Several minutes later, alerted by the sound of approaching hooves, Lucy spotted a group of horses coming quickly, with Ted on the motorbike at the rear. The horses whirled into the yard, tossing their heads, before slowing to a prance, their manes and tails like flying tassels. Lucy gazed at the gleaming contours of their muscled bodies, thinking she’d never seen anything more wonderful. Even the big ugly old draughthorse she’d previously spotted grazing in the distance now looked magnificent; animated by the gallop with its comrades, the hefty animal had lost its workhorse demeanour and looked almost mythical, its neck arched, tail up, and great feathery feet raised in a high-stepping trot.
After parking the motorbike, Ted drafted two horses into the side yard, one of them none other than the big Clydesdale Lucy had been watching. The other was a petite, agile-looking chestnut, sensitive nostrils flaring slightly in its exquisitely pretty face. Ted closed the gate and walked over to get the bridles.
‘Your horse is huge!’ Lucy exclaimed. The monstrous animal, with its shaggy fetlocks and enormous hanging head, looked even more impressive up close, its coat the colour of hazelnuts.
‘No, the bay is your nag,’ Ted said.
‘I hope you’re joking,’ Lucy replied breathlessly. ‘That sweet little one there looks more my size.’
Ted chuckled. ‘You reckon you can handle my Harpy?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Lucy said uncertainly.
‘Go and give her a rub.’ Ted inclined his head towards the chestnut.
Lucy stepped into the yard and approached the little horse. But before she could get close, the whites of its eyes began to show, and it was snorting warily and crab-stepping away from her with its head up. The Clydesdale, on the other hand, appeared to be dozing in the sun. Lucy halted her advance towards the uneasy chestnut; standing still, she began to speak softly, until the little mare settled and visibly relaxed a little. After a few more minutes Lucy walked closer; stopping again a short distance from the filly, she reached out her hand. The horse tentatively stretched out her neck and sniffed the tips of Lucy’s fingers. Lucy smiled and went to stroke her muzzle, but the mare threw up her head in alarm and whirled violently away. Lucy stepped backwards in surprise, and then walked back towards Ted.
He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘She won’t let most people anywhere near her.’
Lucy nodded, trying to hide her pleasure. ‘I can see now why I can’t ride that one. But she’s beautiful.’
‘Bought her for a hundred bucks off a cruel bastard I know,’ Ted explained. ‘He was gonna dog her. She’s an Arab, and they don’t suffer fools gladly.’
‘Dog her? You mean . . . pet food?’
Ted nodded. ‘Gonna be a bloody handy type if I can get the spook out of her,’ he added. ‘Now, go and give your old girl a rub. Pagan’s her name, and she’s a damn sight quieter than Shunter. Couldn’t get her to pig-root if you tried, so there’ll be no blood today.’
Lucy looked at him in annoyance. His dimple was showing again. Was there any occurrence on the property that escaped his notice? She looked back at the large equine, who was standing with one feathery rear foot tilted in rest.
‘Do I really have to ride that huge one?’ she asked quietly. ‘Surely there must be something a bit smaller?’
‘The twins double-bank around on her bareback with only a halter, if that makes you feel any better.’ Ted gave her a crooked grin of encouragement and tilted his head in Pagan’s direction. ‘Righto. Let’s get this show on the road.’
As Lucy approached the big old mare, giving her immense brown rump a wide berth, Pagan turned her head in greeting. Lucy’s misgivings melted the moment she looked into the gentle lash-fringed eyes peering through the extensive forelock. Pagan’s bawly nose was Roman in shape, the pink part crusty with sunburn. Her face was plain and patient. ‘Another beginner,’ her expression seemed to say as Lucy walked closer and rubbed her forehead. Pagan lowered her head and gave her newest pupil a soft shove.
A minute later Ted was beside her with the bridle and saddle. ‘You two acquainted yet?’
Then he saddled Pagan, moving slowly so Lucy could follow the process. ‘See this hook?’ he began. ‘You reach under her belly and grab the ring on the end of the girth, then you hook it up. Then reef this strap up, tight as you can. See how it’s wound around a coupla times? Works like a block and tackle.’
‘Block and tackle?’
