Crimson Dawn

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t like a couple of the girls she spends time with. They seem a little too, how do you say it? World-wise for my baby Poppy.’

  Laura grinned. ‘You sure you’re not just being overprotective, Dad? After all, she’s the last one at home.’ She looked at him with a small smile and was pleased when he returned it.

  ‘Maybe,’ he answered with a little laugh. ‘I hope that’s all it is, anyway.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘I’ll tell you a secret though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You are perfect for this place and I’m pleased Lee didn’t want to be a mother, either. Georgie and I liked having you to ourselves!’

  Laura reached over to pat his arm. ‘I love you, Dad.’

  ‘And I love you, Laurs.’

  ‘Now, can you please tell me the story?’

  Chapter 23

  1940

  Thomas stood by the front gate. Nambina. After so long away, it felt strange to be back. Memories came crowding in. Phantom voices screamed at him and he felt the crack of Ernest’s fist against his cheek. It was all so real, he recoiled and held up his arm to ward off the blow. His heart beat faster and he had to reach out to the fence to steady himself.

  The moon cast just enough light for him to see the two-wheeled track leading to the house. At first, it seemed as though nothing had changed—he wouldn’t have expected it to. But then he noticed the freshly painted gate and next to it a sign announcing ‘Nambina’, the home of ‘Ernest and Howard Murphy’.

  There was no mention of Thomas, and certainly no mention of Jessie. His fury surged to the surface and he wanted to hit something, but instead he shut his eyes tightly and balled his hands into fists. Breathe, he encouraged himself. Just breathe.

  He opened the gate, went through it, then refastened the chain. Thomas now stood inside Nambina’s boundary for the first time in three years. Soon he could see the outhouses and sheds. They looked tidier and more cared for than when he’d lived here.

  Maybe Howard was doing all the work now, as Thomas once had. It was hard to imagine ‘little Howard’ as the mainstay behind Nambina. One thing Ernest did know how to do was work. But not on the farm. He enjoyed being away from it and socialising with all the well-to-do farmers in the district. That’s why he’d spent so much time on committees. Ernest was the one people relied on when there was a fundraiser or event coming up. He’d be the first one there and the last to leave. He was known for pulling more than his fair share of the weight. But not at home.

  ‘Must be Howard’s doing,’ Thomas muttered. ‘My brother was always tidy and proud.’ In which case, Howard probably hadn’t enlisted in the army. With all the propaganda encouraging young men to sign up, surely it had crossed his mind, as it had Thomas’s, if only fleetingly.

  There was no chance of Ernest enlisting—he wouldn’t be fit enough.

  Thomas tried to take another step forward but found he couldn’t move. His heart beat faster and he wasn’t sure if he was petrified as well as angry.

  He stared out into the darkened countryside. He could hear the murmur of sheep in the paddock, and the familiar sound comforted him. It had been a long, hot summer, and the fact that the ewes were out grazing, even though it was dark, suggested feed was getting scarce, he surmised.

  He made a quick decision. He wanted to create an element of surprise, and to know what was going on before he walked into the house. He’d spend the night in the shearing shed and watch them tomorrow.

  Skirting along the edge of the fence, he made his way through the compound of sheds. If Flea was still alive or there were any other dogs around, they wouldn’t hear or smell him that way. He was upwind.

  Inside the shearing shed, he rolled out his swag in one of the wool bins. That way he wouldn’t be easily seen if Howard came to the shed first thing in the morning.

  He lay back, his hands behind his head, and stared at the tin roof, at last comfortable among the familiar smells and noises. He thought back over the past weeks he’d spent with his grandparents. He’d enjoyed their company and learned a lot about merino farming too. William and Dorothy hadn’t wanted him to leave.

  Thomas had hungered for information about his mother, and Dorothy had happily obliged. Her tales of Jessie’s childhood had brought much laughter and, for Dorothy, some tears. Thomas just listened and kept everything he felt inside.

  William had tried to draw Thomas out, to discover what he was thinking. He figured he’d probably frightened the old man when, after hearing about his mother’s fate, Thomas had sworn to kill his father.

