When Bother Josef reported the grisly find, Brother Lucas told him not to let Strickland out of his sight, nor to let him speak with anyone until further notice. He then organized for Jack was buried at dusk that evening in a hastily made casket of hardwood planks. Only four people attended the funeral. Brother Benjamin and Brother Lucas looked on as Brother Josef and Strickland dug a deep grave beside a flower garden in the residence grounds. Brother Benjamin prayed for Jack’s soul, then the small coffin was lowered into the ground. After another short prayer, Strickland and Brother Josef were left to fill the grave. As soon as the job was completed, Brother Josef told Strickland to report to Brother Lucas.
‘I believe you have become the epitome of all that the Brothers of the Apostles have ever aspired to achieve at Home Farm.’ Brother Lucas sat solemnly behind his desk. He looked Strickland directly in the eye. ‘Over the years, apart from a few misunderstandings, for which I accept partial responsibility, you have matured into a strong, healthy young man, in body and in mind. Because of that, Brother Benjamin and I feel sure that for the good of Hope Farm you will keep today’s unfortunate incident to yourself.’
Unsure of the reason for Brother Lucas’s rare praise, and just what it was he was alluding to, Strickland said, ‘You mean you want to keep Jack McKenna’s drowning a secret, Brother Lucas?’
‘Oh, it’s no secret.’ Brother Lucas got up from his chair and began pacing the room. ‘Brother James took a pony and trap to town and notified the authorities soon after you found the body. The doctor and a police sergeant came back here with him early this afternoon. It was they who insisted on immediate interment because of the deteriorating state of the body.’ Brother Lucas returned to his chair. ‘No, what I’m saying is that, for the good of Hope Farm, we must keep the incident to ourselves. No good purpose can be served by allowing the irresponsible actions of one boy to disrupt the lives of the rest of the boys here who adhere to the rules and are striving to make something of themselves.’
‘But what about his brother?’
Brother Lucas frowned. ‘That wretch is entirely responsible for Jack’s death. He started all the trouble by running away. He was fortunate his relatives knew what was best for him and sent him back here. After he has had a little more time alone I believe he will come to realize that also. And when he’s ready to return to the fold, it will be better if he too believes Jack just ran away. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Strickland?’
*
Deeply troubled and unable to sleep, Strickland lay staring up into the darkness above his bed. He had assured Brother Lucas he would say nothing to anyone about Jack. But that was only to buy time until he had a chance to sort things out in his mind. All through the long night he had wrestled with his conscience, haunted by thoughts of Jack lying beneath the loose earth in the flower garden and of Bruce huddled alone in the darkness of the hole.
He knew that awful dungeon only too well, with its dampness, its insects and the stench of excrement. It was the blackness he had hated most. That’s why he’d left the wellhouse door open a little when he had gone with Brother Lucas to lower Bruce’s ration bucket into the hole. But Brother Lucas had noticed what he’d done and since then he had closed the door tightly himself.
When a faint glimmer of light signaled the approach of dawn, Strickland’s mind was made up. He too would make a run for it. If he starved to death on the outside, it really didn’t matter. Nothing could be worse than living at Hope Farm under the cruel shadow of the Brothers of the Apostles. He would go soon. And he would take Bruce with him.
*
A few days after Elliot’s visit to Essex Downs, Patrick Coltrane announced he was driving into Charleville. It was a trip he made frequently and almost always alone, so he was surprised when his wife decided to go with him.
‘I’ll be busy all day, Laura,’ Coltrane said brusquely as he got behind the wheel of his car. I have a lot of business matters to attend to, so you’ll be on your own all day.’
‘I understand, Patrick,’ Laura said quietly. ‘I have plenty of shopping to do. There are so many things you can’t buy in Augathella these days.’
Coltrane gave Laura a sideways glance. She was still being standoffish over his decision to send Bruce back to Hope Farm. Perhaps a good day’s shopping would put her in better humor. Coltrane shrugged, started the engine and slipped the Buick into gear. An hour and a half later he parked his car on Charleville’s main street in front of the Imperial Hotel, where Laura knew he would spend a large part of the day drinking.
