River Run

by Alexander, Nicole

  ‘You did save Robbie you know, Lesley. If you hadn’t been at the cemetery that afternoon, we never would have known that he’d travelled in that direction.’

  ‘You would have guessed, Elly. You were at the tree, you knew it was Robbie’s special spot. Anyway, that tree by the river is the stuff of legend now. We’ll have to protect it with a picket fence and water it during the dry spells.’

  The French doors leading out onto the balcony were wide open, showing a streaky red sky. Lesley left the bed and together the two sisters stood on the terrace as dusk settled across the property. ‘Thanks for mounting an argument with Mum for me to stay here, Elly. At one stage she wanted me on the next train to Sydney.’

  ‘I didn’t think we could send you back so soon with your skin still falling off. You’d scare the passengers on the train.’

  ‘Do you know, every morning and night I’ve looked out across the treetops as the sky lightens or darkens. I’ve seen the richest sunsets and pearly dawns that would take your breath away, and I’ve described each and every flicker of colour, every divine moment of nature, to Marcus.’

  Eleanor didn’t know how to respond. Lesley was certainly better physically, however, she’d hoped for a full recovery, unlikely though it was.

  ‘Don’t look like that, Elly. I’d have rather been here at River Run, gradually regaining my strength, than in hospital with some stranger in a white uniform trying to rehydrate me. I’ve seen the most beautiful skies and it’s made me long for life. You know, the nuns would never consider my joining their order if I told them that it was nature that saved me, that it was the beauty of River Run that healed me and not God.’ She lifted a hand, pre-empting Eleanor’s queries. ‘I have a long way to go, I know that, but I’m prepared for the journey.’ Her smile grew wistful. ‘I choose life, knowing that’s what Marcus would expect.’

  Eleanor was finding it difficult to comprehend Lesley’s changed demeanour. ‘I don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want you to be better, Lesley, but it was only a few days ago that –’

  Lesley bobbed her head. ‘I was a lost cause? But that was before I realised that life does go on, and everyone in our family has moved on, while I’ve been left behind.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I made myself physically ill through stupidity and then little Robbie got lost and Rex died. It made me think about life, I guess, and second chances, especially after I saw Margaret Winslow and Colin walk into the garden shed last Tuesday night and turn out the light.’

  ‘You saw that? I saw her too, Lesley! She was totally nude, not a stitch, and she was standing in the doorway of the shed.’ Eleanor stretched her arms wide, emulating Margaret Winslow’s provocative stance. ‘What I didn’t know until now was that it was Colin with her, although I guessed as much.’

  Lesley giggled. ‘I was with our thief in the sickroom, about to leave when I heard them outside. Will you tell Mum or shall I?’

  ‘Let me think about that,’ Eleanor answered. ‘I really don’t know how much she knows or doesn’t know.’

  ‘I know enough.’ Georgia walked out onto the balcony, draping her arms about the shoulders of her two daughters. ‘The garden shed I wasn’t aware of, however, the signs were there, the little flirtations, the private jokes.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Lesley hugged her mother.

  ‘Don’t be,’ replied Georgia. ‘Some relationships aren’t meant to last forever and besides, to be fair to Colin, he could never replace your father.’

  Lesley stood with an arm around her mother’s waist. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Georgia touched the tip of her daughter’s nose lovingly.

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Eleanor.

  Georgia curled her hands over the banister of the balcony. ‘End it. No doubt it will be messy, but I’ll offer him the house in Sydney and if he grumbles, I hope to cajole him with hard cash.’ She shrugged. ‘Endings shouldn’t be messy, but where money is concerned they usually are. And Colin was as poor as a church mouse when we married.’

  ‘And you’re not worried about what the gossips will say?’ Eleanor tested. ‘I mean, after everything with Robbie.’

  ‘Colin will feel duty-bound to put his own version of events out in the arena for public consumption. He’ll be more concerned about how he’s perceived in the district and beyond, and ensuring there’s a healthy settlement at the end of the day, than protecting any shred of our relationship. That’s the test of honour in a man when it comes to relationships, whether he can let go without animosity or stupidity.’

  ‘He’ll be the wounded party,’ Lesley said thoughtfully.

