She switched on the antique lamp that stood on the two-drawer timber bedside table, both pieces she’d found at Tallangala’s sprawling second-hand dealer’s yard. She smoothed the bedspread, accented with gumleaf motifs in rich red and green. Frogs featured in the pattern and were embroidered on the pillowcases. What if Charlie didn’t like it? It seemed insane to her now, to have tampered with the bedroom without permission.
Her sister appeared in the doorway. A stunned look appeared on her face as she gazed around. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ Charlie walked about the room, feeling textures, opening drawers. She jumped on the bed, grinning broadly. ‘It’s like I’m on one of those home makeover shows.’
Sam heaved a relieved sigh. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ She sat down on the bed beside her sister. ‘Are you really well enough to be here? Shouldn’t you be near your doctor?’
‘I told you, I can’t stay in Melbourne. It’s driving me fucking insane.’
Drew stuck his head around the corner. ‘Supper’s up.’
Charlie looked curiously from Drew to Sam. ‘Has Drew been … helpful?’ Sam nodded and smiled, a little too brightly. What was Charlie implying? And for that matter, why weren’t Drew and Charlie acting like a couple, if that’s what they were? She stood up and opened the curtain. Was her face flushed with guilt? Perhaps the cold air by the window would help.
‘Sammy?’ Charlie hadn’t called her that before. Something in the tenderness of her sister’s voice broke her heart.
‘Let’s have that supper,’ Sam said briskly, and hurried from the room.
In the kitchen they found plates of toasted sandwiches oozing melted cheese, and mugs of Milo. ‘Whose car?’ asked Drew.
‘Mine,’ said Charlie. ‘Something peculiar’s been happening. Somebody’s sending me and Mum money. Lots of money. Then this car arrives, registered in my name, with an unsigned Get Well Soon card taped to the windscreen.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Sam, hot cheese squishing out of the corner of her mouth. ‘Any idea who?’
‘Nope. Mum reckons it must be one of her old lovers made good. Maybe even my dad.’ That would be my dad too, thought Sam. It was odd and kind of exciting. A mystery father, showering gifts on his daughter. With a twinge of envy she realised that if this anonymous benefactor was her real father, he may not even know that a second daughter existed.
‘Fair dinkum?’ said Drew. ‘That’s some story. You sure Mary didn’t just harvest a dope crop or something?’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m not sure. Anything’s possible with Mum.’
‘Why would you say something like that?’ asked Sam.
‘A few years ago, Drew and I were mustering calves out of the Snake Creek flats,’ said Charlie. ‘We came across this bloody huge cannabis plantation, half in Brumby’s, half in the park. Mum had a real dickhead of a boyfriend back then. What was his name?’
‘Clint,’ said Drew, taking the last sandwich.
‘Yeah, Clint. What a lowlife he was. Anyway, Drew and me ripped up the lot and burned it.’
Drew nodded and laughed. ‘Took us two whole days.’
‘We had to stand upwind or get fucking stoned ourselves,’ said Charlie. ‘You should have seen Clint’s face when he discovered the crop was gone. He blamed this mate of his. They got in a fight, Clint got arrested and we never heard from him again, thank God.’
Sam was staggered. She wanted to say something, to defend Mary, to demand evidence that she was complicit in Clint’s scheme. But what right did she have to even hold an opinion on the past? The story was an unwelcome reminder that she was an outsider here at Brumby’s Run. Drew, Charlie, the bush, the town – they shared a history, from which she was forever excluded. It was too painful to contemplate.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in,’ said Sam. ‘It’s been a big day.’ Charlie raised her exquisite new eyebrows, requesting an explanation. ‘Drew will fill you in,’ said Sam swiftly. Of course he would. No doubt they had lots to catch up on. She gave Charlie a hug, and hurried down the hall to her room. No, it was Mary’s room. She was just visiting. For the first time in a long time she thought about Faith, about Dad and her grandparents. She thought about university. She’d deferred her course, but now she wasn’t so sure that had been a good idea.
