by Di Morrissey
‘Don’t go near there.’
She bit her tongue and drove slowly to the gateway and switched off the engine.
‘We’d better stop here so we don’t wake anyone.’
As they walked quietly to the back verandah Tommy tugged at Sally’s arm. ‘You won’t say anything to Dad, Miss?’
‘Isn’t he going to ask about the horse?’
‘We’re going to tell him it was pulled out by a couple of the stockmen. Fitzi’s idea. It’s a good horse. Too good to go out with the brumbies.’
‘I see. We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
The boys hurried ahead and by the time Sally had pulled off her boots and climbed into bed, they were under their sheets, backs turned away from her. She lay there listening to her heart, which was beating quickly.
After a few minutes Marty murmured, ‘G’night, Miss.’
‘Goodnight, Marty. Go to sleep. Night, Tommy, night, Ian.’ She paused. ‘Next time you want to go messing around in the middle of the night, take me with you.’
There was a muffled giggle, then Ian said gruffly, ‘Thanks for not dobbing us in. Night.’
He shrugged into the bed and Sally smiled to herself. It was the first time he’d ever said goodnight to her.
*
Sally was sound asleep but woke with a start; she’d heard a high-pitched scream. Or had it been the cattle? All was silent now. As she drifted to sleep she heard the thump of John Monroe’s boots, a crash as he bumped into something. He fell onto his bed. The house slept.
Chapter Six
JOHN MONROE WAS UP early despite his late night. He hung onto the bell, whacking it with extra might. No one had surfaced from the men’s quarters but as the bell shattered the morning silence, Sally heard faint shouts from the lubras: ‘Shut up, bloody old man.’ That was how all the blacks referred to John Monroe.
He thumped around the kitchen, where Lizzie was setting out breakfast for the white men and the woman from the stock camp who’d arrived with the two white bore runners. He rang the cow bell one more time. ‘If you lazy bastards aren’t up here in five minutes,’ he yelled, ‘the grub’s off.’
He stomped into the dining room and sat down muttering, ‘You have to hunt down that Snowy, he’s always late. Lazy bugger.’
‘You starting to draft the cattle today, Dad?’ Ian asked.
‘If that bloody Snowy and his men get off their backs. Have to cut and brand ’em before Rob brings his mob in. I hope to hell he stays out longer than Snowy. Seven hundred head isn’t much to show for six weeks’ work.’
‘When’s Rob coming back?’ asked Tommy eagerly.
‘Not for a while, I reckon.’
‘Can we come and watch the cattle drafting?’ asked Marty.
John gave Sally a slight wink. ‘Depends on the ol’ governess here. How’s their work coming along?’
‘Ahead of schedule. They’ve been going flat out. I think they’ve earned a bit of time off.’
The boys looked pleased. Ian spoke up. ‘Dad, we want to show you something. Can we see you outside when you’re finished?’
‘S’pose so.’ The flyscreen door banged as Snowy and his mates came in for breakfast. ‘I’ll just sort those sleepyheads out first.’
‘I’ll take Mum her tea then,’ said Ian, and he brought his plate into the kitchen, followed by the other boys.
‘What’s going on?’ asked John Monroe.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Sally. She’d promised that she wouldn’t mention anything about the previous night, and she wasn’t going to break her word.
*
Sally was alone at the table, relishing a few quiet moments as she sipped her tea, trying to block out the rumblings from John Monroe in the kitchen and the raucous laughter from one of the men and a woman. Lorna came in, dressed in a pretty flowered housecoat, satin slippers, her long hair coiled on her head, her face shining with face cream. ‘Any tea left?’
‘It’s a bit cold, I’ll top it up.’ Sally jumped up. ‘Anything else?’
‘No thanks. I’ll eat something later when I’m dressed.’
Sally returned with the refreshed teapot and poured Lorna and herself a refill. ‘Who’s that lady with the runners?’ she asked.
‘She’s no lady! She travels with those two men, cooks for them when they’re out fencing, checking bores and so on. She camps with them even in the desert. Her name’s Gloria – rough as bags,’ sniffed Lorna.
‘Are they related? It’s odd there’re three of them.’
