Two days later, when the shed for the pigs had been completed and work on the barns well begun, the storm ended. Late autumn returned for a time before the full onset of winter, the sky hazy and the feeble sun barely dispelling the nighttime chill by afternoon. The construction of the barns proceeded rapidly during the cold, dry weather, and the one for the cows was finished just in time for a second cow to calve in it.
When a third calf was born, Jimbob pointed out the benefits if one of them was used for veal. Without a calf, the cow would provide milk and butter, and the rennet from the calf was an essential ingredient for cheese which he knew how to make. Agreeing with the cook, David told Jimbob to butcher a pig at the same time. David then sent Daniel to check on the flocks, taking with him a portion of the veal and pork, along with fresh supplies for the stockmen and jackaroos.
Another storm had arrived when the head stockman returned a week later, reporting that all was well with the flocks. During Daniel's absence, David and the other two men had finished the barns, and on the side of the hill overlooking the paddock buildings, they had constructed a furnace to make clay pipe. The day after Daniel returned from the paddocks and while working at the furnace with the men, David noticed riders and a wagon coming down the muddy track in the rain, and rode out to meet them.
Two stockmen were with Mayrah and Sheila, all of them bundled in thick sheepskin coats that draped down over their saddles. In the wagon, a dozen Aborigines huddled with their belongings under a canvas cover, the rain pouring off it. David exchanged greetings with Mayrah and thanked her for coming, then turned to Sheila, who was surveying him somberly as rain dripped off her oversize stockman's hat. "Are you all right, Sheila?" he asked.
"Do I bloody look all right?" she responded crossly. "I'm soaked to the skin and frozen to the bone, that's what I bloody am."
"No sauce, Sheila!" her mother snapped. "Be polite!"
"I was answering his flaming question, wasn't I?" the girl grumbled irately. "Where's the bloody fault in that? And the longer we sit here in this scurvy rain and clap our jaws, the wetter and colder we'll be."
The stockmen barely concealed their amusement, and Mayrah seethed with disapproval. David shared both reactions as they moved on down the track. At the foot of the hill, the wagon turned toward the trees lining the creek, and David led the others up to the house. As Alexandra met Mayrah and Sheila at the door in an exchange of joyful greetings, the girl's surly mood evaporated. David carried their baggage to the room Alexandra had prepared for them, then took the stockmen down to the barracks.
By the next day, the visitors had settled in comfortably. Smoke rose from fires in front of huts the Aborigines had built in the trees beside the creek, while Mayrah and Sheila chatted happily with Alexandra as they helped with chores around the house. David and his men continued working at the furnace, the stockmen from Wayamba Station helping them.
Along with his supplies for the next year, David intended to order the parts to make a windmill and pump to provide running water at the house. He and his men had dug a deep trench, which they lined with firewood and covered with blocks of sod, leaving an opening at each end for an air intake and an exhaust vent. In a shed beside the furnace, racks were filled with straight, smooth lengths of slender tree trunks that were covered with thick layers of clay from the deposit down the creek. In the furnace, the tree trunks were reduced to ashes as the clay baked, producing lengths of hard, durable pipe for the water, as well as for drains from the house.
Even in the cold and rain on the exposed hillside, the area around the furnace was a comfortably warm place to work. On the windward side, a large air scoop, made of bark fastened to a framework of poles, funneled the wind into the air intake. The draft of forced air from the gusty wind made flames shoot out of the exhaust vent for several feet with a drumming roar, the intense heat warming the ground all around the furnace.
On the fourth evening after the visitors' arrival, Alexandra moved around restlessly shortly after she and David had gone to bed. Then she touched his arm, asking him to get Mayrah. As he was hastily pulling on his clothes, Mayrah entered the room with a candlestick.
She glanced at David then went to the bed. "Please, you go to the barracks now," she said quietly.
"No, I want to stay with my wife," David objected. "If there isn't anything I can do, I won't interfere. But I want to stay."
