The Bark Cutters (46 page)

The storm gathered in the west. Far out on the horizon, the cloud billowed savagely, moving ominously towards them. The wind lifted as Sarah and Anthony locked the garage and untied the dogs at their kennels. The animals cowered in the dust beneath proud trees, now bending like rubber bands. Inside, they closed every door and window, blocking any openings with towels. When the storm hit, it carried with it the red heart of Australia, the grainy particles bashing at the house, forcing their way through cracks and crevices, the badly eroded topsoil dropping like a blanket of ash before being collected by the wind and scattered. By nightfall, dirt from Ayers Rock would be mixing with the dry dust of Wangallon over the Pacific. By nightfall, the international news would show Sydney surrounded by a thick pall, office workers choking in the dust of the bush.

‘Will you be okay?' Anthony asked. The kitchen was just as Angus left it a week ago. Dried toast crumbs sat on a plate at the sink, a half-drunk mug of tea on the table. He watched Sarah
staring out the kitchen window. All he wanted to do was comfort her, yet only the minimum of words had passed between them since he'd told her briefly of Angus' accident.

‘Will you tell me now?' She clasped her hands together tightly, trying to stem their shaking as she sat at the kitchen table. Tiredness seeped through her body, the hazy otherworldly feeling of jetlag dragging at her thoughts.

‘He was horned by a rogue steer,' Anthony began. ‘We were nearly finished loading them to fulfil a contract at the feedlot when this mad terror broke free and … well, your grandfather just didn't have time to move.'

‘Where were you? Couldn't you do anything?'

Anthony cleared his throat, concentrating on controlling his facial muscles. In truth, distracted as he was following Angus's staggering revelations that afternoon, the accident was beyond anyone's control. ‘As I said, it happened so quickly. He was pretty badly off.'

Sarah visualised the picture: the blood, her grandfather lying in the dust of the yards, the chaos of assessing his injuries and the desolation of the property.

‘I contacted the police and that travelling nurse on the two-way radio.' Anthony broke off, clearing his throat again. ‘Anyway, Pete went to direct the ambulance and I don't think your grandfather thought he was going to make it.' Moving to sit next to Sarah, he laid his hand over hers, imploring her to understand the magnitude of that day, that he would have bloodied himself if it would have helped. ‘We built up a campfire when it got cool and carried him closer. He never complained, never said one bloody word. It was a beautiful night, Sarah. The stars were so close you could have touched them. He shook my hand.' Anthony's voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The ambulance was taking so long. I put Shrapnel beside him. Funny thing is, Sarah, and I couldn't say this to anyone else, but I think he wanted to be left out there by the campfire.'

The scent of gum leaves washed over Sarah as a steady stream of tears began to fall silently down her cheeks.

‘It was as though the night was full. As … as if there were other people around. He said, “It's a good death, for both of us”'.

‘But he didn't die,' Sarah said, full of hope. ‘He didn't die.' She swiped roughly at tears she believed she could no longer keep producing. Outside the wind rattled the faded green and white awnings sheltering the homestead, their aluminium stays creaking in complaint.

‘No, he didn't.' He couldn't go, Anthony thought wryly, not when his life's work remained unfinished.

The warmth of Anthony's hand finally began to seep into the chill of her own. Sarah's shoulders slumped as she stretched her neck from side to side trying to ease weeks of tension in one unconvincing movement. ‘S-Shrapnel?' she questioned, waiting as Anthony dropped his eyes to the table-top.

‘The dog went to his rescue,' he mumbled before lifting his head. ‘Never seen anything like it in my life.' Anthony took a breath, his voice filled with pride. ‘I never would have believed it. Shrapnel must be over six years old. When he saw that steer attack Angus, he didn't hesitate.'

‘Shrapnel's gone?' Even as she asked, she knew it was true.

‘The steer charged, knocked your grandfather over, Shrapnel rushed up and held onto the animal's neck for dear life. Three times he was shaken loose, and three times he rushed back. It all happened so quickly. By the time I got the rifle, your grandfather had been gouged pretty badly in the side. He was still standing though; tough old bugger, trying to pull himself up the fence. Pete was on the railings above, trying to heave him upwards. Shrapnel knew what was going to happen. I let out a round of bullets, but the steer had already made his charge. Shrapnel flew into the air, and was caught between your grandfather and the animal's horns. He was ripped pretty badly, I
reckon he died instantly. The steer dropped dead about two feet from your grandfather.'

‘And?' Sarah knew there was more.

‘Angus staggered towards Shrapnel, patting him once before collapsing himself.'

The last thing she wanted was to continue crying, for once started she doubted her ability to stop. It was as if there was a vast untapped well inside her.

Wordlessly, Anthony left Sarah sitting at the kitchen table and began walking through the old homestead, turning on the lights. If anything could make them friends again, only this tragedy could. So why did he find it so difficult to reach out to her? At the airport they had hugged once in a kind of nod to solidarity, but at the hospital she had been uncommunicative, so after listening to the doctor explain Angus' critical condition, he chose to leave her alone to spend time by the old fella's bedside. Little time passed before her reappearance in the hospital waiting room, where she had kicked fiercely at the drink-vending machine, before slurping down a can of soft drink and eating a chocolate bar.

