‘We agreed once not to have secrets from each other.’
‘We did. But that was later and this secret was one that could only hurt you. Besides, wasn’t I doing the same thing myself, betraying my marriage vows, with you? I suppose I didn’t want you to draw the comparison between us. And God knows I was suffering guilt enough for my behaviour without upsetting you as well.’
‘Don’t take it on all on yourself. We were equally guilty, and Gail didn’t love you. With her it was all about owning you – your time, your thoughts, even your gaze. I knew that when I first fell for you. Jealousy isn’t love, Mark.’
‘No argument there. So how do you know that your mother loved Palmer – wait, do you think they had an affair too?’
‘I don’t know if they ever slept together,’ I confessed and told him about the letter I’d found in the fake dictionary. ‘In the end she gave him up for me. Because she couldn’t take me away from my father, and because, she said, the scandal would ruin his business.’ I slid my fingers over his pulse, feeling its steady beat against my skin. ‘She was probably right – a small town in the early sixties – it would have been impossible. According to Marty he was already fighting prejudice because of his Aboriginal blood.’
‘But he killed her too. How does that —’
‘It was a mistake. She was never supposed to be in the car. I wanted to go with them too, you know. I remember putting on quite a turn about it.’ I shivered. ‘If it had been up to Dad I’d have died that day as well. It was Mum who insisted I had school. She was always the stricter of the two.’
Mark’s hold on me tightened. ‘Thank God she was! If she’d given in and let you accompany them . . . It must have been earth shattering for Palmer when he heard.’
‘It was. If you could have seen him when the policewoman told him they’d both been killed. He screamed, and cursed Dad, and called him stupid. Even I noticed despite the state I was in but I thought it was because he would have to take me in. It was a double whammy for me, first Mum and Dad gone and then knowing he didn’t want me there. Marty was kind and sensible but she’s not very demonstrative. She’d give me good advice and try and cheer me up when I was in trouble but she wasn’t much for just wrapping me in her arms and promising to make everything better the way Mum would. She did – does – love me,’ I continued painfully, ‘I realise that now, but back then she was more an authority figure, just there to see that my uncle’s rules were carried out. That’s what I thought, anyway.’
His arms tightened around me. ‘My poor love. Palmer was always a stern sort of bloke, not much joy in him, very straight-laced. I can see why now.’ He sighed. ‘He punished himself though, didn’t he? It’s a wonder it didn’t drive him mad knowing it was his hand that killed her . . .’
‘Yes. Another chapter in our family history, even if the PGs never hear about it, or the fact that Dad was a bigamist. I had to tell Ben in case it invalidated the will – like an eighteenth-century romance, you know, where the son’s illegitimacy sees him cast out without a penny. Fortunately it doesn’t make any difference to me; Dad actually named me as his heir, which is just as well because somewhere out there, Mark,’ I waved a hand in the darkness, ‘I have a half-sister.’
‘Do you?’ His lips touched the nape of my neck. ‘My God! It’s a night for surprises. Is there anything else? You haven’t got a mad aunty in an attic somewhere?’
I reached up and pulled his face down until our lips met. ‘Don’t be facetious,’ I said reprovingly and heard him chuckle. ‘It’s no laughing matter.’
‘No, but neither is it our tragedy,’ he replied, ‘it’s your parents’. Harry stuffed up big time, and your mother was unlucky or unwise, and your uncle lost himself the minute he decided to act against your father. You couldn’t have stopped it or changed anything – you weren’t even aware of it, Orla. And luckily,’ I heard the smile in his voice as his arms tightened around me, ‘I’m quite prepared to marry the illegitimate daughter of a bigamist. We needn’t phrase it just that way when we send out the invitations, but I still would, even if we did.’
‘Thank you, I think,’ I said, laughing gently. ‘So when will that be? I want us to go down to Melbourne for the honeymoon, Mark. You have to meet Kevin and Rose before – before it’s too late.’ I told him about Rose then, and the accident that had shifted them out of their island home and my fears for her. ‘And on the way home maybe we could visit Celia. Because now we can begin the task of regaining custody of her. You’ll have to tell her grandparents of your intentions first but once I’m your wife, everything’s possible again – family life, school, the proper care of your daughter. There’s absolutely no need for her to live apart from you any longer.’
‘Do you think so?’ He drew in a breath. ‘That would be wonderful. But I don’t know about a honeymoon, Orla. Maybe you could go visit your friends and perhaps I could meet them later on. Not that I don’t want to, don’t think that – it’s a question of funds. I’m not on a high wage and I’ve been paying maintenance for Celia, and school fees and the like . . . Frankly, from a monetary point of view, I’m not much of a catch.’
