Redstone Station

by Therese Creed

  Troy looked down, blushing. ‘Known her since we were kids. Not interested in me though, is she.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

  ‘Poor bugger.’ Jeremy shook his head understandingly. He tried not to look too pleased, and offered, in an uncharacteristic burst of humility, ‘Well, mate, if it makes you feel any better, she doesn’t so much as bat an eyelid at me either.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Troy suddenly brightened up. ‘I reckoned so. She doesn’t act like she’s too keen on ya anyway.’

  Jeremy suddenly felt defensive. ‘Well, I reckon there’s plenty more fish in the sea, digger.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe for you. Do you think she’s saving herself for Wingnut Lonergan? That’s what he reckons anyway. He can’t wait to get his claws on this place either.’ Troy waved his hand around. ‘Maybe I should try going to church. Small price to pay if it’d help.’

  ‘To be honest, mate, I haven’t the foggiest. She doesn’t run off at the mouth like other chicks. And there’s no point trying to get her drunk.’ Troy smiled and nodded and Jeremy added fondly, ‘Stubborn little princess.’

  The two men shook hands more warmly and Jeremy slapped Troy on the back as he turned to climb up into the truck.

  ‘Good talking to ya, Troy.’

  ‘Yeah, you too. See ya round.’

  Jeremy stood and watched the old truck rumble away before shaking his head and returning to the shed and the waiting gates.

  That evening, Jeremy paused in his work and stretched as the paddock ute rattled into the shed. Alice parked it in the usual bay and sprang out. Sam eased himself stiffly from his seat and straightened slowly, hanging on to the tray.

  ‘You still going, son?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Must’ve been a bloody long day.’ Then, seeing the gates, ‘Those there are a credit to you, son. Never seen the likes of you for working.’

  Jeremy looked awkwardly at the gates, trying to hide his pleasure.

  ‘You’ve done so many, Jeremy!’ Alice exclaimed.

  Jeremy looked at her and beamed, welcoming with relief the sound of his proper name on her lips.

  Chapter 20

  Alice stepped out of the shadowy church into the August sunlight with her grandfather. Her grandmother had already rushed off to the tea table to help serve. Walter Lonergan looked across and smiled at her from where he was chatting to an elderly grazier, Grant Finlayson. He soon excused himself and appeared at her side, at which her grandfather shuffled off.

  She’d only had a few moments of small talk with Walter when some of the chatter around them died away and they both turned to look for the cause. Alice gasped in dismay as Jeremy walked towards her through the small groups of churchgoers, his face an ugly mess of early-stage bruising. One of his eyes was puffed half shut and seeping blood at the corner. His hair was wet; he must have tried to wash his face. He was clasping his shirt closed, and when she looked closer Alice could see that the buttons were torn off.

  Alice saw her grandmother glance up from the tea table and a look of horror appear on her face. Mr and Mrs O’Donnell stood fixed to the spot. Stepping away from Walter, Alice walked towards Jeremy, looking around for her pa and some quiet conversation broke out again. Alice took Jeremy’s arm and was about to ask what had happened when old Father Callaghan hobbled over. Walter sidled up again on Alice’s other side.

  Alice wished Walter would go away, but she was glad of Father Callaghan’s presence. The old priest’s ministering days were coming to an end but he still knew how to handle tricky situations. She hoped he’d make Jeremy feel sheltered from all the curious and unfriendly glances being directed his way.

  Jeremy’s heart was still pounding and he was beginning to feel the hits he’d taken to the head. Now that he’d stopped walking, the glare from the bright sunlight was making him feel light-headed.

  ‘Hello, son.’ Father Callaghan greeted him as though there was nothing unusual about the situation. ‘Good to see you, as always. How are things with you?’ They shook hands.

  ‘Well, Father, I’ve had better days.’

  ‘Me too, Jeremy.’

  ‘Got meself into trouble again.’ Feeling like a guilty child, Jeremy looked at his boots.

  ‘So I see.’ The priest laughed quietly. ‘By the way, I’ve heard you’re working miracles at Redstone.’

  Jeremy looked up again and smiled gratefully. What a bloke. The old man’s face was full of amused wisdom as his eyes met Jeremy’s. He gave a quick nod before turning his attention to bent old Eileen Hogan, who was tugging urgently on the arm of his robe.

