‘Sure you do, Meg,’ he slurred, ‘you did it to spite your mother.’ He whipped the bottle from her hand and dropped his cigarette butt on the veranda, grinding it in with his heel. Then he walked away.
Picking up the butt, Meg peered out at the dense blackness and returned, shivering, to their bedroom. She tossed the remains of Sam’s cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and crawled into bed. The yellow shade on the bedside lamp reflected a halo of light on the freshly painted walls, the only bright part of the one-window room, which was otherwise cramped with dark wooden furniture. When she turned on her side the brass bed squeaked and swayed; when she pulled at the covers the springs poked and pinged. No wonder sleep was impossible. Meg squirmed her way to the middle of the bed and lay very still. She could see part of the cornice had split and was protruding slightly from the wall. Dirt, dust and leaves were partially visible beneath it. The house really was in disrepair. What had she done bringing her family here?
From the ceiling came a scurrying noise. There was a whoosh of wind through trees, the lone mournful howl of a dog and then the sound of something sliding down the corrugated-iron roof. Meg thought of the great tree above her, its outstretched arms protecting her family, and finally slept.
She woke to a blast of freezing air and Sam’s finger poking at her shoulder. ‘There’s someone walking around outside.’ The lamp was still burning, and from behind him the open door revealed the night. Her brain fought the urgent awakening.
‘I was in the kitchen and I could have sworn someone walked straight past me. I heard the back door slam. It’s after midnight.’
Meg tried to stir some saliva in her mouth. ‘I suppose you finished the bottle?’
Sam sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m serious, Meg.’
‘Well, it could be Cora or your imagination.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘Believe me, I’ve got plenty of things to be worried about, and spooks are not one of them.’
‘Fine.’ Sam lay down fully clothed beside her and within minutes began to snore.
Meg turned the light off and tucked her head under the pillow, then threw it across the room as Sam let out a snore that was accompanied by a series of loud belches. She crept from the bedroom silently and padded along the veranda. She was of a mind to go to the toilet, however the night’s shadows and coldness put her off what would be a sprint in the dark to the long-drop. Instead she hung on the veranda, staring at a crescent moon, her feet aching with cold.
There was movement: a flicker of something beyond the shadowy outline of trees. The moon profiled the elongated A-frame of the windmill as it turned, a continuous low whine marking each rotation. Into Meg’s field of vision walked a horse from the direction of the dam. A scattering of kangaroos moved in tandem as the horse lifted his head and whinnied. A second figure appeared, a person with hands outstretched as if in supplication to the moon. Meg, unsure of what she was witnessing, backed into her bedroom and closed the door.
Penny and Jill took the egg basket from their mother and smiled sweetly in unison.
‘So, all you have to do is walk straight into the chook yard,’ Meg reminded them. ‘No dawdling.’
‘We know, Mum,’ Jill answered. ‘The rooster won’t hurt us and the hens won’t peck us.’
‘Zactly,’ Penny confirmed with a single nod of her head. ‘And we’ll get all the googy-eggs.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come?’ Meg wondered how she would ever catch up on her chores this morning. It had taken half an hour to get the wood stove roaring again after she had inadvertently let it go out. She couldn’t help it. Having spent forty minutes under Ellen’s watchful tutelage – learning how to skin membranes from kidneys and liver, and remove the veins from this favourite of bush breakfasts – she was beyond thinking. In fact, dry-retching was about the only thing on her mind; that and having to cook the awful stuff. It was 9.30 am; Cora usually returned by eleven at the latest.
‘We can do it, Mum.’ Jill backed away down the path.
‘Mummy always shuts the gate. You will remember to shut the gate?’ Meg cautioned.
Both girls nodded their heads. ‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Hmm.’ Meg looked at her two daughters, their hands clasped around the wooden handle of the basket. In the doe-eyed silent pleading that followed, the twin tub washing machine started to make an ominous clunking noise, and the telephone rang.
‘Okay, go.’ Was that their ring? Meg wondered as three longish bring bring brings echoed through the house. Still unused to the party-line system of communication, Meg decided against answering it. Cora explained that if in doubt when it came to deciphering the morse-code rings she should simply pick the receiver up and listen. It was an open line between the five households and it appeared no conversation was sacred, for if your neighbour wasn’t listening in to your call the telephonist at the local post office probably would be. The phone rang out.
Jill and Penny slipped through the back gate and ran towards the chook yard.
