By the Currawong's Call

by Welton B. Marsland

  Finished with the flowers, Mrs Sutherland pulled some rags from the front pocket of her apron and started dusting the wooden fittings of the chancel and altar. Matthew mentally shook himself from his self-indulgent musings and strode up the aisle to join her.

  ‘Please, Missus Sutherland.’ He slipped one of the dusting rags from her hand. ‘Allow me to help with that.’ Less than half an hour later, the two of them had made short work of the various housekeeping jobs throughout the nave.

  ‘Reckon we need a cuppa,’ Mrs Sutherland had just said when the sound of boots on the wooden floor made them both look up from their handiwork.

  Standing just inside the church door was an imposing man in a navy and white uniform. Tall and slim with wide, straight shoulders and just-slightly bowed legs, he was immediately recognisable as a member of the constabulary by his helmet and the revolver strapped to his hip.

  ‘Oh!’ Mrs Sutherland exclaimed. ‘Sergeant Parks! What are you doing around here now?’

  The sergeant lifted a hand to his face and slid the chinstrap of his helmet up so he could remove the head wear entirely. He had light brown hair, worn short, which tended to auburn in his neat beard. Placing his helmet into the crook of his left elbow, he advanced down the aisle with a confident, authoritative step, the heels of his black riding boots making an impressive sound on the floorboards. Nearing Matthew, he held his right hand out in greeting.

  ‘Father Ottenshaw?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matthew, taking the man’s hand.

  ‘Jonah Parks,’ he was told in return. ‘Local copper. How ya doin’?’

  ‘I’m doing well, thank you, Sergeant. And yourself?’

  ‘Can’t complain, mate.’ Although his handshake was dominant, Parks had a pleasant enough air about him, with dark blue eyes, and a lazy grin. Up close, it was clear he was likely around Matthew’s own age.

  They let go of each other’s hands and stood facing one another. They were practically eye to eye, Parks having only slightly less than an inch on Matthew. He couldn’t help but wonder if Parks was “sizing him up”, then wondered further if he was passing muster or instead being found wanting. The sergeant, surely, would be the sort of man who judged the immediate usefulness of every fellow male who happened across his path.

  ‘Ottenshaw,’ Parks eventually said in a considering tone. ‘Yorkshire?’

  ‘Lancashire,’ Matthew corrected. ‘But I was born here.’ He didn’t know why he’d felt the need to add that last, as though feeling somehow obligated to prove his Australianness to this bastion of the bush.

  ‘Were ya?’ came Parks’ unimpressed response. ‘More than I can say for meself.’ With that, he turned his attention to Mrs Sutherland and gave her an ostentatious wink. ‘Alright, Vi? I swear you’re lookin’ prettier with every passing day.’

  Mrs Sutherland only laughed. ‘Away with ya!’

  Parks grabbed her up into a clumsy hug anyhow and deposited a kiss on the top of her grey-purple head. Evidently, the two were friends. Matthew noticed how, when he released her from the hug, Parks made sure Mrs Sutherland was steady on her feet before stepping away from her, though he did it in such a way that Mrs Sutherland likely wasn’t aware of his careful attention.

  ‘So the new boss’s treating you alright then, Vi? Not giving ya any trouble?’

  ‘Oh, he’s a keeper, this one. Even helped with the dusting!’

  Parks looked squarely at Matthew. ‘Did he now?’ He glanced back at Mrs Sutherland. ‘Well, you know I’m gonna have to steal him away from you, don’t ya? I’ll bring him back in one piece.’ His gaze cut back to Matthew. ‘I’m about to do a beat, Father. Be good if you could join me. Show you the sights, have a bit of a chat. I like to know all the folks in my town.’

  It didn’t escape Matthew’s notice that the sergeant’s proposal had not been framed as an invitation. More like a friendly summons.

  Matthew dragged his palms down the front of his cassock a couple of times. ‘I’d be delighted to see more of the town,’ he said evenly. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Sergeant.’ He tried not to give any extra emphasis to the word “invitation”, especially considering how there had actually been nothing of the sort. The word carried an inflection as it left his mouth regardless. He just had to hope the trooper hadn’t noticed it.

