Absolution Creek

by Nicole Alexander

  ‘I finished the house; it’s in tiptop shape.’ Ellen gave a satisfied smile. ‘Now that I’m close to being officially off the payroll I wanted to say to you that I have never once considered you to be quirky in nature –’

  ‘However?’ Cora wondered if Ellen would seize the opportunity for one final rebuke. She was the type of woman adept at point-scoring and if queried on any matter inevitably responded as if she were being poked in the chest. While Cora remained confident Ellen’s personality was formed well before her arrival at Absolution Creek, she was equally convinced Harold’s wife found employment here quite beneath her.

  ‘However, the tree has always been one thing that I’ve considered to be unusual.’

  ‘Apart from my nocturnal jaunts?’ Cora loved to antagonise Ellen.

  Ellen fiddled with the fine chain around her neck.

  ‘Many would no doubt agree with you,’ Cora continued, as Curly and Tripod snuffled past to lie in the shade of the meat-house eaves.

  ‘Anyway, if you need me, I’m only a phone call away and I promise to give Meg some pointers over the next couple of weeks until she gets the run of things. After that you’ll find me at the Town and Country Club, arranging flowers and playing bridge.’

  Cora wished she could be a fly on the wall at the Club. Ellen Morrisey was not quite one of the establishment in the committee’s eyes and it appeared she’d only passed muster due to a maiden aunt’s daughter marrying a prominent pastoralist some thirty years earlier. Nevertheless she was in the door, whereas Cora would never be Club material. Ellen’s cheeks coloured as Cora thanked her for her help over the years. Theirs had been a less than cordial relationship at times.

  Cora took her boots off at the back door as Ellen drove off. This was the beginning of the transition from lone household inhabitant to instant family. The arrival of the Bell family was certainly changing the landscape and Cora was beginning to realise that it probably wasn’t a popular decision. Although Ellen was pleased to be retiring, her husband had apparently complained to his wife at the loss of income. Ellen was, in fact, casualty number one in the Bell saga and despite their differences Cora would be sorry to see her go. There was little to be done about the situation, however, for she didn’t need two housekeepers and nor could she afford to pay for such. Casualty two, in Harold’s eyes, was Kendal, and she couldn’t help wondering if the Bells’ imminent arrival had somehow stymied Harold’s future aspirations in regards to his family’s involvement on Absolution. Cora was still considering the altered arrangements on Absolution when James’s vehicle drew up at the back gate.

  ‘So then, we’re expecting visitors?’ he queried, cracking a toothy smile as he walked up the path.

  He always did look good, Cora mused, noting her own saddle-greasy moleskins.

  James looked at his watch. ‘Yep, you’re dead on. I’m ready for a cuppa and a scone myself.’

  Cora rolled her eyes. ‘You better come in. How’s Horse?’

  James took a seat at the kitchen table as Cora stoked up the Aga with a log from the pile on the floor.

  ‘He’s got a small abscess on a tooth. I syringed it, but it will probably be a bit tender for a few days.’

  ‘Thanks, James. I appreciate you looking at him.’ The kettle hummed on the stove top as Cora set cups and saucers on the table. The scones were cooling, the radio was playing softly and a stew was warming on the slow-cooking plate.

  ‘So then, how have you been? Ellen tells me you have rels coming to stay.’

  Cora made the tea, strong and black, and plonked the scones that were now cooling in the tea-towel-lined colander in the centre of the table. ‘Well, we’ve had a few changes recently. Ellen’s retiring and Kendal’s coming back for a few months.’ Cora added cheese to the table’s contents.

  James stretched his legs out as if playing lord of the manor, and gave a groan. ‘Not that little twerp?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  ‘How’d you manage –?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Cora interrupted. She knew that if she explained that Harold had insisted, James would wonder about the control Absolution’s manager held, and Cora wasn’t ready to talk about her reluctance to put Harold offside. It was difficult enough to find staff and nigh impossible to retain someone of Harold’s ability when Cora Hamilton was in charge.