  ‘May he get much enjoyment from his martyrdom,’ exclaimed Eleanor. ‘And Margaret Winslow?’

  ‘Knowing Margaret, she’ll live to flirt another day, but I think I can safely say that the woman will never set foot on River Run again.’

  Eleanor couldn’t resist. ‘What about Keith?’

  ‘Ah, now, Keith is quite another matter,’ replied Georgia inscrutably. ‘What about you, Lesley? Are you really feeling better?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied. ‘I know it will still be hard at times, however, in the last couple of days, I’ve started to think a little more clearly. Being here, waking every morning in my old room and, most importantly, having time and space …’ The three women hugged, wiped the tears from each other’s faces.

  ‘Wait, you said something earlier about joining the convent. You wouldn’t really do that, would you?’ asked Eleanor.

  ‘Yes, I think I probably will. I have some serious thinking to do before I commit, but for me the hardest thing,’ Lesley squeezed her younger sister’s arm, ‘will be whether I’ll ever be able to love God more than Marcus. But I know I’ll never find another man to replace him, at least not on this earth.’

  Georgia took her older daughter by the shoulders. ‘If it’s what you want?’

  ‘It is, Mum.’

  Eleanor imagined her sister, with hair clipped short, dressed in white and lying prostrate before an altar. ‘I’ll never understand that kind of love.’

  Lesley briefly touched the curve of Eleanor’s cheek. ‘You will one day, Elly. It’s all about finding the right man and letting go.’

  Chapter Fifty-four

  The party at the woolshed was subdued. A generator was running the electric lights and the machine’s rumble competed easily with those inside. Eleanor lingered near the wool press, before walking up the short flight of stairs. Groups of men turned and said hello as she navigated wool tables, large cane wool baskets and continued on until reaching the golden-hued board. Some of the younger men were laughing at the opposite end. They, too, turned on her approach, a couple of them waving irreverently, their giggles halting Eleanor’s progress. Amid the chuckles, she heard voices, a man and a woman’s. Peering into the semi-darkness of the catching-pens, she noted that Hugh and her mother were sharing a drink together and discussing the next day’s shearing. Eleanor backed away.

  ‘Miss Eleanor.’ A black-haired, blue-eyed boy approached from the far end of the board. Fresh-faced and smelling overpoweringly of Old Spice aftershave, he held a punch-glass in his hand for her. ‘I’m Geoff Ferguson, we met –’

  ‘Trying to catch yourself a keeper, are you, lad?’ called Billy Wright from one of the wool tables where he, Dawson and Lomax sat on folding chairs, a deck of cards at the ready.

  Eleanor accepted the drink. ‘I remember. How are you, Geoff?’

  He blushed, doing his best to ignore the ribald remarks being shouted. His blue eyes grew hopeful. ‘I was wondering –’

  Billy Wright gave a drawn-out cough. ‘For the love of a cold one on a hot day, Geoff. Give it a rest.’

  Geoff blanched. ‘I, I –’

  He stuffed large hands in his pockets, pulled them free again. Eleanor could only imagine how much courage he’d summoned up to single her out in front of the team. ‘Maybe we can have a chat tomorrow, at smoko,’ she propo
sed.

  The young shearer sighed, his shoulders drooping. ‘I guess.’

  Overhead, stars shone visibly where part of the roof had been ripped free by the storm. Eleanor excused herself and left the board as some of the men set up empty long-necks of beer at the far end and readied to play bowls with a tennis ball.

  ‘Part-time gardener and wheelchair mechanic,’ Wormy said cheekily as Eleanor passed. He munched on a corn meat sandwich, as he and the other boys tried to prise the truth of the afternoon’s latest story from Archie. Freshly showered, with ironed shirts and clean boots, they crowded around a wool bale, doing their best not to stare at Athena Pappas, who was examining Johnny Daisy’s forearm, a beatific expression on the man’s face.

  ‘So,’ Murph persuaded Archie, ‘is it right that within a half-hour of being coerced into taking on the role of nursemaid for the youngest of the Webbers, you pushed the boy’s wheelchair over a sandalwood stump?’

  ‘And then you had to carry Robbie?’ Stew said.

