by DIMORRISSEY
When the water in the billy had cooled she lifted Warwick’s head, encouraging him to drink. He looked at her with glazed eyes and didn’t seem to understand what she was saying. Gradually he managed to swallow, and struggled to focus on Queenie.
‘Don’t try to speak. Relax. Just sip. It’s going to be all right.’
She then took the charred bark and rubbed it into a powdery ash. This she spread over the puncture wound on his wrist then bound it firmly with a bandage from the first-aid kit. Warwick closed his eyes again, beginning to drift into a feverish world suspended between reality and nightmare.
Queenie next turned her attention to the vehicle. She examined the wheel and axle sitting on the rock. The wheel looked out of alignment, but the suspension and axle looked in reasonable shape. She got out the jack and put it under the front bumper bar and cranked it until it would go no further. The axle had only lifted about half an inch off the rock.
‘That’s enough,’ thought Queenie. ‘If I can get it going in reverse, with luck it should slide down the rock.’
She climbed into the cabin very carefully, started the engine and slipped it into reverse gear, her left foot holding the clutch to the floor, her left hand on the handbrake. ‘Right … let’s go!’ she shouted, and simultaneously let out the clutch, hit the accelerator and plunged the handbrake down.
The Land Rover’s wheels dug into the bull dust, the vehicle shook, then suddenly moved backwards. The jack fell away, the axle came down with a thump, and with a crunching slide settled on its four wheels, swerving back onto the road.
Queenie didn’t stop to rest. Dragging Warwick to the car she lifted him into the passenger seat with enormous difficulty. During the struggle he became semiconscious and was able to take some of his own weight, but collapsed across the seat once she had got him into the cabin.
Queenie fell into the dirt beside the car, her head throbbing. She sat panting for a few seconds, then dashed to the fire, smothered it with dirt, grabbed their gear and scrambled back into the car.
She slid behind the wheel, lifted Warwick’s head onto her lap and started the engine.
They arrived at Cricklewood just before dawn. It had been a slow and cautious drive. The Land Rover limped and rattled on its damaged wheel and Queenie could feel the heat from Warwick’s fever burning into her lap.
The homestead was as Millie had left it two months before — orderly and, apart from some dust, clean. Swiftly Queenie lit a kerosene lantern and by its light dragged Warwick from the car. He was still unconscious and Queenie knew she couldn’t lift him into the house. Stripping a blanket from one of the beds, she wrapped it around him, then pulled off her belt and buckled it over the blanket and under his shoulders. She used the belt to drag him inside.
She raced to the two-way radio, then stopped in shock. It was gone. On the radio shelf was a note from Millie. Radio faulty. Jim taken to Tingulla to repair.
Queenie looked at the shelf and the note in stunned disbelief. She raised the lantern, as if more light might make the radio materialise, then lowered it again, and turned and walked dejectedly back to the kitchen. Warwick was lying helpless on the floor. There was no way she could contact the Flying Doctor or call in any help. Millie knew they’d be gone several days, so wouldn’t miss them.
Warwick began to toss about, muttering incoherently. Queenie poured the dregs of the liquid from the billy into a mug and brought it to Warwick’s lips.
He gagged then swallowed, his eyes fluttering open briefly. Queenie dragged him to a bedroom and onto the bed, then collapsed on a mattress she put on the floor beside him.
The sun rose and blazed down on the tin roof of the homestead. Queenie sat by Warwick, bathing his face with cool water. He was soaked with sweat, his skin was pale, his pulse rapid.
She sponged him down regularly with cold water from the tank at the back of the homestead, and spent hours sitting by his bed. Eventually Queenie nodded off, her chin sinking onto her chest.
‘Queenie,’ called Warwick in a loud voice, and she awoke with a start. He was delirious, thrashing about on the bed. ‘Queenie!’ he called again.
‘It’s all right, Warwick, I’m here.’ Struggling to keep him on the bed she lay across him, pinning him flat, and murmuring calming words.
Slowly he relaxed and finally slept. Straightening up, Queenie looked at him for a minute or two, then went to the kitchen to make some tea.
