The Valley

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Not like in your day, eh, Henry?’ chuckled one of the men.

  ‘Or yours, you old hippy,’ rejoined Henry. ‘Garth is doing a lot of research on one of our pioneers and is writing a book,’ explained Henry.

  As they moved back past the big work table one of the older ladies asked Dani, ‘Do you have a family connection here, dear?’

  ‘My great-grandparents. The Williamses. Harold and Emily,’ said Dani.

  The woman frowned slightly. Dani guessed she was in her seventies. ‘So would you be related to Elizabeth Williams then?’

  ‘My grandmother. Did you know her?’ asked Dani. It hadn’t occurred to her that there’d be people around who knew her mother’s family.

  ‘Oh, I’ve heard of the family. I was quite young at the time.’ The woman turned away and busied herself at a filing cabinet.

  ‘Come on, Dani, let’s do the tour.’ Henry led the way through a shed that had once been stables but now housed sulkies, farm implements and machinery, horse harnesses and saddles.

  It struck Dani the woman had made an odd remark. What did she mean She was young at the time? At what time? It seemed a strange thing to say. Dani dismissed it as they came to a small cell that looked like an outdoor lavatory but she did a double take at the sign hanging on the solid wooden door: ‘Jimmy Governor’s Gaol.’

  ‘The bushranger? He was kept in that?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Just for a night or two. He was captured around here, you know, wounded in a shoot-out. They kept him in this odd little cell because it was the only one at the police station until a boat came to take him down to Sydney. He was tried and hanged.’

  Dani stepped inside the tiny cell which held a small iron cot. The windowless walls were of bare wood planks, the corrugated-iron roof unlined. ‘It must have been freezing in winter and sweltering in summer.’

  ‘When they replaced the old police station in 1909 the sergeant retired and took this cell to his place and used it as a fishing shack for years,’ said Henry. ‘We got it back when we opened the museum.’

  Dani stepped into the shed where the farm displays were. The machinery didn’t interest her much but she paused at the old stable stall that held rows of harnesses, saddles, branding irons, horse and cattle paraphernalia. There was one unusual saddle that caught her eye.

  ‘That’s a very old ladies’ side-saddle,’ explained Henry. ‘All the go in those days of yore when it was considered unseemly for a lady to ride astride. This one is rather special.’

  ‘Because it’s old?’

  ‘No, look here.’ He lifted up a flap of the hand-stitched leather where Dani could just make out a symbol of a circle with what looked like an X in the centre.

  ‘What’s that stand for?’

  ‘It’s a brand. The K with an I through it is believed to be Isabella Kelly’s brand. You heard of her?’

  ‘Yes, by chance, and she sounds really fascinating.’ Dani looked at the well-worn saddle with renewed interest.

  ‘It was found in a shed on a very old property. It matches how her brand is described in some documents Garth has unearthed,’ said Henry.

  ‘Garth, who I just met in the archives?’

  ‘Yep. He’s a frustrated lawyer and thinks he’s found a case worth digging into with Isabella Kelly. Not that it’s going to achieve anything after all these years,’ said Henry dismissively.

  ‘I’d really like to talk to him. She interests me. Not sure why,’ said Dani. ‘What’s Garth’s story?’

  ‘He’s retired, a former librarian, bit of a pedant. That was his day job. He lived on a commune in the sixties and seventies and still plays a mean banjo. He lives up Dingo Creek and played in a band called the Dingoes years back. Then he stumbled over the Isabella Kelly story. Don’t think he’s got much to go on. It’s all so long ago and Isabella had no family.’

  ‘So if she has no descendants to tell her story, someone should put down the real story,’ said Dani with conviction. She was thinking of Jason Moore and his dismissal of Kelly’s Crossing and its connection with the controversial pioneer woman.

  ‘You haven’t lived in a country town, that’s for sure,’ said Henry. ‘There’s always gossip that’s dragged up for decades. Myth becomes fact, secrets become casual banter. Even in my lifetime events that were considered shameful secrets in our family and never spoken about are now out in the open and the kids laugh at us about it. No big deal.’