The woman shook her head firmly, repeating what she had said. In the flickering light of the candle, Alexandra smiled entreatingly at him and asked him to leave. Reluctantly, David dressed and then left the room.
When he went into the front room, Sheila was going out the door, carrying a lantern. Pulling on his coat and hat, he went outside and through the light, steady rain and darkness, he saw the spot of light from the lantern moving down the hill toward the Aborigines' huts in the trees.
In the same inscrutable way that Mayrah had known, the Aborigines at the huts were also apparently aware that the forces of nature were approaching a climax at the house. Fires were blazing in front of the huts, and a moment later, a didgeridoo groaned in the night. Others joined it, building up to a throbbing dirge of two deep, resounding notes.
Rhythm sticks clattered in cadence with the didgeridoos, then voices harmonized as they rose in a chant. The sounds blended into a pulsing whole that seemed to come from all directions, thick smoke from the fires billowing up the hill. Sheila returned from the huts, becoming dimly visible in the light of her lantern as she passed a few yards away. Carrying a basket of herbs, she went into the house. David turned and walked down the hill toward the barracks.
The men in the barracks were out of bed and dressed, building up the fire as the cook filled billys to heat water for tea. ''We heard the corroboree," Daniel explained as David entered.
The men moved benches from the table to the fireplace, and David took a seat as the others settled themselves. "What's the corroboree mean, Kunmanara?" Jimbob asked as he put the billys on the fire. "What are they saying when they sing out like that, and what's it all in aid of?"
"Don't ask me," Kunmanara replied. "I've been eating mutton and damper too long, and I know no more about it than you do."
The men laughed, then became quiet. All of them life-long bachelors, they had no advice or encouragement to offer David. When the tea was ready, Jimbob passed it around. Daniel exchanged a few comments with the stockmen from Wayamba Station, discussing the sheep there. There were other moments of desultory conversation between long silences, when the only sound was that of the corroboree.
The time he had dreaded having arrived, David sat, staring into the fire, the tea in his billy untouched and cold. As Alexandra endured the agony and peril of childbirth, he suffered in fear of losing her, of having his very purpose in life taken away from him.
Each minute seemed an eternity, but somehow they passed and joined into hours. The men dozed on the benches as the fire burned low. When the encroaching chill awakened one of the men, he put wood on the fire and fell asleep again. The fire roared for a time, then gradually settled into ashes until one of the men woke once more.
A steely silence suddenly fell during the earlymorning hours as the sounds from the huts abruptly ceased. David sat up with a jerk, which woke the other men. The barracks were cold and dark, and the men commented about the quiet as one of them put wood on the coals in the fireplace. As it blazed, David put on his coat and hat to go to the house. Just then, the door opened and Sheila entered with a lantern.
"Is it over, Sheila?" one of the men from Wayamba Station asked.
"You attend to your own bloody flock and leave others be, dag worm," the girl replied acidly. The man she had addressed and others burst into laughter as she turned to David. "If you can tear yourself away from your mates, your wife would like to see you. You have a son."
"How is Alexandra?" he asked, moving toward the door.
"Well enough," Sheila replied, her tone and the expression on her small, brown face cordial for o
nce. "My ma says she'll be all right."
The tension from the long night suddenly leaving him, David followed the girl outside, feeling weak with relief. Holding up the lantern in the rain and early-morning darkness, Sheila ran to keep up with his long strides as they climbed the hill. At the house, he hurried into the bedroom, then a twinge of his anxiety returned when he saw Alexandra.
In the candlelight her beautiful face was pale and drawn in sorrow, as well as lined with fatigue. Mayrah walked away from the bed and motioned Sheila to follow her as David moved toward it and bent over Alexandra, kissing her. "How do you feel, love?"
Ignoring the question, she turned to the baby nestled beside her. "Hinton said I would never be rid of him," she whispered bitterly, "and he told the truth. The baby has a birthmark, David."
Concerned only with her, David looked at the baby for the first time. She pulled down the edge of the soft cloth around it, showing him the birthmark on the tiny shoulder. It was the same crimson color as the birthmark that had covered the side of Hinton's face.
