The Goddess in Blue Gumboots

By Ruth Punton

In the glorious southwest bush region of Western Australia women neighbours take the world by storm.
Meet Ana, atheistic paediatrician turned protea grower, Elsie, a fallen RC prostitute turned millionaire, Teresa, a practising RC, gossipy dairy farmer who would rather be a ballet dancer, Jane, a convicted murderer and meditative painter who wanted to be a Buddhist nun, Sophia, a zoologist researching the mating habits of ring-tailed possums and an foul-mouthed, recalcitrant, abused twelve-year old genius who knits.
Mix them up, add Arua, the Goddess of Women in a bright-white light on a rainbow, and what does the world get? A social phenomenon? A new religion? A political movement? A safe haven? A war? Read this book and decide for yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth Punton
• Release date: Sep 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311462510

Ruth Punton

Born and educated in Dunedin New Zealand.Now retired and living in Busselton Western Australia.When I'm not writing, I read mainly murder mysteries. Painting and photography I also enjoy.As a humanist I consider that all people are more important than any belief system.As a feminist I believe that women, though different from men, should be equal to them in all ways excepting in anatomy and physiology.I am an atheist although I think the whole idea of god is an unknowable concept.I vote Green for no other reason in they have more compassion for people than any other political party.I do not believe Australia is a democracy. How can we be when every 3 or 4 years we can vote for one or t'other and have to put up them and their many stupid ideas for the next 4 years. With the advance in technology why are we not asked by our representative what we think about all major issues and they vote for what we say and not the party.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mandy, with great apprehension, stared from under hooded-eyes and lowered head, at the surrounding bush, the fruit trees, the pine-covered hills, the proteas set out in rows and the glorious flower gardens surrounding the small brown weatherboard cottage set high along a ridge between two lush green valleys.

The protea paddock ran in terraces along the north-facing slope beyond the new corrugated-iron packing shed, and the peach trees glowed in soft pink against the compliment of the distant green pasture on the next property where cows rested, contentedly chewing their cud.

Work, that's what she wants. Work me to death like that last place. Board and lodging in exchange for cooking, cleaning, picking fruit, picking flowers and god knows what else. There will be no babysitting and that's a relief. Plenty of fresh air and space too. No men to touch me up. She might, she looks all right. Got a nice smile and she raised her eyebrows at me while old Pittsy rabbited on.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of her bedroom, fresh white and yellow, yellow, her favourite colour; the colour of wattle and sunshine, sunflowers and the moon, the colour of freedom. Creamy-coloured freesias stood in a small vase on the dressing table, their perfume mingling with the smell of jasmine drifting through the open window.

I'll chuck that stupid yellow teddy bear for starters. What does she think I am - a fucking kid or something?

In the white bookcases stood loads of books, books she loved and legally possessed only one in her short life. Other books she stole and destroyed before moving to another place. They knew every single thing she possessed, consisting of nothing much; two sets of school clothes, two pairs of jeans, a pair of sneakers and five sets of newly update underwear, a gift from the Australian taxpayer and a tatty old bible, blue leather with a zip, from some busy-body do-gooder. She read it nonetheless, particularly the Psalms.

And a desk! And a computer! What? Me use a computer? You must be joking? Me? Wicked, dumb me? Computers are for kids with brains. You've no brains Mandy Riley. You're stupid. You're no-good as well. She probably uses this room as her office.

Ana Bellamy watched Mandy's hungry eyes search the white and yellow room. She watched the glow in her green eyes brighten, then dull, then brighten again, dependent entirely on whether negative or positive thoughts ran through her quick mind. The corners of her wide mouth would momentarily twitch, still for a moment, before being replaced by the customary scowl.

Am I making a mistake? Can I cope with this girl? What does she need? What do I say? Will she talk to me? Look at all that untidy scraggly hair and hunched shoulders, clenched eczema-encrusted hands and bitten-down fingernails. Can I go through with this? What am I doing? I must have rocks in my head.

