Harry Ellis’s left arm was missing far enough above the elbow that the short sleeve of his shirt covered the stump. When she’d met him briefly the previous Friday, Sara wondered how a disabled man could manage the job he had, but Len brushed off her query.
‘He does okay. I’ve seen him use a shovel and he can change a tyre. And he carries a wireless.’
‘What happened to his arm?’
‘Guess they parted company.’ He said it without a trace of a smile, only his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. Len had a dry wit that was totally unexpected in such a self-effacing man. ‘I knew a bloke once who had a three-legged dog. He was a bit like old Harry – ran with the rest and could jump just as far as any mutt in the pack.’
Sara, holding a cold washcloth to her lips, was remembering his words as the mailman hooked a finger in the screen door and nudged it open with his foot. A man of middle years, he was wirily built, the skin of his good arm burned to a deep tan by a thousand suns. He had an amazingly large nose, bushy grey brows and a head of grey hair. He let the door close gently against his stump, swung the mailbag onto the table while at the same time dropping the half-dozen magazines he had clamped in his armpit.
‘Mavis sent ’em,’ he said. ‘Thought the kids might use ’em for school.’ He winked at Sara. ‘So how’s the country treating yer?’
‘Very well, thanks, Harry.’ Her face felt hot and tight, but if he noticed, he didn’t remark on it. She tidied the magazines into a pile and poured tea for him as he dropped his hat and sat down.
‘She’ll make a bushie.’ Beth had opened the bag and was going through its contents. ‘She’s even survived one of your biscuits.’ Becky, mute in the corner, hung her head.
‘Whoa!’ His brows rose. ‘That was game of yer.’ He bit into one himself and munched contentedly. ‘Good as ever, Beth. One of these days I’ll bring you me recipe for curry.’
‘Thanks all the same, but I doubt we could swallow it.’
‘Good for you. A bit of ’eat cleans out your pipes.’ He swallowed gustily from his mug and smacked his lips. ‘I’m carrying extra rations for the park this week. Seems they’ve got a bunch of scientists out there, counting the hairs on bush rats, or some damned thing. Typical townies. Turned up without so much as a loaf of bread between ’em, so Clemmy put in an urgent order. Oh, and Mavis is talking about a fundraiser for the doctor sometime in the ’olidays. A Saturdee, anyway. Said I’d pass it on.’
‘Thanks.’ Beth found a biro and wrote on the calendar hanging on the wall. ‘It’ll depend how Sam’s feeling.’
‘How is the young fella?’
‘He’s fine, thanks. I’m taking him in again Monday. I’ll be home by Friday but, just in case, Sara knows where your biscuits are.’
‘Good-oh.’ He clicked his teeth suddenly. ‘Damned if I didn’t nearly forget. Man needs his ’ead checked for ’oles! I ran into old Bungy on the road. He said to tell Len that Kingco’s sending a driller out to their prospecting camp. Bungy’s gonna borrow him to get a hole put down. He thought Len might wanna do the same.’
Beth straightened in her seat. ‘But that’s wonderful news! Having the rig in the district will cut the cost enormously. Did Bungy say how long it would be round for?’
‘Don’t reckon ’e’d know.’ Harry emptied his mug and stood up. ‘Well, I’d better kill a metre or two. Thanks for the cuppa, Beth. I left yer chook food on the loading dock.’
‘Thanks. Len’ll shift it when he gets home.’ Beth handed him the outgoing mailbag. ‘See you next week.’
‘Yes, goodbye, Harry,’ Sara echoed, collecting cups. A few minutes later the truck door slammed and the engine fired. There was still a residual burn on her tongue as she prodded gingerly at her swollen lips. ‘Who’s Clemmy?’
‘A ranger at the national park. That’s Harry’s next stop. She and Colin have been there, oh, six or seven years now. Becky was just a toddler when they came. She’s very pretty – small, blonde, wears these sexy little shorts; looks about eighteen but she’s got to be nearer thirty.’ Beth smiled ruefully. ‘Makes the rest of us seem like dried-up old sticks, but she’s so nice you have to like her. Funny thing is Colin’s just the opposite – skinny as a rail, no conversation, hides behind a great black beard. They’re both very dedicated to the park.’
‘Any kids?’
‘Not yet, though Clemmy says they want them. What about you, Sara? Do you ever think about it for yourself?’
‘Having children?’ Sara pulled the plug and wrung out the dishcloth. ‘Sometimes. If I remarry, I think I’d like a child.’
Beth looked surprised. ‘I thought you were single?’
‘I am now. Divorced. Roger wanted children, but I wasn’t ready then. Still, it wasn’t the only reason the marriage broke up. Anyway,’ she finished lightly, ‘there’s not much I can do about it now.’
There was a hint of a smile in Beth’s brown eyes. ‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s Harry. And old Bungy’s still a bachelor. You never know your luck in the mulga.’
On Monday morning Beth and Sam left for Alice Springs in the family station wagon. Sara, bidding the boy a cheery farewell, thought he looked pale and fatigued. The bruising that had suddenly appeared on his arms didn’t help either. He was listless at breakfast, eating little, and Sara couldn’t help but be aware of both Len’s and Beth’s silent concern.
Len went off to continue work on the engine he was dismantling; Jack, apparently, wasn’t the only mechanic around. Jack himself had returned the previous day after a brief absence, dumping his gear in the men’s quarters and turning up for dinner, to Becky’s obvious delight.
‘Have you finished at the roadhouse, then?’ Sara had asked. ‘Nothing left to mend?’
‘Not till the next time Alec does something stupid,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve been with old Bungy at Wintergreen.’
