‘Righto!’ they chorused. Molly flung the frog into the bushes, leapt down from the stool and pelted back inside with Wade hot on her heels. Seconds later their faces appeared around the edge of the curtain in the bedroom window. Lucy sighed and was on the point of abandoning her mission, but then remembered witnessing the agony of the dying frogs on her first day. It was a sight she would never forget.
When she was done, she had a jarful of frogs, mainly the brownish middle-sized variety, with a few big greenies and several tiny lime-coloured ones thrown into the mix. Some internet research on the schoolroom computer revealed that a relocated frog would return to its chosen home from a distance of up to fifteen kilometres. So later that evening, with pizzas, baths and other bedtime duties completed, Lucy stealthily left the kitchen, carrying her slimy charges towards the shed where her little car was parked.
The sun was already low in the sky, so she drove quickly out of the shed and over the grid; after a few kilometres, she veered off the station’s main road down some wheel tracks that the kids had informed her led to the ‘swamps’. She hadn’t gone far, however, when the track began to deteriorate, the ruts deepening. Lucy crept along at a snail’s pace, for fear of scraping the bottom of her flimsy little car. Soon she could proceed no further. She pulled up in the middle of the track and hopped out; carrying the frog jar, she continued determinedly on foot.
The land was damp on either side of the raised track, and dark with moisture around the clumps of grass and spindly paperbarks. Through stands of swampy vegetation some distance ahead, Lucy could see an expanse of shallow water reflecting the pink-tinged evening sky. As she walked, the hush of evening, the leafy scents of the swamp and the soft pastel colours of the dusk landscape took possession of Lucy. She began to imagine she could see elf-like beings ducking out of sight behind the trees and feathery grass on the periphery of her vision. She trod quietly, afraid to disturb the mysterious tranquillity.
The elusive bush folk led her on, first around one bend in the track and then another. She felt suddenly free of all her worries, and for the first time, at one with her surroundings. Then all at once, an owl-like note rang out through the hush and brought her back to reality. The last rays of light were abruptly fading from the sky; she had temporarily forgotten the curious lack of twilight at this latitude. Here, the night literally seemed to ‘fall’, without the warning hour of dimming light she was accustomed to.
Lucy quickly shook the frogs out of the jar onto a green cushion of water grass and turned to hurry back the way she’d come. Walking quickly, she became aware that her light sandals were full of grit and grass and were chafing her wet feet. She also realised that she’d wandered a very long way from the car. Breathing fast, she hurried on into the last of the dusk, telling herself to remain calm, and trying to ignore the night-time rustles that were starting up in the surrounding brush.
The ground became rougher and she stopped, her eyes wide and searching the deepening darkness. Mozzies hummed, homing in on her exposed limbs. There were trees close on either side and in front of her. How had she lost the track? It had seemed so obvious coming from the other direction.
She felt furious with herself for getting into this situation, but she resolved not to panic. Instead she stopped and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She slapped at the biting mozzies on her legs, then decided to retrace her steps, in an attempt to get back on the track. But even while she’d been standing there, it had grown darker and after turning full circle, she found herself unsure of the direction she’d come from. She felt tears prick her eyes and her throat tightened in alarm. Then a welcome sound met her ears: the distant putter of a farm motorcycle. It grew louder, and finally Lucy thought she could see a hint of light through the trees. She heard the engine slow and then idle, still quite a way off. Someone must have found her car. Then the bike was coming closer again. She could clearly see the beam of light now. Walking hurriedly towards it, she soon found herself back on the track, which was only a few metres from where she’d been standing. Feeling silly, she quickly brushed a tear from her cheek. A bright headlight suddenly shone in her eyes, and the bike skidded to a stop in front of her. A tall figure leaned back on the seat.
‘Oh good,’ Ted said flatly. ‘Thought you might’ve come down here to top yourself. Didn’t fancy carting your body back to that shoddy little car on the front of the bike.’
‘I just came down here to release the frogs.’ Lucy lifted her chin defiantly, hoping he wouldn’t see the fear still in her eyes. No doubt he would think her compassion for the frogs absurd, too.
