Undercurrents Page 8

  ‘But how long will that be?’ The tears were flowing and she did nothing to stop them. Her world was falling apart. She had already lost her mother, now she was about to lose her home and her beloved father.

  ‘Can’t say,’ he replied, the sadness darkening his eyes. ‘But I’ll make sure it won’t be too long.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I love you, Maggie. Never forget that.’

  *

  A week later they were riding on the wagon behind the plodding, aged Hector. They had left almost everything behind, and the flatbed of the wagon was nearly empty. Maggie had been determined not to look back at the homestead. But she couldn’t resist saying one last goodbye.

  Waverly homestead already looked small and isolated, empty and abandoned, she realised as her gaze drifted over the familiar paddocks and outbuildings. She remembered playing in the barn, riding out on round–up, swimming in the creek. And there was the rope swing Dad had fixed from one of the trees. The ache was deep as she thought of another little girl swinging there.

  Maggie blinked away the tears and turned purposefully forward. It had been a mistake to look back. She must steel herself for what was to come. Closing her eyes, she felt the warm, welcome presence of Ursula. She’d been afraid her friend would stay on Waverly, but she was here beside her on the buckboard. Yet the time for childish things was over. How long would Ursula remain with her once she’d begun her new life?

  She opened her eyes and looked down at the things in the flatbed of the wagon. There wasn’t much, for the furniture had been sold or left behind for the new tenants. There was a bedroll, pillow, saddle and tack and Dad’s spare riding boots. The rest of his clothes were in the holdall, his blacksmith’s tools in the roll of canvas tied to the swag along with cooking pots and a tin mug.

  She thought about her own small bag beneath the tarpaulin in the back. The yellow muslin dress was carefully folded beneath the moleskins and work shirts. It was too small for her now, but it was the last thing Mum had made and she couldn’t have left it behind. Just like the photograph album, she thought as she held it tightly to her chest.

  Her fingers traced the ornate tooling in the leather as they jolted and trundled over the impacted earth. As long as she had her memories she and Dad would come through this. As long as she believed he would find work and come back for her, she would survive. The thoughts were a mantra as they slowly crossed the shimmering, dying plain and headed north into an unknown future.

  *

  Sam sat in silence as Maggie’s voice drifted away. He could hear the clock ticking on the mantel and the carpentry of the crickets in the trees at the back of the yard, but in his imagination he could feel the heat and dust of that lonely trek, and the heartbreak of a lonely child.

  ‘I reckon you must think I’ve got a screw loose,’ muttered Maggie. ‘With my imaginary friend.’

  Sam sat forward in his chair. ‘Is she still around?’ he asked, his voice tender.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘She left when I finally took my destiny in my own hands.’ She looked back at him, her gaze steady, as if defying him to make fun of her.

  Sam shook his head, his slow smile loosening the tension in his tired face. ‘She was around when you needed her,’ he said softly. ‘That’s all that matters.’

  Maggie looked away from him and stared into the empty fireplace, and he wondered what she was seeing, what her thoughts were. Her childhood was so far divorced from his own that he couldn’t really understand how it must have been for her. With four brothers and two sisters he’d never felt the need for an imaginary friend. There was too much work to be done, too many people jostling for space in that overcrowded homestead. They too had struggled through the depression, but they had survived.

  ‘Where did you end up?’ he asked as the silence grew. ‘You said you finally took charge of your own future. What happened?’

  Maggie stood and ran her hands down the creased dress. ‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘And we both have work in the morning. I’ll tell you another time.’

  Sam glanced at the clock, amazed at how swiftly time had passed. He stood and took her hands. ‘Will you be all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks for listening. I needed to talk.’

  He squeezed her fingers and stepped back. ‘Any time,’ he said – and meant it.

  He left the cabin and ambled back to the hotel. His thoughts were legion, his emotions strangely jumbled. Maggie had surprised him tonight, and he had surprised himself at how easily he could be drawn in by her. She had triggered off something in him that he thought had been lost when Stella and his son had been killed in that bush fire.

