The Great Plains

by Nicole Alexander

  Gradually Abelena relaxed. She stretched out her legs on the gritty earth and wiggled the toes that were sticking through the front of one shoe. She was asleep when the sound of horses woke her. The pound of hoofs and the squeak of leather grew loud and ominous. There was time enough to run, even with the children, but a great weariness stymied all thoughts of escape. And there was something else, an awareness of time having run out, of her life having travelled full-circle. Abelena’s earliest memory was of flat lands, a dirt house built out of a hill and a hairy man who picked her up and spun her above his head. But there was also another recollection, whether real or imagined she couldn’t tell. This secondary person was a great man, a man of medicine. There was strength in him. A resilience. Abelena thought of him now as she sat and waited.

  The men came riding in from the west following the railway line. Their hoofs crunched gravel and dirt as Abelena listened to the snorts and whinnies of the animals, to the low voices of the men who gathered only feet away. A loud knock on the station door was answered with a complaining mutter from within the building, and then the door squeaked open. A bell tingled. There were a number of voices, deep, unformed, polite and ignorant. One of the voices belonged to the man on the train, Charlie. Strangely, Abelena was unafraid.

  ‘Can you send a telegram to Oklahoma City?’ The first man’s voice was demanding.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where’s the sheriff’s office?’

  ‘Down the street apiece, but it’s late so unless it’s real important.’

  ‘Yessum, he’s the one I was telling you about. He jumped from the train after the youngin. Did he kill that homesteader’s boy? Cause I’m figuring there’d be a reward. Saw the wanted poster I did in Stillwater. It was the kid with the droopy eye that set me onto them. Soon as I saw that boy on the train I thought to myself, that’s them. Yessum, they’re the ones that killed that boy.’

  ‘You were on the train?’ the first man checked.

  ‘Yessum. Heading east for work when they got on at the water tower back apiece. They were real edgy, the lot of them. I told the stationmaster to stop the girl when she got off here, with them other two kids, but he just let her walk. Plain as day. Just let her walk. When do I get my reward?’

  ‘You best organise a search party and spread out. She can’t have got too far.’

  ‘And my reward?’

  ‘Did you find him? Did you track that boy for nearly three weeks? Were you with me and my men? No. So don’t talk to me about a reward. I don’t reward people for nothing.’

  Abelena got to her feet and, lifting Tess, dragged Mark upwards. ‘C’mon,’ she said tiredly.

  ‘Where we going?’ Mark cried.

  ‘To see Jerome.’ They walked around the side of the building to the station entrance. There were a group of men standing outside. Charlie among them.

  ‘That’s her, see, and the two brats. I told you, I told you I’d found them.’

  Abelena tugged free of the men who reached for her and walked into the east waiting room designated for whites. It was warm in the station. There was a wooden bench and a pot belly stove and a grey-haired woman. The stationmaster was serving coffee to three men wearing long coats and big hats. Abelena looked past the strangers to the young man sitting hand-cuffed on the floor. Jerome gave a wistful smile.

  Abelena burst into tears. ‘Jerome. Jerome, are you all right? Are you hurt?’ She tried to go to him but one of the men barred her path.

  ‘I’m fine, Abelena. Just fine.’

  ‘Jerome?’ Mark clung to his half-sister’s hand.

  ‘It’s all right, Mark, everything will be all right,’ Jerome replied. He looked exhausted, but strangely relieved. His face and arms were grazed with cuts and scratches.

  ‘Where’s Mathew?’ Mark cried.

  ‘The boy with your brother?’ The man wore a sheriff’s badge. ‘En route to the hospital with a broken leg. And who might you be?’ He walked towards Abelena, sipping the steaming coffee, taking in her bedraggled appearance.

  ‘I’m Abelena. Abelena Wade.’

  The sheriff was grey-haired and old looking, but his eyes were clear and sharp. ‘Of course you are. And these two?’

  ‘A half-brother and a half-sister.’

  ‘Go and sit down on that bench, son,’ the sheriff said kindly to Mark, ‘and Mrs Monroe will bring you out something to eat.’

