Windflowers
Tamara McKinley
New York • London
© 2002 by Tamara McKinley
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Tamara McKinley is the author of more than eleven novels. She was born in Tasmania, but now lives in Sussex and Cornwall and writes full time. Her novels are both contemporary and historical, following the lives of Australian pioneers and those who came after them.
Also by Tamara McKinley
Jacaranda Vines
Matilda’s Last Waltz
Summer Lightning
Undercurrents
Dreamscapes
Ocean Child
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
1936
The dirt and squalor of Sydney’s Domain was almost a year behind them as Ellie rode north to Gregory Downs with her father. The dirt track meandered in a blood red ribbon across the empty plains to disappear in the heat haze, drawing them ever deeper into the unknown. Yet, with money in their pockets and horses to ride, progress was finally easier than the months they’d spent tramping the wallaby tracks.
They were on the long stretch to Cloncurry when Ellie noticed the build up of cloud on the horizon behind them. ‘Looks like a big storm brewing,’ she warned. ‘Better dig in quick before it reaches us.’
Her father John turned to look over his shoulder at the broiling clouds that seethed in the strangely yellow sky. ‘Should be able to get to the Curry before it breaks.’
Ellie frowned. ‘We won’t make it,’ she said firmly. ‘The Curry’s at least another two day’s ride and the storm’s not gunna wait that long.’
‘Gotta give it a go,’ he said as he gathered up the reins and smiled back at her with false brightness. ‘If it looks like we can’t make it, then we’ll just have to find shelter and let it ride over us.’
Ellie looked into his handsome face, the despair at his lack of common sense weighing heavy. She was only a few weeks short of her fourteenth birthday and yet he seemed determined to treat her like a kid. She’d heard about the terrible storms they got out here in the middle of nowhere, and knew he was as scared as she was. If only he’d admit it, she thought crossly. If only he’d listen to me for once we might just get out of this alive.
‘Where exactly?’ Ellie replied with sharp impatience. ‘There’s not a hill or valley or outcrop of stone out here, and we might not have time to dig through that.’ Her gaze swept their desolate surroundings. The boulder strewn track was concrete hard beneath its layer of sifting dust and the few blasted trees that wilted in the heat offered little shelter beneath their blackened branches. The nearest mountains were thumbprint bruises far into the distance.
‘We’ll find somewhere,’ he said with his customary doggedness.
Ellie’s brown eyes regarded him solemnly from beneath the raggedy fringe of tow coloured hair. ‘Reckon we ought’a start digging now if we’re to stand any kind of chance. Dust storms are killers, and we shouldn’t mess with ‘em.’
John’s dark eyes became coldly determined. ‘You’ve listened to too many outback horror stories during the drove to Longreach,’ he snapped. ‘You might be thirteen going on forty five, but you don’t know everything.’
Ellie shifted in the saddle as he glanced back at the darkening horizon. The wind was changing direction, but that didn’t make her feel easier. The Aborigine stockman, Snowy White, had warned her how treacherous the elements could be. Had described all too clearly how they lured unsuspecting travellers into a false sense of security before they unleashed their terrible forces.
John Freeman tugged his hat brim down over his dark eyes. ‘We’ll carry on,’ he said with a firmness that brooked further no argument. ‘The storm’s miles away and by the look of it, is changing course.’ He turned the grey’s head towards the wide dirt track that disappeared into the far northern horizon and dug in his heels. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Well I don’t like the look of it,’ she said stubbornly as she urged Clipper into a trot. ‘Wang Lee told me about a mate of his got caught. Died too quick for anyone to save him – lungs full of dust. Wang Lee said death out here can come in a second.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that.’
‘Shut up about the Chinaman and ride.’ John slapped his horse into a shambling trot, and with a final glance over her shoulder at the broiling horizon Ellie reluctantly followed him.
‘It’s time you stopped listening to Chinese cooks and Aboriginal stockmen and began to have faith in me for a change,’ he growled. ‘I might be a bloke from the city, but I’ve seen us this far without advice from others – I’ll get us to your Aunt Aurelia’s.
Ellie remained silent for she knew her father’s pride had been damaged enough and there was no point in arguing when he was like this. Their long trek from Sydney had been daunting for both of them, but it had to be especially hard for a man who knew nothing of the outback and had the responsibility of his daughter to think about. They had survived – just – on hand-outs and dole tickets, but work had been hard to find and she knew her father was close to breaking point when they’d finally been taken on at Gowrie Station for the annual drove to Longreach. Ellie tipped her hat brim over her eyes to counter the glare and for the next two hours they rode in awkward silence.
