‘My name’s Freddie,’ Freddie pointed out, looking dazed and rubbing his ear with one hand and shooing flies away with the other.
‘You can shoo all day,’ Mrs Hogan chuckled. ‘Those flies have a mind of their own. And your face and mine is where they want to be. Get used to the critters is what I say.’ She then turned to Lillie, who was standing back. ‘And you … the only girl among this fine-looking lot.’ She glanced towards the house. ‘It ain’t much, but it does the job. What’s more there’s plenty of room for you all to bunk down.’ She looked at Marcus and Freddie with a grin on her weathered face, the skin reminding Lillie of the overripe passionfruit she’d stolen from Mrs Gatenby’s fruit bowl yesterday. ‘There’s a load of space to kick a footy around,’ she added, beckoning for the family to come inside where she had afternoon tea waiting. ‘My Bill picked your luggage up from the train station earlier on. Now he’s outta town doing a final job. He does fencing and odd jobs in his spare time.’
‘He shouldn’t have troubled himself to pick up the luggage, Mrs Hogan,’ Lillie’s father said.
‘Ah, it was nothing. And the name’s Martha.’
‘Thank you, Martha. You’re both very kind.’
Following Mrs Hogan down the garden path onto the front verandah, Lillie saw a couple of vinyl lounge chairs pushed up against the wall. And at the far end was a clothesline strung between the timber posts with what looked like Mrs Hogan’s knickers hanging out to dry. Inside, the living room had a ceiling of pressed tin with a pattern of flowers, and was furnished with a three-piece lounge which had a few holes worn in its covering. In the centre of the room was a chunky coffee table with flowers etched into the glass top, which was chipped around the edges. A cocktail cabinet of the same dark, shiny wood, and with the same etched glass, stood in the corner with lots of photographs on the top. There were more photographs on the walls, including studio portraits of young children in their Sunday best and one of the family together. A portrait, which Lillie thought had to be the Hogans outside a church on their wedding day with Mrs Hogan very fancy in a flowing cream dress and long veil and Mr Hogan looking incredibly stern in a dark suit and tie, took pride of place over the fireplace.
At the back of the house was the kitchen, where Mrs Hogan had tea set up under a damask cloth on the laminex table in the centre of the room. When she removed the cloth, Marcus and Freddie stared in awe at the chocolate cake covered in thick icing. Even Lillie sighed at the sight of the curried egg sandwiches and the huge jug of lemonade, which she hoped was cold.
‘Now get stuck into it,’ Mrs Hogan coaxed, beckoning them towards the table. ‘It’s all got to be eaten. Or it’ll go to the chickens or Mrs Batchelor’s pigs down the road.’
‘You’ve got chickens here?’ Freddie exclaimed in delight. ‘I love chickens.’
‘We sure do, champ. It can be your job to feed them and collect the eggs. They live in the hen house up near the dunny.’ She pointed up the back paddock to a small wooden building with a gravel path leading to it. ‘At night you’ll need to take a torch for the dunny. And be careful to watch out for snakes.’
Ma looked confused. ‘The dunny?’
Mrs Hogan laughed. ‘The toilet.’
It was only then that Lillie noticed Ma’s face seemed to crumble. But in a second she composed herself and gave Mrs Hogan a small smile as she glanced at the table laden with food. ‘You’re so very kind to have this waiting for us. It’s what we need after that long trip.’
‘Ah, not at all. Now come, tuck in. Then I’ll show you to your rooms. No doubt you and your hubby will want to head out to Eureka to see what’s going on after that. You can leave the children here with me.’
‘Thank you,’ Ma said. ‘It’d be good to sort out what’s happened with Finn as soon as we can.’
After they had devoured afternoon tea Mrs Hogan showed them where they would be sleeping. Marcus and Freddie were in one room, Dad and Ma in another and then there was one for Lillie. Ronan was to be in a sleep-out off the back verandah. The rooms were sparsely furnished with iron beds covered in chenille bedspreads. Next to the beds were wooden bedside tables. In the corner of each room was a wardrobe.