  Ignoring Walter’s challenging glare, Jeremy looked sideways at Alice. ‘Can I see you for a tick, Ali?’

  He was surprised to discover that, like the priest, Alice wasn’t shocked by or ashamed of him. Instead she gazed up at him in concern. He wondered whether she’d worked out the cause of the fight. She said goodbye to the sulky Walter and led the way to where the town car and Redstone ute were parked side by side.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Alice’s voice was full of compassion as she studied his smarting face. She made a small involuntary gesture with her fingers as though she wanted to reach up and touch him, then she stopped herself.

  Stupidly, he felt a sudden lump of self-pity in his throat and couldn’t answer. Perhaps sensing his momentary weakness, Alice went on conversationally, ‘I guess you won’t be wanting the extra time in town while I’m at the Collinses’. You can go home with Ma and Pa if you like. Or you can come riding with me and old Mr Collins. I’ve also got to pick up the branding cradle we bought from the Glen Dee clearing sale beforehand.’

  His temporary lapse overcome, Jeremy found himself grinning. ‘What a ripper of a choice. A drive in the country with Ma and Pa Kettle, or a pleasure ride with a prize geriatric.’

  Alice nodded and smiled. ‘The choice is yours.’ She turned to open the ute door and locate the first aid kit behind the seat.

  ‘I reckon I’ll come along with you,’ Jeremy said. ‘I don’t think your ma’s too happy with me just at the minute.’

  ‘Alright, good. You can help me lift Mr Collins onto the horse.’

  ‘You beauty. Sounding better and better.’

  Alice dabbed Jeremy’s weeping eye with a medicated swab. She seemed unconcerned about the scrutiny of the small crowd that was still lingering outside the church. Then, using some small safety pins from the kit, she proceeded to pin Jeremy’s torn, damp shirt closed at the front. He looked down at her with helpless longing.

  Just a short time ago, he’d gone into battle with his own tribe – and it was because of her. Joining his mates at the tail end of a weekend bender might not have been such a good idea after what he’d said to them that night with Bonnie. Bloody Max. But he didn’t care. He was glad he’d finally shown them how much Alice meant to him. More than the whole damn lot of them put together.

  Still emotionally charged from the fight, he found the gentle touch of Alice’s little fingers on his chest and stomach cruelly tantalising. She seemed to be sending tiny electrical impulses straight into his skin, causing his heart to race uncomfortably and his breath to quicken. He held his arms down stiffly beside his body, fists and teeth clenched with the effort it cost him to prevent himself from wrapping his arms around her.

  As they drove away from the church towards Glen Dee, Alice told Jeremy a little about John Collins, a man that Jeremy knew only by sight. A drover for over forty years, he’d travelled most of the stock routes in the country. Now in his nineties and suffering from dementia, he lived on a few acres on the edge of town with his daughter Ellen, who was also quite elderly. Ellen had been complaining to Olive about her father’s constant requests to be allowed to get on his horse. So Alice had offered her services. Ellen had told Alice that John was most lucid in the morning, so they wasted no time at Glen Dee, heading to the Collinses as soon as the cradle was loaded into the ute.

  Ellen answered the door a few seconds after they rang the chimes.

  ‘Oh, Jeremy,
you’re here as well!’ she said, beaming. ‘Goodness, how kind of you both, and on a Sunday too! He’s been asking and asking to get on a horse. It will mean the world to him, you know.’

  Politely refraining from commenting on the sorry state of Jeremy’s face and clothes, she ushered them through the house and out onto the back veranda where a tiny, straight-backed but wizened old man was seated in a rigid-looking chair. He was chewing the stem of an old-fashioned tobacco pipe, but it didn’t appear to be issuing any smoke.

  ‘I try to make him sit in the squatter’s chair, but he insists on that hard old thing!’ Ellen pointed at his seat.

  The old man took the pipe out of his mouth at the sight of the two young people, but stared only at Alice with eyes that must have once been icy blue. ‘Lillian,’ he rasped, ‘that angel’s here again. The one I’ve been telling you about. She’s just walked out onto the veranda.’

  ‘He thinks I’m Mum sometimes,’ Ellen explained in a low voice.

