The Cowgirl Read online

  Will caught up with her in the hall. ‘Hey,’ he said. She was struck again by how tall he was. ‘Why are you leaving?’

  ‘I have some stuff to do,’ she told him. ‘Sheep work for Hamish.’ She glanced up at his extraordinary blue eyes, then away. His hair was still dusty, but he smelled pleasantly of soap.

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll be able to catch up with Audrey, anyway,’ he said.

  ‘She’d like that.’

  He looked at her like he wanted to say something. ‘Hey, Ted,’ he murmured. ‘Are you leaving because of me?’

  She huffed gently and her hands wandered about, not sure where to put themselves. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

  He smiled, like he’d worked her out. ‘Come back to the dig later,’ he told her. ‘We can wash off what I’ve found and I’ll get the fire going.’

  She nodded almost imperceptibly, feeling embarrassed. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said, and left him there, walking quickly back home, fighting the uneasy feeling he was watching her the whole way.

  Teddy threw a cake tin filled with scones onto the backseat and rumbled down the drive, bouncing over the corrugations. She was looking forward to spending some time moving the sheep through the yards at Maylors Gate.

  ‘Hey, Ted!’ Hamish was grinning at her, covered in dust and mud. She pulled up next to his ute and was also greeted by enthusiastic barking from Clancy, their kelpie. ‘You’re late!’

  ‘Knitting day at Grandma’s,’ she explained.

  ‘Get a good number there?’

  ‘Not really. Everyone’s busy with sheep at the moment.’

  ‘How’s the digging going? Found any treasure?’

  ‘Does a fire grate count?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then it looks like we’re still broke.’

  ‘You’d better come and make yourself useful, in that case.’ Her brother’s crazy hair waved about in the wind as he spoke. It was good to see him, she thought, as she climbed into the yards.

  The air was heavy with the sound of bleating lambs and bawling ewes. The lambs jumped and lunged to get away as she neared, and they pushed the mob through the yards to the shed for crutching. The sheepyards were dark with mud from the recent rain; occasionally a ewe would slip and bump into Teddy’s leg, sending her staggering into the fence, whistling for Dog who was ignoring her and eating something dead under the shearing shed. They kept the mob moving, repenning them, going back, filling the yards again. After a couple of hours they opened the gate and the flock was away, down the race into a fresh green paddock and drinking at the dam.

  Teddy’s arms were scratched from the tiny sharp hooves that had scored a blow. She rubbed them to calm the stinging and dabbed a little blood off her cheek.

  ‘Come over to the house for a cuppa,’ Hamish offered.

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘That you, Teddy?’ Georgina called out as they reached the verandah.

  ‘Yeah – hi, George!’ The screen door opened and a heavily pregnant Georgina came to lean in the doorway. ‘Looking good, Teddy, you’re tough as guts.’

  Teddy smiled. ‘Thanks – and I think I smell like guts at the moment as well.’

  ‘Better come in, then,’ George said. ‘I’m trying to encourage as many flies into the house as possible. Hamish likes to help out by not shutting the door.’

  ‘Is he still doing that? That’s exactly why we gave him to you!’

  ‘When you’ve finished the man-bashing, I’ll make the bloody tea,’ Hamish grumbled. The kitchen was warm and neatly maintained, decorated in whites and greys. Georgina made her way to the kitchen table, piled high at one end with West Australians and Elders Weeklys, and lowered herself into a chair.

  ‘Tea sounds great.’ Teddy said, and joined Georgina at the table. ‘How are you going?’ she asked. ‘Are you still feeling okay?’

  ‘I’m pretty much over it, really,’ Georgina responded, her hands automatically moving to her massive stomach. ‘I can’t wait to get this thing out of me.’

  ‘Only a couple of weeks to go, love,’ Hamish said consolingly, and placed a weak cup of tea in front of her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Then that’s it, no more kids. I’m done.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ he murmured automatically. Teddy and Georgina grinned at each other.

  ‘Hey, Ted,’ Hamish asked as he placed a mug in front of her. ‘Do you remember Dad telling stories about a treasure?’

