FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (12 page)

Tango heard him lead the horse away. Even if Mick hadn’t stuck his head in he would have known it was Player by the sound of his footfall on the cement outside the boxes. He was training the thoroughbred for a Sydney syndicate and Tango had high hopes the horse would race well for them. He checked the mixture of oats, corn, tick beans, alfalfa and oaten chaff in the feed bins, looked at the automatic waterers, then stepped outside into the dawn light.

He walked down to the racetrack, now much improved since Sweet William’s heyday when he was trained by Bobby Fenton. The sun was rising fast but the air was still fresh and cool and Player sidestepped, his tail lifted, eager to get going on the track.

‘Bowl along for three furlongs nice and easy, then wind him up and go for the last two,’ said Tango, taking his stopwatch from his pocket.

At the end of the five furlongs, Tango replaced the watch with satisfaction; Mick had a stopwatch in his head, he could time a race to the split second. ‘Good one, Mick, fast work him on Thursday and he’ll be set for Saturday. I’ll call Mr Stewart and make the
arrangements. Take him down and let him have a bit of a roll in the sand.’

Tango spent the morning working with several other horses, swimming them in the exercise dam TR had built. Later he checked on a pregnant mare then returned to his office. Housekeeper Mum Ryan was as energetic as ever despite mild arthritis, due to her advancing years. She brought him a cool drink and a message that Dingo had called and would be arriving in the morning.

‘Great. I’m looking forward to seeing him.’

‘He’d been in to see TR. Said he was a bit shocked at how bad he was. Told him he should drag himself out of there.’

‘That sounds like Dingo. I might give TR a call. Tell him how things are coming along down here.’

‘Give him my love. Though I s’pose he doesn’t know who I am,’ sighed the old housekeeper.

‘No, it’s hard. I have to keep reminding myself when I talk to him. It’s almost easier on the phone than it is looking into his eyes — they look back at you with no comprehension of what you’re saying.’

Tango sipped his drink and rang TR, telling him about Guneda, but he could tell TR wasn’t interested.

Finally TR said, ‘Your mate Dingo was in to see me. Tell me about him.’

Tango was delighted by this spark of interest and he responded brightly. ‘He’s been a good friend to Queenie. Dingo is a true living legend. Made and lost several fortunes in the
bush, tin mines and gold, then got into making his own gear for bush people which city folk took to as well and now it’s sold all over the world. Cracks him up to see the trendies in LA strutting through Beverly Hills in his outback clobber.

‘He was a great bush rider in his time — he started the McPherson Endurance Ride, which was nicknamed the Dingo Cup. He’s sort of retired now, but he still works in the bush. He started painting a few years back, in a naif style, and that took off too. You once said he’s the sort of bloke who gets hit in the bum by rainbows.’

There was a soft chuckle at the other end of the phone. ‘Doesn’t surprise me. I figured he was someone with a bit of clout. Rounded up the sisters and nurses here quick smart. Yeah, he seems a good sort of a man. I’d like to spend more time with him sometime.’

‘We’ll arrange that TR. You just get yourself up on your feet.’

At Tingulla Queenie was wrestling with details of the coming shearing season. Wool prices were down again. She was convinced there had to be a way of getting a better deal for the Australian wool grower.

‘Oh, TR, I wish you were here,’ she cried aloud in frustration. She longed to rush to TR’s bedside and fling her arms around him for comfort. But he regarded her as an outsider now and didn’t seem to want any help from her in his own private war. She knew this was a battle he had to fight himself, with
their support coming softly from the sidelines, but how she longed for his support too.

In the lonely dark hours she wondered if it would be as painful if he’d died. But swiftly this was replaced with the conviction that he would learn to reuse his body again and if his mind remained locked they would just have to get to know one another all over again and fall in love once more. There was absolutely no doubt in her heart that she and TR were destined to love each other forever.

Queenie sighed and tried to focus her attention on the problems at hand rather than agonise over her and TR’s future or torture herself by reliving moments of their shared past.

