Foal's Bread (5 page)

Then at last, his dancing fight over, they were cantering for the jump. Even this far back she could tell that he was either going to have to stand off or put in a short one. But he was good. No doubt about it. She felt him reassembling his own stride in order to soar over six feet as easy as if it was a falling branch. Only at the last possible moment did the horse kick both heels back in a defiant flick, so that even as he landed with his ears pricked, the rail was falling down behind them.

‘That was bad luck for Noah Childs,' called the official. ‘Eliminated. But a name to watch in the future. Noah Childs and that's what she is. Just fourteen years old I'm told, ladies and gentlemen. This is her first Port Lake Show. And her first ladies' high jump. She was riding Lance Oldfield's Rainbird. How about a round of applause for her as she leaves the ring.'

Roley next saw that high-jump girl as he walked up from checking on the horses he'd be riding in the men's high jump later in the day. That was her for sure, leading the big bay into one of the old stables opposite the measuring yard. He slowed right down, waiting for her to reappear, wanting to offer some words of encouragement and praise for her pluck.

When she didn't emerge, he lingered at the edge of the empty stable adjoining hers. Something like a sob came through to him. He leant into the old boards. Now came the sound of muffled tears.

There was a time when he'd first begun, just twelve years old and game for anything, when he'd shed a tear or two himself for a rail come down just at the wrong moment. What could he do?

Bit by bit he heard her gaining control, the snorting of her nose, and next minute there was the stable door opening.

‘You alright are you?' he asked, so balanced in his boots that even his presence on the ground was noticeable.

‘Just an old bit of gripey gut. Been giving me jip.'

‘Saw you jumping earlier. Was watching how you handled that Rainbird. You did good with him. Not an easy ride that one.'

Noah flung him a look full of mistrust. In the riding outfit that her father had borrowed at the last minute, she looked too small even to have climbed on the horse, let alone faced it at such a giant of a jump. The joddies were that baggy and that great big collar flopping out either side of her throat.

He thought she was like a pony come out of the scrub. The hair on it just like a sun-bleached flaxen mane. The speckled eyes, angry to have been found crying, flashed and flickered at him then away.

‘I've never seen that horse go so good, and that's the truth.'

Unused to a man who didn't talk in jests and jokes, Noah felt more tears trying to rise up through her eyes. Knowing she couldn't afford to give in to them, pretending that it was only a bit of sawdust landed in her eye, she scrubbed again at her face with her shirt.

‘Well, why not come up to pavilion with me,' he decided to offer instead of a handkerchief. ‘Then we can have a cuppa and a talk.' It would all be part of the day to talk jumping with this girl whose middle name must surely be Game. ‘I'm not on until later. Under lights this year if need be, which'll be a first for Port. So got to make sure I eat a ham sandwich.'

‘Ham?'

‘Yep, always gotta have ham on a high-jump day.'

Maybe more chance of getting a sandwich off him than her father, who was probably already a little bit plastered with his own preparation for the high jump.

‘Alright,' said Noah, brightening. It'd only be fair to eat a bit of pig after driving them all that way.

She'd never been into the tearooms underneath the grandstand. It was jam-packed with the clatter and purpose of people eating. Teacups and scones being lifted and put down. Teaspoons stirring sugar in so hard it was a wonder the cups didn't break. Tablecloths you could still tell had begun the day white and beautiful. She'd never seen anything like it.

Just as she'd hoped, once he'd found them a table, without even asking he was getting not only tea but a round of sandwiches for her too. Everyone seemed to know the man. ‘G'day, Roley.' ‘What you up to, Rol?' It'd be a miracle he ever made it back to where she sat waiting.

‘Any rate,' he said, finally succeeding, ‘haven't even told you my name, Nella.'

She was so intent on getting the sandwiches down and so sick of correcting people that for now she couldn't be bothered. She looked across at the way he was eating his sandwich. He was putting a triangle in at a time but then chewing it up very slowly. For the first time she really smiled.

