Charlotte's Creek

by Therese Creed

  However, as the day wore on, Ted did most of the manual tasks, or the ‘grunt work’ as he called it, and asked Lucy instead to cut the wire ‘ties’ and attach the strands of barbed wire to the posts with them. It was a fiddly job, and hard on Lucy’s fingers, but she persisted determinedly. Next she took on the task of fixing into place the ‘droppers’ or dividers to add strength and rigidity to the fence. By afternoon she was limping slightly from all of the walking back and forth, her light leather shoes having badly rubbed the backs of her heels.

  ‘You got a flat tyre?’ Ted asked, pausing to watch her hobble towards him.

  ‘It’s my own silly fault,’ Lucy said. ‘I think I’m what’s called buggered.’

  Ted gave her a crooked grin. ‘You’re knackered, are you?’

  ‘Yes, that too.’ Lucy took off her hat to cool her head. ‘I reckon I need a spell.’

  ‘You’re learning,’ Ted said with a chuckle. Then his face grew serious. ‘We might call it a day, then, eh?’ He wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve, then looked at Lucy with such probing intensity that she took a small step backwards.

  They stood side by side to survey the tidy new fence. ‘Fencing is very different to teaching,’ Lucy observed.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Ted sounded a little defensive, ‘no genius goes into fencing for a living.’

  ‘No! That’s not what I meant at all!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘I was just looking at what we have to show for our day’s work: this long stretch of fence, physically standing here, for years to come.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope so, at any rate,’ Ted said.

  ‘Whereas with teaching,’ Lucy went on, ‘you prepare for hours, use all your concentration and energy, feel exhausted at the end of the day, yet you’re often left wondering whether you’ve achieved a single thing.’

  Ted regarded the fence thoughtfully. ‘I think I’ll stick with fencing.’

  Lucy looked up at his frowning countenance and felt a rush of affection for the gruff ringer. He met her gaze and, clearly taken aback by her expression, grinned in delighted surprise. His eyes shining in his grubby face, he reached out a forefinger and tenderly brushed from her cheek a loose strand of pale brown hair. Withdrawing his hand quickly, he turned and walked to the ute.

  On the way back to the house, they passed a group of cows. One had a large fleshy protrusion under its tail.

  ‘What is it?’ Lucy asked, concerned.

  ‘Bloody prolapse,’ Ted muttered. Seeing that Lucy was still nonplussed, he added, ‘That’s part of her uterus hanging out.’

  ‘Do you have to shoot her?’ Lucy’s stomach was turning now.

  Ted shook his head. ‘Not yet, anyway. I’ll have a crack at fixing her first. Just have to shove it back in.’

  Ted used the ute to push the mob of cows towards the house. Lucy put her hand over her mouth as she watched the prolapse bounce with every step the cow took. The cows filed into a small timber holding square, and Lucy jumped out and closed the gates behind them. She waited at the yards while Ted went into the house to get the necessary equipment. When he returned, he drafted off the unfortunate beast and shooed her into a roughly constructed race, placing a pole behind her back hocks to hold her there.

  Lucy held the cow’s tail out to the side while Ted, solemnly determined, covered the fleshy protrusion with sugar, then pushed with all his might. The cow shifted, kicked and sidestepped, but at last the uterus was gone from view.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Lucy sighed, dropping the tail and wiping the sticky residue on her lucky jeans.

  ‘That’s the easy bit,’ Ted said, producing an enormous sewing needle from a plastic jar and threading it with some bright orange baling twine.

  Lucy was aghast. ‘Surely you’re not going to—’

  ‘Surely I am,’ Ted cut in. ‘Whole damn thing will pop straight back out again if I don’t.’

  Lucy held the tail again and spoke encouragingly to the cow while Ted expertly sewed together the flaps of skin with three large stitches.

  Lucy felt weak at the knees as they watched the cow walk away into a small holding paddock behind the house. ‘She looks quite comfortable now,’ she observed in amazement.

  ‘Yep,’ Ted agreed. ‘I’ll leave her in there with a couple of mates so’s I can check on her and cut the stitches when she gets closer to calving in a few weeks’ time.’

  Lucy looked up at him in wonder. This life was certainly not for the faint-hearted; to qualify for it, she saw, one had to be, among other things, a vet, a builder, a mechanic, an athlete, a park ranger and an animal psychologist.