  ‘There’s no need for an eye for an eye and all that sort of nonsense, Thomas,’ William had said. ‘He’ll get his judgement in good time. Leave it to our Lord. Just like this dratted war. Promise me you’ll never fight. There’s no need to.’

  But Thomas had no intention of forgiving his father. Ernest had stolen the dearest person Thomas had ever known, and he would pay. Thomas’s anger grew with every day until the need to confront his father had consumed him and he knew they would face each other in a day of reckoning very soon.

  The morning he left, he’d woken in a sweat. He’d dreamt he was pushing Ernest down onto the bed with a choke hold. It had frightened him but also spurred him on.

  ‘Dorothy, I need to leave today,’ he’d said without preamble when he walked into the kitchen.

  He saw her shoulders slump and a look of resignation cross her face. ‘We understand, dearie,’ she said softly. ‘But please, Thomas. Don’t do anything rash.’

  ‘I’m going to catch up with Mac,’ he lied, but he could tell she didn’t believe him.

  Just before he left, William pushed a wad of rolled-up banknotes into his hand. ‘For essentials,’ he’d said, before clasping Thomas by the upper arms and staring intently into his face. It was as if he was committing his grandson’s face to memory. As if he understood he would never see Thomas again.

  And now here Thomas was. Back at Nambina. Ready to challenge his father.

  Kill him? He wanted to. But there were things to think about, and his brother was one of them. Thank goodness he hadn’t posted the letter he’d written to Howard, or forewarned him of his visit.

  The next morning Thomas was awake before the sun had risen. He’d slept fitfully, even though he was comfortable. Strange dreams and memories had crowded his mind, and now he felt sluggish and had the beginnings of a headache.

  He rolled his swag and slid it down one of the chutes underneath the shed and stretched. From his rucksack he took some dry biscuits, then ate them while he decided what to do. He needed to keep in the shadows today. To watch, to learn, to understand. Then he would confront Ernest.

  The problem was going to be dogs. If Ernest and Howard still had any, it was likely the animals would sniff him out. Maybe he could get into the house? Yes, that was a better plan. The door from the garage led into the cellar. He could sit there and listen to the goings-on within the walls. Perhaps the conversations, grunted, yelled or otherwise, would give him an idea of the state of play.

  Without hesitation, he started walking towards the house. The moon had sunk and it was only the glow of the stars and predawn light that showed the way.

  By the time he was standing in front of the cellar door, the sun’s rays were visible above the horizon. He’d only just made it. Thomas held his breath and slowly turned the handle. It opened noiselessly and he slipped inside. He paused until his eyes adjusted, then found the stairs. Slowly he climbed them until he was halfway up. He would wait here.

  That evening, hungry and stiff, Thomas laid his bedroll out in the wool bin again. But he couldn’t lie down to sleep—he was too furious.

  Angrily, he paced the floor. He’d left to make his life better. He, Thomas, had been the one with the initiative to get off his backside and make something of his existence. Not to get stuck in the rut of working, being beaten and abused. He had made decisions that meant transforming his world
.

  It had worked and he was happy. He was thankful and content. But not for one moment had he ever contemplated that things would be different on Nambina. He shook his head. He didn’t understand.

  When Howard had come out into the kitchen that morning, he was whistling. Thomas had instantly remembered the tuneless whistle and how annoying it had been.

  When Ernest had arrived there had been cheery good mornings all round and a discussion about the day. There had been no sign of a hangover or surliness. Thomas hadn’t trusted the change. It all sounded peculiar—too chummy. What was going on?

  The two men had decided that Ernest would go into town for some supplies for the sheep. From the branches of a tree, Thomas had watched his father walk to the truck and climb in. The man looked well—not the sallow, pasty face from before nor the red-rimmed eyes. Had he reformed?

  Howard looked fit and tanned. There was talk of his girlfriend, Mary, and Ernest had teased him about a wedding. Howard had said that wasn’t happening any time soon, although he was going over to Mary’s place for dinner that evening.

