The croak of a frog drew Eleanor outside to the balcony. In the garden below sprinklers were being turned on. One after another the fine sprays of water began to form circular patches on the brittle lawn surrounding the interconnecting series of ponds. Rex entered her view. Hands on hips, he checked the position of each sprinkler before circumnavigating an outer pond to where he began installing the new piece of trellis.
Somewhere dogs barked and a horse neighed. Her stepfather could be heard calling to the gardener, asking Rex to join him in the rose garden. His abrupt request was answered with a hearty right-e-o. Beyond the manicured vegetation and the iron-roofed outbuildings, an irregular tree line marked where the river flowed through the property. And still their land stretched on. Into distant paddocks she’d never been to. Across a country marked by fire and drought, rootless drovers and torrential rain, war-made swagmen and blacks on walkabout. This was a big land. As a child Eleanor wondered what else was out there, what lived in all that emptiness? Sometimes, she decided, it was better not to know.
‘Mr March? Mr March?’
The governess was walking across the lawn, doing her best to avoid the recently watered grass.
Rex, having left the installation of the lattice, was heading towards the front garden. Miss Hastings was gesturing towards the schoolroom. Rex was shaking his head. Although Eleanor couldn’t hear the conversation, she knew immediately who they were talking about. Her half-brother, Robbie.
Chapter Six
‘And then there’s the roses. Have you seen the damage to them?’ Robbie lifted a finger to his lips and Garnet gave a soft nicker in response. He’d been leading the gelding behind the tennis court, intent on taking the long way back to the stables, which were a good mile from the house. His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Through the wire netting surrounding the court his parents were talking to Rex, his mother commenting to both men that the damage was worse than she thought. The gardener began pruning the damaged bushes and after a few seconds his mother walked towards the house. Robbie tugged on the lead and together he, Bluey and the horse hid behind a flowering bougainvillea. Garnet immediately began to nibble on the bush oblivious to the spiky branches. Robbie shook his head. ‘Don’t I feed you enough?’ he whispered. The gelding bared his teeth, revealing papery petals. Lifting a prickly red-flowered branch, Robbie peered out cautiously.
Rex and his father exchanged glances and then with a shrug of shoulders his father also headed towards the house.
‘I don’t know what the matter is with that boy. The girls never behaved like this.’
His mother’s voice had that high-pitched squeaky sound that usually meant trouble.
‘No, we’ve got other problems when it comes to them,’ responded his father, irritably.
‘Tit for tat, eh, Colin? I think it’s time Lesley came home for a visit regardless of her inclination. We know she’s much improved and with Eleanor here, well, those two used to be so close.’
‘Lesley?’
‘Why not? We’ve been talking about the possibility for months. I’d hoped Lesley would have made the decision herself but as she has not, and the convent seems loath to give her a gentle push, we’ll have to take the initiative.’
‘Do you really think that’s wise, Georgia? I mean the girl did have a nervous breakdown and there were –’
‘Difficulties?’ Georgia interrupted. ‘I’m well aware of what happened after Marcus died. I was the one who found her in the bathroom, remember?’ His mother’s voice wavered. ‘But that was five years ago. And based on the convent reports Lesley appears to be leading quite a normal life now. I don’t want my daughter hiding from the world anymore. And now Eleanor is home.’
‘We don’t even know how long Eleanor’s staying for, or why she’s here,’ replied his father. ‘Let’s face it, Georgia, no telephone call. No telegram. Nothing. For the past year you haven’t been able to budge the girl out of Sydney. And suddenly she comes home unannounced in the middle of a heatwave just before shearing, and you want to drag Lesley back too and play happy families? I suggest you sit the girl down and find out what’s going on.’
‘This is her home. Eleanor grew up here. It’s not that she doesn’t like the country anymore, if that’s what you’re insinuating. She has a life in Sydney.’
His father lifted his hands in mock defence. ‘Forget it, Georgia. We both know why she doesn’t come home much.’
‘The Winslows are late.’ Georgia changed the subject. ‘Just as well.’