But Ted only looked a little curious. ‘Saving them from the Dettol, eh?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy said trenchantly.
‘Got a bit lost while you were at it, I’d reckon.’
‘Yes.’ Lucy braced herself for his disapproval. She knew it had been foolish to wander off in the dark when she knew so little of the area. It was mortifying that Ted had come to rescue her, but even more so that she’d needed him to.
When he spoke again, though, his voice was mild. ‘Lucky blighters, them frogs,’ he observed. ‘All that hassle, just to save them. Better jump on.’ He patted the seat behind him.
What followed for Lucy was a terrifyingly fast and bumpy ride through the darkness. She was certain that they were airborne on more than one occasion.
‘You can let go of me now,’ Ted said, once they’d come to a halt next to Lucy’s car. She suddenly realised that her arms were wrapped tightly around him and her fingers had a vicelike grip on his shirt front. She immediately released him and slid off the bike, pushing her hair back off her face.
In the light from the bike, she looked him in the eye. ‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said politely. He laughed softly at the sight of her face, and she knew that she must be pale.
Ted was about to move off, but Lucy still hadn’t received the reprimand she knew she deserved. She spoke up quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Ted. I’ve been very silly.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he said, ‘I reckon the frogs would say different. But it’s probably not too clever to go wandering off into the swamps alone till you know your way about a bit. Especially wearing shoes like that.’ They both looked down at her battered sandals in the dim light. ‘Plenty of king browns down here. And you could run into a mob of rogue pigs or dogs. Even some of the old cracker cows will have you if you pop up next to one of their calves.’
Lucy nodded solemnly. ‘It won’t happen again.’
Then all at once, she was reminded of the last occasion on which she’d uttered those words. Melbourne Cup Day. Her mind conjured up a clear picture of the faces of the three mothers who had accosted her about her jeans on her way back to her classroom after bus duty. ‘It won’t happen again,’ Lucy had assured them, and had instantly been disgusted at her own cowardice.
Now, standing on the dark track with Ted, the whole episode felt like a peculiar dream, so far removed from this place of chirping crickets, moist velvety darkness and trilling toads. An incident that had so worried her at the time suddenly seemed funny. She grinned and stifled a laugh, feeling the colour flood back into her cheeks. Ted looked at her quizzically.
‘Oh . . .’ Lucy realised how inappropriate her laughter must seem. ‘This situation just reminded me of another one I was in once . . . which was actually completely different,’ she explained hurriedly.
‘Ah . . . righto,’ Ted said. ‘Not sure I’m getting your drift.’ Then, unexpectedly, he beamed back at her. It was the first time she’d seen him smile properly, unguardedly. Maybe he felt safer in the darkness. It was a lopsided grin, his deep dimple appearing in his left cheek out of nowhere. The smile was full of innocent boyish delight and looked completely out of place on a face that was usually so hard and determined. A frown sat much more comfortably on those furrowed features, Lucy decided.
He rolled the bike forward a few paces and opened the driver’s door of Lucy’s car. She climbed in, oddly touched by the old-fash
ioned gesture. Then he waited patiently while she turned the car, and saw her set off safely homewards along the track before puttering past her and away into the darkness.
As she drove back towards the homestead, Lucy found that Ted’s unexpected gentleness had heartened her. She still found the people and the workings of Charlotte’s Creek more or less a mystery, but things seemed to happen in their own time out here. Perhaps, if she was patient, more would be revealed.
So Lucy was smiling as she eased her little car over the cattle grid, and she suddenly realised she’d forgotten to ask Ted how he’d known where to find her.
Chapter 7
The ringers had moved on at last, and Lucy wondered whether it was the reduced number of distractions for the children that was making her job in the schoolroom a little easier. She dared not hope just yet that she was making progress with her students, but the last week had seemed to pass quite quickly, and Lucy had caught herself and the children laughing and even enjoying themselves on more than one occasion during school hours.
