by Di Morrissey
‘Not necessarily, Millie. I think it would be good to try and get him involved in the business again, even if he doesn’t remember what he was planning. Perhaps Queenie can talk it through with him and that might be the trigger he needs.’
‘We’ll see when Queenie gets back. You never saw a more devoted pair. Queenie will pull him through this, just you wait.’ Jenni didn’t answer and began rolling the pea shells up in the sheet of newspaper spread on the table. ‘Course, you is doing a terrible good job with his legs, Jenni,’ Millie added.
‘Thanks, Millie,’ said Jenni with a wry grin, getting up from the table. ‘In fact I might just check on the patient now.’
Queenie was eating supper off a tin plate by a large crackling campfire on the verge of a small creek. Honey was hobbled nearby. They’d tied a tarpaulin to one side of the LandCruiser and the other end to two poles to provide a shelter. Swags were spread around the fire where each sat eating their meal. The meal had been prepared by Ado and Raylene with no fuss as everyone was following a strict roster. The other two packed away the food, washed the dishes in the creek, then all settled around the fire, looking expectantly at Auntie Maud.
‘Dinner ain’t gonna be from a tin tomorrow. First light we’re going hunting. Now, I’m gonna tell you one of the Dreamtime stories about the Milky Way. It’s the tale of Gurria the crocodile serpent.’ The young people, bred on a diet of twentieth-century technological entertainment, settled down to listen to that most ancient and powerful of arts — storytelling. Queenie watched the young city people settle themselves and listen with real interest to something that belonged to them.
Maud’s voice lifted and sank with colour and expression as she related the ancient legend. ‘ . . . And so Gurria was left to die where he was speared and today we can see the ridge that was formed from his tail, head, backbone and legs. While his body was rotting away, the rain fell and the sunrays made rainbows in the sky. These colours were trapped between the scales on Gurria’s back and they became opals. Legend says that people are similar to opals in that nature creates the changing colours as we change according to our moods.’
Later, after a heated debate about mining on sacred ground, Queenie and Maud were the only two left awake as the fire burned low. ‘I see what you mean about the old stories teaching new lessons,’ said Queenie softly.
‘It’s always the same with these kids. They start off arguing from a white point of view and then before they know it, they’re thinking from their Aboriginal perspective.’ Auntie Maud gave Queenie a shrewd look. ‘And what’ve you been thinkin’ ’bout all day?’
Queenie looked sad. ‘My husband. I should be with him. He’s home from the hospital, he’s got a nurse living in to look after him and I think it should be me, but I get the feeling he prefers her. I told you about his accident. It’s very hard to come to grips with the idea that the man you love has forgotten you. I feel like I’ve been cut in half.’ She brushed away a tear. ‘I’ll be all right. It’s hard being so far away from him. My sense of duty pulls me one way, my heart another.’
Auntie Maud reached out and took Queenie’s hand and stroked it. ‘You listen to me. If the love was there, it will still be there. He’s getting on with gettin’ hisself better. You gotta get on with what you gotta do. Women are stronger than men. And we get through hard times by bein’ on our own. Don’t you give away your power to nobody by thinking you need them more than they need you. Sometimes you gotta walk by yourself before you can git back with others and be strong. You gotta prove you can survive on your own. Do that, and everything will come to you, ’cause nothin’ will hold you back. I think you know that, you’ve made that journey. You just forgot the lesson for a minute. Don’t be dependent. What you’re feelin’ is simple, luv, it’s jealousy and that’s a killer. What you gotta do next is see if you can find them bulls. You started out by yourself now you got Auntie Maud and the gang — you’re ahead of the game, Queenie.’
Queenie looked into the strong and caring face of this wise woman and drew comfort from her words. ‘You’re right, Auntie Maud. Thank you.’
Queenie rolled into her swag, glancing up at the Milky Way, and to the music of the sleeping bush, the soft breathing of the young people and the occasional crackle from the fire, she felt sleep drift down on her like a soft and gentle coverlet.
