Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  She moved back into the shadows and wandered along the verandah until she was on the other side of the homestead and out of sight of the men. The view from here was magnificent, with thousands of acres of tough yellow grass rippling in the hot breeze, the meagre shadows of drooping eucalyptus barely visible. Stands of pine shot green spires skyward, the almost impenetrable darkness beneath them looking welcoming after the glare.

  Harriet gathered up her mop of hair and anchored it firmly on the top of her head with a clip. The thought of a long cool shower was tempting, but she would wait until bedtime, when it might actually do some good. She wiped the beads of perspiration from her face with a handkerchief and sat down. It was hot, even in the shade and she could feel the sweat running down her back, soaking her thin blouse. The jeans had been a mistake, they were too tight, and she wished she’d worn shorts.

  As she sat in the battered cane chair, her thoughts drifted back over the years she’d come here. Catriona had been a kind and generous host, the sort of woman she wished her own mother could be. It was surprising how little the years had affected her, she realised. Catriona’s hair had gone the lovely grey which only very black hair managed. Her eyes were still amethyst, and her skin was flawless. It was hard to realise she was almost sixty-eight.

  ‘Thought you’d gone walkabout. Here, you probably need this.’ Rosa appeared around the corner, her bare feet making little noise on the floorboards. She handed Harriet a glass that tinkled with ice, plumped down in the chair beside her and gave a sigh of pleasure. ‘Gin, tonic, ice and a slice. Just what the lawyer ordered.’

  ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ Harriet protested.

  Rosa squinted into the sun. ‘Sun’s over the barn. Late enough.’

  Harriet took a long drink. ‘Hits the spot,’ she agreed. ‘Where’s Catriona? She doesn’t usually miss out on a spot of gin.’

  ‘She’ll be here in a minute,’ muttered Rosa. ‘Someone’s just phoned, so I left her to it.’ She took another sip before placing the glass on the floor and lighting a cigarette. Blowing smoke, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. ‘I’m a bit worried about her, actually,’ she said finally. ‘She looks tired, and I have the feeling she’s worried about something.’

  Harriet eyed her friend. ‘What on earth could Catriona be worrying about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosa shrugged. ‘I did ask, but she just said she wasn’t sleeping well.’ She opened her eyes and leaned her elbows on her knees. ‘But Mum sleeps like a log, always has done. Something’s not right, I just know it.’

  ‘Perhaps we ought to get the doctor out here to give her a thorough check-over?’

  ‘I already suggested that, and she won’t have it,’ said Rosa.

  ‘I’m not having any doctor prodding and poking me about.’ Catriona came into view, her heels rapping on the wooden floor. ‘And I’ll thank you not to discuss me behind my back.’

  Harriet and Rosa started like two guilty children. ‘If you won’t tell us what’s worrying you, then what else can we do but speculate?’ said Rosa firmly.

  Catriona glared at them both before she sat down in another chair and stared out over her land. ‘I’ve already told you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m having trouble sleeping. Probably indigestion.’ Her tone brooked any more argument, and she changed the subject. ‘Did I tell you girls how I first saw this place?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I used to dream about it when I was a kid, you know. Saw it from up there,’ she pointed to the western hills. ‘I just didn’t realise how long it would take before the dream became reality, and now I’ve been here thirty years.’ She grinned, her face coming alight again as she raised her glass of gin and tonic. ‘Here’s to another thirty.’

  *

  Catriona studiously kept the smile on her face; it was easier now they were at home, easier to put the dark thoughts behind her. ‘How’s work?’ she asked Rosa.

  ‘Troubled kids, divorce, abuse, violent marriages. The usual, but it’s rewarding,’ replied Rosa as she smoked her cigarette.

  Catriona turned to Harriet. ‘I imagine corporate law is a lot less stressful?’

  Harriet laughed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. There’s more blood spilt on boardroom floors than in any city alleyway. Big money means big egos and even bigger crooks. But I enjoy it.’ She smiled, the extraordinarily blue eyes sparkling with humour.

