3

The country had changed without Sara noticing. Grey mulga had given way to a scattering of different trees where the fence ran and beyond was an open plain, grassed over with pale feed. She stared and swallowed, overcome by sudden dread. The feeling was as intense as it was inexplicable. Her hands clenched and a cold sweat broke over her body. She swallowed convulsively but her mouth filled again as her stomach churned. She gasped, ‘Stop! Please stop!’ Jack slammed on the brakes and she tumbled out and ran a few paces before bending double to a bout of helpless retching.

Jack took his time about exiting the vehicle, for which Sara was grateful. When he finally reached her side it was with a plastic cup of water to rinse her mouth. ‘Did you get a fly?’ he asked sympathetically.

‘No.’ Sara’s nausea had passed as quickly as it had come and the dread with it; her heartbeat was back to normal and all she felt was embarrassment. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I just felt . . .’ It was impossible to say terrified so she let the sentence hang.

‘Maybe you’re a bad traveller,’ he suggested. ‘It’s not the best road.’

Sara gave a shaky laugh. ‘Honestly? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been off the bitumen before. It’s probably the heat. How much further?’

‘’Bout an hour.’

‘Okay.’ They started again and Sara, seeking distraction from her whirling thoughts, said, ‘All this grass, why don’t the cattle eat that?’

‘They can’t reach it.’ The succinct reply stumped her, and seeing it he explained. ‘No water. Len’s hoping to punch a bore down here some day, but the chances aren’t good. This is the Forty Mile block; people have drilled here before without success.’

Puzzled, she said, ‘I thought it was Redhill?’

‘So it is. The Forty Mile’s just the old name for a section of a mining lease that was incorporated into Redhill twenty years back. The miners never hit water on it, though.’

‘Still, if things are so bad, isn’t it worth the gamble?’

‘Probably,’ Jack agreed. ‘But first you’ve got to get the rig. It costs a lot to get ’em out on site, especially if you can’t guarantee more than one hole. And at the end of it you could still come up dry.’

‘I see.’ A glint of silver caught her eye. ‘What’s that?’

‘Microwave repeater tower for communication.’

‘Ah. For a cattle property,’ she remarked, ‘there doesn’t seem to be many cows. I’ve only seen one so far – and it was dead.’

‘Time of day. They’re on the waters now. You’ll see a few when we pass Canteen bore, about fifteen k from here.’

Sara lapsed into silence again, a little frown between her smooth brows. She ought to say something; Jack would be wondering if she was having second thoughts. Her hands moved on her lap, the right index finger flicking repeatedly against her thumb, a habit she was scarcely aware of. She felt washed out, but not – thank God! – as if a migraine were imminent. That would surely impress her employer, to turn up prostrate after catching the bus on the wrong day. It was certainly desolate-looking country – there seemed to be no end to the sky and the pinkness she had glimpsed in it before was nothing to do with window tinting after all, but dust. Pretty really, layered above the blue with the dull grey sheen of the scrub below it.

Five minutes short of the hour Jack had stipulated, they drove through the horse-paddock gate and Sara caught her first glimpse of Redhill Station, a flash of metal roof and mill sails, and a complex of drab buildings. The largest, an open-fronted shed, had the word REDHILL spelled out along its length in letters a metre high. The other smaller buildings she would later come to recognise as feed and saddle sheds, a chook pen, the men’s quarters, the meat house and, foremost, the homestead.

It was set in a railed and netted enclosure full of shade trees and lawn. After the dusty hours on the road the green was a sudden feast for her eyes. A red cattle dog came racing to meet them as Jack pulled in by the front gate, where dusty oleander bushes dropped blossoms of pink and red. He switched off and in the sudden silence Sara heard the creak of the mill wheel turning on the flat, the cries of the cockies lining the tank’s rim and the sound of hammering from the sheds. Then the dog barked expectantly and Jack pushed his door open.

‘G’day, Jess old girl. Well, here we are, Sara. Come on in and meet Beth and the kids.’