  While Howard was shoeing a horse that Thomas didn’t recognise (and when did his brother learn to shoe, anyway?), Ernest had sought him out and actually talked to Howard.

  Thomas was so enraged he knew he couldn’t contain it anymore. There had been no mention of his mother nor him. It was like they didn’t exist.

  An idea struck him. Had Ernest wanted to get rid of him? Had his father known he wouldn’t put up with it and would eventually leave? As his grandfather had said, Ernest had wanted Jessie out of the way for some reason. But if this was the case, why had Ernest chosen to be rid of Jessie and Thomas, but not Howard?

  Thomas looked out into the night and listened. All was silent. He checked his watch and saw it was 7 p.m. If they still followed the same routine, Ernest would have turned on the wireless and would be listening to the news.

  ‘Now’s the time,’ he said to himself. There was no turning back. It had to be done.

  Armed with nothing but his hands, he strode towards the house. Thomas could see one window illuminated and knew it would be the gaslight in the sunroom.

  Moments later, he stood outside and raised his hand to knock. But his fist didn’t connect. The door opened. There was Ernest.

  ‘Evening, Thomas,’ his father said in a hard voice. There was no smile on his face and no welcome.

  Thomas said nothing, but his stomach flipped and turned with fear. How had he known?

  ‘Did you think I couldn’t see you sneaking around today?’ Ernest continued in a low voice. ‘I knew you’d come back one day and because of that I’ve never let my guard down. That’s why I stopped the drinking. I’ve got you to thank for getting me off the booze.’ He smiled coldly. ‘I’ve been watching for you.’ He stopped.

  Now it made sense. No drinking. Thomas wouldn’t have believed it possible. Because he had left, Ernest had managed to get himself together. The irony of it made Thomas want to smile, but he met the man’s gaze, never once blinking.

  Ernest leaned against the doorframe. ‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure?’

  Thomas was overcome with emotion and found he couldn’t speak, even though he wanted to.

  ‘If you haven’t got anything to say, why are you here?’ Ernest looked at him questioningly. ‘It’d be better if you left. You made your choice when you walked out the door.’

  Thomas pulled himself up straight and glared at his nemesis. As he did so, he realised he was now taller and stronger than Ernest. ‘You killed Mum,’ he stated.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, you did. Not by your hand, but your actions. I know what happened. I know the truth and you have to pay.’ He took a step towards him, but Ernest didn’t move.

  ‘Thomas, I’m not going to discuss this with you. I’ve changed and I’m sure you have too. I’d rather not think about the past.’ Ernest shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, both you and Jessie remind me of something I never want to think about again. She was crazy, and you?’ He looked at Thomas for a long moment, his insinuations left unsaid. ‘So why don’t you be on your way?’

  That gave Thomas pause. Changed?

  He looked past his father and into the sunroom. The spot where Jessie’s plant had always been was empty. Then rage packed every inch of Thomas’s body again and he took another step forward, glowering down at the man who’d filled him with fear for so long. Ernest seemed to shrink in front of him. Whether it was his imagination or not, Thomas didn’t care. He felt powerful. In control. He was here to avenge his mother. To avenge Jessie.

  ‘How could you do that to her? How could you do what you did to me? You’re my father!’

  Ernest retreated but the insults kept coming.

  ‘You’re just like her,’ Ernest said. ‘Unstable, they call it. Split personalities. Something goes wrong and you lose it. Turn into a blubbering mess. Like that time I found you pissing yourself in a chair. Gah!’ His disgust was plain. ‘All I did was tap your face and you had to piss yourself. Scared, weren’t ya?’ he nodded. ‘That’s why you’re not out fighting for our country. Why you’re not wearing the Australian uniform with pride. You’re too scared.’ He tried to smile. ‘What are you gonna do when they call you up, ’Fraidy Tom Cat?’

  Thomas swung his fist and, despite never having thrown a punch before, managed to connect with his father’s face and knock him to the ground. Ernest kept up a stream of taunts, though he grunted as he fell. Thomas loomed over him.

