White Horses, page 22
He grinned back at her. ‘Well no, I didn’t, but I kinda hoped you might.’
*
Later, with Eli settled under the stock truck on his grass-matting bedroll and the added comfort of Drift’s swag, she lay back down in her caravan bed. Unsurprisingly, sleep would not come. Drift looked to the moon that was sliding through the night sky. She felt her body aching all over. She checked in with herself, wondering if she was stressed, or sore from long days in the saddle, but then she realised the ache she felt was for one thing. For Eli.
Her dad rolled over, his snoring interrupted for now. As she felt the hot sheets grip her skin, she swore under her breath at the longing she felt. The sweat beneath her breasts trickled over her torso. She tried to force the window open further to get some respite from the heat. The illuminated numbers on the clock ticked over. It was almost midnight. The breeze had dropped altogether and the seas had calmed. It wouldn’t hurt to cool off in the water on Minty, would it? On hot nights like this she normally dragged out the swag, but she knew that perfectly gorgeous boy, the stockman Eli, would be lying on hers right now. Quietly, she got up, telling Dunno to stay where he slept at the foot of her bed on a saddle blanket. She couldn’t wait to surprise her father with him in the morning. And then again surprise him with Eli. Drift opened the van door, stepping out onto the earth.
Barefoot, she went to the tether line and unhitched Minty, drawing the rope over her neck and fastening it to her halter for reins. She led her away towards the dunes and the water beyond, the grey moonlit beach still warm from the heat of the February day. Soft sand squelched as she and Minty made their way over a small rise, the view of the ocean spreading out in an inky black swathe. It sparkled with the light of the moon. With relief, she walked into the inviting water, leading the mare. Phosphorescence on seaweed had her hypnotised as she trailed her fingertips through the dark water. Small waves broke rhythmically. She breathed in the beauty of the night and the knowledge he was here. And would be for a while, if he wasn’t discovered. She waded in, Minty snorting happily, relaxing down into the cooling water. Waist deep, Drift dragged herself up onto the mare’s back and out they swam, the white horse plunging forwards and striking her legs out when her hooves lost touch with the sandy bottom. Drift felt power course through her. As she turned for shore, she looked back at the glow of the milky white beach. There he stood.
She smiled at the strong figure, bare chested, wearing only board shorts. She swam Minty to him, riding up to him, halting before him. He laid his palm on Minty’s dripping shoulder and looked up at her with his deep brown eyes.
They held each other’s gaze, a current running between them. ‘Can’t sleep?’ he asked.
Drift shook her head.
‘Same. So . . . aren’t you going to offer me a dink?’ he asked, not taking his eyes from her. He took the rope and guided Minty over to the bleached carcass of a driftwood log. Suddenly his bare foot was stepping up on the limb and he was slinging his leg over Minty’s back, up behind Drift. She felt his hands slip about her waist, the warmth of his body pressing against her spine. She melted into him, into the moment. Then she told herself to get a grip, to not rush things with this complicated man and his complicated recent history. On an impulse, she whorled the mare around in a hindquarter spin, then whipped her the other way so Eli, laughing, had to grip both Drift and his legs to stay seated.
She caught the flash of Eli’s white smile as she half turned. She saw how he sat astride the horse and knew he would stick, no matter which way she bent the mare.
‘How do you know she won’t buck you off?’ Drift said, laughing too, trying to break the intense feeling his closeness was triggering in her body.
He reached round to stroke Minty’s rump with his divine brown hand. ‘Because you love me, don’t you, girl,’ he cooed to the mare.
Minty, as if in answer, stopped and half turned her head, nodding into the rhythm of his massaging scratches.
Drift smiled. ‘First you win my dog’s heart. Then my horse’s . . .’ She left the rest of the words unspoken, knowing that over the passing of the days, he was about to win hers, no matter how hard her head tried to steer her away from him. She turned Minty back towards the water and they waded in up to the mare’s knees.
‘I thought I saw the little girl tonight. Just before you arrived,’ Drift said.
He leaned towards her ear and breathed a warm whisper. ‘She’s drawing us together. Like the moon draws the tide. Because without each other, we are both lost at sea.’
