The Great Plains (44 page)

September, 1935 – Condamine Station homestead,
Southern Queensland

On the shaded stone verandah, Abelena argued with Mrs Brightman. ‘I don't want to go inside.'

‘My dear girl, surely you must be exhausted. And look at you, you're filthy. Don't you want to shower and change? Eat? At least let me get you something to drink.'

Kindness from strangers had been fleeting in the past. ‘Water,' she replied to the older woman. ‘Thank you.' The housekeeper reminded Abelena of the stationmaster's wife at Broken Arrow, thin and lined, with grey hair styled plainly in a tight bun. But there all similarities ended: the stationmaster's wife told Abelena that Tess's death was a mercy. One less starving beggar.

Mrs Brightman smiled. ‘Mr Wade seems a very nice man to me, dear.'

‘You're not the one he keeps locked up.'

‘I know that you're not from here, Abelena, but that's no excuse for rudeness. And I don't like to say it but clearly you're being kept locked up for your own good, which your very recent behaviour has proved.'

‘Mine or his?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Is it for my good or his good that Tobias keeps me locked up?'

The older woman clucked her tongue. ‘Most girls would give their eye-teeth to fall on their feet the way you have. Look at this place,' she spread her arms wide, ‘a beautiful property, a kind man to care for you and money to last you until your dying day. You'll never have to work a day in your life. Not like some of us,' she sniffed.

Abelena slumped in a cane chair and began picking at the dried mud on her arms. ‘What do you think he's going to do with me?'

The woman took a concerned step forward, knobbly-boned fingers clutching at an apron. ‘What do you mean, child?'

‘Marry me eventually, I suspect,' Abelena mused. ‘But he'll bed me before then.'

The housekeeper lifted a hand in horror. ‘Don't speak that way.'

‘That's what men do. Well, they did with my mother, slept with her, got her with child and then left. You should ask your
kind
Mr Wade about his father Edmund. Did you know that he was in love with my great-grandmother and when she died he buried her in the garden? Of course Edmund was still married to Tobias's mother back then, but the Wade men have always taken what they wanted and thrown away what they don't want or need.'

Mrs Brightman placed a hand on the cool stone wall to steady herself.

Tobias and the overseer walked up the garden path. ‘Rum and water, Mrs Brightman,' he ordered, taking the sweeping stone steps two at a time. ‘Mrs Brightman?'

The housekeeper dabbed at her brow with a handkerchief. ‘Yes, Mr Wade. Right away.'

‘Why did you run away?' Tobias flung a wide-brimmed hat on the side table and sat tiredly in one of the chairs. ‘I asked you a question, Abelena.'

‘I don't want to be here,' Abelena said simply. ‘I told you I didn't want to leave when I was in Oklahoma.'

The overseer leant against one of the stone pillars, twirling his hat between his fingers.

‘But you have no family there.'

‘Not to you I don't, but you forget that Matthew and Mark are still alive. You haven't killed them yet.'

‘Haven't I looked after you? Clothed you? Fed you? Cared for you?'

‘Only after my brother was murdered and Mathew and Mark were taken from me. Only after my mother went to your father for money and Edmund sent them away after punching Uncle George in the nose.'

Tobias looked bored. ‘We've had this conversation.'

Wes Kirkland gave a low chortle.

The housekeeper arrived with a pitcher of water, a bottle of rum and three glasses. Sitting the tray on the sideboard, she quietly walked back indoors.

‘Why did you bring me here?'

Tobias rose and, pouring two glasses of rum and water, handed one to Wes. ‘You know why.'

‘You wanted me, that's why. You wanted me like a child wants a piece of candy in a shop. Well, you can't have me, Tobias. I'm not for the taking.' She glared at Wes. ‘I'm not for anyone's taking.'

Tobias flinched, sat his glass on the table. ‘What's that meant to mean?'

Wes raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I didn't lay a hand on her.'

‘Sure he didn't.' Abelena rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. A thick red rope burn scarred both her arms. ‘And that's not all he did.'

‘What the –' Tobias jumped to his feet.

‘He did what you
want
to do,' Abelena stated bluntly.

Tobias landed a fist on Wes's jaw.

The overseer dropped his glass and stumbled down the verandah stairs as the tumbler shattered on the hard stone. ‘You bloody fool, Tobias!' He strode back up the steps. ‘Can't you see that she's playing us against each other?'

