Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

  The old homestead stood beneath the flowering jarrah, almost dwarfed by the water towers that were covered in clambering roses and purple bougainvillea. The original outbuildings were tumbledown in the shade of the ghost gums but still served their purpose, and the corrals and paddocks were neatly fenced. Horses cropped the verdant grass down by the bore and the glint of pewter traced the creek from the billabong as it wound through the property and disappeared into the distant hills. She could make out the roofs and chimneys of the newer homestead on the horizon, and the series of gates she would have to drive through to get there. The sense of belonging pervaded her. This was home, and she’d been away for too long.

  As she drove on and through the final gate before home, she ran her tongue over her parched lips. Her hands were moist as she gripped the steering wheel and her pulse was racing – there was no turning back.

  *

  Ellie was on the verandah when she first saw the cloud of dust in the distance. She drained the gin and tonic and put the glass on the table before running nerveless fingers through her hair. She would find a way to get through this, she told herself firmly.

  The van ground to a halt in a cloud of red dust, the door swung open and there she was. Ellie forgot the years of silence between them, the hurt at not being invited to the graduation and the row before she’d left for Sydney. This was her beloved daughter and she had finally come home. She ran down the steps to hug her. Holding her tightly, she breathed in the scent of her, relishing the feel of her arms around her once again. ‘I swear you’ve grown,’ she said with a tremulous smile as she looked into Claire’s face.

  ‘Fair go, mum,’ Claire teased. ‘I did all my growing when I was thirteen.’

  Ellie beamed up at her, taking in the beautiful eyes, the sensuous mouth and the slender figure. Her little girl had become a woman over the five years they’d spent apart. A woman with a life of her own and a bright future – if they could get through these next few days unscathed. ‘It’s good to have you home,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve missed you. We’ve all missed you.’

  ‘Let the dog see the rabbit,’ said Aurelia bossily as she clambered down the steps and almost pushed Ellie aside. ‘How’s my girl?’ she boomed as she put her arm around the slender waist and planted a whiskery kiss on the proffered cheek.

  ‘Good,’ said Claire as she gave her aunt an affectionate squeeze.

  Ellie noticed how, despite her facade of cheerfulness, there was tension in Claire’s shoulders and a brittle quality to her laughter. Her daughter’s obvious pleasure at coming back to Warratah was tempered by the shadows in her eyes – shadows of fear and mistrust.

  ‘Let’s get out of the sun and have tea,’ she said with forced brightness. ‘You can unload that thing afterwards.’

  Claire reached into the van and dragged out her cumbersome overnight bag which she dumped on the verandah. ‘I’ve brought presents for everyone,’ she said as she flopped into a chair and fanned herself with her hat. ‘But they’re buried somewhere in the back of the van.’

  Ellie, who preferred not to have a maid in the house, rushed into the kitchen and made a pot of tea. The kettle was always on the hob, so it didn’t take long. She added the pot to the tray she’d laid out earlier and with a sudden calmness she never knew she possessed, carried it all back out to the verandah.

  Aurelia was firing rapid questions at Claire about her degree, her graduation and her love-life. Pipe smoke was billowing, grey eyes were bright with a resumed energy for life and the deep frown that had creased her brow in recent days was almost gone.

  ‘Let the poor girl catch her breath and drink her tea,’ Ellie said quietly as she set down the tray. ‘We’ll hear it all soon enough.’ She passed cups around and offered sandwiches and cake. ‘I hear you’ve already met Matt Derwent,’ she said between sips of hot, sweet tea.

  Claire grinned. ‘It never ceases to amaze me how fast news travels out here. The bush telegraph is obviously still alive and well and doing good business.’

  ‘Nothing much escapes,’ murmured Ellie. ‘You have to remember that despite the distances out here, we’re really only a village. The population is less than one of Sydney’s suburbs and growing smaller every year. The youngsters are leaving – they don’t have the same feel for the land as our generation.’

  ‘And what does this village gossip have to say about me and Mr Derwent?’ she asked with wry humour.

  Ellie smiled over the rim of her teacup. ‘Nothing much, but Lila Smith down at the Gregory Hotel reckons you’re made for each other.’ She put down her cup and reached for her cigarettes. ‘Poor Lila. Reads too many romantic novels.’