‘Oh, they’re quite up front about it. She sleeps with both of them. I don’t think even the most desperate stock boys would go near her.’
Sally was shocked at this and also at Lorna’s matter-of-fact tone. ‘Oh. How long will they be here?’
‘Two or three weeks, I suppose. They’ll get stuck into the jobs John has lined up for them.’
‘Hard way to make a living,’ said Sally.
‘They wouldn’t be hired for anything else. They’re not bright men, Sally. Keep away from them, and that Gloria. And especially don’t let our boys hang around them.’
The boys were fidgety in class and raced away once Sally dismissed them. They didn’t appear at morning tea and nor did their father. Lizzie took smoko up to the yards, leaving Lorna and Sally alone on the verandah with the tea and scones. Sally was itching to find out what was going on, so as soon as she could she excused herself and headed for the yards.
Gloria pulled up beside her in the runners’ beat-up utility truck. ‘Yer wanna lift down t’the yards?’
Her accent and voice set Sally’s teeth on edge, but she grabbed the door handle and got in. ‘Yes, please. I have to find those three boys and I figure they’re where all the action is.’
‘That’d be right.’ Gloria had a cigarette stuck to her lip and, as she wrestled with the shaky steering and gears, Sally took a good look at ‘the runners’ bird’.
She was plump in a doughy way, years of starchy bread, sugar and rum rolled around her frame, and the sun had baked her skin to a crispy, shrivelled brown. Her once-permed hair was dusty dry, her breasts swung, and her calloused hands and elbows showed she’d worked as hard as a man with straining wires and fence posts. She hadn’t touched her face with anything resembling a cosmetic or cream in many years, but her eyes were startling blue in her weathered face, and her teeth looked strong despite the nicotine stains. She smelled appalling and Sally couldn’t imagine how the men could find her attractive. But then she’d heard the old joke about lonely men and sheep. If one was desperate enough . . . she turned away. Gloria was only in her forties she guessed. Is this what happened to women up here? No wonder Lorna kept indoors and was such a slave to her grooming.
Gloria was equally curious. She looked at Sally. ‘So, how’re you finding it here? The old man give you a hard time?’
‘Mr Monroe? He’s been really nice. And Lorna is lovely. The boys can be a bit of a tease, but we get along okay,’ said Sally, knowing she sounded prim.
Gloria chortled and gagged on her cigarette. ‘Struth, you are the new bloody chum. You been here, what, a couple of months? You haven’t seen anything yet.’
‘I’m managing all right.’ Sally was terse. ‘I’ll see my contract out.’
‘You won’t mind if I don’t put money on you, love? Christ, this ain’t no finishing school. You might live in the house and think you’re as good as them, but believe me, no one has lasted the distance.’
Sally was relieved when they arrived at the busy cattle yards. ‘I’m here because I want to be, and if I want to go, I will. And frankly, I don’t think it’s any of your business.’ She banged the passenger door of the truck and strode off.
In the yards, the cattle were pressed so close together the working dogs were running over their backs, nipping their ears, barking and helping push them into the race where they were quickly assessed by Snowy and a stockman and divided up into the various yards. John Monroe was down in one, gesticulating and
yelling at which beasts he wanted in the main yard, moving recalcitrant ones along with a short gidgee stick.
Sally spotted the boys sitting on a railing along with Frankie and Ginger, pointing and talking. Some of the younger kids from the camp were running around outside the yards, calling out in pidgin to the Monroe boys. Sally was starting to realise that there was a strong bond between the three boys and the black children, although Lorna had forbidden it. The kids needed playmates and it seemed they shared common interests in what went on around the station.
When she asked them what was happening, Tommy shouted above the din, ‘They’re drafting out the best ones, the ones to go back for fattening, getting them ready for branding.’
‘Why do they have to be so rough?’ Sally was upset at the men’s handling of the cattle, the way the animals were crammed in, stamping on each other, their eyes rolling and their fear starkly obvious.
‘They’re only cattle,’ said Ian.
Ian said something in pidgin to Frankie, who nodded. Marty translated to Sally, ‘Ian says he could do Dad’s job better than that.’
