Absolution Creek (35 page)

Jack stretched his legs out. The sole of one of his boots was flapping. ‘Well, I think Cora’s a real fine name.’

Squib pointed at his boots. ‘You should be wrapping leather about them for protection; they’d last longer. Roo hide’s good.’

Jack passed Squib his pipe and tobacco pouch. ‘Better go shoot myself one. Guess you wouldn’t know how to tan it?’

‘Of course, silly. Everyone knows how to do that.’

Jack folded his arms around his knees. ‘If you weren’t here I’d learn from one of those books.’

‘Sure you would,’ Squib agreed.

‘I’ve been told there isn’t much spring or autumn out here. The weather doesn’t seem to be interested in a kindly lead into summer – or winter, for that matter.’ Jack lit the freshly packed pipe, took a puff and inclined his head in thanks.

‘My father always said it was important to keep a property’s stocking rates down. You know, on the conservative side. That way when a tight time comes around the ground isn’t already chewed out.’

Jack scraped bits of meat into the fire and gave the plate a lick. ‘For a kid you sure know a bit. I’ll be sorry to see you go.’

‘Go?’

‘Well, yes. The thing is, you do have your own family and as none of them have shown it’s best you go into town and see what the coppers can do for you.’

Squib was stunned. ‘I thought we were friends.’

Jack edged his way from the yellow flare of the fire. ‘I just want you to find your kin, Squib. Everyone deserves to have family.’

‘But I could stay and cook and clean and wait for my father to show up.’

Squib’s words floated in the night air as Jack walked away.

Chapter 26

M
orning light glazed the condensation on the louvred glass shutters, competing with the flickering fire to turn the cypress floor into a variegated pattern of light and dark. It stretched towards the speckled bark of the leopardwood tree as two inquisitive field mice raced from their hidey-hole beneath the hardwood dresser to seek cover at the opposite end of the room. Returning to the paperwork on her desk, Cora checked the monthly outgoings in the station ledger. The only notable gains were in the form of Kendal, who admittedly could work like a Trojan, and he was currently doing so for free. The other bright spot was shearing. This year’s clip had been excellent, the prices obtained good. The result ensured the station bank account would be out of the red for at least seven months or so until the next payment was due. They had Montgomery 201 to thank for that. The prize stud ram purchased at great cost was the shining light in Cora’s flock improvement plan, and so far her gamble was paying off. In spite of these positive developments, the new bank manager, Mr Harris, had happily informed Cora only last month that they would no longer be willing to provide credit if Absolution Creek exceeded the agreed overdraft limit. It was inevitable that the previous manager would eventually retire, but after a banking relationship spanning thirty years it was still a shock for Cora. His departure came at a time when the banks were questioning their exposure to the fluctuating agricultural markets. The wool boom of the fifties was over, the season was iffy, and credit wasn’t something the banks were excited about.

She wrote out two cheques – one to the general store for their monthly account and the second to the rural produce and supply store. With no other major expenses until the delving of the dam, which was booked for late August, and the dipping of the flock six weeks after lambing finished, Cora anticipated they wouldn’t go beneath the bank agreed debt amount. That was a relief. There was more at stake now than a fight with the bank for a short-term loan. The previously amenable leasing relationship she’d enjoyed with the Farley Family Trust had ended with a new generation.

The leasing arrangement of Absolution Creek was a convoluted affair. Cora had renegotiated Jack Manning’s initial ten-year lease in 1933, an arrangement which, thanks to her not once defaulting on a payment, led to an ageing Mr Farley agreeing to a further fifteen-year lease of the property. With the Second World War falling into that period and then the dustbowl weather of the forties nearly blowing half of the bush out to sea, a further renegotiation in 1948 was easily accomplished. However, that was when the difficulties began for Cora.

Although thoughts of purchasing Absolution crossed her mind almost daily, Cora was afraid to take the step. Once the district became aware of the lease arrangement and her intention to buy the property, her past would be dug up and those people who had stayed quiet in the area for so long would surely complain. They wouldn’t want a woman such as herself owning Absolution, and Cora was convinced someone would draw the government’s attention to her existence. The 1948 lease signed by a widowed Mrs Farley continued past her death in 1960. Since then the twice-yearly payments required had been renegotiated and increased. Cora had little choice. The Farley Family Trust made no secret of their wish to end the leasing arrangement. Cora could either agree to the new terms or leave Absolution Creek. Her hand was being forced and there was little she could do. One payment default and she was out.

Cora shook away images of losing Absolution and checked the rest of the paperwork on her desk. There was her list for today’s shopping trip to Stringybark Point and an unopened letter addressed in an unknown hand. Unfolding the thick paper Cora scanned the contents.

‘Heavens.’

Jarrod Michaels was suing her for injuries sustained while in her employ. The phrases
partial disability
and
loss of income
were quickly followed by the amount of £50,000.