‘Then leave Pagan stand for a bit,’ Ted went on, ‘or, even better, snig her around for a few minutes, then reef it up again.’
‘Snig? What if I do it up too tightly?’
‘Trust me, your tightest might not be tight enough. You want it real tight. You don’t wanna end up like a fruit bat under her belly, face to face with one of those hairy feet.’ Ted laughed.
For Lucy, the thought wasn’t so amusing.
‘I’ll make Billie’s stirrups longer for you,’ Ted said. ‘Has Cooper drilled you about only putting your toe in?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy replied. ‘But I always forget that. It feels so much safer with my whole foot in the stirrup.’
‘Once you’ve seen a fella snug along by his foot from a galloping horse, you’ll never forget. Head bouncing over the rocks. That sorta caper mashes your skull.’
‘Oh. Right,’ Lucy said distastefully. ‘I think that description will help me to remember. Thanks.’
‘Not that Pagan’s got much gallop left in her,’ Ted added. ‘Good habit to get into right from the start, but. Righto, jump on then.’
Lucy hesitated, looking up at the height of the saddle. ‘I’m not sure I can—’
‘Here, I’ll give you a leg up,’ Ted said quickly. He held his fingers up like claws and reached for her thigh, but before he could get to her, Lucy was on. ‘Works every time.’ He grinned and handed her the reins.
Lucy was seeing a new, more easy-going side to the serious ringer this afternoon. ‘Will I be strong enough to stop her?’ she asked.
‘You’ll have more trouble getting her moving than pulling her up.’
Once Ted had saddled Harpy, they set off down the track that led away from the eastern end of the buildings into poplar gum woodland. Lucy felt nervous about riding out in the open, but she was soon calmed by Pagan’s rocking gait. Even with Harpy skittering and sidestepping beside her, Pagan plodded on, clearly above such nonsense. Lucy looked at Ted in admiration; he was glued to his jittery mount, perfectly poised and upright, seeming to appear smoothly in motion even when Harpy suddenly jerked or lurched.
After they’d been riding for a few minutes, Lucy noticed the dark cumulonimbus clouds piling upon themselves to the east and encroaching on the blue late-afternoon sky. A small breeze began to weave its way between the pockets of still, heavy air, and Lucy felt a drop of rain on her cheek.
‘Did you hear that thunder?’ she asked Ted anxiously. ‘Should we really be riding out in this weather?’
‘You piking?’ he asked, frowning. ‘You wanna head back already?’
‘Of course I don’t, but I just thought if a storm’s coming . . .’
‘Not much in it,’ Ted said. ‘Be real nice and cool directly. Perfect riding weather.’
‘Okay then.’ Lucy decided to trust his judgement. ‘If you say so.’
They left the road and followed a pad along a ridge that afforded a magnificent view of the lagoon country below. Lucy looked out over it and gasped. Below them was a chain of expansive, shallow lagoons, stretching as far as the eye could see. The surface of the wetland was scattered with lilies of pink, white or mauve, and the sheets of water in between reflected the clouds. There were countless waterbirds—ducks, hooting moorhens, pelicans, wading cranes, and most lovely of all, elegant black swans, swimming in pairs and dipping their slender necks down into the water.
Soon the two riders descended from the ridge into open forest country. As she relaxed into Ted’s silent companionship, Lucy’s mind began to wander. She thought of Mel�
�s deep unhappiness, and considered the ironic disparity between the beauty and harmony of the Charlotte’s Creek landscape and the friction among its human inhabitants.
They rode for nearly an hour. During that time, the sky darkened and seemed to descend over them, and there was the odd ominous rumble. Just as Lucy was about to suggest they turn for home, she caught a glimpse of the buildings as they came up onto an open rise. She’d completely lost her bearings, but Ted had taken them in a meandering circle, and they were nearly home.
Suddenly, as if to spite the purplish-black sky, the sun showed its face. The unexpected sunlight flooded the landscape with colour, creating a striking contrast with the dark clouds, throwing the trees and bushes and all the contours of the land into sharp relief. A thin shower of large raindrops passed over the two riders, lit like falling white sparks by the sun. The pearly drops were caught up momentarily by a sudden whirly gust of wind, which made an airy spiral around the pair. Lucy was engulfed by the smell of damp earth combined with the tang of eucalyptus and grass. Unable to hide her delight, she looked across at Ted. He seemed to be feeling it too, and met her gaze with a smile so warm and engaging that Lucy tingled all over. She felt herself flush in surprise and laughed out loud.