‘I shouldn't have to tell you not to lay a hand on her, Wes.' Tobias's face was red. ‘You should know better.'

‘And so should you,' Wes countered. ‘How long have you known me, how long have I worked for your father, been a friend to you?'

‘A friend to me? I welcomed you as my friend in Oklahoma, but how did you repay me, Wes? By stealing my land!' Tobias yelled. ‘This land.'

‘She's a god-damned Injun, an Injun from a family that's only given the Wades trouble.'

‘She
is
a Wade, damn you.'

Wes chuckled. ‘She's a watered-down version. A cheap imitation. Her blood's more half-breed and greaser than white. You should have listened to your father, Tobias. You should have left her in America where she belongs. For the life of me I can't even come to understand why you would bring her here.' The overseer let out an exasperated groan. ‘She's a looker, I'll give you that, but so was her half-breed trouble-maker mother. Send her back to America, Tobias. There's plenty of women in this land to choose from and I swear they won't be half the trouble.'

Tobias skolled his drink. ‘Abelena, go to your room.' He waited until the girl left. ‘I think it's best that you leave, Wes.'

‘Me? You forget, this is my land now, Tobias. I'm not going anywhere.' Wes placed his hat on his head, tugging at the brim. ‘She hates you. She hates us all. I know you don't see it, can't see it, don't want to acknowledge it, but she's got more Injun inside her than all the others. The Apache have taken her soul.'

September, 1935 – Condamine Station, Southern Queensland

Three days had passed since Abelena's capture. Three days she'd spent watching and waiting, learning the movements of everyone who resided on Tobias's land. Some stockmen left at daybreak to work in the sheep-yards, while other men rode in all directions of the wind. Breakfast was brought to her room a little after six in the morning. Her tray was collected at six-thirty. The washer-woman arrived soon after, trundling down the road like a potato with legs, a scarf tied about her head. Then the never-ending dusting of the homestead began. The house-maids sang and told stories as they worked. Their tunes spoke of wild colonial boys and of a man who lived near a snowy river, lives of adventure under an Australian sun.

A little after seven the gardener and a young boy appeared; the former to water and prune and the boy to chop firewood for the wood-burning stove, which he stacked at the rear of the garden. Prior to their arrival, Tobias would walk the garden's perimeter. For the past couple of mornings Tobias and Kirkland had not breakfasted together. The overseer spoke to Tobias politely but something had changed for it was now Tobias who listened to Kirkland.

Wes Kirkland ate fried eggs and bacon with fresh bread and home-made jam. Abelena could smell the food as it was carried outdoors. Her breakfast was a glass of milk, bread and dripping. She knew Tobias hoped that she suffered. She didn't. She knew he hoped that she'd behave.

A little before seven-thirty the boy began chopping wood. There was a rhythmic action to his chore and he sang as he worked, a simple ballad that coerced a refrain from the washer-woman, who was stringing bed linen across a line. Abelena counted between each axe swing and with a piece of blanket held against the window pane hit the ceramic water jug against the surface in time with the axe chop. Once, twice, three times she banged the window. She'd caused a crack to form in the glass yesterday and this time she was rewarded with a definite break. Prising the sharp angle of glass free, she stuck her hand carefully through the hole in the corner and pushed away the length of timber that had kept her locked in.

Scrambling through the window Abelena walked across the sloping iron roof. Light streamed across the plains. At the far corner of the building a wooden trellis held the prickly branches of a climbing rose. The flowers were long gone, burnt and withered by the spring heat and wind. Looking below to the ground Abelena checked to ensure no-one was about and then quickly climbed down the ageing wooden structure. She worried the trellis would break with every step or that someone would see her as she shimmied from the second storey, but the timber held and no-one appeared.

Crouching, she peered through the orchard and listened, then she looked around the corner of the homestead. She ran quickly across patchy lawn to the vegetable plot, where she fell to her knees and began picking fresh sage and other herbs. Her nails grew thick with soil as she plucked at the aromatic plants, stuffing them into a pillow case. It was too late in the season for most of the root vegetables but she dug up a handful of late potatoes and added two scrawny carrots to her hoard. She imagined that Mrs Brightman would have a pantry of jarred preserves and vegetables like Mrs Blum but Abelena needed to move quickly, which limited what she could take. Vine tomatoes were a last addition, before she glanced over her shoulder and ran to the rear of the garden.

