A Distant Journey Read online

  Cindy shook her head. ‘Goodness, I don’t knit. Babs taught me to sew, though.’

  ‘I’d love to knit you something for the baby,’ said Jo.

  Cindy grinned. ‘Thank you, that’d be lovely. It will be good for the cold winter nights and it would be a special keepsake.’

  ‘We could go on a bit of a spree into Deni and buy some fun baby things,’ suggested Joanna.

  ‘That would be great! Then I can put anything I buy on our accounts.’

  ‘Murray doesn’t give you any cash?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘I don’t need it. We have accounts everywhere. We always have a good time when we’re at the wool sales.

  I can go into the big department stores and charge whatever I want. I bought a gorgeous outfit that I wore to the races when I was in Melbourne. I expect I’ll be living in Murray’s old shirts and maternity smocks soon, though. I should write to Aunt Alice and Babs to think about designing smart outfits for pregnant women!’

  Joanna studied Cindy for a moment. ‘You wouldn’t prefer to have the baby back in America, would you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh no! The baby will be Australian, and besides,

  I want Murray close by when the time comes.’ She paused to take a sip of her drink. ‘Jo, I wonder how I am ever going to manage after the baby arrives. I don’t feel as capable as all the other women around here.’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s just that most of them have grown up on properties. They’re doing what their mothers did,’ said Joanna gently. ‘You’re a different kettle of fish. It’s harder for you, as everything here is so different from what you’ve ever known. Really, I think it’s amazing how well you’ve adapted to station life already. It can’t have been easy for you, so take a bow and stop worrying.’

  Cindy felt a rush of gratitude to her friend. ‘You’re so kind. Murray says that too.’ She dabbed her mouth with a serviette. ‘Sometimes I just can’t help worrying about things. About the future. If it’s a boy, Murray wants to book him into his old school in Melbourne, a boarding school. I don’t want my child living most of his life away from home.’

  Jo nodded. ‘Cin, lots of graziers send their children to boarding school. Don’t worry. You can cross that bridge when you come to it. I also think that whether your baby is a boy or a girl, Murray will love it to bits. Shall I come over to your place this weekend and help you paint the baby’s room pink?’

  Cindy laughed. ‘It’s being painted yellow, regardless of what the Parnells think. I think it’s best to be practical – though I have a wallpaper frieze of pink roses tucked away just in case,’ she admitted with a smile.

  ‘Have you thought about names?’

  ‘Not really. If it’s a boy he’ll have his great-­grandfather’s name and Lawrence as a middle name, I’m told.’

  ‘And if it’s a girl? What was Murray’s mother’s name?’

  ‘It was Rose.’ Cindy hesitated, then quickly added, ‘But Murray suggested I call a girl Barbara Alice after my aunts. Anyway, I’d love you to come over on Saturday. Murray will be tied up with pre-season footy training.’

  ‘All right, then. I’ll bring some patterns and some wool samples, although it would be much nicer to knit something from Kingsley Downs wool sometime. Does Mrs Flowers spin?’ asked Joanna.

  ‘I have no idea. I’ll ask her.’

  Joanna reached across the table and touched Cindy’s hand affectionately.

  Cindy smiled. ‘How is your family, by the way?’

  ‘Doing well. I told you my sister’s engaged, didn’t I? Well, now she’s asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. Mum’s delighted. So I’ll be off to that wedding in a few months and will be able to catch up with everyone.’

  The two girls finished their drinks and walked back to their cars, and Cindy drove home to Kingsley Downs.

  It was hard to ignore the deteriorating condition of the land. There’d been plenty of rain the previous winter, sending some of the roads boggy, but the water tanks had been replenished and there had been a wonderful rush of green grass, a welcome relief after the previous dry months. Now the hot summer had sucked all moisture from the dams and creeks. The grass in the paddocks was dry and brown and the weeks of relentless heat had worn everyone down. Murray became irritable at the sight of the dried paddocks and tired trees. Cindy’s vegetable garden was dispiriting, as it was no more than a patch of dead, crisp leaves. The creek was just a string of smelly puddles of suppurating mud. The men had to patrol the gluey waterholes and dams, rescuing muddied and near-dead sheep which had strayed too close. Lawrence grumbled at the cost of having to hand-feed the valuable sheep if things did not improve soon. Nor was there any relief as night fell, when a hot wind would steal over the land, carrying an odour of smokiness from distant

  grass fires.