Leaving the kitchen table Sarah wandered through the musty rooms, running a finger along the oak dining table and making a deep line in the thick sheen of dust. Even the silverware, scattered as it was on sideboards, inlaid tables and display cabinets, appeared tarnished. Her fingers marked where Cameron had rested all those years ago. There was the scar from his spurs. A small pen mark was etched at the head of the table from a letter once written there, next to it a crack was forming from the dry heat of the outback. More cracks showed in the skirting boards of the rooms she passed through and some walls were
also affected by the shifting foundations. Rooms creaked with the memories of family, of a grandmother, of love, of death, of joy. So much more time seemed to have elapsed, more than the weeks since she had last seen Anthony, left her home country, found a brother she never knew existed and then lost him again. And now her grandfather lay in hospital. He was nearing eighty-seven years of age and she doubted his body's ability to fully recover.

In her bedroom, the old packing-case desk with its cut-off cotton reels for handles, greeted her. She stared at the ancient piece. The wood, though cracked across the top, remained in remarkable condition, the right edge worn smooth by the movement of arm and wrist. The pale blue paint was almost faded, but the small drawers mounted on the top of the desk still opened and the twin cupboards beneath revealed two shelves stuffed with letters, photos, dried flowers, stones; precious oddments from the life she had known before the death of her brother. It was an old desk, rather ugly in its handmade form, unwanted, except perhaps by collectors of the rough-hewn furniture of this country's early pioneers. Once used by her great-grandfather Hamish, then by her grandfather, she had claimed it following her parents' departure from West Wangallon. Where now was the family to which she could pass it on?

The wind was dying and with it, the consuming dust of the drought. Sarah did not need daylight to see the decaying world awaiting her: struggling dams, caking mud, creeping skeletons where once animals could be recognised. In darkness as in daylight the endless struggle to survive surrounded her and her home. Yet with her grandfather's accident it had moved beyond the bearable and struck deeply at the core of what she could only describe as her soul.

Anthony found her sitting on the edge of her bed. He knocked on her door, placed her suitcase down, then ensured the doors
leading onto the verandah were locked tightly against the wind and dust.

‘We start shearing tomorrow.'

‘Everything under control?' Sarah answered automatically. Why couldn't she say something? Tell him how desperately sad and worried she was. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, his brown arm looking dark next to the cream of his jumper, where the rolled material ended at his elbow.

‘Your father was here last week, then he returned to the coast. He is trying to organise Sue at some type of hospice. He hopes to be here by Saturday. Well, I'll let you get some sleep.' Still she sat on the bed, her eyes listless. ‘Your grandfather treated me as one of the family. I didn't expect it, but he did. And it meant a lot.' He hesitated. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I appreciated it.'

‘I know.'

Well at least she was listening, that was something Anthony thought. ‘Anything I can get you?'

‘No, thanks.' There was something that needed to be said. ‘Anthony?'

‘Yes.'

‘Thank you for everything.'

He smiled slowly.

Sarah searched for some way of prolonging the conversation.

‘I, um, wanted to let you know that I gave Angus two months' notice just before the accident, but obviously I'll hang around until he's up and about and I've found a replacement.'

‘Why on earth would you go and do that?' Sarah asked, pulling herself up from the bed. ‘I thought you loved it here.' She took a step towards him. ‘I know things have been a bit difficult, I know things have been awkward, but …' Sarah didn't know what else to say without opening up the angst between them. ‘Business should come first,' she finished lamely.

Anthony looked at her, remembering she was the granddaughter of Angus Gordon. ‘It's never been about business, Sarah, I realise that now. Wangallon gets a hold of you. She gets into your blood and damn she's hard to rid. Sure I love her, sure I wanted to be a fixture here, but things have changed for me. Angus basically showed me the difference between the right way and the wrong way to live your life and I guess in the end, I'd rather be friends than enemies.'

‘But you can't go, Anthony.'

‘No one's indispensable, Sarah.' He looked away from her as if he was eager to leave. ‘I'll see you at the shed later on.'

‘Anthony?'

He shut the door softly.

Sarah stared at the closed door. What on earth was she going to do if Angus didn't make it and Anthony left Wangallon? Outside the wind howled around the homestead. She drew the curtains on the verandah doors and unzipped her suitcase, intent on pushing her problems away. She would think about it tomorrow. Removing a couple of shirts and a jumper, she opened the top drawer of her dresser. There, resting on top of Anthony's blue scarf, was the gold bangle. She couldn't remember having left it there. She picked it up, examined the fine workmanship of the piece, noting slight marks and scratches, wondering why it had never appealed to her when it was so beautiful in its simplicity. About to slip it onto her wrist, a creaking floorboard distracted her and she dropped it back into the drawer. She thought she heard footsteps.

At the closed door she leaned against the cedar wood, her ear almost touching, her hand hovering above the ceramic doorknob. This is silly, she chided. The house was stretching, wasn't that how her grandfather termed it? She shivered nonetheless and climbed under the bedcovers fully dressed, pulling the blanket to her chin. The wind howled and bashed against the homestead,
the house groaned in response. Anthony was leaving and her grandfather was in hospital. It seemed nothing was as it should be; no-one was happy, least of all her. As she closed her eyes, the sound of footsteps followed her into her dreams.