Matilda's Last Waltz (21 page)

She picked her way through the bush, delighting in each new find on the ancient rock. Here was a cave, delving deep into the mountain, with fantastic creatures adorning the walls. There was a finely etched Wanjinna, a water spirit, drifting from a fissure in the rock up towards the waterfall. She moved deeper into the bush and began to climb. Clay mourning caps circled a long dead fire on a shallow plateau, and the bones and feathers of the feast that had once been eaten here littered the ash. She squatted down and looked out through the tree tops on to the grassland. It was almost as if she could hear the throb of the didgeridoo, and the hollow tap of the music sticks. This was the ancient heart of Australia. Her heritage.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing, wandering off like that?' Brett came crashing through the bush and up the rock to stand breathlessly beside her.

She looked up into his thunderous face and took her time to get to her feet. ‘I'm not a child, Mr Wilson,' she said calmly. ‘I know how to take care of myself.'

‘Really? Then how come you haven't noticed that scorpion on your boot?'

Jenny looked down in horror at the tiny creature, poised and ready to strike where her boot ended and her socks were her only protection. She stood rock still then with lightning speed flicked it away with her gloved hand. ‘Thanks.' She said grudgingly.

‘You might have been brought up in Waluna, but you still have a lot to learn.' He growled. ‘Thought you'd have had more bloody sense than to climb about up here on your own.'

‘Perhaps I didn't like the company down by the pool,' she retorted.

‘It was you insisted I come with you.'

Jenny rammed her hat more firmly over her head and pushed past him. ‘My mistake. I won't bother again.'

‘Good. 'Cos I've got better things to do than baby-sit a silly woman who thinks it might be fun to go walkabout right next to a scorpion's nest.'

She turned on him, furious to have been caught unawares by the scorpion, hurt pride making her sharp. ‘Just remember who you're talking to, Mr Wilson,' she hissed.

‘It would be difficult not to – believe me. But if you didn't behave like a brat, you wouldn't be treated like one,' he retorted.

‘How dare you?' said Jenny with dangerous calm.

Her hand was caught in mid-flight as she aimed to slap his face. He pulled her close. ‘I dare because if anything happened to you, I'd be blamed.' He released her as swiftly as he'd caught her. ‘Time to go. I've work to do.'

Jenny clambered after him, out of breath and still raging. ‘What is it with you? Are you always this rude?'

They reached the pool and Brett gathered up the horses' reins. He turned to her, his expression enigmatic in the cool gloom of the green canopy. ‘Fair go, Mrs Sanders. If you play with fire, you should be prepared to get burned.'

The rage left her and confusion came in its stead. She looked into his eyes, saw no humour there, nor in the set of his determined chin. She snatched the reins from him, and without waiting for his help, clambered into the saddle.

They rode in silence back to the property, his strange words ringing in her head. What had he meant and why was he so touchy? She'd done nothing more than explore an ancient Aboriginal Dreaming Place. Why should that and the episode with the scorpion make him so rude – so belligerent?

Jenny shifted in the saddle. She didn't like the way he made her feel so … So what? Uneasy? Guilty? Awkward? She sighed. There was no describing the effect he had on her, and she was frustrated at not being able to understand why that should be.

As they reached the paddock, Jenny slid from the saddle. Her back and arms ached, and her extra toe was chafing against her boot. Next time she would wear her worn-in boots instead of these new ones, she decided ruefully. And she would go with someone else. One morning of Brett Wilson's company was more than enough.

‘Thank you,' she said coldly. ‘I hope I haven't taken up too much of your precious time. You can go back to work now.' It was a spiteful thing to say, and she regretted it instantly – but she was damned if she was going to apologise after his earlier rudeness.

Brett took the reins, unsaddled the horses and walked away. His only acknowledgement of her thanks was a curt nod.

Simone was in the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of cheese salad in front of her. Her face was bright with curiosity. ‘You're back early. How'd it go?'

Jenny threw her hat on to the table and sat down. Muscles she didn't know existed were tight and sore, and her foot was throbbing. ‘The ride was ripper, but I can't say the same for the company.'

