The Bark Cutters (22 page)

‘Dad will be dead in five years, Anthony.'

‘Sarah, everything will be fine. I'll make sure it is.'

‘And how are you going to do that?'

‘Well, for starters I can look after Wangallon for you until you come back. I'm the station manager now and …'

Sarah gasped. ‘The station manager? Geez, you
have
moved fast.' She knew she should have congratulated him. She had no right to behave so poorly towards him. Instead she shoved her hands deep into her jeans pockets and walked towards the Land Cruiser. She slid across the leather seat, revelling in the coldness of it.

‘Hey, Sarah. You left all this, remember?' Anthony raised his arms, flinging them wide to encompass the land about them. ‘If you want to be part of this place,' his tone softened, ‘I would be the first to welcome you home.'

Sarah tightened her grip on the steering wheel. It wasn't his place to welcome her home, even if she did choose to return. ‘You could have told me about Dad wanting to leave.'

‘Hey, it's not my bloody responsibility to inform you of your family's decisions. Maybe if you came back, acted a bit more interested, then the family –'

Sarah cut him off as the ignition turned smoothly. Anthony had developed an ego and she didn't like it.

‘I've had a damn long association with this family, Sarah,' he yelled at her, ‘and I don't believe any of your ancestors ever ran away from responsibility. I can see it in your eyes, you know you should be here rather than in Sydney with that wimp. What are you running away from?'

‘Nothing,' Sarah yelled as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and left Anthony standing alone.

That night, lying under heavy blankets, Sarah kept vigil. Sleepless, eyes wide, pupils turned towards the two closed and bolted doorways, waiting. She would turn on her side, but what if, unguarded, something were to appear? To do what she didn't know. Maybe chastise, talk, shout, wail, or just plain scare her witless. It was incomprehensible to think that with her dad's departure, a self-inflicted abdication, their forefathers, those who had forged the bush before them, left it for them, would not have something to say.

Eventually she drifted towards sleep and found herself reaching out to follow the contours of the West Wangallon roof, pale fingers gliding along the guttering, her hand dipping to rub her fist over the windowpane. Clearly there were people within. Their silhouettes sprang from the kitchen walls, glancing from table to sink, formless shadows, the faceless apparitions of a subconscious haunting. The voice, when it called, drew her from the house, urging her onwards.

The winding cool of the mountains eased out into the soft
undulations of the slopes, until the sparse flat countryside greeted her. The road was straight, the expanse of sky and stars awesome. The music in her mind serenaded her with soft, lucid tones, a harp perhaps, or the dulcet strings of a quivering violin. Tonight a woman caught her attention. She was pale and finely featured with golden hair; children stood by her side. Then the children disappeared and the woman was walking through a paddock, her long skirts swishing the grass as she moved. She turned to look over her shoulder and Sarah saw the sadness in the woman's eyes.

Sarah woke to the sound of footsteps outside her room. She pushed the covers back, her feet touching the chill of the floorboards beneath. Tentatively she opened the bedroom door, peered into the darkness of the hallway – there was no-one there. Turning on her bedside lamp, she checked the time on her watch. It was a little after 2 a.m. It was then she saw the gold bangle lying on the floor beside her bed. The bangle that her grandfather had given her the night Cameron had been anointed as Wangallon's successor. She picked it up, wondering how it had come to be there when she kept it in her drawer with Anthony's scarf. They were the only two items she'd never taken with her to Sydney. With a sigh Sarah placed the bangle back in the top drawer of the dresser and returned to bed. She was too tired to think.

The next day Sarah rushed to pull on her riding boots, hopping towards the noise of the dogs. They'd spent the morning in the sheep yards, using precious water from the dying dam to settle the dirt in the yards, lest man and animal choke to death in the thick dust. Now as she passed through the back gate, the new jackeroo, Colin, lounged on the galvanised iron fence that had replaced the old one ruined by the flood. Ignoring his sarcastic
snort, she called Shrapnel, conscious that Colin had managed to coerce the disobedient cattle dog to his side. One dog was still missing. Sarah ran towards the sheep yards. Although only half a kilometre away, the yards were caught in the midst of a great dust storm. Billowing clouds of dry land were being lifted high into the air. Through the haze, the jet-black coat of Tex, so named after Anthony's favourite US state, was just visible jumping over the yarded sheep.

