Rosie realised she was genuinely glad that Gerald was happy at last. He had phoned that morning from Giddy’s with Christmas wishes for them all. Although he and Margaret weren’t officially speaking to each other, she had heard her mother wish him Happy Christmas when she answered the phone.
‘I’ll get one of the children for you then,’ she said promptly afterwards and put the phone down to call out.
‘Julian? Rosie? It’s Gerald wanting to speak to you.’
Rosie had noticed real changes in Gerald over the past months. He now treated her in the same way as Julian, giving her lots of information and advice about the running of the farm. He didn’t seem to miss the place at all, but he said he missed Julian and her. Today on the phone he’d even said he was proud of Rosie and the job she was doing for the whole family.
Rosie sighed as she looked at the sleepy summer river that quietly slid past their Christmas picnic. Despite the heat, Rosie shivered as she remembered the fury of the icy winter river, tugging at her clothes, dragging her down. Crushing the breath from her. Jim’s terrified face flashed into her mind, and the fearful roll of Oakwood’s eye, her panicking dogs being swept out of sight. Her memory longed to wander to the hut and relive the tenderness of Jim’s touch. She could almost hear his comforting, gentle voice, and feel the warmth of his body against hers. But Rosie determinedly pushed these memories aside. She’d resigned herself to never seeing Jim Mahony again. Suddenly the dogs leapt up and barked, looking towards the rise. A ute was approaching.
‘Time for a swim,’ said Julian, getting up. Evan followed him.
‘Aren’t you going to see who it is?’ Rosie asked.
But Evan and Julian had skidded down the river bank and slipped into the cool water.
‘Beers are getting too hot here,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ll just stick them in a shady pool,’ and he left too.
‘Mum? What’s going on?’ Rosie said, as Margaret remained sitting while the ute came nearer.
‘Maybe it’s another surprise for you?’
‘What are you all up to?’ Rosie asked. Through the haze of heat Rosie recognised the vehicle and smiled.
Dressed in his best work clothes, his hair combed and trimmed beneath his hat, Billy O’Rourke walked over to Rosie and Margaret as the dogs danced about him in greeting. He was carrying a large square parcel. What on earth was Billy doing here on Christmas day?
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Merry Christmas to you both!’
‘Hi,’ said Rosie, puzzled. ‘Merry Christmas to you too.’ And she gave him a quick kiss.
‘I’ve come to give you this,’ he said, handing her the parcel. ‘Margaret, Duncan and I organised it.’
Rosie tore away the paper. Framed in dark timber was the first article in the Gleeson kelpie series.
‘It’s a proof page that Duncan did for you. It’ll be run in The Chronicle in the New Year,’ Billy said.
‘Wow!’ said Rosie. ‘It’s fantastic.’
A photo of a proud prick-eared kelpie was at its centre and beneath the title, Casterton, Birthplace of the Kelpie, was written in bold type: The first in a series by Rosie Jones.
‘It’s to thank you for all your hard work,’ Billy said.
‘And to let you know how proud we are of you,’ Margaret said.
Rosie looked down at the framed article. She could hardly believe she had done it. After all she’d been through, she’d completed her job.
‘It’s come up all right, hasn’t it?’ Billy polished a corner of the glass with his sleeve.
Rosie looked down to the river bank, where Duncan waved a beer in the air at her. Then she looked at her mother.
‘There’s something else, Rosie,’ Margaret said nervously. ‘Billy and I have been talking. And we agree that it’s time to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Here,’ Billy said, ‘let me take that.’ He took the frame and leant it against the picnic table.
Margaret took a breath. ‘It’s Billy,’ she said at last. ‘He’s your father.’
Rosie felt emotion surge through her as she looked at Billy’s kind, smiling face, as if for the first time. Their days together training the dogs and horses flashed back in her mind. That time by the river at the races, when his dog had come to sit beside her. Billy had always been there, hovering, nearby. He had been her safety net, and she hadn’t even seen it. She pointed at him.
‘Oh my God!’ she said, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘You!’
Billy stepped forward, tears in his eyes, and scooped her up in the biggest hug. Rosie held him at arm’s length and looked from Margaret to Billy.
‘But why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
Billy shook his head. ‘At first I didn’t know. Not for sure.’
