Haunted Creek

by Ann Cliff

  The evening was now free. In fact, it was empty. Erik’s farm work was done for the day, his mother had gone to play cards with the Watsons at the store and he’d expected to be home late. The rest of his life stretched ahead … empty.

  Aimlessly he walked past the house he shared with Freda near the school, up the narrow track to his own house. It was finished at last, the result of three years of planning and hard work. It was meant for Rose.

  Even in his desolate mood, the house soothed Erik as he sat down in the last of the daylight and looked round. The moon was rising, silvering the beautiful woodwork. Most of the settlers lined their houses with pressed tin from Britain or plastered the walls. Erik had been to Sweden to visit his grandparents and he loved the clean uncluttered look of the wooden houses there. His house had wood-lined walls and windows that looked out over the mountains, with no fussy curtains to hide the view. There were blinds he could roll down to keep out the heat and the cold. What if he had shown it to Rose at the start, asked her opinion? The thought was hard to bear; it was too late to have good ideas. But then, she’d been so single-minded about Luke for so long.

  The house had several bedrooms, to allow for children. Freda had liked that, she wanted grandchildren. He’d had to admit to his mother that Miss Sinclair was not to be his bride, but he had not been able to bring himself to mention Rose. So poor Mother was in the dark as to Erik’s intentions; she wouldn’t be disappointed. A man had to have some private thoughts and plans. It would have been humiliating if anyone else had known.

  Erik’s dog Dan had followed him up the track and now he sat on the veranda of his new house with only the dog for company. ‘Well, Dan, this is a pretty pickle,’ he said and the collie licked his hand. ‘What shall we do?’

  The dog looked up at him and Erik was sure he could read Dan’s mind. Well, let’s go droving, the dog seemed to say. Give it another go. The faithful collie eyes looked into his and the bushy tail thumped on the boards. What about the Brandy Creek run, the dog seemed to say, his brown eyes never wavering.

  ‘You’ve been eavesdropping again,’ Erik said accusingly and then realized that he could be labelled as mad if anyone heard him. ‘Well, Duncan did ask us …’ The last time he’d seen Duncan, he’d been asked to collect some young cattle from Brandy Creek and run them up to Wattle Tree.

  ‘Any time that suits you, there’s no hurry,’ Duncan had told him. Brandy Creek was only a few days down the track, nothing like the Melbourne trip.

  The moon rose higher, slanting across the carefully planted garden. Let’s hope some woman enjoys the place one day. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he said, head in hands. How could she take up with Barrington? Then he looked up and the dog was still waiting with a worried expression. ‘Right, we’ll go to Brandy Creek.’ He patted the dog and stood up. Life must go on.

  The Brandy Creek trip was just the change of scene that Erik needed. At the Cobb & Co. lodging house, Erik stabled his horses. The place was quiet, waiting for the next mail coach. It was run by a pleasant family and Erik noticed as she gave him soup that the daughter was quite pretty.

  ‘You’re from Wattle Tree, I think.’ She smiled as she took his empty plate. ‘I remember you coming through years ago. My name’s Jenny.’

  ‘My goodness, how you’ve grown. You were a little girl then.’ Erik grinned. But he’d been much younger, too. ‘I’m Erik.’ The girl smiled and went back to her work. Later in the evening, her father Fred offered Erik a glass of beer and Jenny came to sit with them. He enjoyed the quiet chat but he wondered why Jenny was so interested in him. Whenever he looked her way, her dark eyes were turned on him.

  The next morning, Erik enjoyed a good breakfast before saddling up. Jenny said to him quietly as he paid the bill, ‘I hope you’ll come through again soon, Erik.’

  He looked down at the girl. Her teeth were white and her eyes sparkled with health. Jenny was neatly dressed and altogether an attractive young woman, fresh and efficient in spite of the fact that the Melbourne coach had stopped there in the middle of the night. ‘I might do that – I enjoyed last night,’ he said as he made for the door. What on earth would a young lass like this see in him? Perhaps she said that to all the drovers, in the interests of the business.

  The small mob of heifers was in a safe paddock and they were docile, having been regularly handled. He and Dan grazed them eastwards, moving slowly along the three-chain road. They met a few carts and Erik spoke to the drivers as they passed. ‘Any good land left up your way?’ one man asked hopefully.

