2

KEMPTON HOMESTEAD – NORTHERN NEW SOUTH WALES

Summer 1914

Jimmy went through yards to the stables, a structure big enough to hold all the horses, visitors, occasional hands and the odd, additional buggy or two. The old man had done well. He picked up Horse’s blanket, still wet after the battle with the river as the rain had persisted all the way home. He held it lightly and sniffed at it.

A strong smell of damp wool. A deeper breath. Horse. Not just any horse. Horse.

He walked past the stalls, onto the outer covered verandah, and laid the blanket over the rail – better airing here – looked across the yard to the house and saw the neat, cut hedge, carefully trained bougainvillea; the heart of old man Angus’ realm. Shire president for how many years? Probably too many. Proud, determined, stubborn, narrow-minded, openly intolerant of anyone’s judgment except his own, and no real talent for farming; but Jimmy was thankful for the work and time with the old man’s boys, especially Eiric, a dreamer with a chance at a real connection to the land.

Angus was on the verandah: an aggressive pose, legs apart, hands resting on hips, broad, sweat-stained hat jammed down tightly exposing a torn peak. The hedge partly blocked Jimmy’s view, the veil of rain adding an ethereal edge to the old man’s form. Jimmy considered turning away, pretending ignorance, or other more pressing duties.

Angus waved. An imperious summons into his presence. Too late now for any withdrawal from the fate that beckoned.

Jimmy stepped from cover into the downpour and breathed out sharply as his boot sank ominously into the yard mud, his heart unsettled by the promise of a lecture from the old man. The pale grey of the day gradually gave way to the brilliant pink and red of the bougainvillea. His heart steadied; impassivity meant survival.

‘What the hell happened out there?’ asked Angus. Jimmy felt that the old man’s mouth enclosed enough loathing and disgust to cross a lifetime.

Jimmy stood in the rain, beyond the roof’s extent, regarding the house. He thought he saw Doreen submerged in the shadows beyond the fly-screen door. He recalled how incensed Eiric became when he witnessed the humiliation of his mother. ‘The old bastard uses her to do his washing and cook his meals,’ he often said, ‘and then heads off to one of his women in town.’ Jimmy’s wife, for all her submission to the will of the family, would have used a length of timber on him when he least expected it, just on suspicion of infidelity. Doreen just didn’t have a way out of defeat and Eiric didn’t have an answer either. They were all afraid of the old man.

‘They panicked,’ said Jimmy. He stepped back slightly, further into the rain, water draining from the hat brim.

Angus regarded him; firm mouth, nicotine-stained teeth prominent through the tight hole of his mouth.

‘The cattle,’ said Jimmy. ‘It was a cracking storm. They couldn’t hold ’em.’

The deluge intensified. The rain clattered on the tin roof, the ground about his boots turned into a pool. He wasn’t invited to take shelter.

Angus said, ‘They should have kept them well away from the river.’

His solutions were always simple, obvious, and, to him, enlightened.

‘It moved very fast,’ said Jimmy. ‘The storm …’

‘And where were you?’

‘The river … it came up really quick. The bank gave way; I had to swim for it.’

‘Really?’ The sarcasm wasn’t lost.

‘Nothing I could do, just swam for it, me and Horse … to the other bank.’

‘Damn fool. You could’ve headed the bastards off before they got to the river!’ Anger was rising now. Jimmy knew there was no point in defence, but he had to try.

‘They were on the run. Me, Horse and one of the dogs rounded ‘em up.’

Angus wasn’t listening. ‘Should’ve been with the mob! Should’ve stuck with Ted!’

Jimmy saw the rage in the old man. Angus bent forward, his long, angular body and prominent nose thrust forward in defiance of everything, hands moving in crossing circles, scattering the focus of his fury. Yet, Jimmy knew he had faith in Ted, the eldest, and arguably the most competent of the brothers.

‘None lost, Boss,’ said Jimmy. Agitation abated, tension remained, the downpour intensified.

‘What?’

Jimmy pointed. The distant yards were full of sodden cattle.

‘You can’t be sure!’ Angus was not to be convinced.

‘Counted … me, Eiric, Ted.’

A sneer. ‘Ted gets lost after five, Eiric’s more interested in that shit you teach him.’

‘None injured either.’