Sam could hear low voices in the kitchen still, muttering, reconnecting. She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved her head beneath the pillow. Sam drifted into troubled sleep, confused about Charlie, desolate about Drew, and trying without success to block out the looming memory of Rowdy Clarke’s face.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charlie had slept on and off for almost twenty-four hours. Each time she’d woken, the sweet, familiar sounds of the bush had lulled her back to sleep. The laughing call of a kookaburra, the distant bellow of a bull, the high roar of wind through the forest, and best of all, the dusk-to-dawn chorus of frogs in the dam. On the second day she’d risen early, rested and restored, just in time to see Sam off to work. Charlie stood out on the drive. She munched a piece of toast and waved goodbye, looking longingly after her sister’s car. There’ll be time enough, Sam had said, for you to take back the job with Bushy. You’re not strong enough yet for a full day’s work. Sam was right, although Charlie hated to admit it. Even showering left her spent. She turned back to face the house. The homestead had been transformed, inside and out: gardens weeded, rubbish gone – the front door even sported a fresh coat of paint. It looked fantastic, but the place no longer felt like her own. What the hell was she supposed to do all day? Everything was already done. A sudden movement up at the yards caught her eye: Whirlwind.
The mare was not friendly at first. She’d rushed at Charlie with ears pinned back, and threatened her with wicked hoofs. Charlie had studiously ignored her. She’d armed herself with a bag of sliced fruit and a book, put a plastic picnic chair in the middle of the yard, and calmly sat down to read. It hadn’t taken long for Whirl-wind’s curiosity to overcome her caution. Soon she was snuffling the chair, snuffling Charlie, tasting the fruit. Charlie had slipped her a piece of apple, and popped another piece absentmindedly into her own mouth. ‘Listen to this,’ she’d say.
Charlie had read to Whirlwind every day for a week. On the eighth day, she tried something different. The mare was standing beside her with twitching ears, while Charlie read to her from Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire.
‘Am I boring you?’ she asked after a while. The answer, apparently, was yes. Whirlwind’s head had drooped. A hind hoof was at rest. Her bottom lip quivered, and her eyes were half-closed.
‘Let’s do something else,’ said Charlie. The mare had woken with a start, and followed her over to the gate. Charlie opened it. ‘Come on, then,’ she said, and began walking up the hill to the dam. ‘Field observation time. You can be my assistant.’ Whirlwind stood stock-still for a few moments, as though she couldn’t quite believe her luck. Then she’d ducked her head and pounded out of the yard catching up with Charlie and bucking around her in wild, joyful circles. Charlie took her cue from the dappled horse, racing as fast as she possibly could – chasing Whirlwind, and being chased in turn. Her weakened legs seemed to draw strength from the mare’s exuberance. Vigour returned to her wasted muscles, and she pulled off her top to let the sun kiss her skin. When her energy was finally spent, Charlie flopped down in a patch of everlastings. Whirlwind snorted twice and began to graze nearby, occasionally checking in with Charlie, nibbling at her clothes or hair.
Little by little, day by day, the friendship between the girl and the rogue mare grew. Charlie knew about horses. She knew more about horses than she knew about people. And she knew it was only through such a friendship that the damaged mare might heal. A sort of natural wisdom guided her. Wisdom gained during endless days spent riding in the ranges. Like all children, Charlie had had her heroes – role models, people she admired. But unlike most children, they weren’t sports stars or pop singers. They were scientists like Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey – pioneer
ing naturalists who immersed themselves in the society of the animals they studied. For them, it was the chimpanzees and gorillas of the central African jungle. But for Charlie, it was the wild horses of Maroong Mountain.
Charlie had learned the hard way that happiness wasn’t to be found in the loneliness and exclusion of the schoolyard. Happiness was to be found instead in the acceptance of the herd. Ever so slowly, with infinite care, she’d insinuated herself into the secret life of the wild horses on the mountain. Charlie may not have been at school, but she was getting an education. She learned the brumbies’ water-hole rituals. She won the forbearance of their wise old stallion. She won the friendship of their lead mare, Jarrang’s mother. Charlie grew fluent in the language of their bodies, and one by one the brumbies allowed her to slip onto their backs.
