The Bark Cutters (21 page)

‘So it seems. He looks strong and healthy, my dear.'

Leaving the child, Hamish stood awkwardly by his wife's bed. Glazed eyes peered from sallow skin. ‘The furniture arrived in good condition?' A whiff of sour breath carried across to him.

‘Yes.'

‘The books and magazines?' The barest scent of lavender water wafted in the cloying air.

‘Yes.'

‘And you are feeling –' He searched for the right word – ‘more rested?'

‘A little.'

‘Good, good.' Hamish glanced about the room uneasily. Striding across to the window, he drew the curtains and lifted the sash. Immediately the harsh midday sun entered the room, accompanied by a blast of hot air. ‘That's better.' Ignoring the frown on his wife's face he leaned down carefully to give her a kiss on the forehead. ‘An Afghan merchant will be arriving here in two months. I expect you up and about to entertain him. You will be ready?' He added a little more gently, ‘And Luke, he appears a bit unruly.'

‘He is four, Hamish,' Rose pointed out, struggling to sit up in the bed. ‘Who is this merchant? We've not had a visitor recently.'

‘Well, no doubt Mrs Cudlow will cure him.' A thought occurred to him. ‘You received the material?'

Rose smoothed the bedcover about her waist. ‘The children needed clothes. There was not enough to go around.'

‘I'm sorry. Sailor suits?' Hamish queried, his full lips turning upwards briefly at the sight of her firm breasts straining against the material of her nightgown.

‘Yes.' Rose pulled herself up further in bed. ‘You mentioned we were to have visitors?'

Hamish noticed a hint of colour in her cheeks, she appeared almost interested. ‘Yes. We will talk of that tomorrow. When you are rested.'

Rose sighed. ‘Of course.'

The minutes stretched. Hamish listened to the soft pat of bare feet in the hallway. The servants were bringing in his luggage.

‘Hamish, I was hoping that perhaps you would take me on your next trip to Ridge Gully to see my Elizabeth. I miss my darling daughter so much.' Her voice grew softer, almost pleading in tone.

Hamish watched as beads of sweat formed on her brow. The baby began to mew softly. ‘I have seen both your mother and our daughter. They are in good health. Surprisingly, our daughter is well mannered.' Indeed his daughter was almost entertaining in her coy questioning about his travels.

‘Oh.'

He lifted the child from the crib, the slight body enveloped by Hamish's large forearm. ‘Good lad,' he said with a proud smile when the baby ceased crying and returned his father's stare. ‘This lad will be both confident and obedient, I can sense these things.' He passed his new son to his wife.

‘Has she grown much? Is she tall like Howard?'

Hamish frowned at talk more suited to women. His gaze
followed Rose's movements as she pulled at the ribbon at her neck and, with her gown loosening, lifted a breast, heavy with milk, towards her child.

‘I would like so much to see her.'

‘My dear, we have already lost one child through too much exertion on your behalf. You must learn to rest. It is a long tiring journey to Ridge Gully. Do you not remember how you complained when we left?'

Rose settled back in the pillows, the baby gazing at her quietly. ‘Yes.'

‘You complained of the ceaseless swaying of the carriage, then the dray. You complained of the food served at the coach stops and of the beds we slept in. And what of your own children here? Three fine boys and now this one, a fourth.'

Hamish thought of Lorna, resplendent in her silks and with a reputation for outrageous dinner parties. The General Store was now a thriving Emporium, owned entirely by Lorna, whose staff of five appeared loyal, knowledgeable and discreet. Hamish, suitably impressed, found his visit refreshingly pleasant. Lorna only requested an interview once to briefly send her regards to her only daughter and to commiserate over the death of his son Matthew at birth, some two years prior.

The boy mouthed disinterestedly at Rose's nipple. ‘You should have a wet nurse. This mothering seems to keep you confined to your bed when you should be up and about.' The pale eyes studying him were disbelieving.

Rose settled herself into the pillows supporting her back and waited patiently. Gradually the child began sucking smoothly. The children at least filled in the endless hours for her. ‘I don't think I could bear being bandaged in this heat, Hamish.'

