The Cattleman's Daughter Page 9

‘He’s really hurt you, hasn’t he?’

  Emily felt unshed tears sting her eyes. ‘I’ve let it happen, though. It’s not all him. I let him …’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘It’ll be all right. We’ll both be all right,’ said Sam as he gave her a quick squeeze, but she could hear the doubt in his voice.

  She knew Sam had really struggled since his smash single had hit the charts like a storm two years earlier and then blown itself out to silence. It hadn’t given Sam enough momentum to walk away with a Tamworth Golden Guitar that year, a crucial victory for any young up-and-comer. His disappointment had been tangible, and it seemed to Emily as though his life had begun to unravel from that night. Sam had drifted far away from the life they had once shared. He’d gone to the city and lost himself in the hullabaloo of beautiful people, parties and hype. He’d not written a song in two years.

  ‘What are you going to do, Sam?’

  ‘Clean up my act.’

  ‘What are you on?’

  ‘Just the weed.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I tried some heavier stuff in LA. It’s really messed with me.’

  ‘Have you any with you now?’

  ‘Just some weed.’

  ‘Give it to me. I’ll burn it.’

  ‘No, you won’t!’ His eyes flashed panic.

  ‘Sam,’ Emily said firmly, ‘do you want to get sorted?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Then give it all to me in the morning. All your party pills, your dope and smokes, the lot – you’re going cold turkey.’

  Emily looked at her little brother. She’d seen women of all ages pressing themselves to the front of the stage at his concerts and staring up at him as if he were God’s gift. He might act like he was ten foot tall and bullet-proof, but she could still see the little boy in him.

  Emily could also see Sam did have a very special gift at his core. When he was younger, music seemed to pour out of him. Outside in the dark, Emily knew there was a circle of blackened rocks that made up the campfire the family had shared meals around in the summer droving days. Emily pictured a younger Sam, in his flannie shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the campfire illuminating his handsome chiselled features and strong arms as he belted out a tune on his guitar.

  The droving team, made up mostly of family, had sat on fold-out chairs, stumps, Eskies and rounded basalt boulders and gazed at him, mesmerised, as Sam’s music vibrated through their bodies. His voice seemed to channel from the black sky above, sifting down through stars and campfire smoke. It was the voice of a strong, bold angel, singing pure country.

  ‘Tomorrow, you start writing songs again,’ she said. ‘You write enough for an album. Write about this place, about the cattle, about the fires we panic about every year, about the snow, about the bloody bureaucrats threatening us all the time. Then we contact your company and you cut the best album yet. Okay?’

  ‘I’m not writing about this place, Em. You know exactly what’ll happen if I do. I’ll be a bloody pin-up boy for the mountain cattlemen – and the whipping boy for the Greens.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘So what? This is your heritage.’

  ‘Well, fuck my heritage!’ Sam said, clenching his jaw. ‘I’m not jumping through the hoops Dad and Flo have gone through all their lives just so they can graze a few cows up here.’

  ‘It’s not just about grazing cows and you know it. It’s about looking after this land the way it deserves. Grazing it. Burning it. Caring for it. Not locking it up and leaving it and classifying it “pristine”, like some untouchable thing or giant science experiment.’

  ‘You just won’t give it up, will you? You’re flogging that same dead horse!’

  As kids, Emily and Sam had been taught about the country that had been torn apart by frenzied goldminers in the 1800s, and how it had healed itself over. The same way grass grows over battle-scarred lands to cover forever the bones of fallen soldiers. They had seen how the land had reclaimed its balance over time. But the introduced weeds were the greatest worry. Each year the Flanaghans, with the exception of Bob, helped keep check of the most ruthless of weeds – blackberries. Sam and Emily knew the land on the runs in their care was in great shape, and the light stocking of cattle in the summer months helped the land.

  They knew they didn’t get it right all the time. In tough times, when cattle prices were down and drought bit, the family’s environmental works took a slide because there was no money. They would see their father up to his ears in paperwork applying for funding assistance so they could fence streams or control more weeds. They saw his frustration when the use of their cheapest tool for managing the land, fire, was outlawed. They came to learn that signing the name Flanaghan on your application forms usually meant your application was rejected. The Flanaghans, their name synonymous with cattle grazing, had felt the sting of judgement and been branded as environmental outlaws – people who destroyed precious wilderness areas, bogging up peat swamps and trampling delicate flowers with their cattle.