Taking in great gulps of matted air, Sarah screamed and yelled at the dog terrorising the freshly culled rams. Three hours it had taken to draft the mob, an eternity in the rising heat, and Sarah didn't think she could face the same task again. In the distance, the silhouette of man and horse could be seen in the gusty wind, drought-weary rams in his care. A final choked reprimand was swept away quickly by the noise of Colin on his motorbike. In a swirl of showmanship, he took off after the stray dog with a stockwhip. In a second the sheep had quieted, Tex suitably chastised.

‘Nice day for it.'

Sarah nodded, tilting her head upwards to see Anthony's dirt-covered face half-hidden under the akubra hat. If he could pretend their argument hadn't occurred yesterday, so could she.

‘I've got some more news,' Anthony offered rather carefully as he pulled on the reins to steady his horse.

‘Right.' Sarah wasn't sure if she was up to anything else. She was still digesting Anthony's move up the ladder to the role of station manager.

‘I wanted you to hear it from me.' Anthony took a breath. ‘I'm moving into West Wangallon.'

She experienced a surge of hurt. Her family home was truly gone. Another door had shut.

‘That was quick.'

‘Not my idea.'

‘Right.' Sarah scowled against flying grit and the glare of the mid-morning sun and imagined the cooling interior of the homestead. She quickened her step. She decided it was easier not to talk than end up in another argument.

Anthony patted the neck of his old horse Warrigal as he followed sedately behind Sarah. Now she probably wouldn't talk to him. Still, this time she wouldn't be able to complain that she didn't know what was going on. ‘Is that okay with you, because I can easily stay put in the jackeroo's quarters?'

She looked up at him, the expression on her face clearly registering surprise. She could hardly tell him that she would rather it remained empty. ‘Well, no point the house staying vacant. Besides, no doubt Grandfather told you to move.'

‘But I won't if it's not okay with you.'

‘It's fine,' she finally answered.

Anthony tweaked Warrigal's ear. ‘Thanks.' There was no point being on Sarah's bad side. In the future, the distant future, he hoped, he figured he'd be working for her and wouldn't that be interesting?

‘I can't believe you still ride that poor animal. He's ancient.'

‘Warrigal? My old mate loves it; keeps his joints agile. Did your Dad arrive okay yesterday?' Anthony slowed his horse to a stop near the back gate, searching for conversation. ‘How's he enjoying swamp country?'

‘Swamp country?'

Shit, he'd done it again.
‘Anyway, what about you? How's city life?'

‘My parents live on the Gold Coast in a very nice house …'

‘In a very nice house, along with a lot of other very nice houses, fronting the canal, reclaimed land, water views.' An argument already, Anthony grinned, attempting his dog-hiding-a-huge-bone look. Dismounting, he kicked dry tufts of grass at his feet. ‘It's probably a really nice place. Maybe they'll have me
to visit. Your mum could cook me some of that mutton stew she was so fond of.'

‘Maybe,' Sarah agreed, her earlier annoyance disappearing. ‘She was always such a big fan of yours, Anthony.'

‘Yeah, I know. I have that effect on people.'

Sarah giggled. He leaned over the fence, his hand flicking the stockwhip in the dirt, his hat cocked back on his head. He had not heard her laugh in quite a while. He twirled the stockwhip in his fingers, the leather handle spinning so deftly that the whip spun out like a gymnast's ribbon.

‘It's hard knowing Grandfather is the only family member here now.' She looked at Anthony's sweat-matted hair, his wide-brimmed hat dangling from his fingers. ‘I feel I should probably come back a bit more often.'

‘Good point. A bit of support would be important to him.'

For a moment Sarah thought of her life in Sydney: trendy coffee shops, sipping a latte on a Saturday morning, relaxing at the beach, nice restaurants; support, albeit mainly long distance, was about as much as she could give. Warrigal began pawing the ground restlessly.