‘Bandaged?' Hamish coughed. ‘Yes, well that's something best discussed with Mrs Cudlow.'

Rose closed her eyes. ‘Of course.'

‘As for a trip, Rose, the children are far too young to be left alone without one of us, and I certainly couldn't risk taking them on a journey. I don't think you realise, my dear, the dangers nor …'

‘Perhaps you are right,' Rose answered wearily, ‘after all I am busy also. Seven children later, I have one stillborn, one dead and my beautiful Elizabeth, not seen for near four years, the same length of time since my arrival in this godforsaken place. But you, Hamish, you have your business and four healthy boys, the beginning of your little dynasty.'

Hamish backed away from the sarcasm in his wife's voice. What was he meant to do, he wondered? Risk the lives of his children and send them all south so Rose could visit her daughter? Apart from the tiring journey, what if his wife and young sons encountered bushrangers or worse, some of the renegade Aborigines that had attacked a settlement only 200 miles north of Ridge Gully last spring? The only other possibility was to let Rose travel south by herself and leave his boys in the hands of Aborigines and a nanny. That was not an option. The children needed their mother, besides which he could not risk his wife's safety. They were married and regardless of Rose's clear disdain towards him, he was duty bound to protect her. Elizabeth was safe and well used to her grandmother. Quite frankly, Elizabeth was the most secure of all his family, but Rose only saw what she wanted to see.

‘I'll let you rest,' Hamish said quietly, closing the door. Marriage was not as he had expected it to be, for no matter what he did it was never enough.

‘There is little else to do,' Rose replied to his retreating figure.

Hamish's fingers tightened on the doorknob. Surely there was to be more to his personal life than this detached relationship.

Sarah walked out of the cinema with her two girlfriends, Shelley and Kate.

‘Loved it,' Shelley exclaimed, huddling into her white jacket as they hit the bracing wind funnelling up George Street. ‘Tom Cruise was just so cool and that Val Kilmer …'

‘Now,
there
is a body,' Kate agreed, managing to light her cigarette as they walked. ‘Still my favourite movie remains
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
.'

‘You
are
joking? You would choose that over
Top Gun
?' Sarah linked arms with both of them and they crossed at the lights. ‘Bueller, Bueller, Bueller,' she joked, steering them into their monthly haunt, a small Italian restaurant chosen more for convenience than the food. They were ushered to a corner table and before the girls could decide what they were having, Sarah ordered three West Coast Coolers.

‘I'm so parched.' Shelley drank hers almost immediately and ordered another round. ‘So, have you photographed any delicious male models recently?'

‘I wish. But I have helped on two model portfolios. They were female,' she revealed to the expectant look on Kate's face. ‘It's good money.' She stood to briefly show off her new Guess jeans and purple Swatch watch.

‘Gorgeous,' Shelley held out her own wrist. ‘Me too.' Her Swatch was fire engine red. ‘Don't you just love this brand? Tomorrow we just have to go shopping. I saw this unbelievable acqua suit – it would be just perfect for the office.'

‘Done,' Kate clinked her glass against Shelley's. ‘I'm booked for a manicure at nine though. Sometimes I wish I'd never done that damn typing course.'

‘Oh,' Shelley pouted, ‘then you never would have met us.'

‘I could meet you both in the city at 10.30?' Sarah suggested. ‘I want to go to Centennial Park first thing in the morning and try out the new lens on my camera.'

‘Well, remember us when you're rich and famous.' Shelly raised her glass to Sarah.

‘So are we on for The Aussie Rules Club at the Cross?' Shelley was picking at a piece of complimentary garlic bread. ‘It's a veritable smorgasbord there, girls,' she giggled.

‘Nothing like a bit of eye candy,' Sarah agreed.

Kate pointed a finger at her. ‘You just behave yourself. You already have a man. I love that whole preppy college thing Jeremy has going with the blazer and open-neck shirts.'

‘I can look, can't I?'

