River Run

by Alexander, Nicole

  ‘Nearly there,’ Rex said encouragingly, increasing their speed a little. A pinprick of light gradually grew in size. The blooming bougainvillea came into view and then the flowerless rose garden. Eleanor’s eyes grew moist. The bark of a dog, the splash of the stone fountain, then the front porch lights welcomed them. As they crawled past the house with the headlights dimmed, the lone silhouette of a man appeared in the sitting-room window. Colin. Music drifted on the night air, soft and slow. Gravel crackled under the tyres as the truck drove the length of the homestead, rounded the corner, finally coming to a stop at the rear of the kitchen.

  The back door opened almost instantly and Colin limped out to stand on the stone landing. Haloed by a bare light bulb wreathed in flying insects, he leant so heavily on the walking stick that one shoulder was angled much higher than the other. Her stepfather’s neck-tie was undone and the look of barely suppressed anger distorting his gaunt features made Eleanor hesitate before opening the car door. Across the bench seat Rex glanced at Robbie sandwiched between them. Switching the gear shift into neutral and turning the engine off, he gave the boy a gentle shake to wake him, followed by an encouraging smile.

  Robbie rubbed at his face and then, realising that they were home, drew back like a sea snail retreating inside its shell. He touched her arm. ‘Eleanor?’ The word sounded like a plea.

  ‘Everything will be fine.’ Her reply was brisk, automatic. Eleanor was tired, shaky and although it was still hot, she felt slightly cold. Was she in shock? ‘Come on. Let’s get out.’

  ‘You found him?’ Colin asked of no-one in particular.

  ‘Yep,’ answered Rex, slamming the truck’s door shut. ‘Robbie lit a campfire. Could have been out there driving around all night otherwise.’

  ‘Just as well.’ Father nodded to his son. ‘You alright, Robbie?’

  ‘Right as rain, Dad.’ Robbie’s bright answer was met with Colin’s sobering stare. ‘Dad –’

  ‘Later, Robbie.’

  No-one spoke as Rex lowered the tailgate. Mr Goward jumped from the rear of the vehicle. In the lamp light the overseer was tall, his frame solid. For the first time since setting off earlier that evening, Hugh Goward could see Eleanor, and she him, albeit in a shadowy light. They had squeezed into the truck’s bench seat on the way to the paddock, discussing the shock of the afternoon as Rex drove, the gardener interrupting them occasionally to check directions. Now they acknowledged each other wordlessly, although Eleanor was aware of his fleeting appraisal. She found herself thinking of Rex’s criticisms of the overseer yesterday when he’d driven her from the village. Had she passed inspection, or had Hugh Goward already decided that the younger of the Webber girls should be sold with the rest of the cull ewes? Eleanor had had very little to do with Hugh since his arrival on the property a few years ago. But she remembered his eyes. Green and blue. Anyone would.

  The two men began to drag the stranger from the rear of the truck.

  ‘Steady now,’ the overseer cautioned.

  ‘Righto.’ Rex’s response was gruff. ‘I’ve carried my share of wounded men,’ he said, referencing his wartime service. ‘We’d be better off standing the fella up. We can’t carry him proper-like with that shoulder wound.’

  Mr Goward agreed. They stood the man upright, supporting him on either side, and then began to walk forward, the unknown man’s legs dragging uselessly between them.

  Eleanor stood back as the trio passed.

  ‘How is he? Do either of you recognise him?’ asked Colin.

  The overseer and Rex replied that neither had ever laid eyes on the man before.

  ‘Well, he’s not from these parts then. Follow the hallway,’ Colin directed, staring at the unconscious stranger as he made way for the men. ‘Mrs Howell’s prepared a room for him.’

  ‘But surely he should be taken upstairs to one of the bedrooms,’ Eleanor complained. ‘Those rooms down here haven’t been used for years. He’ll be surrounded by boxes and dust and …’

  Rex and the overseer continued holding the man between them, awaiting the outcome of the disagreement. The stranger’s head slumped forward on his chest. ‘Go on,’ Colin told them. The men walked into the house, half carrying the stranger between them.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Stop arguing, Eleanor,’ her uncle snapped. ‘The sooner he’s made comfortable the better, and if he’s down here, Mrs Howell can keep an eye on him until we can get a doctor out, as well as the police. But at this hour we won’t be seeing anyone until the morning.’

