The Post at Gundoee

by Amanda Doyle

  Lindsay sank down on the bed in a confusion of surprise and bewilderment One of the Bennetts! Lindsay had no idea who the Bennetts were, but if he was one of them, she supposed that that must account for his air of undisputed authority and the frequent trips to other properties in that graceful red-and-silver plane of his.

  As for the swimming—well, she shouldn’t be surprised at that, either. Recalling the grace, speed, and power of the dawn performer whom she still secretly watched sometimes she could only think what an inappropriate exercising pool for a swimmer of international calibre was that muddy, high-banked ground tank, with its brackish water and makeshift springboard. Lindsay couldn’t remember any names in that connection. Not being good at sport herself, she had had only a minimal interest in its various spheres, and it would have been a few years ago, anyway, because from all she had read about the big-time, one retired early from that particular level of competition. Why, by about twenty-six years of age one was almost regarded as passé! She’d have been a mere schoolgirl when Rod Bennett was at the peak in his field!

  Not that she had reason to doubt anything which Carleen had said. Even that bit about Rod’s being the toast of Brisbane society was synonymous with what Mannie had already told her.

  But Carleen here? Something inside Lindsay went cold at the mere thought. She had found herself a haven of peace on this great, lonely station. Away from the hateful hurly-burly of the city, she could feel her cramped personality slowly emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis. Tentatively at first, more securely now, Lindsay was beginning to regard herself as a part of Gundooee. Her relationship with the men was a warming one, full of fun and joking. Forthright criticisms, outspoken comments, gruff compliments were meted out to her in turn, all part and parcel of these big, spare-talking, easy-going station-hands, who had taken this particular ‘blinkin’ lost-lookin’ little sheila’ to their hearts, showing her the ropes, and protecting her from Rod’s possible ire when the need arose. They cunningly cushioned her mistakes, concealed her ignorance to the best of their not inconsiderable, and sometimes downright ingenious ability.

  Carleen here? Oh, no, she couldn’t possibly. It would all be spoilt, the whole precariously satisfactory situation!

  Lindsay got up off the bed, sat down instead at her dressing-table, and wrote quickly, with determination.

  ‘Dear Carleen, Thank you for your letter. I’m so glad that your modelling series with Sarino was such a success. Congratulations! You must have worked very hard to deserve that result from such a demanding creature! I’m afraid you would find life very dull out here. There is really nothing exciting to do, as I’m busy most of the time (I have to do a lot of other things besides the actual keeping of the books, as it turns out!) I wouldn’t be able to be with you very much at all. In any case, I feel my employer would regard it as something of an impertinence and an imposition to ask one of my relatives to stay, when I’ve been here such a very short space of time myself. I’m sure you’ll understand. Please give my love to Aunt and Uncle.

  As always, Lindsay.’

  She sealed the envelope, addressed and stamped it, and took the mail-bag back to the pilot in the kitchen.

  ‘ ’Day, Lindsay.’ It was the same man who had brought her here from Emmadanda all those weeks ago. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘Not too bad, Mac, thank you. And you?’

  ‘Mannie and I are catching up on all the gossip, you might say.’ He sipped cautiously at his steaming mug of tea, twinkled from the old woman to the young girl. ‘I was just telling her you can expect company tomorrow, probably. Margie Lockwith from over at Dinewan was telling me she might drop in tomorrow to see Rod.’

  ‘Who is Margie Lockwith?’

  ‘The Dinewan Lockwiths. My last call before here. A real nice kid, Margie. You’ll like her. A lot of people reckon that she and Rod might make a go of it yet.’

  ‘Now, Mac!’ Mannie’s voice was reproving. ‘That’s idle gossip, and you know it!’

  ‘Maybe. But where there’s smoke there’s often fire. Anyway, he couldn’t get anyone more suitable, could he, Mannie, you’ll have to admit that? There’s nothing that Margie can’t do—rides like a native, swims like a fish, sews, paints. You name it, Margie does it! To my mind, she’d make the ideal wife for some lucky cove, and with Rod around, no other blighter gets a look-in. As for her cooking—wow!’

