Charlotte's Creek

by Therese Creed

  ‘Gem!’ Lucy began to laugh and cry simultaneously. She was reminded all at once of how much she loved her sister.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ As she spoke again, Gemma sounded more subdued than usual, her voice quietly reverent.

  ‘Yes, Gem, it really is.’ Lucy could feel the ice between them beginning to melt and became suddenly aware that she herself had caused most of the freezing.

  ‘I’m just a bit worried about . . . what sort of mother I’m going to make,’ Gemma blurted, sounding close to tears. ‘Lucy . . . you know what I’m like, so hopelessly silly.’

  ‘Gem,’ Lucy said confidently, ‘you’re going to be a great mum. You’ve got a huge heart. It’s exactly what you’re cut out for.’

  Gemma began to sob on the end of the phone. ‘Thanks, Luce.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘Do you really mean that? I’m not much good at anything else, maybe I will be a great mum! Maybe that’s what I’m here for!’ As was customary with Gemma, the tears had given way to instant enthusiasm.

  ‘You’re good at lots of things, Gem, and I’m so excited that I’m going to be an aunty,’ Lucy said, and laughed with pleasure at the thought.

  ‘I wish I could be more like you,’ Gemma lamented. ‘But I never could be. I gave up trying to be like you, and Dad, years and years ago. It’s so much easier to be an airhead. But now! Things will have to change. I want to do this properly.’

  ‘Good for you, Gem,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s the greatest challenge of all. What does Lloyd think about it?’

  ‘Lloydie doesn’t know yet. I’ve been suspecting it for a while, but I only just did the test.’

  ‘So I really am the first to know!’ Lucy gasped.

  ‘Yes, Lloyd’s away until tomorrow. Oh, wait till I tell him! He so badly wants kids—well, a son, actually. He can’t wait to be a daddy.’

  ‘Doesn’t he have a grown-up daughter? She was at the wedding, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh yes, Felicity. She’s older than me!’ Gemma giggled. ‘Well, he hasn’t had a lot to do with her, except financially, that is. Her mother is very bitter towards him. I don’t quite know the details.’

  ‘Well, I hope this baby brings you both lots of happiness, Gem.’

  ‘You’re always so formal, Luce.’ Gemma laughed hysterically. ‘It’s me you’re talking to now. I’m going to ring you at Charlotte’s Creek with regular updates on everything that’s happening to my body. All the gross stuff too. Hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘’Course not. I’ve missed you, Gem.’

  ‘And Lucy, I know you disapproved of my marriage to Lloyd, even though you never actually said so—’

  ‘Oh, Gem—’

  ‘No, just listen,’ Gemma cut in firmly. ‘You were right. That is . . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘I admit now that some of my reasons for marrying him were not the most . . . honourable. It could have been a disaster. But Luce, I’ve been so blessed—even though I didn’t love him then, I do now, I adore him to pieces. I’ve confessed everything to him and he doesn’t mind a bit.’

  Lucy went to speak, but the lump in her throat held her back.

  Gemma went on, ‘He’s just a beautiful man and I don’t deserve someone so fine. I can’t wait to have his babies.’

  Lucy blinked and the tears spilled over. She wiped them away and composed herself. ‘Gem, I’m so glad and I’m so sorry. I’m really ashamed of how horrible and cold I’ve been.’

  ‘Oh, don’t stress about that!’ Gemma exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t worried. I knew you’d get over it!’

  Both sisters laughed at that. Lucy felt suddenly as though the world had been set right again. The rift between her and Gemma had been like a hidden block of lead that she’d been carrying about for months. Who would have believed it could be dissolved so easily, just like that, with one open, honest phone conversation.

  Chapter 35

  Noel was there to meet Lucy’s plane on an afternoon in late January. The flight had seemed very short; Lucy had been so lost in thought, preparing herself for the year ahead. As much as she loved the family at Charlotte’s Creek, she knew that with the way things stood between senior and junior Wests, it wasn’t going to be easy. And her feelings for Ted, which she’d been hoping to extinguish during her time away from him, were proving to be too tenacious.

