Drowning in Her Eyes (3 page)

It was after dark by the time they returned to the hom
e
stead
—
wet, mud-
splattered, and weary. While Paddy and the men downed large glasses of beer, Helen hustled off Denni and Jack to bathe and change. Later that night, Jack confided in his sister.
“I like living here,
” he began,
“but I don
't think I want to run the station. What I would really like to do is become a soldier.
”

“Don
't be a dill,
” said Denni.
“
Dad won
't let that ha
p
pen. You
'
re destined to come home here, and don
't forget it.
”

“What about you? You
're the eldest.
”

“Running the station is a man
's job. I am going to marry a rich man and live in the city. You can come to visit if you like.
”

When you are ten years old, you don
't have much say in anything. Jack kept his own counsel, but his ambition still smouldered away inside.

* *
*
*

Australia is a land of wildly variable climate. As one of her famous poets described it:
‘a sunburnt country
…a land of droughts and flooding rains
.
' Old hands
say
all floods end with the beginning of a drought.
Ballinrobe
had benefitted from the good season, but wool prices
—
driven to record heights by the demand for warm clothing during the Korean War
—
had ebbed away. Paddy had been
looking
for a long time
for another enterprise to increase profit and spread risk. He had noticed that wheat prices were strong, and with the world demand for food increasing as Europe and Japan
rose,
Phoenix-
like from the ashes of the war
,
they looked
set
to be high for
some
considerable time.

“Helen,
” he said one night,
“I think we should be clea
r
ing some of our better land and turning it over to wheat growing.
”

Helen had discussed this with him before. A naturally cautious woman, still mindful of the Great Depression through which her family had struggled, she had an aversion to risk and especially to borrowing money.
“How will you do this
,
Paddy? I hope we won
't have to borrow too much money. It will cost a lot to buy tractors and things, and won
't you have to employ more men?
”

“I think we can handle it with Mick and Ollie. Anyway it won
't be all that long until Jack is home earning his keep.
” Helen said nothing. She had ambitions for Jack, including a University education. That would add a further three or four years to his absence. She knew her son, as mothers do, and she was not at all certain he
would
be coming home to take over the management of
Ballinrobe
.

Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA
—1957

Albuquerque,
New Mexico
is about
two thousand
miles from Boston. The Baker family rode the rails. There would be a new Chevrolet waiting for them there. It was an exciting time for them all, to see so much of their country. The train passed through the northeast, down through New York and Baltimore to Washington
,
DC, then across to Chicago and south through the Mid-
w
est to Albuquerque. The journey was broken several times to visit cities
and landmarks alike.

“Take your time, Jimmy,
” said Bob Phillips.
“You have a big job waiting for you, and you need a vacation. Give the family a good look at our great country, and, remember, Worcester Electronic is picking up the check.
”

It had been quite a journey, starting with the family meeting when Jimmy reached home and delivered his news. It was not greeted with overwhelming joy. Marci was co
n
cerned for her family, particularly her aging mother. She had other siblings to look after her, but Marci was closer to her mother than the others were. Susan was happy to move, d
e
spite leaving her friends behind. At eleven, on the cusp of puberty, she had demonstrated a remarkable serenity when confronting problems in her life. Wherever her father went, she was happy to go. She was looking forward to meeting new people and having new adventures. Secretly, she b
e
lieved she had outgrown Worcester.

Sarah was the least inclined to move. She did not want to lose her friends, including a new boyfriend. James Junior wanted to go. He got out the encyclopedia and checked out New Mexico.
“Do they really have cowboys and Indians out there
,
Dad?
”

“They sure do
,
Jimbo,
real
cowboys and Indians. It
's a lot warmer than it is in Worcester
,
too.
” The cowboys and Indians were enough to sway the boy. He had visions of a warm and sunny clime where he could play baseball every day of the year
.

Jimmy addressed them all:
“Look, this is the best thing that could have happened to us. It will mean more money
.
W
e can have a second car, and we can look forward to gi
v
ing you all a college education. I think we should go.
”

“I don
't want a college education,
” spoke up James Ju
n
ior.
“I just want to be a cowboy!
”

In the end, they all agreed to give New Mexico a chance. Marci had one condition. She would not hear of sel
l
ing their home in Worcester.
“I want to know we have a home we can return to if anything goes wrong,
” she said.
“We own this house and it will be our home again one day. Mark my words!
” She
was
n
'
t to know
how prophetic that statement would be.

The new factory was almost finished
;
Jimmy only had to complete the organisation. Art and Chris were as good as their word and dispatched a quartet of office staff for his d
e
ployment. A tall and somewhat fearsome woman named Margaret Allenby, former executive officer of an Army ho
s
pital in the Pacific, took charge and soon she had the place running smoothly. Despite her forbidding appearance, she had a soft centre
,
but she would stand no nonsense. Jimmy referred to her (out of her hearing, of course), as
the
Master Sergeant.

The children settled into Albuquerque with little diff
i
culty. Susan and Sarah went to school at Las Lunas High School, where they quickly integrated with their new clas
s
mates. Susan found everything about her new State interes
t
ing. There was a significant Mexican component, and she found their
culture
—
along with that of the Pueblo Indians
—
engrossing. It wasn
't long before she was arriving for brea
k
fast with the greeting:
“
¿Hola Madre y familia. Como e
s
tas?
”
Her mother was not impressed, but Jimmy encouraged her, reckoning a second language might come in handy one day.

Sarah was moody at times, but as she met more friends and more
boys
, her natural cheerfulness re
asserted itself. Meantime, the letters to her boy
friend
in Worcester dimi
n
ished gradually until they petered out altogether. Finally, she confided in Susan:
“I don
't think about Mike anymore. B
e
sides, there are plenty of great guys here
close by!
”

Susan had felt the stirring of her womanhood, but she found her school friends a little too puerile for her liking. Always a serious girl, she did not want to languish in the
‘leave school, get married, have kids, and be a dutiful wife
' scenario most of her friends expected. Deep
down, she wanted to see a great deal more of the world.

James Junior loved the place. Compared to Worcester, it was a mild climate, with temperatures rarely falling below freezing and it hardly ever snowed. He soon had a posse of little friends lining up after school for his mother
's chocolate brownies. In his opinion, he was well on the way to beco
m
ing the new Babe Ruth.

They had arrived in late February, as spring was making itself felt, and in time for numerous dance festivals at the I
n
dian pueblos. Soon, caught up in all the activity of their schools and other social affairs, no one thought much of the Worcester they had left behind.

Jimmy was busy at the factory. As the cold war grew more serious, there was no let up with orders. More co
n
tracts flowed in and he had to increase his workforce by
thi
r
ty percent.
Many
were Latinos, and he found
he was often calling on Susan after school for assistance as a translator, for she had become almost fluent in Spanish, including many not-
so-
nice words the meaning of which she was largely u
n
aware. Almost without notice, the years rolled on until 1962, when a series of events was to pitch the family headlong into turmoil.

Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia
—1958

Away to the east, the sky was showing the first traces of dawn. Under a pale slice of mid-
winter sky, a pink flush he
r
alded another day. Paddy and young Jack huddled together in the open Land Rover. This was becoming an almost daily event, necessary to protect the wheat crop from marauding kangaroos and feral pigs. Jack had learned to shoot at the age of eight with an old Winchester .22 single shot rifle. He soon mastered the weapon and moved on to better things, but the old single shot had taught him a valuable lesson. When you have only one shot, you have to make it count.