SALLY AND LORNA SIPPED their afternoon tea on the verandah. As usual at this time of day the banks of clouds rolled across the sky, seeming to suck the air up into them and leaving everyone on the ground panting, tired and ill tempered. The weather had made it an exhausting couple of weeks, but Sally didn’t like to complain. She could only imagine how uncomfortable Lorna must feel so far into her pregnancy. Just when Sally felt as if she was going to expire with the oppressive weather, a great storm would roll in. A dry storm. Dust would rise from the ground and fall from above, covering everything in a heavy red layer.
It blew straight through the flyscreens into the house, falling onto the beds, seeping into chairs and lounges, covering every surface. Sally had the taste of dust in her mouth from the moment she woke up in the morning, even her hair was coated. She hated it.
Then after three weeks of this, lightning started flashing along the horizon. At night Rob had pointed out the glow of fires – spinifex and dry grass hit by lightning and bursting into flame. They had word on the wireless of a fire on a property boundary to the east running on a sixty-mile front, driven by the strong winds.
‘The Wet will come, and then you’ll be sick of it,’ sighed Lorna.
Rob sat on the rough fence rail and watched Sally slowly and calmly approach Jasper, keeping eye contact. The stallion had adjusted to his new life, if not to the loss of his herd. But he no longer had to fight for dominance, and he had water and feed and shelter. He had come to trust the tall quiet man with the gentle voice.
The horse watched Sally, smelled her, and felt no fear. She was trying to remember all Rob had told her, his ‘unteaching’ of her traditional British dressage and hunt riding techniques.
Once mounted with the leathers shortened a little so she had the power to swing straight into the saddle, she pushed her feet right into the heel of each boot. Sit well forward, lean slightly back, keep straight without any weight in the stirrups unless she needed to pull on the horse’s head. No squeezing with the knees. Shoulders back to find the point of balance where she felt secure and in control. She rode Jasper around the yard for a few minutes before Rob agreed to open the gate.
‘Ride him loose, Sal. You have to be able to change reins from left to right quickly or bring them back to two for shortening and steering. Shift your weight from side to side to change direction. Put the weight in the iron on the side you want him to turn. Use your hands, feet and your voice.’
Sally had been intrigued watching Rob break in the wild stallion in a series of short lessons with pauses in between, so Jasper could ‘think about it’. After all the handling and frequent blindfolding, Jasper had become so accustomed to Rob that he offered no resistance when Rob first rode him. Now Jasper had become a smart, well-mannered horse and Rob intended to keep him that way and not let him learn any bad habits.
Sally trotted Jasper down to the smallest home paddock, executed a figure eight, stopped, walked him backwards, then moved forward again. Only on the last leg back to the yards did she allow the horse to canter, an easy powerful gait, when her position in the saddle felt exactly right. She’d become used to Rob’s American-style saddle and rarely used her own from New Zealand. She knew her father would be appalled to see her riding like this, like a cowboy, he’d say.
Rob gave her a big thumbs up as she brought the horse into the yard and dismounted.
‘He’s a magnificent horse, Rob. Too good to be chasing cattle.’
‘He’ll make a good stockhorse, he’s so strong. I’m going to ask Monroe if I can buy Jasper. This horse and I will work well together.’
‘Where will you take him?’
He didn’t answer for a minute. ‘Well, eventually I want to have my own place. Maybe Dad will split up the station between my brothers and me. Whatever happens, I want to start a horse breeding program. Good stockhorses, like good working dogs, are worth a lot of money.’ He squeezed Sally’s arm. ‘I’m glad you like horses. They’re better than sheep. Sheep are silly animals.’
‘Well, I grew up on a sheep farm so I’m not about to argue with that,’ she said, laughing.
‘Yeah, I hear New Zealand has six million sheep and two million people. You’d better not tell Ian you’ve ridden Jasper. He’s after me to let him have a go, but I want to hold him back a bit.’
‘The boys are talking a lot about leaving for school next year. It will be the first time they’ve been separated,’ said Sally as they turned back towards the homestead. They walked closely, their arms touching as they carried the gear.
‘What do you reckon will happen to them? To Barra Creek?’
Sally stared at him. ‘It will go on, Ian will see to that. And Tommy, I s’pose. Monroe is not one to retire to a unit on the Gold Coast. Though I bet Lorna would like to go to the city more often.’
