A Waltz for Matilda (20 page)

Auntie nodded, then shut her eyes for a brief doze. She seemed to have the capacity to sleep sitting in any position.

There was no arguing when Auntie just shut her eyes like that. Matilda advanced cautiously in the direction the bees had taken. Bees lived in hives, didn’t they? And they stung you. She had sat on a bee when she was small, and Aunt Ann had pulled out the sting. It had hurt.

She stopped. There were no bees to be seen.

She looked back at Auntie Love. The old woman opened her eyes, then pointed at an anthill. It was as tall as Matilda, somehow redder than the surrounding dirt, as if the ants had painted it.

‘That’s an anthill, Auntie. Bees live in hives.’

Auntie held up her hand impassively. Matilda helped her up again, then put her arm under the old woman’s shoulder so Auntie could limp toward the anthill. She stopped a couple of yards away.

And then Matilda heard it. A humming sound, more a vibration in the air than noise. And suddenly there were bees … long dark ones, hovering for a few seconds on the other side of the anthill, then vanishing inside.

Auntie gestured for Matilda to move away. Matilda hesitated. What if Auntie got badly stung?

But she had known where the bees were. Somehow she was sure that the native woman knew exactly what to do now too. What bee would dare sting Auntie?

Auntie Love limped forward, the spoon and bucket in her good hand. She crouched by the anthill, then thrust the handle of the spoon into the structure and wriggled it for a couple of seconds, then balanced the other end on the rim of the bucket. She stepped back surprisingly quickly, making shooing motions to get Matilda to move too. They stood about ten yards from the anthill.

Matilda stared. What was the spoon supposed to do? But even as she watched the handle began to darken. The blackness slid down the spoon then dripped into the bucket.
Drip, drip, drip.

Honey.

Auntie looked satisfied. She leaned on Matilda’s shoulder again and limped toward the house.

The sun was high when Auntie waved her hand toward the anthill.

‘You want me to get the honey?’

Auntie nodded.

What if the bees stung her? But Matilda nodded. You couldn’t argue with someone who used so few words, not when you never knew if they understood your words or not. And the bees hadn’t stung Auntie earlier.

She stopped a few yards from the hive, then made a sudden dash, pulling out the spoon and grabbing the handle of the bucket in one go. A bee danced in front of her face as she ran back, and then another. She ducked, then glanced at the bucket. Half a dozen bees clustered on the lip, but even as she watched they flew back toward the hive. She kept on running, stopping only when she was inside, out of breath.

Auntie laughed. She picked up the bucket and looked inside,
then nodded in approval. Matilda peered down too. About an inch of honey rested in the bottom of the bucket. Two jars’ worth, she thought, or even three, all for a minute spent jiggling a wooden spoon.

She looked up to find Auntie watching her. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

It was more than thanks for the honey. She suspected that Auntie knew that too. The old woman simply nodded.

The scent of honey had filled the house. It had been more than a year since Matilda had eaten it. Even at Aunt Ann’s it had been a treat. Pikelets, she thought. She had an egg, and lots of milk and flour and butter, and now they had honey too.

Definitely pikelets.

The house smelled of hot butter as well as honey now. Matilda watched as Auntie Love flipped out another pikelet.

Auntie had taken over making them when the batter turned lumpy. They were the best thing Matilda had eaten for over a year: hot from the pan, the butter and honey soaked in, rich and sweet and savoury. She spread honey on another, then slipped one — without honey this time — down to Hey You. The dog gulped it as swiftly as he had eaten the last four, then sat, waiting for another.

All at once he cocked his ears. He gave his yelping bark, then looked from Auntie Love to Matilda and barked again as though to say: ‘Come on. I’ve told you someone is there. Now what are you going to do about it?’

Matilda walked over to the door as Mr Drinkwater tied his horse’s reins to the rail of the verandah. Behind her Auntie Love
got to her feet and shuffled into the bedroom as Mr Drinkwater climbed the steps.

‘May I come in?’

She considered saying no but she doubted he would go away without saying what he wanted. All she’d achieve would be a conversation in the doorway. She stood back politely (Aunt Ann was whispering to her again). ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

He seemed startled. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

She took one of the pretty cups from the dresser, poured out tea and added hot water from the pot, then — reluctantly — passed him the plate of pikelets. Still standing up, he took the cup and a pikelet, and bit. ‘It’s good.’

‘Thank you.’

He looked around. ‘You seem to be managing.’

She smiled, suddenly proud of it all. ‘Yes.’

He looked around again, then saw Auntie Love’s abandoned cup. He met her eyes sharply. ‘People are saying that you have a native woman living with you.’

Matilda looked at him warily, suddenly afraid that it might be against the law. She wasn’t going to let anyone take Auntie Love to a reservation. She said cautiously, ‘Does it matter?’

‘Who is she?’ The voice was abrupt.

If he hadn’t sounded so demanding she might have told him. ‘It’s not your business.’

‘Everything that happens here is my business.’ He sounded as though it was so obvious she almost laughed.

‘This is my land.’ A thrill still went through her at the words. She said them again, just for the pleasure of it. ‘This is my land. I can ask anyone I want to stay here.’

‘You are a child who has no idea of what she is getting into.’

She met his eyes defiantly. He gave a brief nod. ‘Very well
then. Not a complete child. Mature enough, I hope, to take the advice of a neighbour who is concerned about you.’

She was wary now. ‘What advice?’

‘Don’t go listening to gossip from natives.’

‘They haven’t told me any gossip —’ She stopped, aware of what she had revealed.

