River Run

by Alexander, Nicole

  Eleanor hoped things would change between them. Revert back to the way it was before Rex’s death, but as the days passed she felt an idiot for believing that Hugh may have had feelings for her. Worse, Eleanor guessed he was keeping clear of her because of the kiss they’d shared.

  ‘I’m not avoiding Hugh, Mum,’ continued Eleanor. ‘He was mustering this morning, bringing the next mob into the yards.’ Georgia didn’t look convinced. ‘Anyway, it’s been pretty hands-on here since the warrigal storm hit us.’

  ‘The warrigal? Heavens, I haven’t heard that saying for years. But you’re right, it has been busy.’

  It was thought approximately four thousand head of sheep were burnt to death in the blaze that was started by the campfire in the river paddock. Many more had to be destroyed. Hugh and the rest of the station men, including some of the shearers, were a dismal lot at the end of each day as they returned from the gruesome task of putting down badly burnt animals. Everyone knew the bushfire could have been far worse, were it not for the rain extinguishing the blaze and alleviating the run of dry weather.

  With Rex’s passing, an era had vanished. Rex had served with Eleanor’s father. He’d been on the property forever, and now he was gone.

  ‘You’re still intending to return to Sydney?’ Georgia asked her daughter.

  ‘I think,’ Eleanor breathed, ‘I think it’s the best thing.’

  ‘Mrs Howell said Jillian rang to see when you were heading back.’

  ‘Yes, the girls are planning a party for Saturday week.’ Eleanor and Jillian had talked at length about the troubles that had beset River Run since her arrival. She wasn’t surprised by the concern shown by one of her oldest friends, but when Henrietta telephoned later, having been apprised of the situation, she’d firmly suggested that Eleanor should remain at home for an extended period. ‘Who cares about your job,’ she’d said. ‘We can always get you a spot in the typing pool.’

  ‘Well, you won’t want to miss that,’ answered Georgia.

  ‘No, probably not,’ she replied flatly.

  Through the window, the two women noticed Colin as he strode among the visitors, shaking hands and chatting animatedly. Athena Pappas and her father, Stavros, were also among the guests, although they’d kept a respectful distance from the family at all times. Eleanor was yet to speak to the nurse.

  ‘You could stay, well, at least until the end of shearing.’ Georgia turned her back on the milling guests and her husband. ‘It would be lovely to have you here for longer, and I know Lesley would be thrilled by the thought.’

  ‘What about my job?’

  ‘Are you really fulfilled with what you’re doing with your life?’ her mother countered.

  Eleanor thought back over the days since her coming home to River Run. She’d been tested both physically and mentally, and she was defiantly not the same person who’d arrived unannounced that late Friday afternoon.

  Georgia touched her chin thoughtfully. ‘I could commission you to write and you’d live here of course.’ She lifted a hand. ‘Now don’t go getting excited, my girl. I don’t mean that drivel that’s been supplementing your I don’t need hand-outs, I’d rather starve income. I’m thinking something a little more solid, something important. Historical. Perhaps something on River Run.’

  ‘I’m not an historian, Mum.’

  ‘No, but you’re a writer and this is your heritage. Mrs Howell told me that you’ve been carrying around a notebook or sketchpad since you arrived home. Think on it before you make one of your spur-of-the-moment decisions. And while we’re talking spur-of-the moment, you never did tell me why you came home, Elly.’ She moved to a green upholstered squatter’s chair, sitting tiredly.

  ‘It was nothing important,’ Eleanor replied, leaning on the edge of the desk. The pain across her waist from the rope was only just starting to diminish.

  Georgia lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Affairs of the heart are never not important.’

  Eleanor knew she shouldn’t have been surprised at a mother’s intuition, but she’d barely been in her company when Hugh was around. Nonetheless, the conversation was uncomfortable, especially with Georgia waiting as if Eleanor had more to share.

  ‘Margaret Winslow insinuated you came home to mend a broken heart. Is that true?’

  ‘Margaret Winslow?’ Her mother wasn’t talking about Hugh at all. ‘Margaret Winslow is a bitch.’