There was a jokiness to his tone, yet he looked serious. His breath was warm in the seashell turn of her ear. Momentarily she sensed the genuine energy of his pain and his loneliness.
‘Ready?’ he asked as she felt him fold his arms more firmly about her waist. Despite herself, Drift felt a throb of desire at his warm breath on her neck, and the weight of his body against her back. He nodded towards the far end of the beach-crescent.
‘I’m ready,’ she answered.
With that, Drift sprang the mare into a canter and soon they were gaining speed, galloping over the beach, the grey disc of the moon above them, laughter trailing behind them on the marble-like sheen of the sand.
*
Later, with Minty’s breath pushing their legs out rhythmically, they walked back to the caravan. Drift halted the mare on the line. They slid from her and waited for her to roll. Eli helped Drift give each horse a handful of hay, the moonlight now casting long shadows in the hillocking sand.
‘That boy there, he’ll do you nicely,’ Drift said, indicating the tall lanky white horse, Roger. ‘I tend not to use him as much as the others. He’s not my type. A bit hyped for me. But he could be yours.’
Eli went to the horse and spoke softly to him, running his hand over his neck. Roger responded instantly, drooping his ears and leaning into Eli’s palm. Drift found herself wishing the caresses were over her body. She thought of the swag beneath the stock truck and a craving settled inside her. As Eli moved over to straighten the noseband on Minty’s halter, he stood near Drift. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. She willed him to kiss her. For a moment, she thought he would, but a glimmer of uncertainty crossed his face.
‘Well, I’ll see you in a few hours for work,’ Eli said, friendly but a bit cool again — like a mate. ‘Thanks for the midnight ride. Wouldn’t want to wear out my welcome before I’ve been welcomed though.’ He indicated the caravan where her bear-like father rumbled. ‘I’d better not keep his head-drover awake a moment longer.’
‘Good idea. Good night,’ Drift said, half disappointed but mostly grateful he was taking all the pressure away. ‘Welcome to the exclusive Pinrush Point droving team. Where free poetry and verse and black comedy is provided.’
Chapter 27
The days merged into a rhythm that made time seem irrelevant. All there was for the droving crew of three was the present. The rising of the sun, the grazing of the cattle, the motion of the horses beneath them. The endless comedy of the dogs, the humour and community of the horses, cows and calves. The tick and hum of summer-happy insects. The setting of the sun. The blooming of the stars. The cooking of shared meals between Eli, Drift and Split. The sighing of tired bodies into bed at night. The crashing of midnight waves.
In the first few days, their watchfulness for the police and media had kept the three of them in a tense silence. Eli stuck to jobs with the machinery and equipment near the truck, in case he had to hide. But as the days passed, there had been no sign of anyone else on the far tip of the meadow flats of the furthest section of the long-forgotten droving route. Even Simon hadn’t shown up, so Drift assumed he was back to his normal duties in Cooperville. As they sat behind the cattle, he on Roger, she on Minty, stories from Eli’s childhood emerged, bringing with them the vibrancy of island life and featuring ancient stories that absorbed Drift for hours.
As the days stretched to weeks, and the dogs working now for both of them, they made a steady, efficient team with as much stirring between them as she and her dad had once shared. The days were so long and hot, the workload so consistent, her dad so near, any sweep of romantic feelings from the first night had eased to companionship. There were moments, though, when Eli and Drift held each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second too long. Drift was cautious. Eli was still battered by his recent past. Both were hesitant at crossing the line of friendship that lay clearly between them.
For Split, he could see the tension between the two, but he could also see the perfect fit. The sight of his daughter and the quiet strapping Islander lad tailing the cattle on two white horses had given him an extra boost. Having someone as hardworking and steady as Eli in his camp meant Split could at last tackle Gerald the generator and get him running less ragged. He had time too to service the ute a bit with the engine oil, grease gun and spare parts he had on hand. He swept out the caravan. Hand washed a few things and set them to dry on lines strung between wind-slanted gums.