‘I thought you got enough eye relief, Sarah, when you were home last.' Shelley teased her. ‘You said Anthony came back while the flood was on.'

‘Is he still just as good looking now he's older?' Kate asked. ‘It must be a few years since you last saw him?'

Shelley leaned forward. ‘You never did get around to telling us.'

Sarah smiled blandly and took another sip of her drink, aware that the girls were waiting for a response.

‘Well?' Shelley persisted.

‘Are you ready to order?'

Their regular waiter, a man in his sixties with the annoying habit of soundlessly appearing at the table, poised a pen over his order pad. Sarah turned her attention to the menu, grateful for the distraction. When she next looked up, three pairs of eyes were staring at her expectantly. ‘Sorry, I wasn't listening.'

Shelley looked at her with a knowing gaze.

‘Well, as my friends can't decide and I'm starving we will have –' Kate skimmed the menu – ‘spaghetti marinara, and some red wine. You know the Italian stuff; the green bottle in the little wicker thingy.'

‘Of course.'

When the waiter left, Sarah lifted her glass. ‘A toast to us.'

‘To us.' Kate and Shelley lifted their glasses.

‘And to the men in our lives,' Shelley continued. ‘We may not be able to live with them –' she looked pointedly at Sarah – ‘but we can't always live without them either.'

Angus knew his granddaughter had not been consulted about her parents' decision to leave West Wangallon. Sure he could have telephoned her, advised her of Ronald's decision, but in truth he had never thought today would become a reality. He had been reared on the epic stories of his own father's arrival in Australia, of his uncle's death on the goldfields, of a man who created a huge empire, losing much of his family along the way. Angus knew too well what the Gordons had gone through to survive on Wangallon. No, with a history the likes of the Gordons', one simply didn't leave. A mad daughter-in-law and a dead grandson notwithstanding, one simply did not.

Angus stood next to his granddaughter outside West Wangallon homestead. They were waiting for Ronald to appear from the house one final time before saying goodbye to him. He was moving north to the coast to join Sue, who had left some weeks earlier.

‘It's done now. It's beaten them, well probably more your mother than Ronald. Still, the end result is the same.' There was
only the barest trembling of Angus' hands as he lit a cigarette, his fourth in as many minutes. He drew back heavily, the action causing the constant phlegm his nightly cigar seemed to have created, catching in his throat.

‘Grandfather, when did you start smoking?' Sarah's question went unanswered. While resentment ebbed in her chest, she knew her grandfather was disappointed and hurting in his own way as well.

From where they stood, West Wangallon appeared to glare defiantly at them both. Light traced the gutters overflowing with twigs and leaves and a disused air seeped outwards, a mouldering scent of dampness and neglect. Most of the furniture had been transported up north a few weeks ago. Industrial cleaners had returned again, their second visit since the flood, and now there was only an empty shell. Her father had made some bad choices in his life, but this was a selfish, bloody-minded choice, Sarah decided. At least she knew the regard in which she was held, the place on the food chain she occupied. Fine, she thought angrily, she'd done her duty and was here to wave her father goodbye.

Angus lit another cigarette, dragging heavily until his lungs filled with smoke. Sarah had moved to lean on the back gate. He watched her slim figure, her boots shuffling nervously in the dirt, the way her right hand fiddled with the latch, opening and closing the squeaky mechanism with monotonous repetition. The girl was damaged. They had been close, his grandchildren, no one doubted that and he had expected the lass to suffer as they all had, but he had never reckoned on her leaving. Sarah was strong, capable, with a sense of humour and loyalty not found in the young today, but she carried an over-sensitive streak and the damn Gordon pride. In truth he'd figured on Sarah helping to run the place in the years to come with her brother as right hand. She was the one with the brains, Cameron the brawn, plus
the boy knew stock. With Sarah married and living on Wangallon with Cameron and his eventual wife, they would have worked the land together, ensuring another generation would keep the property going, instead of one of them buggering off to the city and then putting their hand up for cash when things didn't work out the way they'd planned. What was not so obvious, what God himself could not have foretold, was that the boy's death had buggered her.

