FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR

by Di Morrissey

  Saskia glanced at Colin, trying to read his expression behind the dark glasses. ‘From what I’ve heard about Mr Camboni, a health resort doesn’t sound his sort of thing.’

  Colin glanced at her with a slight grin. ‘Been catching up on the family gossip, huh?’ He punched a cassette into the tape deck as if to change the subject, and the rest of the journey passed in idle chatter.

  Saskia noticed that Colin never asked about TR or Queenie, though he did ask more about the family business. ‘Tingulla and Cricklewood have done fabulously. Mum and TR are pretty smart, so is Tango. He’s running Guneda while TR is recovering.’

  ‘I hear Guneda’s got a pretty good name in the horse-racing world.’

  ‘Yeah, TR and Tango are terrific trainers and breeders. That’s what I’d really like to do,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why don’t you ask Tango for a job then?’

  Saskia shook her head of dark curls. ‘No way. Not yet. I want to make it on my own first. No handouts, thanks.’

  Colin didn’t answer but recognised her stubborn streak and thought to himself, ‘Christ, she’s just like her mother’.

  Tango rose early and went down to the racetrack. Two horses thundered past him, clods of dirt kicking up behind their galloping feet. He clicked the stopwatch and waited for Mick to turn the perspiring black thoroughbred back towards him.

  Mick loosened the strap on his helmet. ‘So? Whaddya reckon?’

  ‘He’s out of condition, has a few bad habits, typical bloody mad racehorse, but seems to have potential. Tell me about the blokes who came to see you. Where are the papers?’

  ‘In your tray on the desk.’

  Tango studied the horse as Mick told him of the visit of the two men. ‘One of them didn’t say nuthin’, the other fella didn’t seem that interested. He wasn’t the boss like, though he was a pretty posh sorta fella. Foreign, bit spivvy.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser . . . hmm.’ Tango rubbed the horse’s nose. ‘You’re not a bad looking bloke, you might come good given a bit of work. We’ll see, eh, Mick?’

  ‘Been on worse and done all right, Tango.’

  ‘Yeah, riding to win? Or backing the opposition?’ he chortled. ‘There are different ways of winning a race. See you later. And thanks for minding the shop.’

  Back in his office, Tango studied the papers that came with the horse known as Ambrosia. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . the bastard’s back into racing again. Okay, Alfredo Camboni, I’ll train your horse, business is business, but the price has just doubled,’ he said aloud, stuffing the documents in a file and slamming the drawer of the filing cabinet shut with unnecessary force.

  Saskia was entranced by Harmony Hill and took an immediate liking to Bruce, Ria and young Greta. As they finished their glasses of fresh juice and carrot cake on the Gadens’ patio and began talking about horses, it was young Greta who took Saskia by the hand.

  ‘Come, come. Lookit the horsies.’

  Saskia grinned at her. ‘All right. You coming?’ she asked the other adults.

  ‘No, we’ll just chat for a bit. You’re in good hands,’ said Colin.

  ‘Just keep an eye on her, Saskia, she’s a devil round those horses,’ said Ria.

  Saskia soon discovered what she meant. Greta led her to the stables, and while Saskia was looking at the yards, Greta dashed into one of the stalls and came out with Pansy the Shetland following her. As the two of them prowled around the stables, Pansy followed like a dog till Greta asked, ‘Lift me up to Pansy’.

  ‘You want to ride Pansy? She’s not ready to ride.’

  Greta airily waved a hand. ‘Don’ need a seat. You just put me on, okay?’

  Saskia picked up the little girl. ‘It’s not a seat, it’s a saddle, Greta. Here we go.’ Greta swung her legs across the broad back of the tiny horse, grasped the long shaggy mane and before Saskia could blink, she dug her little heels firmly into Pansy’s sides and the tubby Shetland took off at a rapid trot with Greta squealing in delight.

  ‘Oh God! Hang on Greta!’ shouted Saskia in alarm as she took off after the bouncing child and rapidly moving pony. But Greta had done this before. She leaned forward, yanked on Pansy’s ear and the Shetland wheeled about and, guided by Greta, trotted back to Saskia, who grabbed her and pulled her off the pony.

  ‘Let’s put Pansy back in her stall and next time we’ll put on her saddle and halter and you ride properly with boots and a hat on, okay, Greta?’