Placing his hat back on his head, Anthony flicked the brim with his fingers. ‘See you later.' Swiftly he lifted his body up into the saddle, whistling as he turned old Warrigal's head. As he trotted Warrigal down towards the stables he wondered if the spell of sadness had suddenly broken. Everyone associated with Wangallon had suffered since Cameron's death but he felt a change in the air, like rain after drought. Ronald and Sue were gone, he was now manager and unless he was wrong, Sarah seemed a little more comfortable within herself. That in itself could only be a good thing. Angus deserved to have his granddaughter visit him more than once a year and he needed Sarah to appreciate Wangallon's importance and his importance to Wangallon. With Ronald's departure, Sarah's ongoing commitment to Wangallon, even if it
was long distance, was vital to not only Wangallon's future but also his own. Dismounting, Anthony twisted Warrigal's reins around the old hitching post and leant down to undo the girth strap. His hand rested on the hot flank of Warrigal, the horse hair sweaty and dust-coated. If he didn't get a move on he'd be late for his date with young Annie Fields and there was nothing like a backpacker for getting rid of a few cobwebs.

‘The stench of it!' Jeremy took a sip of champagne. ‘You cannot imagine what it was like. Dead animals everywhere.' As Sarah listened to him she realised he'd become quite good at reciting the story of Wangallon's flood. ‘They were literally floating past the homestead – and the insects! Well, with water everywhere there was absolutely nowhere for anything to go, so everything headed for high ground and safety. The homestead was built on a ridge that's slightly higher than the surrounding country, so it was like being on an island.'

‘It's staggering you and Sarah managed to get out.' Julie smoothed her red taffeta skirt. With its plunging neckline and elongated shoulder pads she felt quite the best dressed in the room. She was rather intrigued with the relationship that existed between her old friend, the upwardly mobile accountant, and the chameleon that was capable of switching from ‘cow girl' status to rising photographer. She'd only been abroad for a couple of years,
yet had returned recently to find her perennially single Jeremy clearly infatuated.

‘Well, Sarah stayed.'

‘You didn't?' Julie exclaimed, turning from Jeremy to Sarah.

Sarah felt the expectant eyes of the circle in which she was standing turn to her. ‘Wangallon's my home, of course I stayed. I couldn't leave immediately.' Sarah knew Julie was one of Jeremy's oldest friends, but it still hurt to have to revisit the flood of 1985 and she was tired of her nights being caught up in the continual round of parties that Jeremy just had to attend. He kept telling her that the success of his family's practice depended on networking opportunities and Julie, back from London only a fortnight, seemed capable of wangling tickets to every event, including tonight's fundraiser.

‘So you weren't actually stranded then?' Julie replied. ‘And here was I thinking we had a novel in the making. You know something along the lines of young professionals have horror weekend in outback; barely manage to survive.' She flicked her fingers in an imitation of inverted commas.

Sarah gave her a tight smile. Julie and Jeremy had been ‘working' the flood event for the last couple of nights. Julie insisting that the flood was worth rehashing simply from the novelty aspect that would lead to greater recall where Jeremy and a potential client were concerned.

‘No, however, one of the workers –'

‘Station manager,' Sarah corrected.

‘Workers on the property,' Jeremy repeated, ‘eager to prove his devotion, literally dropped out of the sky. The helicopter he travelled in returned a couple of days later, so I was airlifted out.'

‘Good excuse for a holiday,' Julie's current handbag, Danny, replied. ‘Get out there, help our country cousins and all that. You know if you ever have a problem out there, Sarah, we could round
up a good ten people to fly out and give you guys a hand.' He ran a pale hand through his gelled hair.

‘Thanks.' Sarah took in the
Dynasty
-style cut of Julie's suit and the Chinese red fingernails and tried to imagine her out in the heat and the dust. The solicitor was definitely not the bimbo she portrayed herself to be. She was glamorous, with a syrupy voice and when the occasion demanded it, she always revealed the right enticements. Sarah smoothed her ruched yellow dress, glancing again at Julie's tight short skirt. Her mother, explicit in her description of such lengths, called them fanny pelmets.

‘I don't know about the holiday location,' giggled Petra, an advertising executive in pink and white polka dots. ‘It's the strapping fellows in flood boats and dropping out of helicopters that appeal to me. Any chance of setting me up with someone?' she whispered shyly.

‘Are you happy to go bush?' Sarah asked.

Petra considered the question seriously. ‘Maybe I better think about it.'