God, every day he wondered how things could have gone so pear-shaped. Of course he couldn't blame his grandson for his stupid death. Storm clouds were brewing as soon as Sue appeared on the property and Ronald didn't have the balls to handle things in the proper manner. Angus took a last drag of his cigarette before crushing the stub out with the heel of his boot. His eyes met Shrapnel's and the dog whimpered in shared annoyance. Short of getting rid of that Jeremy cove and forcing Sarah to return to Wangallon, things were now out of his hands. It wasn't like the old days when all it took was money to get things done. Still, he wasn't dead yet. Sarah was back home again and this time so was Anthony.

Surely something could be done, Angus thought. He didn't for a second believe that it was the photography thing she called employment keeping her away and nor, he hoped, was it Jeremy. It was about time he learnt a little about his granddaughter's life away from Wangallon and, he decided, a lot about her relationship with the anaemic accountant. Angus prised free a sliver of dried snot from his nostril, rubbing the small ball between thumb and forefinger. It was time to call in a favour. He silently ran through a list of names and settled on Matt Leach. He needed to know if there was anything he could do to entice his granddaughter back to Wangallon. He needed to secure the future of the property. But just in case his own family couldn't see the damn forest for the trees, Angus figured that there was no harm
in a bit of healthy competition. Yesterday he had made Anthony manager of the entire property.

Ronald, a cardboard box in hand, appeared from the house and walked silently down the back path, past his daughter to where his station wagon was parked.
A happy lot
, Angus mumbled, rubbing his hands brusquely. The air carried an unseasonal chill for late spring but by noon the day's heat would be upon them. He needed a drink, a good whiskey, no ice and no water, then something to fill his gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Anthony standing off to one side, half hidden among trees. In spite of himself he chuckled. The lad, much admired for his management skills, was a product of his own rigorous training. Here was a lad with exactly the right characteristics, if the Gordon legacy was going to have fresh blood running it. A problem Angus had not counted on was his granddaughter's move to Sydney and a lad who was too much of a gentleman for his own good. A mutual attraction was there, so why did the lad not take advantage of it? The boy had virtually been told he would be a welcome family addition, so what held him back?

‘Good manners, blah!' Angus muttered and Shrapnel yawned in agreement.

It was imperative to portray oneself as a gentleman, especially if some deals took a little more enterprise and speculation to achieve … But when it came to women … Well, he'd taken his own wife Angie at twenty years of age. Employed as a governess on a big station in Western Queensland, Angus spied her only twice before obtaining the help of his half-brother, Luke, to break down the door of the women's quarters (they were locked in every night for protection from the other stockmen) and carry her off on his horse. Admittedly, it was the 1920s, but love was love after all.

Angus looked about him. The sky was an early morning sliver of slate grey. Such a sign meant a brewing dust storm in a couple
of days. Since the flood no decent rain had fallen and the earth's surface was loose and dry. With no spring vegetation to curb the brittle top-soil it would not be long before the wind began its ceaseless erosion.

‘Memories, Sarah?' he asked as his granddaughter rejoined him beneath a grove of trees.

Sarah could only nod. She recalled rushing down with the wheelbarrow to the woodpile, loading it high with the split logs for the Aga in the kitchen, before stumbling back along the rutted road. Invariably she lost half the contents before making it home, Cameron laughing at the higgledy-piggledy track she made as the barrow swerved from side to side.

‘They'll be others.'

‘I guess, Grandfather.' The house had been gutted, cleaned and closed up. That was it and all her memories were closed up with that final turning of the key. Part of the contract of sale demanded by her grandfather, the buyer, was to leave the house in a liveable condition. Her grandfather had bought back the property he had gifted to his son on his marriage to Sue, ensuring all of Wangallon remained in Gordon hands and Ronald had money to retire on.

