Matilda's Last Waltz (45 page)

‘I suppose it was all right if you like that kind of thing. But then I'm used to less parochial entertainment.' She sounded cold and superior, quite unlike her usual self.

He frowned. This was not the woman who'd danced so enthusiastically in his arms. Not the woman who'd smiled and laughed and who'd seemed so at ease with him two nights before. His spirits tumbled. This distant creature was a world away from the Jenny he knew and loved. ‘What's happened?' he said quietly.

She stared off into the distance – as remote and unreachable as the horizon. ‘I realise I have nothing in common with the people out here,' she said coldly. ‘Diane is going back to Sydney in a week's time. I plan to leave with her.'

He was appalled at her ruthlessness. ‘But you can't,' he spluttered. ‘What about us?'

She looked at him then, violet eyes as hard and bright as uncut amethyst. ‘Us. Mr Wilson? There is no “us” as you put it. I own Churinga. You are my manager. It's not your place to question my decisions.'

‘Bitch,' he breathed, appalled that he'd been so easily taken in. She was no better than Marlene.

It was as if Jenny hadn't heard him. ‘I'll have my lawyer inform you of my plans. Until then you may remain as manager.' She turned away, and before he could speak had slammed the front door behind her and was gone.

Brett stood there for a long moment, anguish and confusion fighting an inner battle as he waited for her to come back out. It had to be some kind of cruel joke she'd been playing. But why? Why? What had happened in the past twelve hours to bring about such a change in her? What had he done?

He took a step back, then another, and after a last, long look at the door, he turned and walked away. Logic told him he was better off without her, but his heart told him otherwise. Despite her denial, something must have happened to make her turn so nasty. As he leaned on the fence of the home pasture, he thought back over the previous night's dance. She'd been happy then, warm and compliant in his arms, her perfume making him giddy with pleasure. He'd almost told her how he'd felt but Charlie Squires had butted in and dragged her off to join the Kurrajong party in a reel. That had been the last time Brett had danced with her. Minutes later he too had been dragged into a hectic dance with his mates and by the time he could extricate himself she'd left the barn.

His eyes became slits as he looked into the horizon. He'd gone outside to look for her but he hadn't found her, and now, as he thought about it, he realised there had been no sign of Charlie's car either. His knuckles showed white as he gripped the railings. Charles and Jenny. Jenny and Charles. Of course. How could he have been so stupid as to think he had a chance with a woman like her when Charles Squires could offer so much more? Lorraine had been right all along. Jenny had tasted what life could be for the rich squatters, had been charmed by that womanising snake Charles Squires – and had decided she liked what she saw.

Memory brought snapshot images of them dancing together. Two heads close together as they talked and sipped champagne. They were two of a kind. Rich and educated, more at home in the city than on the land. It was only to be expected that Jenny wouldn't look twice at a man who could offer her nothing but the sweat of his brow.

Feeling sick with disappointment, Brett pushed himself away from the railings and headed for the barns. He no longer cared that Churinga would be swallowed up by Kurrajong for what good would it do him if he didn't have Jenny by his side to run it?

He squinted into the sun as he saddled up the gelding and turned towards the winter pastures. There was work to be done and if he concentrated on it hard enough it might just dull the pain.

*   *   *

Jenny leaned against the door, the tears hot as they rolled down her face. The break was final but she would never forget the look of contempt in Brett's eyes for the way she had done it. And yet it was the only course she could have taken. If she had relented she would have been lost.

‘Strewth, Jen. That was harsh.'

She smeared away the tears and sniffed. ‘Had to be done, Diane.'

‘Maybe. But you came over as a real bitch and that's just not you.' Diane's expression was concerned. ‘Are you sure you've done the right thing?'

‘Too late for doubts.'

‘Yes,' her friend replied slowly. ‘I rather think you've burned all your boats there.'

Jenny pushed herself away from the door. ‘There's no point in discussing this, Diane. What's done is done. I'm not proud of the way I treated him but he needed to be taught a lesson.' She shifted her gaze from Diane's direct stare. ‘I'm a big girl now,' she said defiantly. ‘I can take the consequences.'

