Alice was straining under the ironbark rail, holding it in place while Sam drilled the hole. His back was aching from holding the heavy tool at an awkward height. Once done, he hurried to thread the wire through and fasten it tightly in place with a Cobb and Co twist. It was their third day of yard building and Alice had been doing all the heaviest jobs. The dogs lay stretched out contentedly in the shade nearby.
‘Have a blow, Alice.’ Sam stretched his back.
‘I’m fine, Pa.’
‘Well, I’m knocked up.’ He sat down on a drum, defeated.
Alice sat cross-legged on the ground and looked up at him with concern in her dark eyes. ‘Let’s head home. I’ve still got to work the weaners. We’ve done enough here for today.’
‘Ali, we’re gonna have to put someone on. We need some extra help.’ Sam’s exhaustion forced him to broach the subject at last.
‘Can we afford it?’
‘I think so. Especially if some of these ideas of yours help to increase productivity as you keep promising.’ He smiled at her. ‘And as you’ve been saying, we’ve got to spend money to make money. I want to get this place up to scratch before . . . while I’m still able. Anyway, we don’t have a lot of choice.’
Over the weeks that followed, Sam asked around about a potential full-time stockman for Redstone. However, he soon discovered that suitable candidates were few and far between. Eventually it came down to three possibles, none of whom he was entirely satisfied with. When he’d made his choice he realised there was nothing for it but to break the news to Olive. There were fireworks at afternoon smoko that day.
As he’d expected, Olive didn’t take the news very well. ‘He’s a rowdy drunk, Samuel! Sue’s at her wits’ end with him. Why can’t we employ one of the other O’Donnell boys instead? I haven’t heard anything terrible about them. Jeremy’s a bad egg. Surely you remember the steeple climbing? And he didn’t even make it to the end of year ten – the boarding school sent him home. You’ve no idea the things I’ve heard about him at CWA. Really terrible.’
‘I have a pretty fair idea.’ Sam was cynical.
So Olive elaborated. ‘Coral’s daughter made the mistake of getting tangled up with him. And so have most of the other girls in town, from what I’ve heard. Have you thought about Alice? I’m surprised you could even consider having that drunken lout around here after what happened with Lara at nineteen. Almost the same age!’
‘This is a completely different case. Alice is nothing like Lara. And Jeremy’s a good worker – more than half handy, switched on. He’s been doing fencing contracting with Wayne Matheson for two years now. And he can turn his hand to anything. Everyone says so – even Brian admits that.’
‘Maybe he’s a good worker, but only when he’s sober, which isn’t very often. Don’t think I don’t know that Wayne has been threatening to fire him if he turns up to work hung-over again. Betty told me that weeks ago. In fact, Wayne probably has fired him, and now we’re expected to take him.’
Sam spoke patiently. ‘Liv, Brian wouldn’t have suggested we take him on if he wasn’t going to pull his weight.’
‘Well, you can tell Brian from me that if he’s failed at teaching his son some discipline and respect, an old softy like you won’t get far in trying to reform him.’
Sam looked up in surprise and Olive continued triumphantly, ‘Don’t worry, I know all about your secret men’s business. Faye overheard Sue telling Kathy that Brian was going to ask you to take him on. Get him away from town and clean him up. I think you’re both dreaming. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about without looking after other people’s delinquent sons.’
Sam stood up slowly and faced Olive. He gently placed his hands on the table. ‘Well, there isn’t anyone else. All the young fellas that aren’t working at home have gone to the mines. I’ve been asking around for weeks. We need some help here. I’m getting old. Stuffed.’
‘You always say Alice can do anything.’
‘And she can. But we’re handing her a raw deal. The place is rundown. We have enough work for ten men.’
‘Mushgang, Dan and Stretch have always been good enough until now. Why can’t we just give them more hours?’
‘Dan and Stretch are buggered, same as me. And Mush isn’t far behind with his arthritis. I’ve let things go, Olive. And I have to face it. Alice can’t fix everything on her own. She’s just a blooming kid.’
‘Just so long as you know I’m not happy about it.’ Olive sniffed.
This statement usually ended all their disagreements. In favour of Olive’s wishes. But today, Sam stood his ground.