In the evenings Split enjoyed Eli’s company, questioning him about his family and his life on the island of Moloka’i. When Split heard he had parents who spent most of their time teaching regenerative agriculture on farms in America and travelling the world speaking, his interest and liking for the young man deepened.
It seemed to Drift that her father’s visit to The Planet and Eli’s stay had shifted him out of his slump. He barely stopped talking about Sophia and what he had seen there. It was as if he were waking up from a deep dark slumber. He wanted to share in Eli’s knowledge of his parents’ life work. To hear about the healing work his grandfather and grandmother did with humans and horses on their ranch. And he wanted to find out exactly what Sophia had done to turn a run-down, walked-off station into a thriving ecosystem and profitable food production and energy-source think-tank.
‘It’s what I’ve been looking for with Drift for all these years,’ Split would say, on hearing more of the methods. ‘Common sense. Wisdom. Integrous business acumen. There is a God!’ Split would clap his hands together and pick up a magazine or a book and read out a quote that would round off and sum up their discussion perfectly.
‘There’s set to be eight billion people on the planet by 2024 and most of them live in cities,’ Split said, ‘and the people who are going to be in trouble aren’t the poor ones in rural areas that the charities make the fuss over. Those are people who know how to feed themselves. It’s the rich in the city who’ll be stuffed when all the systems crash. They’ve forgotten how to feed themselves. They don’t know one end of a spud from the other.’
Their talks were held over shared meals of slow-cooked camp-oven roo and baked potatoes. Bought supplies were getting low, but none of them wanted to burst the happy bubble they had found themselves in. It was too risky to go into The Planet to get fresh produce or up to Widgenup Store. Having run out of dog pellets, they simply shot the occasional roo for the dogs, and ate some themselves, Split teaching Eli how to prepare the meat. With the sea beside them, fresh-caught food was abundant. As Split kept saying, ‘There are feasts to be found in nature if you know where to look.’ Drift at last was relieved her dad was back. No more supermarket-packaged plastic crap. He was back to his self-sufficient self, making their food stretch as far as he could.
Today, as the cattle slowly grazed and Drift looked across to Eli, who was leaning on his saddle, deep in his own thoughts, she felt her heart swell. Their conversations led them to fascinating places and sometimes funny ones, and their silence filled her with a companionship so complete.
Earlier, they’d come up over a rise on the track and found an extra lush section of coastal meadow spread out before them. By mid-morning the cattle had settled to lie down and digest, chewing their cud lazily, reluctant to move anywhere. With the cows and calves in this full state, the workload eased. The expansive native grassland meadow would likely sustain the cattle for the next few days, so Eli dropped his reins and let Roger graze. Drift did the same with Minty.
Drift asked, ‘What was life like?’
Eli glanced at her, a cloud across his face. ‘When?’
‘As an elite surfer.’
His jaw clenched. ‘It was . . . OK.’
Drift could tell there was more to come, and she sensed him struggling with how to tell it.
‘You know,’ he said suddenly, the words coming in a rush, ‘it was amazing at first. I was travelling the world, riding these fantastic waves, living how I wanted, and winning all these tournaments. And the more I won, the faster life got. Amazing hotels, room service for anything and everything you ever wanted . . . grog, drugs, like . . . lines of cocaine on tables when you’d get back to your room, and girls just . . . everywhere. Anywhere. They could be ordered like freakin pillow menus.’
Drift flushed and looked away, taking up Minty’s reins, but Eli seemed to read her mind and grabbed them to stop her moving away.
‘No, I mean . . . it was a shock to start with — for a farm boy like me. Exciting but awful at the same time, you know? Like I could have everything I wanted and more, but I knew there was a huge price to pay. My grandparents . . . they taught me well. I mean, they’re so old school. They just about raised me because my parents were away so much, doing their work with Sophia and the rest of the regen network. For a time I stayed on the outside of it all, but then . . . I just . . . forgot everything they taught me. Especially their lessons about greed . . . and about respecting . . . respecting women.’
Guilt clouded his face. ‘It was a journey that I took. I was very young when I began it. Too young.’
For a moment Drift thought Eli might cry. He laid his hands on Roger’s neck, as if steadying himself.