  ‘Might want to fetch your hat, Father,’ said Mrs Sutherland. ‘Sun’s a bit glarey out.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Matthew crossed to the sacristy and plucked a wide-brimmed hat from the hook near the door. When he rejoined the others, Parks was giving Mrs Sutherland a peck on the cheek and telling her to take care of herself. Matthew gave the woman a smile and bid her farewell until the evening service.

  Outside, Parks pushed his helmet back onto his head and positioned the chinstrap until it disappeared beneath his beard. ‘Have you seen much of the town yet, Father?’

  Matthew shook his head no as they walked towards the church gate. ‘The general store, just briefly. But that’s about it, I’m afraid.’ They turned left out of the gate, Parks obviously having already planned what route they were going to take. ‘How long have you lived in Dinbratten, Sergeant?’

  ‘Coming up about eight years now,’ was the reply. ‘Started in Ballarat.’

  ‘Is that where you’re from?’

  ‘I’m from Astoria, Oregon. Originally.’

  Matthew recalled the trooper implying he hadn’t been born in Australia when Matthew had sought to affirm that he himself had been. ‘Oh. I wouldn’t have guessed. From your accent, I mean. So, you’re an American?’

  ‘Born one. Raised here since I was nine.’ Parks looked at Matthew with a long sideways glance. ‘Does that still make me one, even if I don’t sound it? Or am I one of you mob now?’

  Matthew considered his response carefully, wary of inadvertently saying the wrong thing and offending the man. ‘I’d say you’re whatever you feel yourself to be, Sergeant.’

  Parks grunted in the affirmative and Matthew exhaled an imperceptible sigh of relief. ‘I’ll take ya to see Fred first,’ Parks decided out loud. ‘Important man, Fred.’

  ‘Local doctor?’ Matthew tried to guess.

  ‘Blacksmith. We’re not big enough for a doctor, mate.’

  Ah.

  Fred Bowman was short and wiry and most likely stronger than the vicar and the trooper visiting him combined. He took care to plunge his hands into a bucket of water and wipe them clean before taking Matthew’s hand and shaking it with the deliberate delicacy of someone stroking a day-old kitten.

  From the blacksmith’s they called into the Victoria Hotel so that Matthew could meet the publican, Mr Strauss. It transpired that Strauss was absent and Matthew was introduced instead to Mrs Strauss, who was running the bar with pristine efficiency. When they left the premises a short while later, Parks explained that Mr Strauss was, for whatever reasons, perpetually absent from duty.

  By the time they’d walked the length of one side of the main road, Parks declared they’d swing by the football ground because training for the big match on Saturday would be just getting started.

  ‘I won’t interrupt them to introduce you to ‘em all,’ Parks said, as they climbed four steps cut into an embankment to reach the playing field. ‘This is the District Championship they’re preparing for, after all. I’m not gonna be responsible for distracting them.’

  Parks approached the perimeter fence and leaned his elbows on it, slouching there as he watched the young men practising passing and shepherding tactics on the field. Matthew stood beside him, hands clasped on the top of the railing.

  ‘Do you enjoy the footy, Father?’

  ‘Very much,’ Matthew replied. ‘Went to many a game in the city.’

  ‘You play?’

  Matthew laughed softly. ‘Barely. Slightly more luck with the cricket, if I’m honest.’

  Parks turned his head to look at him. ‘Yeah? I’ll remember that, come cricket season.’

  They lapsed into silence a short while as
they watched the team being drilled. Abstractly, it occurred to Matthew that the team’s colours were the same blue and yellow as the alternating windows in All Souls church. Eventually, he enquired, ‘How do you rate their chances on Saturday?’

  ‘Good,’ Parks replied without hesitation. ‘Bloody good. They’ve only lost three games all season. And see him there?’ He pointed at a tall lad with fair hair. ‘Lachlan Jackson. Great Full Forward. Best bloody goal kicker in the district. We could tie his hands behind his back on match day and I’d still wager us winning.’ Parks flicked a quick look Matthew’s way. ‘If I was a betting man, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Matthew reined in a smile at the trooper’s hurried addendum. He cast his gaze around the playing field, looking at the other observers who were dotted about the perimeter. He quickly recognised two figures on the far side of the oval as Miss Daly and Miss Price.

