‘We’ll be here all day,’ Sam complained, removing Kendal’s pocketknife from the boy’s belt and slicing through the material. The wound was on his shoulder: a deep gash that appeared to have bled itself out. ‘I reckon he knocked his head, that’s why he’s out to it.’ Sam stripped Kendal to the waist. ‘Penny, fetch a blanket from your room for me.’
Meg probed the nasty gash. The blood was already congealing. ‘I think you’re right.’ There wasn’t enough blood in the dirt at the work shed to suggest he was going to die from blood loss. Meg closed her eyes briefly in relief. They were lucky. Sam was very lucky. ‘When he wakes we’ll have a problem, won’t we?’ This was Sam’s third fight that Meg knew of, and although she expected Kendal to recover he’d definitely press charges. Her husband was looking at gaol time.
‘One problem at a time,’ Sam countered.
Meg propped pillows beneath Kendal’s head and then selected a clean shirt, which she pressed against his injury. ‘I don’t know what else we can do for him.’ She pulled the bed covers to his chin and glanced out the door at the curtain of rain, which continued to obliterate the countryside. ‘Would we get him to Stringybark Point?’
Sam scratched his neck. Penny and Jill reappeared in the bedroom doorway, a blanket draped between them, their eyes agog. ‘Thanks. Now you two run along and check the leaks in the house for your mother and we’ll get Kendal settled.’
‘Will Kendal be okay, Daddy?’
‘Sure he will, Jill.’ Sam unwrapped the end of the blanket from around his daughter’s leg.
Penny looked doubtful. ‘If Aunt Cora was here she’d know what to do.’
Sam turned to his wife. ‘Out of the mouths of babes, eh?’
‘Off you go,’ Meg ordered, scooting the girls out and shutting the door behind them.
‘I could bundle him into a vehicle and give it a go,’ Sam said, staring at Kendal. ‘The problem is I don’t know how bad the road will be. If I get bogged Kendal really will have a problem.’
‘Yeah, he probably is better off here. If that wound gets jolted around it might start bleeding again.’ Meg rested her hand on Kendal’s brow. He was hot to the touch.
‘He had it in for me from the very beginning,’ Sam began. ‘Not that I can blame him – not being paid and all. Still, for a kid he sure has an attitude.’
‘Why’s he even here?’ Meg smoothed Kendal’s hair. ‘He’s not being paid and it’s not like he’s the friendliest of people.’ She waited unsuccessfully for Sam to make a comment. ‘What were you fighting about?’
There didn’t seem much point in avoiding the truth. ‘He said something about Cora not belonging to the black or the white section at the Stringybark Point flicks. That she wasn’t entitled to the land and therefore you weren’t, either. A fella wouldn’t make a comment like that unless some truth lay at the heart of it. Anyway, right or wrong I decked him one. A smart bloke would have noticed all the animosity from the beginning. Kendal’s dislike for your aunt, and Harold continually trying to overrule the woman he works for. Combine that with your mother’s attitude towards her sister . . . well, it all equals trouble.’
‘I don’t see how that adds up to anything,’ Meg responded.
‘Maybe it’s a bit like trying to join missing dots, but I can see by the look on your face that you had some suspicions. You knew, didn’t you?’ he asked hesitantly, praying Kendal’s accusations weren’t about to be confirmed. ‘You knew your aunt was of Aboriginal blood.’
They were facing each other across their bed, Kendal’s prone body between them. Meg wrung her hands. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, I’m not sure that I’d admit to it, either.’ Sam considered the ramifications; thought of his little girls whom he loved and the Sydney-based mother-in-law who considered herself too high and mighty for the likes of Sam Bell. ‘I need to ask this, Meg. Is your mother . . .’
Meg’s cheeks flushed a bright pink. ‘No, of course not.’ She sat heavily on the edge of the bed. ‘At least, I don’t think so.’
‘So you don’t know for sure?’
Meg lowered her voice. ‘No, Sam Bell, I don’t know for sure. However, apparently Mum and Cora are stepsisters by marriage only, so I’m figuring she isn’t.’
‘Stepsisters, eh? And you didn’t feel the need to share any of this with me earlier?’
‘No, yes. Damn it, I don’t know, Sam. I’ve had a lot to think about over the last few weeks and our relationship hasn’t exactly been great.’
