The Orchardist's Daughter

by Karen Viggers

  ‘Yeah, yeah. It’ll be fine.’

  Terry shook his head in sympathy. ‘Families.’

  They drove along the silvery stretch of the river, whizzing past farms and dormant orchards. Leon was trying not to think about home. He couldn’t do anything from here, so it was futile to waste energy worrying. And, yet, visions kept niggling him. His dad staggering into the kitchen and swiping at Mum with a hairy paw. His mum with a purple shiner under one eye, like the day Leon had first discovered his dad was hitting her. He would never forget her sad face as he tried to convince her to leave. It hadn’t made sense to him when she said she loved his dad and could never go. He couldn’t understand such blind devotion. Was that how women ended up fenced into inescapable situations? He hated his dad for the power he wielded over his mum.

  Terry was trying to make conversation, so Leon made an effort to tune in.

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing you talking to the boss,’ Terry was saying. ‘It’s a tough time in Parks. Not many opportunities. I’m with you on public outreach, though. I’d like to see more of it. But the boss is concerned about money—things are so tight.’

  ‘Same everywhere,’ Leon said. ‘It’s a problem.’

  ‘There are some good things going on in the wildlife scene, if you know how to tap into it,’ Terry said. ‘I can connect you with scientists doing fieldwork around here, if you like. There’s a guy from Canberra looking for swift parrots in the forests. And a bloke from the uni working on Tasmanian devils. None of it pays, of course, but it might give you what you’re looking for. A bit more stimulus than the usual work.’

  Leon was grateful. Sometimes he wished he’d become a scientist himself, but ranger work suited him because he liked being outside. He couldn’t imagine himself chained to a desk.

  At the turn-off to the park, the road deteriorated to potholed gravel, and Terry slowed to navigate a particularly rutted section. ‘They only grade it a couple of times a year,’ he grumbled. ‘Can’t afford to seal it. Not enough traffic to justify the expense.’

  The road climbed gradually, and soon forest gave way to heathland dotted with small gangly trees and buttressed peaks. Mist hung on the mountains, and the light was long and grey. It was hauntingly beautiful.

  At the end of the road, Terry pulled up in a circular car park where the hiking trails began. Leon was excited. The light was soft and a blue haze hovered above the heath. ‘Can we walk to the pass?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the view.’

  ‘Another time. Too bloody cold today. It’ll be blowing a gale up there.’ Terry led the way along a short boardwalk to a large shelter for tourists. Inside, he showed Leon the walking-intentions book. ‘When you’re on duty, you have to check this book to make sure no one’s missing. Inexperienced idiots go hiking in a white-out and they don’t stick to the trail. Then it’s up to us to find them—full-scale search and rescue. Some of them walk in T-shirts and thongs. It’s a shame we have to save fools.’

  Leon had helped with search and rescue on Bruny Island too. Sometimes they found those who went missing. Other times it was a mystery. One young woman had hiked up Fluted Cape and never come back; a week of searching and they’d concluded she must have fallen from the cliffs. Leon didn’t like to think of her crashing onto the rock platforms below. He’d spent his childhood exploring those cliffs; lost his virginity up there with a girl staying at the caravan park over summer; fed the white wallabies that grazed the grassy area at the bottom of the trail. That place was part of who he was. Maybe this place would become part of him too.

  After they had cleaned the loos and restocked the toilet paper, Terry was ready to head back to the office. ‘No point hanging round in weather like this,’ he said. ‘Nobody here except us, and we don’t have any say in the matter.’

  They were spinning through the forest back towards town when Leon saw the dog on the road: a red heeler with swinging teats. It had to be Rosie from next door. He called to Terry to stop. ‘Hey, I know that dog. She lives next door to me. We should take her back home.’

  As Terry pulled over, Leon noticed Rosie had a gash in her side. He wondered how she’d ended up here by herself. Had she run off, or had she fallen from the back of Shane’s ute? He remembered her growling at him back home and wasn’t sure if she would try to bite him, but he couldn’t just leave her here—the wound was dripping with blood.

  He spoke to her quietly as he approached. She was panting, probably in pain. ‘Got a rope in the car?’ he asked Terry. ‘Something I can loop round her neck.’

