Where the River Runs

by Fleur McDonald

  ‘Maybe.’

  Sensing the mood had become a little heavy, Lily changed the subject. ‘Now speaking of balls you can see, tell me about this gorgeous bloke who’s working for your dad …’ She wiggled her eyebrows at Chelsea.

  Chelsea snorted. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Cal.’

  ‘I know who you mean and, yeah, he’s around. But …’ Chelsea made her tone casual.

  ‘And exceptionally gorgeous, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Hmm, I’d agree with that.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. I don’t need a bloke. I have a child to raise.’

  ‘But he’s gorgeous!’

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’m about to jump him in some darkened corner of the hay shed.’

  ‘Maybe you should. I saw your face when I mentioned his name. You’re keen!’

  ‘Lily!’

  Her friend laughed. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you two!’

  ‘Nothing to see.’ Chelsea tried not to sound regretful. ‘Invisible balls!’

  Lily wiggled her eyebrows suggestively but, to Chelsea’s relief, she changed the subject.

  ‘What’s this I hear about an excavation going on here?’ she said. ‘What’s the goss about that? A murder, no less!’

  ‘Oh my God, Lily. Have you turned into the biggest gossip? There’s nothing to say it was a murder!’

  ‘I haven’t been able to gossip with anyone for years, so humour me.’

  ‘Right. So you mean the skeleton? That’s really weird, isn’t it? The rain washed a heap of dirt away and exposed this skeleton, so Dave Burrows, the detective, is trying to find out who it is.’

  ‘But how did the bones get there in the first place?’

  Chelsea laughed. ‘Geez, I don’t know. Maybe someone buried them?’

  ‘How strange though. To be buried there for so long without anyone knowing.’

  ‘Dave was saying it’s going to be hard to identify them. There was one piece of evidence that might help though.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Lily’s eyes were glowing. ‘You do realise this is one of the most exciting things to happen around here since, like, forever!’

  ‘I must have you wrong, Lily Jackson. I never thought I’d see you getting excited over someone else’s misfortune.’

  ‘Oops, sorry.’ Lily dropped her eyes and tried to look apologetic.

  ‘Not working, Lils! But, here, this is what they found with the skeleton.’ She took out her phone and found Dave’s text message with the photo of the brooch.

  Taking the phone, her friend examined the picture, enlarging it and shifting the screen so she could see all of it. ‘Stunning.’

  There was a knock on the door and Cal, covered in dust, stuck his head in.

  Both women swung around, and Chelsea smiled and gave a small wave. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Oh bugger, sorry, didn’t realise you had company. I saw the lights on and just wanted to know how Tom’s going.’

  Lily got up. ‘Don’t go, Cal. We’ve just about finished here, haven’t we, Chels? We can catch up tomorrow when you’re back in town.’

  ‘You’re welcome to stay,’ Chelsea said, getting up too. ‘I won’t be long talking to Cal.’

  ‘No, no, I’ll leave you two to it,’ she grinned at Chelsea. ‘Besides, hubs will be wondering where I am—it’s past ten and since I had kids I don’t do late nights!’ She hugged Chels. ‘We’ve got loads of time now you’re staying. I’m so glad we had tonight though. Cleared the air with so many things.’

  ‘But not your wedding.’

  Lily shrugged. ‘You didn’t get the invite. What more do I need to know? I’ve got my old friend back now. See you tomorrow, okay?’

  Chelsea waved her goodbye and turned to Cal, exhaustion beginning to set in. ‘How was your day?’ she asked, indicating for him to sit down.

  ‘I won’t sit,’ he said. ‘Bit dirty. Just finished digging out the top dam with the dozer.’

  ‘What, you’ve only just finished work?’

  He nodded. ‘Wanted to get that dam done so I can start on the next one tomorrow. How’s things at the hospital?’

  Chelsea told him what Ryan had said, then added on the bit Lily had told her about MCI and a possible prognosis. ‘But they’ve got to run the tests.’