Robbie tugged on the reins and reluctantly Garnet followed. ‘Eleanor’s back,’ he muttered. Keeping close to the thorny bougainvilleas he broke into a run, the horse trotting behind. He was pleased there were visitors coming to stay. With luck he’d only be locked in his room overnight. After that his mother would be too busy with her friends to worry about what he was up to. It was the perfect time to tell Eleanor about the communists and the coming attack.
At the schoolhouse he slowed. The building was quiet, as was the adjoining governess’s cottage. Miss Hastings always helped in the house when there were people visiting but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be lurking about trying to find him. He sent Bluey on ahead, waiting as the animal snuffled around the old buildings, returning without a show of teeth or hackles raised. Reluctant to take any chances, Robbie stayed at the rear of the buildings, moving quickly from the sheltering walls of the meat-house, the disused smoke-house and past the skeletal remains of three old cottages. Ahead, the large structure of the woolshed was visible. Robbie expected all the men to be out, either readying the woolshed and adjoining yards or mustering sheep. To his dismay, two of the younger jackeroos were outside the stables as he approached.
‘What cha doing then?’ the younger of the jackeroos asked.
Robbie gritted his teeth. ‘Nothing.’
The hairs rose along the length of Bluey’s spine.
Archie the albino was standing beneath the speckle-barked tree that shaded the hitching post outside the stables. His companion, Murph, a few years older, was busy shoeing a young colt.
‘Nothing?’ Archie repeated. ‘A person can’t do nothing, not on this here run. But we forgot, didn’t we, Murph? The boss’s son is too young to do anything but learn his reading, writing and arithmetic.’
‘Am not.’
‘Leave the kid alone, Archie.’ Checking his handiwork, Murph lowered the colt’s hind leg. The animal was upset. The horse backed up and snorted and gave a half-hearted pig-root.
‘Call that cattle dog away, will you, Robbie?’ asked Murph.
Robbie whistled Bluey to his side.
‘Whoever heard of a cattle dog on a sheep station,’ Archie commented.
‘He was a present,’ Robbie countered.
‘Well, you better keep the mutt chained during shearing or Mr Goward will have your guts for garters. And the dog …’ Archie made a slicing motion across his throat. ‘What cha being edumacated on today then? How to count your mother’s money?’
‘Archie,’ Murph warned.
‘It’s a fair question, ain’t it? Robbie being the heir to it all, well he’s gotta be able to count all that dough, don’t he? I mean if it was good enough for his acre-chasing father and uncle to learn how to count the Missus’s money, then it goes to reason it won’t be no hardship for the son and heir to do the same, eh?’
If he’d been bigger, Robbie would have punched Archie in the nose.
‘What’s it like then? Having sisters that are also your cousins. Hey, I just thought of something.’ Archie turned to Murph. ‘Maybe this place won’t be the kid’s. Maybe it’ll go to one of the girls. If it’s good enough for the mother to wear the pants, well then –’
Dropping the reins, Robbie charged, head down. He heard Bluey snarl as his skull met Archie’s soft belly and the impact pushed the older boy to the ground. Robbie landed on top.
‘Get that dog offa me!’
‘That’s enough,’ Murph said quietly but firml
y, grabbing Robbie by the collar and yanking him to his feet. As soon as they were parted Bluey loosened his grip on Archie’s ankle. The jackeroo sat up, glowering.
‘Don’t mind him, Robbie. His girl dumped him last weekend and he’s been in a filthy mood ever since.’
‘Bugger off.’ Archie moved to slouch against the stable’s timber walls. ‘That Bluey should be shot. He’ll give someone a real bad bite one of these days.’
‘Come on, Archie,’ Murph continued, ‘your turn. This colt isn’t going to wait all day.’
Robbie watched as Archie dragged his boots through the dirt. He only had to say one word to his dad, one word, and Archie would be fired. But he hadn’t been raised to be a tittle-tat. That was something girls did. Mr Goward said Archie was a fish out of water because he came from the coast and knew nothing about big stations, or sheep for that matter. But Robbie reckoned it was because he was pale-skinned with freckles. Ugly, Robbie decided, just plain jug-head ugly. But then Murph said Archie had a girlfriend. Robbie had never had one of those. Not that he wanted one, mind. No, he had enough problems what with the communists coming any day and now someone stealing his cray-bobs.
