Matilda's Last Waltz Part 23

April's gaze was very direct. 'You never said. When was this?'

Matilda shrugged. 'The end of season party at Nulla Nulla. You'd just had Joseph.'

The pale blue eyes widened in the wan face. 'You went on your own? Oh, Molly. Tom would have gone with you if you'd said.'

'He was busy,' she said flatly.

'So what happened?' The darning was put aside, and Tom lowered his newspaper.

Matilda thought of that night and shivered. 'I'd finally decided to buy myself some proper clothes, and when the invitation came thought it would be a good idea to accept for a change. I would know most people there the men anyway, 'cos I deal with them each year at the markets and auctions. The Longhorns put me up in the manager's bungalow with some of the other single women.' She fell silent, heat rising in her face as she thought of the purgatory of sharing a small s.p.a.ce with five other women she didn't know and with whom she'd had nothing in common.

'You hated it, didn't you, Moll?'

She nodded. 'They looked at me as if I was something a dingo had dragged in, then after a lot of questions that I thought were too personal, just ignored me.' She took a deep sigh and began to roll a cigarette. 'In a way it made it easier. I couldn't talk about the latest singing heartthrob or the newest film on at the travelling pictures. They didn't know one end of a sheep from another. So I just got on with changing into my new dress, listened to their chatter about boyfriends and makeup and tailed after them when we left for the party.'

She thought of the way she'd been left sitting on the narrow bed as they chattered and giggled and painted their faces. She'd so wanted to become part of such a lively, happy group but they didn't want her and she wasn't going to make a fool of herself by pushing in. So she'd let them leave without her, and had taken her time strolling the short distance to the barn where the dancing was to be held. It had been a beautiful night, soft and starry, the air caressing the bare skin on her arms and legs. The dress had made her feel pretty when she'd bought it, but compared to the city gowns the others were wearing, she knew it was hopelessly dated and gauche for a seventeen year old.

'Charlie Squires met me at the door and got me a drink. He was real nice and asked me to dance and everything.' Matilda smiled. She'd liked Charlie, and had been surprised at how easily they'd got on. He was only two years older than her, but so sophisticated after those years in a Melbourne boarding school that she'd wondered why he'd wanted to spend time with her when there were so many other, far more beautiful girls to dance with. Yet his heart too was in the land and as they chatted and danced she knew she'd found someone who understood her feelings for Churinga.

April's eyebrows arched. 'You and Charlie Squires? Jeez. I bet his old man had something to say about that.'

'The others weren't there so I suppose Charlie felt free to dance with me.' She looked down at the barely smoked cigarette burning away between her fingers. 'Anyway, it was only one night, and I didn't go to another party after that.'

'Why, Molly? If Charlie was interested, why didn't he ask you to the other parties?'

She looked at April and slowly shook her head. 'It wasn't Charlie put me off. In fact he was on the two-way every day for a month, and even came over to see me once or twice.' She stubbed out the cigarette. 'We were getting on real well when suddenly he just stopped calling.'

'Well, aren't you the dark horse, Moll? You never said.' Tom's eyes were steady on her face. 'What happened to make him cool off? And why didn't you go to any more parties? You'd done the hard bit it had to be easier the next time.'

'I don't know what happened with Charlie,' she said thoughtfully. 'I'd have thought old Squires would have been jumping fair to tie a fit, knowing his son was courting me after what happened with Andrew. But nothing was said, and now when I meet him Charlie just grins, says "G'day", and turns away. It's as if he's embarra.s.sed to see me.'

Tom frowned. 'Strange. Something must have happened to make him change his mind, Molly. After all, he was only nineteen and boys of that age are too busy sowing wild oats to get tied down.'

'Possibly,' she said lightly, masking the hurt of his rejection. She'd liked Charlie, he'd made her laugh and she'd felt attractive and girlish in his company. 'But I stopped going to the parties because of the other women. I can face a wild pig or a dingo and shoot it between the eyes, but I can't do that with the gossiping, snide remarks and inverted sn.o.bbery of the wives and daughters of the other squatters.'

April's work-reddened hand covered hers. 'What happened, Moll? Were they terribly unkind?'

Matilda took a deep breath. 'I overheard them talking as I was fixing my hair in the bathroom the next morning. They laughed at my dress, at the way I walk and talk, the state of my hands and my underwear ... But I didn't really care about that. It was what they said about me and Charlie that really did it.'