‘You are to me. And anyway that doesn’t matter.’ I explained about Alec. ‘He’s really good, quite well known in his field, even publishes stuff in posh antique magazines, Fee said. Mum had a Meissan bowl she got from her mother and he’s selling that for me. He says it’s worth thousands, can you believe? Then there’s a bronze lamp of Palmer’s, oh and the ring . . .’ I told him about the diamond and ruby ring I had found. ‘I don’t want it in the house but I’ve no objection to the money. It might take a month to get the right sale but I trust Alec to do the best for me.’
Mark snorted. ‘I don’t doubt it. That day he was out here he was mooning after you like a hungry calf.’
‘Is that why you were horrid to him?’ I asked sweetly and he gave a rueful laugh.
‘I expect it was.’
I slid my fingers up his face, feeling the slight puffiness of the bruise. ‘It still hasn’t gone down. How’s your foot?’
‘Not too bad. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing broken.’
‘That’s good.’ I yawned. ‘How late is it?’
He cast an eye skywards. ‘Midnight or thereabouts. Why – you turning into a pumpkin?’
‘I’m sleepy, that’s all.’ I yawned and sat up regretfully, missing his warmth the moment our bodies no longer touched. ‘The PGs want an early breakfast.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said sardonically, ‘eight o’clock, you mean.’
‘Seven, actually.’ I laughed and stood up. ‘It’s no good, Mark, they’re a part of our landscape now. Besides, think how much Celia will enjoy the visiting kids. We’ll get a dog for her – she always liked animals – and I’ll teach her the history of the Park. And poor old Joe will have to keep on shearing . . .’ I yawned again, ‘Oh, dear, sorry. It’s been a long day.’
‘Time for bed.’ He stood and stretched stiffly, ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
About to argue, I bit off the protest and instead closed my hand about a dangling frond of pepper foliage and pulled. ‘Sniff.’ I held my palm to his face. ‘When I smell that I’m ten again and riding out with Dad.’
‘And I,’ he said, ‘am here with pepper seeds down my neck, holding a golden-haired girl I had no business to love – though doing so was the best thing that ever happened to me.’ His hand closed over mine. ‘I have to pinch myself every time I see you, to know that you’re really here, that you came back.’
‘And I’ll never leave again – not without you. Listen.’ The quavering cry of a dingo split the monochrome night and I shivered. ‘This place has known so much unhappiness, Mark, and most of it self-inflicted. Grandfather Charles might have been perfectly happy but I’m sure Palmer’s mother wasn’t, any more than he himself was, and then my parents . . . And look what happened with you and me. It’s scary – almost like there’s a curse on the Park, or the Macrae family – which would be
worse.’
‘Twaddle,’ he said robustly. ‘I’m surprised at you, Orla. No such thing as a curse exists unless – shit!’ He staggered and righted himself. ‘Okay, there’s that sort. What was I saying?’ His limp had intensified and he stifled a grunt.
‘What happened – are you hurt? Is it your foot or your bad leg?’
‘Stepped in a hole, it’s okay. No, we make our own curses through deception and hatred, happenstance too – like your letter going astray. So it follows we can also unmake them. Simple logic.’
‘You really believe that?’ Above us the stars seemed to dance and something skittered past at ankle level between us and the sheds. I jumped reflexively as I caught the movement from the corner of my eye.
‘Of course I do, it’s – what?’
‘Nothing. Just a puff of wind pushing a bit of roly-poly. For a minute there I thought it was a cat but No Name’s locked up. Here we are, kind sir. Now you go straight back and rest that leg. And thank you for seeing me home.’
‘Pleasure.’ He opened the gate, which creaked as its shadow tracked silently after it.
‘Gudgeons need a bit of grease.’ He bent his head to kiss me. ‘Goodnight, Orla. Sweet dreams.’
‘You’re giggling,’ he accused as we moved apart. ‘You think my kissing technique is funny, or something?’
I patted his arm. ‘Just you. I love you, Mark. Off you go. It’ll be dawn at this rate and nobody’ll get any sleep.’
I saw the flash of his teeth as he turned, then I waited, standing on the bottom step, watching him, his limp worse now that he thought himself unobserved. The sight pained me but regrets, I thought, could also encourage curses. Better to live positively, to be grateful for what we had – that he was alive and we had found each other again, as unlikely as that had once seemed. My father’s voice was suddenly there in my head: ‘There’s always a way, colleen.’ In which case, I thought, turning his meaning on its head, there must also be a way to forgive him and my uncle for the harm they had wrought. I needed to do that. Not forgiving, carrying hatred forward through the generations, perhaps that was the real root of all curses.
