Matilda's Last Waltz Part 10

Matilda crept to the side of the bed. Looked down at that hated face, those strong, violent hands and heavy body and raised the axe.

Light glinted on keen steel. Breath was tight in her throat. Pulse hammered as she stood poised above him.

Mervyn grunted, one bleary eye rolling towards her.

Matilda wavered. Fear made her weak, dissolving her courage. She fled back to her room, the tears bitter, the failure devastating. Her spirit had finally died.

Summer burned its way through Christmas and into the New Year. Clouds gathered on the horizon, black and swirling, heavy with promised rain. Matilda rode out with Mervyn and Gabriel to bring the depleted mob closer to the house. The dirty, woolly backs jostled before them, Bluey racing from one side to the other to keep them together. Choking dust rose beneath the trampling hooves, blinding the riders' eyes, filling their throats.

She dug her heels into the gelding's side and urged him up the steep bank after a ewe that had leaped for freedom. She rounded it up, whistling for Blue to chase it back into the pack. The mob trundled through the vast, dry gra.s.slands and Matilda looked at the numbers in despair. They had lost a great many lambs to the dingos and the drought this year. They could no longer afford to pay wages and there was too much land for two men and a girl to cover.

Mervyn's visits to the pub had become more protracted, and although Matilda was grateful for this small respite, she knew they would soon be bankrupt. The house was ramshackle, the once fine barns crumbling because of the termites. Creeks needed clearing, fences re-posting, fields disentangled from the ever-invasive bush. Water was down to a trickle and the need for a new bore hole had become urgent.

She gave a defeated sigh and urged her horse on towards the home pasture. Ethan Squires had made no secret of his desire for Churinga, and Mervyn had tried to bully her into selling. But she'd clung to her inheritance. Ethan Squires was not going to take it away from her and neither was his stepson.

Matilda's smile was grim beneath the handkerchief she'd bound tightly over her nose and mouth to keep out the dust. Ethan probably thought he was being clever, but she'd seen through his devious plan. Andrew Squires might be handsome and educated, but she felt nothing for him and never would. She was d.a.m.ned if she would barter herself in marriage just to escape her father. Churinga meant too much to her, and marrying Andrew would mean she would lose it.

Churinga pastures were yellow beneath the unforgiving skies, and once the mob was released and the gates barred she headed for the house. It couldn't be called home any more, she thought sadly. Merely the place where she survived another day.

Mervyn slid from the saddle and led the tired horse into the corral. Separating Lady from the others, he fumbled with bit and bridle. The mare rolled her eyes as he swung on to her back. 'That's it then. I'm off to Wallaby Flats.'

Matilda rubbed down her own horse and set him free in the paddock. The relief was sharp, but she daren't let him see it in her eyes so concentrated on gathering up the tack.

'Look at me, girl. I'm talking to you.'

She heard the dangerous stillness in his voice. Her expression was deliberately calm and unreadable as she turned towards him. But inside she was quaking.

'Ethan and that young pup of his are not to come on our land. I know what he's after and he ain't having it.' He glowered down at her. 'Is that clear?'

She nodded. It was about the only thing they agreed on.

Mervyn's riding whip flicked lightly against her cheek, the stock coming to rest beneath her chin, tilting back her head, making her look up into his face as he leaned down from the saddle. 'No kiss goodbye, Molly?' He was mocking her.

The cold, hard nugget of hatred settled deep inside her as she stepped forward and brushed his stubbled cheek with numb lips.

His laugh was humourless, laced with sarcasm. 'Not much of a kiss. Perhaps you're saving yourself for Andrew Squires.' Eyes the colour of pewter glared down at her, held her frozen for an endless moment, then released her. 'Remember what I said, girl. You belong to me and so does Churinga.' Digging in his spurs, he galloped out of the yard.

Matilda watched the plume of dust until it faded into the distance. The silence of Churinga enfolded her, bringing back peace of mind, a renewal of energy. She looked up at the sky. It was still threatening rain, but would it be yet another empty promise? For the clouds were breaking up, moving away towards Wilga.