  They dined on baked beans, toast and sausages once again, but the silences, which had been companionable the previous evening, were tonight awkward and the situation was obviously making both of them miserable. In spite of the fact that she wanted more than anything to be closer to him, Lucy was relieved when Ted retired to his swag. Exhausted from the exertion of fencing, she spent no time tonight dreaming at the table. Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow on Ted’s bed, she was asleep.

  ‘Droving’s a bit of a dying art,’ Ted said. They were seated on a shady log near the water reserve on the stock route, eating Scotch finger biscuits and waiting for Stumpy and the other drovers. Ted had dug a shallow hole with his shovel and filled it with dry wood, then lit a blaze. While it was burning down to coals he’d taken his esky from the ute and produced a large lump of beef, which he’d roughly cut up with a hunting knife, along with a few enormous potatoes, carrots and onions, all of which he’d tumbled into a big blackened camp oven. To this he’d added pepper, water and a large spoonful of vegemite, before sitting it in the fire pit and scooping a shovelful of coals onto the lid. Now they had left it to tick over unsupervised, and walked a little way up the stock route to wait for Stumpy and his droving plant. They would share an early dinner with the drovers before heading back to Charlotte’s Creek for the night.

  That morning at Little Leichhardt, to Lucy’s relief, things had seemed back to normal. She and Ted had chatted easily while working on the fence, or rather Lucy had chattered and Ted had listened, a half-smile on his face. By lunchtime they’d finished another section, and while Lucy rested in the shade, Ted had packed away all the fencing gear.

  ‘Well, you passed that test, anyway,’ he’d observed in passing, inclining his head towards the shiny barbed-wire fence.

  Lucy looked at him searchingly. ‘And what exactly am I being tested for?’

  He’d hesitated for a moment, picking up the crowbars and shovel and clanging them into the ute tray. ‘Well, you’re always testing yourself, aren’t you? Sizing yourself up against Bri and Tash?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true,’ Lucy had agreed.

  Now, as they waited for the first sign of the droving plant, Ted was, again, unusually talkative. ‘Used to be the only way to move cattle,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes a few thousand head at a time, but we never moved mobs that big when I was doing it. Most places just do it now to save a bit of grass. The cattle graze on fresh feed along the way, and if you’re a good operator, they arrive in top condition at the end of the walk.’

  Listening with interest, Lucy was sitting erect and alert, straining for the first glimpse of the approaching mob.

  Ted went on musingly, ‘Been plenty of fellas—and sheilas too—spent their lives in the long paddock, with teams of packhorses, even donkeys, some of them.’ He laughed softly. ‘A lot of times they had to take turns to watch at night. Them old night horses were legendary, could gallop flat out through the scrub in the pitch dark if there was a rush on.’

  ‘What a wonderful life!’ Lucy said dreamily.

  Ted shrugged. ‘Not always. Nothing too wonderful about freezing in a wet swag and a bloody wild mob of rumpers that run you ragged.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t get me wrong, but—I could hit the track again tomorrow.’

  ‘Your dad was a drover too, wasn’t he?’ Lucy asked tentatively. Ted nodded, but reading his expression, which was all at on
ce formidable, Lucy refrained from further enquiry.

  Long before the cattle came into view, the sound of distant bellowing rang out through the bush. Lucy jumped to her feet and watched the mass of travelling hides approaching through the trees. Near the front was Stumpy in his battered felt hat, but looking far more glorious than during Lucy’s first encounter with him, like a bronze statue in motion, a sculpture of the quintessential drover of years gone by, his horse stretched out in an easy amble, reins looped loosely over its wither and the sunlight shining through the red tips of mane that hung below its neck. Breathlessly, Lucy clung to the image of him coming towards her with the cattle, then looked at Ted with tears in her eyes. Without a word, she could see that he understood. As Stumpy and the mob passed by, he gave Ted and Lucy a lazy salute, seemingly unaware that he was a precious lingering relic of the past, hurtling onwards into extinction.

  Chapter 27

  Lucy’s worries when setting out for Little Leichhardt had proved unfounded—Ted had been a perfect gentleman and it had been a splendid weekend; in spite of the exhausting physical work, she returned to Charlotte’s Creek feeling refreshed. But she hadn’t foreseen the suggestive remarks and insinuations that she had to endure from Dennis, Mel and even the kids during the week that followed her stay at Little Leichhardt. Dennis referred several times to the ‘honeymoon’. Although she was upset at first, Lucy ultimately decided to follow Ted’s lead and calmly ignore them.