‘Yeah, she’ll be able to enjoy time away from here before the baby comes.’ He glanced at the sky. ‘She’d better leave soon though. The clouds are building, I think it’s going to be a pretty decent wet season.’
In a lull between dust storms, Lorna, despite the weight of the baby and her swollen ankles, embarked on a frenzy of cleaning. Lizzie and the women were stirred into action to hose and scrub the verandah and inside cement floors even more vigorously than usual. The seagrass mats were taken outside to be beaten clean, the curtains and cushions washed, every surface was wiped and polished. The clothes cupboards were emptied and everything was aired before they were re-stacked. The baby’s cot was freshly painted; the flyscreen over the top of it was replaced so no insect or creepy crawly could get in. The kitchen and pantry were wiped over with antiseptic and rusty tins of food were tossed out.
The chicken and goat pens were cleaned, and Fitzi was charged with replanting and tidying the garden. The outside walls were washed down as mildew was creeping up them, the rambling vines climbing over the pergola and verandah were trimmed back.
John Monroe kept out of the way. ‘Happens every time. Next thing she’ll be dusting the bloody fences.’
Sally and the boys washed, swept, dusted and tidied the schoolhouse. Rob was instructed to get the stockmen to tidy up the stables and sheds.
Lorna was an efficient tornado, immaculately dressed in her maternity smock and stretch maternity slacks ordered from the mail-order catalogue, her hair smoothly held back in a French roll as she directed proceedings, making the lubras re-do jobs until they were perfect, as well as doing things herself.
Then everything came to a halt. Lorna sat on the verandah and rarely spoke. Meals were mostly silent. The women retreated to their gundies and campfires. The paddocks, stables, yards and sheds were prepared for the expected deluge. A lethargy settled over the station. The air was moist, oppressive and faintly threatening. The men from the blacks’ camp took off on a last walkabout for the season, leaving the women to argue amongst themselves.
It was a hot, red evening. Sally sat with Lorna and Rob, sipping cool drinks in the living room when John came in freshly washed and dressed, waving his glass of rum. ‘Come see, Sally. It’s on the way.’
‘What is? Not rain surely? You’ve been promising that for weeks.’
‘Come and see.’
Sally followed him onto the verandah and caught her breath at the amazing sunset spread across the sky. Against the burning colours stretched exquisite banks of high nimbus clouds, tinged with pale pink and lavender, and behind them in the darker indigo patches of sky, forks of lightning dazzled.
‘Bloody marvellous, isn’t it? I love this country. I know it’s probably tough on softies like you and Lorna but, by golly, I couldn’t live anywhere else.’ John seemed to be speaking to himself.
The lightning and distant thunder rumbled through dinner.
The boys were reading in bed and Sally washed her face and diligently applied face cream. As she left the bathroom Lorna called to her. ‘Sally, can I see you for a moment?’
She went into Lorna’s bedroom. It was her private space where Sally rarely ventured, even though it was only separated with a thin partition from the rest of the house.
Lorna was sitting on the edge of the big double bed. She pointed to a small suitcase. ‘I’ve packed my port. I just wanted to talk to you about a few things.’
‘Of course, Lorna.’ Sally stood there wondering if she should sit in the cane chair beside the cot. Lorna’s hands were folded over her belly. ‘Are you nervous?’ she asked. ‘It seems strange to think you’ll be coming back here with a new person.’
‘I like being pregnant,’ admitted Lorna. ‘I like being left alone. Though this has been a difficult pregnancy, which is why I’m going so early. And because of the Wet.’
‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine. The boys and I will keep our heads down. They have an exam coming up. I think they’re anxious about going away to school, too.’
‘I want you to keep them away from the river, the blacks’ camp, the single men’s quarters. They are not to go anywhere without you.’
‘I understand.’
Lorna looked down at her hands. ‘John will drink too much. Just keep the boys away from him when he’s had a skinful. I know what he’s like but it upsets Tommy and he fights with Ian.’
‘Lorna, don’t worry. And Rob will be around.’
‘Umm.’ She didn’t answer.
‘Aren’t you happy, looking forward to bringing the baby home?’ asked Sally, trying to change the conversation.
‘I just pray the baby is healthy.’ She gave a small smile. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Sally. You’ve been really wonderful. I hope we’ll always remain friends. The saddest part of all this is that you’ll be leaving us in a couple of months.’
