The Great Plains (45 page)

They were galloping across ground fraught with ridges, Abelena's mare responding to the slightest pressure of her legs. If she needed to veer right or left she would direct the animal accordingly with a slight shift of her weight. To slow or stop she simply patted the horse's neck and told her mount to do so.

‘How did you learn to ride like that?' Will marvelled. ‘You hardly use the reins.' They had galloped straight across the plains in the direction of the river.

‘My people have always been good with horses.' She patted the horse's sweat-glossy neck. ‘But this mare listens. She's a fine animal.' The horse slowed to a trot. ‘She would be better without a saddle, then she would feel me and I her and we would understand each other better.'

‘You're kidding me?'

Abelena threw her head back and laughed.

The dark mass of an eagle's nest was visible up ahead. Situated in the tallest branch of a dead gum tree, its mess of twigs and branches jutted against the pale sky. Abelena cajoled the mare onwards as a wedge-tail appeared about the ruffle of timber in the distance.

‘Look.' Will pointed.

‘I've seen him. Isn't he magnificent?'

‘I didn't think you liked eagles.'

Abelena twisted her hair across one shoulder. ‘I didn't think they would travel so far.'

‘So far?' Will's brow furrowed. ‘They live here.'

The eagle's wings stilled as it soared on an upward current. It held something, some small animal clutched in its talons, food for the young that waited in the woody shell high in the tree. The mare nickered quietly, lowering her head to nibble at dry grass. They were a mile from the trees that led to the river.

‘Save me, Will,' Abelena begged. ‘Take me somewhere where I'll be safe.'

‘Huh? Abelena, I can't. I'll lose my job and you'll be in real trouble.'

A long rising
keek, keek, keek
sounded. A bird was flying rapidly towards them from the prominent eagle's nest. A Goshawk had attacked the nest, a bird was clutched in its claws. Behind it, the wedge-tail had quickly deciphered the severity of the strike and dropped its carrion instantly. The Goshawk descended swiftly. Abelena caught a glimpse of the hawk's underparts, grey-brown finely barred with white, as it headed towards the open plain. The eagle was gaining on the smaller raptor and the hawk, as if sensing the danger, began to circle back towards the safety of the timber, clearly burdened by the young eagle in its grasp. It slowed slightly and dived lower to the ground. The trees it aimed for grew closer.

The wedge-tail swooped and attacked the hawk midair, accelerating as it gathered the enemy between its claws. The hawk released the young eagle on impact and the young bird found itself airborne and began to flap its wings desperately. It dropped through yards of space until a stubby bush broke its fall and then the scrub was quiet. The parent flew off towards the creek, the struggling hawk in its grasp.

Abelena cantered across the ground, her fingers entwined in the horse's mane. Will was calling out for her to stop, to slow down, but she kept riding, intent on finding the injured bird. The young eagle was at the base of the bush. Brown in colour, it flapped a broken wing and walked in circles, clearly confused by its ordeal. There was blood on its breast and its damaged wing dragged in the dirt as it moved. Dismounting, Abelena walked after the injured bird and quickly gathered it up. The young eagle was heavy. She folded the hurt wing against her chest, hoping the body warmth would soothe the wounded animal. It struggled fiercely and set about pecking at her hand, squawking in alarm.

‘What are you going to do with that?' Will waited as she remounted, the bird clutched to her chest.

Abelena clucked her tongue and the horse resumed walking towards the river. ‘You can't leave something helpless to die.'

‘Now where are you going? We should head back.'

‘In a minute.'

They weaved through the trees, one after the other. Will complaining that they would be in trouble for sure and Abelena ignoring his increasing anxiety.

‘Listen.'

‘I don't hear anything,' he said.

‘Of course you do. You can hear the rustle of leaves, the snap of a twig, the scurrying of animals and look, there's a goanna.' A five-foot-long lizard ambled slowly up a tree trunk.

‘We see them all the time when we're out mustering.'

‘The river's near.'

‘No, it's not, there's a way to go yet.'

‘I can smell it.'

The ground grew more uneven. The trees, thick-girthed. Abelena led the way across fallen timber. She brushed away the foliage of flat-leafed trees and spiky ones, ducking beneath the web of a scuttling bush spider. The far bank came into view first and then the trees thinned and the horses were walking down a gradual slope. Two kangaroos were at the water's edge: one lying down, the other drinking. A patch of sunlight filtered through the branches of an overhanging tree, turning their glossy pelts from red to burnished gold. They turned towards the intruders and quickly hopped away.