‘We used to use these as overflow from the hotel,’ Mrs Hogan said. ‘Not too much these days. People complained they had to use the outside dunny. And, as you can see, it all needs refurbishing.’
Ma smiled at her warmly. ‘It all looks just fine.’
Lillie wondered what her mother really thought. Compared to Rathgarven these bedrooms were like prison cells. All Lillie could hope for was that Uncle Finn would turn up and take them out to Eureka Park as soon as possible. And wouldn’t he be embarrassed when he realised he’d forgotten they were coming?
* * *
Having received directions from Martha, Kathleen sat in the car beside James as they drove along Wattle Creek Road towards Eureka Park. After seeing the Hogans’ house in Gullumbindy, she hoped more than ever that they would find Finn at home. She was amazed how much greener it was here than it had been further south, where she had been stunned by the harshness of the dry paddocks and burnt-out bush. Here there were rows of tall poplars and other English trees interspersed with gum trees, wattles and telegraph poles, and sheep and cattle grazed contentedly. Every now and then there was a gate that looked as though it would lead up to a homestead. Beside each gate was a letterbox, some made out of old milk urns, and occasionally there was a windmill, which James told her were there to pump water from the dams to the houses.
‘Finn said the dams sometimes empty right out. It’s hard to imagine after all this rain, but in the height of summer I’d say it looks quite different.’
When they pulled to a stop at Eureka Park’s gate, Kathleen looked up at the sign. She remembered Finn being so proud when he’d written to them in Ireland, boasting.
What do you think? This is what I’ve called my bonzer piece of Aussie dirt.
‘Lucky there was no padlock,’ she said when she hopped back into the car after opening the gate. ‘And if Finn hasn’t locked up, it probably means he’s here.’
‘Not sure that they’d lock up much around here. A bit like at Rathgarven.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Kathleen said. ‘It seems a long way out of anyone’s way.’
As they drove up the track between the post-and-rail fences, Kathleen gazed around at the paddocks, which were abundant in long grass and beautiful stands of trees with many of the wattles a vivid yellow. ‘It certainly looks like a good parcel of land Finn’s got here.’
In the centre of each paddock was a small dam surrounded by thick reeds. And in the corners were shelters with corrugated tin roofs for the horses.
‘It’s odd there’s no horses,’ Kathleen said.
‘Maybe he’s got them in the yards.’
Further on they drove up a steep hill. Once over the crest, Kathleen saw the river in the distance and on its bank what appeared to be the homestead she’d seen in the photograph. It felt so strange to be looking at it in real life. To the right was what looked like the home paddock, and some timber buildings with iron roofs sprawled across the land next to a thick copse of trees that ran down to the river bank. Presumably those buildings were the stables. Next to those there were yards and beyond that tall poplar trees surrounded an exercise ring. Still there was no sign of any horses.
When they got up to the homestead Kathleen’s heart sagged. Although it had a certain charm, with a pitched iron roof and wide verandahs on all sides, much to her horror it looked run-down and neglected, nothing like the photograph at all. Even the garden surrounding it was overrun with weeds and thistles.
‘Are we at the right place?’ she asked James. ‘Looking like this?’
James sighed. ‘I’m afraid it is.’
Kathleen was startled to see a dog sitting outside the fence. Its fur was matted and it had a pathetic look to its eyes. It was so skinny Kathleen could see its ribs.
‘Oh, how sad,’ she sighed.
‘He must be a stray.’
James pulled the car to a halt under a wattle tree and they got out. Gingerly the dog stood up and came over to them. Leaning down, James patted it on the head. ‘Dingo?’ he probed gently.
With the mention of the name the dog wagged his tail and his eyes lit up.
‘Dingo?’ Kathleen exclaimed. ‘Finn’s dog? You said he showed you a photo of him at Rathgarven.’
‘He looked nothing like this in the photo. But I think it’s him all right.’
