Thomas knew how lucky he was that Mac had found him that stormy night. But with this job almost done, an inescapable feeling of uncertainty pressed on him as surely as the Ajax pressed the wool. What would happen to him when the final sheep was pushed down the chute, when the last bale was pressed and his new-found friends went their separate ways?
Every night, after dinner, while the shearers sharpened the combs and cutters, rolled smokes and yarned, Thomas had listened to their stories of shearing thousands of sheep in places he’d never heard of. The adventures they spoke of had sent his mind into overdrive. Days on the dusty roads. A sea of ewes, contained in yards, stretching as far as the eye could see. Freedom to choose which shed, which fork in the road. Hard work, sweat and flies. Teams of twenty men. Creamy white fleeces. Independence. Cold beer at the end of the shed.
Then, the same all over again.
Thomas wanted to be part of it, to see the country, to work hard and be as far away from Nambina as he could. These weeks had been the best of his life. Being treated as an equal had meant so much. The only harsh words spoken had been on a Saturday night, when the rattling mail van brought bottles of beer in a wooden crate packed with hay to keep them from breaking.
Clarrie had drunk a couple too many that night and had been sure he could belt the living daylights out of his mate, Tez.
‘I gonna fight!’ Clarrie had yelled, spinning around, fists raised. ‘Whack! Whack, one, two!’
‘Yeah?’ came the lazy response. ‘Who ya gonna fight, Clarrie?’
‘You. Carn, you yellow excuse for a man.’
‘You’re a stupid bastard, Clarrie.’ Tez’s voice had been low and calm, in contrast to Clarrie’s.
‘Call me a bastard?’
Thomas had slunk into the shadows, trying to make himself invisible, too many memories pushing their way up. He’d heard the thump of a body hitting the ground, a muffled groan as Clarrie fell forward, the effect of the drink too much. Tez, sitting next to the fire, had shaken his head. A few moments passed before he got up and hoisted Clarrie over his shoulder, then carried him towards his swag. ‘Stupid bastard,’ Thomas heard him mutter. ‘Should leave you here so the dingos can piss on ya.’
Tez had seen Thomas hiding in the darkness. ‘Can’t handle his grog, young fella. Never has. He always falls asleep on his feet when he’s had too much and he hits the bloody deck. I know it’s gonna happen the minute he talks about havin’ a fight.’ He’d flung the unconscious man unceremoniously onto his swag and invited Thomas to have a game of cards.
In the shed each day, the raised voices hadn’t been to belittle or abuse, but to be heard above the noise of the engine, to hurry or to advise. Thomas had begun to feel safe. He wasn’t going to be belted here.
Mac kept the team running like a well oiled machine. He didn’t tolerate tardiness or a bloke not doing his job properly. Rudeness and bad behaviour were grounds for instant dismissal.
Wool classers seemed to be held in high esteem, by both the landowners and the shearing teams. Mac ate and slept at the main homestead. The rest of the blokes slept in swags or on hessian bags stuffed with the wool they’d shorn. The owners didn’t mind, just as long as the wool was returned to the right bin before the end of shearing.
It was Mac with whom the landowner discussed the day’s tallies and the quality of the shearing job. If it wasn’t up to scratch, it was Mac’s reputation that was on the line.
Now this shed was nearly done. ‘Last ones are in the pens,’ called Gecko, the bloke whose job it was to keep the sheep up to the shearers.
Those words sent a hum of expectation around the shed and the pace picked up. Thomas spun about, grabbed the wool hook, stabbed it into the bale and pulled. He thump-thudded it over to the bales near the loading ramp. Heaving it from the bottom, he managed to stand it up all by himself. When he’d first started, he’d needed help.
Another achievement.
He looked around and saw Mac wink at him. Thomas grinned and flexed his arms, before pointing to his newly defined muscles.
‘Wait ’til you get to town. The girls’ll love those muscles, mate!’ Mac yelled.
Frankie and Jock hooted. Thomas blushed. He grabbed another hessian wool pack, ignoring everything except his work.
