Matilda's Last Waltz (37 page)

Squires' expression was inscrutable, but his eyes were emotionless as they looked down at her. ‘Do you have proof of your accusations, Matilda? Perhaps you'd show me the damaged fence, and I'd be delighted to help you find your strays.'

She thought of the repaired fence and the scattering of her mob into their own pasture. How easily Squires had broken through her defences. How quick-thinking and clever he was. No wonder he was so rich and powerful. ‘I have two witnesses. That's proof enough for me,' she said stubbornly.

‘Not for me, Matilda.' He stepped on to the verandah, pushing past her as if she was nothing. ‘I suggest you and your men leave Kurrajong before I have you all arrested for trespass and common assault.'

His arrogance astounded her. ‘If I catch you or anyone else from Kurrajong on my property again, I'll take them straight to Broken Hill. It's about time the law knew what you're up to, Squires.'

He appeared to relax and took his time over lighting a cheroot. When he'd taken a puff, he drew it from his mouth and gave it close inspection. ‘I don't think you'll find the police much help, Matilda. What I do is none of their business – and they are well paid to leave me alone.' He looked down at her, his smile vulpine. ‘It's what real business is all about, Matilda. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.'

‘I'd like to scratch your bloody eyes out, you bastard,' she hissed. Spinning away from him, she clattered down the wooden steps and climbed on to Lady. Gathering up the reins, she wheeled the mare to face him. ‘Next time I shoot on sight. Even the police will find it hard to ignore the death of one of your men on my land.'

‘Go home, little girl, and take up needlepoint,' he said with deep sarcasm. ‘Or better still, sell up. This is no place for women.'

He'd moved off the verandah into the shadows of the driveway, and although the light was behind him and his features were almost invisible, she knew his eyes were granite cold.

‘I'm glad I've got you rattled, Squires. It means you finally understand you'll never beat me.' She turned the mare towards the gate. It had been a bad twenty-four hours but this was probably only the beginning. War had been openly declared between them, and it was time to employ more men to guard Churinga.

*   *   *

April had had another boy. Joseph was three years old now, an intelligent, energetic child whom Matilda loved as if he was her own. And as she watched him and his brothers grow, she never lost the deep yearning for her own child.

‘You'll wear that kid out with all those kisses,' remarked Tom one night as Matilda dressed him for bed.

‘Can't give a kid too much love,' she murmured, breathing in the delicious smell of his freshly bathed and powdered skin.

Tom watched her silently for a moment then opened his newspaper. ‘'Bout time you had kids of your own, Molly. Plenty of blokes about if you'd only give 'em a chance.'

Matilda picked Joseph up and straddled him across her hip. ‘I'm too busy keeping Churinga safe from Squires to think about anything else.'

‘You're only twenty years old, Moll. I just think it's a pity no one but me and April get to see your new dresses,' he mumbled. ‘That's all.'

She eyed the sprigged cotton she'd bought on her one and only visit to Broken Hill. It draped from shoulder to hip where it gathered in a broad band to fall in pleats to her knees. She had thought the new fashion very daring after the high-necked, long gowns her mother used to wear but having seen similar dresses on women at the country shows she delighted in the freedom of movement it brought. ‘No point getting dressed up to herd the mob,' she retorted. ‘And if I turned up at the wool auctions dressed like this, no one would take me seriously.' She left the room and helped April put the children to bed. It was almost time to switch on the radio.

This was the latest miracle to arrive in the district and nearly every homestead had one. Matilda had weighed up the cost and decided she needed new stock horses more, but whenever she visited Wilga she barely moved away from it.

It was an ugly great thing, taking up most of the corner by the fireplace. But it was a link with the outside world and Matilda never quite got over the magic of being able to know there was a flood in Queensland, a drought in Western Australia or a glut of cane in the north. For the first time in her life she was able to explore the world outside Churinga, but she had no yearning to leave. The cities were dangerous places, she'd seen what they'd done to the men and women who'd been forced to drift far from their homes.

