Barra Creek

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Got your dinner, eh, Lizzie?’

  ‘Bush tucker, good grub. No more chop, for buy ’em baccy, and new dress, eh. All pinish.’

  ‘No more shop? You get rations though, from Mister and Missus?’

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘Beef, chooga, tea. No more pretty tings.’

  ‘Mista Ian, close ’em up,’ said one of the women. ‘We gotta buy tings and order ’em. No more sit down rations.’

  Sally dismounted and walked with them, leading Dancer. ‘What else has changed, Lizzie?’

  The woman shrugged and looked a little po-faced. ‘Ever ’ting. No more allsame.’

  Sally nodded and as they got closer to the camp she pointed to a tree. ‘Daisy, see that tree? That’s where you were born. I was there.’

  Daisy’s face lit up. ‘You see me born in dis country? Me proper Barra Creek baby. My mutta want me go ’way, learn up proper white school.’ She shook her head. ‘Daisy work, lotta work here. Me good with cattle, horses, muster.’

  ‘Daisy good ringer,’ said Lizzie.

  Sally felt a stab of pain. Just like her father. She wondered if Daisy knew Rob was her dad. Had Betsy ever told her? Then she pushed the thought away. It wouldn’t have meant much to her anyway, white fathers weren’t part of their lives. Daisy was lucky to have her extended Aboriginal family. Betsy’s mob had nurtured her and all she cared about was her home country. Rob, it seemed, cared little for the child he’d fathered.

  By evening, with no sign of John Monroe, Lorna became annoyed then agitated, then worried. Snowy and Ian cooked the meal outdoors in the garden. John Monroe was loud and sometimes brash but he was also entertaining. It was a lacklustre gathering without him.

  Sally put her children to bed then settled in the living room with Lorna. Ian had disappeared with Snowy. No one was unduly worried that Monroe hadn’t returned, though Sally thought it odd. But then, she knew how circumstances out here could hinder the best laid plans. She was tired but she relished the private time with Lorna. The two of them sitting together rehashing events around the station, browsing through catalogues, talking about kids, except this time it was Sally’s children. For Sally it was like coming home. She could tell Lorna things she couldn’t tell her mother.

  ‘Do you miss Hal?’ Lorna asked.

  ‘He hasn’t dropped out of my life, because of the children. I don’t miss the social whirl he’s into. But yes, I miss someone around the house. Reading the newspapers together at breakfast, waiting for him to come home, the evening cocktail, and knowing there’s a warm body in the bed.’ Sally sighed. ‘Our interests are so different, though.’

  Lorna nodded and didn’t have to say anything. Sally had known, better than anyone, Lorna’s relationship with John. Lorna looked thoughtful then said, ‘The physical side seems so important in the beginning. But really, what lasts, what you want most, are those other things. Someone to talk to, laugh with, who’s interested in the same things.’

  The two women sat in silence, each lamenting a mistaken marriage, one feeling there would be no changes in her life, she’d hung on so long, the younger woman fretful she’d make the same mistake again. If indeed she found another partner. Sally, at least, was glad that for the moment she was happy sharing her children, building a new life and maybe, hopefully, she’d find someone to share her life with equally rather than her sharing his.

  She changed the subject. ‘Fitzi was terrific, but I’m afraid I’ve raised a pair of city slickers.’

  ‘Why would they be otherwise? Still, it’s good they’ve seen the other side of the coin,’ said Lorna.

  ‘I saw Lizzie, the old girls and Daisy this afternoon,’ said Sally cautiously. ‘You said Daisy was out of control. She does seem bright, she said she was keen on working with the cattle and horses.’

  ‘Mmm. She’s a bit of a lad. I think it best she stays away from the house. I don’t want her getting any big ideas,’ said Lorna nervously.

  ‘She doesn’t know about her father?’ Sally felt her throat tighten.

  ‘What’s to know? He’s not around. Leave it, Sally.’ Lorna stood up. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m sure you must be tired too. Hopefully John will be back in the morning. Goodnight. It’s lovely to have you here again.’

  ‘It was a really special time of my life.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lorna with a sad note in her voice. She rested her hand on Sally’s shoulder for a moment before leaving the room.

