by Di Morrissey
‘I can smell you, bitch,’ he shouted in anger, and urged his horse forward, smashing through the bush. His fury became a slow burn that consumed him, pushing aside Skerrett and his plan to grab Kelly’s cattle. He decided to be cunning and reined in his horse and sat still, listening to every small sound around him. He felt that every nerve in his body was on alert, seeking to sense the slightest signal that might indicate where the woman and child were hiding.
‘C’mon on, bitch,’ he hissed.
Noona knew there was a horse and rider close by as she lay rigid with fear, her child clutched close and kept quiet by sucking at a nipple. She hoped the white man would give up looking for her, or that Kelly or Florian might return and scare him off.
But Parsons was not giving up. He dismounted and, leading his horse, began to search methodically. While no black tracker, he’d observed how the natives read the land and he began to see the crushed grasses and broken twigs where the woman had fled from the creek. He remounted and pushed his horse into the water, walking close to the bank.
He quickly spotted where she’d left the stream and plunged into the bush. Noona could hear him coming in her direction. There was only one thing in her mind now, the safety of her daughter. Like a female kangaroo in times of danger, Noona abandoned her baby, tucking her under a low thick shrub. She then took off swiftly through the scrub. She was fleet-footed and forced her way into the thickest part of the bush, hoping the white man would give up as it was too dense for a horse to get through.
But Parsons had a fire in his belly, a raging desire to destroy the woman in a deranged attempt to settle the ghosts and nightmares that had haunted him for so long. If he could kill her perhaps it would end the torment he suffered in the dark hours. The torment of having lost a mate in a dirty struggle with black scum.
He knew he was closing in on her, he could hear her frantic crashing in the undergrowth. Then it stopped as she paused, gauging where he was. He waited. He was coolly patient now and drew his pistol from its holster, patting his hip, feeling the sheath of the long knife he carried.
Noona suddenly realised she was in trouble. The way ahead was blocked with a great pile of boulders, then a sheer cliff. Perhaps if she could scramble upwards there might be a slit of a cave she could roll into.
Parsons also saw the cliff and grinned in delight, knowing his quarry was cornered. Then he glimpsed her trying to scramble up the rocks. ‘Like a bloody monkey,’ he scowled. ‘Gotcha now.’ He moved faster and as soon as he was in range he cocked the pistol, took aim and fired.
The lithe figure jerked, twisted, lost her grip and seemed to float in slow motion backwards to land out of sight with a soft thud.
Not in a hurry anymore, Parsons returned the gun to its holster and drew out the knife, slashing his way to the rock face.
Was she dead? Or playing possum? Parsons didn’t care, for the sight of the crumpled near-naked woman aroused in him a fury that sent blood rushing to his head so that he was seeing everything through a red scrim. He kicked her onto her back and paused for moment as the dark pained eyes bored into him with a look that sent his mind into a turmoil.
The lethal knife had a life of its own as it slashed at her throat and the more the deep red blood stained her skin and splashed him, the more the knife sliced at her breasts, her belly, between her legs and finally back to her neck until he straightened with Noona’s head hanging from one hand, the bloodied knife in the other, its work done.
Parsons fell to his knees, panting, totally drained. He stayed there until flies, drawn by the sticky congealing blood, began to swarm around him. He lifted the knife and slowly wiped it clean with his kerchief. Then he slipped the knife into its sheath. He got to his feet and, looking at the woman’s body, scowled at the dead, blank face, then turned back towards the creek crossing.
When he reached the bank where his horse still waited, he fell into the water, soaking his clothes, washing away the stains of his deed. He felt cleansed now. But there was more to be done.
For several hours he searched the bush until he heard the baby crying.
He killed the baby girl swiftly. As he wiped the blade clean he felt good. He had got rid of her and saved men from the pain she’d bring as a woman.
Satisfied, he rode the track to Birimbal, his mind at peace for the first time in many a month.