‘Mom called me when she heard some of the older surfers were busted with some underage girls. She said I was complicit in a male culture that was shameful. That being part of it but not doing anything about it made me culpable. It was one of the worst moments of my life. For my mother to see that.’
His voice softened. ‘The truth hurts. I’m relieved it’s over. I just miss home now. Miss them.’
His sincerity and pain were evident, but the party-boy photos reared themselves in Drift’s memory as did photos she’d seen in the magazines of his beautiful grace-filled mother, and she felt the old tug of unease about him. ‘Will you go back home soon?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I can face my parents, especially my mother and grandmother.’ He sighed.
‘What are they like, your grandparents?’ Drift asked.
He smiled. ‘Puna and Tutu set up Horseheart Ranch on Moloka’i when my mom was young, after one of her teenage friends got caught up in drugs and overdosed. Horseheart is a place of healing for people. Ironic, really, given my stupid choices in life.’
Drift took in his words, visualising the images she’d seen in Wilma’s books of Hawaii and how the verdant green plants seemed to slide right down to the impossibly blue Pacific Ocean.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Eli said. ‘That they run a rehab centre using horses as therapy and yet here’s their own grandson, who ought to know better, shaming them.’
Drift shifted in her saddle and looked at him. ‘No, I was thinking how beautiful it must be. The island. Paradise.’
‘It is. It’s a beautiful place.’
Drift wondered what it was about being young and not being satisfied with paradise, and always wanting more. She saw she too was in a wild paradise on Pinrush Point and yet she’d been yearning for more, just like Kai had.
‘It’s only stayed beautiful because my parents and Puna and Tutu were part of the island group who fought to keep tourism from ruining the place. My family, my community, stopped the big seed and chemical companies from taking hold of our farming there too. GMOs are banned. Chemicals, pesticides, herbicides — banned. They even have their own community seedbank. And they limit tourism so it doesn’t trash the place.’
‘It sounds amazing! They must miss you.’
A muscle flinched in Eli’s jaw. ‘I think I’ve let them down too much to go back.’
‘No,’ said Drift insistently. ‘You’re wrong. You must go. They’ll forgive you.’
Eli looked out across the meadow, his eyes distant.
‘I’ve shamed them.’
‘But even still . . .’
‘My parents and grandparents didn’t want the ugliness of the modern world to reach me,’ he said quietly, ‘so they were quite controlling when I was younger. I guess I pushed against that. Stupidly, I see now.’
Drift thought of her own father and nodded. ‘I think my dad’s the same as your family. I get it, what they wanted to protect you from.’
‘As a teenager I guess I rebelled,’ Eli continued. ‘I began to take myself off to surf each night after school. I stopped doing my ranch chores. I started to hate my parents’ fight — they were fighting these big legal cases against all kinds of companies, always speaking out against them, and it seemed crazy to me. Like they were wasting their time. Getting crucified by powerful people for no gain.’
Drift brushed away a fly. She could hear the frustration in his voice.
‘I began to see money as the only way to have a say. I didn’t want to live poor and powerless like my family did, scraping together donations for their campaigns. I saw how the big-name surfers who came to Hawaii with their sponsors had so much kudos. I believed it was my only ticket off the island. And then they offered me a big ad campaign for a soft drink . . .’ His mouth twisted. ‘My grandfather was angry, so angry. Said the sea gods would be angry too. Surfing Mother Nature’s waves for money was a crime to him. Selling sugar addiction to people was a crime also.’
Eli fell silent, and then Drift could see him make an effort to shake off thoughts of the past. ‘Fancy a swim after work?’ he suggested suddenly. ‘And maybe a fish in the ocean? Then if we’re any good at catching one, can I cook you and your dad up some dinner on the beach?’
Drift glanced down to where Minty was picking at a green spray of lush plants in a ditch. She was suddenly reminded uncomfortably of Simon and his unfulfilled request for a dinner date in such a remote spot. She looked across at Eli, at his now familiar face. She told herself they were just friends. Good friends. There would be no future with him, not with a sordid past like his, despite how hard she tried to cling to the present of now.