  ‘The police?’ said Robbie. ‘But, Dad, I didn’t mean to shoot him.’

  Her uncle looked unconvinced and Eleanor knew why. She’d been angry after her hard ride back to the house to get help and her stepfather had questioned her briefly again while they waited for Rex and the overseer to collect her from the kitchen. Eleanor did nothing but tell the truth of what had happened by the river and the blame lay squarely with Robbie, although she was not without fault. Her mere presence apparently made her partially responsible.

  ‘I want this kept quiet until the morning,’ her uncle continued. ‘I’ll tell your mother after the guests have gone to bed.’

  ‘She doesn’t know yet?’ Eleanor was stunned. ‘That’s ridiculous. Mum should be told immediately. I’ll go now.’

  Colin grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. The scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke was strong. ‘What? You’re going to barge into the sitting room while they’re sipping their after-dinner crème de menthe and tell them that Robbie’s just shot someone? I don’t bloody well think so, Eleanor.’ He loosened his grip.

  Eleanor rubbed her arm.

  He continued, ‘As I said, I’ll tell your mother tonight when our guests have gone to bed. Tomorrow morning is soon enough for the others. As it is, they’ll all be here when the doctor and the police arrive.’ Colin tapped the stick on the stone landing in frustration. ‘You wouldn’t think it possible that the Winslows could be here with this mess going on. We’ll be the gossip of every bush family, every villager, every –’ He broke off and stared at Robbie. ‘Go to bed, son.’

  ‘But, Dad?’

  ‘Go to bed,’ he responded more firmly. ‘We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

  Robbie scuffed at the ground with his boots and reluctantly walked inside, passing Rex and Mr Goward as they reappeared. The overseer ruffled the boy’s hair, but Rex’s expression was blank.

  ‘Well?’ Colin asked the two men roughly.

  ‘The bullet’s still in his shoulder. Damn lucky it was only a .22 that the boy got him with, otherwise …’ Hugh Goward’s words trailed as he met Eleanor’s eyes.

  ‘Nasty head wound, though,’ Rex cut in. ‘It looks like he hit the back of it on something when he fell from his horse. A lump of timber I’d reckon. Anyway, he’s out cold. Mrs Howell’s with him now.’

  ‘Good.’ Her uncle seemed satisfied with this news. ‘She’ll make him comfortable until the doctor can get here. And we really have no idea who he is?’

  Rex wiped his hands clean of blood, staining the beige cloth of his trousers. ‘Nothing on him, Boss. And I definitely don’t recognise him.’

  ‘Robbie found this.’ Eleanor held out the roll of notes.

  ‘Nothing else? No wallet?’ Colin flicked briefly through the money. ‘What about his horse?’

  ‘The saddlebags were empty except for a bit of tea, sugar and flour,’ Mr Goward replied. ‘We left both horses tied up down by the river.’

  Colin swatted aside a buzzing insect. ‘I expect the police will want to speak to the both of you as well, and you’ll probably have to show them where the accident occurred.’

  ‘And the muster?’ the overseer reminded them. ‘We were to leave at daybreak.’

  ‘God, that’s right. The muster goes ahead as planned,’ Colin advised. ‘We’ll have near thirty men on this place by sundown tomorrow and I’ll not have that lot cooling their heels for a day if we’re delayed. We’d never hear the end of it
.’ He turned to Eleanor. ‘You’re the main witness anyway.’

  It sounded like an accusation and in a way it was. Robbie was a child, she the adult.

  ‘I can delay going into the village for the mess supplies,’ Rex offered, ‘and I can get the two horses later, hitch them to the rear of the truck.’

  Colin nodded. ‘Good man. Well, that’s all we can do tonight. Time we all got to bed.’ Rex said goodbye, got into the truck and drove away, the red tail lights marking his progress into the dark. ‘You better come inside, Eleanor,’ her uncle ordered, walking indoors.

  ‘If there’s nothing else I can do?’ Mr Goward enquired courteously of Eleanor.

