A Distant Journey

by Di Morrissey

Gordon nodded and held on to his father until Cindy kissed her son and took him back to bed.

  When she returned, Murray was composed, sipping a glass of water and looking thoughtful.

  ‘Thank you for listening,’ he said, with a crooked smile. ‘I never thought I’d tell anyone about my mother. I’ve wanted to tell you for years, but I thought you would think I had let her down, too.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Murray, can’t you see that it was your father who let her down? It wasn’t you. Your father has spent most of your life emotionally abusing you. Things need to change.’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Murray doubtfully. ‘Is Gordy okay?’

  Cindy kissed him. ‘He was a little worried about you. But Murray, this does change things. We need to get away from your father. I can’t stay here in this house now, with my children, knowing that he was so violent towards your mother.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be violent towards you and the children, I’m sure,’ replied Murray hastily.

  ‘There was that time that he shook Russell, after he got lost. We can’t be sure Lawrence won’t do it again. He has a problem. A temper he can barely keep reined in much of the time. Murray, we need to put our child­ren first. We have to have our own home. Maybe on Kingsley Downs, but I want our children well away from your father’s reach.’

  ‘But …’ began Murray, seemingly at a loss for words.

  ‘My darling, it’s time to stop tiptoeing around your messed-up father! He has to deal with his own demons in his own way. I want a house of our own, to raise our children our way, a place where we can all feel secure and safe and loved. You have to put us first. We have to put us first.’

  There was silence for a long moment, and Cindy’s heart thudded in her chest as she watched her husband. But then Murray straightened and nodded. ‘You’re right. Changes will have to be made.’ He gently touched her cheek before standing and leaving the room.

  Cindy started to shake. It was heartbreaking to see how wounded her husband was. She silently cursed Lawrence, and her heart went out to her unknown mother-in-law, a damaged, frightened yet proud woman who simply couldn’t cope any more with the shocking violence perpetrated against her. What a terrible decision she’d had to make. Cindy thought hard and tried to put herself in Rose’s place. If Rose had tried to tell people the truth, who would have believed her? Lawrence was too highly respected, too wealthy, too powerful. He would have destroyed her. To run and take Murray with her would have had profound consequences for the boy, and Lawrence would not have let his son go freely. He would have tracked them down and taken back what he saw as rightfully his. And how could Rose have taken Murray from Kingsley Downs anyway? He was as much a part of the station as the big house itself, the old peppercorn tree, the weathered fences with their leaning posts, the woolshed and the flocks of Merinos, the very land on which they had come to rest. It was his past and his future. What could Rose have given him instead? A loving mother, yes, but also insecurity, a furious father, endless fights, and separation from all he loved.

  No, Rose had had no choice.

  9

  Cindy drew a deep breath of pleasure, smiling at the magnificent display of roses in front of her. What perfect timing, she thought. The massed flowers were glorious, the shady trees had been hung with lights, and on the lawns were tables and chairs and a portable dance floor beside a formidable sound system awaiting the arrival of a local band. The bar and long tables for the food were in place along the verandah. Supervising and checking everything was one of the guests of honour, Sally.

  Cindy watched her tall, beautiful, grown-up daughter conferring with Mrs Flowers. The housekeeper’s now grey hair was pulled back in a tight little knot and she moved more slowly these days, but she was determined to be part of the evening. Sally then turned to Joanna and thanked her for helping with the flowers, as well as lending some extra vases to accommodate the magnificent arrangements. Sally looked again at her list of things needing to be done. Such an organised person, thought Cindy, in spite of the fact that she had never lost her rebel streak, her competitiveness with her twin, and the occasional delightful burst of tomboy fun she shared with her younger brother.

  Joanna joined Cindy on the edge of the verandah. ‘This garden is a dream. You’ve done wonders with this place over the last fifteen or so years. It’s a credit to you. We’re going to have a gorgeous evening.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Cindy. ‘Gosh, it’s hard to believe we’re celebrating Sally’s engagement party. Where have the years gone? Still, she’s older than I was when I ran away to marry Murray.’ Cindy shook her head at the memory. ‘I was so naïve. I arrived in Australia completely unprepared for life at Kingsley Downs. I was certainly in for a few surprises.’