It was through this unique brand of liberty training that Charlie hoped to win over the traumatised mare. No saddles, no bridles, no ropes or round yards. But Charlie wouldn’t tell Sam, not yet. This was just between her and Whirlwind.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charlie wasn’t the only one who’d come home. Bill was back too. Back with a nurse, not fully recovered, not able to physically run the property himself. But he was back, and back with a vengeance. He’d never been so impossible, so full of bile. For Drew, there was no more time spent next door at Brumby’s Run. In the week since Charlie’s return, he’d hardly seen Sam. When he phoned, she’d seemed distant. When he dropped by, she was always busy, and Charlie was always there.
Drew remembered Sam’s kiss the night they stole Whirlwind. She’d been happy, ready to start again where they’d left off – he was sure of it. What they really needed was some clear air. If Charlie hadn’t turned up like she did, who knows what would have happened? Somebody was always getting in their way. Like Bill, for instance. Hijacking every minute of every day. So far Drew had put off telling his father about the expired lease. Why invite trouble? But sooner or later, the shit was bound to hit the fan.
‘Mr Bill, he want to see you,’ said Mai, as Drew came in for breakfast.
Drew nodded and sat down. ‘Those eggs look good.’ He grabbed a piece of toast. ‘Any chance you could rustle up a few mushrooms to go with them?’
‘Mr Bill, he wants to see you now.’ Drew took a closer look at Mai. Her eyes were red, and her apron was all bunched up in her hands.
‘All right, Mai.’ He put down the toast and stood up. She gestured down the hall. Voices sounded from the study. Drew gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll see what he wants.’
Bill glared at Drew as he entered the room. ‘About time.’ Tom stood by the door, an expression of pure exasperation on his face. Bill was waving a newspaper about, Stock and Station. ‘What the hell happened to that Benambra mob I told you to buy? Bob Hunter’s got them.’ Bill stormed back and forth, as much as a man could storm while sitting in a wheelchair. He rolled over to his desk and searched the drawers, tossing papers and pens aside as he went. Lena, his nurse, gathered the scattered things off the floor.
‘And where’s that new lease the Kelly woman signed?’ he asked, becoming more and more agitated every second. ‘You said they turned our cattle out and locked the gates?’ Tom nodded. Bill shook his head. ‘Unbelievable.’ He began to search the desk, all over again.
‘Dad, Mary never signed the renewal.’
‘Makes no difference,’ said Bill, slamming shut the drawer. ‘A clause in the agreement states that when the lease expires, it converts to a periodic tenancy. As long as Mary accepts those lease payments, the contract automatically renews itself each month. She had no legal right to turf out our cattle. I want them back in first thing tomorrow.’
‘Dad,’ said Drew, raising his voice a notch. ‘Will you just listen for once? This isn’t about the law. It’s about what’s right. The Kellys need that land for themselves.’
‘What’s Mary need it for?’ argued Bill, his voice rising. ‘That wormy, inbred mob of hers are no better than scrubbers. They’d be a waste of good feed.’ He was shouting now. ‘And they’ll never earn her an income. I just about keep that woman!’ A purple vein throbbed at Bill’s temple and Drew began to fear his father might have a heart attack. ‘Sucking me dry all these months, without a word? I should brief my solicitor, take her to the cleaners.’
‘You mean she’s been collecting rent all along?’ asked Drew.
‘Damn straight,’ said Bill.
It hadn’t occurred to Drew that his father might keep right on paying Mary without a signed copy of the renewal in his hand. He was always so tight-fisted.
‘Where’s Mary?’ barked Bill. ‘Get her over here. I’ll soon sort this out.’ He rose from his chair, his face suddenly distorted in pain. Lena sprang forward.
‘Mr Chandler. Please don’t put weight on that leg. It won’t heal right.’
‘Stop fucking mothering me!’ he yelled, sinking back down. Lena tried to put the rug back onto his knee, but Bill flung it aside, accidently clouting her on the leg. She squealed and jumped back. ‘And Tom, what’s happening with the stock up in the park? You been keeping an eye on them?’
Tom nodded. ‘I wish we’d fitted those GPS collars though, Bill. Right now we’re in direct breach of our agreement.’
‘Tracking devices for cows,’ scoffed Bill. ‘What a load of nonsense.’
Drew wasn’t listening. He was watching Lena’s face. The woman looked absolutely terrified. Somewhere inside him, a slow fuse began to burn.
