Matilda's Last Waltz Part 12

Jenny sat on the five-bar gate and watched Brett catch and saddle the roan. Like the other men on Churinga, he was so much a part of this place, she couldn't imagine him anywhere else. He was tough and brown like the earth, wiry like the gra.s.s, and as enigmatic as the existence of such exotic birds and delicate wild flowers in the harsh landscape.

She'd regretted his embarra.s.sment at breakfast, and would have put a stop to it if she'd thought it would have done any good. But she'd had no way of knowing Simone would blurt out their plans like that in front of the others and knew her interference would only have caused more comment. She had a sneaking suspicion Simone was trying her hand at match-making, and decided that, after the ride, she would have a quiet word. Brett was, after all, totally different from any man she'd met as an adult. Their life-styles collided at every turn, and they had nothing in common. Except for Churinga. And even that wasn't enough on which to build more than friendship. It was too soon much too soon.

Jenny climbed down from the gate, picked up the saddle bag with the picnic and crossed the paddock. The man and the two horses were waiting for her, and although they made a pleasant picture against the backdrop of Tjuringa mountain and the tea trees, she wished it was Peter who stood there with the reins in his hands. For this was his dream his plan for their future and she wasn't sure it was right to live it without him.

The wistfulness must have shown on her face. Brett's grin faltered as he looked down at her. 'Not having second thoughts, Mrs Sanders? We could always postpone this.'

Jenny put thoughts of Peter and Ben to one side and pulled on her riding gloves. 'Not at all, Mr Wilson. If you could please give me a leg up?'

He cupped his hands beneath her boot and hoisted her into the saddle. His grin was firmly re-established as he swung up from the stirrup and settled into his own. 'We'll head south to begin with. Then we can rest up for tucker in the shade of the mountain.' He eyed her quizzically. 'That sound all right to you?'

Jenny nodded as she took hold of the reins. The mare was quietly tearing the gra.s.s and chewing contentedly. She was old and gentle, and Jenny was relieved and not a little ashamed of her uncharitable thoughts towards Brett. She'd had a nasty suspicion he might have given her a half-broken brumby to ride, just to teach her a lesson, but he'd proved less spiteful then she'd thought. Yet even this old mare was a challenge after so long, and it would take all her concentration not to make a fool of herself by falling off.

They moved away from the homestead, the long gra.s.s swishing around the horses' legs. As they left the paddock and headed out across the grazing pastures, the horses broke into a canter.

'You seem at home in the saddle, Mrs Sanders,' shouted Brett. 'A little tense, but that's to be expected on a strange horse.'

Jenny gritted her teeth and attempted a confident smile. His surprise at her capabilities was nothing compared to the struggle she was having to stay on board. The effort of hanging on with knees and hands was making her tremble. She was out of condition and out of practice, and wished she could have had time on her own before coming out with him.

And yet, as she looked out over the silver gra.s.s to the distant Tjuringa mountain, she realised how vast and empty the land was, and was relieved he'd come with her. To ride out here alone would be foolish, for if she fell or hurt herself, it could take hours for anyone to find her.

She thought of Matilda and her desperate run for freedom. Thought she could hear the pounding of her boots on the solid, dry earth, and the echoes of her cries for help. The child must have come this way all those years ago.

'We'll head towards the mountain,' Brett called over his shoulder. 'You wanted to see more of Churinga, now's your chance.' He spurred his horse and set off at a gallop.

Jenny's thoughts snapped back to the present, and she tentatively urged the mare on. Sweat was running down her ribs as her hands gripped the reins and the mare set off after the gelding. Jenny rose in the saddle and leaned close to her neck, knees glued to her sides. This was going to be a real test of nerves, and she almost wished she hadn't suggested it. But there was no way she'd let Brett know how scared she was.

Then, as if by magic, she lost her fear and the tension left her. Her grip on the reins relaxed, and she gave the mare her head. The old felt hat flew off and bounced against her back, restrained only by its thin leather strap. Her hair streamed and the sheer joy of freedom surged through her. It was exhilarating to feel the warm wind on her face, and the steady sure-footedness of the animal beneath her.

Brett was some distance ahead, his torso barely moving as his horse stretched its legs and flew over the ground, man and beast in perfect harmony against the rugged backdrop of Tjuringa mountain. How wonderful, she thought. I could go on like this forever.

As the mountain came more clearly into view, Jenny realised it was partially covered in thick bush. Ancient trees formed a cool oasis at its base, and as they drew nearer, there was the distinct sound of falling water and bird-song. Perhaps this was where Matilda had come but Jenny wouldn't let gloomy thoughts spoil this wonderful day.

She followed Brett through the tangle and into the coolness of the green canopy until they reached the rock pool and splash of the falls. She reined in and grinned across at him. She was out of breath, and knew she'd be stiff tomorrow, but for the moment there was only the joy of the ride.

'That was bonzer,' she gasped. 'Thanks for coming with me.'

'No worries,' he muttered, swinging out of the saddle and coming to stand beside her.

'You don't understand,' she said, catching her breath. 'I didn't think I'd ever ride again after the accident. But I did it. I really did.' She leaned over the roan's neck and gave her a pat. 'Good girl,' she murmured.