‘Beautiful,’ Ted said, without moving his eyes from her face, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.
The shower quickly passed over and the air became still again, the wet leaves and blades of grass glimmering until the sun retreated once more. Riding the rest of the way home under an oppressive grey sky, Lucy and Ted avoided each other’s eyes. Travelling along beside him so companionably, Lucy could no longer hide from herself how much she liked Ted, but she had no idea how he felt about her. She was so confused by him, and afraid now, that she was reading into his occasional moments of warmth, sentiments that didn’t really exist.
When they reached Lucy’s cottage, Ted pulled Harpy up, and Pagan automatically stopped too.
‘Delivered to your door,’ Ted remarked. He waited for her to dismount awkwardly from the mountainous mare. Then, without another word, he silently rode away on Harpy, with Pagan following behind.
Chapter 17
Lucy’s manual driving skills were coming along nicely. Cooper was teaching her in Noel’s vintage khaki Landcruiser that looked like something from a heritage machinery collection. In her most recent lesson she’d driven without a single bunny-hop, and only tended to stall now on very uneven ground. And as Dennis kindly pointed out, if she could drive that rust bucket, she could drive any other manual car she ever came across.
It was Saturday morning and Gwen was going into town, so Lucy wasn’t obliged to be at morning tea or anywhere else. At breakfast, she informed the family that she was going to do a little solo driving practice.
‘Good-oh,’ replied Mel. ‘If you want somewhere to drive to, you can make the smoko and bring it out to us at Wilhelm. We’ve gotta pull the windmill there.’
‘Is it very far?’ Lucy asked a little anxiously. ‘I’m not all that confident yet.’
‘You’ll be right,’ Mel said brusquely. Turning to Molly, she added, ‘You can stay here and help make smoko, and show Lucy the way.’
Directly after breakfast, Dennis and Mel climbed into the front of a work ute while Billie and Cooper wedged themselves in among all the windmill-servicing equipment in the back. Wade hesitated, torn between staying with Molly and going along for the job, but in the end the prospect of the grease and grime proved too much for him. Pulling a windmill was the most wonderfully filthy job of all.
Back in the kitchen, Molly flipped the pikelets while Lucy made a tall stack of corned-beef and pickle sandwiches and cut up a pineapple. Then they carried the esky out to the old Landcruiser and set off. Lucy gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles as they limped along the track in the aged car. Fortunately, Molly was a most encouraging driving companion. The little girl only winced when Lucy ground the gears, and apart from a few gasps and squeals, she refrained from verbal criticism of any kind. ‘Just give it a few more herbs, Lucy!’ she said when Lucy nearly stalled a third time.
Molly’s directions took them through several large paddocks towards the southern boundary of Charlotte’s Creek. The country closer to the house was open and well grassed, with a few large bauhinias that had been retained for their shade, and some sneaky stands of mimosa, wattle and bitter bark. Lucy looked at the points of termite mounds peeping through the grass clumps at every turn, their various hues matching the colour of the soil type on which they were built.
The pair had to stop at intervals to open gates, all with different kinds of ‘latches’. Lucy was thankful for Molly’s advice, as each new gate baffled her in a different way, but she insisted on doing them all herself so that she would know for next time. Some of the gates were steel, some wooden and some wire. They all swung a different way and one of them, Molly warned her, was a ‘lift and drag’.
The ‘roads’ too, were little more than glorified cattle pads, barely visible in the areas of longer grass, and Lucy was amazed that Molly could be so certain with her directions. As they descended into lower country, the trees became thicker and the rocky ground more exposed. The terrain grew more rugged and unforgiving, and the track wove between small steep hills. Lucy noticed a blue smoky haze that seemed to be hanging in the air between the rough black trunks of the silver-leafed ironbarks. Dense clumps of mistletoe and nestling tree orchids adorned the spindly branches in places.
‘What a haunting place,’ Lucy observed, more to herself than to Molly. Molly, accustomed to Lucy’s baffling vocabulary, only nodded.
