Power of Pinjarra

by Sandra Dengler

  Marty exploded laughing. He chuckled all the way back to the office. He paused in the office door. A buggy was coming—Uncle Edward, no doubt. He backtracked to the front door.

  Pearl! She drew her horse to a stop in front of the verandah and was out of the buggy seat before Marty could get down off the step. She studied him coldly. “So where were you?”

  “Where was I when?”

  “Yesterday. You were supposed to be in court yesterday. We’re talking about my bail money, Prince Charming.”

  Marty’s heart thudded. “Somebody wants me in court, they’re gunner have to tell me the day before, not the day after.”

  “Your signature was on the subpoena. You were served.”

  “I was not.”

  Those wonderful blue eyes looked into his for the longest time. “Perhaps not. Jase said he didn’t think you were.”

  “You talked to Jase since yesterday? Then you stopped in Muttaburra.”

  “He’s feeling much better, he says. I couldn’t talk to him very long; he was trying to explain to Barton Wiggins that he couldn’t possibly have the cattle at the price Uncle Edward had sold them to him. I happened to bump into him when—”

  “Stop. Whoa.” Marty took her elbow and plunked her into the wicker chair. “Start over. What did you say about Uncle Edward?”

  “Your uncle sold a hundred head of cattle to Bart Wiggins. Bart’s a restaurant supplier out of Brisbane. I know him, so I was able to help Jason smooth it over. Marty, your uncle’s under the delusion that he’s in charge of Pinjarra. You’ve got to talk to him. He’s causing you all sorts of problems.”

  “Why didn’t Jase just take the money?”

  “At fifteen shillings a head?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “Seventy-five pounds. How far does Uncle Edward think that’ll get us?” He opened his eyes again, letting the harsh sunlight of reality burn them some more. “What about yesterday?”

  “I told Jason you forfeited bond. I saw the signature, and I was so sure—and so angry I couldn’t think. I just hopped in the buggy and headed up here. I suppose it’s a good thing Jason grabbed me, so to speak, and helped me cool off.” She smiled wanly. “Of course, driving for two days rather cools you off anyway. Why can’t you live closer to town?”

  “Jase didn’t come back with you?”

  “He says he’s going to rest another day or so and then take Cobb down to Longreach to see if he can do something about getting my bail money back. I have serious doubts about his chances.”

  Marty looked up as he saw two horses coming his way. He hoped Rosella had cooked the whole haunch. Goonur and Gimpy Jack entered the dooryard and rode up to the verandah. The looks on their faces told him he might as well prepare for the worst.

  Jack swung down off his horse and tipped his top hat to Pearl. “G’day, mum. We woulda been back yesterday, Marty, but we did a little extra tracking. Mungkala and Indirri’s safe. They’re with other blacks up the creek a ways.”

  “Then why do you two look so glum?”

  Goonur slid out of the saddle. “The black clan—two of them drove us off. We couldn’t even get close. They came very near spearing Jack. And the paint—” She stopped.

  Gimpy Jack explained more to Pearl than to Marty. “The patterns on their body paint say they’re hostile. Ready to make war.”

  Marty’s eyes went shut again. The world was closing in fast. He needed Jase and Jase was gone. He didn’t need Uncle Edward, though they could hear his buggy coming a ways off, up the road. He needed Pop and Pop was who-knows-where up on the coast. If he estimated the depth of Indirri’s hatred correctly, Marty had now lost two valuable workers—worse, they might now be his enemies as well. A bloodbath, Pop called it. And Pearl’s money, and this whole out-of-control court business, and Sheldon’s monkey business, and the drought and his stock dropping and…

  “Marty!” Pearl was out of her chair and shaking him. “Are you all right?”

  His eyes popped open. “Yair.” He was master of Pinjarra. As such, he must now make more decisions, possibly life-or-death decisions. “Goonur, would you go help Rosella? Extra mouths to feed mean extra work. Jack, put the horses up. Pearl’s, too. She’ll stay here tonight. We’ll set up a watch, since we don’t know what’s happening out in the bush there.”

  Gimpy Jack nodded grimly. Goonur started into the house, looking terribly dejected.

  “Goonur?” Marty reached out and touched her arm. “None of this is your doing. Indirri made his own decision. You and Bohra eat with us tonight.”

