Nothing Lasts Forever Page 8

  To John’s astonishment and disapproval, Mel ordered in a mannequin. When it arrived, he circled around it warily.

  “What you want with a wooden woman? You getting desperate or something?”

  Mel unrolled a bolt of pretty cotton and draped it around the mannequin in a semblance of a gown. He rearranged it several times until he was happy with the result.

  “Wow!” John said in wonder.

  Joe wandered in from his walk around the paddock, holding a very dead goanna by the tail, and did a double take when he sighted the mannequin. “Why you buy woman made from tree?”

  Mel explained to Joe, using pictures in magazines, that the mannequin would boost sales in fabric if women could see it draped. Mindful of the fact that women, for some strange reason, had a different gown for morning, afternoon, and evening, and most made their own gowns or paid to have them made, this was an opportunity to tempt them into trying something different. Sales of fabric could skyrocket, with the introduction of several new overseas fashion magazines on the shelf.

  “If you plan on cooking that goanna for your dinner, you cook it outside again…all right?” Mel said firmly. He found the odour of cooked lizard very hard to bear.

  Joe grinned, knowing Mel couldn’t stomach certain smells.

  Over the next few weeks, the small community was abuzz with Mel’s ingenuity. Fabric sales soared; the store had never been so busy.

  A dark, curly headed man and youth waited to be served late one afternoon. They appeared to have no interest in the goods on sale, and waited patiently until Mel approached them from his last customer.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Milo,” the man said, extending his hand to Mel. “I am Alberto Giavano, and this is my son Leonardo. We bought Bill Ross’ place up the road, and plan on doing a bit of mixed farming on the property. It’s pretty run down at the moment, and it’ll be a while before we’re producing. My wife gave me this list to give you; we can come back in the morning to pick it up. In the meantime, I was wondering if you might need a strong, willing lad to help with the chores around here. I’ve heard it said that you’ve worked hard and built your business up on your own, so you must find it difficult sometimes to get everything done.”

  Mel studied the boy, and liked what he saw. This was a very good offer. Sometimes there just weren’t enough hours in a day. “How old are you, Leonardo?”

  “Seventeen, Sir,” the boy answered, looking Mel straight in the eyes. Mel liked that.

  “What are your ambitions, Leonardo? What would you like to achieve?” Mel asked.

  “I’d like to be a landowner one day, like my Dad. I’d like to breed and train racing horses. I believe that will be a big thing in the future.”

  Mel liked the positive thinking of this young man, even though what he’d said didn’t seem to be in any way a sure future. Only the very rich indulged in horseracing. They talked a while about thoroughbred horses, and Mel was impressed with his knowledge.

  “We’ll leave you to think about whether you may need Leonardo to help out now and then,” Alberto said with a friendly nod. “We’ll be back in the morning for our order. Have a good evening.”

  Mel watched the father and son walk out of the store and climb aboard a cart waiting outside. The poor horse looked tired, with its head hanging low, its coat dusty with prominent ribs showing through. Not at all like the horses Leonardo had just described.

  Hoisting a bale of good lucerne hay onto his shoulders, Mel carried it out to the cart and dropped it in. The poor horse looked extremely interested.

  “You’ve probably not had time to stock up on food for your animals, either,” Mel said with a smile.

  Alberto looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, fact is, with no money coming in until we get the farm up and running, we’re going to be a bit short on some things.”

  “No need to run short, Mr. Giavano. I have a very good system for late payments.” Mel turned to walk back into the store, noting the look of gratitude on young Leonardo’s face. At least the poor horse would have a well -deserved feed to night.

  Chapter Seven

  William was surprised when he arrived on his next visit to find Joe with Mel.

  “How the hell did you get here?” William asked.

  “Walkabout,” Joe answered.

  “Bloody long walk,” William said in wonder. Sometimes the fortitude of the aborigines was quite amazing. When he was told, over supper that night, just how these two young men had met, he smiled.

