by Di Morrissey
Sally and Hal became something of a well-known couple about town in a few days. She was aware women watched her with some envy as she and Hal walked into the bar for drinks before dinner. The Tsourises were delighted at their friendship and commented on what a striking couple they made. Sally had asked Hal about his love life and he laughed easily.
‘I see a couple of girls here and there, in Singapore and London. Professionally it’s best I don’t socialise with any of the hospital staff,’ he said diplomatically.
Sally held her tongue. The likes of Babs and Joyce were not in his class, that was for sure. Then she caught herself and laughed inwardly, thinking she was being just like her mother.
‘What about you? What’s the social life like at Barra Creek?’
‘Wild, crazy, hectic!’ They both laughed. ‘My parents tried to pack me off to England because I was seeing someone unsuitable at home. They have no idea I’m surrounded by – what they’d consider – unsuitable men in the outback.’
‘All those bull catchers, jackeroos and stockmen, eh?’
‘Not my type, I’m afraid.’
‘What are your plans when your contract finishes? I can’t see you staying a governess.’
‘Funny, I don’t think of myself like that. I really feel part of the family. I can imagine Lorna and John and the kids being at my wedding when that day comes.’ Sally paused, her future was a question she hadn’t liked to think about. Now with the new baby on the way and the trauma over Marty, she knew Lorna would be relying on her even more.
While the social life in Darwin didn’t measure up to the mad whirl of Sydney or the formal scene of Christchurch, she’d really enjoyed being taken around the town and its surroundings, and the dinners at the Darwin Hotel with stimulating and sophisticated conversations with Hal and the Tsourises. The thought of returning to the property and listening to John Monroe being the know-it-all and sounding off, Rob talking about horses, the two boys and their interests, Lorna’s depression, and the sad cloud of Marty’s death hanging over them all was not pulling her back.
Hal was well-travelled – he skied in Europe every year. He was a cultured man, who was used to having money. It was no hardship for him to be a dedicated doctor in Darwin when he could fly off to the glamorous playgrounds of Europe in his holidays. A sudden comparison with Rob flashed into her mind and Sally wondered if Rob knew how to ski. She could imagine him fearlessly tackling the big slopes. But she couldn’t visualise Hal on a horse amongst cattle. They each had a different calling, yet there was some streak in them both that was similar. Hal was a very caring doctor, his love of children showed in his compassion. Equally she had watched Rob around horses, his calm, intuitive manner and gentle handling of the horses he loved was far different and more effective than the rough treatment handed out by many of the other stockmen.
‘Can you afford to go to England as you planned?’ Hal asked her.
‘I suppose so, I never touch my pay. But it’s not a lot of fun on your own. Once my friend Pru dropped out I lost interest in going on alone.’
Hal squeezed her hand. ‘I go to London every so often. Maybe when I go over to do my specialist training I could meet you there.’
‘Who knows?’ said Sally lightly, but the seed had been sown.
Hal took her to the airport and surprised her with a beautiful spray of purple orchids in a cellophane container. ‘I had them sent down from Singapore. They’re in water so they should last for some time. Perhaps you could share them with Mrs Monroe.’
‘Oh Hal, they’re gorgeous. Lorna keeps the house full of silk flowers, she’ll love the real thing. Thank you.’
He kissed her goodbye and there was a firmness and a promise in his lingering kiss.
‘Crikey, are they real?’ asked Donny when he saw the orchids as he loaded her bag onto the plane in Cloncurry.
‘They certainly are. I’m giving them to Lorna. But, darling heart, wait till I tell you how I got them,’ said Sally, grinning.
‘Oh, a tall, dark, handsome stranger?’ Donny clasped his hands together in mock excitement. ‘Darwin did you good. I can tell.’
She laughed and shook her head in a coquettish move. ‘Actually, yes. I’ll tell you all, but don’t gossip.’
Donny put a finger to his lips. ‘Promise. So what was he like?’