Archie lifted the colt’s other hind leg as Murph placed a shoe over the hoof to check the correct fit. ‘Watch what you’re doing when you’re filing, Archie,’ Murph warned. ‘The idea is to smooth the sharp edges of the nail where I’ve cut them.’ He walked into the stables to the familiar noise of a horse shoe being belted into shape.
Archie glared at Robbie. ‘Think you’re pretty good, don’t you?’
Robbie couldn’t think of a reply. When Murph reappeared, he walked to the far end of the stables where he unsaddled Garnet, sitting the gear in the closest stall as the gelding trotted through the open gate into the horse paddock. Rifle and saddlebags in hand, Robbie was about to leave when he saw that Archie’s backside was pointed towards him as he bent forward, concentrating on the colt’s hoof. Murph was walking back inside the stables. The jackeroo’s shirt was untucked and his trousers had slipped showing the pale moon of his bottom.
Quick as a flash, Robbie grabbed a cray-bob from the bags and, shaking the creature to antagonise it, crept slowly towards the jackeroo, the waving pincers directed at Archie’s backside. Robbie tentatively poked the cray-bob at the target, before pushing the thrashing creature at white skin. The cray-bob latched on. Archie let out a wild yelp. Robbie ran. Bluey gave chase.
Archie chased after him at a cracking pace. Robbie’s breath soon caught in his throat as he began to worry that the older boy would catch him. Above the beat of his heart he could hear Murph yelling and a quick glance over a shoulder confirmed that Archie was indeed gaining on him. Robbie dropped the saddlebag on the dirt road, his fingers still gripping the rifle. If he let go of the .22 calibre he might damage it, so he held onto it and gritted his teeth. His legs were growing tired, his breath raspy.
‘Stop!’
Robbie nearly collided with the station overseer as Bluey charged into his leg. He stumbled forward, briefly unbalanced, as the man stood in the middle of the road and, pushing Robbie to one side, unfurled a stockwhip and cracked it once, twice.
Robbie, bent over and gasping for breath, clutched at his side where a stitch pained.
Archie halted in a spray of dirt, his riding boots slipping on the gravel. Behind him Murph was still running.
‘What’s the matter with you lot? Aren’t you hot enough already without busting yourselves running around in this weather? It’s Friday,’ Mr Goward said tersely. ‘You should be in the quarters washing up for dinner, Archie Gough. Tomorrow the plunge dip has to be filled and the patch on the tank didn’t hold so there’s that to repair as well. Come Sunday I expect you to be up at sparrow’s ready for the muster. Are you hearing me?’
‘But he put a bloody cray-bob on my backside, Mr Goward,’ Archie said indignantly.
Robbie stole a glance at the overseer. The expression hadn’t changed on his face, but then the man was wonky-eyed, with one green and one blue. The blue one had a habit of drifting inwards when he was angry, so that a person never could tell who Mr Goward was looking at or, for that matter, what he was thinking. Robbie figured this could go either way. The silence grew. Very slowly, the overseer commenced curling the stockwhip. Archie shoved his hands in his pockets.
‘Well?’ asked the older man.
‘Yes, sir, Mr Goward,’ Archie replied, as Murph finally reached them, breathless and red-faced.
‘Do you have a problem keeping your men under control?’ the overseer asked the senior jackeroo. ‘Because if you do, Murph, the both of you boys can pack your bags.’
The older boy grew instantly flustered, his first few words a stutter. ‘It was just a bit of misunderstanding, Mr Goward.’
‘Go,’ the overseer directed.
Archie and Murph walked away quickly. When they reached the saddlebags, the younger jackeroo gathered up the cray-bobs that had crawled free and then lifted the bag in the air, waving it antagonistically.
Robbie turned to the overseer. ‘They’re mine. I trapped them.’
‘Well then, you should have hung onto them. My advice is to never pick a fight with someone who’s bigger than you. If you do it will surely turn bad. Sod’s Law.’
‘What’s Sod’s Law?’ asked Robbie, trailing the overseer back to where the man’s horse was tied outside his cottage.
