Dust of the Land

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘You’d better go into the house. You can tell me about it when I’ve finished here.’

  He turned away from her and spoke to the Afghans’ leader. ‘You got horse shoes?’

  She might have ceased to exist.

  She walked slowly towards the house. At close range it looked more of a wreck than ever.

  His shout stopped her.

  ‘Hey!’

  She turned. Still with the Afghans, he was staring after her.

  ‘You got any baggage?’

  ‘One small case.’

  ‘Take it with you. It’s self-service here.’

  Good luck, the station owner’s wife had said.

  ‘I’ll leave it where it is,’ she shouted back at him. ‘Until I decide whether I’m staying or not.’

  She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply. She walked on, climbed the steps to the dilapidated verandah and went into the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The house was a wreck. Bella’s first impression was not so much of dirt, although there was plenty of that, but neglect. It was as far from being a home as you could get, yet she already knew she wanted to stay. Was it the bush? The challenge? The fact that she had nowhere else to go? Or had Garth Tucker something to do with it? She had come here looking for a bolt-hole, a refuge after the terrors of the Cockatoo Club. Her feelings for Garth had been very low on her list of priorities but now she was here she thought that despite his unfriendly welcome it would not take long to reawaken the heat she had felt for him in Charters Towers.

  He had not renewed his offer of a job, but if she showed she was willing to work she thought she might have a better chance of persuading him to do so.

  She made a start by seeing what she had to contend with. It was an eye-opener, and a depressing one. The building’s basic structure was sound: outer walls of timber beams pegged horizontally to uprights set in the earth. The beams were weathered and looked as though they had never been painted in history, but they must be sturdy enough to withstand the cyclones that back in Charters Towers Garth had told her hit the area from time to time.

  That was the end of the good news. The interior of the house was a disaster. The concrete floor must have been laid by a drunk because it was pitted and uneven and tilted – even the naked eye could see it – towards the door. Only two of the window spaces had glass in them. There were no ceilings; the whole house was open to the iron roof. The interior walls were also of iron. In hot weather it would be an oven, in winter they would freeze, in the wet the sound of rain on the roof would deafen them.

  There were three bedrooms and a kitchen. The kitchen contained a kerosene stove, a wood-burning cooker and a banquet of blackened pots. It looked as though the whole camp had cooked up in it and forgotten to clean it afterwards. An adjoining section had a dining table and chairs that were deep in dust. Piled with old magazines and papers, they were obviously never used. The bathroom and lavatory were ten feet away, with a door that would not close properly. No doubt, with the corrugated iron walls, the sound effects would be horrendous.

  And Mrs Johnson had thought she was roughing it at Charters Towers.

  ‘Quite a change from Ripon Grange, too,’ Bella said to what she had already christened Tucker’s Horrendous House.

  Where to start was the question.

  She settled on the kitchen. Luckily it had its own door that led out into a fenced yard. The door would not stay open so she jammed it with a baulk of wood, carried out everything she could lift and dumped it in the yard.

  At least now there was space to move.

  ‘And room to appreciate the filth,’ Bella said.

  It was hot and humid. Sweat was running off her in streams and she was just beginning to get an idea of the task that confronted her when she felt someone behind her and turned.

  A tall, black-haired man of about her age stood in the doorway. Sturdy shoulders, strong arms, shorts. A cheesecloth shirt, arms sheared off. He was scowling, obviously unwelcoming, but said nothing. She knew at once who he was because he was the spitting image of his dad.

  ‘You are Colin,’ Bella said.

  Garth had mentioned him back at the Johnson place, saying that his son was a year older than she was. He looked older than that; no doubt the life in the wilds accounted for it. The likeness to his father was unmistakable and she remembered Garth saying that Colin was all he had left of the wife who had died twelve years before.

  ‘He’s an ornery bastard, when he wants to be,’ he had said, grinning. ‘Just like me. But he’s an okay bloke, mostly; not that I tell him. We aren’t the sort to make a song and dance about our feelings.’