Chapter Nineteen
Queenie reached for TR to pull his firm warm body close to hers. Smiling through the mists of sleep, they woke each other leisurely as the day began. She closed her eyes with pleasure, feeling his kisses down her back, in the nape of her neck, as he gently caressed and aroused her languid body, building to the searing passion their love-making generated. It was an abandoned, erotic coupling, where trust and safety swept away the barriers of inhibition. The romance, their physical adoration of each other, the blending of heart, body and spirit hadn’t lessened. Queenie arched and gave a soft moan, feeling his body thrusting deep within her, making them one.
‘Queenie . . . Queenie . . .’
She opened her eyes, a smile playing at her mouth, and gazed into the concerned face of Auntie Maud.
‘Are you all right, Queenie, you cried out.’
Queenie blinked and tears of pain, embarrassment and sadness filled her eyes. ‘It was just a dream . . .’ she whispered.
Auntie Maud nodded understandingly and patted her head, moving back to the small campfire where the four young people were organising a hasty breakfast.
Queenie lay in her swag watching the shreds of mist drift across the creek, aware of the heavy dew that lay on her Driza-Bone coat thrown over her swag. Someone had drawn a funny face in the wet coating on the LandCruiser’s windscreen. Her body felt drained and exhausted as if she really had spent the night making love to TR.
Queenie stretched, feeling miserable, stiff and not quite awake. Auntie Maud bent over her and handed her a mug of tea. ‘See if this will brush away the cobwebs.’ Queenie took the steaming tea with a grateful smile.
‘We’ll be pushing off soon, probably be gone most of the day. Hope to catch dinner,’ continued Auntie Maud. ‘This is where the kids get to put into practice what they’ve learned.’
‘What are you hoping to get?’ asked Queenie.
‘Anything edible,’ grinned Auntie Maud. ‘Rule is we only eat what we gather. No food, no eat. But there’s always roots and a wild bees’ nest round here. However, I’m hoping for a good fat goanna or snake or maybe a duck or a fish. Plenty tucker ’bout when you know where t’look.’
‘I’m not eating a snake,’ muttered Raylene, overhearing them. ‘And I don’t want to kill some cute little duck.’
‘When ya hungry things won’t look so cute,’ warned Zero.
Queenie finished her tea and threw back her swag. ‘Sounds like a big day for all of us.’
Auntie Maud issued final instructions on preparing the traditional hunting tools, baskets and dilly bags of small digging implements. She turned back to Queenie as she rolled up her swag. ‘Just what do you plan on doing at Mitchell’s place? Wouldn’t it be better if we was to come too?’
‘Thanks. This is my private campaign. I’m just going to have a look. I’ll be careful.’
‘What if you find ’em — the bulls — then what?’ asked Lois.
‘I go for assistance. Official assistance. I’m leaving the vehicle and float here and riding Honey now you’ve told me how to get cross-country to Mitchell’s.’
‘There’s nothing much near his place, he likes his privacy like I said. You’d be best heading for the back road into Noondale — which is only a pub and a cop station,’ suggested Auntie Maud.
‘If I find my cattle I’ll probably need both,’ grinned Queenie. ‘I’m going to grab some food. I’ve got a good day’s ride ahead of me. Will you still be camped here when I get back?’
Auntie Maud smiled at her. ‘Doubt it. Mightn’t look like it, but I do have a sorta agenda. Have to check into certain places or they send the bush police
after us.’
‘So this is goodbye?’ Queenie looked around at the four young adults clustered around their matronly leader.
‘Just for now.’ Auntie Maud took both Queenie’s hands in hers and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Our paths gonna cross again Queenie-Tingulla,’ she said firmly. ‘And you know sumthin’ else? You and that fella of yours is gonna be okay.’ She squeezed Queenie’s hands and Queenie felt tears rush to her eyes.
Slowly, each of the kids stepped forward to shake her hand and wish her luck. Then, slinging their dilly bags over their shoulders, the unlikely tribe dressed in hand-painted T-shirts, coloured earrings and once-new running shoes followed their elder into the scrub. On this clear bush morning they were setting out to learn and preserve the ways of their people as had been done for thousands of years. Already Queenie could see they had shed many of their city ways and would never look at the world in quite the same way again.