  ‘No, nothing, thank you.’ Eleanor listened to the crunch of gravel as Mr Goward left. On previous trips home, the man her mother depended on had kept his distance, observing the on-property hierarchy and remaining respectful of family members. She wondered if, after today’s events, that might now change.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The earlier mess of the kitchen and the aftermath of another dinner party was gone. In its place were clean bench tops and washed plates and platters drying in a rack on the sink. A few moths fluttered about the ceiling light. Mrs Howell’s favoured cleaning products, baking soda, vinegar and ammonia, were left on the sink and the lemony scent of her homemade spray pervaded the hot, stuffy room. Colin poured Eleanor a good shot of whisky. She drank it down on his orders before sitting at the table.

  ‘Is there anything else I should know?’ Colin screwed the lid on a bottle of disinfectant that had been left on the kitchen table beside the first-aid kit.

  Eleanor thought back through the afternoon’s events. Now she was home, the whole thing seemed like a bad dream.

  Her stepfather joined her at the table, sitting the crystal decanter of whisky between them. ‘More?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Eleanor had never been a whisky drinker. The odd sherry and glass of wine were the extent of her beverage consumption but the burning sensation in her throat and stomach was helping to ease her anxiety. He poured them both another measure and took a sip.

  ‘I don’t know what he was thinking,’ her stepfather yawned. ‘What was he thinking?’

  It wasn’t really a question, however, Eleanor was quick to respond. ‘The moment I arrived home yesterday, Robbie told me he was bored and he must be for his imagination to have run riot the way it has.’

  Her uncle looked at her with the same querying, heavy-lidded eyes that belonged to her father. ‘What are you talking about? How can he be bored? He has the run of the place, thousands of acres, as well as a top-class governess. It’s not like he’s on some hobby farm with a chicken coop and a vegetable patch.’

  Electing not to state the obvious, that Robbie was probably lonely, Eleanor moved the tumbler of whisky in small circles across the tabletop. ‘He’s got tinned food hidden in a tree down by the river. He’s expecting communists to invade from the north.’

  Colin, his glass midway between the table and his mouth, frowned. ‘What?’

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious she expected that they both would have burst into laughter. ‘Exactly,’ Eleanor confirmed. ‘Robbie thought that poor fellow was a communist.’

  ‘A communist? What? Sorry, I’m repeating myself, I know.’

  ‘You’re also slurring your words,’ replied Eleanor disapprovingly. Her father would never have allowed himself to get in such a state. In response to her reproach, the man opposite poured another measure of whisky and then made a show of replacing the stopper in the decanter. They sat uncomfortably, only the hum of the fridge and the tick of the kitchen clock disturbing the silence.

  ‘You’ve never liked me, Eleanor, I know that.’

  He was testing her, maybe even hoping for an argument. Eleanor vaguely recalled her father behaving in a similar fashion. Time provided perspective and it seemed obvious to her now that the Webber men were cursed with the need to let off steam, usually at the expense of a family member. Georgia once said that it was the only fault her first husband had. Colin, Eleanor decided, had far more. ‘It’s lucky the police aren’t on their way. It wouldn’t look very good for a respected member of the Country Party to be caught sozzled,’ she replied.

  ‘Did you assume your mother would stay widowed for the rest of her life?’

  How on earth could he dare ask that question and expect a civil answer? Words filled her mind. And he should hear them, Eleanor thought. This upstart accountant nobody who took advantage of her grieving mother and whose only claim to fame came from being blood-related to a decorated war hero. Her father. As if Colin could read her thoughts, they eye-balled each other across the kitchen table, her mouth turning dry, he tapping the base of the empty glass on the timber.

  Under the harsh kitchen light it was clear that her uncle was quite drunk, however, he straightened his shoulders and offered her a cigarette. A truce. Eleanor accepted, leaning forward as the lighter flared, inhaling deeply. It was just as well, she thought, that the police and the doctor weren’t due until the morning. What a pretty sight they would make, huddled across the table, drinking and smoking. Two adversaries caught beneath the same roof.

  ‘First and foremost we are family.’ Her stepfather took a number of puffs, exhaling a line of thin smoke, and dropped the glowing cigarette into the dregs at the bottom of the whisky glass. The embers briefly sizzled and died.

