After the third nightly visit, Lucy had asked the twins what they knew about the timid animal.
‘Jason, one of the ringers we had for a bit, gave that kitten to Natalie,’ Molly revealed.
‘But then Natalie and Jason had a fight and she stopped feeding it,’ put in Wade. ‘She didn’t take it when she left.’
‘Just like Rambo,’ Molly continued. ‘Brooke, the English, bought Rambo at Ingham show. Treated him like a baby when he was real little. Gave him a bottle, let him sleep inside, the lot.’
‘But then he got bigger and started stinking,’ Wade said, ‘so Brooke got jack of him.’
‘At least Rambo can eat grass,’ Lucy observed. ‘Who feeds that poor little cat? He seems to want some attention. What’s his name?’
‘It’s a female,’ Wade said. ‘Natalie called it Bundy at the start, but then she and Jason had that blue.’ He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. ‘And she only swore real bad at it after that. She used to call it a—’
‘No, that’s okay,’ Lucy said hastily. ‘I don’t need to know that bit. And I don’t really like the name Bundy. I think I’ll call her Ophelia. That’s a nicer name for a cat.’
‘You got some bloody funny ideas, Lucy,’ Wade remarked, patting her arm.
Now the cat shyly accompanied her at breakfast in the mornings, brushing against the table legs, and was treated to some warm milk as a reward. And whenever Lucy arrived back at her hut in the evening, or if she ducked in during the day, Ophelia would appear. She wasn’t an affectionate animal, at most allowing Lucy to brush her soft fur with her fingertips in passing. But as the days had passed, Lucy had become more attached to the coy little creature; to her delight, on a couple of occasions she’d woken during the night to feel a warm, buzzing presence nestled on her feet.
It seemed to Lucy that Ophelia, too, didn’t really belong at Charlotte’s Creek. Like Lucy, she didn’t have the attributes that would make her of practical use in getting the world’s work done. So Lucy felt fiercely protective towards her new charge, and when Mel began questioning her about Ophelia that Sunday evening at tea, she was instantly defensive.
‘Lucy, that cat—can you get close to it?’ Mel wanted to know. ‘That dill of a Natalie, thought a little kitty would be cute, but she lost interest in it when it grew up. Forgot to feed it most days. It’s gone feral now.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk, Mel,’ Dennis put in. ‘You wanted to keep all these babies, but look at them now!’ He roared with laughter at his own joke.
‘They’re not just my babies, Den,’ Mel retorted. ‘You played your part. In getting them, that is,’ she added. ‘Haven’t done much for them since, though, have you?’ She turned back to Lucy before she could see her husband’s face fall sullenly. ‘So, will that cat let you touch it or what? The kids said you’re feeding it.’
‘And,’ Molly piped up, ‘she’s changed its name to Feel-ya.’
‘Ophelia, Molly,’ Lucy quickly amended.
Dennis guffawed, his annoyance forgotten.
‘I’ve given her milk a few times,’ Lucy went on, looking askance at Mel. ‘I’m going to get some cat food next time we’re in town.’
‘But can you grab the cat?’ Mel persisted.
‘I can almost touch her, but she’s very wary.’
‘That’s because it knows I want to knock it on the head,’ Mel muttered. ‘I’ve just missed it twice now. I’ll ask Ted to shoot it when he gets back tomorrow.’
‘Please don’t!’ exclaimed Lucy breathlessly. ‘I’ll take responsibility for her, Mel.’
‘Will you take responsibility for the gutful of kittens it’s got?’ Mel demanded.
‘Oh . . . I-I didn’t realise,’ Lucy stammered. ‘I thought she was getting a bit fat, but—’
‘Just catch her for me, would you?’
‘Surely we can find homes for the kittens?’ Lucy said urgently. ‘Would the pet shop in Ingham—’
Mel cut in with a derisive laugh. ‘Yeah, I can see it now: Dirt-ugly tabby cross with mystery feral. Fifty bucks each.’
‘Once she’s had the kittens I’ll get her desexed,’ Lucy insisted, her voice rising in pitch.
‘Yeah, well, you just let me know when she does,’ Mel said. ‘She’ll make a nest somewhere. We got enough feral cats round here without breeding more.’