  ‘Well, that just about covers that subject,’ replied Georgia wryly, offering her younger daughter a cigarette and lighting it. Both of them laughed half-heartedly.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that about her, I apologise.’ Eleanor recognised her annoyance lay more with her stepfather than with the manipulations of Ambrose Park’s mistress, tacky though the woman was.

  ‘Nonsense. My own opinion of Keith’s wife was never overflowing with graciousness.’ Cigarette smoke curled out from between her mother’s pink-stained lips, ‘and it certainly hasn’t improved this past week. Anyway, if you ever do need to talk, Elly, I am a good listener.’

  Was there more to talk about? No, Eleanor reflected, there was nothing to talk about, nothing at all.

  ‘There’s a place for you here, Elly. There always was, and things will be different from now on.’

  Yes, things would be different, that was true enough. Rex’s death would change River Run forever.

  ‘Mum?’

  Mother and daughter turned to where Robbie sat in a wheelchair, a plastered leg extended out before him and one arm in a sling. He’d been asleep on and off for most of the day. Bluey, elevated to hero status, was lying on his back in the middle of a silk rug, four legs pointed to the ceiling. No-one was yet to tire of the youngest Webber’s enthusiastic retelling of Bluey’s flying attack on the outsider. The family doubted they ever would.

  ‘Yes, Robbie?’ answered Georgia.

  ‘Is it right what Fitzy said earlier, Mum? That Mr Lomax and Billy Wright were out looking for me as well?’

  ‘Yes, Robbie, you know that,’ his mother confirmed. ‘But it was Hugh who found you.’

  Robbie’s low whistle brought the cattle-pup to his side. Bluey jumped up on the boy’s lap. The fabled antics of the animal earnt him the right to stay at River Run, much to Robbie’s father’s annoyance. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘You should be in bed resting,’ Eleanor admonished, picturing Hugh carrying her brother in his arms through the mangled scrub.

  ‘But not before Archie wheels you around the homestead for some fresh air,’ Georgia said, trying not to smile.

  ‘But, Mum,’ whined her son.

  ‘No buts, young man. There’s many a fence to be mended on River Run and if you’re to stay here for another year before starting boarding school, you will do as I say. You have to learn to get on with everybody.’

  Robbie petted Bluey sitting on his lap, giving a surly nod of his head in reply.

  There was a knock on the door and Mrs Howell entered. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Webber, however, the police have found the last of those men.’

  Outside, Constable Graham waited on the front porch. Eleanor really didn’t want to hear any more about Chad Reynolds and his luckless companions. During the storm one of the thieves was thrown from the rolling truck and killed, while Chad, now in jail, was dragged from the riverbank where he’d been hiding. The third man had, to date, avoided capture.

  ‘Well, we best get this over and done with.’ Georgia walked out into the entrance hall, running a finger across a dusty hall table.

  ‘And Archie’s here too, Mrs Webber.’ The housekeeper gestured to Robbie, a look of doubt crossing her face. ‘I’ll lead the way, shall I?’

  Eleanor wheeled a reluctant Robbie out onto the veranda, where a bruised and clearly uncomfortable Archie lingered. The jackeroo, still suffering the effects of a fractured jaw and bloodied nose following the altercation at the woolshed, was none too impressed with his new role. He waited awkwardly on the veranda, a hat pushed back off his forehead,
his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  ‘Take your hat off immediately, young man,’ Mrs Howell stated sternly. ‘And get those hands out of your pockets. Pockets are for keeping things in. Hands are for constructive activities. Idle hands make idle minds, and River Run doesn’t employ indolent youths.’

  Archie whipped off the hat, to stand almost to attention, dropping his gaze to the timber beneath his boots.

  Robbie, confined to the wheelchair, looked on with a satisfied smile.

  ‘Good afternoon, Archibald,’ said Georgia, pleasantly. ‘Now, you know what’s expected of you, young man. Twice a day, Archie,’ she advised. ‘That’s all I ask. Robbie needs fresh air and exercise and as young gentlemen I expect both of you to behave in a dignified, courteous manner.’