  Joanna squeezed her arm affectionately. ‘Right, I’m off back home, if there’s nothing more you want me to do. Donald and I will be back later. I’m so looking forward to the party. This evening will be quite a milestone for the Parnells.’

  Cindy waved her friend off, but instead of going back into the house she started to wander through the garden, reflecting on all that had happened leading up to tonight’s celebrations.

  How the years had flown by. She could look back now with a better perspective. The best thing that had happened had been the change in Murray. After he’d unburdened himself to Cindy of his guilt about Rose, Murray had finally confronted his father about it. He’d told Cindy that his father denied ever hitting Rose, saying that Murray must have imagined it. But Murray had stuck to his guns and said that he knew what he had seen. After their conversation, Murray had continued to work with his father, and the two were always respectful to each other, but their previous close relationship had been irreparably fractured.

  Whether Murray had entirely excised his demon shadows, Cindy wasn’t sure, but she felt it best to leave things as they now were, especially when Murray would sometimes hold her and murmur, ‘I’m so damned lucky to have you and the kids.’

  It wasn’t Cindy’s way of dealing with issues – she’d always preferred to talk them through frankly – but Murray’s attitude was to let sleeping dogs lie. However, he had certainly come a long way toward being more open in the last fifteen years.

  Initially, after learning of Lawrence’s violence towards Rose, Cindy had wanted to pack up and leave Kingsley Downs. Lawrence’s actions repulsed her. But such a move, she knew, would break her husband’s heart. She understood that the property was Murray’s life’s work, and his children’s inheritance, and he couldn’t just walk away from it without a great deal of regret. She hadn’t wanted to force such a heartbreaking decision on him.

  Eventually they’d settled on a compromise, deciding that a house must be built for them several kilometres away from the big house. Cindy would rarely have to meet Lawrence, but Murray could continue to help in the develop­ment of Kingsley Downs while Lawrence was at the helm.

  Cindy had loathed the six months she’d had to spend still living with Lawrence while their new house was being built, but thankfully her father-in-law was away frequently during that time, as he’d been appointed to the Wool Corporation Board as a regional representative and took his role in the flourishing wool industry very seriously.

  When at last the day had come when the whole family could move into their own house, Cindy had felt nothing but joy. The house was situated near the unseen, overgrown rubble of the old house, and was closer to Yamboola. Here, finally, Cindy had been able to create the home she had always wanted; a place that was light and airy, full of family photos and things she cherished. Her treasures included handmade gifts from the children, like the wobbly cup and saucer Sally had made when she’d tried potting, and the slightly more practical coffee-mug tree that Russell had made in his woodworking class. She loved the painting over the fireplace, a picture she had admired in a gallery in Melbourne, and which had turned up unexpectedly under the Christmas tree six months
later. And on the mantelpiece was a little pile of shells, a reminder of a wonderful family holiday in Queensland. Cindy had turned the new house into a welcoming and happy home filled with laughter and love, and had found in it a deep contentment that she’d never felt in the big house.

  Sally had taken piano lessons, although after a few years she’d lost enthusiasm, especially after she started school in Melbourne and a whole new world of interests and friends opened up to her. Russell, however, had learned to play the piano as well as the guitar. Cindy loved hearing music in the house. It made the place seem so alive.

  Lawrence, now silver-haired and looking distinguished and dignified, only visited Cindy and Murray’s home on rare occasions. He was more polite these days, but he still ruled the big house in his autocratic way. When the children came home for school holidays, they were still obliged to attend at least one stiff and uncomfortable dinner at the big house with Lawrence at the head of the table. Mrs Flowers continued to look after him and the household, and Tom was the quiet, indispensable presence he’d always been, although Cindy knew his health was no longer quite so robust.