‘Well, you’re not about to start. Come on, back to school, you can come back after lunch.’ She’d spotted the Land Rover Ian had driven and started to walk towards it.
‘You coming, Frankie, Ginger?’ Tommy nudged Ginger and reluctantly the two black boys climbed into the back while the Monroes sat in the front next to Sally. She let Ian drive, marvelling at the young boy’s easy skill behind the wheel.
‘Are you going to come and watch the branding tomorrow, Miss?’ asked Marty.
‘Depends. I want to learn everything I can about life around the station. We’ll see.’
Sally was thinking about their afternoon activities, wondering what she could give them to do as she knew Lorna was going to ask her to keep the boys away from the cattle for part of the day at least. Her ears were still burning from the string of expletives that had bounced around the yards. Language the boys would certainly pick up.
They went back to the schoolhouse and finished their project and the boys raced to lunch. Sally supervised Frankie and Ginger’s change of clothes and Frankie gave her a mischievous smile.
‘Me ’n Ginger goin’ to pish ’im river. Mebbe catch one barra. Missy bring horse, go pish?’
Sally thought quickly. Fishing would keep the boys away from the yards. ‘Sounds good, Frankie. Plenty barramundi about?’
‘Mebbe.’
‘I don’t have a horse to ride. Can we drive there? Or walk?’
He gave her an odd look. ‘No good drivin’. Horse.’
‘You come back to the schoolhouse after lunch, see me. Okay?’
He nodded and walked off, his stick-like legs looking even thinner in the pair of loose men’s shorts bunched at his waist.
She was putting away the school books in the cupboard when Marty stuck his head in the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked. ‘Lunch is ready.’
He joined her as she headed for the house, but in the garden he grabbed her hand. ‘Come round the back. I gotta show you something.’ He could barely conceal his excitement.
‘I hope you boys aren’t up to any mischief . . .’
They walked around the back near the kitchen garden to find Ian, Tommy and their father standing by the water tank with a horse. It was the small filly the boys had cut from the mob last night. How much did John know, she wondered, but from their big grins it was obvious the boys weren’t in trouble.
‘That’s a lovely little horse. Looks a bit shy.’ She quickly assessed her to be around fourteen or so hands. Good head and legs, a dark bay with white flashes. She was lightly saddled but looked uneasy. ‘How come she’s broken in?’
‘Rob broke her last season and then we put her out to spell her.’
‘She’s real smart,’ said Marty.
‘So what’s happening with her?’ she asked, moving slowly forward, stretching out her hand to the nervous young horse.
‘She’s yours, Sally,’ said Monroe. ‘We can’t have you taking the boys out on the old black nag.’
‘She’s still shy but if you can ride, she’ll listen to you,’ said Ian with a faint hint of a challenge even though his eyes were smiling.
‘Mine! What do you mean?’
‘You said you wanted to ride and the boys spotted this filly. It would be good if you could spend time with the boys, take ’em out, see they don’t get into trouble.’
‘Oh, my.’ Sally’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She laid her hand gently on the horse’s throat and felt her skin twitch, but she stayed still.
John Monroe looked pleased as punch. ‘I don’t want to have to come and rescue the lot of you now –’
‘No fear. I just have to get used to your flaming Australian saddles,’ said Sally, who was going to ride this little beauty no matter what.
John left them to it and Ian and Marty disappeared into the house. Tommy quietly walked the horse around the back garden, then made her trot and briefly canter. Sally was amazed at the authoritative but gentle control and rapport Tommy had with the animal.
He was a gifted rider and a joy to watch. Sally was entranced. He was no longer a little kid in her care but a boy who instinctively knew how to handle a horse and with the added advantage of the local skills he had learned, she could tell he could handle even a difficult animal.
‘How did you learn all this, Tommy? You’re a natural with horses,’ she said.
He didn’t answer for a moment as if deciding what to say, then he muttered, ‘Rob and Fitzi, they show me stuff. They’re the best. They know how to do everything.’
He dismounted and helped her into the saddle, the horse standing quietly while Tommy was close by. Then he stepped to one side as Sally settled and found her balance in the unwieldy saddle and headed onto the track from the house towards the river.
