So Lara returned to Redstone with the baby, her spirits low. On the baby’s tenth day of life as a nameless child, Sam began calling her Alice. Lara scoffed at the name, saying that it sounded like a house cow. She trialled some others – Juliette, Felicity and Sophia – but somehow Alice stuck.
For a while, Sam’s greatest concern was Olive. He knew she was feeling heavily the assumed disapproval of the church and Country Women’s Association ladies. She stopped holding morning teas at Redstone. She believed that their family’s ‘disgrace’ was the talk of the town, and of course it was, for a little over a week. But Sam knew that the public interest was mainly due to the fact that Olive had always prided herself on being so proper; as a result, people were enjoying her downfall. He knew that life would move on and the ripples of the next small local scandal would soon wash over the insignificant disturbance that the arrival of Lara’s baby had made in the ordinary flow of life in the town.
For almost a year, Lara tried fitfully to mother the scrawny infant. But there was something knowing in its serene gaze. It was almost as though it looked right through her and saw the absence in her of any maternal feeling towards it. Lara saw in the depths of those dark eyes an inescapable recognition and acceptance of her own shortcomings. Her inherent selfishness, usually so well disguised by her charm and beauty, couldn’t be hidden from this tiny person who couldn’t yet speak. For the first time, Lara’s certainty of her own perfection was shaken.
Still she tried her best to love the little girl. She cuddled and kissed her, dressed her with care and even tried singing to her. But she resented the fact that Alice’s presence made her doubt herself. And the brown-skinned baby was a constant reminder of the man she still felt so strongly for and knew she needed to forget. Eventually, she decided that Alice was better off without her, and enrolled in accountancy at university in Brisbane. She spent quite some time wondering how to break to her parents the news that she would be burdening them with her child.
So she was a little affronted when they both hailed the idea as a good one. Her father was positively encouraging in his monosyllabic way, and even her mother seemed in favour of the idea of her leaving. Lara felt indignation rise at their lack of opposition.
‘You want me to leave!’ she said accusingly. ‘You’re ashamed of me and want me out of your lives.’
‘That’s rot,’ her father retorted in exasperation. She knew by his tone that he thought her impossible to please. But she also knew he was right when he said, ‘Your heart’s not in this place. It’s about time you found out where you want to be.’
To add insult to injury, her mother put in, ‘Of course we don’t want you to leave, darling. But we love you and know what’s best for you. In Brisbane you’ll be able to put all this behind you.’ At ‘all this’, Olive made a slight motion with a flour-covered wooden spoon towards the baby on the floor.
Lara followed her mother’s gaze and looked down at her daughter. The child was examining a dying beetle. Transfixed, she poked it with a minute forefinger, as if trying to rekindle the life within it. At the break in the flow of heated conversation, Alice looked up. All their eyes were on her. She looked first at her grandmother, seeming to shrink a little as though sensing the older woman’s patronising pity. Lara suspected that her mother was noticing Alice’s skin, which had darkened in the last few months. Next Alice looked at Lara and sucked in a tiny breath. She seemed to feel the sting of resentment. Lara quickly tried to soften her expression. But Alice looked away, her little face calm, her hurt betrayed only by a slight tremble of her bottom lip.
Then Lara watched the baby’s features light up as she shifted her eyes to her grandfather’s face. As Sam returned Alice’s gaze, Lara saw the child enveloped in a warm protectiveness that she herself had never seen in him. He was Alice’s kindred in a way she’d never be. Reassured, the baby blinked up at him and then, with a subtle, conspiratorial smile, returned to her beetle.
Chapter 4
Alice was straining under the ironbark rail, holding it in place while Sam drilled the hole. His back was aching from holding the heavy tool at an awkward height. Once done, he hurried to thread the wire through and fasten it tightly in place with a Cobb and Co twist. It was their third day of yard building and Alice had been doing all the heaviest jobs. The dogs lay stretched out contentedly in the shade nearby.
‘Have a blow, Alice.’ Sam stretched his back.
‘I’m fine, Pa.’
