The Valley

by Di Morrissey

  They rode out, Isabella side-saddle on her black horse and Kelly on a chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead. He rode easily, having been on a horse most of his ten years. He was shy but excited at this adventure.

  A short distance from Dungog township they came upon Luke Turner who was returning to his property. Isabella hailed him, noting that the horse he rode looked like one of hers. He was clearly embarrassed at meeting her.

  ‘I wish to enquire why you purchased my cattle from Skerrett. Surely you recognised my brand?’ she said.

  Turner looked uncomfortable. ‘I enquired and Mr Skerrett said he’d bought them from you and needed to make a sale. He showed me the paper you had signed, so I went ahead and took six beasts.’

  ‘Paper? What paper? I signed no paper. Those animals belonged to me and I am on my way to have him arrested.’

  Turner looked shocked. ‘Oh, don’t do that, Miss Kelly. It will cause trouble. I am not sure what the paper said . . .’ he looked uncomfortable. ‘I have never learned to read or sign my name properly. I believed him. Surely he would not sell cattle to me knowing they belonged to you.’

  Isabella stared him down. While Turner was quite possibly a fool and had made a mistake there was something about his manner that disturbed her. She glanced at Kelly who had dismounted and was studying Turner’s horse. ‘What is it, boy?’

  ‘This is your horse. I know it. I rode him.’

  Turner flicked his whip towards the boy. ‘What rubbish this native boy talks. Get away from my horse.’ Turner lifted the whip in a threatening gesture.

  ‘That will do, I demand you dismount, Mr Turner, and let me look at the brand on that horse.’ The saddle blanket and saddlebags behind covered a fair portion of the horse’s rump.

  ‘I will do no such thing. The horse is mine.’ And with a flourish, he kicked the horse into a canter and rode away without looking back.

  ‘I fear Charles Skerrett has taken great liberties. I should never have let him and his miserable family onto my property,’ said Isabella. But the thought that Skerrett was showing a document purported to be signed by her caused her deep misgivings. She was also disturbed that a man of breeding, as Skerrett seemed to be, could be so blatantly dishonest. One part of her still wanted to believe there had been a misunderstanding that would be cleared up. But there was no dismissing the fact he had taken and sold her cattle.

  The police conducted a lengthy enquiry and Charles Skerrett was arrested. The case finally came before the Central Criminal Court in Darlinghurst, Sydney, early the following year.

  Charles Skerrett looked calm, almost cocky, and stated his defence in a straightforward manner and on a simple premise – he owned the cattle. Miss Kelly had sold them to him so he could do with them as he wished. He flourished a bill of sale, a receipt and an agreement to muster the cattle.

  Too late Isabella realised that Skerrett had torn up some other paper and not the mustering contract. She hadn’t read them, and now realised that what he had destroyed in the fire was an irrelevant letter. So now Skerrett could produce an authentic document allowing him to round up all the cattle on Birimbal and sell them. Isabella sat still and straight stifling her rage and shock at the other forged documents he produced.

  Her near neighbour, Mr Andrews, gave evidence that he had asked to buy a fat bullock. Miss Kelly told him she had none to sell as Skerrett had already bought the cattle. However, when Andrews was shown the bill of sale he did not think it was Isabella’s signature as he knew her handwriting well. However, he thought the signature on the mustering agreement was genuine.

  When Turner took the stand he was nervous and could not satisfactorily explain how he paid for the cattle or was in possession of the horse with Isabella’s brand on it. When pressed he said that Skerrett had shown him a bill of sale so he purchased the horse and cattle. However, when asked to read to the court the bill of sale, Turner admitted he could neither read nor write.

  It didn’t take long for the jury to convict Skerrett of cattle theft and he was sentenced to ten years’ labour on the roads.

  The trial had taken a toll on Isabella. She learned that Skerrett had been transported for theft and forgery and her anguish that he had duped her grew. She returned to Riverview in ill health. She was cared for by Hettie who gave her teas brewed from bush leaves Noona brought her, and soon Isabella recovered. She was disappointed that her judgment of men had failed. The yardstick by which she gauged others, and they her, had been shaken. She vowed to be even more alert to the devious ploys of people wishing to take advantage of her.