‘Get stuck into it,’ she told herself, picking up the papers on her desk and applying herself to the column of figures.

Unconsciously Queenie’s mind was working on two levels. On a mechanical, almost unthinking, level she went through the account books and added up the figures. On a creative level, her mind was starting to work in overdrive. Why couldn’t she sell Tingulla’s wool directly to the international marketplace and gamble on getting the best price she could? It seemed ludicrous that so much of Australia’s raw wool was imported back in textiles. A plan began to form in her mind. She began making notes, slowly at first, then faster as questions, answers and ideas came to her in a creative flood.

When Queenie eventually stopped and sat back, looking down at the pages of rough
notes, she noticed that the small French carriage clock on the desk showed it was almost midnight. She had been working on her notes for more than two hours. She felt very tired, but it was a tiredness that had an edge of excitement. If only she could talk it through with TR. Well, why not?

She reached for the phone and rang the hospital. The night duty sister told her TR was sleeping. ‘We’ve just given him a sedative to help with the pain. He can only have a painkiller every four hours or so and frankly we don’t like to give them to him all the time, but when they wear off it’s hard for him. I don’t know many men that would stand for this sort of agony without ever complaining. But it’s wearing him down.’

‘What do you mean, sister?’

‘He’s not very motivated. He’s giving the physio a hard time, he’s not really trying to get better. It’s sort of a catch-22 situation, I’m afraid, Mrs Hamilton. It’s like his mind and body are each waiting for the other to heal first.’

‘Oh God, I see what you mean. I feel so helpless. Well if he’s sleeping, just leave a message that I rang and give him my love.’

‘I will. How are you managing? It can’t be easy for you.’

‘Shearing time. Always brings its own problems one way or another. Thanks, sister.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Hamilton.’ The sister hung up, glad she lived in a unit with only a cat to look after. She’d seen pictures of Tingulla in magazines, and even with a heap of help,
running that place would take some special sort of person.

Saskia decided to skip Friday lectures the following week and go to Tingulla. She needed to talk to her mother. She caught the Friday morning train to Rockhampton from Brisbane and tried to spend the trip studying her textbooks to assuage her guilt, but spent most of the time staring out the window at the vast Queensland landscape rolling past. She tried to construct the words, the conversation she planned, but the sentences wouldn’t fall into place. There was no easy way to say, ‘Mum, I want to quit’. She knew she shouldn’t drop this so suddenly on her mother at a time when she had so many other problems, but once this next batch of exams was over, she would have to come to a decision.

She had an hour to wait for the train to Longreach so she nipped into town and treated herself to a steak and chips dinner and returned to the station armed with a large block of fruit and nut chocolate and a paperback novel to see her through the night.

She arrived at Longreach a little after eight in the morning. She could have called Jim to come and fetch her, but the mailman was happy to offer her a ride to Tingulla. ‘Got a few stops on the way. Good thing you checked in, I always wait for the Brisbane train in case there’s anyone or anything going my way. This an unscheduled trip, is it?’

‘Kind of. Had some time up my sleeve and thought I’d come home to study.’

‘How’s TR doing?’

‘Not a lot of progress.’

‘It’ll be a slow job all right. He was lucky I guess. Could have killed or crippled himself.’

Saskia nodded and didn’t say what crossed her mind — that TR virtually was a cripple, mentally at least.

She trudged through the kitchen door just as a startled Millie came to see who it was. ‘Sas!’ she said, opening her arms wide. ‘You little monkey! What a surprise. Watcha doin’ here?’

Saskia hugged her back and threw the letters and magazines rolled in a rubber band onto the table. ‘I brought the mail.’

Millie eyed her carefully as Saskia dumped her small bag and pulled out a kitchen chair. ‘And what’re you really here for?’

‘Where’s Mum?’

Down with the weaners. Want a tea or a lemonade? Then you tell Millie what’s what.’

Saskia sipped the last of the tangy juice as she finished explaining to Millie, as best she could, her reasons for no longer wanting to be a vet.