That night, Lucy lay awake for hours considering her new problem. She rose at dawn and, swallowing her pride, telephoned her sister, whom she’d barely spoken to in months. Gemma had always liked cats, and since marrying Lloyd she’d acquired two Russian blues as pets. Although she was woken by the phone, Gemma was nonetheless thrilled to hear from Lucy and didn’t seem to mind that there was an ulterior motive for the call. This made Lucy feel guilty. Once they’d discussed the problem of Ophelia, there was a short silence.
‘I’m sorry I only called to ask a favour,’ Lucy blurted. ‘I should have rung you before now.’
‘I don’t care about the reason!’ Gemma laughed. ‘Thank the cat from me. It’s just so great to hear your voice, Luce. I’m so proud of the way you’re surviving out there. Anyway, I should have called you. I’m the one with all the time on my hands.’
Lucy felt herself relax. ‘And are you happy Gem?’ she ventured.
‘Oh yes!’ Gemma almost came over the phone in her enthusiasm. ‘Honestly I am. I wish you could get to know Lloyd, Lucy, there’s so much more to him than you think.’
‘Gem—’ Lucy began.
But Gemma cut in with a laugh, ‘So much more to him than I thought myself!’
‘Well I’m so glad.’ Lucy said quietly, wondering whether Gemma’s high opinion of her husband could possibly last. ‘Don’t waste too much time over Ophelia, will you?’
‘Leave it with me, honey,’ Gemma soothed. ‘I’ll find a place for those kitties before the day is out.’
Sure enough, that night, Gemma phoned to say that she’d located an old millionaire spinster, on her very street, with multitudes of cats and a large garden that had been landscaped into a five-star cat sanctuary. ‘She’ll take the lot,’ Gemma said, ‘as long as you can arrange transport for them.’
Lucy was immensely relieved. She began to follow Ophelia when she slipped out after her milk each morning. From the purposeful way in which the little cat set off, Lucy knew that she must have made her nest somewhere in preparation for the birth. But every day Ophelia eluded her, apparently vanishing into thin air once she reached the long grass near the hayshed. Finally, desperate to find the nest before Mel did, Lucy resorted to asking the kids to help her in her mission, but like Mel they were unsympathetic.
‘Cats are bad, Lucy,’ Cooper proclaimed, and Billie nodded in agreement. ‘Specially feral ones. Kill everything that moves, they do. You should let Mum get rid of it.’
‘The kittens are going to a good home in the city,’ Lucy assured them. ‘And I’ll get Ophelia desexed.’
‘If it was a tom I could cut him for you,’ Cooper bragged. ‘Noisy but easy. You just catch them in a sack with a hole in the bottom, drag his tail out the hole and his ball bag comes out too. Then you get your mate to hold the sack steady while you make a little cut and squeeze his nuts out. Same as a calf. Heals up real quick.’ He grinned at Lucy’s appalled expression. ‘Girl bits are all on the inside, but—can’t help you there.’
Then, for two days, Ophelia went missing. Lucy became increasingly distracted with worry, and the children got away with quite a bit in the schoolroom as a consequence. She resisted the temptation to question Mel, in case by some miracle the heartless woman had forgotten about the cat’s existence.
On the third day, to Lucy’s great relief, she was woken before dawn by an insistent mewing beside her bed, and there stood a ravenous Ophelia, her stomach no longer bulging with kittens, but a hanging fold of loose skin, her teats enlarged and heavy with milk. She gulped down the food that Lucy put out and then disappeared into the darkness again.
Lucy had a spring in he
r step all that day and carried the secret joy of new birth with her as she went about her business. Then, at dinner, Mel abruptly burst her bubble.
‘By the way, Lucy, I found those kittens this morning,’ she said, and paused for a moment to swallow the piece of steak she’d been chewing. ‘Under the molasses trailer in the top hayshed. Bear sniffed them out.’
‘Oh, I knew her nest was in there somewhere!’ Lucy cried. ‘Please don’t touch them, Mel. I’ve found a good home for them. My sister’s—’
‘I found a good home for them too,’ Mel interrupted. ‘In a bag at the bottom of the creek.’
‘Mel! Please don’t –’
‘Deed’s done, darl.’
Lucy was stunned. She slowly put down her cutlery, her eyes fixed on her plate. Mel looked at her stricken face and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Ted looked down at his dinner.
‘You’ve really done it now, Melissa,’ Dennis chuckled. ‘Finally find yourself a decent guvvie and you go and drown her kitties.’