Sarah smiled. ‘I'm going to get a drink.' Resting her empty champagne glass on a damask-covered table she glanced about the room. Behind her, Jeremy was discussing his accountancy business with Petra, while Julie had caught the eye of another guest and was introducing the older woman to their circle. Sarah decided that in future she would ask Julie for some extra tickets to these functions, then she could ask Kate and Shelley to come along as well.

In the powder room a number of impeccably groomed matrons stood preening themselves before the long mirrors. Sarah moved past them to the far end of the room, collapsing tiredly into a large velour armchair. She'd had a five-hour shoot today assisting a photographer with a model's portfolio, and her feet were killing her. Outside, the muted sound of clapping could be heard and with that, the powder room was instantly deserted.

Sarah awoke to Jeremy tapping her on the shoulder. ‘Jeremy! What on earth are you doing in here?' Jumping out of her seat, Sarah moved towards the large mirrors, intent on applying lipstick. He moved to stand close behind her, his face concerned. Sarah put her lipstick in her purse.

‘I came to look for you. You've been gone for ages.'

‘Sorry, I must have fallen asleep,' Sarah answered. ‘I was standing for five hours today.'

‘You said you wanted to come tonight.'

‘Actually, Jeremy, you told me Julie had managed to get tickets for us,' Sarah said briskly.

‘So you're annoyed with Julie.'

‘We've certainly been seeing a lot of her recently.'

‘That's not what has upset you. It's the flood. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up again, it's just that …'

‘Don't tell me; great for networking, instant memory recall,' she snapped.

‘It's not like it happened yesterday,' Jeremy retaliated. ‘You've got to learn not to get so emotional.'

Sarah straightened her back. ‘The flood was awful. You knew that, you were there. When did you become so damn insensitive?'

‘I'm not,' he looked crestfallen.

‘I'm sorry.'

‘I love you, Sarah. When I saw everything that made you and your family, I realised I would have to do a whole lot more with my life to keep you in mine. If we're going to be together, we need money and I want enough to be able to care for you in the manner in which you were born. Here, away from Wangallon, it's only you and me, princess, there's no thousands of acres to fall back on, no great machine that just keeps on producing, or carrying you through a bad season. There's only us and if it means I have to go out every night and network with potential clients then I'll
do it. And if I choose to talk about my experiences on Wangallon so that people remember me, then I'll do that too.'

Gritting her teeth, Sarah sullenly had to agree with him. Everything Jeremy did was for their mutual benefit. Their conversation was broken by the entry of several females. Startled by a male presence in the powder room, they quickly dissolved into laughter. Jeremy made his excuses and, taking Sarah's hand, led her quickly from the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. A bra worn, only once I might add, by the very voluptuous …'

‘And brain dead,' someone in the crowd whispered.

‘… model of the year, Annabel!'

Amid the fevered clapping, Jeremy held her hand tightly. ‘I know things have been difficult for you since your father's retirement and I've stopped myself from commenting on the situation, but this is getting ridiculous. Your father made the right decision when he left. For both him and your mother and whether you're willing to accept it or not it was a move that should have a positive impact on your own life eventually. You'll no longer be tied to that property. You can break free. Besides, the property is still in the family.'

‘And our next item is a fine contemporary painting, acrylic on linen, by the formidable Tasker Lewinsky. Do we have a starting bid, ladies and gentlemen?'

It was useless, Sarah thought, trying to explain to Jeremy that it had all happened the wrong way. That it was most certainly not a business decision. Her father had sold out because of Sue's illness, increased his distance from his own daughter and finally cut himself off from his father. ‘But Grandfather is by himself now.'

‘That's his choice, Sarah.'

‘And Cameron has been deserted.'

He placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. ‘Apart from the fact that your grandfather is still living on the property, if your
brother were in a cemetery down here in Sydney, you wouldn't be living across the road from him, would you?'

Except, Sarah thought, Cameron would never have expected their father to leave. Now with Ronald's departure, the only Gordon left was Angus.

‘Sarah, I know you miss Cameron, but he's dead, and once you're dead, that is it.'

‘Is it, Jeremy?' She whispered beneath the loud bidding. He looked at her strangely. Sarah couldn't explain it, but Cameron was not just buried on the property, he roamed it, filling the leaves with wind and the creeks with movement. All her family believed in the possibility of life after death, so why was it not possible for a spirit to want to stay near the place he loved? All those buried there still existed in the core of Wangallon. They were its very essence.

