Daughter of Australia (19 page)

T
he Shelbys folded James into their home and family as if he had been naturally born into it. There was no mention of Shamus's abuse; there was no pity, no words of transition, no questions. The extent of the Shelby kindness and warmth made renowned bush hospitality seem like snobbery in comparison. And in turn, James offered the only reciprocation he could—work.

Each morning, James, Tom, John and Will set off for one paddock or another, their stomachs full from Mrs. Shelby's cooking, their sleeves rolled down against the bite of dawn. Even between their eight strong arms, work outnumbered them. Help was seldom hired, only afforded for the busiest seasons of shearing and harvest. And each night, they returned orange with dust, dirty and smelling of sheep or grass or fur or whatever the job had been for the day. The work was as hard as at home, but here there was chortling and joking, so much that James's side hurt more from laughter than it did from labor.

Under the guise and training of the Shelby men, James learned to cull dingoes and rabbits through trap and bullet, learned to brand the calves and castrate. With quiet fortitude, he held his stomach and learned quickly that he hated the cruel tasks beyond description. And, after some hearty ribbing from the brothers, learned he would never have to do them again.

Instead, in an equal exchange, James took over the stock, a chore as loathsome to the Shelby boys as branding had been to him. What had previously taken the work of all three brothers James now did alone. Expert riding bareback or saddleback, he steered with a touch of the reins or nudge of the knee and could charge a horse, against all its instinct, straight into a ring of angry bullocks without touching a spur to fur.

James trained the unruly dogs, overbred mongrels with more dingo in them than shepherd. They followed him with wild, alert faces so that he only needed to nod, wink or raise a brow in command. And after a day exhausted with work in the paddocks, he lavished such great affection on them that the dogs would curl and whine with an ecstasy that mimicked pain.

The whip became another appendage. With it looped at his hip in rest, he could flick it out quick as a lizard's tongue. But James used the whip as warning, not instrument, the crack more menacing than its touch, for he could round the bulls and the sheep without a snap to their hides. So James worked the farthest paddocks, mended fences along the way and drove the cattle from one area of grassland to another.

And he loved this land that grew and stretched under feet and hooves, the land that opened endlessly until it seemed to slope as the curve of the earth. Through the spotted shade of the box gum forest, green and yellow parrots sat in ornament along the branches. Red kangaroos, tall as men, clustered by the hundreds in rust-colored expanse, chewing leaves and licking paws to stay cool. The land was noisy with life but silent in purity.

On searing afternoons, he'd strip down for a bogey in one of the deep creeks and swim from one end to the other. Then, floating on his back, the sun warm against his bare chest and the water cool against his back, he would watch the platypuses slip off rocks and ripple the glass surface next to his body. After the swim, he'd dress back in his clothes that lay cooking on a slab, drying his body instantly.

Beyond the forest, the grassland grew to his waist and the cattle chewed to bliss and here he would spend the night in the open air, under the stars, only his bedroll between him and the earth, and he would drift into the stars as he did with sleep and find it more a home than anything built out of slab or timber.

During these years with the Shelbys, James did not go back to Shamus, tried not to think of the man darkened and lost in despair. Mrs. Shelby, saint and forgiving soul that she was, dropped off food once a week on the old porch steps, never mentioned if it was eaten. Tom retrieved the horse for fear of starvation, but without comment on the homestead. Shamus was a ghost, only accounted for by neighbors who dragged him home from the pub or plucked him sleeping out of ditches along the road. “Never saw a man fall to drink so fast,” one man would say, and another would nod: “Irish got t'drink their grief.” James would burn under the shame, under the pitying glances.

Over time, James's long body had become used to the ill fit of the Shelby couch, his legs awkward and hanging over the worn side. James scrunched his fist under the pillow, flitted in and out of a dream. Something poked his arm—a wheat stalk, a branch maybe. Stuck in the confines of sleep, he brushed it away. Another poke, a blurred dream. He grunted and flopped his arm over his chest.

