‘Can we hold them?’ Captain Egan shouted to Thaddeus.
Before he could reply, a bullet hit the captain in the chest. Thaddeus dropped to his side as a thin spray of dark arterial blood pumped out from a small hole in his uniform.
Luther grabbed Thaddeus on passing and together they reached the section of the trench that speared off to the place where Harold was surrounded.
‘Cover me, Thaddeus.’
‘You know I will, Lu.’
Thaddeus threw two grenades and followed up with rifle-fire as Luther flung himself out of the trench. He ran along the top of the trench wall, firing downwards, and then jumped into the machine-gun nest. Harold had been shot in the arm in three places, yet he jammed another cartridge in the Lewis gun and kept up a constant stream of fire.
‘Good day for it,’ Luther joked as he began to fire at the attacking Germans. Behind him Piper lay dead, as a weak dawn sky straddled the horizon. Harold’s eyes were glassy. Thaddeus and Dave jumped into the hole and joined in the defence.
‘Reinforcements?’ Luther yelled across the noise of the gun-fire.
Thaddeus chanced a look over his shoulder. ‘None yet.’ There were skirmishes breaking out all along their section. ‘Hell, we’ll be out of ammo soon.’
The Lewis gun choked and jammed. ‘Shit!’ Harold bashed the burning-hot barrel with his hand. ‘We’re sitting ducks.’
The enemy were targeting them. Whizz-bangs were landing only feet away. The four of them hunkered down in the nest and divvied up the remaining ammo. There were all-too-few rounds left.
‘That’s my last round for the Lewis.’ Harold grimaced as Thaddeus tried to bandage his shoulder and arm wounds.
‘Well, we either make a stand or die in this shit-hole,’ Luther told them.
Harold grabbed Dave’s arm. ‘Promise me you’ll look after her, for all of us.’
They ducked as rifle-fire whizzed across the tops of the sandbags. ‘What are you talking about?’ Dave asked.
‘Corally,’ Thaddeus answered. ‘She loves you.’
For a moment Luther appeared winded. He fell back against the wall, and then very slowly he gave the slightest of nods as if understanding had finally been granted.
Dave shook his head. ‘That’s not true, Luther, it isn’t true.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ Thaddeus said to Luther. ‘You too, eh? She has been busy.’ Thaddeus turned back to Dave. ‘You’ve got letters from her too, I suppose?’
Dave didn’t answer. He thought back to Madame Chessy’s farmhouse when he had almost burned the first of Corally’s letters.
Harold clutched at his bloodied arm. ‘Miss Waites wrote to me. It seems she wanted to put things straight.’
Dave wanted to say that they were wrong, that he didn’t want Corally Shaw at all – yet one look at their faces and he clamped his mouth shut. If he said anything negative they wouldn’t understand. It would be akin to throwing away a precious gift.
For a few seconds the four men sat amid the carnage, then Luther peered across the top of the sandbags. ‘Nothing like having half the German army in front of us,’ he stated laconically. ‘I reckon we should make a run for it and try and join up with our lot and wait for support. Are we ready?’ Luther looked meaningfully at Thaddeus and Harold, gesturing towards Dave.
For a second Dave was lost in the incredible scene, the whorls of smoke above, the rush of artillery and the great noise of the fighting around them. A dawn sun was angling through the battle haze, falling like a shaft of hope on those below, and he closed his eyes and offered up a brief prayer.
Standing as one, the four of them jumped the lip of the nest. Dave tried to move apart from his brothers and Harold as they had been trained but instead found himself shoved into the centre of their tight group. And then they all ran into the light.
Banyan, south-west Queensland, Australia
September 1917
The bell on the general store’s door tinkled as Corally walked happily outside onto the street. She was to commence her new role in the morning and Mr Whittaker was only too pleased to oblige the owner of the boarding house with a letter of employment ensuring that Miss Corally Shaw would earn sufficient funds for accommodation. Studying her reflection in the shop’s window, she fixed her mind on a new straw hat and a jar of Stearn’s Peroxide cream as soon as her monies allowed. Having noticed at church last Sunday that the daughters of the landed were pale-skinned and soft looking, while in comparison she was deeply tanned with hands belonging to a field worker, it was vital she make every attempt to blend in. Across the street the Jackson family caught her attention and waved. Corally pretended not to notice the enthusiastic greeting and made a point of studying the display in the butcher’s window.
