North Star (10 page)

Running her fingers over the old pictures, she carefully turned the album's pages, smiling as she saw North Star in all its glory, filled with love and family. A picture of twin boys caught her eye; they were dressed in matching sailor suits, with a curl twisted in the centre of their foreheads. Their similarity to Liam as a baby startled her. If it wasn't for the faded grain of the picture, and the fact of their being twins, she could have sworn they were the same child.

Carefully she removed the old picture and turned it over.
Henry and Harry
,
aged 12 months
.

Kate stared at the photo in disbelief. Henry had been a twin. She'd had no idea.

Flipping through the photo album produced more pictures of the identical twin boys. Aged two years. Aged four, riding their first ponies; Henry and Harry swimming at the waterhole; Henry and Harry mustering a mob of dusty cattle in the summer of 1930.

Then one particular photo made Kate stare in disbelief—Henry and Harry were grinning at the camera, arms slung around each other's shoulders, hats tilted back at a roguish angle. They looked charming and handsome. The date was October 1938; they were twenty-two. It was so hard to believe one of these carefree young men was her bitter and scowling grandfather. How had this young man ended up so pathetically lonely and broken?

She turned the page curiously, hoping to find the next piece in the puzzle. But there was nothing on the next page, or the one after that. The rest of the album was empty.

The sound of car wheels on gravel made Kate look up. She would have to return to this mystery later. She packed the photos away in their box and walked back down the hallway just as a brisk knock sounded on the front door.

‘You lock your door?' The slow, gruff drawl came from a man Kate guessed to be in his early sixties. His dark eyes were shaded by a large stockman's hat, and he was dressed as though he'd just come in from the paddocks.

‘Old habit, I guess.' She shrugged. ‘Can I help you?'

‘The name's Unterheinner. Matthew Unterheinner,' said the man stiffly, and Kate had to bite her lip to stop from giggling at the man's James Bond–like introduction.

‘You own the property next door?' Kate asked. She had a feeling she knew what this visit was going to be about. ‘Would you like to come inside and have a cuppa?'

He seemed surprised by her offer, but shook his head briskly. ‘What I have to say can be said out here. I won't beat about the bush, it's no secret your grandfather and I had our . . . disagreements over the years, but I'm here to make a more than generous offer for this property.'

Kate pushed the screen door wider and walked out onto the verandah. ‘Mr Unterheinner, I appreciate your offer, but I haven't yet made up my mind what I want to do with my grandfather's property.'

He scowled. ‘Surely you can't be thinking about holding on to this place? You're from the city,' he said, as though informing her she had some horrific disease.

Kate raised an eyebrow. ‘I don't know what I'm thinking just yet.'

‘Look here, girly,' the grazier blustered, pointing a finger at her, ‘you have no business sitting on prime land that real landholders can make use of. If it's a hobby farm you want, then head back towards the coast and buy some nice little block of land with a few chooks, but leave the real farming to those who were born to it—it's no place for a girl like you.'

‘The way I see it,' Kate said, hackles raised, ‘I own this property and I can do with it as I wish. If I want to set up a health retreat for worn-out city slickers,' she saw him pale at this, ‘or build Disneyland Down Under, then I can. But whatever I do, rest assured I will not be asking your permission to do it. I don't think there'll be a need for you to come back here again, do you?'

She saw a red hue creep across his face and the flash of burning hostility in his dark eyes. ‘Be careful, girly. There's a curse that seems to hang around this family and I'd hate to see anything untoward happen to yet another Campbell.' He levelled a menacing glare at her, then stormed down the steps back to his vehicle. ‘And get those bloody fences fixed—I've had a gutful of bloody Campbells putting my livestock at risk,' he yelled through his car window.

Kate stood at the top of the steps, her back straight and her head high. She was shaking all over, but she wasn't going to let him see that.

The Campbell curse. Yes, she'd heard of it before; she'd heard people talk. As a teenager she had once asked her grandmother about it, and although Gran had laughed it off as something conjured up by superstitious minds, Kate had often found herself wondering whether there really was something evil lurking around her family . . . 
was
being the operative word. Henry Campbell was dead. If there
had
been anything evil, it would surely have gone with him.

Rotating her head from side to side, Kate eased out the tension in her shoulders and headed back into the house. Having Matthew Unterheinner as an enemy was not going to make her life here any easier. With a tired sigh, she sat down at the kitchen table and began to make up a list. It was time to start making some serious attempts at figuring out her future.

Kate drove the kids to school on Monday morning so she could spend some time in town. She was eager to find some answers to her grandfather's past.

With no clue where to start, she pulled up in front of the pub and went inside in search of the only person she knew who would be able to point her in the right direction.

‘Morning, Kate. Bit early for you to be hitting the drink, isn't it?' Clive was using his deep voice today and for a moment it threw her.

‘Hello, Clive. Maybe I'm here for some of your famous cheesecake,' she grinned. ‘No, I'm looking for Madge. I gather she helps out over here in the mornings.'

