The Great Plains (47 page)

September, 1935 – on the bank of the Condamine River,
Southern Queensland

Abelena helped Flossy from the horse and together they walked quietly through the trees. The woman was chattering to the baby in the jar clutched to her breast, to her husband Marcus who was not with them. Father and son had gone hunting, although Abelena knew Will had lied about this. Although she knew only too well that sometimes a person must tell untruths to survive, Abelena was taken aback at Will's agreement to some lawless task that had clearly come from his father's prompting. Will seemed kind and cautious, wary of doing wrong and yet he was easily led. Had she a father perhaps she would understand such loyalty, but Abelena had no such connection to draw upon and even if she did, there were few reasons to do bad unless harm to oneself or a loved one was involved. She was disappointed to find that Will was not what she supposed, worse, he was clearly unwilling to care for his mother and had deserted his family by working on Tobias's land. And just like Tobias he too thought he could own her.

‘Who are you again?'

‘A friend of your son's, Flossy. Remember? I cooked eggs for you and Will brought you fresh milk to drink when he came in from the field.'

The older woman fidgeted with the frayed neckline of her blouse. She'd managed to coax Will's mother from the house with the promise of a gift. She had told Flossy that they were going to meet her husband and son who waited with a surprise for Flossy and the baby. Now they had arrived and the land was quiet, gloomy with dark.

Abelena left her horse to graze and with the wounded eagle tucked under one arm along with her belongings, she led Flossy to the calm of the river.

‘They will be here soon,' Abelena assured the older woman. In truth she had taken Flossy away from them, away from the gaol that had been her home, away from the man who had done nothing to help her. Away from the son who walked away from his mother and who would make her full with child and probably desert her as well. This lack of care tore at Abelena's heart. Do these men really not understand the importance of family?

She cajoled the woman to sit on the cool sand, to sing to her baby, to enjoy being outdoors in the peace of the night. Abelena sat the swaddled eagle on the ground, built a small fire and from her belongings rolled herbs and native grasses into a bundle. She had taken a knife from the Todd kitchen and she used the sharp blade to cut the swards before tying the bundle together with woven grass.

‘I had my baby in the night. A night of the full moon.' Flossy smiled wistfully. The baby sat in the jar on her lap. Flossy twisted her hair. It was thin and straggly in appearance. A heady smell seeped from her body.

‘Was it cold that night?' Abelena asked, passing her water to drink.

‘Very cold.' Flossy sipped from the water bag and wiped her chin. ‘A man came and stole our food and I lay under the bed until Peanut was born. I'd been waiting for Marcus.'

‘Where was he?'

‘Out working.'

‘At night?'

‘Yes, that's what he told me, but Peanut and I know better. He's angry inside. He has survived a war, but now he fights with himself.' Will's mother began to stroke the pickle jar and sing.

There was hope for this woman, Abelena decided. Her mind was not irretrievably lost. She lit the bundle of dried grasses and wilted herbs. The smoke was rich and dense. She waved it about the older woman, who coughed and spluttered. Nearby the baby eagle slept.

‘Come, let's swim.' Abelena reached for Flossy's hand and tugged the woman to her feet. There was a strong whiff of a long unwashed body. Will's mother was flesh and bone, the madness was eating into her soul. ‘The river will cleanse you, Flossy. It will help to make you feel whole again.'

‘What about P-peanut?' Flossy stammered.

‘Bring her,' Abelena replied lightly as she led Flossy toward the water fully clothed. She knew she would never be able to get Flossy to undress. Abelena laughed and giggled, enticing the older woman to join her as she waded into the water to stand waist-deep, her dress lifting to bubble about her. ‘Come,' she enticed, her hands outstretched. Abelena ducked under the surface and then emerged with a splash, flicking wet hair in an arc that spun droplets across the quiet river and splattered Flossy's face. The older woman finally gave a shy grin and took a tentative step forward. ‘You should bathe, Flossy,' Abelena encouraged. ‘The water is so still and calm, it will make you feel better.' Flossy clutched at the pickle jar and turned to the dry land behind her. Seeing her reticence, Abelena lifted her hands skywards and began to sing. It was an old song that had come from the depths of her being, from the land beyond the water, her home.

