Sunset Ridge (12 page)

Luther still had Corally's hand in his as they bypassed the carousel and arrived at the bearded lady's tent. ‘W-what are you d-doing?' he asked as she broke free of his grasp and ran to the rear of the tent.

‘My dad calls it being thrifty,' she winked. ‘Now, if they catch us, we'll go our separate ways, right?' Hobbled horses were feeding in the brittle grass. Through the paling fence a line of parked drays and disgruntled horses waited for the day's end.

This wasn't quite how Luther had imagined things. He had saved a little money so they could walk right into that tent, hand in hand, in front of God and everyone, but now they were sneaking in the back. Of course, Luther hadn't planned what was going to happen after they were seated in the front row of the bearded lady's tent – it was the getting-there part that mattered. All Luther knew was that he wasn't going to be like every other boy in the district. They might all lose to her at marbles, but he would win where it counted.

Falling to her knees, Corally lifted a loose tent flap. ‘Okay,' she whispered, ‘this is right near the end benches where the light isn't so good. Stay close.'

They scuttled in under the bottom of the tent and crawled beneath a bench. Voluminous skirts and trousers blocked their view, while above them the audience members whispered to each other.

‘How awful. How could a woman look like that?'

‘I don't know, love.'

‘Well, I don't think it's real.'

‘Of course it's real. I paid good money to see this. They'd hardly troop all the way up here to show something that wasn't real.'

Corally and Luther locked eyes and smothered their giggles. Behind them the tiered seating rose gradually to disappear into the darkened rear of the tent. ‘We could wriggle backwards,' Corally whispered, her feet hitting a tent pole as she tried to move. ‘I can't see.'

Luther smelled burned toffee and manure and sweat, but most of all he smelled the sweet scent of Corally Shaw. He squirmed in the dirt and squeezed up tightly against her, raising a finger to his lips in warning. His hip bone nestled against hers and the warmth from her leg ran the length of his. It was a strange sensation.

‘But I can't see anything,' Corally complained.

In a flash his lips were on her gritty cheek. Luther kept the warmth of her skin beneath his for what seemed like long seconds, before slowly pulling away. In the half-light he could just make out Corally's profile. The curve of her cheek was flushed pink. He hadn't planned to kiss her, hadn't even thought about it. But being with Corally was akin to what he imagined beating Harold at fishing would be like. It was unexpected and exciting, and being by her side made him feel good. This was a prize that could not be forgotten at the end of the day. ‘Y-you don't have t-to w-worry about th-that Snob Evans anymore,' he whispered as they crawled from the tent. ‘W-when are you c-coming b-back t-to t-town?'

Once outside Corally brushed her clothes free of dirt. ‘We moved to the outskirts of Banyan, next to the cemetery, on account of me father's rheumatism. He's figuring to work at the lumberyard.'

‘Well th-then, I'll be seeing you,' Luther replied.

Corally shrugged. ‘Maybe.'

 

Thaddeus flinched as the doctor probed the bridge of his nose.

‘Broken, I'm afraid, my boy,' he confirmed, wedging plugs of material up each nostril. ‘Damn annoying injury. I hope you managed to get one on your opponent.'

‘It was his best mate, Harold Lawrence, that did it,' Dave explained from where he sat on a bench inside the tent.

‘Well, tell your father I'll be sending Mr Lawrence an account, Thaddeus.' The doctor wiped congealed blood from Thaddeus's face and wrung a wash cloth out in a basin of water. ‘It'll be sore for a bit. Best you rest in here until it's time to go home.'

‘Does it look bad?' Thaddeus asked, his voice thick and halting.

Dave winced. His brother's nose was bulbous and bloody. ‘Why did Harold punch you?'

‘You wouldn't understand,' Thaddeus replied, trying unsuccessfully to brush dried blood from his shirt.

‘You know, after he hit you he just walked away? He didn't even look over his shoulder.'

Thaddeus gingerly touched the tip of his nose. ‘Where did Luther and Corally go?'

‘Dunno,' Dave shrugged. Having caught sight of Miss Waites, he had been sorely disappointed when he had found her talking to Rodger. The station hand, all shiny like a new shilling coin, had offered the governess his arm, and together they had walked towards one of the pavilions.

Thaddeus got to his feet a little unsteadily and straightened his jacket. His nose felt as if it were at the back of his head. ‘Father will have me if I go out looking like –'

Both boys looked at each other.

‘The fleece competition!' Dave yelled.

They rushed from the tent, running in the direction of the wool pavilion, Thaddeus's nose throbbing with every step as they dodged adults, children, dogs and a man on horseback. As they reached the pavilion a burst of applause greeted them. The two boys exchanged worried glances and slipped inside.

Dave's mouth made a wide
o
as Thaddeus craned his neck to see past the burly man in front of him.

‘Cummins got it,' Thaddeus revealed.

At the opposite end of the pavilion, surrounded by wooden fleece bins, stood their ashen-faced father. Their mother was greeting neighbours, her face a pale mask.

‘Did we get anything?' Dave asked.

Thaddeus winced, the action sending ripples of pain through his head. ‘Does it matter? We didn't win. And I can't see Luther anywhere.'

The crowd began to break up. About twenty men clustered around Horatio Cummins. The winner of the Champion Fleece was talking loudly, his booming voice swiftly answering questions about breeding and flystrike and yield as if he were standing in a pulpit.

