"Why on earth do you want spending money? You'll be out at Himmelhoch in the morning, and you can't spend anything there. I'll take care of the hotel bill. It's time you realized you've married a workingman, Meg, that you're not the pampered squatter's daughter with money to burn. Mueller will pay your wages straight into my bank account, where they'll stay along with mine. I'm not spending the money on myself, Meg, you know that. Neither of us is going to touch it, because it's for our future, our station."
"Yes, I understand. You're very sensible, Luke. But what if I should have a baby?"
For a moment he was tempted to tell her the truth, that there would be no baby until the station was a reality, but something in her face made him decide not to.
"Well, let's cross that bridge when we come to it, eh? I'd rather we didn't have one until we've got our station, so let's just hope we don't." No home, no money, no babies. No husband, for that matter. Meggie started to laugh. Luke joined her, his teacup lifted in a toast. "Here's to French letters," he said.
In the morning they went out to Himmelhoch on the local bus, an old Ford with no glass in its windows and room for twelve people. Meggie was feeling better, for Luke had left her alone when she offered him a breast, and seemed to like it quite as well as that other awful thing. Much and all as she wanted babies, her courage had failed her. The first Sunday that she wasn't sore at all, she told herself, she would be willing to try again. Perhaps there was a baby already on the way, and she needn't bother with it ever again unless she wanted more. Eyes brighter, she looked around her with interest as the bus chugged out along the red dirt road. It was breath-taking country, so different from Gilly; she had to admit there was a grandeur and beauty here Gilly quite lacked. Easy to see there was never a shortage of water. The soil was the color of freshly spilled blood, brilliant scarlet, and the cane in the fields not fallow was a perfect contrast to the soil: long bright green blades waving fifteen or twenty feet above claret-colored stalks as thick as Luke's arm. Nowhere in the world, raved Luke, did cane grow as tall or as rich in sugar; its yield was the highest known. That bright-red soil was over a hundred feet deep, and so stuffed with exactly the right nutrients the cane couldn't help but be perfect, especially considering the rainfall. And nowhere else in the world was it cut by white men, at the white man's driving, money-hungry pace. "You look good on a soapbox, Luke," said Meggie ironically. He glanced sideways at her, suspiciously, but refrained from comment because the bus had stopped on the side of the road to let them off. Himmelhoch was a large white house on top of a hill, surrounded by coconut palms, banana palms and beautiful smaller palms whose leaves splayed outward in great fans like the tails of peacocks. A grove of bamboo forty feet high cut the house off from the worst of the northwest monsoonal winds; even with its hill elevation it was still mounted on top of fifteen-foot piles. Luke carried her case; Meggie toiled up the red road beside him, gasping, still in correct shoes and stockings, her hat wilting around her face. The cane baron himself wasn't in, but his wife came onto the veranda as they mounted the steps, balancing herself between two sticks. She was smiling; looking at her dear kind face, Meggie felt better at once. "Come in, come in!" she said in a strong Australian accent. Expecting a German voice, Meggie was immeasurably cheered. Luke put her case down, shook hands when the lady took her right one off its stick, then pounded away down the steps in a hurry to catch the bus on its return journey. Arne Swenson was picking him up outside the pub at ten o'clock. "What's your first name, Mrs. O'neill?"
"Meggie."
"Oh, that's nice. Mine is Anne, and I'd rather you called me Anne. It's been so lonely up here since my girl left me a month ago, but it's not easy to get good house help, so I've been battling on my own. There's only Luddie and me to look after; we have no children. I hope you're going to like living with us, Meggie."
"I'm sure I will, Mrs. Mueller-Anne."
"Let me show you to your room. Can you manage the case? I'm not much good at carrying things, I'm afraid."
The room was austerely furnished, like the rest of the house, but it looked out on the only side of the house where the view was unimpeded by some sort of windbreak, and shared the same stretch of veranda as the living room, which seemed very bare to Meggie with its cane furniture and lack of fabric. "It's just too hot up here for velvet or chintz," Anne explained. "We live with wicker, and as little on ourselves as decency allows. I'll have to educate you, or you'll die. You're hopelessly overclothed."
She herself was in a sleeveless, low-necked vest and a pair of short shorts, out of which her poor twisted legs poked doddering. In no time at all Meggie found herself similarly clad, loaned from Anne until Luke could be persuaded to buy her new clothes. It was humiliating to have to explain that she was allowed no money, but at least having to endure this attenuated her embarrassment over wearing so little.
"Well, you certainly decorate my shorts better than I do," said Anne. She went on with her breezy lecture. "Luddie will bring you firewood; you're not to cut your own or drag it up the steps. I wish we had electricity like the places closer in to Dunny, but the government is slower than a wet week. Maybe next year the line will reach as far as Himmelhoch, but until then it's the awful old fuel stove, I'm afraid. But you wait, Meggie!
The minute they give us power we'll have an electric stove, electric lights and a refrigerator."
"I'm used to doing without them."