The Post at Gundoee

by Amanda Doyle

  ‘It was purely a case of rotten luck, Artie, that’s all.’ Mick’s voice was conciliatory. ‘She just didn’t seem to see the ball, and wham! I must say, she wasn’t playing all that well, in any case.’

  ‘I ’eard as much from Shorty. I wouldn’t put me money on ’er against a blinkin’ mosquito, with a tennis racquet. But this other—well, I reckon we ’ad a good chance, Mickie, until this latest flummoxer. I got me own ideas about that, too,’ Artie added mysteriously.

  ‘There’s not much hope at the moment, Art, I grant you, but maybe we can do something to tip the scales a bit. You leave it with me.’

  ‘Well, if yer don’t do better than yer did on the tennis-court, ’eaven ’elp us! Our Lindsay’s goin’ around lookin’ about as fetchin’ as a flippin’ pirate, with that yeller patch all round ’er eye!’

  ‘You leave it with me,’ shouted Mickie again above the hammering. ‘I’ll think of something. Oh, hullo, Lindsay. A beaut morning, isn’t it?’

  He grinned at her from his post at the head of the restive horse which his companion was busy shoeing.

  Artie looked up, too, rather sheepishly. He had a home-rolled cigarette and two shoeing nails stuck moistly between his lips, and the horse’s near front hoof between his legs. To Lindsay it was miraculous that he had been able to speak at all in his present state of occupation, let alone speak so loudly.

  ‘Hullo,’ she replied, with a friendly smile. ‘A nice day, yes.’

  ‘We was just talkin’ about yer, wasn’t we, Mick?’ Artie informed her now, quite unnecessarily.

  ‘About me, Art?’

  ‘Yeah, Lindsay, that’s right. Tell me, ’ow’s yer blinker comin’ on?’

  ‘If you mean my eye, you can see for yourself,’ returned Lindsay unhelpfully.

  Artie did. He placed the horse’s forefoot carefully back on the ground, returned his bent back to an upright position, and inspected her critically.

  ‘Jeez!’ he gloomed. ‘If you arst me, it was nicer purple. It’s gone a kind of a mustard yeller, ain’t it?’

  ‘That means it’s getting better. It will go on fading all the time now, and it’s not a bit sore any more, so that’s a relief. Soon it will be back to normal, I’m sure.’

  Back to its lily-pond green—only Rod never noticed any more, not these days.

  ‘Maybe not soon enough,’ Artie sighed almost under his breath.

  ‘Soon enough for what?’

  Better have this out here and now, Lindsay decided. In view of that disquieting exchange she had just heard, there was no time like the present to bring things out into the open. Whatever the men were up to—and it was obvious that they were up to something—Lindsay had no desire to be involved in any way. She was in enough trouble without them engineering any more!

  ‘For what?’ she insisted, determinedly.

  Artie scratched his ear bewilderedly, while Mickie stroked the velvet nose of the animal he was holding.

  ‘Aw, nothin’, really, Lindsay. Skip it.’

  ‘No, Artie, I won’t skip it—not this time.’

  ‘It ain’t nothin’, honest,’ he assured her with a gaze as blank and innocent as a lamb’s.

  Lindsay hesitated. He certainly appeared convincingly truthful, but—

  ‘Look here, you two,’ she said firmly, ‘I’m not going to ask if you don’t want to tell me, but there’s just one thing I think you should know. If it’s anything to do with the—er—the knockout stakes, you can forget about it. As a matter of fact, I mentioned it to Rod, and—’

  ‘You what?’ Mickie’s hand jerked the horse’s head unintentionally.

  ‘Slit me gizzard! Yer never?’ exclaimed Artie in disbelief. ‘What did ’e say?’

  ‘He said’—Lindsay told them very clearly and slowly—‘that there was absolutely no use in my even thinking of competing in it. That’s what he said.’

  She marched off, leaving the men staring at each other in consternation.

  ‘Maybe ’e’s bluffin’, of course, Mick. I reckon it’s still worth a try.’

  Artie’s considered comment, which just reached her ears as she disappeared, dispelled any satisfaction Lindsay was feeling that she had at last put a stop to their undisclosed machinations.