  ‘Buried treasure?’

  ‘Yeah, buried treasure.’ He took a couple of quick sips of tea. ‘I was just thinking about your dig. You know, he used to tell stories about dumb stuff all the time. But he really liked the idea that there was buried treasure somewhere on the property.’

  ‘I guess he did but let me assure you, it’s total crap all the way down. Grandma hasn’t said she’s looking for diamonds, anyway.’

  Hamish shrugged. ‘Well, she wouldn’t, would she?’

  ‘So what’s with this archaeological dig of Deirdre’s anyway?’ George asked. ‘What’s she after?’

  ‘I think it’s a bit of a sentimental journey. Most of the stuff is old fixtures and bits of furniture from the house. We mostly don’t even bother showing it to her.’

  ‘We?’ George asked. ‘Who’s this guy doing the work? I heard he’s a relative of Audrey’s.’

  ‘Yeah, Will.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Hot.’

  Teddy jumped a little, as if she had spoken aloud. She hadn’t, it was Hamish, who was now smirking into his cup of tea.

  ‘He’s hot?’ George asked. ‘I’m getting over there next week! You didn’t mention he was hot!’ she said to Teddy accusingly.

  ‘Hadn’t noticed,’ Teddy murmured.

  ‘You know how I know you’re lying?’ Hamish asked.

  ‘I’m not,’ Teddy retorted unnecessarily, because he was going to ignore her anyway.

  ‘Because I reckon even Grandma thinks he’s hot.’

  ‘Don’t blaspheme. Grandma has never used the word “hot” in her life. Nor shall she. Unless maybe he falls into a fire. Anyway, he’s not that hot.’

  There were howls.

  ‘I knew it!’ Hamish yelled. ‘You think he’s hot!’

  Teddy rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, so he is a bit hot, but it’s more of a scientific fact and less a matter of opinion.’

  ‘So you think he’s hot and you have a thing for him?’ asked George.

  ‘Geez! This is the worst tea break ever! Just be quiet and let me read this –’ she checked the date on the nearest magazine – ‘three-month-old Elders Weekly.’

  Hamish and George saw no reason to halt the conversation.

  George turned to Hamish and asked earnestly, ‘Do you think Deirdre is hoping they’ll breed?’

  ‘Nah, she’ll be furious. He’s not going to hang around, he’s off to the UK in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Well, that’s never going to work.’ George sighed and Teddy got the distinct impression that George and Hamish discussed her love life more often than she’d care to think about.

  ‘Uh, guys?’ she asked as she flicked through the rural gossip pages. ‘Just how much of your teatime conversation is given to my lack of a love life?’

  ‘On average?’

  ‘Yeah, just on average.’ The couple glanced at each other.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Hamish. ‘We talk about the dog, the sheep, sometimes Prince Harry . . .’

  ‘That one’s my fault,’ Georgina chimed in.

  ‘But we probably circle around to you about twice a week.’

  ‘Is that too much?’ Georgina asked.

  Teddy put the Elders down. ‘It seems a lot,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m only sorry I can’t provide you with more material,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit boring, so I don’t think I’ll be good for much gossip, sorry.’ She stood to go. ‘Of course you do know what you’re supposed to do when you run out of conversation, don’t you?’

&nbs
p; Hamish sighed heavily.

  ‘More babies! Conversation topics until you die!’ Teddy threw her hip against the door and it flung open. ‘Gotta go. See ya!’ She paused to give Clancy the dog a pat on the way out.

  The salmon gums were fading to grey silhouettes at the fence line leading to the dam, and the breeze had lifted slightly – bolder now without the sun. Will had arranged a campsite next to his campfire, furnished with salmon-gum logs and drums for seating and a table he’d taken from the workshop that had been used to hold a collection of welding projects Hamish was going to get onto when he had the time. He had an esky, some cushions from the shearers quarters, a billy, a selection of chipped mugs and teabags. The effect was almost cosy, and he’d parked his car and the farm ute to block the worst of the breeze so that they could sit out of the wind.