In the stillness of the night, everything was suddenly very clear to me. You couldn’t change the past; that was a finished page, one turned over, done with, not to be rewritten. But by constantly harking back to it you could imbue it with the power to cause the shadow of past deeds to impinge upon the future. Like Les’s gate. Mark was so right – a dab of grease and the problem was solved. A little forgiveness and the need to brood upon wrongs inflicted was banished.
Yawning, I trod up the steps into the sleeping house to release poor No Name and put myself to bed, my heart finally at peace, and my sleep full of bright dreams and plans for the future.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to my friend Bill L’estrange for help with important stuff like carrying capacity and numbers. And as always, a big thank you to my editor Amanda Martin, proofreader Sarah JH Fletcher, designer Louisa Maggio and publisher Ali Watts at Penguin Random House.
About the Author
Kerry McGinnis was born in Adelaide and at the age of twelve took up a life of droving with her father and four siblings. The family travelled extensively across the Northern Territory and Queensland before settling on a station in the Gulf Country. Kerry has worked as a shepherd, droving hand, gardener and stock-camp and station cook on the family property Bowthorn, northwest of Mt Isa. She is the author of two volumes of memoir, Pieces of Blue and Heart Country, and the bestselling novels The Waddi Tree, Wildhorse Creek, Mallee Sky, Tracking North and Out of Alice. Kerry now lives in Bundaberg.
ALSO BY KERRY McGINNIS
Out of Alice
‘I want you to come back to Kings Canyon . . . If you see it again, the memories of what happened might return.’
When Sara Blake takes up a position as governess on Redhill Station in Central Australia, she isn’t expecting to encounter a family in crisis, or to uncover a tragedy of her own.
With the owners’ son critically ill, Sara is called upon to take care of their young daughter. As the family struggles to make a living from the drought-stricken land, everyone pitches in – and Sara finds herself letting people in to the empty spaces in her heart.
But the longer she spends out bush, the more she becomes plagued by elusive visions of her dark and troubled childhood. The fragments of memory lead her deep into the red centre of Australia, where at picturesque Kings Canyon she must confront the horrifying secrets of her past.
From the bestselling author of Wildhorse Creek and Tracking North comes an evocative and heartfelt story about how in the remotest of places lives can be lost . . . and found.
‘Kerry McGinnis writes like poetry . . . The way she recalls places and feelings and is able to write about them with such authority is why she stands out among Australian authors.’
FLEUR McDONALD
Tracking North
Kelly Roberts finds refuge in the rugged and remote cattle country of northern Australia, but when tragedy strikes she is forced to find a new life for herself and her children outside of Rainsford Station.
She retreats to the family’s only asset – a freehold block of land owned jointly by her eccentric father-in-law, Quinn. In the valley at Evergreen Springs, Quinn hopes the fractured family might all come together to start over again.
Life in Queensland’s far north is unpredictable – especially with the wet season, in all its wild majesty, to survive. But when twelve-year-old Rob makes a gruesome discovery in the valley, real peril comes far too close to home.
‘Vividly transports you to the Gulf Country. Settle in for a really enjoyable read.’
SUSAN DUNCAN
‘Kerry McGinnis writes like poetry . . . She stands out among Australian authors.’
FLEUR MCDONALD
‘The setting is beautiful . . . I am definitely adding her other books to my to-be read list.’
ALL THE BOOKS I CAN READ
Mallee Sky
When it all goes wrong, where is there left to run to but home?
Kate Gilmore hasn’t been home in years, but with her marriage over and her job in jeopardy she doesn’t know where else to turn. Desperate for comfort, Kate retreats to the Mallee, a place crawling with dark secrets and lingering childhood memories.
When she’s offered a carer’s job on the isolated Rosebud Farm, Kate soon meets old Harry Quickly, an intriguing young boy called Maxie, and a handsome harvest contractor who’s not shy about making his intentions known.
Under the endless Mallee skies, Kate discovers that she might just have a future in the place that has haunted her past. But are some family secrets better left in the grave or can new friendships heal old wounds?
‘Hard to put down.’
NEWCASTLE HERALD
‘A moving and evocative novel of mystery, heartbreak and courage.’
MILDURA MIDWEEK
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First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2017.
Text copyright © Kerry McGinnis, 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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Cover photograph by @Nicola Smith/Trevillion
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ISBN: 978-0-14378-459-3
THE BEGI
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Secrets of the Springs Page 30