  Sam found it hard some days, being a Flanaghan, and his time in the city had made him bitter about his heritage.

  ‘You know none of us cattlemen have the education to take on that gigantic bureaucracy,’ he said more gently. ‘Our skills are in the care of land and animals, not media machines and political debates.’

  ‘But your music, Sam! A song can open people’s minds if it’s sung from the heart. That’s why you have this gift, so you can show from your heart that what we do up here is sustainable and even good for the plains.’

  Sam laughed. ‘I’m happy to become an urban cowboy and leave the protesting to the other tired old cattlemen.’

  Emily sighed. ‘Then you’re a bloody quitter and a piker.’

  ‘Yeah? So what if I am?’ Sam shivered. ‘I’m going back to bed. I’m freezing my nuts off here.’

  Just before he shut the door of her room, Emily called out, ‘Hey, Sam?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘That dream I was having when you came in – what was I singing, anyway?’

  Sam paused, his head bowed in the lamp light as he thought.

  ‘Dunno, really. I was half asleep. But it sounded like a hymn.’

  ‘A hymn?’

  ‘Yeah. Weird, hey? I didn’t think you knew any hymns.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Thirteen

  From his chain near the woodshed, Rousie let out a deep bark that told Emily someone was at the front gate. Emily flung back the sheets and threw her legs over the side of the bed. A stab of pain knifed through her and for a moment the room wavered. She shut her eyes waiting for the giddiness to subside.

  ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ she willed herself. She was determined to remain strong. In the kitchen Sam looked up from an old newspaper.

  ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘You must’ve needed the sleep.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly eleven.’

  ‘What!’

  Emily trod the well-worn verandah boards in bare feet, scanning the track through the trees that were framed against a perfect blue sky. She caught a glimpse of her father’s dusty white four-wheel drive, followed by Flo’s red Hilux ute and horse float. A broad smile lit her face.

  ‘Yes!’ she said as they neared, ecstatic to see Tilly and Meg in the first vehicle and then the dark curious eyes of Snowgum looking through the float window, her ears flickering back and forth. The girls tumbled out of the four-wheel drive and ran towards their mother.

  Emily stepped from the verandah and crouched to scoop them into her arms. She shut her eyes with relief. Here they were, together, at last. She ran her hands over the crowns of their heads and pulled back to look into their perfect eyes, which held the greens, greys and browns of the bush in their depths. Then she drew them in again for a warm hug. She looked up over their heads to meet her father’s gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  Rod stepped forward to
hold her. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Dad,’ was all she could say as she buried her face in his rough woollen work jumper.

  ‘I phoned the hospital and explained,’ he said sternly. ‘They’re not happy. It was a very stupid thing to do.’ His eyes travelled to Sam, who stood a little way off. Rod released Emily and his body stiffened for a moment, seeing his son’s prison-style haircut and the dark circles under his eyes. Then his face softened.

  ‘I’m glad to see you, boy,’ Rod said, opening his arms out wide and embracing his son in a man-hug. ‘It’s good to know you’re both safe and to have you both home,’ he said, clapping Sam’s back with his big, square hand.

  Flo stepped forward, squinting at Emily.

  ‘What the hell are you wearing, girl? You look like an escapee from a bloody mental institution!’

  Emily looked down at her long white nightie and self-consciously ran her fingers through her short cropped hair.

  ‘Good to see you too, Auntie Flo,’ she laughed.

  Flo hugged her warmly and muttered in her ear, ‘Glad to hear you’ve ditched him, the mongrel bastard. If I can help you, darlin’, you sing out.’ Emily was shocked. She knew the family had bitten their tongues on the subject of Clancy for years. Now, Emily realised, that silence would be broken, albeit out of the girls’ earshot. But before Emily could respond, Flo flicked her head in the direction of the float.

  ‘There’s someone else here glad to see you,’ she said, and as if on cue, Snowgum pawed the float floor with her hoof.

