by Di Morrissey
She saw tyre marks in the grass that had made something of a track to follow and discovered it came out at a clearing where there was a wooden landing, big enough to hold two people, jutting into the river. A small wooden clinker-built boat with no cabin, but a seat, a tiller at the stern and an inboard diesel engine covered with a piece of canvas, was tied to the pylon near the landing.
The river looked cool and inviting. Sally dismounted, tethered the horse to a sapling and, breaking off a small twig, walked onto the landing and threw the twig into the water. It glided along in the current at a speed that surprised her. On the other side of the river she could see another landing. This must be the crossing Monroe had told her about. One day she’d like to explore over that side of the river. It looked less penetrable, though. A glossy green vine had climbed across the tree tops and the undergrowth around the landing was thick, smothered by the now uncontrollable Madagascar Rubber vine that was killing the natural vegetation. She wondered whether this might be a good place to fish. Perhaps this would be something she could do with the boys. Although, she’d only ever fished for trout with her father in a stream on their farm.
She turned around and froze mid step, her mind trying to come to terms with what she saw. There, stretched across the landing at the edge of the bank, was a crocodile. Motionless, it had scaly plates, a greyish brown, was about five feet long, with a horny snout and hooded ridges over mean, deep-set eyes.
Her head started to spin. There was no going forwards as it blocked her path, stepping backwards meant falling into the river, where, she had no doubt, more crocs lurked. A mere two yards separated them.
She remained frozen to the spot, aware its green eyes were watching her. The monster was simply waiting. Sally had only ever seen crocodiles in pictures and she had no knowledge of how they behaved. But she figured it would not be easily intimidated if she rushed at it. She felt like she was about to pass out then realised she’d been holding her breath. She gasped, drew a deep breath and yelled with all her might.
Her scream for help shocked the mare, who’d been dozing. Her head shot up as she pulled backwards, her back legs losing balance, scrabbling in the loose earth. The sudden action behind it startled the crocodile, which flicked its tail and was in the water in a movement so fast Sally scarcely registered it. She waited a few seconds then leapt along the landing in three strides, grabbed the horse’s dangling bridle, flung herself awkwardly into the saddle and kicked the horse, who was now thoroughly startled and so confused that she bolted for the homestead. Sally clung to the animal’s neck, her trembling arms communicating her fear to the horse.
The mare went straight to the stables and stopped at the gate. Almost crying with relief, Sally slid to the ground and patted the old nag she now regarded as her saviour.
She was hanging up the saddle after grooming the horse, keeping busy to calm her nerves, when she heard the truck heading back. She walked towards the house and saw it stop outside the flyscreened meat room. A cloud of black flies swarmed above the bright red chunks of beef. She turned away as the men carried it in to butcher it on the wooden bench.
The boys were excited about dinner, dancing up and down chanting, ‘Spare ribs, spare ribs.’
Sally didn’t think she could eat the meat after seeing it slaughtered and her stomach felt wobbly after her fright at the river. She hadn’t said anything, but after two glasses of rum, the smell of the meat sizzling over the open fire was tempting. On this occasion, manners were relaxed, and even Lorna picked up the fat ribs in her fingers to gnaw at the meat.
Sally chose her moment, fortified with rum, and announced casually, ‘I saw a croc at the river this afternoon. It came and sat beside me on the landing, where the boat is.’
‘Oh yeah, how big?’ asked Ian sceptically.
‘About as big as you,’ said Sally. ‘No, bigger.’
Lorna raised an eyebrow. ‘What were you doing at the river? Be careful walking down there please, Sally.’
‘Oh, I was riding and decided to take a look at the river.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Marty.
Sally shrugged. ‘Ah, I sent it packing into the river. Spooked that old mare though. I had to catch her. But no problem.’ She bit into her spare rib, which was delicious, enjoying the impressed looks from the two younger boys.
John thumped the outdoor table. ‘A ’gater, eh? Good for you, Sal. I thought you were having a bit of trouble with that old nag.’
‘It’s the saddle. I’ve never used a stock saddle before, it’s awful.’