It was quiet away from the cattle, so Sally took the horse on, slowly rising to a trot. The horse realised the difference in riders and when Sally slipped in the saddle, threw her leg a little, counterbalancing her weight. Sally was elated that this was a horse who wanted to learn, she was intelligent and smart. Tommy had spotted it in a minute and he’d been the one to suggest they cull the filly for her. But as Sally rode smoothly towards the trees she was more surprised at this gift from John Monroe. Maybe because he didn’t want to spend time on horseback with the boys himself. She knew the boys could work with the stockhorses and cattle if needed, or when they begged to be included. It was Lorna who hated to see them out with the men and in the stock camps. But it was part of station life and she was overruled by her husband.
By the time Sally cantered back to the house she’d come to a basic understanding with the little horse she’d named Dancer. Her feet were so dainty, her steps so precise that she was a bit of a Ginger Rogers, Sally decided.
Tommy was sitting on the fence with Frankie beside him and they gave her a thumbs up. Sally slid down and handed Tommy the reins.
‘Never been riding in a skirt before,’ she said. ‘Tommy, she’s a princess, a fabulous horse. Now we can all go out. In fact Frankie suggested we go fishing this afternoon.’ Suddenly Sally realised that Frankie must have known about the horse. ‘Is she up to it?’
‘If we take it slow and easy, get her used to the other horses. No races,’ said Tommy solemnly.
‘Let’s go find the others.’ Sally loosely tied the horse to the railing.
After lunch she changed into the moleskins borrowed from the stores, preferring them to the stiff denims she’d bought in Sydney, riding boots, a shirt tucked in and one of the battered Akubra hats off the peg on the back wall near the kitchen. She passed Lorna carrying a basket on her way to pick flowers and vegetables from the garden. She looked at Sally’s flushed face. ‘Where are you off to? I hope not near the yards and the men up there.’
‘No. The boys and I are going for a bit of a fish. Might bring home supper,’ she said gaily.<
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‘How are you getting down to the river? Don’t go anywhere but the usual spots.’
‘We’re riding. Oh, Lorna, I’m so thrilled about the horse. She’s just fabulous.’ Sally hurried outside and didn’t see Lorna’s expression of surprise, anger and tightened lips.
‘Be careful!’ she called and Sally gave a salute on the run to show she’d heard, but she didn’t look back.
It was the best time Sally had enjoyed since arriving at Barra Creek. Away from their parents or other eyes around the station, the five boys and Sally laughed, teased and thoroughly enjoyed the fishing expedition.
The Monroe boys and Sally walked the horses while Frankie and Ginger trotted ahead. They rode parallel to the river, which was hidden by a tangle of undergrowth and trees, till they came to a clearing and the horses were hobbled in the shade of some bloodwood trees. They walked along a track to the river bank where there was a landing bigger than the one Sally had discovered on her walk. There was a dinghy and two old canoes beside a traditional log canoe, all turned upside down and tied to a tree. The boys pulled out fishing gear from the dinghy.
‘We’re not going in that!’ said Sally, pointing at the shallow hollow log canoe.
‘That’s Fitzi’s. We tried it and kept tipping over,’ said Marty.
‘I wouldn’t like to fall in the river,’ Sally said nervously.
‘No croc round ’ere. Close up bend, longa way, big ’un stay,’ said Frankie.
Unconcerned, the boys tipped up the dinghy, pulled the oars from beneath the seats and dragged it into the river. ‘C’mon, Miss, you get in the front. Marty, you go next,’ instructed Ian as he and Tommy prepared to push the small boat out into the river. Frankie and Ginger took a canoe each, stowed their fishing gear and pushed off. The three little craft moved slowly along the river. It was hot, Sally turned down the brim of her Akubra, but around a bend Ian rowed closer to the bank where there was dappled shade, then let the dinghy drift.
The boys shocked her for a moment when they pulled out a blue Capstan cigarette packet but it was filled with silver paper from other packets and chocolates. Expertly they showed her how to wrap the silver paper over tin lures dangling above the triple hooks at the end of her line.