‘Well, I’m knocked up.’ He sat down on a drum, defeated.
Alice sat cross-legged on the ground and looked up at him with concern in her dark eyes. ‘Let’s head home. I’ve still got to work the weaners. We’ve done enough here for today.’
‘Ali, we’re gonna have to put someone on. We need some extra help.’ Sam’s exhaustion forced him to broach the subject at last.
‘Can we afford it?’
‘I think so. Especially if some of these ideas of yours help to increase productivity as you keep promising.’ He smiled at her. ‘And as you’ve been saying, we’ve got to spend money to make money. I want to get this place up to scratch before . . . while I’m still able. Anyway, we don’t have a lot of choice.’
Over the weeks that followed, Sam asked around about a potential full-time stockman for Redstone. However, he soon discovered that suitable candidates were few and far between. Eventually it came down to three possibles, none of whom he was entirely satisfied with. When he’d made his choice he realised there was nothing for it but to break the news to Olive. There were fireworks at afternoon smoko that day.
As he’d expected, Olive didn’t take the news very well. ‘He’s a rowdy drunk, Samuel! Sue’s at her wits’ end with him. Why can’t we employ one of the other O’Donnell boys instead? I haven’t heard anything terrible about them. Jeremy’s a bad egg. Surely you remember the steeple climbing? And he didn’t even make it to the end of year ten – the boarding school sent him home. You’ve no idea the things I’ve heard about him at CWA. Really terrible.’
‘I have a pretty fair idea.’ Sam was cynical.
So Olive elaborated. ‘Coral’s daughter made the mistake of getting tangled up with him. And so have most of the other girls in town, from what I’ve heard. Have you thought about Alice? I’m surprised you could even consider having that drunken lout around here after what happened with Lara at nineteen. Almost the same age!’
‘This is a completely different case. Alice is nothing like Lara. And Jeremy’s a good worker – more than half handy, switched on. He’s been doing fencing contracting with Wayne Matheson for two years now. And he can turn his hand to anything. Everyone says so – even Brian admits that.’
‘Maybe he’s a good worker, but only when he’s sober, which isn’t very often. Don’t think I don’t know that Wayne has been threatening to fire him if he turns up to work hung-over again. Betty told me that weeks ago. In fact, Wayne probably has fired him, and now we’re expected to take him.’
Sam spoke patiently. ‘Liv, Brian wouldn’t have suggested we take him on if he wasn’t going to pull his weight.’
‘Well, you can tell Brian from me that if he’s failed at teaching his son some discipline and respect, an old softy like you won’t get far in trying to reform him.’
Sam looked up in surprise and Olive continued triumphantly, ‘Don’t worry, I know all about your secret men’s business. Faye overheard Sue telling Kathy that Brian was going to ask you to take him on. Get him away from town and clean him up. I think you’re both dreaming. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about without looking after other people’s delinquent sons.’
Sam stood up slowly and faced Olive. He gently placed his hands on the table. ‘Well, there isn’t anyone else. All the young fellas that aren’t working at home have gone to the mines. I’ve been asking around for weeks. We need some help here. I’m getting old. Stuffed.’
‘You always say Alice can do anything.’
‘And she can. But we’re handing her
a raw deal. The place is rundown. We have enough work for ten men.’
‘Mushgang, Dan and Stretch have always been good enough until now. Why can’t we just give them more hours?’
‘Dan and Stretch are buggered, same as me. And Mush isn’t far behind with his arthritis. I’ve let things go, Olive. And I have to face it. Alice can’t fix everything on her own. She’s just a blooming kid.’
‘Just so long as you know I’m not happy about it.’ Olive sniffed.
This statement usually ended all their disagreements. In favour of Olive’s wishes. But today, Sam stood his ground.
‘I’m going to give him a go. Who are we to write off a young bloke? You just never know what’s under a hat.’ Sam folded his newspaper, pushed in his chair and walked out onto the veranda.
Olive listened to the hollow thudding of Sam’s boots on the stairs. When she saw he’d left his cup of tea and Anzac biscuit unfinished she knew that this time he wouldn’t back down.
