Heart of the Dreaming

by DIMORRISSEY

  ‘Please let me be, TR.’ She spoke quietly now. TR’s fingers loosened their grip and he gave her a gentle squeeze as he looked at her downcast eyes before dropping his arms.

  Queenie didn’t see the tortured expression in his eyes as he left, walking down the steps and into the darkness.

  Gradually the house guests at Tingulla drifted home, and only close friends remained.

  Sarah gently spoke to Queenie. ‘John and I are going back to Sydney in a day or so. I’ve talked to Saskia and she says she’d like to come and stay for a little while, but she’s worried about leaving you alone.’

  Queenie touched her friend’s arm. ‘I won’t be alone. I’ll suggest it to her myself. I think it would be good. Distract her a little.’

  Dingo was the last to leave. The old bushman gave Queenie a hug, smoothing her hair. ‘Poor Queenie. You’ve had more than your fair share, girl.’ He stared into her pale face. ‘But you’re strong, Queenie, and you’ll weather this one, too. Your time for peace and happiness will come, even if the track is a bit crooked and rough right here. Walk on, girl, walk on.’

  ‘I will, Dingo.’ She sighed and hugged him back.

  ‘Ah, Queenie, a sigh like that could break a man in two.’ Dingo squashed his hat on his now thinning white hair. ‘I’ll come whenever you need me.’

  ‘Thanks, Dingo. I think I have to do this by myself.’

  Dingo nodded. He understood Queenie’s nature. He knew she had to find reserves of strength within herself, to reflect and reason and slowly come to terms with her pain and loss, and whatever lay ahead. No one could help Queenie as much as herself.

  Millie and Jim left Queenie alone a lot of the time. She rode about the property, sat by the creek, walked through the gums. The tranquillity of the land she loved began to heal and restore her wounded spirit.

  Millie tried to explain it to Jim. ‘The place you belong to, your Dreaming place, is the earth mother who reaches out to love you. You are never truly home, Jim, till you rest on your Dreaming land. Then you get fixed up. Tingulla will make Queenie better — you’ll see. Time and Tingulla, that’s all she needs.’

  But there wasn’t time. The serenity was shattered with the unannounced arrival of a black car carrying two men in dark suits.

  Millie watched them get out in the driveway. ‘Now, who might them fellas be? Either undertakers or vultures by the look of them.’ She gave them tea and sent Jim to find Queenie.

  The two men rose to their feet. ‘Mrs Redmond. We are from Turner and Berkley, solicitors in Sydney …’

  Queenie raised her eyebrows. ‘Solicitors? I understood all the paperwork concerning my husband was completed.’

  ‘This is a different matter. It does concern your husband’s estate, however.’

  Queenie’s skin began to prickle and her heart beat faster. Outwardly she remained calm. She sat down and crossed her ankles. ‘You’d better tell me what you’ve come about.’

  The two men talked in tandem, their story, facts and figures down pat, one often finishing the other’s sentence.

  Queenie’s tea grew cold in her cup. She did not move. She was frozen in shock as she listened. Beneath her calm exterior, jumbled, confused and fearful emotions churned.

  ‘It is all most unfortunatee,’ concluded one.

  ‘Most distressing,’ added the other.

  With an effort Queenie rose to her feet. ‘I will have my own solicitor get in touch with you. Good day, gentlemen.’ She turned, and with her head held high, walked stiffly indoors.

  The men glanced at each other and shrugged. One slipped a business card onto the tea tray and picking up their snap-brimmed hats, returned to the car and disappeared silently back into the landscape.

  Millie looked at the closed door to the study. Queenie had locked herself away when the visitors left and had not appeared for dinner. Millie sensed something was very wrong. She tapped on the door. ‘Queenie, I have some dinner for you on a tray, shall I bring it in?’

  ‘No,’ she snapped. Then softly, ‘Yes … yes … come in, Millie.’

  Millie placed the tray to one side, noting the jumble of papers on the desk and Queenie’s red eyes. ‘I’ll bring you some tea. What’s up, Queenie? Do you want to talk?’

  ‘Oh, Millie. It’s too difficult to explain … I’m having trouble taking it all in myself.’