  In this new colony the old values did not apply. Rascals pretended to be gentlemen and no one was the wiser. A man could hide his past and create a new life. She compared Florian and Skerrett, two convicted felons. One had been rashly and unfairly sentenced but had come through to begin a new and honest life, hard as it may be. The other preferred to live by deceit, his wits and his charm. Isabella vowed she would never be taken advantage of again.

  She found solace in the new orchid conservatory she’d had built. There was a thick stand of rainforest along the river where she found a variety of interesting plants for potting. It provided a little relief from the demanding work required to build up Riverview. She had had a big financial setback but hoped to recover from the costs involved in prosecuting Skerrett. Even though she felt vindicated she was deeply disturbed that a man could so easily forge documents to cheat her.

  Isabella had sadly come to the conclusion that men were not as her guardian William Crowder had led her to expect. That a man of education, social standing, manners and apparent wealth was a man to be trusted and respected. It now seemed to Isabella that, with few exceptions, in the wild colonial world even gentlemen were bastards.

  13

  Dani

  DANI FELT THAT SHE was painting herself into the picture. That she was melting into the oil paint as she worked. It was a large canvas of the deep part of the valley at Kelly’s Crossing – shadowy trees with leaves limply hanging in the heat of noon, slashes of sunlight on the slow-moving stream, no movement or sound from birds or animals. The still, hot scene radiated from the canvas in the slick of oily colours.

  Dani felt the sting of perspiration on her body and moved her brush into the cooler green-greys of undergrowth further up the creek and touched up the water of refreshing rock pools. She imagined she heard the snap of a twig, the rustle of a bird seeking shade. How wonderful it would be to slip out of her clothes and lie in the shallows and shady pools.

  ‘Dani?’

  She jumped, leaping back a step as if discovered naked in the water.

  ‘Hey, sorry, Dani. Didn’t you hear me drive up?’ Barney poked his head through the studio door. ‘Helen’s picked you some vegies.’ He stared at Dani smudged with paint, beads of perspiration shining above her lip. ‘You look a bit hot and bothered. Am I disturbing you?’

  ‘I felt I was right in the middle of this scene . . .‘Dani couldn’t describe the sensation adequately. The unfinished canvas drew her in, she was there, in every sense. But it wasn’t the present moment. She was in Isabella’s time. She felt the pangs Isabella must have felt at the deceit of Charles Skerrett, and the love she must have had for the valley and her home in Birimbal in the high country and Riverview on the river.

  ‘It’s okay, Barney.’ Dani put down her brush, severing her connection with the past and the sensations evoked by the fresh paint strokes of feeling part of the painting.

  Barney came and stood beside her, contemplating the picture. After a moment’s silence he said softly, ‘It’s like a doorway. You go right in there.’ He paused for another deep look at the work, then asked, ‘Who’re the people?’

  Dani peered into the shadowy reaches of the trees. ‘I haven’t painted any people.’

  ‘They’re there though. I can see ’em.’

  Dani shivered. ‘Must be spirits you can see, Barney.’

  ‘Yeah, it happens a lot. I see things, y’know?�
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  ‘What sort of things?’ asked Dani, studying the wiry man in his uniform of khaki shorts and shirt.

  ‘Dunno. Sometimes it’s a fleeting figure, a face. Or I’m somewhere and I know people are there with me, even if I can’t see them. Or, I might be walking somewhere I haven’t been before and I’ll know exactly what I’m going to see when I get around the corner. And bingo, there it is. Sometimes when I go fishing, I know exactly where the fish will be. It’s like a voice in my head.’ He gave a grin. ‘Funny, eh?’

  ‘You’re very intuitive, Barney,’ said Dani with a smile and nod of understanding.

  Barney accepted the comment as if he’d been told that before. ‘I’ll put the vegies in the kitchen. Now, the other thing is, I wanted to ask you if Tim can come camping with me and Toby tomorrow night. Just us boys.’

  ‘I’m sure he’d love it, where are you going to camp?’ Dani thought there must be a few good spots on the ninety acres of Chesterfield.