  ‘I don’t think he knows what he’s doing,’ Teddy stage-whispered. ‘I think he wants to burn down the pepper trees.’

  Deirdre’s mouth twitched briefly. She quite enjoyed teasing city folk; she didn’t get to do it enough, and they probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

  Will crouched and struck a match. It hissed and blew out. He tried another while Deirdre scoffed.

  ‘Too windy,’ she said. ‘You’ll never get it going if you’re going to light it in the wind.’

  Will’s jaw clenched, but he tried again. Nothing. After a moment a hand came down over his and shielded the breeze.

  ‘Come on, now,’ Deirdre snapped. ‘My knees are eighty-five years old. Let’s not wait around.’

  He leaned into the cover her gnarled hand provided. The match flared and took. Small curls of flame moved their way up the bark and straw. He breathed on them lightly, and they glowed under his attention.

  ‘There you are,’ Deirdre whispered as if she was afraid she’d scare them away.

  Teddy added some sticks and twigs – then cracked a beer and put it by Will, who was still crouched by the flames. The fire was starting to pick up speed, burning through sticks and branches. Will threw on a small log and grey jam posts. It was making a gentle crackling chatter when he picked up the beer and smiled at her.

  The three sat together and watched the flames flickering in the breeze, lapping at the bleached grey jam wood. Eventually, Will went to the plastic crate they were using to hold things they’d found.

  ‘Here’s another thing I found late yesterday,’ he said. ‘Teddy cleaned it up for you. She seemed to prefer washing to digging. I can’t understand it myself.’ Deirdre peered inside tentatively, as if she was afraid she’d disapprove of what she found. She dipped her hands in.

  ‘Well, now,’ she muttered. ‘Here’s an old thing I recognise.’ She was holding an enamel dish. ‘This was Viv’s bowl. She used to wear it as a hat when she’d finished her porridge. My mother made the best porridge, of course, but after she left we had to learn to do it ourselves. We took lots of advice from other children’s mothers, until one day Mrs Beswick collected us from school and took us to the kitchen at the co-op tearooms and she showed us on the spot how to make a good porridge on the stove. Just you come and tell me if there’s anything you girls need to know, she said. That good-for-nothing father of yours won’t be any use to you. And so, over the years, we did.’

  Deirdre turned the dish around in her hands as if she was deciding whether she would try it on for size herself. She appeared to decide against it.

  ‘Our visits to Mrs Beswick as often as not came with a dose of advice we didn’t want to take.’ She tapped her fingers against the metal and it clanged softly back at her. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I haven’t thought of this old dish in years.’ She put it on the camp table, looking disproportionally pleased. ‘And with that,’ Deirdre declared, ‘I’m off to bed. Now, don’t you two make too much noise.’

  ‘Do you need me to turn the lights on for you?’ Teddy asked.

  Darkness had settled around them. Teddy glanced across the flames to Will, suddenly feeling awkward, but he was throwing a huge log onto the fire. He was settling in. She sat back on her drum and opened a bottle of red wine.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Deirdre admonished her. ‘I’m old, I’m not blind – yet.’ And with that she got up and disappeared towards the house. The wind carried her voice on the breeze, and moments later she could be heard taking Dog to task for sleeping in the doorway.

  ‘She’s kind of a character, isn’t she?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah.’ Teddy sat back on her drum and opened a bottle of red wine. ‘I think she’s having a bad decade.’

  ‘What was the last one like?’

  ‘Not a barrel of laughs.’

  Will snorted and picked up what looked like a mandolin. Teddy had never known anyone with a mandolin before. He settled back down next to the fire and began to pluck sweet notes from the timber, tuning the instrument. As she watched his face in the firelight and took another sip of wine from her mug, she realised he was watching her back.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Nothing.’ He drank again himself. Maybe her awkwardness was catching.

  ‘So, you like a campfire on your digs, then?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s usually new people to meet. We like to have a fire at night and sit around talking crap.’ He was absent-mindedly playing a slow tune that sounded like a waltz from a music box.

  ‘What crap do you talk about?’

  ‘Other digs, stuff we’d like to find. Stories.’

