Blood Brothers

by Charles Beagley

  “I hope he washes his hands before he comes. That’s if he can get all that grease off; and the caked-in dirt under his fingernails.”

  Jeff laughed as he increased his speed. “Believe me, Sean will be leaving the shed about now and heading for his chalet and he’ll spend the next hour or so scrubbing himself raw. You won’t recognise him when you see him later.”

  Kate was surprised how the departure from civilisation to the wide open space of coarse scrub and the occasional acacia was so abrupt. It was like a film set, with wooden shacks on one side of the road and desert on the other. Then Jeff turned left onto another track that was barely noticeable. There were parts where the sand had blown over the track obliterating it completely, but Jeff seemed to know where he was going. It was an instinctive sense Kate thought until she noticed he was heading for an isolated hill up ahead. From her perspective it was no more than a hump in the middle of a flat plain. It looked as though it had just been dumped there millions of years ago. And then, what looked like scrub from a distance suddenly became an oasis of small trees, too neat to be part of nature.

  As the dirt track joined what appeared to be a circular road following the base of the hill, Kate noticed tall chimneys poking their ornate heads above the trees. Then, just as quickly, a large Colonial house appeared in the middle. As Jeff neared the open area in front, Kate could see the house was not unlike the Colonial houses in Broome, all built sometime in the 1800s.

  The double-storey dwelling looked identical, right down to the shuttered windows and delicate fretwork on the pillars supporting the corrugated canopy that curved across the eaves to the edge of a deep veranda, shadowing nests of rattan chairs and tables.

  Jeff pulled up in front of a wide set of steps and Kate noticed a woman standing at the top. Kate took her for Jeff’s wife Marge. She was everything Kate expected of a woman in the outback; just as everyone described her.

  As Kate stepped out of the car and walked towards the steps, Marge walked out of the shadow. Kate guessed she was in her forties; greying light-brown hair, weathered Anglo features, little make-up, country-style blouse and jeans and of all things, cowboy boots.

  By now Jeff had retrieved her bag from the boot and was urging Kate forward, and as she climbed the six steps to the boarded veranda, Marge took hold of her arm and led her through the double front doors to what could only be described as a vestibule; it was too big to be a lobby.

  “Now then,” she started, in a motherly way. “If you don’t already know, my name is Marge and I know you’re Kate. Don’t look surprised. On the two occasions I had to visit the station today, everyone was talking about Martin’s wife, Kate; so I know more about you than you think.”

  Kate let out a snigger. “And for what it’s worth I know all about you too.”

  They both laughed as Marge led Kate over to the grand staircase.

  “Now, don’t you think I’m being impolite, but I bet all you want to do right now is flop down on a bed. What time did you start this morning?”

  “Three-thirty…and you’re right; I’m exhausted.”

  “I knew it. Well, I’ve got a dinner to prepare…” She scowled at Jeff returning down the stairs after dropping Kate’s bag off in her room. “That’s when someone butchers the meat. So why don’t you have an hour to yourself.”

  “I think I will, Marge, although I would like to freshen up first.”

  “I understand. It can get real dirty out there on the station. The bathroom is on your right at the top of the stairs and your room is on the right at the end of the corridor. You can’t miss it. Jeff had the bright idea of putting a slot on the guest room door so that he could put the guest’s name in it.”

  “What if you have more than one guest?”

  Marge laughed. “That’s not very often out here. But if it does occur, we just let them know the one with his name on the door is more important.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Kate said, climbing the stairs.

  “Oh…when you come down, just walk through to the lounge here; there’ll be someone about. And if you fall asleep, I’ll give you a shout about six-thirty.”

  Kate nodded and continued on up the stairs. There was a long landing either way at the first level and she turned right. She popped her head into the bathroom, expecting if anything that it would be modern, but it was far from that. The bath, basin and toilet looked straight out of a vintage magazine. They were white porcelain, not enamel and they were covered in Victorian-style flowers. She lifted the lid of the toilet. It looked normal enough, but made her wonder where the contents went, and how efficiently, after what Jeff had said about the low water pressure.

  Now for her room, she thought. It was only two doors along at what looked to be the corner of the building. There was a small window at the end of the corridor and she checked what it was like at the back of the house. She was looking down on a small courtyard paved with irregular slabs of stone. Over on the far side she could see Jeff’s Land Rover standing in front of a weatherboard building that looked like a garage. On the other side there was a large open patch of earth. It was black, just like ordinary garden earth, which surprised her, and it appeared to be planted out with vegetables like the open ground in front of the church.

  She turned and faced her door and there was her name in big capital letters just as Marge had said. She opened the door and her eyes opened wide. It was beautiful – straight out of a period movie: an antique dressing table with a huge mirror that had flowers cut into one corner, a massive mahogany wardrobe, matching chest-of-drawers and a bed that had to be seen to be believed.

  “Oh my God,” Kate uttered when she looked round the door and saw the bed.