  ‘You’re right. Doesn’t matter what they call the bloody thing, what matters is he’s probably got some kind of memory loss. Shit.’ Cal rubbed his hands over his jeans. ‘I was really hoping I’d been imagining things.’

  ‘Dad was actually relieved, if you can believe that. He thought he was going mad.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Cal’s voice was soft and distressed. Chelsea moved from her chair to stand next to him.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘Whatever happens. I haven’t told you yet, but I’ve decided to stay. Aria can go to school here. I’ll be here to help.’

  Cal looked at her. ‘You’re staying?’

  ‘Yeah. Aria and I are staying.’

  Chapter 28

  When she finally climbed into bed that night, Chelsea was exhausted.

  Even though she needed sleep, she couldn’t relax. Cal’s reaction to the news about her dad had made her sad. And she was regretful too. After all, she’d lost so many years of her dad’s life. But she’d decided it was all about the future rather than the past now. She was determined to make the best of every day she had in front of her.

  Getting up and turning the light on, she pulled out one of the photo albums from the box her dad had given her. Starting to flick through it, she recognised old photos of her and Dale when they were younger. She found a photo of herself, dressed up for the pageant on Pinto. She smiled and thought she must show Aria.

  The next album had photos of Gran and Papa, and there was even one of Great-Granda Baxter. He was in the lounge room, dressed smartly in a suit. She wondered what the event was. Maybe Sunday church.

  Seeing the photo reminded her she was supposed to be finding Baxter’s diaries for Dave. She finished flicking through the photo album without seeing anything remarkable then went into her dad’s office. She opened cupboards and looked through them without finding anything other than old paperwork.

  Knowing the cellar was empty, she wasn’t sure where else to look, until she remembered the books without titles on the spines in the sitting room.

  The ladder was in the same spot it had always been, just behind the door in her mum’s office. Setting it up next to the bookcase, she carefully climbed up and pulled out as many as she could carry, then stepped back down the ladder again. She piled the books one on top of the other on the coffee table and then opened the first one.

  A musty smell greeted her, and she saw beautiful cursive writing filling the pages. As she read, she realised it was an invoice book rather than a diary. She was disappointed because she thought she recognised the writing as Baxter’s. She’d seen it at various times throughout her life, although in the examples she’d seen when she was little, the letters were shakier and more fragile than the bold, strong handwriting here.

  Sold to Hunters Co-op, four goats at one pound per head.

  Sold to Hunters Co-op ten mutton at one pound per head.

  Putting the book down, she picked up the next one. It was the same handwriting but this time the pages were full of handwriting and she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

  It was common to keep a diary back in Baxter’s day. It was the way people kept records. She’d seen Great-Granda Baxter writing in a diary, and then her grandfather as well. Two different lots of diaries for two different generations.

  As she flicked through, there didn’t seem to be many details of daily life, rather the mundane information of farming activities, rainfall and other information about Shandona. The next one was the same, and the one after that.

  She put them back on the shelf and gathered a few more. These were different. The writing seemed older.

  I am struggling with the wo
rk I have to do, with three little ones at my feet. Milking cows, churning the butter, cooking cakes. I don’t want to be stuck in the kitchen just because I am a woman. I was raised to be able to work in the paddocks, work the sheep. I can handle a horse better than any man, yet here I’ve been assigned to the house. It is frustrating and demoralising.

  Chelsea ran her hands across the page, wondering whose writing it was. Her gran’s? She didn’t remember her writing often, more her knitting and crocheting, and she wasn’t much of an outdoors worker. She’d go on picnics or a drive around Shandona with Papa, but not be out in the paddock every day. In fact, Gran loved the kitchen. In Chelsea’s mind her sponges and scones were legendary.

  These must be her great-grandmother’s diaries. But she could see no mention of Baxter as she scanned the pages.