  Inconsequential chatter went back and forth as they finished their tea – then dwindled into an awkward silence. The tension was growing. Even Aurelia was feeling it, Ellie noticed, as the old lady fiddled with her pipe and dropped her matches.

  ‘So why the summons?’

  Claire appeared relaxed as she sat back in the chair, but Ellie could see the alert stillness in her. She dragged on the last of her cigarette before stubbing it out. Her pulse was racing. The moment had come. Yet the strange calmness remained with her and she was able to think clearly. She circumvented her daughter’s question with one of her own. ‘I hear you’ve been visiting graveyards again,’ she said quietly into the brittle silence. ‘Now, why would you do that, I wonder?’ She lifted her gaze to her daughter’s face, almost afraid of what she would see there.

  Claire returned her look, the gaze steady, the face perhaps a little paler than before. ‘I want to know why it’s there considering its obvious family connection. And why no one will give me a proper explanation. I was hoping this summons home would give me the answer.’

  Ellie was aware of Aurelia’s concerned expression. Aware of the past closing in – surrounding her – taking her back. ‘If you want to know the history of that grave and the reason for its isolation, then the best place to start is the beginning,’ she said softly. ‘You know the story of how I first met Charlie and Joe on the matilda, but I suppose the history of why that gravestone is at Jarrah really began several weeks later.’

  She stared out across the yard to the distant horizon, aware of the expectant silence from her daughter. Taking a deep breath she began to speak. ‘As the weeks went by Charlie grew more restless. The drought had a stranglehold on Warratah and there wasn’t enough work. I think he was sick of me traipsing around after him and his brother – sick of being told what to do by an old battleaxe with a voice that splintered the ear drums.’

  Ellie glanced across at Aurelia. They both knew how she’d been perceived all those years ago and Ellie realised the old girl was rather proud of the fact. ‘The crux came when a passing drover told him about a horse muster over in the Territory.’

  *

  ‘I gotta go,’ he said excitedly. ‘The muster starts in two weeks and it’ll take all of that to get there.’

  ‘There’s work here if you look for it,’ Joe replied as he lifted bales of feed from the storehouse and loaded them into the back of the ute. ‘What you wanna go haring off for when we already got tucker and shelter? The old girl might be fierce, but she’s dinkum all right.’

  ‘Old battleaxe more like,’ Charlie retorted. ‘Getting her bloody money’s worth making us work for bed and board.’

  ‘Fair go, mate,’ Joe said with a sigh as he leaned on the pitchfork. ‘She gave us a hundred quid for bringing Ellie back. What more do you want?’

  ‘Work. Excitement. I dunno,’ said an exasperated Charlie waving his arms in the air. ‘But I gotta get out of here. This place’s closing in on me.’

  ‘And what about me? Do I figure in these plans of yours?’ Joe said calmly.

  Charlie shrugged. ‘You can come if you want,’ he replied with enough grudging nonchalance to hide his hope Joe would do just that. For despite his yearning to roam free again, the thought of setting out on his own had suddenly become daunting.

  Joe went back to loadi
ng the feed, his expression enigmatic, his silence making Charlie edgy. ‘Well?’ he said finally. ‘Are you coming with me or not?’

  ‘Don’t reckon I will, mate,’ Joe replied eventually. ‘It’s time to settle in one place for a bit, see if I like life out here. I got money in me pocket now, and until it rains I can’t see no point in moving on and scratching for a living.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘You got no sense of adventure, Joe. Why get stuck here working for your tucker when you could be out riding with the brumbies?’ He warmed to his theme, his blue eyes gleaming with the thrill of it all. ‘Think of how it felt, Joe. Remember the rush we got from it.’ He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, willing him to change his mind. ‘Come on, mate. Come with me.’

  ‘Not this time, Charlie,’ replied Joe. ‘I’ve seen enough of the matilda to satisfy any adventure I might have been looking for.’ He slung the pitchfork into the flat-bed of the utility, and stood squarely in front of his brother, his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I need time,’ he said firmly. ‘Time to catch me breath and make up me mind about what I really want to do. Aurelia’s money has given me that chance, and I don’t want to make the wrong decisions just because you’re all fired up.’