‘And I kept it from him,’ Margaret said quietly, shamefaced.
‘When I saw you all grown up, getting about town and in at the newspaper, I twigged. I just knew you’d have to have O’Rourke in you. It was when I saw you work a dog – then I really knew. But I kept it to myself. No sense in stirring up trouble. I just thought I’d keep an eye on you from a distance. I know you’ve been through a lot.’
Rosie looked at Margaret accusingly. She should have told Billy the truth years ago.
‘I know I’ve been stupid and selfish,’ Margaret said reading her daughter’s look. ‘When the truth finally came out and Gerald left, I thought it was high time I cleaned up my messes and let Billy know.’
‘You need to forgive your mother, Rosie,’ Billy said. ‘We were both young and silly.’
‘Now some of us are old and silly,’ Margaret added.
Rosie shook her head and smiled. She looked at Billy as if for the first time, taking in his short stature, like hers. His naturally tanned skin, like hers. And his blue, blue eyes. Like hers.
‘And all this time I thought it was Carrots,’ Rosie said at last.
‘What?’ said Margaret. ‘Give me some credit!’
And they all began to laugh.
Chapter 36
When Rosie drove into the main street of Casterton, it was as if the sun and the clouds were having a tussle over who would dominate the day. It was the Saturday morning of the Queen’s Birthday weekend in June. Clouds blew across the sun and sent a fine spray of rain onto the street. Then the sun would emerge again, seemingly victorious, making the road glisten.
Before she reached the cordoned-off area where the parade would take place, Rosie pulled up outside Mr Seymour’s house. When she walked into the living room she found him still in his flannel pyjamas.
‘You’re coming to the kelpie parade like that?’
He seemed as nervous as his cat, which sat staring at her with big eyes from beneath the coffee table. Perhaps he was embarrassed that his pyjamas had polar bears with beanies patterned all over them.
‘Oh, lass, I overdid the Tullamore Dew last night. I’m not in the right state of mind for it. Plus the Meals on Wheels ducks are bound to catch me. They’ll be down the street selling their raffle tickets and checking out who’s pregnant or who’s got fat, or who didn’t dress too well. If you don’t mind, I’ll give it a miss today.’
As if to confirm his state, Mr Seymour gave a loud rasping cough and clutched his chest.
‘Ooh! Doesn’t sound good,’ said Rosie. ‘But then, I never know if you’re acting or not … you’ve got that number down pat. Reckon you’ll get an Oscar for it!’ She wrinkled her nose at him. ‘So I guess that means you’re not my hot date for the kelpie black-tie ball tonight?’
‘Looks like you’ll have to find some other fella,’ he said.
‘Oh well. I think I’ll go it alone. I’m too wound up about the auction tomorrow to party hard tonight. Going to get an early one.’
‘Good on you, lass. Good luck with your dogs. You’ll be grand. Jack Gleeson would be proud of you.’
Rosie flinched. Didn’t he mean Jim Mahony would be proud? Perhaps he did.
‘I’ll come out the fron
t in my slippers, just to get a peek at your fine dogs.’
Outside his ramshackle house, Rosie pointed to each dog as the kelpies bashed their tails against the ute, wagging them furiously.
‘The blue and tan dog is Chester – he’s the alpha dog of the litter. Challenges me to my core. Then there’s Sally, the black and tan runt. Then the two red and tans are Clyde and Coil. Clyde is the larger of the two, with the bit of white on his chest.’
‘Oh, they’re a grand collection. If you work them well, you’ll make some money on them this weekend.’
‘Money’s not why I’m doing it.’
‘Oh? What then?’
‘Not sure really,’ said Rosie. ‘Just because I love it, I suppose.’
‘How will you be when it comes to saying goodbye to them all?’
‘Mmm? I haven’t got to that bit. I figure there’ll be more litters. And I know they’re born to work so I can’t keep all of them. My other dogs have already been missing out … so, on the bright side, it’ll be great to finally have fewer kelpies. But in truth, I’m sure I’ll bawl like a baby.’
‘Well, when you’re done, bring us a bottle of Tully and we’ll farewell them in style.’
‘Deal,’ she said, rising on to her toes and kissing Mr Seymour lightly on his grey stubbly face.
