Out of Alice (16 page)

Cleaning up after the sandstorm took the best part of two days. It was no good just sweeping, Helen said; they would have to start at the ceiling and work down. Sara tied a scarf about her unruly curls and went to the shed for a ladder, which Frank insisted on carrying back. Sand lapped to the very steps of the homestead. The lawns, Sara was astonished to see, had completely vanished, buried by the sand, and the area between the sheds was like a bare page marked by minimal poultry tracks, and Jack and Frank's boot prints.

The mail truck's load was heaped with sand, as was the cabin, for the windows had been left open to the storm. All the birds had vanished. The usual crows were absent, no galahs shrieked above the sheds and the magpies had gone. Sara remembered the corella she had seen, helpless in the grip of the wind, and wasn't surprised. But most amazing of all was the lack of flies. She mentioned the fact to Frank.

‘Blown to hell.' He nodded. ‘They'll be back. You'll see.'

‘What should we do about the lawn?'

‘Call it top dressing.' He smiled wryly. ‘Don't worry about it. I'll get the sprays going.'

Jack had left early on a bore run to inspect the mills for damage and was still away when Len and Becky turned up with a hipless stranger in a big hat who introduced himself as Pearly. He was Harry's replacement and at the sight of Frank a grin split his face, displaying a tombstone-like row of teeth.

‘Frank, yer old bastard! Thought you was dead and buried long since.'

‘Nope, still hanging in there.' They shook hands and Sara, who had come out to greet the travellers, was introduced. Pearly lifted the bonnet of the mail truck, which he then circled accompanied by Frank, kicking at the tyres. He tutted and swept an armload of sand from the cab, cast a jaundiced eye over the load, and nodded.

‘Looks like she's fit ter go. Know what 'e's done with the spare?'

Frank glanced around then jerked his thumb at a sand covered hump a few metres distant. ‘That'll be it. We mended her, and propped her against the back wheel. Wind musta rolled her off. Here, I'll give you a lift on with it.' That task accomplished, he dusted his hands. ‘Coming in for a cuppa before you leave?'

‘Thanks, might as well,' Pearly said. ‘What yer doing out here, anyway? Heard they'd turned you into the pensioners' paddock.'

‘Just helping out. Len's my son-in-law.'

In the kitchen the newcomer doffed his hat to Helen, greeting her as Missus
.
Becky was talking nonstop about Sam and her mother and the effects of the dust storm, which had apparently started just north of Alice.

‘Did you know the grid at the boundary's been filled in, Sara? Dad says it's gotta be dug out again. And somebody hit a cow on the bitumen. It was lying there all swelled up, right in the middle of the road with bits of glass and metal all around it. Dad towed it off to make it safe. Can I have some cake, Nan?'

‘When you've washed your hands and put your gear in your room,' Helen answered.

Sara went with her as Becky, still chattering, rummaged through her holdall. She had bought a sparkly plastic bracelet for Sara. ‘They had stalls near the big church with all sorts of stuff. Balloons and toffees and a lady painting faces on kids. Cats and butterflies and things. It was great. Me and Sam went with Mum.'

‘Like a church fete, you mean?'

‘Yeah. Mum tried on your bangle so we'd know it would fit. Do you like it?' she asked anxiously.

‘It's lovely.' Touched, Sara stooped to hug her pupil, turning her wrist to admire the iridescent band. ‘Thank you, Becky. How was Sam?'

‘He's skinny, but good. He's gotta do school too,' she revealed. ‘Just a bit every day, Mum says. He goes into the school and sits at a desk in the radio room with Mrs Murray, and gets to listen to all the kids.'

‘Does he like it?'

Becky shrugged. ‘He just wants to come home.'

‘Well, he will soon. Come on. Let's get your cake. I heard a vehicle come in just now – I bet that's your uncle.'

Becky ran, and Sara followed more slowly, smiling at the garish bracelet. She touched it gently. Save for flowers from various men, nobody, except Roger, had ever really bought her gifts. His had been things like chocolates and china kittens, and once a frilly apron: gifts reflective, she thought now, of the person he had believed her to be. Stella's idea of birthday presents had been new shoes or essential clothing, although one Christmas she remembered she had got a doll and a little bag of balloons she had not had the lung power to blow up. Sara had loved the doll to bits. Even learning she had simply benefited from an unwanted prize Stella had won in a pub had not lessened the intensity of her feelings for it. She wondered now what had happened to it, and decided it had probably been lost in one of their many moves sometime in her fourteenth year, when books had replaced her passion for other things.

