Charlotte's Creek

by Therese Creed

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed. ‘Get out before they’ve wasted the best years of their lives waiting for something they’re never going to get.’

  ‘Then again,’ Beth said, a little sternly, ‘some young people want everything today. But the right to inherit a place must have some conditions attached. It has to be earned, and the heir must possess the necessary skills and experience to be worthy to take on the role.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lucy agreed.

  ‘By the same token, you have to trust your kids with the changes they make and the risks they take. It doesn’t have to be the end of everything. If you plan it out properly and you’re all still on good terms they’ll want you there, still involved and an active part of the business.’

  ‘And that’s what’s happened at Star Fields,’ Lucy concluded with a smile. ‘If only Charlotte’s Creek could follow suit.’

  ‘I pray that they will be able to sort it out,’ Beth said quietly, ‘but I fear Noel and Gwen have left their run too late.’

  For the first hour after leaving Star Fields, Lucy was lost in thought. She wound down the truck window to counteract Stumpy’s cigarette, and felt the wind rush in on her face. Feeling the old drover’s questioning gaze, she realised she was frowning.

  ‘Don’t stew too long over that puffed-up chopper pilot, sweetheart,’ Stumpy advised gently. ‘He ain’t worth it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lucy said. ‘No, I must admit I haven’t given him another thought.’

  ‘Good girl. What’re you mulling over then?’

  ‘Just the situation at Charlotte’s Creek.’

  ‘Don’t trouble your pretty little head over it, love,’ he said. ‘No point worrying over things outta your control.’ Lucy smiled and nodded obligingly, but Stumpy looked at her penetratingly. ‘Learned that in Vietnam, I did.’ He lit up another cigarette.

  Lucy felt suddenly humbled; she’d underestimated Stumpy. She looked down at the thick blue tattoo on his arm, just below his rolled-up sleeve. It was a crudely drawn strand of barbed wire, binding his muscle. He followed her gaze.

  ‘Did that meself. Blue ink. Me and Jumbo both.’

  ‘Jumbo?’ Lucy repeated.

  ‘Ted’s old man. He never told you?’

  ‘He hasn’t told me anything about himself.’

  ‘I guess it’s still a bit raw for young Goldy.’

  ‘His dad died recently, didn’t he?’ In her eagerness to know more, Lucy sat up in her seat and fixed her eyes on Stumpy’s face.

  ‘Depends what you call recent. More than three years back now.’

  ‘And Ted was close to his father?’

  ‘Yeah, ended up that way, at any rate. Jumbo was away droving a lot when Goldy was a kid. The little bloke lived mostly with his mum on a cleared block half an hour from Townsville. And she was a rare piece.’ Stumpy snorted. ‘Different men coming and going every day of the week. That’s why Goldy thinks the way he does about women, see?’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Lucy nodded, horrified and fascinated at the same time. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Eventually, when he was nine or ten, I’d reckon, old mum left the property and moved into Townsville to shack up with a bloke, taking Goldy with her. Jumbo sold the property to pay her out.’

  ‘And Ted hated town?’ Lucy guessed.

  ‘My oath he did.’ Stumpy chuckled. ‘Hated his mum’s new fella even worse. Started working with an old mustering contractor friend of Jumbo’s when he was twelve, and camped at his place most of the time. That fella was pretty wild, mad bronc rider. Left it too late to give it away and he was busted up real bad. Ended up crippled, did himself in soon as they let him outta hospital.’

  ‘Poor Ted!’ Lucy breathed.

  ‘Yeah, poor bugger. He was fourteen then. Came to join our droving plant, which was Jumbo’s then. Those were the golden days, eh, when the big fella was boss.’

  ‘And then Jumbo died,’ Lucy said solemnly. ‘Not another accident?’

  ‘No, mate. Smokes got him in the end. Lung cancer. Bugger wasn’t as lucky as me.’ Stumpy laughed and drew on his cigarette. ‘And young Flipper, much as he loved the droving gig, couldn’t seem to do it no more with his old man gone. I took on Jumbo’s cattle-moving business and Flipper bought that good-for-nothing block in the hills that Noel sold off Charlotte’s Creek. Four thousand acres of rocks.’ Stumpy shook his head. ‘In a right old downer he was. Wouldn’t have let him go, except he took old Shep. Knew that mutt would keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy breathed, ‘the kids told me that Shep belonged to Ted’s dad.’