It hit Sally how things were changing. Barra Creek had become such a part of her life that it seemed incredible that soon she wouldn’t be here. What would she do with herself? Much as she wanted to see her family, New Zealand seemed so far away. Sean was a distant, indistinct memory. She’d go home for a visit, she decided, then return to Barra Creek. Or, perhaps join Rob if he had followed his dream and started his own place. She had found what she’d been looking for when she’d turned her back on the trip to England. There was no way she could settle into her former life at home. She was in her twenties, surely this was a time to live life to the full.
‘I’ll be back, I’m sure. I have to go home anyway. My sister is getting married and I’m to be chief bridesmaid.’
‘Is he an approved fiancé?’
‘She’s marrying Lachlan, my father’s Head Cadet. He’s the strong, silent type. Not my cup of tea.’ Seeing Lorna’s slightly raised eyebrow, she went on to explain, ‘Only quality boys are selected for cadetships to train in running a sheep station. Quite a high position, different from a musterer on an Australian station. The head cadets are boys from good homes, good schools. He’ll do well, Yvonne’s life is mapped out.’
‘Sally, I think you should take that trip to England, meet people more suited to your background. You can do much better than a fellow like Rob,’ said Lorna earnestly.
Sally looked away, surprised that Lorna recognised the seriousness of their relationship. ‘I’m not making any plans. But to be fair to Rob, he comes from a good family and we both love horses.’
‘Don’t bury yourself in the outback. It’s hard work and lonely. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about. Trust me. I wouldn’t want to see you throw your life away. It takes a special kind of woman to feel at peace in a place like this.’ She turned her head and Sally got the feeling she’d said more than she intended. ‘I just wanted to be sure you understand the responsibility you have while I’m away. Goodnight.’
‘Night, Lorna.’
Ian was almost asleep, Tommy’s bed was empty.
‘Where’s Tommy?’ asked Sally.
‘Gone to get a book. He said he was going to raid Dad’s library.’
‘I’d better go get him.’
She found Tommy standing on a chair looking at the books on the top two shelves above Monroe’s desk.
‘What are you up to? If your old man catches you there’ll be trouble,’ hissed Sally.
‘I wanted something to read. How come he tells us not to touch these? You and Mum are always telling us to read.’
‘People have private things they don’t think young boys should see.’
‘You mean like these?’ Tommy pulled down some thick notebooks.
Sally recognised Monroe’s writing on the front. ‘They look like diaries. Leave them. Is there anything you want to read?’
‘There are all these old books, I’ll just take one.’ He pulled out a book and climbed down from the chair. ‘Look at this – Secrets of the Pyramids – I’m going there one day.’
‘Fine. But go and read about ancient Egypt in your bed for now. And ask me if you want a book in future.’
As Tommy settled for the night Sally met Rob at their favourite rendezvous spot at the stables. They went for a quiet walk and Sally was tempted to tell him what Lorna had said, but couldn’t think how to do it without hurting his feelings. He sensed something was bothering her.
‘What’s up? Troubles in the big house?’
‘Lorna is worried about going away for so long, leaving the boys, knowing John will probably play up. She says she’s going to miss me when I go home.’
Rob gripped her arm. ‘She’s not the only one.’
Sally stopped and turned to face him and blurted, ‘Will I see you again, Rob?’
‘God, Sally, that’s a hard hit.’ He took her hand and tenderly stroked her fingers. ‘I’ve been trying to ignore the whole thing. My mother says I stick my head in the sand when I have to deal with something hard. Now, hearing you say that, well, I can’t imagine not having you around. I’ve stayed here longer than I usually do. I should have gone back out mustering by now.’
‘Yeah, John made that point. He said I was exerting too much influence.’ Sally gave a slight smile.
‘But I don’t expect you’d want to stay on here just for me.’
‘My time here will soon be up – the boys are off to school. Lorna says I should go to England after my sister’s wedding.’
‘Is that what you want?’
Sally looked away. ‘I don’t know what I want.’
Rob wrapped her in his arms. ‘Sally, I can’t offer you anything at the moment. I have dreams, vague plans. If you could give me a bit of time.’
‘Like when I come back from England perhaps . . .’