  She flashed a false smile and brushed past him into the house.

  Uncle Edward’s cart came rattling up to the door. Jack grabbed the horse the moment it stopped, untied its harness, and with a whack on its rump sent it on its own toward the barn.

  “Now what’s going on?” Uncle Edward tipped his derby to Pearl perfunctorily and glared at Marty.

  “Black troubles. Uncle Edward, what’s this about—”

  “Because you’re too lenient with them! If you’d put your foot down right from the first, the way you’re supposed to do, you wouldn’t have these constant troubles. You don’t even gain their respect. How do you think you’re going to control them? Lollipops and a pat on the head?”

  “What’s this about trying to sell at fifteen per?”

  Uncle Edward waved a finger in his face. “Seventy-five pounds on account with the store will get you supplies for another month, maybe two months. Right now your credit is flat. They’re not extending you another farthing. No flour, no sugar, no nothing.”

  “Fifteen a head!”

  “I was trying to get you something for nothing, lad!” Uncle Edward hissed. “It’s more than they’re worth. Ragged bags of soup bones.”

  “Unless it rains soon.”

  “You can’t count on that. You have to be businesslike about this. You must assume it won’t.”

  Pearl stood up and swept down the step. With motion as fluid as windswept leaves she walked away, out across the dooryard.

  Uncle Edward lowered his voice. “Marty…” He took a breath and started over, even lower. “Marty, dreams are beaut. I know; I’ve had a few myself. But there comes a time to lay the dream aside and be practical. Sensible. Holding out for rain now is simply not going to work. You’re dragging everyone you love down with you.”

  “What do you suggest?” Marty didn’t really want to know.

  “Sell out for whatever you can and repay as much on the pound as possible. Your creditors will understand. You tried. It didn’t work. Now close the books.”

  Close the books on a dream. Just like that. Easy for Uncle Edward to say—it wasn’t his dream. But then, the very fact it wasn’t his dream might mean he could see the picture with eyes unclouded by dream-smoke. If he were right…and he’d been around long enough to know…

  Marty leaped up and jogged down off the verandah. It didn’t take more than a few fast strides to catch up to Pearl. He slowed down beside her and matched her stride for stride. “Uncle Edward says I should give it all to the knackerman. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “I really don’t know. It’s all so messed up. Not just you, but me, too. All of it.”

  He wrapped an arm across her shoulders and drew her in tight against him. It felt good. It felt so good. “I’m sorry you got sucked into this.”

  “It’s not just that—not the money, I mean. It’s all of it.” She snuggled in closer still and put an arm around his back.

  “All of what?” Even in the depths of his despond, her presence there exhilarated him.

  “Remember Enid asking me to come to Jesus? And remember also when we were on that picnic, I told you I finally did. Right after Luke Vinson looked me up. Less than two years ago, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that.” They stopped because they had arrived at the front paddock fence.

  “Enid derived such joy from serving God. She seemed to
know exactly where God wanted her. She had”—the lovely hand waved helplessly—“direction. She did something and saw the good results almost right away. I try to do something and I don’t see anything. I can’t tell if I did the right or wrong thing. Pinjarra is just one example of many.”

  “Maybe it comes with time.”

  She shook her head. The golden curls bobbed. “I need black and white answers—right or wrong. Remember when you two brought Jack into the hospital? You said something to Enid that confirmed in her mind that she was doing the right thing. I forget the details.”

  “I sorta remember.”

  “I can’t hear those confirmations. I don’t…” Her voice trailed off. She laid her head against his shoulder. “Marty, help me.”

  He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her in tight, and the weight on her heart bowed his down just as heavily. “I don’t know how.”

  ****

  They set a watch that night but nothing stirred. Uncle Edward went through Marty’s books listing assets, estimating the probable return on them. The very thought of him doing that—and worse, possibly being justified in doing it—tore Marty apart.

  The next day over the dinner table, they made plans for the night. As evening waned Marty saddled the roan and rode out north, aimlessly, for no other reason than to be doing something. He carried the revolver along, just in case.