Beth Calshot was a lean, wiry-looking woman with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that accentuated the thinness of a face marked with sun wrinkles at the corners of her brown eyes. She wore khaki shorts and a blue singlet top that outlined the sparse shape of a body from which all softness seemed to have been stripped. Seeing them, she trod quickly down the five steps leading from the wide front verandah.

‘Mavis rang,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come, and early too.’ She shook Sara’s hand with a firm grip. Her nails, Sara saw, were short and unpainted. ‘How do you do? Did you have a good trip out? Call me Beth. I do hope you’re going to like it here.’

Sara was warmed by the welcome. ‘I’m afraid I misunderstood your message about the mail, what day it ran. It’s lucky Jack was there to rescue me. I hadn’t realised the distances involved.’

‘Oh, but it’s not really far —’ Beth broke off anxiously, then grimaced. ‘Oh dear, will you listen to me? Of course, you’ll make up your own mind about that. Now, would you like a cuppa before you unpack? What about you, Jack?’

‘Please, but first I want to check if Len’s got any gas. You girls go ahead. I’ll bring Sara’s gear in.’

‘Right. You didn’t get it fixed, then?’

‘Cracked the damn pipe. Where’re the kids?’

‘Getting the goats in. Kitchen’s this way, Sara.’

Beth led the way through the central section of the house. Dining-­cum-lounge, Sara noted, with a heavy polished table and sideboard juxtaposed with cane chairs and a television.

‘Satellite TV,’ Beth said quickly, catching her glance. ‘We’ve got some mod cons.’

Sara smiled. ‘I’m sure.’ The kitchen space was crammed with a coldroom, freezer, a slow combustion stove obviously not in use, and a smaller gas model beside it that was. Beth lit the gas while Sara continued her survey, seeing sink, cupboards, breakfast bar and a pine table where, she guessed, most meals would be eaten. The dining room, she thought, had a special-occasion look about it.

‘Take a seat,’ Beth invited. ‘Tea won’t be a moment. Do you cook, Sara?’

‘Yes,’ she answered, surprised. ‘I enjoy it. Nothing fancy, just ordinary meals.’

Beth nodded. ‘Good. Not that I’ll expect you to do much of it. But now and then, perhaps.’ She made the tea and, with an economy of movement that spoke of long practice, dumped mugs, sugar, milk and a tin of biscuits on the bare tabletop, before seating herself opposite. She turned the pot several times. ‘The thing is, the reason you’re here is because my son is not well. Sam has acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He’s eleven.’ Her throat moved as she looked at the younger woman. ‘He needs regular chemotherapy and that means monthly trips to the Alice. He will get better,’ she said forcefully, picking up the teapot, ‘but it means that I need someone in the schoolroom with Becky to oversee her lessons, and to run the kitchen when I’m away with Sam. Len, my husband, used to share the driving with me and we’d take Becky too, but with the drought . . .’ Her brown eyes studied Sara and she sighed wearily. ‘There’s another trip coming up. That’s why, right now, I’m desperately hoping you won’t be taking the next mail out.’

‘I’m so sorry about Sam.’ Sara added milk to her cup. ‘The poor kid, that’s truly awful for him, and you.’ She felt a surge of dismay at the news, wondering just how sick he was and how it would affect her job.

‘I know. And he’s so damn brave about it all.’ Beth’s voice wavered momentarily. ‘It’s not a pleasant treatment. It makes him so ill. Anyway, that’s the job,’ she continued, pushing the biscuit tin at her guest. ‘Becky’s nine and she can’t afford to miss any more schooling. Sam’s way behind, of course, but that can’t be helped. When he’s well again . . .’

‘Yes,’ Sara agreed meaninglessly. The tea tasted funny; she took another sip, schooling her expression. ‘How long has he been ill?’

‘This is the second year, and the treatment could last another yet. But if it makes him better —’

‘Of course.’ Sara hesitated, asked anyway. ‘Jack said something about your last governess leaving?’