‘Exactly. Would you wait for me a bit?’ He bent down and kissed her long and hard.
Sally’s fears and the insecurities and doubts that Lorna had planted melted. He was a good man, they had so much in common, there was huge physical attraction between them, and Rob had big plans.
‘I have big dreams too,’ she said. ‘Maybe together we can make something happen. I want to be around horses, not working in a city office.’
‘Then can we leave it at that – for the moment? You go back to New Zealand, take that overseas trip and then we’ll meet. Or I’ll come over there to meet your family. We’ll see if I get the stamp of approval.’
‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t,’ said Sally. ‘Though I bet my mother will fall for you.’
Rob was relieved. ‘We’ll just keep it between us then. Until we can make it something formal. But in the meantime . . .’ He brushed his lips across her ear, murmuring sweet and sexy suggestions, and they turned back towards what Sally thought of as their love nest in the stables.
Back in her own bed, she slept fitfully. Despite Rob’s declarations of love, it weighed in her heart that they had not made any definite plans.
She was woken in the early dawn by a clap of thunder crashing overhead. She leapt up and rushed along the verandah, her white nightie spotlit every few feet as lightning flashed on and off. She ran into the garden and felt the sharp sting on her skin and breathed in the smell as the first drops of rain hit the thirsty garden. She’d always remember that smell. It was an overpowering ozoney smell that she realised she had been faintly sniffing for the past forty-eight hours. She lifted her face to the hard drops that were now flowing faster. Then behind the curtain of rain came the wind, pushing great streaming torrents. The noise was deafening as the rain hit the tin roofs, slamming against any solid object, the wind whistling. She was soaked through to her skin and for the first time in weeks felt she could take deep clean breaths.
‘You’re going to get struck by lightning, get in here,’ shouted John Monroe. He was standing on the verandah, looking amused.
‘It’s fantastic! What a sight!’ cried Sally as she ran onto the verandah.
Two figures in striped pyjamas raced to join them. ‘Wow, here it is!’
‘Why’re you wet, Sally?’
‘Ooh, it’s just so exciting!’ She took their hands. ‘Quick, pull the beds away from the screens – they’re getting wet.’
Lorna, wrapped in her dressing-gown, came out and began calmly issuing instructions. ‘All the beds will have to be pulled in towards the centre and the outside doors and louvres closed. Sally, go and get dry clothes on. Boys, get back into bed.’
Their exuberance faded and everyone began hurrying to get things organised.
Dressed in dry pyjamas, her hair wrapped in a towel, Sally sat on her bed watching the light show through the vines and screens. The boys had experienced this every year since they were born, so they soon settled to sleep, oblivious to the cacophony.
Sally hadn’t heard John Monroe come along the verandah. He handed her a glass of rum.
‘Cheers.’ She took a sip. It tasted good, warming her insides that felt rain soaked. ‘So what happens in the Wet around here? How does anyone work?’
He chuckled. ‘Few do if they can help it. The white blokes will take off for their holidays. We’ll do the occasional bore run and make sure no stock are stuck anywhere. This is the time for maintenance on the plant and equipment. The blacks will stay in their gundies, play cards, tell stories. They find it easy to pass time doing nothing.’
They sat quietly. It didn’t seem possible but Sally thought the rain was growing even louder, making it hard to talk. Monroe finished his rum and leaned down and touched Sally’s head. ‘Get that wet towel off your head.’ His hand stayed for a moment, then he turned and walked along the verandah.
‘Thanks for the rum.’ Sally cupped her hands around the tumbler. If he heard her, he didn’t answer.
Later that day all the verandah furniture was pulled into the main part of the house. Lorna had flour and sugar bags laid at all the doorways so everyone could step onto them while taking their boots off. It was a house rule that shoes and boots were taken off before going inside and the boys knew better than to put a muddy boot near the verandah.
Sally couldn’t believe the intensity of the rain and the fact it had barely stopped. ‘It’s not going to rain like this for months is it?’ she asked at breakfast as John Monroe pulled on his heavy oilskin coat.
‘Too right. Why do you think it’s called the Wet? We need this. It was a piss-weak one last year, very unusual.’
With the Aboriginal men away and the early start of the wet season, it appeared the deluge had unleased a torrent of fights and passion among the women in the camp. By late morning the rain had eased but it was still steamy. In the schoolhouse the lesson was disrupted by a commotion coming from the kitchen.
