by DIMORRISSEY
In the early hours the wind rose and growled around the cattle, causing the campfire to spark and Ernie’s chanting song to be blown away.
Then it stopped, as swiftly as if a switch had been pulled. Queenie stirred, maybe it was the uncanny silence and stillness, or some second sense that alerted her. She started out of her swag, still wearing her boots, as the bellowing cattle chorus swelled to a roar and she heard the yell from Ernie — ‘Rush!’
A shuddering wall of animals began moving en masse, running recklessly into the blackness, driven by fear and the unknown. Ernie had been able to swing the mob away from the camp but couldn’t see where the leaders were as he raced alongside the terrified beasts.
Queenie was in the saddle and lunging after the mob in seconds. Sparky swung instinctively towards the head of the mob, galloping flat out without putting a foot wrong, and seeing exactly where he was racing. Queenie crouched low and forward giving the horse its head.
They overtook most of the charging cattle, and Queenie unleashed her stock whip, cracking it wildly to turn them. A dust cloud gathered above them, filtering what little moonlight there was. Over the pounding hooves she heard a whip crack and knew Ernie was up with her on the other side, but although her feet brushed the solid mass of charging flesh next to her, they were not yet up with the leaders.
It was then that fear struck Queenie as she heard a distant roar and knew what had set off the rush. The animals had heard, or felt, the subterranean tremble of an approaching flash flood.
Instant flooding was a phenomenon of the outback. When it rained to the north, weeks later the accumulated water would explode into a dry river bed, turning it in minutes from dust bowl to surging torrent carrying away all before it. Sometimes word got through to warn others that it was on the way, and sightseers would head to the banks to watch the dramatic appearance of a flood sweeping through a desert. But with no warning, in the dark, and with the cattle heading for the river bed, Queenie imagined a disaster of mammoth proportions.
She screamed aloud though no one could hear her. ‘Well lose them if they go into the river!’
She kicked Sparky, heading him towards the previously dry river, and without hesitating the horse responded, squelching through mud and splashing into the first gush of water. Queenie hoped to get into the river first so she could charge the cattle and frighten them into turning away.
To her amazement she found her horse was swimming. It was deeper than expected and the current was strong. The flood was more advanced than she had anticipated. She swung around to face the bank they’d just left, feeling the current pull her along.
In the dim light she saw the leaders reach the bank. With terrified bellowing they faltered as their feet sank in the mud and in that instant Queenie thought she could swing them around. But she had been swept too far downstream by the current, and the pressure from the raging mob behind pushed the leaders into the water.
Helplessly, Queenie watched the cattle surge into the river. Suddenly she glimpsed Ernie riding down the bank, his horse striking out into the deep water.
‘Swim with them!’ he shouted.
Queenie gathered her strength and realised there was no turning them back now. In the darkness the mob had to be encouraged to swim for the other bank. With luck they could prevent them from panicking and drowning.
She nudged her horse in close to the first animals who were beginning to swim downstream. With Ernie now on the other side, the horses swam beside the frightened and confused animals. The riders pushed their mounts in close, shouting to the cattle in firm, loud voices.
Although the current grew stronger by the minute, they managed to head the animals around so they were facing the opposite bank and swimming purposefully rather than fighting and kicking in the wrong direction. Queenie’s horse slipped and staggered as its feet hit the muddy bottom and together Sparky and the leading cattle struggled up the bank. The swim had taken the fear and flight from them and they stood forlorn and disoriented. Queenie snapped her whip and moved them forward as several others were nudged up the bank by Ernie.
Then Queenie wheeled her horse around and plunged back into the river to guide more of the cattle across as they fell lemming-like into the water. But already she knew they were going to have losses. There were too many animals to shepherd across in the appalling conditions, made worse now by concealed logs and debris. Ernie worked them up the bank. Queenie and Sparky swam back over, encouraging them to cross the dark swirling water.
The main stream of the river had swollen to double its width, spilling over its banks and flooding across the plain for half a mile. Queenie could feel her horse tiring as she headed back yet again with the stragglers.
