A Waltz for Matilda (35 page)

The billabong didn’t even exist any more. If her father’s ghost lingered anywhere, it would be at Moura, the land he had worked so hard to own, or with the union, or even at the Town Hall, where the men voted today …

Maybe his ghost
is
heard, she thought. How many voting today still heard his words? Wherever men stand side by side, Dad’s ghost stands with them too.

‘Here you are, love.’

The tea came in a big pot with a knitted cosy, a pot of hot water and a flowered plate of thin-cut bread and butter, half with ham and half with oozing apricot jam. The Presbyterian Ladies’ Tearoom couldn’t have done it better, except maybe for a doily and fewer flies. She brushed them away from her food automatically. ‘Please … that song they were singing …’

‘“Waltzing Matilda”? It’s good, ain’t it? Some bloke sang it last week an’ now the whole town’s crazy for it.’

‘Who wrote it?’

She shrugged. ‘Search me, love. You wantin’ anythin’ more?’

‘No, thank you. This is lovely.’

The music was playing again, more softly now. A single voice rose.

‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.’

She shut her eyes, remembering the man and the billabong, how he had made her house with so much love and pride. I’m doing what you wanted, Dad, she thought. I’ve got the sheep, the best rams in the district.

The chorus of the song played again. She gazed at the door to the bar, hoping to see the expressions of the men singing. Was it a song of protest to them, of a man who refused to do the boss’s bidding? Or did they just like the tune?

She hoped it was no coincidence they were singing it today — the start, perhaps, of the nation of justice her father had dreamed of …

‘Excuse me?’

She jumped. She had been so intent on the song she hadn’t even noticed him approach. He must have just come in from the street.
Up rode the squatter,
she thought,
mounted on his thoroughbred
… ‘I’m sorry. I was miles away.’

He laughed. ‘Miss O’Halloran, isn’t it? I’m sorry to startle you. I’m James Drinkwater.’ His smile deepened. ‘We have met, you know. I hope you remember me.’

The young man she remembered had been arrogant. This man was certainly that, striding up to her in a hotel dining room. But he also looked surprisingly friendly and strangely familiar, as though she had known him most of her life.

Well, I have, in a way, she thought. She wondered if his father had looked like this when he was young, and gave a wry smile. She suspected Mr Drinkwater had mellowed in his old age, and he was bad enough now. ‘Of course I remember you, Mr Drinkwater.’

He grinned at her expression. ‘Oh dear. Perhaps I should have said, “I hope you
don’t
remember me”.’

She liked his grin. It was hard to think of Mr Drinkwater, Senior mocking himself like this, even ever so slightly. She held up her hand, glad she was wearing gloves that covered her calluses and split fingernails. ‘Don’t worry. I think the last time we met you were mending my roof.’

He bowed over her hand. ‘And the time before that we were fighting a fire side by side. Is that the same as a formal introduction?’

Catch Tommy bowing over my hand, she thought. ‘I’m not sure. I’d have to ask your aunt — she always knows the right way to behave.’

She half expected him to look angry at the reference to his aunt, remembering her letter accusing him of shooting natives. But the grin didn’t falter. ‘My aunt would say that a young lady should always be accompanied in a public dining room.’

Impossible not to smile back. ‘I’d better do as she says then. Please, do sit down.’

He sat, placing his hat on the spare chair. ‘Thank you. You know, I hardly recognised you.’

‘Why not?’ She flushed. The words had slipped out without thinking.

He grinned again. ‘No soot, of course. No dirt. This is the first time I’ve seen you with a clean face.’

He must have seen that his remark stung. ‘You looked beautiful even when you were sooty. And now you are the loveliest girl I have seen since I’ve been back in Australia.’

Her blush deepened. She shook her head, unsure how to respond. No one had ever spoken to her like that before.

‘Now I’ve embarrassed you even more. Truthfully, Miss O’Halloran, I didn’t mean to. Will you forgive me?’

At least there was an answer to that. ‘Of course.’

‘Prove it. Come to the dance with me tonight.’

‘Tonight?’ She flushed again. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

She didn’t want to say that she hadn’t danced since she was ten years old, and Aunt Ann was playing piano in the parlour. ‘I can’t go to a dance in this dress. I’d have to arrange to stay the night in town too.’