Chapter Thirteen
THE ORCHIDS STAYED IN the centre of the dining table for two weeks. Small, delicate and exotic, the flowers were a rare specimen in the surroundings of Barra Creek. Lorna did her work around the house as usual, though she took a long nap each afternoon. Sally spent a lot more time with the children in the schoolhouse ‘catching up’ for, despite Lorna’s good intentions, the work schedules Sally had left for the boys were only half done.
Now the Monroe boys and the black children, including little Alice, busily applied themselves to school work as a welcome distraction from thinking about Marty. Sally was taken with the drawings done by Frankie and Ginger, but most of all she was impressed with a composition Tommy had written. He always wrote good ‘stories’ but he was quick and sloppy. Sally wanted him to pay attention to what he’d been told to write about and to mind his handwriting, spelling and grammar. This little story had been dashed off but it captured the scene and mood of fishing down at the river quite wonderfully.
‘Tommy, this is such a good composition. I feel I want to rush down to the river and throw a line in.’
‘Why don’t we?’ He grinned and the black kids jumped up and cheered in agreement.
‘Why’s he writing about that? We had to write about an event that changed history or our lives,’ sniffed Ian.
‘Here, read how he has cleverly brought that in. Ignore the spelling and punctuation,’ said Sally. She decided to encourage Tommy with his writing. He had real flair. ‘You both need to read more. I’m going to arrange to get some good books sent from the library.’
‘We have enough to read for school,’ moaned Ian.
But Tommy was all for it. ‘Dad has a library of books but we’re not allowed to touch them.’
Sally had seen the books in John’s office area but never paid much attention to them. ‘What sort of books?’
‘Old-fashioned, smelly books for old people,’ scoffed Ian.
‘I’ll check them out tonight,’ said Sally.
‘When we feed ’em up goaties?’ asked Frankie, causing an immediate eruption in the class. The little herd of goats had become household pets, and loved attention and being hand fed. They were locked up at night in a pen with a small shelter next to the home stables. Fitzi was helping make a billy cart with a harness for the goats so the children could ride in it. He’d also spent time putting chicken wire around the garden fences to keep the goats away from Lorna’s flowers and vegetables.
John Monroe had scoffed at Sally when she said she was trying to teach one of the black kids to read and write. ‘He only needs to sign his name to a bit of paper occasionally. Don’t waste your time.’
Ginger, with his dark skin and shock of yellow hair, was bright and keen and the same age as Marty, as near as they could estimate, and had always wanted to do what Marty did. He seemed to be putting in a special effort now so Sally encouraged him and with great concentration he gripped the pencil, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, as he laboriously scratched out the letters that spelled his name.
After lunch Sally and the boys followed Fitzi and the camp kids down to the yards where Rob was breaking in the big stallion. The horse had been left alone since the brumby rush that had killed Marty. It looked wild eyed, its apprehension covered up with aggressive head movements and pawing at the ground. Being confined had not calmed him, if anything it had made him more determined to break free.
Ian was besotted with the beautiful horse, but John Monroe refused to have anything to do with it. ‘Sell it, get rid of it,’ he told Rob.
‘It has the makings of a good stockhorse,’ said Rob.
‘Bullshit. It’
s a mad horse, a jinxed horse.’ He strode away from the yards leaving no doubt that he blamed the horse for the stampede that felled Marty.
Snowy hovered. ‘Give him to me, I’ll get him working.’
Ian ran at him. ‘No! Leave him!’ He’d seen Snowy beat a horse until it cowered.
Rob stepped in quickly. ‘Calm down, Ian. No one’s going near that stallion but me.’
‘He’s my horse. I want him.’ Ian seemed close to tears. Rob threw Sally a look and she put her arm around Ian’s shoulders.
‘It’s okay. Let Rob break him in. He’ll do a good job. Then the horse will treat you well when you’re strong enough to ride him.’ Sally knew the slim boy would not be capable of controlling such a big horse for a while.
Ian nodded. ‘Yeah. Rob’s the best. Sally, will you tell Dad? Please?’
‘Tell him what?’
‘That he’s my horse. He didn’t hurt Marty. He was just . . . doing what a wild stallion does. He wanted his mares to be free. Isn’t that right?’