So Jeremy O’Donnell was given a starting date. After a few days of getting used to the idea, the thought of reforming a lost soul began to appeal to Olive, although she’d have died before admitting it. She’d make sure there were strict conditions. Jeremy could come, but on her terms: no trips to town, and no alcohol or girls on Redstone. Right up until the Saturday evening before Jeremy was to arrive, she continued to act disapproving of the plan, with lots of martyred sighing for Sam’s benefit whenever Jeremy’s name was mentioned.
Half an hour after lunch on the Sunday, Jeremy O’Donnell’s noisy old ute pulled up next to the shed. Olive noted with pleasure that he wasn’t brash enough to park closer to the house. A good sign. She peered out the window and saw him climb out of the cab. He was tall with an athletic build. She could see, even from here, that he’d grown into a fine-looking young man. She’d seen him often as a small boy in church with his family. Out of the six O’Donnell boys, he’d been the one who was always wriggling in his seat or fooling around. But in recent years they hadn’t crossed paths.
‘The handsome ones are always the worst,’ she said to herself grimly.
From the stockyards, Alice heard the ute pull up. It sounded old, with a muffler in urgent need of attention. She hurried the group of weaners through the gate, closed it behind them and brushed some of the dust off her shirt. When she rounded the shed and walked towards the ute, the first thing she noticed was a dog chained up in the back. The stocky creature appeared to be a large blue heeler with a dash of something more box-headed thrown in.
Her grandfather had emerged from the darkness of the shed and was shaking hands with a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-twenties. The last time she’d seen Jeremy O’Donnell he’d been a teenager, but Alice recognised him straight away. Jeremy looked around and she walked closer, smiling at him in greeting.
She noticed he’d become very good-looking. The bright blue of his eyes was enhanced by heavy black lashes. His jaw was square and his hair was thick and a rich brown. Even his slightly crooked nose, which had obviously been broken on at least one occasion, only added an interesting charisma to his face. He returned her smile with what, she could tell, he believed to be an irresistible grin.
But Alice found she was immediately sceptical of the smile. She heard her grandmother’s voice inside her head saying, ‘Handsome is as handsome does.’ Alice was a primarily intuitive being. Even as a small child she’d discovered that a person’s exterior had little effect on her. Perhaps she’d learned this through her contact with Lara, when as an infant she’d longed for a mother who would truly love her. This early relationship had given Alice an immunity to any sort of charming wiles and an innate wariness of anyone who attempted to use them on her.
Now she could see that Jeremy was expecting her to go weak at the knees. ‘Well, if it isn’t little Alice Wilson, all grown up. Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny kid.’ He raised his eyebrows at her.
Unperturbed, Alice replied, ‘Hello, Jeremy. Last time I saw you, you were a clown.’ Jeremy laughed good-naturedly at the memory, and Alice was relieved to see that his smile was genuine this time.
After showing him to the worker’s cottage, set between two large gums, a stone’s throw from the main house, Alice returned to the yards to finish working the weaners. The paddocks at Redstone were large, and some of them were rough or scrubby: cunning cattle had plenty of places to hide and opportunities to break away from the herd if they were that way inclined. By working the young cattle each day for a few weeks after weaning, Alice was addressing this problem before it even arose, ensuring that once they were ‘bushed’ they would be easier to muster and quite comfortable with the prospect of returning as a mob to the yards. With her dogs she was yarding them in small groups, then teaching them to flow through gates and along the race. Their reward for doing all this was a feed of copra meal. Each day they were becoming quieter and more cooperative. The panic had gone from their movements and they were responding well to the dogs. For these youngsters, the yard was no longer a place to be feared.
But that afternoon, she carried out the task mechanically, her mind on the newcomer. Things would be different now that it was no longer just her and her grandfather. Her mind went back to the last day she could clearly remember seeing Jeremy.