Sam looked both surprised and disappointed. ‘Funny, from where I stood I thought things were improving.’
He rummaged in the chest of drawers for a dry shirt, jeans and a jumper. ‘Well, let’s forget about us for the moment. This business with Cora is a lot for a person to take in.’ He stripped off, quickly changing into the fresh clothes. ‘So now we know why your mother and Cora don’t get on. What a mess.’ He flipped his shirt collar up and over his jumper and then prodded at the wet and bloody bandage on his thigh. ‘You know, I’m not sure if a darkie can even hold land in their name.’
‘Would you mind not calling my aunt that, please?’
Sam pulled on the clean jeans. ‘Sorry, but you know we do have to consider our own reputations, Meg, and our future. There isn’t much point staying on here if there’s nothing in it for us.’
‘I thought you liked it here.’
‘Let’s not change the subject. How long have you known?’
‘Well, I don’t. At least . . . well, Cora’s been telling me the story of a little girl called Squib who lost her family in the twenties. I guess I didn’t really pick up on the fact that Cora was Squib until she told me. Not that Cora mentioned anything about . . .’ Meg faltered. ‘Anyway, if you’re asking me if I know for sure, no I don’t. However, I’ve had a few conversations with Kendal as well and when we went to Stringybark Point shopping last month, Cora just seemed to be treated differently. People sort of didn’t talk about her as if she was one of us.’
‘Would you have come to Absolution if you’d known?’
Meg’s fingers plied the blanket beneath her. ‘We don’t know how much or little of that blood she has in her.’ Of course, a telephone call to her mother would answer all their questions.
‘Does it matter?’ Sam opened the door. A wave of moist cold air swept through the room. ‘Obviously there was enough to make her decide not to tell you.’
Meg didn’t answer.
‘Well, now she’s gone and got herself lost out in this blasted weather. It’s already near dark with this heavy cloud cover.’
‘Are you going out to look for her?’ Meg asked, giving Kendal a final glance before joining Sam on the veranda.
Sam frowned. ‘No.’
Cora reached the creek crossing just as darkness began to settle in. Edged by trees, the low bank was frilled by great knobbly roots. Finally, a cleared space showed the track that headed west, away from danger. The outline of the mounded dirt across the pipe was visible, the cement edge white against the dark soil. Montgomery took a tentative sniff at its muddy approach, raised his head into the driving rain and backed up like a horse.
‘Go on then, Montgomery, don’t baulk now,’ Cora called, her voice doing battle with the noise of rain slashing the waterway into a miniature stormy sea. The ram turned, sniffed the air and took a step back towards where they’d come from. Curly growled. Cora wheeled Horse to the right, blocking the ram from escape. ‘Come on. Just walk over the damn thing. Walk, Montgomery.’
The ram changed direction.
‘For a prize animal you sure are dumb.’ The ram glowered in the gathering dark. Streaks of lightning illuminated the blue-black sky and lit up the land about them between snatches of rolling thunder. Cora didn’t like the look of the sky. In all her years on Absolution Creek she could not recall seeing such lightning in a wet or a dry storm. Something made her glance over her shoulder. The flash that followed was like a floodlight revealing a thick storm swirling westward,
while the one nearly upon her was heading towards the east.
The rain whipped at her face and she tugged on slippery reins. ‘In a few more minutes it’ll be pitch black, Montgomery. None of us will be able to see a thing.’
Horse whinnied in agreement. Curly barked. Cora unfurled her stock whip from the saddle and flicked it towards the ram. She raised the plaited leather above her head and snapped the crack at the end in mid-air. The sharp clap pierced the air and Montgomery moved backwards towards the crossing. Cora lifted the whip again. Horse moved forward automatically and Montgomery faltered under the noisy barrage. Again and again Cora cracked the whip as the ram took a few steps closer to the crossing. It was tough going. Each time Cora flashed the leather she listened to the resounding crack as it competed with both rain and thunder. Finally, Montgomery bolted over the crossing to the edge of the track where grass gave his hoofs greater purchase than the muddy road.