  ‘Go on,’ Abelena urged, pushing Mark towards the seat. ‘Mathew’s just fine. You’ll see him soon.’

  ‘Is he a halfwit?’ He stared at Mark’s deformed eye.

  Abelena didn’t answer.

  ‘You might want to give me the child,’ the sheriff suggested. He peered at little Tess who was half-covered by the rough poncho Abelena had made from the blanket they’d found at the ghost town.

  ‘No, no she’s fine, mister,’ Abelena replied, cupping the child’s head against her chest. ‘I’d rather hold onto her.’

  ‘Abelena, my name’s Sheriff Cadell. I’m a friend of Edmund Wade. Do you know who he is?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well you ain’t in no trouble, Abelena, but the boy here, Jerome, well I reckon he’s going to have a date with “Old Sparkie”. Do you understand what I’m saying? Your brother here has done murder.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Abelena replied. ‘We only ran because we knew no-one would believe Jerome.’

  The sheriff held up three fingers. ‘That may be so, but you can understand the problem I have. A dead white boy and two dead men.’

  ‘They were outlaws,’ Abelena replied, looking at the sandwich Mrs Monroe handed to Mark.

  The sheriff disagreed. ‘Actually they were bounty hunters, which I guess in the scheme of things doesn’t make them much better than outlaws, but the end result is the same. And this isn’t the Wild West anymore. A person can’t just take the law into their own hands.’

  ‘Those men killed Uncle George,’ Jerome cried out.

  The sheriff rubbed a stubbly chin. ‘Ah yes, the old Injun, I heard about him, never had the pleasure. Tell me, where’s your mother Serena?’

  Abelena shifted Tess from one hip to the other. The child was floppy with overtiredness. ‘Dead.’

  Mark finished eating and promptly fell asleep on the bench, his bad eye partially open as if awake.

  ‘Now,’ the sheriff continued, ‘I don’t want any trouble or yelling, Abelena, there’s just no need for it. You can see Jerome back in Oklahoma City, all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He pointed to her brother and one of the men, a deputy, pulled Jerome to his feet. ‘Go and wake the town sheriff and tell him we need a cell and see if you can find us a place to bed down for the night.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ the deputy answered.

  ‘I’ll come and see you, Jerome, I promise.’ Tears ran down Abelena’s cheeks.

  ‘I know, I know you will. Everything will be okay, sis, you’ll see. Everything will work out just fine.’ The men walked Jerome out the door, Abelena was left with an image of their Uncle George, of tired eyes and the long cheeks of their ancestors.

  ‘Your brother had some things with him, Injun things,’ the sheriff told her.

  The painted hide of the Apaches and what appeared to be a small bag with coloured leather thonging sat on the ticketing bench. ‘Whether you want them or not is up to you but they’re yours. Right now I’m gonna take that there child from you and then Mrs Monroe is going to get you cleaned up and fed.’

  ‘I am?’ The stationmaster’s wife blanched.

  ‘Tess stays with me.’ Abelena felt a lump rise in her throat.

  Placing the coffee mug down on the ticketing bench, the sheriff reached out for the child.

  Abelena stepped backwards. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Give me the child, Abelena.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Give me the child,’ the sheriff repeated, cornering Abelena against the wall. He grabbed the little girl and managed to tear her
from Abelena’s embrace. The blanket partially covering Tess’s head fell back as the child’s head flopped lifelessly to one side.

  ‘Give her back, give her back!’ Abelena screamed, rushing at the man.

  Mark woke and began to cry.

  Cradling the child, Sheriff Cadell touched Tess’s cheek.

  ‘Tess? Give Tess back to me!’

  ‘Stop it.’ His features softened. ‘I’m sorry but she’s dead.’

  Abelena turned pale, her hands dropped to her sides.

  Sheriff Cadell handed the child to the stationmaster.

  ‘She can’t be …’

  The sheriff held Abelena gently by the shoulders. ‘You’ve had a hard time of it, I can see that, girl, but you’ve a chance now at a decent life.’