  Stumpy nodded. ‘Jumbo would’ve taken a bullet for that dog.’

  Lucy looked away from Stumpy, her eyes welling. Ted giving her Shep had been a greater privilege than she’d realised. And she was now no longer confused by his unwillingness to get close to anyone. That’s how he’d learned to survive. Nearly everyone of importance in his life so far it seemed, had either died or let him down in some way.

  It was dark when they drove over the grid into Charlotte’s Creek. Shep ran out into the headlights to greet them, and Lucy wondered whether Snoz had been missing her too, with only his unaffectionate mother to care for him in her absence. Stumpy parked the truck near Ted’s donga, where he’d be spending the night. Lucy climbed out and watched him unload the horses in the light from the truck.

  Ted came to the door of his donga. Lucy waved to him, then feeling awkward, she turned to Stumpy before seeing Ted’s response. After giving the old man a kiss on his stubbly cheek, Lucy headed over to her cottage with a slight smile on her face. Now that it had all ended well, the short sojourn away had done her the world of good after all. It was only one night, but it had felt so much longer; she almost felt as if she’d grown during that time. Ian and Beth had been inspirational, and Stumpy was a treasure. Most of all, she now felt that she understood Ted much better.

  She pushed open her squeaky little gate and scanned around the vegetable garden with the light from the torch on her keys. A furry form scurried between fronds of the beetroot plants. Lucy had glimpsed it before; whatever it was, it always left a trail of destruction in its wake. In the heat of the moment, she bent down, pulled off her heavy-heeled sandal and flung it at the marauder. She’d taken no trouble to aim, her intent being merely to frighten the creature, so when the spinning shoe hit it squarely, she screamed in horror.

  She rushed over and examined it in the narrow beam of torchlight. Stone dead. A hit to the head so direct that the little animal hadn’t even squeaked. Covering her mouth in dismay, Lucy crouched down beside the warm little body and began to cry, releasing not just her sorrow at the animal’s death, but also some of the emotions from the last forty-eight hours.

  ‘You right, are ya?’ a tall silhouette asked from the gate. Lucy cursed silently. Why did Ted always have to show up when she’d done something stupid?

  When she didn’t answer, Ted called out again. ‘Is there something up with the vegies?’ Lucy thought she detected a note of amusement in his voice.

  ‘I’m perfectly all right now, thank you,’ she replied a little haughtily, surreptitiously drying her eyes on her shirt.

  But Ted persisted. ‘Just that I was having a yarn with Stumpy when we heard you squawking. Stumpy reckoned you might’ve trod on a snake. Sent me over to check. Reckoned it was my chance to be your hero.’ He chuckled in the darkness.

  ‘No snake,’ Lucy said, her voice softly mournful. ‘Just this little possum.’

  Ted opened the creaky gate and came to crouch beside her. Kneeling next to him in the dark, with the good smell of freshly turned earth in her nostrils, Lucy was again struck by how comfortable and safe she felt with him. After her recent experience with Adam, Lucy saw Ted’s value in a whole new light. In spite of everything he wasn’t, Ted was trustworthy and, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on, deeply respectful.

  ‘He’s a bandicoot, that fella,’ Ted amended. ‘Yep, those little blighters’ll make a mess of your vegies, all righ
t.’

  ‘It’s not my vegies I’m upset about.’ Lucy’s voice trembled again. ‘I murdered this bandicoot with my shoe.’

  ‘Jeez, well done.’ Ted gave a low whistle. ‘I reckon I won’t be messing with you if I find you in a rage.’

  ‘I’m not proud of what I’ve done!’ Lucy protested. ‘I only wanted to scare him off. I’m not usually a violent person!’

  ‘You don’t say?’ Ted said, his voice expressionless.

  Lucy leaned forward and peered at his face in the darkness, trying to see if he was laughing at her. She saw that he was grinning, but for some reason it didn’t upset her. On the contrary, she had a sudden ridiculous impulse to kiss him. She drew back quickly and stood up.