  He remembered being in love. Remembered the joy of holding his newborn son. Remembered the devastation when he’d returned to the homestead to find nothing but burned– out trees and black ash underfoot. It had taken five years to bury those emotions, but as they emerged now, he realised they were as raw as they had ever been. The need to hold someone was overwhelming. The need to lie next to someone, to talk through the night and make love was an ache within him. The yearning to belong – to be a part of someone else’s life, was all.

  He would have to be careful, he thought as he let himself in through the back door. The last thing either of them needed was the illusory comfort of a physical relationship that would most likely peter out once the passion was gone. They were too vulnerable, and he instinctively knew that neither of them could risk being hurt again.

  6

  It was Monday morning. Maggie heard Sam’s ute leaving the yard as the sun came up and momentarily panicked. Surely he wasn’t going off again? Then, through the haze of a dreadful hangover, she remembered Olivia’s plan to drive out to Deloraine. She slumped back on the pillows. She felt terrible and knew she must look a sight, but it was time to get up – to get on with the day.

  Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she brushed her hair and realised even that was lacklustre. With a sigh she gave up trying to improve things and steeled herself for the moment when she would see Sam again. Whatever had she been thinking of? This wasn’t Sydney, and she could have caused all kinds of problems for both of them, for the people of Trinity could forgive most things, but a drunken woman was not one of them.

  Monday mornings were usually quiet in the hotel during these summer months until lunchtime. The graziers would bring their families in for lunch and then the men would get down to some serious drinking while the women and children spent the afternoon on the beach. Maggie shut the cabin door, squared her shoulders and squinted into the glare. Her head was bad enough without the sun bouncing off every glossy surface, she thought as she hurried into the welcome shade of the hotel. If only there were a few clouds to mar the perfection of the sky, a hint of rain, or even a haze over the sun – but then this was Queensland, God’s own country, where such things were rare.

  ‘G’day. Looks like you could do with one of my special hangover cures,’ said Sam as she stepped into the passageway.

  Maggie had a sneaking suspicion he’d been waiting for her, and was thankful he’d decided to take charge of what could have been an embarrassing moment. ‘I could do with something,’ she said, her eyes firmly avoiding him. ‘My head feels like it’s about to explode.’

  Sam made her sit down before he handed her a long glass. ‘A little something I prepared earlier,’ he explained. ‘Looks like hell, but it’ll do the trick.’ He grinned, his dark blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ‘Go on, Maggs. Down in one, then you won’t taste it.’

  She eyed it with suspicion. It smelled even worse than it looked. Taking a deep breath, she downed the concoction and almost gagged. Something slimy had slid down her throat. ‘What the hell’s in this thing?’ she gasped.

  He grinned again. ‘Tomato juice, Worcester sauce, pepper and a raw egg. No worries, Maggs. It’ll do you a power of good.’

  ‘Debatable,’ she muttered.

&
nbsp; He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Take the rest of the day off,’ he said kindly. ‘In fact – take the week off. About time you had a bit of a holiday.’

  ‘But the hotel’s full,’ she protested once she’d got over the shock.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. ‘Got help in the bar, and Lila’s brought in her cousin to wait tables.’ He leaned towards her and smiled. ‘You are indispensable, Maggie. I want you in one piece and happy. I’ve taken the rip too many times and this is my way of saying sorry.’

  Maggie blushed and looked away so he wouldn’t see the gratitude and love in her eyes. ‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice a little unsteady. ‘Though what I’ll do all week I have no idea.’

  ‘Go on the beach. I expect Debby will be down there with the kids. Be company for you.’

  Maggie nodded, but knew she wouldn’t seek out Debby. They were of an age, and got on well, but Debby had three children and a husband. It was summer, a time for families, and she would only feel she was intruding. Besides, she realised, she was still feeling frail after last night. Still haunted by the dreams that had followed her confessional talk with Sam.

