The Orchardist's Daughter

by Karen Viggers

  Then there was the window lock, which was fixed solidly and wouldn’t budge. A pair of pliers would have been handy, but Kurt kept his tools under the house. For a moment, she was crestfallen—had all her work come to nothing? Mustering strength, she tried again to open it, but it was seized up from lack of use.

  She pulled open the pantry and perused the contents, wondering what she could use. Olive oil as lubricant? She poured a small amount into a saucer and dipped her finger in, then applied the oil carefully around the lock, not wanting to make it look slimy. Taking a tea towel, she laid it over the lock, cocked her fingers and jiggled until the mechanism twisted and freed.

  The window itself was jammed, of course, glued in by paint. She would have to knock it upwards, but how to do that without breaking the window and without tools? She inspected the contents of the utensil drawer, but nothing seemed useful. Then she thought of the meat mallet in the shop, which they used to flatten the minute steaks and chicken schnitzels. Retrieving it from the tub by the grill, she wrapped its metal head in a tea towel and knocked gently at the lip of the window. Slowly it loosened and inched up.

  Fresh air rushed in. Miki inhaled it.

  Leaning out over the sink through the open window, she peered down to the ground. It was quite a long way, but not a dangerous distance—she could slip down there easily. What about coming back in? The steps were too far to one side for her to swing across to the window from there, so she would have to find another way.

  Once again she roved the rooms, looking for options. Near the back door was a crate of empty bottles and tins ready for the tip. She piled the rubbish on the floor, then cut four long pieces of string and tied one to each corner of the crate. Holding the strings like a puppeteer, she lowered the crate to the ground; she would use it as a step to re-enter. She had to be able to lift it back inside when she came home, so she knotted the strings loosely and hooked them over the kitchen tap. Finally, she crawled over the sink and onto the sill, squatting like a crab before leaping to the ground and landing in a puddle.

  The air felt clean, the sky large. It had started to drizzle and she’d left her coat behind, but she didn’t care; if it rained she would embrace it. Wet and cold and outside would always be better than warm and safe and locked in.

  She tramped out of town, heading towards the forest. This was a risk, she supposed—there was a slight chance Kurt might come by. But it was already late morning, and she figured he would have already gone on to Hobart. As she marched along the verge, she drew in the chill air and felt free. Smoke hung like a veil and she could smell hay, rolled out for cows. She paused at a fence to watch gangly calves playing in a paddock. They stopped to look at her, and the bravest crept closer, ogling her through long dark lashes, extending its wet nose to sniff her fingers before swiping her hand with its rough tongue. Miki smiled and wiped the saliva on her overalls, then continued along the road. Pale sunlight bled through the clouds and lit the land with a misty glow.

  She passed Toby’s house with its mountain of firewood in the front yard, the paddock behind raking steeply up to the forest. Most houses in town had neat walls of wood along their fences, but not Toby’s—his woodpile was a mess, dumped by a truck straight from the mill. He didn’t seem to mind the disorder. He and Steph lived a life of chaos with their tribe of four children. But the children were happy; at least, they always were in the shop.

  Miki was beyond Toby’s and climbing the hill when she heard a car coming behind. Leon drew alongside in the Toyota. She was surprised to see him—usually he left for the park much earlier than this. ‘Hey,’ he called through the window. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Okay. How’s Bonnie?’

  ‘She’s home now. A bit sore and sorry for herself, but she’s fine.’

  ‘That’s a relief. Does Max know? He was very upset when she was hit.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s been over to visit … Do you want a lift?’

  Miki peered up the valley where cloud was beginning to descend, blotting the view of the mountains. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Just to the edge of the forest.’

  Leon swung open the door, shifting a paint tin and a couple of brushes to clear the front seat.

  ‘What’s the paint for?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone painted graffiti all over the toilets up in the park. The boss wants me to fix it.’ He reached to snatch a jumper from the floor and tossed it in the back. ‘Okay, you’re right to get in.’