  James took the hint. ‘What’s the go with the relatives?’

  ‘They’re on their way from Sydney now.’

  ‘I know how you love your space, Cora, so I have to wonder about you having them to stay.’

  ‘Why do I have to justify my actions to you?’ Cora placed a heaped teaspoon of sugar in her cup. ‘I seem to recall that we’re no longer an item.’

  James leant back in the wooden chair. ‘We slept together more than a dozen times before we were officially an item in the district’s eyes. By my count we’ve been outing for four years, although, considering I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been together in public, maybe outing isn’t the right word.’

  Cora opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘And, Miss Hamilton, during those four years you broke off our relationship three times, argued with me more than necessary and generally became a right pain in the arse.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘And now we’re having another break, which seems pretty ridiculous when we both love each other.’

  Cora threw her head back in exasperation. ‘What is it with you? Can you never take no for an answer?’

  James looked as if he were seriously considering her question. He took a sip of tea and then bit into a dry scone. ‘Butter and jam would be good on these.’

  ‘Anything to stop an argument.’ Cora fetched the butter and jam, then plates, knives and a jam spoon. She dug around in a rarely opened drawer before finally locating butterfly-patterned paper serviettes.

  ‘Now we’re talking. Did anyone ever tell you you’re a right little scone burner?’

  Without hesitating, Cora lifted a scone and pelted it at James’s head. The doughy ball hit him clean on the nose.

  James brushed crumbs off his thick grey jumper and picked the scone up off the floor. ‘Well, that’s lovely, that is.’ Dolloping strawberry jam on the former missile he stuffed the entire half in his mouth. A smidgen of jam clung to his lip and he slowly licked the sticky blob.

  ‘You’re incorrigible,’ Cora said.

  ‘Come back to me,’ he said softly. ‘I miss you.’

  Cora clipped the saucer with her teacup. Flustered, she dabbed at the spilt liquid with a serviette.

  ‘Cora, you know you mean the world to me.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘Why not? I know you still care.’

  ‘Relationships – I’m just no good at them.’

  James gave an easy smile. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Cora took a small bite of her scone, her appetite non-existent.

  Resting his elbows on the table James stared at her. ‘One day you’ll tell me.’

  For a moment Cora considered doing just that, but the words floated unintelligibly and she ended her brief attempt with a shrug of hopelessness. James wouldn’t understand. How could she expect him to?

  ‘Anyway, I started this relationship. I don’t see why I have to agree to ending it just to appease you.’

  ‘What? You have to agree to it because I don’t want to be in it any more,’ Cora argued.

  ‘That’s a poor excuse.’

  Cora laughed as she poured more tea. ‘James, please listen to me.’

  ‘I have, on more than one occasion, and you’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m wrong?’

  ‘Yes, it does happen. You can’t be right all the time. Now I can hear your brain ticking over.’ James made a show of dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a serviette, before realising his finger was sticking through the paper. ‘Okay, let me appeal to your business mind. Don’t think about us as a relation
ship, think about us as a business.’

  Cora had to hand it to him, he was nothing if not persistent.

  ‘Apart from the fact that we’re good together, which is a given –’ he paused for emphasis ‘– if we put your eight thousand acres with my twenty we’d have a fairly handy property. Add that to the fact that you do care for me even if you won’t admit it, you have to agree the scenario’s pretty attractive.’ He screwed up the serviette and with a cricketer’s flourish overarmed the paper into the sink.

  ‘It is. I particularly like the part where I’m running this empire, including the share owned by your city-based siblings, while you return full-time to your vet stuff and spend your days sticking your arm up the backsides of neighbours’ cows.’

  ‘I’m not going back to the veterinary practice. You know that. Sure, I help the odd neighbour out occasionally, but really, Cora, I’m being serious. With my mother’s death and none of my siblings interested in coming back to work Campbell Station, there’s only me left on the property. If Dad hadn’t died so long ago things may have been different.’ He gazed momentarily out the kitchen window. ‘Anyway, it’s nearly three years since Mum passed on.’