Simone's hand stilled as she lifted the teapot. ‘You and Brett had a falling out?'

Jenny nodded. ‘He was rude – and I won't bloody stand for it.'

‘I'm sorry, luv, but I find that hard to believe. What happened?'

‘Nothing,' she replied tartly. It all seemed so childish now. No point in expanding on it.

‘Perhaps that was the problem.' Simone smiled as she poured the tea.

Jenny eyed the smugness in the older woman's smile. ‘What do you mean by that?'

Simone laughed and patted her hand. ‘Nothing, luv. Nothing at all. Strange you find him rude, though. Brett's usually such a nice bloke. There's lots of girls would've given their eye teeth for a morning's ride with him.'

‘Then Lorraine and the others are welcome to him. I can think of several things I'd rather do than spend the morning with Brett Wilson.'

‘Wait on, Jenny. There's nothing more than Lorraine's imagination between her and Brett. He ain't looked at a woman seriously since that wife of his shot through.'

Jenny saw the hostility in Simone's face, and wondered what the departed Marlene could have done to upset her.

‘And she was no better than she deserved to be,' Simone finished. ‘Led poor Brett a fine old dance.'

‘What do you mean?' Simone obviously had a soft spot for Brett, and doubtless thought he could do no wrong, that no woman was good enough for him.

‘She sang in a bar over in Perth, by all accounts,' she said, arms tightly folded beneath her bosom. ‘But I reckon it wasn't only her voice the men came for, if you know what I mean.'

She paused and pursed her lips. ‘Poor Brett. Thought he'd got himself a pretty little wife who'd stay faithful and fill his house with kids. Caused a lot of trouble round here, that one. Couldn't keep her hands to herself.' Simone's bosom heaved with disapproval.

‘No wonder he's so touchy around women. Must think we're all tarred with the same brush. How come he's got involved with Lorraine? By the sound of it, she and Marlene are sisters under the skin.'

Simone shrugged. ‘She's young, attractive and willing. A man has needs, Jenny – and Brett is the same as any man – but I don't think he's been that daft yet. But she's mistaken if she thinks she can hook him that way. He's after something far more permanent after Marlene.'

Jenny thought of Lorraine's expectant face, and the way her colour and spirits rose once Brett had arrived at Wallaby Flats. ‘Poor Lorraine,' she sighed.

Ma snorted. ‘That's as maybe. Don't want to waste energy on feeling sorry for that one. Had more blokes than you and me 'ave 'ad 'ot dinners,' she said scornfully.

Jenny stirred her tea. ‘He and I just don't seem to get along. After Peter, my late husband, he seems so taciturn, so unapproachable. Have I upset him in some way – is that it?'

Simone laughed. ‘Not the way you think, no.'

Jenny frowned. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

The round, jolly face sobered. ‘Nothing, luv. Brett's just worried you'll sell the place and leave him out of a job and a home. He's worked real hard for ten years to get it up this good, and it would break his heart to leave it.'

‘He has a funny way of trying to impress me then,' said Jenny flatly.

Simone waved away this defence. ‘It's only his way of hiding his feelings. Blokes are silly like that out here. They have to be seen to be tough and strong. My Stan comes back from the shed laughing and joking as if he hasn't a care in the world. But sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, he cries with the pain in his back.'

Jenny was silent as she finished her cup of tea. Brett's behaviour suddenly made more sense. His rudeness was covering up his fear. He was trying to prove Churinga was a place worth keeping. A place he could run efficiently and wisely. Her arrival had unsettled him – she was young, and a woman, and held his future in the balance.

She thought of his warm hands on her back and the beating of his heart against her own as he'd pulled her to him after she'd tried to slap him. There had been something in that moment which had almost broken through his defences – something she'd thought she recognised. And yet that was impossible.

‘I'm real tired after that ride, Simone. Thanks for the tea and the gossip. See you later.'

‘Right-oh. Time I got on with preparing dinner anyways.'

Jenny crossed the yard to the house, her mind playing over the morning's ride. Churinga was casting its spell over her, and soon she would have to decide what to do. But not yet, she thought. It's only been a matter of days, I'll not let Brett Wilson cloud my judgement.

