The Bark Cutters (17 page)

‘I'll just check the office.'

‘I'm sure I got everything, Dad.'

‘Not quite.'

Ronald waded into his office and from his jacket pulled a waterproof envelope. Into it he placed the entire contents of a drawer. Sarah saw a conglomeration of old letters and photographs all tied neatly together in separate bundles with twine.

‘They're of Scotland,' he offered, aware of his daughter's interest. ‘I went there once.'

‘I know, you told me.'

Ronald sealed the envelope. ‘Our forefathers came from there.'

‘I might go there one day. You liked it.'

Ronald shook his head. ‘There are better places to visit, Sarah.'

‘But you kept the photos.'

‘Yes,' he agreed, ‘I kept the photos.'

‘There are a lot of memories in this house, Dad.'

Ronald's heavy hand rested briefly on her shoulder. Sarah thought of her beloved brother and smiled sadly.

‘Let's get you back to that boyfriend of yours.'

On the return journey Sarah sat quietly, lulled into contemplation by the whirr of the outboard. It was difficult coming home at the best of times, but this Christmas was proving especially hard. Since Cameron's death her yearly visit at Christmas was all she could endure, and returning was like revisiting the scene of a crime. She would spend her days roaming the countryside, revisiting the creek, the lignum, the woolshed; all the places that held memories of her brother, documenting their lives with her new Pentax camera. Then she would relive that last fatal day and the words of accusation shouted at her by her mother. Initially Sarah believed her departure from Wangallon would only be temporary but nearly three years on she still felt estranged from the land she had once cherished.

Her relationship with her mother now verged on non-existent, and her father had taken to long drives across Wangallon, often not returning until dusk. Not once in all the months that stretched between Cameron's death and now had the subject of his true parentage been discussed. She tried once, twice, with
her father yet a glazed look frosted his eyes and silence greeted her frustrated attempts for knowledge.

‘Drop it,' he commanded one late afternoon. ‘He's dead. It doesn't matter anymore.'

But it mattered to Sarah. She wanted to know why it had happened. Why she had been deceived since birth.

‘Bad?' Jeremy knew he had to ask, but by the expressions on their faces as father and daughter walked through the back door, he rather hoped they wouldn't be forthcoming with detail. Sarah slapped sandflies from her neck before sitting heavily at the kitchen table. Of course he had been warned what to expect; that was one thing he could count on with Sarah, she was always big on detail, but in truth he hadn't really listened or, more correctly, had been unable to understand the true definition of a flood. Jeremy gave Ronald a sympathetic glance and then concentrated on the desolate looking creature that seemed to carry the rotten stench of filthy water on her clothing.

‘You should change, you know,' he suggested, coming to sit by her side.

‘Have a shower,' Ronald agreed. ‘Use that disinfectant in case you've got any small cuts. Make her a coffee will you, Jeremy, while I shower.'

‘Of course.' Glad to be useful, Jeremy topped up the stainless steel kettle and plugged it in.

Sarah swiped at a mosquito. ‘Sorry, had I known this was going to happen I never would have dragged you up here for Christmas.'

They had been introduced at an art gallery opening. Sarah hedged around Jeremy's frequent telephone calls, citing workloads and out-of-town shoots, joking for some time that his photo should be in the dictionary under ‘p' for persistence.
Most of the time she was holed up in her grandmother's apartment trying to make sense of the world. Eventually Sarah relented and agreed to one date. Two months later she agreed to another.

‘Well, I have to admit I didn't expect this,' Jeremy agreed. He brushed his white T-shirt, his acid wash jeans spotless compared to Sarah's flood-filthy clothes. ‘It's staggering how quickly things change. One minute everything is green and lush, the next a flood is on its way.'

‘Well I should have listened to Grandfather. He did warn me that heavy rain was falling up in the catchment area two days before we left Sydney.'

He brushed a bloodthirsty mosquito from her cheek. ‘I won't stay, Sarah. There is nothing I can do to help. Besides, I think both your father and grandfather consider me a bit of a liability.' And wasn't that the understatement of the year. Angus Gordon had the uncanny ability of making him feel like a leper just by looking at him.

Sarah frowned.

‘Hang on, before you speak, please let me say that if I thought that there was anything remotely constructive I could do to help, I would, but I really don't want to add to the angst in this household.'

Sarah reached out and touched his hand. ‘I'd rather you stayed, but I understand. I can't say I'd want to spend my holiday surrounded by stinking sludge when I could be back in Sydney partying and going to the beach.'

‘That's unfair.'

‘Sorry,' Sarah answered.

‘You asked me to come here. It took me a while, I know, but I figured as you only venture up here at Christmas I could at least support you. I don't understand why you keep coming though, Sarah. Even if there wasn't a flood, everyone just seems to be very
distant and disinterested. I'm not from the bush so maybe I'm missing something but has anyone asked how you are? How your work is going? It's like we live in another world.'

