Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  *

  ‘That’s some view, isn’t it?’ sighed Rosa as the Cessna banked in a slow arc in preparation for landing.

  Harriet nodded. No words seemed adequate to describe what she was feeling, for the sight before her was like something out of a picture book. A track wound its leisurely way down the hill and into a peaceful valley that was golden in the afternoon sun. Outbuildings were dotted about the flattest part of this valley like so many bales of straw carelessly cast from some passing wagon. The homestead nestled within the broad clearing of dark red earth, shaded by the citrus bright fronds of pepper trees. The sheltering mountains were blue on the shimmering horizons, giving an edge to the broad swathes of grass that rippled and swayed in the warm wind like a great yellow ocean. The sky was almost bleached of colour and cloudless, its very breadth and width enough to make her feel small and insignificant in the scheme of things.

  ‘There’s Mum, and Connor waiting for us,’ shrieked Rosa. Belinda shoved her out of the way and leaned to look out of the window. ‘Where?’ she demanded. Rosa giggled and looked archly at Harriet. ‘Belinda fancies my brother,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘Though God knows why, he’s a real pain at times.’

  Belinda blushed and jabbed Rosa in the ribs with her elbow which led to a rough and tumble. Harriet smiled, unsure of what to say. She was still getting used to the easy way these girls had with one another, for being an only child with a mother who was rarely at home, she’d never experienced such a close relationship with anyone before. She turned back to the window and felt a tug of longing as a mob of kangaroos bounced across the plains. How could Rosa and Belinda bear to leave this wonderful place? There was just so much space, so many places to explore, so much sky and clean air.

  Rosa giggled as the low-flying Cessna disturbed a pair of grazing emus into a curious knock-kneed lope which ruffled and waggled their tail feathers. ‘They look like disgruntled can-can dancers,’ she spluttered. ‘All feathers and flounce.’

  Harriet grinned as she watched the ridiculous birds, but her attention was soon drawn back to the fence by the landing-strip and the people waiting there. She’d heard a lot about Rosa’s family, but this would be the first time she had met Catriona Summers, and she was nervous. Rosa had told her so much about the woman who’d taken them both in and given them a home, and Harriet couldn’t help but be impressed that the great Catriona Summers was to be her hostess for the entire autumn holiday.

  Rosa was the first out of the plane, running across the clearing and into the arms of a teenage boy with a wide smile. ‘How ya going?’ she shouted in delight as he swung her off her feet and gave her a great hug. ‘Geez, bruv, no need to break the ribs, mate.’

  He set her down with a frown. ‘Sorry, Rosa. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  Rosa giggled. ‘Na. But just remember I’m a girl,’ she scolded. ‘Not a bullock.’ She turned swiftly to Catriona and gave her a kiss and a hug. ‘Hello, Mum,’ she said warmly.

  Catriona’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. ‘I see boarding school hasn’t changed you, Rosa,’ she said with brusque affection. ‘Still a larrikin.’

  Rosa kissed the soft cheek again. ‘It’s bonzer to be back, Mum,’ she retorted with an infectious giggle.

  Whilst Belinda and Rosa were being greeted by their mothers, Harriet took the chance to watch the scene being played out before her. She was used to being an observer – used to being on the outside of close family units – and she’d realised quite some time ago that she had a talent for seeing things unobserved by others. Belinda certainly had eyes only for Connor, and although the sixteen-year-old boy was obviously aware of her adoration, he was studiously ignoring her. Rosa’s affection for her brother was certainly reciprocated, and their closeness was clear in the easy way they had with one another. But it was Catriona Summers who really fascinated her.

  Catriona was small and slender and didn’t look very different from the old publicity photographs Rosa had brought to school. Yet there was a hidden core of steel within that slim frame, evident in the violet eyes and in her bearing. Her hair was short and thick and beautifully styled, and her clothes might have been casual, but Harriet recognised the cut of expensive trousers and the rich fabric of the deceptively simple shirt. She wore little jewellery apart from the rings on her fingers, just gold studs in her ears and a pendant and chain around her neck.

  As if she realised she was being scrutinised, Catriona turned, the violet eyes curious and bright with intelligence. ‘This must be Harriet,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Welcome to Belvedere.’