Mr Hampton, owner of Carpoole Station, was standing near the engine, waiting to shut it down as the last sheep was pushed into the chute. When the motor died, the absence of noise took some adjustment. Even though there was general chitchat among the team, what stood out most to Thomas were the yells and shouts from the yards outside. He’d seen many dogs and up to three men working the freshly shorn animals. The frantic barks and whistles from the men made it clear there was still much work to be done. But not by the shearing team.
As the blokes stretched and packed up their gear, Thomas peeked over the swinging doors and saw nothing but an empty shed. It really was finished. Sadness hit him as he watched the rest of the men pack up their gear.
‘Righto, you fellas. Once you’re ready, I’ll see you at the office to pay your wages,’ Mr Hampton called.
Thomas tried to shake the nostalgia away. A wage! He couldn’t wait to see how much he’d earned—his first real pay as a man.
‘Come on, Thomas, no dilly-dallying,’ Mac reminded him. ‘The rest of this wool still needs to be pressed. We’ll start with the pieces.’
Mac was there waiting as the last bale was closed. Normally, it was the bits and pieces—the bellies, pieces and locks—that were baled last. But Mac had saved enough fleeces for a different type of bale. He was to brand it AAAM—the best-quality line of the shed. The wool was soft and creamy and, despite the tough season the year before, Mac told Thomas it would make good money.
Mac pulled out a piece to show him. ‘See how the crimps in the wool are wide?’
To Thomas it looked like there were ripples going through it.
‘Now see this one? The crimps are closer together. It’s a finer fibre than that one, and will make more money.’ Mac held up the hand containing the better quality one and shook it. ‘This is tougher country on the sheep than, say, around the south-east, where I picked you up. Wool down there is finer, because the seasons are kinder—there’s usually something to eat. Not like up here. It’s harsh, especially during summer. There is often a break in the wool, which makes it tender. It breaks easy and the buyers don’t like it as much. And it can be full of dirt, burrs and prickles.’
Thomas nodded ruefully. His arms were covered in little red pinpricks and scratches where the prickles had pierced his skin. Each night, the team got out their needles and went to work on their hands, removing any splinters that had got under their skin during the day. If they didn’t they would fester.
In the many days and hours of driving it had taken to get to Carpoole Station, Thomas had learned that Mac was a wool judge at the Sydney Royal Easter Show. It was no wonder he was held in such high regard. Mac also judged at other shows, including the Royal Adelaide Show, which, being in his home town, was his favourite.
By now the rest of the team had vanished to the homestead to receive their pay. The boys were talking about the next place they were headed, while they slugged at mugs of tea and ate the cake Mrs Hampton had made.
Thomas’s nerves got the better of him and he dropped the pin he was holding. He wasn’t sure what would happen now. Would he have a job with Mac when he moved on to the next shed? He’d worked as hard as he could to prove himself, and he could feel the change in his body.
He still flinched if anyone came too close but, just like the bruises had, the memories of his previous life were fading.
‘Nothing like the last bale,’ Mac said softly, patting the corner of it. ‘Hoist it up over there with the others.’
Thomas picked up the pin and threw it onto the wool table, then did as instructed. He stopped for a moment, drinking in the sight of his labours. Line after line of bales stood tall and proud, waiting in the dim light to be carted to market.
>
‘Righto, Thomas, ready for your money? We’d better head down and see the boss.’
‘What happens now, Mac?’ Thomas blurted out, unable to hide his anxiety anymore.
‘You get paid.’
‘After that?’
‘Do you still want to keep working?’
‘Bloody oath.’ Thomas looked at his mentor with an expression that he hoped implied he never wanted to leave Mac’s fold.
‘You’d best come along with me to the next job, then. You can use some of your money to buy a bedroll and some food when we go through the next town. I’m in demand as a wool classer. Wherever I go, I can make sure there’s a place for you.’ Mac started to pack his stencil and wool books into his kit. ‘You’ve worked hard. Proved yourself. I’m happy to take you with me.’