  Cindy smiled to herself as she thought with pride of her children. They had grown into fine young adults. Gordon, who had been away at agricultural college, was working as a jackaroo on a property in South Australia, but had come home for his sister’s engagement. Gordon was as passionate about working on their land as his father and grandfather.

  Russell, now in his final year at school, was studying hard, determined to do well enough to get into veterinary science at university. He had always loved working with animals and wanted to put that love to a practical use.

  Sally had been thinking she might like to be a journalist. Then she’d met Ashley Broad. He had just qualified as a pharmacist and was working in a pharmacy in an outer suburb of Melbourne. The two of them had scraped together the deposit for a house in a newly developed suburb and were working towards having a pharmacy of their own one day.

  Over the years, Cindy and Murray had grown closer together. More than friends and lovers, they were a team, prepared to face the world together no matter what was flung at them. Cindy was pleased when she noticed how, in time, Murray occasionally referred to his mother, so that Rose became an acknowledged presence in their lives. Cindy had displayed the photos Marie had given them alongside their family photos, and they looked at them often. Murray had also written to Marie soon after the Sydney holiday, and Marie had written a long, warm letter back, and bit by bit the family had become quite close again. As the children had grown, Mon and Marie had visited Cindy and Murray once or twice, and the grandchildren had enjoyed country holidays at Kingsley Downs. In return, Gordon, Sally and Russell had stayed at Marie’s house when in Sydney. Sadly, Marie had died unexpectedly a year ago, and they all missed her.

  Life at Kingsley Downs was dictated not just by the personal relationships, or by its smooth functioning, the care of the animals, feed and maintenance, but most importantly, by the weather. And as Cindy reflected on her life, inevitably she thought of the horror drought which had been one of the hardest things she’d experienced at Kingsley Downs.

  As she looked around her lush garden now, she remembered with pain a time, not so long ago, when the big dry was into its fourth year with next to no rain and the garden had been little better than a desert.

  Day after day, the sun had shone down from eternally cloudless skies as the paddocks shrivelled to grey-brown, rancorous dust. Lawrence and Murray had sold off much of the stock at painfully low prices, keeping only the best breeding rams and ewes. Sometimes transporting the sheep to the saleyards had cost more than the price they’d got for them at auction. Yet, even with the depleted flock, there had not been enough fodder, and the Parnells had been reduced to hand-feeding. Moreover, their straitened circumstances had forced them to supplement the expensive grain with the local hardy saltbush. Despite all their efforts, the scrawny lambs frequently became too weak to forage in the dry stalks and sticks of bushes.

  Lawrence sent some of the stock they had left out on the long paddock. He had wanted to keep the best of the breeding stock so that, when the infernal drought ended, they would still have enough good-quality bloodlines to start over. He hired a drover from near Hay to walk them to a property outside Wilcannia for agistment. He said they had spent too many years breeding up the progeny to lose the line now. A couple of weeks later, a drover on horseback and a couple of dogs had begun the long walk to Wilcannia, taking several thousand of the Parnells’ sheep along the old stock routes which were reserved for such a contingency.

  ‘I don’t know, Cindy,’ Murray had said quietly.

  ‘I sometimes think it’s never going to rain. God knows when we’ll see those sheep again, but the only hope we have in saving them is the grass along those tracks. I guess we’re lucky that Dad found a place to agist them. Some mobs stay on the move for months, just looking for feed. Who’d bloody want to be on the land? It’s a mug’s game.’

  He had turned away from Cindy, his face full of frustration, and picked up his hat and jammed it on his head. Cindy was silently relieved the children were away at school and didn’t have to witness their father under such strain.

  Neighbours had supported each other as best they could. Joanna and Donald were also struggling through the drought. It was a pitiless time.

  The memories were still painful. It had been very traumatic going out to help Murray hand-feed the sheep and seeing the scrawny beasts struggling to reach the grain, or simply lying down in the dust, too weak to stand, resigned to their fate as eagles circled overhead.

