Moonlight Plains (3 page)

A couple of crates on the floor held bottles of sauce and tins of basics like tomato soup and baked beans. A two-burner stove plate was propped on another box that was turned on its side and there was also a camp table and a metal folding chair.

Standing in the middle of the room, all big shoulders and boyish smile, Luke shoved his hands in his trouser pockets as he looked about him. ‘Believe it or not, this is going to be a showpiece one day.’

‘Of course it is.’

His smile tilted. ‘So . . . would you like a drink? I’m afraid it’ll have to be beer or beer.’

Sally gave a soft laugh. She wasn’t much of a beer drinker. ‘I’d love a beer.’

‘Great. Take the weight off.’ Quickly, he grabbed a tea towel. ‘Hang on.’ With a flick of the towel he dusted off the metal seat. ‘Can’t spoil that borrowed finery.’

Luke watched as Sally sat down, watched the way his dark coat fell apart to reveal her pale-pink dress, watched her graceful movements as she crossed her slim legs.

For a moment he was transfixed and he just stood there, drinking in the sight of her. So perfect in his shabby, inadequate kitchen.

Then he remembered he was supposed to be getting their drinks.

Shit, did he have a clean glass?

He wished he was calmer. Anyone would think he’d never hit on a girl before, but there was something about Sally that messed with his head. Half a dozen times already – in the ute, on the verandah, in the hallway – he’d nearly given in to his desire to kiss her, but for some reason he didn’t quite understand, he knew he wanted to get this right.
Had
to get this right. Sally was different, so perfect in every way, he needed to lift his act.

To his relief, he found a clean glass and poured her beer, and it didn’t froth too much or run down the sides.

Sally smiled as he handed it to her, and her dark eyes were warm and eloquent, almost as if she was sending him a silent message. He just hoped he was reading that message correctly.

‘So,’ she said, looking about her and pointing to the recessed section of the kitchen that was clad with ripple iron, ‘is that where the wood stove used to be?’

Luke nodded. ‘I’m thinking of turning it into –’

‘Let me guess,’ she interrupted eagerly. ‘A walk-in pantry?’

‘Yeah, that’s one possibility.’

Her eyes were shining. ‘That would be fabulous.’ She took a sip of beer and set the glass on the table. ‘Have you thought about the cupboards and benchtops yet?’

‘Not really. I’ve a long way to go before I get to those details. I’m still working on the roof.’

Sally nodded, looking about her.

‘You know,’ she said next, and Luke half-expected her to offer a few cupboard suggestions. ‘I came out this way last year with my father. We canoed down the Burdekin from Big Bend to the bridge at Macrossan.’

This was a surprise. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘I did. It was so quiet and peaceful on the river, but there was also a section with canyons and rapids. It’s fantastic country.’

It wasn’t every city girl who liked the bush.

‘We saw so many birds. Dad caught fish. I took photographs.’ Smiling, she asked, ‘So do you know this area well? Did you grow up around here?’

‘Further north,’ he said. ‘Almost a day’s drive. Up in the Gulf on Mullinjim Station. My sister Bella’s running the show now.’

When he saw Sally’s raised eyebrows, he added, ‘With the help of her husband, Gabe. And then there’s another sister, my half-sister Zoe and her husband. They’re on a neighbouring property.’

‘Quite a family concern then?’ Sally was clearly intrigued. ‘Have your parents . . . retired?’

‘My mum’s in Townsville. She moved there after my father died.’ Luke swallowed quickly as he said this. ‘About a year ago.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Luke nodded and a small silence fell, and he was grateful that Sally didn’t push him for details. There were still times when he found himself reliving the shock of his father’s fatal heart attack. The news had come when he’d been driving back from Mullinjim to a job at Charters Towers, and the painful memory could still catch him out.

But when he glanced at Sally, he saw that her shoulders had drooped and she was staring forlornly at a spot on the floor. She looked so sad he felt a stab of fear. Had he roused bad memories for her as well? It was time to change the subject fast. His mind raced, searching for an interesting topic to put her at ease.

She gave a little shake and took a delicate sip of her beer, but she didn’t seem to be enjoying the drink. She probably wasn’t a beer drinker and had only accepted it to be polite.

Then she lifted her gaze and her cheeks were slightly flushed, and he thought how much the colour suited her.

‘This isn’t right, Luke,’ she said, frowning. ‘I feel wrong sitting here when you don’t have a seat.’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, but he knew it was awkward. He should at least have two chairs. Jana had said as much, but that had been different. He’d made do with sitting on a crate, because he’d known she would soon be leaving.

‘I’ll make sure this setup’s better when you come back to do your story,’ he said now.

With an enigmatic smile, Sally stood again, leaving the barely touched beer on the table. She looked back down the hallway to the closed doors. ‘So what’s in these rooms?’ Already she was heading towards them.