Angus looked over Jimmy’s head to the yards, doubt in his eyes. He half-turned to go, swung back to face Jimmy and stood silent for a moment.

Slowly, he raised his arm, pointing at Jimmy.

‘Keep your arse there,’ he said. ‘I’ll get my coat. We’ll take a look at this miracle.’

Jimmy shuffled his boots in the slurry that had built up around his feet. ‘Ted’s re-count’n ‘em now.’

The old man disappeared inside the house with a bang of the fly-screen door.

Jimmy had come to Kempton as a young boy, in the care of no one in particular. ‘Didn’t have parents, couldn’t remember any siblings, was embraced by the local people, aunts and uncles,’ they said. He still wasn’t old, in his early thirties. The old man saw things in him: loyalty, a way with horses, a shrewdness that seemed to ease the passage in a hard world. But he was a blackfella, which meant he counted for nothing in the old man’s eyes: useful, yes; trustworthy, maybe; close, no.

‘Righty-o, Boss,’ he said.

He regarded the old man’s anger with a detachment, a strategy he used every time, avoiding making sensible suggestions that would only further the derangement. Standing in the rain isn’t so bad, he thought. A gentle, warm breeze came with it. He could hear the soft rhythm of rain on the ground, feel and smell the release of the earth. The river had been hard: the whirl of the storm, icy water, grit that lodged in his trousers, in his crutch, boots, even under his hat.

‘Hello, Missus,’ he said. A figure had appeared at the screen door.

Doreen stood for a while. The screen door, he thought, is like a shield against any distress.

‘Is everyone safe and sound?’ she said.

‘All safe, Missus.’

Doreen nodded. ‘Saw Eiric as he came in,’ she said. ‘He looked pretty done-in.’

‘All the cattle in good shape too.’

‘How are Ted and Joe?’

Jimmy thought for a moment, about the fear the brothers had for the old man’s sour moods.

‘Missus, all good,’ he said finally. ‘Bit wet, though.’

‘Angus was worried about the storm.’

‘Yeah, came right over us. Lotsa lightning.’

Doreen frowned deeply, showing the lines of worry despite his reassurance. She suddenly faded away from the door, a ghostly image, evaporated to nothingness.

The old man flung open the door and strode forth, face furrowed with grim determination.

The rain beat at them as they skirted the worst of the mud, walking through the slush towards the yards, to the rail where Ted and Eiric were perched, absorbed in a count.

‘Where’ve you been!’ Angus marched forward, with Jimmy forgotten now.

Jimmy veered towards the stables. He’d seen performances like this before. No need to be a witness, a veil of rain quickly forming across the confrontation.

‘And you! …’ The stable wall and the clatter of the rain on the roof muted the remainder of the old man’s invective.

Jimmy walked cautiously through the wet ground. Time to see to Horse, get free of these wet clothes.

‘Well, that was inevitable.’

Jimmy turned. Eiric, breathless, smiling.

‘He was worried,’ said Jimmy.

‘About his cattle and what any damage might do to his profit margin,’ said Eiric.

‘You boys could’ve gone under in that river.’

‘It wasn’t that bad.’

‘We should’ve held ’em back well before the river.’

‘Ted’s decision.’

‘No, we were all part of it.’

The stable interior reeked of horses, wet saddle blankets, straw, and oiled leather. Jimmy felt contentment settle on him.

‘We were lucky to get out of it in one piece,’ Jimmy said. ‘But your father doesn’t believe in luck.’

He pulled at his boots, full of water, beginning to hurt.

‘What does he believe in? The next sales, keeping the herd safe, his judgement …?’ said Eiric.

‘Family is everything, Eiric.’

‘Well, you can’t convince me he’s concerned at all.’

‘It’s his way,’ Jimmy said.

Jimmy felt the intensity of Eiric’s gaze. This boy, a young man really, almost twenty, was more like his father than he would admit, yet … there was something else pushing past the petulant mask. ‘He believes the only way is the hard one.’

Eiric remained mute.

‘Have you sorted out your horse and gear?’ asked Jimmy. Eiric accepted the diversion.

Jimmy, relieved to be free of the rancour, turned towards Horse. Maybe a quiet talk with his companion would dissipate the tension that these people seemed bent on holding close. Jimmy felt the calm attraction of an evening with a dear friend as he approached the stall.