  Colin’s eyes went past her to the emptied kitchen. ‘What’s going on?’ ‘I’m cleaning it up. I’m Bella.’ He ignored her outstretched hand. ‘The latest in a long line,’ he said. ‘And how long do you plan on staying?’

  ‘As long as I can put up with your dad. And you,’ she added.

  She was sending him a message. Don’t mess with me. If it registered she saw no sign of it.

  ‘What’s a bloke gotta do to get a cuppa tea around here?’

  Like father, like son.

  ‘Make it himself,’ said Bella. ‘Your dad told me it was self-service.’

  ‘That right?’

  She saw he had a matchstick in his hand. He made a show of picking his teeth with it.

  ‘With that attitude I give you twenty-four hours,’ he said. ‘Tops.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Bella said.

  ‘Too bloody right,’ Colin said.

  He made himself tea on the kerosene stove. Nothing for her, though.

  Bella was busy with the rickety cupboard, digging out cloths and even – miracle! – some steel wool and a tin of Brasso.

  ‘I’ll have a cup, too, if you’re making,’ she said.

  ‘Self-service. Remember?’

  ‘I’ll do a deal with you,’ Bella said. ‘Make me a cup, I’ll let you off scrubbing the pots.’

  ‘You should be so lucky,’ Colin said.

  But made her a cup, after all. Things were looking up.

  She dragged out a couple of dining chairs. They sat and drank their tea together, staring at the bush that grew close to the house: a sight familiar to Colin, no doubt, but new to Bella. The tea was as strong as tar and they did not speak, but it was a start.

  Striding fast, Garth came round the corner of the building. He saw them sitting and stopped.

  ‘Two ladies of leisure,’ he said. ‘What’s this, smoko time?’

  Local jargon for a tea break; Bella had heard the expression in Charters Towers.

  ‘Something like that,’ she said.

  Garth saw the emptied kitchen. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘Says she’s tidying up,’ Colin said.

  ‘I haven’t even said you can stay yet.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ Bella told him. ‘And it needs doing. You told me so yourself.’

  ‘I was thinking of employing you to keep house,’ Garth said. ‘Not wreck house.’

  ‘Comes with the territory,’ Bella said.

  Garth grunted and switched his attention to his son.

  ‘I want to head up towards the Tait River country, soon as we can make it.’

  ‘O’Malley’s not gunna like it,’ Colin warned.

  ‘O’Malley can take a jump,’ said Garth. ‘It’s our property right up to the Archer Ridge.’

  ‘Sure is,’ Colin said. ‘But not beyond it.’

  ‘There’s a mob of cleanskins up there. Best part of two thousand head, I’d guess. Flew over them the other day. You think I’m gunna let them go begging?’

  ‘From the air, you can’t tell if they got brands on them or not,’ Colin objected.

  ‘Maybe you can’t. I can smell them,’ Garth said.

  ‘You go anywhere near O’Malley’s place?’

  Garth grinned. ‘Right over
his roof.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘He even shook his fist at me. Right neighbourly, I thought.’

  ‘Lucky he didn’t have a gun,’ Colin said. ‘Now he knows you’re back, he’ll have his boys out, for sure.’

  Teeth gleamed as again Garth grinned. ‘The day I can’t handle O’Malley and his boys is the day I retire.’

  Bella watched them together. Father and son, yet they spoke as equals. No doubt the way they lived explained that, too. As for her, she might have been a fence post, the attention they paid her. She looked at Garth.

  ‘Will someone please explain what you’re talking about?’

  ‘No time now. I want to leave first light tomorrow,’ he said to Colin. ‘We’ve the coaches and horses to get ready, so let’s get moving. There’s work to be done.’

  And both men were gone without another word.

