East of Outback (26 page)

O
CEANS OF
O
PPORTUNITY

“Edan,” Mary Aileen suggested, “why don’t you go curl up and nap on that bench until the train comes?”

“I’m not sleepy,” her brother lied.

Edan never got to stay up this late. Mary Aileen hardly ever did. She was glad Mum let them come along, even if her own eyes were getting heavy. The electric lights along the platform here would have made it look like day, were it not for all that blackness beyond. Where the train platform ended, the lights—and any semblance of a normal day—ended. The spring night could not be called warm, but it felt quite mild and pleasant. Mary Aileen let her shawl hang loose.

Mum approached from the far end, pacing more than strolling. Mum did not wait well. She smiled at them. “Why don’t you go sit on the bench, Edan? If you fall asleep we’ll wake you when the train comes.”

He shook his head. “I want to see it come.”

Mum stood close beside Mary Aileen. “I trust you’re not getting your hopes up. If he found them he would have wired ahead.”

“I know. Mum, have you or Papa ever been to Kalgoorlie before?”

“No.”

‘Then he’s not seen my uncles in many years.”

“Not since they went west and he took over Sugarlea. That was well over twenty years ago. Of course, he didn’t go now for a family reunion, but it’s nice he could visit with them again.” Mum turned away. It was all she had to say about it.

Mary Aileen wondered how Kalgoorlie compared to Sydney. Would she ever travel? It was a wistful dream in her mind and heart.

“Here it comes!” Edan perked up instantly.

A light appeared in the distance; the locomotive was turning a corner somewhere several blocks down, and now the light approached. Mary Aileen listened to the measured huff and puff, the song of power. Black in the blackness the engine loomed, hissing and spitting steam. The platform lights bathed its black flanks in brightness and made its steel handrails glow. The churning wheels rolled by; what a din! On up the way the locomotive roared, past the lights into darkness. The cars behind it drifted to a stop.

Instantly rouseabouts were passing great canvas sacks to and from the mail car. The baggage cars opened as porters rolled wheeled carts into place. Loading and unloading one train out of many—and getting everything right—must be an incredibly intricate task. But see how each person did a small portion of the whole, and how it all came together. Mary Aileen watched rapt.

“There he is!” Edan dropped Mary Aileen’s hand and raced off down the platform. Mum hastened after him. Mary Aileen tried to hurry and look dignified, as befits a girl fifteen. She couldn’t do both so she sacrificed the dignity.

Gum-tree tall, Papa came striding up the platform toward them, a bag in each hand. Edan reached him first. Papa set a bag down to give Edan a hug. Mum was all ready to embrace him also when she spied his other bag. She stopped dead as if poleaxed.

Hannah’s schoolbag!

Mum stared at it the longest moment. Then quietly she covered her face with her hands and began to sob as Papa drew her in and pressed her to himself.

______

“Happy birthday!” Colin joined the general chorus of well-wishers. It wasn’t hard to get a crowd for a birthday party on this remote sheep station; just mention a piece of Mrs. Slotemaker’s cake. The ringers, shearers and rouseabouts all milled around the veranda of Slotemakers’ government house. The guest of honor blushed, thanked everyone, and cut the cake.

Mrs. Slotemaker helped her serve it up on small plates, while Colin passed them to the guests. Mr. Slotemaker poured cool punch and served it to the thirsty crowd.

Mrs. Slotemaker cut the last of it. “I baked three sheet cakes, since the shearers are in; I knew we’d use at least that much. I’ve never seen men eat the way shearers eat.”

Colin grinned. “Hard yakka, mum. We know; Hannah and I worked with a shearing crew for a while.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Slotemaker stared at Hannah. “You were on the boards, child?”

“I was broomie boy, yes’m.” Hannah grinned. “And tar-boy. A cut down by Eaglehawk, near Bendigo. A lot of dust, sweat and flies, but I enjoyed it.”

She smiled. “I imagine you enjoy most of what you do.”

“That’s right, except—” and her bright grin faded, “killing rabbits. Since we buried Max I’ve thought about all the suffering that’s caused killing all those rabbits. It really hurts me.”

The farmer’s wife stood a moment, thinking. “Colin, after we finish here, hitch up the cart and bolt the seat down in back. I want to take a drive.”