  ‘I know I’m just a simple murri girl, but sometimes talking it through or aloud helps.’

  ‘This can’t be talked away, Millie.’ Queenie’s shoulders sagged. ‘Those men were from a Sydney legal firm.’

  ‘I knew they were trouble,’ sniffed Millie, sitting on the arm of a chair.

  Queenie drew a deep breath. ‘It seems Warwick had something of a secret life — he gambled. Far more than I ever suspected or realised. He had a lot of debts and while I was away droving the cattle down from the Channel Country, he had power of attorney — and in effect he signed away my ownership in Tingulla. The place had already been mortgaged. I knew we owed the bank a large sum, but it was a temporary thing. I guess he was trying to raise the money. But he died before he could do anything about it. The finances are an almighty mess.’ Queenie took a deep breath, ‘Tingulla now belongs lock, stock and barrel to Signor Alfredo Camboni and Associates.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means, Millie, I no longer have any right to be here. Here — on my land.’ She banged her first angrily on the desk, tears of frustration burning in her eyes.

  ‘How come Mr Camboni is the boss? He is in-law, family, he’ll let you stay here. You talk to your solicitor, I bet he can sort it out.’

  ‘I phoned him. My solicitor says there’s little we can do, though we’ll try to fight it. Warwick owed Camboni money from loans going back years; from the racetrack and from that wretched film. Camboni is calling in the loan. If I can’t pay it — which I can’t — he takes over. I bet the rat planned this all along. Took advantage of Warwick. I wouldn’t be surprised if Colin had a hand in this, too.’

  ‘Surely not,’ gasped Millie in disbelief. ‘Queenie, you can’t leave Tingulla.’

  ‘I know. But I might have to go.’ The tears ran down her face and Millie hurried to comfort her, wrapping her sturdy arms around Queenie’s trembling shoulders.

  Queenie was totally bereft. This blow had shattered the last of her strength. Tingulla was more than a home. It was her link with the past, the generations of her family that had lived — and loved this land. It was her physical and spiritual home. It was her future, for her daughter and grandchildren. It was not a piece of property to be bought or sold. Or gambled away.

  After Millie left the room, Queenie hid her face in her hands and sobbed. ‘Oh, Warwick, how could you do this to me?’ A chilling thought suddenly struck her. Did Warwick know about this before he took off on the flight that killed him? Had he chosen death rather than face her? He would have known losing Tingulla would devastate her.

  The shock of the idea cleared her head and she began pacing distractedly about the room, running her hands wildly through her hair. Poor Warwick. How he must have suffered knowing how deeply he had trapped himself. ’If only I had guessed. If only he had come to me earlier … perhaps I could have helped him.’

  Queenie stopped, her arms about her shoulders. If only she had listened to TR. For a moment she wanted to run to him and ask for help. But she stilled the thought. No one could help her now.

  Like fragments from a film — certain incidents, comments, Warwick’s unexplained trips away, his evasive behaviour, his impetuous generosity — everything began to fit into place. He would go for months without gambling. Then he’d break out in a spree where sometimes he won and other times he lost. That he had managed to keep it all from her was the surprising thing.

  Though, Queenie supposed, it wasn’t so surprising, really. It was the last thing she ever would have imagined. She had never questioned or queried his motives or his time away from Tingulla. She was so wrapped up in her life at T
ingulla she wasn’t interested in anything else. She had been a trusting fool.

  Two days later, sitting in her solicitor’s office with her bank manager and a financial consultant, the full extent of the nightmare was exposed and set before her.

  Queenie was brisk. ‘What can be done? I will do anything to hold onto the station. Those men don’t want it — they want their money. There must be some way to raise the money, even if I just have to be a tenant at Tingulla for a while.’

  The solicitor kept his voice steady. ‘I’m afraid they do want the property. Even selling off as many assets as we can, with the outstanding debts, there is no way you can hold onto the property. I understand Camboni intends that Colin and his wife should move in and run it.’

  Queenie stared at him, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks. ‘And where do my daughter and I fit in?’