Luke dragged a quick breath as he followed her. She had to know they were bedrooms. ‘Just . . . my gear.’

She turned back to him, her eyes bright and ever so slightly teasing, her cheeks a deeper pink than ever. ‘Where do you sleep?’

His heart was hammering now. This was it. Miraculously, even though he’d told her he wasn’t trying to pick her up . . . she’d known all along that he was doing exactly that. And here she was . . . asking the way . . . to his bedroom. His bedroom, which was as spartan as the kitchen.

Just his luck to find the perfect girl and have nothing more seductive to offer her than a swag on the floor. Sally was a city girl. She might have enjoyed a canoe trip on the Burdekin, but little giveaways like the pale perfection of her skin and her neatly painted fingernails shouted loud and clear that she was still a smooth city chick.

‘It’s a bit of a mess in there,’ he warned, stepping between her and the closed door.

‘I’ve never fancied neat freaks.’ Sally smiled up at him, robbing him of breath.

Seemed she fancied him. This was going to happen.

‘All night I’ve been wanting to tell you how gorgeous you are – the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.’

With a soft smile, she stepped closer and lifted her face to his.

I wonder . . .

Lying in her nursing home bed, Kitty Mathieson couldn’t sleep. She knew it was silly to pin too many hopes on what might be happening in Charters Towers, but she’d been picturing the scene at the ball . . . Sally Piper arriving in the pink georgette dress she’d lent her . . .

She wondered if her grandson Luke had gone to the ball as well. She knew he’d been invited.

She would give anything to be there, a fly on the wall, listening to the band play Benny Goodman and watching the dancing couples. Closing her eyes, Kitty could hear the music, faint at first, but coming to her more strongly, bright and brassy, stirring memories . . .

As the music swelled, the fates of Sally and her grandson were forgotten as she found herself slipping back . . .

She was nineteen again, in that frantic February when the war arrived on her doorstep.

Townsville, February 1942

The smells of sweat and fear mingled with train smoke as Kitty pushed her way through the anxious crowds on the station platform. The scene was depressingly familiar. Distraught mothers tried to calm crying babies, hassled porters yelled, ‘Make way!’ as they pushed trolleys piled dangerously high with suitcases and boxes, while bewildered children clutched prized possessions – a teddy bear, a doll, a wooden truck. It had been like this every night for the past week, as Kitty farewelled friends and neighbours. Everyone was leaving Townsville now that Darwin had been bombed. They were getting out of the north while they could. Any day now, the full-scale Japanese invasion would begin.

‘I feel as if we’re abandoning you,’ Kitty’s neighbour Jean said as she bundled her children into their carriage and kissed Kitty goodbye. ‘I wish you could come with us.’

‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.’

Kitty had said this to other friends on other nights. What else could she say? She wasn’t especially brave. She was as scared as anyone else. The spectre of the Japanese terrified her.

She’d heard the stories about what they would do, but her grandfather had refused to leave. As head churchwarden, he took his responsibilities to the remaining parishioners very seriously.

‘If it comes to the worst,’ she said now, ‘the government will evacuate us.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ Jean sounded doubtful and looked awkward, her fashionably painted dark-red lips drawing in tightly as she dropped her gaze.

There’d been horrifying rumours that the government intended to pull out of northern Australia. Apparently, it wasn’t possible to defend the entire coastline, and everything north of Brisbane was to be abandoned to the Japs in the same way that Prime Minister Curtin and his cabinet had abandoned Rabaul in New Guinea. Bert Hammond, who lived in Kitty’s street, had heard it from someone who worked in the government.

Kitty consoled herself that the Americans had already started to arrive. She’d seen their landing barges on the beach, their noisy convoys of trucks, their sunglasses and spiky haircuts, the money they readily flashed around. They were so smartly dressed and efficient. Surely they would make a difference?

‘I know you’ll be fine. You’re a sensible girl,’ Jean said. ‘But I wish you were a little older.’

Kitty lifted her chin. ‘I’m almost twenty.’

Jean smiled and lowered her voice so her children couldn’t hear her. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Kitty Martin. You’re too pretty by half. Don’t go making eyes at those Americans, or you’ll be asking for trouble.’

Kitty wrinkled her nose. ‘Now you’re talking like my grandfather. If I believe him, the Americans are a greater threat to Australian girls than the Japanese are.’

‘That’s a bit rich.’ Jean smiled ruefully, and she might have said more, but the guard was calling, ‘All aboard.’ It was time to settle her children.

Almost immediately, a shrill whistle blew and Kitty and the others on the platform began to wave.

From the carriage windows people called tearful farewells.

‘Goodbye!’

‘Stay safe!’

Arms waved madly as the train pulled slowly out of the station.

A hand tapped Kitty on the shoulder and she jumped.

