Drowning in Her Eyes (2 page)

“We
're bloody lucky, love,
” he said,
“to have all this. And now, with the little bloke, the future looks good.
”

Helen looked at her big strong husband, remembering the blood, sweat, and tears he had invested over the last ten years.
“Not that lucky, Paddy, you
've worked so hard. You deserve it all and more.
”

In his cradle, young Jack slumbered on. He had no idea his life would lead him on an incredible journey and to an unbreakable link with a family now living on the other side of the world.

Meanwhile, not far to the north, in a small French I
n
dochinese colony, rebel for
c
es had commenced advancing on the French stronghold of Dien Bien Phu. Newspapers reported that the French stronghold would never fall to an undisciplined, rag-
tag army of native irregulars. Australians who noted the report shrugged. What did it have to do with them? The bloody Frogs couldn
't fight anyway; surely we aren
't g
o
ing to bail them out again?

Worcester, Massachusetts, USA
—1955

Worcester
Massachusetts
had prospered during the war, and the Baker family was living the American dream. They now owned a neat bungalow, and Marci had proved to be a good wife, providing three beautiful children. In 1946, their daughter Susan was born. She was the image of her mother, and as Jimmy Baker looked into those beautiful brown eyes, he fell in love all over again. Sarah followed a year later and James Junior rounded out the family. Sarah was a fairer ve
r
sion of Susan, with Jimmy
's blue eyes. James Junior f
a
voured his father but had those lovely brown eyes, and long dark lashes.
“He
'll break a few hearts before he
's done
,
”
Jimmy said.

One day, just before Christmas, Jimmy received a su
m
mons to the manager
's office. He was puzzled at the su
m
mons, but reasoned that his work had been good and the manager just wanted to talk to him about production targets for next year. He was not concerned for his job, but some sixth sense, some primal instinct, was telling him this was not going to be any ordinary meeting.

“O
kay
, Mr. Baker, you can go in now.
”
The manager
's secretary smiled
sweetly.

Jimmy had an overwhelming urge to ask her what it was all about; instead, he nodded his thanks and pushed open the door. To his surprise, a group of four men confronted him. The manager he knew, but he had not met any of the others. A large grey
-
haired man he did know by sight and reput
a
tion. He was Bob Phillips, President of
Worcester Electronic Inc
.

“Come in
,
Jimmy,
” said his manager.
“Meet the Pres
i
dent, Bob Phillips, Art Cohen, chief accountant, and Chris Bauer, chief design engineer.
”

Jimmy shook their proffered hands. He could not fat
h
om why they were all there. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach. Maybe he was in trouble after all.
“Coffee, Jimmy, or som
e
thing stronger?
” asked Bob Phillips.

“No
,
thanks, I
'll be fine.
” Jimmy rarely touched alcohol apart from an occasional beer.

“Come on, son, this is a special occasion. I have some good Bourbon here.
”

“Well, maybe a small one,
” he said, mainly to be polite.
What in hell
i
s going on here?

“Let
's all sit down
,
” said the manager
.
“Bob here has some important news for us.
”

Once they were comfortable, Jimmy, clutching his u
n
touched drink, looked at the President who had remained standing. He reminded Jimmy of his old Captain addressing the crew of the
Henderson.
“Gentleman,
” he said,
“I have some great news for you. Worcester Electronic has secured a very large contract from Defense for wireless equipment for the Air Force
's new bombers. What with the recent war in Korea and the standoff between us and our Russian friends
,
it seems we will be doing this for some time to come.
”
He paused for effect.

“As a result, we are going into an expansion phase with a new factory now under construction for this contract. This facility will need skilled and trusted people and that is the purpose of this meeting
,
Jimmy
.
Y
ou are the best man this factory has seen in a long time. Thanks to Uncle Sam, you are a great electrician and a well-
organised one at that. We want you to identify some twenty good men to staff the new factory and we want you to head up the management, repor
t
ing directly to me. Art and Chris will make sure you have the best administration people you can get. Of course, it will mean a substantial raise for you and a company car. What do you think?
”