‘I’m going to give him a go. Who are we to write off a young bloke? You just never know what’s under a hat.’ Sam folded his newspaper, pushed in his chair and walked out onto the veranda.
Olive listened to the hollow thudding of Sam’s boots on the stairs. When she saw he’d left his cup of tea and Anzac biscuit unfinished she knew that this time he wouldn’t back down.
So Jeremy O’Donnell was given a starting date. After a few days of getting used to the idea, the thought of reforming a lost soul began to appeal to Olive, although she’d have died before admitting it. She’d make sure there were strict conditions. Jeremy could come, but on her terms: no trips to town, and no alcohol or girls on Redstone. Right up until the Saturday evening before Jeremy was to arrive, she continued to act disapproving of the plan, with lots of martyred sighing for Sam’s benefit whenever Jeremy’s name was mentioned.
Half an hour after lunch on the Sunday, Jeremy O’Donnell’s noisy old ute pulled up next to the shed. Olive noted with pleasure that he wasn’t brash enough to park closer to the house. A good sign. She peered out the window and saw him climb out of the cab. He was tall with an athletic build. She could see, even from here, that he’d grown into a fine-looking young man. She’d seen him often as a small boy in church with his family. Out of the six O’Donnell boys, he’d been the one who was always wriggling in his seat or fooling around. But in recent years they hadn’t crossed paths.
‘The handsome ones are always the worst,’ she said to herself grimly.
From the stockyards, Alice heard the ute pull up. It sounded old, with a muffler in urgent need of attention. She hurried the group of weaners through the gate, closed it behind them and brushed some of the dust off her shirt. When she rounded the shed and walked towards the ute, the first thing she noticed was a dog chained up in the back. The stocky creature appeared to be a large blue heeler with a dash of something more box-headed thrown in.
Her grandfather had emerged from the darkness of the shed and was shaking hands with a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-twenties. The last time she’d seen Jeremy O’Donnell he’d been a teenager, but Alice recognised him straight away. Jeremy looked around and she walked closer, smiling at him in greeting.
She noticed he’d become very good-looking. The bright blue of his eyes was enhanced by heavy black lashes. His jaw was square and his hair was thick and a rich brown. Even his slightly crooked nose, which had obviously been broken on at least one occasion, only added an interesting charisma to his face. He returned her smile with what, she could tell, he believed to be an irresistible grin.
But Alice found she was immediately sceptical of the smile. She heard her grandmother’s voice inside her head saying, ‘Handsome is as handsome does.’ Alice was a primarily intuitive being. Even as a small child she’d discovered that a person’s exterior had little effect on her. Perhaps she’d learned this through her contact with Lara, when as an infant she’d longed for a mother who would truly love her. This early relationship had given Alice an immunity to any sort of charming wiles and an innate wariness of anyone who attempted to use them on her.
Now she could see that Jeremy was expecting her to go weak at the knees. ‘Well, if it isn’t little Alice Wilson, all grown up. Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny kid.’ He raised his eyebrows at her.
Unperturbed, Alice replied, ‘Hello, Jeremy. Last time I saw you, you were a clown.’ Jeremy laughed good-naturedly at the memory, and Alice was relieved to see that his smile was genuine this time.
After showing him to the worker’s cottage, set between two large gums, a stone’s throw from the main house, Alice returned to the yards to finish working the weaners. The paddocks at Redstone were large, and some of them were rough or scrubby: cunning cattle had plenty of places to hide and opportunities to break away from the herd if they were that way inclined. By working the young cattle each day for a few weeks after weaning, Alice was addressing this problem before it even arose, ensuring that once they were ‘bushed’ they would be easier to muster and quite comfortable with the prospect of returning as a mob to the yards. With her dogs she was yarding them in small groups, then teaching them to flow through gates and along the race. Their reward for doing all this was a feed of copra meal. Each day they were becoming quieter and more cooperative. The panic had gone from their movements and they were responding well to the dogs. For these youngsters, the yard was no longer a place to be feared.
But that afternoon, she carried out the task mechanically, her mind on the newcomer. Things would be different now that it was no longer just her and her grandfather. Her mind went back to the last day she could clearly remember seeing Jeremy.
