Central to Nowhere

by D. J. Blackmore

  ‘Boss, we’re two days from home, and only a phone call away from a copter ride back to the base hospital, if only we had reception. It’s going to be a painful trip back.’

  ‘I’m not looking forward to the ride home any more than you blokes but I’m not going to see us out here stranded once the rain sets in.’

  ‘Can you get in the saddle?’ Jack sounded dubious.

  ‘Right now I can. But I’ll stiffen up soon and then I’ll have no chance.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’ RJ untethered the horse. She walked up to Adam with a meek look. Adam glared back.

  Rain fell fast and heavy, and soon they had to yell above the din to be heard. Adam stood and tried to walk, but his leg was useless and couldn’t hold his weight. There wasn’t much pain yet, just a sickening numbness and the threat of agony to come. Adam steeled himself and prepared to mount.

  Jack held the lead rope. His knuckles were white. ‘I’ll hold her in case she spooks or does something dumb.’ He eyed Lipstick as if she would explode like gunpowder.

  Adam nodded and grabbed hold of the pommel. It was as he swung his leg over the saddle that the pain shot up and made him call out like a girl. Lipstick flicked her ears and danced a bit beneath his weight, but when he was settled and the filly was turned towards home, she became placid and followed his instruction without so much as a toss of the platinum mane.

  ‘I know the problem. You just don’t like doing what you’re told, do you?’ He raised his voice above the deluge. The last thing he wanted was to go back to the station without the use of two strong legs. But Ivy was alone and soon the flood plain could end up an inland lake. Water would rise up the stumps of the big Queenslander and she’d be isolated, without any help for miles around. No one knew this place like he did, and although danger wasn’t imminent, he had the nagging feeling that he had to get home without delay.

  Another stab of pain sent a spasm up his leg and Adam held on to Lipstick’s mane. The pale hair seemed to ground him, reminding him that he could make it back. Strangely, it wasn’t the horse beneath him so much as the woman waiting. It was Ivy that drove him towards Capricorn Station.

  Ivy alone on the flood plain.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wind slammed the ornate door shut. It rattled back and forth on big old hinges. A spray of dust came through the chink beneath the door, and as Ivy went to close the windows one by one, she saw a rusty sedan pull up beyond the railings at the foot of the stairs.

  A woman got out and shut the door. She dragged a suitcase from the back and then opened the front passenger door, from which a dark-haired boy emerged. The woman walked towards the stairs, hefting the luggage.

  Ivy prepared to open the door once more. Adam hadn’t mentioned to expect anyone. Probably the visitor had her destination address wrong or had decided to pull over because of the storm. Ivy wasn’t sure that she would be much help, since as far as she knew, there wasn’t another house or station for miles around.

  By the time the two visitors had reached the stairs, rain was thundering upon the iron roof. It fell hard and fast and heavy, so that by the time the woman and boy reached the cover of the verandah, their hair and faces dripped with rain.

  ‘Hello. Looks like you might be at the wrong address.’ Ivy smiled apologetically at the damp company of two.

  The woman eyed Ivy up and down, before pushing back her damp black hair. ‘No, we’re not. Where’s Adam?’ She was as abrupt as her smile was thin. Her eyes were as dark as her opaque tights.

  Ivy frowned and looked down at the boy, the luggage, and the expectancy on his face. He had to be a relative of Adam’s; the resemblance was uncanny.

  ‘Please come in.’ Ivy took a step back as they both walked in. ‘Did Adam know to expect you?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I’m his wife.’

  A gust of wind came and slapped the hair into Ivy’s eyes. The squall shoved the door against her shoulder. She secured it firmly, gripping the handle tightly as her hands shook.

  ‘He didn’t mention he was married.’

  The woman laughed. A sound that fell like rain but cut like glass.

  A glance at the suitcases told Ivy that Adam’s wife had been on an extended break, but now she was back. She looked up and the woman smiled. It didn’t quite reach the almond eyes.

