As she trudged up the steps onto her little veranda, Alice met Beryl coming out of the cottage with a mop and bucket.
‘I’ve just done a little tidy-up for you, dear,’ said the old woman brightly. ‘And there’s a hot bath waiting. I knew you couldn’t be far off now.’
‘Thank you so much, Mrs Sawtell, but I wish you wouldn’t go to all this trouble.’
‘No trouble at all, lovie, I like to help out where I can.’ Beryl gave Alice a kiss on the forehead and scurried off, her bucket clanking.
Stepping into the cottage, Alice looked around at the spotless living room and then cringed when she remembered the state the toilet had been in. Two frogs had set up residence in it and she hadn’t had the energy to relocate them. In the bathroom she undressed and hopped obediently into the bath, to which a strong, fruity-smelling foam had been added. She lay back, closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the scent was so overpowering that she soon opened them again.
The warm bath had been a kind gesture and the heat certainly soothed Alice’s tired muscles. But the ever-present ache of loneliness only became stronger with every attempt Beryl made to cheer her. Nothing could replace her grandparents’ love. And no one else could provide the companionship she’d found in Jeremy. Without her loved ones, every victory seemed hollow and every task a trial. Maybe Carl Trent had been right after all: perhaps it wasn’t worth it. Was it just her exhaustion that was colouring her thinking or was she losing heart?
She watched two geckos stalking insects on the ceiling. Suddenly one of them must have trespassed into the other’s territory. There was a brief attack. Locked in combat, they fell into the bath and disappeared beneath the bubbles, leaving a long indentation in the foam that gradually closed over again.
‘That’s my cue to leave.’ Alice spoke out loud, her voice echoing in the emptiness. She pulled the plug and left the geckos to fend for themselves.
Chapter 44
Out of loyalty to Olive, the well-meaning Beryl encouraged Walter Lonergan, assuring him that she’d observed ‘the signs’ in Alice’s apparent reluctance to return his interest. He became a frequent visitor to Redstone, and Alice grew to be quite fond of him. He was thoughtful, good-natured, polite and practical, and he didn’t put any pressure on Alice to return his feelings. For this last she was grateful, although she suspected that it was because he was so sure of his own excellence that he had no doubt she’d come around to him in time. She reminded him on regular occasions that she’d never be interested in being anything more than a friend to him, but his phone calls and visits continued nonetheless.
He induced her to go on outings away from Redstone; to her own surprise, these refreshed and cheered her somewhat. He could talk books and history and shared all the refined ideas that were so important to one facet of her nature. But he lacked an earthiness, a rock-solid strength that Jeremy, despite all his apparent instability, had possessed. Everything Walter did was so controlled, so moral, so calculated to please. She felt that he was entirely a product of his environment, as no strong substance of his own shone through. She also sensed something patronising in his manner; sometimes a stray comment revealed that he believed he was making an admirable concession by choosing to associate with someone of ‘mixed blood’.
His frequent insistence that her Aboriginality didn’t bother him was such a contrast to Jeremy’s occasional teasing and mock derogatory comments about her race. And much more offensive. That her blood and connection to the land was a deep source of pride to Alice was a possibility that never occurred to Walter. Jeremy had never put her in any category, delighting in the fact that she fitted none. He’d never analysed her suitability for him, he’d just savoured her company as though it was an unexpected discovery, and one that he wanted to learn more about.
Walter gave her well-chosen gifts that were simple, graceful and useful. Other than the little riding boots, the extent of Jeremy’s gifts had been the odd bush flower or rock, and once even a wild baby budgerigar that had proved very troublesome to care for, and had subsequently died. On a few occasions, Walter took her to his home, where she was warmly welcomed by his family. He showed her all the innovations he’d added to their operation and then demurred modestly when she praised him. She was bewildered to find that Walter’s constant demonstrations of humility annoyed her far more than Jeremy’s egotistical self-praise ever had. And she now believed that both were equally insincere.
In many ways, she thought, Walter was a baby. He’d never struggled in life, always being so comfortable in the bosom of his family. Alice was amazed to discover that she found him immature in comparison to Jeremy, complete with all his larrikin, irresponsible antics. In short, Walter, on the surface, was everything she’d ever thought she wanted in a man. But he wasn’t Jeremy.
The weeks flew by. Rounds of mustering punctuated the work with the fencing contractors and the setting up of new watering points for the cattle in the smaller paddocks. Alice seemed to be forever checking, overseeing and directing. These were skills which didn’t come naturally to her. The job of recording and analysing stock numbers and predicting production and costs was a constant juggle, but it was necessary in order to maintain the support of the bank.
Alice continued to make the two-hour trek into town for church some weekends. But seated in her usual pew one Sunday, she was terrified to discover that she could no longer pray. Her prayers in the past had been more like chats with God, and usually occurred when she was out in the paddock or at the yards. Since Jeremy had gone, she’d been so busy that she hadn’t noticed the end of these spiritual conversations. She’d always taken for granted her awareness of the supernatural, and prayer had flowed from this as naturally as a talk with her grandfather. Now, it seemed that even God had deserted her.