‘Gosh, Andy!’

Andy Mathieson lived in the street behind her and she’d known him for years, but it was a surprise to see him in uniform midweek. Like most of the boys his age, he’d joined the local militia, training on weekends down at the army reserve at Kissing Point, but here he was now, with his slouch hat turned up at the side and a stripe on his shoulder.

‘I’ve signed up with the regulars,’ he said with a shy smile. ‘I convinced my parents I have to do my bit.

‘Gosh,’ Kitty said again, softly. In all the confusion and tension of the past week she hadn’t heard the news.

‘Mum said I might find you here, Kit.’

‘Were you looking for me?’

Andy nodded. ‘I’m heading off tomorrow morning.’ Now his Adam’s apple worked overtime. ‘I wanted to make sure I said goodbye.’

‘Oh, Andy.’ She tried, unsuccessfully, to smile. ‘The only thing I seem to say lately is goodbye.’

‘Well, I can’t miss out then.’ He squared his shoulders. He was a tall fellow, nice enough looking – lanky-limbed and sandy-haired, with friendly blue eyes. ‘Can I walk you home?’

The earnest way he asked this was a surprise. They’d known each other for almost ten years, since she’d first come to live with her grandparents, and they’d walked home from the pictures once or twice, casually, as friends, but Kitty sensed this was different somehow.

Of course it would be, wouldn’t it? Everything was different now. ‘That would be nice,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Thank you.’

As they left through the station’s rather grand, white-tiled entrance, the warm tropical night pressed around them, close and humid. Outside, new rows of evacuees were lining up, ready for the next train in two hours’ time. They looked tired and nervous, as if they feared something might go wrong and stop them from leaving.

Opposite the station, a slice of Castle Hill’s rusty-pink rock face was caught in the beam of a searchlight. Andy took Kitty’s hand and, because she couldn’t think of a good reason not to, she let him hold it. She was wearing lace cotton gloves, and she could feel an unsettling heat coming from him through the open-weave fabric.

‘So what happens after tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘Do you have to do more training?’

‘I go to Enoggera first. After that –’ Andy gave a carefully nonchalant shrug. ‘I’ll be a real digger. Who knows where I’ll end up?’

Indeed. Who knew? There was talk of men being needed in Malaya. Kitty tried to put herself in her friend’s shoes and she felt a hot surge of fear. But then she couldn’t help wondering if staying at home and waiting to be invaded might be almost as bad as heading off to fight.

‘I’m planning to write to you, Kitty.’

She struggled to hide her surprise. Quite good friends at times, she and Andy weren’t sweethearts. Recently they’d played tennis together, and once or twice Andy had taken her to the pictures, and they’d danced at church socials.

But she’d danced with other fellows too. Kitty liked boys, as a general rule, and she was popular, although her grandfather’s stern eye rather cramped her style.

‘You won’t have time to write to me,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll be too busy writing to your family.’

‘I want to write to you too.’

‘Well, if you have time, I’d love to hear from you,’ she assured him as they headed along Flinders Street, where the shop windows were full of the war, filled with posters for war loans, V for Victory flags and displays of the gear needed for air raids.

In a few short weeks, their sleepy tropical town had become a garrison. The post office clock tower had been dismantled so Japanese pilots couldn’t use it to navigate. The graceful palm trees and pretty gardens in the centre of Flinders Street had been dug up and filled with sandbags and ugly concrete air-raid shelters.

‘What do you think about all this talk of a Brisbane line?’ Kitty asked. ‘Will the government really abandon us up here?’

‘Nah, I reckon it’s tommy rot.’ Andy shook his head, full of new importance and superior knowledge. ‘You watch. Townsville will be an important Allied base. It’ll have to be defended at all cost.’

‘My grandfather’s not so sure. He says Curtin and the politicians abandoned Rabaul. They didn’t evacuate anyone or reinforce the soliders.’

‘But Townsville’s different and the Yanks are here now.’

‘I guess.’ His confidence was comforting.

At the top of Denham Street they crested the hill and their suburb lay below them, nestled at the foot of Castle Hill and fringed by the still waters of Cleveland Bay. Offshore, the dark silhouette of Magnetic Island floated in the purple dusk, but the beauty and serenity of the view was marred by three huge steel landing barges moored in the bay, and rolls of ugly barbed wire strung along the beachfront.

Always, everywhere were reminders of the war.

They went down the hill and the delicate scent of frangipani drifted from shadowy gardens. The front verandahs of the houses were dark and secretive – everyone had obeyed the council’s instructions to remove their verandah light bulbs – but Kitty was sure she could feel curious eyes watching them as they walked, still holding hands.

At her front gate, Andy gripped her hand more tightly. ‘Are your grandparents home tonight?’

She shook her head. ‘Grandfather has a churchwardens’ meeting and Grandma’s there to help with serving supper.’