Thomas couldn’t contain his smile.
Chapter 7
2001
Laura switched on the kettle and threw a teabag into her cup. ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘A glass of water and a tea, thanks, honeybunch,’ Catherine said before walking into the lounge room to look at some recent photos that had been hung there. ‘Holy crabsticks!’ she exclaimed then. ‘Look at Nicki and Poppy! They’ve grown up so much. What year are they in?’
Laura gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘Nic has just started year twelve. She turns seventeen later this year, and Poppy’s in year ten.’ Her voice was dull and lacked enthusiasm. She was pleased Catherine had taken the time to come and see her, but she certainly didn’t have the energy for her friend’s zest for life.
Catherine was staring at a photo Josh had taken during the afternoon Howie handed Nambina over to Laura. ‘I can see some similarities between you and Nicki,’ she said. ‘Poppy looks more like Georgie.’
Laura glanced over her shoulder at Howie, who was dozing in a chair by the window. ‘Shh,’ she whispered and put her finger to her lips.
Catherine took the hint and walked back into the kitchen.
‘Sorry. I hope I didn’t wake him.’
‘He sleeps a lot during the day now.’ Laura dunked the teabags with extra force, then slopped some milk into one of the cups and handed it to Catherine. ‘Let’s go onto the verandah,’ she said and turned to go out the kitchen door.
Catherine caught her arm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Let’s go for a drive. Let’s go somewhere you’ll actually become the person I knew last year, the person I could always talk to.’
Laura stared at her friend for a moment and then shook off her arm, before storming outside and walking to the ute. As she reached to open the ute door, she stumbled, and scalding tea slopped onto her hand. Letting out a yelp, she dropped her cup. It smashed as it hit the stones.
Catherine came running.
With great, heaving sobs, Laura turned into her friend’s shoulder. She felt Catherine’s arms around her, holding her, shushing her and stroking her head like she was a baby.
A baby? Laura’s sobs became louder. For her baby’s lost life.
She didn’t hear Catherine say anything. Her friend just held her until the sobs subsided and she could talk again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered finally through a few breaths that grabbed at her throat. ‘I didn’t know that was there.’
‘Of course it was, honey. You haven’t let it out since it all happened. You came back here and worked that little tush of yours into the ground. You didn’t let yourself heal. That’s such a dangerous thing.’
Catherine flashed Laura a smile and fondly pushed her friend’s hair back from her face and behind her ear.
Laura couldn’t think of anything to say. The ache that was still inside her was not just an ache. It was a bloody great gaping hole. She knew she’d tried to work hard to forget about the baby. She’d pulled out of every committee she was on and had concentrated on Nambina. No blokes could get the wrong idea that way. It was just her and Howie and Nambina and Sean when he came to visit or rang. That was the way she wanted it forever.
She took another shuddering breath.
‘Come on,’ Catherine said, moving to open the door of the ute. ‘Let’s go for a drive and see what we can see, see, see.’
‘At the bottom of the farm, farm, farm.’ Laura smiled. Maybe Catherine was the medicine she needed after all.
They drove in silence for a while. Finally, Catherine got out to open the third gate. Leaning against the bullbar, she looked out over a pasture paddock that was ankle-high with clovers and rye grass. ‘From everything I’m seeing here, the season’s been pretty good,’ she called to Laura.
Laura got out of the ute and stood beside her friend. Nambina’s best mob of ewes were out grazing, their lambs playing in a group. The two women watched as the lambs appeared to play chasey: one would pigroot and the others would follow. Another would take off flat out along the fence line and the others would chase it. They were happy and it made Laura feel better just watching them.
‘Tell me why you’ve dropped out of everything you’re good at?’ Catherine asked seriously. ‘Why did you resign from every committee? What made you stop wanting your dream?’
Laura was silent, still watching the lambs. She sighed. ‘Geez, you’re hard-hitting today, aren’t you?’
‘You’re rotting out here by yourself. Most people don’t drop out of society when they’ve had a miscarriage.’
