Forest Spirit (5 page)

Faint voices and clattering sounds came from what she assumed was the kitchen. She stood, then padded across the green linoleum floor. Clothes. Where did she leave them?

She couldn't remember.

Last night had been trying.

The trip from the airport, arriving at her new home in the semi-darkness, walking over the mossy front lawn, past a rusting 44-gallon drum; then up the steps onto the front veranda where an old battered car seat stood.

Once inside, they had gone into the kitchen where she had met her cousin, Snook. ‘G'day,' he said, grinning widely, eyeing her up and down. ‘So, you're my cousin. How come you're different?'

Mrs Kelly interrupted. ‘Snook, don't be rude.'

‘It's okay, Mrs Kelly, I don't mind.' Jars turned to Snook. ‘I'm Aboriginal, like my mother was. My father was from Scotland.'

‘Yeah? That's awesome.' Then, signalling that the subject was closed, Snook jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen stove. ‘I kept the stew hot, like I was told to. Can we have it now? I'm starving.'

Mrs Kelly walked over to the stove, opened the oven door and took out a large pot, which she placed on a bench next to the sink. ‘You can all sit down while I dish up. And Jars …'

‘Yes, Mrs Kelly?'

‘I don't think I like being called Mrs Kelly. Aunt or Auntie would be better.'

Jars puIled out a chair and sat down at the table. Mr KeIly and Snook joined her. ‘That goes for me too, Jars. I'm your Uncle Jim, so you might as well call me that.'

Mrs Kelly dished out the stew and carried the plates to the table. She served Jars first. ‘Good, that's settled. Now, Jars, you eat up, you must be starving after your long trip.'

Smelling the rich aroma of the steaming meal in front of her and not having eaten properly since breakfast, Jars realised that she was indeed hungry. She waited till the others were served and began to eat, listening to the general chitchat of her new family, answering any questions that were asked of her with a nod or a simple yes or no. After the meal, Jars helped to clear the table. She was then shown to her room. Sleep came quickly.

Sometime during the night, she found herself in the cave. Once again, she saw the ghostly presence, his carving, his dancing, his dying, and the words that continued to hold no meaning …‘The rocks are weeping. Kodkuna yultan.'

Now, Jars pushed the memory of the cave to the back of her mind, found her clothes, which were on the floor at the foot of the bed, and dressed quickly. She ran her hands through her hair and yawned. Then feeling neither tired nor rested, she made her way towards the morning sounds.

Snook and his dad were sitting at the kitchen table, and her aunt was buttering toast on the long bench below the window, which overlooked the backyard. Her aunt turned when she entered.

‘Good,' she said, placing the toast on the table. ‘Just in time. Sit down and tuck in. I'll have some eggs for you in a jiffy.'

Jars crinkled her lips in an attempt to smile and sat down. ‘Thank you,' she managed.

‘Oh, so you talk, eh?' Snook said. ‘I was beginning to wonder. You were quiet as anything last night.'

‘S-Sorry, I-I didn't mean to be rude.'

Snook took a bite of toast. ‘Like a zombie you were. In a daze. You all right now, or what?'

Snook's father, who had been sitting quietly listening, took a sip of coffee, then turned to Snook. ‘That's enough. Your cousin was just tired after her trip. And don't speak with your mouth fuIl.' He turned to Jars. ‘Feeling better now, are you? Feel up to a morning's shopping? Your Aunt Irene reckons we should get you some things in Queenstown. School uniform and the like. So, what do you say, ready to be dragged around the shops?'

‘Not me!' Snook blurted.

‘Oh, I know you won't want to tag along. That goes without saying.' Snook's dad pushed his plate aside. ‘So, while we're away, you can clean up in here.' He waved his hand about the kitchen. ‘And then, when we come home, there's something else you can do.'

Snook groaned. ‘What's that?'

‘Go and see the Quigleys.'

‘What?'

‘You heard me. For some reason, and don't ask me why, Mr Quigley has given me a week off.'