  As Flo slung down the door and Snowgum backed off the float, memories of the race rushed back to Emily. She saw the tree flash before her and smelt the fear. Cringing, she inspected the raw proud flesh of Snowgum’s wounds on her shoulder and nearside legs. The ugly, brown-and-pink meaty welts dug deeply into her perfect white hide and were fringed with purple antiseptic spray.

  ‘Oh, Snow,’ Emily said, resting her forehead on the mare’s neck. The others watched as Emily, in her long white gown, spent a quiet moment holding Snowgum around her neck, silently taking in the energy of the beautiful grey mare. They saw how beautiful both creatures were, but also how damaged.

  ‘Thanks so much, Flo,’ Emily said, tears in her eyes.

  ‘No wuckers,’ Flo said, her tone belying the anxiety of nursing Snowgum back from the brink.

  Flo disappeared into the truck, swung back the divider and there in the front of the float were the girls’ two small ponies, Jemma and Blossom.

  ‘Had to bring her mates,’ Flo said. Tilly and Meg beamed at their mother.

  Emily felt tears of relief sting her eyes. She had imagined her family berating her for leaving her husband, for bailing out of hospital, for coming here to the high plains. She imagined them dragging her back down to the lowlands to fulfil her role as a wife and mother. But here they were quietly supporting her – like they all knew that she was meant to be here.

  In the warmth of the kitchen, Flo unscrewed the lid on the brandy bottle and poured a neat shot into a row of teacups.

  ‘Purely medicinal,’ she said, passing a cup to Emily.

  ‘That’ll go down well with her Panadeine Forte,’ Sam said.

  ‘Well,’ Flo said, narrowing her eyes at him, ‘from all reports, Johnny Cash, you’d know what mixes best with what.’ There was an awkward silence as Sam realised the whole family somehow knew of his slide into drinking and drugs. His dad must’ve been on the phone to Ike that morning.

  ‘C’mon, Flo. I’m good, I’m all good now,’ Sam said.

  They looked at him. ‘Liar,’ they chorused.

  ‘But you’ll be right now?’ Rod said, more as a question than a statement. Sam shrugged, smiling nervously. He just needed a little more time to ease himself down.

  Rod lifted his teacup to his lips, took a sip and winced.

  ‘Tastes like medicine! Which reminds me, the hospital is sending discharge papers for you to sign and return on the condition that you check in at the Dargo bush hospital each day for the next two weeks, to see the nurse.’

  Emily felt her skin bristle. She thought of Penny, Clancy’s little nurse. She thought of the person she’d glimpsed in the bedroom at their house last night. She was sure it had been Penny. Though she wanted to be free of him, Clancy’s infidelities still stabbed her.

  ‘I’m not going to Dargo hospital,’ she said.

  ‘You have to,’ Rod said.

  Emily shook her head. ‘I’m not! And I won’t!’ The girls looked up from their game, hearing the angry tone in their mother’s voice. ‘I’m fine up here.’

  ‘But they need to change your dressings.’

  ‘Then I’ll travel into the Sale hospital. But I won’t go to Dargo.’

  The family, gathered round the table, looked at Emily in silence, pity in their eyes. She suddenly realised that they all knew. They knew about Penny and Clancy! Word had certainly travelled fast round the town. Emily felt utterly humiliated.

  ‘I dunno what we’re going to do then,’ Flo said. ‘I’m no nurse. Snowgum would tell you that if she could. And your brother’s not up to the job – he needs a nurse himself.’ Sam flinched and hung his head as Flo went on. ‘Rod’s flat out with the cattle and who’s to run round after the girls until you come right? The only option is to send Bob up!’

  ‘No! Anyone but Bob,’ Emily said miserably.

  ‘C’mon, Em.’ Flo put a hand on Emily’s shoulder. ‘I was joking about Bob.’

  An awkward silence followed as they each contemplated how life might move forward from here, until Rousie woofed his loud ‘someone’s coming’ bark.

  From the verandah they watched a little blue Suzuki four-wheel drive struggle over the track with a small grey-haired woman in the driver’s seat.