‘Corally, hi.’ A bubble of enthusiasm coated Julie’s greeting.
The Jackson girl was reflected in the glass. To Corally, she looked such a child with her dark hair tied back over one shoulder, although she was appropriately attired in an ankle-length dress, the bodice of which had a row of good-quality pearl buttons.
‘I didn’t recognise you. You look all grown up,’ Julie stated, her voice instantly cautious when Corally was slow to respond. Julie had lost weight, revealing enviable womanly curves.
‘That’s because I am.’
‘You sound different too,’ Julie replied, the initial expression of expectation on her face dwindling away.
‘Really? How quaint of you to say so.’ Corally moved the basket from one arm to the other as two older women, members of the Presbyterian Church congregation, passed. They nodded a greeting to Corally and then mumbled something about foreigners. Corally was instantly alarmed. She knew better than to mix with the Jacksons. ‘Nice to see you, Julie. My regards to your family.’
Julie’s mouth puckered. ‘Please wait, we haven’t talked for ages.’
‘That’s hardly my fault, Julie, what with you rarely coming to the village anymore and me getting on with my own life. Anyway, I’m a little busy right now. I am employed at the general store and I’ll be moving into the boarding house tonight. So, as you can imagine, I have quite a few errands to run.’
Her old friend gaped. ‘But last year you couldn’t even –’
‘Read or write?’ Corally lifted an eyebrow. ‘Well, I can now and I really must go.’
Julie held her back with a restraining hand. ‘Mother was wondering, if we gave you some money if you would buy us a few things from the store. The thing is, no one will serve us and even though that’s against the law the coppers won’t do anything to help us.’
Corally stared at the girl’s fingers until she was released. ‘That’s not really my problem.’
‘Corally, please. Things have got so bad that no one will work on the property for us. Mr Cummins has suggested we move on and has offered to buy the farm, but at a very unfair price. You know he’s been trying to buy it for ages and Father thinks he’s the one who has been causing trouble for us here in town.’
There was a kerfuffle outside the ironmonger’s shop, and a small crowd was gathering. Corally eyed the spectacle greedily. ‘Well, maybe you should be sensible about things and sell the property, Julie. After all, when we win the war things will only get worse for you Germans.’
‘But we’re best friends.’ Julie’s eyes filled with tears.
A part of Corally wanted to relent and help Julie, for they had been friends, but best friends? No, Corally decided, they weren’t best friends. Quite often in the past it had seemed like Julie was just tagging along.
‘Please,’ Julie pleaded.
Corally stared at the smoky-eyed girl and began to wonder if the Jacksons had a Harrow boy in mind for their eldest daughter. She thought of her own mother’s words, of how jealousy could ruin the best-laid plans and, lifting her chin, she bustled past Julie in the direction of the commotion, glad of t
he distraction. She couldn’t stand to be shunned the way the Jacksons were, not when she was trying so hard to better her place in the world.
Really, she thought, how on earth could she be friends with someone like that, when all her boys were fighting the enemy abroad? What on earth would they think on their return if she was friendly with a German?
The crowd was attracting more people by the minute and had now spread from outside the ironmonger’s to the middle of the street. Corally wanted desperately to lift her skirts and run to see what was going on but instead she moved sedately, her eyes on the shop windows although her ears were finely tuned to the ruckus ahead.
‘I said no and I meant no, and it’s my right as a store-keeper to decide who I serve and who I don’t.’ Mr Lawrence was joined by a number of other men, including a bear of a man who had just stepped out of the barber’s shop. He was clean-shaven and broad-shouldered and was watching the altercation with obvious enjoyment. Corally caught his eye and was rather pleased when he winked at her.
