smile fell. “Mr. Sark!”

  The gangling miner studied her a moment with the oddest mix of consternation and determination on his face. With a clunk he dropped to his knees on the verandah. He dragged his hat off his head and scrunched it in both hands. “Miss Fowkes, I most deeply and humbly apologize for last night. Riley and me, we very nearly violated one of God’s own, and it woulda been to our eternal damnation. Riley and me, we agree that God sent them two larrikins to keep us from sin, and we’re grateful to Him for that. Miss Fowkes, I’m so sorry, and I extend Riley’s apologies as well.”

  Pearl was flabbergasted. What does one reply to a penitent miner?

  Enid stepped beside her, her hair wrapped in a towel. “Mr. Sark, Mr. Riley is guaranteed eternal life. Are you?”

  “Yes’m, but not before this afternoon.” Mr. Sark lurched to his feet. “Pa drank, but my mum was a God-fearing woman. She raised me Christian, but I turned away from God till just today. And now”—he nodded courteously toward Pearl—“there’s others I must make amends to. God wouldn’t have it no other way.”

  “God bless you, Mr. Sark,” and Enid sounded as if she meant it. She beamed like the sun itself.

  “God bless you, mum.” He nodded, he bowed, he did everything but tug his forelock. He backed down off the verandah and turned to leave, his hat still scrunched in his lanky paws.

  Just then the boys came up the track. When they saw Sark, Marty stiffened and Jason laid his hand on his holster.

  “God bless you, lads,” Mr. Sark bellowed. He paused beside Marty. “You don’t still happen to have that knife, do you?”

  “Threw it away in the bush. Didn’t want you accidentally sticking it into someone who wasn’t armed.”

  “Too right! I’m dangerous.” And away he hurried down the track.

  Marty and Jason gaped as they rode up and dismounted. Pearl tried to match the Sark of last night to the Sark of tonight, and the absurdity of it exploded out of her as laughter.

  Enid laughed delightedly. She sobered. “There! You see the fruit of preaching in season and out of season? You never know where the word will fall. Isn’t it beautiful?” And the gem of Anakie turned and went inside to commence dinner.

  Chapter Ten

  The Loss of A Gem

  Deep inside Pearl, life had somehow turned upside down. One moment everything was normal, more or less. Then the next, everything felt slightly atilt, like a sailboat in a stiff breeze, and she couldn’t say when the change came. Nor could she describe the change. The feeling in her evaded any possible definition. Gloom? Not quite. Foreboding? Perhaps—but foreboding of what? She couldn’t guess.

  Perhaps it was simply the absurdity of watching Mr. Sark (a man of such recently dishonorable intentions) hustling down the hot, dusty track blessing every person he passed. That alone was enough to cause her to feel askew, all topsy-turvy.

  This sense of instability wasn’t helped a bit the evening following the accident at the mine, when Marty invited Enid out for a walk after supper. Pearl could tell that Jason was hurt too, though he tried to pretend he wasn’t sulking as he helped her with the dishes. The next day Pearl returned from town to find Marty’s horse hitched to the verandah post—and Marty and Enid engaging in rapt and earnest conversation inside.

  ****

  By Thursday the workload was so heavy Pearl decided to give Mave Hurley one more chance and hired her as pick-up labor. Mave snickered off and on the whole day at some private little joke
. At dusk Enid went out to hang the colored wash and Mave prepared to leave.

  Pearl could contain herself no longer. “Mave, whatever have you been snickering about all day?”

  Mave glanced out the door toward Enid and giggled again. “Eh, Mizz Fowkes. Down by the creek track, old Charlie caught that larrikin stealing a kiss from your sister. It’s all over town. Hot romance.”

  Pearl felt her cheeks flush. “Yes, Marty has something of a crush on her. Puppy love.”

  “Marty. He’s the brown-haired one, eh?” Mave shook her head. “Nah, this was the other one, the black-haired one, who stole the kiss.” She wished Pearl a good night and waddled off down the track with her day’s pay in hand, leaving Pearl fuming on the doorstep.

  Frankly, it was time to move on to Brisbane. Well past time, in fact. They now had enough money in the bank to set themselves up attractively in the city. Besides, Marty was leaving here to earn the money to take up a new life as a political basher, of all things. Out in the middle of nowhere. Yes, indeed, it was time to go. They could sell off the tubs and equipment and be out and gone in two weeks.

  Should she mention to Enid the word that had spread all over town? No. The less said the better. And what Enid or Jason volunteered, accidentally or on purpose, concerning that kiss might be instructive. She let it go.

  All the same, it ate at her.

  Saturday morning Enid woke up grouchy, something Enid had never done before. Pearl’s world, already atilt, yawed crazily. By evening Enid complained of a ferocious headache—Enid, who never complained. She declined to eat because, she said, it was too hard to swallow.

  Marty and Jason came by after dinner, but Enid excused herself and went to bed early. Pearl and the fellows sat on the verandah for a few minutes talking, but a dismal pall hung over them all and the lads left early, looking worried.

  Pearl retired that night arguing with herself. Enid was as human as anyone and subject to ups and downs. If for once in her life she chose to act like a normal human being, let her have her whimsy. On the other hand, if she felt ill enough to complain about it, she must be sick indeed and perhaps she ought be put on the train to Barcaldine immediately.