The kitchen was cool and gloomy behind the closed shutters. She looked at the open trunk, the dress glimmering softly in the subdued light, and although she was exhausted, she knew it was time to read the next diary.

Kicking off her boots, she massaged her toes before climbing on to the bed, and within minutes was back in Matilda's world.

*   *   *

The mob had been rounded up into the home pastures. They were a bedraggled lot, thin and depleted in number, the spring lambs not as plentiful as Matilda had hoped. The wool cheque would never cover her father's debts. She would have to find another way to pay them off.

As Matilda watched the mob crop the strong, fresh grass, she felt the baby kick inside her and knew she'd made the right decision to bring the sheep in early. Churinga was deserted but for Gabriel and his family, and soon she would find it difficult to patrol the far-flung pastures on her own. Crutch cutting could be done here just as well, and she could keep an eye on foot rot and the hundred and one other things that went wrong with sheep.

She felt the gentle swell of her belly and couldn't hate the child that grew there. Conceived in sin, it was blameless – she was determined to give it the best life she could.

The days grew longer and warmer, the grass lost its verdant freshness. Matilda rode out each day with Gabriel and Bluey to mend the fences and clear the streams of the storm debris that had been washed down by the wet. The nights were spent poring over the accounts and inventories. When the debtors came, she had to be ready.

The vegetable garden provided for the table, as did the dairy cows and the pigs. Yet her kerosene supply was way down, as was her store of flour, sugar, salt and candles. The shearing season was drawing ever nearer, and somehow, if she managed to keep hold of her stock, she would have to find the money to pay the shearers.

She fingered the locket her mother had given her. Matilda wore it most days now – there was no need to hide it from Mervyn any more. It was worth a lot of money but she would never sell it. Better to exchange some of Mervyn's rifle collection for seed and flour. Ethan's gloomy prophecy echoed in the silence of the deserted house, and despite her determination to prove him wrong, she could feel Churinga slipping away from her.

They came to find her a month after the short, violent wet came to an abrupt halt. Matilda's condition was hidden by a loose shirt and a pair of Mervyn's old dungarees, and as they rode into the yard, she was perched on the top rung of the ladder, helping Gabriel fix the roof of the house.

She knew who they were, and why they'd come – and as she looked down at them, she wondered if they would give her the chance to outline her proposals. They had obviously worked out something between them – their turning up together was proof of that. And as she began the climb down the ladder, she steeled herself for the battle ahead.

They released their horses into the home paddock and were waiting on the verandah by the time she reached them. Matilda noticed they couldn't quite meet her eye, and how they twisted their hats in their hands. She decided not to waste time with small talk.

‘I got no money,' she said firmly. ‘But I aim to pay off Dad's debts one way or another.'

‘We know that, Miss Thomas.' Hal Ridgley owned the feed store at Lightning Ridge, and despite his size, seemed to shrink before her direct gaze.

Matilda looked from one man to the other. Apart from Ridgley, there was Joe Tucker from the pub, Simmons from the bank, and Sean Murphy from Woomera. She took a deep breath and turned to Sean. He was well liked in the area, and his opinion was respected. If she could get him on her side, then she stood a chance of persuading the others to take her offer seriously.

‘Dad still owes you for that ram and two ewes. I need the ram to increase the stock, but both ewes have had strong, healthy lambs, two a-piece. Will you take them in payment?'

His hair glinted grey in the sun as he thought over what she'd said. ‘That ram's a good breeder. Cost me a fair packet, Miss Thomas,' he said finally. ‘I don't know.'

Matilda's calculations had accounted for this reluctance. ‘I'm offering the ewes as well, Sean,' she said quietly. ‘But the ram has to stay here for another season if I'm to survive.'

He glanced at the other men who were watching for his answer, then nodded. ‘Reckon that's fair, Miss Thomas.'

Matilda felt her spirits rise. She turned to Hal Ridgley and smiled. ‘The wet came before I could use all the feed Dad laid in. You can take what's left, and I'll throw in his Spanish saddle to square things up.' She noticed a flicker of greed light his eyes and pressed her point. ‘You've always liked it, and it's probably worth more than we owe.'