Bonnie came faithfully to visit every few months and tried her level best to brighten Alice’s mood. But Alice found even Bonnie exhausting; her jokes and wild stories seemed out of place in Alice’s sombre new world.
The first summer of Jeremy’s absence, Redstone enjoyed a bountiful season of frequent gentle rain. The land exploded with growth, and all the legumes Alice had planted finally began to colonise the paddocks; the improved fertility was evident in the deep bluish-green of the grass. The rotational grazing was beginning to pay off. With the higher concentration of cattle in smaller areas, the grass was properly chewed down for short periods. Then it was ready to be spelled again and the cattle were moved. Also, as Alice had hoped, with the grass being properly utilised, the risk of fires was greatly reduced.
The April bush run came and went. Alice persuaded Mushgang and Dan to accompany her, but their ageing bodies protested at extended outdoor living. This, combined with Alice’s powerful nostalgia, meant morale on the bush run was unusually low. Evenings around the fire were quiet and desolate, with the crackling of the flames the only sound. And each night, Alice was painfully aware of the ghosts dancing on the edge of the firelight.
Winter was mild, with very little precipitation of any kind. Then over the three months of spring in the paddocks where she and Jeremy had introduced seasonal mating, most of the calves were born, with a few stragglers closer to Christmas. This meant less mustering and calves of a more uniform size, exactly as she’d hoped, and would also make selling much easier down the track. She now intended to extend the breeding program across all the other breeder paddocks as well. But for the lonely girl, all of these successes were bittersweet without Jeremy and her grandparents there to see the results of all their hard work together over the years.
Eighteen months after Jeremy had left Redstone, Alice ran into Sue O’Donnell in the general store. They had seen each other on the occasions that Alice had made it to church, but had avoided the necessity of anything more than a friendly greeting. Now, though, they found themselves side by side in an unusually long queue of five at the cluttered little counter. Gladys Hogan, the owner of the general store, was chatting at length to each customer in turn.
‘Alice, how are you?’ Sue asked quietly.
‘I’m fine thanks, Mrs O’Donnell. How are things with you?’ Glancing at the older woman’s thin face, Alice noticed she looked tired and drawn.
‘Oh, we’re getting along alright really. A few too many chiefs and not enough Indians at our place though.’
The two women looked into each other’s eyes. Pale blue met warm brown and simultaneously tears started up in both pairs. Then, to her amazement, Alice found herself crying.
‘Oh, my dear!’ said Sue, impulsively hugging Alice. ‘It’s so hard, isn’t it?’
Alice nodded her head over the older woman’s shoulder, not quite sure which of life’s difficulties she was referring to; perhaps just life in general. Alice’s frame shook with a final sob. She hurriedly wiped her eyes and prepared herself for Gladys. It was unlikely that her tears would have gone unnoticed by the talkative shopkeeper.
Once she’d bought her few items, she waited for Sue to finish at the counter then walked outside with her. Without mentioning his name Alice could tell they were both thinking about Jeremy, and they looked at each other in commiseration.
‘I hope you’ll be okay, darling.’ Sue squeezed Alice’s arm.
Alice felt the warmth travel up through her shoulder and into her body like an injection of strength and comfort. ‘You too, Mrs O’Donnell.’
When Alice arrived home that afternoon she decided it was high time she brought the Arab colt back in from the Brigalow paddock. For many months she’d been functioning on sheer determination. To direct the activities of her days and weeks as they hurried by, she’d clung to the plans that were already in place, plans that she’d made in happier times. And while they were her own ideas, they had been built on the foundation of love and support that she’d been fortunate enough to have at that time. She now realised how much she’d taken it for granted. Since her grandparents and Jeremy had gone, she’d felt keenly the absence of the usual creative energy she’d thrown into her work. The energy from which new ideas were born.
However, her talk with Sue O’Donnell that morning had awakened a faint stirring of enthusiasm in her frozen little soul. A kindling warmth inside of something distantly related to happiness. So she decided to put a saddle on the colt while the feeling lasted. She’d been avoiding even the thought of the chestnut for months, aware that her frame of mind had not been conducive to handling the highly strung creature. But now with this new-found confidence, Alice thought she would be able to catch the colt in the paddock and load him into the truck rather than tailing him on the motorbike all the way back to the yards.
She set off at once, afraid to pause lest she lose the momentum of her new conviction. She drove quickly along the rutted track to Brigalow and parked the truck at the roughly constructed earth ramp. Hopping out, she climbed up on top of the truck crate to see if she could locate the colt and the pack ponies. She saw some bullocks in the distance, camped in the afternoon shade, but the horses were nowhere to be seen in any direction. For some reason she’d assumed they would be in sight; the first part of her plan had already failed. She sank down and sat cross-legged on top of the crate.
Such a small knockback, but enough to sap her of a large part of her rediscovered inspiration. It was just as she’d feared: this feeling was fragile and would only be short-lived. What had she been thinking? Why on earth, in a paddock so large, should the horses have been right here? She decided to go home and forget the whole thing. But then Alice was gripped by a sudden panic. Having been temporarily lifted from her state of numb automation, she was terrified that if she let herself slide back into that condition, the awareness of her discomfort would be so much greater than before.