  Ted stood too and made for the gate. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  Chapter 33

  The next day, as she and Mel washed up after dinner, Lucy casually broached the subject of a succession facilitator, but immediately regretted it.

  ‘Yeah, thanks heaps, Lucy,’ Mel snarled. ‘Guvvie who’s been here all of five minutes thinks she can tell us how to run the show. That’s what you townies do, eh? Get an expert in for every damn thing. Can’t even fix a dripping tap without calling a bloody plumber.’ Mel fell furiously silent.

  Lucy dried the last plate and hung up the tea towel. ‘I just thought it might help, that’s all.’

  She started for the door, but Mel spoke again, a little more calmly. ‘Out here we solve our own problems, eh. Last thing we need is some shrink stickybeaking into our business. I think you’d better shut your gob before you make an even bigger dill of yourself.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Fine. I will.’

  But Mel wasn’t finished. ‘I’m not paying you to poke your pretty little nose into our private business, righto? Stick to what you know.’ She turned her back on Lucy, adding, ‘Which isn’t much.’

  On her way back to her cottage, smarting from Mel’s tirade, Lucy remembered Beth McCann’s words about the Wests having left it too late to salvage the family situation. She was suddenly afraid that Beth had been right.

  Charlotte’s Creek was blessed with frequent drenching rain throughout November and December, the falls interspersed by days of dazzling sunlight, so that the pastures shot away and everything seemed to be growing before Lucy’s eyes. The land was impossibly green, and even the smallest of stony gullies were trickling. The cows’ coats shone, and the calves, born into a dry brown world in early spring, were now growing like the mushrooms around the yards and windmills, as their mothers began to produce milk in abundance.

  The Moreton Bay ash trees were outfitting themselves for the new year, their coarse old grey bark falling off in great sheets, exposing the creamy new skins underneath. Multitudes of birds arrived as if from nowhere, and dawn each day was greeted by their deafening song.

  At night, Lucy kept her ceiling fan on full bore to baffle the mosquitoes that lurked in the shadows of the hut all day, lying in wait for her sleeping form. In the mornings the floors in the main house were littered with tiny black corpses, much to Mel’s annoyance. The arrival of the insects also caused an explosion of the veranda frog population, while the cattle and horses had to stay constantly on the move, tails swishing and feet stamping to ward off the buffalo flies and other buzzing biters.

  Henry was now smiley and chubby, his fair downy hair beginning to curl. His big grey eyes could melt Lucy’s heart in moments and his sunny nature was emerging now that his colic was easing at last. And Snoz, no longer a sleepy little puppy, was boisterous, leggy and full of energy. He slept on Lucy’s veranda with Shep, who was doing a fine job of being the cranky old patriarch and keeping his son in line.

  As Christmas approached, Lucy became increasingly impatient to get home to her parents. Charlotte’s Creek was so un-Christmassy, with not so much as a scrap of tinsel to be seen. Back in Sydney, Lucy’s mother would have festooned every inch of the house with ornaments, and a huge pine tree would be occupying more than half of the living room, every prickle adorned with a glittering bauble. The puddings would be hanging in the laundry, the ham would have been ordered, and a monstrous turkey would be hibernating in the freezer. Lucy also found herself missing Gemma more than ever. Her little sister always went over the top at Christmas, lavishing everyone with expensive, impractical gifts and bellowing carols at top volume in the shower. Even though Lucy and Gemma had shared that moment of closeness after the dinner in Sydney, once Lucy returned to Charlotte’s Creek, the silence between them had continued. Lucy often wondered whether Gemma was happy with her mature, well-to-do husband.

  The children were excited about the holidays too, and were particularly looking forward to the branding muster at Prussia that always happened close to Christmas. Dennis had decided to make a celebration of it this year, now that the twins were old enough to be led on horseback, and they were all going to camp in the stone hut. Even Mel seemed well disposed towards the prospect of a change of scene, and had agreed to go along, bringing baby Henry and the portacot. The family planned to stay on at the hut and have a little holiday after the branding was done.