‘Madge! You got a visitor,' Clive boomed through the empty bar.

Madge came bustling through the kitchen door and her old face lit up in a bright smile of delight. ‘Kate! Hello, love, what brings you into town today?'

‘Actually, I was looking for you, Madge. I have some questions I thought you might be able to help me with,' Kate said awkwardly, conscious of the two sets of eyes watching her curiously from the other side of the bar.

‘Sure I can. Come and sit down and we'll have a nice cuppa and see what I can do.' Madge waved her arm at the empty dining tables. ‘I'll be back in a jiffy.'

Kate suddenly wondered whether this was a good idea. Madge was a genuinely lovely woman and Kate knew she had a heart of pure gold, but she was also ready to pounce on the slightest whiff of gossip. By the time Madge came back, Kate had all but decided to make an excuse and leave.

‘Now pet, how can I help you?' said Madge, handing Kate a mug of tea.

‘Well, actually, it's really not that important. I found lots of documents and photos in storage at North Star and I was wondering how I could go about tracing some of the prop- erty's history. Is there a historical group in town? Or old records I could take a look at?'

‘Hmm.' Madge considered her thoughtfully. ‘There's no official historical society as such, but Bert Harris is the Presbyterian minister, he's only been here about ten or twelve years, I guess, but his family came from here originally and he considers himself a bit of a local history buff. The church was one of the original buildings in Widgerry, and I'm pretty sure they've kept the old records.'

Kate's spirits lifted: that sounded like exactly what she needed.

‘But maybe I can help you with some of it. I don't know if you've heard, but around here I'm considered a bit of an authority on local history myself,' she said, smoothing the skirt of her floral print dress over her wide lap.

Kate bit back a smile; that was certainly an interesting way of describing local gossip. ‘Well, actually,' Kate started . . . Oh, what the hell, the whole town probably knew more about her family than she did. ‘I was wondering about Henry being a twin.'

‘Oh. Yes.' Madge nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, he was, wasn't he. I'd almost forgotten about that.' Kate waited while the older woman took a sip of her coffee. ‘Yes,' Madge continued. ‘I believe he and his brother were the Campbells' second family.'

‘Second family?' Kate frowned.

‘I recall my mother talking about it once. God bless her, she'd be almost a hundred by now if she'd lived. A hundred! Can you believe that?' She shook her head slowly.

‘What did she mean by second family?' Kate prodded gently when Madge seemed to drift off, lost in her own memories.

‘Oh, that's right. Yes, after the older boys all died, Ella and Jake, your grandfather's parents, had the twins. Well, they had to, didn't they, to keep the Campbell bloodline going.'

‘What do you mean the older boys all died?'

‘In the war, dear. All four of the boys signed up and they were all killed. An entire generation wiped out. So terribly sad.'

Kate sank back in her seat as she tried to imagine how devastating that kind of loss would be to a mother. ‘That poor woman,' she murmured.

‘Heartbroken she was, so I heard.' Madge shook her head sadly. ‘She had the twins, but by that time she was getting on, and she couldn't have any more children after that. Your grandfather and his brother were the princes of North Star—and it showed. They were spoilt rotten and apparently got away with a lot more than most around here did. Quite a dashing pair they were. Broke many a heart around the district too, if I remember my mother's stories correctly.' She shook her head sadly, ‘Then poor Harry died, and so young too.'

A loud bell rang and Madge rose from her chair stiffly.

‘Madge!' Clive shouted from the kitchen.

‘I heard! I'm coming.' She rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head. ‘Another boy who was mollycoddled too much by his mother if you ask me,' she whispered.

Kate smiled and thanked Madge, but she was disappointed they'd been interrupted before she'd found out the rest of the story.

Outside, blinking in the bright sunlight, Kate walked along to the small stone Presbyterian church at the end of the main street.

The arched front doors were shut, and a quick rattle on the handle showed they were locked. Kate walked around the side and found another entrance. She knocked on the door and waited to see if anyone would answer.

After a moment Kate heard footsteps and a white-haired man with narrow glasses opened the door and asked how he could help.

‘Hello,' smiled Kate. ‘I've just been talking to Madge up at the pub and she suggested I come and find Bert Harris to ask about old church records.'

The man took off his glasses and wiped them on the bottom of his brown cardigan. ‘You've come to the right place, I'm Bert. May I ask who you would be?'

‘I'm Kate Campbell, Henry Campbell's granddaughter. I'd like to find some information about my family.'

‘Ahh. Yes. I've heard a lot about you recently.'

Kate wasn't altogether sure she liked the sound of that, but the man smiled and stepped back to allow her to enter the old church.