‘Rowley,' he was telling her. ‘But everyone, as you might've noticed, generally calls me Roley.'

‘I enjoy me tea,' she said, still uncertain for just a moment more amongst all the tables with people.

‘Two sugars for me,' he said. ‘As black as farm after blady grass fire. The blacker the better.'

‘Always milk in mine.' The forefinger of Noah's left hand, in a gesture that was habitual, pushed down on top of her left ear.

‘What's so funny?' Roley wanted to know. Because signs of mirth had started to cross her face.

‘Nothing.' But the laughter, just like the sadness of not an hour before, was going so wild inside it had to burst out.

‘What?'

It was the way the sun was suddenly coming through the man's ears. Lighting up a pair so big that they looked like the wings of a high jump made in miniature for his face.

‘Leave off, Nella.'

‘Noah,' she said. ‘My name's Noah, not Nella.'

‘Noah is it? Well there's a first. Never known a Noah, neither girl nor boy. Reckon you should get called Sky High
.
Know that old Chalcey horse, wouldn't you?'

She shook her head. Compared to Uncle Nipper's eyes, his were a deep dark blue. ‘You can call me Noey if you like that better. Or Noh, like me dad.' This time her laughter made people in the pavilion turn to see if they could catch whatever joke it was Roley Nancarrow was sharing with the untidy scrap of a girl in the chair opposite him.

‘First time on that Rainbird was it?'

‘'Cept for a few days before show. Give him a practice.'

‘Lance Oldfield has got plenty of money but he makes the mistake of going for a blood horse. Most of the time that just means trouble. Oh, he has plenty of good horses, but Rainbird isn't one of them. He'd have to be one of the trickiest around. I jumped him at Grafton once. And oh, was it a villain. The carry-on before you turn to head for jump. With some he just stops dead. A right rogue.'

‘You don't have to tell me! But me dad give him a bit of curry a few days ago. Sorted him out of his nonsense.'

‘Put spurs on?'

‘No, just after him with stockwhip.'

Roley pretended he hadn't heard that. He didn't hold with those on the circuit who believed that an almighty flogging was the only road to changing a horse's mind. That's why he jumped for the sensible Sandersons.

‘Pity rail come down on me.' Noah, still hungry, sat back in her chair.

‘The pins holding them at Port Lake are that shallow only takes less than a tap to dislodge them. I'll have to be watching out for that too. But listen, you still cleared six foot! If you weren't riding him right, no amount of stockwhips could've got Rainbird over that. Not bad for a schoolgirl.'

‘Left school end of last year.'

‘What you gunna do?'

‘Been droving. With me dad. First a drive of about one hundred turkeys before Christmas. Then some bullocks. Then it was pigs. Pigs, pigs and more pigs! Got horses for the way home.'

‘Reckon you've got a calling with jumping,' he said, as if pulling the thought out of her head.

She looked down at her wrist. Almost no trace of a bruise left. What had happened at Flaggy Creek added to her fearlessness. All that blood. All alone but for porkers, and never come close to dying. To have punched off the one that would've et the bub. What could ever be scary again? She'd never been a namby at nothing, but having sailed almost clear over six feet, wanted more than anything else to straight away be trying again. And not gunna think of you, Little Mister, she said to the baby forever destined to be careening away at the back of her mind in a box built for butter.

Roley could feel the electrical nature of her desire. The curls above her forehead stood out with an ambitious life all their own. ‘How come you know how to jump anyway?' he asked next.

‘Dared by me brothers. To jump the old billy goat! They had him going good in a cart and all. But it was me got him jumping.'

‘A goat? Never seen that. What's the highest a goat can go?'

‘Two foot.'

‘Any of your brothers been on the circuit then?'

