Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

  Charlie sniffed back the tears as he stroked the elegant neck and ran his fingers through the long mane. Satan seemed to become aware of him and gave a soft wicker that almost broke his heart. ‘Do it quick then,’ he said abruptly as he got to his feet and turned his back.

  He was pushing through the milling throng, blind to where he was going, deaf to everything around him when the resounding crack of the gunshot froze him. He swayed, the echo of that shot ringing in his head, the white-hot rage building inside him until he could control it no longer. The crowd parted as he tore towards the weighing room. The other jockey was dead meat.

  Charlie stormed into the room, slamming the screen door so hard it almost came off its hinges. ‘Where are you, you bastard?’ he yelled into the shocked silence. ‘Come out and show yer face you yellow dingo.’

  The skinny little man emerged from the back of the room, surrounded by six others who had the muscle to do his fighting for him. ‘Looking for me?’ he smirked.

  ‘Too bloody right I am,’ snarled Charlie as he lunged for the little man’s throat.

  Strong hands held him back and the other jockey’s mates formed a tight cordon around him. ‘Shouldn’t play grown-up games if you don’t like being beat.’ The little man said.

  ‘You’re a dirty, stinking mongrel,’ yelled Charlie as he struggled to be free of the restraining hands. ‘You whipped me. Kicked the stirrups away. You’re nothing but a bloody cheat.’

  ‘I’d be careful with your choice of words, sonny,’ said the little man coldly. ‘Cheat ain’t something you should be calling anyone.’

  Charlie looked wildly around him. There wasn’t a friendly face to be seen and the silence was electric. ‘You are a cheat,’ he shouted defiantly. ‘If you hadn’t done what you did, my bloody horse would have won.’

  The men moved forward until Charlie could smell the beer and tobacco on their breath. Could see the contempt in their eyes and almost feel their blood lust. For the first time in his life he was afraid.

  ‘Cheat’s an ugly word, mate,’ hissed the little man as he looked up at Charlie. ‘An ugly word that suits bastards like you who steals another man’s horse.’ He looked around him as the others nodded their agreement, then back at Charlie. ‘See we don’t like bludgers in our town. Tall poppies what come in ‘ere and try to steal what ain’t theirs. So we got our own way of dealing with ‘em.’

  Charlie struggled to be free but the relentless grasp on his arms made it impossible. He was trapped. ‘But it was you what cheated,’ he yelled defiantly. ‘You had me off.’

  ‘I didn’t see nothing,’ said the course steward. He looked at the others. ‘You blokes see anything like that happen?’

  They shook their heads in unison.

  The jockey stepped closer, the crown of his head not quite reaching Charlie’s chest. ‘My ‘orse was always gunna win the minute we found out who you was and what you was up to,’ he rasped. ‘But I’m sorry about Joe’s chestnut – he was a beaut – didn’t deserve a yellow belly like you on ‘is back.’

  Charlie was sweating. The hard, swift punch in his gut made him gasp, his legs almost giving way beneath him. The hands let him go and he was shoved out of the door and into the dirt. He sprawled there fighting for breath, surrounded by gaping onlookers. His humiliation was complete.

  ‘Get out,’ shouted the chairman of the racing committee. ‘And I’ll see to it you’ll never race again – not in this country anyway.’

  The murmurs of disapproval followed him as the sea of jostling people curled away from him. Charlie rammed his hat on and, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, headed for the comparative safety of the holding paddock where he’d left his stock horses. If Snowy was amongst the silent crowd then he wasn’t showing himself – and Charlie had a nasty feeling he knew who’d betrayed him.

  5

  Ellie took the pipe and matches from the bedside table and switched off the main light. ‘Smoking in bed’s a dangerous habit,’ she said gently as her aunt protested. ‘You’ll set the house on fire one of these days.’

  Aurelia grimaced as she sat bolt upright against the pillows. ‘Comes to something when a woman of my age and stature is bossed about in her own home.’ She crossed her arms over the thick cotton nightdress and glared through her monocle.