She paused as she thought about those humiliating sn.i.g.g.e.rs behind the closed door of the bathroom. They'd known she was in there. Known she could hear them.

'They said Charlie was just being nice to me because old man Squires wanted my land. They said no man in his right mind would ever marry me, that I'd probably end up having a string of Abo kids because only a black man would find me attractive. They suggested things about me and Gabe, awful things, that made me burn with fury. I stormed out of there, gave them all a piece of my mind and left. But I could still hear them laughing as I collected Lady and rode back to Churinga. And the sound of it's still with me sometimes reminding me I should keep my own company and know my place.'

'That's terrible,' Tom protested. 'Longhorn would be horrified if he knew anything about it, and so would his wife. Why didn't you say something?'

'And cause more fuss?' Matilda smiled. 'It wouldn't have made any difference, Tom. They would still keep their opinion of me, and I would still keep mine of them. I'm happy the way I am. And as for Charlie ... It was nice to be courted for a while, but even I realised it could never come to anything because I would always wonder if Ethan had been behind it and Charlie had only done it because of Churinga.'

'It seems such a shame, Molly,' murmured April.

Matilda's laugh was light. 'I've enough problems trying to keep the b.l.o.o.d.y drovers in line without a husband hanging on to my boot straps. You have the babies and I'll love them. But I'll stick to the land and sheep instead of the social rounds. I know where I am with them.'

They fell into a comfortable silence listening to the evening news which was followed by a concert from Melbourne. Matilda's thoughts of that awful night and Charlie's subsequent snub faded into the past where they belonged. Her life was settled and she was happy enough on her own. Why wish for more?

She was humming the refrain of a particularly lovely waltz as she stepped out on to the verandah for a last cigarette before going to bed. Tom came to join her and they sat on the creaking porch chairs in companionable silence for a moment Bluey stretched between them, his snores making a pleasant ba.s.s rhythm against the chaffing of the crickets.

'That dog of yours has been sniffing round one of my b.i.t.c.hes and I think she's in pup. If they're good, we'll share them. What d'you say?'

'Good on yer, Bluey. Didn't know you still had it in you.' Matilda laughed. 'Flaming right you'll share, Tom Finlay! If they prove to be half the dogs old Blue is, then I can find them work.'

He became thoughtful as he rocked in his chair. 'You don't want to take too much notice of April. She just wants to see you settled, that's all. I hope we didn't upset you, making you talk about that do at Nulla Nulla? Couldn't have been easy for you, girl.'

Matilda sighed. Tom meant well but she wished he'd just leave things alone. 'I'm about as happy as I'll ever be, I reckon. I have my mates, my land and a few bob in the bank. What more could a girl ask for?'

'Rain,' was his terse reply.

She looked up at the clear star-speckled sky and nodded. It hadn't rained properly for four years, and although she hadn't overstocked, gra.s.s on Churinga was getting scarce.

As the fourth year of drought dragged into the fifth, Matilda began to see more black ink in her account books but knew that if it went on much longer that would soon change. Bluey's pups turned out beaut. Eight in all, two of them b.i.t.c.hes. With one b.i.t.c.h each, she and Tom divided up the litter. They were intelligent and obedient, and soon she was able to take them with her to the paddocks and harness their inbred skills for mob herding.

She moved her sheep from pasture to pasture as the gra.s.s dwindled to dust, and finally corralled them in the home pastures where the gra.s.s remained lush from the bore. She had sold some of her stock and put the money in the bank. Sheep couldn't be forced to eat, and it was cheaper to keep her mob to a minimum than to try and feed them from expensive store-bought feed.

Everyone was hurting. Wilga, Billa Billa, even Kurrajong. The poor quality wool was being sold for the lowest price ever and Matilda wondered if this was the end of everything she'd worked for. The gra.s.s was thin, silver and whispering as she trudged the fields. The sheep were listless and drooping in the incredible heat.

Then the storms came. Dry and harsh and filled with electricity, they crackled overhead and left the squatters hot, on edge and desperate. They thickened the air with their heavy, rain-filled clouds, blackening the sky so she had to light the lamp during the day. Matilda and her drovers looked constantly to the heavens for the long hoped-for rain, but when it came it did little to soothe the parched earth. It was too lightly scattered and windblown to stay more than a few seconds.