  ‘I know you miss her.’ Cora rattled cups and saucers together and began stacking the crockery on the sink. ‘I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet her, although I realise she didn’t share my feelings.’

  ‘Anyway,’ James persisted. ‘Forget love. Every time the word hovers around your general vicinity you go cold, so let’s go the business route. Hey, if you were interested, with your land we’d have enough collateral to buy out my sisters.’

  Cora puffed air into her cheeks. ‘They’ve chosen a different life. I really don’t see why they deserve an entitlement in return for zero contribution. Anyway, why don’t you just sell a block and pay them off?’

  James sighed. ‘Because I’m like you, Cora: I love Campbell Station. I don’t want to see the property broken up in any shape or form.’ He looked at her. ‘Think about it. You and me living and working together.’

  ‘And arguing,’ Cora added. James’s image of their potential life was so picture-perfect at times even she believed it were possible. How then did she go about explaining to him that what he wanted and what she longed for – a joining of hearts and businesses – was impossible? All relationships were impossible. There had been other men in her life: the occasional drover passing through, a stock inspector, even an encyclopaedia salesman. The ‘book man’, as she fondly remembered him, had lasted three years. A length of time made enjoyable by the fact that he travelled through Stringybark Point every six months and on arrival at Absolution Creek stayed for an average of ten days. Yet despite these romantic interludes no one had touched her deeply. As soon as Cora felt the stirrings of something more than mutual companionship, she backed off, haunted by a past that scared her away from any form of commitment, and by memories of a man whom no one, to date, could compare with. ‘For a smart man you really know how to capture a woman’s heart; a marriage and a business transaction all in one.’

  James made a show of noisily scraping his chair back across the linoleum floor. Cora waited for the final retort. They’d always been like this: the bantering, the playfulness, and then the moment would turn and Cora would come face to face with her feelings and find escape through a single throw-away line. She followed James outside and watched as he pulled on his boots, his old collie, Tag, lolling patiently in the dirt with Tripod and Curly.

  ‘Gidday, Tag,’ she called. The dog sat up, looked from her to his owner and moved to James’s side. ‘It’s a conspiracy,’ she commented. Her attempt at levity didn’t work. James walked down the back path and soon after she could hear his utility start up. Was it her imagination or had she really murmured the words Don’t go?

  Cora scuffed her feet against the worn burgundy runner as she walked along the enclosed walkway dividing the living areas from the bedrooms. She turned onto the veranda ringing the outward facing bedrooms. Only Cora’s bedroom was big enough for a fireplace. A wall had been knocked down in the forties and a fireplace put in at her instruction. The twins’ bedroom faced the east, their single casement windows offering a view of the edge of the ridge with its pine trees. Cora hoped they would be cosy enough. She banked on the warmth of her fire to keep this part of the homestead liveable. The girls’ bedroom, dusted and polished by Ellen, was so clean not even the most canny daddy-long-legs spider could hide from view. It was true that the creamy paintwork had seen better days, and the single beds creaked when you sat upon them, but the dusty pink bed covers and curtains looked rather pretty next to the timber wardrobe Ellen had managed to freshen up with white paint. There was even a navy rug on the floor, retrieved from a camphor box, the thick pile now quite passable thanks to warm water and soap.

  Cora wondered about the family due to descend on Absolution Creek. She could only imagine the discussions that would have gone on between Meg and her husband. Uprooting their family was no small matter, especially when the transition involved heading northwards from a city life into a new environment. The Australian bush. She wondered which of them had made the final decision or whether the knowledge of Cora’s childless state and the asset involved had been enough to warrant their speedy agreement. In Cora’s view it was a win-win situation. Her niece had been enticed by the offer of a paying job in the country and would by now have visions of inheriting the land one day. And Cora wanted to inflict some form of pain on Jane Hamilton. She wanted Jane to feel as lonely, angry and betrayed as she had once felt.