  Should she just go about her business? Perhaps she shouldn’t be here at all? Ivy was hit by a flurry of emotions and didn’t know what to do with them. She turned away, trying to think, to make sense of this information that almost took her legs from beneath her.

  ‘When will Adam be home?’

  ‘Adam? I’m not sure.’ Suddenly Ivy was sure of nothing.

  The woman slinked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Ivy watched as the woman pulled the muslin cloth off the feta cheese, freshly-made and still draining, and took a couple of chunks with slim brown fingers.

  ‘Mmm, I adore feta.’ She dipped tawny fingertips once more into the firm white blocks of curd and offered a couple to the boy. He shook his head and turned away. The woman shrugged and ate them herself. Ivy surveyed the woman with her fingers in the fridge. Warmth rose up Ivy’s neck as whey dripped from the woman’s fingers to the floor.

  So this was Adam’s wife. The so-skinny denims, the dusky fine-boned limbs, the curious look that darted here and there. But though her eyes were lovely, they were starless as a dark sky and her smile was furtive and sharp.

  Ivy stood uncertainly, glancing at the big battered suitcase that stood in the entrance. ‘You’ve been on holiday?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re back now.’ It was the first time the boy had spoken. Ivy smiled, strangely relieved that he was willing to crack the ice, even as his mother rummaged through the cupboards. Something, Ivy supposed, she had every right to do.

  ‘I’m Michael. What’s your name?’

  ‘Ivy.’

  ‘You mean like those leaves that …?’ He used his hands to imitate a creeping motion. Ivy nodded.

  The boy’s mother stopped what she was doing for an instant. ‘Where’s Adam?’

  Why didn’t his wife know?

  ‘He’s out mustering.’

  The woman rolled her eyes and left the room. Ivy walked to the hallway and followed her to the sitting room. She was picking up objects, studying them and then setting them down. It was strange behaviour. What was she looking for?

  Ivy had been so busy in the garden that she hadn’t eaten much that day. But that wasn’t why she felt nauseous, and she knew it. Ivy stared out of the windows towards the paddocks, as knives of rain cut the iron roof.

  Not a single ray of light on the horizon.

  Of course, Adam hadn’t needed to tell her that he had a wife. Ivy reminded herself of that. She was just a station hand, not a friend or confidante. But the boys had said there hadn’t been a cook or a woman at the station for a long time. How long had his wife been away?

  Ivy wished she had never bought the cheese making kit. This woman had soured things immeasurably, because this new knowledge that had blown in on the wind had spoiled everything.

  Coming here to Capricorn Station had been a mistake. She had needed employment—a new start, too—and it had seemed like the chance of a lifetime to work on a cattle station. Only when Adam had reminded her of pony club had she realised why she wanted this so much. It was a place so far away from everything and everyone—from all the stuff she’d messed up trying to be good enough. An opportunity for reliving her childhood dreamtime with horses that had her applying for the position she had no chance to land. Not unless she stretched the truth, that was.

  Nice work, Ivy. Landed yourself in it again.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ the boy demanded at her elbow.

  Ivy flushed. The kid thought she was just the cook. Well, wasn’t she? What, did she think that when Adam had left her to run the station in h
is absence, she’d become anything more?

  Ivy followed the boy wordlessly and opened the pantry. The Anzacs she’d baked for Adam were there. She swiped her hurt away and turned back to the boy, holding the jar.

  ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ She twisted the lid and golden syrup enveloped her. He must be Adam’s son, she supposed, as he made an appreciative sound before he plunged his hand into the jar. He gave no thanks, just gobbled the biscuit like he hadn’t eaten since who knew when.

  ‘I want another one.’

  ‘You might want to ask your mum.’

  You might want to say please.

  ‘Mum, can I have another biscuit?’

  A preoccupied affirmative came from the front room. The kid pulled the jar to himself.

  ‘Did you know that Adam’s my dad?’

  I do now.

  Ivy smiled, tight lipped. ‘I guessed as much. You look like him.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes, you do. Have you missed him?’

  The boy thought about it. ‘I don’t know.’

  With that, his mother emerged.