Millie looked distressed. ‘Sas . . . I dunno. You’re doing so well. And this isn’t the best time to make up your mind ’bout something like this, what with the worry we all got.’

‘I know that, Millie, but I feel I’ve got to make my mind up one way or another now. No point in staying on if I’m miserable and don’t intend to be a vet.’

‘But what would you do, luv? At least get your bit of paper and then you know you can always fall back on that, eh?’

Saskia had no spirit for the argument. ‘I’m going to have a shower. Then I’ll go find Mum. How are the new lambs?’

‘Saskia, you pick your moment to talk to your mother,’ called Millie after her as Jim came indoors.

‘What’s Sas doin’ home?’

‘Wants to tell her mum she’s gonna quit uni.’

‘Well that’s goin’ to cause a nice blue. You keep out of it, Millie.’

Saskia drove down to the paddock where Queenie was leaning over a chute of stud rams with the visiting breeding consultant who was classing the sheep on Tingulla. They took no notice of the approaching vehicle and Saskia crept up behind her mother, giving her a big hug. Queenie spun around and exclaimed in delight, ‘Sas! How lovely. What are you doing here?’

‘A break to study.’

‘Mr Burne, this is my daughter, Saskia Redmond.’

‘How do you do.’ They shook hands, Ian Burne thinking to himself how stunning they both were, although in different ways.

‘How do our rams look, Mr Burne?’

‘Better than ever, Saskia. Tingulla is one of the best merino studs in the country.’

‘That’s our business over and above everything else here — growing wool and breeding sheep,’ said Queenie. ‘I want our sheep to be even better from the front gate to the back gate. I’ve also been thinking of selling directly to the overseas markets. Plus I have an idea of further developing an arm of our
wool business, but I need access to a good fellmonger to treat merino skins.’

‘Why? The skins are either dumped or sent abroad. There are few fellmongers about these days, and there’s no demand to treat merino hides.’

‘I thought our business was being a successful commercial woolgrower. What are you hatching, Mum?’ asked Saskia.

‘Tell you after dinner.’ She turned her attention back to the consultant and classer.

But after dinner Sas dropped her own news, tentatively but with a resounding impact.

Queenie put down her wine glass. ‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing,’ she said, almost whispering in astonishment.

‘Just hear me out.’

Queenie found her voice and snapped sharply in reply. ‘Saskia, there’s nothing you can say that would convince me that this is anything other than absolute folly.’

‘Mum, give me a chance . . .’ Saskia pleaded across the table.

‘A chance! Don’t you understand what a university degree is going to give you? A chance to make a career, to follow your dream, to be independent . . .’

‘My dream has changed. I don’t think I want that now.’

‘You’ve always loved animals, Sas, this is all you’ve ever wanted to do,’ said Queenie in dismay and exasperation.

‘I was a little girl! I know what’s involved now, and I know it’s not for me. I don’t want to doctor pet budgies and sick cats. I don’t want
to deal with sick animals. I want to work with healthy animals — horses.’

‘Oh, Sas, this is so silly. You’ll be able to decide what sort of practice you have, just finish and get your degree and we’ll discuss it further then.’ Queenie reached for the jug of iced water: the subject was closed.

‘You don’t even want to listen!’ Tears stung Saskia’s eyes and she jumped up from the table.

Queenie flared back at her. ‘I think this is very bad timing on your part, Sas. I have a lot on my plate and I would have thought you would have been supportive and not thrown this at me right now.’

‘It’s now or never for me,’ shouted Saskia and ran from the room.

Millie came quietly into the dining room. ‘Let her go for the moment, luv. You both settle down. She’ll come round.’

Saskia wept into her pillow, wishing she could unburden herself to someone. TR couldn’t understand the situation — he was a part of the problem. Tango would support his mother, and so, she suspected, would everyone else she was close to. She knew this was just giving her mother even more to worry about, but if she didn’t approach her professor immediately after the exams, she’d be stuck.