The sky was darkening, but the wind had lessened and now there was an eerie stillness surrounding them. An ominous silence in which there was no birdsong, not even the sawing of crickets or the hum of flies. Ellie couldn’t keep her fears to herself any longer. ‘Storm’s getting nearer, Dad,’ she said with a calmness that belied her inner turmoil. ‘Better find shelter in there.’ She pointed off to the west to the stony outcrops and canyons that had soared out of the plains in some long ago volcanic eruption. The blue and red hills were ancient monoliths almost bereft of vegetation, the earth around them laced with deep crevasses and razor sharp obstacles of stone and scree. Ellie shivered despite the cloying heat of the win
dless plains for she knew it would take a great deal of courage to go into those deeply shadowed, sinister canyons.
John shook his head. ‘Too dangerous,’ he said shortly. ‘Horses will break their legs. We’ll go on a bit further and see if it flattens out. Perhaps there’s shelter on the other side?’
Ellie was restless as she watched the approaching storm. ‘We don’t have time,’ she fired at him. ‘Better to find somewhere now.’
‘You’ll do what I flamin’ tell you,’ he shot back. ‘You’re making a drama out of this just like your mother. Get a move on,’ he ordered.
Ellie bit the inside of her lip to cut off the angry retort. She was nothing like Alicia and it was unfair of dad to make the comparison. But if they didn’t find shelter here they’d be caught in the open when the storm hit. ‘I’m not a bloody kid any more, Dad,’ she shouted. ‘Why won’t you listen to me for once?’
John’s back was ramrod straight as he rode away, his gaze fixed on the empty horizon. There was no reply. No acknowledgement he’d even heard her.
The heat was oppressive, the silence profound as they left the volcanic hills far behind them and headed further into the vast plains. Ellie shot worried glances across to John as the fear grew. How to tell her father his judgement was flawed – that he should have listened to her – should have found shelter two hours back in those canyons? For there was nothing out here. Not even a shadow. Yet his stubborn determination to take charge had become too familiar over the past months and Ellie knew his pride wouldn’t allow him to back down. He’d be damned if he was going to let something silly like a bit of a dust storm stop him – even if it killed the pair of them.
The morning wore on and Ellie had to hold tightly to her hat as the wind increased. With her chin tucked into her collar her eyes were slits against the dust that had begun to swirl around them – the wind driving into their backs – pushing them ever onward towards an empty horizon. She finally reined in her terrified pony and faced the terror that had stalked them. The sky was ochre, bruised by thunderous clouds that rolled ever nearer. The wind howled like a dingo as it swept across the plains flattening everything in its path. Trees were being uprooted and tossed skywards like matchsticks. Spinnifex bowled across the plains and the dust rose like a great curtain in the south, blocking out everything behind it. They were in deep trouble and there was no escape.
She was struggling now to keep Clipper calm, holding on to the reins she rammed her hat deep into her dungaree pocket and lay flat against his neck as the wind tried to tear her from the saddle.
‘Get off the road,’ John shouted above the shriek of the wind. ‘Dig in.’ He grabbed her reins and tugged the reluctant pony to the shallow dip at the side of the rough track. It was just a trench forged over the years by the run-off water during the wet, but it was all the shelter available. They slid from their saddles and struggled to calm their propping, rearing horses as the veil of wind-spun dust tore across the plains and descended upon them in a banshee wail.
Ellie’s scream was lost in the fury as she was plucked from her feet, ripped from the anchor of Clipper’s reins and tossed like a rag-doll into the maelstrom. She felt John’s grip on the hem of her dungarees, his desperate clutch at her waist as the wind tore at their backs. Then she was in his arms, held tightly to his chest as he was forced into a stumbling run. Slammed to the ground in a bone-numbing thud that took her breath away they were dragged along the scree. The howling fury rang in her ears and dulled her senses. Dust blinded her, threatened to choke her, filling her nose and eyes, gritting her tongue. Ellie clung to her father in terror as he fought for some tenuous hold on an earth that seemed determined to reject them.
All sense of time and direction was lost as she lay pinned to the ground beneath him. Eyes tightly shut she buried her face in his coat and fought to breathe as the vibration of his voice ran through him. But his words were whipped away as the world closed in, darkened and became full of stinging, smothering dust. Boulders lumbered and rolled, thudding into them before they bowled away. Stones were hurled as fast and lethal as bullets. Scrub vegetation entangled itself momentarily then was torn into the swirling darkness. Branches and twigs whipped past, spiny claws tearing at clothes and flesh like wild beasts. The howling demon of the wind seemed determined to claim them, yanking at their hair and clothes, shifting them further along the rough ground. For the first time in her life Ellie began to pray.
*
Joe and Charlie had said their goodbyes to the men at Wila Wila Station and now they were heading east to Richmond. They’d heard a cattleman there needed help mustering his mob over to the coast and the chance to catch their first glimpse of the ocean was an exciting prospect for the seventeen year old twins. The long months of tramping the tracks, of sleeping rough and collecting their dole tickets were over. The thrilling brumby muster at Wila Wila had provided them with horses, clean clothes and money in their pockets. No wonder they were on an adrenaline rush.