April had picked up her darning from the inevitable pile at her side and Tom was contentedly smoking his pipe as they waited for the radio to warm up. ‘You should have babies of your own, Molly. And a man to look after you. You're so good with my lot.'

She stared at April then across to Tom. ‘I've already had this conversation. Your babies are enough for me – what do I need a man for?'

‘To keep you company,' April replied softly. ‘To watch out for you.' Her needle darted in and out of the woollen sock. ‘You must get lonely, Molly, and Tom and I would feel much better knowing you had someone to protect you.'

For a moment Matilda was tempted to tell her about Mervyn and the dead baby, but it had remained a secret so long she was unable to voice it – to give colour and shape to something she preferred to keep in her heart. ‘I'm happy as I am, April. I tried going to a party once but I didn't fit in. Better to keep my own company and get on with things at Churinga.'

April's gaze was very direct. ‘You never said. When was this?'

Matilda shrugged. ‘The end of season party at Nulla Nulla. You'd just had Joseph.'

The pale blue eyes widened in the wan face. ‘You went on your own? Oh, Molly. Tom would have gone with you if you'd said.'

‘He was busy,' she said flatly.

‘So what happened?' The darning was put aside, and Tom lowered his newspaper.

Matilda thought of that night and shivered. ‘I'd finally decided to buy myself some proper clothes, and when the invitation came thought it would be a good idea to accept for a change. I would know most people there – the men anyway, 'cos I deal with them each year at the markets and auctions. The Longhorns put me up in the manager's bungalow with some of the other single women.' She fell silent, heat rising in her face as she thought of the purgatory of sharing a small space with five other women she didn't know and with whom she'd had nothing in common.

‘You hated it, didn't you, Moll?'

She nodded. ‘They looked at me as if I was something a dingo had dragged in, then after a lot of questions that I thought were too personal, just ignored me.' She took a deep sigh and began to roll a cigarette. ‘In a way it made it easier. I couldn't talk about the latest singing heartthrob or the newest film on at the travelling pictures. They didn't know one end of a sheep from another. So I just got on with changing into my new dress, listened to their chatter about boyfriends and makeup and tailed after them when we left for the party.'

She thought of the way she'd been left sitting on the narrow bed as they chattered and giggled and painted their faces. She'd so wanted to become part of such a lively, happy group but they didn't want her and she wasn't going to make a fool of herself by pushing in. So she'd let them leave without her, and had taken her time strolling the short distance to the barn where the dancing was to be held. It had been a beautiful night, soft and starry, the air caressing the bare skin on her arms and legs. The dress had made her feel pretty when she'd bought it, but compared to the city gowns the others were wearing, she knew it was hopelessly dated and gauche for a seventeen year old.

‘Charlie Squires met me at the door and got me a drink. He was real nice and asked me to dance and everything.' Matilda smiled. She'd liked Charlie, and had been surprised at how easily they'd got on. He was only two years older than her, but so sophisticated after those years in a Melbourne boarding school that she'd wondered why he'd wanted to spend time with her when there were so many other, far more beautiful girls to dance with. Yet his heart too was in the land and as they chatted and danced she knew she'd found someone who understood her feelings for Churinga.

April's eyebrows arched. ‘You and Charlie Squires? Jeez. I bet his old man had something to say about that.'

‘The others weren't there so I suppose Charlie felt free to dance with me.' She looked down at the barely smoked cigarette burning away between her fingers. ‘Anyway, it was only one night, and I didn't go to another party after that.'

‘Why, Molly? If Charlie was interested, why didn't he ask you to the other parties?'

She looked at April and slowly shook her head. ‘It wasn't Charlie put me off. In fact he was on the two-way every day for a month, and even came over to see me once or twice.' She stubbed out the cigarette. ‘We were getting on real well when suddenly he just stopped calling.'

‘Well, aren't you the dark horse, Moll? You never said.' Tom's eyes were steady on her face. ‘What happened to make him cool off? And why didn't you go to any more parties? You'd done the hard bit – it had to be easier the next time.'