‘Not if you’re sitting in it ten hours a day,’ he retorted.
‘I’ve written home and asked my mother to send my saddle over,’ said Sally.
‘Goodness me, there’re plenty of saddles about the place,’ said Lorna.
‘I’d like to do a lot more riding. With my saddle and a decent horse you fellows won’t catch me.’ Sally smiled and winked at the boys.
John Monroe studied her, but didn’t say anything. Instead he reached for another spare rib.
Sally sat on the edge of Marty’s bed when the three boys were in bed.
‘Tell us again, what happened when the croc sneaked up behind you on the landing,’ said Marty.
‘Well, I didn’t hear anything. But I just knew something was behind me, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up,’ Sally began. ‘And when I saw it I knew I’d have to jump in the river, in the boat, or charge it . . .’
Ian sniffed and rolled on his side with his back to her, but Sally knew he was listening as she embellished the tale until she saw Marty’s eyelids flicker and his breathing slow then steady as he went to sleep. She stood up and smoothed the sheet.
‘Night, Tommy. Night, Ian.’
Ian didn’t answer and she wasn’t sure if he was awake. But Tommy mumbled quietly, ‘That black mare is a stupid horse. Don’t ride her again, Sally.’
‘Okay. You tell me what’s a good horse,’ she said softly, ignoring his use of her first name.
Sally was very tired. She got into bed, noticing that it was still pushed down the verandah, leaving a long gap between her and the boys, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Five
SALLY HAD SEEN DONNY’S mail plane flying over the station and wondered whether he was thinking about her. She had no way of leaving the property, even if she had a vehicle or a horse she wouldn’t get far. She didn’t know how to use the wireless, and no one had visited the station since she’d been there – nearly a month now. John Monroe was omnipresent, shouting at the young station hands and browbeating the old black men who plodded through their work, indifferent to his shouts and curses. The house girls went about their tasks under Lorna’s direction, and life was orderly and routine. The boys assured Sally, however, that this was the quiet time with both stock camps out mustering. It would be much more exciting when Rob and Snowy brought their cattle in, they told her.
She mentioned this to Lorna who raised her eyebrows. ‘The boys are right. These times are the eye of the storm.’ She had taken the opportunity to set up in her sewing room, surrounded by yards of damask and polished white cotton, making new pillow cases, tablecloths and napkins.
It never ceased to amaze Sally how Lorna kept such an immaculate house despite the circumstances. She assumed it was her nursing background. Lorna had told her that she came from a good middle-class Melbourne family, and the fact she lived in the outback was no reason to lower her standards. Sally realised Lorna had recognised her own privileged upbringing in New Zealand and understood that her family knew how to conduct themselves. The subtle questions, the times she’d watched Sally, listened to her conversation, had been enough for Lorna to give Sally a tick of approval. Lorna had even forgiven her for not knowing how to wash up properly, iron or fold sheets, or do other domestic chores when she’d asked Sally to take over or show one of the house girls how to do something properly.
Sally had thrown up her hands and confessed, ‘We always had a housekeeper, I never ha
d to do this stuff.’
Lorna had nodded but then said seriously, ‘Sally, you must know how to do these things. Even just to show the help what to do. You must have your standards.’ And so she taught Sally how to do hospital tucks on the bed sheets, how towels were folded long and flat and kept fluffy. How linen was pressed and folded and smoothed. How to clean glass and mirrors. Never to go to bed while food or dirty plates remained in the kitchen. How clothes should be tightly pegged on the clothesline, avoiding creases. Sally had absorbed the social graces from her mother but hadn’t wanted to know how to run a household.
Out here, of all places, it all seemed overdone, but perhaps it was a gesture by Lorna to maintain links with society, to feel they were living a life as controlled and ordered as anyone in a metropolis. Her intentions were kind and helpful, and Sally wasn’t made to feel like a servant but like a supervisor, to instruct the house girls and learn for her own benefit. Lorna told her that no matter how well she married, or if she didn’t have any help at all, Sally would know how to do these things – properly.