  ‘I bet there are still a lot of secrets out there,’ said Dani.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ agreed Henry. ‘Garth has been beavering away for years. He’s very meticulous, and being a librarian helps. Why don’t you have a chat with him?’

  The next morning Garth and Dani were seated in the Convivia Cafe, a funky cafe with a small deli counter featuring freshly made goodies and a tiny store at the rear selling organic vegetables, many out of home gardens, honey, herbs and local dairy products. Garth slowly stirred his Chinese herbal tea, staring into the cup as if seeking enlightenment. He was in his sixties, pale blue eyes behind rimless glasses, thinning sandy hair, a light complexion best kept from the sun. The back of his hands had a scatter of ginger hairs and freckles. He wore a loose hand-knitted sweater made with more devotion than skill and his manner was modest, diffident, as if he was unsure why Dani was interested in his ‘hobby.’ She asked what had got him started on the Isabella Kelly story.

  He looked up and shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s just one of those things. Maybe I’m a bit of a frustrated detective. In a literary sense,’ he said modestly.

  ‘But there must be something that intrigues you about this woman. Henry says you’ve done heaps of research.’

  ‘Yes. I have,’ he said with a little grin. ‘Addicted, maybe.’

  ‘Why?’ persisted Dani gently.

  He was quiet for a moment as if he’d never asked himself the question. ‘I never married, you know.’

  Dani had to force herself to appear relaxed, but his odd style of conversation had her tensing a little. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was very attached to my mother and my sister,’ he said.

  Dani simply gave a little nod of understanding.

  ‘So I suppose I’m a bit sensitive to the woman’s viewpoint. I’ve been told I’m too objective for my own good. Always seeing the other person’s side. And once I started looking at the legend, the myths, the innuendo, the conflicting stories about this woman, I had to find out the truth, if possible.’

  ‘And have you?’

  He didn’t answer immediately. ‘It’s turned into a mammoth job. But as I’m retired I’ve been able to devote a lot of time to it. And I’ve come to feel I owe it to her. There’s still a lot to uncover.’

  ‘Are you sharing any of this? Do others know what you’re finding out?’

  He looked away, a slight frown creasing his forehead. ‘Many people don’t want to know the real story, they prefer the exaggerated myths. Why are you interested?’ he countered, looking at her intently.

  It was Dani’s turn to contemplate her teacup. ‘I don’t know. It’s just that since I arrived here almost everywhere I turn I come across a reference to Isabella Kelly. Is she the local icon, or scarlet woman?’

  Garth looked surprised. ‘That’s unusual. That you’ve come across her. Mention her name and mostly you draw a blank. Old timers have a vague notion of this colourful, eccentric woman but I’m discovering that much of what they believe is wrong. Even a lot of references to her in the museum are wrong.’

  ‘But the main Street in Cedartown is called Isabella Street,’ said Dani.

  ‘It’s not named for Isabella Kelly, more likely the wife of John Valentine Gorman who surveyed the town in 1843, naming the streets. He was about twenty-three years old and had married Isabella Johnston in 1841. Gorman made no definite statement, but she appears to have been the obvious reason for the naming,’ said Garth.

  ‘Would you share what you’re finding out with me?’ Dani asked before thinking it might
put Garth on the spot.

  ‘You’re only visiting, why do you care?’ he responded cautiously.

  ‘I have a family connection here.’ She hesitated then asked, ‘Do you know Jason Moore? And the plans for a new town?’ Straight away she knew she’d hit a bullseye. Garth’s face twisted as if he had a stomach cramp.

  ‘Property prices have been creeping up, this will push them higher. Good for some landholders, I suppose. I just hate to see that area become a satellite sprawl and good agricultural land go under cement and houses. I haven’t seen the plans so I shouldn’t criticise,’ he said, trying to appear non judgmental. ‘But I get a bit sensitive about anything to do with Isabella Kelly.’

  ‘You’re really swept up by her story aren’t you,’ persisted Dani softly.

  Garth looked a little uncomfortable. ‘She must have been very lonely most of her life. I don’t like the idea that she had no one to help her, defend her in life or death.’