With the pigs and chooks fed and shut in for the night, she crossed the yard to speak to Gabriel.

The old man was squatting over a smoking fire, the billy simmering a stew of kangaroo meat and vegetables. 'Rains coming, missy. Cloud spirits are talking to the wind.'

Matilda took a deep breath. He was right. The wind had changed, she could smell the rain. 'Better move your gunyahs. When the creak runs a banker you'll be flooded out.'

His yellow teeth glistened as he smiled and nodded. 'Tucker first. Plenty time.'

And he was right. There were two more days of searing heat and dry winds before the wet arrived. Thunderous rains hammered the corrugated iron roof and lashed the windows. Water filled ditches and creeks, running over parched earth in torrential rivers. Lightning turned night into day, cracking like pistol shots across the black sky. Thunder rolled and crashed, sending tremors to the very foundations of the little house.

Matilda sat huddled over the smoking fire of the old cooking range. There was nothing more she could do. The horses were warm in the barn, Gabriel and his family secure in the hay loft. The mob would have to take their chances, but the other animals were securely shut away in their kennels and pens. Of Mervyn, there had been no sign.

'It's you and me, Blue,' she murmured, stroking the silky head of the old Queensland Blue. He seemed to understand her need for his company, and licked her hand.

Matilda pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The house had been built to catch every breath of air in the heat of the outback summers. Now it was icy. The smoking fire gave little warmth, and the light of the kerosene lamp barely dispelled shadows in the corners of the room. And yet she felt safe. The rain was her friend. It kept Mervyn away and brought new life to Churinga. Soon the desert would be covered in kangaroo paw and wild blue anemones, thick gra.s.s and stout saplings.

She leaned back as her eyelids grew heavy. She could sleep without fear tonight.

Heavy hammering shocked her awake, bringing her sharply to her feet and reaching for the rifle. Bluey growled deep in his throat, his front legs straddled, hackles high.

'Who is it?' she yelled above the thunder of rain on the roof.

'Terry Dix from Kurrajong. Let us in, luv.'

Matilda edged towards the window where runnels of water obscured everything beyond. Shadows were visible on the verandah. 'What do you want?' She rammed a bullet into the rifle chamber and drew back the hammer.

'We got yer dad. Let us in.'

Matilda frowned. If it was Mervyn, then why all the rumpus? Something was wrong. She edged closer to the window. The shadows moved, divided into two figures and became clearer as they approached the window. They seemed to be carrying something heavy. Mervyn must have pa.s.sed out again and his mates had brought him home.

She sighed. At least he wouldn't cause any trouble, not in that state.

The rifle was steady in one hand as she unfastened the door with the other. It flew open, the wind tearing in behind it, bringing rain and leaves and bits of tree. The two men pushed pa.s.sed her, Mervyn slung between them. His body hit the table with a dull thud and the three of them stood for a moment in silence.

Matilda looked from the bedraggled muddy heap on the table to the two drovers who were dripping water from their capes. There was something about Mervyn that was too still. Too silent.

Terry Dix took off his sodden hat and ran his hands through his hair. His eyes didn't quite meet Matilda's, and his usually light, cheerful voice was hesitant. 'We found him tangled up in a tree root on the boundary of Kurrajong. No sign of his horse.'

Matilda thought of Lady and hoped fervently the mare was all right. She looked at Mervyn. 'He's dead then,' she said flatly.

Terry's eyes were round with surprise, his reaction to her lack of emotion clear on his young face. He looked away quickly to the other man, then down to the floor. 'About as dead as a man can get when he's caught in a flash flood.'

Matilda nodded and walked back to the kitchen table. Mervyn's clothes were torn and stained with mud. His skin bore the evidence of gouging tree roots and gas.h.i.+ng stones, and was grey with death. He didn't appear as large or threatening as he once had. But when she looked at those closed eyes she felt a tremor of fear. She could imagine them suddenly opening, staring at her.