  They didn’t linger in Townsville, and had soon passed through Ingham, leaving the town and cane fields behind for the slow winding climb through the rainforest. Lucy found she was sitting on the edge of her seat, anticipating the first glimpse of the dry forest country over the peak of the range, complete with its sandy corrugated roads, ochre-coloured termite mounds and ragged rocky outcrops. Lucy gazed and gazed, remembering how foreign it had all seemed to her on that first drive with Ted, and marvelling over how familiar it was now.

  ‘Happy to be back, eh?’ Noel observed, smiling across at her.

  Lucy nodded. ‘Charlotte’s Creek has got under my skin. There’s nowhere else like it.’ When Noel didn’t reply, Lucy looked at his face and saw that it was troubled.

  ‘Let’s hope you can survive another year then,’ he said at last.

  When Noel drove over the grid into Charlotte’s Creek, and Lucy saw the figures of the children and the dogs running towards her from the yards, she swallowed hard and told herself she had no right to be experiencing the sense of homecoming that overtook her. Still, as she climbed out of the car beside the main house, she felt gratified by the pleasure on Mel’s face at the sight of her, and even felt a rush of fondness for Dennis when he grinned his welcome from the gate.

  However, there was no time for sentimentality. The first term was soon under way, the twins delighted to be taking part in ‘real school’ at last. The days and weeks slid by, filled with daily chores, rounds of mustering, and teams of contractors coming and going. On the surface, everything seemed to be continuing as normal, but to Lucy it was soon apparent that the simmering discontent regarding succession plans at Charlotte’s Creek had developed into outright antipathy over the break.

  She met Dennis’s two brothers and his sister, each of them arriving for a separate flying visit over the weeks leading up to Easter. They were friendly enough, but clearly preoccupied, and spent most of their time with Gwen and Noel. There was no family meeting, no facilitator, but Lucy could sense that there was something in the wind. Strangely, Mel seemed happier, but Dennis had become distracted and withdrawn, his smile not so ready as it had been.

  Ted was as dour and detached as ever and largely avoided Lucy. And although he was never far from her thoughts, Lucy never sought him out. At dinner each night she was careful not to meet his steely gaze, and concentrated instead on the twins’ table manners. She supposed the incident under the mosquito net at Prussia had extinguished any tentative friendship between herself and Ted. So when, towards the end of the last week of term, Ted came and found Lucy in her vegie garden and asked her if she’d be interested in going to the Easter races at Einasleigh, she was more than a little taken aback.

  ‘Are you asking me to go with you?’ Lucy said after a short pause.

  ‘Well I go most years to help out, and I thought you might wanna tag along.’

  Lucy was furious. How could Ted come and spring this on her now, just when she’d finally become resigned to the idea that nothing was ever going to happen between them? And if he couldn’t admit to wanting her there with him, she had no intention of going. So she answered politely, ‘No thank you Ted. I don’t really feel like “tagging along” anywhere.’

  He turned as if to walk away, then stopping abruptly, he turned back and rested his hands on top of the fence.

  ‘Lucy,’ he began again, this time, using her name, ‘I’d really like to take you with me to Einasleigh . . . so if you change your mind . . .’

  Lucy scrutinised his face coolly without replying. He turned to go a second time, but not before she’d seen a new injured look spring up in his eyes. She couldn’t bear it.

  ‘I’ll come with
you, Ted,’ she called.

  He turned back, his eyebrows drawn together. He gave her a nod, tipped his hat and stalked off, leaving Lucy in a state of frustrated bewilderment.

  They drove west on Good Friday afternoon, along the dusty gravel road that, seen from the air during Lucy’s flight with Adam, had been no more than a bright thread through the scrubby wilderness. On that occasion the chopper pilot had chatted so charmingly, keeping her constantly entertained, yet in spite of her annoyance at Ted, it struck her now how much more at ease she was in his company than with Adam. At intervals Ted pointed out a landmark or an unusual tree, but otherwise he left Lucy to her own thoughts and to her silent enjoyment of the landscape slipping by.

  When at last they neared the deep gorge preceding the town, with the Copperfield River at its bed, Lucy gasped in amazement at the sight of the formerly sleepy little hamlet. Einasleigh was now a buzzing hive of activity. Communities of tents, swags and camper trailers had sprung up on every open patch of crispy yellow grass near the pub and along the road towards the rodeo ground. As they crossed the bridge and drove into town, Lucy saw a large congregation of floats, horse trucks and gooseneck trailers closer to the racetrack. From one end of the town to the other, groups of felt-hatted people stood about, yarning and laughing.

