Cricket season took over the football ground, and the minds of most of Dinbratten’s locals with it, before November was done. Jonah Parks had indeed remembered what Matthew told him on their first meeting and strong-armed him into the First Eleven without even seeing him play first.
The season’s first game was played between two Dinbratten elevens, easing everyone into the summer game and letting each individual show how well (or otherwise) they’d retained their skills since the previous season. The church housekeeper Mrs Sutherland, and Mrs Strauss from the Victoria Hotel put their talents together to organise a town picnic around the perimeter of the ground in honour of the game. Matthew felt peculiarly self-conscious in his cricket whites.
Parks was the second batsman, Matthew had been slotted into the side as fifth. A catch and a taken wicket saw off third and fourth. Matthew walked up to the crease knowing that all eyes were on him. His nerves wouldn’t allow him to think up a sport-appropriate prayer, so it transpired the only thing to calm him before facing his first ball was seeing Parks at the other stumps, nodding at him conspiratorially and already preparing to run.
Between them, they added 118 runs to the First Eleven’s score, ending only when Parks was caught out on what would have been a six, if not for Lachlan Jackson’s excellent fielding. Matthew was caught himself just two balls later, having managed to add only three more runs to the board.
‘The Rats have a new star partnership!’ Fiona from the shop said later that evening when the game was long over but the open air festivities were still in full swing.
Her sister, Anne, giggled behind one hand and patted Parks on the arm with the other. ‘I’d almost forgotten how good you are when you’ve got a decent partner, Jonah.’
Matthew sat just a short distance away, plucking at blades of grass absent-mindedly. He looked up at the nearby conversation and caught Parks’ gaze before the trooper glanced away again.
Some moments passed, then Parks said loudly, ‘Wish I’d thought to bring a bloody jumper along. Didn’t know we’d be kicking on this late. Feeling the cold a bit now.’
Matthew’s jumper—because he had thought to bring one along—hadn’t been used all day, merely laid across the back of Matthew’s shoulders when the sun had dipped below the treetops. He pulled it away now and, balling it up roughly, lobbed it at Parks three feet away.
Parks caught it in the air before it hit him in the face. ‘Cheers, mate.’ He hauled it over himself, mussing his hair in the process. Jumper on, he flashed the full force of his smile at Matthew. ‘Smells like church.’
Later, Matthew had only been home long enough to light a candle, remove his shirt and get himself barefoot before there was a knock at the rectory’s front door. He took up the candle holder and padded out of his bedroom, curious as to who could be calling at such an hour. On the other side of his door he found Jonah Parks, slightly luminescent in the dark due to cricket whites and moonlight.
‘Sergeant?’
‘You left before I could give ya yer jumper back.’
Matthew began a polite refusal but Parks was hauling the item in question up his torso already, the shirt below moving with it half the way. ‘But won’t you now get cold on your walk home?’ said Matthew, steadfastly not looking at a glimpse of hipbone.
‘Nah,’ came from inside the jumper, just before Parks pulled his head free of it. ‘Don’t feel the cold so bad when I’m on the move.’
There was a half-hearted attempt to smooth down his hair and put his shirt to rights, then Parks stepped closer to the threshold where Matthew stood. ‘You and me, we were bloody good out there today. If I may say so meself.’
‘I felt a little under my game,’ Matthew admitted, voice quiet.
The moment suddenly felt charged, though Matthew would be hard-pressed to explain exactly how. No doubt it was merely imagination. He put his free hand on the edge of the open door, leaning himself into it a fraction.
‘Under yer game?’ countered Parks, and gave a low whistle. ‘I look forward to seeing what yer like when yer on top, then!’
There was pressure against Matthew’s sternum and he looked down to see his jumper being pressed against him. He had to let go of the door to take it from Parks’ hand.
‘Thanks for the lend.’
‘Anytime, Sergeant.’
‘G’night then.’ Parks tapped a finger against an absent helmet in salute as he stepped away. Force of habit.
‘Yes. Goodnight.’
Matthew retreated inside, the door to his back as he closed it. A deep breath sighed out of him. That hipbone he had glimpsed could only mean Parks wasn’t wearing a union suit beneath his sporting gear. It was a maddening detail, one Matthew dearly wished he hadn’t observed.