  They returned to the others and Saskia laughed, ‘I see what you mean about this one. I thought I was a horse freak when I was little!’

  ‘Greta’s going to run the kids’ horse trails,’ laughed Bruce.

  ‘And who’s going to run the horse trail rides and run the stables?’ asked Ria with a lifted eyebrow. They all looked at Saskia.

  ‘What do you think, Saskia? We need someone to pick out some steady quiet horses, look after them and the stables, take guests out for rides, though we haven’t worked out the trails properly yet,’ said Colin.

  ‘You’d live here, there’s a small cabin near the stables that’s quite pretty,’ added Ria.

  As Saskia hesitated before answering, Colin cut in, ‘Listen, Saskia, uni can only teach you some things. You can’t beat the school of life and hands-on experience. And if you’ve chosen the wrong course, well forget it. Waste of time. This way you’d be learning as well as earning a pay packet.’

  Bruce and Ria exchanged a glance. There was no doubt Colin was a smooth salesman.

  ‘You think it over, Saskia,’ advised Bruce.

  ‘I don’t have to, I think it sounds great!’ It wasn’t the answer to a full-time career but it was working with horses and what she could see would be a pleasant lifestyle. ‘You’ve got a deal!’ She shook hands with Bruce, Colin and Ria.

  ‘Me too,’ demanded Greta holding out her hand.

  Saskia solemnly shook her hand. ‘Would you like to be my assistant, Greta? Help me with the horses?’

  ‘Yeth,’ lisped the little girl, suddenly overcome with the idea she was being treated as a grown up. Spontaneously she hugged Saskia round the legs.

  Bruce and Ria chuckled. ‘You be careful, Saskia. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for! Let’s give you the grand tour of Harmony Hill.’

  Later, as Saskia wandered around by herself, she thought seriously about her decision. While she hadn’t hesitated in agreeing to work at Harmony Hill, deep down she had misgivings. What would she tell her mother? How was she going to feel knowing that Saskia had gone against her wishes, but most of all, thrown her lot in with Colin?

  Saskia wasn’t exactly sure what had transpired between Queenie, TR and Colin all those years ago to bring about such enmity, but maybe this was a chance for her to bring everybody together again. Her loyalty lay with her mother but she also wanted to lead her own life and make decisions of her own. Queenie cast a very big shadow and Saskia was determined to make her own way in the sun. Even if that meant making mistakes along the way.

  Jenni wandered around the garden, marvelling again at the beauty and peace of the beautiful homestead. The surroundings began to calm her and she felt ready to tackle another session with TR. His recovery was proving more than the challenge she’d expected. She was confused at her own feelings for a man twenty years her senior — he aroused such deep emotions in her. Was it the longing for a father figure, having lost her own father when a young girl? Or the fact he was a handsome and sexy man in the prime of his life? Or was added to both these factors the knowledge that he was vulnerable, and saw in her his salvation?

  The morning’s session had been traumatic and had shaken her badly. She’d given TR a muscular workout and was following it with a massage. TR had been quiet and seemed more depressed than usual. He buried his face in the towel as he lay on the table while she pummelled and probed deep into his muscles and tendons. At one point she felt his shoulders shake and she wondered if he was crying. Her hands relaxed their strenuous massaging and began softly s
troking. As her fingertips rippled lightly across his skin she felt him relax. She was glad this technique brought about a lessening of the tension held in his body, but for the first time she forgot about her professional role and became aware of the beauty of his body and the physical attractiveness of TR the man, not the patient. She was glad she couldn’t see his face or he see hers. Swiftly she pulled herself together and draped a towel across his back and shoulders, pressing him lightly. ‘That’s enough. Let me help you sit up.’

  Later they had met in the downstairs sunroom where the furniture had been pushed to one side, and begun another walking lesson.

  TR struggled across the room, one crutch supporting his bad leg, his face twisted in pain. Jenni cajoled and encouraged him, directing his wobbly progress. ‘Walk TR! Don’t hop!’

  A few more turns and then Jenni went to him and took the crutch away. TR rested his hand on her shoulder to balance. ‘Now what?’ he asked irritably.

  ‘Now walk. Without the crutch. Just one step, TR. Come on, you can do it.’

  He glared at her. ‘No!’