Colin finished his cake, and helped collect the dishes into a big washpan. Then he hurried out to the barns to harness up Max’s Lady. He wondered as he worked if she missed the brindled old curmudgeon at all. She nuzzled his pockets for a treat of apple slices. So far as Colin could see, Max’s love had gone totally unrequited.

He dusted off the upholstered seat that fit into the open cart, bolted it to its brackets, and drove up to the house. The shearers had returned to the shed. Mr. Slotemaker had gone into the house, and the other hands were dispersing gradually, still licking icing off their fingers, talking and laughing.

“We’ll leave the dishes for now. Hop in, Hannah.” The Dutchman’s lady left her apron on the veranda rail and climbed into the cart. She settled onto the upholstered seat. “Drive east a way, Colin, then turn north up that lane beyond the first paddock.”

Colin clucked to the bay mare. They jogged out of the yard onto the faint track. With half an ear he listened to the women talk, while his mind was swallowed up in thought about poor Max. Mr. Slotemaker had told him that strychnine didn’t usually spread through the whole animal, because it was so fast-acting. Dingoes often ate poisoned rabbits without effect. Max must have eaten just the bit of stomach or liver most affected by the poison. Bad luck more than bad meat. If only the eaglehawks hadn’t torn the carcass apart. . . .

He turned north onto a feeble track.

“Beyond that big gum tree, go right.”

Colin did so. They left any semblance of track, and bounced over rough ground.

“Stop here.” Mrs. Slotemaker stood up in the cart and pointed to a mound of disturbed dirt extending nearly a quarter mile. Grass and weeds had started to grow over the area here and there. Some plants that didn’t take hold stuck out of the ground leafless and bent.

“That’s a grave, Hannah. It holds over two thousand sheep and cattle and fifty horses. They didn’t die quickly, as from strychnine. They died of starvation over a period of several months. There was nothing we could do for them but stand by and watch them suffer. Even if we could have afforded to buy hay for feed, there was none to be had. Every grazier in the district was facing the same horror.

“When it was clear that even a break in the weather wouldn’t save them, Emory brought in a steam shovel and dug the channel. We drove the dying animals into it and shot them.”

Hannah’s mouth hung open. “The drought caused this?”

“Rabbits. Swarms of rabbits covered the land and ate everything in sight. There wasn’t enough left for the grazing animals, and not enough rain to replenish the land fast enough. All those animals would have survived, had it not been for the rabbits. They wouldn’t have suffered such terrible agony.”

“Jackie Jump said the area’s in drought time again,” Hannah said, settling back down on the cart seat.

“He’s right, and the forage is nearly gone again. I know what you and Colin are doing seems very unpleasant. It is. But you aren’t really causing animals to suffer. You’re saving animals from suffering. In fact, during drought when the grass and browse are gone, the rabbits and ‘roos starve, too.”

For a moment Hannah studied her hands in her lap. She turned suddenly to Mrs. Slotemaker and smiled. “Thank you.”

Colin turned Max’s Lady around and started back. He had entered this line of work for the money. It had never until this moment occurred to him that there might be some greater end to be attained, something worthwhile beyond money. It cast a whole new light on things.

What about Papa?
Was what his father did as helpful? Colin quite frankly was uncertain how his father supported the family, much less whether his work had purpose or usefulness.

Papa, Papa
. Over and over, Colin’s thoughts and memories returned to the man he’d walked away from. That part of his life had ended. Wasn’t he an adult now, making his own way in the world? Wasn’t he proving himself? Why did ghosts of the past haunt him so?

They rattled into the yard a few feet ahead of their cloud of dust. It caught up to them as Colin drew the mare to a halt by the veranda rail. As it drifted by, Hannah and Mrs. Slotemaker descended, coughing.

When the dust had settled, she asked Hannah, “If you could do anything you wished today on your birthday, what would it be?”

“To sit in the shade and read a book. I’ve not done that in ever so long.”

“Very well. Choose a book from the shelf in the parlor, any one you like. I recommend the gum tree out by the spring house, unless you’ve seen a better spot.”

Hannah curtsied. “Why, thank you, but I’ll help you with all those dishes. Colin has his apples to cut and soak. We’re doing the last paddock tomorrow.”

“Colin will help me with the dishes. You go and read now. This is your day. Enjoy it. No arguments.”

Hannah’s dark eyes flitted past Mrs. Slotemaker to Colin. They asked unspoken questions.