Cora wound up the whip, and thrust her arm through it and over her shoulder. ‘Thank heavens.’ She ran her hand down Horse’s neck and gritted her teeth. She could do this. She had to do it. The only way to get home was to cross the blasted creek. ‘Now it’s our turn.’ They were halfway across the mounded dirt when a lightning flash struck the ground only feet away. Horse reared instinctively and slipped. Cora felt the saddle slide out from beneath her, her hands flailing.
She was lying in mud, her head pounding from the impact. Gradually, another noise replaced the pain in her head. It was the sound of rain hitting mud inches from her ear. Splats of dirty water mixed with raindrops on her skin. The rain was growing heavier. Pain raced up Cora’s leg. Horse was lying on her weak leg, Curly whining next to her.
‘Horse? Horse old mate, get up.’ Cora clawed her way up from the mud, her fingers twisting against the saddle. Yanking at the solid weight she tried to move her leg left to right, quickly realising it was pinned from the thigh down. Horse’s breathing was ragged.
‘Horse, Horse, wake up!’ When the next flash of lightning illuminated the sky the scale of the animal’s injury became apparent. A great gash revealed blood and bone. His head had hit the edge of the cement pipe. ‘No, not my Horse,’ Cora whimpered. ‘Not my friend.’ Reaching out she grasped a handful of wet mane. ‘I love you, Horse. I love you.’ She wanted to look into those trusting brown eyes one more time, just once, but she couldn’t. Horse faced away from her towards an unknown paddock. With shaking hands she unhooked the holster and drew her pistol. She pulled at a gloved finger with her teeth and freed her hand, and was soon loading a single bullet into the chamber with trembling fingers.
Hold your breath, Squib, her father would say. Pull the trigger nice and slow and then let the air out.
Cora did as she’d been taught, her hand perfectly still. When the thunder cracked and lightning followed, the round hit the highlighted target neatly. ‘Good Horse.’ She patted him quietly as he gave a final kick. ‘Good Horse.’
Cora holstered the pistol, placed her free foot against Horse’s back and pushed as hard as she could. ‘Come on, come on,’ she yelled through gritted teeth. ‘You can do this.’ Twisting and turning made little difference, her leg didn’t budge an inch. Eventually exhaustion began to radiate through her limbs. Cora fell back in the mud, the rain lashing her face, the swish of water only feet below. She tried not to think of the creek, of where she lay, of her beloved Horse pinning her down. Nonetheless fear stalked her; it moved stealthily across the sodden ground to sit heavily on her chest.
‘Go home, Curly,’ Cora commanded. ‘Go fetch help.’
The dog looked at her, walked a few steps and then halted.
‘Go!’
Curly gave Horse a sniff and then disappeared into the rain.
Above her the sky raged. It was as if two weather tribes fought each other on the backs of clouds, lightning as spears, thunder their war cry. Cora lay and waited for the inevitable. The perfect storm that Captain Bob once spoke of – the one that would send her into oblivion – had finally come to Absolution Creek.
Chapter 52
Absolution Creek, 1924
Jack waited two days for Squib to return. During her absence he stayed well clear of the homestead, relying on distance to ease a thickening disappointment. He lived on nothing but water and aged bread, and spent long hours by the creek, bare feet splayed in the water. Occasionally he would flick through his father’s Bible in an attempt to find the slightest thread of understanding, a modicum of solace, but an answer eluded him.
Olive’s admission continued to flatten every aspect of Jack’s world. Combined with Thomas’s disloyalty, it was difficult to think clearly. His inability to see their true characters reflected, he believed, on his own limited view of the world, and in that knowledge Jack recognised a degree of selfishness he was previously unaware of. Yet the anger needling his mind was greater than his compassion. This land, which he cared for and was so proud of, even the homestead, meant nothing to Olive. He meant nothing to her. Clearly her arrival at Absolution Creek was borne out of desperation.
At the water’s edge Jack recalled the life he’d sought on leaving Sydney. His dream remained simple: to have a place of his own in the world and to share it with loved ones. Was it so hard to have both? Where once the Bible sat by a horsehair chair in the kitchen of their grocer’s store, it now rested on the warm sand of the creek’s bank, the gold lettering now partially faded, and leather cover worn with use. Would it not have been better, Jack wondered, to have given in to temptation that first night of Olive’s arrival; to have lived the rest of his life blissfully ignorant of his fiancée’s deceit? Such a question could never be answered. It did, however, lend credence to his increasing lack of faith. What was the point of living a life good and true if others did not? Why be burdened with guilt at ignoring his father’s deathbed promise if one’s penance was never enough?