  She was finding out, the hard way, that there is no one so obstinate, determined, persistent, conniving, as a big, tough, casual, stubble-chinned outback station-hand with something to lose! She only wished she knew what Artie was conniving at. You’d think he and Mickie could see for themselves that, even with the aid of those riding lessons they had given her, she would never be good enough on a horse to enter an actual race.

  And the knockout stakes! It sounded like a very fast and very professional elimination race, that—not at all the sort of thing that Lindsay, who could do little more than cling precariously to Dusty’s long, bony back when he chose to trot, might ever win. Not ever!

  ‘My progress seems to be at a standstill, somehow,’ she confessed to Mick that evening. Like everything else in life at the moment, she could have added forlornly, but of course she didn’t. That was something one had to suffer in silence, just as one had to accept Rod’s distant courtesy, Carleen’s smug air of triumph, and the kindly, unspoken sympathy of the station-hands themselves, which in itself was enough to tell her that even they believed that she had been careless about that cupboard, and were sorry for her because she had incurred the Boss’s wrath.

  ‘Never mind, Lindsay,’ the young jackaroo replied comfortingly. ‘If you can just hang on for a couple of weeks, till we get the Dinewan block mustered, we’ll give you a really intensive course when we come back. That’s all you’re needing, you know—practice.’

  ‘Dinewan? Isn’t that Margie’s home? The Lockwith property?’

  ‘That’s correct. It’s right next their boundary, which is why it’s called that. It isn’t the furthest outcamp on the place by any means, but it’s the least accessible, in rougher country, with a river-bed between us and it. That’s why Margie finds it easier to pop over in her little plane.’

  ‘I see. And do you all go?’

  It would be almost a relief to be without Rod for a while, thought Lindsay mournfully. The old Rod was gone, and in his place was a tense-jawed, curt-tongued, bleak-eyed stranger whom Lindsay could well do without. If only Rod was going, the interval would give Lindsay time to condition herself, as best she could, to these new circumstances that prevailed here at the homestead. When he came back, he might even have forgotten about the lapse for which he believed her responsible, or, if not forgotten, at least forgiven!

  ‘Yes, we’ll all be out.’ She heard Mick’s answer with unmitigated relief. ‘It usually takes us a week or ten days out there, the rounding-up and branding. It’s scrubby, difficult country to work. Oh, hello there, Carleen, I was looking for you, as it happens. That’s what I came up to the house for.’

  Carleen raised an indifferent eyebrow, posed herself carefully in her chair to make the most of her lovely figure in the emerald shift she wore tonight.

  ‘Were you?’ she said with noticeable lack of enthusiasm, crossing her legs daintily and plucking a cigarette from her monogrammed gold case.

  ‘Yes. I’ll tell you what it is.’ Mick did not allow himself to be put off by her disinterest. ‘Tomorrow we’re going to be dropping dingo-baits from the air, and I wondered if you’d like to come too? It’s an exhilarating experience, one I’m sure you’d enjoy.’

  ‘Oh!’ Lindsay leaned forward eagerly. ‘Could I come too, Mick, do you think? I’d be so interested to see what you do.’

  ‘Sorry, Lindsay,’ he told her regretfully, ‘but there wouldn’t be room for you both. I’ll be handing the baits, and’—a pause—‘Rod himself will be the pilot, as always. It calls for quite skilled flying, you know.’

  ‘If Carleen isn’t keen—’ Lindsay glanced hopefully to where the other girl lounged back in her chair, smoking.

  ‘Who said I wasn’t keen?’ Carleen smiled rather snubbi
ngly. ‘Of course I’d love to go. Rod’s been promising to take me for a ride in his plane for ages.’

  ‘It will be around ten o’clock, then. You come down to the strip.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she promised airily, and even waved a friendly hand as Mick took his departure. ‘Perhaps, next time, you will get a turn, Lindsay,’ she said patronisingly, and as always, when Carleen looked like that, Lindsay found her fingers clenching tight against her palms in sheer irritation.

  The Carleen who stepped out on to the airstrip that morning was an elegant Carleen in beautiful separates of matching rose shantung. The open-necked shirt, the divided culotte-skirt into which it was tucked, the wide belt cinching her tiny waist, were appropriately casual and sporty—just the thing in which to do a stint of aerial dingo-baiting.