Joe ran a hand over his stubble. Being dark, his beard grew faster than Charlie’s, and he hated the way it itched. He grinned across at his twin, noting the fair bristles on his chin and the blond hair curling over his collar. ‘Reckon it’s time we had a shave and haircut,’ he said. ‘Look like a couple of swaggies.’
Charlie laughed. ‘Those days are over, mate. Reckon we’ll have the girls crawlin’ over us when we reach Richmond.’ His blue eyes danced, the infectious grin showing strong, even teeth and the trace of newly weathered creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth. ‘This is the life, ain’t it?’
Joe grinned back. ‘Too right, mate.’ They’d come a long way from the broken down shanty back in Lorraine. A long way from the dreary years of poverty and heartache that had seen their parents buried and the farm re-possessed.
His attention was brought back to Satan and he grappled with the reins as the chestnut took it into his head to fight the bit. He’d broken the stallion back at Wila Wila, but the chestnut was still wild enough to cause trouble amongst the other horses in his string which was why he’d elected to ride him. The long journey to Richmond would be a chance to get to know each other and find a compromise. Satan still champed at the bit and tried to pull Joe’s arms from his sockets, but he realised the horse knew he was beaten and it was merely a token show of resentment.
‘Reckon you ought’a let me have him,’ said Charlie as his speculative blue gaze roamed over the rich chestnut coat and proud head. ‘I’d soon show him who’s boss.’
Joe’s wrists ached from keeping the reins taut and his patience was wearing thin. Charlie had had his eye on Satan from the start, and obviously hadn’t forgiven Joe’s luck at being rewarded for breaking him. ‘Satan’s mine,’ he said firmly. ‘He’ll calm down soon enough.’
Charlie pulled his hat brim low and gathered up the reins. ‘Let’s ride. We gotta long ways to go.’ He dug in his spurs, setting the black gelding into a fast gallop across the plains, his other horses stringing out behind him.
Satan shook his head, nostrils flaring, ears pricked as he fought the bit and tried to give chase. Joe hung on, sawing at his mouth in an attempt to keep the pace even. Richmond was at least a week’s ride away and there was no point in letting Satan blow himself out. He frowned as a hot wind swept across the plains and tugged his shirt before dropping away with an ominous suddenness. Looking around him he realised the sky was sepia, heavy with purple thunderheads, the sun almost obliterated by a curtain of darkness that was sweeping up from the south. Solitary trees were stark monuments against the strange yellow light and the distant mountains brooded before the onslaught. ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured. ‘We’re in for a beaut.’
Charlie was far off into the distance now, his string of horses kicking up dust in a great red cloud, but Joe realised he would slow down soon enough when he realised what loomed on the horizon. He set his string of horses into a canter, Satan easing his pull on the bit as he was given his head, the others picking up the scent of the ap
proaching storm and lengthening their strides. Joe watched as his brother eased off and looked around him.
‘Over there,’ yelled Joe as he pointed to an outcrop of rocks. ‘Dig in!’ His voice carried across the deserted plains and echoed in the strange stillness that heralded the approaching storm as they raced for cover.
The outcrop reared from the plains in a soaring, jagged jumble of stark red and black. Trees clung to its sides and tufts of grass poked through here and there, but on the whole it was as barren as the plains, with slippery shale underfoot and glowering overhangs of rock that cast long shadows.
‘Through there,’ said Joe as he took the lead and pointed to a deeply shadowed canyon between over-hanging rocks. There was an eerie silence as the glowering sky encompassed the earth and the world took on the hue of half-light.
The boys dismounted and the horses picked their way through the rocky outcrops and slippery shale, their hooves echoing in the stillness. Joe led them through the narrow gully and coaxed his horses up the slope to the cave. They had been lucky, he realised, for the cave’s entrance was side-on to the approaching storm and it appeared to be the only shelter for miles.
The mouth of the cave was enormous and they led their horses further into the darkness. The scuttle of tiny feet told them animals were sheltering there already, and the stink of guano and the overhead rustle and squeak revealed a colony of bats. Joe and Charlie quickly hobbled the horses and lashed the reins to a thick pillar of rock that stood in the centre of the cave.
Charlie lit a match and peered into the dancing shadows. ‘Looks like the black fellers were here first,’ he murmured as the frail light picked out the ancient paintings on the cave wall. ‘How big d’you reckon this is?’
Joe shrugged and carried on rubbing Satan down. The big horse was trembling, the sweat breaking out as the storm’s approach resounded through the cave. ‘Big enough to give us shelter, but we’d better keep an eye on the animals. They could bring this whole place down if they pull too hard on that pillar.’
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