She walked through the woody maze trying to visualise the area as it had once been, a place thick with large cedar trees. The point of cutting them down was lost on her. Particularly as the remaining stumps made the area unsuitable for lawn or garden beds and a grouping of stately timber would have done much to cut back on summer’s western sun. Beyond the stumps, the lone remaining cedar tree she’d first seen at the top of the garden stood in the middle of the fence. The wire boundary edged the tree’s massive brown girth on either side but stopped short of reaching the timber. Stella tilted her head back. The cedar stretched to a height that she guessed was well over one hundred feet. Large spreading limbs were crowned with new season’s growth, reddish leaves and white-petalled flowers.
She leant across the large buttressing roots and ran a palm over the knobby bark. The base must have been close to thirty feet in diameter. She walked about it, marvelling, wondering at its age, growing ever more aware of the tree’s enormity. This tree had been needed, appreciated, saved, while around it, fanning out from its base, lay the timber labyrinth of others not worthy of life. It was as if those trees, cut down in their prime, were sacrifices, offered up to protect this tree.
On the cedar’s trunk, a few feet above her head, initials were carved within a roughly scored circle. Stella traced each letter slowly, reading the ragged S, O and R.
Sean O’Riain.
A dog barked on the other side of the fence and ran towards her, attempting to stick its nose through the series of small hexagonal wire holes almost certainly erected to keep the kelpie out. Stella spoke softly to the animal who obediently quietened, its head angled to one side. Beyond, the hills were green-blue in the morning light. Pinkish cloud unfurled to hug the distant slopes. Again a prickle of unease ran down the length of her spine. It was back. That feeling of being observed.
Stella moved further along the fence, the dog quietly trailing her on the opposite side. A building suddenly appeared through the trees. She stopped and stared. It sat slightly lower than Ann and Harry’s house due to the gradual incline of the ground and was a distance away, perhaps less than a quarter mile. The house was far larger than the one she currently inhabited, but not quite as roomy as the old homestead at Kirooma, which echoed when a person walked through it. Joe once said of their home that when he coughed, it coughed back.
This building was two storeys, with large oblong windows on the second floor and the type of fretwork that suggested wealth and age. Stella thought of the distant light that she’d seen through her bedroom window the previous evening and now knew its origin. It was strange to be in an environment where there were other people so close by; where neighbours’ lights could be spotted in the dark and a simple exploratory walk could lead to their homes. On moonless nights at Kirooma, she’d kept a garden flare lit, which could be seen through the bedroom doors that had opened onto the veranda. It was a small but crucial act of defiance against a land that had the ability to swallow her whole.
Here, there were other people only a hair’s breadth away. The knowledge of strangers’ lives being lived so nearby chipped away at the steely resolve that had closed around her over the previous years. She found herself wiping away tears as she walked back to the house.
‘Who’s a pretty boy,’ called Watson.
Stella saw Harry approaching.
‘You brought a bird with you?’ Harry’s hands were on his hips, his elbows angular below the rolled sleeves of his shirt.
Stella patted her face, hoping that all evidence of her tears was gone, and walked towards her brother-in-law. ‘His name is Watson and he belonged to Joe.’
‘Pretty boy, pretty boy,’ Watson repeated.
Harry frowned, the humour lost on him. His glance took in the fence and the house beyond. ‘I wouldn’t wander down there too often. It’s a bit overgrown. There could be snakes.’
‘Who lives over there?’ Stella asked.
‘We don’t mix with them,’ said Harry.
‘But who are they?’ she persisted.
‘People you don’t need to worry about. Now come inside. I want you to meet the twins.’
Stella considered mentioning her suspicion of being observed, however Harry was already walking ahead. She reluctantly followed him.
‘I took Ann some tea and toast,’ said Harry.
‘Oh. Right. Sorry. I’ll be a bit more organised today.’
‘Good. Ann said you had some furniture with you, so the boys unpacked what was in the car. They’re just finishing putting it in your room. We couldn’t fit everything in so I parked the trailer in one of the sheds. You’d get some handy cash for that if you wanted to sell it.’
‘Thank you.’ Stella was taken aback by this act of helpfulness. Perhaps they’d misread each other. ‘I hadn’t thought about selling the trailer. I mean, I’ll need it when I leave.’
‘For what?’ asked Harry. ‘Some of that stuff you’ve got piled in it could be valuable. If you’re after cash, then I’d be selling it. I don’t know much about antiques but there’ll be some wealthy old cove about keen to buy. Just a thought. If things get tight.’
‘Sure. Thanks.’ He certainly seemed more amicable this morning. Not quite friendly, but at least the frosty tone of yesterday had lessened.
They reached the house. Harry stepped up onto the veranda and thumbed at Watson, who was chewing the cage bars as if he were a lifer at Alcatraz. ‘We’ll have to find him a bigger cage. You can’t keep him in that.’
‘Joe used one of the old meat-houses at Kirooma,’ Stella told him.
‘Well, I can’t convert a building for a bird, but we’ll figure something out,’ said Harry.
‘I appreciate that.’
Harry opened the door and she followed him inside.
