When she’s older, perhaps I’ll tell her a bit more, he decided, reaching for the toast. Or perhaps I won’t. But for now, it’s sufficient that she knows the bare bones. Quite sufficient.
Tess phoned Andy that afternoon to tell him what she had discovered and they decided to meet the following day. And that night she dreamed the dream again. She found herself on the beach, pattering along, enjoying the sand and the prospect, presently, of a paddle in the sea. She reached the breakwater with its burden of seaweed, and plonked herself down on the wet sand to remove her shoes and socks. She was in the dreamy, delightful mood of one who has recently woken from a satisfying sleep. Everything around her looked crystal clear and even the simplest action seemed filled with a strange significance.
Once more, she turned her head and saw the boy running along the beach. He grabbed her, turned her into his chest, bade her not to look . . . and for the first time ever, Tess struggled in his arms and turned her face up to his.
‘Why?’ she said baldly. ‘Why mustn’t I look, boy?’
And for the first time the boy spoke to her, really spoke. ‘She didn’t do it,’ he said fiercely. ‘She didn’t understand . . . it’s a tricky beast, the sea.’
And then she looked . . . and began to scream, and in screaming, woke.
Six
Queensland, 1932
IT WAS THREE
in the morning and the sun still wasn’t up. Mal came quietly out of the bedroom which he shared with two other young men, paused for a moment on the verandah, then went as silently as he could down the three long wooden steps and on to the yard. He had a travelling swag over one shoulder and he was going. He wasn’t staying here, to watch his mother make a complete fool of herself. And when he’d gone they’d be sorry, and Kath would remember what a good husband Bill had been to her, and realise that she should have been content to let her son keep her, instead of taking up with Royce Malone.
On the yard, in the grey light of early dawn, his feet stirred dust. It was the dry, which was a good thing, because in the wet he wouldn’t have been able to get very far. He’d lived here three years now, and knew enough about Queensland to be grateful that Kath had done her dreadful deed during the dry. Yet though he was glad to be leaving he still looked around him almost wistfully as he crossed the yard; to the house itself, where his mother, Royce and the younger children still slept, to the outbuildings – meat house, store house, harness room and workshop, laundry and blacksmith’s forge – and behind them and almost into the bush to the humpies of the Aborigines, their gins and piccaninnies, who did most of the rough work on the station.
Mal was friendly with several of the young men – Tink, Soljer, Canny – and would miss them, but they were used to people moving on. They did it themselves from time to time. They wouldn’t miss him; they would just say ‘He done gone walkabout’ and leave it at that.
He had decided last night, when Kath and Royce had got back from their honeymoon, that he would take one of the horses, because that wasn’t stealing – when he got to civilisation he’d send it back to the Magellan – and head for the nearest railway station, which wasn’t all that near, either. The inland railhead of Mungana must be sixty or seventy miles away, but on horseback that wasn’t impossible. Once he got to a city, he would think again about what he should do to earn his living. The only thing he knew, right now, was that he couldn’t remain at the Magellan homestead. Not now that Kath was Mrs Royce Malone. Even thinking of her in Royce’s bed made him feel sick . . . she might have a
baby
by him, for God’s sake, a child in Royce’s image, and she an elderly woman – she must be thirty-seven at the very least! That made him feel worse, because he remembered Petey, and Petey’s death, and just for a moment he wanted to go to his mother and smack her about a bit, like his father had, and watch her cry and beg . . . and then he thought how nice it would be to kill Royce for his cheek in marrying Kath . . . and then he realised he was crying and began to hurry, because bad though it would be if someone came out and caught him, it would be unbearable to be caught crying. They would think he didn’t want to leave, for God’s sake, when leaving had been in his mind now for months and months.
The Magellan had a lot of horses because it was a cattle station and cattle could not be rounded up on foot. And Magellan land went from the Palmer River to the Little Mitchell, a distance of many miles, so the men out mustering the cattle needed more than one mount. Because the constant galloping over rough terrain to cut off the herd and bring them back to water meant that horses could not go on, day after day, as men could; they needed a rest. So there were more horses on the Magellan than they would probably ever need.