Jack had just come in and was pouring himself tea. Frank introduced the stranger, saying, ‘He's one of your lot, son – good with tools.'

‘We could do with you, then,' Jack said, shaking hands. ‘Half the bloody mills are wrecked.' He sounded unwontedly discouraged. Then, as if hearing himself, he sat down and shook his head. ‘It's not really that bad, Len. There's vanes missing from two of them and one of the tails is buckled, but both those tanks are full. A couple more dead 'uns at Potshot bore too. Blown over, I'd reckon, and too weak to get back to their feet. So how're things in town? You get all the gear?'

‘Yeah. The boy's doing well. And I checked through the equipment when I took delivery. For a wonder it's all there.'

‘I'd best be getting on.' Pearly got to his feet. ‘Thanks for the cuppa, Missus. Good to see yer again, Frank.' They shook hands and Frank accompanied him out. Presently they heard the mail truck's engine turn over, misfire, and then catch.

‘Isn't Pearly an odd sort of a name for a man?' Sara asked.

‘It's a nickname,' Helen said. ‘He's really Sid White. He got the name for his teeth. You know, White – pearly whites.'

‘Well, you can hardly miss them. I've never seen such a dreadful set of dentures,' Sara agreed. ‘What happened to his real ones?'

‘A horse kicked him in the mouth.'

Sara flinched and Helen said, ‘It happens. So now they call him Pearly. He and Frank go way back.' She shifted her attention to Len. ‘If Sam's doing okay, any idea when they'll be home?'

‘About a fortnight now, Beth thinks. His next lot of chemo's due next week, so they've decided to give him a bit of extra time to recover before he comes out.'

‘That's good. We might even have the lawns showing through again by then. There's hardly a leaf left on the lemon tree though
and
it's dropped all its fruit.'

The garden was a mess, Sara thought, and so were the sheds, though she'd been too busy to check them thoroughly. Certainly the house had never been cleaner, save for the verandahs and the schoolroom, which were still to do. Reminded of the fact, she got to her feet, saying, ‘Lessons tomorrow. I'd best get back to it.'

‘Isn't it your day off?' Jack asked.

‘Mmnn, only I've got a beach to deal with.'

‘A
beach?
'

‘Well, it's red, but it's still sand.' Sara rotated her wrist, making the bangle flash, and looked at Becky. ‘You can come help if you like while you tell me what else you did in town.'

Becky jumped eagerly to her feet. ‘I can skip,' she said proudly. ‘There was a skipping rope on the jumbo table and Mum bought it for me.'

‘Jumble,' Sara corrected. ‘That'll be fun. You can show me when we're finished. I used to skip – I wonder if I still can?'

Smiling, Helen watched them go. ‘Beth was certainly lucky with that ad. Becky's really going to miss her when she leaves.'

Jack looked startled. ‘Is she going? First I've heard of it.'

‘Well, of course she is – eventually.' Helen slid plates and mugs together. ‘This isn't her country. She's like all the rest, just passing through. Finished, Frank? Good. Let me have your mug.'

Len was eager to get the new bore equipped and cattle shifted onto it. His first task, however, was to repair the damaged mills. He and Jack took off at daylight in the loaded truck leaving Frank to do a service on the dozer, which had been brought home for that purpose.

‘You know it's my bore,' Becky said complacently as she pondered over sums. ‘Dad said he's gonna call it Rebecca after me.'

‘Is he? That's quite an honour.' Sara was going through the box of books from the Ketchs' garage, putting aside those she thought might interest her charge. She rose from the floor, wiping her hands on the cloth she had been using to dust off the books. ‘Have you nearly finished?'

‘Yeah. Can we have some more story today?'

‘When you've tidied your desk.' Sara glanced at her watch. ‘I think we have just enough time before afternoon tea. You know, you could read some of these new ones yourself if you tried. They're not very big.'

‘But I like listening to you make the different voices,' Becky objected, just as the hiss of the wireless in the office, left on out of habit, was broken by the station call-sign.