‘I’ll look for the car when I’m finished shopping, Patrick,’ Laura said as she got out. ‘Leave it open. I’ll just get in and wait for you.’
Laura stood looking in a shop window until Coltrane entered the hotel, then she turned and walked down the main street. She quickened her pace when she neared the Charleville hospital. At the reception desk, she asked if she could see Gerald Braithewaite. After a short wait a doctor in a white smock with a stethoscope around his neck appeared. When he saw Laura, he looked confused.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the doctor said. ‘I was expecting someone else. I was told there was a gentleman coming to see Mr Braithewaite today. We weren’t aware he had any family.’
‘Oh, I’m not family.’ Laura began.
‘Then I’m afraid I can’t let you see him, madam. Mr Braithewaite is really very ill.’
Laura would not be put off.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘I’m not family. But Mr Braithewaite’s son served in the Great War with my brothers. He has been a good friend over the years. I would appreciate seeing him, if only for a few moments.’
The doctor fingered the stethoscope around his neck for a moment. ‘Oh, very well. But only a few minutes.’
Laura followed a nurse to a small room occupied by two old men. One lay unconscious, with his mouth hanging wide open. The other was propped up in his bed by several large pillows. He was emaciated, almost bald, and had blotchy skin stretched tightly over a gaunt, bony face. Thinking she was in the wrong room, Laura turned to leave. As she did the old man weakly raised a thin, bony arm in recognition. Laura gasped when she realized the frail old man was Gerald Braithewaite.
She moved quickly to the side of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Braithewaite. I only heard of your illness recently.’
Braithewaite tried to smile. ‘It’s cancer, Mrs Coltrane,’ he mouthed. ‘It’s taken my body, but for the moment my mind is intact. Please tell me, how are Emma and the twins?’
Laura was about to speak, when the doctor entered the room. There was another man with him, an elderly man.
‘This is the visitor we were expecting, madam,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s Mr Braithewaite’s senior clerk from Augathella. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if they were left alone.’
‘No, no,’ Braithewaite interrupted in a hoarse whisper. ‘Please. I would like Mrs Coltrane to remain.’
*
An old Chevrolet stock truck called at Essex Downs every fortnight to haul cattle to the abattoir at Roma about a hundred miles away. It was owned and driven by a half-cast Aborigine called Jacko. Jacko could easily have passed for white if he’d ever chosen to wash and shave and wear a shirt and shoes.
Usually after the truck was loaded with livestock, Jacko would roll a cigarette and chat with some of the Aborigines he knew before heading off for Roma. Today was no exception. As soon as the last of the cattle was on board and the tailgates slammed shut, a crowd gathered around him. When the white foreman who had directed the loading of the cattle walked away, he didn’t see money change hands between one of the blacks and Jacko. And he didn’t see Beth slip into the cab of the truck and quickly pull a blanket over herself.
The next day Laura asked Mary if Beth was well enough to return to Yallambee.
‘She seemed to be getting better,’ Mary replied, ‘but early this morning someone from the camp told me they saw her just wander off into the bush. I think maybe she’
s gone walkabout.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Summer gradually gave way to more temperate autumn days in Goondiwindi. It was the time of year Harmony Jones liked best. In the old days, when the cooler weather came, he used to head up into the vast, open country to the north-west to shoot kangaroo, often for months on end. But it was a hard life and the rewards were small, so when he had begun to feel the effects of his advancing years he had given it away. But now, with the Depression persisting and no money in horse trading, Harmony was once again preparing to board up his home and head north to shoot kangaroo.
He was sitting in the shade of his front porch cleaning his Light Horse issue .303 Enfield when the Goondiwindi town taxi pulled up in his yard. Harmony stopped cleaning the rifle and cradled it in his huge hands. He watched warily as an elderly man dressed in a suit and tie climbed out of the car with a briefcase in his hand.
‘Mr Jones?’
Harmony nodded but said nothing. He didn’t much like callers who arrived in motorcars and wore suits. Those that had come in the past were either selling something, or turned out to be undesirables like bill collectors or tax inspectors.
The visitor told the taxi driver to wait, then stepped up onto the porch and held out his hand. ‘Mr Jones, my name is Cecil Larkin. Until recently, I was head clerk at Mr Gerald Braithewaite’s law practice in Augathella.’