  She tried to run to Tess but the sheriff restrained her as the stationmaster stared at the lifeless child in his arms and left the room. ‘Please, give her back. Give me back little Tess.’

  ‘Abelena, stop it. Tess is dead. Do you hear me? Dead. You can’t do anything for her now. Do you understand what I’m saying?’ The girl didn’t reply. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this but Edmund Wade is an old friend of mine. Now there’s a man with gravel in his gizzard. If I was him I’d walk away and leave you to your kind, but the past’s been eating at him and he’s decided to give you another chance. You can thank that mother of yours Serena for your good luck. By retaining the Wade name we knew it was you on the run when they listed your name next to your brother on the Wanted posters. You should be grateful, especially considering your brother’s troubles.’

  ‘Please, let me have my sister.’

  ‘Girl, she’s dead.’

  Abelena felt her knees buckle. The sheriff held her upright.

  ‘After Jerome’s sentenced, the Wade name will be plastered all over the gutter press, so I’d be thanking my stars if I was you. Don’t make the mistakes that your mother and great-grandmother made. Don’t keep trying to be a renegade Injun when you have the chance to be white.’ He turned to the stationmaster, who’d just re-entered the room.

  ‘I put the child in the store room, it’s cool in there,’ he added.

  ‘Get her cleaned up,’ the sheriff nodded to Abelena, ‘and then lock her in for the night. I’ll be back in the morning.’ Sheriff Cadell beckoned to Mark. ‘Would you like to come and get some food?’ He picked the boy up and restrained him as Mark kicked out and screamed. ‘C’mon, quiet down, you little terror.’ The stationmaster opened the front door.

  ‘What are you doing? Leave him alone!’ Abelena yelled, trying to pull Mark free. The boy screamed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Abelena, but my orders were to arrest your brother and bring you both back to Oklahoma City. This boy and the one with the broken leg are off to an orphanage.’

  ‘But they’re family,’ she pleaded. ‘They’re Wades too.’

  The sheriff shook his head at the red-headed child as Mark struggled to free himself. ‘I can barely see a resemblance to the Wades in you, girl, but you’re the one Edmund wants.’

  ‘Please, mister, please, they’re my family,’ Abelena begged.

  The stationmaster pinned Abelena’s arms as the sheriff opened the door. ‘Lock this door when I’m gone.’ He addressed Abelena: ‘In a few days you’ll have a new family, a respectable family, not a mix of half-breeds. Be grateful for that and stop causing trouble.’

  After the sheriff had left, the stationmaster released her and, producing a key, locked the door. Abelena felt her body begin to sway. She reached for the ticketing bench to steady herself as a cold lump welled up inside her chest. Inch by inch she dragged her feet across the floor, her fingers gripping the counter until she was touching Jerome’s belongings. She knew what the izze-kloth was the moment she held it in the palm of her hands. She knew Jerome should have buried it with Uncle George, that it was bad luck to keep hold of any of his personal possessions. Abelena also knew it had special powers, powers conferred on it by a medicine man instructed in the art of war. Very slowly she tied the cut leather strands together and hung it around her neck.

  Part Eight

  Wide-spreading flats, and western spurs of hills That dipped to plains of dim perpetual blue

  From ‘The Glen of Arrawatta’, Leaves from Australian Forests, the poetical works of Henry Kendall

  Chapter 35

  June, 1935 – Riverview Village, Southern Queensland

  The dray crossed the narrow bridge above the river. On its banks below, two children in short pants stood ankle-deep in the brown water, fishing lines strung out hopefully. On either side of the potted road the trees grew thickly. Occasionally glimpses of pasture flashed through gaps in the woody plants and both Marcus and Will caught sight of hundreds of sheep, heads down, grazing into the wind. On the seat between them sat the eggs and the butter, in the rear two parcels wrapped in bloodied calico.

  ‘Do you think we’re doing the right thing, you know, with the meat?’

  Marcus firmed his jaw. At the next bend they drew parallel with the railroad tracks. The squat station office advertised the name of the siding Riverview in thick black lettering. A water tower and stockyards were close by, as well as a platform for loading and off-loading goods. ‘I’ll decide what’s right and wrong, son.’