  ‘I saw him,’ Wormy obliged the boys. ‘Archie had to carry the little fella half a mile back to the homestead, before returning to mend the punctured tyre.’

  ‘Why can’t they just put him on a horse, side-saddle like, you know, the way they did for girls in the olden days?’ Archie said dismally. ‘Then he could get around himself.’

  Murph took a sip of the punch Mrs Howell forced upon him. ‘But there wouldn’t be any fun in that for us then, Arch. Or should we be calling you The Gardener?’

  Eleanor sipped her drink, wincing at the strength of it. Mrs Howell, installed at a long sandwich-laden trestle table, appeared deep in argument with Fitzy. The older woman caught Eleanor’s attention, pointing to the supper. Selecting some cheese, Eleanor gathered that the two cooks were arguing about punch recipes. The housekeeper was trying to add mint to the concoction of orange juice, ginger ale and lemonade, while the shearers’ cook was intent on increasing the amount of rum in the mix. Next to the glass punch bowl was a large squat ceramic bottle with a short, narrow neck covered in wicker. The demi-john of rum, transported from the homestead under the care of Mrs Howell, was yet to leave her sight, though that didn’t stop the cook from wrestling the bottle from her and adding a splash more.

  ‘You are a rude, rude man,’ Mrs Howell said angrily, turning her back on the man.

  Fitzy ladled the beverage into a glass, tapped Mrs Howell on her shoulder. ‘Just try it, will you, Mrs Howell? You really should have one, for Rex’s sake. He thought the world of you, he did.’

  The housekeeper turned slowly. ‘He never said any such thing to me.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Fitzy calmed, ‘you know it to be true, Mrs Howell.’ He held out the glass enticingly.

  Eleanor moved away to stand discreetly within distance of the discussion.

  River Run’s caretaker of all things domestic accepted the glass tentatively, gingerly sniffing the warm drink. ‘For Rex, on account he was quite bearable at times, and in anticipation of my leaving.’

  Fitzy, about to raise his glass in mutual salutations, looked aghast. ‘Leave? But you can’t leave, Mrs Howell I mean, what will they do at the big house? How will they survive? You and I both know that they certainly can’t cook, nor always attend in a timely manner to those things that we, who are used to running big kitchens, know must be attended to.’

  Mrs Howell tried, unsuccessfully, to interrupt.

  ‘They say, you know, that many a man sets up in advance certain things for the benefit of his family and you and I both know, Mrs Howell, that you are the most highly regarded, most highly respected of those of us fortunate enough to be employed on this mighty property. Mr Alan relied on you – no, he depended on you – to take care of his wife and children, and now you would leave, at this very moment when they need the support of those nearest and dearest around them?’ Fitzy skolled the rum punch and dabbed emotionally at his pudgy face with a filthy piece of rag.

  Mrs Howell, momentarily lost for words, took a sip of the drink. ‘I, I don’t know what to say, Mr Fitzgerald. I really didn’t think that –’

  ‘That you wouldn’t be missed? That the big house wouldn’t fall down around their ears in your absence?’ He made a tsking sound with his tongue and ladled more of the punch into his glass.

  ‘I don’t really imbibe,’ Mrs Howell told him.

  Fitzy winked, patting her delicately on the shoulder. ‘Neither do I.’

  Eleanor observed the exchange between the two cooks, hopefully. The task of ensuring the formidable Mrs Howell’s continued presence on River Run was now in the hands of fate.

  ‘Elly, can I freshen that up for you?’ Hugh strode to the trestle table, returning with drinks for them both.

  ‘Thanks.’ Eleanor glanced around the woolshed. ‘Mum’s left?’

  ‘Yes. We were trying to work out the logistics of where to hold some of the shorn ewes with the river paddock burnt out. It’ll be all hands on deck walking sheep back to their paddocks. Your mother nominated you for mustering duty tomorrow. Are you up to it? No more warrigal storms or surly rams involved, I promise.’ He smiled.

  ‘It’s been a long week,’ Eleanor hedged, taking two big sips of the punch. The pale blue shirt Hugh wore complemented the dark of his tan. And his eyes … Eleanor swirled the glass in her hand. The beverage was obviously more rum than anything else, and it most definitely did have a kick to it.