‘Lucy wanted Feel-ya’s kittens, Mum.’ Molly looked reprovingly at Mel. ‘They were going to live with a mad woman in the city.’
‘Excuse me,’ Lucy said softly, pushing her meal away as she stood up from the table, ‘but I can’t finish this.’
‘I’ll eat it for you!’ Cooper volunteered as Lucy left the room.
Lucy got up well before dawn the next morning. She’d hardly slept, and was tired of lying awake in the darkness. She dressed quickly, resolved to go looking for Ophelia. The cat hadn’t showed up for her evening feed and Lucy guessed she’d been wandering about all night, searching for her stolen kittens.
Lucy went to the most obvious place first, the hayshed, and shone her small torch in under the molasses trailer. A small indentation in a carefully gathered bed of soft hay was the only evidence remaining of the departed cat family. She began to walk around the dark shed, calling quietly and shining her torch into all the hidden nooks behind the bales and between the barrels of various animal feed and bags of mineral supplements. She saw some Tonka earthmoving toys parked in a neat row along one wall. The pungent musty smells of the shed seemed stronger in the darkness than they did by day, and the shadows cast by the round bales in the light from her torch were a little eerie. So when she heard the snuffle of dogs and a man’s tread approaching on the other side of the tin wall, her breathing quickened slightly. But it was only Ted.
‘You’re up early!’ Lucy greeted him, relieved. ‘What are you here for?’
‘I get up this time most days,’ Ted answered flatly. ‘Give the weaners a sniff of copra meal, before we work them. Can’t say I’ve ever run across you out of bed at this hour.’
‘I was just looking for Ophelia’s nest.’
‘Over there.’ Ted pointed. ‘Made it more than a fortnight ago.’
‘You knew where it was?’ Lucy looked at him accusingly. He shrugged. ‘Well, she’s not there now,’ Lucy fretted, ‘and I’m worried she might be pining.’
‘She’s definitely not doing that,’ Ted said.
‘I suppose you think cats don’t have any feelings?’ Lucy said, a little aggressively.
‘Well, I hope that one doesn’t, at any rate,’ Ted said calmly, ‘because the crawchies would be having a fair old chew on her by now.’
‘Crawchies?’
‘You Mexicans call them yabbies, I think.’
‘Are you telling me . . . ? Surely Mel didn’t . . .’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Are you pulling my leg?’ Lucy’s mouth hung open in disbelief.
‘No, mate. I wouldn’t do that to ya.’ There was a sudden gentleness in Ted’s tone that Lucy hadn’t heard before, and she knew it meant he was telling the truth. She flopped down onto a square bale, covered her face and burst into tears. Ted sat down hesitantly on the one next to it, looking bemused.
After an awkward silence of a few minutes, he said, ‘I’m sorry about that, eh.’
Lucy’s sobs quietened, and she looked up into his face. Pale grey light was stealing into the shadowy shed, and his amber eyes seemed to glow with warmth. She wiped her nose, feeling silly. ‘Don’t worry, Ted, you go and do your work. I just have to get used to the idea of Ophelia being . . .’ The rest of the sentence was swallowed by a fresh sob.
Ted remained seated. ‘Funny name, Ophelia.’
‘Maybe I jinxed her by giving her that name,’ Lucy said, wiping her eyes. ‘It’s from Hamlet. You know Shakespeare? That Ophelia drowned too. After she went mad.’
‘Rabies or something, was it?’ Ted asked, making an unusual effort at conversation. ‘Cats carry a whole swag of diseases.’
Lucy giggled through her tears. ‘That Ophelia was a woman.’
‘Oh, righto. If you say so.’ He pointed past her out the door to the east. ‘Sun’s coming up.’
Lucy turned, and the sight of the red-and-gold-streaked sky took her breath away. ‘Beautiful!’ she exclaimed.
Ted nodded. ‘Best part of the day.’
Moments later it had changed, the red fading to pastel pink as they watched, and the gold thinning to a pale yellow. The rest of the sky lightened as well and the few remaining stars were extinguished.
‘I wish my dad could see that.’ Lucy sighed. ‘It would do him good.’
‘You’re pretty close to your folks, eh?’ Ted asked.
Happy to be asked about a topic so dear to her heart, Lucy launched into a description of her relationship with her father and the other dear members of her family. When she’d finished, she felt suddenly self-conscious. Ted was looking at her, head slightly tilted, his face unreadable as always. She realised he hadn’t said a word for quite some time.