Isabella and Skerrett met angrily at the homestead. They argued, then Isabella broke away, strode to the house and stormed inside. She was stunned at the filth and disorder. Mrs Skerrett and her tribe of children had gone and there appeared to be no one at the property. Skerrett had no doubt seen to that before accosting her on the track. Her cattle and six good horses were in the yard ready to be taken away by Skerrett. Florian was standing guard, watching Skerrett who was waiting for his partner to arrive. It was a stand-off, both ignoring each other.
Isabella wondered what Skerrett’s offsider was up to. And where was Noona? She hoped Kelly would arrive back with Mr Andrews before nightfall. Florian wanted to look for Noona and the baby but Isabella needed him with her. She assured him they would be safe in their own environment, and fussed around in the kitchen to make a billy of tea.
Some time later Florian came to the door. ‘Mr Andrews and Kelly are here,’ he announced with relief.
Isabella went outside and greeted her neighbour warmly. Florian sent Kelly to the back of the house and ordered him to keep out of sight.
‘Thank you for coming, Mr Andrews,’ said Isabella, not disguising her relief at seeing him.
‘That’s all right, Miss Kelly. The lad had some wild story that didn’t make much sense to me. So, what seems to be the trouble?’
He glanced around looking faintly annoyed as all seemed peaceful.
‘Mr Skerrett and his friend bailed us up on the road at the crossing, harassed my party and fired a pistol to stop me returning to my property,’ said Isabella.
Andrews swung off his horse and glanced over at the yards where Skerrett was leaning against the railing. ‘Matters seem to be in hand now. What was the altercation over? I was led to believe from the half-caste child that you were in danger, Miss Kelly.’
‘It appeared so at the time. He has a companion who hasn’t arrived here.’ She didn’t want to mention Noona though she assumed the neighbours knew of Florian’s family. ‘I’m afraid he might have returned to my river property.’
‘I’d heard Mr Skerrett was discharged from gaol and his family are moving on, is there some issue?’ Andrews didn’t repeat that he’d been told that since Skerrett had been pardoned people were inferring that it must be Isabella who was guilty.
‘He claims to have the right to take my cattle and horses with him,’ said Isabella. ‘I never agreed to such a plan. I left these animals here as breeding stock while I sold the rest.’
‘Miss Kelly, I have no wish to enter into any disagreement between you and Mr Skerrett. I was merely concerned for your welfare.’
‘Thank you, Mr Andrews. I felt threatened and frightened for my life. Could you please come inside?’
Andrews hesitated, glancing over to Skerrett who looked quite cocky. But he did not want to be called to court yet again on one of Isabella Kelly’s disputes. ‘Thank you, but I will speak to Mr Skerrett and be on my way before dark.’
Just then Parsons cantered up the path towards the house and, seeing Skerrett, turned to the yards and dismounted.
Andrews led his horse to the yards and greeted Skerrett, nodding at Parsons who was unfamiliar to him.
‘I was sent for by Miss Kelly. She says she was threatened, you fired at her?’
‘Miss Kelly is a proven liar, Mr Andrews. I’ve come to collect these animals she agreed I could muster and sell when I leased this property.’ He produced the agreement.
Andrews studied the paper and handed it back to Skerrett. ‘It seems to be in order.’
That woman is crazy. Now my associate has arrived we’re taking these animals,’ said Skerrett. ‘And n
o one can stop us.’
Andrews shrugged. ‘It is no business of mine.’ But he knew if called upon he’d have to vouch that Skerrett appeared to have authorisation from Kelly, whether she’d changed her mind since or not. ‘I will be returning to my home. Good day, gentlemen.’
Parsons merely gave a smirk as they watched Andrews walk away. Skerrett began to lower the yard rails. ‘We’ll push out of here and make camp and settle the beasts. What took you so long?’
Parsons merely shrugged. ‘Cunning little bitch ran off.’
Skerrett was more concerned with getting the cattle and horses on the road. ‘I’ll take the lead, you bring up the rear.’
Isabella came out of the house and shouted, ‘I forbid you to take those animals. It’s theft.’
Florian ran around to the front and said to Isabella, ‘Leave them go, Miss Kelly, they will make trouble. Mr Skerrett seemed to convince Mr Andrews he has a right to them.’