‘So you reckon you'll be able to face him in the coming week then?'

Jenny nodded. Yet shame and heart-ache were strange bedfellows, and to be asked to analyse how she would feel when she saw Brett again would take too much effort.

Diane folded her arms around herself. ‘Rather you than me, girl. If it was me, I'd be out of here today. That claustrophobia thing has suddenly become horribly real.'

Jenny knew exactly what she meant but was damned if she was going to let Brett influence her decisions. ‘I won't be forced out of my home until I'm ready,' she stated roundly. ‘I want to finish the diaries first.'

‘Why not take them with you? I don't mind leaving earlier than planned, and you can read them just as well in Sydney.'

‘No, I can't. Matilda wants me to keep them here on Churinga.'

‘Seems like a lot of fuss over a few mouldy old books. What does it matter?'

‘It matters to me and to Matilda,' Jenny said quietly.

Diane's expression was scathing. ‘You don't really believe that, do you?' Her expression changed to wonder as Jenny remained silent. ‘Are you telling me you think Matilda's ghost lives on at Churinga?'

‘Her spirit's here, yes,' Jenny replied defiantly. ‘I feel her presence so clearly sometimes, it's as if she's with me in the room.'

Diane shook her head. ‘It's definitely time you got out of this place, Jen. All this isolation has turned your brain to mush.'

Jenny eyed her for a moment, then went into the bedroom. When she returned, Diane was stacking canvases.

‘These are wonderful. We could have an exhibition when we get back, and I wouldn't mind betting it'll be a sell out.'

‘Leave those, Diane.' She had no heart to discuss her paintings. They were done when she was content to stay, now they were just a reminder of what she was about to lose. ‘I want you to read Matilda's diaries. Then perhaps you'll understand why they have to stay here on Churinga.'

*   *   *

It was Sunday evening, 3 September 1938, and Matilda was visiting Tom and April. The news from Europe had steadily grown worse and since Hitler's invasion of Poland on Friday speculation was rife. There was silence in the little kitchen as they listened to the cut glass Pommy accent of the announcer introducing Prime Minister ‘Pig Iron Bob' Menzies.

‘Fellow Australians,' he began in his reassuring accent, ‘it is my melancholy duty to inform you officially that in consequence of the persistence by Germany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her, and that as a result, Australia is also at war.'

There was a gasp from April and Matilda, an excited murmur from the boys.

‘Our staying power, and that of the Mother Country, will be best assisted by keeping our production going, continuing our avocations and business, maintaining employment, and with it, our strength. I know that in spite of the emotions we are feeling, Australia is ready to see it through.'

April reached for Tom's hand, hope bright in her eyes. ‘You won't have to go, will you Tom? The Prime Minister said it was important to keep working the land.'

He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘They won't want all of us, April. But it'll be hard work keeping the place going without the men.'

Matilda looked at him and saw the flare of excitement in his eyes. How long would it be before he succumbed to the war fever that was sweeping the outback? she wondered. The two-way radio at Churinga was a conduit for gossip and speculation, just as it was in every homestead in New South Wales. She had listened in to try and catch the mood, and had soon realised that the men were eager for war, and although their hearts were breaking, the women couldn't quite resist the opportunity to boast of their sacrifice to the cause.

‘My drovers have already volunteered,' Matilda said quietly. ‘They came on Friday, after the world news, and handed in their notice.'

She gave a mirthless smile. ‘Said it was a chance to get out and show the rest of the world what tough men we breed out here.' Her tone was scathing. ‘If you ask me, it's just an excuse for one glorious punch up. Better than anything in the pub on a Friday night – far more exciting than a bunch of shearers on the rampage.'

She fell silent as she caught the expression of bewildered fear on April's face, but she knew she spoke the truth. The Australian male would go to any length to prove his manliness, and they both knew Tom was no different.

April looked at her boys, who sat wide-eyed around the table. ‘Thank God they're only babies,' she murmured.