  ‘Yeah, scared.’ Ernest nodded. ‘You won’t ever come to nothing. You’re weak! Weak, I tell you!’ he yelled. ‘Don’t think I’ll leave you anything. You’ve given up all your rights to anything I own by being a nothing. You’re pathetic. Now just leave. It’s best for us all.’

  Ernest was breathing quickly now, and Thomas could almost smell his fear. The tables had turned. He was the younger and fitter one. The stronger one now, even though Ernest was clear eyed and sober.

  Thomas stuck his foot out and leaned just enough weight on Ernest’s stomach to make him grunt.

  ‘I’m not weak and I will become something,’ he said calmly. ‘No. Thanks. To. You.’ He pressed harder. ‘I wouldn’t want anything from you, anyway. It’d be blood money after what you did to Mum.’

  He increased the pressure and Ernest grabbed at his ankle with both hands, but the grip felt like nothing to Thomas. ‘You know,’ Thomas said, changing tack. ‘I came to kill you.’ He took pleasure in seeing the man’s eyes widen. ‘But I’m not going to. I’m just going to make sure you remember I’ve been here and you remember this night forever. Believe you me.’ He took his foot away and kicked his father’s soft middle, then watched as the man curled into the foetal position. He drew his fist back and smashed it into the side of Ernest’s face. He kept going until he heard a high-pitched cry.

  Thomas stopped, breathing heavily. He looked down at the helpless man, who was bleeding from his nose and mouth, and watched as he clambered away. He looked at his fist and realised he was bleeding too. Their blood was intermingling. He wiped it on his trouser leg and ran his other hand over his face, clearing the sweat from his forehead.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ Ernest managed to whisper as he pulled himself away from the assault. He got to a chair and leaned heavily on it, trying to pull his battered body into a standing position. His legs gave way and he had to be content to sit on the floor, his back against the chair.

  Thomas knew that, without a doubt, he could kill his father now, if he wanted. Ernest was beaten.

  Then he considered the question Ernest had asked.

  He’d always assumed he would feel content after giving Ernest some of his own medicine. He didn’t, though. He felt empty and unsatisfied.

  Studying the broken man before him, Thomas came to understand something. Why he’d ever believed hurting his father would make everything right, he had no idea, because it didn’t. Jessie was still dead. Howard was still out of reach and Thomas, him
self, still bore the scars.

  Coming to Nambina hadn’t changed one damn thing.

  Thomas shook his head. ‘You’re nothing but a worthless piece of shit,’ he said. ‘If I ever lay eyes on you again, it’ll be too soon.’

  Thomas walked out without a backwards glance.

  Chapter 24

  2008

  Laura swirled spaghetti around her fork and breathed in the garlicky scent. Sean had refilled their wine glasses for the fourth time, which was probably just as well, given the story she was about to hear, she decided.

  Her father took a breath. ‘I’m sure you know I was a bit of a drifter when I first left school,’ he began.

  She nodded. ‘But not in a bad way?’

  ‘No, no. I just knew farming wasn’t for me. Dad knew it too, which is why he was so patient with me when I kept trying different things. A lot of his care and easy-going ways stemmed from his childhood. He’d decided he wasn’t going to be like his father—Ernest, his name was. I think they ended up with a reasonable relationship, in the end, but there was something . . .’ He paused. ‘I’m only guessing this, but there may have been some violence when he was growing up. There certainly wasn’t any encouragement, that I’m convinced of. But you’ve got to remember, kids were brought up a lot tougher in those days. Everyone had to pull their weight and work, so maybe I’m reading too much into it.

  ‘Anyway, like I said, I’m certain that’s why he was so patient with me, despite my lack of interest in the farm. He said to me one day he was tempted to put roofing nails in my feet to keep me in one place!’

  Laura smiled. She could hear Papa saying that, as clear as a bell.

  Sean leaned back and looked at his daughter. ‘One of the things I’ve learned working at the hospital is that kids seem to follow one path or the other. If they’re raised in a violent household they either become violent themselves, or they shun it and become gentle and caring. They don’t want to end up like the person who abused them, I guess. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened with Howie.