‘Can you hold her?' Abelena passed the wounded bird to Will and then, sliding from the saddle, scanned the riverbank. There was a leather pouch stuck between tree roots and she raced to retrieve it. ‘This is where Wes found me.'

‘So those are your things?'

‘Yes.' She examined the contents, the Apache hide was intact. Abelena murmured her thanks. Across the river the far bank was empty. The black boy was not here today. ‘Let's swim.'

‘I haven't been to this part of the river before.' Will watched as Abelena took her shoes off and then tugged her dress over her head. ‘I'm surprised you managed to find your way back here.' His voice faded as the material fell in a heap around her ankles. The girl was naked. Swinging a leg over the saddle, Will dismounted and sat the frightened bird on the ground.

‘Are you coming?' Abelena waded into the water.

Will watched as she dived beneath the surface, her water-slicked buttocks disappearing into the depths. She rose some feet away, her long dark hair slick over the curve of her breasts. ‘Don't you like swimming?'

Will took his boots and shirt off and, struggling with his trousers, fell on his backside as he fought with one leg.

Abelena emerged naked from the river, her skin wet and glossy. Full breasts and a tapered waist rounded out across slight hips and fell to the black triangle between her legs. She flicked the long hair from her face and chest so that her body was totally bare and, dressing carefully, tied her shoelaces together and strung them around her neck.

‘Well, you've dragged me out here so we might as well have that picnic you talked about,' Will said crossly as he quickly re-dressed. If the girl was playing hard to get she was doing a good job of it. He remembered that one of the men had called her a tart when she'd spat in the dirt at Mr Kirkland's feet. Maybe she was. He'd never known any woman to strip naked like she just had.

‘I didn't mean to make you angry, but if you wish to swim, then swim, there is no point standing on the bank, watching.' Abelena gathered her belongings. ‘Why are you looking at me that way?'

‘Do you always trust men so easily or are you teasing me?'

‘Should I not trust you?' She gathered the frightened bird in her arms and flung herself back up onto the horse. ‘No picnic. We might need it later.'

Will caught his horse and mounted up. Abelena edged the mare closer, so close their legs touched. Leaning forward she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Now we go to your parents' farm.'

Will looked askance. ‘How did you know about that?'

‘You told me the first day we met. Which way?'

‘Well it's left but, Abelena, I can't take you there, there are things you don't know about me, about them –'

She touched the mare's flanks with her heels. ‘Let's go.'

September, 1935 – The Plains, Southern Queensland

Marcus sat on the verandah sucking on a rum bottle, the dog beside him, whining and scratching. He knew it was well past noon. The homestead blocked the sun's rays and the shade drew flies and wasps and a hen who had escaped the coop. She sat at the far end of the verandah, feathers puffed out, wings drooping. He couldn't remember when he'd last fed the hens, although he knew he ate eggs yesterday. The door to the house was open to draw the breeze. He had told Floss to lie on the floor near the open door where it was cool but his wife wouldn't leave their bedroom. Instead the insects accepted the invitation and invaded the house. Marcus couldn't recall when he'd last seen Floss outside and he wondered where she did her business, if there were other pickle jars filled with unimaginable things.

At the opposite end of the verandah, the blowflies buzzed around a dark circle in the dirt. Tonight he had to go out again and find two killers for Mr Stevens. He was a day late with the order. Somehow he'd managed to sleep yesterday away and now he had no choice but to milk the remaining cows early before setting off at dark and hope the milk didn't spoil. They needed things, he and Floss. With the coming of spring they had neglected the vegetable patch and there were no string beans or tomatoes. They could do with some bread too. He'd grown accustomed to visiting the baker and buying whole loafs. It was expensive but easier than trying to make his own, he couldn't even manage johnny-cakes and Floss was too busy with the child to cook anymore. Up-ending the bottle, he shook the last few drops of rum onto his tongue before pelting it into the scrub. It hit the wash-room, striking the board that still rested against the uncompleted building and it fell to the ground.

‘Dad.'

‘Well, about time –' Marcus got to his feet unsteadily. His boy was not alone. He licked his palm and patted his hair and tried unsuccessfully to button his shirt. There was a woman with his son, a dark-haired beauty. She slipped gracefully from the horse she rode and walked towards him, barefoot.

‘Dad, this is Abelena Wade.'