  ‘You have to start on your own sometime, TR. Don’t be afraid of falling, I’ll be right beside you.’ Jenni went to move away from him, leaving him standing without a crutch or her support. He swiftly grabbed back his crutch. ‘No!’

  ‘Stop being a baby, TR. Try for God’s sake!’ shouted Jenni. ‘Stop giving up.’

  Fear, frustration, then sheer anger swept over TR and with a furious heave he hurled his crutch through the open French doors and it landed on the verandah with a crash.

  Jenni backed away from him, standing with her hands on her hips as he glared defiantly at her. ‘All right walk to me, or go and get your crutch yourself,’ she said with icy calm.

  Their eyes locked and to TR the few steps that separated them yawned like a chasm. His legs felt like lead. Shooting pains quivered up and down his bad side, his feet felt nailed to the floor. With a tremendous effort, feeling he was moving in slow motion, TR dragged one foot in front of the other, swung his arm out for balance, then stiffly pushed his bad leg forward in a shaky step. It was a parody of a staggering walk and he began to waver and sway. He shuffled another step; his eyes went from Jenni’s to the floor and his arms flailed as he tried to keep his balance. In the same instance Jenni sprang forward as TR’s legs buckled and he went down to the floor.

  She caught the brunt of his weight, falling down with him in her arms. TR let out a screech of pain as his leg bent beneath him. Then Jenni was cradling him in her arms, his face buried in her shoulder as sudden wracking sobs shook his body.

  Slowly she lifted a hand and smoothed his hair. ‘It’s all right, TR. And it will be all right. That was very brave of you,’ she said softly.

  TR lifted his head, his bright blue eyes sparked with moisture, his face a mask of despair. ‘I fell over,’ he said with the bewildered simplicity of a child.

  ‘We have to try it again, TR. I’ll stand beside you and take your arm this time.’

  TR shook his head. ‘It hurts. This is too hard. I just don’t care, Jenni.’ He grabbed her hand fiercely. ‘I can’t go on like this, there’s no point. I have no life, no mind, no heart for any of this.’

  Jenni hadn’t been able to answer. Her professional demeanour had been badly shaken. TR was no longer a patient but a man she longed to comfort. Somehow she had to get him through this blackness of self-pity.

  Jenni turned from the garden back towards the house, looking for Millie for a chat. Maybe she could offer an answer.

  In the kitchen Jenni decided against plugging in the electric jug and put the old iron kettle back over the hotplate on the Aga. Millie had a big casserole cooking slowly in the second oven and a tray of just baked Anzac biscuits were cooling on one side. Jenni munched on one as she took the teapot outside to throw the leaves in the garden.

  ‘Good timing, luv. I was just coming in to do that,’ said Millie, coming from the direction of the chook house, fat fresh brown eggs nestling in a small pail. ‘How’d it go this morning?’

  ‘Not too good, I’m afraid. One step forward and one step back — in more ways than one. TR took a bit of a spill and it’s rattled him. He’s very depressed and wants to throw the towel in. I hate to see him like this.’

  ‘This is not our TR,’ said Millie sadly.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit helpless, Millie. I’ve never had a situation quite like this.’

  Millie glanced swiftly at the pretty young woman sitting at the table close to tears. ‘He needs Queenie,’ she said softly. ‘No offence, luv. You’re doin’ a wonderful job with his outside. His insides need fixin’ up — his heart and his head. You leave it to Millie; believe me, things is gonna change round here. Now, tea’s made, go and give Jim and Snowy a hoy, they’re down in the machinery shed.’

  Millie had a faraway look in her eye as she set out the cups and milk jug on the kitchen table and tipped the warm biscuits onto a plate. TR needed help all right. His spirits needed lifting and he needed a bit of a push to get him back on track. The track he was on at present was leading downhill, fast. Thank goodness Dingo was returning to Tingulla tomorrow following the wool and ram sales.

  Millie knew how they could get TR going again. But Jenni was not to be part of it. In fact she was not to know about Millie’s plan at all. She smiled to herself as she pulled the knitted tea cosy over the pot. Things would get better for TR by and by.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ernie rode back towards Cricklewood’s homestead in the late afternoon light, having made a final check on the cattle in the top paddock. Water was low in the bottom dam, but the stock was looking fit and gaining weight, despite feed being a bit scratchy. At times like this the best bulls would be handfed. He missed seeing the affable bull Dinky in his paddock near the house. Ernie wondered where Queenie was and wished he’d gone with her. He was worried that she might be in trouble. But she was the boss and she’d told him to stay behind.