  The Carleen who returned was a different Carleen altogether. This Carleen was an abject Carleen, a depleted Carleen, a very sick Carleen, and judging by the glitter in her baleful blue eye as Mickie led her tenderly up the path, an angry Carleen, too, although at the moment she didn’t appear to have the energy with which to show it She leaned heavily on Mickie’s arm as she wobbled along at his side. Her cheeks were verging on what could only be described as chartreuse, her forehead moist and streaked with perspiration, her hair lank and unattractive, her pretty shantung outfit all limp and crushed and stained.

  ‘How dared you!’ Lindsay, standing speechlessly behind the gauze, heard Carleen almost spit the words out, albeit weakly. ‘To make a fool of me like that in front of Rod—oh!—how dare you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Carleen.’ There was solicitude in Mick’s tone as he supported her along the path. ‘But how was I to know you wouldn’t be an exactly happy passenger?’

  ‘Happy? Ugh! You knew.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t, or I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking you, would I? I was very sorry for you up there, believe me, especially when Rod got so angry. You mustn’t take his impatience too much to heart, though. As I said, low flying like that calls for a great deal of skill and judgement, and a chap has to give it all his concentration for every single second—even when someone’s being sick right there beside him, and begging him to stop.’ Mickie looked down at the wilting figure pityingly. ‘If only you hadn’t kept clutching at his sleeve, he wouldn’t have got so furious,’ he pointed out reasonably.

  ‘Well, you did nothing to help, I must say,’ she replied, with pure loathing in her voice.

  ‘I couldn’t very well, could I? I mean, I was so busy putting those baits down the shute on each run. It’s the low flying, you know, in this climate, that sometimes makes it just a little bit bumpy. The heat comes up off the ground to meet the aircraft—boom, boom, boom. That’s why one has to go fast when it gets rocky—’

  ‘Will you stop it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Carleen. I was only explaining why the—are you going to be sick again?’

  ‘My room—hurry!’

  ‘The east one, isn’t it? We’ll go in the other door, then. It’s quicker. Never mind, Carleen, you’ll soon feel better. And don’t be too upset about Rod. It’s difficult for any man to pilot a small plane successfully at such a low altitude with a hysterical female clutching at him all the time, as I’ve already said. And then to be sick in the cockpit—’

  Mickie’s reproachful voice disappeared around the corner with Carleen. A few moments later, he passed by again, and Lindsay saw him cram his wide felt hat on his head at a triumphant angle and step jauntily down the path. On his face was much the same smug, self-satisfied, victorious sort of smirk that Carleen herself sometimes wore when—oh!

  Lindsay stared after Mickie with widening eyes and open mouth. Then she walked quietly to Carleen’s room.

  ‘Can I do anything for you?’ she asked timidly, in genuine sympathy.

  ‘Oh, go away.’ The muffled reply was so discouraging that Lindsay obeyed it—and went.

  She and Mannie had lunch alone that day. Carleen’s door was shut, and the blinds on the French window that gave on to the veranda were pulled down, too. Lindsay knocked gently, but receiving no reply, she and the old lady decided that it would be best to leave things as they were.

  Lindsay had gone back to her office in the little pink weatherboard cottage, and was adding up bank accounts for the aboriginal employees’ trusts, when a plane droned overhead and banked around the homestead before coming down. She had supposed it to be Rod, coming in from another expedition, but then she remembered that he hadn’t been about for lunch, so it couldn’t be Rod after all.

  It was Margie. Even as she came walking up from the strip, tugging off her goggles, Lindsay was aware of something different about her—a certain suppressed excitement, an aura of sunshine and happiness that was a reflection of the shine in her calm, blue eyes, the gleam in her pearly smile, the bloom on her peach-soft cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Lindsay!’ She hugged the other girl as if she were attempting thereby to transmit some of her own special secret, blissful wonder. ‘Oh, Lindsay. I just had to come and tell you—share it with someone! I just couldn’t wait! Lindsay, look. Isn’t it the most beautiful, gorgeous, dreamy thing you ever saw?’

  She held out her small, capable, sun-browned hand for her companion to inspect the band of three winking diamonds—a big one in the middle and smaller sisters on either side.

  So that was it! Lindsay should have guessed. What else could have given Margie this extra special glow? What but betrothal to the man she loved and longed for gave any girl that extra special glow, come to that? And Rod—that’s why he had not come in for lunch. He hadn’t gone dropping dingo-baits or riding the run or any of those things at all—not this afternoon.