She woke on Saturday morning feeling almost cheerful. Gwen had invited her over for morning tea, and Lucy was looking forward to being with someone who had the time for a chat. She was also keen to find out more about the mysterious Grey Lady. Although she’d tried to put it out of her head, the thought of the twins’ ghost had occasionally been bothering her when she was alone in her cottage, and she was hoping to have the phantom’s existence disproven.
First she went over to the main house to help with the breakfast washing-up. ‘Do you mind if I go to the other house for a while this morning?’ she asked Mel. ‘Gwen’s asked me over.’
Mel had just returned to the kitchen with a steel bucket half full of frothy milk. Her face was pale and she looked exhausted already, as she banged the bucket down on the bench. Lucy wondered whether Mel was suffering morning sickness, with the pregnancy that no one ever mentioned.
‘Do what you like, darl,’ Mel answered. ‘I’ll be over at the yards. Den’s tagging some steers and I have to help on the head bale ’cause Ted’s gone home to his block.’
‘Do you want me to take the kids with me?’ Lucy offered.
Mel gave a wry chuckle. ‘Don’t like your chances. They’ll be over at the yards bugging us.’
‘Well, are you sure it’s all right for me to—’
‘You gotta do what you gotta do,’ Mel cut in. ‘You got the summons, did you? Lady West wants to start getting in your ear? You can tell her all about what a shocking mum I am. And a bloody useless housekeeper, too. I don’t talk to her, see. Lives a hundred metres away but we haven’t spoken for a good few years now.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that . . .’
‘Don’t be, mate. It was much worse when I had to try and get along with the bitch. Much easier this way.’ Mel grinned at Lucy’s startled expression. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll probably love her. Most people do. They think she’s a sweet old lady. Which she is. Just like they think I’m a vicious cow. Which I am.’
As Lucy ascended the front steps of Dennis’s parents’ home she thought again about Mel’s comments and wondered what could have caused such ill feeling between the two women. Gwen seemed so nice and she’d been very kind to Lucy’s parents when they’d visited.
The veranda was spotlessly clean and the house was in much better condition than the main house. Its open design and double glass doors were very similar in style, but the generous veranda was adorned with lush hanging plants and rustic trinkets rather than spider webs. Lucy cast her eyes over the old sheep shears, cowbells, horse collars and cross-cut saws adorning the outside wall at intervals. A trio of huge polished horseshoes was mounted over the lintel of the open front door. Pausing on the mat, she smelled freshly baked cake.
Before Lucy had the chance to knock, Gwen appeared inside. Giving Lucy a peck on the cheek and a motherly squeeze, she ushered her in. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this morning, Lucy. Noel’s busy in the shed, so we can have a real heart-to-heart.’
Having become accustomed to the offhand greetings of the other Charlotte’s Creek folk, Lucy was once again pleasantly surprised by Gwen’s warm welcome. As she made her way through the little sunroom to the kitchen she stopped to comment on the intricate needlework of a tapestry on the wall.
Gwen bustled ahead to tip the cake out of its tin and onto a gold-rimmed cake platter.
‘Not many young people appreciate such things these days,’ she said through the doorway. ‘I’d be more than happy to teach you. You could come over here from time to time and work on a little tapestry. It might just save your sanity!’ She gave a high-pitched little laugh. ‘I crochet and sew too. And then of course there’s my patchwork. I’ll show you after morning tea. Oh, how lovely to have someone a bit feminine around!’
As keen as she was to see Gwen’s work, Lucy felt slightly disappointed. Was she so obviously different from the other women in the Charlotte’s Creek vicinity? Billie was right, she was just a ‘soft city bird’. Or, on second thoughts, had Gwen’s comment been a veiled criticism of Mel?
She joined Gwen in the kitchen. It was a pretty country-style room with wide casement windows and curtains of crisp pale green. Every ledge, shelf or nook held an ornament, piece of painted crockery, antique glass vessel or shapely utensil. Not one of the objects had been randomly placed, and they all occupied their well-dusted positions with a static permanency. The whole room had a fixed, unlived-in air, so unlike the chaotic and ever-changing disarray of Mel’s kitchen.
‘Can I do anything to help?’ Lucy asked, approaching the bench where Gwen was sifting cinnamon sugar over an apple teacake.