  “He good fella, Mel,” Joe said. “He not back away from stare.”

  Mel smiled as he recalled that first meeting, the unrelenting black eyes staring into his, the feeling that he must not look away, the fear.

  William laughed. He’d always had the feeling Mel would face anything head-on. “Yes, Mel is good fella.” He took a moment to ponder over his first meeting with Mel. The surly Islander had turned out to be a great joy in his life, and William had to admit he looked on Mel almost as a son. His investment had been repaid a hundred-fold.

  “I hope you aren’t angry because of my friendship with Joe,” Mel said. “I didn’t plan on being disrespectful of your wishes.”

  “I’m not angry, Mel. I just didn’t want them to cause you any trouble. I’d heard some tribes took drastic action when they found a Pacific Islander on their land.”

  “I read in a newspaper that the aborigines took drastic action when the first Europeans came and chased them off their tribal land.”

  William nodded, topping up his tea cup. “That’s true. But it would have been a waste if they’d beheaded you. That was my concern.”

  “Githabul not take heads. Other many years ago tribes up at top-end maybe,” Joe said defensively.

  While Mel cleared up their dishes, he gave William the books to look over.

  “You’ve done us proud, Mel,” William said. “You have the store running better than we ever thought it would. Mr. Grayson, the solicitor is dropping by shortly for a chat.”

  Mel’s heart sank. Did that mean William had decided to sell the store? What was to become of him, if that happened? His supper now felt like a load of bricks in his belly.

  And what was he to tell Leonardo, if it was to be? The boy was a godsend, willing to do whatever was necessary, and doing everything well. The money Leonardo earned was propping up a family of battlers, and they’d probably be in dire straits without it. And what would happen to John, the displaced ghost?

  Mel raised his eyes from the books and looked straight at John, hovering in the corner. Mel couldn’t exactly read the ghost’s expression, but had the feeling he was not very happy. What could Mel say? What could he do to make this better for everyone?

  Steve Grayson arrived, was introduced to Joe, then settled himself at the table. He did not seem too taken aback at seeing an aborigine there. Joe had agreed to wear one of Mel’s shirts for the occasion; though if Joe decided to stand it could get difficult…he refused to wear trousers under the shirt.

  “You must be pleased with Mr. Milo’s management skills,” Mr. Grayson said to William. “We are delighted with the impression the store has made on our community. Everyone is talking about Mr. Milo’s insight into what is needed.” He turned to look directly at Mel. “Although some are very disappointed that Mr. Milo won’t attend our social engagements. He is in huge demand, but always seems to be too busy.”

  “I do attend community meetings,” Mel said defensively. “Council and business meetings I can manage.” He couldn’t admit that he would feel inadequate at social events. He was, after all, a bought man, not a free man like the rest of the community, and he just couldn’t get over that hurdle. It seemed to be pressing hard on his mind lately.

  William opened the folder in front of him. “Now, as we’ve discussed by letter, Mr. Grayson, I need these signed to take back with me to my lawyer in Stanthorpe…to do with
the ownership of the store.”

  Mel’s heart sank. So this was it, then. The store was changing hands and he’d be…what?

  “Now this information must remain completely confidential, Mr. Grayson, you understand?”

  The lawyer looked hurt. “But of course, Mr. Phillips. It would be against the code if it wasn’t.”

  Mel chanced a look at John, lurking in the dark corner of the room, but could read nothing in his expression.

  William drew a deep breath. “Now you know that Mel was bought to Australia under the notorious blackbirding system. His father King Metafet in Samoa thought he was doing the right thing by sending his son and nineteen youths to help with the sugar industry. He could not have known he was sending them to slavery. He was told a whole pack of lies.”