‘It means things won’t just go bad, they’ll go real bad.’
‘Oh.’ Robbie digested this. ‘Like the communists invading.’
The older man gave a slow nod. ‘Well, if they did invade, it would be bad.’
‘So do you think it could happen, Mr Goward?’
A thoughtful expression replaced the overseer’s usual stony stare. ‘No-one thought that the Japanese would bomb Darwin. No-one thought there would be another war, but here we are and our boys are over in Korea getting shot at all over again. So I guess I’d never say no to the possibility of anything happening. And Menzies doesn’t strike me as a fool. If he reckons we should be on our guard from the commos, well then we should probably take his advice.’
At the sloping veranda of the three-bedroom cottage, Mr Goward halted. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be in trouble with your folks, Robbie?’
‘No, why?’ he asked, chewing his lip.
‘Because you’ve got a habit of turning up on my doorstep when things aren’t going so well.’ He looked at the cattle dog who’d taken up position at the end of the veranda. Close enough to keep an eye on the boy, far enough away to escape the toe of a boot. ‘Nothing to say, hey? Well, you better come in and wash your face and hands before you head home. You look like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt.’
Robbie looked at his pants and shirt. His clothes appeared pretty clean to him.
The cottage consisted of an open veranda at the back and the front and a kitchen that was big enough to hold a sofa and two armchairs. There was a bottle of rum on the sink and, as Robbie washed up, the overseer poured a nip into a glass, skolling the drink straight. He then sat at the kitchen table where two notebooks were open, displaying numerous entries. Next to them was a stack of Hoofs and Horns magazines.
‘Shearing supplies,’ the overseer indicated with a dirt-rimmed nail. ‘And this book is for the team. The shed overseer, Mr Lomax, will be here tomorrow, and the wool classer on Sunday.’
‘They bunking in with you, Mr Goward?’
‘Always do, son. It’s important to maintain the hierarchy. Besides which, the men like their space.’
‘Can I help during shearing?’
‘I thought you had that nice Miss Hastings schooling you?’
Robbie ran his fingers across the pages of the notebook. ‘Duck Face?’ He looked warily at Mr Goward, waiting for a reprimand that came in the form of a crinkled brow. ‘Well, yeah,’ he said deflated, seeing his chance of wagging school disappearing. ‘But Dad always lets me help out in the shed.’
The overseer leant
back in the chair. His blue eye pointed to the right, the other straight ahead. ‘Okay,’ Mr Goward finally replied, ‘what can you do?’
Robbie’s brain was blank for a moment. ‘I can push the sheep into the pens,’ he began. ‘I can run the tar to the board, I can skirt the fleeces and sweep up –’
‘And eat a lot of cake at smoko if I remember from last year.’
Robbie shrugged. ‘It was good cake,’ he admitted.
‘Well, you’re in luck. The same fitter and turner is coming back to cook. Fit it into a pot and turn it into food, that’s Fitzy.’ Mr Goward moved to the sink and poured another nip of rum. He was known to drink only on Fridays. Glass in hand, he turned to Robbie. ‘I’d offer you a drink, kid, but I run a dry shed and I don’t want to be giving you a taste for the demon grog before shearing begins. That’s if you’re going to be helping out.’
Robbie’s chest swelled up with pride. ‘No, sir, Mr Goward. I mean, gee whiz, thanks, Mr Goward.’
‘But don’t forget, at day’s end it’s up to the shed overseer, Mr Lomax, whether he’ll have you or not.’
‘But you’ll put in a word for me?’
The older man considered the question, dragging out the process until Robbie was perched on the very edge of his seat. ‘I’ll put a word in, but,’ he lifted a finger, ‘don’t you get me into trouble with that governess of yours, or your mother for that matter. And that cattle-pup has to be chained up. I don’t want him anywhere near the sheep.’
Robbie jumped to his feet. ‘No, sir, he won’t, promise. Thanks, Mr Goward.’ He opened the cottage door and was about to leave when the overseer called him back.
‘And Robbie, unless you want to find yourself in the dirt with Archie on top of you, don’t go stirring up trouble. No more cray-bob attacks.’
River Run Page 4