At morning-tea time, as Lorna took a break from her sewing and John and the boys were busy elsewhere, she suggested Sally take one of the vehicles and do the mail run. Sally grabbed the opportunity.
The plane was a faraway dot when she left the house in the unregistered Land Rover used to run around the station. As she parked by the landing strip and got out of the vehicle she thought back, such a short time ago, to her arrival and how kind Donny had been.
The plane landed and he leapt out and came over to her with a big grin.
‘Are you staying or leaving? I’ve been worried about you. You’re the talk of the Gulf country, you know.’
‘I am not.’ Then she remembered the talk on the morning wireless session. ‘Golly, I hope I’m not. What are they saying?’
‘That you’re a good sort. You’ve run away from a secret past in Kiwi land, you’ve been kidnapped, you’re looking for a rich husband. Lots of speculation.’
‘All rubbish,’ she said briskly.
They walked to the rear of the plane. ‘So how are you getting on? Coping all right? Or do you want out? You won’t lose face if you leave now. You’ve given it a fair old bash.’
‘I’m not about to quit. It’s pretty good. There are still a few things to sort out, but I’m liking it.’
‘Really?’
‘Truly, ruly.’ She grinned.
‘Give me the mail and I’ll shout you morning tea.’
‘I’ve had morning tea, but okay.’
They exchanged the mail bags and as he tucked the sack from Barra Creek into the plane Sally gave it a pat. ‘Couple of mine in there.’
‘Letters home? To the boyfriend?’
‘What makes you think I have a boyfriend?’
‘Course you have. I bet you’ve broken a few hearts in your time.’
She laughed lightly, but as well as writing to her parents, she had sent Sean a short letter. She watched as Donny pulled a small icebox from behind his seat.
‘Come on, hop into the Land Rover and head for those trees down near the river,’ he told her.
‘Are you serious?’ She hesitated, glancing at the line of trees about a mile away.
‘Yeah, I know this area. I went fishing around here with buddies. Rob showed me a few good spots.’
They got in and Sally started the engine. ‘Rob? Who’s he?’
‘Ah, you haven’t met him yet. Or Snowy?’
‘Who are they?’
‘Hell, no wonder you’ve stuck around. It must be bloody quiet without the stock camps at the station. Those boys are the stock camp kings. Snowy runs the Barra Creek stock camp with the local boys from the blacks’ camp on the station. Rob is the contract musterer, has his own fellows. Very particular. The two of ’em are chalk and cheese, I’d say.’
‘The Monroe boys told me things would hot up when the stock camps came in.’
‘Yeah. You be careful. Snowy is a rough ol’ redneck, Rob is off the land in the Territory. He had a falling out with his dad over something, I gather, and he took off on his own. Came from a big station, good family. He went to the King’s School down in Sydney.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘So did John Monroe, I think it irks him that his contract musterer had the same schooling he did.’
‘That’s where he’s sending his sons, I suppose.’
‘Eventually. I think Lorna and John were married in the King’s chapel.’
‘So do they all get on together?’ asked Sally, sensing she needed to sort out the undercurrents of the situation before these two mysterious men arrived back at the homestead.
‘From what I’ve heard I don’t think they have a lot in common other than cattle and work. I don’t imagine there’ll be smart dinner parties at the homestead.’ He laughed. ‘Go left, see over there, that big tree, pull up near that. We can walk through to the clearing.’
‘We’re not going near the river bank, are we? I had a run in with a croc when I was on my own the other day.’
‘Is that so? Honey, you’re really acclimatising.’
They pulled up, and with Donny leading and carrying the icebox they walked among the stand of trees. Sally was surprised to see a clearing with a distant view of the river through bushes and smaller trees.
‘Great little spot, huh? There’s a bit of a path that goes to a muddy sand spit where you can fish.’
He brushed twigs and stones aside for them to sit down and took two bottles of cool orange juice and a plastic container of small finger buns covered in pink icing from the ice-chest.
‘Courtesy of Mrs Rydge at Mallee Station.’
‘Oh, is this the custom? Feed the mailman? I’ll have to whip up something next time.’
‘Do you cook? How’s the food at Barra Creek?’
