Under the Flame Tree

by Karen Wood

  Kirra groaned. ‘Life used to be so uncomplicated around here.’

  ‘You really like him, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m trying not to, but he’s . . . a bit like Iceman.’

  ‘Daniel’s been through a lot for a kid his age.’

  ‘Did you know he comes from Rutherford? He’s DJ. Remember DJ?’

  ‘Yes. I remember DJ. He was a cracker of a kid.’ Jocelyn shook her head. ‘His father was a good friend of Tom’s and of your father’s. They all go a long way back.’

  ‘Everyone hates Daniel. Liz. Jamie.’

  ‘Daniel’s family were very good to us when we lived there. They’re decent. It’s sad to see them so torn apart over this accident.’

  Kirra kept her mouth shut. Daniel’s family would be even more torn apart if they knew what she knew.

  ‘It’s up to us to support them any way we can while all this is sorted out,’ Jocelyn continued. ‘If that means taking care of their boy, then that’s what we’ll do. Nancy feels the same way.’

  Kirra put her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘Don’t fall asleep there,’ said her mum. ‘Wash up and get into bed.’

  ‘I’m not a kid any more.’

  ‘You’ll always be my kid, even when you’re fifty years old. Now get to the shower.’

  Daniel left for town before daybreak the next morning to check in at the police station. Kirra worked alone, loading horses into the truck to take to Scrubby Creek. Old Jack drove. ‘We have to muster anything we can off Scrubby. We’re overstocked.’

  Kirra helped the men pull steel panels off the back of the truck and set up portable yards in the corner of a two-hundred-hectare paddock, clicking pins between each section and linking them all together. Two double-decker trucks with trailers waited nearby.

  Jamie rode out to the eastern side of the paddock on a motorbike while she was sent on horseback along the creek beds to the west. The country was parched, which wasn’t normal for this time of year. They usually got good rain over late summer and that kept enough grass growing to get the stock through the winter. But the ground was drying up earlier than usual. Last week’s rain had barely wet the ground out there. It was still dry and dusty. The team would need to get the cattle mustered up quickly.

  Overhead the gyrocopter hovered over a bend in the creek, indicating a mob hidden in there. Within minutes Iceman’s ears shot up and Kirra knew she’d found them. She leaned into the two-way that sat in her shoulder pouch and radioed in. ‘I got ’em, Steve,’ she said, pushing Iceman after them.

  Several cows came out, and Kirra was shocked at how thin they were. She rode around them and drove them slowly towards the main mob, checking in the creek for any calves before heading back out into the swirling dust, whipped up by the gyro.

  It was a long, dusty morning which Iceman strode through with ease. His stamina had built, and he felt strong and fit beneath her. By lunchtime most of the mob had been gathered and Kirra kept an eye on a wayward bull that threatened to dash out of the mob. With just the right amount of pressure the team got them yarded up without drama.

  After tethering Iceman to a sapling, the only piece of shade she could find for him, she took a litre bottle of water from the truck and downed it in one long guzzle. Then she filled a bucket from the side tanks for her horse.

  She ate smoko alone: devon sandwiches, inside which the butter had melted into a bitter greasy film. She passed the crusts to Iceman and took an apple instead and savoured its sweet juiciness. Iceman curled his lip at the rancid butter and she laughed briefly before passing him the apple core. ‘You might like that better.’

  She looked into the bustling and writhing mass of cattle in the yards, trying to find Jamie through the clouds of dust. He was avoiding her. Usually he would sit with her at smoko. He kept his distance all morning, catching a ride back to Moorinja with Paul.

  She found him late that afternoon in the slaughtering shed, butchering a beast. Kirra watched on as he sawed through the spine of the carcass with a bow saw. The guts slopped around in a sawn-off plastic barrel nearby. Old Jack shooed the dogs away from it with his foot, as he held the carcass still for Jamie.

  Jamie sawed through the neck of the beast and it split into two neatly skinned sides, dangling by its hocks from the rafter with chains. ‘Hang it for a few days in the cool room and it should be all right,’ he said, standing back to admire his handiwork.

  ‘Good job,’ said old Jack, then his eyes met Kirra’s. ‘I’ll go turn the cool room on.’ He disappeared from the shed.