I’ll take Sandy, because I’m the one who mostly rides him, and I don’t believe he’ll go good for anyone else, Mal told himself, going over to the horse yard. The animals were awake and quietly grazing and he leaned on the top post of the wooden ranch fencing and regarded them. They were beautiful creatures for the most part, because Royce had once bred horses and knew what made a good one for the muster, but they were also strong; goers, every one. Royce selected his stallions with care and his brood mares, too, and he cherished the foals. Other stations simply castrated most of the colts at six months and let the others breed, but Royce picked out the best to remain stallions, and as a result people were always willing to buy any stock which the homestead did not need.
So they wouldn’t miss one horse, Mal concluded. He could pick out Sandy’s shape easily in the half-light and saw the horse had turned towards him, ears pricked. ‘Sandy,’ Mal called softly. ‘Come on over.’ He unwound a length of rope from the fence post – he had wound it round the previous evening in anticipation of this moment – and looped it over the gelding’s head. Sandy was a light chestnut, with dramatic dark eyes and a golden-brown mane and tail. He bent his head and snuffled Mal’s pockets as Mal led him out of the paddock, then stood still to let Mal leap easily on to his back. Mal laid his swag across the horse’s withers and nudged him with his heel.
‘Good boy, good feller. Gently now, gently,’ Mal said softly, and turned the horse’s head towards the bush . . . and the railhead seventy miles away.
Kath woke and lay on her back, listening. Beside her, Royce’s broad back moved gently to the rhythm of his breathing. Last night, when they lay quiet after making love, she had told him she feared Mal was preparing to leave.
‘He keeps saying enigmatic things like will I remember to water the veggies, and not to mind borrowing his gramophone if he’s not around to lend it to me,’ she told Royce. ‘And he’s going for all the wrong reasons, because he loves it here, I know damn well he does. He’s been happier – and easier – these past three years than in all of the rest of his life, pretty near.’
‘Why was I okay as a boss but no good as your husband and his stepfather?’ Royce asked plaintively. ‘The only difference is that you and me’s wed now, with everythin’ all legal. Why should a young feller mind that?’
‘Royce! That ain’t the only difference – we never slept together until after the wedding!’
‘No-oo, but we did most other things,’ Royce said, incurably truthful as always. ‘I should’ve asked you to marry me years ago, but I couldn’t believe my luck in gettin’ you in the first place and I didn’t want to risk you refusin’, movin’ out on me. I’d ha’ kept you as my housekeeper for ever rather’n lose you for good.’
‘I wasn’t ready for marrying anyone,’ Kath reminded him. ‘Not after being wed to Bill for fifteen years. And after Petey’s death he took to the bottle worse’n ever, and hit me more’n he kissed me. And Mal did his best to protect me then, without making Bill sore, of course. So why should he behave the way he has just ’cos I’ve married again?’
‘I reckon he’s jealous,’ Royce said. ‘He’d sensed you didn’t love Bill no more, so that was all right. Now he knows you love me, and that ain’t all right. He’ll git over it; he’ll find a gal of his own soon enough and then he’ll be too busy worritin’ over his own affairs to worrit over ours.’
‘But he’ll go, I sort of know it,’ Kath said worriedly. ‘There’s Bart and Sam, too. He likes ’em, but they’re the boss’s sons, I suppose.’
‘I wouldn’t mek no difference between ’em,’ Royce protested sleepily. ‘Mal’s your lad, the twins are mine. They’ll all have a share in the station, if they all share the work. As yet, my boys are jest little fellers an’ Mal’s had all the work. But one day they’ll pull their weight – if they want a livin’ out o’ the place, that is. But they ain’t five until next month.’
‘Mebbe you should have told Mal that,’ Kath said. ‘He’s not had good experience of fathers, Roy. Bill adored him for years, but when he got big enough to tell Bill no and mean it, Bill kinda resented him. It ’ud be nice for him to know you’ll think of him in the same breath as Bart and Sam.’
‘Well, I’ll tell him tomorrow,’ Royce said drowsily. ‘Now let’s go to sleep.’
‘But Roy, if he leaves tomorrow he’ll never know. Oughtn’t we to tell him now? I’m real uneasy about him, I tell you.’
‘If he leaves, it won’t be long before he comes back,’ Royce mumbled. ‘The only thing he knows is cattle musterin’. And there’s a Depression on – or hadn’t you realised?’
‘Realised! Oh dear God, Roy, you can be
infuriating,
sometimes! Go to sleep then, if you must.’