Harmony laid down the rifle. He rose to his feet and shook the visitor’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Larkin. What brings you to Goondiwindi?’
‘I’m on my way to live in Wagga Wagga. I have a daughter there. You see, Mr Braithewaite’s practice is closed now. He died a few days ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Harmony said. ‘I knew his son well. I served with him in the Light Horse during the war, under the command of Captain Jack McKenna.’
‘Yes, so I understand. As a matter of fact, it’s because of the McKenna family that I’ve come here today.’ Larkin undid the straps of his briefcase. ‘Mr Jones, the day before Mr Braithewaite died I visited him in hospital. He also had another visitor that day, Mrs Laura Coltrane, Captain McKenna’s sister. She had some distressing news about the captain’s sons and wanted Mr Braithewaite to act on it.’
Harmony rubbed his jaw. ‘Didn’t they go to some religious farm at Goombungee?’
‘Yes, a place called Hope Farm, and apparently they were badly abused there in more ways than one. One of the boys ran away and managed to reach Essex Downs but Patrick Coltrane turned him away and had him escorted back.’
Harmony shook his head. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, Mr Larkin.’
‘Mr Braithewaite was terribly upset,’ Larkin continued. ‘You see, he recommended the boys be sent to Hope Farm in the first place. And of course, when Mrs Coltrane came to him there was nothing he could do. He said that even if he were a well man, taking legal action against a religious order with strong financial backing would be extremely difficult. And in the meantime the abuse was quite likely to continue.’
‘What can be done then, Mr Larkin?’
Larkin reached into his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. ‘That day at the hospital, after Mrs Coltrane left, Mr Braithewaite instructed me to write down everything that happened at Hope Farm, exactly as young Bruce McKenna told it to Mrs Coltrane. He asked me to give all the information to you, Mr Jones.’ Larkin handed the envelope to Harmony. ‘Mr Braithewaite said you would know what to do.’
*
Harmony left for Hope Farm in his stock truck the next morning.
Along the way, with his collie on the seat beside him and a waler tethered in the back of the truck, he had plenty of time to think. He knew if he were to snatch the McKenna boys from the clutches of the Brothers of the Apostles, he would need to plan the operation in military fashion. By the time he neared his destination he had decided on a plan of action.
When he reached Hope Farm, Harmony swung open the gate and boldly drove onto the property to reconnoiter the situation. Posing as the horse trader he was, he spoke to Brother Josef, asking if the farm had horses for sale or a need to buy any. When told there were no requirements, Harmony remained chatting with Brother Josef.
He showed a keen interest in the farm and said that as a man of the land himself, he could see just how well Brother Josef managed it. This seemed to soften up the stoic German and he willingly answered most of the visitor’s questions. Later, Harmony gathered more information when he stopped at a field on the way off the property and talked to some boys on work duty. From the intelligence he gleaned, Harmony decided the best time to strike would be around midnight.
*
Strickland’s roommates had been asleep for hours when the big youth slipped out of the dormitory just before midnight. A pillowcase tucked inside his shirt contained the essentials he considered necessary to make good his escape: scraps of food from the dining room, a candle and matches from the chapel and clean clothes for Bruce. Strickland’s only worry was whether, when the time came, he would have the strength to winch Bruce up from the bottom of the well alone.
With his boots hanging by the laces around his neck, Strickland silently felt his way along the darkened corridors and down the staircase. At the foot of the staircase he stopped and listened. Then, confident the coast was clear, he continued on towards the back door. Scarcely daring to breath he eased back the bolts from their keepers. Seconds later, he was out in the cool night air, running in the moonlight towards the well.
*
The time had come. Harmony tipped the tea dregs from his tin-cup and put away his mouth organ. The truck was parked under a clump of gums about half a mile from the entrance to Hope Farm. His waler stood beneath one of the trees, saddled up and ready. Harmony reached into the truck and took out a long hardwood axe handle and cautioned his dog to stay put and stand guard. Then, thankful for the full moon, and axe handle in hand, he swung himself up into the saddle.