She lay in bed, aching for sleep after another long day of moving the sheep to another pasture where the gra.s.s was only slightly better than the last. She was unbearably hot and restless, and Bluey lay beneath the bed quivering in terror. The sound of the electric storm filled the house, thundering over the roof and reverberating in the foundations. It was as if the world was on fire, waiting for that final whip crack of lightning that would bring Armageddon.

She must have finally drifted into sleep for when she next opened her eyes she realised that although it was still dark outside, and the thunder was continuing to roll across the land, something was different. She leaned on one elbow and sniffed the air. The temperature had dropped several degrees and a cooler, fresh breeze drifted in from the window.

'Rain!' she yelled, leaping out of bed. 'It's going to rain.'

With Bluey tight on her heels, she raced through the house and out on to the verandah. The first heavy drops splashed on to the roof and darkened the dry earth of the firebreak. They grew in number, following swiftly one after another like a great drum roll until the deluge became a thunderous roar.

Matilda forgot she was in her nightshirt. Forgot she was barefoot. Tears mingling with the wonderful, sweet rain, she stepped off the verandah and stretched her arms to the sky. 'At last, at last,' she breathed.

Gabriel and his family crawled out of their gunyahs and stood laughing and dancing in the cold, wet downpour. Wally and Mike emerged bare-chested and sleep-tousled from their bungalow. Even from this distance, she could see their grins.

'It's raining,' she yelled unnecessarily.

'Too b.l.o.o.d.y right it is,' laughed Wally, the younger of the two, as they came to join her in the yard.

Matilda was filled with a restless energy, a longing to celebrate, and after watching Gabriel cavort with his wife in the mud, grabbed Wally by the hand and pulled him into a whirling, exhausting dance across the yard. Mike caught hold of Gabriel's young daughter and followed suit. Within seconds all of them were caked in mud and out of breath.

When they'd finally collapsed on the porch steps, they all just sat and watched the parched earth soak up the inches and inches of life-giving water. It was a miracle and it hadn't come a day too soon.

Mike was the first to voice the concern they'd all begun to feel. 'Reckon we'd better move the mob to higher ground, Molly, before this lot takes hold. They're too near the river at the moment and if it runs a banker we'll lose the lot.'

As he gave her an appraising look, Matilda suddenly realised her cotton nightshirt was sodden and left little to the imagination. Blushing furiously, she gathered its folds. 'Let me get dressed,' she muttered. 'You see to the breakfast, Mike.'

She ran indoors and stripped off the filthy, sodden sc.r.a.p of cotton. She washed quickly and scrubbed herself dry with one of the new towels she'd bought from Chalky on his last visit.

Chalky White, and his father before him, had been touring the outback for years. No one knew his real name, or age but his visits were eagerly looked forward to by the women for he always carried a collection of the latest dresses, as well as make-up and shoes, records, books, and all the things that made a house a home. He had once travelled by horse and wagon but now he drove in style in a converted fairground truck and came more than twice a year.

She eyed the new moleskins and boots, and decided against them. They would be ruined in the mud. But the long waterproof droving coat would be a G.o.dsend.

Breakfast was a hasty affair of mutton sandwiches and mugs of strong, sweet tea. Conversation was kept to a minimum as it was impossible to hear one another against the thunder of rain on the roof, but they left the house as one to saddle up the horses. Gabe was to stay behind to make sure the cows and pigs didn't drown, and to batten down the barns and hay lofts so the rain didn't spoil their precious stores.

The rain was heavy, almost bruising. Matilda tucked her chin into the collar of her waterproof and tipped her hat low over her eyes as she watched Blue and his three pups round up the sheep. The drovers' whistles were drowned by the sound of the rain punching the ground, but the animals were proving skilful and well-rehea.r.s.ed.

Lady was skittish, dancing on her toes, tossing her mane, eyes rolling. Matilda took a firm grip of the reins and kicked her forward. It was going to be a long day, and tough going, but thank G.o.d for it.

Sheep hate getting wet. Newly shorn, they shivered in pathetic clumps, skittering this way and that to escape the bullying dogs and riders. But there was always something or someone there to stop them, to turn them back into the mob and press them forward. This made the exodus from the pastures slow, but it became steadier as the horizon was hidden behind a curtain of rain.