She’d been home from boarding school for the Easter holidays, and on the Sunday she’d gone to church with her grandparents as usual. The opening hymn was just finishing, and the last warbling notes of the electric organ echoed and died. Father Callaghan began the opening prayer, everyone giving him their full attention this early in the piece. Suddenly there was a series of loud thumps and clatters coming from above. The priest faltered a little, then continued on as though nothing had happened. Birds often made strange noises on the roof at this time of year.
The congregation sat down and prepared themselves for a session of listening to the Word of God, daydreaming or examining each other inconspicuously, whatever the individual case might be. The noises came again, this time closer to the steeple section of the roof.
‘That’s a mighty big bird,’ Father Callaghan observed into the microphone pinned to his robes. Mr Allen, the acolyte who had been standing sentinel-like on the altar, strode importantly down the aisle and out the double doors to investigate.
Two sentences into the first reading, a flustered Mr Allen reappeared at the door. ‘Someone will have to telephone Aaron at home. He won’t be at the police station today.’
‘Phone Aaron? Why on earth? What’s happened?’ asked the old priest.
‘There’s a couple of young clowns on the roof trying to climb the steeple.’
‘Good Lord, this is something new!’ Father Callaghan sounded intrigued.
Alice waited with the rest of the congregation for the priest to start down the aisle, before they all followed closely on his heels. As they emerged from the church and squinted up into the sun, there was unanimous surprise. The pair on the roof really were clowns. Two agile youths, fitted out in multicoloured suits, complete with frilled collars, wigs, and face paint, had hitched a rope over the sturdy cross on top of the steeple and were shinnying up. Their floppy shoes stuck out ridiculously to each side. Alice stifled a giggle.
‘Get down at once!’ Mr Allen had taken charge. ‘The policeman’s on his way.’
The lower clown swore and loosened his grip on the rope, sliding back down to the roof. The other wasn’t far behind. Then, unexpectedly, rather than climbing down at the front of the building where the roof was low they clambered around to the back of the church and jumped off, landing heavily on the grass below.
The two entertainers bolted for freedom across the neatly mown lawn, the first clown leaping the low brick wall with agile grace despite his floppy shoes. The second wasn’t so adept. Forgetting to allow extra clearance, he hooked the toe of one shoe on the edge of the wall; what followed was a spectacular nosedive into the dust on the other side.
There was a gasp from the congregation and a moment of suspense while they all waited to see if he was alive. He jerked to life and half rolled onto his side, a winded grunt issuing forth. Alice’s heart went out to him.
‘Michael!’ Mrs Gibson, who’d been fiercely disapproving moments before, recognised her teenage son under the disguise, and motherly instinct took over. She rushed to his side. ‘Michael, darling, are you alright?’
‘He won’t be once I get my hands on him.’ It was Michael’s mortified father who now arrived at his side. Michael’s mother glared at her husband and extended protective arms over her son.
Michael began to moan with more volume now that he was getting his wind back. More people gathered around and a quiet babble broke out. Meanwhile, the other clown, noticing the absence of flopping footfalls behind him, had stopped and looked back. When he saw how it stood, he swore in frustration at his friend’s clumsiness, hung his head and flip-flopped back to face the music.
Alice saw Father Callaghan, who had been too dignified to rush around the church in his long vestments, arriving on the scene. ‘Who have we here?’ No one answered. ‘Well, if it isn’t young Michael Gibson, and let me see now . . . Jeremy O’Donnell. Haven’t seen you looking so pretty since your christening day.’
‘Oh Jeremy, how could you?’ Sue O’Donnell dissolved into tears onto the shoulder of the nearest old lady.
‘There’ll be a consequence for this, son.’ Brian O’Donnell spoke with deadly control in his voice.
‘Has anyone telephoned Aaron yet?’ fretted Mr Allen.
Father Callaghan seemed to decide it was time to preside over the scene. ‘Now hold on,’ he said. ‘We are always joyful when young people choose to join us for mass. Who are we to judge them on their exterior, or on the manner in which they come? Think of the Prodigal Son! Michael, can you walk, boy?’
Michael’s mother helped him to his feet, and Father Callaghan nodded approvingly.
‘Come into our church, boys, and take the seat of honour, right up the front.’ The priest took a clown on each robed arm and escorted them to the middle of the very front pew. Returning to the altar, he smiled down on them benevolently and was seated to listen to the readings.
