It was nearly Christmas and Redstone was critically dry. The storms that sometimes came in October, bringing the first relief from the dry season, hadn’t arrived. Then November had come and gone with unrelenting sunshine and skies that were endlessly blue.
If it hadn’t been for the few unseasonal showers they’d had on Redstone through the winter, the grass would have been completely gone. As it was, it was becoming sparse and unpalatable for the cattle. The ground was baked hard and cracked in places. All the dams were low or dry and their boggy banks had become treacherous for the weakened cows. All the cattle were showing the strain, their bones visible through their hides; the lactating cows were doing it particularly tough, and their calves were stunted from lack of milk.
The dingoes were making their presence felt, coming in from the national park and killing or mauling the feeble calves. The cows, usually so protective of their babies, were too weary to put up much of a fight. Each day there were new grim discoveries, heralded by circling crows and eagles that could be seen from a distance. Wild brumbies, goats and pigs also began to break the boundary fences in search of water and feed. Checking became an even more vital and frequent duty than usual.
But as her grandfather admitted to Alice at dinner one night, the cows had hung on much longer this time before starting to ‘crack up’. This could only be due to the mineral dry lick Alice had insisted they begin to use three months earlier. It had involved more expense, with small shelter sheds needing to be built, and replacing it regularly was time-consuming. But now, as significant numbers of cattle on the neighbouring properties began to die, the Redstone cows hung on.
In December, the time of the usual wet season, the clouds began to build. Each day, the sky taunted all the thirsty creatures inhabiting the parched country below. Starting mid-morning as almost invisible wispy tendrils of vapour, the clouds would accumulate throughout the day. By early afternoon the sky would be half full of a spectacular fluffy display that piled higher upon itself as the day drew to a close. But no amount of wishing, praying or gazing skywards would induce it to release a single drop of moisture, and by the next morning the clouds would have evaporated again. This pattern continued for a few weeks until the inhabitants of Redstone began to go about their business ignoring the empty promise of the clouds.
On her return from up north, Alice had turned the yearling colt from her father out into the Brigalow paddock with the pack ponies. She’d watched him gallop away with his tail held high and thought back to what Leilani had said when she’d taken Alice to see the horses: ‘Benji sold all his horses and dogs when the sickness came. Except for two and one. The big grey mare he said you might not like. But ’e wanted me to tell you, she’s strong and will get the job done. He was going to breed from her. The colt he said was the one for you. He knew you will like that horse.’
But apart from occasionally checking on the colt to make sure he was behaving himself, Alice hadn’t given him a lot of thought since then. The liver chestnut was still at the gangly adolescent stage, but she could see he was a large part-Arabian. He had a perfectly sculpted head with a small nose, large flared nostrils and a deeply dished-out face in true Arabian style. His eye and manner were a little fiery and her grandfather had shaken his head ominously at the sight of him.
The grey mare was six or seven years old, judging by her teeth. Also visibly Arabian, she had a dash of something more solid – Sam thought perhaps even Clydesdale. Alice had ridden her once: she discovered that the horse was indeed willing and sound, but that she and the grey had nothing in common. The mare was a hard-headed man’s horse. Alice gave her to Jeremy to ride and they hit it off immediately. She also gave him the honour of naming the grey, since she’d forgotten to ask Leilani what she’d been called. He named her Carmen, after a lesbian he’d once met and liked immensely. Strangely, it suited her to a tee.
Benji’s pup had been living under the veranda, and to everyone’s surprise Olive seemed to have taken a fancy to him. King Henry the Ninth was the only creature the old woman had ever previously admitted to any affection for, so why the ungainly pup was considered worthy of this special attention, Alice could only wonder. He was tall and long-legged, his bony frame covered by course medium length hair, mainly white, with a few large brown splashes. Clearly a cocktail of working dog breeds, he also had something of an overgrown terrier about him. Regarding the unrefined-looking creature, Leilani had said, ‘That big ugly pup, Benji made us keep for you. He said don’ be put off by his ugly head.’ She’d chuckled then. ‘He’s real special, that pup.’
Alice still felt a strange ambivalence about the intimacy of inheriting her father’s animals, and had so far avoided spending any time with the unattractive creature. She told her grandmother to choose a name for him; to Alice’s dismay, Olive named him after Mr Darcy. Alice thought it a terrible waste to use the name on such a timid, badly proportioned mongrel.