Matilda breathed in the wonderful fresh smell of soaked earth and wet scrub. An inch of rain meant nothing out here, but ten inches meant fresh gra.s.s and gra.s.s to a squatter meant life.

They finally reached higher ground which lay to the east of Tjuringa mountain. The gra.s.s was spare but would soon flourish and there was plenty of water in the fast-flowing mountain streams. After checking the fences, they released the mob and began to make their way back.

It was three in the afternoon, but there had been no real sunrise that day. The clouds raced, black and heavy over a leaden sky, and a sharp wind blew darts of rain through the trees. The horses picked their way through the rivers and runnels of water which ran swiftly over the concrete-hard earth, their manes flicking rain, letting the water stream from necks and legs.

The long waterproof weighed on Matilda's shoulders and cold drips ran down her neck. But she didn't care. Couldn't possibly feel cold and miserable now the rain had come. Getting wet was a small price to pay for survival.

The steep-sided creek had run a banker. Where there had been only a trickle of water a few hours ago, now there was a raging torrent which swept everything before it. Matilda took a firm grip on the slick reins and urged Lady down the slope and into the water.

The old mare baulked as she slid and slewed in the mud, head tossing, eyes wild with terror as the water surged around her legs. Matilda tried to calm her and urge her forward, but the mare rolled her eyes and backed off.

Mike's black gelding was too close. As it reared up and whickered, she felt the answering shiver run through Lady. It was some minutes before both horses were under control. 'We got to cross, Molly,' shouted Mike above the deluge. 'There's no other way back and if we don't do it now, we'll be stranded.'

'I know,' she yelled back. 'But Lady's spooked, and I don't think she'll make it.'

'It's that or wait for the rain to stop and I don't reckon it will for days.' Wally's chestnut stood placidly on the edge of the raging water, seemingly unaffected by the skittishness of the other two. 'I'll go first and take a line with me.'

He uncoiled his rope and lashed it around the bole of a tree which in normal times stood several feet above the water on the bank but was now almost submerged. Tying the other end firmly around his waist, he took a couple of the pups and stuffed them inside his waterproof coat. The chestnut stepped into the fast-flowing water, and was soon swimming strongly against the tide.

Mike and Matilda held tightly to the rope, ready to pull Wally back out if his horse was swept from under him. They were lashed by the rain which stung their eyes and froze their hands, but their grip never faltered. The tide was strong, the undercurrent deadly as it rushed over the craggy bottom in whirlpools and eddies and Wally's life depended on them.

He finally emerged, the gelding sliding in the mud as it tried to get a grip on the steep bank. Again and again the horse strained and struggled. Eventually Wally slid from his back and scrambled up the slope, dragging the gelding by the reins as he shouted encouragement.

The ascent was agonisingly slow for those who watched but eventually they reached dry ground and Wally tied the rope around a tree stump. Matilda and Mike breathed a sigh of relief as he took off his hat and waved it. He was all right. He'd made it.

'You go next, Molly,' shouted Mike. 'But if you feel the horse slip away, don't hold on to it. Just keep tight to the rope and pull yourself across.'

She nodded, but she had no intention of letting Lady slip from beneath her to certain death. They'd been together too long, shared too much for Matilda to abandon her. She tucked the remaining pup into her coat where he squirmed, his wet fur soaking her shirt. She waited for him to settle, then gently encouraged Lady back into the water. With one hand gripping the reins, and the other hooked around the rope, she used her knees and thighs to keep the old mare under control as the water swirled in vicious eddies around her feet.

Lady slipped and stumbled, her head rearing up as she whickered with terror. Matilda leaned over her neck, muttering soothing noises, coaxing her on until she found her footing and her courage to push against the tide.

The water surged over their legs and Matilda felt its tug as Lady began to swim. She clung like a limpet to her back, face almost touching her mane, hands grasping reins and rope, the puppy squirming between them.

'Good girl,' she crooned. 'Good girl. Steady now, Lady. Keep going, girl. Keep going.'

The rain fell in solid sheets, blinding them, adding to the flow of the river, making the banks slick and deadly. Wally stood on the other side shouting encouragement, but Matilda was deaf and blind to everything as she felt the old mare begin to tire. 'Come on, girl. One more push. One more and we're home,' she urged.

Lady heaved herself into the shallows and gamely ploughed up the slope. But there was no foothold, just sliding, slimy mud which slithered beneath her hooves and dragged her back into the water.