  Archie, mumbling a barely audible reply, glumly took hold of the wheelchair. Carefully pushing the patient across the veranda, he eased the chair down the two planks of wood erected to one side of the stairs.

  ‘Well,’ Georgia observed as the cattle dog trotted along behind the unlikely pair, ‘they’ll either kill each other or become the best of friends.’

  ‘Don’t go over there, it’s too rough,’ Robbie complained, as Archie jolted the wheelchair across uneven ground. ‘Go that way, it’s a lot smoother.’

  ‘Who’s driving?’ Archie retaliated, giving the chair a shove. ‘You or me? How’d you like to be left out in the middle of the paddock somewhere?’

  The cattle-pup growled.

  ‘How’d you like to have a sore lip to match that nose?’

  ‘How’d you like me to get up a bit of speed and then poke a stick in those shiny spokes of yours?’ Archie wheeled Robbie around the side of the homestead.

  ‘Mrs Webber?’

  ‘Constable.’

  Georgia led the officer to the table and they sat, Eleanor and Colin joining them.

  ‘You have news?’ Georgia settled in the peacock chair at the head of the table.

  ‘Yes.’ Constable Graham and his men were currently permanent additions at the homestead while the search for the thieves continued. Notebook in hand, he flipped through a number of pages before reading out the appropriate details. The third man, he announced, had been found that morning, further down the river. By his enthusiasm on sighting the police, he was apparently quite keen to be rescued. ‘It seems he was a drifter, has been for some time, as was his dead companion.’

  ‘And Chad Reynolds?’ Eleanor was eager to know the truth about this man, even though she was annoyed to have been so gullible where the stranger was concerned.

  ‘Antony James is his real name,’ the constable clarified. ‘He arrived in Australia with fake papers a couple of years ago after the war. As far as we can tell he served in the army, but that’s only based on Dr Headley’s initial examination of an old wound, which he presumed was caused by shrapnel.’

  Colin patted his injured leg. ‘Tends to stand out, wounds of that nature.’

  ‘Was he on our side?’ Eleanor asked hopefully, eager for some measure of redemption when it came to her judgement.

  ‘It’ll be some time before we know the truth of things,’ the policeman admitted. ‘We’ve the odd Yank that went AWOL after the war, but those boys stuck out with their accents and they were shipped home relatively quickly. Few came over here later and if they did, it’s my understanding that their papers were usually in order. On the other hand, we did have a bit of an exodus of Australian women following their sweethearts abroad. As for his allegiances,’ he caught Eleanor’s attention, with another flick of a page, ‘there’s an element of doubt, him being Italian-American, however, I’m sure the powers that be in Sydney will soon get to the heart of the matter.’

  Colin, having done his best to be sociable considering the occasion, appeared quite clear-headed. ‘So he’ll be interrogated?’

  ‘I’d imagine so, yes, Mr Webber. Well, that’s about it, other than to say that our preliminary questioning suggests that the men are the same lot who have been thieving sheep here and there for at least a year. Antony James’ role appears to have been one of reconnaissance.’ The officer closed the notebook. ‘Didn’t work so well, wrong place, wrong time, as they say. And your jewellery, Mrs Webber. I’m afraid it’s yet to be recovered.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ Georgia was incredulous at the simplicity of explanation after everything that had transpired.

  ‘Pretty much. Right little man you have in that son of yours. Of course, I can’t condone the shooting,’ the officer said emphatically, ‘however, in the end, the boy redeemed himself. Yes, he certainly did that.’

  If there was a heaven, Eleanor dearly hoped Rex was listening.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us, my men and I will be out of your hair within the hour. And do pass on my thanks to Mrs Howell, Mrs Webber, a wonderful cook, wonderful.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Howell certainly made a fan,’ Colin noted, after they’d farewelled the constabulary.

  Georgia pushed the cane chair away from the table and, with a proprietorial survey of the ravaged rose garden, commented on the need to find a new gardener. ‘In the meantime, I think I’ll commandeer that young jackeroo, Archie. It won’t hurt him to do one afternoon a week within the back gate. In fact, I think that will work very well indeed.’