  The week passed slowly. Mel was busy and distracted, and it took all of Lucy’s energy to keep the kids on track with their schoolwork. Each morning and night she checked on Alpha, feeding her special biscuits for expectant bitches; the sight of the dog’s bulging belly gave Lucy much secret joy. She chatted each evening to Shep about his coming offspring, and the old dog listened tolerantly, thumping his tail on the boards of the cottage veranda.

  Early on Saturday morning, Dennis and the kids left with great excitement for Star Fields, for Lackey McCann’s weekend-long fortieth-birthday celebration. In spite of much supplication from the rest of the family, Mel had stubbornly refused to go.

  ‘Just what you need, honey,’ Dennis pleaded. ‘A bit of fun would do you the world of good.’

  ‘I’d rather have a rest,’ Mel said wearily. ‘It’s a rare chance with you lot gone. Apologise to Di for me, would you, Den?’

  Unusually, Mel didn’t object when Lucy said she’d stay and keep her company. The weekend passed quietly, with Ted also gone and the older Wests still abroad. Unexpectedly, she and Mel thoroughly enjoyed themselves, preparing the little sunroom beside the main bedroom as a nursery. They resurrected an old cot and Mel dug out piles of cloth nappies, bunny rugs and crumpled baby clothes from a blue plastic drum in the shipping container. There was even a fragile mobile with hanging felt rocking horses of all colours, which they strung up over the cot.

  On Sunday morning, Lucy was busily scraping the encrusted dirt off the hard-to-reach crannies between the rails of the cot when she heard a stifled sob. She turned to see Mel bent over a tiny threadbare jumpsuit, her face streaked with tears. Instinctively, Lucy jumped up and ran to the pregnant woman, and hugged her tightly.

  After a moment or two, Mel gently pulled free. ‘Cooper’s,’ she gulped, showing Lucy the suit. ‘We were so happy when he was born. Over the bloody moon. Den was so proud, so full of hopes for the future.’

  Lucy nodded, and stroked the faded blue cloth with her forefinger.

  ‘And look at us now,’ Mel sobbed again. ‘I’m so sorry, Lucy, I wasn’t always a sour bitch like this.’

  ‘You’re not a bitch, Mel,’ Lucy said softly.

  ‘Too many years of being left to deal with a bloody wild mob of kids. Dennis is happy to make plenty of babies, but when it comes to caring for them, forget it. That’s all my job. He’s always gotta be somewhere that isn’t here.’ Mel paused and blew her nose on a cloth nappy. ‘A blooming sick cow takes priority over us. And what for? Looks like it’s all been for nothing . . . or at least for someone else.’

  ‘Oh, Mel.’ Lucy squeezed her arm sympathetically, unable to find any words to comfort the stricken woman.

  ‘All these years of slogging his guts out.’ Mel’s voice was rising in pitch. ‘Den’s a hard worker, I’m not denying that, and I used to feel for him. Not anymore. I’m too worn out to care, and I’m damn sure he doesn’t waste a thought on me.’

  ‘I can’t say for sure,’ Lucy spoke carefully, ‘but I think he does worry about you.’

  Without seeming to have heard Lucy, Mel went on. ‘I did my share of stock work growing up, so I know what he does all day, but he’ll never have a clue what it’s like for me. Some days I feel like I’m trapped, like I’m really losing it. The poor kids just scoot on those days.’

  ‘Mel, don’t underestimate the kids,’ Lucy said. ‘They understand.’

  Mel looked up. Lucy’s heart was pierced by the sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy, this rot is the last thing a young girl wants to hear. It must be the hormones. Tell me to pull my head in and toughen up.’ Mel took a deep breath and looked away. When she spoke again, her voice was steady and firm. ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this—I don’t usually give a rat’s arse what people think. Those other guvvies . . . let’s just say they hated my guts. I was never sorry for anything I said to them. Must be those little girl’s eyes you got on you. I can’t take it when you look at me like I’ve flogged you.’

  ‘I don’t try to make you feel guilty!’ Lucy cried in surprise. ‘Dad always told me to try to understand why people do things. And in your case, it’s easy to see why you’re a bit down.’

  ‘A bit down?’ There was a note of hysteria in Mel’s laugh. ‘I love it!’

  But Lucy pressed on stubbornly. ‘I’ve never seen anyone with as much to cope with singlehandedly as you.’

  Mel looked up at Lucy again, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. ‘Not singlehanded since you came,’ she said quietly.