  ‘Can I have one more biscuit, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t care. Have as many as you want.’ Again the nonchalant jerk of her shoulders as she shrugged. ‘Do you care if I smoke in here?’

  Ivy opened her mouth but before she could reply, Adam’s wife had lit up anyway. Obviously, she hadn’t needed a response. She drew the smoke into her lungs, eyes part closed in pleasure. A veil of smoke rose before her face.

  The boy’s hand rumbled around in the cookie jar. He looked up at Ivy with an accusing look.

  ‘They’re all the same flavour.’

  Ivy ignored the childish accusation. ‘I was going to fry an omelette for tea. Do you like capsicum and mushrooms in yours?’

  The boy pulled a face and shook his head vigourously.

  His mother answered. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  The thin woman looked as though she could do with a good feed. A few meals of please and thank you would go a long way, too. The charade didn’t impress Ivy. And when she took a good look at the woman in the unforgiving daylight that came in through the kitchen windows, Ivy took a guess that Adam’s wife was much older than she had first supposed.

  Blemishes, poorly covered with a heavy hand of make-up, tainted the colour in her cheeks and had left her haggard. The cheekbones Ivy had first taken for elegant were closer to cadaverous.

  Ivy set a frypan on the stove and said, ‘I’ll just cook dinner and take a tray up to my room. It’s been a long day.’

  They stared at her dispassionately.

  ‘Now I’m back, you won’t be needed in the kitchen any more. You just let me know when you’ve made arrangements, and I’ll give you a lift into town.’

  Ivy blinked, taking in the dismissal.

  ‘I am here for the summer.’

  A shrug of the slim shoulders and Ivy saw it was pointless to say anything more.

  The boy made a movement towards the biscuit jar but it slipped from his grasp and fell off the table with the sound of splintering glass.

  ‘Michael, come out of the way so it can be cleaned up. Can’t eat any more now, can you?’ Adam’s wife put the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled.

  Michael backed away from the glass and the cookies. Ivy took a pan and brush, sweeping up the ruins of her attempt to show Adam she cared, and dropped them into the garbage bin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Adam was jolted awake. He had been dreaming that he couldn’t get out of bed because he had broken his leg. He sat up, startled to realise that he was sitting hunched over in the saddle and that his leg was in fact broken. He could well have fallen off and broken the other leg. He made an attempt to shake away sleep.

  Pain surged up his shin as he readjusted himself. He yelped, slipped forward and grabbed the pommel. Lipstick glanced around nervously from behind the pale hair that hung over her forelock.

  ‘You think I’m the one with the issues here?’

  The horse snorted and flicked her tail back and forth against her rump. There were no flies around her hindquarters, he would swear, she was just plain hard to get along with and wasn’t afraid to let him know.

  Adam looked at his leg, exposed from the knee down. It was purpled and swollen. A stick stuck up from the cut edge of denim like he had been caught on a barbed wire fence and left out in the rain to drip dry. Except he wasn’t dry yet.

  The oil skin coat had been too heavy for comfort in the summer’s heat, so one of the men had helped him change it. The plastic poncho he wore now drifted weightlessly around his shoulders like translucent wings, but was suffocating in the humidity. And each time Lippy caught the green movement in the periphery of her vision, she threatened to shy.

  Adam had come to the conclusion that intelligence was no different for animals than it was for men. It was given to some and spared on others. When it came to smarts, The Horse Whisperer in the Sky had run out of stock on the day Lipstick had been foaled. Adam hadn’t been sure whether pretty white socks and a thick flaxen tail had made up for the lack. Now, swallowing more pain medication and washing them down with his canteen, he knew it didn’t.

  Before them the cattle bellowed ill-will. They didn’t want to be hurried. They wanted to graze where they would, and the men struggled, short-handed, to move them on.

  ‘How are you feeling, boss?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘Hurts like a mongrel.’

  RJ wore concern in his eyes. ‘Got to cross Dry Creek yet.’

  ‘Yeah, and you can bet that it isn’t.’