Jimmy was dumbfounded. He knew they respected
his skill, but had no idea
he
was
under consideration for such an important job.
“That sounds just swell, Mr. Phillips,
” he said,
“I
'm sure Marci and the kids will be very happy. Just where will this new factory be?
”

Bob Phillips paused again, and then dropped his bom
b
shell.
“Albuquerque, New Mexico.
”

Ballinrobe, Goondiwindi
—1955

Young Jack Riordan was nine years ol
d. He loved the life on
Ballinrobe
. There were so many things to do and he had almost free rein to do them. He was already a competent horseman and was making good progress learning to drive the old
,
second
-
hand Land Rover. He loved exploring the various buildings around the homestead. There was a large workshop filled with interesting tools and the pungent smell of engine oil. There was a large barn housing farm machi
n
ery and a high stack of hay bales. There was a small set of stables, with four horse stalls and the sweet smell of horse dung, horse sweat, saddle leather and Lucerne (Alfalfa) hay.

However, Jac
k
's favorite was the
‘wool
shed
'. This was a large building raised about four feet above the ground so that sheep could be penned underneath during shearing time. Upstairs, the building consisted of two sections. One third contained more sheep pens to hold sheep ready for the shearers. The other two thirds contained bins for shorn wool, a huge press to compact wool into jute bales, and a storage area for the pressed bales. A huge beam of Oregon pine placed on heavy posts supported the shearing machinery that was belt driven by an asthmatic water-
cooled engine.

Shearing was a fabulous time for a young boy. The whirring of the shearing gear, the barking of the dogs pe
n
ning up the sheep, the rattle of the ratchet on the wool press, the thump of a fresh bale rolling from the press and the calls of the shed hands all combined in an exciting symphony for Jack. And the smell was unique, a combination of newly shorn wool, hot sweet tea spilled on the jute bales, hot oil, and the ammonia rich sheep dung.

When the shed was not in use, Jack liked to sit on one of the windowsills. From this vantage point, he could see all the way across the front paddock to a sandy ridge, where he had
newly
learned to shoot rabbits with an old Winchester .22 rifle. It was peaceful here. He took his favorite sheep dog with him into the shed and had long conversations with him, as children do. As an adult, he would later come here to r
e
flect and to work out his problems.

* * *
*

It was raining again. Dark lowering clouds raced across the sky; rain sheeted down. Paddy Riordan had never seen such rain. From the homestead veranda, he could see the w
a
tercourse rising across the paddocks. Already, it had filled his earth tanks and was rushing to its meeting with the creek, a mile or so away. The humid air wrapped itself around ev
e
ryone like a shroud and the temperature
—
already
eighty d
e
grees
F
ahrenheit
at
nine in the morning
—
promised another uncomfortable day. Paddy went out in the downpour to check the creek behind the house. The stick he had planted at the high water mark was already half submerged. The w
a
terway had risen more than a foot during the night and was still rising
.

He re
positioned his marker and went back to the vera
n
da; it was time to make some decisions. They gathered on the veranda, Paddy and Helen, the stockmen Ollie and Mick, and, listening from the fringes, the children, Denni and Jack. Their main concerns were the safety of the sheep and the si
t
uation as regards food and stores; it would be a while before they could get to town. Three flooded creeks lay across their path.

Sheep can be contrary animals, almost suicidal at times. Wool will absorb large quantities of water and wet sheep with long wool can be so heavy they usually drown. Fort
u
nately, Paddy
's sheep, shorn of their wool some weeks b
e
fore, were in little danger from the water; Most had moved to higher ground before the rain. Now they had only to round up the stragglers.
“Righto, Ollie, you and I will go for the stragglers. Mick you had better give Helen a hand to check the supply situation,
” said Paddy.

“Daddy
?
”
T
his was Denni
.
“Can I come with you, please?
” Denni loved horses and did not want to be denied any excuse for a ride.

“All right, but be careful. Do you want to come, Jack?
”

Jack was not a keen horseman, but he was not going to be embarrassed by his sister.
“I
'll come,
” he said. In minutes, the men brought up the saddled horses and the little party was on its way. The stragglers stubbornly refused to cross the many small streams and a leader had to be dragged across before the rest would follow, c
hivvied by the relen
t
less dogs.