Ernie caught up with her midstream. ‘Some are in trouble at the tail!’
Several beasts had been trampled by the mob close to the far bank. Two were stuck and struggling in the mud but looked as if they could be saved. Swiftly Queenie pulled the rope from her saddle, throwing a lasso over an animal’s head. She rode up the bank and round a tree which gave the rope enough leverage to pull the animal to its feet, and then she chased it into the water.
She rescued the second the same way, then rounded up two strays and guided them all across to join the herd, now standing quietly on the other side.
‘How many have we lost, Ernie?’
‘Hard to tell till daybreak. A lot, I think.’ Ernie surveyed the mob now standing meekly on the opposite bank. ‘Well, that’s one way to cross’em over,’ he remarked drily.
Queenie glanced at the pearliness beginning to light the sky. ‘In a couple of hours it will be light. We’ll bring the gear and packhorses over then. Tubby will have to take the truck upstream and meet us further on.’
‘I’ll light a fire and we can dry a bit, eh?’ said Ernie comfortingly.
Queenie shivered, realising she was soaked to the skin. Ernie found a small bush and gathered some dry leaves and grass and took from his small saddle bag his emergency lighter — two small fire sticks which he rubbed together, grinding and blowing on them until the friction caused a thin sliver of smoke to rise, followed by a spark.
He blew gently on the shredded dead leaves till they caught and blazed. In minutes the heaped wood of the fire was burning cheerfully. And with saddles for pillows and saddle blankets for cover they gradually relaxed and slept.
In the dawn light Ernie and Queenie rode back across the river. It had stopped rising but it would be weeks before it subsided. As Queenie and Tubby packed up camp, Ernie rode along the bank looking for cattle that had been left behind. He found ten still alive but all partially crippled. Without feeling, he shot them.
Both newborn calves which had been born along the way were missing, presumably drowned and swept down river.
It had been a sad blow to Queenie, but she knew this was the nature of the outback. Philosophically she remarked to Ernie, ‘Well, it could have been worse.’
The last of the trucks with Mountain Pictures stencilled on their sides rattled down the dirt road, leaving Tingulla silent and abandoned after the weeks of frenzied activity.
Jim went into town for a few days to pick up spare parts that had arrived for two of the vehicles and the bulldozer. Millie set about a massive spring clean. Stan moved on to another cooking job, and down by the creek where the remains of the filmset stood incongruously, a family of Aborigines moved in and set up camp. Warwick stayed closeted in the study doing paperwork.
Millie tapped at the study door. ‘Lunch is ready.’
There was no answer so she cautiously opened the door. Warwick was asleep in the chair. He hadn’t shaved for several days, his face looked lined and tired. Millie sighed when she saw the open bottle of rum on the desk. Quietly she shut the door.
It was late afternoon when Warwick emerged. Millie saw him walking slowly around the garden deep in thought. She made tea and carried a tray with a sandwich on a plate onto the verandah. ‘Tea, Warwick.’
He started and lif
ted a hand. Millie left him alone but was relieved when she heard his boots thunking on the verandah, the creak of timber as he sat in the squatter’s chair, and the rattle of china.
That night Warwick returned to the bedroom he had shared with Queenie for the first time since filming had started. The peacefulness that always settled on the house at night was missing. It seemed sad and quiet and lonely. Warwick longed for Queenie. He needed her strength, her love and her understanding.
He rolled onto the bed, buried his head in a pillow and moaned. ‘Queenie, my love, I’ve let you down.’
Under the same night sky Queenie gazed up at the Southern Cross from the snugness of her swag by the campfire. She was thinking of Warwick; his presence seemed close by. She knew she would never love him as she loved TR, but Warwick was loyal and good and solid. If their life had been sliding into the doldrums it was her fault for being so preoccupied with Tingulla, Cricklewood and Saskia. She was going to make more of an effort to be attentive and caring.