  Terry tossed out a length of cord that Leon hooked around Rosie’s collar. She was compliant—maybe she sensed he was trying to help. He coaxed her to the LandCruiser and encouraged her onto the back seat. She tried to leap but winced, so Leon wrapped his arms around her and lifted her in. He felt those dangly teats against his skin, the wetness of the wound. So much for his new uniform—his hands and clothes were covered in blood.

  When they arrived at Leon’s place, the neighbours weren’t home.

  ‘We’ll have to take her to a vet,’ Terry said. ‘The nearest one’s near the Parks office.’

  At the vet clinic, a buzzer went off as Leon pulled Rosie in through the door. The smell of disinfectant hit him and his boots echoed on the floor. Tugging the dog over to a plastic chair near the front window, he sat down to wait. The front desk was unattended, but someone must have heard the buzzer go off—it was certainly loud enough. On the desk, a sign in black capitals announced there was no credit to be had here and full payment was required at the time of consultation. Leon supposed he would have to pay the bill; no guarantees Wendy and Shane would do it.

  A middle-aged woman with short brown hair emerged from a room down the back and assessed Leon and Rosie; her name tag read Frances. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘That wound’s nasty.’

  ‘Are you the vet?’ Leon asked.

  ‘I’m nurse and receptionist. We have to multi-task around here … You been here before?’

  ‘No. I found this dog up in the forest.’

  ‘She’s not yours?’

  ‘No, but I’ll pay for whatever needs to be done. I think she needs help.’

  ‘You can say that again. I’ll just get the vet.’ Frances turned towards the rear of the premises and bellowed, ‘Hey, Kate. Got a minute? Mind taking a look at this dog?’

  A young woman in jeans, Blundstone boots and a teal-green gown appeared. She was slim and bright-eyed, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, surgical gloves on her hands. She peered over the counter and Leon shifted the dog so the wound was visible. ‘That will definitely need stitches,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was just explaining how I found her up in the forest. She belongs to my neighbours but they weren’t home. Didn’t think I could leave it. I’m happy to pay—not sure my neighbours can afford it.’

  Her smile was warm. ‘That’s kind of you.’

  ‘Can we spay her at the same time?’ Leon asked.

  Kate’s brow crinkled as she took in Rosie’s dangly nipples and massive belly. ‘It would be a good thing to do, but we can’t without the owner’s consent, especially when she’s this far advanced.’

  ‘That’s a shame. The kid next door said she ate her previous pups.’

  Kate’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m wondering if the father might have drowned them.’

  ‘That’s awful.’

  Frances was clearly disgusted. ‘People like that shouldn’t be allowed to own animals.’

  Leon agreed. ‘Look, sorry, but is it okay if I give you some details and get back to work? It’s my first day on a new job and if I don’t show my face soon, I’ll get the sack. Then I won’t be able to pay.’

  After work, he collected Rosie from the clinic, all patched up and looking miserable with stitches in her side and a plastic cone around her head, tied to her collar. ‘The cone of shame,’ Frances said, handing Leon the rope connected to the dog. ‘If she chews t
hose stitches, we’ll have to do it all over again. I’m sure you don’t want to pay twice.’ Leon had no idea whether his neighbours would keep the cone on or not. If Rosie pulled the stitches out, they’d have to pay next time.

  He led the dog to his car and lifted her onto the back seat, but she weaselled into the front, bashing her way through with the cone. When he tried to shift her, she hunched down and dug her claws into the seat. Was she testing him, or was she used to getting her own way? He didn’t think Shane would allow the dog much leeway, but sometimes you couldn’t tell how people treated their animals. Maybe Shane was all bluster in public and a softie in private.

  Leon put the car in gear and was about to drive away when he noticed he’d missed a text from his mum. Can you drop in to see Grandpa on your way home? He has something to give you. A wave of relief washed through him—she was okay. She hadn’t mentioned Stan or his dad, so things must be sorted at home. But surely Grandpa could wait till tomorrow. Leon was already late heading home, and he’d seen Grandpa only yesterday. He didn’t want to disappoint the old man, however, so perhaps he could leave the dog in the car for a few minutes and make a quick visit.