  Here was part of the mob Pop sold him. He still owed Pop that thousand pounds. If he managed to sell them all at the price Uncle Edward found, he would be able to pay Pop seven hundred and fifty of it. No. Please, God…

  But why appeal to God now? What did God have to do with the likes of him? The God who snatched Enid away certainly wouldn’t smile benevolently on a doubter’s lost dream.

  He watched his cattle awhile and had to agree with Uncle Edward. They were so gaunt they weren’t worth a pound apiece. They stood about listlessly or lay folded up, as cows do. None of them chewed a cud. None moved as he rode near. They stared off at infinity, awaiting death with a stoic patience cows alone can summon.

  The promise of Pinjarra had evaporated into blue and cloudless skies.

  Well, not quite cloudless. Marty could see a faint dust cloud rising just beyond the trees. He moved the roan farther away from the track. Blacks didn’t travel by road—but black-bearded raiders well might.

  With relief, Marty saw it was Pop’s open six-seater with four persons inside it. He and Mum must be moving in; a fully loaded wagon followed a quarter mile behind. Marty rode out onto the track, waved and pulled alongside.

  No greeting, no ritual pleasantries. Pop growled, “When’s the last time these cows had water?”

  “We dug them a hole beyond the rise there, but it’s likely dried up now. It was the last we could find. Hallo, Mum!” She was too far away to hug or kiss so he reached an arm out.

  She reached a hand out to touch his. “Hallo, Marty.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the revolver on his belt. She looked frightened.

  “They need twelve gallons a day each to thrive, eight minimum.”

  “Hush, Pop. You’re sounding like Uncle Edward.”

  “So be it. Tomorrow we’re gunner move your stock down to that south paddock. Muster ought be quick and easy, as feeble as they are. No runabouts trying to avoid us.”

  Marty turned his attention to the other two travelers. With the first lift his spirit had felt in days, he gripped Lucas Vinson’s hand. “Welcome back!”

  Luke grinned. “I wish to introduce the former Margaret Connolly, now Margaret Vinson. Meg, this is Marty Frobel.”

  “Crikey, Luke! I turn my back for just a second or two and look what you’ve done!” And old Luke had done a great deal. Marty doffed his hat. She was a beauty, pure and simple, with glowing reddish-brown hair and soft, misty gray-green eyes that looked deep enough to dive into.

  She leaned forward to reach Marty for a handshake. “Sure’n I’ve heard an earful about ye, and all of it fine. Me pleasure, Marty.”

  Irish. Right off the boat Irish.

  The wagon had caught up. Mum gestured toward it. “Luke and Meg have a few things, so we thought they might keep them at your place awhile. And I brought you a crate of chooks. You must be sick of beef.”

  Marty tied the roan to the back of the carriage and hopped in beside Mum. He wrapped an arm around her, not so much a gesture of affection as to feel the comfort only Mum could offer. The carriage lurched forward, building its dust cloud behind.

  “Anything I should know about?” Pop asked.

  “Lots of things. They can all wait till we get there. Too fine an evening to rot it up with business.”

  “Rot it up.”

  Marty glanced at him. “Far as we know, Jase is in town somewhere, doing all right. Gimpy Jack’s got a watch set at night; the trouble could be black or white. Uncle Edward’s planning Pinjarra’s wake. Other’n that, not much on.”

  Luke snorted. “I thought surely by now you and Pearl would be married. I can’t be the only one who gets these notions.”

  “You’ve been talking to Mum.” Marty gave her shoulders a squeeze.

  “No, talking to Pearl, on my way to Mossman. She glowed like Christmas all the while we discussed you. Does she ever visit?”

  “She’s here now. She was going to go back to Anakie tomorrow, but with you two here, she may want to stay awhile.”

  Pearl glowed when she talked about Marty? Luke must be misreading her. She was a friend, an old and valued friend. She wasn’t someone Marty would think of courting. They knew each other much too well to go through the artificial motions of courtship.

  He watched Luke and Meg, very proper and yet very intimate. Talk about a glow. They both shone. A stupid, insane, unjust jealousy swept over Marty. Luke had a working relationship with God. He had a solid faith in Jesus Christ. And now he had the perfect wife. He had it all.

