The Orchardist's Daughter

by Karen Viggers

  While Grandpa talked, Leon studied the crowd. They were listening—he could see it in their quiet attention, the way their shoulders and mouths had eased. Bringing Grandpa here was a coup. He was speaking a language they understood.

  ‘Way back forty years ago,’ Grandpa was saying, ‘we decided to leave that tree because we couldn’t bring ourselves to cut it down. And it’s my belief that you fellers can turn it into something useful. A showcase for the forests, like the festival and the sky walk, so the punters can come and have a look. They can see it right here, close to town. And if you do it right, it’s a win–win situation. From what I’ve heard, the authorities only want to take a small bit of land. Maybe you can be obliging this time, so you’re ahead when it comes to bigger fights in the future.’

  ‘You’re being naive, old man,’ Mooney mocked.

  Grandpa frowned and straightened his back. He was skinny as a willow branch and looked like he might snap in the wind, but he was still game to stand up to Mooney. ‘When you’re my age and you’ve spent your whole life in the industry, you’re not naive, sonny. And I’ve still got contacts who go up to the forest and tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Who? Parkie? What would he know?’ Mooney sniggered.

  ‘Back off, Mooney,’ Shane growled. ‘Let the man finish.’

  ‘Gone soft, have you, Shane, since Parkie saved your son?’

  ‘He saved you too, Mooney. Everybody knows that. Pull your neck in.’

  Mooney scowled but backed off.

  Grandpa’s voice was like ripples going out on a lake. ‘I’m not trying to tell you folk what to do. I know you’ll make your own decisions. But I’m encouraging you to think carefully. I’ve seen my fair share of forest fights, and I know how fast things can turn bad. As I’ve already said, I reckon you’ll end up in front if you’re accommodating on this one. You show them you’re flexible, and next time you’ll have more bargaining power. Two small reserves around two trees—that’s all they’re asking for. If you fight this, you’ll end up with no support from the rest of the community. I’m talking Hobart and the rest of Tasmania. You’ll seem like bad sports.’ He raised a gnarled hand and waved. ‘Thanks for listening.’

  He passed the microphone back to Robbo, then grasped the younger man’s hand, forcing a handshake. Robbo looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do. He mumbled something into the mic about everyone taking some time to think things over and talk it through before they reconvened in ten minutes. Then, almost bashfully, he helped Shane set Grandpa back on the ground.

  Leon was impressed. Grandpa had earned the crowd’s respect—and, in doing so, he had constructed a bridge between Leon and the town. He had achieved this in a hostile climate: quite a feat!

  Leon leaned close to whisper in the old man’s ear. ‘Thanks, Grandpa. You were a champion. And you didn’t even let on your real opinions. Lucky you didn’t get started on what you think of their machines, or tell them you’ve turned conservationist.’

  ‘That’s the art of persuasion, lad,’ Grandpa murmured. ‘You have to learn what to hold back.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were so good at public speaking.’

  Grandpa winked. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me. But we’ve got plenty of time for talking. You won’t be moving away any time soon?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  Grandpa gripped Leon’s arm. ‘It’s been good having you around, lad. You’ve given me life.’ He turned to the others, eyes sparkling as he shook hands with Shane and then Max.

  ‘Can’t say I agree with everything you said,’ Shane declared, ‘but you do have a point.’

  ‘Call it experience,’ Grandpa said. ‘You fellers need to choose your battles. Otherwise the whole world’s against you.’

  Robbo was listening too. ‘I suppose you’ve seen a few changes over the years.’

  ‘More than a few. I can sure tell you some stories. Maybe I will sometime. Do you blokes drink beer?’

  Shane laughed. ‘Is the Pope a Catholic?’

  Grandpa straightened his tie and tilted his head at Leon. ‘We’d better go now, and let these folks get on with their vote. We don’t need to be here for that.’

  Leon nodded thanks to Shane and Robbo, then gently scuffed a hand over Max’s head. The boy had been the trigger for all this; if he hadn’t offered to help, the outcome might have been different.