  ‘They have made a provision in this contract that you and your child are welcome to remain in the guest quarters. If you choose to help Colin work the property a small remuneration would be paid.’

  ‘That does it! Help Colin! While Dina swans around playing mistress of the manor! Certainly not.’

  ‘Queenie, don’t be too hasty. Where will you go?’

  ‘I’ll live in a tent if I have to. What is happening to Cricklewood?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘It’s an asset and will have to be sold. Of course, if you declare bankruptcy, you can write off some of your debts.’

  ‘You mean people like the grain merchants, the vet, the fellow who runs the equipment agency for the tractor, bulldozer and other gear, they’re the people who won’t get paid. Write them off — I won’t do it.’

  ‘Then you will have to sell what you can. The new owners will not want to inherit your debts.’

  ‘I pay my own bills.’

  The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. ’If there is anything we can do …’

  ‘Just do whatever is necessary. I will give you a list of what I intend to sell. The personal items left to me in my parents’ wills, are I hope, still my property?’

  The solicitor nodded.

  Queenie stood and the men scrambled to their feet. At the door she turned, ’Tell my brother and that family he married, I do not want to see any of them. I’d appreciate it if you’d handle all communication.’ The door snapped behind her and the men glanced at each other.

  ‘What a terrible thing to happen.’

  ‘God, she’s got guts. Anyone else would eat humble pie or cave in. This is not some little property we are talking about here.’

  ‘No,’ agreed the bank manager. ‘Tingulla is part of the country’s history.’

  ‘It’s the Hanlons’ heritage, so at least it’s staying in the family’s hands.’

  ‘I give Colin six months at the outside,’ said the solicitor.

  Methodically, Queenie set about selling what she could. Jim walked about the property with her. ‘Too bad we can’t sell the heavy equipment. The ’dozer and so on.’

  ‘They’re not paid for. They’re being repossessed. I tell you, Jim, I feel like stripping the place. Let them start from scratch and struggle.’ Her voice was bitter.

  ‘You don’t want to see Tingulla go under, Queenie.’

  ‘You’re right, Jim. But it just seems so unfair … after all our hard work. Dad’s too. After getting through the drought, things were just starting to pick up again.’

  Inside the house, Queenie went from room to room. Every piece of furniture held memories — Rose telling her about the old wood turner who had made so many of the pieces, the antiques she had brought out from England. There were few things she and Warwick had put in the house other than personal pictures, ornaments, and slightly more updated office equipment. Even Saskia had inherited Queenie’s childhood bedroom and favourite toys.

  Queenie packed her jewellery in a small box. She knew she would never get back its full value when sold but she needed every penny she could get at this crisis point in her life.

  Saskia came and sat on the bed beside her. ‘You’re not selling all your jewellery?’

  ‘I’m afraid I will have to, Sas …’

  Saskia silently reached out and picked up the long strand of heavy pearls which had belonged to Rose’s grandmother. She draped them about her neck, fingering the luminous globules.

  ‘Saskia … I’m not selling those. They belonged to my great-grandmother and they’re meant for you. I always thought you’d wear them on your wedding day,’ smiled Queenie. ‘And these. I won’t part with my opals either.’ With a determined air, Queenie pulled out the fiery opals Patrick and Rose had given her for her twenty-first birthday and clasped them around her neck.

  Mother and daughter sat there with the necklaces shining on their old clothes. Queenie suddenly burst out laughing and hugged Saskia. ‘Oh, Sas, don’t we look a pair of grand ladies? Things will never get so bad that I have to sell these. Somehow I’ll manage to work things out, you’ll see. Let’s go get a pot of tea.’

  ‘Let’s wear our necklaces down to show Millie.’

  ‘And let’s use the silver teapot and the good china for our tea.’

  ‘It’ll be like playing kings and queens!’

  Holding hands the ‘royalty’ swept downstairs, wearing jeans and old riding pants with their simple cotton shirts, one with a glorious strand of pearls swinging to her waist, the other with opal lights of green, gold and rose sparkling at her throat.

  Saskia had taken the news of their move from Tingulla well. Since returning from her two weeks in Sydney with Sarah and John and young Tim she seemed calmer, adjusting to the gaping hole in their lives.