‘Go well Auntie Maud,’ she said softly as Maud, too far to hear, but catching the thought, turned and lifted the nulla-nulla she carried in salute.
Despite her casual and confident remarks to Auntie Maud, Queenie was nervous and unsure of what lay ahead. The track she was following could, of course, be a dead end, but some gut instinct told her Maud was right. Queenie began to wonder whether she should have agreed to Auntie Maud and the gang accompanying her, but in her heart she couldn’t bear the idea she might be putting others at risk. Possibly she should have let them decide that, for as TR often told her, she could be too fiercely independent sometimes.
Her mind moved ahead to more practical matters and she mulled over the Tingulla wool fashion concept, thinking through its finer points. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it would work. She had already written to Henri Barnard in New York and she’d run it past Dingo as soon as she was back.
Queenie stopped several times throughout the day to spell Honey and in the last of the daylight she spotted the boundary fence of Mitchell’s station. Maud’s directions had been spot on.
She rode the boundary fence peering into the distance, but all was deserted. There had been no stock in these paddocks for some time. Darkness was falling and when she finally came to a rough gate, she lifted the bent rusty wire and cut across towards where she guessed the homestead would be. In the last of the light she found a better track that was obviously what passed as the road from the main gate to the homestead. She rode to one side, ready to dart into the bush should she meet anyone riding or driving on the rutted road.
Night fell. There was no twilight, no lengthy softening of sun into shadows and fading day. One minute it was a burning sunset of hot tones; the next, velvet darkness, as if God had flung a heavenly light switch.
First she came across some leaning sheds, a tractor and a small stockyard. Then through some trees she saw a glimmer of light. It came from a house. Close by were two smaller buildings. Further away on a slight rise, Queenie could make out the shape of the large main homestead. It was in darkness. Queenie slipped from Honey and led the horse as she examined her surroundings. At the side of one of the low buildings a cattle truck was parked. She peered into the cabin and, seeing the keys dangling from the ignition, took them out and slipped them into her pocket. A utility truck and four-wheel drive were also parked nearby. Several horses were held in a stockyard and in the clear light of the rising moon, Queenie began studying the half dozen horses. Suddenly she caught her breath.
She slipped over the railing and moved slowly through the horses to a dark chestnut with an unusual white patch on its haunches. While several of the horses shied and snorted, they didn’t panic and swiftly settled to the presence of the slim shadow in their midst. Queenie murmured softly and approached the stockhorse, moving around to its right side. On its rump was the brand TG. Tingulla’s brand was also on a rangy palomino — these were the two missing stockhorses from Cricklewood.
Queenie’s heart began to beat a little faster. She had no doubt her stock was or had been here — it could have been sold or disposed of already. But if it was here, where? She ducked under the railing, tied Honey to a fence and began scouting around. One of the sheds was stacked with fresh bales of feed. A chained dog barked and Queenie paused, listening for any movement from the house. All remained quiet. She knew from what Auntie Maud had told her that this was a big property, so if her cattle were here it could take days riding around trying to find them.
The only life on the station seemed to come from the small lighted house. Queenie tiptoed quietly towards it, keeping as best she could in the shadows. There was a narrow verandah and she stepped onto it, hoping there were no creaking boards. However, she quickly realised any slight noise she might make wouldn’t be heard inside where she could hear the loud chatter of men’s voices. She edged to the side of the window which was a quarter open. Glancing into the room, she had full view of what was obviously the main living and dining room. Two men were seated at the table playing cards and drinking beer. As she watched, one rose and disappeared through a door leading to what was probably the kitchen and utility room. He returned with two large bottles of beer and put them on the table, picking up his hand of cards.
They were playing poker and talking about a football match. Queenie decided to check the rest of the house and see if anyone else was there. She circled the verandah, peering into darkened windows, and walked to the back of the house. A water tank stood by the back steps; several bare iron bedsteads lined a fly-screened sleep-out. At the other end, near the back door, was a laundry room lined with shelves of tinned food. Cautiously she tried the back door. It opened.