  At that moment, a thin little girl with hair like sunshine rocked up and hooked arms with Max. She had to be Mooney’s daughter—she had his face without all the bitterness.

  ‘I’m bored with this,’ she said to Max. ‘Where’s your dog? The one who saved you. She must be clever. I want to meet her.’

  ‘She lives next door to me.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

  As the girl took Max’s hand and they weaselled off through the crowd, Leon saw that the glint of sunshine in her hair had transferred to the boy’s face.

  It was the colour of happiness.

  41

  A few weeks after the rally, the boss gave Leon the task of transporting signs up to the forest, with instructions to leave them beside the timber that had already been dropped off for the boardwalk. Once the signs were there, everything would be ready for work to commence. The sooner it got under way, the sooner the area could be opened to tourists.

  At the rally, the locals had voted to let the reserve go ahead. They’d decided it made sense to link it with visits to the sky walk. Mooney was the only one who’d voted against it; he was the sort to choose conflict over compromise every time.

  Before leaving the Parks office, Leon checked the weather so he knew what he was in for. The forecast was grim: rain and storms were predicted, which wasn’t unusual for spring—this time of year was always unstable. Leon hoped to drop off the signs and be out of there before the cold front hit the mountains. He checked that the signs were secure, then he headed off in the Toyota with the trailer rattling behind him.

  On the way, he lobbed in at Miki’s to buy hot chips and coffee. But Kurt was the only one serving, and he glared as Leon put in his order.

  ‘Where’s Miki?’ Leon asked.

  Kurt’s face soured. ‘Out the back. I don’t like her being familiar with customers.’

  Prickliness was normal for Kurt, but for some reason Leon was especially unsettled by him today—something to do with the venomous twist of his mouth. He was a caustic bastard; Leon pitied Miki having to live with him. It was clear he inflicted emotional abuse on his sister, and Leon wondered if he also physically hurt her.

  ‘What are you up to today?’ Kurt asked.

  This was definitely out of character: Kurt never asked questions. Leon paused in surprise before he answered. ‘Dropping some signs at the big tree.’

  ‘They started work up there yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. But it should be happening soon.’

  As abruptly as the conversation had begun, it was over. Kurt turned his back, and when the chips were ready, he slapped the package on the counter. Leon paid up and left.

  On the way to the forest, he noticed the weather changing. Heavy grey clouds were congealing, and wind was tossing the trees. He would have to unload the signs quickly.

  He drove through the logged area and on past the eagles’ nest to the big tree. The track wasn’t as overgrown as the first time he’d come here; someone had cut back the bush to make access easier—maybe the men who’d dropped off the timber for the boardwalk.

  Beside a pile of treated-pine poles, Leon parked and got out. The weather was worsening. Trees and shrubs waved wildly around him. Leaves whipped, bark slapped, and the canopy was flailing. He hoped nothing would fall. Days like this you could imagine being crushed under a tree.

  He lowered the tailgate and tried to haul the signs off the trailer, but they were too heavy, so he climbed onto the tray and lifted them one at a time. By the time he’d unloaded, he was sweating. Recent rain had softened the ground, and his boots dug in the mud a
s he leaned back to pull the signs off the track into the scrub.

  The track was too narrow for him to turn the car and trailer around, so he unhitched the trailer and pushed it back to a rough grassy track, then swung it to face the right direction. He was about to vault into the Toyota and re-hitch the trailer when he noticed footprints on the trail—not his own. They were heading along the track, deeper into the bush, and he paused to inspect them, wondering who’d been there. Maybe the men who’d dropped off the poles. But it seemed strange that delivery men would bother with a walk in the forest, unless they knew of something worth seeing.

  Leon’s curiosity got the better of him. He followed the boot prints along the track for a few minutes, until they disappeared. Looking around, he noticed bark flapping against a nearby tree trunk, the clouds sinking lower. Rain was coming, and he’d left his coat in the car—perhaps he should head back.