  Catriona realised Harriet’s youthful promise of beauty had been fulfilled, and with her slender figure and graceful ways, she could have been a wonderful dancer. The law was such a dry, dusty profession, but the girls seemed to thrive on it. She sighed, suddenly envious of their youth and enthusiasm. How different it had been in her day when women were denied access to such professions and expected to give up their careers the minute they married.

  Catriona stared out at the shimmering land, deep in thought. The newspaper article meant there were many things to come to terms with, many facets of her story that would perhaps change these young women’s opinion of her, and that made her reluctant to share the burden. Yet share she must, for one day it could become public knowledge, and it wouldn’t be fair for them to hear it in the press.

  Harriet touched her hand, bringing her back to the present. ‘Penny for ’em, Catriona.’ Her expression was concerned.

  She forced a smile. ‘I’ve had a bit of bad news,’ she began. She paused as they sat forward, tense and expectant.

  ‘What is it, Mum?’ Rosa’s eyes were wide with dread. ‘You aren’t ill are you?’

  Catriona realised she was going about this all the wrong way. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m perfectly fine.’ She took a sip of her drink, her thoughts in a whirl as she watched a eucalyptus leaf float along the verandah floor. Realising she didn’t have the heart, or the courage to reveal the truth, she decided a white lie could do little harm. She was jumping the gun, letting her heightened imagination and the lack of sleep turn her into a neurotic. The police were hardly likely to come rushing out of the shrubbery to arrest her, and as for the press, she’d been out of the news for so long, they’d probably forgotten who she was.

  ‘Mum?’ Rosa’s voice quavered.

  She pulled her thoughts together, straightened her back and smiled. ‘It’s some old scandal I thought was long buried,’ she said, the irony of her words making her grimace. ‘I had a lover once, and he’s threatening to reveal all if I don’t pay him off.’

  ‘Then you should tell him to print and be damned,’ retorted Rosa. ‘Bastard. What’s his name? I’ll send him a stiff letter, warning him that blackmail is a serious crime.’

  Catriona laughed. ‘You’re like a Jack Russell when you get defensive.’ She put her arm around Rosa and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll deal with him, no worries, darling. And I promise, he won’t get a penny out of me.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve let such a little thing worry you,’ said Harriet. ‘After all, the press would hardly be interested in an old bit of scandal.’

  Catriona stood and folded her arms around her waist. ‘You’re right, Hattie,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve just let the whole thing blow up out of all proportion. I should be flattered to know he even remembers me. It was years ago.’ She flashed them a grin. ‘I obviously made a lasting impression.’

  Rosa laughed and went to top up their drinks. But Catriona noticed Harriet’s steady gaze, and realised the girl had not really been fooled. Determined to bring an end to the subject, she turned away and stared out at the stand of pine trees and breathed in the glorious scent of eucalyptus and pine and dry, hot earth. A glimmer of movement made her look up and she smiled with delight and pleasure. This was a sight she’d seen so rarely of late, for this particular bird never came too close to civilisation.

  The golden-brown wedge-tailed eagle soared high above home pasture, its wings fanned to catch the warm thermals, its predatory eye fixed on something hidden in the grass. She watched the slow, almost lazy glide of this magnificent young bird of prey as it circled lower an
d lower. His wings made little sound. Death would be silent and immediate.

  Her breath caught as it swooped, plunging to earth like an arrow to rise up almost immediately with its prey clutched in cruel talons. The rabbit had been snared – and Catriona wondered if perhaps this was an omen of things to come.

  *

  Harriet held her breath as she watched the aerial display. She gasped as it struck the rabbit and flew away, and watched in awe until it was a mere speck in the fiery sunset.

  ‘It’s a bonzer sight, isn’t it?’ asked Catriona as she settled back in her chair. ‘Not one we see every day.’

  ‘Then I feel doubly privileged,’ breathed Harriet. ‘I was right about dreamscapes. This place has a magic all of its own.’

  Catriona smiled. ‘Dreamscapes,’ she muttered. ‘An apt description, which I seem to remember using years ago. But not all dreams are happy ones, and life out here can be cruel and harsh and downright bloody, so don’t get too carried away.’