‘So who are those people?’ Stella asked again, gesturing beyond the end of the garden. ‘It’s a very impressive-looking house.’
Harry pivoted on his heel. ‘I told you. We don’t speak to them.’
Stella flinched at the sudden anger in his voice. She knew the subject should be forgotten but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Why don’t you speak to them?’ she asked quietly.
The air in the hallway was warm, the heat of the day already growing. Harry gave her a hard, appraising stare, similar to the one he’d employed the previous evening. It was clearly an expression he was used to drawing on, except that at this moment it appeared as if he was trying to decide what should be shared and what not.
‘Let’s just say we had a boundary dispute with them a while back. We haven’t spoken since. It was quite—’
‘Hostile,’ she offered, when it was clear Harry was finding it difficult to explain the situation.
‘Bad,’ he stated, ignoring her. ‘Very bad. No one wants another fight to brew. All right?’
‘Okay,’ said Stella. First Joe and now the neighbours. It seemed her brother-in-law wasn’t averse to arguments.
Harry strode down the hall to the kitchen. Stella sighed and followed him.
The kitchen was now filled with Harry and his two sons. Long limbs and broad shoulders crowded an area that had seemed so spacious the previous evening. The boys’ talk stopped on her entry and chairs were scraped across the floor so that she could pass. Harry did the introductions. Fraternal twins Bill and John were the youngest of the O’Riain children at twenty-five years of age. Bill took after Harry, and Stella could see a lot of Ann in John’s slighter build.
‘G’day, Aunty Stella.’ Bill winked. ‘How you going?’
‘Well. Thank you.’ She took over the toast-making from John while Harry sat down to finish the remains of his breakfast, which appeared to be equal parts sausages, eggs and fat.
‘We’ll be in for dinner tonight,’ said John.
‘That’ll be a change,’ Harry quipped.
‘I couldn’t come at another pub meal,’ replied Bill.
‘Did you hear that, Stella?’ said Harry. ‘You’ll be cooking for three.’
‘Fou
r,’ said John. ‘You forgot Mum.’
‘Four,’ repeated Stella.
‘Five,’ said Bill, ‘unless you don’t eat.’
‘I eat.’
‘Just checking,’ said Bill, with a grin.
‘Put everything in the warming oven and we’ll have it when we get back. Right. I’m off then. By the way, your Aunt Stella has a cockatoo out the back and I need a decent cage made for the bird. All right?’ Harry gulped down the rest of his tea then disappeared outside. The screen door slammed noisily behind him.
‘A cockatoo. Another job,’ said John, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘I suppose we can put some chicken wire around that old A-frame and rig up something next to one of the sheds.’
‘You draw it and I’ll help build,’ said Bill. ‘See you.’ He took a piece of buttered toast from the plate Stella placed on the table. ‘Hey, Aunty Stella, nice to finally meet you.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek and the door slammed for a second time.
‘Thank you. You too,’ she called after him.
‘Aunty Stel. Take a load off.’
‘Take a—’ She looked at John dumbly for a moment and then, selecting a yellow mug from the cupboard, poured herself tea and sat down at the table.
‘I was sorry to hear about Uncle Joe.’
‘Yes.’ Stella clasped the mug between her fingers. This boy was the only one in the house to express remorse over Joe’s death. People were a strange lot. Some were quick to offer condolences and others chose to ignore the tragedy. Stella wasn’t sure which reaction she preferred. It was challenging enough navigating the situation without being faced with the simple fact that death made others feel uneasy.
‘I told Dad we should’ve all gone out there, after it happened.’
‘He told me it wasn’t possible what with the harvest and everything,’ said Stella, watching as John stacked the breakfast plates, pushing them to one side. In the end, she’d been glad they’d not ventured westward. It had been difficult enough in those final days without dealing with Joe’s family.
Many kind people had arrived unannounced at Kirooma after Joe’s passing. Stella should have been grateful. For the food and the house-cleaning. For the men driving out to check bores and stock. For Father Colin, who’d alerted his troops like the commander of an army and descended from Broken Hill with a handful of his scattered flock to tend to one of his wounded. However these visitations were from people she scarcely knew. All Stella had wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and hide from what had become of her life, while they, with their good intentions, were committed to restoring a sense of order and normality to a property that was already beyond it.
‘There’s always something going on here. Planting cane. Burning cane. Slashing cane. Carting cane. Crushing cane,’ said John. ‘I keep telling Dad that he can’t let it control his life, but cane is his life. If we planted him he’d probably grow a decent crop.’
‘He’s like his brother,’ said Stella.
‘I liked Uncle Joe,’ said John. ‘He used to take us fishing. The last time we went down to the river it was the day after my sixteenth birthday. I’d been given a new rod. Well, it wasn’t new. It was Dad’s, actually. Then it fell off the back of the truck on the way home and broke in half.’ His face deflated, as if the loss were only recent. ‘I was pretty angry when I heard Uncle Joe had got engaged and was buying a sheep property and moving away. I blamed you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah. Bill and Paddy and me all thought it was because of you that he left. But of course, you weren’t the reason.’
‘Joe loved sheep,’ she replied.