Beth grimaced, skin tight over prominent cheekbones. She looked as gaunt as the barren landscape outside, nerves stretched tight by worry and fear for her son. ‘Gela was Swedish and only nineteen. She couldn’t stand it. I suppose it is lonely for outsiders. I’ve had two others come, both young, but neither stayed. That’s why when I heard you were older – well, I thought you’d handle it better.’ She gave another grimace, this one comical. ‘You’re the last person I should be saying this to!’

‘It’s okay,’ Sara soothed, feeling sympathy for the woman. Beth seemed stripped to essentials. Fear for a child could do that, she supposed. Or perhaps it was the cost of living out here. She was suddenly ashamed of the nebulous fears that had driven her to this isolated outpost. If their circumstances were reversed, she couldn’t imagine this plain-spoken bush woman doing as she had, because some man had frightened her. She’d probably take a shovel to him instead.

‘If it would only rain.’ Beth sighed, then gave a small grin. ‘You’ll hear that a lot, Sara. It’s all people can think of, when the rain will come. Things will be so different then. This is pretty country, you know, in a good season. Really it is.’

‘I’ll have to take your word on that because I’ve never seen anything so – so empty and desolate. We passed a few cattle at a tank, and I saw a dead cow and some crows, and about a billion grey trees. And that was it.’

‘Mulga. Yes, but the sand country grows on you, if you let it. Well –’ Beth stood and collected the dirty mugs – ‘don’t be afraid to ask the kids about the place. They know how it all works, the land, the stock. They can teach you heaps. Because you’ll find everything easier if it makes sense, if you know why things happen.’ A smile flashed. ‘I need you to like the place, to stay. Anyway, there’re the goat bells now. Come on out and meet your pupils.’

The children were at the goat yard, which lay between the last shed and the distant glitter of old bottles on the station rubbish dump. The animals milled about the yard where their young had been penned for the night, watching the women’s approach with calm, yellow eyes. Jess, the cattle bitch, accompanied them, sniffing Sara’s shoes before silently migrating to her companion’s side.

This was Sam, the taller of the two children. He was plainly unwell, with that thin, fine-drawn look of chronic illness. He moved more slowly than his sister and the felt hat he wore rested almost on his ears, as if his head had somehow shrunk. He had Beth’s brown eyes, but the flesh below them looked bruised against his pale skin.

‘Hello,’ he said politely in response to his mother’s introduction. He looked puzzled. ‘It’s not Friday. How did you get here?’

‘With your uncle,’ Sara responded.

‘Uncle Jack’s home?’ the little girl squealed. ‘Cool. Are you gonna teach us now, instead of Mum?’

‘Yes, Becky,’ Sara said. ‘But I hope you and Sam are going to help me learn about the station too. There’s so much I don’t know. For instance, why have you locked up the baby goats?’

It was Sam, amazed by her ignorance, who answered. ‘So we can milk the nannies in the morning.’

‘Oh, so you use goat’s milk. Is it nice?’

He shrugged, at a loss. ‘It’s milk.’

Beth smiled faintly. ‘Not helpful, Sam.’ To Sara she said, ‘You had some in your tea.’

That explained the odd taste. Feeling a fraud, Sara smiled at both children. ‘There, you’ve already taught me something.’

‘I’m gonna see Uncle Jack,’ Becky declared and took off at a run.

Sam stayed behind to walk soberly back beside his mother, whose hand came to rest on his shoulder. ‘Okay?’ she asked softly.

‘A bit tired.’ Quickly he added, ‘I’m okay, Mum. It was just a long walk.’

‘Early night, then, I think.’ She spoke lightly but Sara saw the strain in her face, a look she would come to associate with Sam’s down periods when his energy levels were low or his appetite off. Of course the worry must be constant for her, so far from the ambulance service and hospitals. Sam’s illness would be a tremendous burden for any family, she thought compassionately, but how much more so for one way out here?