  Bob Grayson looked angry. “I just couldn’t believe the story you told me in that letter, so I did a bit of checking up. This disgraceful practice began back in 1847. Captain Ben Boyd, having the right connections in banking, was placed at the head of the squattocracies with his acquisitions of small holdings by dubious means, intending to own large spreads of land. He sent his ships to the Pacific Islands to bring back unpaid labour to work on his properties. The wages he’d have to pay Europeans to do the work would make cotton and sugar cane unprofitable. Also, the white workers couldn’t cope with the heat and humidity. This paved the way for other slave dealers to make good money out of the trade on the back of the civil war in America over slaves. How could this dreadful practice go on for so long? How could it start in the first place? I’ve obviously been pretty sheltered in my dealings, but I never would have believed…”

  Mel felt quite ill to have it all come out like that. Where was this disclosure leading? To his surprise, Mr. Grayson turned to him. “You are a credit to our community, and well respected, Mr. Milo. Whatever I can do to make this right, I’ll do it.” His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Son of a King, no less.”

  “What we plan is this: the government has taken a stand and is sending Kanakas back home, unless there are extenuating circumstances. Once the country was federated in 1901, the government has been pushing a White Australia Policy. What do they plan on doing with the aborigines, for goodness sake? This was their land before it was ours.” William drew a deep breath. “Now Mel, do you want to go back to your people in Samoa, or are you happy to stay here, as you are now? I’ll allow you a few days to think about my proposal.”

  Mel couldn’t believe what William had said. He hadn’t thought about Samoa for a long while; it had been five long years since he was taken away.

  “Now here’s the thing, Mel. I’ve done a lot of nosing around, through government agencies when they would talk to me. King Metafet, your father, stepped down from his role as King last year. His replacement is a young man called Moli.”

  “My brother.” Mel said dispiritedly.

  “Don’t despair, Mel,” William said. “Your father was not forced to step down; it seems he’s very ill. I couldn’t get any details on that, I’m sorry.”

  Mel’s eyes filled with tears. “I should have stayed. Perhaps things would have been different.”

  Mr. Grayson shook his head. “Don’t beat yourself up over something out of your control, Mel. This is just such a damned sad tale. I don’t know what to say.”

  “The thing is, Mel, I’m offering you partnership in the store, if you want to stay. The government will not…cannot…send you back if you own property and can support yourself. Think it over.”

  William poured three straight rums, looked at Joe and then at Mel. Mel shook his head. “I’ve not introduced Joe to alcohol, and he’s not had the urge to drink it, anyhow.”

  “No firewater,” Joe said in his rumbling voice. “Makee some tea, mebbe.”

  Mel put a hand on Joe’s shoulder as he rose. “I’ll make the tea.” He could imagine the look on Mr. Grayson’s face if he saw Joe was trouser-less.

  Bob Grayson studied Joe, as though he’d just noticed him. “Where are you from, Joe? What’s your tribe?”

  “My people Githabul people, clan of Bundjalung. Long way away.”

  “Why are you here then, Joe?” Bob Grayson was surprised to be having a conversation with an aborigine. He’d been told communication was near impossible.

  Joe did not flinch at the questions. “On walkabout, see my friend Mel.”

  Mel felt a flood of feeling for Joe. He was indeed a true friend. “Joe and I met on Jumbuck Downs, Mr. Phillips property. We became friends very quickly, and I have a great respect for Joe.” He ruffled Joe’s hair as he resumed his seat at the table bearing teapot and mug.

  Joe smiled his wide, toothy smile. “And I ree-spect Mel.” He slurped happily at his tea.

  William and Bob chuckled. They also had respect for such a mateship.

  So it was decided that Mr. Grayson would return two nights later for Mel’s decision. But in the meantime, the bottle of rum needed attention.

  Mel thought long and hard. If he chose to return to Samoa, it would not be a joyous return. His brother, Moli, would feel threatened by his big brother, rightful heir to the title of King. Moli had always been a moody child, always complaining about something, and at the time Mel left Samoa Moli had been seventeen, a rebellious young man. It would serve no good purpose to his island home if he returned. Moli would fight for his status. But his parents…he longed to see them again. Under the circumstances…maybe it was best to just stay away and not throw his family and homeland into conflict. It was a hard decision.