Matilda could hear the rasp of those great lungs, feel the bunching of those tired muscles, and leaped off her back. With her grip firm on the bridle, and feet squarely dug into the mud, she tried to pull her out of the water and up the slope.

Lady came snorting and struggling, fighting for a foothold, teeth bared in the effort as Matilda scrambled up the slope dragging her behind her. She shouted encouragement and once they were clear of the water, Wally slithered down to grasp the reins and add his strength.

Time ceased to exist in the mare's agonisingly slow progress, but then her hoof struck solid ground and she gave a final great lunge and stumbled to the top of the slope. She stood there for a long moment, sides heaving as she fought for air. Then her legs crumpled beneath her and she sank to the ground. Her long yellow teeth snapped, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she was still.

Matilda was on her knees in the mud, the pup slithering unnoticed from her coat and racing to its siblings. She stroked Lady's neck, following the familiar contours of her once powerful body as tears slid down her face and mingled with the rain. Lady had been a true friend her only friend in that first year or so she'd shown courage right up to the end.

'Mike's coming across,' Wally yelled close to her ear. 'Give us a hand.'

Matilda sniffed back the tears and grabbed the rope. Mike was already halfway across the river with Bluey riding pillion. As the water swirled over the gelding's back, the dog almost lost his footing and Matilda held her breath.

Bluey had no intention of swimming. He crouched low against Mike and steadied himself, then gave a sharp bark and windmilled his tail.

'Little b.a.s.t.a.r.d's enjoying that,' yelled Wally as they pulled on the rope. 'I swear he's grinning.'

Matilda was speechless with fear and grief. She'd lost one mate today. She didn't think she could bear it if she lost another.

Mike's gelding struggled on the bank but was soon on firm ground. Bluey jumped off his back and shook himself all over them before lunging at Matilda in a whirlwind of muddy paws and darting tongue. She and the two men collapsed on the ground, winded and exhausted, no longer caring that they were growing colder and wetter by the minute. They'd made it.

After they'd caught their breath, Matilda climbed up behind Mike and they began the long trek home. The dogs ran beside them, eager for a warm kennel and dinner. Matilda could think only of Lady. They'd had to leave her behind an ign.o.ble end for such a brave horse. Matilda grasped her saddle close. She would miss her.

The rains had brought waist-high gra.s.s. The squatters of New South Wales breathed easily for the first time in five years. The stock that had survived the drought would grow strong, healthy wool. They would breed well and life would return to normal.

But life in the outback was cruel, the elements deceitful, and their relief was short-lived. The water which had fallen in such a deluge ran over the impacted earth and disappeared. The sun rose high in the sky, brighter and more searing than ever. The land steamed, and soon the lush gra.s.s was silver again, the pastures veiled in dust and heat haze.

Tom had lost a few sheep in one of the lower pastures but his mob was much bigger than Matilda's and he counted himself lucky it hadn't been more. Matilda bought one of his stock ponies to replace Lady, and life began the inevitable cycle of mustering, breeding, shearing and selling.

It had become a ritual for her to visit Tom and April at least a couple of times a month. The news from Europe wasn't good, and Prime Minister Menzies was warning it could be war if Hitler advanced his attacks in Europe.

'What will Hitler's invasion of Poland mean to us out here, Tom?' They were all sitting in the kitchen and the atmosphere was tense on that September night in 1938. 'Why should a war in Europe affect Australia?'

'It means we'll be dragged into it,' he replied thoughtfully. 'Only to be expected I suppose, seeing as we're part of the Commonwealth. Chamberlain needs to do something about it, and b.l.o.o.d.y quick.'

Silence fell and April's hands stilled over her knitting, her face pale in the lamp light. 'But you won't have to go, Tom? You'll be needed on the station. The country will be crying out for wool and tallow, mutton and glue. If there is a war,' she finished fearfully. She looked expectantly at her husband but he kept his gaze averted and switched off the radio.

'Depends on how things go, luv. A bloke can't sit out in comfort while his cobbers are being shot at. If they need me, then I'm going.'

Matilda and April looked at him in horror. 'What about Wilga? You can't just walk away from it,' Matilda said sharply. 'And what about April and the kids? How are they supposed to manage without you?'

Tom smiled at her. 'I never said it was definite. I just said I would go if I was needed. There might not even be a war.'