‘Well, as you can see, we do.' Sarah gestured to the massed insects crawling on the gauze kitchen windows.

‘Yeah, well. I suppose you're just a better person than me. I wouldn't put up with any of this crap from my parents. It was tragic what happened to your brother, but life goes on and if you're only coming up here once a year out of some sense of family duty … well, why bother?'

Jeremy warmed the cups with hot water before adding coffee and then milk.

‘I'm sorry,' Sarah answered again.

‘Hey kiddo,' he ruffled her hair. ‘You don't have to say sorry to me. It's just that I don't understand the family dynamics and with the flood and all I do think it's better if I leave. You can stay and support your family without worrying about me. It makes sense, doesn't it?' Jeremy knew she was torn. He'd rather she return to Sydney with him, but her allegiance this time was to her family. A skewed sense of family loyalty shadowed her trips north, but he'd also seen the look in her eyes when their car drove through Wangallon's boundary gate. It was pure love.

‘One hundred and twenty-five years this house of Grandfather's has been here,' Sarah said thoughtfully.

‘What about your old home? It is salvageable, isn't it?' Jeremy licked his teaspoon, absently sticking it back in the sugar pot.

Sarah traced the length of his forefinger as it rested on the tabletop. ‘No, yes … well, not for me.' In each room they had lifted chairs onto tables, gathering clothes and shoes from the bottom of wardrobes, pulling the culmination of thirty years from beneath beds and within linen closets. ‘Even the Christmas tree, all ruined. Nothing was left untouched.'

‘And your brother's room?'

‘I didn't go in,' Sarah took a sip of her coffee. ‘It's her mausoleum, you know, Sue's shrine. She made it off limits years ago.'

‘But you've been inside?'

‘Sure,' Sarah smiled softly, ‘I've been in there.' From it she had salvaged the old packing-case desk once used by her great-grandfather Hamish, her brother's favourite Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band cassette collection and a clean blue work shirt he once wore. This last item was stored in a plastic bag with the silk scarf Anthony had given her years before.

Five days into the flood, having organised a lift in a State Emergency Services helicopter, Anthony arrived. He jumped from the machine as it touched down briefly onto the only patch of dry ground, the uneven bank of Wangallon's large house dam. Sarah, sent by her grandfather to check which supplies were arriving, watched as the familiar figure appeared on the dam bank. At first she thought she was hallucinating.

‘Anthony?' she half-whispered, his name catching in her throat. He was wading towards the small tinnie where she sat, a large wooden crate in his hands, his akubra cocked back on his head, his lopsided grin oozing goodwill.

‘Well, Sarah Gordon, came back for the show, did we?'

Sarah found herself suddenly speechless. She watched his capable hands grasp the boat as the helicopter dipped, lifting into the air, the wind whipping the water.

‘Anthony,' she said slowly. She brushed at the moisture rising in her eyes. He grinned as he sat gingerly in the boat, dumping the crate between them.

‘Hey, it's okay.' He leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Everything will be fine.'

Sarah experienced a welling of emotion in her stomach. His hands reached for hers.

‘Is everyone okay?'

Sarah scanned his face, soaking up the tan of his skin, her eyes flickering to the small scar on his cheek. ‘Everyone is fine,' she said softly. ‘It's really good to see you.'

‘It's been a long time, Sarah Gordon.' He gave the old outboard motor two quick pulls.

‘Too long,' she replied, the words blown away by the engine noise.

With the flood water swirling about them as they moved off, Sarah focused her eyes on the rushing liquid, her heart quickening its beat, her hands subconsciously grasping the sides of the old boat. Eventually she found herself looking directly into his eyes again. Anthony was smiling, an expression of contentment resting in the soft creases about his dark blue eyes and around his full lips. She smiled automatically in return. The dogs barked loudly at their approach, the noise waking Sarah from a memory of that last day by the creek. With a rush of nervousness, her thoughts turned to Jeremy, reading quietly on the main verandah.

‘Well,' Anthony stretched out a little, his leather work boots resting on the wooden crate separating him from Sarah, ‘when your grandfather called me, I figured things up here must be pretty bad.'

‘He called you? He never said you were coming.'

‘Well, maybe he wanted to surprise you.'

He sure managed to do that, Sarah thought, aware that there was a broad smile plastered over her face like a kid just given a bag of fairy floss. ‘Thanks for coming.'

‘No problem. Things look a bit ordinary.'

‘It's not good, Anthony. Not good at all.' Confusion was seeping into her body. She was so pleased and happy to see
Anthony after so many years, but Jeremy waited for her inside the homestead.

Anthony nodded, acknowledging the calamity as he took in the wreckage of the soil, the lapping of the water against outbuildings and trees, the destruction of the main homestead's beautiful garden, the terrible stench of decay. The stock losses would be atrocious. Jumping from the tinnie, he tied the boat to the back gate and extended his hand to Sarah. He felt the sweet pleasure of her soft skin against his and then she was gone.