  That night, Cindy lay on top of the sheets, tossing and turning, her body sticky from the unrelenting heat. How she longed for the air conditioning she’d had in Palm Springs, or even an electric fan to cool her down, but without constant electricity these things were not possible. Sometimes she could hear the rumble of distant thunder, but never a drop of rain followed.

  *

  A couple of days after Joanna had been to visit and they’d sat on the verandah, looked at knitting patterns and discussed ways of furnishing the baby’s room, there was a shift in the weather pattern. The wind picked up and changed to the north. At night Cindy could see a dark smudge and a faint red glow in the sky which, Murray told her, was not the remnants of a summer sunset but distant fires.

  ‘It’s going to be a race, Cindy, between the weather breaking or the fires taking off,’ Murray said, sitting at the table for dinner. ‘We’ll have to be ready.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’ Cindy asked, placing Murray’s meal in front of him.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Wally in Yamboola. He’s in charge of the rural fire brigade and our one water tanker. It’s ready, but one water tanker is not going to be all that effective if the fires really take hold.’ Murray paused to squirt Worcestershire sauce onto his vegetables. ‘Still, there are enough hoses for it and pumps to be able to access water from the dams – if the dams have any water left in them in the first place. Tom’s going to start moving the sheep from the northern paddocks closer to the big house, away from the most likely direction of the fire. The young jackaroo can help him.’

  ‘But the fire seems so far away. Are we really in any danger?’ asked Cindy anxiously.

  ‘If the wind gets up behind a grass fire, you have no idea how fast it can move. But the houses are much easier to protect than the paddocks or the sheep. You’ll be fine if you stay here and don’t go outside.’

  ‘How do we know what’s happening? Will someone phone the big house?’

  ‘Yes, they’ll let Dad know if the fire looks like it’s reaching Kingsley Downs, but we’ll do our best to stop it before it does. We all have two-way radios, so we can keep checking on each other, but in all honesty, I’d hate to have to rely on them entirely. They’re not always the best of equipment,’ said Murray, laying down his cutlery, suddenly sounding tired. He took her hand. ‘Look, we’ve been through this before. We have to help our neighbours and they’ll help us. If you want, you can drive to the big house and stay with Mrs Flowers. My guess is the fire won’t come this way, so I think you’d be fine here, but if it seems that it might, I’ll come back and get you.’

  ‘Of course I’ll stay. Just tell me what we have to do,’ said Cindy.

  During the course of the following day, preparations continued. The fire line was now visible, and a pall of inky smoke was suffocating the sun, turning it an eerie red. Tubs and containers of water were placed around the house, and discarded bathtubs and water troughs in the nearby paddocks were filled with water. Hessian sacks, blankets and mats were stacked by the water containers, to be used in fighting the fire in hand-to-hand combat, if it cam
e to that.

  ‘We need anything that we can wet and use to smother sparks,’ explained Murray after breakfast. ‘Look, I can’t stay. You’ll be right. The fire’s not coming this way. If there’s no change in the wind direction, it will miss the house.’

  Cindy prayed he was right. She felt she had to stay with her home, although the light outside was eerie, and the smell all around her was suffocating.

  Later in the day, Mrs Flowers drove over to see her.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right here by yourself? Please come over to the big house. Better than being on your own at a time like this.’

  Cindy was about to agree, but the thought of having to leave her home deterred her.

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll be fine. Murray said that the fire was unlikely to come this way, but if anything changes he’ll come and get me. Really, I would prefer to stay in my own house. But if I get scared, I’ll drive over in the ute,

  I promise.’