  Harriet felt the softness of the hand as it took her own in greeting. The slender, fragile bones of the fingers belied the strong grip as the diamonds sparkled in the sun and the violet eyes continued their close scrutiny.

  ‘I’m glad you could come,’ she said. ‘Rosa has told me a lot about you.’ She grinned, the violet eyes lighting up. ‘I’m sure we’re all going to have great fun this holiday. But for now, I expect you’d all like some tea before Belinda leaves? Come on into the house.’

  Rosa’s face was flushed with pleasure, her eyes glittering with laughter as she helped Connor up the steps. He’d been kicked on the knee by a bull several weeks before and still walked with a stick, and he grimaced as he swung his stiff leg up each tread. ‘Harriet, this is Connor,’ she said rather unnecessarily.

  Harriet looked up into eyes that could have been brown, or perhaps the autumnal hues of a winter forest. The irises were ringed with black, the sleepy eyelids thickly lashed. Her hand was swamped in his and she felt the warmth and the roughened skin of a person who’d never worked behind a desk. The sleeves of his checked shirt had been rolled to the elbow, exposing tanned, muscled arms lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Dressed in narrow moleskins, he stood, dark haired and tall in the flat-heeled leather boots that carried the dust of many long hours in the open.

  Connor smiled, the cobweb of lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, making his tanned face even more appealing as they shook hands. ‘G’day,’ he said in his slow, Queensland drawl. ‘Sis has told me a lot about you in her letters. Good to meet you at last.’

  ‘G’day,’ murmured Harriet, all too aware of his amused scrutiny and the effect his smile was having on her. Connor Cleary was not really handsome – the features were too irregular. But she could see why Belinda had such a crush on him. He was gorgeous.

  Catriona’s laughter rang out. ‘Oh, dear, Connor. Looks like your fan club is growing.’

  Connor blushed and Harriet dipped her chin, avoiding Belinda’s glare of animosity by letting her hair fall around her face like a curtain. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate her friends, and Catriona’s gentle teasing wasn’t helping.

  They all followed Catriona into the kitchen, and Harriet hovered, unsure of what to do as the others dumped their bags and made themselves at home. Belvedere was very small, she realised as she looked around at the room. The whole place would fit in just a fraction of their city penthouse, yet the kitchen was cosy and welcoming, and obviously the favourite room in the house.

  Catriona soon began to organise everyone. ‘Rosa, you get the milk and the cake. ‘Harriet,’ she said as she turned and smiled. ‘Why don’t you lay the tray and take it into the lounge?’

  Harriet nodded, pleased to be given something to do, but it took a while to find the plates and the cutlery, and her task wasn’t helped by Belinda glaring at her at every turn. A dig in the ribs from Rosa’s sharp elbow made her start. ‘Don’t take any notice of her,’ she whispered as they carried the plates from the cupboard to the table. ‘She’s always like this when Connor’s around.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Frightened of the competition,’ muttered Rosa through the slice of cake she’d filched from the plate.

  Harriet shot a startled look at Belinda. ‘That’s silly,’ she hissed.

  ‘I know,’ said Rosa. ‘I mean, who on earth but Belinda could find my brother attractive?’ T
hey shared a conspiratorial grin, and Harriet followed Rosa with the loaded tea-tray into the lounge.

  The room was cool in the late afternoon, the sun sinking rapidly behind the surrounding mountain ranges. The furniture had definitely seen better days, but the roll-top desk and stool were antiques, and the vast collection of china and glass in the cabinets was exquisite. Harriet set down the tray on a small side-table, noting the thick layer of dust that veiled everything. How very different this little house was to her mother’s luxury penthouse, she thought. Not a speck of dust was allowed there, and yet this was a comfortable, homely place, and she felt strangely at ease amongst the clutter.

  Rosa went back to the kitchen, and Harriet took the opportunity to look around the room. There were three paintings over the brick hearth, and she wandered over to study them. They were portraits, and although they looked very old, and needed cleaning, the characters of the sitters shone through.