  This afternoon he had gone over to Dinewan. He was probably there, even now, waiting impatiently for Margie to come back again.

  ‘Margie!’ Lindsay’s voice was husky with feeling, and her eyes were a little bit sort of moist—just with surprise, she told herself, even though she had really been expecting it!—but the hug she gave Margie in return was warm-hearted and generous and sincere.

  ‘I’m so very happy for you, Margie, and as for Rod—well, I’ve always thought he deserved the very b-best, and he could not have chosen a nicer, more wonderful person than you. I hope you’ll be marvellously happy.’

  Margie stared.

  ‘Rod?’ She giggled. ‘Whatever has Rod got to do with it? Lindsay, are you all right?’ she added anxiously.

  Lindsay ran a hand across her brow as though it hurt.

  ‘I—don’t know,’ she said stupidly. ‘I—am I mixed up, or something?’

  The other girl laughed merrily.

  ‘Or something? I should' just think so! My dear, that ring on my finger was put there by Mac, not Rod. Isn’t it the prettiest little ring?’ She twirled her hand for the sun to catch the stones.

  Lindsay swallowed.

  ‘Mac? But I thought—I mean—we all thought—’

  ‘I know.’ Margie nodded serenely. ‘Even Mac thought it, too, the idiot, although I did my level best to show him where my feelings lay. Short of knocking him on the head and dragging him to the altar, I couldn’t have done much more in the way of chasing that man without losing my selfrespect altogether. Heavens, even the reason I took my first flying lessons was because of Mac—you know, a shared experience, a bond in common. But it all went right over his head'!’ She shook her own head in mock despair.

  ‘It’s wonderful news you’ve brought, Margie,’ Mannie enthused over the tea-pot in the great, long kitchen, which was somehow the spot where all the gossipy conclaves at Gundooee homestead always seemed to take place. ‘Where will you live, my dear? Mac’s people are from further north, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, his brother runs the family place, and he’s been looking around for something suitable for ages. He took on this contract for the mail-run to fill in time until he found exactly what he wanted. It gave him a marvellous opportunity to see all sorts of properties, and with the kitchen cuppa and the
gossip thrown in along the route, to hear of anything that might be coming on the market. Now he’s bought the Emerton place on the other side of Peperina, so I’ll be very near home, really. It’s all so wonderful!’ Her eyes were shining with merriment. ‘I had to hint like anything when he told me he’d bought the property,’ she continued in a spate which simply couldn’t stop. ‘You know, I kept saying how marvellous, and would he be going to live there very soon, and how I supposed he’d be thinking of getting married, and—oh, the shameless firings I had to say before the penny dropped! And then the silly darling duffer just suddenly looked at me in the queerest way and said, look here, Margie, you can’t possibly mean, and I said that’s just what I do mean and do I have to spell it out in words of one syllable, and then he just sort of sighed and grabbed me and nearly squashed the life out of me. Do you know this, he hadn’t ever even kissed me before, not once, and—oh, Mannie, I’m in the seventh heaven! Isn’t that really the most gorgeous little ring you ever did see? Do look.’

  ‘It’s sweet, Margie. And how nice of you to fly straight over and tell us before it gets out over the galah! Once that happens, the whole of Australia will know! I’m sure Rod will be enormously happy for you, too, just as we are.’

  In the hall on her way out again, Margie stopped and put her hand on Lindsay’s arm to detain her. Her eyes, now, were oddly serious—not alive with dancing excitement as they had been in the kitchen, but soberly sincere.

  ‘It’s true, Lindsay,’ she assured her softly, ‘what Mannie said just now. About Rod, I mean. He will be pleased for me.’ She paused again, then—‘Lindsay, there’s just one thing I’d like you to know, about all this. Rod has never, ever, thought about me in the way you may have supposed, nor I about him. He’s always been to me like the older brother I never had, and I—well, you could say he’s regarded me as a sister, that’s all—sometimes even a little nuisance of a sister, I dare say! I’ve always recognised that fact, never expected or wanted anything different I suppose that’s the reason why we’ve always got on so well together, and had such fun. He’s one of three brothers, you see. There are no girls in Rod’s family at all.’