'We'll help you bury him, luv. If that's what you want?'

Matilda took one last look at the man she hated, and nodded. 'Yeah. He's too big to manage on my own.' She crossed the room to the range and put the big smoke-blackened kettle over the heat. 'Have a cuppa first and get warm. You must be frozen.'

She stoked the fire and cut hunks of bread and cold mutton, but her eyes never settled on the body in the centre of the room as she worked around him.

The two drovers ate their food and drank their tea in silence. Their clothes steamed as the fire brightened, glances drifting between them, their curiosity unspoken except in their expressions.

Matilda sat by the fire staring into the flames. She was unconcerned for their thoughts or feelings. They didn't know Mervyn the way she'd known him or they would have understood.

'We'd better get going, luv. The boss'll be sending out a search party for us soon, and the horses need feeding.'

Matilda calmly wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and stood up. 'Come on then. There's spades in the shed. I'll get Gabriel to help you.' She picked up the discarded flour sacks. They would do for her father's shroud.

The two drovers fetched the spades whilst Matilda woke a reluctant Gabriel. The three men hauled the body off the table and struggled through the narrow door of the kitchen and out into the rain. They could hardly hear one another above the thunder, but Matilda pointed to the burial plot and led the way. She didn't really want him buried alongside her mother or her grandparents, but it would raise too many questions if she just put him in the ground outside the home paddock.

She stood bare-headed in the rain, her cotton dress clinging like a second skin, feet cold and wet as the water seeped into the thin soles of her shoes. She saw how the soft earth lifted easily under the spades. Watched as they lowered Mervyn Thomas into the deep hole and covered him with the flour sacks. Counted the spadefuls of earth it took to bury him. Then, without a word, she walked back to the house.

The drovers followed shortly after, and she wondered if they'd thought it strange she hadn't prayed over Mervyn given him a Christian burial. She lifted her chin and watched the rain teem from the verandah roof. She'd leave it to Father Ryan's G.o.d to decide what to do with him.

Gabriel hurried by on his way back to the barn and his warm, fat woman. The two drovers said goodbye and left for Kurrajong. Matilda stood on the verandah for a while, then turned back and closed the door behind her. She could have gone with them, but had no further need to escape. It was over. She was free.

The rains lasted two months, and Matilda had plenty of time to take stock of Mervyn's legacy. He'd left her with a rundown sheep station. A will to succeed where he'd failed. And a child in her belly which would always be a reminder of the dark years.

Chapter Six.

'Stan's organising two-up behind the bunkhouse. You in, Brett?' The shearer's voice was a gravelly whisper.

Brett glanced towards the kitchen. If Ma knew Stan was involved, then the lot of them would be in trouble. He nodded. 'But I've got a couple of things to do first.'

'Wouldn't have anything to do with our new lady boss, by any chance?' George winked, his elbow digging into Brett's ribs. 'Quite a looker, eh? Reckon you'd do all right there, mate.'

He laughed. 'You need to get out more, mate. One whiff of perfume and you lose all sense.'

George shrugged, his humour still intact. 'Better than smelling b.l.o.o.d.y woollies all day.' He sighed. 'If I was twenty years younger and not so crook, I might have 'ad a go meself.'

Brett eyed the crooked nose, the grizzled chin and thinning hair. George's courting days were far behind him. 'At your peril, mate. She's got a fair temper, that one. Sharp as knives too.'

George's eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing.

Brett returned to the last of his dinner as the other man took his plate out to the kitchen, then left. I'll have to watch what I say, he thought. Shearers love nothing better than a bit of gossip to spread on their travels.

'Where's Stan?' Ma came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

Brett shrugged and concentrated on his dinner. He wasn't going to dob in a mate to his missus, even if he did think the man was a fool.

Ma sighed and sat opposite him. She snapped open the tin of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette. 'Why do blokes always disappear just when you want them? Promised he'd help fix that table in the kitchen.'