‘Certainly not, darling. Sit down. I’ll join you in a moment.’
Lucy did as she was told, and was about to raise the topic of the Grey Lady when Gwen spoke again. ‘Now, tell me a bit more about yourself. Your mother said that you taught at a rather distinguished school in Sydney.’
While they waited for the kettle to boil, Lucy gave Gwen a short description of her teaching experience and what had prompted her decision to leave the school. Gwen listened eagerly and commented sensitively at all the right moments. Lucy found herself relaxing and she began to speak about the topic dearest to her heart, her family. Gwen asked questions and seemed delighted with all she was hearing.
‘You obviously love your father very much, and he certainly seems an impressive man,’ Gwen observed. ‘My father meant the world to me, too. He was singlehandedly responsible for opening up much of the cattle country to the north of here and was a very prominent man in these parts. But to me he was just my darling daddy.’ She smiled.
Lucy was hit with a wave of homesickness and felt tears sting her eyes.
‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Gwen jumped out of her seat and rushed round the table to embrace her. ‘Now, I insist that you come here for a chat and a bit of peace at least twice a week.’
Lucy took a deep breath to compose herself and Gwen went on. ‘You can tell Melissa that I insist. We must try our best to keep you here.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m such a sook.’ Lucy wiped her eyes.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Gwen objected gently. ‘Homesickness is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s wonderful to be close to your family. You are welcome to share any problems at any time.’
Lucy smiled gratefully. It was so nice to feel that someone was interested in her and cared how she was faring.
‘Tea or coffee?’ Gwen was selecting two fine china cups from a red cedar cabinet.
‘Tea, please,’ Lucy said. She still hadn’t managed to adapt to instant coffee, so spoiled had she been by Marie’s superior percolated coffee, the beans always freshly ground. The taste of the instant stuff only heightened her homesickness.
Gwen nodded approvingly and began pouring water into the teapot. ‘Let me guess: white? With no sugar?’
‘Yes!’ Lucy laughed in surprise.
‘I knew you’d be a tea girl as soon as I saw you,’ Gwen said triumphantly. �
��Natalie now, she always had coffee. With two sugars. Poor girl was a little coarse, I suppose you could say. Heart in the right place, though.’
Lucy found that she was beginning to feel quite sorry for Natalie. She privately wondered whether it was possible for any governess to meet with approval at Charlotte’s Creek.
Gwen put the teapot at the centre of the table, then produced a dainty milk jug and two china plates with cake forks. Last came the cake and a slender cake knife.
‘I must admit, I missed Natalie when she left,’ Gwen went on. ‘Melissa doesn’t seem to be able to keep her governesses long.’ She poured the tea from the squat teapot, carefully catching the leaves in a tiny strainer. ‘We had the same governess for fifteen years with our kids,’ she continued. ‘I suppose how long they stay depends on how happy they are. Melissa isn’t the easiest person to live with.’
Despite the truth of Gwen’s statement, Lucy felt a small part of her protest in loyalty to Mel. The bad feeling between the two was obviously quite a preoccupation with Gwen.
The older woman was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to agree. Lucy said nothing, so Gwen pressed on. ‘The way she speaks to those children,’ she shook her head sadly, ‘and my poor Dennis . . .’
Now it was Gwen whose eyes were brimming with tears. Lucy, not sure what to say, reached out and took her hand. The older woman gulped and blinked away the tears. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, I’m being silly. Maybe one day you’ll have a son, then you’ll know . . .’ Gwen fished in her pocket for a small lacy hanky and dabbed at her eyes.
Lucy tried to quickly dispel an inexplicable inkling that the older woman was being insincere. But just before Gwen issued a final quiet sob, she opened her eyes for a moment to peep over the edge of the hanky, and Lucy found that she couldn’t disregard the sneaking suspicion after all.
‘It must be very hard all living and working together, Mrs West,’ she said gently. ‘So many different personalities! I can’t imagine trying to run a business with my sister—as much as I love her.’ She squeezed Gwen’s hand again.
Charlotte's Creek Page 6