  Queenie had told her there were money problems, that Uncle Colin would be taking over running Tingulla for a while. ‘There are too many memories here for us at the moment, Saskia. I think we need to make a change in our lives.’

  ‘But we will come back to Tingulla, Mummy?’

  ‘Of course, we’ll be back, my sweet. And,’ Queenie added firmly under her breath, ‘I promise you that, my darling. If it’s the last thing I do.’

  She resolved with steely determination that every moment of every day would be put towards regaining her property, her heritage, her Dreaming land — her rightful home in this world.

  Queenie had no clear plans. She knew she could never tolerate a moment at Tingulla under the same roof as Colin and Dina.

  The stock at Cricklewood had been sold. The Brahmans and the Herefords had fetched high prices. The auctioneer made a big point of the value of the beasts, calling it a pioneering herd that would be worth double the investment of ordinary stock, and had pointedly added it was a forced sale from Tingulla. Everyone knew who was selling and why, and when it was knocked down to Reg Coombes from Kilarney, he admitted he’d paid’a bit over the odds’. But, he added’if it’s helping Queenie Hanlon, it’s worth it. Besides, she knows what she’s doing, so I’ll go along with these Brahmans if she reckons they’re good.’

  Queenie was able to pay off what was owing to the local merchants. That left the personal loan at the bank still outstanding. She told the bank manager she intended moving to Sydney, to stay with Sarah and John, and she’d try and get on her feet in the city.

  ‘Is that wise, Queenie? You’re a country girl. Your skills are on the land. I can’t see you in the city. What will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I have faith in myself. And I just sense it’s the right thing. I need a total change. Somehow I’ll make money.’

  She and Saskia took their clothes, but little else. Saskia had her favourite books and the blue wool wombat she’d loved since a baby, but she had to leave Devil, her young dingo behind. Jim promised he’d take care of the yellow-eyed dog who never left Saskia’s side.

  Jim and Millie would stay on, there was nowhere for them to go, and they would be needed. Queenie felt a little better knowing they would both be there looking after Tingulla and watching over its spirit.

  Millie was especially upset. She kept r
ushing up to Saskia to give her a hug, pleading with Queenie to let her come to Sydney and help them get settled.

  ‘Millie, I don’t know what I’ll be doing. I’ll stay with Sarah and John till I decide what I’m going to do.’

  ‘Then you’ll send for me, Queenie? You and Saskia need me.’

  ‘Jim needs you too, Millie.’

  ‘Not as much as you two do. And he understands.’

  Queenie hugged her. ‘We’ll see, Millie, we’ll see.’

  The only other personal items Queenie took were the collection of fine works of art her mother had left to her. The twelve paintings included work by some early Australian artists who had painted poignant scenes of outback life — Frederick McCubbin, Tom Roberts and Julian Ashton. Also inherited from her mother were several valuable English paintings including a Turner landscape. Patrick and Rose had some Aboriginal bark paintings which Queenie packed, but did not intend to sell. Snowy had explained the Dreaming story depicted in each one and Queenie felt they were tangible and important links with the soul of Tingulla. Besides, she knew Aboriginal art work was not yet considered ‘collectable’. Her plan was to sell the rest of the collection to pay off the bank and give her a toehold in Sydney.

  Inevitably the day came when Queenie had to leave Tingulla. She had mulled over in her mind how she would cope with it. Days before, she found herself walking about the property, touching the trunk of a tree, picking a flower and putting it between the pages of a book, running her hands over the sun-warmed sandstone blocks of the homestead.

  She took Nareedah for long rides, not wanting to think each time might be the last. Nareedah stared at her with mournful eyes, sensing the sadness in Queenie’s heart. She wrapped her arms about the Arabian’s strong neck and laid her cheek against the velvety skin.

  ‘Jim will look after you, old girl,’ she whispered. ‘Till I come back.’

  On the last morning Jim and Millie put the bags in the car ready to drive Queenie and Saskia into town to catch the train. They had decided the long train ride south would be nicer than rushing in a plane. There was no hurry. Queenie had no commitments, no plans, no one waiting.