Glancing around, Kathleen expected to see Finn walk up. But the dog was so unloved, surely there was no way an owner would have let him get like that. A huge feeling of foreboding struck her. How had the dog ended up like this? She knelt down and patted it on the head. Although he looked so dreadful she could see that his forlorn eyes were kind and gentle.
‘Where’s your master, little fella?’ she asked, scratching the dog’s ear. ‘What’ve you done with him, eh?’
After a moment James cupped his hands to his mouth and called out: ‘Finn! Are you there?’ The only response was the shriek of a galah in the gum tree behind the horseboxes. He shouted again. ‘Finn! Where are you?’ All around them was an eerie stillness that sent a shiver down Kathleen’s spine. The stables looked empty and there was no sign of life at all, apart from the dog. Not far from where they stood a white Ford truck was parked up against a shed. They went over and looked inside. On the dashboard were an empty packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. A few tools and a broken bit of a bridle and a set of reins lay on the floor.
‘The keys are in the ignition,’ James said. ‘He must be around somewhere.’
They walked over to the homestead. Although the garden was hugely overgrown, beautiful trees surrounded it. And it was in a glorious spot looking down to the river. Kathleen followed James through the wrought iron gate and down a gravel path bordered by purple lavender hedges. A couple of wicker chairs were pushed back against the wall of the wide wooden verandah and there was a cane dog basket in the corner.
James banged on the door. Nothing. He tried the handle. The door opened and he called out. Still nothing.
‘Should we go inside?’ Kathleen asked, trying to peer down the hallway.
‘Let’s go and see if we can find him first. He might be down at the stables or out in a paddock.’
Although Kathleen was keen to look inside the house, she thought James was probably right. If Finn had forgotten they were coming and the house was in a mess he’d be upset if they stumbled into it without him here. Moving back down the path she saw the dog standing outside the gate whimpering. When she went through the gate he moved in the direction of the river. Every now and then he stopped and looked back.
‘It seems to me he’s trying to tell us something,’ she called out to James. ‘He keeps looking at the river.’
‘Perhaps Finn’s down there fishing,’ James said, coming alongside.
A few minutes later, Kathleen marvelled at the magnificence of the scene before her as she gazed down on the river: the sandstone cliffs, the weeping willows almost touching the water, the pebbly beach shaded by trees. On the bank opposite cattle had come down to drink, churning up mud and dropping cowpats everywhere. They looked so contented. Fat, too. Next to where the cattle drank, a flock of white cockatoos picked at the dirt.
Once Finn had told her: ‘The darn cockatoos eat anything in sight. Those and the bloody roos are the scourge of us blokes on the Aussie land.’
In time she would probably grow to dislike the cockatoos. Looking at them now they added to the tranquillity of the scene in front of her. Somehow it made her feel less distraught at having lost Rathgarven to Donoghue. Picking up a stone she threw it down to the water and heard it plop. Now the dog padded along the bank ahead of them. James and Kathleen kept up with him until they came to a fence. The dog squeezed through, turned to them and started to bark.
James said, ‘He definitely wants us to follow.’
They climbed over the fence and trailed him along the bank. They must have gone for about five hundred yards when the dog veered right and scrambled up to the top of a ridge. Again he turned around and barked. James and Kathleen clambered up after him, Kathleen glad she was wearing a pair of trousers. The dog padded on and they tried to keep up. Then he stopped. James and Kathleen came alongside him and Kathleen realised they were on the edge of what looked like an old mine shaft. There were pieces of rusting equipment spread around and the hole was partly encircled by a falling down barbed-wire fence. She could feel her heart beating and the dreadful foreboding she’d felt when she first saw the dog in front of the homestead came back more strongly than ever. She peered down into the hole. It was as dark as a cave and she couldn’t see a thing. The dog gave a pathetic bark and looked down.
‘What do you think’s down there?’ Kathleen asked uneasily.
‘Only one way to find out,’ James replied. ‘There’s a wooden ladder on the side. You wait here. I’ll climb down and take a look.’
‘God, James. Are you sure? The ladder might be broken. Besides, it’s probably crawling with snakes and spiders down there. You don’t think we should try and get someone to go with you? What if you can’t get back up?’