She smiled, remembering how they had talked of having another child and was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loss and guilt as she thought of the child she had given up. It was a heavy burden in her heart, carrying the secret known only to Millie, Jim and old Snowy. It all seemed like some terrible, distant dream that periodically haunted and tortured her.
She longed to feel Warwick’s familiar shape beside her. She shifted in her swag, sighing sadly.
At sunrise Millie stirred and opened her eyes. Jim was still away and his side of their bed was cold. She turned over to doze and then it registered what had awakened her. Above the dawn chorus, she heard the spluttering drone of an aircraft engine.
Draping a faded chenille dressing gown around her shoulders, Millie sleepily plodded outside and stared into the sky. Who would be coming in unannounced at this hour? Then she realised it was a plane taking off, not landing. The red and white Piper rose into the gold and lilac streaked sky and turned east.
It was soon obliterated from her sight by the burning ball of light that rose above the low line of shadowy blue hills.
‘Now where would Warwick be headed?’ she wondered. Strange, he didn’t say anything last night. But then, he’d been quite distracted since the film people had left. Millie was now alone on the property save for the station hands.
She went towards the kitchen to put the kettle on as usual, then paused, and swung around and went back to her bed to enjoy the rare luxury of sleeping in past sunup.
The news came into Longreach first and spread through the town in minutes. Men shook their heads. Everyone had a different theory about what had happened.
Jim had been set to leave town when Kevin Hooper, the flying doctor, found him and had taken him aside to speak quietly to him. Within half an hour they were on the runway.
With a map spread on his knees, Jim sat beside Kevin as they taxied down the tarmac. Kevin spoke to the small control tower beside the strip. ‘This is Charlie Alpha November, six zero nine, ready for clearance.’
‘You are cleared for take off, climb to flight level five thousand feet heading due west. Report at ten hundred for further clearance. Do you have a specific destination?’
‘She left Windorah two days ago, it shouldn’t be too hard to locate them. She’s travelling with a pretty big mob. There are clay pans in the area I can drop down on.’
‘Roger. Keep us notified. Tell Queenie … we’re all real sorry. Over and out.’
Kevin returned the microphone to its clip on the control panel and glanced at Jim who was staring into the blue distance as they climbed. Jim’s gnarled hand crumpled a corner of the map. He wondered how he was going to find the words to tell Queenie the terrible news that Warwick’s plane had crashed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Queenie wanted everyone to leave. She wanted to be alone with her grief. She was tired of being brave and strong. So many friends had hurried to be with her, they were kind and supportive and marvelled at how Queenie was coping.
After the initial shock, her greatest concern had been for Saskia. Queenie comforted her, but allowed her time and space to mourn her father in her own way. She was determined not to cling, or suffocate her daughter with the overwhelming burden of ‘You’re all I’ve got now’.
Warwick had been cremated and his ashes returned to his family in Western Australia as they had requested. His mother was too upset to travel. His sisters had flown over for the funeral and the memorial service at Tingulla’s little church, which overflowed with mourners; many clustered outside during the service.
Colin came alone, the Cambonis sent an embarrassing mountain of flowers from Sydney. Colin had arrived the night before the service and spoke quietly to Queenie in a corner of the crowded living room. ‘Warwick was a good bloke, Queenie. I hope Saskia will get over it all right.’
Queenie nodded. There was an awkwardness between them. They were uncomfortable together. Colin mumbled and Queenie couldn’t think of anything to say to him to break down the barrier that had grown between them over the years.
‘How’s Dina?’
‘She couldn’t come and sends her apologies. She’s not well.’ Then in a confidential rush he decided to tell his sister the truth. ‘She had a miscarriage.’
‘Oh, Colin, I’m so sorry.’ Queenie reached out and touched his arm, genuinely sad. ‘Things will go well next time, I’m sure. Please tell her how sad I am for you both.’
‘I doubt we’ll try again. She thinks she’s too old.’