  Retrieving an ashtray from a cupboard, Eleanor placed it pointedly on the table. ‘How is it possible for Robbie to have got such an idea into his head? This communism thing?’ she finally asked when the silence became more than awkward. Eleanor couldn’t remember if the two of them had ever been alone like this.

  ‘The news. The wireless. Who knows?’ Colin replied, placing the glass on the sink.

  ‘But –’

  ‘In the morning things will be clearer,’ he announced. ‘Come, we better check on Mrs Howell.’

  Eleanor stubbed out the cigarette and together they walked the length of the passageway. A dim light shone from under one of the doors and they entered the room. The smell of antiseptic was strong. The housekeeper was wringing out a cloth in a basin. Folding the material, she rested it gently on the patient’s brow before turning to them.

  ‘I’ve washed the wound as best I could, Mr Webber, but there’s nothing much else that can be done for him. At least with my limited experience.’

  ‘I do appreciate you tending to him, Mrs Howell.’ All three of them scrutinised the man lying unconscious before them.

  ‘I’m sure it’s the lump on the back of his head that keeps him out cold. He must have hit something very hard when he fell.’ Lifting the bedcovers, she patted them around the man carefully. ‘There’s no temperature, but Mr Goward and I agree that the bullet’s still in his shoulder. Is it true that it was young Robbie that shot the poor man?’

  ‘A terrible accident, I assure you, Mrs Howell,’ Colin answered.

  The woman tutted under her breath. ‘And no-one knows who he is?’

  ‘Not as yet, but the police and the doctor will be here first thing. I’m going up now to tell Mrs Webber.’

  The housekeeper nodded. ‘Of course.’

  Eleanor and the older woman waited until the door clicked closed and they were alone.

  ‘Why hasn’t he told your mother yet?’ Mrs Howell whispered agitatedly. ‘Rex said that Robbie shot him on purpose. And that’ – she looked over her shoulder at the unconscious man – ‘that he’s a communist. A communist in this very house.’ She crossed herself.

  ‘I’m sure it’s just Robbie’s imagination. We don’t know who he is, Mrs Howell.’ Eleanor did her best to calm the woman. ‘I mean, does he look like a communist to you?’

  Mrs Howell lifted her chin and sniffed. ‘Well, I don’t know what one looks like, do I?’

  ‘It’s more likely he’s just some poor stockman,’ Eleanor told her. ‘That’s what he looks like to me.’

  Both women peered at the ma
n.

  ‘Either way,’ the housekeeper considered, ‘Robbie could be in a lot of trouble. It’s just as well your mother is who she is. She’ll make sure young Robbie’s protected.’

  Eleanor walked closer to the narrow bed. The man appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Dark-haired and brown of skin, a slight stubble covered his face.

  ‘He can’t be more than forty years of age,’ Mrs Howell decided.

  ‘We should let him rest.’ All Eleanor wanted was to fall into bed.

  Outside the room the housekeeper produced an ancient brass ring and, selecting a key, locked the door. She met Eleanor’s disbelieving stare with pursed lips. ‘It’s fine for the likes of everyone else. You’ll be upstairs, but I have to sleep down the hall from him.’

  Although Eleanor doubted the likelihood of the stranger having the strength to get out of bed, let alone attack anyone in the middle of the night, she could understand the housekeeper’s concern. ‘Until we know who he is and where he’s from, it’s probably a very good idea.’

  ‘You always were the one with the most common sense around here.’ Mrs Howell patted her arm. ‘I’ve saved you some dinner. You must be famished. And don’t say no. You’ll come to the kitchen and eat something before bed and that’s an order.’

  Eleanor was beyond arguing. She followed Mrs Howell the length of the long passageway, collapsing in a kitchen chair. Colin’s packet of cigarettes remained on the table along with the lighter and she lit one immediately, ignoring the older woman’s protestations.

  ‘Just because every movie star has one of those things dangling from their lips, doesn’t mean it’s attractive,’ Mrs Howell scolded.

  Eleanor thought of the beaten crows, the slaughter of animals to feed the shearers and the wounded man. At the moment, out here in the middle of nowhere, smoking was the least of her concerns.

  Sunday

  The Day After