Perch jumped and barked and back-flipped, then stopped and growled. Abelena muttered a few incoherent words and the dog walked to Will for attention.

‘I told you,' Will warned the girl. ‘I thought you would have stopped drinking,' he accused his father.

‘I thought a bit of responsibility might have learnt you some manners.' Marcus turned to Abelena. ‘I'm sorry, girl, but my wife's been poorly ever since Will took off and, as you can see, I'm in no state for visitors. There's too much work and only me to do it.' He glared at his son.

‘How's Mum?' Will tied Pat to one of the timber pillars.

Marcus belched. ‘The same. She's in her room and usually only comes out at dark, so leave her alone.'

‘I want to see her,' the boy persisted.

‘You will,' Marcus told him, ‘if you stay long enough. In the meantime the cows need milking and then there's shee–. Did you say her surname was Wade?'

His son nodded.

‘Crikey.'

‘She's in trouble, Dad, and she's come to us for help.'

Marcus gave a bitter laugh. ‘She's in trouble? With all that land and all that money? Have a gander about, Will. How the heck do you think your old father and mother have been getting along since you pissed off?'

‘You better come inside.' Will took Abelena by the hand and led her up onto the verandah.

‘Did you bring the money?' his father asked, following them.

Will closed his eyes. The lids pushed against his eyeballs. ‘I forgot.'

‘Figures. What's that girl got with her? A bird or something, is it for eating?'

Abelena paused on the threshold, the baby eagle held tight to her chest. ‘No, it's not.'

‘Well, there's nothing here to eat.'

The house was dirty. Dust covered every surface, cobwebs hung from the corners of the room, home to daddy-long-legs and flies entombed in sticky coffins.

‘I'm sorry, but I warned you,' Will told Abelena.

‘That's right. Talk about me as if I'm not here,' Marcus said quietly.

Abelena wrapped the bird in a tea towel and sat it in the empty wood box. There was a smell of stale food and unwashed clothes. On the sink the contents of the scrap bucket for the chickens had congealed into a moving black-and-cream mass.

‘Dad, will you empty this?'

The stink of the scrap bucket made Marcus reel. ‘I must have forgotten about it,' he mumbled as he took the bucket outside and pelted it into the scrub. He held a hand to his mouth and gagged. The dog was staring at him, one ear at attention, the other floppy. Even Perch judged him now. His fingers concentrated on the shirt buttons. He managed to do up those that still remained before walking indoors.

Will was checking the food-safe while Abelena tidied the table, moving plates to the sink.

‘My wife's sick,' he explained to the two young people, who were lifting sticky pots and pans and poking about in the safe. Everything in the kitchen was dirty. There was no hot water, the fire was out.

Will placed a quarter pound of flour and some salt on the table. ‘That's it,' he said.

Abelena patted him on the shoulder. ‘Just as well we didn't have that picnic then.'

‘Dad,' Will spoke like a parent to a child, ‘how about you go and have a wash, get cleaned up?'

Marcus fiddled with his shirt, tried to brush the ingrained dirt from the material. Then he walked outside.

An hour later they sat down to a mess of fried-up potatoes and vine tomatoes with hot damper.

Marcus ate hungrily. He didn't want to say thank you. The potatoes were creamy and fresh, the tomatoes tasted of the sun.

‘This was for your journey, wasn't it?' Will asked the girl.

She gave a small smile and turned to check on the eagle who squawked angrily from the wood-box. He was swaddled like a child and couldn't escape. ‘I know what it's like to go without.'

‘Would you have run away without me?' Will asked.

Marcus looked at the two of them talking as if he didn't exist. The girl had his boy entranced, he smiled and laughed and agreed with everything she said. Abelena was of mixed blood, that Marcus was sure of. He guessed her to be younger than his son in birth years but older in other ways. There was a clarity in her strikingly coloured eyes and also a weariness. It reminded him of the men he fought with during the war. The girl had seen too much. But Abelena was kind for she didn't say the truth when she answered his son. She didn't say that she would have run away with or without him, although this was obvious to Marcus, even in his drunken haze. ‘Is there tea?' he croaked. His throat was dry, the rum was wearing off, leaving the beginnings of a dull ache and a sickness in spite of the meal he'd just consumed.

‘Yes,' Will replied with a tone of approval, ‘yes, there is.'