  When Steve Grayson returned, Mel had made up his mind. “I’m staying,” he said with a note of sadness.

  William was overjoyed. He had not tried to influence Mel in any way, but hoped to hell he would make this decision.

  The papers were signed and filed, and Mel was half-owner of the store. Over the usual bottle of Rum that night, William was a little tipsy.

  “May and I are so glad you made that decision, my boy. I know it was a hard decision for you.” William topped up the glasses again. “Where is Joe to-night?”

  “He decided to stay in the stables. He says he gets a headache with too much white-man jabber.” They all laughed at this.

  “And I would like to take this opportunity to personally thank you, Mel, for your loyalty, and the tremendous effort you have put into this store. When May got the idea to send you down here, we never once thought about asking you, we just sort of pushed you into it, didn’t we? And you never complained…never once said no.”

  “You owned me. It was your right,” Mel said softly.

  “You know, I’d never thought of it like that. I’ve never felt I owned you. You were always such a great asset to us. But all that’s changed, you know. Those papers make you a free man, Mel. You can do as you like with the rest of your life, but don’t shut us out. We care for you very much, my boy.”

  There were tears in William’s eyes as he stood to put his arms around the visibly crying young man who stood beside him.

  Mel wiped his eyes as his arms were around William, then he grinned at Mr. Grayson, who was also wiping his eyes. “That rum is a very potent one, eh? It makes the eyes water.”

  Chapter Eight

  Mel liked where he was now, and pushed thoughts of Samoa and family aside. When he walked down the street, men doffed their hats, women smiled, and the children called him Mr. Milo. The rage had well and truly died.

  He began accepting social invitations, and often found himself as a dinner guest at one of the big stations out of town. There were balls and social gatherings in town, and he was a popular guest. He worried that some parents saw in him a good marriage prospect for their daughters, and he had to be wary of that.

  John still roamed the store, sometimes talkative, sometimes not. Joe stayed on, accustomed to ‘white man living’ and in no hurry to return to Jumbuck Downs to take a wife. Joe sat with Mel mos
t evenings while Mel kept his books up to date, and showed great interest in words and numbers. Mel often gave Joe blank paper and a pencil, and before long Joe was writing readable words, and copying Mel’s columns of numbers, with a good understanding of his scribble.

  Mel met Lisa Brown, a young widow, at one of the many functions, who somehow seemed to be often placed beside him at table sittings. She was pretty, friendly and very talkative. Mel was happy just to listen to her, but would not be drawn on discussing his past. He was not ashamed of who he was, but it need not be the talk of the town.

  “You watch that Lisa Brown,” John warned one night. “She has set her sights on you, but avoid her if you can. Too bossy; she’s trouble.”

  Mel looked up from his books. “And you know this…how?”

  “She was after me once. Very flattering at first. It got too cozy, and then she tried to take control of my life. That was it for me, nobody controls my life but me. I avoided her like the plague. She wouldn’t get the message; always showing up at the shop, rearranging things. I had to tell her to go…leave me alone.” John shook his ghostly head. “It was nasty. Lost me a lot of respect in the town.”

  “I hear your warning,” Mel said. “I won’t let it come to that.”

  But Lisa began harassing Mel at the shop. She seemed to be always there; even tried to ban Joe entry into Mel’s living quarters.

  “Mrs. Brown, just listen to what I’m telling you,” Mel said. He’d had enough of her screeching tirades. “You have no say in who I have in my home. Joe is a friend of mine, and he is welcome here as long as he wants to be here.”

  “It does you no good having a blackfellow in your house, Mel,” she yelled at him. “How do you expect to hold the respect of this town when you have that heathen here?”

  “I have all the respect I need, and right now I need you to respect my rights to a peaceful life. I think you need to go now.”