  He is angry today. My normal ways of keeping him content are not working. Womanly wiles usually do. My mother always taught me that the way to a man’s heart is through one of two things. The first is his stomach; she never told me about the second directly but handed me a book titled The Sex Factor. It told of the whole act and was clearly written by a man.

  I was shocked when I first read it. After all, having slept my whole life next to my mother, the thought of an act such as that was quite confronting. However, I’ve learned about the uses of sex and calming him is one of them.

  I suspect tonight there will be violence and all I can hope for is the children will not be awake.

  Chelsea’s eyes widened as she continued to read.

  It’s hot today and I wished I didn’t have to wear long sleeves. Of course I do, because the bruises are a deep purple colour now. I want him to stop. But every time he loses another gambling match, it is me he takes it out on. Not his own weak nature. He disgusts me.

  Looking for a date, she continued to read, absorbed in the horrible life of this woman, who had poured her soul out onto the pages.

  I am with child again. I do not want another baby.

  That was the last entry.

  Grabbing the next diary with a sense of urgency, Chelsea opened the cover.

  Being in love with the wrong man must somehow run in my family. My sister, Agnes, confided in me recently she has a lover. I, of course, was shocked, for she has children and a husband. However, I couldn’t judge. That is the Lord’s job and who am I to do his work for him. However, there is a man I love, though he does not know it, and it is not my husband.

  This man has been my friend for years and I have only recently understood how much I care for him. He calls in here regularly, when he returns from his hunting trips.

  When he arrived last time, he had a family with him—not his, but one he was helping.

  Perhaps that’s why I love him so; he wants to help everyone, including me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget his anger when I told him about the bruises on my thighs. He swore he would make it stop, but I don’t see the point. Nothing will change.

  The desperation in the woman’s words tore at Chelsea and she got up and paced the room. It couldn’t have been her great-grandmother who wrote these entries. She and Baxter were in love; everyone could see it. Baxter’s desolation when Adelia died had been devastating for the family to watch—her mum had talked about it for years afterwards. It had been true love.

  She’d always adored the stories her mum had told her of Baxter’s romantic gestures towards her great-grandmother. He’d pick flowers from the paddocks and bring them home for her. He’d leave little love notes around the house, and every night he would bring her a cup of tea in bed, then they would read the Bible together.

  Who was this nameless woman?

  None of what she was reading made any sense. Then she had an idea. Racing over to the antique writing desk against the wall, she began searching for letters her great-grandmother had written.

  Frantically flicking through the envelopes and hymn books, she finally came across a card: To my darling Baxter, with every ounce of love I hold, Adelia.

  Chelsea wasn’t a handwriting expert by any stretch, but at a glance she could see this was the same writing.

  ‘Oh my God, she had another life! No, no, no.’ Chelsea’s brain was racing. ‘No, not another life, another husband. Other than Baxter.’ She glanced around wildly and her eyes fell on the plastic folder.

  Spreading all the certificates around, she examined each one carefully. There was Dale’s birth and death certificate, along with the two other children. Her parents’ marriage certificate, and registers of births and marriages going back three generations. Carefully she picked up the paper-thin marriage certificate for her great-grandmother, Adelia. It was handwritten, and she marvelled at the beautiful writing. Loopy cursive that had long ago stopped being taught in schools—every letter was the exactly the same height and width.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she muttered, tracing the words.

  Then she saw it.

  Oscar and Adelia.

  ‘That’s not right,’ she said out loud. ‘It was Baxter and Adelia.’ She looked up at the piano that had come from Great-Granda Baxter. ‘It was Baxter and Adelia,’ she repeated. But as she said it, she realised her first reaction was right. Great-Grandma Adelia had been married before.

  She flicked back through the papers and re-read everything carefully. Baxter’s name didn’t appear anywhere. And Leo’s birth certificate said that his father’s name was Oscar.

  But who was Oscar? Chelsea didn’t know, but the one thing she was sure of was that Baxter wasn’t her dad’s real grandfather.