  The village consisted of a single street that began with the siding. It had sprung up after the railroad came through in 1919, with the line finally linking the large pastoral area to the rest of the Darling Downs. Two years later a post office followed, then the general store with the rail siding. It was declared a town in 1924. It took another ten years for the police station to be built. By that stage there were a handful of buildings at the southern end of the wide dirt street and an Anglican church constructed of timber. The only thing the place lacked was a hotel, and Marcus figured it wouldn’t be long before a canny operator saw the potential of the district and had one built.

  ‘But it’s wrong,’ Will persevered. ‘Stealing them because we’re hungry is one thing, selling them is worse.’

  ‘There’s no difference between one or the other, Will,’ Marcus argued. ‘We haven’t been starving.’ He flicked the reins. ‘We’ve been living off the bush and what we could produce, but now we’ve got the sheep we might as well make the best of the situation. Besides, the last time we went to town we didn’t even have enough money left over for a jar of pickles. A lousy jar of pickles. Well, with this second sheep I can buy your mother a whole carton of pickles and flour and maybe even some condensed milk.’

  Margery and Dot maintained a steady pace as they walked down the main street. The village was non-descript yet it serviced a vast area. The train transported all kinds of produce as the majority of the region was rich and quite diversified. Between the farmlands that spread across the landscape, there were long stretches of crisscrossing roads, bushy ridges, winding creeks and herds of cattle. Although dairying and cropping were popular, there were also farms with pigs, and some of the original settlers in the area ran vast numbers of sheep.

  ‘Do you think that land would be expensive to buy?’ Will pointed to where cattle grazed.

  Marcus’s own dreams when it came to improvements on the dairy had been relegated to fairytale status. ‘Lad, we’ve got enough problems trying to keep The Plains going. If you do manage to find work, the money you earn will have to go back into the farm, as agreed, not in a jam tin under your bed while you spend thirty years trying to save up enough money to buy another piece of dirt.’

  ‘But I should be able to keep some of it, Dad.’

  Marcus began discussing the avenues open to Will in terms of employment, but with only a few disinterested responses from his son, he eventually stopped trying to entice conversation and simply told the boy what he thought. ‘The squatters on the big stations are the ones to approach. They’ve got vast acreages and thousands of sheep to look after and they need men. I’m thinking that they would be pretty partial to employing someone from the district.’

&n
bsp; By the time the dray pulled up at the back of the general store, Will had stopped looking so downcast and had begun to name each of the properties he thought might be worthwhile approaching.

  ‘Come on, lad.’ They offloaded the milk tin from the dray and carried it into the refrigerated area at the rear of the building. Marcus returned to the wagon and collected the meat.

  ‘You sure you want to take that in, Dad?’ Will looked hesitant. ‘Mr Stevens will know that it isn’t ours.’

  ‘And who is to say that we didn’t find an orphaned lamb and hand rear it?’

  Will followed his father indoors with the week’s fresh butter and eggs. The shop was reasonably wide with space enough for three tables where spoilt kids could slurp down milkshakes year round and suck on watermelon slices in the summer.

  ‘Good morning, Marcus, Will. Well then, what have we got today?’ Mr Stevens gave his usual ruddy-faced smile and, putting yesterday’s newspaper to one side, began scrubbing the wooden counter. On the shelving behind him, rows of canned goods lined the wall from floor to ceiling while the counter held large screw-top jars filled with multi-coloured boiled sweets. Will sat the eggs and butter on the bench as the storekeeper rolled up the blinds covering the glass windows on the shop-front. There were wooden crates with a selection of vegetables; potatoes, cabbage and carrots. Will spread a hand on the glass cabinet adjoining the counter and stared at the portions of chicken and pork, sliced corned meat and the large, pale wedges of cheese.

  ‘Butter,’ Mr Stevens said cheerfully, returning to the counter. He opened each cheesecloth-wrapped pad and ran his finger across the butter before tasting it. ‘Perfect as always. And the eggs?’ He went through the basket methodically, carefully picking away the straw to ensure none were broken, and placing them in a box.