A Distant Journey Read online

  Murray stared at her outfit. ‘That might be a bit posh for Yamboola. Never mind. And where’s your jacket? It’ll be chilly on the way back. We’ll have to take the ute. I’ve got to pick up some tractor parts as well as supplies.’ Murray was wearing well-worn moleskin pants, a kangaroo-skin belt and a leather bomber jacket over a blue shirt. His favourite boots were covered in dust. As they left the house, he jammed his hat on his head. They climbed into the ute and Murray put on his sunglasses and shoved the ute into gear. ‘Do you know how to drive a manual?’ he asked Cindy.

  ‘No,’ she replied shortly. Murray glanced at her and she added quickly, ‘But I can learn.’

  Murray drove around the other side of the house by the machinery shed and Cindy pointed to a cluster of trees in the distance. ‘What’s over there?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s Boomerang Creek. When it’s full, there’s a great swimming hole there where the willows are. A pretty spot. Good for picnics. When we have time, that is. Most of the trees by the river are red gums.’

  The idea of a pretty spot on their station for a picnic pleased Cindy. It seemed to break up the uninspiring canvas of dry brown grass paddocks. ‘Can we plan a picnic?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  They seemed to drive for ages along a narrow dirt track before turning onto a wider dirt road, which Murray announced was the main road into Yamboola. Cindy didn’t recognise it at all, then Murray explained that there were two roads in and out of the property, one which went to Deniliquin, which she’d been on yesterday, and the other that went to Yamboola. They only passed one other car, and Murray acknowledged the driver by lifting a finger off the steering wheel in greeting.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yes, that’s Roger, from Butterworth Station, but you always salute people on the road, whether you know them or not.’

  After what seemed an age, they passed a pretty white wooden church surrounded by neatly tended grass, signalling their approach to Yamboola.

  ‘Sweet little church. Do you go?’ said Cindy.

  ‘Sometimes. Dad goes a lot. That’s the Anglican church; the Catholic church is further along.’

  Cindy watched as they passed the weatherboard buildings that made up the school, tall gum trees shading its small playground, then they were in the centre of the little town. She could see a couple of banks, a newsagency, a general store, and a garage with a petrol pump out front. On the other side of the road was a large building with School of Arts written over the main entrance, as well as a shop with a sign reading General Outfitters, although it only had menswear displayed in its window, and on a corner was a hotel with a metal lace verandah upstairs proclaiming itself to be The Majestic.

  Cindy sat for a moment in the ute and looked along the street. She could see where the houses stopped and the countryside resumed again. She drew a deep breath. The place was tiny.

  ‘Coming, sweetheart?’ asked Murray.

  ‘Oh. Yes.’ Cindy slid from the ute, which Murray had parked outside the cavernous machinery store.

  ‘Pop over the road to the general store and get whatever you think we need. We have an account there, so don’t worry about money.’ With a wave, Murray headed into the machinery store.

  Cindy looked at the general store. In Palm Springs, it would have fitted into a small corner of her favourite supermarket.

  Walking in through the screen door, she was greeted by the man behind the counter, who went on serving two women, both of whom were wearing sensible tweed skirts, blouses and thick woollen cardigans. Suddenly, Cindy felt overdressed. She fingered her scarf awkwardly as she gazed at the packed shelves and the few items displayed around the counter, and then consulted her hastily scribbled note: Bread, milk, bacon, eggs, fruit, ground coffee …

  Once the two customers in front of her had finished their business and stood gossiping by the entrance, the man behind the counter turned his attention to Cindy. She had barely said good morning before he pounced, asking if she was the new Mrs Parnell from America. Heavens, thought Cindy, word certainly gets around in this part of the world.

  ‘I’m Greg Wilson. You’ve got a list?’ He stretched out his hand with a smile.

  Cindy gave it to him.