‘Hell's bells,' Thaddeus mumbled, as he stepped aside to let people pass. The thoroughfare cleared in front of him. ‘Well, come on, Dave.' His younger brother took a step backwards. Thaddeus grabbed him firmly by the arm. ‘Come on.'

Their parents, backs erect, made a deliberate point of circumnavigating Cummins's well-wishers. They skirted the display bins dividing the length of the room, quickly making their way towards the pavilion's entrance. Thaddeus thought that G.W. could have swept the pavilion floor clean, such was the ferocity of his gaze.

‘Where have you been?' their mother snapped, manoeuvring them away from the doorway. Her eyes widened when she looked directly at her eldest son. ‘And what on earth happened to
you
?'

Thaddeus noted the thick worm of a vein throbbing in his father's neck.

‘The holy ghost,
look
at you.'

‘Lower your voice, G.W.,' their mother replied softly.

Cummins's admirers turned in their direction.

‘Not only do you
not
appear when I specifically asked you boys to be present, but
you
, Thaddeus, behave like some, some
guttersnipe
and end up in a fight.'

Spittle flew through the air to land on Thaddeus's face. He didn't dare wipe it off. He stepped backwards and was immediately stopped by the pavilion wall, his hand coming to rest on a fleece, lanolin greasing his palm.

‘It wasn't his fault, Father. Harold did it,' Dave interrupted, not sure if stepping into the argument was a wise thing.

‘It was nothing,' Thaddeus explained.

‘
Nothing!
You have a bloodied nose, your shirt is ruined – and you're telling me it's nothing. People don't fight over nothing.
Gentlemen
don't fight at all.'

‘It was Harold?' A shadow of disappointment crossed Lily's features.

Dave understood Thaddeus's problem. Harold was his best friend; how could he blame him? Yet if he didn't, Dave dreaded to think what the punishment might be.

‘Harold did that?' Their father pushed his hat back off his forehead. ‘Why?'

‘I don't remember,' Thaddeus mumbled.

His mother laid a cool hand on his skin. ‘Dreadful, just dreadful.' She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘G.W., there is a time and a place to address this issue, and it is not here. We must load the piano and get Thaddeus home. Heavens, we have Miss Bantam and her companion arriving in a matter of days.' Their mother rested her arm over their father's and spoke pointedly to the boys. ‘Your father's fleece won second place. We are very pleased.'

G.W.'s tight-lipped grimace suggested otherwise. Thaddeus held out his hand and reluctantly they shook.

‘Yes, congratulations, Father,' Dave added.

‘You were meant to be here
too; instead you were standing ringside while your brother was hurt.' He stuck a finger in Dave's chest. ‘You have
no
excuse.'

‘Come now, not in public.' Their mother dabbed a handkerchief at a streak of dried blood on Thaddeus's cheek. ‘We have a piano to load.'

Thaddeus's nose was red and bulging and the swelling seemed to be extending across his cheekbones. Combined with the blood-sodden wads of cotton stuck up each nostril and the dried spots splattering his shirt, he looked a mess. As they walked through the crowd in search of Luther, Dave noticed women whispering on their passing. A few men nodded as if in shared pain, while some of the local kids stopped their skylarking and blatantly stared. Dave straightened his shoulders and kept in step with his brother.

‘Of course, it was bound to happen,' G.W. said stiffly. ‘You can't expect any better from tradespeople. They are much like Cummins,' he continued. ‘Who is
he
to lecture the assembled crowd on sheep breeding? Well, I suppose we can't expect much better from the likes of him.'

‘Yes, dear,' their mother soothed.

 

Luther tailed Snob Evans for a good twenty minutes. It wasn't difficult to remain out of sight, for the crowds, although beginning to dwindle, were still thick enough for concealment. He bided his time, waiting for Snob to begin walking to the far end of the showground on his way home. Only feet from the entrance gate, children would be bobbing for apples. There were four barrels in a row filled with water, and beyond stood a number of gnarly-trunked trees and the fence encircling the grounds. It was the perfect spot for a fight.

Snob was engrossed at the shooting gallery, having talked his way into a free second shot. As Luther waited by the Banyan Show Society office he caught a glimpse of Thaddeus and Dave through the crowd. A few minutes more, then he would go to the wool pavilion. As his resolve wavered, he thought of Corally. He wasn't sure what came next where girls were concerned, however a kiss was a fine start. He pondered the feel of her skin beneath his lips, fixing on their conversation at the marbles ring.

‘I'd like to see Snob get what's coming to him . . . He called me a rabbit-sniffer on account of the fact my pa's a trapper.'

Luther kept his hand near the tomahawk clipped to his belt and trailed Snob Evans as he left the shooting gallery. He caught up with him near the apple-bobbers. A row of six-year-olds, wet-faced and laughing, were trying unsuccessfully to grab at the floating fruit with their teeth.

‘Hey, S-snob.'

Snob Evans swivelled on his heels. ‘Well, if it isn't b-bush b-boy b-bandicoot. I see you've still got the tomahawk that Daddy gave you.' Rolling up his sleeves he lifted his fists. ‘Come on, I feel like giving you another hiding. Come on,' he beckoned.

This time a round of fisticuffs wasn't enough for Luther.

‘What are you going to do, cut my f-f-f-finger off, b-b-bandicoot?' Snob's lips stretched into a semblance of a smile.

‘You p-put your finger on th-the fence and I'll ch-chop it.'