Although she would never have articulated them to her husband and granddaughter, Olive had her reasons for her attachment to the pup. By being kind to Darcy she felt that in some small way she was making amends for her treatment of Benji. After all, the stockman had given them Alice, and while it had seemed a disaster at the time, life without Alice was now unimaginable. Olive could clearly remember the day Benji had come back to Redstone in search of his daughter. She’d been filled with apprehension, afraid that he had come to take Alice away. At that moment, she’d realised how deeply she’d come to love the fey little creature that was her granddaughter, and just how vital a part of Redstone Alice had become.
Olive had always considered herself an excellent judge of character. But just recently, her confidence had been shaken. Since Benji’s death, she’d even gone so far as to wonder anew about Lara’s actions leading up to Alice’s conception. At the time, she’d laid the blame solely and heavily on Benji’s shoulders, always maintaining that he’d taken advantage of a young, innocent girl. But now she wasn’t so sure. Even as a small child, her daughter had never agreed to do anything unless she wholeheartedly wanted to do it. In recent years, with Lara always absent, Olive had been able to view her daughter’s actions more objectively. In doing so, she had realised that self-interest was now, and probably always had been, Lara’s prime motivation in life. She never contacted Redstone unless she needed something. She’d been back only twice since Alice’s first birthday, and her three children were virtually strangers to their bush grandparents.
Then there was Jeremy. Sam had seen his potential from the very beginning, while Olive had blindly adhered to the bad impression she’d already formed, based solely on the stories and gossip of others.
‘Well, it’s never too late to learn,’ Olive told herself one day, as she sat on the steps patting the pup.
For Alice, now wasn’t the time to dwell on her father’s death. She’d only allow herself the luxury of mourning for the father she’d have loved to know once it had rained and they were on top of things again. And only then, too, would she attend to the pup. With so many drought jobs to do, there had been little time to work with any of the animals.
All Alice’s leftover energy was devoted to Mushgang’s Arab filly. The animal’s sensitive, fast responses and the speed at which she was learning thrilled Alice to the core. Her grandfather had always talked about the ‘horse of a lifetime’, the kind a person only encounters once, and even then, only if they were lucky. Alice strongly suspected that she’d found that horse.
But her grandfather was concerned. ‘Horses like that filly can be killers, Ali. It’s not just the bucking. I saw her double-barrel Jeremy that day. Once a dirty horse, always a dirty horse. Can’t ever trust ’em.’
Alice had tried to explain that she and the filly truly respected each other and therefore she believed she had nothing to fear. But he wouldn’t listen. ‘Arabs are bad news, Alice. Spooky bloody things. Lunatics when they’re fresh, which is most of the time. Your dad always had Arabs – now he’s the only bloke I ever saw that could handle ’em.’
Alice was delighted with this piece of information, and Sam clearly regretted making the comment.
‘Stick to what you know, Ali. You won’t beat the old Australian stockhorse.’
‘Pa, she’s the most intelligent horse I’ve ever handled.’
‘Oh, Arabs are intelligent alright, I’ll give ’em that. That’s their biggest problem. Too many brains and ideas of their own.’
‘That’s what people say about Brahman cattle, too,’ Alice argued. ‘You always say that intelligent animals are either the best or the worst kind, depending on how they’re handled. I remember you telling me that if I was having a problem with a horse, to hop off and go inside for a good look in the mirror.’
At this her grandfather had chuckled. ‘You’re a good listener, Alice. But this horse is damaged goods. It’s already made up its mind that it hates people. Very hard to reverse that kind of attitude.’
However, Alice continued to work with the filly in defiance of her grandfather, and she could feel the connection growing stronger by the day. Lately she’d noticed that at the sight of her the filly raised her head, pricked her ears and gently flared her large nostrils. Then she’d walk towards her, quivering her lips in a silent nicker. She came of her own free will: this was more than enough reassurance for Alice. The filly wanted to learn. She wasn’t a fighter, but like any free spirit, she could become one when backed into a corner. The name on her papers was Desert Storm; Alice renamed her Desert Rose.
Late in November, with her grandfather spying anxiously from the house and Jeremy hovering in the shed nearby, she’d ridden Rose for the first time. As the site for the momentous occasion she’d chosen the open sandy side yard, with its dappled shade and a trough. Her grandfather had argued with her the night before, insisting that she should start in the tiny forcing yard. This would ensure that the filly would have to curve her body, making it harder to buck. But Alice knew that Rose needed breathing space.