  Lucy felt sudden tears of her own.

  ‘No one here ever . . .’ Mel began, but her voice trembled again and she stopped.

  ‘Gives you any credit for the great job you do?’ Lucy finished off the sentence.

  Mel began sobbing in earnest. ‘I tried really hard for the first few years, but no matter how much I did, I always fell short. There’s no reward, nothing to break the monotony. Sometimes I think, if there was something to look forward to . . .’ She dissolved into sobs again and wiped her face on the nappy. Then, taking a deep breath, she scolded herself, ‘Get it together, Mel! Spare this poor bird the violins!’

  Lucy put her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘Mel, listen, I’m so glad we’ve had a real talk at last. I’m full of admiration for you. I could never do even half of what you do!’

  Mel looked up and gave a teary laugh. ‘Ta, Lucy. It’s a heap of crud you’re talking, but thanks anyway.’

  That night, Lucy lay awake in bed thinking about Mel, and listening for Dennis and the kids’ return. However, apart from the crickets and the high-pitched squeak of bats in the gum blossoms, all was silent, and she eventually fell asleep.

  In the morning, she sat up in bed at the sound of an early vehicle, but when she looked out the window, it was only Ted arriving for the week. She got up, had her usual simple breakfast and headed for the family house.

  ‘You got yourself another day off,’ Mel said as Lucy walked into the kitchen. ‘Den just rang—they got yarning last night and he ended up staying.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Surprise, surprise. He reckons they’ll leave Lackey’s after lunch, once he’s sobered up.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lucy said, frowning. It was the last week of term before the September holidays, and the last thing the kids needed at this point was a break in the routine Lucy had been carefully enforcing.

  ‘That was supposed to be the good news,’ Mel said dryly. ‘Now here’s the bad. I’m gonna head to Townsville today. My due date’s still over three weeks off and I might be imaginin
g things, but I reckon this baby’s gonna come early. You’ll be stuck with the kids, but. That all right with you?’

  ‘Oh, Mel!’ Lucy was shocked. ‘You’ll wait till Dennis gets home, surely?’

  ‘What’s the point?’ Mel said flatly. ‘He’s not gonna come and wait with me in town. Never does. I’ll just ring him when I go into labour. No, stuff him.’ She began to bustle about, wiping down the benches. ‘So, will you be able to manage here?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thanks heaps, Lucy,’ Mel said, relief showing on her face.

  While Mel had a shower, Lucy made sandwiches and filled a water bottle for her to take. When Mel emerged, Lucy thought she looked lovely, dressed in her best maternity jeans and a clean, pale pink shirt. Lucy carried the hospital bag and walked with Mel towards the station wagon parked in the shed. As they approached, they heard the static of the two-way radio in the shed. It was Ted calling for attention.

  Mel picked up the handset. ‘What’s up, Ted?’

  ‘Can you send Westy or Coop out with the Nissan? I need the spare tyre out of it. I’m in that patch of tordoned suckers in from the southern corner of Swan. You know, where Westy’s pig traps are? I’ve got a flatty and this spare is buggered.’

  Mel swore to herself, then looked at Lucy. ‘Noel was supposed to get that fixed before he pinged off overseas.’ She spoke into the receiver again. ‘Den’s not home from Star Fields yet. I’ll bring it out to you now.’

  ‘Can’t I take it to him?’ Lucy asked as Mel hurled the hospital bag angrily into the station wagon, slammed the door behind it and went over to the ute.

  ‘You’d never find him. And you’d probably get another flatty trying.’ Mel lifted her leg stiffly into the ute and, using the handle above the door, lowered herself with a grunt onto the driver’s seat, her clean jeans landing on the grimy, grease-stained canvas. Lucy climbed in too.

  They took the road past the yards and through the weaner paddocks before going through a gate into Coffee Pot Lagoon. Once they’d gone through a second gate into Swan paddock, the track steadily deteriorated where the heavy black soil in the wheel tracks had been ploughed up by the cattle in the last rain and then dried out again in crusty pits. Lucy looked anxiously at Mel as they bumped and jerked along. The older woman winced occasionally in pain. Gritting her teeth, Mel drove determinedly onwards, gripping the wheel and glaring at the track ahead. Things didn’t improve when they left the track altogether to go across country in search of the location Ted had described. Lucy peered ahead through the trees for any sign of the vehicle. By the time she finally spotted it, Mel had gasped out loud in pain several times, and beads of sweat were breaking out on her forehead.