But now it was early morning – too early for the light to be more than a gentle grey, and Kath lay listening because she had heard the soft tread of feet crossing the yard. Then, with ears sharpened by love and fear, she heard Mal call the horse, heard Sandy – for it would be Sandy, he always rode the chestnut if he could – clopping across to the paddock rails. Heard the murmuring voice in the early morning stillness, then the soft sound of shod hooves crossing the yard, going on to the hard ruts of the drive, getting fainter . . . fainter . . .
‘Wake up, Roy! He’s goin’, my boy’s leavin’ us!’ Roy mumbled a protest as Kath’s sharp knuckles dug into his back. ‘Oh God, I can’t bear it – he’s only a kid when all’s said and done, scarce eighteen!’
She got out of bed and ran to the window. The house was built of timber and corrugated iron and there were fly-screens at window and door. She pushed the screen to one side and leaned out. The yard was empty. Hurriedly she ran back to her bed and pulled on a cotton nightdress, for she was naked, and pushed her bare feet into an old pair of sandals. Then she ran out of the room, along the short corridor and through the living-room on to the wide verandah which ran the length of the house. She could see a cloud of dust coming from the drive – he wasn’t long gone, he wouldn’t be in a big hurry, if she could just get one of the men to follow him . . .
She ran back to her room, desperately wanting to ask Royce what to do, but he was already up, his trousers on, pushing his shirt impatiently into the waistband. She said, breathlessly: ‘He’s gone. Taken a horse and rid out of here.’
Royce nodded. ‘Guessed it. I’ll follow. He’s probably headin’ for the railhead so he’s got a long journey. He won’t be such a fool as to push the horse, he’ll take it nice ‘n’ easy.’
‘Oh, Roy,’ Kath said. ‘You’re the best – know that?’
He was sitting on the bed now, pulling on the long leather riding boots which he wore for the musters. He grinned at her, a flash of white teeth in his deeply tanned face, then stood up.
‘Oh, sure, I’m the real McCoy. Why’d you have married me, else? I’ll be back before nightfall.’
‘Oh Roy, I love you! You’ll bring him back?’
‘I’ll do what’s best,’ Royce said. ‘Tell Jim he’s in charge.’
He strode from the room. Kath followed him at a trot, only stopping to pick up her rain jacket. For decency’s sake she’d best slip it round her shoulders. The two of them crossed the yard and dived into the tack-room. Royce took his saddle and bridle from the wooden pole and went with his long, unhurried stride across to the horse paddock. His favourite mount was a quiet, canny 16-hand mare called Gypsy; he whistled and Gypsy came across the paddock at a canter. Royce grinned at his wife.
‘Knows me better’n I know myself,’ he said. ‘Come on, girl.’
The mare came out, walking delicately, neck stretched, nostrils quivering. Royce tacked her up quickly, putting the saddle blanket neatly across Gypsy’s brown-and-white back, slipping the bridle over her long, dark-brown nose, tightening girths and checking that nothing was rubbing or uncomfortable. He worked unhurriedly, as though he had all the time in the world, yet no one, Kath knew, could have done it more quickly and neatly.
When the horse was ready Roy swung up into the saddle.
‘Wait!’ Kath cried, suddenly guilt-ridden. ‘You’ve had nothing to eat . . . I’ll get you a sandwich . . . a bottle of something.’
‘Bread an’ cheese for two, an’ a big bottle,’ Royce said. Kath guessed that he would realise Mal wouldn’t have thought about food or drink. ‘No hurry . . . see the dust?’
Kath followed the gaze of his shrewd, dark eyes. Sure enough, she could see a small dust cloud not a mile away, for the ground here was flat. She smiled, then ran across the courtyard and into the kitchen annexe. Here, my expertise will come in handy, she thought, whipping a new loaf out of the bread crock, cheese out of the dairy safe, and a handful of dried apricots out of the jar by the window. The men usually took cold tea on musters but yesterday she had made a great deal of lemon barley water and Royce had drunk some at supper the previous night and said it was refreshing. She made up two big bottles of the stuff, then picked up the bread and cheese and ran. Royce had just mounted and took the provisions with a word of thanks, stuffing the food into his saddlebag, then doing the same with the bottles.
‘If I have to do some persuadin’, likely I’ll be real late,’ he called back, clearly suddenly smitten by an idea. ‘I could be a day or two – you’ll not worry?’
She could only say she would be fine, that he was the one who must not worry. ‘I know Mal can be difficult,’ she called after him. ‘If there’s nothing you can do, I’ll understand.’