  ‘She doesn’t sound a wimp to me,’ said Dani. ‘She must have been pretty strong willed and independent. Or is that a myth too?’ She found his preoccupation with the pioneer woman strange, even obsessive.

  ‘Isabella was feisty, argumentative, litigious, God fearing and above all a lady with a strong moral and work ethic, from what I’m piecing together.’

  ‘So what went wrong for her?’ Dani thought he might be reading more into her attributes than he could possibly know from such a distance.

  ‘She was naive, wanted to believe the best in people. And I think she was a bit of a snob. Impressed with people of “her class”.’

  ‘Garth, how do you know all this?’ asked Dani.

  ‘I’ve been going through the records, references and old newspapers in the museum. There’s quite a lot of stuff really. It’s been a slow process, particularly digging through the court records of her various cases where she was the plaintiff, the defendant or the victim. The verbatim court records of her actual words are very revealing. They aren’t just cold statements. They seem to reflect something of her soul. I still have a lot more research to do in Sydney at the Mitchell Library.’

  Dani was impressed. ‘You are keen. What are you going to do with all this information? Is this an altruistic effort for posterity or a book or what? How do you plan to . . . vindicate this woman?’

  ‘I’m putting it together as a manuscript. I’d like it to be published, just to set the record straight, bring some kind of justice . . . what’s the word they use now? Closure . . . that’s it, to her story. I haven’t finished piecing it all together. There have been so many conflicting testimonies over the years.’ His eyes were now bright with enthusiasm. ‘My work also gives an in-depth portrait of the men of the district. And of course the development of this valley.’

  Dani touched his arm. He was a little surprised but their eyes met and they both felt comfortable. ‘Thanks for telling me about your pet project, Garth. I’m more fascinated with Isabella Kelly than ever now, so maybe I’ve got the same bug as you.’

  He chuckled. ‘Yes, she is infectious.’

  ‘Would you let me read some of your book?’

  ‘If you’d like to and are around for a bit. I hope the truth will come out one day. Now I have to leave, thank you for the morning tea. And good luck with your painting. If you ever want to paint landscapes you can’t beat the views from Isabella’s land. I’d be happy to show you around.’

  ‘I’ve only seen Kelly’s Crossing. When would you have time?’

  ‘I’m in Cedartown twice a week. Any Thursday would be good for me. I’ll bring what I’ve put together so far.’

  ‘You can reach me at Chesterfield. Or here’s my mobile number.’ Dani scribbled it on a napkin and handed it to him.

  He shook her hand and left the cafe.

  Dani put on her sunglasses in the bright sunlight. Her mind was racing with all she’d seen in the museum and now hearing about Garth’s search for Isabella. She gazed at the heritage buildings across the park, a scene unchanged for decades, still wrenching herself back into the present, when a voice hailed her.

  ‘Morning, Dani. Enjoying the delights of downtown Cedartown? Hope you’ve been into the museum.’ Jason Moore sauntered towards her with an easy smile, his eyes screened by trendy aviator glasses.

  ‘Did that yesterday as a matter of fact. Very interesting, so much historical stuff. Wonderful it’s being preserved,’ she answered.

  ‘Oh, there’s miles of that old stuff around,’ he answered airily.

  ‘Really? Henry who runs the museum was telling me tons of memorabilia has been tossed out over the years.’

  ‘Ah, they don’t know where to look,’ said Jason.

  What a know-all you are, thought Dani. ‘Well, maybe you could give them a few clues so they could rescue some of it,’ she answered tartly.

  He gave a dismissive grin. ‘Ah, there’s enough junk in that museum to keep tourists in there for a week. Besides, a lot of the old dears don’t want to part with their family heirlooms. If you consider a butter churner and turn-of-the-century knick-knacks heirlooms. Hey, want to go for a coffee?’

  ‘I’ve just had one, thanks. Anyway, what old dears are you talking about?’ asked Dani.

  ‘You thinking of making them an offer and flogging stuff off in Sydney? Many have tried before and failed.’

  ‘Not everyone thinks in terms of ripping off old people and looking for a fast buck.’