  Sally went into the kitchen and found Snowy sitting alone at the long table smoking a cigarette. His stubble was grey, his beer belly sagged over his belt.

  ‘Thanks for cooking dinner, Snow. Has Ian gone to bed?’

  ‘Probably. He’s been on the grog. Doesn’t happen too often but. Well, I’ll be hitting the sack.’

  ‘Thanks again for letting me bring the kids along. Do you still do big trips or get in contractors?’

  ‘Ian gets the casual ringers in.’ He gave a grin. ‘I’m getting a bit old for this caper, Sally. Might throw it in soon.’

  ‘And do what?’ She knew nothing about Snowy’s personal history.

  ‘I’ve got a sister over in Townsville. My ex is in Cairns and our kids are around the place. Time to do a bit of serious fishing.’

  ‘Still lots of barra around?’

  ‘Fer sure, but I wouldn’t get out on the river with the kids. Been a big bugger of a croc around.’

  ‘Really? John didn’t say anything.’

  ‘He didn’t want to worry you.’ Snowy suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder . . . might check that snare we set. Well, g’night, Sally. Good to have you round the place again. Only seems like yesterday you were racing round with the kids.’

  ‘It was thirteen years ago since I first came here, Snow.’

  ‘Struth, time gets away.’

  The screen door banged behind him.

  At breakfast as her sleepy children struggled with their plates of chops, sausages and fried eggs, Sally watched Ian eat in sullen silence. A hangover, she presumed. What had happened to him, she wondered. She thought back to the three neat little boys who ate at the small table in the dining room. Jeremy and Trisha were sitting at the dining table and would have been horrified at being put at a ‘kids’ table’. They moaned enough at their mother’s ‘nagging’ about table manners. Boarding schools had changed since Sally’s day, although Trisha was doing cookery and etiquette classes.

  Lorna, at least, stuck to tradition, remaining in bed until breakfast was over and the ringers and stockmen had left the kitchen.

  It was after lunch that the world of Barra Creek changed.

  Snowy’s Land Rover belted towards the homestead with him firing his rifle from the driver’s seat into the air. Everyone came running. A stockman, a ringer and one of the jackeroos reached him and he began gesticulating, waving towards the house. Sally rushed through the garden, knowing something was dreadfully wrong by the expression on Snowy’s face.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh Christ, Sally, get to Lorna. You tell her, I can’t. Oh Christ almighty,’ he put his head in his hands.

  An ashen-faced jackeroo looked at Sally. ‘It’s the boss, Mr Monroe . . . Snowy found him. Dead.’

  ‘What! Are you sure? Snowy, where is he, what’s happened? Quick, call the doctor . . .’

  Snowy held up a hand, waving vaguely. ‘Nah. No good. It’s bloody horrible. A croc. Sally . . .’

  She gasped. Not again, not another death. Not John, nothing could get him. He was too big, too loud, too much of a bully. ‘Quick, find Ian. We’ll have to tell Lorna.’

  ‘You do it, Sally.’

  Jeremy and Trisha raced up. ‘What’s going on, Mum?’

  Sally tried to take a deep breath and stop herself shaking. ‘There’s been an accident. I want you both to keep out of the way and be quiet. Please.’

  She began to walk towards the house. Why had this happened when she was here? Was she the one to jinx Barra Creek? Along with the joy and light she felt here, dar
kness had again fallen on the property.

  Lorna stood on the front steps watching Sally. She looked composed, her hands folded as if waiting for the inevitable. For Sally everything was happening in slow motion.

  She stood at the bottom of the steps and stared up at Lorna. ‘It’s John. An accident . . . he’s dead, Lorna.’ Sally wanted to spare her the details, though God knew what the full story was.

  Lorna closed her eyes, seemed to sway slightly, compressed her lips then turned away, saying quietly, ‘Please find Ian,’ before she went inside.

  The police and air ambulance had been notified and people were beginning to appear from everywhere. The wailing from the blacks’ camp had started.

  ‘We have to get him,’ said Ian, but Snowy put a restraining hand on his arm.