  ‘My parents,’ said Catriona as she entered the room, trailing Rosa behind her. ‘Those were done just after they arrived here in Australia. They had money for such things then.’ She must have noticed Harriet’s gaze flit between the portraits, for she gave a wry smile as she came to stand beside her. ‘That’s me,’ she said, pointing to the one in the middle. ‘I was a looker then, wasn’t I?’ She didn’t seem to want a reply, for she laughed and turned her back on the painting and sat down. ‘Age is a bit of a leveller,’ she said lightly. ‘Having that damn thing up there reminds me of every passing year, and the onset of age and decrepitude.’ She grinned. ‘But the alternative is far worse, so I suppose I’ll just have to put up with it.’

  Harriet, having been raised by a mother who took umbrage at the slightest hint of her ageing, and who despised and resented every birthday, kept silent. Catriona had certainly been a beauty, but that beauty still radiated from her in the flawless skin, the violet eyes and the proud bearing, the kind of beauty that went far deeper than her skin.

  Rosa poured the tea and the others joined them. The talk was lively and Harriet was content to sit and listen. Yet beyond the room, she could hear the enticing sounds out in the yards – the calling of calves, the whinny of horses and barking of dogs – each sound interlaced with the jangle of harness and the laughter and chatter of the men. How different it all was to the world in which she lived, she thought, as she sipped the milky tea and began to relax.

  Over the next four weeks, Catriona regaled the two girls with stories of her childhood. Harriet had never experienced storytelling before outside a classroom, and she looked forward each night to snuggling down with Rosa on the sofa in her pyjamas to listen to Catriona’s tales of the travelling players. They had become so real, that she often imagined she could hear the trundle of the wagons and the laughter of the chorus girls.

  During the days, when Catriona hadn’t organised a picnic, or an outing to one of the many Outback events or parties, Harriet got the chance to explore Belvedere on horseback. Rosa had taken her to see all her favourite places, but she’d left the most special until the last day of the holidays.

  The barn stood in isolation at the far corner of home paddock. It was a tumbledown affair, the roof much patched, the walls leaning inwards. Rosa dismounted and tugged at the door. It creaked and complained and bits fell off as it caught in the long grass and the weeds that had grown beneath it. Harriet climbed off the gelding and stepped into the gloomy barn. Rays of sunlight drifted down laden with dust motes and the scent of hay and oats still lingered, but Harriet’s attention was held only by the incongruous sight of the solitary presence hidden in there.

  ‘Mum’s pride and joy,’ breathed Rosa as she walked around it, her fingers brushing over it with love.

  Harriet stepped forward and touched the pristine paintwork. The red and green and yellow glimmered in the dusty sunlight, the legend printed on the sides was as clear as if it had been put there yesterday. ‘It’s the wagon,’ she breathed. ‘Catriona’s wagon. But how did she find it after all these years?’

  ‘It was in a station auction. The owner had been using it to house his chickens,’ replied Rosa. ‘Mum had it trucked over and she and Connor worked on it after she retired from the theatre. Beauty, eh?’

  Harriet experienced an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. After Catriona’s storytelling, it felt strange to actually be faced with something she would have recognised anywhere. It was as if she’d returned to a past she’d never known, but was as familiar with as her own. ‘Must have taken years,’ she murmured as she noted the delicate fretwork running along the bottom of the wagon, and the carefully painted wheels.

  Rosa dug her hands in her pockets and nodded. ‘Me and Belinda used to play in it. Pretend we were gypsies. But I know how precious it is, and that there probably isn’t another one like it. The Historical Society begged Mum to let them have it, but it means too much to her to let it go again.’

  ‘I wonder what happened to the others,’ said Harriet as she craned her neck to look inside. It was disappointingly empty, but she could imagine the costume baskets, the bedding, pots and pans and general clutter that would have been carried in their travels.

  ‘Who knows?’ replied Rosa sadly. ‘Probably left to rot somewhere. Mum said people aren’t interested in history until it’s too late, or if they think there’s a profit in it.’ She grinned and ran her hand over the wheel. ‘At least this one’s safe.’