  She looked back at him and smiled. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ she said with false brightness. ‘And don’t forget Billy Weaver hates gravy. Whatever you do don’t let Lila smother his dinner with it.’

  Sam slapped her bottom playfully. ‘Get on out of here, woman,’ he said in mock severity. ‘Before I change me mind.’

  Maggie blushed again and hurried off – yet she could still feel the warmth of his hand where it had touched her so fleetingly – and it filled her with a sense of well–being.

  As she prepared for the beach she thought about the man who was capable of stirring up so many emotions and knew that after last night she would have to tread carefully. Sam was not a man to be rushed. Not a man easily swayed by tears. She would have to keep her emotions under control and take it slowly. For he was a prize worth winning, and she didn’t want to risk damaging the tenuous understanding they had reached.

  Half an hour later the headache was gone and she was walking down to the beach. The straw hat had seen better days but it kept the glare off her face, and the cotton dress she wore over her swimsuit was faded. Armed with a towel and a book and a bottle of soda, she found an isolated spot over by the rocks where the palm trees gave a measure of shade.

  The beach was crowded and rang with the sound of children playing in the sand and the water. Couples stretched out in the sun, umbrellas were bright and cheerfully coloured and picnics were being devoured.

  Maggie tamped down on the longing to be a part of a family and busied herself by laying down her towel and pulling off her dress. She lay on her stomach and determinedly made herself relax. As the sun warmed her skin she felt the tension leave her and the soft lap of the water on the fine, golden sand soothed her into blissful sleep.

  *

  Giles and Olivia had left Trinity before sunup on the Monday, and after a long day of driving, camped out overnight.

  It was almost noon of the following day and Giles watched Olivia’s face as she steered the utility over the dusty track. There was a hard edge to her jaw, and a pulse jumped in her neck. Her hands gripped the wheel, the knuckles white beneath the light tan. ‘I don’t see why we had to leave so soon,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re still exhausted from the long drive up from Sydney.’

  ‘This is something that can’t wait,’ she replied, her gaze fixed to the seemingly endless track that curved in front of them and disappeared into the horizon.

  ‘I do wish you’d tell me what all this is about,’ he said finally. ‘You’ve been mysterious right from the start.’

  She momentarily took her attention from the track and flashed him a smile. ‘I’m sorry, Giles. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just have a lot to think about, and until some of it is clearer, it’s probably best to keep you in the dark.’ She grinned and swung the utility around a deep pothole. ‘Besides, you always said you loved mysteries,’ she added.

  ‘One would appreciate some clues to solve this particular mystery,’ he said flatly. ‘So far you’ve told me nothing.’

  Her hand rested lightly on his knee. ‘Sorry, Giles. I know I’m being unfair, but after today things will probably begin to make sense. And I promise I’ll tell you more when we get back to Trinity.’ She flashed him another smile and concentrated on the driving. ‘But for now, please just let me be. I need to prepare.’

  Giles knew when he was beaten. He so desperately wanted to help Olivia, for she was obviously troubled, but experience had taught him she was best left alone to work things out. She would ask for help when she really needed it.

  He tried to find a comfortable spot in the sagging seat as Olivia drove with her usual lack of restraint. This had to rate as one of the most uncomfortable rides ever, he thought as the utility bounced and shuddered and rocked over the rough terrain. Even beats flying through enemy flack with the Spitfire bouncing about like a wasp in a bottle.

  The loss of one arm made it difficult, for he was off–balance, and he held on to the edge of his seat with grim determination. Sam had supplied them with tools and spares as well as water. Yet, if they got a flat tyre, or punctured the sump, he’d be worse than useless. The old bitterness rose as the stump of his left arm began to throb, and he had to concentrate hard on tamping that bitterness down, dismissing it. For it served no purpose other than to remind him of what he’d become.