  Miki settled in the passenger seat and snapped in her seatbelt. The car was dirty: greasy takeaway wrappers and clods of mud on the floor. On the dashboard: scattered maps and a pair of sunglasses with a broken arm. Leon’s work boots were muddy too, with patches of dried dirt on his trouser cuffs. His hair was ruffled as if he’d forgotten to brush it, and his shirt was creased; maybe he didn’t own an iron.

  ‘Crappy weather, isn’t it?’ he said, putting the car in gear and taking off up the road. ‘Not the best for working outside.’

  ‘Isn’t it too wet to paint?’

  Leon shrugged. ‘The weather’s supposed to break up.’

  ‘Need some help?’ Miki had enjoyed painting when she and Kurt had renovated the shop just after they’d moved in.

  ‘It won’t be much fun … But I suppose you’re dressed for it,’ he eyed her overalls, ‘so if you want to help, many hands make light work.’

  They drove into the forest, catching up to a tourist bus slowly ferrying a load of passengers to the sky walk. There were few safe places to overtake, so they were stuck behind it to the turn-off.

  Along the road to the park, Leon stopped to pick up a Coke can and other rubbish that had been left on the road. ‘Idiots,’ he said, dropping the trash in the back. ‘You’d think people who come up here wouldn’t litter, but they’re as stupid as everyone else.’

  A Mars bar wrapper among the litter made Miki think of Max. He’d stolen one the other day. She’d been suspicious for a while that he’d been stealing, and she was worried about him, afraid of what would happen if Kurt caught him. She also knew Shane could be volatile. Leon lived next door to Max and they seemed to get along—maybe she should mention it. ‘How’s Max going?’ she asked. ‘Does he chat to you much?’

  ‘He seems okay,’ Leon said. ‘We talk from time to time, when he comes over to see the dog and kick the footy, but it’s hard to get much out of him. He’s pretty closed up. I was too, at that age.’

  ‘I think he’s been stealing from the shop,’ Miki said. ‘I’m not sure why.’

  Leon frowned. ‘How long has that been going on?’

  ‘Maybe a few weeks.’

  ‘The family isn’t very well off. Maybe he doesn’t get pocket money.’

  ‘Someone left ten dollars on the counter a couple of weeks ago. I thought it might have been him.’

  ‘Could have been,’ Leon said. ‘I gave him ten dollars. Maybe he’s trying to make amends. Do you think he could be stealing to impress his mates? Boys do that sometimes.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s not like him. Could you talk to him?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘That would be great. I’d hate him to get into trouble.’

  The road had been climbing as they drove, and now it broke from the forest onto a rolling plain where peaks with jagged spines poked out of the heath like bones. Miki drew breath, and her thoughts about Max melted away. She’d never been above the tree line before, and it was like being lifted to another level, as if the lid had been peeled off the landscape. She could see the whole sky.

  The weather seemed to be clearing. Tendrils of mist still clung to the tops, but most of the cloud had dissolved. The plain was studded with grasses and low bushes, the occasional white outlines of stunted dead trees. It was stark but beautiful. She loved the way the mountains seemed to graze their shoulders against the sky. ‘It’s amazing.’

  Leon was smiling. ‘You like it up here?’

  ‘I love it.’

  ‘Let me show you something the
n.’ He pulled over at a turnout. ‘Come on. We have to walk a little. It’s not very far.’

  She followed him along a trail that plunged through tall heath before opening onto a boardwalk, winding across the plain where the scrub grew low and spiny. Clumps of grass shivered and swayed, and Miki thought of the moors above Wuthering Heights where Cathy and Heathcliff had roamed. They had loved country like this; it had connected them. Jane Eyre had loved it too: she had traipsed the wild moors near Thornfield Hall where she’d met Mr Rochester and frightened his horse. Later, she had fled across the high country with a bruised heart after discovering his secret. Later still, she’d heard his ghostly voice on the wind just as St John Rivers was asking her to become a missionary. Now Miki could see why these characters had loved the high country so much. It spoke to her soul. She felt energy and strength in the wind and the rocks.

  As Leon strode ahead, she noticed lightness in his gait. He must like it up here too. Maybe this was his place.