"That means nothing whatsoever," he assured her. "Our son will grow up to be a fine man, one who is respected and admired." Searching for a way to take her mind off the birthmark, he thought of the name. ''As we discussed, shall we name him Morton, after your uncle in London?"
Alexandra sighed and nodded, then smiled wanly. "You're a good man and a good husband, David. A woman who bears another man's child would suffer recriminations from most husbands, but your only thought is to make me cheerful. I'm a fortunate woman, and I love you so much."
"I love you just as much, and I'm the one who is fortunate. And there's no reason to feel anything but cheerful good spirits. You're going to be all right, and we have a son who'll make us very proud of him."
Her smile had a hint of its usual radiance as he kissed her again, but a haunting shadow of apprehension lingered in her blue eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
Six years had passed since her wedding feast, and though she had seen Patrick Garrity from time to time since then, Alexandra now noticed streaks of gray in the burly man's hair that had not been there on that memorable occasion. As he bowed and replied to her greeting, he made an indirect reference to what she had observed. "I'm well, Mistress Kerrick," he said, "but I'm feeling the weight of the passing years a bit now."
"No one would know it," she assured him. "You seem as hale and hearty as when we first met some years ago. Please come in, and I'll have your things taken to a room. David and I are eager to hear about Mayrah and the children, and I'm sure you would like some refreshment."
The stable boy held Pat's horse, ready to take it to the barn. Pat untied his bedroll and other belongings from behind the saddle. He tucked them under his arm, and the boy led the horse down the tree-lined avenue through the landscaped grounds from the front of the house to the edge of the plateau. Alexandra and David turned on the front steps to go inside, but Pat paused looking up at the house.
Built of native stone, it was three stories high, with wings reaching back on both sides. Except for the entrance portico supported by columns, the front of the house was plain, the unadorned window openings emphasizing the massive expanse of the building. The lack of architectural detail provided an elegant simplicity, while at the same time, the straight, uncluttered lines evoked a sense of authority. The huge house towered like a great stone keep, dominating the surrounding terrain.
With lawns flanking the avenue in front, at the sides and rear of the house were flower gardens and large trees. On the mild spring day in October, the flower beds were starting to blossom and the trees were alive with birds. "I never tire of looking at this house," Pat commented as he went up the wide, stone steps with Alexandra and David. "It's well worth the ride from Wayamba Station just to see it again."
"That's a ride we wish you could make more often, Mr. Garrity," Alexandra told him. "It's been far too long since we've seen you."
"Aye, and too long for me as well," Pat agreed. "But at times graziers have too much work to be able to enjoy the fruits of their labor. I'm sure it's much the same with you, David."
David nodded, replying that he had returned only the day before after some three weeks of making the rounds of the paddocks. In the wide entry hall, they were met by the maid, Emma Bodenham, one of the eccentric stockman's many children. She took Pat's belongings and went up the staircase to put them in a guest room as the men followed Alexandra into the parlor, where a low fire burned in the marble fireplace.
The men sat in the large, comfortable armchairs. At the liquor cabinet, Alexandra filled a glass with port for David and another with the rum that Pat always preferred, then handed the drinks to the men.
She left and went upstairs to fetch her sons to greet Pat. On the mezzanine overlooking the entry, she turned down the wide hall into the east wing and went into the first room. It was a classroom, with desks, bookshelves, and large chalk boards with stools in front of them.
Two boys worked on sums she had written on the boards that morning. Morton was a slender, blond-haired boy with pale blue eyes and well-formed features. A reserved, moody child, the six-year-old glanced up at Alexandra and turned back to his chalk board. His brother, Jonathan, a fair, cherubic boy of five, grinned at Alexandra, radiating a sunny disposition.
Putting down her knitting, Amy Godwin stood up from a chair under the window as Alexandra entered the room. Thirty years old and very stout, the former maid in Alexandra's home in Sydney had come to the station with the drays that had brought the supplies and had hauled away the wool. As a nurse, she had turned out to be perfect. Loving and endlessly patient, she viewed caring for the children as a pleasure rather than work.