‘Don’t worry,’ James said, peering into the blackness and shooing a blowfly away. ‘I’ll be careful.’
CHAPTER
13
James put his foot on one rung of the ladder and then the next. Although it wasn’t far down, he wondered if Kathleen might have been right and he should have got someone else to come with him. When he got to the bottom he put his foot on the ground and looked around. There was a dreadful smell of decay. Worse than if the place was just the deserted entrance to a mine shaft. Maybe there was a dead animal down here, and the scent had been dragging the dog back. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he thought he might be right. Up ahead he could just make out a lump of something on the ground. He came closer. Unable to make out exactly what he was seeing, he pulled his lighter out from his pocket and flicked it on. With horror he jumped back.
There was no mistaking that the lump on the ground was the remains of a human being inside what looked like a pair of moleskin trousers and a faded blue shirt. On the corpse’s feet was a pair of leather boots. As he stared at the size of those boots, James suspected in an instant whose they were. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Please, please, God, don’t let it be so. Then he noticed the rifle lying on the ground. It was a John Rigby. Finn had a John Rigby. Peering more closely at the body he could see there was an obvious shot wound to the front of the head. The reality of what had happened to his friend hit him with the force of an avalanche. He thought he might keel over.
Finn had climbed down into this mine and shot himself in the head. Why, oh why would he do that? He grabbed hold of a rough piece of wood protruding from the wall to steady himself, all the while staring in horror at the scene before him.
James remembered the day Finn had bought that rifle the last time he was in Ireland. It was the day he was leaving. They had gone into Killarney to see a friend who owned the gun shop before Finn drove to Cork for his cousin’s funeral.
‘What do you think, young James?’ Finn had chuckled, holding the rifle up to his eye. ‘Should be able to shoot a few roos with this, eh.’
‘Looks like it could kill more than a few roos,’ James had said.
As he remembered that conversation, James felt hot, sticky tears on his cheeks. He lifted his hand to wipe them away. The gun Finn had bought that day had killed more than a few kangaroos; it had killed James’s best friend. By his own hand. For there was no doubt at all in James’s mind that lying here at the bottom of this godforsaken mine was Finn Malone.
James tried to get a grip on himself, knowing Kathleen was waiting at the top of the shaft. It was then that he noticed a few whisky bottles by the side of the corpse, and he put together what had happened. Finn had started drinking again and in desperation had done this to put an
end to his woes, imagining in his addled brain that there was no other way to stop his dreadful affliction. James crouched and went to put his hand on his friend’s head, then pulled back. It might contaminate the scene for the police. Instead he buried his face in his hands and wept. After a few minutes he took a deep breath to try and control his emotions. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. What words could possibly explain to Kathleen what he had found down this desolate mine?
After what seemed like one of the longest and most desperate climbs of his life, he finally dragged himself back to the top of the mine and stood up, patting the whimpering dog on the head. He looked at Kathleen’s beautiful eyes, eyes that would soon be wet with tears. He went to her and put his arm around her shoulders, then steered them to sit down on the log nearby. He told her what he had found.
‘No! No!’ she shrieked, her eyes wide in horror, her lower lip quivering. ‘There’s no way it can be him!’
‘Regrettably, it’s him all right. You only have to see how the dog’s behaving. Besides, I don’t know anyone else who’d wear a boot as big as that and have a John Rigby rifle the same as his. I was with him when he bought it in Killarney last time he was over. He reckoned you couldn’t buy anything like it in Australia.’
Kathleen gaped at the mine in dismay. ‘How could he?’ She grabbed hold of James and clasped him close. Tears poured down her face onto his shirt. ‘Why would he do something as stupid as that? Why?’
‘Surely,’ James muttered, looking at his wife’s distraught face, ‘if he’d waited until we got here, we could’ve sorted his problems out.’ He looked at the dog, which was whimpering pitiably. ‘I’m sorry, old fellow. So very sorry.’
The Homestead on the River Page 12