  ‘She’s a capable lass,’ conceded Mannie, ‘and a very nice person, too.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. That’s what I’m saying.' Mac stood up, slung the mail-bag over his shoulder. ‘She’s a real nice girl. She’ll make a good friend for Lindsay here, too. That’s all I mean. You don’t mind, but I told her all about Lindsay being here, just a pint-sizer, I said, and all on her own. You’ll like Margie, Lindsay.’

  And when Margie arrived, Lindsay found that she did like her, just as the mail-pilot had predicted.

  Margie dropped in, next day, quite literally. It seemed that as well as all those other wonderful things she was able to do, she could also fly a plane. She brought it down with a show of feminine skill on the station airstrip, and came to meet Lindsay, who had run out of the store at the unexpected droning noise low overhead.

  A small, neat girl, she was, and therefore something of a shock to Lindsay, who had visualised a frighteningly capable-looking creature of Amazonian proportions. She had flaxen hair, bleached into oddly attractive streaks by the sun, a complexion as smooth and gold as a ripening peach, lazy blue eyes, and a good-natured mouth. When she smiled, Lindsay thought she had never seen such beautiful, white, even, pearly teeth as Margie’s. They were perhaps her best feature, and as she smiled very often, one was constantly reminded of their particular fascination.

  Instead of shaking hands, Margie put both of her own hands on Lindsay’s shoulders, and gave the other girl something between a shake and a hug. The general message this greeting conveyed was one of open and unaffected friendliness, and Lindsay found herself instantly drawn to this pretty young woman who had flown in on that aeroplane as though it were the easiest thing in the world, and who still twirled a large pair of glare-goggles on one finger.

  ‘Hullo! You must be Lindsay. I knew the moment I saw you! Mac has told me all about you, you see.’

  Lindsay smiled. ‘I heard you were coming,’ she confessed. ‘But I never dreamed you’d come down right out of the sky like that!’

  Margie laughed, shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s the quickest way, after all. It takes ages to go round by Peperina, and the roads are practically non-existent. I wouldn’t see nearly so many people if I hadn’t learned to get myself around that way—not the ones I want to see, anyway!’

  ‘Does that apply to me, by any chance, along with all those other lucky ones?’ Rod Bennett’s deep chuckle startled Lindsay. He was right behind her, but she had been unaware of his approach.

  ‘You know it does! That’s why I came on Sunday, to make sure I’d find you about the homestead somewhere. How are you, Rod?’

  Lindsay saw him gather the other girl against him with a muscular brown arm, hug her in a casual, almost brotherly manner, and let her go, grinning lazily.

  ‘Pretty fit, thanks. It’s good see you, Margie. Have you met—er—Miss Dutten?’

  Margie raised a shapely eyebrow in surprise.

  ‘Miss Dutten? Good gracious, Rod, what a horrid, unfriendly sound that has! I suppose you must mean Lindsay?’ She was teasing him.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then why call her by that other fearsome title? It sounds too formal for words! Don’t tell me that he always says it that way, does he, Lindsay?’

  ‘Well—’ Lindsay was scarlet.

  ‘Rod, I think that’s unkind! He can be, when he wants to, you know, Lindsay. The old lord-and-master routine. He’s probably still mad at you for being a girl, when he was expecting a man to replace that awful Bob Lowney. We heard all about it on the galah next day. Are you, Rod? Still mad?’

  Rod Bennett linked
Margie’s arm in his, and turned her towards the house. He didn’t seem angry or perturbed, merely amused.

  ‘Just leave me to run my own station in my own way, will you, Margie? My little meddlesome Margie?’ There was genuine affection in the look he bent on the girl now walking at his side—a patient, caressing, indulgent sort of look, Lindsay couldn’t help noticing.

  Margie smiled up at him, engagingly, because of those beautiful pearly teeth. There was laughter in her own eyes, persuasion, too.

  ‘Well, I’m not coming ten steps further until you promise to say Lindsay, like the rest of us. Poor girl, what will she think of us? You told me when you engaged him—her, I mean—that the new book-keeper had had a good deal of experience of Outback life, and I’ll bet this is the first Outback property she’s ever been on where she was called Miss Dutten.’

