Jack moved to Coolgardie to try being a prospector. He bought a tent with the wages his father had paid him, added a pick and shovel, tinned provisions, dry biscuits, then a hat with a fly net and corks hanging around the brim. I laughed out loud when he tried on the hat in Tobias’s Store.
‘I look the part, then?’ he said, squashing the hat down more firmly on his head.
‘You look like a bushwhacker,’ I told him. ‘Where is that dashing young man who was wearing a tie at the ball?’
He swung the shovel up onto his shoulder like a rifle, clicked his heels together and stood to attention. ‘At your service, ma’am,’ he said, with a lopsided salute.
‘Go easy with that weapon, mate!’ A man with a brand-new wheelbarrow was trying to get through between Jack and the stacks of boxes that were blocking the aisle.
‘Sorry,’ Jack said, stepping aside. With the hat still on his head, he took his gear to the counter.
‘Suits you, Jack,’ Tobias grinned. I tried to keep a straight face.
While Jack paid the bill I tried to imagine how it would be for him living away from his mother, who doted on him, and trying to scratch a living out of Coolgardie’s fickle patch of dirt. Would he get bored with it? Would he struggle to survive without regular wages from his father? I had been looking forward to him coming, but what if he hated it?
I went back to work, expecting to see Jack that evening, but several days passed. Where was he? I was beginning to worry. Had something happened to him, out there in his tent? I asked several people if they had seen him. No-one had. I told myself not to be silly, that of course he was all right. He was an experienced bushman and knew this country well.
Another day went by. I had made up my mind to walk out to his tent before work the next morning when I saw Jack in the dining room. He had dragged a chair over and sat down at a table with Jock, Mac and some of his new mates like Bill Lockhart. I delivered more meals to the counter and paused on the way back to speak to Jack.
‘Where have you been?’ I asked.
‘What?’ The room was so crowded and noisy with men talking, laughing and shouting their greetings while plates and cutlery clashed and clattered.
‘I was worried.’
Jack looked at me blankly. He turned one ear towards me and cupped his hand behind it.
‘I was worried,’ I shouted, bending towards him.
‘Why?’
‘It’s what friends do,’ I said. Jack looked puzzled. ‘We are still friends, aren’t we?’ I asked.
Shouting broke out at the next table. Men demanding their meals began to clash with others calling for drinks.
‘Wait your turn!’ I shouted above the din.
‘You’re busy. I’ll get out of your way,’ Jack said, and stood up to go. The table rocked, spilling a man’s drink. ‘Sorry, mate,’ Jack bent down quickly to speak to him. Men had been killed in pubs for less, but not in this one. ‘I’ll get you another,’ Jack said, and brushed past me on his way to the bar.
‘Jack!’ He held up one hand and continued pushing through the crowd. My temper blazed. ‘Suit yourself, Jack Raeside, but don’t expect me to be waiting!’ He pulled a sheepish face but that only made me angrier. I glared at him, but he was hailing Mr Wisdom, ordering the new drink. I dodged the scuffle that had broken out and marched off towards the kitchen.
It was hot. I was tired and irritated, fed up with always having to deal with demanding men.
When I came back with the next lot of meals, Jack was gone. As I passed their table, I heard Mac say, ‘That dingo is on the prowl again. Cleaned out all Jack’s food.’
‘He’ll be wantin’ some barrels then – with lids,’ Jock said. ‘Leavin’ them opened tins of food around out there, that’s like offerin’ a free feed to every livin’ creature within miles.’
‘Yeah, old whisky barrels with lids. That’ll do the trick,’ Bill Lockhart said. ‘And I’m his man. I could be a real gentleman and help him with the emptyin’ of ’em.’ That set off a chorus of other voices chipping in with offers of help to empty a barrel of whisky.
For the rest of the evening I looked for Jack every time I came into the dining room. If a dingo had stolen his food, he would be hungry. He had to eat. Where else could he go? I was tired before, but now it felt like something heavy in my chest was weighing me down. What was Jack doing? I needed him to come back so that I could say sorry.
This was not how I had imagined things would be now that Jack was living here. Somehow he seemed further away than when he lived in Southern Cross. And Florrie’s questions about being in love had unsettled me. I needed to talk to Jack, but I was already feeling squeezed out of his new life.
When I had finished cleaning up in the kitchen, I set the bread dough to rise on the hob, took off my apron and flopped down in a chair.
‘Are you all right?’ Florrie asked as she took the jug from the cooler and poured herself a drink of water.
I nodded and tried to smile. ‘I’m completely done in,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight, then,’ she said, giving me a curious look as she went out into the night.
I sat for a while, thinking about things. When I opened the Coolgardie safe to pour myself a cool drink, I noticed that the water trays at the top and bottom of the metal safe were dry. The heat in the kitchen had been fierce all day and the wet hessian that hung down its perforated sides had dried out.
When I had quenched my thirst and calmed myself, I carried the trays outside and refilled them at the water tank. Jack was not waiting on the verandah.
The trays were tricky to balance when they were full of water and I spilled some on the kitchen floor. I could have left it to dry overnight, but I brought the mop in from outside the door and washed the floor with the spilled water. Even though it was late by the time I finished, Jack was still not there.
Arthur Williams was behind the bar, adding up the takings for the day.
‘Have you seen Jack?’ I asked.
Arthur looked up from the line of figures he was working on. ‘Everyone’s gone home,’ he said. ‘But I’ll come for a stroll with you, if you like.’
‘Thank you kindly, Arthur, but I’m very tired,’ I said, and went to my room.