  The track led towards a distant, mist-shrouded mountain. Ahead, light broke through the clouds in shafts, casting shadows on the land, and it was beautiful. They crossed tea-brown streams trickling over lichen-patched rocks. Up high, the slopes were needled with granite and the stunted shapes of wind-scoured trees. The track began to descend and then a lake appeared out of the mist: a silvery eye with zephyrs of wind ruffling its slate-grey surface.

  ‘Wild, isn’t it?’ Leon said and she nodded. ‘I love the cold air and the views,’ he went on. ‘When I look out, I see patterns of light and dark, colours in the scrub, places where the soil changes. It’s like a story written into the rocks.’

  Miki tried to see what he saw. When she looked closely, there were shadows and creases in the land, dimples and folds, shades of brown, grey and green. She thought how the land was made of many things: forest and heath, mountains and streams, plains, lakes, clouds, sky. The land had layers. Like people. Like trees. Every element complemented the others, and every element was different. She liked how things came together to make a whole. A landscape. A country. A world. Everything was here.

  Leon picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the steely surface of the water. ‘This lake was carved out by a glacier millions of years ago,’ he said. ‘I like to think of everything covered in ice. Rocks being worn smooth. How old it all is.’ He chuckled as if laughing at himself. ‘It gives me perspective when the going gets tough. Sometimes I need that. I suppose we all do.’

  Miki hadn’t thought about Leon’s life being difficult. But perhaps he was like her.

  She remembered the little prince travelling the universe only to discover that what he had always needed were his home and the rose. Belonging and friends. Maybe it was the same for everyone. Only the details were different.

  When they returned to the car, Miki sat in silence while Leon drove to the end of the road. It was windy in the car park: air gusting against the windows and rocking the car, clouds scudding overhead, the heath thrashing.

  No one else was about.

  ‘This is it,’ Leon said. ‘My office!’ He grabbed a black garbage bag from the back seat and slid out of the car.

  Miki opened her door into the wind. ‘Should I bring the paint?’

  ‘I have to do rubbish duty first. You can stay here if you want.’

  She didn’t want to wait behind, so she followed him to a large picnic shelter not far from the car park. Beer cans, bottles and other rubbish were scattered over the floor.

  ‘Someone had a party and forgot to clean up,’ Leon said.

  Miki helped to collect the paper plates stained with tomato sauce, sausage packs, napkins, dented drink cans. It amazed her people could be so disgusting. Whoever had done this must have come to enjoy this beautiful place, and it would have taken quite some effort to get here, forty minutes on a dirt road. Then they’d left their trash behind—it didn’t make sense.

  Leon lugged the rubbish and tossed it into the back of the Toyota, then he lifted out the tin of paint and the brushes. ‘All right. Time to tackle these toilets.’

  The toilet walls were splashed with graffiti. Greenies Go Home, Greens Cost Jobs and Fuck Off Green Cunts in red capital letters. Miki was embarrassed but Leon didn’t seem fazed. ‘It’s a spray-paint job,’ he explained. ‘A can of paint makes anyone an artist.’ He paused. ‘I think I know who might have done it …’

  Miki thought she had a fair idea as well.

  ‘I reckon it was probably Mooney,’ Leon said. ‘He’s struck with his spray can before … He painted my car.’

  ‘I think he wrecked our beehives too. In the forest.’

  Leon shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘He’s not a nice man.’

  ‘No.’ Leon was short. ‘He belts Liz. I’ve spoken to Toby about it. Hopefully things will change.’

  Miki hoped so too. She thought of Liz’s sad eyes, that scared-rabbit look as if she was being hunted. Someone like Mooney could do that to you. He could make you live in fear.

  Leon used a screwdriver to open the paint tin then mixed the paint using a broken-off stick. The paint was bottle-green, perfect for blending with the landscape. They got to work, dipping their brushes and running them up and down the walls of the toilet block.

  ‘What’s it like living with Kurt?’ Leon asked. ‘It can’t be easy.’