  ‘Plenty, if you don’t mind the hills.’ People were needed, solid respectable settlers, not itinerant miners. The mail coach passed them without incident and by early evening they reached Shady Creek.

  Erik sat on his horse and watched as the cattle drank eagerly from the creek; they were thirsty after a hot day. The dog Dan was always on the watch, rounding up any that even looked like straying from the group. The evening was deepening to purple, the mountains misty in the distance and the spicy scent of the bush wafted over him in a breath of cooler air.

  Nearby was the drover’s paddock where the cattle bedded down, safe behind fences, tired after the walk and not likely to give trouble. Erik slept in his bedding roll under the stars. They were off at first light the next day and Erik and Dan had the cattle delivered to his neighbour Sawley just before sunset.

  Dan loved the whole trip; his tail was held high as he circled the cattle, watchful of any that showed signs of lagging behind. He went ahead to block off side roads or gateways. He didn’t argue and he was the perfect companion. ‘How much for the dog?’ one traveller asked as he watched them, but Erik and Dan both laughed at him.

  ‘Come in for a drink,’ Ben Sawley urged him when the cattle were safely established in the paddock at their destination. So Erik and Dan went to sit on the Sawleys’ veranda and drink a glass of homemade wine, looking out over the donkey paddock. ‘It’s a grand place, this,’ Mrs Sawley said in her homely north of England accent. ‘Would you live anywhere else, lad?’

  ‘Never. I thought of leaving, but no … I’ll stay here. You wouldn’t find a better spot.’ Erik breathed out slowly. Well, that was one decision made. He would stay, even if the new house was sold. In fact if he sold it he could buy more land. And perhaps he should spend some time with Jenny at Brandy Creek, although it seemed impossible to think of any woman except Rose. Life must go on.

  Erik rode home, looking forward to a meal and bed. It was just after dark when he stabled the horses and went into the house. There was no light. That was strange; Freda always lit the lamps early.

  The house was quiet except for the ticking of the clock. ‘Mother! Freda?’ Perhaps she was visiting a neighbour. Erik walked into the sitting room and found his mother lying on the floor.

  Heart thumping, Erik knelt beside the still figure. At his touch she stirred and opened her eyes. ‘You’re home,’ she said, and closed them again. ‘Light the lamp, will you?’

  At least she was lucid. With hands that shook a little from shock, Erik lit the lamp. ‘Can you get up now, Mother?’ He helped her and with a struggle, got her into a chair. ‘What happened? How long have you been there?’

  ‘It was after school … I came in here and everything went black. I woke up on the floor and decided to stay there … I felt so tired. I kept thinking I would get up in a minute or two. I didn’t mean to alarm you, Erik.’

  Erik brought her a glass of water and Freda said she was feeling almost normal. ‘I’m taking you to the doctor in Moe tomorrow,’ Erik said firmly. When she protested he said, ‘I have to see the agent and get my pay – you may as well come along.’ He would also see Mr Sinclair, to ask about drawing up a legal title for the new house. They agreed that Mrs Watson from the store could be asked to look after the school for the day.

  When Freda came out of the doctor’s surgery the next day she was agitated. Erik was waiting with the buggy, but when he saw her face her jumped down, tied up the horse to a rail and t
ook her to a tearoom. ‘I’ve got to rest,’ she moaned. ‘My heart’s the problem. No more school until next term, he said.’ She drank her tea and then admitted, ‘I do feel like a rest. But what about the school?’

  ‘We’ll write to the Board, ask for another teacher. That’s easy.’ Erik felt guilty; he’d allowed Freda to do too much on the farm as well as running the school. ‘There should be two teachers by now, the way Wattle Tree is growing.’

  Leaving Freda in the tea shop with a second cup of tea, Erik went to see Mr Sinclair, who greeted him warmly. He asked politely after Harriet and was told she was very happy in Sale. They discussed the documents needed for the new house and then Erik said casually, ‘Would you mind if I had a look at Burke’s Peerage, sir? I want to check on our neighbour Lord Barrington.’