‘What will be the first bid, ladies and gentlemen?'

‘Come and join the others, Sarah. Petra thought she would make a bid on this print.'

Sarah squeezed his hand gently, enough for him to know that they were okay. ‘I think I'll go home.'

‘I'll drive you.'

Sarah kissed him on the cheek. ‘No, you won't. Go and enjoy yourself. I'm too tired.' There was a man walking towards her. She recognised him almost immediately.

‘You sure?' Jeremy asked.

Sarah kissed him on the cheek again. ‘Absolutely.'

‘I'll call you tomorrow.' He turned and winked at her as he walked away, passing the older man who now reached her side.

‘Sarah? It is Sarah Gordon, isn't it?'

‘Hi, Mr Leach.'

‘Call me Matt. I'm past the mister stage, it makes me feel a little too old. How's your dad?'

‘Retired to the coast.'

‘I heard, and you're down here?'

Sarah nodded. ‘How's business?' As a private wool buyer, Matt travelled the eastern states servicing a huge list of clients, most of whom were personal friends. It was strange seeing him in this type of environment.

‘Bloody appalling, Sarah. People are starving all over the world and the only method the government could think of in the early eighties to combat falling wool prices was to destroy the very animals that helped to build this country. You know, in my old district alone, in excess of 100,000 sheep were shot in eighteen months. That's a lot of dead sheep. The industry has never really recovered.'

This conversation seemed so distant from the world she presently inhabited. Just before Anthony's arrival on Wangallon, her grandfather and father had contracted a front-end loader to come in and dig deep pits. Then, rifle in hand, they had mustered the sheep. The men stood and fired. Hundreds gone forever; sheep her family had been breeding since the 1860s. Even now the low burial mounds could be spotted, holding the remains of sheep the government had made worthless: a pittance in return for a lifetime's work. The end of the reserve price probably had to come sooner rather than later, but it was handled so incredibly badly. Unfortunately, right or wrong, graziers geared to a reserve price for their wool budgeted accordingly, like any business.

Sarah often rode past the very spot where the sheep were buried and tried to imagine that awful day. The sun rising over the line of belah in the back paddock, the kookaburras calling out in greeting and the green grass springy beneath the men's feet.

Matt Leach shrugged. ‘Then the flood and now this bloody drought. Go home much, Sarah?'

‘Once or twice a year.'

‘And your grandfather is still there. Well, good on him. And I believe no-one could shift young Anthony.'

‘No, he's a permanent fixture.'

‘You're lucky to have him.'

‘I guess.'

‘You don't seem so sure about that?'

Sarah accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and wished for something stronger. Matt selected a mineral water, drinking the fizzing water quickly. ‘So why Sydney?'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Why did you leave the bush?'

‘My brother died.' It was her standard answer to the standard,
You never wanted to live in the bush then?
‘You sure do ask a lot of questions, Mr Leach.'

‘Guess I just like to know why people leave; especially young people. Sounds like you just needed an excuse to escape.'

‘No, I didn't,' Sarah retorted, taking a gulp of champagne. Their conversation was beginning to resemble a one-sided inquisition. She flicked drops of condensation from the stem of her champagne flute and scanned the faces nearby.

‘So you're not going back to Wangallon then?' Matt persevered. Had he not owed Angus Gordon a mighty favour dating back ten years he wouldn't have agreed to undertake this once only investigative role.

‘Well …'

Sarah's mind was obviously not quite made up. That was one thing he could pass on. ‘There is only you, isn't there? I mean, you are the last Gordon, aren't you?'

‘Yes.'

Two bright pink spots of colour rose in prominence on the girl's face. Matt was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable and, obviously, so was Angus's granddaughter. ‘So?' he pushed. He promised to deliver a decisive yes or no answer, but at the rate things were progressing Matt was starting to believe that he would have more luck interrogating his pet cockatoo. Maybe it
was time to be blunt. ‘Don't tell me, you're in love with a city fella?'

‘Things changed after Cameron died, Mr Leach. I needed to make a new life for myself.'

Matt crunched ice from his glass and silently thanked God. He had what Angus wanted and the interest owing on the fifty-thousand dollars lent to him following his investment troubles was now repaid.