Slipping through the fence she kept to the outbuildings, dashing behind one structure and then another, wary of being seen. There were dogs barking and men yelling in the sheep-yards and it was towards the woolshed she headed, hoping that the boy would be there. He'd not been a part of the initial search for she'd spied him climbing down from the windmill and recognised him on approach when she'd ridden in with Kirkland. That suggested that either he was not old enough for such things or that his duties confined him to the homestead block. Nor did he appear to have ridden out this morning. The figures on horseback were older men with round shoulders, not a young man at the beginning of his life.

Abelena skirted the blacksmith's hut. She hoped to find the boy alone. She couldn't be sure if he could be trusted, but her choices were limited and apart from the few words she shared with the housekeeper, the boy was the only other person she'd spoken to who could probably be persuaded. He seemed kind and she was not averse to his appearance. If it were not for the overseer she wouldn't have needed assistance, but Wes Kirkland was a good tracker. She'd never get away without help.

Nearing the stables she smelt the stockmen before hearing them. Theirs was a pungent scent, horseflesh and saddle grease, stale breaths and tobacco smoke layered with rum.

‘She's been locked inside for three days.'

Abelena flattened her body against the wall of the stables.

‘Well, I think it's wrong. Clearly she doesn't want to be here and how do we know that Mr Wade isn't belting her or something?'

She recognised the voice. Peering through the ill-fitting boards she saw the young man.

‘You stay out of it,' the scraggly bearded man chastised. ‘What happens to that girl is none of your business.'

‘Mrs Brightman reckons that Mr Wade and Kirkland have had a falling out.'

‘It's none of our business, Nicholson,' the bearded man replied.

‘That's because Kirkland hurt the girl. There was mud on his rope and she was filthy.'

‘Shut up, Will,' the bearded man snapped. ‘Don't go sticking your nose into other people's business.'

‘But it's wrong,' Will argued.

‘And who are you to say what's right and what's wrong?'

‘She's a girl,' Will reasoned. ‘You know I'm right, Mr Crawley.'

The older man stopped checking the contents of his saddlebags. ‘Well, there we have it. You are a do-gooder. It would have been better, boy, if you'd stayed a heathen. In my world do-gooders can't be trusted and heathens can.'

The men resumed saddling their horses and then walked out of the stables into the morning light. Abelena edged around the corner of the building. The bearded man was giving orders for the day. They were heading to the wether paddock first before riding west to a far boundary to bring in sheep for lamb-marking. They expected the job to take three days.

‘So check your swags. Make sure you've got enough supplies,' Evan told the riders.

‘What are we doing heading out to the wether paddock? That mob's been done. Besides, we're down men, what with the two blacks still gone,' Nicholson complained. ‘It'll take more than three days with only five of us.'

The men swung their bodies into the saddles. The horses nickered softly, shifted the weight on their legs.

‘So you keep saying, Nicholson,' Evan half-grunted. ‘In fact you've been saying it since daylight, which is why we're running late. And that's four of us,' Evan corrected. He nodded and pointed at each man in turn. ‘Me, Nicholson, Sprout and Bob.'

‘And the boy,' Sprout added.

Evan shook his head. ‘I don't think so. Young Will's suddenly got a little too interested in what's right and wrong.' He rubbed his beard. ‘And that don't sit too well with me when his own father's a thief. No, I think we'll leave the boy to bin the late wool from the sheep that were missed during shearing.' He turned to him. ‘Move the fleeces to the two bins closest to the press then you can sweep out the woolshed and set up the cradles for marking. That'll give you time to have a think about what it means to mind your own business.'

‘But, Mr Crawley?' Will pleaded.

The boy watched the men ride off and then kicked the dirt. ‘C'mon, Pat.' The horse dropped a load of warm dung on the ground as Will unsaddled the animal and carried his gear back into the stables.

Abelena kept a safe distance, waiting until the horse was turned out to graze and the boy had walked to the woolshed. She peered through the double doors of the cavernous building. Slanted rays of light shone down through the skylights, highlighting slatted tables and wicker bins. Running parallel to the five large tables was a long polished board. The wall had many narrow oblong holes cut into it and bits of metal resembling stretched-out arms hung in front of each space from a long rod overhead.