He slept fitfully but deeply, and his breathing slowly began to return to normal. Queenie smiled and leaned over to smooth a damp curl from his forehead, tucking the sheet around his shoulders. The crisis had passed.
He slept through the rest of the day and in the early evening Queenie heard him faintly call her name again. Hurrying to the bedroom she saw he was awake.
‘You’re here. What the hell happened to me?’
‘Sshhh, take it easy. Don’t you remember the snake? You’ve been a bit crook. We’re at Cricklewood. Don’t move. I’ll make you some tea.’
‘Christ, I feel like a truck has run over me. How did I get here?’
‘No more questions. You’re not better yet.’
Warwick didn’t answer. The effort had tired him.
Warm weak tea revived him a little. ‘I don’t think I want to go through that again. I guess I owe you one, Queenie. You saved me.’
‘Thank Snowy for teaching me some bush medicine years back,’ she smiled.
They stayed for several days, Warwick slowly regaining his strength. The poison had left him dehydrated and debilitated. The first time he got out of bed he fell over, and Queenie helped him back into bed admonishing, ‘You don’t realise how weak you are still. Take it slowly.’
On a cheerful sunny morning two days later, Warwick announced he was going outside. Queenie took his arm, supporting him, as they walked a short distance, both taking deep breaths of fresh, clear air. They didn’t talk much, enjoying the sun and the companionable warmth of their linked arms.
Warwick slept most afternoons, moving into a chair in the kitchen as Queenie prepared their simple evening meals from tinned supplies.
‘Like playing house, isn’t it?’ he laughed.
Queenie laughed with him. But she was conscious of him watching her and she was glad she didn’t have to bathe his face or care for him so intimately any more.
One morning she woke up to the sound of banging metal and saw Warwick had rummaged in the shed, found some tools, and was working on the damaged wheel of the Land Rover.
‘It’s a bit makeshift, but it will get us where we want to go, I think.’
‘All the way back to Tingulla?’
‘No. You promised to show me over Cricklewood … so let’s go.’
They took a packed lunch and Warwick drove, with Queenie guiding him over the property.
‘You should certainly do something with this place, Queenie. Running some of those new breeds of cattle here could be a big money-making exercise.’
‘I’ve already been through this with you, Warwick. They’re expensive. I’ve had to outlay a lot of money at Tingulla.’
‘So … bring in a partner — an investor.’ He hesitated. ‘If I could raise some money, would you consider taking me in with you?’
‘Could you? Raise the money?’
‘Possibly.’
They faced each other and Queenie suddenly felt that Warwick was about to say something else. He leaned towards her, but she turned away, confused and unsure. ‘Let’s talk about it when we get back to Tingulla. Do you think you’re up to the trip?’
‘Yep. Shall we make a move tomorrow?’
That night Queenie lay awake in the main bedroom unable to sleep. Warwick was either dreaming or aware she was awake, for he softly called her name. ‘Queenie?’ And again. ‘Queenie …’
She hesitated. Was he dreaming or did he need her? Wrapping a blanket around herself she padded quietly into his room. Faint moonlight shone through the narrow, curtainless window. She could make out Warw
ick’s shape in his bed.
She was about to turn away when he spoke. ‘Queenie. Come here a minute.’
‘Do you feel all right?’ she moved closer to his bed.
‘No.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Concerned, she sat at the edge of his bed and reached out to touch his forehead. He grasped her hand and pulled her closer to him, encircling her shoulders with his other arm.
‘Queenie …’ He pulled her head down and pressed his mouth to hers. For an instant she began to kiss him back then wrenched upright and jumped to her feet.
‘Warwick! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Queenie, I’ve wanted you for so long …’
‘No!’ She ran from the room and slammed her door.
It was a restless, unhappy night, and she finally fell asleep at dawn. She slept with blankets and pillow over her head, hiding from the world.
Warwick tapped her lightly on the shoulder and Queenie angrily flung back the covers and sat up.
Warwick was dressed and silently holding out a mug of steaming tea. ‘Tea. The porridge is cooking. I’ve packed up all the gear. We can hit the road as soon as you’re ready.’