  Chapter 29

  Chelsea laid out the diaries and certificates in front of Dave. They were sitting in his office at the Barker Police Station after Chelsea had dropped Aria off for a play date with Alecia and Lily.

  ‘It’s all in here,’ she said. ‘Read this bit.’ She pointed to a page and Dave started reading.

  The baby died in birth today. She was born too early and there was nothing to be done. I don’t care. I’ve been unravelling ever since I found out I was with child again. Perhaps I am going mad, but I don’t care, not about the birth, nor the death. I’m just pleased the child didn’t live. I couldn’t cope with another baby. Three is more than we can feed, especially during this awful Depression.

  Of course, he hit me when he found out. Told me I was good for nothing. ‘Can’t even birth a child. What you were put here on earth to do!’ he screamed at me.

  I hate him. I hate him.

  I will have to bury the baby somewhere. Maybe the reserve area. It is pretty and peaceful. Although not our land yet, there is the possibility it will be in time.

  Although a few weeks ago when I last passed by, there was a family of squatters camped there. I have overheard Oscar lamenting the fact, although he hasn’t done anything to move them on. That’s not surprising as he’s very weak. I saw a woman with a small child—she had a friendly face. It would be nice to talk to another woman, especially a mother, because I have to wonder if I am the only woman who feels the way I do.

  There is a heavy cloud descending upon my shoulders, like the fog which sits on the hills during the autumn mornings. I don’t want to get out of bed each day. Any extra money I manage to earn by selling the goats or cheese I make, he takes to the local hotel and gambles with it.

  He is not a man but a coward.

  Dave re-read the diary entry. ‘So we have reference to the body of a female baby but not to the man. I’m guessing you have information on him too.’

  Chelsea took the diary back and turned to another page. ‘It’s horrific. I can’t believe this has happened in my family,’ she said quickly. ‘Here,’ she thrust the book back at him and Dave began to read again.

  It happened without me even knowing it was going to happen. He came at me again, wanting to satisfy his needs. Usually I am compliant, but not this time. This time I fought him with every ounce of strength I had. But he still took what he thought was rightfully his. It wasn’t his to take! When he’d finished, he walked away without
even seeing if I was all right! I pulled the gun out from under the bed. I’d had it hidden there for the past two days, unsure what I was going to do with it but feeling I needed it.

  There was nothing else written. Perhaps it was clear what had happened, or maybe it wasn’t. There was no way of knowing for sure. But Dave felt fairly certain. He could see it happening—a woman at the end of her tether, a woman who’d been continually beaten and raped, expected to work within the house and do as she was told. He could imagine her reaching down slowly as Oscar walked away, taking out the gun and lining it up with his chest. The noise of the shot. Oscar falling backwards, cracking his head as he fell. Perhaps she screamed, or perhaps she walked over and stood looking down at him silently, without regret.

  No one would ever know. As much as Dave abhorred violence, he somehow felt that this woman was justified in what she did. Well, perhaps not justified; it was her only option in the 1930s. Oscar would’ve kept on doing what he had been if she hadn’t stopped him. Thank God today’s society was starting to talk about domestic violence more openly so that women were able to find help and get out of these kinds of desperate situations.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Chelsea asked.

  ‘That’s a really good question. We can take some DNA from you and Tom and see if it matches. When it’s a few generations down, it will never be one hundred percent correct, but it’ll be in the eighties at least. So you’ll know if the man in the grave was Oscar, Tom’s grandfather. Do you want to do that?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t know about Dad, I’m really not sure whether to hit him with this or not. It’s …’ Her voice broke off. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘Have a think about it. Now we’re pretty certain we know who the bones belong to, there is no rush to do anything.’

  Chelsea thanked Dave and walked out into the bright sunlight, slipping her sunglasses back on, before heading towards the hospital. She kept shaking her head, unable to believe the skeleton in the closet she’d discovered. Or rather on the reserve.