  At least it gave her time to get on with sorting out the kitchen. Scrubbing and scraping, she thought: how the countess would gloat. The bait-digger coming out: that’s what she would say, the bitch. All that was past, or mostly; ever since leaving England she had known nights without number when she had lain awake, aching for Charles’s touch, his smile, his presence, and could have wept for missing him so much. She felt his absence now, most keenly, in this strange and unfamiliar place. It is loneliness, she thought, and the darkness of the unknown. But Charles was gone, in reality if not in her heart. She would never forget him, nor would she wish to. He had been the governing light of her life and there was no doubt her memories of him would influence her future, especially where men were concerned. Always she would remember him with love and great fondness but now it was time to move on. Back in Yorkshire, standing on the lip of the chasm called Gaping Gill, she had for a few brief moments believed that life without Charles was impossible. She knew better now.

  Forget him, she told herself sternly. What mattered was the future. She must concentrate only on that. The work confronted her and she would deal with it.

  As she worked, she prepared in her head a list of what she would need. New cupboards in place of the rickety antique they had now; new pots also: most of the existing ones were rusty and some even had holes in them.

  By the time she’d finished everything was clean but she was exhausted, thinking there had to be a better way to do things. She dragged everything back indoors and turned her mind to what to prepare for supper. She’d come across a meat safe with a large joint of beef in it. The beef was green around the edges but she could cut off the worst bits and thought it would do. It would have to; apparently it was the only piece of meat in the house. There was a sack of potatoes, half of them sprouting, another of onions and one of flour. There were no green vegetables. She’d learnt how to make damper at Charters Towers.

  She had no idea when the two men would be back but decided to roast the meat, anyway, with potatoes, fresh damper on the side, and hope she got the timing right.

  She didn’t; not quite. She had it ready, with no sign of them, so she raked out the stove and left the dish of meat to keep warm. She walked outside to catch the evening breeze that was now swaying the branches of the trees. She was unbelievably tired, which was hardly surprising. She sat on the chair, legs stretched out and eyes closed, the breeze pleasant on her hot face, and suddenly Garth and Colin had caught her off-guard, their faces vexed with the problems of a day that had obviously not gone according to plan.

  ‘Three horses with walkabout,’ Garth was snarling. ‘Three! At this time of year! How did that happen?’

  It was not a question with any useful answer. He was frustrated, wanting a target for his feelings: and there, on cue, was Bella taking her ease, with not a care in the world.

  Garth exploded. ‘What the hell you think you’re playing at, Duchess?’

  She opened her eyes, then her mouth, but before she had a chance to answer him he had turned to his son.

  ‘You and me slaving our guts out and this one too ladylike to lift a finger.’ He looked back at Bella, eyes furious. ‘I didn’t take you on to sit around, Duchess.’

  Bella’s weariness was replaced by rage. After fighting off Archibald Johnson, escaping from the Cockatoo Club and spending days with the Afghan traders just to get to this slum, hours labouring in that abominable kitchen, even going to the trouble of preparing supper for them, to be spoken to like this? No way would she put up with it!

  ‘I am not a duchess. As you know very well. My father’s an earl and one of my grandfathers was an earl, but my other grandfather dug bait for a living and my mother is married to a fisherman. As you also know very well.’ She was blazing; had she been six inches taller her nose would have had his eye out. She was shouting, too, more fishwife than aristocrat. ‘You think I’m so useless, why did you hire me?’

  She saw the derisive grin vanish; his face darkened. ‘I haven’t,’ he said.

  ‘Yes you have. You just don’t know it yet.’

  Garth stiffened and opened his mouth, no doubt planning to give her a blast, but Bella beat him to it.

  ‘You told me you wanted me to turn this rubbish tip into a home. If you still mean it, I can do it. But I shall need help to clean it up. I shall need money to buy what’s needed. And I shall need no more clever remarks about duchesses! You hear me?’

  It was touch and go. Colin’s mouth hung open; it was likely he had never heard anyone speak to his father like that before. As for Garth: she could feel him quivering. But she dared him, mouth set, eyes fixed on his.

  Another word and I’m out of here.