  He glanced at it and then looked at her kindly. ‘Not a lot of those things here, and you won’t need much of what’s on your list, either. You should be able to get milk from the Kingsley Downs house cow. They keep hens too, so, I think you won’t need eggs. Bacon’s from the butcher, and we don’t stock ground coffee. I’ve got instant. Got plenty of fruit, but. Peaches, pears, apricots. Take your pick.’ He pointed to the row of tinned fruit behind the counter.

  Cindy felt rather at a loss. ‘I’ll take some potatoes,’ she said finally. She realised she’d need to talk to Mrs Flowers to find out what she needed to keep in stock.

  Greg Wilson smiled sympathetically at her. ‘How about I let you have a few things, like flour and sugar and tea, and you come back later for whatever else you need when you’re better settled?’

  Cindy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, that sounds like the best plan. And is there a butcher nearby?’ she added.

  ‘Certainly is. O’Brien’s, down near the pub. How’s Mr Parnell senior?’

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  Carrying the box of groceries, Cindy headed down the street towards the butcher, but was relieved when Murray caught up to her.

  ‘Hey, beautiful, going my way?’ He took the box from her. ‘Is this all?’

  Cindy blushed. ‘Oh, Murray, I got so flustered in there. I can’t browse the shelves like I can in a supermarket. Everything is so different. Honestly, I have no idea what I should be buying. I’ll have to talk to Mrs Flowers.’

  The trays of raw meat in the butcher’s didn’t look very appealing to Cindy. The hygienic ready-to-cook packaged meats she’d plucked from misty chiller cabinets at home had seemed impersonal, not like meat at all. Here, confronted with soft oozing flesh, she wondered how on earth she’d manage to prepare it, let alone cook it.

  Murray and the butcher plunged into a conversation about sheep prices and the hoped-for rain as Murray pointed to what he wanted. Lindsay O’Brien then wrapped steaks, sausages, bacon and a roast in large sheets of coarse white paper.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Parnell.’ The butcher gave her a friendly nod.

  ‘Thank you,’ answered Cindy.

  ‘I’ll pick up the parcel on our way out of town, Lindsay,’ said Murray. ‘Can’t leave it sitting in the ute.’

  ‘Righto,’ Lindsay replied.

  As Cindy and Murray made their way back down the street, Murray caught Cindy’s arm.

  ‘Your shoes aren’t very sturdy, are they?’ he said. ‘You’ll need something solid for around here. Might as well get you some decent boots while we’re in town. Come on, let’s go to Robinson’s.’

  The ladies’ section was at the back of the rambling outfitters store, Robinson’s, and would not have met with Alice’s approval, thought Cindy. Nor did it bear any resemblance to the smart J. W. Robinson department store that had newly opened up in the plaza on North Canyon Drive. Here all the floor space was crowded with racks of flannel shirts, embroidered cottons and checked blouses, crammed together with cardigans and sweaters. On other racks were what Cindy could only describe as practical pants and woollen skirts.

  Murray strode to the shelves along the walls where solid winter shoes, sandshoes and boots were lined up side by side.

  ‘Here, this is what you need.’ Murray picked up an elasticised ankle boot with a heavy sole and strong stitching. ‘Last you a lifetime.’

  Cindy wrinkled her nose in distaste, but said nothing. When in Rome, she told herself. Murray also persuaded her to buy a pair of moleskin pants and Cindy chose a dark brown plaid shirt to go with them.

  ‘Please tell me I’m not going to wear one
of those?’ She sighed as Murray picked up a broad-brimmed hat.

  ‘’Course you are. Sun’s a killer out here in summer.’

  Murray paid for the items and they went back out onto the street. ‘How about a drink and a quick bite before we head back?’ he suggested.

  Cindy nodded. Having missed breakfast, she was ravenous.

  The hotel was dim, musty and old. Though she was trying not to be critical, Cindy still baulked at the odour of stale beer.

  ‘Ladies Lounge through there, darling. What would you like? Maybe a shandy?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Beer and lemonade.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Just a lemonade and something to eat.’ She paused at the door on which Ladies Lounge was written in gold lettering.

  ‘Tell me this isn’t a women-only area, Murray,’ said Cindy in a horrified voice.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll join you. Women aren’t allowed in the bar area,’ Murray explained.