  ‘But there ain’t nothing here but a bunch of bloody women telling you what to do,’ Charlie said in exasperation. He was suddenly afraid. Afraid of losing the one person that meant anything to him.

  ‘Fair go,’ his brother said mildly. ‘There’s enough for me to do here, and when the rains come Aurelia will need help mustering the stock.’

  Charlie’s boyish grin faltered. ‘And what if it doesn’t rain? What then?’

  Joe eyed him steadily. ‘I’ll take me chances. This place is the nearest thing to home and I ain’t gunna walk away from it – not even for you, Charlie.’

  Charlie hadn’t meant for things to turn out this way – but on the other hand he needed to be free. He kicked at the dirt. ‘So this is it then?’ he muttered.

  Joe touched his arm. ‘We knew it would happen, mate,’ he said. ‘You and me want different things. I’ve had it with living on the tracks – don’t need to wander no more. ’

  Charlie shrugged off his hand, the beguiling smile no longer in evidence as Joe’s calm determination forced him to realise he’d meant what he’d said. He followed his brother’s gaze as it drifted to the paddock where Satan was cropping the silver grass and knew this was the moment of parting. Yet now it was here, he was reluctant to take the next step. ‘All this will still be here when the muster’s over,’ he said quickly. ‘Come with me now, Joe, and if things don’t work out you can come back.’

  Joe shook his dark head. ‘I’m not leaving, Charlie. Sorry.’

  The twins stood for a long, silent moment, each with their own thoughts. There was still time to change their minds. Yet they recognised the other’s need to follow their own destiny and neither of them could find the words to convey how painful this was.

  Charlie slicked back his hair. It had grown long again and glinted in the sun. ‘I’ll be leaving before sun-up tomorrow,’ he said finally. ‘If you change your mind…?’ He looked hopefully at his twin, willing him to see the apprehension in his eyes.

  Joe threw his arms around him, and the clamour of conflicting emotions that raced through Charlie made it difficult for him to speak. He slapped the broad, muscular back and held him close as he remembered their childhood together and the long trek they’d taken to get this far.

  ‘You take care of yourself out there.’ Joe’s voice was gruff as they drew awkwardly apart. ‘And keep in touch. You’re still my brother and I don’t want to lose you.’

  Charlie turned and headed back to the bunkhouse. Their life together was over, and although the need for adventure gnawed deep, there was still a part of him that longed to be like his twin. Longed for the sense of contentment and inner stillness Joe seemed to carry with him. Yet he understood why they had to part, for if either of them were to make something of themselves, they could only do it alone.

  *

  Joe had meant to wake early the next morning to say goodbye to Charlie, but after a day of shifting feed bags and digging fence posts, he’d hit the pillow and had slept deeply for over nine hours. Now the sun was streaming through an empty bunkhouse and the clock on the wall showed it was well past seven. He leaped from bed, pulled on strides and boots and fought with shirt buttons. He’d wash later. Charlie’s bed was empty, his bluey gone from the bedpost, but there still might be time to catch him – still the possibility he’d changed his mind.

  Crashing through the bunk-house door he stepped into the yard. Charlie’s string of horses was gone from the holding paddock. He was too late. With his spirits low and the brightness of the morning sun taunting him, he crossed the yard to the cookhouse.

  The Aborigines were sitting around their fire as usual, their dark skins deflecting the sun like negatives against the red backdrop of the yard as their gaze followed him. Some of the children were playing with the scraggy camp dogs in the dirt, their sharp cries and laughter drifting on the soft breeze. But Joe was hardly aware of their cheerful greetings, for it was as if his twin’s departure had taken a part of himself – leaving a great void he was sure could never be filled.

  The stock horses and utility were gone and Joe realised the skeleton crew of men still employed on Warratah were already out in the pastures finishing the posts and fencing they’d started the day before. Smoke curled lazily from the homestead chimney and a barefooted lubra was hanging out washing. Aurelia and Ellie were having breakfast on the verandah, the gleam of white feathers luminous in the shadows as Kelly preened. Yet the strong sense of something being wrong made his steps falter and he came to a standstill. Everything looked as it always did. And yet. He turned slowly, taking in the already familiar surroundings, marking it against his memory. Then his gaze fell on the far paddock and he understood.