Inside, the building was dark and cool. The smell of furniture polish and dried flowers hung in the air. Kate had come to this church with her gran a few times as a child. Gran had been a regular member of the congregation, coming every Sunday, save for the days she'd been unable to hide her bruises; then she'd just sat in her rocking chair and looked out the window quietly. When Kate had asked what she thought about when she sat and rocked like that, Gran had said she talked to God. Secretly Kate had thought it was a waste of time—either that or God simply didn't care about her little gran down here in nowhere Widgerry. If he did, surely he wouldn't have allowed her to suffer as she did. And for that matter, Kate thought now, if the pious Presbyterian community had been so closeknit and Christian, why had no one ever stepped in and put a stop to Henry's violence?

‘Most churches have stopped keeping records of burials, marriages and baptisms nowadays,' Bert Harris was saying. ‘The government records all births, deaths and marriages. But I'm a bit old-school, I guess. I take pleasure in keeping going the tradition of recording religious ceremonies. Our register dates back as far as 1869,' he informed her, leading her out into the church office.

‘Please take a seat,' he offered, pulling a second chair up to his desk.

As she sat down, the minister pulled out the biggest book Kate had ever laid eyes on. The smell of its leather binding and aged paper filled the air as the minister opened the book.

‘Do you have an idea what date we're looking for?'

‘Not exactly. I wanted to find out a bit more about my grandfather and his parents and siblings. I've only just found out he was a twin—no one had ever mentioned that to me before.'

‘Well, we can start with Henry's death and work our way back from there.' He flipped to the rear of the book and the most recent entries. ‘I conducted the funeral myself. There was no church service, just a graveside burial.'

Although she didn't detect any judgement in his tone, Kate felt an urge to defend her absence. ‘We weren't close . . . Henry and me.'

‘No,' he agreed, lifting his gaze from the book to search her eyes. ‘He was a hard man to understand. I tried on a number of occasions to get through to him, but unfortunately the alcohol had taken too great a hold on him,' he said quietly, then brightened. ‘Here it is, his date of birth is listed as 25 August 1916. Henry Alexander and Harold James Campbell, born to Ella and Jake Campbell, North Star, Widgerry.'

There was no burial listing for the other four siblings, but their deaths were noted in the ledger. John, Francis, Charles and Edwin Campbell had all died within months of each other, their bodies never returned home.

Kate was quiet for a moment, contemplating the sacrifice Ella Campbell had been forced to make for the Empire.

‘So can we find Harry's date of death?' she asked eventually.

‘I can't say I recall much about that,' Bert said thoughtfully.

‘I know he was still alive at twenty-two, and that was in October 1938. It was on the back of a photo,' Kate suggested helpfully.

Bert's eyes lit up again and he began carefully turning the pages to the appropriate date. There was nothing under Harry's name, but as Bert ran his fingers down the list of entries he exclaimed, ‘Here it is!
Ella Campbell died 4 December 1938. Mother of Harold Campbell, drowned, aged 22, 25 October 1938
.'

Kate dragged her gaze from the page. ‘The photo must have been taken not long before Harry died.' A shiver of foreboding ran through her. They could never have suspected when they were being photographed that within days one of them would be dead. ‘I wonder what happened,' she said quietly.

‘Maybe I can make a few enquiries and find out for you,' Bert Harris said. ‘The records only go so far in answering our questions. However, I do know that a lot of the bigger properties have family plots on them and I remember someone bringing it up when we buried Henry. He specifically put in his will that he was
not
to be buried on North Star. I assumed he wanted to be buried with his wife, in the town cemetery. Not to mention that nowadays it's not easy to be buried in a private cemetery—there's a lot of red tape to go through.'

Kate hadn't been out to the cemetery to visit her gran's grave since she'd returned. She couldn't bring herself to do it just yet.

‘Have you heard anything before about a Campbell curse?' Kate asked, feeling a little foolish.

The old man gave her a sceptical glance. ‘What kind of curse?'

‘I know it sounds silly, but there's supposed to be a curse attached to the Campbell family and I was just curious to find out what might have started the idea.'

‘It doesn't take a lot for these old rumours to take off,' he said. ‘I wouldn't go worrying too much about it. There's usually never any substance to them.'

Kate shrugged. ‘I was just curious. Well, I'd better let you get back to your work. Thank you for taking the time out to help me.'

‘My pleasure. I'd be interested in looking through some of your old family photos one day. I'm a bit of a history enthusiast,' he admitted a little shyly.

‘I'll bring them by once I've had a chance to go through them,' Kate said and shook the minister's hand. His skin was cool and soft, but Kate detected the underlying warmth of the man. He seemed the kind of person a congregation could put their trust and faith in. She walked back to the car and drove home, her mind racing. Instead of solving some of her family's mysteries, she'd only managed to unearth more questions.

After overseeing snacks and homework that afternoon, Kate told Georgia and Liam to get changed out of their uniforms and follow her outside.

‘Not more digging,' Georgia cried dramatically.

‘No more digging today. I want you two to come with me to find something.'

‘What are we looking for?' At least Liam sounded excited about the prospect of going outside to explore.

‘I was looking through some old photos and I want to go and check out something I saw in them.'