  And all Marty had was a dried-up, shriveling dream.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Twist of Fate

  It wasn’t a pleasant lunch, exactly—thanks to Marty’s Uncle Edward, mused Pearl. Things started out all right, with cute little Meg all big-eyed with wonder over her first muster. Frankly, Pearl couldn’t see the romance in moving a mob of sluggish, half-starved cows from the north end to the south end. But Meg, in her role as driver of the plant and assistant cook, bubbled with delight.

  Then Edward started in. “The beginning of ruin in this state,” he declared, “was giving women the power of the vote last year. Women do not—they cannot—concern themselves with weighty matters, particularly matters of state. Disastrous.” It sounded as if Ross Sheldon had been talking to Uncle Edward.

  Pearl adjusted her voice enough to freeze the water in the glasses. “I have on my own built up an estate worth five figures. I have chosen managers for my enterprises who are good enough that I can absent myself for periods of time without loss of revenue. Yet I am unable to address weighty matters?”

  “You are a notable exception. Most women…”

  Pretty Meg, bless her, chimed in. “Meself, sir, less than two years in this fair land, has found me precious Savior, and me precious man. We walk hand in hand, the three of us, and me husband avers I’m a worthy helpmeet, privy to his deepest needs and concerns. Nor am I chary of attemptin’ and succeedin’ at anything new, such as our adventure yesterday. Ye cannae do that if y’re brainless.”

  “You’re exceptional, of course, Mrs. Vinson. Most—”

  Marty’s father fumed. “Grace here managed the run all by herself those two years when my back was out. She handles my business when I’m away and does it as well as I can. You ready to tell me, Ed, that Grace is too dizzy to vote?”

  Marty’s mum eyed his Uncle Edward with a smug, absolutely haughty “chew on that, ratbag” look.

  “Hardly, Mart. You’re misreading me.”

  Even Marty added his bit. “Amazing place we have here. Three ladies in the room and every one of them is exceptional. Not a normal female i
n the mob. Uncle Edward, one of the lesser reasons we opposed Ross Sheldon was that he opposed the move for women’s suffrage. We respect our women.” He folded his napkin. “I’m off. Pearl, you’re staying?”

  “Yes, please. Drop me a line at this address if you need bailing out again.”

  Marty grimaced. “That bothers me. I do need bail again, and higher bail this time. I’m a bail jumper. Constable Edding should have been here by now to scoop me up. Can’t understand why he hasn’t appeared. Or Jase, either.”

  Gimpy Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, you don’t ever wear that blue vest much.”

  “Haven’t had occasion to. I’ll wear it now, since I just might land in court.” Marty grinned. “Dazzle the magistrate, eh?”

  Marty walked out into the hall. Pearl got up and followed him back to his room. She leaned against the jamb of his open door and cleared her throat.

  He shot her a smile as he dug into the nether recesses of his clothes press. “Sure I plan to wear it. Gimpy Jack’s as true and faithful a friend as I’ll ever have.” He hauled out a flash of blazing blue.

  Pearl giggled. “Pure Gimpy Jack, all right. My, that’s something!” She sobered. “I’ve changed my mind. You will need cash, if they let you go free at all. I’ll go along.”

  He slipped into the vivid blue atrocity. “Naw. Stay here with Mum and Meg. I’ll do fine.” He reached for his coat and glanced at himself in the mirror.

  And he froze.

  From the doorway Pearl could see his reflection in the mirror. Startled, she watched his eyes grow bigger and bigger. His face loosened and lit up, as if some stupendous revelation had hit.

  “That’s it!” he cried. “Of course!”

  “What’s it?”

  “This was what I was wearing when Indirri mistook me for his enemy. It wasn’t my size or age—it was this vest!” He grabbed his hat and almost trampled Pearl getting out the door. “Pop! Indirri’s enemy is Ross Sheldon. He’s out to kill Ross Sheldon! Come on!”

  Martin bolted to his feet, and Luke was right behind him. “How do you know?”

  “I know!”

  Marty was already halfway out the front door. He screeched to a halt and reversed himself. “Jack! Remember fifteen years ago or so when Sheldon said he was attacked by a black raiding party and old Hosteen got speared? It was the other way around. He and his crew massacred a whole clan. Mungkala and Indirri are the only surviving eyewitnesses; it was their family. He’ll never be brought to the docket for that one if we can’t get their testimony. You and Goonur must reach Indirri and Mungkala.”