  It was the biggest, fluffiest bed she had ever seen. When Kate walked over to it the mattress came up to her waist. How she was going to climb into it she had no idea and she looked around for some steps. And when she pressed the floral eiderdown cover, her hand sunk all the way to her elbow. She soon realised this was not an inner-spring mattress; it was either stuffed with lamb’s wool or old-fashioned feathers. Then again it could have been straw.

  Kate then looked for her bag wondering if she should change for tonight. She could wear the same clothes tomorrow. No one would notice on the plane; especially Chris – he would be too occupied with Martin. As she swung round to see where Jeff had dropped it she noticed it was standing next to a small Victorian en suite in the corner. It was a white cabinet with a basin in the top, a towel rail on the side and hot and cold taps. This surprised her because in the period there would have been no taps, just a bowl and ewer on a shelf behind a door in the front. Out of curiosity she tried the taps and to her further surprise the water was at least warm.

  This she just had to ask Marge about. She knew about the generators that supplied electricity to the buildings and the water tanks, but how did they get rid of the waste from the toilet and heat the hot water. Kate finally washed the thin layer of sandy dust from her skin, managed to climb up onto the huge bed and, sinking back into it, she lay there staring up at the ornate ceiling. The day had rushed past quicker than she’d expected, she thought, and then she continued thinking about her journey back to Broome with Martin tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 23

  Kate opened her eyes. For the moment she struggled to capture a dream that seemed tantalisingly close; but like quicksilver, it was soon gone. The orange light that filled the room confused her; at first she thought this was the dream and she was back in Broome. But as her senses cleared she knew that was not so; her bed did not face the orange light. It came through the balcony doors on her left.

  Suddenly everything came back: the early morning flight, the tour of the cattle station and this magnificent house. She rolled out of bed, just remembering she had been twice as high as in the bed at home. She went over to the window. She hadn’t realised it before, but the house was facing west. On her right the terrain was open and flat, to her left in the distance there was a mountain range and just
where it rose out of the flatland, there was the sunset.

  She glanced at her watch in the bright light; it was ten past six and Marge would be calling her soon. Fortunately she had washed and changed before she’d lain down on the bed, so all she needed to do was straighten her clothes and comb her hair. Then she stopped for a moment as she became aware of something else; there was a strong smell of roasting meat. It was stronger over by the door, and when she opened it the delicious aroma greeted her.

  She checked her reflection in the mirror; she would have to do.

  At the bottom of the stairs Kate remembered the lounge was to her right. It was not difficult to miss the large antiquated room through the wide opening with a wooden arch of radiating spindles at each end. She walked through and down one step into the past – beyond the timeless oil lamps and antique furniture, the walls were galleried with oil paintings, watercolours and engravings, echoing the station’s ghosts.

  The present, she noted, was allotted to all the surfaces of the furniture in an array of photographs from different periods that stood as a record of the new Palmer dynasty. Presumably starting with the old man standing beside the car, Jeff and Sean had told her about, continuing on to Jeff’s father and other people Kate guessed were Marge’s family, and finally the new Palmers. Kate took particular interest in these pictures, mostly taken on the station (except the ones of teenagers standing in front of a large modern building).

  As she walked across the polished wooden floor-boards Kate just had to reach out and touch the nearest wall. It was covered with flock paper in a classic Greek design. She had heard about it, even had seen it in the Broome museum, but had been too far away to actually touch it. It felt like nothing she had experienced before; an upper-class Victorian home.

  It was plain to see the old house had not changed in ages. It was the sort of house in which she expected to hear the sound of children running about, curious to see who the new female guest was. But the house was almost silent, except for the distant sound of a television. Kate guessed so, when she heard the familiar sound of a commercial. They always had a sound of their own, when everyone jumped up to visit the toilet or put the kettle on for tea.

  The sound seemed to be coming from another room on the other side of the lounge, through another decorative arch. It was half the size, split in two by a large dining table set out as if Marge was about to have a banquet.

  The other half looked unusually modern. With an open fireplace on one wall, an old-fashioned cabinet-style television on the other and the space between taken over with an assortment of plush easy chairs that was obviously a new addition.

  Kate could hear Marge talking to Jeff somewhere close by in another space and decided to look for them, when she was stopped in her tracks by the sight of an old man in one of the easy chairs watching the television. He looked familiar in some way, but unfamiliar in another. His grey hair was combed back across his head and parted in the middle. It looked shiny, as if it had been plastered back in place with hair-cream. He looked flushed, uncomfortable in fact, in a green-striped shirt, buttoned up to his neck, grey tweed jacket and dark-blue jeans.

  He was suddenly aware of her presence and turned his head in her direction.

  “I was wondering where you were until Marge told me you were having a lie-down. Do you feel better for that?”

  Kate stared at the impudent old man until something in his voice clicked. “Sean…is that you, Sean?”

  “Of course it is…who else would it be?”

  Kate couldn’t believe her eyes. “You look so different,” she said, almost on the verge of laughing. “You look so clean. Oh, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it to come out like that. You look smart…like a country gentleman.”