***

Don't show anything Mandy Riley. Don't let them see. I'll last as long as I can before I stuff up. I'll work hard and get my jobs done quickly. The nights will be okay. The house is small so not much inside work to do and there are only two people to cook for. If I don't have too much school homework, I'll read all those books, one every night. I'll be angelic till I finish them. The computer's not for me to use. I won't even look at it. It's probably hers. She'll take it away. She'll probably take the books away too.

'Well, Mandy what do you think? Would you like to make your home here with me?' asked Ana Bellamy wondering if this is what she, herself, wanted or could cope with.

I can't say anything. My mouth's gone all dry and my hearts banging so hard I can hardly breathe. I'm going to choke.

'Hurry up, girl. Answer when you're spoken too.'

'Be quiet, Mr Pitt and leave this to me,' interjected Ana.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You may. Please leave me to talk to Mandy.'

Ana frowned at the case officer with whom earlier spats resulted in the bad feeling between them. Knowing he had lost all credibility with this uppity woman at their last interview when he tried to persuade her to foster a less recalcitrant child, he retreated to his car.

They deserve each other, these two. A couple of right bitches. Probably end up killing each other. Serve them bloody right.

'Now, Mandy, what do you think now that man's out of earshot?'

What? She didn't say that, she didn't. She's a snotty doctor, he said. Doctors don't talk like that. Do they? I don't know any. They don't move in my circle.

Mandy giggled and, putting her hand over her mouth, looked embarrassed.

I never let people see me giggle. Not the proper thing for a violent, bad-tempered, sullen, wicked, no-good slut to do.

'Well, Mandy?'

Play it cool, Mandy Riley. Play it cool. Don't let her see you're keen. What do I say? Yes? I don't know? I'd like to? No? No! Definitely not no. I can't speak. My mouth's all dried up.

A prolonged silence remained until Mandy made a faltering attempt to answer.

Sweet Jesus. I croaked. I croaked. Like a frog. Like a fucking frog. She must think I'm stupid. I don't want her to think I'm stupid. Everyone thinks I'm stupid. I am stupid. I bloody croaked. Like a fucking frog.

'Here's some water, Mandy,' said Ana poring clear rainwater into a glass from the carafe on the bedside table and handing it to Mandy added, 'Didn't Mr Pitt stop for a drink on the way down?'

Mandy swallowed the proffered water in three long gulps.

That’s right Mandy Riley, behave like a pig and she'll change her mind. Pittsy said I wouldn't last five minutes.

'Well, you were thirsty? Would you like another drink, Mandy?'

Without resorting to another trial at speech, she nodded her untidy brown head.

Speak you stupid fool. She'll think you dumb as well as dumb.

Her face muscles twitched as the giggle rose again.

'Mandy, you intrigue me. I've been told you are rude and sullen but I feel you want to laugh. If you want to laugh, then please feel free. Then you can tell me what's funny. I like to laugh sometimes too. Come into the kitchen and we'll sit down while you tell me.'

You've done it this time, Mandy Riley. She reads you like a book. Books. All those wonderful books here in my bedroom. Yes! My bedroom.

'Look here Mrs… Ms… uh…Missus Doctor… Yes, yes I want to stay… Oh shit! I didn't mean to say that.' Mandy started to cry and she cried and cried and cried. Firstly, she soaked the red gingham tablecloth in the bright kitchen and then Ana's blue T-shirted- shoulder.

What's this? Why am I crying? I don't cry. Mandy Riley never cries. Mandy never feels a thing. Hard through and through, that's what she is. I don’t want to cry. I want to stay here and I can, so why am I crying and I'm crying all over the doctor's shoulder and it's nice. No-one's put their arm around me since my mum went to prison and that was only my mum hanging on so she wouldn't fall over. Better than nothing. At least she needed me. Wonder how my mum is? I'd write a letter to her in prison if she could read it. I'd need some paper. I could tear some from my schoolbooks. Perhaps someone could read it to her. I wouldn't know what to say. The doctor might help me write it. What am I thinking? If she knew my mum was in prison, she'd send me away. Probably think I'm a crim too. Well I am, I suppose. I'm an unpaid labourer too. I'd better keep crying so she doesn't take her arm away. It's been years since anyone touched me except dirty old men. They don't count. This is nice. If I stop crying she'll take her arm away and I don't want her to. Only babies cry. Okay so I'm a baby. So I'll keep crying. Oh God! She's taken her arm away. She's taken it away. She doesn't like me. She hates me. She knows I'm no good. I'm no good. No one likes me.