  She pushed open the frosted glass door, thinking, Is this so the men can’t see in, or so the women can’t see out into the bar?

  ‘Find a table and I’ll bring in the drinks,’ Murray called after her.

  There were two men and a young woman at the only other occupied table in the room. They stared at Cindy briefly, before turning back to their conversation. Cindy looked around at the simple room furnished with framed photographs and a sideboard which sported a vase of dusty plastic flowers and some old magazines and pamphlets. After a moment, she got up and went over to study the black and white photographs of what she assumed were local scenes: a panorama taken from a plane showing scattered sheep entitled The Great Rich Pastures of the Riverina; another, showing a creek with tall trees, was called Riverina Red Gums, while ‘Sir Stanley’, Grand Prize Ram 1949 showed a man parting the thick heavy fleece of a beribboned ram.

  Murray came in with their drinks and a menu and immediately greeted the other people.

  ‘Hello, what are you lot doing here at lunchtime? Given the kids the flick, have you?’ By way of explanation, he turned to Cindy and said, ‘These are the local schoolies, Vince Walsh, Drew Edwards and – I’m sorry,

  I can’t remember your name,’ he said, turning to the attractive young woman.

  ‘That’s all right. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Joanna, Jo, Bright. I’ve only been in town since the start of the year.’ Jo had shoulder-length brown hair, little make-up, but strong, friendly features, a big smile and wide blue eyes.

  ‘We’re celebrating the half-day school holiday for the Hay Show,’ said Vince Walsh, raising his glass.

  Murray nodded. ‘Of course. I forgot.’

  ‘So you’re Murray’s new missus,’ said Drew, eyeing Cindy. ‘Congratulations. I heard he’d been swept off his feet in the USA. It’s nice to meet you.’ He glanced back at Murray. ‘I’m glad we’ve run into you, actually, Murray.

  I think we might have a couple of problems with the footy team.’ With that, the three men put their heads together and started talking about ruckmen and full forwards and terms that made no sense at all to Cindy. She looked helplessly at Jo, who laughed.

  ‘I don’t know what they’re talking about either. It’s Australian Rules football, which is the game played around here in winter, but I’m from Sydney, where it isn’t played at all, so it’s all gobbledegook to me.’ She gave Cindy a kind smile. ‘I suppose that it’s silly to ask this when you’ve only just arrived, but how are you finding things, Cindy?’

  ‘I’ve only been here a day, so it’s all a bit overwhelming,’ said Cindy, pleased that there was someone in town who was almost as new as she was.

  Jo smiled sympathetically. ‘I bet it is. I’m a city girl myself and I find this way of life very different from what I’m used to. I only graduated from Teachers College at the end of last year, and this is my first posting. But I’m getting to like it.’

  ‘Are you living in town, Jo?’ Cindy asked.

  ‘Actually, I’m boarding with the Musgraves at Billadgery. It’s a sheep property, too. It’s only twenty minutes’ drive to school and the Musgraves are very nice.’

  ‘Have you decided on anything to eat yet, Cindy?’ said Murray, pausing from his football conversation.

  Cindy glanced at the menu. ‘I’m not sure I’m quite up for the full eggs and bacon and all the extras.’

  ‘The meals are huge here,’ warned Jo.

  ‘Maybe I’ll just have a toasted sandwich.’

  ‘Try a meat pie. It’s an Aussie classic and they serve good ones here,’ Murray suggested.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give it a try,’ said Cindy with a smile, handing him back the menu before resuming her conversation with Jo.

  The young teacher seemed very interested in Cindy and asked her where she had lived in the States and what she’d been doing.

  ‘Wow,’ she said, after Cindy had told her about Palm Springs and college. ‘You’ve had an exciting life. Far more interesting than everyone else’s around here, I can tell you.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Cindy modestly. ‘What I’ve seen so far of Australia has surprised me. Murray told me that you can drive for days here without seeing anyone or anything, and when we flew in to Deniliquin and I saw all that land, as far as the eye could see, I could believe it.’