‘Keep your heads down, kids,’ Sally said firmly. ‘You too Ginger, Frankie, Alice.’
‘Dat be Betsy. Maybe baby come,’ said Frankie.
Sally pulled on her gumboots and squelched to the kitchen where Betsy, looking very pregnant indeed, was shouting for Lorna.
‘What’s up? Are you all right, Betsy?’ called Sally.
‘Big fight longa Mattie an’ Tilla . . . whack ’em good, make ’em big cut, firetick.’
Sally knew Tilla was a big lazy woman and Mattie sometimes hung around Snowy. ‘Who are they fighting? What’s going on with the fire stick? I’ll get Missus.’
Sally raced inside but Lorna was already putting on her shoes. ‘Sally, get the first-aid kit, the box and the bag.’
‘Is it bad? What is going on? I thought all the men were away.’
‘That’s when the trouble starts. They argue and fight over a man. When the men are in camp they’re too busy lying down or getting in swags to fight each other.’
‘Can I help?’ Sally couldn’t imagine women seriously fighting.
‘Maybe, take the small bag.’ Lorna picked up a rifle and headed for the Land Rover. ‘Tell the boys to stay in the schoolroom.’
Lorna drove through the wet grass and under dripping trees that a day before were dry and dusty. Dogs and small children scattered as they drove into the camp. Some kids were splashing in the rain puddles, chasing each other and throwing mud with great hilarity. A knot of women were standing around the remains of a damped-down campfire. Old chairs, empty tins, drums and rubbish were scattered around. The women were waving and gesticulating, some were holding heavy waddies. Lorna blew the horn and they slowly parted.
Two women were facing each other and to Sally’s horror they were holding smouldering fire sticks. Mattie lifted her stick and hit Tilla across the head. Tilla didn’t flinch, she just let the hot stick bounce off her frizzled hair. Then as her head cleared, she retaliated, whacking Mattie on the shoulder. Mattie didn’t duck or attempt to move.
Lorna sailed in between them and Sally gasped as she saw the dreadful wounds they’d inflicted on each other. Lorna made them sit down and, seeing Lizzie, waved her forward. ‘You tell them, all done now.’
Lizzie nodded emphatically and burst into a loud, rapid harangue directed at the wounded women. Then she smiled at Lorna. ‘All pinish, done. Dem no more cranky. Dem deaf-adder all done fightin’. Man belong Tilla, come back, longa time. Be down wit Mattie. No more belonga Tilla,’ she explained.
‘Heavens, they’ve really bashed into each other,’ said Sally. Blood was oozing from the long gashes and some skin had been burnt. ‘What’s with the deaf-adder?’ she asked as Lorna pulled out disinfectant and poured it onto a cloth.
‘Death adders, that’s what they call gossipy old crones. I’m going to have to stitch some of these.’ Matter of factly she took out a needle and nylon thread. ‘Lizzie, make up ash paste for these burns.’
‘Yes, Miz, make ’em up pix ’em up.’
With two other women Lizzie began scooping ash from the edge of the fire, which they mixed with some dried leaves and bark. The injured women were now cheerfully chattering, honour having been established and some agreement reached over the absent man.
The paste was applied to the burns, Lorna expertly stitched up the wounds and packed away her medical kit. She shook her finger at Lizzie. ‘You tell them no more fighting. I’m going away and Miss Mitchell can’t fix them up. No sewing up, no medicine.’
Sally shook her head, aghast. ‘I can’t do any of that. Not me, not at all.’ Once again she admired the ever-capable Lorna.
Awkwardly Lorna stood up. ‘And you be on time in the kitchen for breakfast tomorrow, Lizzie. No pink-hi, you cook, quick smart.’
‘You-hi, Missus. You-hi.’
‘She might say yes now, but when there’s been a blue like this, it rattles the routine for days,’ sighed Lorna.
‘Can’t you stop them? They looked like they were going to kill each other. Just as well you were a nurse. I couldn’t do that.’
‘If you have to, you do,’ said Lorna calmly. ‘As soon as the men come back, those two will be up at the store for new dresses, best mates again. They can be free and easy with their sexual favours but they’re still women and silly enough to argue over a man.’ She glanced at Sally as she started the Land Rover. ‘Men aren’t worth it.’