'Come on Mandy, enough is enough. Mr Pitt is waiting on your decision and you'll become dehydrated if you keep this up.'

'I don't want you take your arm away. I want you to hug me. No one ever hugs me.'

Shut up, Mandy Riley. What are you saying? Don't let them see. Don't say anything. Then they'll know. They'll know how to twist the knife deeper.

Mandy felt arms gathering her in and she clung desperately like a cat with its claws tangled. She felt fingers smooth her tangled hair and tears on her forehead.

Why is my forehead wet? She's crying. I heard her gasp. Why's she crying? Has someone hurt her too? What's she got to cry about?

'Why are you crying?' asked Mandy concerned. She'd never seen a grown-up cry except on television and that doesn't count. Only other kids and, when no one was looking, she did, but that doesn't count either.

'I'm crying for your unhappiness, Mandy.'

'But why, what do you want to cry for me for?'

'Because I want to and if I want to cry for you I shall,' answered Ana, somewhat lost for explanations.

'Oh!'

'The time has arrived for you to make some decisions, Mandy. Are you quite sure you wish to stay here? At least we can both give it a try and work at getting on together. I would like you to stay. Do you want to stay?'

'Oh, yes please, Missus Doctor.'

What's this please business, Mandy Riley? You know the rules. No pleases and thank yous. These people just want to use you, so don't grovel. They win in this bargain: so don't crawl.

'I am pleased, Mandy. If we are both prepared to work together I am sure we shall enjoy our life here. Do you need to return to Perth for any reason?

'Only to get my things.'

'Would you like to stay on here now and have your things sent down here to Majenup or would you prefer to return to Perth to collect them?' We can even ask Mr Pitt to collect your things. It is possible he may not like that much but we won't allow that to worry us overmuch.'

This time Mandy giggled out loud, infectious giggles that convulsed her whole body causing her hands to unclench and her eyes to widen. Suddenly she stopped and dropped her lip.

'Please Mandy, do not do that.'

'What?'

'Scowl, Mandy. You can giggle and laugh as much as you like but for goodness sake stop scowling, otherwise you will commence looking like Mr Pitt. You look beautiful when you smile.'

She said I look beautiful. No one's ever said I even look nice. She's just saying it. She doesn't mean it. Why would she say a thing like that? She's nice when she smiles too. I don't have to go back to that place. Good. I suppose she wants me to start work. That's okay too.

***

'She hasn't any belongings with her and the formalities need to be attended to, Doctor Bellamy.'

'Forget the formalities for a moment, Mr Pitt. Mandy and I shall drive to Manjimup this afternoon and I shall buy what she needs. You go back to Perth and deal with your formalities, whatever they may be. Send her things back here to Majenup, and the formalities, or bring them if you wish.'

'You'll need to arrange her admission to the Majenup School or would you prefer the Department did this?'

'I'll deal with all that is required for Mandy and would prefer if your Department interfered as little as possible. She seems to me to one very severely damaged young woman who needs some care. I wish to provide this care, Mr Pitt, if it is okay with your Department.

'I suppose so.'

I can hardly say no when you pulled strings at the top to foster a kid. Why you want this monster beats me, you stuck up bitch, and I sincerely hope Amanda Ngatunga Riley gives you the hardest time you've ever had. I'm not your lackey, used to other people doing all your work for you. Probably what you want the kid for, to do all the work. They usually do.

***

'Quiche and salad for lunch, Mandy, will that suit you?'

'I don't know how to make a quiche. I'm good at salads though.'

'I am not asking you to make it, Mandy. It's in the fridge already made. I planned to invite Mr Pitt for lunch but every time I see that man I become quite angry so I couldn't bring myself to offer the invitation.'