She’d been home from boarding school for the Easter holidays, and on the Sunday she’d gone to church with her grandparents as usual. The opening hymn was just finishing, and the last warbling notes of the electric organ echoed and died. Father Callaghan began the opening prayer, everyone giving him their full attention this early in the piece. Suddenly there was a series of loud thumps and clatters coming from above. The priest faltered a little, then continued on as though nothing had happened. Birds often made strange noises on the roof at this time of year.
The congregation sat down and prepared themselves for a session of listening to the Word of God, daydreaming or examining each other inconspicuously, whatever the individual case might be. The noises came again, this time closer to the steeple section of the roof.
‘That’s a mighty big bird,’ Father Callaghan observed into the microphone pinned to his robes. Mr Allen, the acolyte who had been standing sentinel-like on the altar, strode importantly down the aisle and out the double doors to investigate.
Two sentences into the first reading, a flustered Mr Allen reappeared at the door. ‘Someone will have to telephone Aaron at home. He won’t be at the police station today.’
‘Phone Aaron? Why on earth? What’s happened?’ asked the old priest.
‘There’s a couple of young clowns on the roof trying to climb the steeple.’
‘Good Lord, this is something new!’ Father Callaghan sounded intrigued.
Alice waited with the rest of the congregation for the priest to start down the aisle, before they all followed closely on his heels. As they emerged from the church and squinted up into the sun, there was unanimous surprise. The pair on the roof really were clowns. Two agile youths, fitted out in multicoloured suits, complete with frilled collars, wigs, and face paint, had hitched a rope over the sturdy cross on top of the steeple and were shinnying up. Their floppy shoes stuck out ridiculously to each side. Alice stifled a giggle.
‘Get down at once!’ Mr Allen had taken charge. ‘The policeman’s on his way.’
The lower clown swore and loosened his grip on the rope, sliding back down to the roof. The other wasn’t far behind. Then, unexpectedly, rather than climbing down at the front of the building where the roof was low they clambered around to the back of the church and jumped off, landing heavily on the grass below.
The two entertainers bolted for freedom across the neatly mown lawn, the first clown leaping the low brick wall with agile grace despite his floppy shoes. The second wasn’t so adept. Forgetting to allow extra clearance, he hooked the toe of one shoe on the edge of the wall; what followed was a spectacular nosedive into the dust on the other side.
There was a gasp from the congregation and a momen
t of suspense while they all waited to see if he was alive. He jerked to life and half rolled onto his side, a winded grunt issuing forth. Alice’s heart went out to him.
‘Michael!’ Mrs Gibson, who’d been fiercely disapproving moments before, recognised her teenage son under the disguise, and motherly instinct took over. She rushed to his side. ‘Michael, darling, are you alright?’
‘He won’t be once I get my hands on him.’ It was Michael’s mortified father who now arrived at his side. Michael’s mother glared at her husband and extended protective arms over her son.
Michael began to moan with more volume now that he was getting his wind back. More people gathered around and a quiet babble broke out. Meanwhile, the other clown, noticing the absence of flopping footfalls behind him, had stopped and looked back. When he saw how it stood, he swore in frustration at his friend’s clumsiness, hung his head and flip-flopped back to face the music.
Alice saw Father Callaghan, who had been too dignified to rush around the church in his long vestments, arriving on the scene. ‘Who have we here?’ No one answered. ‘Well, if it isn’t young Michael Gibson, and let me see now . . . Jeremy O’Donnell. Haven’t seen you looking so pretty since your christening day.’
‘Oh Jeremy, how could you?’ Sue O’Donnell dissolved into tears onto the shoulder of the nearest old lady.
‘There’ll be a consequence for this, son.’ Brian O’Donnell spoke with deadly control in his voice.
‘Has anyone telephoned Aaron yet?’ fretted Mr Allen.
Father Callaghan seemed to decide it was time to preside over the scene. ‘Now hold on,’ he said. ‘We are always joyful when young people choose to join us for mass. Who are we to judge them on their exterior, or on the manner in which they come? Think of the Prodigal Son! Michael, can you walk, boy?’
Michael’s mother helped him to his feet, and Father Callaghan nodded approvingly.
Redstone Station Page 3