Alice discovered later that Michael, a newly initiated bullfighter, had ‘clowned’ at his first rodeo the evening before; he had been instructed by Jeremy, already a seasoned rodeo clown who had trained Michael up with all the tricks in his bag. It had gone off brilliantly, and Michael’s antics in the ring had successfully distracted the raging bulls from the fallen riders. But more importantly, the crowd had gone wild. Afterwards, the two boys had partied all night. How and when they had decided to climb the steeple, Alice never found out.
The time came for the sermon. It was nearly Easter and the reading for the day was about Lazarus, the dead man whom Jesus had raised to life. Father Callaghan spoke about shedding the ‘darkness of sin’ that drags humankind into a state of ‘living death’. He spoke about hearing the voice of Jesus calling everyone to come out of the tomb. ‘His call is made in many ways, and people answer it in many ways.’ He gestured at the clowns. ‘Just as the people rejoiced at seeing Lazarus alive, we, too, should rejoice when our fellow man comes out into the light. We should embrace him, no matter what he has done in the past.’
Alice noticed Mr Allen still standing to attention on the altar. Up until this point, he’d been glaring disapprovingly at the clowns. Now, at hearing the old priest’s words, he looked down at his polished black shoes and seemed unsure what to do with his face.
Father Callaghan paused. The two clowns looked up and he smiled at them again. Michael looked stricken. His plastic red nose dangled under his chin, dented beyond repair. On the side of his face that had hit the ground, the white paint had mixed with red dirt and some blood to make a ghastly ochre. Alice could see him wringing his curly wig in his hands, apparently overcome with shame and remorse. Jeremy, on the other hand, was smiling up at the priest with what looked like genuine regard for the old holy man.
‘Cocky bastard,’ Brian O’Donnell muttered through gritted teeth, but Father Callaghan didn’t seem to be affronted by Jeremy’s expression.
Alice was surprised when the priest gave communion to the clowns first. She could see some of the old ladies whispering among themselves, outraged at this mark of respect to the delinquents. When the recessional hymn was sung and mass concluded, Alice noticed with amusement that Jeremy genuflected on one knee towards the tabernacle, his rubber shoe folding up under his toe.
But the punishment wasn’t over. Alice watched from the tea table set up outside, as the clowns came out the door, lagging a little behind everyone else. Father Callaghan wasn’t going to let them just slope off; he greeted them with open arms and escorted them again, one on each side of him, towards the tea-sipping churchgoers.
Jeremy approached the tea table, looking at Alice curiously. She was helping her grandmother and another woman serve out the tea. Last time he’d seen her up close was at the primary school Distance Education camp years ago. It had been her first year of primary school, his last, yet he could still remember the tiny Bambi-like creature who had barely spoken to the other kids.
He’d gone away then to boarding school and they’d both grown older. ‘She must be fourteen now,’ he thought. ‘Pretty.’ He smiled at her with his monstrous red mouth and was about to ask her for a ‘coffee, white with two’, when her grandmother edged in front of her and handed him a cup of black tea, piping hot. The look Olive gave him warned him not to even ask for milk, let alone sugar.
Jeremy and Michael stood to one side of the crowd, sheepishly sipping their tea while Father Callaghan loudly discussed the dry weather with a few of the parishioners. Jeremy tried to avoid the flinty glares being shot at him by his parents. Mrs Allen, the acolyte’s other half, was walking around with a platter of Arnott’s biscuits; after offering them to everyone else, she swallowed her pride and approached the clowns. Jeremy was just about to take a Monte Carlo when she intercepted his hand, passing him instead a plain Milk Coffee biscuit.
Michael saw what had happened and shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’
As the people started to leave, Jeremy plodded around collecting a few stray cups and delivered them back to the tea table. He gave them to Alice, her grandmother safely out of the way at the sink.
‘Thanks,’ she said and smiled. She made him forget he was a clown, her smile so beautiful, friendly and unself-conscious.
The clowns hung around until everyone had gone, waiting for the lecture they knew must be coming to them from the old priest. But all he said by way of dismissal was, ‘Hope to see you back again next Sunday, boys.’ Then, with a smile, he turned and disappeared into the church, off to the sacristy to change out of his vestments. Just a tired old man again.