The woman and girl ate their lunch outside on a picnic table under the shade of the grapevine-covered trellis, the leaves new and fresh green. Each eyed the other covertly and after a few attempts at conversation by Ana, they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, the refinements of conversation being an unknown art to Mandy.

What have I done? This is terrible. Mealtimes can't be like this. Dinner at night will be the main problem. I could buy a television I suppose. We could gaze at it while we eat. How awful. I enjoy my mealtime read or just thinking while I eat. I really must do something about this eczema. Unethical to treat her myself, I suppose. A dermatologist. I'll take her down to the Well Women Clinic in Manjimup and they can refer her on.

***

I like quiche. I suppose I'll have to cook it in future, eggs, tomatoes, cheese, bacon, onions. The pastry's out of a packet. I make better pastry than this. I hope she owns a food processor. It's easy with a food processor. Good food, lots of it. Real orange juice too. Just for me. Out of a big glass jug in the fridge, I can drink what I want, she said. I'll have to squeeze it I suppose. All sorts of fruit too, I can eat what I want, she said. Chocolate biscuits too, only to be eaten with permission, she said. Ha! We'll see about that. I wonder if she counts them. Asked about my hands. Wanted to know what the doctor prescribed. Nothing, that's what. What doctor? She's a doctor. She might help my skin get better. No one takes me to a doctor anymore. They wouldn't dare after the last time they tried. I wonder if she'll make me cook porridge for breakfast, like in the home. I hate porridge. Gluey stodge. And porridge pots. Yuk.

Ana breathed a sigh of relief when the last piece of crusty bread disappeared and the orange juice jug emptied.

At least she can eat. There is no problem in that regard. She may have massive problems but anorexia is not one of them. I wish she talked as well as she eats, well not quite so well perhaps.

'I think we should wash the dishes and head off to Manjimup to buy what you need.'

Mandy jumped to her feet, deftly packed all the dishes on the tray and headed off in the direction of the kitchen before Ana could finish speaking and move.

'I will wash, you dry, Mandy. I don't want you putting your hands in water unnecessarily.'

'What do you mean? How'll I'll do the washing, cleaning and stuff?' asked Mandy trying to balance a tray of dirty plates on a round wobbly plastic tray as she stopped to look back in amazement as Ana pushed her chair back under the table and set off to follow her.

'Who said anything about washing and cleaning?'

'But what do you want me for, Missus…uh…doctor? Is it the outside work?

'All I want is for you to be happy here, Mandy. I want you to laugh, smile, talk, and play. I want you to go to school to learn and make friends. Otherwise, you can do as you wish. You can walk amongst the trees and invite friends home. You can help me if you want to. You must keep your room clean and tidy though, and set the table for meals. Help with the washing up afterwards.'

'And that's all?

'Yes, Mandy, that's all.'

'No cooking?' Mandy gave up trying to balance the tray in her small hands and set it back on the edge of the table.

'No cooking.'

'Oh.'

'Why the sad face? Do you want to cook, Mandy?'

'Yes please. I love cooking. I make great pastry. Better than that packet stuff on the quiche. I hate making porridge though. Do I have to make porridge?'

'Mandy, it is not necessary for you to make, eat, or do anything you don't wish to do except go to school, look after your room and yourself and try to fit in with me.'

I don't believe her. I just don't believe her. There's a catch somewhere. What does she want from me?'

But why? I don't understand why?'

'Why what, Mandy?

'Why I'm here?'

'Because I want you here and you obviously need a home.'

'But why?'

That is the very thing I've been asking myself since I embarked on this venture, and what everyone else asks me as well, I wish I knew. Mandy's a very suspicious child. I can't answer her questions. I'm not lonely. I like my aloneness. Now that's gone. Is there some altruistic motive? Am I seeking to establish some sort of family to counterbalance my childless home? Am I frustrated do-gooder. Who knows? I don't. I haven't answered her question, and I need to answer. What do I say?