  On the cusp of retracing his steps, he saw another boot print: man-sized and deep. It was beside a decaying old stump and seemed to lead onto a faint trail into the bush. He decided to check it out. It wouldn’t take long. The trail was vague, maybe an animal pad.

  As he shoved through the undergrowth, drizzle began to seep from the sky. But now the track was more definite, so he went on, following it uphill. Shouldering aside wattles and shrubs, he made his way along it, stepping over logs and sticks, streamers of bark. It was wet underfoot. Several times he slipped and almost lost his footing.

  The trail forged upslope, and soon he came to a thick patch of young trees where the track wove among the chaos of trunks for a couple of hundred metres before breaking out onto an open area, logged sometime in the past few years. He stopped to scratch a leech from his neck and flick it away—part of the scenery.

  He crossed the clearing and followed the track into forest again. Now the trail was more obvious; the vegetation had been cut back to make progress easier. To one side, he saw patchy areas on the ground where it appeared someone had turned over dirt with a shovel. Ahead, the scrub seemed less dense, as if there might be a break in the canopy. He thought he could see some kind of barrier, so he went on.

  As he came closer, he saw a fence of star-picket posts with chicken wire pulled tight. Within the enclosure, rows of plants waved in the breeze. Just short of the fence, his skin started to crawl.

  It was a dope plantation. Fifteen metres by fifteen, worth a lot of money. He crouched down. Whose was it?

  A crash in the scrub made him jump, but it was just a wallaby. Even so, he was edgy. Before, the forest had felt friendly, but now it had alien vibes. The trees were leaning in as if they were watching him. He pulled out his phone and tried to call the police. No reception. He would have to take photos and drop in at the police station on the way home. He walked around, snapping shots. The fences had clearly been designed to keep wallabies out, and the forest had been thinned to let in the light, leaving just enough trees so the planting wouldn’t be seen from the air. Whoever had planned it was clever.

  He took photos from several angles then headed quickly downhill; there was no point hanging around.

  On his way along the track, he came across the dugover area again and decided to take a look. He went closer, elbowing through scrub. The diggings were strangely uniform with squared-off corners as if something had been buried there. Curious, he kneeled and started to scoop with his hands, pulling away clods of dirt. It was filthy work and soon he was coated in mud, so he found a fallen branch to poke and gouge. He struck something and squatted to shove his hand in the soil. He felt plastic but couldn’t pull it up—there was still too much soil—so he dug until he started to expose a transparent plastic bag with cream-coloured cloth bags inside. The cloth bags had an imprint on them. Were they bank bags? He tugged the plastic bag free, undid the loose knot in its neck and pulled out a cloth bag, opening the ties to reveal bundles of notes.

  Something was skipping in his chest now: a feeling of dread. This could be quite a stash. He knew he should cover it up straight away and get out of here. Hand over to the police. The dope plantation probably belonged to some loggers who’d put it in after cutting the forest nearby. They would kill him they found him here. What the fuck was he doing?

  As he replaced the bags and began to kick dirt over the hole, another possibility occurred to him, and his heart ratcheted. He remembered Miki saying that Kurt often came up here shooting while she stayed at the car. Leon’s mind was clicking over quickly now. Miki had mentioned unexplained money going into one of Kurt’s bank accounts.

  Everything began to make sense. If it was Kurt’s marijuana plantation, no wonder he had business in Hobart: he had to sell off his crop. It would be hard to hide all the takings, and he wouldn’t be able to spend the money in town—too obvious—so maybe he had buried some of the proceeds here. He could also be laundering his drug money at the casino on his weekly visits to the city. It tied in with the cash deposits Miki had noticed. Leon was shocked by the logic of it all.

  Thunder rolled as he hurriedly covered the hole. The drizzle was thickening, and any time now he would get drenched. Another crack of thunder sounded. Hopefully he would make it back to the car before the bottom fell out of the sky.