  Ted drove a slow lap of the town and was greeted with many shouts and waves. Almost everyone seemed to recognise him, and Lucy couldn’t help noticing that she was the subject of many curious glances. Ted drove away from the main throng, past an obsolete police house complete with a little lock-up and antique stocks nearby, and then turned down a small lane, heading out of town. He pulled up at the cemetery.

  ‘Not scared of ghosts, are you?’ he asked. ‘I usually camp here, out of the way a bit. But we don’t have to if you’d rather not.’

  Lucy smiled. She’d always liked graveyards and their sleepy mysteries, and felt drawn to this one, with its few aged plots marked by tall white headstones, and shaded by four large spreading trees.

  After parking beneath one of the trees, they took a roundabout route back towards the rodeo grounds on foot. The evening sun lent charm to the bleached buildings and gardens of the town. They took a detour out onto the newish car bridge over the Copperfield and gazed across at the bulky volcanic hills.

  Ted pointed to the closest rise. ‘Redrock. At this time of day you can see how it got its name.’ The rays of the setting sun had ignited a blaze of colour on the jagged faces of the landform. It was breathtaking in its splendour. They watched in silence as it transformed minute by minute; then, quite suddenly, the ruddy brilliance faded to the softer purples and browns of evening.

  Following the horizon further around, Ted pointed out the rugged shortcut to Mount Surprise running along the foot of the more distant row of hills. ‘Caterpillars,’ he said, identifying the range, and indeed it looked just like a large dark lumpy grub, humping its way towards the coast. They stood gazing silently for a while longer, until the warm-up notes of a live band wafted towards them through the hum rising from the town. Lucy looked reluctantly towards the sound. It was so peaceful on the bridge, just the two of them; but they had come for the party, and the music was calling from the pavilion near the rodeo ring.

  It was a merry country crowd made up of people of all ages, who rarely took a holiday and were determined to make the most of it. Again Ted was greeted eagerly, and soon he was being monopolised by a jolly trio of hard-bitten looking cattlemen. Lucy, whom he’d failed to introduce, felt superfluous. She wandered away towards the bandstand to check out the local talent.

  She wasn’t left to watch the band alone for long, and for the rest of the evening she had at least one person to talk to at all times. Most of them were tipsy, but they were all so friendly and warm-hearted that she enjoyed each random encounter. The fact that she’d come with Goldy was a cause of great interest to many, and apparently an unprecedented occurrence, and her repeated attempts to explain that they were just friends was brushed aside laughingly.

  At one stage she found herself chatting with a strong-looking older woman who introduced herself as Pearly. She was, she explained, one of two Einasleigh women in a town that ordinarily consisted of twenty-two people. She looked tired but kind, Lucy thought, her brown wrinkled face softened by a halo of fuzzy grey curls.

  ‘I have to wear a few different hats,’ Pearly told her. ‘Pub cook, cleaner, town nurse. And then I go home and help on the property when I’ve done all that.’

  Lucy was suitably sympathetic, and asked whether Pearly had also played a central role in organising the Easter weekend.

  ‘You bet,’ Pearly said. ‘Someone’s gotta do it. It’s the only moment of glory this old town gets in a year. Population goes from twenty-two to two thousand in a matter of hours. Piers makes more than half his yearly takings in three days.’ With a smile and a nod, Pearly melted into the crowd again, leaving as quickly as she’d come.

  Just after nine, Ted appeared, interrupting her conversation with two old graziers. ‘I’m heading off,’ he said. ‘You just poke on over when you’re ready.’

  This comment sparked a flood of suggestive wisecracks from the men. Laughing self-consciously, Lucy stood up to leave.

  ‘Bugger you, Goldy,’ one of the farmers grumbled. ‘Stealing our girl. We was just getting started.’

  ‘Goodnight, gentlemen,’ Lucy said, laughing, before departing amid cheerful protests.