***

Why doesn't she answer me? Is she afraid to tell me? Does she think I'll get angry and bash her? Did they tell her about old Ma Tomlinson? What does the fucking bitch want from me? Jesus, fucking Christ! I'd rather slog my guts out and get bashed around. At least I know where I am with that… but this… Sweet Jesus… it's like dangling in mid air … no fucking ground beneath my feet … nothing I can grab hold of.

'I don't know, Mandy. I really don't know.'

Of course, she fucking knows. Does she think I'm fucking stupid or something? Just have to wait and see. Be careful Mandy Riley. You're on unknown ground here. Just be fucking careful.

'What do I do when I'm not at school then?'

'Whatever you want to, Mandy.'

'You said that before. You must want me for something.'

Cool it, Mandy Riley. Just cool it. You're blowing it. Shut up. I'll blow it if I like.

'Everyone wants something from me even if it's just to kick me. Nobody gives me anything for nothing. Nobody and that includes you, you fucking bitch. What do you want? What do you fucking want from me?' Mandy stood angrily by the table, her small hands bunched in tight fists on her bony hips, then gathering up the tray she headed into the kitchen and started unloading the dishes.

Ana flinched with the hate the words implied; the rage within their volume, as she followed Mandy into the house. She commenced washing the dishes in silence after handing Mandy the tea-towel.

What have I done? What do I do? How do I cope with this? She's a little tyrant, a spitfire, a child from hell. Mr Pitt was right. What on earth do I do with her? What have I done?

Mandy dried the last glass carefully and placed it in the cupboard, straightened the tea-towel on the rail, walked out of the kitchen and stood at the doorway of her bedroom.

Goodbye room. Too good to be true. You fucked up big time this time, Mandy Riley. Last placement, they said. Botch this one and it's the home till you get a job or go to prison and out of our hair. Three long years to go in that hellhole. Shit! Shit! Shit!

'Go and have a shower, Mandy. Perhaps a shower will make you feel better before we go out.'

Thinks I'm dirty does she? Send me back clean, I suppose. Be a good girl and be clean, Mandy Riley. What the hell, I love showers, next best thing to chocolate. Only had a short one this morning, the hot water ran out again. Nice smelly soap. It's a nice bathroom, all clean and modern. The house is really old, a nice comfy house though. It has a nice feel. Lots of lovely hot water and big thick warm towels. Wish I could nick one. The home's ones are rough and thin. The powder smells nice, same smell as the soap. I'll put some on. She won't notice. Will think it's the soap. Feels good, I love the smoothness of the powder on my skin and I love the smell. Smells like her. I love nice smells. She smiles at me like as if I said nothing wrong. Is she for real? Come on. Let's go, back to that fucking hellhole. I won't look at my room. I don't like it anyway. All that white, gets dirty easy and too close to the kitchen anyway. Good for the maid, but the maid's not me. No. Not me, Mandy Riley. You didn't catch me this time. Get some other stupid fool to do your work.

'Let's write a shopping list of all you need so we shan't forget anything, Mandy,' suggested Ana as she walked down the passageway to the kitchen as Mandy emerged from the bathroom.

'What?'

'I said we better write a shopping list.'

'What for?' Mandy turned; a look of astonishment on her face.

'So you have something to sleep in and wear till your things arrive, toothbrush and the like.'

'You're going to keep me? You're going to let me stay here after what I said?'

'Yes. Did you think I would return you to Perth simply because you lost your temper? What will you do when I lose my temper? Send me back?'

Mandy giggled again. 'Have you got a bad temper too?'

'Yes. I lose my temper rarely but when I do look out. Would you be able to say you're sorry for being so rude? Are you sorry?'

'Yes,' whispered Mandy, finding her sneakered feet very interesting.

'Mind it, Mandy Riley, no saying sorry. Not ever. No way. Tell her to get stuffed.

'Well?'

'I'm sorry,' muttered Mandy moving her gaze from her feet to the polished floorboards.