She closed the door and returned to the open window. The men’s conversation had turned to money.
‘So is he bringing the cash here?’
‘Better bloody be, I ain’t hanging round waiting for me dough. I got another job to do.’
‘What’s takin’ ’im so long? I hope we don’t have to wait for them bulls to be sold.’
‘Nah. He’s got a buyer lined up already, I reckon. You don’t lift good stuff like that without knowing what to do with it. That ain’t our problem. C’mon, Ritchie, you in or out?’
Queenie had heard enough. In the shadows of the shed she pulled her pocketknife from its leather sheath on her belt and began to slash and jab at the tyres on the utility truck and the four-wheel drive until she had punctured them all. She closed the knife and shoved it in the back pocket of her moleskins.
She went back to Honey and leaned on the railing, contemplating her next move. She could take off and get the police, but by the time they got back, the stock would probably be on the move again and the men paid and gone. A slow anger began to build in the pit of Queenie’s stomach. These two men had been hired to walk onto her property and clear out her valuable stock. It had been part of a plan that was probably repeated all around Australia. There were unscrupulous sellers and buyers inside and outside the country. With a place as remote as this, her stock could be kept hidden and be used to improve other stock as part of an ongoing business. She and TR had worked hard to build up their reputation at Cricklewood and she wasn’t about to see that jeopardised. Her instinct was to confront these men, and impulsively she pulled her rifle from its holster on her saddle.
But then she paused. What was she going to do? Go in there like Clint Eastwood and demand they tell her where her bulls were, then round them up and load them onto the truck? That’s what the rash and youthful Queenie Hanlon would have done. But it was dark, there were two of them and the odds were not in her favour, despite her deadly aim. No, she would just ride quietly back out to Noondale and get help. Obviously these men were waiting for Mitchell to come and pay them.
Queenie untied Honey’s bridle and, still holding the rifle, put her left foot into the stirrup. But suddenly, in the motion of swinging up onto the horse, she found herself being yanked through the air onto the ground. A heavy boot pressed down on her throat. Gagging, Queenie dropped the rifle, trying to p
ush the foot away so she could breathe.
A large man leaned over her, grabbed the rifle and pulled her to her feet by the front of her shirt. Her Akubra hung down her back and her hair fell loose.
‘Shit, you’re a sheila! What the hell’re you doin’ sneakin’ round here?’ demanded the man.
‘I could say the same to you,’ said Queenie, clutching at her throat, her voice hoarse.
‘Don’t git smart. Wotcha want with a rifle and peerin’ in windows? I bin watchin’ ya. Get inside.’ He took off the safety catch, cocked the rifle and prodded her forward, following her to the homestead with the gun held dangerously close to her ribs. He kicked open the front door and shoved her in. The two unshaven men looked up from their cards in surprise.
‘Look what I found spying on us,’ said the man. He was older and larger than the other two.
‘What she doin’ here?’
Queenie glared at him, trying to cover her fear. ‘I’ve come for my bulls you stole.’
‘Oh yeah? You want ’em giftwrapped?’ The two younger men laughed.
‘How d’ya know t’ come here?’ asked the older man, still holding the rifle.
Queenie didn’t answer, trying desperately to work out how to play this.
The man inclined his head at one of the cardplayers. ‘Check outside, Ritchie.’
‘Why me? There could be anybody out there. Or another crazy sheila with a gun,’ he said, getting up from the table.
Queenie made a sudden lunge for the rifle but Ritchie was quick and he grabbed her, bending her arm up behind her back. ‘Naughty, naughty, lady. Kev, get some rope outta the laundry, we’ll tie her up and leave her in the back bedroom. Then if she’s got any mates out there they gotta come and git her, else we leave her to the boss to sort out. We don’t need this hassle.’
‘Right on.’ The man called Kev moved down the hallway.
‘That wasn’t a smart move, lady,’ said Ritchie, pushing Queenie’s arm up, sending an agonising pain along her limb. Too terrified to move, she didn’t struggle, fearing he could break her arm.