Flossy swayed back and forth and began to hum along to the tune. Above them the moon was a mere sliver, sitting amongst a warp of stars.

‘See that bright star, Flossy?'

Flossy swept her palm across the water's surface. ‘Yes.'

‘That could be Peanut's star.'

The woman looked at the slip of a thing in the jar.

‘She'd like it up there, don't you think?'

Flossy shook her head. ‘She'd be lonely.'

‘Really? Lonely floating among the stars? Don't you think she's lonely locked in that jar?'

Abelena waded to Flossy's side. ‘Hold her up against the sky. Go on. Look.' Silhouetted next to the swathe of stars, Peanut appeared to be floating among them, a pale wisp gliding silently, serenely. ‘Give me the baby while you wash.'

‘No.'

‘Please?' The piquant smoke drifted over them. ‘You must clean yourself, Flossy.' Abelena wrapped her hands around the jar. Flossy tried to pull the container free. ‘Trust me. I'm here to help.'

‘I love my Peanut,' Flossy said sadly. Her grip loosened, but her hands remained trapped beneath Abelena's.

‘You will always love her,' Abelena agreed. ‘Now duck your head under the water.'

Will's mother dropped down until the water was level with her shoulders. Her hair floated on the surface, grey-brown strands growing heavy with moisture. Flossy shivered. ‘Are you coming too?'

‘Of course.' The river water caressed their limbs as Flossy sunk tentatively beneath the surface. ‘It is time to let go of her, Flossy,' Abelena whispered as she too sunk into the murky depths.

For the briefest of moments the two women stared at each other, at their cloudy outlines and fluttering hair. They were linked by the jar which appeared suspended between them, an opaque vessel between grasping hands. Abelena was thinking of Serena, of the children left behind after her mother's death and the fine line between the mad and the sane. The woman opposite her should have been blessed with children. She was as fine a mother as any could be.

Flossy's face contorted in pain as Abelena unscrewed the lid on the pickle jar. The baby floated away.

September, 1935 – en route to The Plains, Southern Queensland

Tobias and Constable Maine left the lock-up and mounted their horses.

‘It's a good hour's ride to the Todd farm,' the constable said wearily. He had already suggested waiting until morning and had offered to drive Tobias back to Condamine Station. ‘Are you sure you don't want to take the car?'

‘I'm sure.' Tobias would rather be on horseback. If they needed to give chase, the car would be of little help to them in the bush. ‘Let's get this done,' he replied. They trotted up the main street, the horse's hoofs loud in the evening quiet. A single street lamp lit their path. Insects buzzed about the welcoming glow. The mare he rode was called Marigold and belonged to the constable. It seemed a ridiculous name for a horse until he got a sense of the animal under him. Marigold would rather dawdle than move, rather twitch and whinny than take heed of his spurs.

‘I would have thought you'd have got Wes to handle this,' the constable commented. ‘He's used to this type of thing.'

‘So am I,' Tobias said curtly. ‘Wes used to join my father and I when we were chasing outlaws in Oklahoma. Kirkland's able enough but his stories don't always match fact.'

‘Is that so? He told me he was with your father for quite a few years before you left Dallas. I got the impression he'd been riding with your father's sheriff friend long before that.'

‘C'mon,' Tobias said impatiently, twitching the reins. The constable was right, of course, there was no need to be out at this hour, but Tobias couldn't stand to go back to the homestead. He'd spent the last few days in limbo. An outsider on land that should have been his. He couldn't understand his father's actions.

Why had Edmund gone out of his way to show Wes such favouritism? Granted, his old friend had been managing the place for a decade but Wes had been well paid for his services. Leaving the property to him was a poor business decision and it reduced Tobias's assets considerably. Oh, he still had the newspaper and the textile mills and the house block in Oklahoma City, and the substantial monies that rightly belonged to Abelena, and added together his share was no doubt greater than Wes's. But that wasn't the point. Why should Wes Kirkland be given what should have rightfully belonged to Tobias? Condamine Station had been his father's dream and Tobias had taken hold of it, intending to make it his own.

‘Marcus Todd's always been straight. I can't believe he's got caught up in this business.'

‘Times are hard for people, Constable, not that that's an excuse.'