  As the horse walked slowly on, Ernie sat back in the saddle, his legs relaxed in the long stirrups, his wrists crossed as they rested on the pommel, and pondered about his Tingulla family. Cricklewood and Tingulla were home to him. Like Snowy he was linked to the two worlds of this land — his traditional and tribal Dreaming, and the white family of Tingulla. Ernie had been born in the district and like his father had been a stockman and drover working in the north. When his father died, Ernie had returned as a teenager to his own land and found work at Tingulla. His education had been sporadic, his father had never been in one place long enough for Ernie’s education to be comprehensive. But he had benefited from the occasional tutor and governess who had spent time at Tingulla. He could read well and TR had loaned him the books he’d owned when he’d first come to Tingulla to work.

  He had learnt his Aboriginal skills from family members over the years and he had also acquired some knowledge of city politics from itinerant workers. But it was hard for him to identify with the problems of Aborigines in the cities. His sense of place and belonging, and his affinity with the land, were intensely personal and his world seemed remote from the fights, demonstrations and prejudice of his city-based brothers and sisters.

  He was in this reflective mood when he rode up to find Snowy squatting in the shade of a tree near the stockyard. He’d been thinking of Snowy, strong images of the old man had been popping into his head all morning, so seeing him here at Cricklewood was no surprise.

  Ernie dismounted and greeted Snowy with a grin. ‘What’s up, Snow?’

  ‘Not a lot. No worries. Jist takin’ a break.’

  ‘How’s TR? Any news on the boss and them missin’ bulls?’ Ernie squatted beside Snowy, the reins looped over his arm.

  ‘Reckon she’s gotta lead on ’em last I hear. Hard t’say if she’ll get all them fellas back. TR is walking round pretty good on sticks. Uses the chair sometimes. But he’s still sorta lost.’

  ‘Must be hard for him eh?’

  They sat in silence for
a bit. ‘So whaddya know, Snow?’

  Snowy looked at the handsome young fellow beside him. ‘I reckon your time is comin’, Ern. You bin initiated, I’m watching you these last months. You come on pretty good. Nice and steady. You don’t get up to no mischief, so I figure it’s time I pass on some more of the learnin’ to you. I ain’t so young and I shouldn’t take this with me.’

  ‘Traditional laws and special knowledge stuff, you mean?’

  ‘Yep. When a young fella proves he’s worthy of learnin’, by how he lives him life, then it’s time.’

  ‘You gonna start, like now?’

  ‘When we git back to Tingulla. It’s not somethin’ I hand over like a book. Too much t’take in all at once, so I give you little bit by little bit. I gotta show you tings, show you places, tell the laws and the legends so you understand the beliefs ’n’ all.’

  Ernie looked a bit overwhelmed. ‘That’s a big job. You reckon I’m up to it, Snowy? And anyway, you ain’t crook or nothing are you?’ He looked concerned and Snowy smiled.

  ‘No, that’s why we should start dis one pretty soon. But slow. Like building a house. First we do the floor, then the walls, then you put the roof on and soon you start doin’ stuff by yourself, windows ’n’ doors ’n’ all them other bits. You gotta understand your spirit power and learn how to use him.’

  ‘The others know this is goin’ on?’

  ‘Nope. I never say much. Millie she probably figure it out in time ’cause you ’n’ I will be spendin’ time together, to go to special spirit and sacred places to learn the ceremonies.’

  ‘I understand, Snowy, and I know you is my tribal family, and I’m the one to get it passed on, but we gotta live in two worlds now. How is this traditional law gonna fit in with what’s goin’ on outside?’

  Ernie had great respect for the tribal elders and knew the knowledge that had kept their culture alive for so many centuries now rested in frail heads and hearts.

  ‘No fella kin live good in the future till him know the past. And we is losin’ it, Ern. The grog has got to a lot of the old fellas. Others reckon they don’t know nothin’; fact is, they know stuff, but don’t know they know it. So we gotta teach the kids ’n’ keep passin’ it on.’