  Jamie saw her, and immediately made himself busy unhooking the beef sides.

  ‘Daniel reckons someone came after him that night,’ she said, arms folded, leaning against a shed post. ‘Someone drove him off the road.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard his excuses.’ Jamie didn’t bother turning around or stopping what he was doing. He kept working, adjusting a pulley system and lowering one of the sides into a wheelbarrow that was lined with a cotton tarp. He unchained the hock and reached for the next side.

  ‘The rest of Daniel’s life depends on this.’

  He gave a sullen shrug and continued lowering the second side of beef into the wheelbarrow.

  ‘Was it you?’

  Jamie momentarily froze. Then he spun to face her and the force of it made Kirra take a step back. His face was as red as the blood on his white gumboots. When he spoke he hissed like a punctured tyre. ‘No, it wasn’t me, because I was with Lisa that night. She rebounded straight back onto me, like all you girls do.’ Jamie paused, letting his words hit her like a stinging slap to the face. ‘All she did was bawl her eyes out over Daniel Rutherford and go on about how much she hated him. I don’t know what you girls see in that guy.’

  So it wasn’t Jamie and it wasn’t Lisa. Kirra braced herself against his anger and ploughed on. ‘Who was it, then?’

  He turned away from her and unhooked the second side of beef, heaping it on top of the other in a way that didn’t upend the wheelbarrow.

  ‘You know who it was, don’t you?’

  ‘I have my suspicions.’ Jamie reeled the chain back up and out of the way before taking the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  Kirra blocked his path. ‘Who? You have to say something, Jamie.’

  Jamie’s voice lowered to a snarl. ‘Why would I stick my neck out to help Daniel? Would he ever do the same for me? Unlikely!’

  ‘Jamie, he went to juvenile prison. Now that he’s broken parole he could end up in real prison. He’s been disowned by his family because of something that wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘So why is that my problem?’

  ‘He has a hearing in three weeks. If he can prove who ran him off the road he could be acquitted.’

  Jamie didn’t answer.

  ‘You should speak up,’ she said. ‘It’s the decent thing to do.’

  ‘And so is leaving someone else’s girl alone,’ said Jamie.

  So that’s what this was about. Jamie was jealous. ‘He didn’t touch Lisa.’

  Jamie let the wheelbarrow down and let rip a mocking laugh. ‘You are delusional, Kirra! She’s obsessed with him. She collects photos of him and all his brothers.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she pleaded. ‘I know for a fact he didn’t.’

  ‘Keep kidding yourself, my friend.’

  She shook her head. Jamie seemed like anything but a friend right now. ‘I thought you were such a nice guy.’

  Jamie took hold of the wheelbarrow and pushed it towards the cool room. ‘Did it ever occur to you that he might be lying to you, Kirra?’

  She stared after him, her mind churning. ‘No, but I reckon you might be.’

  Jamie dumped the wheelbarrow back to the ground. Both sides of beef jolted, slipped and toppled out, landing with a dull thud on the shed floor. Jamie swore. ‘I don’t know who ran your boyfriend off the road and I don’t care,’ he fumed. He stooped to pick up the side of beef and Kirra went to help him. ‘Just leave it!’ he snarled,
manoeuvring his shoulders to block her. ‘Stop with the questions and go back to Daniel.’

  Kirra took one last glance at him struggling with a side of beef that was almost larger than himself, turned and walked out of the shed.

  The boss caught her as she was heading back to the horse yards. ‘Kirra.’

  A ripple of anxiety ran through her. He hadn’t spoken to her since he had threatened to sack her. ‘Hi, Tom,’ she said.

  ‘Sandsby Roundup’s on this weekend. We’re taking some horses for the campdraft. If you come and strap the horses, I’ll put some entries in for you.’

  Kirra beamed. It was her favourite campdraft and rodeo. Everyone camped by the big waterhole at Sandsby Station in their swags. She had planned to go with Nat, but Tom wouldn’t mind Nat hanging around as long as the work got done. ‘Sure! I was going to enter the junior steer ride.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Done.’