  ‘Here, get your teeth into that,’ said Murray as one of the hotel staff put a plate in front of her. ‘I’ll just get another round of drinks.’

  ‘What a cute little pie.’ Cindy stared at the steaming pastry smeared in ketchup. Tomato sauce, she mentally corrected herself. She took a cautious bite. ‘Oh my, this is delicious. It’s kind of a stew in a pastry bag.’

  Jo chuckled. ‘So you’re at Kingsley Downs,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard it’s a wonderful old homestead.’

  ‘The big house is very grand, I guess,’ said Cindy carefully. ‘But we have a place of our own, and lordy, it needs a lot of work. It’ll give me something to do, fixing it up.

  I have no idea where to get what I need for it, though.’

  ‘Deni, or Hay, or you could order what you need from the big city stores. They’re used to sending things out to the country,’ said Jo. ‘I can certainly help you contact them, if you like.’

  Cindy thanked Jo. As she finished her meat pie, she and Jo chatted amicably and Cindy felt grateful to have met a potential friend in a place that seemed to have so few inhabitants.

  ‘Tell me, Jo, can you borrow books in Yamboola? Is there a library? I love reading.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Jo enthusiastically. ‘Yes, there’s a little library in the back of the CWA rooms. It runs out of Deniliquin and is only open two mornings a week, but the stock is changed regularly and the people who run it will order in books if you ask.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Cindy. ‘What are the CWA rooms?’

  ‘The Country Women’s Association. Very important organisation in the country, you’ll have to join. Even I have, although I hardly ever get the chance to go to a meeting.’

  Cindy felt she was none the wiser after that explana­tion, and made a mental note to ask Murray about it later.

  Finally Murray stood up and said, ‘As nice as it’s been talking to you blokes, it’s time Cindy and I headed back. You ready, Mrs Parnell?’

  Cindy scraped up the remainder of her pie and sauce and said goodbye to the others.

  ‘We’ll have to meet up again,’ she said to Jo.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Jo, smiling.

  When they had collected their meat from the butcher’s and were driving out of town, Cindy spotted a green oval with young men dashing about on it.

  ‘Is that the football your friends were talking about?’

  ‘Yep. That’s Aussie Rules. I’ll take you to a game as soon as I can.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ said Cindy, feeling buoyed after her e
njoyable lunch. ‘I want to learn all I can about what goes on here.’

  *

  Murray carried the groceries and meat into the kitchen.

  ‘I have work to catch up on. See you at dinner.’ He kissed her quickly and headed back out.

  Left alone once more, Cindy began putting the food away and her thoughts turned to how to deal with dinner. She stared balefully at the crouching iron hulk of the oven. She realised she should have asked Murray how to light it before he left. Oh well, she thought, I’ll just have to work it out on my own. She opened the metal door of the firebox, where a bed of silver-grey ashes lay. So she headed out into the garden, looking for wood. She managed to find a few twigs, which she put into the firebox along with some newspaper she’d found in one of the cupboards, and lit it. Holding her breath, she grabbed the lump of meat that was rolled up and tied with string and glared at it.

  I can do this, she thought to herself. Murray said he was a meat and potatoes man, so that’s what he’ll get. And tinned peaches.

  She pushed the meat into the oven, together with a few peeled potatoes. She found some household candles, which, in lieu of candleholders, she wedged into eggcups. She checked the firebox again only to find that it had nearly gone out, so she raced back into the garden to find some more wood.

  After she had re-stoked the firebox, she returned to the garden to find something to put in the centre of the table. The garden had nothing in it at all except a very healthy-looking thistle. Maybe a bunch of gumleaves might look nice, she thought. She collected more twigs from under the trees next to the house as she broke off a small cluster of gumleaves with their fat dry gumnuts.

  She washed the dusty plates from the sideboard and set the table with all the cutlery she could find, hoping the candlelight and floral arrangement would distract from the plainness of the food. In between, she kept going out to the garden to find more fuel for the insatiable firebox.