She said nothing, but drank the tea, staring at him with brittle green eyes dancing with angry sparks. Her hair was tousled and clothes rumpled. Warwick thought she looked adorable.
She handed him the empty mug. ‘Thanks. I’ll get dressed then.’ Her tone was cold and Warwick left the room.
She washed in cold water, changed her shirt and joined Warwick in the kitchen where he had breakfast set out. They ate in silence. Warwick seemed relaxed and unconcerned as if the previous night had never happened.
‘Maybe he’s going to pretend it was all a dream, that he was delirious and didn’t know what he was doing,’ she thought. She turned furiously away from the sink, dropping her bowl with a clatter. ‘Warwick, about last night …’
He held up his hand, ignoring Queenie’s icy voice. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to con you. But it’s so hard to get through that defensive wall you’ve built around yourself. I don’t apologise for the fact I find you a desirable and appealing woman, though.’
Queenie looked down, disarmed but not totally mollified.
He leaned down and peered into her lowered face and made no move to touch her. ‘What I was saying yesterday about going into partnership with you — I’d like to do that. I can raise the money. But I don’t want us to be just partners. I want you to marry me, Queenie.’
A small gasp escaped her and she looked up at him. A hopeful smile hovered at the corners of his mouth and his grey eyes were full of love and longing.
She turned away. ‘I don’t know what to say … Warwick, this is all wrong …’
‘Why, Queenie? I think we’re well suited. Couldn’t you love me?’
‘I don’t know … I …’ Flustered, she began washing the breakfast bowls.
Warwick dried them and replaced them in the cupboard. ‘Think about it. I won’t pressure you. We can go on as before.’
‘Oh no, we can’t!’ exploded Queenie. ‘It would be impossible.’
Why was life so complicated? Things had been going so smoothly. Why did people’s emotions keep getting in the way? She didn’t want any part of this. She had a job to do and a life to get on with. ‘I’m not ready to get married. I don’t know you … as a man, I mean.’
Warwick reached out and grasped her by the shoulders, slowly turning her around. Gently he touched her cheek. ‘So get to know me, Queenie.’
She stood motionless and Warwick softly kissed one cheek, then the other, then the top of her head. ‘Let’s go home.’
Chapter Fourteen
Millie knew something was up the moment they returned. She fussed over Warwick, cooking him big meals to build up his strength, but was aware of the tension in the air between him and Queenie.
At times Queenie was aloof or coolly businesslike, but Millie would catch her eyes following Warwick. He, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by her fluctuating moods, and sometimes teased her gently, making her smile despite herself, and a swift look would pass between them before Queenie turned away.
Warwick was true to his promise and made no demands on Queenie, although he did go out of his way to be attentive, charming and witty. He then announced he wanted a couple of weeks off to return to the West to see his family and business associates about financial matters. Queenie agreed, and Warwick flew to Perth.
Queenie didn’t like to admit it, but Tingulla seemed very quiet and empty without Warwick about the place. Riding Nareedah one morning she came across Ernie, the young rouseabout, and one of the jackaroos riding along the northern boundary fence. ‘Everything all right, Ernie?’
The boys touched their hats with one finger in respect as they reined in their horses. ‘Gotta problem with some of them pregnant ewes down by the new bore. Have to talk to the boss when he gets back.’ Ernie gave her a cheery broad grin showing large white teeth.
‘What’s the problem? Maybe I can help.’
‘S’all right. I’ll talk to Warwick ‘bout it. See ya.’ They nodded and rode off.
Queenie wheeled Nareedah about. ‘Talk to the boss! I’m still boss of Tingulla.’ She kicked Nareedah unnecessarily firmly and galloped away.
Within days the monotony was broken by the arrival of Sarah, flushed with happiness and bubbling over with the details of life as a new bride in Sydney. Queenie spent a day with her at the Quinns’.
‘John’s away for a week looking at property up the coast so I thought I’d come and visit Mum,’ she explained. ‘Oh, Queenie, I’m so happy. Married life is such a ball! Come and stay with us in Sydney. We can shop and go to the theatre — and John has some lovely single friends,’ she teased.
‘Sarah, stop matchmaking. I’m doing just fine.’