  The drought had seemed endless. Lawrence and Murray eventually faced the painful task of shooting the stock which were too weak to survive on the little feed left in the paddocks or the scarce water in the dams.

  Cindy remembered the day she’d been walking through the big house, looking for Mrs Flowers, assuming that Lawrence was away, and had passed by his study. Lawrence had been standing beside his desk holding his rifle.

  ‘What do you want?’ he’d snapped when he saw her staring at him. He looked dishevelled, and his moleskin pants were caked in dust and blood.

  ‘I didn’t know you were here,’ Cindy had stammered. ‘I was looking for Mrs Flowers.’

  Lawrence slammed the bolt of his rifle shut and ignored her.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she’d asked.

  ‘No. I’m shooting my bloody sheep. What do you think?’ His face had twisted, his eyes burning bright, his mouth tight in a grimace.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lawrence.’ She’d jumped backwards as Lawrence grabbed the box of ammunition and pushed roughly past her.

  Still shaking from that encounter, Cindy had found Mrs Flowers restocking the storeroom.

  ‘Terrible thing,’ Mrs Flowers had said. ‘Mr Parnell has spent years breeding those sheep. Best in the district. Now he has to shoot them. I’m not surprised that he looked so grim. He can take things to heart more than you’d think.’

  ‘It’s just so awful. I know Murray will be upset. I wish I could help, but I just can’t bear seeing the poor creatures struggle,’ Cindy replied.

  ‘I know. But we’ve been through this before, and when the other sheep come back from agistment, they’ll be able to build the flock up again. At least Tom says the price for wool is holding,’ Mrs Flowers had said, trying to look for a bright side.

  ‘That’s good for the growers who aren’t in this drought, so let’s hope the prices stay that way when we finally get some rain. I don’t see how they can keep paying top dollar to the producers while stockpiling so much of the wool clip. It seems like a very big gamble,’ Cindy had confided. She would never have voiced this to Lawrence, and Murray always brushed her concerns aside.

  ‘Mr Parnell is very confident that there won’t be any problem selling it all, and he should know, seeing as he’s on the board,’ Mrs Flowers had re
plied with some pride.

  Cindy hadn’t felt she could share Mrs Flowers’s confidence. Things had just seemed too desperate, and the drought all-pervasive. She’d hated seeing the looks on the children’s faces when they came home for holidays and saw the state of the place. She knew that drought was just another part of country life, but she fervently hoped she would never see a drought like it ever again. A lot of graziers had done it really tough, feeding their stock before their families, almost. And the number of suicides had been tragic. Some men had just got overwhelmed and hadn’t been able to see a way through it. Cindy blamed the banks as much as the weather: they seemed to move in as soon as a man got into trouble and tried to take his property away. The landholders had faced an impossible choice: pay up, or get out.

  It hadn’t just been Lawrence shooting the stock. Murray had joined him in the terrible task. It had been late when Murray had finally returned home that awful night. He was too tired for supper and had just poured himself a whisky, then stripped off his filthy clothes and had had a shower.

  When he’d finally slid into bed, Cindy had reached for him and curled beside him, her arm across his chest and her head on his shoulder. He lay on his back, one arm under his head.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to do that today,’ she’d murmured.

  ‘It’s horrible. I hate it. It’s like a war, an invasion. Killing the weak and maimed. It’s their eyes, Cin. They look at you, wanting help, or just pleading for you to put them out of their misery. These animals trusted us and we let them down …’ He stopped and rubbed his eyes, as though blotting out the awful memories of that day.

  Cindy had stroked his hair, now grey at the temples. ‘Go to sleep, darling,’ she said. ‘It’ll be okay. At least, it will when it rains.’

  And at last it had rained. She would never forget that day. The clouds had gathered and what had started as a gentle, gauzy sheen over the paddocks had soon become solid sheets of water, tumbling from the sky as though it would never stop. It had rained all day, and the next, and the next. In days, the dams filled and soon green shoots began to push through the softened soil.