  Sinclair laughed as he took down the heavy volume and began to turn the pages. ‘No-o, there are plenty of earls, but he’s not there.’ He peered up at Erik through his spectacles. ‘I believe he’s a bit of a rogue, you know.’

  ‘May I look?’ Erik picked up the book just to be sure; he wanted Rose to know the truth. The man could be a lord without being an earl. His heart sank when he found an entry: ‘The Viscount Barrington.’ Jasper was there, large as life, and he was, as Erik had suspected, about fifty. ‘He’s not an earl, he’s a viscount,’ Erik told the lawyer. ‘His lordship.’ Well, if he was of blue blood he should behave better. A true gentleman would not have ruined Rose’s reputation by living in her house.

  The lawyer shook his head. ‘No proof. There may be such a person, but is the man we know the real viscount? He may be an actor.’

  With a sigh, Erik turned back to the problem of his mother. He borrowed paper and pen from Duncan Black and Freda wrote a letter to the education authorities before they went home, to catch the evening mail from Moe which would save a day. He would have to help with the school himself for a few days until the teacher arrived; Freda would tell him what to do. He was determined that she should not set foot in the school.

  The letter from the Education Board arrived a week later and it was disappointing. Another teacher had been planned because of the expansion at Wattle Tree, but not until the next term. There was no teacher available at the moment. For the remaining six weeks of term, the Board recommended as an emergency measure that a retired teacher should be found to fill the gap, or an honest and sober citizen with some education who could supervise the important subjects, writing and arithmetic.

  A few days later, they had drawn a blank. Erik had ridden round the neighbours, but it seemed there were no teachers in Wattle Tree and Haunted Creek.

  ‘I know it might be difficult for you, Erik, but I think we’ll have to ask Rose, if she can spare the time,’ Freda said quietly. ‘She was very good with the sewing class and is quite well educated; she reads a great deal.’

  Erik looked at his mother sharply but she only smiled. ‘You used to be friends but I’ve noticed you avoid her now and perhaps I can guess why.’

  ‘Jumping to conclusions again, Ma.’ He was not going to admit to anything. But there was no choice; Freda would hardly get well if she were worrying about the school. ‘I’ll ask Rose. I’ll go there tonight,’ Erik promised. ‘I suppose I should admit that I – I’m disappointed she took up with Barrington.’

  Erik felt a shudder pass through him when he opened Rose’s gate. Taking a deep breath, he marched up the path. Rose was outside on her own, writing a letter. She looked up and smiled and Erik’s heart turned over. This would not do. He tried to think of young Jenny, and failed.

  ‘Where’s Barrington?’ he demanded, and then listened to the echo of his own harsh words. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. I’ll start again. Good evening.’

  Rose stood up gracefully; she moves smoothly always, he remembered, and carries herself well in spite of the heavy work. ‘Erik! It’s good to see you. Did you want Jasper? I’m afraid he’s gone home. He’s quite recovered.’

  She had pretended to take his question at face value. How could a woman who had lived with a man, shared her life and her bed with him for weeks and months – without marriage, just like a common harlot, to be biblical about it – be so calm? She should be hiding her head in shame.

  ‘Barrington can wait,’ Erik said. He wanted to punch Barrington.

  Rose was waiting politely, head on one side. Erik’s fists were clenched; he wanted to hit out. Had he always been so aggressive? He didn’t think so. He swallowed the rage with an effort, put aside the thought of Barrington as a lover. ‘We, Freda and I, need to ask a favour of you.’

  Rose sat on the bench and patted the place beside her. She was wearing a soft green dress and she looked more beautiful than he remembered. ‘Sit down, Erik, it’s a long time since we met. Yes, I can help out at the school for a while, if Freda thinks I’m suitable. I was hoping you’d find a proper teacher.’

  Erik relaxed a little. ‘It’s just for the rest of this term. I suppose you heard about it from Ada.’ Everyone knew Freda was ill, because news at a school spreads through the place like the measles.

  ‘I hope you’ll stay here today, Erik, don’t go off,’ Freda said the next morning. ‘Rose will need help. It’s a lot for her to take on.’

  Rose went first to see Freda and was given the school register and a list of the classes and subjects for the day. Her eyes widened when she heard that the teacher had been looking after thirty children by herself. ‘That’s the problem,’ Erik said grimly. ‘If you can’t manage them all, I suppose I can take a few of them for geography. And you can let some of the girls sew, leave them to it.’