‘I'm not a baby, Ma. I'm nearly seventeen,' Sean protested, scraping back his chair, his face alive with excitement. ‘I just hope it goes on long enough for me to join in.'

April slapped him hard across the face. ‘Don't you dare talk like that,' she screamed.

Sean stood tall in the ensuing, shocked silence, his bony wrists peeking from his cuffs, his shirt buttons straining over his expanding chest. His face bore the impression of his mother's fingers, but the brightness in his eyes had nothing to do with the pain she'd inflicted.

‘I'm almost a man,' he said proudly. ‘And an Australian. I'll be proud to fight.'

‘I forbid it,' shrieked April.

He ran his work-roughened hand over his bruised cheek. ‘I won't stay here hiding behind your skirts while my mates are fighting,' he said firmly. ‘I'll join up as soon as they'll have me.' He looked around at them all then quietly left the room.

April broke down and sobbed into her hands. ‘Oh, God. Tom, what's to become of us? Am I supposed to see my man and my child go off to war with no say at all?' There was no reply and she lifted her tear-streaked face to him. ‘Tom? Tom?'

He made a helpless gesture with his hands. ‘What can I say, April? The boy is old enough to make his own decisions, but I'll do my best to keep him home until he's called up.'

Her sobs came from deep within and Tom drew her into his arms. ‘Don't fret yourself, luv. I'm not going anywheres until I have to – and neither's Sean.'

Matilda caught a glimpse of sixteen-year-old Davey's expression and went cold. He too had caught the battle fever and the influence of his older brother would make it hard to convince him he would be needed on the property.

She got up from the table and shepherded the younger boys out of the room. Tom and April needed time together and it wasn't fitting for them to see their mother so distressed. After answering the boys' many questions, and calming their excitement and bewilderment, she finally blew out the kerosene lamps and went out to the verandah.

Sean's outburst had shocked her as much as it had April. Matilda had watched the boys grow and like April still considered them to be children. And yet after tonight she could see there would be trouble, for Sean and Davey were indeed almost men. The outback life had made them tough. They could ride and shoot as well as Tom, and the sun had already baked their skin and threaded fine lines around eyes and mouth. Bushmen would be welcomed in the army ranks for their tenacity and strength – just as they had been in Gallopoli.

Over the following year Matilda and April clung to the hope they could keep Tom and Sean on the land, but the war news was a distant rumble that encroached on the outback world and finally demanded its men take up arms and leave the land to the women, the boys and the elderly.

Even in the good times manpower was short; now it was at crisis level. The drought was in its fifth year and rain was a distant memory, the price of feed was high, and because of the explosion in the rabbit population grass was scarce. Matilda and Gabriel patrolled the pastures, moving the mob constantly to conserve the brittle grass. They slept out, rolled up in blankets, alert for predators, knowing that any loss could spell disaster.

The battle of Dunkirk finally opened the flood-gates and Australians poured into the recruiting centres to sign up for the Second Australian Imperial Force. The outback seemed more deserted than ever and Matilda wondered how long she could hold on to Churinga. The past years of work had increased the mob ten-fold – but that increase meant more work, more expensive feed, and without the men to help her, she knew it would be far harder to survive.

It was the middle of June but not a cloud marred the blue of the sky as she rode into Wallaby Flats to say goodbye to Tom and Sean. The little town was bustling. A brass band played outside the hotel, cars, trucks and horses were lined up beside wagons, and children ran wild.

Matilda tied the horse to the hitching post and studied the faces around her. She recognised drovers, stockmen, shearers and squatters – and even one or two of the drifters who had occasionally worked for her. War fever had struck deep into the heart of the outback and she had a terrible feeling that it would never be the same again.

Ethan Squires stood beside his gleaming motor car. James, Billy, Andrew and Charles looked handsome in their officer's uniforms as they drank champagne, but their laughter was too high-pitched, too loud, and she could tell that for all their youthful sophistication, they were as scared as everyone else.