‘I don't know what happened with Charlie,' she said thoughtfully. ‘I'd have thought old Squires would have been jumping fair to tie a fit, knowing his son was courting me after what happened with Andrew. But nothing was said, and now when I meet him Charlie just grins, says “G'day”, and turns away. It's as if he's embarrassed to see me.'

Tom frowned. ‘Strange. Something must have happened to make him change his mind, Molly. After all, he was only nineteen and boys of that age are too busy sowing wild oats to get tied down.'

‘Possibly,' she said lightly, masking the hurt of his rejection. She'd liked Charlie, he'd made her laugh and she'd felt attractive and girlish in his company. ‘But I stopped going to the parties because of the other women. I can face a wild pig or a dingo and shoot it between the eyes, but I can't do that with the gossiping, snide remarks and inverted snobbery of the wives and daughters of the other squatters.'

April's work-reddened hand covered hers. ‘What happened, Moll? Were they terribly unkind?'

Matilda took a deep breath. ‘I overheard them talking as I was fixing my hair in the bathroom the next morning. They laughed at my dress, at the way I walk and talk, the state of my hands and my underwear … But I didn't really care about that. It was what they said about me and Charlie that really did it.'

She paused as she thought about those humiliating sniggers behind the closed door of the bathroom. They'd known she was in there. Known she could hear them.

‘They said Charlie was just being nice to me because old man Squires wanted my land. They said no man in his right mind would ever marry me, that I'd probably end up having a string of Abo kids because only a black man would find me attractive. They suggested things about me and Gabe, awful things, that made me burn with fury. I stormed out of there, gave them all a piece of my mind and left. But I could still hear them laughing as I collected Lady and rode back to Churinga. And the sound of it's still with me sometimes – reminding me I should keep my own company and know my place.'

‘That's terrible,' Tom protested. ‘Longhorn would be horrified if he knew anything about it, and so would his wife. Why didn't you say something?'

‘And cause more fuss?' Matilda smiled. ‘It wouldn't have made any difference, Tom. They would still keep their opinion of me, and I would still keep mine of them. I'm happy the way I am. And as for Charlie … It was nice to be courted for a while, but even I realised it could never come to anything because I would always wonder if Ethan had been behind it and Charlie had only done it because of Churinga.'

‘It seems such a shame, Molly,' murmured April.

Matilda's laugh was light. ‘I've enough problems trying to keep the bloody drovers in line without a husband hanging on to my boot straps. You have the babies and I'll love them. But I'll stick to the land and sheep instead of the social rounds. I know where I am with them.'

They fell into a comfortable silence listening to the evening news which was followed by a concert from Melbourne. Matilda's thoughts of that awful night and Charlie's subsequent snub faded into the past where they belonged. Her life was settled and she was happy enough on her own. Why wish for more?

She was humming the refrain of a particularly lovely waltz as she stepped out on to the verandah for a last cigarette before going to bed. Tom came to join her and they sat on the creaking porch chairs in companionable silence for a moment – Bluey stretched between them, his snores making a pleasant bass rhythm against the chaffing of the crickets.

‘That dog of yours has been sniffing round one of my bitches and I think she's in pup. If they're good, we'll share them. What d'you say?'

‘Good on yer, Bluey. Didn't know you still had it in you.' Matilda laughed. ‘Flaming right you'll share, Tom Finlay! If they prove to be half the dogs old Blue is, then I can find them work.'

He became thoughtful as he rocked in his chair. ‘You don't want to take too much notice of April. She just wants to see you settled, that's all. I hope we didn't upset you, making you talk about that do at Nulla Nulla? Couldn't have been easy for you, girl.'

Matilda sighed. Tom meant well but she wished he'd just leave things alone. ‘I'm about as happy as I'll ever be, I reckon. I have my mates, my land and a few bob in the bank. What more could a girl ask for?'

‘Rain,' was his terse reply.

She looked up at the clear star-speckled sky and nodded. It hadn't rained properly for four years, and although she hadn't overstocked, grass on Churinga was getting scarce.