  ‘How far up the bank d’you think the water will have risen?’

  ‘Well, it’s rained all night.’ Adam shrugged. ‘All I hope is that these tablets kick in hard enough so I can’t feel the rip when Lipstick swims the current.’

  ‘She hasn’t crossed water before, has she?’

  Adam looked at RJ and slowly shook his head. ‘Nope, she has not.’

  ‘That’s not real good.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll cross it. Just haven’t told her yet. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, either.’

  ‘Bet you miss old Dusty.’

  ‘You’re not wrong.’

  ‘She might end up surprising you.’

  Adam looked at RJ with a wry smile. ‘You think so?’

  ‘No.’

  RJ let out a guffaw and Lipstick tried to give the jovial stockman’s gelding a bad-tempered nip for getting too close.

  ‘Keep up shenanigans up like that, missy, and you won’t make old bones.’

  Adam grinned. ‘Maybe she’s worked out that Cracker is a gelding, and that he’s all pop and no bang.’

  ‘Probably; I tell you, she’s not stupid, she’s just …’

  ‘Bad-tempered?’

  ‘Yeah, exactly that, bad-tempered.’ RJ paused for a moment. ‘Reckon Lippy is just like that Sydney gal? High maintenance?’

  Adam corrected him. ‘Ivy?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you one thing, RJ.’

  ‘What’s that, boss?’

  ‘She in no way resembles any horse.’

  RJ began to tell Adam exactly what he thought of Ivy-–thoughts that he considered compliments, though Ivy might have thought were insults if she overheard them. Adam pulled the horse up short.

  ‘RJ, stop right there.’

  He looked at Adam in surprise. Might have had something to do with Adam’s tone of voice. ‘If you ever speak of that girl disrespectfully again, I’ll punch your face off, I don’t care how good you are at your job.’

  Adam listened to RJ’s apology as he took in the crossing ahead. Water rushed through the gully. It tumbled over rocks, carrying fallen branches and bobbing sticks in its wake. It rushed past them, brown and burbling, h
urrying on to a destination downstream, and Adam just knew the filly would act up a treat.

  He let her feel the pressure of his thighs, gritting his teeth against the pain. She ignored him. He touched a heel against her sides. She took no notice and chose to watch the play of water and lumber heading down and away. She went to spin about and Adam turned her around to face her fear. He clicked her up and she jigged against the current that ran over her hooves.

  RJ’s gelding shouldered the brown tide; Jack’s too. Their horses took the men to their thighs and never thought to spin or stumble. They just forged ahead. Lipstick stood stock still. Adam allowed her to wheel and gather herself, flicking her tail, agitated. He turned her head and walked her to the water’s edge again, and she threw up her head and forefeet.

  Adam leaned over the saddle and clung on, keeping down his hold on the reins. The filly reared up in spite of the reins, and Adam ground his teeth as he was jolted in the saddle.

  He glanced at RJ on the opposite bank. The stockman swam his gelding back across the creek to where Adam coaxed the headstrong filly.

  ‘Thought I’d have this trouble.’

  RJ tied the lead rope to Lipstick. ‘She wasn’t content to just break your leg.’

  Adam was wry. ‘I think that’s what they call adding insult to injury.’

  But eventually, Lipstick allowed herself to be pulled across the current by Cracker, and they clambered up the opposite bank.

  When the rain had finally eased to a drizzle, Adam squinted in the direction of the big old Queenslander. He couldn’t see it yet, but soon the house would spread before them, as it had stood for three generations; changing and mellowing with the seasons, ageing with the passage of time.

  The cattle—the ones they had managed to muster together—knew they were close to the homestead. They kicked up their hooves, gambolling as though they were tiny calves, instead of hundreds of kilograms of sinew and muscle and bone.

  Adam wore pain like a suit of wet clothing, while beneath him, Lipstick didn’t have a care in the world. It would be a trip to hospital or a call to the flying doctor. He didn’t relish the thought of rough transport one little bit, but he was eager for the station house, too. He relaxed his shoulders and sighed.