  ‘He’s good most of the time.’

  Leon chuckled. ‘I reckon it’d be like living with a tiger. Fine so long as you keep him fed and make sure you don’t stir the pot. Hard going if you let him get hungry or do something he doesn’t like.’

  Miki had never thought of Kurt as a tiger; she’d always thought of him as more of a bear. But perhaps Leon was right.

  ‘Where is he today?’ Leon asked. ‘I assume he’s not in the shop.’

  Heat flushed Miki’s cheeks. ‘No, he’s gone to Hobart.’

  Leon paused to look at her, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Do you need more time to get out?’

  She bent quickly to dip her brush in the paint. ‘I’m out now,’ she murmured. ‘Making hay while the sun shines … painting while the rain holds off.’

  Leon laughed: a pleasant sound that rolled off the corrugated-iron walls of the toilets and rippled away over the heath. He was so different from Kurt, so much more relaxed and human. Not a tiger at all.

  With two of them on the job, it didn’t take long. The end result was a bit rough, but Leon seemed happy. ‘That’ll keep the boss off my back till they can get a professional painter.’

  It was lunchtime by then, and Leon offered Miki hot chocolate from his thermos and half of his sandwich. ‘It’s a bit soggy,’ he apologised. ‘Lettuce and cheese. There wasn’t much in the fridge. And I couldn’t buy a pie—the takeaway was closed.’

  They smiled at each other, sharing his joke.

  Miki discovered she didn’t mind soggy sandwiches. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was. Working outside, you built up an appetite; she was never hungry in the shop.

  When they’d finished eating, Leon packed away the paint and brushes. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘you’ve saved my arse today, so I’m donating my afternoon to you. It’s on National Parks. I’ll be tour guide. I thought maybe I could take you to the sky walk. What do you think?’

  Miki hesitated for the briefest of moments. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Hop on in then,’ Leon said. ‘It’s a bit of a drive.’

  At the sky walk, they left the Toyota in the car park and bypassed the visitor centre. Leon paused to wave at someone inside then led the way down a raised boardwalk through wet eucalypt forest. A rain shower had just passed through, and everything was fragrant and dripping.

  The boardwalk descended to a gravel path that wound down to a broad inky river. Miki stopped on the bank and contemplated the swirling water. The current was swift and strong. She could hear the voice of the water as it gushed through. She could smell the water too: fresh and clean, a hint of tannins and earthiness. As she stared into
the depths, it seemed the river was alive with power. She wondered what it would be like to fall in, imagined coldness sufficient to take her breath away, the grip of the current pulling her under, brown water pouring over her head, the hint of light way above as she sank.

  They walked across the concrete causeway, and Miki paused to dip her fingers into the river. She was mesmerised. Everything seemed to be drawn towards the water, magnetised by its energy. Thickets of lime-coloured scrub and tall white-trunked trees crowded the banks, as if trying to leap in. It was the movement that captivated her. The sense of the river going somewhere. Purposeful, as if it understood its reason for being.

  Leon led the way up a formed path through wet, moss-covered forest. The track wound among giant trees with thick, riven bark, past slick fallen logs, scattered carpets of ferns, rough clumps of wire grass, tree ferns with spreading fronds. At the top of the path, a steel walkway projected out into air. They stepped onto it, their boots scraping on wire. Beneath them, the ground fell away quickly, and they were up among the mid-storey tree crowns, looking down into fans of ferns below, the lower layers of the forest and beds of rotting leaves.

  Miki had never been so high before, and she was dizzy and had to cling to the rail. The transparency of the wire gave her vertigo, the ground looming below. For a moment she felt she might fall, but she forced herself to look up and out, breathing in the views and the air that nipped her ears and nose and hung in vapour puffs in front of her.

  The vista was magnificent: rolling waves of forest and hills where caterpillars of mist clung and shifted slowly with the breeze. The stark silver trunks of old trees protruded from the canopy and bristled against the sky. Miki had a sense of what it must be like to be a bird flying over the landscape, an idea of what they would see—such a different perspective on the world.