Harmony reached the residence soon after midnight. He dismounted and tied the waler to a tree in a small copse near the rear of the building. He’d learned earlier from the youngsters on work duty that all the boys slept in the upstairs dormitories. He’d been tempted to ask exactly where the McKenna boys slept, but hadn’t, fearing someone might mention his interest to the brothers. However Brother Josef had obliged by telling him the farm’s administrative offices were housed in the east wing, on the ground floor, as were the brothers’ private living quarters.
On the way from Goondiwindi, Harmony had mulled over in his mind what Bruce had told Laura about a certain Brother Lucas who was largely responsible for the twins’ abuse. Once he was inside the residence, Harmony decided, his first task would be to pay Brother Lucas a visit. He reckoned he owed Captain McKenna that much.
Harmony gripped the axe handle firmly in his hand and made for the back door. To his surprise he found it wide open. He took a torch from his pocket, switched it on and stepped inside. As he crept down the long corridor in the east wing, he flashed the torch on to read the names on the doors of the living quarters. The nameplate on the last door read
BROTHER LUCAS.
Harmony tapped softly on the door. There was no answer. He tapped again. After a moment he heard a movement inside the room and a slit of light appeared under the door.
‘Who’s there?’ a barely audible voice whispered from inside.
‘Brother Josef,’ Harmony said in a low muffled tone, trying to effect the German’s strong accent. ‘Please, I must see you, Brother Lucas.’
Harmony’s deception worked. He heard a key turn in the lock and the door opened just a few inches. But it was wide enough for Harmony’s huge hand to grab Brother Lucas by the throat in a tight choking hold. Unable to utter a sound, and held in the vice-like grip of a huge one-eyed man, Brother Lucas’ terror-struck eyes bulged in their sockets.
Harmony pushed open the door. A small nightlight flickered on a bedside dresser. He looked around the room. He saw the milky-white form of a naked boy of about tw
elve or thirteen lying asleep on Brother Lucas’ bed. Harmony’s iron grip around Brother Lucas’ throat tightened even more. ‘You disgusting, slimy bastard,’ he whispered angrily. ‘Come with me.’
Harmony closed the door on the sleeping boy and forced Brother Lucas, clad only in a nightshirt, down to the end of the corridor and into the main hall. At the foot of the staircase leading to the dormitories, Harmony shone the torch into Brother Lucas’ terrified eyes and eased the grip on his throat.
Allowed to breathe again, Brother Lucas fought for air.
‘Take me to the McKenna boys,’ Harmony demanded.
The mention of the McKenna boys seemed to bring even more fear to Brother Lucas’ eyes.
‘Well, where are they?’ Harmony insisted.
‘They ran away,’ Brother Lucas gasped.
Harmony’s left hand tightened around the thin throat again and he formed a big fist around the torch in his right, then slammed it hard into the side of Brother Lucas’ head.
‘Only one ran away, you bastard,’ Harmony hissed. ‘And he was brought back. Now, lead me to those boys before I beat you to death.’
Brother Lucas’ whole body was shaking with fear. ‘I’ll take you to Bruce Mckenna,’ he said in a choking voice. But his brother is not here. You must believe me when I say they both ran away. It is the truth.’
‘And where’s Bruce?’
‘He’s outside.’
‘Where, outside?’
Brother Lucas seemed too afraid to answer. Harmony bunched his fist again
‘In an old well at the back of the residence,’ Brother Lucas blurted out before the blow landed. ‘We’ll need a lantern.’
Brother Lucas led the way. Harmony followed behind, torch in one hand, the axe handle in the other. At the back door Harmony watched as Brother Lucas’ trembling hands lit an oil lamp then he followed him out across the residence grounds in the moonlight.
It was hard to tell who was most surprised when they opened the well-house door. Brother Lucas was stunned to see Strickland standing in candlelight clutching the winch handle at the wellhead. Strickland, wide-eyed with shock at being caught trying vainly to haul Bruce the last few feet up out of the well, almost let go of the handle sending him in free fall back to the bottom. Harmony immediately grasped Strickland’s predicament. Dropping the axe handle, he rushed to the winch and brought Bruce, filthy, wet, and foul-smelling, up into the well-house.
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