  ‘The cops don’t want anyone to go there. I just took one look and left. Believe me, son, you don’t want to see it.’

  Already the ringers and jackeroos were sitting around whispering about the gruesome details.

  ‘Musta got caught in the snare and got strung up. Caught the croc but it came up the bank and reached him.’

  ‘Ate his bloody head and shoulders, they reckon.’

  ‘The boss is still hanging in the tree with half his top missing.’

  No one noticed Fitzi ride quietly away.

  Later, after the planes had arrived, the neighbours had driven in, the police had taken photos, shot the croc, cut down John Monroe’s body and wrapped it up, ready to take it to the morgue in Normanton. Sally and the women began preparing food. As gently as possible the police sergeant took a statement from Lorna.

  Automatically now everyone turned to Ian, who, looking grim and pained, answered questions, signed documents and phoned Tommy in England. The conversation was brief but he came to Sally. ‘Tommy would like to speak to you.’

  ‘Tommy, yes it’s me. I’m so terribly sorry this has happened.’

  ‘How is my mother?’

  ‘Shocked, very calm, though she’s got medication. I don’t think it’s sunk in for any of us.’

  ‘How long have you been there, Sal?’

  ‘I brought my kids up for a visit.’

  ‘You know what, Sally, I’m planning on getting married, to an English girl. I wish I’d told Dad. Do they need me there? Should I come home?’

  ‘Do you want to, Tommy?’

  There was a pause. ‘If Mum needs me. But truthfully, I’d rather remember things as they used to be. I’m sure Ian will run everything okay. I mean the funeral . . .’

  ‘There’re a lot of hands around the place at the moment. You know how it is. I’ll get your mum.’

  ‘Sally, wait, if I don’t come will people think badly of me?’

  ‘It’s up to you and your mother. It’s no one else’s business.’

  ‘Was it quick, do you think? I hate to think of him suffering. How’s Ian coping? He’s probably feeling bad ’cause he was so shitty to Dad.’

  ‘He’s being kept busy. He’ll have to deal with his own demons later, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re there, Sal. Say hello to anyone who’s still around.’

  ‘Some of the old mob are here, Tommy. I’ll put you onto your mother now.’

  After the call Sally tapped at the doorway and found Lorna sitting on the little cane chair next to the baby’s cot that had held her four children.

  ‘Tommy told me that he is wondering about . . . arrangements, about coming home.’

  Lorna’s shoulders lifted. ‘Yes. I told him it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t come. Let him do what he wants. I don’t blame him.’

  ‘Are you going to come and have something to eat? The police and the doctor will be leaving soon.’

  ‘I don’t want to eat. Tell me when they’re leaving.’ She paused. ‘They’re taking him away, aren’t they?’

  ‘They have to, Lorna.’

  ‘He has to be buried here. He never wanted to leave Barra Creek, that was the trouble.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Ian.’

  When the vehicles were ready to set off to the airstrip, Lorna walked onto the verandah. Holding his hat, the police sergeant shook her hand as his assistant and the medical examiner mumbled condolences. A tight knot of the blacks, Fitzi, Lizzie, Betsy and Daisy, hovered by the gate, watching them drive the Land Rover that held John Monroe’s body. Young Daisy ran forward and touched the side of the vehicle as the black women hid their faces and moaned loudly.

  ‘Get away!’ Lorna’s sharp retort shocked those watching. ‘Get her away!’ She flung out her arm, pointing at Daisy.

  Fitzi and Lizzie rushed forward and took the girl away.

  ‘Lorna, what is it?’ Sally put her arm around Lorna who was rigid, glaring at the child.

  Lorna turned on Sally, hissing furiously, ‘As if you, of all people had to ask. She’s the jinx, she’s the one who’s broken up our lives.’ She marched into the house leaving the nervous flurry of conversation and movement among everyone watching.

  Sally caught Fitzi looking at her and wondered at the expression on his face. Poor bugger, she thought. What was going to happen to them all, and to Barra Creek?

  The family decided against a big memorial service, the circumstances of John’s death were too harrowing. There was an official announcement that he would be buried beside his son and daughter in a private family service.