‘No, I’m not a cook or very up on domestic things like ironing and folding. Lorna is teaching me the finer points. She supervises the food – except breakfast – but I’m getting tired of salads, and vegetables and corned beef. Hot, cold or curried.’
‘Sally, you do realise how lucky you are, don’t you? Not many, in fact hardly any, of the governesses stay in the house with the family. Of course, a lot of the governesses are rough as bags. Some of them have been nice-enough girls, but stuck out in quarters on their own or with the house staff, too close to the single men’s quarters, well, that’s asking for trouble. Or else they just want to go home. I can’t blame them.’
‘I wouldn’t have stayed if they treated me like a servant,’ snapped Sally. But Donny’s information surprised her. She had landed on her feet.
‘John can seem a bit rough and tough, but he has a good business head, I gather. Lorna runs a tight ship,’ said Donny. ‘She was a sharp little nurse who came up here from the big smoke. For a long time after the war a lot of smart city women came to the bush as teachers and nurses looking for husbands.’
‘How come you know so much about everyone? Do you read their mail?’ teased Sally.
‘I ferry agents, accountants, bankers, solicitors and locals from station to station. I hear things.’
‘You’d better not gossip about me.’
‘You haven’t shared anything worth telling. Now come on, how’s life really treating you?’ And as she gave him a quizzical look, he added, ‘I promise not to breathe a word.’ He bit into a bun. ‘It’s nice to have a pal to talk to. I don’t s’pose there’s anyone you can do that with at Barra, huh?’
Sally was thoughtful. ‘No, there’s not. Lorna is kind, but sometimes withdrawn. John has a good heart, I think, underneath the bluster. I feel there’s a bit of tension between them though. Privately.’
‘And the boys, how do you get on with them? They managed to rip through the other governesses. Not that the kids were the sole reason they left. None of them could measure up to Lorna’s exacting standards, a couple got into trouble with some stockmen, then there was the isolation, the boredom and no social life.’
‘Individually th
e boys are okay. Though Ian, the oldest, is testing me a bit. But nothing I can’t handle,’ she added.
‘You’re a self-reliant, stubborn young lady, aren’t you?’
‘I can be. I had a strict upbringing, but my parents were fair. I’ve been a bit of a rebel, though, so I can’t say I blame them for packing me off to England.’
‘But you didn’t go. Was there a guy in the picture?’
‘If there was I wouldn’t tell you.’
Donny leaned back and reached in his pocket for a packet of filter-tip cigarettes. He offered her one and Sally took it, mainly to be sociable. She’d only ever smoked for effect, to appear sophisticated and worldly. ‘Any time you want to talk about things, I’m happy to take time out, Sally. It’s a lonely place out here for women.’
Sally narrowed her eyes as she expelled smoke. ‘I bet you have a lot of lady friends on your route, eh?’
‘I like to think of them as friends. Often I’m their only visitor for weeks at a stretch.’ Donny was thinking that, despite her touch of world weary airs and tough banter, Sally was really an innocent in this part of the world. She’d obviously come from a protective family. But she was in for a few shocks down the track. ‘Just remember that you have a friend who you can dump your woes on, have a bit of a break with on occasion if you’d like – no strings – I enjoy the company. You intrigue me, I kinda feel responsible for you.’
‘Why’s that?’
He shrugged. ‘I fly a lot of people around. I was real concerned leaving you out here the day you arrived, all dressed up, looking so damned well bred. And there you were stranded with a bunch of grubby kids and a wheelbarrow.’
Sally looked away for a moment, a pang hitting her, then she laughed. ‘Those kids must have thought I’d dropped in from another planet. That little girl, Alice, she’s like my shadow now.’ They both laughed at the memory. ‘I just don’t understand the blacks, though.’
‘It’s easier not to try. Different worlds, honey. Come on, let’s go for a bit of a walk, I’ll show you the fishing spot. No crocs, although there’s one that lives further up river. They’re territorial and tend to hang about in the same place. Unless they’re hungry and start stalking prey further afield.’ He picked up the icebox and led the way.