  However, two days before Lucy was due to leave for Sydney, and three days before the family muster, Mel’s mother rang from Brisbane to tell her that Mel’s father was on death’s door in Greenslopes Hospital. Mel had told Lucy about her father’s slowly spreading bone cancer some months before. ‘The pig-headed old bugger won’t have any treatment,’ Mel had complained at the time. ‘Never even taken a painkiller in his life.’ In spite of her brusque words, Lucy had detected in Mel’s manner a great fondness for her father.

  The news of the old man’s impending death was clearly a shock to Mel, and she was furious with anyone and everyone. By evening, however, when her anger had cooled, she could not hide her distress. She stood bowed over the sink, tears dropping into the washing-up suds while the rest of the family ate their dessert. Lucy exchanged a concerned glance with Dennis and went to her side, risking the older woman’s wrath. But Mel was too distraught to lash out.

  ‘Dad’d be hating that hospital,’ she sobbed to Lucy. ‘Just a simple old bushie, he is, him and Mum both. Old bugger hasn’t even met Henry yet.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to him, Mel?’ Lucy suggested carefully.

  ‘I’ll drive you down, love,’ Dennis quietly declared from his seat at the table.

  Mel turned and looked at him. ‘What about the muster?’

  ‘Stuff it.’ Dennis pushed out his chair and came to put his arms around his wife. Mel buried her face in his neck and Lucy quietly retreated. ‘The muster can wait,’ Dennis added. ‘Bloody cattle don’t belong to us anyway.’

  The next morning brought a new development. Noel and Gwen, whom Mel had hoped would look after the kids in her absence, announced that they would also be going to Brisbane. To Lucy’s surprise it was revealed that Noel had been the dying man’s best mate throughout their boarding school years; apparently this was how Mel had come to know Dennis in the first place.

  So Mel was presented with a new problem. She had no wish to drag the four older children to the deathbed. Lucy, knowing that Mel needed to spend some peaceful last days with her father, felt compelled to cancel her trip to Sydney and, once again, stay at Charlotte’s Creek to hold the fort and take care of the kids. She brushed off Mel’s repeated objections, insisting that she would enjoy Christmas at Charlotte’s Creek for a change and go home in January instead.

  All the adult Wests departed the following day, taking baby Henry with them. Meanwhile, the show at Charlotte’s Creek went on, muster and all, thanks to Ted’s diligence. The usual mustering contractors proved to be unavailable so close to Christmas, but Stumpy, who was at a loose end between droving trips, was more than happy to be Ted’s offsider for the branding. ‘We’ll be a bit light on,’ Ted warned Lucy, ‘but we’ll have Stumpy’s dogs as well as mine, and those bigger kids are half-handy now. We’ll just poke along steady with the branding. Those calves will be too bloody big if we pu
t it off for much longer.’

  So at last Lucy was going to Prussia. Ted, with the help of the two older children, organised all the horses and branding gear, while Lucy, assisted by the twins, arranged clothes, bedding and food.

  They set off just after dawn two days before Christmas, Lucy and the twins in the heavily loaded ute, following behind Ted, Stumpy and the older children in the stock truck full of horses. They had covered a wide variety of terrain and passed through numerous gates, when at last the crooked little Prussia Hut came into view. Lucy cried out in delight on first sight of it. Reminiscent of a dreamy Frederick McCubbin painting, the stone hut was set on the bank of a long, narrow lily-covered lagoon; the remnants of an early morning haze still lingering over the water.

  The twins looked at her proudly. ‘Top notch, eh?’ Wade said offhandedly, trying to disguise his pride.

  ‘Best place on earth, this,’ Molly declared. ‘Even Mum says so, and she’s not real easy to please.’

  Ted and Stumpy drove on to the nearby yards with the horses, but Lucy parked the ute near the little stone building. She jumped out and circled the hut. The walls were made of rocks of all colours and sizes. The low corrugated-iron roof overhung the walls on three sides, and a stone fireplace and chimney protruded from the fourth. On the side overlooking the lagoon was a tiny veranda, just large enough to house two makeshift chairs. These were made from sturdy sticks tied together with fencing wire, over which hessian potato sacks had been stretched for the seat and backrest. Lucy tried one and found it surprisingly comfortable. Going inside, she fitted just nicely under the lintel; she thought of Ted and laughed, wondering if he would be able to straighten up at all, even under the peak of the roof.