Snook raised his eyebrows. ‘But it's the middle of the cray season. Why would he do that?'

His dad shook his head. ‘I told you not to ask me why. The bottom line is I don't know what his reasoning is. Something about him needing to use the boat. Anyway, seeing that I've got a few days to spare, I thought we could go camping.'

‘Yeah?'

Jim Kelly nodded, then turned to Jars. ‘What do you say? You, Snook, Quenton Quigley and me. We'll have a great time.'

Snook's head jerked up. ‘What, Quigley? That dork? He's gonna come? You gotta be joking.'

Jim waved a finger at his son. ‘Don't talk about Quenton like that. It's offensive. And no, I'm not joking. I'm serious. That's why I want you to go to the Quigley place this afternoon. You can tell them where we're going. I mentioned the camping thing to his father yesterday. Because he'll be away for a few days and because Mrs Quigley's going to visit her sister in Burnie, he'd like Quenton to stay with us … as a favour.'

Mrs Kelly set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Jars. ‘Thanks,' she said, then added, ‘Won't you be coming camping too?'

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Jars' aunt chuckled. ‘Goodness no, lying on a hard bed and fighting off flies and the like isn't my idea of fun. No, I'll leave the camping up to you lot.'

Snook pushed his plate aside. He turned to his dad, eyebrows raised. ‘So, where are we going? Where are we gonna take the great Quigley?'

‘Now, Snook,' his mother said, as she wiped her hands once again, ‘it won't hurt you to be nice to Quenton. His father's thinking of selling the cray boat and, well, your dad would like to buy it. Taking Quenton would be doing his father a favour and it wouldn't hurt your dad's chances of buying the boat either.'

‘Now, Irene,' her husband interrupted, ‘it's not a question of sucking up to old man Quigley. We'll be doing him a good turn, that's all. So, when we get back from the shops, Snook and Jars can take themselves round to the Quigleys and tell them we're going to Timber Creek. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning.'

‘Timber Creek?' Snook wrinkled his forehead, his eyes narrowing as though deep in thought. ‘Where's that?'

‘In the mountains. There's a terrific lake there. We'll be able to do a spot of trout fishing.'

‘How come you know about that place?' Snook asked. ‘We hardly ever go into the mountains.'

‘Oh, I've got a good mate there. I've known him for years. He's the ranger for the area. I rang him first thing this morning. He reckons he can put us onto a good camping spot.'

‘Far out,' Snook said. ‘That's great. It's just a pity that dork Quigley's tagging along.'

Jim Kelly glared at his son. ‘Snook, for the thousandth time, watch that tongue of yours.' He threw his arms into the air, then stood and walked towards the kitchen doorway. He turned to his wife. ‘Coming Irene? We'd better get ready for this shopping expedition. And Snook, just make sure you tidy up in here,' he said over his shoulder, ‘then you can start loading the trailer with the camping gear.'

Jars watched her aunt and uncle leave the kitchen. ‘He's a lot like my dad was,' she thought. ‘The no nonsense type'. Although even at this early stage, she could see he was going to have a hard time taming Snook.

Her uncle was the outdoor type too.

His brown, weathered face, his sun-bleached brown hair, even the clothes that he wore – denim trousers, green work shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows – told her that.

Snook interrupted her thoughts. ‘Oh well, I suppose I'd better get on with it.'

Jars pushed her chair back. ‘I'll give you a hand.'

‘Nah, you'd better go and get ready for Queenstown. You'll be leaving soon.'

‘Okay, I suppose you're right. But Snook …?'

‘What?'

‘How come you don't like this Quenton Quigley kid?'

Snook began to stack the dishes in the sink. ‘Oh, that. Look, his old man spoils him rotten. Whatever he wants, he gets. He thinks he's better than all of us other kids too. But I got the better of him once.'

A satisfied look spread over his face.

‘How did you do that?' Jars asked.