  Kirra punched the air triumphantly, not just because she was going to the roundup, but because she was back in the boss’s good books. He was giving her a second chance. And she didn’t plan on wasting it.

  23

  The semi-trailer hissed down through the gears, as Tom turned right off the highway and took the long bumpy road through Tindarra Station. Kirra had oiled every saddle and polished every bridle. She’d washed twelve horses and packed hay and horse rugs into the storage hold. Then she’d loaded the horses on the back. Everything was organised. She was a super-strapper. By the end of this weekend, Boss Carney would never want to let her go.

  She sat in the bunker seat now, next to her gear bag, watching wedge-tailed eagles emerge from the heat haze and soar above a line of trees in the distance. Pete and her dad sat in the two other front seats talking cattle prices with Tom, and Paul squeezed in next to her on the other bunk seat. Jamie and Steve followed behind in Jamie’s ute and Liz and Nancy had agreed to come out the next day to watch the open events. The entire staff of Moorinja was coming.

  Except Daniel. He’d watched them drive out of the home yard, hands in pockets, kicking at the dirt. It seemed so unfair. She tried not to think of him stuck at home. At least she could keep out of trouble while he wasn’t around.

  In the rear-view mirror she could see the horses’ noses sniffing through the small barred windows of the horse crate behind. Kirra pulled the folded-up program out of her top pocket that she had just printed off the internet and looked over the weekend’s events. The junior steer ride was on this evening and the campdraft didn’t start until early tomorrow morning. All she had to do was feed and settle the horses before her ride and the evening was hers to enjoy with Nat, who was meeting her there with Jet and some other friends.

  The sun was setting low and a golden light spread across the surrounding flat country as they reached the station. A fiery sunset reflected off a large waterhole, the edge of which had been churned up by cloven hooves. Tom found a spot between the trucks and gooseneck horse trailers and Kirra set about unloading the horses. She tethered them along either side of the trailer, filled water buckets and put out hay bags for them. Then she scanned the ground for Jet’s car and found it parked in a row of farm utes, empty.

  When the horses were all content munching on their hay, she set about looking for Nat. She walked towards the campdraft arena where competitors exercised their horses before tomorrow’s events. The warm evening air brushed over her bare arms and cattle moaned in the yards. The smell of sizzling steak hung richly in the air. She planned on eating a burger as soon as she’d finished her ride.

  By the bar area, loudspeakers squeaked as the power was switched on and a band began to make torturous warm-up sounds on the back of a flatbed truck.

  ‘I hope the band’s as good as the one last year,’ said Nat, jumping out of nowhere and taking Kirra by the arm.

  Kirra laughed and gave Nat a hug. It felt so good to be back here, away from all the dramas at home. ‘I hope the steers are as feral as last year,’ she said, hitching her gear bag over her shoulder and scanning the back of the rodeo chutes. She couldn’t wait to ride. When she rode, it cleared her mind. There was no time to think on the back of a five-hundred-kilo steer. It was all muscle memory, automatic and intuitive. It was just what she needed right now.

  ‘I’ll be watching from the grandstand,’ said Nat, as they approached the rodeo arena. ‘Go hard, cowgirl!’

  ‘I plan to,’ said Kirra.

  Her dad was at the back of the chutes waiting for her. He never let her ride without being there to make sure she was as safe as possible. She dumped her bag and began stretching and warming up, trying to clear her mind. But the more it cleared, the more it filled with Daniel. He should be here with her now, helping with her rope, cheering her on. Not stuck at the station, a prisoner in his own cottage.

  She tried to focus on the ride ahead while she pulled on a full-face helmet and a vest, buckled up her spurs and her chaps.

  Her dad watched while she tied her bull rope – pushing the sliders to the top and clearing any twists. It had leather braided into the handle, creating a firm grip. She held it up and he nodded approval. The commentator called her name and made a big deal about her being a girl. She blocked it out.

  In the chute, a black crossbred steer shifted about, bumping against the rails and bellowing in protest. She reached through and dropped a loop of rope down its side. Her dad reached underneath it and grabbed hold of the tail end, pulling it and handing it back to her. She shook the bell down the rope, making sure it was to the front. The weight of it would help pull the rope off when she finally let go.