Then all at once the track became wider and more defined as it skirted the side of a deep gully. Lucy was intrigued by the remains of some crudely built stone pitching on the sides of the road, peeping between the clumps of grass.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘It’s the old road that the people used hundreds of years ago,’ Molly explained.
‘Maybe not quite so long ago as that, Molly,’ Lucy said, wondering if the road had been used in Lotte’s day. She leaned forward and slowed down to get a better look.
‘Well, it was yonks ago, probably even before Pop’s time,’ Molly insisted. ‘I’ll show you their ovens in a minute.’
‘Ovens?’
‘Yep, where they cooked the rocks to melt the tin out. Pop showed me.’
Curious, Lucy peered ahead; even before Molly pointed, she’d spotted the strange constructions at the base of the hill. Once they were closer she stopped the car and they climbed out. Lucy bent down to examine the small rock domes cemented together with a rough mortar that Molly explained was crushed termite mound or ‘ant bed’. Behind each one was the remains of a stone chimney, and the surrounding ground was littered with fragments of twisted grey rock that had clearly once been molten. Lucy realised that she was looking at makeshift colonial tin smelters.
‘They got the bits of metal and the packhorses took it over the hills to where they met the bullockies,’ Molly said.
‘Fascinating!’ Lucy murmured, picking up a piece of rock and turning it over in her hands. ‘This must be tin ore.’
‘A lot of flaming hard slog if you ask me,’ Molly observed sagely. ‘Over there’s where they lived, near the creek. Used to be a little town. We reckon those real green patches were where they had their dunnies.’ She giggled.
‘What a place to live.’ Lucy looked around in wonder. Debris was dotted over the shady flat beneath several tall blue gums. All that remained of the little community and the miners’ dwellings was now covered by creeping vegetation and mostly decomposed. Whole families would have been raised in this secluded valley, Lucy thought, drawn into the wilderness by the rocky veins of tin ore. People would have lived and died here and babies been born and bathed in the creek beneath those weeping bottlebrush and she-oak trees. The nearest town must have been several rough days’ ride away.
Molly interrupted her reverie, pulling on her shirt.
‘Better make a move. Fellas’ll be hungry.’
They returned to the Landcruiser and drove up and out of the valley and back onto higher, flatter ground, through stands of creamy-barked gums. It wasn’t long before Lucy spotted the windmill and tank up ahead in a small holding square. She and Molly pulled up alongside the work ute.
It was a busy scene. Mel was up the windmill just below the platform under the fan, hooking and unhooking a pulley to the sections of pipe that Dennis was heaving up out of the bore. They clearly still hadn’t found the one with the hole. Lucy watched Mel as she reached up, teetering on the steel frame of the tower. Her pregnant belly was becoming more obvious through her shirt, and Lucy wondered how many other bush women over the years had continued with such dangerous activities while pregnant. Mel still rode horses and the motorbike, worked cattle in the yards, and made herself available as stand-by for any kind of manual labour on the property when she wasn’t tied up in the house. Lucy suspected she’d not changed her daily activities one iota as a result of her ‘condition’.
The Wilhelm windmill had been dysfunctional for some time, and the open-topped concrete tank was all but empty. There was a great deal of echoey laughter coming from inside the tank. Billie and Wade were in the bottom, scooping great shovelfuls of slimy silt into buckets. These were tied to ropes, which Cooper, on a ladder leaned up against the tank, was pulling up and emptying onto a black stinking mound below. The three had managed to plaster themselves from head to foot with grime, and they greeted Lucy with gleeful faces when she climbed the wooden stumps under the overflow pipe and peered in. Molly wasted no time in scurrying up the ladder, pushing past Cooper and disappearing over the rim, the ends of her fingers visible for a moment before she dropped down inside. Lucy watched the children at work. They were magnificent. If only they would attack their schoolwork with half as much gusto.
In the second-deepest segment of pipe, Dennis found a large rusted hole. Lucy watched him use the thread-cutting machine to make a replacement section from a piece of plain new steel pipe, which he then screwed into place. They all had a break for smoko before reassembling the bore. The children answered all of Lucy’s questions about the process, their eyes alight in their blackened faces.
Charlotte's Creek Page 15