He laughed. ‘Not good enough. I have my father’s motorcar. I can drive you home, drive you back here, then have you back by midnight.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Or later. There’s no one to check when you get home, is there?’

She bit her lip. What did he mean by that? Some of her novels had hinted at men having — what was the phrase? —
designs
on young women.

This man took too much for granted. No, she would be a fool to risk her reputation — or worse — by riding in his car by herself at night.

He was watching her expression. ‘Come to next Friday’s dance then. I’ll pick you up, all dressed and ready, then you can stay at Mrs Lacey’s boarding house.’

Matilda began to nod, then realised what she’d be agreeing to. A dance. And with James Drinkwater.

The whole district would be talking about them. Not that she
cared if they talked about her generally. But she’d need to know James a lot better than she did now to want their names coupled.

It’s that bally song, she thought. If the men hadn’t been singing it she’d have been more in control.

‘Not next Friday.’ She smiled, to make the refusal less pointed. ‘There’s a dance every Friday night, isn’t there?’

‘So you’ll come to one with me some Friday soon?’

This was a man who didn’t give up. ‘Perhaps. When we know each other better.’

She expected him to be angry at being crossed. But he looked at her seriously now. ‘Don’t we know each other? I know that you are courageous, resourceful and beautiful. And you know that I’m …’

He raised an eyebrow, looking disconcertingly like his father. ‘Ah, there’s the trouble.’

That was exactly the trouble. He knew to change the subject too.

‘I was admiring your stock on the way in. Even better than ours, I think.’

She smiled. ‘It’s easier to selectively breed a small flock. Bad times mean stricter culling too. I make sure I cull the ones I don’t want to keep.’

His grin was back. ‘You’re the first person I’ve heard taking sheep-breeding seriously since I came back to Australia. And the only girl anywhere.’

‘I go on too much about sheep.’

‘Never. Most landowners assume that they can keep doing the same old things, year after year. But they can’t. The land gets worn out if you don’t manage it properly.’

She leaned forward eagerly. ‘That’s just what I’ve thought. We’ve been moving the water troughs at Moura to get the land
grazed evenly, otherwise the sheep camp near the water and soon as there’s a sprinkle of rain it all comes up in thistles. I sometimes curse the man who brought thistles to Australia. We keep grubbing them up, but your father doesn’t do a thing about them. Every time the wind blows it brings thistle seeds from Drinkwater.’

‘You’ve told him that?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He laughed. Said there was nothing he could do. But if the thistles are slashed before they set seed you can get rid of them.’

‘Trespassing thistles. I’ll have to see what I can do.’ He looked at her consideringly. ‘You know,’ he said abruptly, ‘I envy you.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘You do it all yourself — yes, I know you have good help, but the breeding, the management is yours. I’m just inheriting what my father has achieved.’ He shrugged. ‘I used to resent it when I was younger.’ He met her eyes. ‘Made myself act like the king of the castle, because I knew I was only the prince.’

‘But you’ll make Drinkwater better still.’

He grinned again. ‘Never fear. I’ll do that all right.’

‘Matilda! Mrs O’Connor said she saw you come in here.’ It was Tommy, wending his way through the tables. He stopped, staring at James.

James rose and held out his hand. ‘You must be Thompson, who made my father’s motor.’

Tommy shook the hand, pretending not to notice as James glanced a second too long at the purple, wizened fingers. He shoved his hand back into his pocket.

‘Sorry I wasn’t at the shop,’ he said to Matilda. ‘Got stuck helping at the hall. Some of the blokes can’t even sign their names, much less read the questions.’

Matilda gestured to a seat. ‘Sit down. Do you want some tea?’

James stood up. ‘Take mine. I need to pick up my father.’ He gave his grin again. ‘And show him that I won’t scratch his precious motor on the way home so he’ll let me drive it again. It’s a good machine,’ he added to Tommy. ‘I drove one out country from Cape Town, but yours rides smoother. More power too.’

‘It’s the petrol engine,’ said Matilda wisely. ‘Instead of diesel or kerosene.’

His grin grew wider. ‘Is that it? You know everything, Miss O’Halloran. Good day, then. I’ll look forward to our dance.’ He bowed. ‘It was good to meet you, Mr Thompson.’

Matilda watched him stride across the dining room and out into the sunlight, then became aware that Tommy was staring at her now.

‘What’s all that “petrol engine” stuff? You don’t know a petrol engine from a galah.’