  ‘No,’ he rasped. His feet pounded across the dusty yard as he raced for the paddock. ‘No!’ he raged as he climbed the railings and searched for his beloved Satan. ‘Come back Charlie!’ he yelled into the miles of empty silence. ‘Come back you bastard!’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  The light voice startled him and he turned towards it, stumbling down from the railings, almost overwhelmed by rage and frustration. It was as if he’d become a child again. A child whose favourite toys had been stolen – only to be returned broken when Charlie had grown tired of them. A child who’d finally been betrayed beyond endurance. ‘Me bastard brother’s nicked me ‘orse,’ he rasped. ‘He’s stolen Satan.’ He blinked rapidly, unwilling to break down before an audience. He could have done without Ellie at this precise moment.

  ‘Aunt Aurelia saw him real early this morning when he came for his fifty quid,’ said Ellie softly. ‘She did say she thought it odd you’d given him your horse.’

  Joe clenched his fists, his rage cold and unremitting. ‘I’d never give him Satan,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘He knew bloody well I’d never give him Satan. That’s why the bastard took him when I was asleep.’ He stared off into the distance. ‘I’ll kill him,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll bloody kill him if he dares come back after this.’

  Ellie placed her hand in his and they stood there for a long time staring out over the lonely miles. The silence between them wasn’t awkward for it was as if they were suddenly in tune with one another’s thoughts. Joe looked down at the kid beside him and knew she understood that they were like the flowers that drifted with the wind across this great empty land. Hostages to fate – their life’s patterns marked only by the footprints they left in the dust.

  *

  ‘It was just a horse,’ breathed Claire.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Satan was more than just an ordinary horse to Joe,’ she said softly. ‘You have to remember the world was still staggering from the Wall Street Crash. The boys started out with nothing but their blueys on their backs and the clothes they stood up in. Satan had been
caught and broken by Joe – the stallion was a symbol of how far he’d come – what he’d achieved. On the practical side, a horse back then represented a mode of transport and the means to work. Without it a man had nothing.’

  Understanding shone through as Claire remembered how devastated she’d been when her first pony had broken his leg in a rabbit hole and had had to be put down. Claire was ten when it happened, but she still had a photograph of him in her wallet. She watched the shadows flit over her mother’s face and knew this dredging up of the past was proving painful. Yet beyond that pain she sensed Ellie felt a release in the retelling of the story; for secrets had a way of souring life – of colouring it in different hues. ‘So what happened?’

  Her mother’s eyes were as dark as molten chocolate, the freckles not quite hidden beneath the dusting of powder as she turned her face to the sun. ‘Charlie’s conscience began to bother him,’ she replied. ‘But that didn’t hinder his pleasure in Satan’s ability to run like the wind. He kept telling himself Joe would get over losing the horse – that he’d find another and forget all about Satan.’

  Ellie smoothed the skirt of her cotton dress and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. ‘But it was at night when he lay by the camp fire and looked up at the stars that the reality of what he’d done made him uneasy. They weren’t children any more. The loss of the horse would mean far more to Joe than any of the toys Charlie had filched during those younger days. He knew that taking Satan was a mean thing to do to a brother who’d always stood by him.’

  Claire saw the sadness in those dark eyes and almost wished she could turn back the clock and leave the past where it belonged. But the floodgates were opening and she was hungry to learn more. Hungry and yet afraid for the consequences.

  Ellie was still speaking, her voice low as night descended and stillness crept over Warratah. ‘The long, lonely hours in the saddle and on the wallaby tracks had enforced the bond between them, making Charlie realise just how much his twin meant to him; yet it was not in his nature to admit his mistakes – not in his nature to turn around and ask for forgiveness.’ She bit her lip as she lowered her gaze. ‘Life was tougher in those days and both boys learned early that only the strong survived. Charlie felt that he and Satan were two of a kind – freedom seekers – happiest when out in the vast emptiness with only the wind and the sun for company. If he and Satan had stayed on Warratah their spirits would have withered. He believed this land was made for men like him. Men who weren’t afraid to take their chances. Men who could turn their backs on loved ones and forge a future amongst others of his kind.’