  Ellie smiled. ‘This is my home,’ she reminded her. ‘Yours is almost an hour away.’ She put the offending objects in her pocket. ‘I’ll give them back to you at breakfast. Now get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Aurelia slid down the pillows, her halo of white hair framing her face, the soft light from the bedside lamp making her appear softer, younger. ‘I thought that went quite well, didn’t you?’ she asked, changing the subject as she always did when she’d lost an argument.

  Ellie nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think so,’ she said finally. ‘But that was the easy bit. ‘Things are going to get far more complex soon, and I’m not looking forward to it.’

  ‘Know what you mean,’ Aurelia said gruffly as she fought to keep her eyes open. ‘Returning to the past is never easy – but I find I’m doing it more and more just lately.’

  The monocle plopped on to her chest and Ellie smiled as the first soft snore escaped. Aurelia would sleep well tonight. She closed the door and padded across the hall to see if Claire needed anything. It was a nice feeling having the house busy again.

  Claire was in bed reading a book with a lurid cover. Her hair sparkled like gossamer against the pillows and the cream satin nightdress gleamed against her tanned skin, and in that moment Ellie realised with a shock how much she reminded her of Alicia. Yet Claire had none of Alicia’s traits, thank goodness. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’ she asked as she sat on the end of the bed.

  Claire yawned and put the book aside. ‘The Valley of the Dolls,’ she replied. ‘I’ve been meaning to read it for ages, but until now I haven’t had the time.’ She grinned up at Ellie. ‘It’s a bit racy – not at all the sort of thing a carefully brought up young lady like me should be reading.’

  ‘In that case you’d better give it to me when you’ve finished with it,’ said Ellie with some alacrity. She bent forward and kissed her daughter’s cheek. She smelled of soap and toothpaste and her skin was soft and warm. ‘It’s lovely to have you home, darling,’ she said for the second time that day. ‘I just wish we’d cleared the air five years ago. I’ve missed you. It seems a shame to spoil your home-coming by reviving old history.’

  Claire’s eyes were very blue as they regarded her. ‘You haven’t said anything to spoil it so far, mum,’ she said. ‘But I get the feeling there are more serious things to come.’

  Ellie looked away. She was afraid Claire would see her thoughts.

  ‘Don’t worry, mum,’ said Claire as she touched her arm. ‘Whatever it is we’ll get through it somehow. We’re a tough bunch we Warratah women.’

  Ellie smiled across at her, feeling her spirits lift. Claire was right. They were tough. They would get to the end of this – but she was dreading the road they would have to take to reach that final destination. She kissed Claire again and left the room.

  Unable to face the empty double bed, Ellie pottered into the kitchen and made herself some tea. With the cup cradled in her hands she dragged a chair over to the new range and opened the door. It was definitely getting colder and she thought she heard the first splatters of rain on the corrugated roof. The Wet was early this year.

  As she sat there in the glow from the fire her thoughts drifted back to her sixteenth birthday and the Wet that had finally ended the long drought. That was the problem with dredging up the past, for once it had been invoked, it refused to remain in the shadows. Yet not all the memories were bad and she smiled as she basked in the warmth from the range.

  The breaking of the drought on her sixteenth birthday had brought life back to Warratah, and as they’d been preparing for the first muster since the rains she’d been forcibly reminded of her first drove with Dad and
Snowy and Wang Lee. Joe and Seamus had noticed her unusual silence and tried to lift her spirits by teasing her, but as the men and horses gathered in the yard she couldn’t help missing her father and wondering what had become of Wang Lee and Snowy.

  The house creaked and settled as the wind picked up and rain splashed on the windows and dripped to the verandah, and in that cocoon of warmth she could almost hear Joe’s voice again. ‘Reckon you’ll come across them some time,’ he drawled. ‘The outback’s a small world, despite the distances between us all.’

  She smiled as she remembered how Clipper had snorted in his ear – how Joe mussed the ageing pony’s mane and made a fuss of him rather than look her in the eye. Poor Joe. He’d always found it easier to communicate with animals than with girls. Yet she’d noticed the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Noticed how he’d become tongue tied and awkward, the colour rising in his face as he stomped off and immersed himself in something physical rather than be alone with her.