The woollen jumper in his hand was warm from wear. He mustn’t … he really mustn’t … Matthew raised the garment to his face and inhaled gratefully. It most definitely did not smell like church.
***
Dinbratten was a town with much on its mind. A new room was being added to the small school, a sturdy construction in solid Victorian bluestone, not weatherboard like the rest of the town—a sign of optimism for the future, surely. Summer started in force and put everyone on bushfire alert before Christmas even loomed. The Llewellyn family had need of a funeral. A nativity play had to be planned and cast and staged. Matthew had to arrange visits to every home in the town and surrounds. Cricket continued.
There was Christmas Eve and Christmas and another four holy days between it and the Epiphany. Matthew settled in, truly settled in, to country life and a country parish, finding himself kept so busy he barely had time to miss the city he had left behind. He felt on top of his game, accepted into his new home and congregation both as a man and as a priest.
Life was rather marvellous, and Matthew was enjoying himself.
Perhaps that was why the Lord deemed it fit to send a test of fire.
***
The heat was oppressive, much as it had been for most of late January. The kind of heat that made one’s flesh feel too tight, one’s head and limbs too heavy to carry about. A day so hot the birds couldn’t summon energy enough to sing. Even the flies were still.
Around daybreak, the wind had picked up, blowing steady and dusty from the northwest. It wasn’t a welcome wind. On the contrary, it blew the heat harder into faces, kicked the dust up into eyes and, since just after ten am, swept the smell of smoke and charred eucalypt into every nose in Dinbratten. Something was burning out there. The youngest Trentham boy had ridden into town around half-eleven to report at the police station the smoke his family, at the top of Stockman’s Rise, had spotted. The town had been on high alert since, everyone apparently knowing just what to do to protect their homes, and busying themselves with doing it.
Matthew had the sudden feeling that he had never felt quite so alone.
Being born and raised in the city, Matthew had never been in a position to witness bushfire or the preparations that should be made when faced with its threat. He’d seen fires, of course, but they had all been urban. He could admit to himself that he was scared. Perhaps even very scared.
He stood at the church’s back fence and looked down the bush gully that stretched away there. He almost felt awe for the peculiar beauty, the eerie pink-orange light the day had taken on. Whatever the next few hours would bring, Matthew assessed himself to be woefully unprepared for it.
The sound of an approaching horse brought him out of his stricken reverie, and he turned to see Jonah Parks, unmounted, walking his horse to a stop at the side of the sacristy. The horse pulled a small sled stacked with several bulging hessian sacks and two garden rakes. Parks threw the reins over a fence post and immediately hefted up a sack in one hand and a rake in the other. Striding towards Matthew, he began barking instructions.
‘Need to spread all this as far as we can, from the fence line back towards the church.’ He paused only momentarily. ‘You hearing me, Father?’ He barely waited for Matthew’s uncertain nod. �
�Grab a bag and the other rake.’ His face was set in narrow-eyed determination. ‘Let’s get spreading.’
Matthew watched him a moment as he dropped the rake out of his immediate way and upended the sack onto the ground by the fence, walking it back several steps so the soil within trailed out. When Parks snatched up the rake and quickly set about spreading the soil as far but as evenly as he quickly could, Matthew caught on. They would create a fire break. Matthew hurried to the sled to fulfil his orders.
Summer had turned every stretch of grass into a sharp crunch of yellow tinder. The contrast with the soil they were spreading over it became hypnotic. It wasn’t the best soil, naturally. You wouldn’t want to try growing spuds in it. But it suited their current needs well.
The two of them worked quickly and efficiently, falling easily into a good working team, just like they had at the cricket crease. They each spread three bags of soil across the sun-scorched ground, periodically glancing out at the gully as they worked. The smoke seemed closer, Matthew thought, but he couldn’t ascertain how close any fire might be.
‘Alright,’ said Parks. Matthew looked up to see Parks’ rake being held out towards him. ‘Take this. Put the rakes on the sled and unhook it from Magic, will you? I don’t want that thing weighing her down if we need her.’