Julie Jackson’s father was red in the face. ‘For pity’s sake, man, I have a family to care for. It’s bad enough that this town’s bigotry has cost me my stockmen, but you’re refusing me service on groundless accusations.’
One of the men in the gathering crowd stepped forward. ‘Groundless accusations? My boy is dead thanks to your kin. Died in France of shrapnel wounds a month ago.’
‘My boy’s dead too.’ Corally recognised Mrs Marchant, a neighbour of the Jacksons. ‘I’m sorry for you, Mr Jackson, but if there is no cause for concern, why do the constabulary require you to report in weekly?’
‘Stupidity,’ he retorted. Mr Jackson turned on his heel and pleaded to the encircling crowd. ‘My mother was German, it’s true, but she married an Englishman and she’s been in this country for thirty years. I was born and raised here and so were my children.’
‘Having you here is just a bit too hard for some of us, Jackson. Right or wrong, you’ve been offered fair money for your farm. Take it and move on,’ Snob Evans called from outside the funeral parlour.
Corally thought Snob quite handsome, although how he could touch dead bodies was beyond her.
‘You know who’s at the bottom of this? Cummins!’ Mr Jackson told the assembled crowd. ‘He’s always had an eye to buying my place and isn’t he making a show of ensuring he gets it? I listen to the rumours too. I know he’s been spear-heading the lies about me.’
There were murmurs of rubbish and liar. Mrs Dempsey and Miss Waites walked from the post office to join a huddle of matrons with their backs to the timber building. They were like a gaggle of geese with their pale, puffy-sleeved blouses and full skirts, and represented a mishmash of villagers and the visiting land-owners. Corally took her place somewhere in the middle of the group, sneaking a glance at the post-office building and thinking of the metal money box within, wondering if maybe the postmistress had only pulled the door shut. Really, Corally, she chastised, it’s not worth the risk.
The postmistress raised her voice. ‘My boy has half of his face blown off. That’s him that these good people can hear at night when the land is quiet and the good and the kind should be safely asleep in their beds. That’s him moaning and groaning in pain and despair. He sounds like some ghoulish intruder.’ Mrs Dempsey wrung her hands together. ‘And that’s how he looks.’
The noise of the crowd rose and fell like a rumbling storm as Corally thought of the number of times Miss Waites had complained of an eerie noise and sleepless nights. Now they all knew why.
‘But it’s not my family’s fault,’ Mr Jackson protested.
One by one the gathered crowd lost interest and walked away, until eventually Mr Jackson was left alone to face the freshly shaved stranger.
‘And what are you looking at?’ Mr Jackson queried. ‘You’re not even from around here. You’re probably some cold-footer who has wangled himself out of active service.’
The stranger took two paces forward and punched Mr Jackson fair in the nose. The force spun him backwards and he landed with a thud in the dirt of the street. Julie, her mother and four younger siblings rushed to his side.
‘Corally!’ Julie called from where she knelt in the dirt at her father’s side. ‘Please help us!’
Corally turned her back.
‘Is this what the war has done to us?’ Miss Waites complained to the women gathered near her. ‘Can ye not see it? We are fighting ourselves.’
The women hesitated. Two matrons took tentative steps towards the Jacksons.
Corally shaded her face against the warming sun. ‘He,’ she said loudly, pointing at Julie’s prone father, ‘is not one of us. But we don’t expect you to understand, Miss Waites. After all, you’re not from here either.’
The two matrons thought better of offering assistance and walked away.
Across the street the stranger who had thrown the punch doffed his hat to the baker’s wife, Mrs Evans.
‘Now, there’s a man who doesn’t waste words,’ one of the older women in the group commented.
‘That would be Mr Nathanial Taylor,’ Miss Waites said tartly. ‘Ye know, the reprobate from Sunset Ridge who your husbands believed would fail in his role as manager? Ye are all very quick to not only pass judgement, but also change your minds.’
Corally tried to think of a clever retort but Miss Waites was making her way towards the beleaguered Jacksons. Seeing her approach, Julie gave the governess a grateful smile.
