Under The Harvest Moon. Gary Blinco
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sat among pepper trees and outbuildings, with lazy wisps of smoke drifting from the chimneys.
Showers of colourful birds rose starkly against fleecy white clouds that adorned the deep blue sky, their calls somehow blending into the scenery, their mottled shadows racing across the ground as they flew. The whole landscape looked like a page from a picture book. Dad’s dream farm was just like this place, she thought as they drove along. She turned to smile at Derwent, but he was lost somewhere in his own thoughts.
They had been following a narrow dirt road for several miles when they came to a small, pretty cottage that stood beside a lane and creek crossing with bright flowerbeds drawn up against it like a colourful apron. They both climbed from the truck and Derwent rubbed the lethargy from his limbs as the engine of the little truck creaked and groaned as it began to cool, a wisp of steam rising from the radiator. Veronica stared at the large vegetable patch that grew in healthy abundance between the house and the creek. She looked at the line of tall gum tress that crowded around a large waterhole beyond the garden. Magpies warbled in the trees and some wild ducks cruised gracefully about in the water. It was all so peaceful and she felt her heart warm to the area at once.
A tall man came out of an old shed beside the house, wiping his greasy hands on a piece of rag. A rather haggard looking woman emerged from the house followed by a tribe of grubby bush children, their faces alive with eagerness to meet the strangers.
‘G’day,’ the man said cheerily. ‘I’m Noel Brinkley, that’s the cook, Sarah,’ he ignored the children in his introduction, apparently not reckoning them as people because of their age.
‘Have you come far?’
‘Far enough,’ Byrne said sullenly, he was in a bad mood and the truck had been overheating for the last few miles, adding to his anger. It had not occurred to Veronica that he might be feeling resentment at being led into a permanent job that he did not really want
‘We’re looking for the Symons’s place,’ Veronica said, as she frowned at her husband, embarrassed by his rude manner, not understanding why he could be so surly in such pretty surroundings. ‘We were told there may be a permanent job going there,’ she added. ‘We have been on the road for a while, so we are both a bit tired.’
Derwent looked at her quickly, picking up on the apology in her tone, and then he managed a wry smile, some of his old charm suddenly showed through. ‘My name’s Derwent Byrne,’ he said, ‘This is my wife, Veronica.’
‘Pleased ter meetcha,’ Brinkley said, offering his hand to Derwent and nodding at Veronica. Sarah smiled and the haggardness left her face at once, a faded beauty suddenly showing through the wrinkles around her eyes. ‘Yer betta come and have a cuppa tea,’ she said. ‘Noel can give you some directions, can’t yer love?’
‘Too right,’ Brinkley said easily. ‘Once I find out which Symons yer after, the bastards own all the land round ‘ere. Our joint sits right in amongst the buggers’. As they sat around the battered table in the small but tidy kitchen drinking tea, Noel gave them detailed directions and a good run down on the Symons family. ‘Old Nigel Symons is the current leader in a long line of his clan. His grandfather selected a lot of this land around here,’ Noel explained. The children had been banished from the house. ‘Yandilla station covered most of this area at one time, our little place was once a shepherd’s outpost, that’s why it’s so small.’
He looked at his wife as she poured more tea into his cup.
‘Chuck us a scone will ya, love,’ he said. ‘Old great grandfather Symons must have been a pain in the arse fer the Yandilla Station owners, come to think of it,’ he added.
‘Because he selected land along the creek ‘ere, and he must have cut them off from a lot of the water for their stock at times.’
‘The new generation who are on the property now, are they nice people?’ Veronica asked suddenly, cutting in on Brinkley’s narration. ‘I mean some of the big landholders we have met have been pretty horrible.’
‘Nah,’ Sarah Brinkley said firmly, covering for her husband’s surprise at being interrupted in the middle of one of his favourite stories, ‘They’re good blokes, and the wives are mostly nice too, aren’t they Noel?’ Veronica looked at Noel for a reply, the sudden silence heavy in the quiet room as an ancient clock with a cracked face tick-tocked audibly in the background. She could hear the excited sounds of children at play coming from somewhere outside the house, and a kookaburra laughed away in the distance.
Brinkley nodded, his mouth choked with scone and melon jam, the heat of being cut short quickly fading from his face.
‘Bloody oath,’ he said easily. ‘They all buy vegies from our garden, and there’s always a bit of work about if I want it to bring in a few extra quid.’
Derwent looked at Noel steadily. ‘Are you interested in the permanent job then?’ he said slowly. ‘Sounds like it would be right up your street.’ Veronica shot him a quick look and frowned because this was the first hint that he did not really want the job himself.
‘No bloody fear,’ Brinkley spat decisively, shaking his head to emphasise the point. ‘I don’t wanna work for any bastard permanently. I’ll do a few days when and if it suits me, but I got me own place to run. It’s not so big and grand as the Symons’s empire, but we make better use of the land we got, and the big water hole in the creek means we always got water fer irrigation. We do orright,’ he added firmly. Sarah smiled and Derwent looked disappointed.
After they finished their tea with the family, Derwent and Veronica drove across the old bridge that spanned the creek, following Brinkley’s clear directions to the cluster of buildings that marked the Symons’s homestead. Veronica had liked Sarah at once and she hoped she would be seeing more of her in the future. She longed for a mature woman to replace the strength and guidance she had received from her mother. When they arrived at the homestead, Derwent left her in the truck while he went to inquire about the job, thus giving her time to study the surroundings. She liked what she saw and was about to follow him into the house to make sure he gave a good account of himself.
Before she could move a tap on the truck window brought her eyes back from wandering about the farm and she looked into the pretty dimpled face of a young woman. ‘Hello, I’m Sybil Symons,’ the woman said cheerily. ‘The male masters sent me to invite you in for a cup of tea. They are giving your poor husband the third degree.’ Veronica smiled as she introduced herself before climbing stiffly from the truck. Sybil took in her slim figure and pretty face with envy; she was a little on the plump side herself.
‘My house is over there,’ Sybil said pointing. ‘My husband is number four in the Symons’s son assembly line, and we have three kids. I spend a lot of time at the old homestead during the day. The old lady is rather ill, and I like to keep her company and help out where I can, until my kids get home from school.’ She continued to chatter away as she led Veronica into the house.
Inside the spacious and well-furnished old home she saw Derwent sitting nervously in a deep lounge chair facing an old man across a small coffee table. The old man rose as she entered the room. ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘You are a beauty, if you will permit an old man to comment.’
She smiled warmly. ‘Please do,’ she said, ‘Though I must look a wreck, we’ve been on the road for a while’.
‘It has not detracted from your beauty, I assure you,’ he said charmingly. He cleared his throat. ‘We have been talking to this husband of yours about the job we have on offer, so far he fits our needs very well. But this is a permanent position, or as permanent as anything is in this life, of course.’ He suddenly remembered his manners and waved her to a chair. Sybil went off to make some tea. ‘But we want the lady of the manor to be happy with the arrangements as well,’ Nigel continued when she was seated. ‘There will be the occasional bit of