‘So there is a native woman here. I heard she was ill too.’ She could see the exasperation in his eyes, and something she didn’t understand too.

‘If she’s ill she needs help. A doctor.’

Was it a trick? Would a white doctor help a native woman? She didn’t have enough money to pay a doctor to come all the way out here. Auntie Love was getting better, wasn’t she?

For a moment she wanted to do what this man asked: hand the whole problem over to him. But what if the only way to get Auntie Love to a doctor was to take her to a reservation?

No, she thought. She shut her mouth tight, in case any more confessions escaped, and sat down on one of the chairs. It was rude to sit down in front of a grown-up; rude to cross her arms like this too. But somehow she had the feeling that Aunt Ann was patting her shoulder and saying, ‘Good girl.’

He looked at her without expression, then stared around the room again. If you start hunting through my house, thought Matilda, I’m going to kick you.

Instead he sat on the chair next to her. At last he said, ‘I’ll give you fifty pounds for this place.’

‘What? No!’

‘A hundred.’

She had no idea how much the land was worth, and the house. Was he trying to cheat her?

He looked at her expression. ‘Two hundred then.’

So he had been trying to cheat her when he offered fifty. ‘No. No matter how much you offer. This land is mine.’

Hey You ran to the door again, but this time he didn’t bark. Mr Drinkwater got to his feet. ‘What is Sampson doing riding up this way?’ He stepped out on the verandah, waiting, as the other man tethered his horse, then stood, embarrassed.

‘Boss.’

‘Sampson. Got business here?’

‘Yes, Boss.’

‘May I ask exactly what that might be?’

Matilda brushed past him. ‘Mr Sampson was a friend of my father’s. He’s come to visit me.’

‘He wasn’t that close a friend,’ said Mr Drinkwater slowly. ‘Your father had better friends than him. His union mates, for one.’

Matilda saw Mr Sampson stiffen. Mr Drinkwater turned to Matilda. ‘Answer me, girl! Who is the woman staying with you? I demand to see her. Now!’

Why did it matter? she thought. But the very fact that he wanted to know so much made her want to hide the truth. ‘I want you to leave —’ she began, then stopped, as Auntie Love shuffled out behind them.

Her dress was gone. Matilda dropped her gaze, then lifted it again, unable to look away. It was the first time she had ever seen a naked woman — a naked anyone. She had never even seen herself in the mirror without clothes.

Did all old women look like this when they were naked or only native ones?

Though Auntie Love wasn’t quite naked. A string of red-brown beads hung round her waist. Even more extraordinarily, she wore a ring on her left hand — a gold one, set with a small red stone. Matilda had never seen it before. Auntie must have carried it under her clothes.

She expected the men to say something, anything, about a naked woman on her verandah. But both were silent. Mr Drinkwater’s hands clenched into fists, so tight the knuckles were white. He and Auntie Love stared at each other, neither saying a word.

Mr Drinkwater spoke first. ‘Why are you here?’

Auntie shrugged. The shrug could have meant anything, thought Matilda, from ‘I don’t know’ to ‘I do not want to say’.

Mr Drinkwater tore his gaze away. ‘Take her away from here,’ he said to Mr Sampson.

‘How, Boss?’

‘I don’t care. Just get her off this land —’

‘This is my land,’ said Matilda clearly.

Mr Drinkwater turned on her. ‘You have no idea who this woman is.’

‘She is my friend.’

‘Friend! She’s ten times your age.’

‘One hundred and twenty?’

He snorted. She had never heard a man snort before. ‘Six times then. She doesn’t belong here.’

Matilda glanced back at Auntie Love. She had no idea what was happening, why the woman had so suddenly decided to look like a wild native. Why she stood there without speaking, why Mr Drinkwater had looked like his world had shattered as he stared at her.

‘I think you need to go,’ she said to Mr Drinkwater.

Mr Drinkwater pointed at Mr Sampson. ‘Bring her to Drinkwater. Now.’

‘No, Boss,’ said Mr Sampson.

Mr Drinkwater’s face flushed red under his white eyebrows. ‘You will do what I tell you.’

‘No, Boss.’

Mr Drinkwater moved toward Auntie Love. Matilda stepped between them, pushing Auntie Love back toward the door. ‘If you touch her,’ she said, ‘I’ll …’

She darted into the house and grabbed the frying pan, and came back out, holding it over her head. The last pikelet fell on
the floor. She was dimly aware of Hey You gulping it down, then sitting at her feet, looking up for more, the love of pikelets more important than the surrounding tension.

Mr Drinkwater unclenched his fists. He stared down at Matilda with her frying pan, then at the woman behind her, unmoving in the doorway. Then he turned again to Mr Sampson. ‘You’re fired. I want you off Drinkwater tomorrow morning.’

‘But Boss —’

‘You can leave your horse too.’

For a second a look of anguish shone in Mr Sampson’s eyes. ‘I broke that horse.’

‘I don’t care who broke it. It’s mine. If you’re not gone by tomorrow I’m calling the troopers.’

Mr Drinkwater lifted his hat to Matilda. ‘You’re making a mistake having that woman here. Good day.’

She watched him climb up onto his horse, and ride back between the cliffs.

After a moment Auntie Love limped back through the doorway. Matilda followed, and put the frying pan down. Mr Sampson brought up the rear, sinking down onto a chair.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Why was he so upset?’ (And why was there a naked woman standing in her house? But she couldn’t say that.)

Neither Auntie Love nor Mr Sampson replied. Auntie limped back into the bedroom and closed the door, Matilda hoped to get dressed again.