  ‘We’re going down the river to one of the little islands. There’s one that’s got a bit of a gravel beach where we can pull the boat in. Helen’s grandfather used to graze cattle there in the old days. The other islands are too thick with mangroves and rubbishy growth to get through,’ said Barney.

  ‘How’d they get the cattle across the river to the island?’ asked Dani. It seemed an odd place to graze cattle.

  ‘On the punt, or swim them if it was calm. There were a few farms on the islands that grew food for the markets in Hungerford and Riverwood in the old days. One island still has a decent farmhouse on it.’

  ‘And what’s on this island where you’re going with the boys?’

  ‘Nothing anymore. There’s a sheltered possie where we can pitch the tent. It’s only small, maybe four acres. Real good fishing off one end of the island, you can cast into a deep channel. We’ll light a bonfire, tell stories, you know, boys’ stuff.’

  ‘It sounds great, Barney. Tim doesn’t get to do that sort of thing very often.’ Dani was grateful her son could share a grandfather.

  ‘Rightio then. Drop him over with his sleeping bag and fishing gear. I’ve got everything we need.’ He turned and took another look at the painting. ‘That’s real good, Dani. You’ve certainly got the feel of the place.’

  ‘Even if it feels a little creepy?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s history, good and bad, in every bit of the landscape, long before we came here. Take those people who think they’re buying a house in that new community Jason is building. They’re only breathing new life into old land, they should appreciate what they’re part of. It’s good he’s trying not to disturb some parts too much,’ said Barney.

  ‘Perhaps that’s what I hope people will understand when they see these paintings. They’re part of something that goes way, way back,’ said Dani thoughtfully. Barney had clarified for her what she was instinctively painting.

  Barney nodded. ‘Like waaay back. Dreamtime territory.’

  ‘I wonder if the pioneers had any idea,’ mused Dani.

  ‘Doubt it, the way they whaled into clearing the land and pushing the Aborigines around. ‘S’pose there wasn’t anyone to tell them what was what. If anyone learned to speak a native dialect they didn’t comprehend what they were being told, most likely.’

  ‘From what Max has told me, Aboriginal culture and beliefs are very complex,’ said Dani. ‘I don’t know much about it.’

  ‘Sad thing is, same thing applies to a lot of modern Aboriginal people. Well, I’d better be going. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, Barney, and I’m looking forward to cooking those nice fresh vegies. Ta.’

  ‘No chemicals or sprays either. Just my chilli and garlic bug spray. See ya.’ He waved.

  Dani gazed at her painting, then decided to take a break and go for a walk. She’d been meaning to get into a routine of a brisk walk before breakfast each morning but even though she got up early with good intentions, she’d make a cup of tea and wander to her studio and look at yesterday’s work, tidy her paints and brushes, and before she knew it an hour or more had passed and she was ravenous. She always had a hearty breakfast and if Tim was with her they’d be into the day’s plans, all thoughts of a walk forgotten. So now she put on her walking shoes, whistled Jolly and headed down towards the creek.

  It was mid morning, comfortably warm and clear, and Dani took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the lemon-scented gums. Seeing Juniper and Bomber across the creek, she called them to come and get the carrots she’d promised Tim she’d give them each day. The horses ignored her so she crossed the creek on the stepping stones Tim and Toby had dragged into place a few weeks earlier.

  Despite the lure of the carrots the two horses were wary and by the time they decided to take the snack, she was halfway up the long, partly cleared slope.

  This was Kerry’s land and, as she’d never explored this side of the creek or visited her neighbour, Dani decided to press on in the hope of running into the rather reclusive woman.

  It was pretty country with several fenced paddocks with stands of trees as windbreaks and shade but, apart from the two horses, no sign of livestock or cropping. The whole area seemed empty, no, lost. So different from the scene she was painting.

  Jolly raced ahead, her nose to the ground following the zigzag route of a rabbit. Then she stopped by a dense thicket of trees, lifting her head and listening.