‘Flattened him after he shot me with his slingshot. Believe it or not, ever since then he's hung around me like a bad smell.'

She liked Snook. He reminded her of the cheeky warblers that liked to annoy the bigger birds around Jacana Station. Like them, he had a carefree but likeable style. His uncombed fair hair, freckly face and lopsided, almost permanent grin, added to her first impressions. Yes, she decided, life with her new cousin was not going to be boring.

Her aunt poked her head through the doorway. ‘Jars, are you ready to leave? If we go now we should be back about lunchtime.'

‘Yes,' Jars said, ‘I'm ready.'

‘And Snook,' his mother added, ‘make sure you clean up in here like you were told.'

Snook turned the hot water tap on. ‘That's what I'm doing now. Workin' my fingers to the bone I am.' Fat Arse Quigley, Snook couldn't help thinking as he washed the dishes. How was he going to put up with that waste of space? It'll be a nightmare.

Jars walked into her bedroom. She gathered the money she had been given by Mr Henderson and put it in the back pocket of her jeans, at the same time hoping and praying that the dramas in her life had at last gone. Deep down she knew they had not. Her vision, she had come to realise, was meant to be a sort of message. What that message was she didn't know, but her innermost feelings told her that the man, the cave and the camping trip were connected.

Jars didn't understand how or why she was able to sense such things. But her parents had recognised it. ‘It's the gift,' her father had said. ‘You have the feyness of the highlands, lass.' Then her mother would chime in. ‘No, Alec, it's the “doowi” in her. She has the dream spirit in her blood.'

That's how it had always ended. No real explanation. Just a vague reference to the highlands of Scotland and some sort of dream spirit.

Now, whatever it was had come to her once again. A general uneasiness, an unwanted invader of her bones and nerves, a feeling that she knew was very real.

Snook's voice coming from the kitchen interrupted her thoughts. ‘Bloody hell! Fat Arse! God help us!'

Jars smiled to herself then walked out of her room and into the garden, where her aunt and uncle were waiting next to the car.

A hundred kilometres away, high in the mountains, Evelyn Grimshaw sat in her armchair looking out of the lounge room window, sipping her first coffee of the morning. Her view of the main street, which bisected the town, told her that it was deserted, motionless, as though holding its breath. The half-dozen timber houses, set back from the road, lay still and silent, their occupants shut off from the outside world, their curtains and blinds drawn tight.

To her right, Evelyn could see as far as the road bridge that spanned Dog Leg River, which served as the western border of the town. To her left were Bob's Take-a-Way, Andy's Supermarket, the Thrifty Second Hand Shop, the Timber Creek Post Office and the Tiger Hotel. The smoky, dark facades of each building and their tired, lifeless state, told the town's story. It was dying. In a way, so am I, she thought.

She drifted back to a day several months ago, a day she would rather forget. It had been cold, she remembered, with grey skies and drizzling rain. She had made the journey to Burnie to meet with her bank manager, who turned out to be a youngish man with a name-tag that said he was Michael. She followed him into a small office and he asked her to take a seat. A thin, nervous smile creased her lips as she sat on one of the brown visitors chairs. Crossing her legs, she listened as the bank manager began.

‘I'm afraid your situation has grown worse, Evelyn.' He picked up a document, which he studied for a moment before waving it in the air in front of her. ‘The house payments are three months in arrears, and your business debts, according to my information, are rising. So, and I'm sure you will agree, something needs to be done. We at the bank …'

She held up her hand, interrupting him in mid sentence. Then, all evidence of an attempted smile gone, she leant forward. ‘I don't need you to tell me the obvious. I know perfectly well what's wrong, what needs fixing up. How I do that is why I came here.'

‘Please, calm down Ms Grimshaw and I'll explain further.'

Reluctantly, Evelyn sat back, letting him continue.

‘The only course open to you is that we foreclose on the house and the log truck. Unless of course you can somehow get the vehicle on the road again and start generating funds, but as I understand it, the repairs are quite extensive, so …'