  Ellie leaned back in the chair and pulled her cardigan over her chest. Seamus on the other hand had never been shy, and never made a secret of his growing admiration. She knew his eyes followed her as she walked across the yard in her tight moleskins. Knew he hung around waiting for her to finish her chores so they could have supper together.

  The rivalry between the boys was tacit, but she’d realised Joe knew Seamus had the edge. He was the son of a rich cattleman – the heir to Jarrah. He was a guest on Warratah, not the hired hand.

  She snuggled into her cardigan as she giggled. She’d been sixteen then – no longer the chatty little pest who followed the boys around and got in their way, but a woman-child who was beginning to understand the power she possessed, and used it unashamedly by flirting. What a tease she’d been.

  As the snores became progressively louder from the guest room, Ellie smiled. Not surprisingly, Aunt Aurelia hadn’t been impressed by her behaviour back then. She’d come across Ellie leaning on the pommel of her saddle as she sat on Clipper and watched the boys preparing for the long drove to the stockyards. Both boys had turned to wave and she noticed how the colour rose furiously in Joe’s tanned face as she grinned and waved back.

  ‘You can take that silly look off your face,’ Aurelia had said abruptly as she brought her horse to a standstill beside Ellie. ‘I realise the hormones must be racing at the moment, but that’s no excuse. Men have their place on this earth, but there’s no profit in day-dreaming about them. There’s work to be done.’

  Ellie slammed the door shut on the range and switched off the light before padding back down the hall to her room. It had been a glorious morning that first day of the long drove to the stockyards, but things were about to change – for none of them realised it would be the last time they would ride together as the Three Musketeers.

  *

  Leanne emerged from the homestead on to the verandah. It was only just light, but the day promised well. She breathed in the scent of the flowers and golden wattle and revelled in the scent of damp earth and wet grass. Stepping down into the yard she crossed to the railings that surrounded home paddock.

  Her senses sharpened and she experienced the same sense of awakening as the outback. The dry, dusty ochre plains had a different feel to them after the rain the night before. A fresh, clean, colourful ambience that lightened the spirits and made her wish she could hold a tune well enough to sing. The clear light sharpened the outlines of distant hills, making them almost three dimensional against the backdrop of the enormous sky. The creeks and waterholes were full to the brim with sweet, clear water, and the mitchell and flinders grass rippled in the light, warm wind like a great silver and green sea. Wild ducks gabbled as they swam and fished in the billabong. Bush turkeys stalked across the flower covered plains gorging themselves on the swarms of insects that had come with the rain, and the air was resonant with the call and colour of a thousand different birds.

  Leanne drank in the scene before her as she leaned on the railing. Jarrah was at its most beautiful after the rain and she was privileged to be a part of it. She reluctantly pulled herself away and headed for the feed store. The rooster’s call was strident as she loaded up the various buckets and headed for the coops and kennels.

  With the smaller animals fed she dumped the buckets and went into the barn. Two of the farm cats were having a scrap. Growling like dogs, all teeth and claws they sparred and yowled and chased amongst the bales of hay before streaking through the door when they heard her approach. The cats were far removed from the fluffy, cute house pets in the city. These were skinny and feral and like everything else on Jarrah they were here for a purpose. Rats and mice had to be kept at bay and these two were particularly good at that. Leanne hefted a bale of hay and lugged it into the stables. She would let Bonny and her foal into the holding paddock as it was such a dry, warm day, then she could muck out the stable and fill Bonny’s manger.

  Bonny trotted happily into the paddock, the foal stumbling beside her with knock knees and unsteady legs. His pasterns were a little long for her to consider getting him trained up for racing, but they’d soon firm up and he’d make a good stock horse. She watched them for a while, noting how Bonny was foal proud and wouldn’t allow the other horses near her baby. She smiled as the little fellow got the scent of his surroundings and tried to gambol. His balance left something to be desired, but he was only twenty four hours old.