Apart from breaking into an instant sweat, her body tight and trembling, the sensitive creature had behaved like a lady. Alice had mounted quickly and then simply sat, stroking the mare and talking softly for a long time. Then she’d dismounted and mounted again several times in quick succession before unsaddling Rose and letting her go. Jeremy had asked her later if she’d ‘chickened out’, but she assured him she’d achieved exactly what she’d set out to do for that day.
Since then, Alice had ridden Rose at every opportunity, usually at daybreak or sunset, but always within the safety of the yards. Alice could now turn her, stop her and move her with the slightest touch of a leg, twitch of a finger on the reins or shift in her body weight. In the paddock, Rose had mated up with Snoopy, her grandfather’s old bay stockhorse. He was well and truly at the bottom of the herd pecking order, just as Rose was clearly at the top. Therefore, the two were no threat to one another and soon became inseparable.
One afternoon a few days before Christmas, Jeremy and Alice were home a little earlier than usual from ‘pulling’ a windmill. This was a greasy, strenuous job that involved hauling the pipe under the windmill up from under the ground, section by section, with a block and tackle type pulley, until the damaged length was found and could be replaced. They were having smoko with the old couple, who had been out checking on the back country. On this rare occasion, Olive had accompanied her husband, to keep his spirits up, Alice supposed. Sam was complaining about the way windmills always played up in the driest times when there was no surface water lying around to rely on for back-up.
‘I’m going to take Rose for a ride outside the yard this afternoon,’ Alice announced suddenly. ‘Out into Summerlea, I think.’
‘Why don’t you go up the fenced laneway, Ali? Much safer. Jeremy, can you go along with her?’ Sam said.
‘If the lady wants my company I’d be honoured,’ said Jeremy gallantly.
‘Yes please.’ Alice nodded. ‘She’ll be less anxious with another horse there.’
‘Bugger. Here I was thinking you were wanting my company.’
Alice ignored Jeremy and went on, ‘She’d hate the laneway, Pa. Too hemmed in.’
‘That’s the whole point,’ Sam growled.
‘Jeremy, could you please ride Snoopy? They’re mates.’ Alice smiled at him hopefully.
Jeremy made a face. ‘Carmen would be better, female company ’n’ all.’
‘They hate each other with a passion. Even through the fence. Carmen wants to be top horse,’ Alice explained patiently to the unperceptive males.
‘Righto, I’ll ride another geriatric. Snoopy’s only a bit more than half dead. He even makes Rita look like a spring chicken. The things I do for you, Alice.’ Jeremy shook his head.
They set out from the yard, the young horse and the old, the small woman and the tall man. Sam and Olive were watching from the window but Alice was entirely tuned in to Rose. All her uncertainty left her as she felt the filly relax and stretch out into a free-flowing walk. Yes, she was happy to be out in the open.
The dusty air seemed to shimmer in the late afternoon sun that was slipping under the cloud bank. Insects hummed and the stillness was oppressive. But Alice was oblivious to everything but her mare. Finally, she and Rose stopped. Alice smiled at Jeremy, acknowledging his existence; silently, he gave her the thumbs-up. She took her water bottle from the little pouch in front of her saddle. The mare shied and turned her head to inspect the movement and unfamiliar sound, so Alice rubbed her neck and showed her the bottle.
‘I just need to get off for a leak,’ Jeremy whispered.
Alice laughed. ‘I’ve never known you to be quiet for so long.’
‘Well, you touchy women put a man on edge, I can tell ya.’ He dismounted and went to find a tree.
Alice took the opportunity to hop off too; her girth needed tightening. She pulled the leather strap up a hole. Rose rested one back leg on the point of the hoof, a sure sign of relaxation.
Something had been pricking the top of Alice’s foot inside her boot, so she took a moment to crouch down and have a look. A splashing stream of urine sounded on the ground close behind her. Unperturbed, she continued with her mission, determined not to look around. But a sudden wetness on the middle of her back sent her leaping forwards in indignation. Rose lifted her head and lurched away, stopping after a few strides to turn back and investigate. Snoopy stood dozing as though nothing had happened. A disgusted Alice spun round to see Jeremy zipping up his fly and pointing her water bottle towards her. With relief, she realised that the spray of liquid hadn’t been warm. Jeremy looked at her face and doubled over with laughter. It was hard for Alice to maintain the angry glare. Nor was there any point: she knew that Jeremy was incorrigible. Suddenly she found herself laughing too.