The Cedar Cutter (29 page)

Carrick led the three horses down to the brook and hobbled them. This would be the last time they would make camp before cutting King Polai. More than anything else he wanted some time with Roisin, and to see the lad. Tomorrow they'd begin the trek back into the forest and they'd take down the tree. In a week or two it would be done and he'd go to Sydney, cash in his accounts and take passage to Ireland. And after that? God willing, he'd return, to Roisin and the lad.

He pitched the tent and gathered some wood for the fire. Raucous shouting drifted from the inn down across the flats to the brook. It held no attraction for him. He wandered down to the edge. The clear, cool water lapped the bank and the midday sun chased away the winter chill. A splash and a flurry of water drew his eye.
Fish!
With a laugh he ran back to the camp and rummaged for a piece of line. There'd be bass or mullet, even eel around. He'd snag a couple and convince Roisin to come down and he'd cook them for tea. Just like he'd promised. Make it something of a farewell. Then once his debts were paid in Ireland he'd return and ask the lady for her hand, and if she'd have him, they'd settle in the valley, buy a few acres, build the home he dreamed of. He'd have enough put by if he was careful.

He moulded the piece of damper onto the hook and tossed it into the water, wedging himself in the fork of the roots of the tree. Shame the lad would be at school, he'd enjoy a bit of fishing. The lapping of the water and the sunshine made him drowsy. He was over the cutting, sick of the stench of sweaty men and the festering rot of the rainforest. It was the sun he wanted, the warm sun on his back and a warm lass in his arms. Just this one last job.

The thump to his gut knocked the air from his body, making him gasp.

‘Carrick! You're here.'

‘Woah, boyo, you'll be sending me for a swim if you're not careful.'

‘When did you get back? I've been waiting for ages to see you. No one knew when you were coming.'

‘Didn't know meself, lad. I'm here now.' He adjusted the line and handed it over. ‘I'm looking to catch a fish or two for tea. Reckon your mam would like to come down here for tea?'

‘She would! Have you caught any?'

‘Not yet. Sit still and quiet and they'll come.'

Ruan settled between his feet, a fierce look of concentration on his face as he peered into the crystal-clear water. Was it the lad or his mam he'd miss the most? Both, for different reasons. Maybe he'd ask her to wait for him. Brigid would understand. She'd know she'd always hold that place in his heart, as would Liam. A picture of a flurry of healthy, strong boys, all splashing in the clear water of the brook, flashed in front of his eyes. That was what he wanted—a family with Roisin. He sighed and wiped his hands across his face, almost dozing in the sun, the lad still and calm against his legs. ‘Caught anything yet?'

Ruan shook his head and placed his finger on his lips, then pointed to the clear water. A flash of silver, a tug on the line. Ruan tensed and snatched a breath as the line tightened. Then a shadow fell across the water and the fish disappeared with a tail flick, taking the bait.

‘I lost him!'

The shadow shifted, throwing the light back across the brook; a loose rock splashed into the water. The hairs on the back of Carrick's neck rose, standing to attention. ‘Aye that you did. Give me the line and run up to the inn and ask Maisie for some more damper.'

‘There's still a bit left on the hook.'

‘Do what I say. The fishes are hungry. You want enough for your mam for tea, don't you?' There was someone there. Watching. Best get the lad away until he found out who it was. Something nagged at him. Only he and Slinger were using the camp, no bullocky, no other cutters. ‘Give me the line. Off you go. Quick as you can.' Ruan jumped up and took off across the open paddock to the inn.

Once Ruan had reached the fence, Carrick anchored the fishing line with a rock and stood. ‘You want to come out and show yourself, or shall I be coming over to find you?'

The trees on the other side of the brook wavered and the silhouette moved. A man, tall, cane in hand, stood on the bank. ‘Nice day for a fish.'

‘Until you interrupted.' Shading his eyes Carrick squinted, trying to make out the face. A gentleman. Top hat. Pale breeches. High black boots, shiny. Never done a day's work in his life, he'd put money on that.

‘That's no way to greet a man.'

His skin prickled. The man's laconic drawl snatched at his memory, but he tossed it away. Since Roisin and Ruan had arrived in Wollombi Ireland seemed so much closer. ‘What do you want?'

‘Just appreciating the sight of a man taking his time to relax.'

Carrick took a few steps to his right. He needed to see the face. That slow drawl and those clipped words tugged. He edged further along the waterline. If he could get the beam of sunlight off the man's face, he would be able to see him. ‘Who are you …?' The words died on his lips as the sun slipped behind a cloud and the man turned back into the bush.

‘Carrick, I've got it.'

He shook his head, turning to Ruan. Until he returned to Ireland it was the present not the past that was important. The thought of more fishing had palled, but the lad would be disappointed. ‘Let's move along the brook a bit and try our luck there, nearer the bridge.' He picked up the line and followed Ruan as he gambolled along the water's edge.

‘I hope we can catch five fish, then there's one each, and one for Old Pella. That makes six.'

‘Old Pella?' What did Ruan know of Old Pella?

‘He's in the woodshed. He's feeling much better. Mam says he has to eat otherwise his bruises won't heal.'

‘Bruises, what bruises?'

‘The Blind Bunyip got him. Attacked him in the night. Hit him with a stick. He was real sick. We found him in the woodshed. He said he'd stay till you got back.'