  “I know, isn’t it terrible? This is Marge’s fault. She won’t let me in the house unless I’m looking all spick and span. I even had to shave, do you know? It took me weeks to get that stubble. That’s how long it’s been since I was last invited over.”

  “Don’t believe a word the old bugger says,” Marge said as she came into the dining half of the room carrying a tray of steaming tureens.

  “Can I help?” Kate asked, walking over.

  “No, you don’t,” Marge ordered. “You sit down until the table’s ready.”

  “I told you. She’s a hard woman,” Sean mumbled.

  Marge walked over to him with a wooden spoon in her hand and he cowered in his chair. “You be good or I won’t let you sit at the table in your shirt sleeves or cut the outside of the meat for you.”

  “Oh Marge, I was only having a little fun with the darling girl. Do you not want me to enjoy myself in me old age?”

  She bent down wagging the wooden spoon at him. “And there’ll be less of the familiar talk. Kate might get the wrong idea.”

  Marge walked back to the table looking back at Kate with a smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eye.

  When she left the room and Kate sat down in an easy chair next to Sean, he turned to her. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Kate, it’s just my way. I’ve never known anything different since I left Dublin.”

  “I bet you were a right lad with the colleens in Dublin,” Kate jested.

  “That would have been a miracle, Kate,” he said, with a grin on his face.

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “Then would you believe I left Dublin orphanage when I was eleven and sailed off to Australia?”

  Kate was shocked. She had heard about all the children from England and Ireland that were shipped over to Australia to a ‘better life’. That was true for some, but not for others.

  “I’m sorry, Sean. I hope it was a move for the better.”

  “Ah…it was and it wasn’t. I just left one Catholic orphanage for another.”

  Kate’s insatiable curiosity got the better of her. “And where did you go?”

  “We landed in Sydney. It was all right, at least the weather was better and on the voyage I hooked up with this lad from Rathmines. We got on well.”

  “Did you go to the same orphanage?”

  “Yep…even managed to sleep in the same dorm. He swapped with another boy and we spent the next few years sleeping next to each other.”

  “Then what did you do?” she asked. By now she was so interested in his story, she was facing him with her elbow resting on the arm of the easy chair and her chin in her cupped hand.

  “Ah you know, it was a typical tale in those days. The orphanage was getting worse and there was not much work about in Sydney, so Paddy and I – that was what I called him, he didn’t know his real name and the priests called him a biblical name he hated – bunked off. Took what little we had and left.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “It was strange. The old orphanage gardener used to fill our heads with all sorts of tales about how he roamed Australia with no more than a swag. When we were old enough to understand that song we thought he was dreaming, but out on the road for real, we got thinking. It didn’t seem a bad life, so that’s what we did.”

  “You started travelling around Australia? What did you live on?”

  “Believe it or not, we had a better life than we did in the orphanage. Before long we became part of a group of travelling men. Each new man we met told us about a different spot. It didn’t matter what it was, on the rail lines, building roads and even cattle stations, I’ve done it all.”

  “And how did you come to stay here?”

  “Paddy and I stopped on this station a few times; it was a circuit thing. By then we had mastered a few skills and Jeff’s father kept asking us to stay; he needed skilled men he could trust. But we still had itchy feet, so we kept moving on. That was until Paddy’s accident. It was a cattle muster. We were driving twenty-thousand head from Alice Springs up into the Kimberleys to get them fattened up for the market. We camped overnight and Paddy just had to play cards with a couple of newcomers. They were taking him for everything he had when the cattle stampeded. Silly thing it was.
The cattle were spooked by a sudden thunderstorm. Paddy just didn’t get out of the way quickly enough.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sean. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s all right, darlin’…sorry, Kate. It’s been a while since I brought the tale out for an airing. If there was any consolation; the men who’d kept him occupied, died as well. Our priest would say they paid the price for their wickedness. Anyway, when I’d finished the drive I made my way back to the station, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  It was the type of story that is always followed by a long silence. Kate and Sean turned back to the television. Neither knew what they were watching and turned their heads with eager anticipation when Jeff walked in bearing a huge beef joint. They could still hear it sizzling from across the room as he rested it gently on a large old salver Marge placed on the table. The silver tureens she already brought in were warming over each one’s individual candle. She followed with two more; one full of roast potatoes, the other gravy juice from the roasted meat.

  “Come on you two, don’t let it get cold,” Marge said, as Jeff started carving.

  “That’s enormous, Marge,” Kate said. “What are you going to do with it?”

  As they all sat down and Marge started filling the plates, making sure Sean got his outside cuts, she said, “Yes, Sean you can take your jacket off at the table,” and then she turned back to Kate. “After we cut a few slices off for our dinner and some for tomorrow, I shall pass the rest over to the cook when I take you down to the plane in the morning, so that he can warm it up for the school children’s dinner, along with lunches for the hospital and anyone else until it’s finished. We never waste anything here on the station. Even the scraps go to feed the pigs.”