Jack thought of Squib running through the bush, accepting and grateful of any kindness shown her. The girl who’d survived the very worst of obstacles still found pleasure in her life, found pleasure by Jack’s side, and was grateful for what she had. Jack was not immune to her easy smile and interest in all things rural. Out of the mismatch of inhabitants that once resided within Absolution Creek’s homestead, Squib was the only person with whom he could share his aspirations, who was actively interested in what he was trying to achieve. Should the girl have been ignorant of bush life Jack suspected Squib would have done her best to learn. As it was he remembered with more than fondness the nights they’d sat by the camp fire, good-naturedly quarrelling about one of Mr Farley’s animal husbandry books.
The snap of a branch diverted Jack’s thoughts. On the far side of the creek a mob of ewes padded quietly to the water. They jostled for position briefly before lining up like soldiers to drink as one. Their white muzzles dipped into the liquid and then rose to swallow a mouthful before dipping again, their woolly backs pressed close together.
Jack strode up the bank to where his horse waited, intent on repaying the support received from a girl on the edge of womanhood. There were ways of stopping men like Adams and no doubt methods of thwarting well-intentioned governments if the coin was sufficiently thick. What swirled in Jack’s mind was against everything he’d been instructed to believe in, and if his parents were alive they would undoubtedly condemn his actions. Perhaps that was the reason he left his father’s Bible on the sandy creek bank, for as Jack rode away he was only aware of the goodness nestled in the girl named Squib and a burning need to save her.
Squib awoke to a vision of the sapling in the corner of her room. Light was beginning to stream through the window and a cool breeze rustled the leaves of the leopardwood tree. On the floor tiny star flowers stained the timber boards in patches. The unseasonal flowers blew slowly across the boards in miniature circles to melt against her bare feet as Squib splashed water on her face and tidied her hair in a long plait. A single clean blouse lay over a chair with the too-few items that filled her kerosene-box w
ardrobe, and she dressed swiftly, aware of how quiet the house was. At this hour even Olive should have been up and the homestead scented with the remains of fried eggs. Normally Squib would have already had the men’s breakfast things washed and tidied away and be sitting down to tea and toast by the time her ladyship appeared. The stillness unnerved her.
Having spent nearly one-and-a-half days holed up out on a pine-covered ridge since Adams’s unscheduled arrival, Squib returned footsore and exhausted to her bedroom at midnight. She’d not noticed anything out of sorts then. She’d skirted around the house and entered her room via the veranda to ensure she’d not woken anyone. Now with hunger making her ill, Squib walked hesitantly to the kitchen. Instead of the usual stove-warmed space, the area was pleasantly cool for late summer. Shards of broken plates and cups were scattered across the kitchen floor, along with pages from a newspaper and a couple of scattered envelopes. Windows were open as well as the front door, and blowflies crawled over the kitchen table. Squib shivered; something was terribly wrong.
The rest of the homestead was equally uninhabited. The two living rooms, both only partially furnished, were empty. In Olive’s bedroom, clothes were strewn about, the dresser drawers open and clearly rummaged through. Thomas’s room was equally dishevelled. With growing nervousness Squib opened Jack’s bedroom door. His barely used space was neat, the wardrobe closed, drawers intact. Squib sat on Jack’s bed, trying to decipher what had occurred in the house during her absence. If all Jack’s things were still here – if he hadn’t packed anything while the others had – then that meant that Olive and Thomas had gone. But why would they go? A small gasp escaped her lips as understanding took hold, then an overwhelming feeling of joy settled in her chest. Lifting Jack’s rarely used pillow, Squib buried her face in it. There was the faintest scent of soap and the unmistakable smell of Jack: a mix of leaves and soil. With a squeal Squib hugged the pillow to her chest. Everything pointed to the same conclusion. Olive’s secret was now revealed. Learning that she was with child and in love with another, Jack had thrown both his brother and the woman meant to be his wife out of his home and off Absolution Creek.
Absolution Creek Page 41