“Jamesie,” whispered the poker.

James jolted, dropping the book that was fanned on his lap to the floor with a thud. “Charlotte? What are you doing up?”

The little girl sucked in her bottom lip, wiped her nose through choppy sobs.

James reached for her hands. “What's wrong?”

“I-I-I had a bad dweam,” she stammered, a snot bubble forming in one nostril.

James patted down his shirt until he found a handkerchief and held it to her nose.

“Can I-I-I . . . stay with you, Jamesie?” she asked with new tears.

He sat her on his knee, hugged her shoulders. “Course you can.” He kissed the top of her red hair. “Want to tell me about the dream?”

She shook her head and leaned against his shoulder. Her chest quivered as she tried to hold her cries. James stroked her arm.

“Do . . . do . . . you ever have bad dweams?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“How you make 'em go away?”

James thought for a moment, kissed her on the head again. “I try to think of happy times. Beautiful places, good days . . . that sort of thing.”

She raised eyes that were round and wet and open. “Like what?”

He smiled. “I think of the sea.”

“Tell me 'bout it.” She smiled. “Please?”

“Well,” he started. “There's a place, not too far from here, where the earth meets the sea. Cliffs as big and golden as a mountain seem to rise right out of the ocean, like a giant took a bite out of the side of Australia. The water is as blue as the sky and nearly as big.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “When the sun shines on the water, it's like a field of diamonds all glittering at once. It's beautiful, Charlotte. Almost as pretty as you.” He pinched her chin and she giggled.

“I never been t'the sea,” she said.

“I'll take you someday. Promise.”

Her little face grew serious. “You'll always stay with us, right, Jamesie?”

“Long as you'll have me.”

Each cheek dimpled. James rubbed her arm and rocked her gently until her body loosened with sleep. Then he untwined her arm from his neck and laid her on the couch, covered her with the quilt and took his pillow to Tom's room, where he stretched out on the floor. He tucked his hand under the pillow and shifted his hips on the hard floor, didn't realize he had fallen back asleep until the wood boards vibrated and his eyes opened in the dark.

“Get up, ladies!” John jabbed him in the ribs with his boot. James twisted onto his belly and buried his head into the pillow.

John moved over to Tom and pulled the quilt off. Tom grabbed it, his hair in full distress. “Bugger off!”

“Get movin'. Mum needs us to take the wheat down to the weigh station.”

Tom grunted. “What d'you need us for?”

“You know they always pay more when we got two pretty girls with us!” he teased.

“Stop messin'. Why we need t'go?”

“You an' James need to pick up the new harness. Came in by rail yesterday.” His tone was serious now. “John an' me will take care of the wheat an' then you can meet us back there. Got to leave now else we'll be comin' back in the dark.”

Tom swung his feet out of bed and rubbed his hand through his mop of hair. James rose from the floor and stretched, his back cracking.

“Oh, an' wear that little pink number with the bows. It really brings out your eyes!” John laughed and ducked from the pillow thrown at his head.

James changed quickly, pulling his suspenders up with a snap. Tom moved slower, grumbling as they went outside. Will and John already had the wagons coupled. The sun was just rising over the horizon and a slight morning chill clung to the air. One by one, the bales of wheat were jabbed with hand hooks and loaded onto the bed. It was heavy work and the dust flew in their eyes and noses. James rubbed his face on his shirt as the last bale was hauled on top. Will got the ropes and each man paired to secure grips across and under the wagon.

“Boys, come in for breakfast!” Mrs. Shelby called from the door.

“No time, Mum. Need to get to the weigh station b'fore the crowd,” John answered.

“Don't argue with me! Not makin' that drive without something in your stomach.” She turned back into the house.

John sighed. “We eat quick, got it?”

The smell of fat-soaked sausages filled the room. The boys gulped the black coffee and finished their eggs and meat without a word exchanged. The roosters sounded a morning call behind the house—they weren't the early risers this morning.