I wonder if they're hard to clean. Do I have to polish them on my hands and knees? Jesus! She's hugging me. She's actually hugging me again. Oh, sweet Jesus. What will I do? I'm going to fucking cry again. That's what.

'Come on Mandy dear. We must hurry. It's getting late.' Ana pried Mandy's arm from around her chest and wiped her tears on the tea-towel. 'We must buy you some things for tonight and tomorrow at least.'

She called me Mandy dear. No one's called me, Mandy dear before, except my mum. I've been called all sorts of things but never Mandy dear, just my mum. I like it. I hope she calls me it again. I'll be good, just for her. I'll try to be, no problem at all. I'll be a good little angel. Well I'll try anyway, but don't hold your breath.

Chapter 2

Mandy wandered about looking at things while constantly searching for the shop's security camera. She watched Ana browsing through a selection of dressing gowns so with a flick of her wrist a skimpy nightdress disappeared under her T-shirt. Then she was stuck. The horrible pink nightie with white teddy bears created a bulge in front and no amount of surreptitious poking could flatten it out, so much for trying to be good. She loathed the bloody thing anyway. Nicking toothpaste, soap and stuff remained her specialty. People didn't query where toilet articles appeared from or books when libraries abounded, clothing was a different matter altogether when everything ended up in a communal wash. Extraneous objects in the possession of the unwanted and unloved always brought questions, so usually she took great care in her selections. Her skills in shoplifting clothing remained underdeveloped. She liked McLean's toothpaste and new toothbrushes; she loathed soft flabby toothbrushes. Chocolate, of course, remained her true passion, easily disposed of and without trace.

When she saw Ana heading in her direction Mandy tugged the nightie and let it drop to the floor and with a great show of fussiness picked it up, brushed it off and, neatly folded, placed it on the pile on the display table. Under Ana's gaze, she skirted the frilly and lacy nightdresses, drifted over to the serviceable pyjamas and the fun nightshirts. She kept eyeing a pretty, white nightdress with yellow spots, trimmed with lace and threaded through with yellow ribbons.

'Hurry up, Mandy; we've still lots to do. Choose what you want. Three things; one to wear, one to wash and one to wait.'

'These will do,' said Mandy picking up three pairs of plain blue pyjamas. They're like the ones the Welfare gives us.'

'What about this nightie? It will match your room. It's about your size too.'

'Nah, too sissy. It's too expensive anyway. I'd look silly in it. Never wore a nightdress. It's all frills and ribbon and things. Stupid.'

'Me thinks thou dost protest too much. Do you like it Mandy?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

'We'll have this one,' said Ana to the hovering shop assistant, who security instructed to keep an eye on the kid with the mess of brown hair and blue T-shirt.

'But its thirty dollars!' protested Mandy who had never had thirty dollars spent on her in whole life let alone held thirty dollars.

'Stop looking at the prices. That's one down, two to go.'

After considerable pushing, Mandy chose a pink, chunder-making-colour she said, silk pyjama suit and a silly long nightshirt covered with gnomes and toadstools.

'Stage one of the marathon over,' said Ana. 'Have you a dressing gown?'

'What's that for?'

'For sitting by the fire in the evening reading and eating breakfast in the kitchen in the morning.' said Ana wondering about the Department of Community Services.

Did she say sitting by the fire reading. I've never sat by a fire reading. I usually read in bed or hide somewhere to read. People think I'm wasting time when I read. Does she read books too? I've never seen a grown-up reading. Way to go. I'll have a dressing gown. I'll have a hundred. She's paying. She's already spent seventy-nine dollars and fifty-five cents on me. On me! What does she want? She's trying to buy me, that's what. But why? Why would anyone want to buy me?

'What about this striped towelling one? It's nice and fluffy and warm for the cool spring evenings. Do you like it?'

'Yes.'

'Mandy, What's the matter? You're scowling again.'

'Nothing.'

'Good. We shall take this too and a pair of warm slippers.'

***

'I think we'll go in here to the clinic, Mandy. I would like one of the doctors to look at your hands, if they can fit us in.'

'No.' Mandy stopped still. A fleeting start of concern