  ‘Steady on, I didn’t mean it like that. We get the antique hunters cruising through here. Most people are awake to their family stuff being valuable. But there are old ducks out in the hills, still living as they’ve done since they were young women. Managing alone, now in their eighties and nineties still without electricity or water. They carry buckets from the outside tank, light the kerosene lamps, cook with a fuel stove. Maybe that’s what keeps them so fit and living so long.’

  ‘I can’t believe there are women doing that.’

  He shrugged. ‘Like I said, they’re tough old birds. They have a choice I guess, but they’re independent. Better than vegetating in a smelly old nursing home.’

  ‘Surely there’s a better choice than that!’

  ‘Not unless you’re wealthy, have a supportive family or qualify for social assistance. That’s what I’m interested in developing for the future.’

  ‘Really?’ She was about to say she thought he was designing an expensive housing development. She reached Angela’s ancient and muddy four-wheel drive and opened the door.

  Jason looked surprised. ‘This’ll get you just about anywhere you want to go,’ he said.

  I bet you drive an immaculate expensive Range Rover with leather seats and a talking GPS, thought Dani. ‘My car’s in for repairs. I hit a wallaby in the scrub. Fortunately the wallaby is recovering but my car is in hospital.’

  ‘Yeah, sunrise and sunset are the worst times. I’ve had a few near misses with wildlife. Well, nice to see you again.’

  ‘Bye.’ Dani got in the car. ‘I have some shopping to do. My mother and son are coming for the weekend.’

  It was nearing lunchtime when Dani heard Lara’s car and she ran to greet her mother and Tim as the car pulled in beside the cabin.

  Lara exclaimed at the view and setting while Tim and Jolly raced down to the river.

  ‘It’s stunning. How beautiful.’ Lara had no recollection of such magnificent scenery.

  ‘You see why I wanted to stay longer? I’ve painted this view for Barney and Helen. They’ve been so kind,’ said Dani. ‘In fact, they’re doing a barbecue for us this evening.’

  ‘Wonderful. So what are we doing this afternoon?’ Despite driving from Sydney, Lara, as always, was full of energy.

  ‘I’ve made tea, let’s have that. But seeing it’s years since you were in Cedartown you could cruise the old stomping grounds,’ said Dani leading Lara onto the deck where she’d set out the tea things.

  ‘I doubt Tim would be interested in Our Humble Origins tour,’ said Lara.


  ‘Probably not. Though he’d enjoy going through the Brush or fishing at the old Cedartown wharf. Looking at his great-great-grandparents’ home wouldn’t mean so much to him.’ Seeing her mother’s wistful face, Dani made a suggestion. ‘What say we look around this area, have afternoon tea at Claude and George’s cafe, see Max and his studio. Then tomorrow Tim and I can have time together and you go into Cedartown and look around and we’ll meet you there for lunch? The old bank is a boutique hotel with a fabulous restaurant. Enticed a smart Sydney chef up.’

  Lara brightened. ‘Sounds a good plan.’

  As Dani expected, Lara was a big hit with her new friends. Claude and George liked her instantly and found they and Lara had mutual acquaintances in Sydney.

  Max was out so Sarah escorted them around the gallery and told Dani to feel free to take Lara into Max’s studio around the back. Lara was stunned by Max’s work. ‘It’s sensational. Magical. Quite different. Awful how you immediately think of Aboriginal art as being traditional dot paintings.’

  ‘Max is a fine artist. He just happens to be Aboriginal. He could be Croatian or Hindu. And I suppose some of those cultural influences might show in the art. What you paint comes from inside, not the outside,’ said Dani. ‘You might want to paint a scene or a person, but it’s the process that goes on inside your head and your pot of creative juices that define how it is regurgitated onto the canvas.’

  ‘Very graphic, darling. I understand exactly what you mean,’ said Lara and they both laughed.

  Lara admired Dani’s painting of the river. ‘It’s beautiful. Are you sure you want to give it away?’

  ‘Yes, and thanks for the compliment. I plan to do a lot more.’

  As they walked to the car Lara said quietly. ‘So you really like it here? You think you could settle into this painting thing for a bit?’