  Once again Sally was leaving under painful circumstances. She hugged Lorna, who straightened and dabbed her eyes before saying quietly, ‘Don’t come back again, Sally. There is no peace here.’

  A week later John Monroe was buried. After the short service and everyone had gone, Lorna walked around the homestead, through the gardens and down to the stables. Ian and Snowy were keeping busy, station life went on, but Lorna was making her own plans.

  It was here that Fitzi came to her, holding his big Akubra hat, shuffling his feet and with eyes downcast, told her he was going on a long walkabout. ‘Long time, go way.’

  And told her why.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kiama, 2003

  ‘WHY HAVE YOU COME to see me, Lorna?’ They all knew that the purpose of this visit was to do more than just rehash old times.

  ‘I sometimes forget things nowadays but there are some things I cannot forget. Before it’s too late, I want to put things right. Well, at least let the truth be told.’

  ‘Settling accounts before Judgement Day?’ said Sally. ‘Why? Surely there is no point now. It’s not going to alter anything.’ She now wished Lorna hadn’t found her. There was more pain than joy in the memories Lorna was dragging up.

  ‘It concerns two people, first my son Ian. He became a difficult man. I’ve often wondered why he was spared when the good and the sweet were not. We grew apart; he’s not easy to love. After John died I bought my house in Sydney and started a new life. Too late perhaps, but I enjoyed going to the theatre and concerts. I travelled, I saw Tommy and his little family. But I kept to myself most of the time.’

  ‘Did you go back to Barra Creek?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Never. I saw Ian when he came to Sydney on occasions. He married a girl from Brisbane. I didn’t care for her, although I went to the wedding. They never had children.’

  Sally leaned forward. ‘Why didn’t you contact me, Lorna? You never answered my cards. I gave up in the end.’

  Lorna’s hands twisted. ‘I couldn’t face you, not after what I did.’

  Kate and Sally exchanged a swift look, neither woman knew what she was talking about.

  Kate took Lorna’s hand. ‘You told me there was something you had to tell Sally. Was it about Ian?’

  ‘Did I tell you that, dear?’ Lorna looked suddenly fearful. ‘Did I say anything else about Ian?’

  ‘You don’t want him to sell your house. You said the trouble he was in was all his own doing,’ Kate reminded her gently.

  ‘What exactly is the trouble?’ asked Sally.

  Kate looked at Lorna, who nodded, so Kate explained. �
��As I understand it, and from the inquiries I’ve made on Lorna’s behalf, Barra Creek is unable to meet its financial obligations and the bank that holds the second mortgage is going to foreclose. Ian hoped that the money he’d get from selling his mother’s house would help pay the debts.’

  ‘He was irresponsible with money, kept spending to try to make things better. It just dug a deeper hole,’ said Lorna.

  ‘So let him face the consequences. Can’t Lorna hang onto her house? How come Lorna has no rights?’ Sally asked Kate.

  ‘These cases are difficult. Her son had a solicitor give him power of attorney, she was medically assessed . . . on a bad day,’ Kate smiled reassuringly at Lorna, ‘and was put into what she believed was respite for some tests.’

  ‘I was tricked. That place is a prison.’

  ‘Now, Lorna, it’s not so bad. You’re in one of the best facilities . . .’

  Kate looked at Sally who said, ‘But not where you or I want to end up, eh Kate?’

  ‘No, but undoing it all will be difficult. The first thing is to persuade Ian not to sell Lorna’s home so she could stay there with community and home care, maybe later a paid carer.’

  ‘Then Ian will lose the property. He’s not going to let that happen,’ said Sally. ‘Again, I don’t see how I can help you, Lorna. Ian certainly isn’t going to listen to me after all these years.’

  Lorna bit her lip. Kate reached over and said softly, ‘You said you were going to tell Sally something –’

  ‘I have to tell you, Sally. I want you to know what happened to John.’

  ‘We know what happened to John.’ She didn’t want to remember this horror. ‘No one could have saved him.’

  ‘Yes, they could. Ian could’ve saved him.’

  Sally leaned forward. ‘Lorna, what are you saying?’