  Mrs Flowers nodded. ‘Of course. As you like. I have to get straight back to organise food for the firefighters. Lots of sandwiches to make for those hungry men. Now, you take care.’

  As kindly Mrs Flowers drove away, Cindy felt guilty that she had not volunteered to help, but she was determined to stay put in her own home.

  *

  The afternoon simmered towards sundown. Cindy lay in her darkened bedroom, her hand on her stomach, a wet towel on her head, the oppressive heat from the scorching temperature making her feel faint and breathless. Maybe she should have gone to the big house for the night. It might have been nice to have Mrs Flowers’s company at such a frightening time. Then she heard a truck rattle up to the house. She went outside and found four men, including Murray, dressed in long-sleeved shirts, boots and hats, their thick work gloves tucked into their cuffs. One even had a scarf around his neck.

  ‘The maps of the area just aren’t accurate enough,’ she heard one of the men say as they went over to the garden hose, where they took great gulps of water and washed their faces.

  Cindy tapped Murray’s arm. ‘Can I have a word? I’ve decided that I don’t want to stay here by myself. I think I should drive over to the big house.’

  Murray shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s too late for that now. We need all the vehicles we can lay our hands on. That’s why we’re here – to get the ute. The forecast is predicting even stronger winds. Things might get much worse. The wind is the devil.’

  ‘What do you mean … too late? Are we in danger?’ asked Cindy, suddenly really frightened. Why on earth had she been so stubborn and insisted on staying by herself?

  ‘No, it’s okay for now,’ Murray said reassuringly. ‘How are you feeling? Do you think you could go inside and start soaking those hessian bags in water? They’re to smother spot fires.’ Cindy looked at him, her eyes wide with alarm. ‘I’ll try to get back to check on you. It’s going to be okay, Cin.’

  Cindy moved around in a dream, trying to keep her fear at bay. Surely this was all precautionary. She felt like an extra in a movie in which the action was somewhere else. Then there was the waiting. She soaked the hessian sacks as Murray had asked, but wondered how she would use them.

  Murray came back and briefly turned on the radio to hear the latest weather report, and then sat on the two-way radio talking for a few minutes.

  ‘I want to get back over to the Jacksons’s. Don’t want them to lose their house,’ Murray said, hanging up the radio and reaching for his hat.

  How awful for Shirley, Cindy thought. She loves that house. She wondered if Shirley had all the photo albums in a safe place.

  ‘Do we know any more?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No, the weather forecast wasn’t helpful, so just pray that the wind doesn’t pick up. Don’t worry if I’m not back anytime soon. I’ll leave you the two-way.’ Kissing Cindy hastily, he was gone.

  *

  Cindy sat alone in the quiet house as the evening slipped by. She couldn’t see the moon, let alone any stars, for smoke. She wondered whether she should go to bed, but didn’t like to until Murray returned home.

  Cindy paced about then sat down and distracted herself by picking up the baby’s top she was embroidering. She lost track of time, but when her eyes started to smart from the smoke, she put her sewing aside. She walked to the side verandah and stared outside, and the view made her gasp. The horizon was illuminated by a dangerous glow, etched in red and orange beneath a long black cloud. For a moment she was puzzled by a smell, but then she recognised it as eucalyptus. Murray had once told her the eucalypt trees went up like firecrackers because of the volatile oil they extruded. She felt her skin prickle at the sight of the burning sky and hurried back inside. Trying to keep calm, she went to the two-way radio, glanced at the numbers on the bit of paper Murray had left, and made the transmit call. To her dismay, Lawrence answered.

  ‘Well, what’s happening at your end? Over,’ he asked brusquely.

  ‘It’s me, Cindy,’ she said. ‘Lawrence, I can see the fire. It’s to the north. But which way is it coming? Over.’

  She could almost hear Lawrence bristle. ‘We can all see it, Cynthia. The bloody sky is alight. Stay where you are. The wind is going to blow up. Over.’

  ‘Where is Murray? And the others? I’m alone here!’ she shouted, then quickly added, ‘Over.’