‘He served his country in the war, you know, came back wounded.' Constable Maine clucked his tongue. ‘And that poor wife of his. She's gone mad. Dr Webb says she's had too many miscarriages, but the last one, well, I wouldn't have believed it if the doctor hadn't told me himself.'

‘Told you what?'

‘She thinks the baby lived.' He glanced at Tobias. ‘She keeps it in a pickle jar.'

Tobias tugged the reins. Marigold obeyed the command to stop immediately. ‘What did you say?'

‘It's true.' The constable kept moving and Tobias urged the lethargic mare to follow. It took all of his concentration not to dwell on the image that had been planted in his head.

‘Stevens said Todd was overdue on a delivery. He may well have decided to end the business.'

‘I don't think so,' Tobias disagreed. ‘My father always said that when a man gets a taste for wrong-doing it's nearly impossible for them to stop.'

‘It's almost too dark.' The constable kept to the middle of the dirt road. Overhead, a sliver of moon hung in the sky.

They had wasted the afternoon questioning the shopkeeper, Mr Stevens. The man was out delivering orders when they arrived at the general store after lunch and it was two hours before he returned. Stevens's guilt showed itself in profuse sweating, a condition not helped by the stuffy confines of the police station and a line of questioning that afforded him no way out.

‘I still have my doubts about the Todd boy being involved in the stock-theft on your property.'

The bush surrounded them. Tobias felt hemmed in, claustrophobic. He was not used to trees and shrub, the open plains suited him better and reminded him of Oklahoma. ‘Well, he's the only connection that we have. He started with us at shearing, which according to Stevens is about the same time that he took up Marcus Todd's offer of the stolen meat.'

‘You and I both know that those sheep could have been lifted anytime before shearing.'

‘My leading hand, Evan Crawley, believes there's a link to the Todds.'

‘Does he?' The constable didn't sound convinced.

An hour later they trotted through the boundary gate to The Plains. They had become accustomed to the dark. Indistinct outlines were now trees and fence-lines. Moving shapes were kangaroos and foxes. The rutted road led them straight to a modest timber house, no light showed within. The constable dismounted and knocked at the door. Knocked again.

‘There's no-one here.'

‘What about the wife?'

The older man hesitated. Tobias pushed past him and opened the door. In the kitchen he lit a kerosene lamp and investigated the house. The main living room was neat and tidy, the two bedrooms a mess. Clothes were strewn everywhere and there was a stench in one bedroom that went beyond the unwashed.

‘She's not here either. They must have found out we were on to them,' Tobias decided.

Outside on the verandah Tobias swung the lamp left and right. At one end of the porch was a rope and chain, on the ground beneath, a darkness. He touched the soil, sniffed his fingers. ‘So much for your war hero.'

‘Now what?' The constable picked at something crusty in his nose.

Tobias turned the lamp down, it flickered and went out. ‘We can see more out here without this.'

They listened to the horses as they snuffled, to a cow mooing. The north-westerly wind rustled the branches of nearby trees. Then they heard it. It was faint, some distance away but recognisable; a dog bark.

‘Who lives in that direction?'

‘There's an old bloke on the other side of the river,' the constable told him, ‘but no-one ever sees him. He purchased a block of land and a house from a soldier-settler that went broke a good ten years ago.'

‘Anyone else?'

‘Next to the Todd farm is the Jenkins's place. They're a reasonably sized dairy and after that it's your land, Mr Wade.'

‘Mine?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Tobias put his foot in the stirrup and swung up onto Marigold's back. ‘How convenient for the Todds. Do they have a dog?'

‘This is the bush, mate. Everyone has a dog. Where are you going?'

‘To the river.'

‘This is a waste of time. We should wait until morning.' The constable made no move to mount up. ‘It's pitch black, I'm tired and hungry, and you know that dog could belong to anyone.'

‘Stay here then,' Tobias ordered, ‘on the off-chance that the woman with the pickle jar returns.' He spurred Marigold to wakefulness.

‘They'll return. Stealing sheep isn't a hanging offence.'

‘Pity,' Tobias sniffed. ‘Well, which way?'

‘Head behind the house. When you come to the timber, just ride on through it. There'll be a track of some sort but you won't find it in the dark, just try to keep heading straight and you'll eventually come to the river. When you do, turn right.' The constable shook his head. ‘And don't go getting lost. I'll be here when you get back.'