  On the other side of the wool tables, Athena lifted her glass in acknowledgment at Eleanor as, one by one, each of the men appeared to ask her advice regarding some particular ailment. Dawson lifted a leg up, rested a foot on the table and pointed to an ankle.

  ‘About the storm, Elly. I hope you weren’t too upset with me leaving you alone the way I did. All I can say is that I’m sorry. It wasn’t done on purpose.’

  ‘I had to admit I was pretty scared.’

  Hugh looked quite uncomfortable. ‘I never should have made you come with me. I was wrong to put you in danger like that.’

  It wasn’t part of his job description to keep an eye on her. They’d shared a kiss in a moment of stress. That was it. Eleanor knew she was stupid to think anything further could have come from it. ‘I’m a big girl, Hugh. It’s okay. I can look after myself.’

  ‘But still, I feel terrible. If anything had happened to you …’ He broke off awkwardly. ‘I had to try and save Robbie.’ Hugh’s usual even-tempered disposition became defensive. ‘And I couldn’t have left him alone. Apart from that, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to find you in the dark. If I’d got lost as well, the three of us would have been in a bit of a mess.’

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the groupings of men, as the combination of beer and rum-punch made voices rise. Geoff Ferguson spun the tennis ball along the board, knocking the beer-bottles down in one go as Mr Lomax argued with Billy Wright about changing the bet placed midway through a game of cards.

  ‘Of course, I understand.’ Eleanor passed the empty glass to Hugh. ‘I should be going.’

  ‘No, I’ll go,’ Hugh stated, and with that he walked away.

  Even if there were something between them, Eleanor mused, watching him leave, which there clearly wasn’t, such a relationship would be impossible.

  Athena extricated herself from the line of men and walked over to Eleanor. ‘It is good to see you.’ She kissed Eleanor on both cheeks. ‘Your friend is gone?’

  ‘Yes. That’s our overseer. Actually, he’s our Stud Master now. I keep forgetting.’

  Athena’s orange-hued dress was cut to perfection, accentuating every curve. ‘I think for you such a man is hard to forget.’

  ‘I love your dress. Did you make it?’

  The Greek girl waggled a finger at her. ‘You’re changing the subject, why? It is normal for women to talk about men.’ She paused as Billy Wright strolled by, giving the women a low appreciative whistle. ‘And for men to talk about us. This is what makes the world such a wonderful place. So, tell me, the man you were talk
ing to, is he your special friend?’

  Eleanor was quite taken aback. ‘Why on earth would you make a comment like that, Athena? Hugh Goward is staff.’

  ‘Hugh Goward is a man, an attractive man.’ Athena leant towards her. ‘And there are not so many attractive men in the district, and those that are,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘are either married or they are a little,’ she tapped her head, ‘a little crazy. But then, all men are crazy. It just depends.’

  ‘On what?’ asked Eleanor.

  ‘On whether they are crazy good, or crazy bad. Sometimes crazy bad is good.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Other times they need tending, like your mother’s rose garden. A little pruning can make all the difference. It is all in the handling.’

  Geoff Ferguson did his best to avoid the two women, taking a wide circuit en route to the table where Mrs Howell still sat on the wool bale, swinging her legs back and forth like a child.

  ‘That one,’ Athena pointed at the young man, ‘that one, I would like to tend.’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that!’ Eleanor whispered. ‘What if somebody heard?’

  Athena threw her head back and laughed, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be serious, Eleanor. This man, this Hugh, he likes you. And you,’ she said knowingly, ‘you like him.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Eleanor retorted.

  ‘Your cheeks are reddening. Why is it ridiculous for a man and a woman to like each other? Why would you think such a silly thing?’

  ‘Because, because –’

  ‘Because you are afraid he does not feel the same way. Because you worry that you will make a fool of yourself.’ She leaned closer. ‘Because you are afraid. You should be. Love can lift you up, but it can also throw you away if you don’t make the right choice.’

  ‘Did you make the right choice, Athena?’

  A steely expression crossed Athena’s face. ‘If you have something to say, Eleanor, something to accuse me of, then it is best that you ask now, here, in this place. Instead of – how do you Australians put it? – beating around the bush.’