‘He tricked me, Florian. And I fear it will not go my way in a court,’ said Isabella sounding defeated and tired.
‘Then leave it be, miss. I’m going to look for Noona and the child. Kelly will stay here. Or do you want him to follow Skerrett, see where he camps?’
‘Find Noona and the baby. Tell Kelly to stay with me. I will deal with Skerrett another day.’ Isabella turned and went inside.
Florian did not return until sunrise. Kelly heard his horse and ran to meet him. He stopped when he saw his father riding along alone, his head bowed as if a great weight had settled on his shoulders. Florian appeared not to see him and went to his quarters and fell onto his bed.
Kelly crept to the door and, hearing the great wrenching sobs that seemed to howl from the bottom of his father’s boots, he knew something terrible had happened. He turned and ran to where they had first confronted the two white men. He reached the crossing as the sun fell on his shoulders. All was still and quiet. But Kelly knew, knew in his bones, his mother and sister had died here.
Later Isabella found the young boy curled on the bank by the creek. She shook him and Kelly opened his eyes and stared at her. Isabella shuddered. They were no longer the eyes of an innocent boy. They were the anguished, empty eyes of a boy-man who had seen visions and been given knowledge too terrible for anyone to bear.
She lifted Kelly and sat him on the saddle in front of her and they turned their backs on the crossing and the terrible events of the previous day. One day, swore Isabella to herself, justice will prevail.
Dani
The Hungerford Regional Art Gallery was closed to the public when Dani and Max pulled his paintings out of the storage area and began to hang them under Greta’s supervision.
‘That blue night scene, put it in the centre, pride of place,’ said Greta.
Their footsteps echoed in the old house that had been renovated to provide spacious display areas with high ceilings, skylights and extra light fittings. With the pictures given plenty of white space, distance to enable viewers to see them in full perspective with the correct lighting and nothing else competing for attention, they seemed to come to life and breathe.
‘Max, aren’t you proud? Look at your work. It’s stunning,’ said Dani in awe. She stood back trying to take in the work that had such depth. ‘The more you look at it the more things you see. Each is an unfolding story, you keep going back to see what’s evolved, what comes to mind, every time you look at them,’ said Dani.
‘They’re a feast, you have to absorb them one at a time,’ agreed Greta. ‘They’re unique, unlike anything I’ve seen before. And there’s no way of knowing whether a white, black or pink artist did them. You’ve created your own genre, Max,’ she said lightly.
‘Yes. Stories beneath the paint. It’s going to be hard to part with them,’ said Max softly.
‘No, it won’t be hard. Not when you’ve got a cheque in your hand, Maxwell,’ said Greta briskly. ‘Ken Minton will be here tomorrow morning ten sharp.’
‘And then what happens?’ asked Dani.
‘He’s on his way north, Cairns, I think. If he likes any he’ll buy them. If he really likes them he might buy the whole collection, commission more, fly Max to New York for the opening. Who knows?’ said Greta.
‘Max, what are you going to say to this dealer, agent guy?’ asked Dani, wondering how she’d present herself, what she would say to a dealer to get them interested in her work.
‘Oh, I won’t be here,’ said Max shaking his head. ‘No way. Let the work speak for itself. Greta can do all the talking.’
They left the art gallery as Greta began to catalogue and photograph Max’s paintings.
‘Do you feel like you’re losing kids?’ asked Dani. She’d noticed how Max glanced around at each picture before they left.
He gave a sheepish grin. ‘Yeah, a bit. There’s just an awful lot of me in every one of them. Don’t you find that?’
‘I’m still fumbling along, I’m nowhere near your level, but occasionally I feel, I know, when it’s working. It’s like someone else is holding the brush, it sort of paints itself,’ said Dani. ‘My strongest feeling is that I’m actually in it, at the place I’m painting. Well, with these Isabella pictures anyway.’ Max gave an understanding nod as she went on, ‘Barney said a strange thing. He reckoned he could see people in one picture. I’d painted a stand of big trees that created a lot of shadows, so I suppose you could imagine shadows that looked like figures.’
Max gave her a sharp look. ‘Really? That’s interesting. Barney doesn’t know what he knows yet. He’s still coming to grips with his Aboriginality.’