Finally Sarah heard the back door slam shut and her father walked down the cement path. He turned at the end of the path and stared at the house, arms folded, the bunched muscles of his jaw working furiously beneath the tanned skin. Sarah lifted her hand briefly, touched his shoulder. Tears would have come easily if she allowed it. Better to think of something else, she decided. The Gordons never were good at expressing themselves anyway.

Anthony walked towards them and shook Ronald's hand. ‘It's been a privilege, sir.'

‘Thanks, Anthony,' Ronald replied, staring out at the landscape that he had once loved. Beside him stood Sarah and beyond her, an uncertain future. He thought of his childhood, the years of
living and loving his business, his hobby, his life. All gone, but his daughter was saved. He kissed her gently on the forehead. No matter what Sarah thought, she had been saved from Wangallon, as he should have saved Sue, as he should have saved his boy. That was his only regret, the leaving of his son and the rest of their ancestors in the family graveyard. As for his own father, well, old Angus did things his way, as his father before him. They were tough old bastards. The Highlander blood was strong in them both.

‘Take care of yourself,' Angus interrupted. He stretched out his arm and father and son grasped each other's hands, staring into similarly creased faces. At last, the large paws parted.

‘One day, lad, you'll realise that nothing is more important than land.'

Ronald didn't quite agree with him. They were, after all, merely custodians for the next generation. He hesitated. ‘Dad, I wanted to say thanks about Cameron. I … well I didn't realise that you knew about –' he searched for the right words – ‘Sue's infidelity, until the day of the accident. Thanks for treating him as an equal.'

Angus gave Ronald a quizzical look. ‘I did it for Wangallon, Ronald. Not for you and not for Cameron.'

Shocked by his father's blatant admission, Ronald could only say, ‘I see.'

‘Now don't get me wrong. Cameron was a good boy, even if he was born a bastard.'

Ronald could barely believe what he was hearing. All these years he had mistakenly thought his father loved his grandson so much that he was prepared to forget that he was not of Gordon blood and would not only protect him but anoint him as his successor.

‘Clearly for the Gordon name to continue we needed a male heir. Besides, having it known publicly that my own son was
cuckolded was not an option. Our reputation would have been ruined forever. I'll say goodbye, then.'

Without another word Ronald watched his father disappear into the trees.

Sarah waited as the car moved off to the strains of barking dogs, then came to an unscheduled halt on the loose gravel. Ronald walked slowly from the stationary vehicle to face the west. She knew what he was thinking, his hands on his hips, his eyes scanning the horizon. Grandparents, great-grandparents, father, mother, brother, gazing outwards, waiting and watching; they'd all stood there. Waiting for the smell of rain, watching flashes of lightning moving closer; watching clouds heralding a storm, or the green glow of disaster that hail could bring to young crops. Searching for frightening streams of smoke, or dust clouds billowing, ready to engulf. The Gordons all stood somewhere on the land that was Wangallon. As the car moved away, Sarah shivered. Their souls still lingered on Gordon land, they always would.

‘Your dad will be okay. He'll enjoy his retirement, Sarah.'

Anthony was by her side, smelling freshly of soap and aftershave. Their conversation had been limited to brief snatches over the last two days. Sarah had barely seen him.

‘He mentioned he wants to do a bit of travelling, and with the money from the sale of the place, he'll …'

‘Travelling?' Sarah unclenched her fists, stemming the pain of fingernails biting into her palms. ‘Tell me why my family is the one that fell apart. Why, Anthony? Over one hundred
and twenty-eight years we've been here; my God, half the time of this continent's British settlement. Now look at us.' She gulped, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her pale blue sweater.

‘Sarah, your grandfather is still here,' Anthony said softly. He'd tried to keep his distance from her the last few days. It wasn't his job to placate her, to explain it was not Angus's role to tell Ronald what to do with his life. Surely Sarah knew as much. But then maybe she didn't. She was still annoyed that her father hadn't told her that he was thinking of retiring and now she was acting as if her entire family unit had dissolved. She may only visit Wangallon yearly, but as difficult as her relationship was with her parents it was pretty obvious she relied on them for a semblance of stability. ‘Don't worry so much,' he finally said.