  Harriet felt the heat rise in her face at the gentle admonition. ‘Sorry,’ she stammered.

  Catriona smiled. ‘No need to apologise, Harriet. I like your imagination. This, after all is the land of the Dreaming, the place where the Dreamtime legends were born.’ She cupped Harriet’s chin and gently tilted it until they were facing one another. ‘I expect Billy’s stories and legends have influenced your thoughts on this place, I know they have for me. He’s quite a storyteller, but he’ll remain faithful to the Dreaming, it’s his heritage and what makes him the man he is.’

  Harriet nodded, mesmerised by the violet eyes and the keen scrutiny. She was very aware of the older woman’s touch, of the gentleness in her that was so at odds with the sophisticated, worldly persona she projected. Catriona had given her so much over the years and her affection for this woman made her determined to find out what was really troubling her.

  Catriona must have seen the questions in her eyes, for she pulled abruptly away. ‘Righto,’ she said as she became business-like. ‘Enough chatter. It’s time for showers and tucker. I expect you’re tired and we start early out here, remember, so you’ll need to get to bed soon. I’ve put you in together; saves all that creeping about in the night because you want to gossip.’

  Harriet couldn’t resist looking at her watch. It was barely past seven, the sun only just dipping behind the hills. She’d forgotten about the early nights and even earlier mornings.

  ‘I know it’s early compared to the hours you probably keep in the city, but the rules are different here. We need to use up all the daylight – can’t work cattle at night.’ She began to walk back towards the front door. ‘I’ve got plenty of food in. The men no doubt already know you’ve arrived and will only go all unnecessary if you two go into the hallowed hall of the cookhouse. Poor old Connor is already having trouble.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Rosa as she followed Catriona along the verandah. ‘Anyone would think they hadn’t seen a woman before. It’s not as if they don’t know us.’

  ‘Neither of you are children any more,’ she retorted. She came to a sudden halt and eyed Rosa’s outfit. ‘Do try and cover up a bit more, Rosa,’ she said wearily. ‘It took weeks to calm the men down after your last visit and this is our busiest time of the year. Can’t afford to have ’em off their feed.’

  Rosa pecked her on the cheek and grinned. ‘I’ll dress like a nun if you promise we can borrow the best horses and go out with the men to run with the brumbies.’

  ‘Hmph.’ Catriona glowered, but she obviously couldn’t stay cross for long. ‘It might almost be worth it,’ she said, her eyes gleaming with humour. ‘But I reckon you won’t have packed a wimple and habit, so all bets are off young lady.’

  Rosa giggled, ran down the steps and grabbed her overnight bag from the car. She pulled a wisp of black layered chiffon from the bag and held it up. ‘This should do for tonight. Reckon it will go down a treat when I go and say g’day to my old friend Cookie.’

  Harriet stifled the giggles as Catriona eyed this miniscule garment with horror. It was the dress Rosa had worn to such effect in Emerald the night before. ‘You win,’ said Catriona barely suppressing her own laughter. ‘If Connor says it’s okay then you can go at the end of the week. But you’re to promise me you’ll never wear that here and especially not anywhere near the cookhouse. There are too many sharp knives and I can’t afford to loose my entire crew when the fighting breaks out.’

  ‘Strewth,’ muttered Rosa as she stuffed the scrap of material back in the bag. ‘They should get a life.’

  Harriet was inclined to agree, but the look on Catriona’s face kept her silent. She reached into the car and took out her own bag, and they all went inside.

  ‘Home sweet home,’ sang Rosa as she crashed through the screen door. ‘Bags I first in the shower.’

  Harriet followed Rosa down the narrow hall. It was all so familiar, so unlike her neat terrace in Sydney and her mother’s penthouse suite and, as usual, she felt immediately at home. The bunch of wildflowers had been crammed into a jam jar and placed on the bedside chest of drawers. There was a piece of paper leaning against it, welcoming them home.

  ‘You must have made a good impression,’ muttered Rosa as she eyed the flowers, dumped the bag and snatched up two towels and her wash-bag. ‘Connor’s never done that before.’