  Harriet nodded, touched the paintwork one last time and turned away. As she stood in the doorway of the decrepit barn she thought she could hear the trundle of wagon wheels, the steady plod of heavy hoofs and the jingle of harness, and as she gazed towards the horizon she could almost see the cavalcade in the heat-haze of the skyline, the dust rising beneath the wheels, the laughter echoing in the silent hills.

  ‘Hat? Harriet, what’s the matter?’

  She blinked away the images and looked at Rosa, her head still full of the sounds of a long-forgotten era. ‘Catriona made it all so real,’ she began. ‘And seeing this, it’s as if it’s all come to life again.’

  Rosa grinned. ‘You want to watch that imagination of yours, Hat. You’ll let it run away with you one day and you’ll end up in the loony bin.’

  Harriet laughed. The images had faded and reality returned. She ran out into the sunlight and untied the reins from the hook on the wall. ‘Let’s go for a ride,’ she said eagerly. ‘We’ve only got today, and then it’s boring old school.’

  Once they reached the endless plains they gave the horses their heads and with whoops of pleasure raced across the open land. Time suddenly had no meaning, and the sheer pleasure of being young and carefree in the great heart of Australia was all they needed. It was as if they were in flight and free, as free as the birds that flew above them, as free as the single little cloud that hovered so stubbornly over a distant mountain.

  They finally brought the horses to a standstill and slid from the saddles. ‘Whew,’ breathed Rosa as she patted her horse’s neck and loosened his girth. ‘It’s been a while since I rode like that.’

  ‘Too right,’ gasped Harriet, who was out of breath from the hectic chase. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving, and could do with a drink.’ She took off her hat and wiped away the perspiration. Her hair was soaking, and her shirt was sticking to her back. Rosa was a tough act to follow, and despite her years of riding, Harriet had had to fight to keep the chestnut under control in the headlong race across the open plains. She would ache tomorrow, she realised, but it was worth it. The ride had chased away the ghosts and had invigorated her with a sense of well-being she hadn’t known since she’d ridden with her father through the bush surrounding the Glasshouse Mountains.

  The chestnut tossed his head and showed his enormous teeth as she patted the patrician nose. His ears were pricked and there was an impish gleam in his eyes that told her he’d enjoyed the run as well.

  ‘There’s a stream running along that curve,’ said Rosa. ‘We’ll have our lunch there before we head back.’


  They led the horses over to the natural fold in the land, and with their reins dangling, the animals drank deeply from the thin trickle of water that snaked its way over a shingle bed. Kneeling beside them, Rosa and Harriet scooped up the water in their hats and tipped it over their heads, laughing and splashing until they were refreshed. Then they flopped down beneath a tree and looked up through the leaves to the bleached sky.

  ‘Bit different to school, I reckon,’ said Rosa with a contented sigh. ‘I remember doing this when I was real little with Mum. We’d often come out here after school, and just lie under this tree and talk. She never minded me getting dirty, in fact, she encouraged it.’

  She turned over onto her stomach and picked up the pack of sandwiches. With her mouth full of chicken and salad, she continued. ‘Mum’s brilliant. She understands kids, and knows we need to experiment and get dirty and into scrapes. Me and Con are very lucky.’

  ‘I only did things like this when I was with Dad,’ replied Harriet as she poured cordial from the bottle into tin mugs and handed one to Rosa. The chicken sandwich had tasted better than anything in the city. It was probably the fresh air and the exhilaration of the ride that made it so good. She swallowed the last of it, and wiped her hands down her trousers, an action which would have horrified her mother. ‘Mum’s always going on about staying clean, and being on best behaviour. When she’s at home, she makes me wear horrible frilly dresses that show every mark.’ She giggled. ‘When I was really little, she used to enter me into pageants, dressed up like a doll, with make-up and everything. That didn’t last for long though. I hated going in front of the judges, and used to pull terrible faces at them, and misbehave. She was furious, but there was nothing she could do about it.’

  ‘Poor old Hat,’ murmured Rosa in sympathy. ‘Must have been hell.’

  ‘It was OK all the time Dad was alive, ’cos he always took my side against Mum, but after …’ Harriet swallowed and blinked away the tears. ‘Things changed,’ she went on. ‘But it’s really hard without him, and once Mum realised I was never going to be a dancer like her, she’s sort of given up on me.’