  ‘If they were all the same age it would be easy. But they’re all ages from five to fourteen,’ Freda pointed out.

  Erik was still furious with Rose for being so naïve as to take up with Barrington, but he managed to hide it. To his surprise she went calmly through the day. First of all she called the children together and explained that she would be there in Mrs Jensen’s place until the end of term. ‘We all want Mrs Jensen to get well again, don’t we?’ Vigorous nods. ‘You can all help. If you work hard and try your best, Mrs Jensen won’t have to worry about you. Now, do you want to help?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Teesdale,’ the children chorused. Quietly Rose gave them all tasks and divided them into the usual age groups. After that the school was so quiet that Erik looked in at mid morning. He found the fourteen-year-olds giving the five-year-olds a reading lesson.

  ‘A good way to learn is to teach,’ Rose said, smiling at him. ‘It’s so good to be back here, Erik. I wish I had trained as a teacher.’

  TWENTY ONE

  A FEW DAYS later, Rose was alarmed to find she was to be left in sole charge of the school. ‘Mother’s going to Melbourne for a few weeks, to stay with her sister.’ Erik was looming in the doorway. ‘So you’d better see her about any problems with the school before she goes.’ He seemed to be talking to a point above her head; how different from the friendly Erik she had once known. What was the matter with the man?

  Then the message sank in. Freda going away? She would have no one to advise her. A thread of panic ran up Rose’s spine. She was not a trained teacher; she had hardly any experience. To be running the school with the teacher sick next door was one thing, but to be on her own…. Rose lifted her chin. If Erik was distant there was no point in voicing her fears. ‘Thank you. I’ll see her at the lunch break.’

  As so often these days, Rose looked out of the classroom window on to the scorched earth outside, where the boys were trying to play cricket in a cloud of dust. It was the end of November and already the green colours of spring had gone. Wattle Tree was dry as a bone, waiting for rain. A hot wind was sucking the last drop of moisture from the land.

  Rose ate her lunch quickly and as she crossed the school yard she could smell smoke. For days the bush had been burning miles away in the hills, the scent carried on the breeze. She knocked rather timidly at Freda’s door, then walked in. The teacher was sewing and glanced up with a smile
; she was on the mend, but still looked tired.

  Rose stood by the window. ‘I’m worried about the risk of fire. Freda, what would you do if a bush fire came near the school?’

  ‘I do hope it won’t come to that. Erik says he’s seen distant fires in dry years, but never one that threatened the township.’ Freda put down her sewing. ‘I suppose if there was warning, parents would keep their children at home to look after them. But … well, Erik and I have talked about it. You know our big farm dam? I’d take all the children there and hope that we could be safe in the water. The banks are quite steep, so the fire should pass over the top. It does depend, of course, on how fierce the fire is – and also which way it comes. But I would never try to fight it, or save the buildings. The children … we have to look after them, that’s all.’

  ‘I worry about the piles of dry bark and dead branches everywhere that litter the ground, Freda. The school yard is clear, Erik keeps the whole place bare in summer. But it’s a worry. The only fires we saw in Yorkshire were on the moors, in the dry peat.’

  Freda pointed to a chair. ‘Please sit down, Rose. I do apologize for leaving you alone with the school, but the doctor insists that I should go away for a while. You can call on Erik for help, of course, and one or two of the mothers could support you. I’m quite sure you are up to the job and it will be good experience,’ she finished brightly.

  If she disagreed it would only worry the sick woman, so Rose smiled faintly. ‘I’ll do my best.’ Erik would be too busy keeping out of her way to be of any help.

  Ten minutes left and the bell should be rung for the end of lunch. Rose moved uneasily and Freda looked at her. ‘What else, Rose? You’ve looked worried lately.’

  Smoothing her dark blue school dress, Rose hesitated. ‘I was told that Luke might not be dead, he might have faked his death, to make a start somewhere else.’ She paused; it was still very painful to think of. ‘You remember Jim Carlyle came with Tom to see me that day? Well, I asked Jim to tell me about Luke’s death, but he says he saw nothing of the accident, or the burial. And Tom has gone away.’