Colin grinned. “We don’t question the boss’s orders. Go.”

She hugged Mrs. Slotemaker. She hugged her brother. She went.

Mrs. Slotemaker started for the tub of dirty dishes but Colin reached it first. He scooped it up lightly, pretending it wasn’t nearly so heavy as it was, then toted it into the big summer kitchen out behind the house.

Mrs. Slotemaker put on an extra kettle of water to heat, and directed her black housemaid about beginning preparations for dinner.

As Colin shaved soap into the pan, he reflected on the enormous quantities of dishes, pots and pans he had washed since leaving home. The job had fallen to him on Captain Foulard’s boat, on the Madman’s Track, at his uncles’ cottage, in the forest with Nels Brekke’s crew, and nearly every meal with the shearers. Even when Hannah was designated cook, he washed dishes. Why should it be any different here? He poured boiling water into the pan, added as much cold, and set the kettle back to reheat for the rinse.

Mrs. Slotemaker handed him a towel and plunged her arms into the soapy water. “You’ve been moping about ever since you buried your dog. It’s not hard to understand. He wasn’t the most lovable, but even the ugliest dog can tug at your heart. They have a knack for that.”

“Unlovable. You got that right. He wouldn’t let me get near him most of the time—not even at the end.” Colin glanced at the teeth wounds in his fingers and secretly rejoiced that Mrs. Slotemaker was the one submerging her hands into the water.

“I imagine it would have been much easier if you could have said goodbye. Reconciled, I suppose is the word.”

Colin thought about that a moment. “Yair, I think you’re right.”

Mrs. Slotemaker turned the plates one by one to drain on the sideboard, without looking at Colin. “Hannah alluded to the fact that you and your father don’t get along very well either.”

Silence.

Bitter, penetrating silence. Reconcile. Growl. Snap and snarl. Eyes burning with hostility until they dulled and emptied. “Scuse me a moment; I’ll be right back to finish here.”

Colin draped the towel by the drainboard and hurried out back to the dunny.

He stepped inside the dark, stinking little two-holer and latched the door, but he didn’t really use it. He wiped his hot and burning eyes. He blew his nose. He wiped his eyes again. His act more or less in order, he returned to the summer kitchen.

His hostess was humming a tune Colin had heard before in the church back home. If she noticed his reddened eyes, she didn’t let on. Colin suddenly felt very wary of this woman. Like Mum, it seemed she could read his thoughts. Perhaps all women could perform that magic with men’s minds.

She set a handful of forks on the drainboard. “Hannah and I had a delightful talk this morning while we were baking. What a lovely child she is. You two both have had a good upbringing, I can tell.”

“Thank you Mu’m.”

“We talked about God quite a bit. Hannah had some remarkably mature questions. For instance, she asked me if I knew
when
God’s forgiveness is complete for specific sins.”

“She, ah, never mentioned that to me.”

“Perhaps it just never came up.” She laid out more flatware to dry. “She felt guilty about specific things, like lying to her parents and running away. Legitimate guilt, actually. And she worried about how long God would let her live in her sins before He forgave her. An excellent question.”

“Yes’m. She can be very grown-up.” He hoped his response was vague enough that she would understand he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I explained to her what the Word of God says about it,” Mrs. Slotemaker persisted. “You simply confess your sins—sincere about it, of course. He forgives them instantly, and then He forgets about them. Hannah seemed immensely relieved. We knelt and prayed right there and took care of the matter.”

He was still searching madly for the right words to respond when she began talking again.

“Your sister was also unclear about what makes a person a Christian. No surprise there. Many adults, even in the church, don’t understand that. She’s a wise young lady to ask such important questions.”

“Yes’m.” Confusion. A desire to get away. Colin quit looking for correct responses and started seeking a graceful way out.

“And so,” Mrs. Slotemaker continued, “I explained that to her also. I told her that a Christian is someone who believes in Jesus—what He says and who He is. That person confesses his belief aloud, and embraces it in his heart, taking the living person of Christ into his heart. That is a real Christian.”

“Yes’m.”

Mrs. Slotemaker looked Colin squarely in the eye. There was no way he could leave the room now. “Hannah did that this morning, Colin. I’ve known and loved Jesus for many years; he’s a personal friend and Savior to me. Today Hannah committed herself to Him also. She’s a Christian now.”