Pushing her chair out, Cora studied the tree as her heart steadied. It sprouted from the corner of the bedroom to rise up through the homestead like an ancient monolith. Grazing the edge of the partially sawn-off cypress ceiling, it extended into a shadowland of exposed roof beams and faint splinters of light before finally escaping through a circular hole in the corrugated-iron roof. Beyond this partial entombment it flung itself gloriously into sky and space to stand sentinel over her land. For how long?

Thanks to the bank and the Farleys, the property now teetered on a knife-edge. Fifty thousand pounds was too much; solicitors cost too much. Cora scrunched the letter into a ball and then flattened it out again. Ignoring the problem wouldn’t help the situation. A visit to her solicitor while in Stringybark Point was now required.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered.

From next door came the sound of running, then giggling. The twins were ready for town. It had become abundantly clear over the last few weeks that companionship was one thing, but it couldn’t be turned on and off like a tap. One moment the twins could be as quiet as baby pigeons asleep in a nest, the next as determined as wild cats seeking food. There was no in between, no appreciation of the silences, of the breaths between breaths. Penny and Jill were tiring and fascinating and sadly indicative of the changes from one generation to the next. When only five years older than the twins were now, Cora had assisted at the birth of her half-sister, Beth, carrying boiling water and swaddling clothes. That same day her young hands had swirled bloodied sheets in a boiling copper, and plucked black duck for dinner. She’d ridden bareback alone to find her father. Of course, those days were gone. So much of everything was gone.

‘Are you ready?’ Meg’s knock on the door and the opening of it occurred simultaneously. Her niece was dressed in a grey skirt and cream twinset, with a hint of blush and a rose-coloured lipstick. The local matrons would be impressed.

‘Ready.’ Cora gathered the mail. ‘Have you got your list?’

‘Double-checked.’

‘Yeah, double-checked,’ Penny copied, skating to her mother’s side.

‘Me too,’ Jill agreed.

They were a matching pair dressed in red velour dresses and white tights. ‘Well then.’ Cora smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

In spite of the gradual decline in population over the decades, Stringybark Point remained a small yet prosperous centre. The main street juggled the standard assortment of businesses, with the post office, bank and the long-running offices of Grey’s Solicitors deemed the town’s historic buildings. Cora parked outside the General Store, amused at the level of excitement a trip to town generated. The twins were desperate to get out of the car, desperate to visit the park further along the street and desperate to get inside the store. They scrambled from the vehicle in a flurry of red and white, long plaits flying. Eventually all four of them were standing on the kerb, Meg and Cora discussing their list of jobs.

‘I’m a bit underdressed,’ Meg commented as two women similar in age walked by, neatly attired in serviceable suits, hats and gloves. ‘Did you see how they stared at me?’ she remarked as the women walked across the road to the post office.

‘Oh, I don’t think it’s you.’ Cora slipped the car keys into her pocket.

Another group of townsfolk walked by. Cora recognised one of the older women as a particular friend of James’s mother, Eloise. She smiled a greeting and received a curt nod in reply.

‘Happy bunch,’ Meg observed as the twins rushed to their reflections in the shop window.

‘Women in moleskins and work shirts don’t fit into their view of the world,’ Cora explained. ‘In fact, I don’t fit into their view of the world.’

‘What dear children,’ a shopper said as she stepped out of the General Store, a bulging brown bag on each hip. Pausing, she watched the twins as they twirled in front of the shop’s glass window.

‘Bloody bastard,’ Penny chimed, mimicking her father’s voice.

‘Good heavens.’ The shopper heaved the bags a little higher and left quickly.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Meg called after her. ‘I don’t think we should have come, Cora.’

‘Rubbish!’ Cora laughed. ‘You go and get the groceries. I’ll drop the mail off and meet you back at the car in an hour.’

‘Come on, girls,’ Meg called to the twins. ‘I want you to be on your best behaviour. If you’re good I’ll buy you a lolly each.’

‘Really?’ Jill swayed from side to side. Meg nodded. Bribery usually worked. On the other side of the road the same two women with their pert hats and gloves departed the post office, stepping from the kerb and detouring in an obvious effort to avoid Cora. They crossed the road and, spying Meg, headed directly towards her, offering polite hellos.

‘I hope you don’t mind us asking,’ one of the women began, her white handbag strung across her arm like the Queen. ‘We noticed you talking to Cora Hamilton and we wondered what she was like.’

‘And how you know her?’ her ash blonde friend added. ‘You must be terribly brave.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, everybody knows of Cora Hamilton.’ The white handbag slid to the crook of the bearer’s arm. ‘And she looks like such a nice person.’

‘Tomboyish but nice,’ the handbag’s friend corrected. ‘What we were really wondering was if it was true.’

Confused, Meg looked from one woman to the other. ‘If what were true?’

‘If there really is a tree growing in the middle of her house?’ the ash blonde asked.

‘And if she really does ride with the ghost of her dead lover at midnight,’ her friend said excitedly.