John picked at a piece of gristle in his teeth. ‘Yeah, he did.’
She hazarded that what Harry had refused to discuss the night before might well be known to John, perhaps the entire family. ‘Did your father ever mention what he and Joe fell out over?’
Her nephew edged his chair back from the table. ‘I better get going.’
‘John, my husband is gone. If there’s something I should know then I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me.’
In time, the frown line between John’s eyes would be as deep as Joe’s she thought.
‘Uncle Joe never told you?’
‘About what?’
A fly was buzzing around the table and John flicked at it with a tea towel, becoming instantly absorbed in the insect’s looming destruction.
Stella thought of her and Joe’s wedding in Sydney. Her parents, being against the union, had refused to attend, leaving the guest list decidedly small. There were her friends and some family, including Angelina and Carmela. Harry had been present, while Ann had stayed at home to care for one of the twins who’d contracted glandular fever. As for an argument or dispute of some kind, Stella couldn’t recall a single one, but neither had there been any communication with Joe’s family after they’d moved to the property.
‘I know your father and Joe fell out when Joe left the Valley, but was there something else, John? Religion, perhaps? Did Joe tell your father he was an atheist? He was prone to joking about the Catholic faith at times, but surely Harry knew that deep down Joe was a believer,’ said Stella.
John carried the plates to the sink. ‘All I’ll say is that Uncle Joe did the wrong thing. Dad said he put his own needs above family loyalty, and I doubt he’ll ever forgive Uncle Joe for that.’
He gave her a look of commiseration and then walked outside to pull on his boots. Stella heard the crunch of gravel as he stepped from the veranda. She clutched the cup of now-cold tea and thought of Joe, the man she’d loved and married, and the older brother, whose lack of forgiveness hinted at something inexcusable.
Chapter 9
Sydney, 1942
‘Great news,’ said Joe, the day after their engagement was announced. ‘I signed the contract this morning for a one hundred-and-forty-thousand-acre sheep property in the far west of New South Wales. What do you think about that, eh?’ He lifted his beer glass, in salute to his news.
They were eating takeaway fish and chips on the cramped balcony of her one-bedroom unit on the third floor of a red-brick building that ran to a busy corner on Sydney’s New South Head Road. It was a Saturday afternoon and the noise from the traffic made it difficult to hear.
Stella was positive that she’d misheard. ‘Did you say a sheep property?’
‘Yes.’ He took her hand in his. ‘You’ll love it.’
Stella drew her hand free. ‘I don’t understand. I thought we were going north. That’s where your family farm is. When on earth did you decide to buy a property? And with what?’
Joe topped up her wine glass from the bottle of Chianti on the table. ‘I’m not interested in sugar cane. I want to breed sheep. You know that.’
‘Yes, but Joe—’
‘I never said we were going back to the Valley,’ he told her plainly.
‘And you never said that we weren’t,’ she argued, feeling bewildered. ‘You told me that’s where your family’s roots were. That the O’Riains had been there since the 1860s, very soon after they’d emigrated from Ireland.’
‘Time for a change then. So, have you rung your parents to tell them our news?’ he asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said as brightly as she could. The mention of her family reminded her of the dreaded task that lay ahead. Their engagement wouldn’t be received well. It was a hard decision to go against the traditions of her family and marry outside their circle, but she had chosen love. A love that now confused her.
‘As long as you know what you’re doing, Stel,’ had been Carmela’s reply when Stella told her of the engagement.
It hadn’t exactly been the excited response Stella was hoping for.
‘You were the one that was keen for me to speak to Joe that day at Woodburn,’ Stella had reminded her.
Staring at Joe now, she wondered if she knew what she was doing. Joe had spoken on numerous occasions about his work at a rural merchandise store and the small block of land he
leased for his sheep. Was it so wrong to have assumed that they would move there?
‘You’ve never even invited me to visit your home,’ she complained.
‘I always come to Sydney. Anyway, you were only up in the Valley a few months ago,’ he said, referring to their first meeting, ‘and you’ll meet Harry at the wedding.’
‘Don’t you think we should have discussed this together? Where is this property, anyway? How far away is the far west of the state?’
‘Not too far,’ said Joe vaguely.
‘However could you afford it?’
Joe smiled encouragingly. ‘Timing. Everything is in the timing, Stella. Kirooma Station has been listed for sale for quite a while. It’s a gift. An absolute gift.’
‘There’s probably a reason for that,’ she interrupted.
‘What? Now you’re a rural property expert?’ he said sharply.
She hadn’t seen that before. The sharpness; the glitter of confrontation. The moment of awkwardness lingered long enough for Stella to realise that it was she who would have to apologise. ‘I’m sorry. Please go on.’
He gave her a dismissive glance and began picking at the remains of the battered fish sitting on newspaper in front of them.
‘Please, Joe,’ she encouraged.
‘This is exactly the reason I haven’t told you about this before. Everyone’s so damn negative.’
‘What did your brother have to say?’ said Stella.
‘I haven’t told Harry yet. I plan to after the wedding. I hope he’ll be supportive.’
The Cedar Tree Page 6