Brett finished the last of the suet pudding and licked his lips. 'I'll do it, Ma. No worries.'

She lit her cigarette and stared at him through the smoke. 'He'd better not be playing two-up,' she said quietly. 'Doesn't know when to quit.'

Brett pushed the bowl away and reached for his cigarettes. 'Reckon he'll be right,' he muttered.

Ma's look was penetrating, but she said nothing more and they smoked in companionable silence. Yet Brett could tell by her frown that something other than Stan was worrying her.

'Mrs Sanders had a word with you, Brett?' she said finally.

He dragged himself back from thoughts of flas.h.i.+ng amethyst eyes and a laughing mouth. He'd been hard on her today, but she'd given as good as she'd got. 'What about?'

Ma looked uneasy, her gaze drifting away, fingers restless on the tobacco tin.

'Is something wrong, Ma?' She had his full attention now. He didn't like to see her out of sorts.

She shook her head. 'I just wondered if she'd said anything about those old clothes ... and things?'

He frowned. 'Why should she? You cleared them out and burned them.' He saw the flush of guilt slowly rise up her neck. 'Didn't you?'

Her plump fingers twisted the tin in circles, gaze firmly fixed on the table. 'Sort of,' she muttered.

He took a deep breath and chewed his lip. The d.a.m.n' woman had let Jenny see those diaries! 'What do you mean, Ma?' His voice was soft, more reproachful than accusing, but he was furious, and it took a lot of will-power to remain calm.

She finally stopped playing with the tin and stared across at him. 'I don't know what you're getting all steamed up about,' she said defensively. 'It was only a lot of old clothes, and she took such pleasure in them. I didn't think it would do any harm to let her have them.'

Brett stubbed out his cigarette. 'You've heard the rumours. And after what she'd just been through, I didn't want...'

'Didn't want her to hate this place and sell it on?' she interrupted with spirit. 'You and your precious Churinga,' she said scornfully. 'This b.l.o.o.d.y place is cursed and you know it.'

He shook his head. 'No, it isn't, Ma. You don't understand.'

She eyed him belligerently. 'Yes, I do,' she retorted. 'You got a nice set-up here. If she sells, you'll probably be out of a job. Good riddance, I say. Better off away from this place.'

He was silenced by her scorn, and by how close she'd come to the truth. Churinga was everything to him. He'd been left to run the place as if it was his own, had taken pride in making it one of the best stations in New South Wales. But if Jenny did decide to sell, then he might have to leave and he couldn't bear the thought of walking away from all he'd achieved.

Ma's pudgy hand rested lightly on his arm. 'Sorry, luv. But you got to face it sooner or later. What does a young girl like that want with a place like this anyway? She's got no man, no roots in the outback and certainly no experience of running a sheep station.'

'So you reckon she'll decide to sell then?' His spirits plummeted.

'Well, you haven't exactly made her feel welcome, have you?' she said acidly. 'I heard about the rumpus in the wool-shed, and about the pup.' She heaved a great sigh. 'Men,' she said with feeling.

'She gave as good as she got,' he said defensively.

'That's as maybe. But you got to remember, she's all alone out here. Things are bound to feel strange. Give all that macho nonsense a rest, Brett. Don't be so hard on her.'

He eyed her in silence. Ma was right. He shouldn't have bullied Jenny like that.

Her voice was conciliatory. 'I know it's hard for you, luv. But this isn't your place. Never was. You shouldn't have got to care for it so much.'

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. 'But I do, Ma. This is the place I always dreamed of having. I could never afford anywhere half as good not after paying off Marlene with so much of my savings.'

'Then don't you think a little friendliness, a little kindness, might make her feel more at home here? This is a trial visit, Brett, and first impressions are important.'

He nodded. 'I did apologise, Ma. And I tried to explain about the woolshed and the pup. I think she understood, 'cos the last time I saw her we called a truce.'

'So why haven't we seen her about the place this evening?' she said flatly. 'Why's she over at the house on her own?'