  And Garth buckled. The blood receded from his face and he took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally said: ‘I’ll have a word with Tommy, he’s my overseer. Get some lubras to give you a hand. Tell him what you want, he’ll make sure they do it. And let me have a list of what you need; next time someone goes into town we’ll see what we can do.’

  Success left Bella drained. She was careful not to show triumph because it wasn’t over; there would be other challenges. It was probably the first time in Garth’s life that anyone had questioned his authority in such a way. She knew he wouldn’t yield one inch without a fight, but at least she was still here and had learnt one thing that would be useful in the future. In the bush nothing came free. If you wanted respect you had to earn it. Perhaps she had taken the first step towards achieving that; hopefully things would be better from now on.

  ‘Come and eat your tea,’ she said.

  The first sign of an improvement came that night when Garth turned up unannounced in the closet he had called her bedroom. There was nothing much in the way of furniture; she supposed she should be thankful there was a bed.

  Nerves still raw from the Johnson episode, Bella watched him cautiously but he had come only to talk.

  ‘You didn’t understand what Col and I were talking about earlier.’

  ‘About O’Malley and cleanskins? You might have been talking Greek. And you mentioned coaches, too. What are they?’

  ‘The properties up here are too big for fences,’ Garth said. ‘The cattle are wild and go where they like. Until they’re branded there’s no saying who they belong to, so cleanskins – ones without a brand or ear tag – can be claimed by whoever gets to them first.’

  ‘Provided they’re on your property,’ Bella said.

  ‘Right.’ There was a world of devilment in Garth’s grin. ‘Of course, it’s thick bush out there. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where you are. On your own spread or –’

  ‘Or O’Malley’s,’ Bella finished for him.

  ‘Precisely,’ Garth said.

  Some would call it rustling. Well, she’d had Garth Tucker down as part pirate as soon as she clapped eyes on him; that was what made him so attractive.

  ‘And the coaches?’

  ‘Oxen. Tame animals. You spread them out, run the wild cattle into them and they help calm them down. It makes the round-up easier. When they’re settled you drive them to Galloway�
�s meatworks at Wyndham. Then you go back for more.’

  ‘All the year round?’

  ‘Only in the dry,’ Garth said. ‘No one can move in the wet. Besides, that’s when the crotalaria becomes a problem. Horses eat too much of it, it drives them crazy.’

  ‘Is that what happened this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes. By rights it’s too early in the year but these things happen.’

  ‘So you’re off in the morning,’ Bella said. ‘When can I expect you back?’

  ‘When you see us.’

  Garth paused in the doorway before leaving her. ‘I’m sorry I was a bit toey when you arrived. It was one hell of a morning and when I saw you I thought more trouble. But from what I’ve seen so far I think you’re gunna fit in right well.’

  Bella didn’t think apologies came easily to Garth Tucker, so that was quite a compliment.

  ‘And the meal tonight was a treat,’ he said.

  No doubt about it, things were looking up.

  Weeks passed. Bella’s eighteenth birthday came and went unannounced and therefore unnoticed by anyone but herself. Even she had a problem remembering, every day a carbon copy of every other day at Miranda Downs. The next camel train brought the things she needed. With her band of helpers recruited by Tommy from the Aboriginal camp, Bella transformed the house. It would never be a Macdonald’s Place but at least it was clean, with two new cupboards and half a dozen new pots in the kitchen, new chairs in the sitting room. Garth had drawn the line at curtains for the windows or rugs for the floor, but at least it was more homely than it had been.

  ‘And the new pots will mean we’re less likely to die of food poisoning,’ Bella said.

  Her relationship with Garth was still very much on and off; he agreed with much she did but was very protective of his own turf and quick to lash out when he thought she was trespassing She had not forgotten Colin saying she was the latest in a long line; once or twice she thought Garth might be looking at her in the way a man looks at a woman he desires. She liked the thought; it woke tentative flutters in her body even as she told herself to be careful, but nothing came of it. Probably she had imagined it; at other times he seemed less interested in her than in the mineral samples he had on a trestle table in his bedroom.