  Foals were terrible time wasters, she thought as she left them to it and returned to the stables. She must have spent a good half hour mooning over him. One of the Aborigine boys was already making a start on mucking out and she rolled up her sleeves and pitched in.

  She was sweating and filthy, her shirt sticking to her back, her face red, her hair falling into her eyes when she heard the unmistakable sound of a light aircraft touching down. ‘Shit,’ she breathed as she rubbed a dirty hand over her sweaty forehead. ‘Shit, shit, shit and double shit.’ She hastily scrubbed her hands and face under the cold tap in the stable yard and wondered if she had time to rush indoors and change.

  ‘G’day,’ came the cheerful voice as Angel Carrera emerged around the corner. ‘I see I’m expected.’

  Leanne was furious she hadn’t considered this might happen, and after all her careful plans he’d caught her on the hop. She knew she must look a fright, but it was too late now.

  Angel Carrera wasn’t too tall, or too slender, but just right. He had a slow, almost lazy manner of walking and he looked delicious in his white moleskins, polished boots and check shirt.

  She smiled and looked up into smouldering black eyes that turned her knees to jelly. ‘Bastard,’ she said with a husky voice. ‘You knew you’d catch me out.’

  He swept her up in his arms and kissed her. Then without a word he carried her back to the homestead and through the screen door. Setting her on her feet his dark eyes took in the faded shirt, the mucky old jeans and scuffed boots. He smiled down at her. ‘Come here, Mrs Carrera,’ he growled.

  They tore at each others clothes and fought their way out of hampering boots. Their skins touched and the electricity shot between them taking their breath away. The time apart had only served to kindle the flames and now they were free to gorge themselves.

  Much later they were lying sated on the big double bed. ‘I haven’t caught you at a bad time, I hope?’ Angel’s hair shone raven black in the beam of sunlight pouring through the curtains as he ran his fingers over her naked body.

  ‘Not at all,’ she gasped as he played her as expertly as any violin virtuoso. ‘Just earlier than I expected.’ She was finding it hard to concentrate as the need for him began to well again. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’

  ‘What message?’ He leaned on one elbow, his dark brows came together in a frown.

  ‘I phoned and told someone at your office that they’d been delayed because of the rain. One of the jackaroos rode in and told me they’d had trouble out on Ten Mile Creek.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I
hope?’

  ‘They’ll be here,’ she said firmly. ‘They’ve already mustered most of the country and have about a thousand head yarded up in each of the twenty holding paddocks. Dad’s sending the first lot in later today so you can make a start.’

  ‘I’ve only allowed a week,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Think he’ll get them through in time?’

  She nodded. ‘Dad knows he has to get them to the market.’

  He smiled, his dark gaze dancing over her in a way that made her pulse race and her insides do cartwheels. ‘Thought I’d get here early so everything’s ready for their arrival,’ he murmured. ‘Can you think of anything we can do to pass the time?’

  His wicked smile melted her and she ran her fingers over his flat stomach. His skin was cool, the line of hair beneath his belly button enticing. ‘Oh, I think so,’ she murmured.

  *

  Claire woke from her dream and lay there for a moment wondering what it could have meant. She turned on her side, drawing her knees to her chest, her eyes firmly closed. She wanted to hold on to that dream for it had brought a deep calm – a stillness she hadn’t known for a long time. And as the sun began to drift through the window and warm her shoulders, she let her thoughts wander back over the dream that had seemed so real, so lucid and brightly coloured.

  She had been surrounded by silence, swimming in a calm sea of almost impossible blue beneath a sky that seemed to stretch to infinity beneath a warm sun. Yet despite her usual fear of the ocean and the fact she could see no land in any direction, she was unafraid. Treading water, she’d looked down, and there hundreds of feet below her was an ancient, ruined city. The white colonnades were mostly still standing along the wide paved streets and the sunlight filtered through the water to make them gleam. As she floated there high above this wonderful place she wondered if it was the lost city of Atlantis, yet it didn’t seem to matter – nothing seemed to matter.