Cook’s announcement that Nathanial Taylor was waiting to see her took Lily by surprise. The manager was early. Tidying the sheet music, she set it atop the piano.
‘Send him in here, Cook.’
The older woman looked askance.
‘I did send for him, remember? Just give me a few minutes to collect myself.’ Lily patted her hair and licked dry lips as Cook left the room. The day had dragged. G.W. seemed unable to relax since his unannounced walk some weeks ago and had become increasingly silent, to the extent that Lily sensed he did not even notice her presence at times. And now she had the unenviable task of confronting Mr Taylor and giving the man notice. The letter written to the address noted in the ledger had been answered; it seemed that Mr Taylor was not Mr Taylor. In fact, Lily had no idea who Sunset Ridge’s manager actually was.
‘Good evening, Mrs Harrow. You wanted to see me?’
He sat in the wing-backed chair as directed and Lily did her best not to stare. Her first impression was that a stranger had arrived in her home. Sunset Ridge’s manager was freshly shaved; no traces of the thick beard or unsavoury neck hair remained and his hair was closely cropped. ‘Mr Taylor,’ Lily tried unsuccessfully not to appear stunned, ‘truly, I did not recognise you.’ His altered appearance encompassed his dress, for he wore a clean white shirt and a new jacket, although his trousers and boots had seen better days.
Lily waved the recently received letter in the air. ‘It would appear that you are not who you say you are, sir.’
‘Well, clearly it doesn’t bother you, otherwise I would not be in this room.’
Lily faltered. The truth was that she was not alarmed by his presence. There was little reason to be, for no harm had come to person or property since his arrival. In fact, Sunset Ridge was enjoying a healthy profit and her days had been buoyed by his strong male presence. But she was intrigued. ‘You are here under false pretences. If you are not the man whom my husband employed last year, who are you?’ The last three words were emphasised by the pointing of the letter she held.
Taylor rose and took a step towards her. ‘Anyone you want me to be.’ His voice was low.
‘I will scream,’ Lily warned.
‘And I could bar the door with a chair,’ he retaliated. ‘But,’ he continued smoothly, calmly, ‘I don’t think you will scream. You’ve been alone in this big house for too long.’ He held out his hands in a conciliatory gesture. �
�Besides, have I not done a good job in your employ?’
‘Reasonable,’ Lily replied. ‘And I remind you, sir, that I am not alone.’
‘Yes, yes.’ He waved away her words as if they were unwanted flies. ‘A wily cook, a young housemaid and an invalid.’
‘I want to know who you are.’
Taylor sat in the wing-backed chair and crossed his legs. ‘Well, I’m not the man your husband employed,’ he admitted, flicking a piece of lint from his trousers. ‘Now, he was a shrewd character – long grey hair, a shaggy beard to his chest, missing teeth – but he knew his cattle, oh yes, he knew livestock. You know he was shacked up out there on the western boundary with scant supplies and wasn’t fussed either way if the supplies arrived on time or not?’
‘Go on,’ Lily replied.
‘Well, he was a canny old fellow, talkative too. He told me all about Sunset Ridge and the wayward sons who ran away to join the great adventure, the fools.’ Lily’s face hardened. ‘Having said that, I would have gone too had I the opportunity.’
‘And why didn’t you?’
He met her gaze. ‘I was on the run from a disgruntled husband and I ended up in that shack with that old, wizened man who told me that the only person who had laid eyes on him was the boss, Mr Harrow, who was now beyond recognising anyone.’
‘Did you –’ Lily couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Kill him?’ Taylor burst out laughing. ‘My, how your imagination runs, Mrs Harrow.’ Uncrossing his legs, he laughed again when she flinched at the movement. ‘I might be many things, but a man’s life is sacrosanct. The old man died of natural causes and I gave him a proper burial. Of course, you will have to take my word for that.’
Lily couldn’t believe it. ‘So, you took his name and job.’ She was frightened by his story and amazed at the man’s audacity. She gripped the letter between her fingers to still their trembling. ‘Well, my sources place the real Mr Taylor at seventy years of age, so that confirms part of your story.’
Sunset Ridge Page 40