Matthew took the rake solemnly, realising almost immediately what Parks meant by weighing the horse down. If everything turned for the worst, Parks intended to abandon All Souls to the fire and get himself and Matthew out of there on horseback.
‘Then gather up these sacks. Father?’ Parks snapped his fingers twice in Matthew’s face. ‘Father?’
Matthew blinked. ‘Yes?’
Parks gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t start panicking on me now, yeah?’
‘I—’ Matthew began vaguely.
‘It’s alright,’ Parks told him. His smile flattened out as his determination re-focused. ‘But we need to keep these sacks, alright?’
‘What for?’
Parks glanced away at the gully again. ‘Well, I’m hoping we won’t need them, but if we do, we’re gonna have to fight the fire back with ‘em.’
Matthew paled a little at the thought.
‘Yeah,’ Parks said heavily. ‘I’m not exactly keen on the idea, either.’ He scratched at his chin through his beard. ‘Alrighty, then. Off you pop.’
Matthew let himself be shooed away towards the horse with the rakes. He did as instructed, unhooking the straps that secured the small sled to Magic’s harness. When he turned back, Parks was at the well, pumping water into the large pail that sat beneath the spigot. Remembering the rest of his orders, Matthew hurried to collect the empty hessian sacks from where they all lay about. Parks waved him over and together they forced them down into the full pail, thoroughly soaking them through.
‘More buckets about the place, Father?’
‘Yes—’
‘Run and get them. All of them. And any large vases or pots or anything that’ll hold a good bit of water.’
The next moments raced by in a flurry of pumping water and filling containers, then setting them strategically along the fence line and at easily accessible points around the back of the church. As they prepared, the air all about them thickened with smoke. Between one glance and the next, the fire front suddenly appeared at the far end of the gully.
‘Oh, merciful Father,’ Matthew uttered, watching a tall blue gum light up like a taper.
‘Fuck,’ Parks spat in response. He snapped open the top few buttons of his tunic, presumably to allow some air against the flushed red of his throat.
‘You’d be cooler with that off, surely?’ Matthew asked him, only to be met with a firm shake of the head.
‘It’s wool,’ said Parks. ‘Most sensible thing to have on in a fire.’ Perhaps in deference to Matthew’s concern for his temperature though, he picked up one of the smaller containers of water and upended it over his head. ‘Your cassock?’
‘Um, yes. Wool,’ Matthew assured him. He unbuttoned the topmost couple of buttons like Parks had done. Most of the year, he wore woollen trousers beneath as well, but in weather such as this, sans trouser, he suspected he might be enjoying slightly better temperature control than the policeman in his uniform.
‘Eyes closed,’ Parks ordered, just before tipping another container of water over Matthew’s head. When Matthew spluttered and wiped his eyes open, Parks was regarding him with an unfathomable expression.
‘Reckon yer ready for this, Father?’
Matthew looked out across the gully, swallowing down his fear. ‘As I can be.’
Parks clapped him on the shoulder and turned towards the gully himself. ‘We’re lucky most of the trees out there are pretty small. It’s mainly grass and fellings that’s burning. But if the wind blows it against the ridge there—’ he pointed away to their right, ‘—then we’ll really be up against it. But if this fucker knows what’s good for it, it won’t do that. And the break should hold it back. Biggest worry’s gonna be flying shit.’
‘Sparks?’
‘Yeah, sparks. But bigger stuff too. Bark on fire and the like. Wherever they fall, ya gotta dowse ‘em or whack ‘em out real quick, right?’
Matthew nodded, said ‘Right’ a little belatedly. He was busy watching three kangaroos come bouncing towards them, clearing the fence in one go, skidding momentarily on the loose soil of the fire break as they landed. Parks and Matthew got out of their way as they bounded around the church and, presumably, as far away from the quickly approaching fire as they could.
‘Here she comes.’ Parks hauled a sodden sack out of the pail. Matthew followed his lead.
Under his breath, as the heat of the fire joined the ambient heat of the day, and the two men turned to face the attack together, Matthew said a prayer of protection for the town, his church, his companion and himself.