  42

  Miki wasn’t sure why Kurt had banished her from the shop. Whatever the reason, it worried her. She hovered behind the door, trying to work out what was bothering him by seeking clues from the way he spoke to the customers. Wendy and Steph came in for coffee after the school drop-offs, their voices mingling with the hiss of the espresso machine. A while later, she heard Leon ordering chips while Kurt attempted a half-friendly conversation, which was unusual.

  After Leon departed, Kurt called her back in to serve. She was wiping benches when Mooney arrived. He glanced at her coldly then beckoned to Kurt, who followed him outside. Miki felt a twinge of anxiety. Why would Mooney want to talk to her brother? It wasn’t as if they were friends.

  The men stood on the kerb looking at the street, so Miki couldn’t see their faces. Kurt was taller than Mooney, thicker through the shoulders, slimmer at the waist, muscular from weights training under the shop. Mooney was doing most of the talking, and whatever he was saying upset Kurt: there was tightness in his squared shoulders and short nods. When Mooney was done, they shook hands—another aberration—then Mooney stared at Miki through the window, something victorious and mocking in his eyes.

  Kurt came in bristling with anger. ‘I’m going to the forest,’ he snapped. ‘You will look after the shop.’

  Sweat pricked her armpits. ‘Can’t it wait till Monday?’

  ‘No. I have to go now.’

  In the past she would have let it go, but not today. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  His gaze was so harsh, she couldn’t help shrinking away. ‘Mooney said he saw you in Leon’s car the other day. Driving somewhere. What the fuck’s going on?’

  Her gut lurched, but she kept her face very still. ‘He must have been mistaken,’ she said, stiff with fear. ‘I was here.’

  ‘Don’t lie. I know you have a key and you’ve been going out. I changed the locks, but you’ve still been escaping. Mooney’s telling the truth. How are you getting out?’

  Denial was the only option. ‘It’s not true.’

  Kurt’s face was storm-dark. He was like Father in a rage. ‘Get out the back,’ he spat. ‘We’ll talk there.’

  Miki had no choice but to go. She heard him lock the shop doors.

  In the kitchen, he pointed to a chair. ‘Sit.’

  She sat.

  ‘The truth,’ he growled. ‘I want to hear it.’

  She remained silent, quaking inside.

  He slapped the table hard. ‘Speak, Miki. I’m waiting. What’s going on? Have you been fucking that guy?’

  She sprang to her feet, outraged. ‘Of course not.’

  Kurt pressed her down, nostrils flaring. He gripped her arm, nails digging into flesh. Pain flashed behind her eyes and she looked away.

  ‘Sometimes I
need to get out,’ she said. ‘It’s like a prison here. You lock me in like an animal.’

  His fingers gouged deeper. ‘To stop you behaving like one.’ He loomed over her, his breath on her ear as his hands encircled her neck. ‘What have you been up to with that red-headed bastard? Did you let him shove his dick in you?’

  ‘No.’ Miki was truly frightened now. If Kurt thought Leon had stolen her purity, there would be serious trouble. Father had taught that it was the most precious thing, and Kurt considered it his role to defend her honour.

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ he snarled. ‘I saved you from the fire, and this is what I get in return!’ He released her and she almost tipped off the chair. ‘I’m going to find him and I’m going to smash him into next week.’ He flung a chair aside and strode to the back door.

  ‘No!’ Miki raced after him, reaching for his arm. She’d overheard Leon telling Kurt he was going to the big tree. She must not let Kurt leave. ‘Where are you going?’ she cried. ‘I haven’t done anything. He hasn’t touched me.’

  Kurt flicked her off, slamming her into the wall. ‘I’ve always trusted you, and you’ve betrayed me. It ends right here.’

  He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her against the wall, then let go so suddenly she staggered. Then he hit her twice: a hard backhander to the cheek and a fist in the eye. She crunched backwards, stunned, a rusty taste in her mouth. When she touched her lips, there was blood on her fingers. He snatched up his coat and keys, and she reached for him once more, still trying to prevent him from going after Leon.

  He shook her off and hit her in the face again, hissing, ‘You belong here with me.’ He left her hunched on the floor. She heard the lock ram home.