  Eleanor remarked on the state of the garden, the work required, if the area was ever going to be returned to its beautiful, manicured simplicity.

  ‘I don’t intend to replant, Elly,’ said Georgia wistfully. ‘When your father selected the first rose, our young men were yet to land at Gallipoli. It was the year Rex arrived on our doorstep by bicycle, one afternoon, seeking work. We’d scarcely learnt his name and there he was, stalking around the pegged-out area, making suggestions on what varieties to plant. Rex was such a good-looking man. Tall and lean, with a swagger to match his feisty personality. He and your father became friends instantly. They were exactly the same. Fearless, sensitive, and as for their work ethic, well, I’m sure those two waged a private competition as to who would be most exhausted by the end of the day.’ She laughed at the memory. ‘But that time is over now.’ Georgia folded her arms. ‘I’m going to plant one rose bush only, in memory of your father, and I’ll install a swimming pool with a gazebo, and we’ll plant some date palms. Yes, I’m sure they’d do very well out here.’

  ‘A pool,’ repeated Eleanor, ‘how wonderful. But do you really want to remove the rose garden? Dad planted it for you, Mum.’

  ‘And we struggled with it for years, Elly, always replanting, always trying to resurrect frost-bitten bushes or ones that died during the dry spells. Your father would understand. It’s a time for new beginnings.’ Georgia looked directly at her husband. ‘For everyone.’ With that rather cryptic statement, Georgia went indoors.

  ‘And what are you doing, Eleanor?’ enquired Colin pleasantly, when the two of them were left alone. ‘Heading off, or staying for a bit longer?’

  Eleanor thought of the response that should be made, something polite, respectful, instead the words from her mouth echoed exactly what she was thinking. ‘I could ask you the exact same thing,’ she replied.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Lesley was awake when Eleanor entered the room. Her older sister was sitting up in bed reading a magazine and scratching her arm in the darkened bedroom. Eleanor dreaded to think how much peeling skin was scattered among the bedclothes. It seemed that her elder sister was shedding a little more of her hide every day.

  ‘I just read that Jean Lee, the woman who helped murder that seventy-three-year-old man is to be executed in Melbourne in February.’ Lesley folded the newspaper.

  ‘Not exactly happy reading, sis,’ responded Eleanor, side-stepping the pile of recently discarded magazines on the carpet and sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I could find you a novel in the library.’

  Lesley patted the Bible next to her. ‘It would be better if I had a wireless in my room,’ she replied. ‘That would be a real novelty.’

  �
�You’re looking much healthier.’

  ‘I feel much better.’ Lesley shuffled the magazines on the bed. ‘I guess being forced to stay inside has made me want to get out and about, Elly. Even at the convent I was nearly always outdoors, pottering around in the garden.’

  ‘Well, you’re to be released this evening, if you’re up to it,’ Eleanor shared.

  ‘Really? I can’t wait to see Robbie.’ With Lesley under strict orders to stay in bed until recovered and Robbie relegated to the recently vacated room in the servants’ area where the ground floor made wheelchair manoeuvrability easier, she’d been removed from the goings-on of the household. Lesley picked at a piece of flaking skin, Eleanor reached out, playfully slapping her hand away. ‘Ouch,’ Lesley complained. ‘If Mother puts any more Rawleigh’s salve on me I’ll be stuck to the sheets for life. How’s Robbie?’

  ‘Improving every day. There’ll be plenty of time to see him, Lesley, he isn’t going anywhere for a while.’

  ‘And the funeral, was it a decent send-off? Dad wouldn’t have wanted anything but the best for Rex.’

  Eleanor knew Rex would have been very proud of his internment in the River Run cemetery. ‘Yes, it was very sad, but the priest gave a lovely eulogy and we had over one hundred people at the house for the wake. The last of them have only just left. Athena and Stavros Pappas were here as well. Mum even asked Athena to come to the party the shearers are holding for Rex at the shed.’

  ‘I heard them. Actually I was pleased to be relegated to the second floor. I really couldn’t have contended with everyone’s questioning.’ Thin red patches scarred Lesley’s arms and face. The doctor hoped that with time the burns would fade.