  ‘That’s not Evie Jenner from down the road, is it?’ said Flo. ‘What’s she wanting here?’

  ‘Evie who?’ asked Sam.

  ‘You know. That woman who moved into the Gows ruins a few years back.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ said Sam. ‘Isn’t she a loop-the-loop?’

  ‘As nutty as a Picnic bar, so they say,’ Flo said.

  ‘A few roos loose in the top paddock, eh?’ said Emily.

  ‘A stubby short of a six-pack,’ Tilly added earnestly, and they all looked at her and laughed.

  Still, whatever her mental capabilities, Evie Jenner had slowly transformed Gows, a former hotel, from a state of sagging decay to one of homeliness. Stone by stone, she had resurrected the house that lay twenty kilometres from the Flanaghan homestead. A garden now thrived and a newly hung cast-iron gate invited visitors along the pathway. One time, droving the cattle past, Emily had seen Evie in the garden, fixing up a trellis of ti-tree sticks on which snowpeas could twine themselves upwards. Evie had looked up and smiled. She wore a floppy straw hat, a long purple dress and a red striped pinafore. Giant black gumboots and loose green gardening gloves finished her look, which wavered between hippy and dotty old lady. At the sight of the cattle, the woman’s little Jack Russell had made a beeline for the old stone fence. It clambered up, front paws spread wide, and stood yapping at the cattle.

  ‘Jesus!’ the woman called. ‘Jesus Christ! Jeee-sus!’ she called again. When Emily realised the dog was actually called Jesus Christ, she laughed out loud. Was the woman a nut or did she just have a wicked sense of humour?

  The cattle stopped to look curiously at the small white dog barking canine obscenities at them. An older cow tossed her head in annoyance, then they ambled on again. In the past, the cattle had liked to walk over the rubble of the stone wall to graze on what was left of the old garden and scratch their backs on the low branches of the walnut tree. Emily had often scooted around them on her horse and sent a dog over to hurry them on. They were lazy beasts when they got the chance and the shade of the walnut in summer had always been so inviting. But within a year Evie had fixed the fence, so the cattle could no longer make use of the giant tree and the lush green grass now growing unchecked beneath it. E
mily had looked at the pretty, productive garden and the sunny seat on the porch. Nutter or not, the woman was a goer. From astride Snowgum, Emily waved, but rode on with just a brief, shy hello.

  Now, the entire family watched intrigued as Evie Jenner got out of her little blue car and hauled a large bag from the backseat. Her dog tumbled out, lifted its lip at Rousie and proceeded to piss on anything it could find.

  ‘Jesus! Jesus Christ!’ Evie cried. ‘Come here, you little mongrel!’ The dog ignored her. As she walked towards them, they saw Evie was tiny, but beneath her oversized clothing she was fit and wiry. She wore her grey hair in two braids, which framed her small tanned face. She came to stand before them all.

  ‘I’m Evie,’ she announced. ‘I hear you folk could use a nurse?’

  They stared at her, as amazed as if Mary Poppins herself had arrived.

  ‘Cuppa?’ was all Flo could manage and before they knew it they were ushering Evie through the screen door. On her way, Evie gave Emily a quick wink, with eyes the colour of new-spring growth. There was such a life force in her gaze that Emily felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. The intensity of those green eyes! In a split second, that look had connected with something deep within Emily, something she had never felt before. It was as if Evie was meant to be here. As if Emily had known her before somehow.

  Emily shook the feeling away and told herself the local rumours were probably right. With her long grey plaits, hippy skirt and homespun wool cardigan, Evie was probably one of those right-on organic types. The ones who made meat-eating and cow’s-milk-drinking humans feel guilty for even breathing. Definitely anti-cattlemen. Emily decided there was no way she wanted to be nursed by her.

  At the kitchen table, Flo did a poor job of being mother. She slopped boiling water into the teapot and noisily clanked an old tin of stale-looking biscuits onto the table.

  ‘We’ve got brandy if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Tea’s just fine,’ Evie said.

  ‘Here,’ Rod said, ‘sit. Please.’ He pulled out a chair and gestured to it.

  Evie sat at the head of the table and the girls came to stand beside her, gazing at her long plaits.