‘I guess you probably didn’t need to know all that,’ she said apologetically.
‘Got your mind off the cat, anyway,’ he said, standing up to go.
‘Aren’t you going to tell me anything about your family?’ Lucy looked up at him.
‘Not much to tell.’ He shrugged.
The trace of bitterness in his tone did not escape Lucy’s notice. ‘Please?’ she coaxed, imploring him with her eyes to sit back down. Talking about her family had suddenly made her aware of how lonely she was.
Ted looked down at her face for a moment and seemed to hesitate. He took a step towards her and she smiled, but he quickly looked away. ‘My family’s nothing like yours.’ Ted’s voice was low. Lucy waited silently, hoping that Ted was about to confide in her. But when he met her gaze again, his expression hardened. ‘I got things I need to be doing. Can’t hang around talking all day,’ he said gruffly. Then, slinging a sack of copra meal over one shoulder, he walked away.
For some days after that, Lucy didn’t see Ted again to talk to, other than at mealtimes. On those occasions, it seemed to her that he was taking particular care to avoid meeting her eyes. He was obviously making it clear that he wanted nothing further to do with her after their sunrise encounter in the hayshed. She supposed he thought that someone foolish enough to get so worked up over the death of a cat had little in common with him and the daily challenges that he must undoubtedly have to face more or less alone. She supposed that Bri and Tash had probably shot multitudes of cats—and enjoyed it too. What a soft city girl she must seem to the Charlotte’s Creek folk. Lucy had always suspected she’d been a little mollycoddled growing up, but lately, the mere sight of Ted and his grim face made her certain of it.
Chapter 13
‘Do your Weet-Bix taste better all mashed up like that, Molly?’ asked Lucy. It was Monday morning and breakfast seemed to be taking even longer than usual. Lucy had noticed that on weekends the kids wasted very little time over breakfast, sometimes skipping it altogether so they could take part in whatever activities were occurring around the property. But on school days breakfast was always drawn out.
‘Can I give them to Quentin? He likes them more than I do.’
It was the first day of another round of mustering, and this time it was to be the far west
ern paddocks in the area known as Prussia. Ted and Dennis had been discussing it for days. It was a big job, all done on horses, as the country was a combination of open boggy land and steep, jagged, thickly vegetated slopes. Some fencing contractors had been secured for the duration of the muster; they would be working on the fifty-year-old Prussia boundary fence, which was apparently in dire need of replacement.
When she’d emerged from her cottage earlier that morning, Lucy had watched the flurry of activity longingly from a distance. Bevan and Mickey were over at the yards, loading horses onto the truck. Ted was in the shed filling the back of a paddock ute with equipment, while Bri and Tash unloaded swags, saddles and other gear from the back of their ute. The two girls had arrived late the night before and looked to be in high spirits. Bri raised her hand in a casual salute to Lucy, who waved shyly in return.
The crew would be camping at Prussia for the duration of the weaning and branding, Lucy had been told, some in an old stone cattleman’s hut and some in swags. After the cattle work was done they would drove the large mob of weaned cattle and cull cows all the way back to the home buildings. That in itself would involve a few days in the saddle. It all sounded so wonderful to Lucy, and so far removed from anything else in her experience. How she wished she was qualified to be one of their party.
The Prussia muster was obviously a long-held ritual, and even Ted had been showing subtle signs of anticipation. Mel, on the other hand, had been even more out of sorts than usual, snapping at anyone in her vicinity and complaining bitterly about the extra work involved. The kids had given her a wide berth during the lead-up, and Lucy wondered whether part of Mel’s discontent came from a secret desire to be going along too. Lucy also felt a twinge of envy as she sensed the buzzing excitement. This was obviously a coveted experience that she, Mel and the kids were being excluded from. And now Lucy was expected to deal cheerfully with all the disgruntled parties remaining behind. All the children were sullen, but Billie was positively scowling. For the last Prussia muster, Lucy had heard, Dennis had been short on ringers, and the older kids had been allowed to go along for the first time, but this time it hadn’t even been suggested, and Billie made no secret of the fact that she was blaming Lucy. She’d overheard her father complaining to Mel about the governess being ‘so damn dedicated’, and she reckoned he was probably ‘too scared’ to take them out of school to go on the muster.
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