‘Fixing things?’
‘Divining for water.’
Len had looked up from his plate. ‘How’d it go?’
Jack’s look had been doubtful. ‘I wouldn’t say he has the best prospects. He’s gonna drill anyway, but what’s there is scrappy and I reckon it might be deep too. The best pull I got was north of Fiddler Creek and it’s a bit too close to his other bore there to suit him.’ He shrugged. ‘I suggested he drill there and pipe the water to where he wanted it. Maybe he will, though he’s a stubborn old goat.’
Len’s loose cheeks wobbled as he shook his head. ‘Man, it’d cost. The poly you’d need . . .’
‘No more than a dry hole – a deep dry hole.’
‘Yeah, well, not good news for us either, then.’
‘Maybe not. Still, it’s a fair step from his northern boundary to the Forty Mile and different sort of country. Could make the difference.’
‘Yeah,’ Len had agreed but Sara saw that his gaze had returned to Sam, picking at his dinner, the hollows in his thin cheeks accentuated by the overhead light. Outside in the warm darkness Jess was scratching herself a hole; her tail thumped against the steps at the sound of their voices, then the sound of her digging continued. She was a quiet dog, devoted to Sam, and Sara had noticed how closely she had been sticking to him, as if, in the manner of dogs, she was aware of the imminent separation.
Now Sara stood at the gate under the oleanders, watching the dust column rise behind the station wagon as it vanished down the paddock. Becky had gone off without saying goodbye to the travellers. Sara would have to do something to cheer up the child. She listened to a magpie carolling from the branches of a garden tree and eyed the lawn, which looked very dry. Beth had said the men would see to the outside chores but she supposed she could turn on the sprinklers. There wasn’t much she recognised in the garden, save the lemon and fig trees, and then only because of their fruit. Perhaps she could get Becky to make lemonade for smoko? The girl loved her brother, but Sara had also seen how she resented him always getting the larger share of her parents’ attention.
Between supervising schoolwork Sara swept the house, moved the garden sprays around and baked a batch of patty cakes, popping back into the schoolroom periodically to ask Becky largely unnecessary questions – which bowl was the Mixmaster’s, where was the dustpan kept? By smoko time Becky was happily involved in squeezing lemons and icing the cakes.
‘Great job!’ Sara praised. ‘I’ll make the tea while you stir the sugar into the lemonade. What a team, eh?’
‘This is fun,’ Becky said. ‘What’ll we cook next?’
Her methods seemed to be working. Sara tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘We-ell, what’s your favourite pudding?’
‘Frog’s eyes. Yes, please, Sara!’ She clapped her hands.
‘Frog’s eyes?’ Sara echoed and heard Jack laugh behind her.
‘That’s tapioca pudding. Great choice, Squirt! It’s the best.’
‘Really? Well, then,’ Sara said gamely, hoping there would be a recipe somewhere. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Tomorrow arvo,’ Jack said as he drank his tea, ‘I’ll be going out to Kileys bore. Might be room for a pint-sized person.’
‘Yes!’ Becky cried. ‘And Sara too?’
Since their little talk following the biscuit episode, Becky had been penitently solicitous of her governess.
‘If she wants to come. Great cakes.’ He helped himself to another. ‘Up to her, really.’
‘I am sitting here,’ Sara said. ‘What about some details before I decide? Like, how far is it, and how long will it take? I have dinner to cook, remember.’
‘It’s a bore about twenty k out. We’d leave after school – say three o’clock, check the bore, boil the billy and return. Allowing for everything short of a wheel collapse, we’d be home by five.’
‘That seems doable,’ Sara agreed. ‘I would like to come, thank you.’
‘That’s settled, then.’ He favoured Becky with a stagey wink. ‘You reckon she might pack some of these cakes for smoko?’
‘You might need to take more grease for the mill,’ Len put in from his end of the table. ‘The tin was about empty last time I was there. The cakes are great, Sara. Just shows –’ his eyes twinkled – ‘here I was thinking city women couldn’t cook.’
Jack grimaced. ‘Marilyn certainly couldn’t. So, is the job living up to expectations, Sara?’
‘I told you I didn’t have any preconceptions,’ Sara replied, wondering who Marilyn was. Of course she had been too desperate to even consider what her new life would be like. ‘But I like the life. Especially the mornings. It’s so wonderful waking to the birds instead of traffic.’ She relished the sound of the magpies, the crowing of the cocks that mingled with the half-caught dreams that sometimes played at the edge of consciousness. Before coming to Redhill her dreams had been less frequent and those that came were darker, and filled with a nebulous anxiety. Jack was watching her and she tossed her head self-consciously. ‘I think I must’ve been a country girl in another life.’
‘You’re right about the mornings, though.’ Len stood and pushed his chair in as Jack also rose. ‘Best part of the whole day.’
‘I think so too. What time should Beth reach the Alice?’ There, she was even beginning to sound like a Territorian.
‘She’ll ring when she does.’
‘Should I fetch you – if you’re round, of course?’
‘Just take a message; we’ll speak tonight.’
‘Of course.’ She had forgotten it was all STD out here. Sara rose, crooking her finger at her pupil. ‘School, Becky. We have to finish early today because I’ve got a special project planned.’
‘What?’ She bounced eagerly to her feet. ‘Tell me!’
Sara smiled. ‘It’s a surprise, but a nice one, I promise you. Go and get started on your sums while I clear up.’
‘Will you be long?’
Sara reseated a comb and wrinkled her nose at her. ‘Depends. I have to find a recipe for frog’s eyes, remember.’