‘You imbecile!’ Bill was screaming at Tom now, accusing him of not knowing one end of a cow from the other. Lena caught Drew’s eye, shrugged and looked helpless. Drew cursed beneath his breath. It was about time someone stood up to his father.
‘Tom,’ said Drew in a low growl. The two men went on arguing. ‘Tom!’ Tom stopped in mid sentence and stared at him, disbelief written all over his face. ‘Leave us, please, Tom. I want a private word with Dad.’ Tom opened his mouth to speak. ‘Leave us, Tom.’
The head stockman shut his mouth and left the room.
Bill looked at Drew like he’d gone mad. ‘I’m not finished …’
‘Oh, you’re finished alright,’ said Drew, his voice full of controlled fury. ‘You’re finished fuming and bitching and throwing your weight around. You’re finished bullying Mai and Lena. You’re finished talking to the most respected head stockman in Currajong like he’s a first-year jackaroo.’ Drew marched forward and stabbed his father in the chest with a finger. ‘And you’re finished treating me like a damned slave. If you want to move cattle back onto Brumby’s Run, do it yourself. But if that’s your decision, I won’t be here to see it.’
Lena cowered in the corner. Bill sat speechless, his eyes popping out of his head. That only happened when he was seriously, seriously angry. Up until now, Drew had feared this bug-eyed father, but not today. Today Bill just looked like a sad old man, struggling to keep hold of his shrinking world.
‘You have no right —’ Bill started.
‘It’s you who have no right,’ said Drew. ‘No right to run my life, or anybody else’s. You’ll drive me off, Dad, just like you did Mum and the girls. I love you, you old bastard, and I don’t want to leave Kilmarnock. But if you take back Brumby’s, I swear, I’m gone, Dad. Gone for good.’ He took one last satisfied look at his father’s stunned expression, then strode from the room and slammed the door behind him.
Drew took a big breath. His heart was beating like a bongo drum, but he felt like a million dollars. He should have done this years ago, should have taken back the power. Lobbed the ball into Dad’s court. Stay or go, it was all the same to him now. Not that he’d go too far if it came to that. Not too far from Sam. His gut told him Dad wouldn’t call him on this one, but just in case, he’d better head over to Brumby’s when Sam got home from work and warn her.
Chapter Thirty
Every morning, after Sam went to work with Bushy, Charlie worked with Whirlwind. At first Charlie had struggled with the exertion, dead t
ired by lunchtime, crawling wearily into bed for an afternoon sleep. But as each day passed, and Whirlwind grew calmer, Charlie grew stronger. And today, in this first sparkling week of autumn, Charlie felt rejuvenated, ready at last to ride into Balleroo.
Balleroo. The very word was music. Charlie could hardly believe it. She and Tambo together again, sweeping up a grassy slope into the mountains. She could breathe. She was free. Free of doctors, free of walls, free of well-meaning people asking her ‘Are you okay, Charlie?’ in that pointed, exaggerated way that invited her to respond that indeed, she was not. Charlie was free of everything but the rhythm of Tambo’s hoofs on the earth. How good it felt to be physical again. For months her body had seemed like a hostile alien – holding her hostage, attacking her from deep down in her bones, producing nothing but pain. To survive, she’d cultivated such a deliberate disconnect between mind and body that she’d feared it was permanent. But Tambo’s world was an intensely physical one, and it required Charlie to be physical as well. Her body moved in time with Tambo’s, synchronised to the tempo of his breathing. Her pelvis, her thighs, her heels and hands all spoke to him. She could smell their sweat, their combined heat.
The wasted muscles of her core went to work, keeping her slim frame balanced, bringing it to equilibrium. Tendons tightened in her lower back, her upper leg, all the way down to her toes. Charlie revelled in the sensation. Back in the hospital, she used to wonder if she even had muscles any more. Her fingers played with the reins, keeping delicate contact with Tambo’s mouth.
Charlie focused on the mountain, hyper-alert. A rider had to concentrate, lose herself in the present, had to see and hear and smell whatever her horse did. ‘Lose myself to find myself,’ she whispered. Tambo’s ears flickered back at the sound of her voice. Charlie leant down, buried her face in his mane and wrapped her arms around his neck. Tambo stopped and politely waited for Charlie to behave. She smiled and sat up.
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