Baby At Bushman's Creek. Jessica Hart
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dipped the nose and let the plane drop until it was barely skimming the top of the spindly gum trees. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked, clutching at Alice.
‘Just having a look,’ he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to take a nose-dive into the bush.
‘What on earth for?’ said Clare, annoyed to find that her voice was still high and squeaky with alarm.
‘I want to see how many cattle are up here. There are always a few that get away from the mob when we muster.’
‘Oh, we’re looking for cows?’ she muttered sarcastically. ‘Great!’
Gray ignored her, banking the plane and swooping low over the trees. His hands were completely steady, and he seemed so in control that insensibly Clare began to relax and look around her.
At this level the featureless brown expanse resolved itself into dry, reddish earth out of which grew tussocks of grass, scrubby silver-barked gums and the occasional boab tree with its odd swollen trunk. Every now and then, a small group of cattle would blunder away at the sound of the plane, leaving clouds of dust to settle behind them, and Clare spotted several wallabies bounding effortlessly between the trees and the towering termite mounds.
‘See how much more there is to see down here?’ Gray asked as they dipped down over a spectacular rocky outcrop.
Clare was unimpressed. ‘It’s still not exactly teeming with excitement, is it?’
‘I guess that depends what you find exciting,’ he said. There was a faint undercurrent of amusement in his voice, and Clare looked at him suspiciously. ‘What does it take to excite you?’ he added with a sidelong glance.
His face was perfectly straight, but she was sure that he was laughing at her. Lifting her chin in an unconsciously haughty gesture, she met his eyes defiantly.
‘More than a few lost cows and a couple of kangaroos,’ she said in a tart voice. ‘Is that the best Bushman’s Creek has to offer?’
‘That depends what you’re looking for,’ countered Gray, and this time she definitely saw one corner of his mouth curl upwards before he looked away.
They flew on and on, until Clare began to wonder if they were ever going to get there, but at length Gray pointed out a line of trees snaking across the landscape, their leaves notably greener than the others. ‘That’s the homestead creek,’ he told Clare. ‘Even when it’s dry like it is at the moment you can still find a few waterholes. And that’s the homestead down there.’
Clare peered out of the window, but she couldn’t make out more than a jumble of tin roofs flashing in the harsh sunlight and shaded by a cluster of green plants and trees that looked a surprisingly lush set against the bare brown paddocks that surrounded them.
The plane dipped down over the nearby yards, where what seemed to Clare an enormous number of cattle were corralled. She could make out a couple of men who waved a greeting as the plane flew over and touched down at last, about half a mile from the homestead, bumping to a halt on the rough airstrip.
‘Welcome to Bushman’s Creek,’ said Gray.
Having slept peacefully through the noise and vibration of the flight, Alice woke up the moment they lifted her out of the plane. She was fractious as they got into the inevitable ute that had been left standing in the shade of a boab tree, and cried all the way back along the rough track to the homestead.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ asked Gray, eyeing the screaming baby uneasily.
‘There’s nothing wrong with her,’ snapped Clare, her nerves frayed by Alice’s distress. ‘She’s hungry and she needs her nappy changed, that’s all.’
She was so concerned to make Alice more comfortable that she had little time to take in much of the homestead. ‘You’d better use my room,’ said Gray, carrying the case into the welcome coolness of the house. ‘It’s the only one that’s been used for a while. At least you won’t have to sweep the dust away before you can find somewhere to put her down.’
His room was dim and cool and plainly furnished. There was a wide bed with a cover loosely thrown across it, a chest of drawers and a sturdy chair. The effect was one of uncluttered masculinity, quiet, comfortable and practical. Not unlike Gray himself, Clare couldn’t help thinking as she laid Alice down on the bed and changed her nappy. She wished she could lie down herself, but she knew that once she did she would fall asleep. The excitement of the flight had somehow kept exhaustion at bay for a while, but now that they had finally arrived Clare felt it sweep back with a vengeance.
Bracing herself against it, Clare tucked Alice back into her clothes and picked her up. Alice’s sobs had subsided slightly, but she was still grizzly, and Clare kissed her and patted her back as she carried her in search of the kitchen. ‘I know, I know, you’re hungry. I’ll get you some lunch.’ Somehow she was going to have to get through until Alice’s bedtime, she realised wearily. There was no way she could sleep while Alice needed her.
Finding herself in a large, open living area, Clare slowed and looked about her. The homestead wasn’t at all as she had imagined it. It was newer than she had thought it would be, and had an improvised air, as if rooms had been added onto this central area as and when they were needed, but the atmosphere was surprisingly cool, thanks to the deep verandah that went right around the homestead and kept out any direct sunlight. Every door and window was fitted with a fine mesh screen to keep out insects but to let any breeze into the house.
Clare hadn’t expected to find it such a restful house, but Gray had been right about one thing. It was badly in need of a clean. Dust lay thickly on every surface, and when she turned round she could see her own footsteps clearly marked on the floor.
‘I did say it was dirty,’ said Gray, appearing with the last of Clare’s bags and reading her expression without any difficulty.
‘I know,’ said Clare. ‘I just didn’t realise quite how dirty you meant! Don’t you possess a broom?’
‘I’m hoping that you’ll find it,’ said Gray dryly.
‘I think I’d better!’ She clicked her tongue as she looked around her in dismay. ‘How could you let it get into this state?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a question of priorities. I only use the homestead to sleep at the moment. I’m out all day, I eat in the cookhouse with the stockmen, and if I do sit down it’ll be in the office or on the verandah, never in here.’
Alice was still grizzling, and Clare cast her a harried glance. ‘I’ll have to worry about the cleaning later,’ she told him. ‘I need to feed Alice first. Where’s the kitchen?’
‘In here,’ said Gray, leading the way. ‘I’m not sure there’s much to eat in here, though.’
‘That’s all right. I’ve got some jars of food for her. All I need is to be able to boil some water at the moment, and later I’ll have to set up the steriliser.’
‘I expect we can manage that,’ he said, opening a door into a large room complete with fitted units, an enormous cooker and an array of steel fridges. ‘That’s where the beer’s kept,’ said Gray, seeing Clare’s eyes follow a trail of footprints through the dust to the fridge at the end. He didn’t actually smile, but the creases on either side of his mouth deepened in a way that made something shift inside Clare, and she turned away, suddenly brisk.
‘Where would I find a kettle?’
‘What about you?’ Gray asked as she opened a jar. ‘I could find you something to eat in the cookhouse,’ he offered, but she shook her head.
‘I’m not really hungry. A cup of tea will be fine.’
Alice was a messy eater, even by the standards of most babies, and Clare wasn’t surprised when Gray left them to it after seeing what she did with the first few mouthfuls. He said that he would go and see how the men were getting on in the yards.
Clare