  ‘Out fighting the fire. What do you think, that your husband’s at a party? Over.’ Lawrence’s tone was sarcastic.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Cindy quietly, feeling embarrassed and very foolish. ‘Over.’

  Crackling static answered her. She put the two-way radio down on the kitchen table and went outside to the front garden, which was drenched in a strange smoky light.

  Cindy stopped suddenly and caught her breath, staring into the darkness in fright as she discerned the outline of some people coming towards her. ‘Hello? Who are you? What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  A small group of dark-skinned Aborigines was clustered beside the front gate, their bodies silhouetted against the sky. There were seven or eight of them and a couple of children, their figures motionless as they stared at her. Her immediate impression of them was of their straight stick-thinness and subdued demeanour, and the odd assortment of clothing they were all wearing. One woman was breastfeeding her baby, and a little boy had a dog on the end of a rope. All were barefoot. Even in the dark, Cindy could tell they were worried.

  A man in a loose open shirt and tattered shorts stepped forward. ‘’Ullo, missus. Our truck, it broke. Left it up the track and walked. Fire comin’ through soon ’nuff.’ He pointed vaguely.

  ‘Isn’t it still a long way off? Is it coming this way?’ Cindy asked worriedly.

  ‘Mebbe,’ the man replied. ‘Mebbe it all right.’

  Cindy thought this was not a helpful answer, but she could hardly expect them to keep walking. What could she do?

  Suddenly she felt energised and pleased to be doing something constructive to help people.

  ‘There’s an empty feed shed over there at the back of the house. Well, it has some stock feed in a corner. You can sleep in there if you want.’

  ‘Your old man around, missus?’ the man asked.

  ‘No, but he’ll be back soon,’ said Cindy, now wondering if she had been wise to allow these natives to stay when she was by herself.

  ‘Okay, missus, thank you, missus,’ they all muttered, nodding at her.

  Cindy looked at the small children and the woman with a baby. ‘Do you need any … tucker?’

  ‘Okay, missus. Little ones, they hungry. Mebbe big wind comin’. Thank you, missus.’

  They all turned and shuffled to the water trough where they filled some canvas water bags and then straggled towards the distant feed shed.

  Cindy went indoors feeling relieved that she was not totally alone, though she did have a nigg
ling concern about letting the motley mob stay. What would Murray say? Perhaps they’d be gone before he found out.

  Oh, blow it, she thought. I can’t let those kids go hungry. And with that she rounded up some food and took it out to the shed. The Aborigines thanked her for her kindness and shared out the food among the little ones.

  Walking back to the house, Cindy stared at the rim of fire snaking across the distant landscape, but it was too far away to really know how bad it was. There was a sudden rising wind, rattling windows and guttering, and Cindy hurried inside, closing doors and windows to keep out the strange hot gusts. She lay down on the bed with the damp towel on her face, overcome with fatigue. She closed her eyes and prayed that Murray was all right.

  *

  Had she fallen asleep? What had awakened her? She sat up and realised the house was shaking, though certainly it shouldn’t be. It can’t be an earthquake, she thought. She’d experienced some of those in California. Then she quickly realised that there was no mistaking the roar of the wind that was whipping around the house.

  She grabbed a torch and walked down the hallway. It was still pitch dark. As she got towards the front of the house, she was shocked by the violent rattle of the windows. She thought they might explode. She could hear the sound of crashing coming from outside and realised branches were being ripped from the trees and smashing to the ground. The howling wind filled her with dread. This was more than just a high wind. Things were beginning to be thrown about outside. She could hear pots breaking and furniture being hurled against the walls and verandah posts. Suddenly there was a splintering sound as the enclosed part of the verandah started to disintegrate.

  Now thoroughly frightened, Cindy tried to think where she might be safe. In an earthquake, people hid under heavy tables. Or no, was it best to stand in a doorframe? She hurried from room to room, feeling as though the whole world was falling in on top of her. And the noise! Screaming, whipping and howling ferociously, the wind sounded like a mad beast.