Alexandra checked the sums that Jonathan had completed, pointing out errors. Reacting with his characteristic good nature, he hastily corrected the numbers. But when she did the same with Morton, he was peevishly defensive. While she loved him devotedly, the same as Jonathan, Alexandra was determined to crush his tendencies to be like his biological father, and it seemed to her that he had several.
"These are the same sort of sums that we've been working on for days," she reminded him. "Don't you understand them? If not, we'll begin over. But if you're merely not concentrating, that's another matter."
The boy shrugged sullenly in reply, turning away from her.
"Morton, I must know what the difficulty is, or I can't help you," she insisted. "Now kindly tell me why you made the errors."
"I'll change the numbers that are wrong," he mumbled sullenly.
"That isn't the point, Morton. I can't follow you through life and correct every error you make. I can only help you learn how to avoid errors. Now why did you make those mistakes?"
"I don't know!" he replied angrily.
"Don't defy me!" Alexandra snapped. "Look at me when I speak to you!" The boy turned to face her, and she pointed a warning finger at him. "I've told you before that I shan't tolerate defiance. If you form a disposition now of setting yourself against rightful authority, it will bring you to no good end when you're a man. I shall not allow you to do that."
The boy looked up at her in morose silence, and the atmosphere in the room tensed. Jonathan was always disturbed when Morton was reprimanded, while Amy had a protective attitude toward the children, invariably defending them regardless of what they did. "Madame," she began hesitantly, "it's such a lovely day outside, and they find it hard to sit here and . . ."
Her voice faded at Alexandra's searing, sidelong glance. Controlling her anxiety over her son, Alexandra knelt beside his stool and held him, the scent and feel of his small body in her arms a joy. "Defiance is a barrier to improvement, Morton," she said in a soft, imperative voice. "When I point out faults, it's because I love you and want you to avoid that which will bring you harm and pain. If you defy me, I must punish you until you stop. Please don't make me do that."
The boy nodded and murmured a reply, but his tone was defensive rather than apologetic. And while he made
no overt move to pull away from her,
Alexandra could sense his withdrawing into himself. Dismissing the entire matter for the present, she stood up and pointed out the mistakes he had made. He corrected the numbers, then she led the two boys out of the room and downstairs.
Smaller than his younger brother, Morton also lacked Jonathan's exuberant energy. He walked sedately down the hall and stairs, while Alexandra had to correct Jonathan to keep him from bounding down the steps and disturbing the household. When they greeted Pat, the marked differences in their personalities were more than evident.
The boys bowed politely, as Alexandra had taught them, but Pat wanted more than that. Laughing merrily, he pulled the boys to him and hugged them affectionately. Jonathan was ready to climb onto his lap, always willing to be friendly, but Morton drew back from Pat, just as reserved as his brother was outgoing.
When she took the children back upstairs, Alexandra told Amy to let them go outside and play when they finished their sums, then she went to the kitchen to plan dinner with the cook. In her forties, Flora Blainey was married to a stockman and, having worked in several homes in Sydney as a cook, was highly skilled. Just as importantly, she and her family enjoyed life in the outback, an essential requirement in a dependable employee.
Knowing that Pat preferred somewhat plain, bulky fare, Alexandra considered and then dismissed several choices for entrees that were more flavorful than substantial. She decided upon capon Kiev with vegetables in butter sauce and potatoes au gratin. "Not too much garlic on the chicken," she told Flora. "We'll have the Camden Park riesling with dinner, and it doesn't stand up well to an abundance of spices."
"Yes, mo'm. Chicken broth would do well for the soup, then."
"It will, and thicken it with pearl millet. For the fish course we'll have dried cod, steamed in butter to coordinate with the main course. No egg glaze on the bread, please. Our guest's teeth aren't as sound as they once were. For dessert, we'll have pommes au riz."
Outback Station Page 29