‘Crikey! What are you thinking, girl? The neighbours will see!’ he said, winking at her. ‘Now get going, you brassy young thing!’
Smiling, Rosie turned and ran down the path towards the ute. She could hear the band warming up as the sound of tubas tumbled up the street towards her. The parade would start soon and she wanted to be part of it.
Evan and Julian, decked out in Driza-Bones, held onto Sally and Chester, while Coil and Clyde stood at Rosie’s heels. The young dogs were excited by the sight of the other kelpies that danced around them. Some dogs ignored the others, standing quietly beside their owners. Others play-bounced and pulled on their leads. Most of the handlers wore Driza-Bone coats and hats to celebrate the classic image of the stockman. At the start of the parade, the rain came down in a light shower, then suddenly the sun was back again and as the parade rolled down the street people came out from under the shop eaves to clap and cheer. There were kelpies herding Indian runner ducks along the way, and floats that the schoolchildren had decorated with banners, posters and larger-than-life cut-outs of sheep and dogs. On the Scouts’ float, a little boy in his khaki uniform sat on an outdoor dunny, toilet paper in one hand, waving with the other. There were old bikes, vintage cars and fat utes. And men and women riding Australian Stockhorses and Walers that kept their cool even though the bagpipes blared behind them and the bass drum boomed and echoed off the high walls of the middle pub.
As the stockmen cracked their whips, Rosie felt goosebumps rise on her skin. She pictured Jack Gleeson riding down the unsealed street of Casterton with Kelpie at his heels. She looked at the stockmen ahead of her and at the kelpies all around. It felt like Jack was here today.
The sun burst through the clouds with even more vigour just as the parade finished and the participants congregated near the bridge. The Glenelg River swept silently by and the river gums glistened with the morning’s rain. Julian was introducing Evan about and people were shaking their hands and asking about the new tree business. Rosie looked around and saw many of the skilled men and women she had watched competing at the dog trials over the past few months. Though Rosie had worked Gibbo in a few of the novice events, she hadn’t managed to win any, but each time she felt she was closer to a trophy. Not that winning was important. For Rosie, the main thrill was in meeting the other dog handlers who knew so much about the sport and the breed. The reports she had back from the old men who watched her were good. They were sparing with their praise, but it was heartfelt.
She felt an arm being slung about her neck and a finger prodding her ribs. She turned to see James Dean, with Amanda by his side.
‘Who let you out of the pub?’
‘Christine’s got it all under control,’ said Amanda. ‘We just nicked out to see the street parade.’
‘Would’ve been more interesting if the theme was Kelpies and Kinis …’
‘Kinis?’ asked Rosie.
‘Yeah. Reckon you should’ve worn your bikini in the parade. Shown us all a bit of nip,’ said James Dean, waggling his head and smiling.
‘Oh, Andrew,’ said Amanda flatly, rolling her eyes.
Rosie was just punching him on the shoulder when a lady with neat blonde hair and a brand new Akubra approached them. She smiled a polished, professional smile.
‘Hello,’ she said smoothly but not insincerely, ‘my name’s Annie Morgan-Smith. I’m from the Nine Network.’
Rosie, Amanda and James Dean looked at her blankly. Clyde sniffed at her neat white moleskins and brand-new R M Williams boots as the lady stooped to scratch his ears. She looked up to them.
‘Are you local?’
‘Yes,’ Amanda said.
‘Oh, good. I’m scouting for extras for the next series of McLeod’s Daughters. We film it not far from here, you know. In South Australia. Do you know the show?’
‘Watch it every Wednesday,’ said James Dean, stepping forward.
‘You all look pretty fair dinkum,’ she said in her city-chic voice.
‘Well thanks, I think,’ said Rosie cheekily. ‘We do try.’
‘We’re interested in casting some real-life young country guys for a couple of the episodes. You’ve got the sort of look we’re after,’ she said, eyeing Andrew.
‘Really?’ he said, his eyes opening wide.
‘Really,’ purred Annie Morgan-Smith.
‘Oh, come on,’ said James Dean, rolling his eyes as the penny dropped. ‘Billy’s set you up for this, hasn’t he? Well, tell him he’s a funny bastard and there’s a talent scout after him for a part in Catherine Comes on Casterton.’