  He kept his thoughts to himself as he stared out at the empty land that shimmered in a heat haze beneath a furnace–white sky. Dark red earth stretched away on either side of them, relieved only by pale, drooping gum trees, scrub brush and enormous termite mounds. Boulders littered the ground on either side of the track, obviously in an attempt to mark out some kind of road to the station. They had already passed through three gates, and there was another up ahead. Just how far was this place from civilisation? And what the hell were they doing coming all this way?

  He climbed out of the car and opened yet another gate, then stood entranced as a mob of kangaroos came bounding out of a stand of trees. They were bigger than he’d expected – what he’d heard the locals call red boomers. He watched them bounce past him, their joeys peeking out of their pouches. It was the first time he’d seen kangaroos in the wild, and he turned towards Olivia with a grin of delight.

  Olivia nodded and smiled and gestured for him to hurry up. Giles watched until the animals had disappeared into the long grass, then climbed back into the car. The joy of the moment lost because Olivia hadn’t really shared it.

  The heat was intense, evaporating the sweat on his skin, making his neck itch where it rubbed against the soft collar of his shirt. There was little relief even with the windows open, for the dust blew in, flies and insects were swept against the windshield and even the wind was hot. They were too far from the coast to garner the salt breeze – too far from anything in his opinion.

  This section of track ran through an area of tough, silver grass and dark green scrub. The trees were sturdier, with thick foliage that had obviously been chewed by the cattle sheltering beneath them. These cattle were dusty and fly–ridden, tails and ears twitching constantly as they meandered from one tussock to the next. Giles could just make out horses and riders in the far distance, and realised they must be approaching the homestead at last.

  *

  Olivia peered through the cloud of dust that swamped them as she brought the ute to a skidding standstill. As the cloud dispersed, she could see the homestead and the surrounding buildings that lined the home yard.

  Deloraine homestead was a single storey building that had obviously been added to since her last visit. The original house was square and squat, the wood bleached by the sun, the corrugated iron roof much patched. The wings had been added with wider windows, shingled roofs and a covered in ve
randah. Roses clambered everywhere and mingled with ivy and bougainvillea.

  A vegetable garden had been dug beneath a canopy of netting, presumably to keep the birds off the produce, and there were dog kennels off to one side, where the pack of Queensland Blues had set up a ferocious welcome. Home pasture spread in front of the house, lush from a bore, shady with trees. Horses slumbered beneath these trees, their withers twitching from the worrisome flies, their tails languidly swishing. It was a pleasant, peaceful sight.

  Olivia sat there as the engine ticked and cooled and the dust settled. Now she was here, her rehearsed speech had been forgotten. She wanted to turn around and go back to Trinity. But it was too late. There was someone coming out of the homestead and on to the verandah.

  She climbed out of the utility and pulled on the sun hat. ‘Hello, William,’ she said as the man came down the steps.

  Short of stature, but lean and tanned, the man looked younger than his sixty years. His grey eyes inspected her, the puzzlement clear as they shook hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, finally. ‘But have we met?’

  Olivia wanted to smile, but found her face muscles were too tense. ‘A long time ago,’ she replied. ‘I’m Olivia.’

  ‘Well, strike a light and blow me down,’ he breathed. ‘Olivia.’ He eyed her again. ‘Jeez, you’ve grown a bit since I last saw you and yer ma. How y’a goin?’ His smile creased the lines around his eyes as his warm hand once more grasped hers and pumped it with vigour.

  ‘Good,’ she replied as she tried not to wince at his fearsome grip. She introduced Giles and the two men shook hands.

  ‘Come and sit here in the shade and have a cuppa,’ William said. ‘Irene’s about the place somewhere, I’ll give her a shout.’ He strode back into the house, calling to someone to make tea and find his wife.

  Giles sat down with obvious relief in one of the battered cane chairs and began to fan himself with his hat. Olivia was too tense to sit. She paced back and forth on the verandah, her hands flexing, damp with perspiration. At the sound of light footsteps she turned, her pulse racing.