  ‘What sort of stories?’

  ‘I dunno. History, drinking stories, travel stories, legends and fables. Any old story seems real by firelight.’

  Teddy stared at the fire. She could well imagine. She’d just told herself the story that he was going to kiss her. Fairytale. Nightmare.

  He took another swig. ‘It’s just the fire itself, isn’t it? It’s that primitive thing. It’s death. It’s rebirth. Like you can almost see the phoenix in the flames.’ He smiled at her.

  She ignored him and stared into the flames, as if her own phoenix could be there, golden and blazing with life.

  ‘You like stories?’ he asked.

  Teddy was taken with his voice. When he spoke softly it was so low it registered deeply within her, like a secret untold. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I do.’

  He held his mug aloft and saluted her, then they sat in silence as comrades by the fire. ‘I bet I could guess some stuff about you I didn’t have to dig up,’ he said eventually.

  She reached for the red wine and poured. ‘You think?’ she said, taking a swig.

  ‘You don’t belong here.’

  She held the wine in her mouth and stared at him. He waited for her, comfortably studying her face.

  ‘You don’t know me,’ she said.

  ‘But maybe you’re stuck here, for some reason,’ he said calmly. ‘I don’t know why that is but if I look at you carefully, it seems as if you’re trying to disappear. Right before my eyes.’

  Teddy stood quickly, but he was fast and grabbed her hand. ‘Don’t run away,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.’

  She tugged against him, but there was his low voice again and it made her want to stay.

  ‘Sit down. Keep me company.’

  Her face wary, she sat beside him again and took the bottle back. ‘You’re full of shit, Will,’ she said but she could hear her own voice and even she didn’t believe it.

  ‘You mentioned you went away to school,’ he said. ‘When did you come home?’

  ‘I went to uni for a year.’

  ‘What did you study?’

  ‘History.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Hey, you’re one of my mob. I’m not judging, I’m impressed.’

  ‘Don’t be too impressed, I didn’t finish.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Dad got lung cancer. He needed to be in Perth quite a bit for treatment.’ She shifted a little closer to the fire. ‘Grandad had died a couple of years before and Hamish was unmarried
but spending time working on George’s farm. I came home to help Grandma with everything.’

  ‘With your family, the farm —’

  ‘Yeah, it’s too small really, to support us all. Mostly farmers buy more land, but we’ve had a couple of families on this little farm for a while, and in the next year or so it will probably have to support Hamish and George when they move over. George’s farm is being sold and split up between her and her sisters. Things are tight. We don’t have time or money for anything other than work, really. It’s one of the reasons Mum left to go back to nursing in Perth, but buying her a place to live has been hard on the farm as well.’

  ‘But you’ve got a cow,’ he observed.

  ‘Yes, the cow.’

  ‘You lot must really like milk. Why not get rid of it and just go to the co-op? It’s only fifteen minutes away.’

  Teddy shrugged. ‘I dunno really. It’s a thing.’

  ‘A thing?’

  ‘Grandma made a commitment to someone years ago, and she won’t go back on it. You know Horton, who hatched an egg? The Dr Seuss story. That’s her.’

  ‘You know cows are mammals, right?’

  ‘Analogy.’

  ‘What would you have done if your dad hadn’t got sick, if Deirdre and the farm didn’t need you?’

  She stared back at him stubbornly. ‘This,’ she said. ‘I’d be doing this.’ He cocked his head to one side to consider her for a while, and she let him. She stared back, knowing he didn’t believe her.

  ‘So tell me about your dad,’ he said.

  ‘Dad was a storyteller,’ she said. ‘He said he grew up with them, that the world was made up of the stories we tell each other, and ourselves. He told us fairytales and myths from around the world, and stories he’d made up himself. Sometimes when he looked out far enough to the horizon or deep enough into a fire, he’d mix them up and tell them all at once.’ She smiled sadly and sipped her drink. ‘Those were my favourites, his patchwork stories. They were very special to me.’

  Will wasn’t watching her. He seemed to be barely listening. ‘Tell me a story,’ he said. ‘One of your dad’s.’