Whether the fire heard Matthew’s prayers for protection or Parks’ threats about it knowing what was good for it, the church and its buildings were saved. The wind kept the front away from the large trees on the ridge, and the soil fire break kept the flames from jumping too far out of the gully. The gully itself was gutted, of course, and the church lost its back fence and a few shade trees. While Parks was right and the biggest worry was flying debris, Parks and Matthew proved themselves to be an excellent working team as they battled each burgeoning blaze. Moving around each other easily, never once getting in each other’s way. Physically, too, they proved well matched; though Parks had the more physical profession and led by action more readily than Matthew, Matthew still felt some pride in finding he acquitted himself well under pressure.
Reading Matthew’s mind somehow, Parks shouted over the roar of the fire and the whip of the wind, ‘Yer no lily, Father!’
‘Is it turning?’ Matthew shouted back, ignoring the unprompted compliment.
‘Bloody oath, it’s turning!’ Parks’ face was flushed. ‘The wind’s pushing it towards the river!’ He swiftly snapped open the remaining buttons of his tunic, laughing airily at the now-past danger. ‘It’s just grass on the flats. It’ll burn out before it can jump.’ He turned and met Matthew’s gaze, giving him a companionable nod before slowly raising one questioning eyebrow when he saw the look Matthew was giving him.
Matthew’s gaze had long since slid sideways from the retreating fire to the figure of his friend standing so close by. Despite the soot and the sweat and the dirt, Jonah Parks cut a fine image, tall and unbeatable, having just fought to save Matthew’s church. Relief and gratitude making his head feel lighter than usual, Matthew embarked on a course of action he never dared dream he would take.
‘Sacristy,’ he hissed at Parks urgently. ‘Now.’
He turned on his heel and strode towards the sacristy himself, not even looking back to make sure Parks was obeying. As he clattered into the wooden lean-to, his heartbeat rattled to hear Parks following close behind. Matthew sidestepped to let Parks move further inside, taking the opportunity
to slam the door shut behind them.
Allowing no time for words or for his nerve to fail him, Matthew put his soot-blackened hands to Parks’ face and hauled him close, crushing their dry mouths together in an impulsive kiss. It was sloppy and inelegant, but also bruisingly good, a huge outpouring of pent-up emotion in the wake of having taken on the fire together and winning.
Parks’ lips tasted of smoke and salt, and Matthew licked into them desperately, only to be jolted back to sanity by the intimate brush of Parks’ tongue. Matthew instinctively began to pull back, but Parks clasped a hand to his nape and kept him right where he was, taking control over the kiss, deepening it as he pressed bodily closer.
Lungs that had breathed too much smoke in the past hour had to break for air sooner rather than later. Matthew broke immediately from Parks’ hold, twisting his body to the side and away, wiping at his mouth and smearing more soot across his overheated face.
‘You should go,’ he rasped out, voice wrecked from the smoke and his own horror. ‘Thank you,’ he added weakly. Parks neither moved nor spoke and so Matthew gathered the courage to meet his gaze. ‘Truly, Sergeant. Thank you. But you should go now.’
‘Matthew—’
‘Please, Jonah.’
First names, no less. Matthew resolutely turned his back, eyes squeezed shut against a storm of shock and distress. The moment stretched and stretched, waiting for something to happen. Then Parks banged noisily across the wooden floor and flung the door open, stomping out of the sacristy and, Matthew was certain, out of Matthew’s life altogether.
Matthew fell into a heavy sit on the sacristy’s top step, mind reeling. What on Earth had possessed him? That kiss may well have delivered him far greater devastation than any fire could. He grabbed up the nearest vase of water and slaked his thirst, the cool liquid magic to his smoke-abused throat. He splashed the last of it onto his face and scrubbed a hand in its wake. He must look a fright. But the lure of duty was tugging on him already.
There were columns of smoke just visible through the trees, and an occasional distant shout told him there were places he needed to be. He rose to his feet and put his cassock to rights. His church and his home were safe. Now he must go ensure that safety was spread further. He had to push all these other feelings aside, this entire maelstrom threatening to surge within him. All of that was secondary now. His community needed him.
By the Currawong's Call Page 6