  ‘I’m prepared to bet on that, too!’ Rod’s deep voice was dry. He lifted a satiric eyebrow tellingly at Lindsay to let her know just what he meant. Then he seemed to take pity on her guilt-ridden expression, and capitulated with sudden, quite devastating charm. It appeared that he would do a lot for Margie! ‘Very well, then—Lindsay. Leave your work at the cottage just now, and come up to the house with us, will you? It will be an opportunity for you to get to know another of your own sex in this wilderness of men you’ve landed among. There have no doubt been times since your arrival when you may have longed for the company of a girl of your own age. I’m sure Margie will be delighted to oblige.’ Margie giggled. ‘Said with all the superiority of his thirty years! Come on, then, Lindsay. Let’s conduct this tottering ancient up to his homestead, shall we?’

  The conversation at the table was animated that day. Margie kept up a non-stop flow, and although it was mostly about people whom Lindsay had never met, it was nevertheless entertaining and amusing. Rod Bennett smiled a lot more than he usually did when there were just Mannie and herself present, Lindsay couldn’t help noticing, and when he did, it was in that slow, endearing way that lifted his mouth at the corners and spread a warm .light into his eyes. There was no doubt at all that he was uncharacteristically well-disposed towards the enchanting, gentle Margie!

  When she was leaving, she kissed Rod, then Mannie, then Lindsay, one after the other, without favour. It was a heartwarming gesture that brought Lindsay into the circle. She found herself beaming with pleasure, but if Rod had even noticed, his expression remained unreadable.

  ‘We must introduce Lindsay around, Rod. Maybe I could bring some of the others over to play tennis, if the court is in working order.’

  ‘That would be nice for Lindsay, Margie. I don’t think the court has been rolled or marked for some time, but I’m sure Mickie and Shortie will be delighted to oblige if it means the chance of a game with some other young folk.’

  ‘And you? You’ll play?’ Margie looked expectant, cajoling.

  Rod grimaced.

  ‘Probably not, I think, Margie. Not this time. I’ve rather a lot on hand just now.’

  It’s because of me, thought Lindsay miserably. He usually plays, but not this time, not when I’m included. He’s never going to approve of me being here, never, never.

  Margie remained cheerfully unconvinced.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she temporised. ‘But you tell them to get the court ready, anyway, will you, Lindsay, and I’ll round up a few of the folk one day. If we don’t make our own entertainment out here, nothing ever happens in the social line, and I know there are heaps of people dying to meet you—especially after all the speculation that’s been going on over the galah!’

  ‘You women and your galah,’ Rod chided, grinning suddenly. ‘Get going now, Margie, before the light beats you. And give your parents my regards.’

  ‘I will, and they sent theirs, of course. ’Bye, Mannie. ’Bye, Lindsay. I’ll be seeing you.’

  Lindsay watched the man and the girl walking companionably together back to the airstrip. She was bending over her files in the cottage when the little plane took off again, and from the window she could see Rod Bennett waving his hat as it banked once around the homestead and then soared off out of sight.

  Several times during the following week, Lindsay found herself thinking about Margie’s visit—wondering, too, about Carleen, and how she would take the news that her proposal had been turned down. Knowing well how much her cousin liked to get her own way without dispute, Lindsay could only feel thankful that she would not be present when Carleen opened her note. She could well imagine the sulky pout on that pretty mouth, the thwarted snapping of those lovely eyes!

  It was towards the end of the week that Herb sidled up to the veranda next to Rod’s office. Lindsay was busy checking over the numbered bottles in the station medical box, which was kept on a wall-fixture on the veranda, she supposed because it was a readily accessible place for all and sundry in an emergency, although only she, Rod, and Mannie were in possession of a key.