‘Sorry?’ she looked at him blankly. Then she pulled out a business card and handed it to James Dean. ‘Why don’t you give me a call?’
James Dean looked at the card and suddenly realised Annie Morgan-Smith was deadly serious.
‘Yeah. Um. Sure,’ he said, blinking with disbelief.
‘Or better still,’ butted in Amanda with her friendly, pretty smile, ‘come up to our pub for lunch. You can have one on the house and we’ll fill you in on his acting talents.’
‘Acting talents? So you’ve got experience? It just gets better!’ said Annie, smiling.
Amanda pointed up the street. ‘You’ll find us there in the middle pub, on the left.’
‘I’ll see you around lunchtime then,’ said Annie, before disappearing into the crowd.
Rosie looked up at James Dean’s handsome profile and shook her head.
‘Acting experience,’ she scoffed. ‘Are you going to show her your Puppetry of the Penis repertoire? That’ll definitely get you a gig!’
‘I’m going to show her everything, baby …’ James Dean said, shimmying his hips and shoulders like Peter Allen. ‘This is it, the launch of my new career – the bright lights and the big time! Me and Mands are on our way to the stars! I’ll be co-hosting a show with Steve Irwin and Troy Dann before you know it, and Mands will be my right-hand sexy pin-up girl. We’ll take Australian telly by storm –’
‘More like The Dorks and Dimwits Show,’ said Amanda dryly.
‘Come on, lovely titties,’ he said to Amanda. ‘Let’s go and tell my mum. She’ll wet herself when I tell her I’ve been scalped. See you later, Rose-by-name, horny-by-nature,’ he said, grinning at her. And with that James Dean turned and strode off up the street, strutting like a puffed-up pigeon.
Amanda pulled a ‘Can you believe him?’ face for Rosie and followed him up the street, pinching his backside and stirring him as they walked along. Rosie looked at the laughing couple as they disappeared into the crowd. They seemed so comfortable together, and so in love. The loneliness started to creep in, but then Rosie felt the warmth of Clyde leaning on her leg. Who nee
ded men when you had dogs and horses? she thought. She began looking around for Evan and Julian. The festivities would soon be under way and she wanted to enter the dogs in some of the events. The dog high jump was on next. Then the kelpie hill climb, on the big hill overlooking the main street, and, later, the Indian runner duck herding trials, where competitors had to steer five unruly ducks through obstacles with their dogs.
Later that night, at the kelpie black-tie ball, the band belted out a rock-and-roll tune in the high-ceilinged town hall. Rosie sculled another test-tube full of vile-looking green cocktail, and thought to herself that she should head home soon. The auction was early the next day and her gut was twisted with nerves at the thought of demonstrating four dogs in front of a massive crowd. The duck trialling today had been scary enough. Dixie had come third and Rosie had sighed with relief after it was all over. She had never worked a dog in front of such a large crowd and the number anticipated for tomorrow’s auction was even greater.
The hall was filled with locals and with men and women from across Australia. Everyone was relaxing before tomorrow’s big event. Evan and Julian swung Rosie about and danced with her until she was breathless. Billy took her for a waltz. James Dean and Amanda made her dance the chicken dance and Duncan and Margaret were in each other’s arms most of the night. From across the room, Dubbo and Prue waved to Rosie. Prue’s hair was curled and pinned up at the sides with diamante hairclips and she was swathed in pink silk. Dubbo was looking chubby again, red-faced and shy in his dinner suit with a matching pink cummerbund. Rosie roamed over to them.
‘I must say you both look very dapper tonight!’ she said.
‘And you look nice too,’ said Prue, looking over Rosie’s simple black dress. Dubbo looked down at his suit.
‘The pink bits were Prue’s idea. The dogs didn’t recognise me when I walked past them tonight. Barked at me like I’d come to rob my own sheds!’
‘How’s Jess going with her training?’ Rosie asked, but the band was too loud and drowned out Dubbo’s reply. In the end he just gave her the thumbs-up about the pup before Prue whisked him away again, pulling his head down into the chasm of her cleavage. Rosie smiled after them. Now they were made for each other, she thought.
The Stockmen Page 27