“Be back by dark, Mum.” John kissed her quickly on the cheek, leaving a greasy print.

“What you think napkins are for!” She wiped her cheek with her apron. “You boys be good. Don't let them stiff you on a good price for that wheat.” She went back to clearing the table for the next round of hungry mouths.

Will and John sat in the front of the wagon behind the horses. James and Tom took a seat on the wheat. The ride was rocky, the wheat shifting under the weight and the sway of the wagon. There was little talking, each man set with his own thoughts. Tom stretched out sleepily, his boots crossed at the ankles, his teeth nibbling a strand of hay.

By 10:00 am, they passed the McGinnys' sprawling house with netted verandah, tennis court and fruit-burdened orchard. A new crop of wheat greened the top sphere of the homestead.

“Seen the McGinny girls around?” Tom asked.

“Jesus, Tom. Sun's not even up an' your pants are perked!” Will teased.

“What?” Tom raised his hands innocently. “Just asked a simple question.”

James threw a clump of hay at him. “Horny bastard.”

“Besides, you don't have a chance with 'em.” John laughed. “Only got eyes for James. All three of 'em.”

Tom rolled his eyes dramatically and in his best falsetto chimed, “ ‘Oh, James, he's so handsome . . . so mysterious!' ” He fluttered his eyelashes.

James smirked. “Can't blame a lady for having taste.”

The men remained quiet the rest of the hours, drowsy and lazy above the lulling wagon motion. As they approached the Southern Cross, a few drays and horses and several tramps passed, each tipping a hat and giving a hearty, “G'day.”

Tom yawned, smacked the hay off his pants. “Want to drop us off at the station first?”

The men exchanged a look. Will nodded in signal. John cleared his throat. “When we get to town, you an' James need to weigh the wheat an' pick up the harness.”

“Why?” Tom shoved between them, his elbows touching. “Where you goin'?”

“Got some business t'take care of.”

Tom scoffed at the secretive tone. “What business?” The boys were silent. “Come on. Out with it,” he pressed.

“We're enlisting, Tom,” John answered quietly.

The creaking wheels ground against the furrow; the hay slid and brushed across splinters.

“What?” Tom gulped. “In the army?” Dead air confirmed it. “Does Mum know?”

“No.”

“When you gonna tell her?”

“Tonight.”

“She's gonna flip!”

“That's why we have to do it b'fore we tell her. Otherwise, she'll chain us to the house.”

Tom leaned back against a bale, his eyes wide as the words sank in. Then he sat up like a lightning rod. “Oh no, you don't! Not without me an' James. You're not goin' without us!”

“You know the army don't take women.” Will meant to make light, but his tone fell flat.

“We're goin' with you,” Tom said with finality.

Will pulled the horses to an abrupt stop next to the road and turned around, his face stern. “Look, Tom, you can't go 'cause Mum an' the girls need you. They need both of you. We'll make a small wage in the army that we'll send home, but it won't be enough.”

“Then you stay. James an' me will go.”

“It ain't gonna happen, Tom. Mum can't take care of the fields without you an' we need James for the stock. You know that. Besides, you're Mum's favorite. Anything happen to you, it'd be like losin' Dad again.” John said it without jealousy and no one argued.

Tom sat sullen, his mind busy trying to plead its case. “Makes no sense! Money from the army can't be more than you make at home.”

John sighed. “If this dry spell turns into another drought, which all signs are pointin' at, the army'll be about the same pay. Look, Tom, we're enlisting, so we're not arguing with you, just tellin' you the facts. You're the eldest now, so the accounts will be in your hands. We're in a bad way. No sugarcoatin'. We didn't make taxes last quarter an' we're still payin' down the interest from the year before.”

“But the last years were good ones, saw the figures myself.”

“Dad had some bogus bonds, no fault of his own. Then the bank failed. We started at a deficit. After he died, we never caught up. I'm not gonna whine about it like a poor bum an' you can't, either. It's just how it is.”