What was the old man doing out the back of Roisin's place? ‘Right, well we'd better get a move on and find these fishies, then.' Had the bastard Paterson cutters been up to their tricks again? And then the penny dropped. ‘How's your treasure box, Ruan?'

‘Nearly full. I found a bird's nest the other day and another egg. And a while back a possum tail. All cleaned, not bloody. It's real soft.'

‘Right.' Now the blown egg and the feathers, the snakeskin, all of it began to make sense.
Old Pella!
Just like an old bowerbird collecting bits and pieces that caught his eye and bringing them back to the nest. Carrick wasn't the only one who'd taken a shine to the lad.

By the time the light started to fade Ruan and Carrick made their way back along the path, six fat bass swinging from a piece of twine and Ruan's chest puffed out with pride.

‘How will we cook them?'

‘Well, now, that'll be depending on what your mam says.'

‘We could ask Old Pella, he might know.'

‘He might indeed. We'll see.'

It was like coming home, tramping down the street to the house where Roisin would be waiting. A man couldn't do much better than that. Maisie could keep her rum and Irish stew. A bit of fish and the company of a pretty woman would be hard to beat.

As they rounded the corner by the General Store, Jane spotted them and let out a screech fit to raise the devil himself. ‘Your mam is ready to kill you, Ruan. Where have you been?'

‘I've got tea and I found Carrick.'

‘I can see that. Get yourself inside, quick smart.'

Ruan disappeared in a flash, up the back steps and into the house.

The shrill tone in Jane's voice set Carrick's teeth on edge. ‘Jane, a minute.'

She turned and stood at the bottom of the steps.

‘Is there a problem? Is Roisin all right?'

‘She's fine.' She wouldn't meet his gaze, instead she peered down, picking at her apron. ‘It's difficult to keep up with Ruan. To know where he is.'

‘Boys.' He nodded, though he couldn't see the problem in the lad fishing down at the brook. ‘Everything else all right? Ruan says Old Pella's taken a beating again.'

‘He'll survive.'

‘Was it the Paterson crew?'

‘I don't think so. They haven't been in town. This happened a few days ago. Old Pella said he'd stay until you got back.'

‘Where is he?'

‘In the woodshed.' She turned away, wiping her hand over her face.

Whatever was going on? ‘I'll have a word with him.' He shoved open the rickety door and peered into the gloom. ‘Old Pella? You here?'

‘You back. 'Bout time.' The ancient man heaved himself up and dragged his possum skin tight around his shoulders. ‘Where you been?'

‘You know where I've been. You were there. King Polai.'

‘Days ago. Where you been?'

‘Organising stuff for next time. To take the tree.'

Old Pella sniffed. ‘Be better here.'

‘What happened to you?'

‘Blind Bunyip throwing his weight around. Watching. Been watching. Old Pella sent him away.'

Carrick scratched his head. Billy Boy was right. Old Pella spent all his time sleeping and dreaming his stories. ‘Got some fish for tea. Going to cook it down at the camp. You coming?'

‘With the boy?' He shuffled outside.

‘With everyone if I get inside and sort it out.'

‘Have you told Carrick about Dankworth?' Jane whispered as she loaded the basket with tin plates and mugs, a pat of butter, damper and some pickles.

‘Ruan, go and get your jacket. It'll be cold when the sun goes down.' Roisin lifted her finger to her lips, shaking her head. ‘No. I don't want to spoil the evening. Not the last one. There's nothing he can do.'

Jane waited until Ruan left the room, and then turned. ‘What if he comes back?'

‘Dankworth won't come back for a while. The Governor's Ball isn't until next week. They've all gone down to Sydney, that's why we had to have the dress and corset finished. Lady Alice told me they were all going and would stay for a few weeks.'

‘And after that?'

‘I've decided I'm not going to keep running. I'll fight him for Ruan. As I should have done in the first place.'

‘It'll be his word against yours. What about Ruan's records at the church? When he was baptised?'

‘Ruan wasn't baptised. They asked for the father's name. I wanted to forget. Not leave a tiny baby with the stain of the past. And besides, I don't hold with the church. What good did it do my mam?'

‘I thought children had to be registered. They made it a law. Father Benson's big on that.'

‘What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And Dankworth can't prove Ruan's his son. What man can?'

‘What man can?' Jane repeated, brushing off her hands. ‘You're right. We won't be worrying about it, then.'

But she did worry and she always would. Why did Dankworth want Ruan? He had a wife and surely they'd have children in good time. Lady Alice couldn't be much older than she was herself.

Jane smiled and tucked a cloth over the basket. ‘I've got the plates and some pickles and damper ready for the fire. Let's go and see what Carrick and Slinger have planned.'

‘Carrick
and
Slinger?'

A blush swept upward from Jane's lace collar, turning her face a pretty pink. ‘Slinger said he'd be down there, too. He plays the fiddle, you know.'

‘Does he now? And you'd be looking forward to seeing him again, would you?'

‘Oh stop it. Let's have some fun.' She grabbed Roisin's hand and they ran down the steps.

It would be good to put all the worry behind her for an evening. There was nothing Carrick could do to stop Dankworth. He'd never asked about Ruan, about his father, no one had, not since that first time she'd lied to Elsie and Maisie. She'd no doubt she had them to thank for that. They would have told all and sundry she was a widow, that Ruan's father had died. Too late now to tell Carrick, and what difference would it make? Once he and Slinger brought King Polai down he'd be gone, back to Ireland. When he came back, if he came back …