  But in the car park at the old people’s home, Rosie was determined to go with him. She leaped onto his lap, crashing the cone against his face and scrabbling at his thighs with her claws. Leon tried to calm her, but she yelped wildly and he couldn’t shove her away. When he opened the door, she barrelled out too, and it was all he could do to hold on to her. The cone was clearly bothering her, so he took it off, keeping the cord coiled round his wrist so she couldn’t escape. He tried to coax her back into the car, but she ducked and weaved and shrank onto the ground. Leon was afraid to force her in case he damaged her wound. Now he was faced with the problem of where to put her while he went inside. He contemplated tying her up but was frightened she would slip her collar. It would be a disaster if she ended up being hit by a car. He wondered if the receptionist might come out and hold her for a few moments, but there was no one at the front desk.

  Exasperated, he stood by the sliding doors, waiting for somebody to emerge. Five minutes passed. The dog sat, panting up at him happily—she was a different person now the cone was off. In the end, Leon took her in with him. The foyer and front office were deserted—it was probably dinnertime—and maybe he would get away with a quick walk down the corridor to Grandpa’s room to collect whatever the old man so desperately needed to give him. He might just pull it off.

  Everything went well until he found Grandpa’s room empty. Either Leon had to search for the old man, or give up. But having come this far, he was bold enough to go on. With Rosie trotting alongside, he slunk towards the lounge room where several old people sat slumped and half-asleep in massive armchairs. It only took one of them to notice Rosie, and suddenly the whole room was awake. ‘Would you look at that?’ a creaky voice announced. ‘It’s a dog.’

  Leon was planning his escape, but all around craggy faces lit up and thin lips split into gaping smiles. Departure was not an option. Rosie was on display.

  ‘Can you bring her over here, sonny?’ a crinkled old woman called.

  Leon shortened the rope and led Rosie across the carpet. He hoped she wouldn’t bite anyone. She tugged him along, stopping when her head was under the old woman’s hand. Leon watched those bony fingers grasping woodenly at the dog’s head in a rough sort of pat. He noticed the bright look of rapture on the old lady’s face, and the dog’s equivalent of a smile. The woman’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, she’s a bonnie doggie, isn’t she, sonny? Those ears are like velvet.’ Leon was surprised the woman could feel anything with those gnarly hands. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Rosie.’

  ‘Hello, Rosie. Aren’t you a good dog? You’ve made my day.’

  ‘Hey, what about us?’ a man called out. He was a thin scrap of humanity with a camel’s-hump back, sitting in a wheelchair on the other side of the room. ‘We want to pat her too. You can’t have all the fun, Glenys.’

  The old woman laughed. ‘You lot can wait. Rosie and I are already friends.’

  ‘All right then,’ the man in the wheelchair said, ‘if Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, then the mountain will come to Muhammad.’ He yanked at his brake and started wheeling himself across the room.

  ‘Good Lord, Duncan,’ someone said. ‘What are you doing? You know you’re supposed to wait for a nurse.’

  ‘Bad luck,’ Duncan said, ‘I want to pat the dog.’

  Leon saw the wheelchair approaching and realised the old man had little control. Those thin arms were pecking at the handles unevenly and the chair was skewing wildly. To avert a crash, Leon grabbed the armrest and pulled the chair to a halt, bending to sling an arm around the old man so he wouldn’t slither to the ground. It was a near thing, but neither Glenys nor Duncan seemed to register this. They were crooning over the dog, thin faces glowing, smiles like dark caves, semi-toothless.

  ‘What’s this?’ a loud angry voice called, much younger and authoritative.

  The excitement in the room held its breath, and Leon looked up. The voice belonged to Maryanne from the front desk, her red lips compressed.

  ‘Sorry.’ Leon dished out humble pie. ‘I’m looking for my grandpa.’

  Maryanne was proficient at haughtiness and she piled it on now. ‘What’s this dog doing inside? Is it clean? Has it been wormed? Is it registered as a carer dog?’

  ‘Yes to everything,’ Leon lied—the easiest way out. ‘And look how much happiness she’s giving. Everyone here’s come alive!’