Sally was struck by the pleading in Ian’s eyes and voice. She saw how much this horse meant to him. For this young boy it was a link with his brother; unlike his father he didn’t blame the horse.
‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’ll talk to him.’
Rob and Sally exchanged a glance over Ian’s head. Each knew what the other was thinking: this could turn into yet another cause for friction between Monroe and his eldest son. Sally decided to ask Rob for his advice on how to handle the situation. There was no question Rob should tame the big stallion. It suddenly struck her how quickly her rapport with Rob was re-established and her time with the charming Doctor Lee seemed remote and unreal.
They decided to start breaking in the horse the following morning when Monroe was out checking on the bore runners and would be gone overnight. Sally would give the class a break to watch Rob work with the stallion and they’d make up the school time later.
They trailed down to the yards, even the black children’s exuberance was subdued. It crossed Sally’s mind that it felt as if they were going to church, or maybe to the theatre to see a serious opera. Rob had assembled his gear and was laying out his mouthing bits, ropes and a secret mixture he kept in an old jar. He would rub it on cotton cloth wound around a mouthing bit to cool the gums. He squatted on his haunches and rolled a cigarette while studying the stallion.
Sally crouched beside him. ‘He’s a beautiful animal, Rob.’
‘I was thinking how different it is with humans. You can pick a good horse by his looks and movement, but it’s hard to see a person’s pedigree.’
‘I suppose it’s something inside humans that’s not immediately obvious.’
‘Where’re your spurs and whip?’ asked Ian.
‘I’m not here to be cruel, break his spirit. Like Sally teaches you things at school, I’m going to educate this fella, make him a smart horse.’ Rob’s eyes didn’t move from the horse. He was absorbing the way his legs and feet moved, which side he seemed to favour, the language spoken in the movement of his ears, the flare of nostrils, mouth action and head movements.
Sally had seen horses roughly and cruelly broken-in that would always carry bad habits and a resentful attitude, but Rob’s technique was different. He could see the potential of this horse. Ian sensed it too and wanted the stallion very badly.
‘How long is it going to take?’ Ian asked.
‘As long as it takes.’ Then after a few minutes Rob added, ‘I’m tuning in to his wavelength, getting to know what he’s thinking.’
‘Ah, how can you do that?’ Sally asked. She wasn’t sure if he was leading Ian on or really meant it.
After a few moments, Rob asked Ian, ‘So what do you reckon he’s thinking? See how he paces up and down, keeps looking back at the hills, nods his head and tosses his mane.’
‘He looks like he wants to get out of there.’
‘That’s for sure. He’s frustrated, he’s worried about his herd. His whole world has been reduced to the small space in the yard, with strange creatures around him. He’s scared of us but he won’t show it.’
‘Will he fight though?’ asked Sally.
‘Wouldn’t you after what’s happened?’
‘Yes. I would.’
Rob finished his cigarette but seemed to drift off into a world of his own so Sally and Ian moved away.
‘I reckon we make ourselves comfortable and sit it out, eh?’
They watched in silence as Rob picked up his plaited cotton lasso, deftly dropped it over the horse’s neck, flipped it over his head and, moving the horse anti-clockwise, gave a light pull so the loop was under his throat. He then stepped in front of the stallion turning him clockwise, threw a half-hitch over his nose and pulled it taut, which pulled up the horse. He made eye contact with the wary animal and immediately had the horse’s full attention. There was fear and defiance but neither came to the fore as the man and horse locked eyes.
Rob spoke softly. ‘See, I’ve got you, old boy. So I’m going to lead you, gently, but you get the message, right?’
He then relaxed the pressure on the horse’s nose and took several steps backwards and sideways, never breaking eye contact, letting the animal inspect him. He passed the rope to his left hand and slowly but surely approached the horse, who suddenly swung to the side. Rob increased the pressure on the rope slightly, bringing him back to face him. The horse reared, but Rob seemed to be expecting it and merely released all pressure on the rope so the animal didn’t roll and fall.