The lambs had noticed them now and were advancing towards the ute, curious to see what it was.
Laura was quiet for some time, trying to compose the words in her head. She expected Catherine to ask again, but her friend just waited.
‘You know what they said to me, don’t you? That it wasn’t Josh’s child.’
Catherine nodded.
‘So I keep thinking somehow, just maybe, it was my fault.’
She stopped as she heard Catherine’s sharp intake of breath, then continued. ‘No, no, I’m not playing the victim, okay? I’ve turned this over and over. Why did Josh suddenly act like he did? Maybe I did do something to earn his distrust, but I didn’t realise. Maybe I did give off signs to other blokes and that’s why he acted the way he did. It doesn’t excuse what he said or anything like that, but it’s a question I’ve got.’
‘That’s total bullshit, Laura, but we’re not going to argue about it.’
Laura spoke over her friend. ‘So, I figured the best thing was to bow out of anything that put me in close proximity with men—working with them at night and that sort of thing. I don’t ever want to be in that situation again.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never told anyone this.’ She stopped again and let her head fall backwards, taking in the large open sky. ‘I almost chose not to have the baby.’ Once it was out, it hung between them.
Catherine slowly turned to look at Laura, who pretended she didn’t notice. She kept her eyes firmly on the sky.
‘The question of keeping the baby or not should never have crossed my mind. I was too selfish. I had too many things still to do. I guess that’s why I never got around to telling Josh, or anyone. I hadn’t made my mind up. But when Meghan rang and said she couldn’t have kids, I realised that what I’d been thinking was horribly wrong. I was ready to tell Josh—and then the accident happened.’
The lambs had come closer. Without warning, Catherine sneezed. The animals reacted like a bomb had gone off, racing back to the safety of their mothers. Neither girl smiled.
‘A horrible misunderstanding.’
Laura nodded. ‘I didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them after what they did in the hospital. I mean seriously, Catherine . . .’ Confusion mixed with anger showed on her face. ‘How can you claim to love someone and then do that to them? Accuse them of doing things there is no way in the world they would? Neither of them would accept what had actually happened. Chose to twist it to what they wanted to believe.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Josh isn’t the man for me, if that’s how he thinks, or reacts. Or lets himself be led.’
‘But didn’t Howie try to sort it out for you?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yep. I asked him not to, but he insisted. He went over to see Josh and Meghan and tried to get them to understand what had actually happened. Thought we could work through it all.’ She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. ‘But what they had concocted between them . . . That wasn’t going to happen while my bum pointed to the ground. Stuff Josh. Stuff ’em both.’
‘Okay, I get all of that. I’m still trying to understand why you’ve isolated yourself. Why you’re still sad. Is it because you lost the baby?’
‘Yeah.’ Laura’s voice was barely audible. ‘Feel so guilty. So angry with myself. How could . . . Anyway.’ She dismissed the conversation. ‘That’s it. Don’t want to talk about it anymore.’
‘Okay.’
Laura noticed the ewes and lambs had moved further away now and she sat down on the grass.
Catherine sat down beside her. ‘So, would you like me to tell you about the little plan I’ve dreamed up for you?’
Laura looked over questioningly.
‘You reckon I don’t think about you when I’m not here? Not on your life! I’ve been scheming. And I’ve come up with a plan.’ Catherine grabbed Laura’s hands. ‘Now listen, I don’t understand why you’re cutting yourself off from the outside world. I don’t like it, but I know how pig-headed you can be. I’m guessing whatever I say isn’t going to change your mind, so . . .’
Laura interrupted her. ‘Thanks so much for the compliment,’ she said sarcastically. ‘So pleased you’ve come to support me.’
Catherine continued on as if she hadn’t heard. ‘And since you’re too proud to patch it up with Josh—’ Catherine held up her hand in case Laura was about to explode. ‘I’m not saying you should. He acted atrociously. However, everyone’s entitled to make a mistake. If you actually talked to him instead of avoiding him, and Meghan, for that matter, it might help.’
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