  ‘Don’t think I can’t hear you going on with your rot, girlie,’ John said irritably.

  ‘Dad, it’s Alice Wilson and Jeremy O’Donnell. They’ve come to take you riding.’

  ‘Take me riding? I’ve ridden round the world and back, old lady. I don’t need no one to take me riding. That angel’s here again. Can’t you see her, Lily?’ Looking conspiratorially at Jeremy, he added, ‘Blind as a bat, that woman.’

  ‘Dad, it’s not an angel, just little Alice,’ Ellen said patiently. ‘Do you feel like going riding?’

  John spoke again, addressing Jeremy. ‘Does nothing but contradict. Whatever happened to love, honour and obey? That’s what I’d like to know.’ He drew on his unlit pipe and Ellen sighed.

  Alice was just about to repeat the invitation when Jeremy piped up, ‘You’re not wrong there, old boy. Don’t know their place, these women of today.’

  ‘Right you are, Cedric – now you’re talking sense.’ John sat back in his chair with a wrinkly grin, looking pleased as punch.

  ‘Barefoot and pregnant is how you want ’em.’ Jeremy laughed to himself, warming up.

  Alice elbowed him in the ribs. The old man rocked back and forth, choking with croaky laughter.

  ‘With a house yard full o’ prickles,’ Jeremy continued.

  John hooted with delight and held his belly.

  ‘Everything went pear-shaped when they got the vote.’ Jeremy was on a roll.

  ‘You know, that’s what I’ve always said!’ the old man gasped. He paused for breath and took out a hanky to wipe his eyes.

  ‘Don’t encourage him, dear,’ Ellen warned.

  This made old John furious. ‘See what I have to put up with? No respect. Has to throw in her two bob’s worth. Blah blah blah. Women should learn to speak only when they’re spoken to.’

  Jeremy winked at Ellen then said, ‘Should learn to save their breath to cool their pudding!’

  This sent John off into more fits of laughter. When he finally calmed down, he looked up at Jeremy with watery eyes and said, ‘Oh, I like you, mate!’

  ‘Good thing too, old chum. If not, I’d have to flatten ya!’

  ‘Jeremy!’ exclaimed Alice.

  ‘Don’t I know it!’ John slammed his pipe down on the table.

  Jeremy shook a finger at him tauntingly. ‘So watch your step, Johnno!’

  ‘So you always say, you rotten coot!’ John squeaked in a high strangled voice, and was then in stitches again, having a whale of a time.

  But his laughter began to change into more of a splutter, then an almighty coughing fit. Ellen scurried over to him and started patting him hard on the back, while Alice ran inside to get a glass of water. But Jeremy picked up the pipe and shoved the stem towards John’s mouth. ‘Suck on that, mate,’ he suggested.

  Ellen missed a few beats in her patting to look incredulously at Jeremy, but John clawed at the pipe, put it to his lips and inhaled. For some reason it worked.

  ‘I’m not sure you’re well enough to go riding, Dad.’ Ellen was now rubbing his back. ‘He seems to have forgotten about it for the moment, anyway,’ she added, looking up at the young pair. ‘Maybe we should leave it for another day.’

  ‘Get your chubby hands off me, Lily, and get out of my way. I need to go riding.’ John gripped the pipe stem in his teeth and, with his hands on the armrests, began to heave himself up out of his seat.

  ‘That’s the spirit, you old tiger!’ Jeremy urged him on.

  ‘Wait until I get your walker!’ Ellen’s voice was panicky as she rushed to the other end of the veranda. The situation was getting out of control. Alice ran around beside John and took his arm; he was still in the process of standing up. Ellen rolled the walker at top speed towards them and was edging it in as close to him as possible when Jeremy strode around to the back of John’s chair and grabbed him under the arms, lifting him off his feet. Ellen issued a sharp cry.

  ‘Jeremy, be careful!’ exclaimed Alice.

  Hanging there, Jeremy’s hands easily supporting his withered old frame, John’s body straightened out. Then Jeremy spun him into position and gently set his feet on the ground. He maintained his hold until John’s hands were grasping the walker.

  ‘Ready to roll!’ Jeremy looked at Alice’s stern expression and made his face go serious.