‘Why don’t you go overseas? You could find yourself an exciting man,’ persisted Sarah. ‘You’ll never meet anyone but boring old bushies staying at Tingulla.’
‘They’re not all boring. And I don’t need to go away to catch a man, Sarah … in fact I had a proposal just a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Oh, sure. Who? Dreary Michael O’Rourke, I suppose.’
‘No, actually. Warwick asked me to marry him.’
Sarah’s jaw dropped, then a grin spread across her freckled face.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No. And why should that be so funny?’
‘Oh, Queenie … it’s wonderful. I mean, it’s so obvious. There he was, right under our noses … handsome, fun, smooth, and knows the land too! He’s perfect for you! I just thought Warwick was the type to stay a bachelor for years. Have you said yes?’ bubbled Sarah.
Queenie suddenly regretted mentioning Warwick’s proposal. ‘Well, no. It came as a bit of a surprise to me too. I’d never thought of him other than a business partner and friend; and he is a bit older than me.’
‘That makes him perfect for you! Queenie, I don’t want you to get mad, but as a friend I have to mention this … he’s not marrying you for your money, is he? I mean, managing Tingulla is one thing. Marrying the owner is another.’
‘It had crossed my mind,’ confessed Queenie. ‘But he’s gone back home to talk to his family. Apparently there’s some money due to him from what was left of his inheritance. And he says he can raise a lot of capital. He wants to go into partnership to develop Cricklewood … to run cattle.’
‘Well then, that proves he isn’t worming his way into Tingulla. You’ll be partners and that’s what marriage is all about.’
Queenie laughed at Sarah’s pontificating. ‘It’s all right for you, you have the perfect man, the perfect marriage, the perfect life.’
‘I know,’ said Sarah seriously. ‘Queenie, there’s one important thing you haven’t mentioned. Do you love him?’
Queenie’s smile faded. ‘I don’t know, Sarah. It’s not the love I … imagined. But I like being with him, he makes me laugh a lot. I respect him,
and I’ve missed him while he’s been away in Perth. Is that love?’
‘Only you can answer that one, Queenie,’ said Sarah gently. ‘Don’t get married for the wrong reasons. Let’s see Mum — I think lunch is ready.’
Sarah turned away, suddenly unsure about advising Queenie. She could see Queenie was lonely and vulnerable. Sarah liked Warwick but she wished Queenie was head over heels in love and had no doubts about him. Sarah sighed. How lucky she was to have found John. If only Queenie could know what deep, passionate love was really like. Not everyone was lucky enough to find it.
That night Queenie drove home through the starlight, thinking similar thoughts. Sarah didn’t know it, but Queenie had once found true and passionate love, and all it had brought her was pain and unhappiness. Perhaps settling for life with Warwick would be the answer. They understood each other, she knew they would get along smoothly, and they shared a lot in common. She even had to admit to herself that she did find Warwick attractive. The brief moment their lips had touched tingled in her memory. She had forgiven him for his devious attempt to kiss her that night. He had behaved impeccably ever since, although he didn’t stop casting longing looks in her direction, his grey eyes clearly betraying his intentions.
He wanted her, she knew that. On occasions when their arms touched or hands brushed, Queenie felt her own body responding to the magnetism of his physical appeal.
Sarah’s comments about him marrying her for Tingulla had struck a chord in Queenie. She would wait and see what he had to say when he returned.
In America TR continued to learn and develop his horse training skills, proving to Clayton Hindmarsh that his decision to hire the handsome Aussie had been a good one. Clayton insisted on treating TR as a member of the family, not just an employee.
Although TR appreciated his privileged position, he felt uncomfortable. He preferred the way they did things at home, where the working men led their own lives away from the homestead and the boss’s life. The racial situation also bothered him. Aboriginal stockmen were treated with respect for they were skilful bushmen and great horsemen. In town they mightn’t drink at the same pub or mix socially, but around the campfire they were equals. The blacks working about Bon Vite were servants — treated well, but regarded as inferiors. And Clayton had taken TR aside and explained that, ‘It just wasn’t seemly for him to mix with the coloured folk’.