  Cora hoped Jane would miss the girl so deeply it hurt. She hoped Jane would lament the loss of her grandchildren, and wake every morning feeling helpless and alone. She hoped Jane would be furious at Cora and that the fury would make her pick up the telephone, or travel northwards to have it out with her. It was a confrontation long overdue, and Cora was already basking in Jane’s annoyance and frustration. Meg didn’t know anything about Cora and Jane’s past, and Cora was sure Jane had every intention of keeping it that way. Either way, Meg and Sam Bell’s arrival would bring changes for everyone. Especially Cora. She would have family around her again for the first time in more than forty years. She tried to imagine what it would be like – how she would react, how they would. And children: Cora never expected to have children living at Absolution Creek. She was suddenly wary and excited.

  Before her father married Jane’s mother, Abigail, following the death of Cora’s mother, her family had been a wonderfully close-knit unit. Then Abigail arrived with her holier than attitude and a spiteful daughter. Jane hated Cora and Ben from the very beginning. She sneered at them and complained to Abigail, who in turn whined to their father. However, if Jane was embarrassed by her stepbrother and stepsister, she was also jealous of the love they received from their birth father. Looking back it seemed to Cora that Jane was intent on getting rid of them in order to have her stepfather’s undivided attention. How a kid could have so much hatred within her at such an early age baffled Cora. Maybe Jane suffered from some type of mental deficiency that served to emphasise the worst parts of her personality. Either way, in the end Jane won, although Abigail had played a significant role in Jane’s eventual short-lived victory. What a pair for her father to become tangled up with: a thief for a wife and a conniving stepdaughter.

  Now Jane’s daughter, Meg, was coming to live at Absolution Creek. Closing the casement window, Cora looked out at the wind-blown day. The grass was brittle and yellowing from successive frosts, and a draft crept in from beneath the sill. She recalled that chilly whisper of air sneaking into her own room long ago. Of course back then she’d been prepared to freeze at night. As a young girl she spent hours watching the tips of a branch of the leopardwood sway out the window, as if cautiously testing the landscape beyond. The pale leaves billowed in blustery winds.

  On a timber dresser on the veranda stood the last of the boxes previously lining the bedroom. During the fifties Cora had given thought to pac
king the lot up and railing it south to Sydney. They were not her keepsakes after all; they were Jack’s. And with sentimentality not high on the list of her preferred characteristics, Cora speculated that an antique shop would no doubt have a customer interested in such collectibles. Yet somehow the items remained in the house, until now. Cora lifted the folded cardboard and was immediately assailed by the pungent aroma of a bull mouse. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ she exclaimed, taking a step back. This was fire material.

  Over the previous weeks Cora had burnt whole piles of New York’s Saturday Evening Post, water-stained and stuck together, ten years of the Australian Agricultural Gazette with its outmoded agricultural implements and a carton of sale brochures.

  Cora leant delicately over the box and lifted a wad of old Sydney Morning Heralds from their smelly resting place. Most were dated around the early twenties, with one from 1931 commemorating the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. She blew at the dusty type, careful the mouse droppings remained in the box and didn’t escape onto Ellen’s polished floor. Despite having never been to Sydney, the arch amazed her. Its whole construction seemed a modern miracle even if Jack always lampooned it. She remembered this particular copy of the paper, for she’d saved it herself. It was a window into Jack’s world. She gave a brief thought to salvaging the best of the papers and then changed her mind. The past was the past, and had she not spent half her life trying to forget it? With a heave she lifted the box and carried it outside.

  There was an old 44-gallon drum sitting on bricks behind the meat house. Tripod and Curly kept a respectful distance as she removed a stack of the newspapers and dropped them into the drum. There were small holes in the base and sides of the drum to draw air. When Cora threw a match in, the aged papers caught light quickly. Smoke streamed from the top and as the flames rose she added more papers by hand before upending the box’s contents into the drum. A shower of sparks rose up to assault her nostrils as papers, magazines and a book curled beneath the heat.