  ‘Those two don’t miss much.’ Parks had obviously seen where Matthew was looking. ‘There’s some good-looking lads on this team, so naturally there’s, er, those who appreciate that.’

  Matthew nodded absently. ‘They seem particularly taken with your tall Forward.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Lachlan’s a particularly good-looking lad. I’m surprised one of ‘em hasn’t snapped him up already. Talented boy, though. I reckon he should think about moving down to Melbourne over the summer. See if he can get in with a city team. He’s good enough.’ Parks stopped to check the time on his pocket watch. ‘Just two more stops and I’ll let ya get back to your church, Father.’ He slipped the watch back into his pocket and stepped away from the fence. ‘You’ve been to the general store, you said?’

  Matthew stepped away from the fence as well and fell into step beside the trooper again. ‘Just briefly, yes. I had to stock up on a few supplies for the new home.’

  ‘So you met the sisters?’

  ‘Sisters?’ Matthew frowned slightly in thought. ‘I was served by one lady. Fiona, I think her name was.’

  Parks nodded as they rejoined the main road and headed for the large store in the middle of the stretch. ‘Yeah, Fiona. The other one’s Anne. Good sorts. Ratty’s lucky to have ‘em. Centre of the town, this shop. They double as the post office, and the telegraph as well.’

  The general store was quiet when Matthew and Jonah Parks walked in. Two women were standing closely on the server side of the wide counter, heads bent close together, as they both read a newspaper that was open on the counter top before them. Matthew recognised Fiona, the brunette who had served him a couple of days prior. The fairer of the two, he assumed must be the Anne that Parks had mentioned.

  ‘Afternoon, beautiful ladies!’ Parks called as he and Matthew ventured deeper into the well-stocked interior.

  ‘Sergeant!’ greeted Fiona.

  ‘Jonah!’ beamed Anne.

  Matthew followed Parks to the counter and stood beside him there. His natural curiosity dragged his gaze momentarily to the newspaper on the counter top. Though the printed text was upside-down for him, Matthew could see the sisters had been reading about the feared economic Depression the government kept warning about. Not wishing to appear any nosier than he’d already been, Matthew raised his chin and his gaze and removed his hat to smile at the women.

  ‘Just showing our new vicar around town,’ Parks informed them, sliding his helmet off as he spoke. ‘Introducing him to some of the important folk. So naturally, we’re here now.’ He turned his head to look at Matthew. ‘Father Matthew Ottenshaw, these are the lovely Campbell sisters, Miss Anne and Miss Fiona.’

  ‘Ladies. Nice to meet you officially.’

  Anne held her right hand out across the counter. ‘Father. Welcome to Dinbratten.’ Her hand was warm and her grip firm. ‘I hope you’re settling in well?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Matthew assured her. ‘The rectory is very comfortable and the town is delightful so far.’

  ‘Give it time,’ Parks joked.

  ‘If there’s ever anything special you need ordering in,’ said Fiona, ‘don’t be afraid to ask us. We’re well connected to all sorts of suppliers. We could find you anything, if we haven’t already got it in here somewhere.’

  ‘Thank you, I’ll remember that.’ Matthew smiled.

  ‘And you,’ Anne said firmly in Parks’ direction, one finger pointed at him, ‘you’ve still got some papers from London you’ve not collected yet!’

  ‘I keep forgetting,’ Parks said, slightly sheepish. ‘I’ll remember tonight, I promise. I’ll call in on me way home.’

  The Campbell sisters smiled in unison at the trooper. Matthew found himself musing that they didn’t look terribly much alike, but their easy familiarity spoke volumes to their closeness. It must be nice, he considered, to share a bond that close. Beneficial, too, he supposed, judging by the apparent success of their business. He spared a thought for his only sibling, an older brother he had not seen in several years; they each considered the other little more than a stranger with the same surname.

  ‘Father?’

  Matthew roused from his thoughts at Parks’ query. ‘Sorry. Yes?’

  Parks’ smile, partially hidden by his beard, was a little lopsided. ‘Need anything while we’re here? Because otherwise …’ He inclined his head towards the door.