  Satisfied, she straddled the chute. Beneath her, the steer lowered its head and tried to push through the lower rails. Kirra worked the loop back down around its ribs and then pulled the rope up tight. She tied it off, wrapping it around her gloved hand while the steer bellowed loudly and thrashed in the small enclosure.

  Kirra went with it, letting it settle. The commentator raised his pitch, revving the crowd. She waited for the steer to calm, and then lowered herself onto its back. She tightened her grip, clamped her teeth shut and tried to clear her mind, taking a few long clean breaths. The moment it stood still, she nodded and the gate was released.

  Metal clanged as the steer crashed through the half-opened gate. It launched into bucking, spinning away from her riding hand. Her body responded automatically: chest up, back straight, chin down. As half a tonne exploded beneath her, she shifted her weight to the inside, driving her shoulder into the spin. Wherever the steer went, her shoulder followed. With every kick she set her hips, hitting a rhythm while the steer bucked itself out. The cow bell clanged and the crowd whistled and hollered. The commentator screamed and the steer bellowed.

  The horn sounded at eight seconds. Two men ran in to straighten the steer. It baulked and twisted sharply back the other way. An instant of loose seating sent her catapulting over its shoulder.

  She landed on her feet but felt a violent tug in her shoulder as the steer bucked and lurched, dragging her alongside. She was hung up. Her fingers wouldn’t open. Where were the protection guys, to pull off her rope?

  She scrambled alongside the steer as it bucked and bellowed. Then it exploded over the top of her and her shoulder wrenched away from the rest of her body. The ground went from under her and she felt herself get sucked beneath its belly.

  ‘Bring your knees up!’ It was her dad’s voice nearby. Kirra put everything into finding her feet and roared against the pain as she pulled herself back up.

  She rolled her back into the steer’s hips. The force of its hindquarters shoved her out behind, releasing her hand and sending her sprawling into safety. She saw her dad sprint in front of the steer and lead it away. Someone else got her rope.

  Kirra hobbled to the fence, holding her arm and panting with pain. Within seconds her dad was in front of her, and she nodded to indicate she was okay. But as she stepped towards him the pain that shot through her thigh almost made her faint. She faltered and sucked in a breath
to steady herself.

  Jim stepped towards her and she glared at him. No way would she be carried out of the arena while she still had breath in her lungs. She stood hunched over, fighting for breath, fighting to control the pain, wondering why she loved this so much. Adrenaline pumped through her body. As she limped from the arena, to the roars of the crowd, she felt euphoric, victorious, though all she could manage was a limp wave.

  Jim walked behind her as she slunk back into the chute area. ‘Nice ride. How bad are you busted?’

  She spat her mouthguard out. ‘Caught my leg on the gate on the way out,’ she winced. It was right in the same spot as the jumping-castle bruise.

  ‘Can you put weight on it?’ He unbuckled her helmet and carefully pulled it off.

  She nodded. ‘Not sure about my shoulder, though.’ She held it limp beside her body while waves of pain ran down her arm. A tide of nausea rushed through her when she tried to move it.

  ‘Is it dislocated?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just pulled something.’

  ‘Let’s get you some ice,’ he said.

  Kirra hobbled after her dad to the first-aid tent. ‘Hey, Macey.’

  ‘It disturbs me that we’re on a first-name basis,’ said the ambo with a dry voice.

  ‘What would I do without you?’ Kirra answered, seating herself on one of the chairs under the small marquee and staring up at the roof.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Macey. ‘How many icepacks today?’

  ‘One for my shoulder and one for my leg, please.’ Kirra hoped they wouldn’t make her take her jeans off. The piercing ache of an enormous bruise was pounding at her thigh. Macey pressed a blue pillow of ice onto it and the shock of pain nearly made Kirra scream.

  ‘Same arm as last time,’ Macey noted.

  ‘Higher up,’ said Kirra.

  After much gentle rotating, lifting and wriggling and pulling of fingers, Macey established that Kirra’s shoulder was not dislocated, but she had probably torn a muscle and should go to a physiotherapist as soon as possible. She checked all Kirra’s vitals and announced that she would live.