Insects and bugs flourished in the Wet – hairy caterpillars and triangular stink bugs were on everything. The frogs seemed to have multiplied by the thousands and sang through the night, revelling in the sodden ground and pools. The sound was deafening. John warned Sally to look out for snakes and to be careful by the river in case it had flooded a nest of croc eggs and a mad mother crocodile was busy defending them.
Lorna began to worry. ‘John, how am I going to get out? Snowy says the runway is a bog.’
‘Looks like it’s easing off this morning. We might have a break for a couple of days. Fitzi and the boys should come in from walkabout now the Wet’s here. They’ll know. Let’s wait till then.’
By nightfall the rain and lightning strikes were back, the power generator was hit and it felt as if Barra Creek was cut off from the rest of the country.
Monroe got busy on the wireless and returned to tell Lorna, ‘There’s only one thing for it, love, the milk run. Spoke to Cliff over at Billy Springs, he says he’s taking his truck into Croydon, we can still get over the big creek and you can pick up the Gulflander from there into Normanton. Then fly on to Cairns.’
‘And how will you get back?’
‘I reckon I can pick up a boat or barge heading up river from Karumba to Normanton.’
‘Is Cliff sure he can get over the train bridge at the big creek? I suppose that means planking the car over.’
‘Yeah, we’ve done it before.’
The narrow wooden bridge was only a little wider than the width of the train gauge, with no fence on either side. John Monroe turned on his heel as Lorna bit her lip. She had been ready to leave for weeks, but now that arrangements were made, she looked pale, and for the first time since Sally had known her, unsure.
Rob later told Sally not to worry. It was very early in the Wet, the river wouldn’t be too high. ‘It’s washed over that bridge before this. If there was a real emergency the Cairns Aerial Ambulance would pick her up.’
Barra Creek’s northern neighbour Cliff Field, from Billy Spring Station, rolled up in his heavy-duty, high-wheel-base Land Rover and Lorna and John Monroe drove off after a lingering goodbye with the boys and Lorna repeating instructions to Sally.
The men tried to make Lorna as comfortable as possible but the road was pot-holed and sludgy with the rain. They pressed on, though, anxious to get over the river before dark. Late afternoon they arrived at the tributary, which was full and flowing fast but hadn’t risen to the bridge or overflowed the banks. The men had brought along six planks, which they laid over the train line on the bridge so the Land Rover could drive over, stop-starting as they carried the planks forward so the vehicle could drive on a little further. Lorna found sitting in the four-wheel drive tedious and uncomfortable and, much as she hated heights, she chose to walk slowly down the middle of the rail line ahead of it. She tried not to look down at the fast-moving water below, and concentrated on the gaps between the sleepers. This was no time to put a foot wrong.
By dark they were in Croydon, once a bustling gold-mining centre, now virtually a ghost town except for a few houses, a small pub and a store that sold fuel and some basic commodities. They spent the night in the hotel where they slept in a mildewy room with a sagging bed.
Lorna couldn’t face the greasy breakfast and sipped her tea as John ate heartily.
The railway line that ran the ninety miles between Croydon and Normanton was not connected to any other line. There were plans to link Cloncurry and Normanton, but with the gold find in Croydon the railway was diverted there instead. The Gardner rail motor, known as the Gulflander, carried passengers and supplies to the remote stations between Croydon and Normanton.
John helped Lorna into the red and yellow carriage, settled their bags around them and put his feet up on a seat. ‘Not long now, love.’
‘For you, but I still have a plane to catch tomorrow.’
‘Ah, you can relax in Cairns till it’s time. What are you going to do with yourself?’
‘The guesthouse isn’t far from where Marilyn lives. We nursed together down in Melbourne. It will be nice to see her and the family. And there are tests, doctor’s visits . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah, well good. You take it easy.’
‘John, you will be careful while I’m away, won’t you? No boozing. Spend time with the boys, watch Sally and Rob. You know what I mean.’
‘Bloody hell, Lorna, you’re a broken record.’
Rob, Sally and the boys revelled in having the house to themselves. Sally fantasised that it was their home, the boys their children. They all ate at the big table, and after Lizzie had cleared the dishes they played Monopoly. Rob raided John Monroe’s stash of liquor and brought out a brandy and a port. When the boys had gone to bed, Sally and Rob curled up together on the lounge and sipped the good brandy.