Dani thought that an odd remark. ‘Well, he seems very intuitive in some ways and yet he’s such a simple, down-to-earth bloke, isn’t he?’ When Max didn’t answer she added, almost to herself, ‘People aren’t always what they appear to be.’
‘What was the place you’d painted, where Barney saw the figures?’ asked Max.
‘Kelly’s Crossing. Or should we be calling it Isabella Kelly’s Crossing?’ said Dani flippantly, trying to jolly Max out of his sudden serious mood.
‘No, we shouldn’t call it that. It’s a bit confusing really. Carter is trying to get National Parks to rename it, and your developer mate Jason is well intentioned, and it’s good he doesn’t want Isabella to be forgotten, ignored. But there was another Kelly.’
‘Really? Who?’ Dani instantly thought of Roddy’s film, this could add or possibly detract from his story. ‘Who was that? A relative? I thought she was childless.’
‘In a manner of speaking. But there was a boy, a mixed-blood born to one of her white workers and an Aboriginal woman. Isabella must have been attached to him, because he was named Kelly.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Dani as they reached his car. She had the feeling Max was telling her something he didn’t often speak about.
‘My grandmother told me. Family is very important to Aboriginal people. They keep track of relatives as best they can.’
‘Was he a relative?’ Dani was beginning to understand Max’s deep association with this valley.
‘Apparently. Kelly ended up living on a mission, and married a mixed-blood girl. Their son was my great-great-grandfather. It was a side of the family we’d lost touch with for years. Didn’t really know about them until my mother found a cousin and suddenly the family got bigger than we could have imagined. We all had a big reunion a few years back.’
‘Max, have you told anyone else about this?’ asked Dani. ‘People here, Patricia and Henry, Barney and Helen?’
‘Not really. That’s just part of my family story. Kelly’s mother was murdered by a white man according to Grandma. Why bring up that painful stuff?’ said Max, getting into the car.
Dani got in beside him. ‘But, Max, it means you have a very strong family tie to Isabella! Kelly’s Crossing might be named for your ancestor. Maybe Isabella left something to him in her will.’
Max started the car and gave a wry grin. ‘Nah, there’s no hint of that in what we�
�ve been able to uncover. From what we know of how Isabella was treated I doubt they’d let a half-caste kid gain anything, even if she didn’t have children. There wasn’t actually much left after Isabella died, according to Garth.’
‘But even so, I think your family should be recognised as having a special tie to this place.’
‘I don’t need recognition, I know in my bones I belong here. And it would upset a lot of the locals. Descendants of people who did Isabella a bad turn.’
‘Yeah, I see your point,’ said Dani. ‘I wonder if there’s a family anywhere without some secret deep in their past waiting to be uncovered.’
‘If you look hard enough there’s sure to be secrets. So maybe it’s best you don’t start looking.’
‘I wish my mother hadn’t started on this search for a father and his family she never knew, never cared about,’ said Dani. ‘There’s someone trying to stop her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mysterious anonymous letters are being dropped in the mail box at Cricklewood. She just told me about them.’
‘Really? That’s strange. Any idea who it could be? Or why?’
‘Nope. I don’t think it’s something awful or we would have had some kind of an inkling. She’s found an old aunty on her father’s side and is going to see her, maybe learn something. Seems odd there’s someone who’s a rellie we’ve never had any contact with at all,’ said Dani. ‘It’s a pity I never knew my grandmother’s sister Mollie.’
‘Not in my experience,’ said Max. ‘Families can split up real easy, have a falling out over something and the bitterness is carried on through generations. And by then no one knows what the original dispute was all about.’
‘Hopefully this aunty still has her marbles and can throw some light on the family,’ said Dani. ‘It doesn’t make a lot of difference to me, but Mum has got a bit swept up by it all.’
‘You get to a stage in your life where answers to those questions mean a lot. Generally when you’re on the wrong side of fifty or you lose someone close,’ said Max gently. ‘When you have children you eventually want to know the links that make up the chain of people you’re descended from. Who’ve made you the person you are.’