‘Nup.' She let out a little scornful laugh. ‘'Cept for Monty, never had the nerve. Monty more likes the buckjumping. But me Uncle Nip, not many things he wouldn't face a horse at, specially if he'd had a skinful. He'd set jumps up for me even for old Creamy. Real carty she was. But Uncle Nip said she'd jump and he give me a few tips. And me dad, he's going in men's high jump.'

She was just as he'd been at that age. The huge wonder in her eyes at the thought of high jump. A wonder that had still never left his own face. If I were to touch that hair, he was thinking, I reckon I'd get a spark.

‘But really,' she concluded, ‘seems I was just born with knowing. What about you?'

That really tickled him. That she was such a bushie she clearly had no idea who he was. She was pretty, he realised, its little heart-shaped chin dropped into the cup formed by the curved fingers of the left hand. ‘Oh . . .' He thought for a moment. ‘Does the name Raymond mean anything to you?'

She shook her head no.

‘Well, my mum happened to watch the great Raymond jump the year I was born. Her sister, my Aunty Irmie, had the ride on him. Jumping side-saddle mind. So maybe it's the same for me as it is for you. In the blood.'

She moved her chair to allow the people sitting next to them to get out, and at the sight of the butter pat left on a saucer felt her ease leave her. Where might it be up to by now on its lonely little journey? The spouts of teapots, too, could never be just that ever again. Because of Uncle Nip. Dead now but his voice lived on.

‘What's your dad's name then?'

‘Mr Childs.'

‘Who'll he be riding?'

‘He's gunna jump Rainbird too.'

‘If you take after your dad, I might be pushed to get any prize money today.'

‘Wouldn't be worrying too much. He will've been at the bar since I jumped. Steady his nerves.'

‘Well, there's something else I've always got to eat before a jump. And you can even have one. I'll just go get us one more cuppa.'

When he returned he pulled from his pocket a bag with a couple of biscuits. ‘One of my sister's gingernuts. Almost as strong as a shot of rum I'd warrant.' He handed her one. ‘Watch your teeth.'

‘Crikeys,' she said, her face lighting up. ‘They're good.'

‘Oh, they're good alright. Haven't had that good since Grandma used to make them when I was about five or six. And always for Aunty Irm before she jumped. Now one of my sisters, Ralda, she keeps the tradition going. Always makes gingernuts for me for Port Lake. Always with Grandma's recipe, the secret Ralda reckons being just the littlest hen's egg she can find.'

‘Ralda?' said the girl. ‘Think that was the name of the lady at last pick-up of pigs. One Tree Farm.'

‘Yeah, well that's me mum and dad's. That's where I learnt all about jumping. On the sides of those hills with Aunty Irm. One day I'll show you the framed photo of her. In the kitchen.' As if nothing could be more certain than that one day Noah Childs would be riding again up One Tree Farm's first hill. ‘Side-saddle in the Palace Hunt at the Royal Easter Show. Riding this fairly famous pony Pumpkin Pop. Famous because in a high jump he'd put his hinds, fair dinkum, onto the base of the jump to climb over.'

Tuning into the excitement of such a coincidence out poured more stories. Horse and pig.

‘Pigs is as pigs named,' she was telling him. ‘Hard to get over water.'

‘Real pigs?'

‘Those last lot of little black pigs from your place—jeepers, didn't we have some trouble with them.'

‘One old Berkie boar would always go for me. Hated having to feed him. Dunk it, dunk it!' he advised, when he saw she was making little progress with her biscuit.

‘Won't it mean you've halved your luck?' She was that at ease now she sucked the tea out of the gingernut with a slurp.

‘Doubled it more likely. I'm going to have to get ready, but why not have a think about this. How about for last day of show you could ride with me in the pair of twelve-stone hunters? Mrs Montgomery, who was meant to be my partner, broke her arm day one. You'd be on Athol Sanderson's Smokey Quartz. A beautiful old horse. Can win a high jump on him then chuck a child on for apple race. Makes no difference.'