  They all made their way around the veranda to a single step down to a pathway leading to the back gate. Beyond it was a paddock with four old horses and a timber shed. A wheelchair had been placed ready in front of the step.

  ‘Who put that contraption in my way?’ John demanded.

  ‘It’s yours, Dad.’ Ellen sounded jaded. Aside to Alice she explained, ‘This happens every time.’

  John started to protest, ‘If you think I’m going to—’

  But Jeremy cut him off. ‘Me first!’

  He jumped excitedly into the wheelchair and performed a three-sixty on the spot by pulling the wheels hard in opposite directions. Then he went careering down the path, skidding to a halt at the gate. ‘I’ve parked your chariot,’ he called.

  John leaned hard on Alice and Ellen, trying to launch himself down the step, walker and all. They guided him down the path towards Jeremy, who lifted him off his feet again and held him dangling until he’d let go of the walker. Then he plonked the old man down into the wheelchair, none too gently.

  ‘I’ll push!’ Jeremy set off on the bumpy track to the shed with Ellen following close behind, looking flustered.

  Alice jogged ahead to find some bridles. The door of the shed was difficult to pull open, and it was clear from the abundance of spider-webs and the blanket of dust coating everything that it had been a while since anyone was in here. Alice found some crusty old bridles and a halter. She looked around for a saddle. John’s old packsaddles were there, relics from his droving days, but a riding saddle was harder to find. Eventually she located one under some hessian sacks, but it had been partly dismantled, the stirrups, girth strap and saddle cloth all hidden in various places around the shed. Leaving John outside in his chair Ellen and Jeremy joined Alice inside the cluttered little building. While they were hunting, Ellen explained apologetically that her younger brother had moved John’s gear in case the old man ever took it into his head to try to go riding alone. On hearing this, Alice exchanged an uncomfortable look with Jeremy.

  By now the horses had wandered over.

  ‘Marmaduke,’ said John, indicating an aged half-draft horse with an incredibly long, shaggy mane and tail.

  ‘How old is he?’ asked Alice.

  ‘Nine or ten, I’d say.’ John spoke proudly.

  ‘I think Marmaduke here has been voting for some time,’ Jeremy observed quietly as he saddled the elderly equine. Alice put bridles on two of the others and attached a lead rope to Marmaduke’s bit. Then Jeremy lifted the old man up into the saddle.

  Alice had been having some serious misgivings, and seeing how stiff and unsteady John was when he’d clambered out of the wheelchair had done nothing to reassure her. B
ut once in the saddle an amazing transfiguration took place. The frail old man sat comfortably balanced, confident and alert. Jeremy and Alice hopped on to the other horses bareback and Alice took the lead rope from Ellen. That was when John spotted it.

  ‘What the bloody hell is that? I’m not a two-year-old! I’ve been riding since before you were a twinkle in the swagman’s eye, girlie!’ he fumed at Alice.

  ‘Stockman. He was a stockman,’ said Jeremy as he jumped down and unclipped the lead rope.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Ellen squeaked.

  ‘Stop worrying and give the poor old bugger some dignity.’ Jeremy remounted. Then, looking back at Ellen’s anxious face, he added, ‘Only have to take one look at him to see he still knows what he’s doing.’

  John was a doddery old man no more. He had the seat of a drover and looked like an extension of the horse. He briskly picked up the reins and slapped them hard on each side of Marmaduke’s monstrous neck. The ancient horse set off at a trot, and then the old man looked around at Alice and Jeremy impatiently, to see if they were keeping up. As she bumped her horse into a walk, Alice shot a panicky glance at Jeremy, but he was still sitting there, staring after the old man. She thought for a moment she saw tears in his eyes but she couldn’t be sure, the one closest to her was so puffy and bruised. Jeremy was such an enigma: that morning he’d been brawling in the pub and now he was getting teary over an old man on a horse. The two sides of his character seemed so often to be at odds with each other.

  In spite of more slapping from old John, Marmaduke soon slowed to a plodding walk. Alice and Jeremy caught up and rode one on each side of him. The loose horse trailed along behind. After a few laps of the paddock, Jeremy opened a gate out into some scrubby bushland. Alice looked warily at him, but he just grinned. Marmaduke went through it at surprising speed, John glancing around with bright eyes.