  Harriet put her bag on the floor and tried to rescue the wilting flowers. She divided them up, found another jam jar in the kitchen and put it on the dressing table. It was a nice touch, she thought. Connor was obviously pleased to have his sister back. ‘I reckon he just wanted to cheer us up,’ she murmured.

  Rosa raised an ebony eyebrow. ‘Con’s not into interior design, Hat. He’s either feeling guilty about something, or trying to impress you.’ She giggled. ‘I bet he did that on the quiet. Can you imagine the joshing he’d have got if any of the others saw him?’

  Harriet could imagine this all too well and had a fleeting moment of sympathy for Rosa’s brother. It must be very difficult having to keep up the macho image all the time. ‘There are times when I’m really glad I’m a woman.’ She went into the kitchen and accepted the cup of tea. ‘Though I have to admit I didn’t exactly choose the right profession. Lawyers are incredibly attached to their old school ties and what with that and male bonding, it’s not the easiest way to make a living.’

  ‘Too right. Mateship gone mad if you ask me, but what’s a girl to do? If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Girl power is growing, Hat. Watch this space.’ She stomped off to the bathroom and in minutes could be heard singing enthusiastically off-key.

  Harriet and Catriona shared a smile of contentment – they were all together again.

  The bedroom they always shared during Harriet’s visits hadn’t changed a bit. It was as if the clock had been turned back. The room held childhood memories and was still cluttered with Rosa’s dolls and books and decorated with the rosettes they’d both won at the local gymkhanas. The divans were covered in patchwork quilts, and there were soft, fluffy rugs on the polished wooden floor. It also reminded Harriet of their student days when she and Rosa had shared a tiny unit in King’s Cross. The small rooms had been more basic than this, but they’d brightened them up with cushions and curtains and big posters to cover over the damp patches on the walls. Paper flowers, scented candles and joss sticks had added touches of the exotic and made them cosy.

  Her mother had been horrified and had tried her best to persuade Harriet to move into an expensive condominium in the city, but Harriet didn’t want to feel different to the other students and had held out, knowing she would appreciate her student years far more by being in the same environment as her friends.

  As they jostled for space between the two narrow beds, Rosa seemed to have had the same thoughts. ‘Quite like old times,’ she said as she squeezed past Harriet and began to towel-dry her hair. ‘But it’s a bit cramped and could do with a real sort out.’

  Harriet smiled. ‘We’ve been spoiled,’ sh
e said as Rosa pulled on jeans and a shirt. ‘I remember you taking me to see that cottage you lived in with your grandmother. It wasn’t as luxurious as this by any means.’

  Rosa ruffled her damp hair until it fell like chrysanthemum petals around her face making her look about eighteen. ‘You’re right,’ she admitted. ‘In fact it was a dump. Probably the reason it’s been empty for so many years.’

  *

  Because his cottage didn’t have a bathroom, Connor had to wait his turn at the communal showers. He couldn’t help but grin at the conversations going on around him, and the effort the men were putting in to their ablutions. He hadn’t seen anything like this since the last country fair at Drum Creek. It was amazing what the sight of a couple of women could do, even though the majority of the men had known Rosa and Hattie since they were kids.

  He finally managed a quick shower and shave, and changed into clean jeans and a freshly laundered shirt before following the others over to the cookhouse where he was to fetch the supper for those at the homestead. Like Belvedere, the cookhouse had been standing for almost a hundred years. It was dilapidated in places, and needed a coat of paint and new window-frames, but on the whole it was sturdy enough and would probably stand for another century as long as the termites and bush fires didn’t get to it first.

  As broad and long as a church, the roof soared above heavy rafters. An immense hand-crafted table ran down the middle of the dusty wooden floor, with benches on either side. There was no tablecloth, just a line of sauce bottles and condiments and baskets of freshly baked bread.

  Connor walked through the door and was assailed by a wall of sound, impressed by how much noise thirty men could make. The voices echoed up into the rafters as the men swapped tales and laughed and joked, at ease at the end of another long day. The scrape of cutlery on china was accompanied by the scrape and scratch of chairs and boots on the floor. And presiding over all this was a monolith of a man: Cookie.