As she said this, she saw a mysterious tilt to Andy’s smile and she wondered if she’d been foolish to be quite so forthcoming. ‘But I suppose they
might
finish early. They
could
be home any minute.’

She pulled her hand from Andy’s, pushed the squeaky front gate open and hurried through, but before she could close it, he followed her. He’d taken his hat off and his blue eyes flashed with a determined brightness that was just a little alarming.

At the bottom of her front steps Kitty stopped with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. ‘What time does your train leave in the morning?’

‘Half past ten.’

Another goodbye. ‘I – I’ll make sure I’m there.’

Andy looped the strap of his hat over the stair post and then, without warning, gripped her elbows and mounted the first step, drawing her to him. ‘Just in case you can’t make it tomorrow morning, why don’t we say goodbye now?’

‘Well, all right, but I promise I’ll be there.’

He climbed two more steps, pulling Kitty with him. ‘I want to say goodbye properly, Kit.’

Her insides jumped, partly with alarm, partly with excitement. With grandparents as strict as hers, her experience of kissing boys was sadly limited. There’d been one or two boys who’d stolen kisses at dances, but they’d been rather furtive and not exactly passionate. Andy had only kissed her once before and that had been years ago when a group of them played spin the bottle down behind the sand dunes. The bottle she’d spun had actually been pointing at Donny Roper, but Andy had elbowed Donny out of the way.

Now they reached the darkness of the verandah and his grip tightened.

‘It might be ages before I see you again,’ he said.

That was true enough. The thought of his heading off into unknown horror made Kitty soft with sympathy, and she was caught off guard when he pulled her roughly against him and pressed his mouth over hers.

It was strange to be held so tightly. The buckle of his belt pressed into her stomach. His lips were cool and hard and tasted of cigarettes overlaid by peppermint. But it was rather exciting in a strange way. Not wonderful exactly, not romantic, but exciting nevertheless.

‘Oh, Kitty.’ Andy sounded out of breath.

She stood quite still, glad of the darkness, not sure what to say, wishing that she wanted this as much as he seemed to.

His lips found hers again, more gently this time, and it was quite nice, really. But then his tongue pushed between her lips and he squeezed her breast.

‘Andy!’ She struggled to be free of him. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘You know what I’m doing.’

‘But you can’t. Not that.’

He caught her hands, gripped them so tightly she couldn’t move. ‘You don’t understand, Kitty. I
really
like you. I’ve never been game to tell you before, but I’m crazy about you. And – and I’m going away tomorrow. If I’m going to fight for my country, I should be brave enough to tell my girl how I feel.’

His girl?

It was oddly flattering. And very confusing. She wasn’t his girl.

‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’

Kitty knew he meant
if
. He didn’t know
if
he would ever see her again. Poor fellow. He was the same age as she was – they’d been to the same primary school and shared endless sessions of backyard cricket and swimming in the rock pool at the end of the Strand, Sunday school picnics and church socials.

Years ago, in grade seven, Andy had thrown prickly burrs in her hair and the other girls had said it meant he liked her. If she was honest, she’d always known he was a bit keen on her. Now he was heading off for war and he was trying to hide how scared he was.

Kitty understood that too. They were all scared these days.

Her throat hurt, as if she’d swallowed a fishbone, and tears burned her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine, Andy. You’ll come home. And now that the Americans are here, the war will be over before you can say Bob’s your uncle.’

‘Kitty.’ There was a sob in his voice as he slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her harder against him. She could feel him shaking. ‘We’ve got to do this.’ His voice was hoarse and urgent. ‘I’m going away and we’ve got to. Everybody’s doing it.’

She stiffened with shock. ‘But –’

He was holding her so tightly now, pressing hot kisses into her neck and using his body to shepherd her back into the darkness, towards the daybed at the end of the latticed verandah.

Kitty knew what he’d said was true. Well, maybe not everybody was
doing it
, but Val Keaton had confided that she’d let her boyfriend go
all the way
with her before he left for the front, and she’d hinted she wasn’t the only one who’d been so daring.

Kitty had always planned to ‘save herself’ until she was married. She wanted the first time she made love to be romantic and beautiful, but already, the arrival of war had muddied her thinking, smudged the lines around ideas that had always been sharp and clear before.

All around them, the world was changing. The air-raid shelters and the new displays in the shop fronts, the landing barges in the bay were outwards signs of the war, but she’d already sensed the changes taking place in people’s heads and hearts too.

‘You’re my girl, Kitty.’

I’m not
, she almost told him.
I’m not anybody’s girl
. They were friends. Old friends, yes. Mates, chums, but they were not lovers. Once, when Andy had tried to cuddle up to her at the theatre, she’d dug him in the ribs with her elbow and told him not to be silly.