Brett's expression was inscrutable. 'You should have said. I'd have given you more time to get used to old Mabel here. I didn't realise.'

She shrugged. 'Why should you? I was fifteen and the horse wasn't properly broken. It took fright, I fell off and didn't get out of its way in time.' She spoke the words lightly but still remembered the pain as the heavy hoof caught her shoulder and ribs. The broken bones had taken months to heal.

'Better rest a while then, Mrs Sanders. You've had a long ride and the water's good to drink.'

Jenny let go of the reins and swung a leg over the saddle. Then, before she realised what was happening, she was being lifted down by strong arms. She could feel the thud of his heart, and the warmth of his hands at her waist as he held her close before planting her firmly on the ground. She swayed against him, light-headed not only from the exhilaration of the ride.

'You all right, Mrs Sanders?' His look of concern was momentary, and she wasn't sure if the colour in his face had more to do with embarra.s.sment at their closeness than with the exercise.

She drew away from him. 'I'm fine. Thanks. Just not used to riding any more. Reckon I'm out of condition.'

His eyes flickered over her before returning to her face. His expression was eloquent, but he remained silent as he turned away and led her through the undergrowth to the rock pools.

'What about the horses? Shouldn't we hobble them?'

'No need. Stock horses are trained to stay where they are once the reins are dropped.'

They used their hats to collect the water. It was icy cold, burning its way down her dusty throat, refreshing the heat in her face and aching body. After drinking their fill, they sat in silence as the horses took their turn.

Brett lit a cigarette and stared off into s.p.a.ce and Jenny wondered what on earth she could say to him. Polite conversation would bore him, and she knew so little about his work her ignorance would merely make her look stupid.

She sighed and took a long appreciative look at her surroundings. Tjuringa mountain was made up of dark rock that was slashed with bright orange and piled like giant building bricks into haphazard order. The waterfall came from a deep fissure that was almost hidden by overgrown scrub, and the rock pools lay in flat basins that mirrored the centuries-old Aboriginal stone paintings on the mountain walls.

'What happened to the tribe who used to live here?' she asked finally.

'The Bitjarra?' Brett studied the end of his cigarette. 'They still turn up now and again for a corroberee, because this place is sacred to them, but most of them have gone to the cities.'

Jenny thought of the itinerant Aborigines who got fat and drunk on the streets of Sydney. Lost in so-called civilisation, with their ancient culture forgotten, their tribal lands taken by squatters, they lived from day to day on hand-outs. 'That's sad, isn't it?'

Brett shrugged. 'Some of them stay true to the Dreaming, but they have a choice like everyone else. Life was pretty hard for them out here, so why stay?'

He eyed her from beneath the brim of his hat. 'You're thinking of Gabriel and his tribe, I suppose.'

She nodded. It was no surprise he'd read the diaries for how else could she explain his reluctance to let her see them.

'They left a long time ago. But there's a couple of Bitjarra jackaroos working for us at the moment, who're probably distantly related. Great hors.e.m.e.n, the Bitjarra.'

'It was a good thing for Matilda Thomas they were around back then. Must have been hard for her once Mervyn was gone.'

Brett crushed out his cigarette. 'Life's hard out here anyways. You either take to it, or it kills you.' His gaze was penetrating before it drifted away. 'Reckon you'll be wanting to sell up and move back to Sydney before too long. It's difficult out here for a woman especially when she's on her own.'

'Maybe,' she murmured. 'But Sydney's no picnic, either. This might be the Seventies, but there's a long way to go before women are accepted as equals.'

Brett snorted, and Jenny wondered what cutting remark he was about to make before he changed his mind.

'I haven't always lived in the city, you know,' she said firmly. 'I lived in Dajarra until I was seven, then went to live on a station at Waluna with John and Ellen Carey until I turned fifteen and left for art college in Sydney. I met my husband in the city so I stayed, but we always meant to return to the land one day.'

He eyed her thoughtfully. 'There's nothing much but a big Catholic orphanage at Dajarra.'

She nodded. 'That's right. I called it home for a while, but it's not somewhere I plan on visiting again.'

He sat up and chewed on a piece of gra.s.s. 'Look, Mrs Sanders, I'm sorry if I was rude the other day. I thought...'

'You thought I was some rich city woman come to give you a hard time,' she finished for him. 'But I didn't tell you about my past so you could feel sorry for me, Brett. I just wanted to put you straight, so there could be no misunderstandings.'

He grinned. 'Point taken.'

'Good.' She turned away and watched a flight of budgies cast a rainbow through the trees. When she looked back, Brett was sprawled on his back, his hat over his face. Conversation was obviously at an end.

After several minutes she became restless and decided to take a closer look at the Aboriginal paintings. They were as clear as if they'd been painted yesterday, depicting birds and beasts running from men with spears and boomerangs. There were strange circles and squiggles marking what she guessed were tribal totems, and handprints smaller than her own, tracing a pa.s.sage into the scrub.

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 gra.s.sland. 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 h.e.l.l 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 d.a.m.ned 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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.