The ANA plane took off from Normanton for Cairns with Lorna leaning back in her seat, her eyes closed, hands folded over her buckled seat-belt, a resigned expression on her face. John Monroe knew people everywhere he went so it was no trouble to get a lift into Karumba.
He hit the notorious Animal Bar at the Karumba Lodge, which took him a day to sleep off.
A few mornings later John got up at sunrise. He vaguely remembered the arrangement he’d made for a ride back to Normanton on a barge that was ferrying machinery up the Norman River, and the captain had agreed to drop him off at Barra Creek.
He stepped outside his motel room and noticed a drop in temperature. He glanced up at the sky, above the start of the sunrise, to see the phenomenon of the Morning Glory.
Across the horizon rolled several long pipe-shaped clouds that turned over and over in an unbroken line from one side of the sky to the other. A fast wind was whipping them along and it looked like rain might follow. It could be an uncomfortable trip up river but he stayed and studied the strange cloud that he’d heard only ever appeared in the Gulf of Carpentaria and the Gulf of Mexico.
John stepped on board the barge carrying a box of booze, which received frowns from the other two passengers – a Pentecostal minister and a teetotaller drover called Billy Jumpup. With a bottle of rum in his pocket, John Monroe passed the day drinking and yarning with the captain.
They were still drinking after they had dropped off all the other passengers. By the time they were in the vicinity of Barra Creek it was dark and they were both drunk and found it hard to see the small landing. Finally the captain anchored the barge, stood on the bow and fired three rifle shots into the air. Rob and Sally didn’t hear, they were playing records and teaching the boys to dance. But Fitzi heard and ran to the river with a fire stick and waved them in to the landing.
John Monroe was very drunk. He threw his haversack to Fitzi and heaved the box of bottles onto the gunwhale, shouting directions to the captain who reversed the barge into the landing, hitting it with a shudder that sent the bottles splashing into the river.
‘Bloody hell, that’s good rum,’ shouted Monroe, and jumped over the side into the mud, sinking to his knees. ‘Fitzi, get over here with the light.’
The flame from the fire stick didn’t throw much light and Monroe shouted at the captain to shine the torch.
Monroe found the floating box and threw it to Fitzi, then probed the mud with his feet and hands, locating most of the bottles.
‘You’re bloody mad, mate. I’m not putting a foot in there,’ exclaimed the barge captain as he helped pull John Monroe free and watched him scramble onto the landing.
‘Take the grog up to the house, Fitzi. Thanks for the lift, mate.’ Monroe gave a shaky wave and stumbled after Fitzi, then remembered how far it was to the homestead, sat down by a tree and passed out.
Rob heard the clink of bottles in the kitchen, saw Fitzi looking grim and realised what must have happened.
‘Sal, get the boys ready for bed, their dad is home. Not in good shape, I’d say.’
Ian and Tommy were behind Sally.
‘Where is he?’ asked Tommy.
‘Passed out near the river, I reckon,’ said Rob. ‘We’ll drive down and get him before he’s croc bait.’
‘Silly old bugger. Leave him there,’ said Ian and left the room followed by Tommy.
Sally and Rob exchanged a glance and Rob gave her a quick kiss. ‘Keep out of Monroe’s way. I’d say he hasn’t been sober for days.’
Sally and the boys heard John Monroe stumble and crash into his bed but Sally kept reading quietly. While the boys were both competent readers, they still liked Sally to read ‘hard’ books to them, explaining ideas or words as she went along. Once they had gone to sleep she put the book aside and tiptoed along the verandah and peeped around the partition. John Monroe was sprawled across the bed, a sheet pulled over him, a pile of muddy clothes and boots on the floor, a half-empty bottle of rum beside him.
The rain started again and Sally fell asleep, comforted by the now familiar sound. But she woke not long before dawn. She rolled over and went rigid. Through her partially closed eyes she could see the floor and not far from her bed were the unmistakable bare, muddy feet of John Monroe. Pretending to still be asleep, she saw through her eyelashes that he was sitting on the empty bed in the row along the verandah staring at her. His hands were on his knees as he watched her. In the pale light she couldn’t read his expression but she was unnerved.
Ian coughed and rolled on his side, unknowingly breaking a strange spell.
John Monroe got up and padded silently down the verandah.