  Maryanne scanned the room like a radar and her posture softened. The old people were no longer limp husks; they were all reaching to touch the dog. Fortunately, Rosie remained cooperative. While Maryanne supervised, Leon led the dog around the room, greeting each oldie one by one.

  ‘Don’t forget Hector,’ Glenys said, pointing to a contorted fossil of a man in the corner, so bent he couldn’t even raise his head.

  Leon led Rosie over. The dog seemed to be revelling in her role; she walked straight up to Hector and put her head on his lap. Leon waited for the old man to say something, but the only thing that issued from his twisted mouth was a string of drool. For a moment, all was still: the warped body didn’t move. Then the dog lifted her yellow eyes to peer at Hector, and his shaking purple-blotched hand pawed gently at her head. The room was silent, everyone watching Hector connect with Rosie. Only Leon saw the droplets of moisture that fell onto the dog’s nose. When he looked more closely, he realised it wasn’t Hector’s saliva, but his tears.

  When everyone had said hello then goodbye to Rosie, Leon asked after his grandpa. ‘He’s in the library,’ Maryanne said. ‘Do you think you could bring Rosie again sometime? She’s been good medicine for everyone.’

  Leon had dug himself into a hole. ‘Ah, yes, maybe. I’ll phone later on and make a time.’

  ‘That would be wonderful. And, next time, could you bring her carer-dog papers with you? I’ll need to make copies.’

  ‘Sure.’ Leon waved as he led the dog down the corridor. He was worried about all these lies, but there was a time and place for honesty, and this wasn’t it.

  He found Grandpa alone in the library, bent over a book at a large wooden table. Leon announced his presence with a short cough, and Grandpa looked up, eyes sharpening with surprise. ‘It’s you again.’

  ‘Mum said you wanted to see me. So here I am. And I’ve brought a friend.’

  Grandpa frowned at Rosie, then smiled. ‘I didn’t know you had a dog.’

  ‘I don’t. She belongs to my neighbours.’

  ‘Looks like she’s about to have pups. What’s that in her side? Stitches?’

  ‘You’re the first person who’s noticed. Seems like you’re the only one with eyesight around here.’

  ‘My eyes are pretty good for my age.’ Grandpa pushed his spectacles up. ‘How did you get a dog in here anyway? Maryanne allowed it?’

  ‘She wasn’t at the desk.’


  Grandpa chuckled. ‘Good to know you can get past her. Knowledge like that could be useful.’ He waved Leon closer. ‘I wanted to show you this book. It’s about the logging history of this area. Written by a mate of mine from Bruny Island. I think you’ll find it interesting.’

  Leon leaned in to look. The cover had a photo of a large log on an old timber jinker with two men perched on top of it. Grandpa opened the book to a black-and-white photo of four axemen standing on boards notched into the base of an enormous tree.

  ‘This is Bruny Island back at the turn of the last century,’ Grandpa said. ‘And this is my great-great-grandfather, William Walker.’ He pointed to a bearded man just visible behind the broad trunk. The man’s face was shadowed by a rough-looking felt hat, but Leon could see the nose was Walker, no mistaking it. Grandpa licked his index finger and flicked through the pages. ‘I thought you might like to take the book home and read it. Lots of history in here—your mum says you’re into that. There’s a chapter on Bruny Island and one on bushfires. You might discover something interesting, if you read between the lines.’ He turned to the chapter on fires and tapped the page.

  What was the old man talking about, Leon wondered. Some sort of secret? ‘All right, I’ll read that chapter,’ he said.

  ‘If you have any questions, you can ask later,’ Grandpa added. He had become twitchy and restless.

  ‘Is there something in that book about you?’ Leon asked.

  Grandpa wouldn’t meet Leon’s eyes. Instead, he leaned down to Rosie and she sidled in for a pat. ‘I used to have a dog like this,’ he said. ‘A blue heeler called Fred. He was hit on the Adventure Bay road. You wouldn’t credit it. One car an hour back then, and the bloody dog gets killed. Best dog I ever had. And I’ve had a few over the years. You sure this one isn’t yours? Dogs are good company.’

  ‘No, I have to take her home now. Her owner will be wondering where she is.’

  ‘Go on with you then.’ Grandpa closed the book and handed it to Leon.