  She walked in Ted’s wake through the crowd, and soon they were out in the fresh air. The night was shaping up to be quite cool—desert weather, Lucy supposed, unlike the humid nights at Charlotte’s Creek. In the cemetery, they set out their swags. No mosquitoes hummed, even in the denser shadow under the tree, so there’d be no need to sleep alongside Ted tonight. With the hurt of Prussia still so vivid, Lucy was thankful of this.

  Saturday was race day. After a quick sandwich and cup of tea, Lucy ducked behind the ute to dress, wash her face, dab on a bit of make-up and brush her hair. She stepped into view rather self-consciously, wearing a navy-blue knee-length skirt and a pale pink pinstriped button-up shirt, an outfit unlike any she’d ever had cause to wear at Charlotte’s Creek. She’d brought her wide-brimmed white hat from Sydney, and to this she impulsively added a sprig of silver-green gum leaves from one of the graveyard trees.

  Ted’s dimple appeared when he saw her. ‘Struth,’ he muttered, as they set off towards the racetrack. ‘You look like you’re going to the Melbourne Cup, not a shoddy old bush race.’ Lucy, a little crestfallen, wondered if her outfit had only served to remind him that she was from a different world to his. But she felt a little better when a moment later he said, ‘You’ll knock the socks off all those other poor birds. And they’ve probably gone to no end of trouble.’

  Lucy had been expecting the contenders on the track to be work-roughened station horses from nearby properties, so she was surprised by the quality of the gallopers. But due to the scarcity of water, the grounds were not pre-greened, with only a thin layer of parched grass spread over the sun-baked earth. A small, lovingly tended flower garden bloomed with incongruous lushness alongside the shelter, and Lucy wondered if it was Pearly’s handiwork. She smiled, remembering Beth McCann’s pink room.

  As it turned out, Lucy saw very little of the races that day. The crowd was sparse for the first hour or so, and largely comprised of barefoot, tousle-haired children who’d been banished from tents, their parents having not yet emerged. A few minutes after Ted and Lucy arrived, Ted was required over at the barriers, and Lucy, a little sorry to see him go, was just sitting down to watch the horses warm up when Pearly appeared, still plainly dressed in jeans and a tidy shirt, but with the addition of some bright pink lipstick.

  ‘Hello, love,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You’d be able to add up pretty good, being a guvvie ’n’ all?’

  ‘Well, maths isn’t my strong point, but I can do it well enough,’ Lucy said, wondering what was coming next.

  ‘We need someone pre
tty and sober to sell these raffle tickets for the Rescue Helicopter.’ Pearly shook the calico bag she was holding. ‘Ted told me you mightn’t mind doing it for a bit.’

  ‘No, not at all!’ Lucy exclaimed, pleased to be entrusted with a job. ‘But I’m not much of a salesperson.’

  Pearly laughed. ‘Don’t worry, love, they’ll come to you.’

  The older woman set Lucy up at a little card table close to the bar and was about to hurry off again when Lucy pointed to the little flower garden and asked, ‘Those flowers, who keeps them looking so beautiful?’

  Pearly beamed, her harried expression disappearing momentarily. ‘I do that. Just a little something, you know . . . probably shouldn’t waste the water really . . .’ With a wave, she hurried off.

  Puzzling over how to attract ticket buyers, Lucy selected a wad of purple tickets and set it out with the pen on the table before her. Less than thirty seconds later, a beer was put in front of her by one of the women from behind the bar, who pointed to a small group of grinning men. The beer only just preceded an extremely old, thin, weather-beaten gentleman, who tottered over to the table, his hazel eyes twinkling at Lucy from under a battered tan hat.

  ‘Hello, love. I just thought I’d give you a minute to get yourself in order before I bothered you. But I can see you’re set now. Air Amboolance, eh?’

  Lucy nodded and looked up uncertainly from under her hat brim. She wished that there was even one useful piece of information about the heroic medics of the air that she could confidently impart to help convince people to support the cause, but she suspected that of everyone in the vicinity, she was the least qualified to comment.

  ‘Give me a smile and I’ll buy ten,’ the old man offered without the least persuasion. Amused and relieved, Lucy smiled up at him. He staggered backwards, his hand over his heart as though pierced by cupid’s arrow. Lucy giggled. The old charmer whipped off his hat and pulled a roll of cash from the brim. ‘Righto, you got me. Never heard a prettier laugh than that one. Music to me ears. Give me twenty.’