  Shorty had cut his arm rather badly only two days before, and Lindsay had had her first experience of applying first-aid on the directions of the Flying Doctor over the transceiver. It was a nasty wound, and both she and Shorty had been several shades paler by the time she had finished cleaning and binding the arm and dispensing antibiotic tablets from one of the numbered containers. She felt that she had acquitted herself not too badly for a beginner, and had had an unexpected reward in Rod’s quiet ‘Well done, Lindsay,’ when he heard about it that evening. Artie, who had shepherded the injured Shorty to the homestead and had been present at the performance, cancelled that out by exclaiming,

  ‘Well done, boss? Crikey, yer should’ve been there! She was shakin’ like a rakin’ jelly! I near bust me sides at the look on Shorty’s face—Nursie here was that white around the gills we reckoned she might cough up any time!’

  ‘Artie—’

  ‘That’ll do, Art.’ Rod’s voice held reproof, but there was a smile lurking in his eye. ‘Maybe she did even better than I thought,’ he added kindly, and Lindsay felt quick colour coming into her cheeks at such unexpected praise.

  She had dressed the arm successfully each day since then, and had boiled and re-rolled the used bandages. She laid them in their place now, and turned at Herb’s approach.

  ‘Hullo, Herb.’

  ‘G’day, Lindsay. Are yer busy?’

  ‘Not too busy to help if I can. What’s up?’

  Herb took off his hat, and twirled it self-consciously between his fingers. Then he put it on the small wicker table and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It was soiled and thumbed, as though it had been folded and unfolded a good many times by Herb’s own leathery hands.

  He coughed apologetically.

  ‘I was thinkin’, Lindsay. It’s like this, see. I been tryin’ ter write a letter fer about six years now, and I sort of reckoned—well, now that you’re here—that maybe between us we could ’ave a go. That’s if you ain’t too busy?’

  ‘Not at all, Herb. I’ll help if I can,’ she reiterated.

  Herb gave a grunt.

  ‘That’s great! I reckoned yer might. It takes a feller a long time on ’is own, yer know,’ he confessed candidly. ‘I s’pose that’s ’ow I ain’t never got round ter doin’ it fer a year or two. I thought I’d better make the most of you while we got yer, Lindsay. Yer see, we all know Rod don’t ’old with wimmen book-keepers, so I reckon yer won’t be ’ere for ever. Not that we don’t want yer!’ he added hastily, as if he sensed the surge of distress in his listener. ‘We’ll cover up for yer just as long as we can, yer can bet on that! But—well, you know Rod.’

  I’m beginning to, thought Lindsay sadly. That’s the whole trouble. I’m beginning to, and I don’t want to go away.

  ‘Would you like me to write it for you, Herb, and you can sign it? Or I could type it out for you, down at the cottage?’

  ‘Maybe if we was ter get it wrote first ’ Herb dithered. ‘It’s ter me wife, actually.’

  ‘Your wife?’ Lindsay tried to conceal her surprise
. ‘I didn’t know you were married, Herb.’

  ‘I done it years ago, Lindsay,’ Herb responded glumly. ‘But I didn’t go much on it, not fer long. I reckon I was as blind as a coot at the time. Shearin’ out on the Barwon, we was. We was laid off a while between sheds, and the beer was runnin’ a ruddy banker that night. There was this dame, see, and—well, I got in tow with ’er, somehow, and between ’er and this binge I was on, when I come ter me senses, blimey if she ’adn’t got the parson, and the weddin’ bells was ringin’ and the lot! Nell, ’er name was.’

  He sighed reminiscently, opened up the paper, and spread it out beside his hat on the little cane table.

  ‘This is what I’ve wrote so far, Lindsay. Dear Nell, I ’ope you are well.’ A gruff chuckle. ‘That’s poetry, ain’t it? Nell and well. Reckon she never knew she’d married a blinkin’ ’Enry Lawson! ’Ave yer got any ideas, Lindsay, as ter what we can put now?’

  ‘It’s difficult when you haven’t—er—seen her for a while,’ Lindsay replied tactfully. ‘How long is it, Herb?’

  ‘Must be about ten or twelve years, I reckon. She’s livin’ at Toowoomba, see. ’Er ma’s got a cafe there, but I ain’t been ter see ’er for years, see. There ain’t been nothink ter take me over Toowoomba way, ’as there?’ reasoned Herb mildly. ‘What I mean is, why should I want ter to go to a place like Toowoomba?’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ murmured Lindsay delicately.