‘Eight Oscar Whisky, Eight Oscar Whisky, do you read me?'

‘That's Uncle Jack!' Becky was off her chair in an instant, running to answer him. Sara, following, heard her breathless tone as she unclipped the mike and spoke. ‘Hello, Uncle Jack – it's me.'

‘Hi Becky. Is your grandpa there?'

Sara reached to take the mike, depressed the button as she'd been shown and spoke carefully. ‘Sara, Jack. What do you need?'

‘Hello, Sara. I'm after Dad. Could you tell him I need to speak with him?'

‘I'll find him.' She handed the mike back to Becky's reaching hand and, hurrying to the shed, delivered the message, then called Becky back to the schoolroom and managed ten minutes of further adventures in the lands at the top of the Faraway Tree before the bell rang for smoko.

‘Can't you read some more?' Becky begged, as she laid the book aside.

Sara shook her head. ‘Tea,' she said firmly. ‘Then I'm going to wash my hair.' She pulled the slipping combs free, scooped the mass of curls that now reached her shoulders into a knot and pinned them up off her sweaty neck.

‘How would you feel about a quick trip across to the National Park?' Helen asked, setting the teapot down on its stand. ‘Frank has to pick up some cable from there for the boys. Would you mind? I suppose I could –' she cast a flurried glance at the stove – ‘but it would mean you cooking dinner, and I've just set some yeast . . .'

The kitchen held no appeal for Sara just then and she spoke quickly. ‘No, that's fine. I'd love to see Clemmy again. Is it very far?'

‘A bit over an hour,' Frank replied. ‘It's all nonsense. That damn doctor's got my wife hypnotised into thinking I can't be let out alone without keeling over, but if you'd like to come for the run . . .'

‘And me,' Becky clamoured. ‘It's not fair to take Sara and not me.'

So in the end all three of them went, spinning down the road towards Kileys, with the mulga shadows flicking across the narrow track and the sun like a blazing ball in the sky. Glancing at Frank's reddened profile and bony hands gripping the wheel, Sara asked, ‘So is Helen really being over-cautious about your health, Frank? Because I'm almost sure Jack said something about your heart being weak or damaged.'

‘Ah, women!' He shook his head. ‘I had a bit of a turn a year or two back, wound up in hospital. If I listened to her and the damn quacks, I'd be good for nothing.'

‘Nan said the doctor gave you surgy,' Becky announced. ‘That means they cut you open. Sam's sick but he never had it.'

‘You mean surgery, chicken.' Sara hid a smile, adding, ‘It sounds like a bit more than a turn, Frank. Did you have a bypass operation?'

‘Yeah,' he grunted, and cast her a quick look. ‘Now, don't you start!'

‘Wouldn't dream of it. Why are we chasing cable, what does Jack want it for?'

‘Lifting stuff. There's only bits of slings at Redhill, they need more length. See, they've rigged a tripod over the hole and they'll run the pump and rods down with a block and tackle rig.'

Sara let his incomprehensible explanation flow over her as they rattled onwards. The sand in the wheel ruts cushioned the ride somewhat but every now and then the vehicle slammed into a gutter that jarred her teeth. The only tracks to be seen were those of the mail truck and once they had to get out and shift an uprooted tree that had fallen across the road. The flies had returned but there were few birds, only a pair of crows cawing their way westward. The mulga foliage seemed thinner than usual and, here and there, trees that stood alone or in small groups were completely stripped of leaves.

‘As droughts go, Frank, how bad is this really?'

‘You wouldn't want to strike a worse one.' He swung round a final bend and trod on the brake. ‘When it's over, the land will come back, it always does. Anyone's guess though how many of the owners will make it. Here we are, then.'

There was a gate, newer than the fence supporting it. It must have been the station horse paddock in the days before the property became a national park. A short distance beyond it a professionally made sign proclaimed the location and beyond that the road forked. A smaller sign read
Car park
while its opposite end pointed to
Office
– obviously an extension of the ranger's home, which sat gardenless on a stretch of unfenced lawn.

‘Do many tourists visit?' Sara wondered.

‘Must do if they run to a car park.' Frank pulled up, just as Clemmy stepped onto the verandah, shading her eyes.