  ‘What is it, Jolly? Are we near Kerry’s place?’ Dani walked through the trees, glancing back to note the way she’d come as there was no path or track to follow. Juniper and Bomber must have their own route to wherever they went to shelter. Or perhaps they were left in the open all the time. Again Dani thought it unwise for Tim to consider riding these big unworked horses.

  She came out of the trees on top of a small rise and, looking down, saw Kerry’s cottage nestled in the cleft of the knoll and behind it, a steeper hill ringed with large formal, mostly introduced, trees. These must have been planted many years ago – large pines and fully established beech and elm trees that looked like a fortress ringing the top of the hill.

  The cottage was a classic picture of Australiana with a bullnose roof over the front verandah, lots of lattice and a pretty garden shaded by a large magnolia tree. Some way behind the house and up the slope was a lazily turning windmill pumping water into a pipe that led to a tank. There was a fenced side yard with a shed and she could see chickens pecking around the clothesline.

  As she walked towards the cottage Jolly raced ahead and Dani expected a dog to come and greet them or Kerry to emerge. She called out. ‘Anyone home? Kerry? You there? Hello?’

  There was no answer. Dani paused at the front of the house, the door was open and she could see down the hallway to the open back door and a small deck. From this closer range she realised how old the cottage was, judging by the style of weatherboards used for walls, the sagging front verandah and the odd windows. She reckoned it could be at least eighty years old. But with no answer except a possessive and alarmed squawk from a large white hen, Dani and Jolly continued their walk. Having come this far she decided to go to the top of the hill to the stand of big trees and see what the view was like. It might be a good vista to paint.

  It was a surprisingly long climb, the cottage shrank to doll’s house proportions, and soon she was lost in the grove of magnificent trees. A dry-stone wall wound to the top of the hill and Dani was reminded of lush English countryside as the recent rain had turned the ground cover a fresh green. There was an old-fashioned wooden gate that swung open easily enough so they went on, following a faint path through the grass.

  Dani was so interested in the fruit trees, flowering shrubs, old garden beds and overgrown hedges that the sight of the house caught her completely by surprise. She had come from behind so she was confronted with stables, servants quarters, a wash house and a cookhouse that appeared to have been converted into a storeroom reached by a covered walkway. To one side was a large private courtyard surrounded by a w
alled garden smothered in climbing roses. Further from the house in a largely overgrown remnant of garden was an ornate wooden summerhouse in desperate need of repair.

  Dani walked along a meandering path to a formal circular driveway and stood gazing in absolute wonder at the magnificent old homestead that stood before her. It was double-storeyed and made of bricks that had mellowed with age. The upstairs windows had large shutters under the deep eaves of a slate roof with elaborate chimneys. The downstairs front portico was flanked by a wide, stone-flagged colonnade shaded by sandstone columns where a prolific wisteria vine climbed. Double French doors opened onto this frontage from which short courtyard wings curved around to either side. There was a large fountain in the centre of the driveway with huge angophora trees on both sides. The lawns and rose beds must have been magnificent once and the view over the valley to the mountains and shimmering river was unobstructed. It was all quite breathtaking.

  The house must have been built in the late 1800s, surmised Dani, but it was sadly neglected. Peeling paint, broken trim and architraves, dirty windows, untended gardens. Nonetheless it didn’t appear abandoned. Some efforts had been made here and there – some pruned cuttings, leaves and twigs raked into a pile. The flagged front verandah looked like it had been swept, the fountain was clean but dry.

  Dani went to the front door and rapped the iron knocker then turned to appreciate the view framed by the colonnade and wisteria vine. What a place to sit and meditate on the scene. Several unravelling wicker chairs and an old wooden deckchair were positioned between the stone columns. Dani shaded her eyes and peered through a set of French doors where the curtains were pulled back. It looked like a lounge or drawing room, bulky shadows suggested furniture covered by sheets.

  She walked slowly around the side of the house and discovered a swimming pool, a more recent addition, maybe in the 1950s.

  Jolly stopped and gave a low growl, looking towards the house. At the back entrance a large door stood ajar. Curiosity was gnawing at Dani and she was keen to see inside, but she had an overwhelming feeling that she was trespassing. She knew she should call out in case anyone was around, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she would not be welcome.