  ‘Um. No. Can’t think of anything right now.’

  ‘Right, then.’ Parks put his helmet back on. ‘See ya later, Anne, Fi.’

  ‘Good day, ladies,’ Matthew said. He and Parks walked to the door with the sisters’ farewells following them.

  ‘Last stop is across the road.’ Parks waved at a man trotting by on a white horse, and then he led Matthew across the dirt street.

  ‘Ah.’ Matthew recognised the function of the building immediately. ‘Your police station.’

  ‘Most folks just call it the cop shop.’ Parks grinned, holding the gate open for Matthew. ‘I’ll just introduce you to George. Thanks, by the way. For following me around like this.’

  ‘It’s no problem, Sergeant.’

  ‘Yeah, well.’ Parks stomped up two small steps onto the station’s porch. ‘I don’t think everybody feels the same. There’s been some, clearly thought I was wasting their time when they first came to town.’

  ‘No, I understand,’ Matthew assured him. ‘And I appreciate it, too.’

  Parks levelled him a look that Matthew didn’t quite know how to interpret. Perhaps the trooper wasn’t much used to people thanking him for his troubles?

  The police station was one large room with a small utility room attached to the back. Matthew guessed that, like many small stations, the holding cell would be contained in a detached outhouse. At one of the desks sat a slender young officer with dark hair and a neat moustache.

  ‘Here, George,’ greeted Parks. Once again, his helmet was being slid, single-handedly, off his head. Matthew vaguely wondered how many times a day the sergeant performed the action. ‘This is the new vicar. Matthew Ottenshaw.’ To Matthew he said, ‘Constable George Hart.’

  George stood up at his desk and held out his right hand. He had bright brown eyes and a shy smile. ‘Father.’

  ‘Constable.’ Matthew shook George’s hand, hoping he wasn’t smiling too intently.

  ‘He’s dragged you around town for the grand tour, I assume?’

  ‘Oi now!’ Parks took faux umbrage. ‘Bit of respect, if you please.’ There was clearly a good working relationship between the sergeant and his young subordinate. ‘Stick the kettle on, George. I could murder a cuppa.’

  George moved away to the black stove in one corner. Matthew glimpsed a cottage out of the side window and nodded his head towards it. ‘And is that your residence, Sergeant?’

  ‘By rights it is.’ Parks came to stand beside him at the window. ‘But I only lived in it a coupla years. When George came along, with a wife and a kid and another on the way at the time, well, I didn’t feel right living in there all on me own. Let George and his family have it.’

  ‘That’s nice of you,’ M
atthew said. ‘Not standing on seniority that way.’

  Parks shrugged one shoulder briefly. ‘Eh. He gets the nice house alright, but it also means he gets knocks on his door all hours of the night as well. Donchya, George?’

  ‘It’s alright,’ George said from across the room. ‘We don’t mind.’ His smile really was quite charming.

  ‘Is Dinbratten a busy station, then?’ asked Matthew. ‘It seems such a quiet town!’

  Both troopers laughed softly at that, making Matthew wonder if he should be concerned. ‘We’re about average, I reckon,’ replied Parks. ‘Things can get a bit lairy on weekends when everyone’s had a skinful of drink. But for the most part, nah, they’re not bad. We’re definitely not a hive of criminal activity, let’s put it that way.’

  ‘Sarg got a murderer once!’ George said eagerly.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Matthew, ‘did you really, Sergeant?’

  Parks had shot a flinty gaze George’s direction but now looked back to Matthew, his expression suddenly more guarded than it had been a moment ago. ‘It was years ago. And they weren’t from around here. Wasn’t a local.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ Matthew said quietly.

  ‘You staying for a cuppa, Father?’ George asked, in the midst of removing tea items from a small cupboard.

  Matthew almost said yes. He was actually rather enjoying Parks’ company, and George was obviously pleasant. But he knew he should get back to the rectory and make sure the fire in the range hadn’t completely gone out, and he still had the evening’s service to ready for.

  ‘Thank you, Constable, but I really should be getting home. I’ve probably taken up far too much of the sergeant’s time already.’

  A tiny furrow appeared between Parks’ brows. ‘You’re welcome to stay, Father.’