‘I do so. I’ve listened to you talk about them long enough. Like a ham sandwich?’

‘No, I don’t want a bally ham sandwich!’

‘Tommy!’

He scowled at her. ‘What does he mean, “I’ll look forward to our dance”?’

‘He asked me to one of the dances at the Town Hall, that’s all.’

‘And you accepted! What the flaming hell were you thinking?’

‘You watch your language with me, Tommy Thompson. Why shouldn’t I go to a dance with him?’

Suddenly the day had been too much for her. The breathlessness of stays, the friends who were so much part of this land and couldn’t vote today, the song and all its memories. How
dare they take her life and make a song of it? How dare they take her father’s memory and make it theirs? How dare Tommy tell her what to do?

She clenched her fists. ‘Why shouldn’t I go with anyone I like? It’s not like you’ve ever asked me to a dance.’

‘I don’t dance! And anyway, you’re too young.’

‘Even children go to the dances here!’

‘Not with a man taking them, they don’t. You’re too young for all that.’

‘I am not! I’m seventeen.’

‘Seventeen is still too young. You can’t make proper choices about, well, men and stuff at seventeen.’

‘Says the old man of twenty.’ She flushed. ‘It’s a dance, that’s all. And I’ve been running my own farm for nearly five years — don’t you dare say I’m too young to make my own decisions.’

‘Not on your own you haven’t. You’ve had Mr Sampson and me.’

There was enough truth in it to make her angrier. ‘I’d have managed. And I’ll dance with whoever I like.’

‘Then you’re a fool. He only wants one thing, and you’re too green to see it.’

She glared at him. What had got into him? ‘You know nothing about it. He suggested I spend the night at Mrs Lacey’s. I can’t see Mrs Lacey allowing any funny business.’

She could see the truth of
that
hit him, and see that it was making him even more angry too.

‘Don’t go.’ He was furious, but there was something else there too, something that she didn’t understand.

Impossible to tell him that she hadn’t even agreed to go yet. ‘Why? Give me one good reason.’

‘Because I don’t want you to!’

‘That isn’t good enough.’

‘Isn’t it?’ He stood up.

Suddenly Matilda was aware of the silence in the dining room, the stares through the door from the bar.

Tommy looked down at her with an expression she had never seen before. ‘Sounds like I’ve been wasting the last four years. Sticking in this dump just to keep an eye on you.’

‘I don’t need keeping an eye on!’

‘You need it,’ he said bitterly. ‘You just don’t want it.’

‘I didn’t ask you to come to Gibber’s Creek,’ she said uncertainly. ‘You wanted to come —’

‘Have you any idea what’s happening outside the back of beyond? There’s people making motion pictures out there. Radios sending messages across the world. Blokes flying aeroplanes, while I’m stuck here repairing blinkin’ stump jump ploughs and making float valves.’

She stared up at him. ‘I didn’t know … I didn’t think —’

‘No, you didn’t, did you? An’ you’re still going to that dance with that toffy-nosed git?’

‘Well, you’re not going to take me, are you?’

He glowered at her, then shoved himself away from the table. ‘I hope you enjoy it then.’ He strode out the door.

The leaves hung limp and heavy between the ridges. Matilda leaned on her hoe and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

Ladies didn’t perspire — they ‘glowed’ — but just now she wasn’t feeling like a lady, not in trousers and boots and a man’s shirt, with Dad’s old hat on her head and dirt under her fingernails. But it was important to keep the weeds down in the corn. It had been nearly a year since there had been any rain, even the smallest shower. The grass had shrunk from the hot soil; now the earth lay so hard-baked it was cracked.

But here at least with the shelter of the cliffs she could grow corn to help keep the sheep alive, with the water from beneath the earth trickling through Tommy’s pipes.

Tommy! Every time the wind blew she thought it would be Tommy, riding out on his bicycle to make up. There hadn’t been a week without him appearing before.

Impossible that he wouldn’t come. Impossible for him not to apologise! Why shouldn’t she go to a dance — just one dance —
with whoever she wanted? It wasn’t as though he had ever asked her.

She had begun to realise why he might have been so upset about her proposed outing. Why hadn’t she realised that he might be jealous? Because he had only acted toward her like a brother? She had thought he only felt protective of her. Had he been waiting till she was older, just taking it for granted they’d marry one day?