The boy was lifting up armfuls of wool from one of ten wooden bins that were built into a wall. He'd removed his shirt and worked in a singlet, the muscles in his arms bunching and curling as he lifted wool from one bin, walked the length of the stalls, and threw it into another. Dust particles sprinkled the air.

‘Hello.'

He turned warily. Abelena sat on one of the slatted tables swinging her legs.

‘Are you meant to be here?' he asked, shocked.

‘What are you doing?'

Picking up his shirt Will wiped his sweaty face. ‘Sheep were missed in the muster during shearing and there's a presser coming next week to press this late-shorn wool into bales.' He lifted another fleece and walked from one bin to the opposite end where he threw it on top of the growing pile.

‘You're right. Wes Kirkland is nasty. He roped me and dragged me from the river.'

‘You heard that?' He turned awkwardly back to the pile of wool, concentrated on the task. ‘I hope you told Mr Wade.'

‘Oh, he doesn't care. He keeps me locked up.'

Will dumped another armful of wool. ‘Why did you come out here with Mr Wade if you don't want to be here?'

‘I didn't have any choice. He made me come. My parents are dead.'

‘So you don't have any family?'

‘Or friends.'

‘Well, you could go to the police.' Will looked at the girl, with her bare legs and long hair and lovely face. ‘He's got no right to treat you that way.'

‘They wouldn't help. You know what it's like when a person has money and another doesn't. My word wouldn't mean anything.' She walked to the bin where he stood and crushed the crinkly-cream wool between her fingers. ‘Do you know much about sheep?'

‘There's money in them, but to be honest I just muster them up and either walk them to or from a paddock. The days are a blur of horses and dogs and cranky stockmen,' he added.

‘That bearded man, Mr Crawley, doesn't like you.'

Will wrinkled his nose and sneezed. ‘Not at the moment. It's lanolin,' he explained as Abelena wiped her fingers together and sniffed them. ‘It's in the wool. That's what makes it greasy.'

‘I like sheep. Where I once lived everything was ploughed up and when it stopped raining the wind blew the land away. We'd wake with the taste of grit in our mouths, in our throats. People died from the dirt and dust in the air.'

‘Heck, it must have been a bad drought.'

‘Uncle George told me that it was wrong to put land under the plough, to wreck the earth, that we had to tend the land like a loving mother and, like a mother, consider the dangers that could come to us if we didn't look after her.'

‘I hadn't thought about it like that, but it sounds like your uncle was a smart man.'

‘He was.' She moved towards him and touched his forearm. He started. It was strange to feel the warmth of another's body. Abelena lay a hand on his arm, running her palm the length of sinew and muscle, feeling the curve of skin next to her own. ‘I've not touched a man this way,' she breathed, stroking the bone at the base of his throat. Will didn't move. ‘You're hard and soft, like a woman but in different places.'

‘I guess.' Will swallowed.

‘What do you call that?' She touched the concave space at the base of his throat.

‘I don't know.' He leant slightly forward, sniffed her hair.

‘Is your father really a thief?'

‘No, well, sort of. My ma's sick and we needed money.' He brushed his hand down the length of her hair and rested it on her hip.

‘I know what it's like not to have money. To be hungry.' Abelena thought of the hard-edged wanting in Tobias's face and stepped a little closer to Will until their bodies touched. She wanted this man to kiss her. Was it because she'd lost everyone dear to her? Because she was so very alone in the world?

‘I think you should leave,' Will said but didn't move. ‘I mean, we'll both get in trouble.'

‘Have you been with a woman?'

Will stepped away and put his shirt back on, dressing hurriedly.

‘Well, have you?'

‘Do you always say what you think?' His cheeks were pink.

‘It's just a question,' Abelena replied. ‘It's what most men want, isn't it? To lie with a woman?'

‘I guess.'

‘Can we go riding?'

Will looked around the interior of the shed.

‘The men have gone. No-one will know.'

He scratched his head. ‘I don't know, Abelena. I could lose my job.'

She gestured to the bulging pillowcase sitting on the slatted table. ‘I brought food for a picnic. Besides, if anyone sees us we'll say you found me out riding and brought me back.'

‘But you'll get in trouble.'

Abelena flashed hazel eyes, took Will by the hand. ‘I'm always in trouble.'