They scraped their plates and drank the weak tea, a spoonful steeped in boiling water and shared between three. Will and the girl were talking about horses, about America, about the drought and the depression. Marcus didn't want to be the one to break the moment, but they couldn't ignore Floss forever, although as her husband he was guilty of doing his very best. ‘What about your mother?'

‘You said to leave her be,' Will answered.

Marcus rimmed the plate with his thumb and sucked the juices clinging to his skin. ‘I mean, what should we do?'

‘Leave her,' Abelena suggested, ‘she will come out when she's ready and then we will feed her.'

That wasn't what he meant. Marcus needed a remedy for his wife. He and Will looked at the table, at the bread-mopped plates, the few crumbs left from the damper and the empty skillet.

Abelena began to tidy the dishes. ‘She needs more than food.'

‘I need to milk the cows.' Marcus excused himself from the table, conscious of being fed by a stranger in his own home and unable to understand what Abelena meant. Floss needed to eat too, but he was more than willing to leave the house in the girl's care, to have a woman in their home when Floss finally walked from her dark room into the light. His son looked to the girl.

‘Go,' Abelena encouraged, ‘I'll sweep and tidy and check for eggs. Go, I'll be here on your return.'

Father and son walked outside. Marcus straightened his spine. ‘How long will you be staying?' He tried to ignore the headache building between his temples. Were the boy not here he would lie in the shade until the rum left his body.

‘I'm not sure. I mean, I'll have to go back eventually but I don't know what Abelena wants to do.'

‘Well, she can stay here while you sort things out, but if she's a Wade I'm figuring she won't be able to keep hiding for long.'

‘Thanks, Dad.'

They walked towards the cow paddock. Perch bounced ahead of them excitedly.

‘While you are here do you think you'd be able to give me a hand with a few things?'

‘Yeah, of course, and I'm sorry about the money,' Will replied. ‘I wasn't expecting to end up here today, I was meant to be cleaning out the woolshed.'

Marcus clapped his son on the shoulder. ‘I've got to sort things out, put things right. But I've still got that other business.'

Will's face clouded.

‘I know what you're going to say, lad, but hear me out.' Marcus waited for his son to interrupt. He took a breath. ‘I need food for your mother and me. You can see we've got nothing.'

‘You spent it on grog.'

‘Some of it, yes,' Marcus admitted. ‘It's a hard thing being left here alone with your mother the way she is.'

Will bristled. ‘It's best we not talk about Mum, Dad.'

‘I know you blame me.'

Will didn't reply.

‘I owe Mr Stevens two killers,' Marcus began. ‘That will give your mother and me flour and other basics, some seeds perhaps to get the vegie patch going.'

‘Then what?'

‘If we get three sheep, I'll salt the meat.'

Will gritted his teeth. ‘Three sheep. You have to be joking.'

‘Your mother and I could live on it for a good month if we're careful.'

‘You could trap rabbits, eat one of the chickens instead?'

‘Just help me this once, Will.' He thought about what his son wanted to hear. ‘I won't buy anymore rum.'

‘Then you'll stop supplying Mr Stevens?'

Marcus hadn't planned on giving the business away with the shopkeeper, he couldn't. He just needed a bit of a hand to get on his feet again. ‘Yes,' he responded awkwardly. Stealing was one thing, he'd grown used to it, but lying was hard. ‘But we'd have to get the killers tonight. I couldn't do it by myself. I wouldn't ask you to help if I wasn't desperate.' They climbed through the fence. Sissy stood in the shade of a tree, her cow eyes watchful.

‘You do promise that you'll stop if I help you just this once?'

‘Yes.' Marcus began calling out to the cows, grateful for the distraction. He felt like celebrating, fried mutton and potatoes, a mug of water and rum.

‘Well if I give you some of my earnings that should make things easier.'

Marcus agreed. ‘It would, absolutely.'

‘And we have to decide what to do about Mum. Has there been any change?'

‘No, none.'

‘So we need money for a doctor.'

‘Probably.'

Perch had run to the far end of the paddock and the cows began to move towards them. The dog barked as he mustered, his coat a flash of black and tan across sun-brittle grass.

Marcus strode across the paddock calling to the milkers. ‘We'll leave at dusk,' he told Will. ‘We don't want to keep that girl of yours waiting.' He clapped his son on the shoulder again. ‘Imagine finding a girl like that, eh?'

Will gave a pensive smile. ‘She found me.'

‘But you like her?'

Will thought of the girl's river-slicked skin. ‘Yes, I do'.