For a moment Colin wanted to unburden himself to Queenie who was still touching his arm, her eyes full of compassion and caring. As always, something prevented him, and he turned away. ‘You’re not the only one who suffers in this world, Queenie.’
Sadly, Queenie watched him go. ‘What happened to you, Colin, to make you so bitter?’ she wondered. Sighing, she headed for the kitchen to ask Millie to put out the food for the buffet.
TR mingled unobtrusively with the mourners, waiting for the right moment to speak to Queenie privately. They hadn’t spoken since the last day of their filming for Red Jack. He knew she was avoiding him, and he suspected she was uncomfortable about the passionate kiss they had exchanged and probably angry about his criticism of Warwick. He patiently watched her and waited. In the simple, slim-fitting black dress, her hair tied back with a black bow and no jewellery, she looked fragile and young. TR’s heart ached for her and Saskia.
At that moment he spotted Saskia, red-eyed and sadfaced, carrying a platter of ham slices which Millie directed her to put on the sideboard. TR went over to her. ‘Remember me? How are you doing, Saskia?’
‘Yes — you’re TR. I’m fine, thanks,’ she answered quietly.
‘Want to get out of here for a bit? Come and take a turn around the garden with me. Do you know, I have seven new foals at Guneda?’
‘What are they like?’ Her interest was aroused and TR took her hand. Together they headed out to the verandah and into the evening garden.
By the time they turned back towards the house where softly lit rooms shone through the night with a friendly warmth, Saskia was chatting with more animation about riding and horses.
‘Did your Dad ever tell you the funny story about the first time the boys put him on a horse at Tingulla?’
Saskia stopped in her tracks, tears suddenly spilling from her eyes as she gave TR a hurt look. For a brief moment she had almost forgotten the loss of her father, now TR had hit her cruelly in the face with a thoughtless remark.
He crouched down before her. ‘Saskia, you have to talk about him. He was a special and important part of your life and now he’s gone you can’t pretend he was never here. You’ll never forget him, so treasure all the memories. I know it seems hard, but it will make it easier for you and for other people if you talk about them. Don’t feel embarrassed to mention your Dad. The more you talk about him, the closer you’ll feel to him.’
TR hugged the young girl as Queenie’s voice rang through the dark
gardens. ‘Saskia, are you out there?’
TR recognised the note of fear in Queenie’s voice. ‘Yes, we’re here, we’re coming.’
Saskia ran towards her mother silhouetted in the gold light from the front entrance. ‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’
‘It’s all right Mummy. I was just taking a walk with TR.’ She glanced at him shyly. ‘We were talking about Dad.’ Saskia hugged her mother tightly and ran indoors.
Slowly TR mounted the steps to face Queenie. ‘I think she will be all right. She’s a great little girl, Queenie. But what about you? Are you okay?’
‘TR, I appreciate you taking time to talk to Saskia, but I’d prefer her to come to me. I’m … managing. I have to go inside.’
She turned away but TR caught her arm, making her face him. ‘Queenie, you can’t keep on being a rock. You have to let go, to … You need me, Queenie. Let me look after you.’
‘I don’t need anyone, TR. I can look after myself. I don’t want to see you, TR. It’s too hard for me.’ Her composure crumbled. ‘How do you think I feel? Knowing a short time before Warwick died, that I was kissing you and wanting you and then you tried to turn me against him … I’ve been punished, TR. You only bring me heartbreak and pain.’ The words gushed out between sobbing breaths and tears splashed from her hurt and angry eyes.
TR stepped forward, wrapping his arms about her in anguish. ‘Queenie, no. Don’t say that. You mustn’t think that. It’s crazy.’
She struggled to free herself, but he gripped her by the shoulders. ‘Listen,’ he said harshly, ‘that day by the creek, you kissed me and I kissed you back simply because we thought of ourselves as two different people. It was a fantasy, like the whole film. Forget it. It meant nothing … it was nice, but that was all. You and Warwick had a lot of good years together. Cherish them. Don’t blame yourself. And don’t blame me.’