Facing each other again, the stallion glared balefully at Rob, and Sally realised that he knew that by staring into Rob’s eyes he may be able to puzzle out what this man was thinking. Rob advanced slowly, stopped, and held out the back of his hand for the horse to smell, his eyes still not wavering from those of the horse.
The horse sniffed and Rob ran his little finger up the side of the stallion’s head then slipped his palm over one eye and closed it, retaining firm pressure on the rope in his left hand. He closed the horse’s eye a few times then stepped back and let the stallion absorb what had transpired.
Moments passed as they studied each other and Rob repeated the process twice more. On the third time he rubbed behind an ear. Gently he worked the rope loose from under the throat, widening the noose, and then stepped back, until he was standing several paces away but in front of the horse, maintaining eye contact. He lifted the noose and, instinctively as it went over the eyes, the stallion ducked and the rope dropped off. Rob broke eye contact and the stallion stepped away as Rob slowly wound up the rope and left the yard.
‘Is that it?’ asked Sally.
‘For today. He won’t be so fearful tomorrow. He knows I’m boss, but I won’t hurt him. He’ll be less worried when I take him around the yard tomorrow and we’ll do a little more mouthing, put on a bridle.’
Ian left to find Tommy, and Sally helped Rob release the stallion back into the main yard. Walking back to the stables Rob gave a wry grin. ‘So, how was Darwin? You look decidedly happier.’
‘It was good for me, just what the doctor ordered.’ She laughed inwardly. ‘The Tsourises looked after me really well. I met a few people, socialised, went to the pictures, a couple of dances. But it’s not the most glamorous place for a holiday.’
‘I like the ocean myself, Surfers or up the Cape.’
‘Me too. I adored Surfers. I’m nervous swimming too far north, though. Too many nasties.’
‘Maybe we could do that sometime. Go to the coast. I’d like to see you in one of those two-piece jobs.’
Sally laughed. ‘The new thing is a bikini . . . though my mother would shoot me if I wore one.’
‘Let’s go for a swim tomorrow, it’s so hot.’
‘I’m too scared. What if there are more big crocs around?’
‘We’ll be okay at the old swimming hole. We’ll take the piccaninnies with us and chuck them in first, see if it’s safe.’
‘Rob! You’re joking!’
&n
bsp; ‘I am. But the old people told me that if you have to swim in a croc-infested river, splash in first and put an old woman behind you, by the time the croc is alerted to the noise, he’ll grab the old one at the rear and you’ll get over.’
‘Even if it isn’t true, that’s a terrible story. Crocodiles are the biggest problem about living by the river, beautiful as it is.’
They reached the stables, which were deserted in the hot afternoon. Suddenly Rob spun around and swept Sally into his arms behind the lean-to shelter, kissing her long and hard.
She responded instantly to his scorching mouth and felt her legs go weak as she pressed against him.
‘I missed you,’ he murmured as they drew apart. ‘I thought you might find some bloke over in the big smoke and not come back.’
‘In a week?’ teased Sally. ‘And Darwin’s scarcely the big smoke.’
‘It must be lonely for you here. Lorna’s a bit out of it these days.’
Sally felt a rush of emotion – guilt over her attraction to Hal, the fact she’d secretly tried to meet Sean in Darwin, disloyalty to Rob. Yet there had never been anything between them but friendship and now this powerful physical attraction. ‘I would be, if it wasn’t for you. You’re my best friend up here.’
He held her tightly to him. ‘Can we be more than friends? Seems like we’ve jumped a barrier or two.’
She didn’t answer but lifted her face to be kissed as his hands ran along her back, over her firm buttocks and drew her hips into his. Then they grinned at each other.
‘So what are we going to do about this?’ asked Sally.
‘Leave it to me. We’ll have to be careful that John or Lorna don’t notice anything different.’
‘Do you feel different?’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I do.’ Then he grew serious. ‘I promise not to hurt you, Sally. Hurt your feelings or do the wrong thing. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage or anything. I was knocked over by you the first time I saw you. I tried hard not to show it.’