She jumped to her feet again and desperately scanned her surroundings for any sign of the horses. Nothing. She called wildly to the colt, waited then called again. But there was no response, just a warm breeze playing with her hair and stroking her cheek.
And then a miracle occurred. From out of a gully thickly grown with casuarinas, only a few hundred metres from where she stood, the two stocky ponies casually appeared, followed by the glossy colt. Their ears were pricked and they were looking in Alice’s direction, curiously seeking the source of all the noise. She felt like crying with relief – was this a sign? But then she reminded herself, the colt hadn’t been handled in months. Why had she imagined she would be able to catch him? She climbed down and went to get the halter from the front of the truck, wondering if he would have disappeared again when she looked back towards the gully.
Halter in hand, Alice stood by the truck and watched in humble gratitude as the colt, with the pack ponies following, walked towards her. He stopped a few metres from her, his head up and his nostrils flaring slightly. She hadn’t thought to hide the halter behind her back, and there it was in her hands clearly visible to the colt. They regarded each other for a while, then Alice took a step towards him. He whirled and cantered away, the ponies still with him. But he didn’t go far before stopping and turning to look at her again. She sat down on the ground, her mind hopelessly blank; her usual instinct with animals seemed to be dormant or gone. But after a time the colt walked back towards her.
Alice was in no hurry, she had no wish to be anywhere, so she simply sat. Ten minutes later, the colt was sniffing the top of her head. She reached up slowly and put her hands on his velvety neck, then, talking to him quietly, she wrapped the lead rope around his neck and slipped the halter over his head. She leaned against his tensely poised body and stroked him. She could feel his sinewy strength, his buzzing energy. She suddenly thought of her father and was comforted. Tingling with excitement, she led the colt in a circle, a figure eight and then up onto the truck.
Just before dusk, standing in the yard, Alice saddled the colt; then, without hesitation or any strategy, she mounted him. She rode him slowly around the yard until the light faded. He felt tight beneath her, like a wound-up spring, but he carried her without complaint.
‘Knightley.’ Alice breathed the word and the colt was named.
After she’d unsaddled him and rubbed him down, she released him into the night paddock. She stood and watched him as he walked into the twilight with his head lowered. He stopped a short distance away and half turned to look at her before dropping his head to graze. Without thinking, Alice murmured a simple prayer of thanks.
And so began their daily dusk ritual, and the beginning of Alice’s return to the land of the living.
Chapter 45
Alice had suffered a summer of losses. A pack of mongrel dingoes were systematically working their way through the calves in the paddocks closer to the national park. They looked and hunted more like dogs than normal dingoes, mauling and injuring the weaker cattle and using them as playthings.
Alice hadn’t been vigilant enough when it came to vermin control since Jeremy had gone. She hadn’t realised quite how effective his occasional baiting and shooting expeditions had been in controlling the dog numbers. Now there was a new generation of pups, and they had developed a taste for the blood of the calves. Alice had begun to bait some of the calf carcases and had even allowed Gyro and his hunting cronies onto Redstone a few times, but she’d left it too late and the numbers of feral animals were now well and truly out of control. The adult dogs were wary of the baits and usually too cunning to be seen by people in a noisy vehicle.
Early one morning towards the end of a particularly unlucky fortnight in late February, Alice returned to her cottage after her usual dawn duties at the yards. It was already steamy and the insects were out in force. She intended to head out to the back country to check the calves again, so she slapped together a cheese sandwich and took an empty water bottle from the windowsill, planning to fill it. But lying in the base of the bottle was a tiny withered frog that must have become trapped inside. With a sorrowful murmur Alice went to shake it out of the window; as she lifted the bottle into the light, she thought she detected a tiny movement. So, more gently, she tipped the f
rog out onto the palm of her hand. It was yellowish and dry, every tiny rib and vertebra visible through the stretched amphibious skin. However, it wasn’t yet stiff.
Telling herself it was futile, Alice nonetheless put a splash of water in a coffee mug; reaching out the window, she picked a small leaf off the hibiscus and placed it in the cup. Onto this, so that it was half in the water, she sat the limp, wrinkled little amphibian. She put the cup on the sill, grabbed her lunch and was heading back out again when the phone trilled.
‘Alice, is that you?’ It was Sue O’Donnell. She sounded worried.
‘Mrs O’Donnell? Is everything alright?’
‘No, not really, Alice. Jeremy’s ill.’
‘Ill?’ Alice felt a leaden sensation in her chest.
‘He’s conscious again now, but he’s still in Intensive Care in Brisbane. I’ll be heading down later this morning.’
Alice’s throat tightened with panic. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s called acute pancreatitis. He left it too late to go to hospital and his kidneys failed. He nearly died, they said.’ Sue’s voice quavered. ‘They’re afraid of another attack, but at least he’s in the right place. His blood results improved immediately after dialysis but his kidneys may be permanently damaged.’
‘Oh, Mrs O’Donnell . . .’ Alice choked up mid-sentence.
‘I’m so sorry to worry you, darling, but the nurses said this morning that he was saying your name through the night.’
Alice found that she couldn’t speak.
Redstone Station Page 30