‘Doggies,’ Jill called, dropping to her stockinged knees in the dirt. Penny followed suit. Soon Tripod and Curly were licking their faces, and knocking both girls onto their bottoms in excitement. Tripod nosed the empty basket and Curly gave it a quick chew. Eventually Jill tired of the game. ‘Go away,’ she said with her best frown. Pulling her sister to her feet they walked to the chook yard. On their approach the rooster appeared from the rear of the yard to take up his normal sentry position near the gate. Jill looked over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think the dogs are meant to be here.’
The dogs were sitting to attention, eyeballing the rooster. Curly took a step forward. The rooster bobbed his head and crowed indignantly. Tripod hopped forward.
‘Why, will they eat the eggs?’ Penny asked.
‘No, but the chickens don’t like the dogs. Remember? Aunt Cora told us that.’
Tripod and Curly began to growl softly.
The rooster walked towards the gate.
‘You can get the eggs,’ Penny said, shoving the basket at her sister.
Jill looked at the rooster. Some of the hens had stopped their dirt pecking and were waiting expectantly, their heads darting from side to side.
‘Look, the doggies are coming,’ Penny squealed.
Jill took the basket and checked the steady progress of the dogs, who were about ten feet away. She was sure Curly had a smile on his face.
‘Are you a scaredy-cat?’ Penny asked, her small hand reaching for the gate’s latch.
The rooster was stamping his clawed feet. Puffs of dust were rising in the air. Jill slipped through the gate, followed the chicken wire wall around to the laying boxes and quickly gathered the eggs.
‘Hurry up, Jill!’ Penny called as the chook yard disintegrated into a deafening noise of squawking hens. The rooster flapped his burnished red wings and raced to the gate, where Curly had sneaked up behind Penny.
‘Open the gate,’ Jill hollered as she tried to shadow the chicken wire and escape the screeching hens.
Penny lifted the latch, took a step backwards and promptly fell over Curly. The rooster was out the gate in an instant, running head down like a one-hundred-yard track star. Jill slammed the gate closed and together the girls took off in pursuit of the rooster, who had the lead on both Curly and Tripod.
‘Trouble,’ Penny squealed excitedly as they stumbled across the rough dirt road in the direction of the homestead.
‘Big trouble,’ Jill agreed, as the rooster disappeared into the garden.
Cora arrived back from her morning ride quite refreshed considering the length of time she’d been in the saddle. Having decided to leave Harold and his two protégés – Sam and Kendal – to their mustering job, her own ride out to the north-west boundary had been uneventful. Her annoyance at Kendal’s presence was soon eradicated by a band of gradually lighter blues, which signified the dawning of a perfect day. It had been two weeks since her niece’s arrival and the household
had settled into a wary armistice that may not have come about were it not for the presence of Meg’s girls. Penny and Jill were dear little children who played, argued and cried as if each day were their last. Despite Cora’s limited experience with anyone under twenty years of age, she had already grown fond of them, especially as she saw them only a few hours each day.
The house was full of life, and after years of rambling about within its secure walls with just herself for company, it almost made Cora cheery. And Meg was more than she hoped for. She had taken to her new duties with careful efficiency under the watchful eye of Ellen. Now it remained to be seen how she would manage the homestead. It appeared the girl’s life had revolved around child-rearing and stacking shelves in a grocer’s shop. Not exactly the type of training conducive to being an independent woman. As for Sam, Cora’s initial disappointment had settled into a more amenable wait and see attitude. Harold’s work ethic and Sam’s resultant exhaustion had ensured early nights with none of the attitude he’d had the affront to address her with on his arrival. Just as well, for Cora Hamilton never carried anyone and she wasn’t about to now.
The sight of Curly with a ribbon around his neck and Tripod trussed up in something that looked like a nappy, certainly wasn’t the welcoming committee Cora expected at the back gate. Both dogs looked decidedly unhappy. Tripod in particular appeared most put out. He fell on his back at her approach, growling and biting at the offending red-and-white checked material. Curly on the other hand began a stint of head-shaking that she felt sure would disable him. Quickly disrobing both animals, Cora picked up a dog-chewed child’s skivvy from the dirt, noticing a trail of egg shells on the cement path. Kicking her boots off at the top step she soon realised that inside things were little better.
Jill and Penny were cooking.
A mountainous formation of flour sat on the sink and a line of yellow yolk seeped from the edifice and ran down the front of the white cupboard. Cora lifted a sock-covered foot from a mess of gluey flour on the floor and discovered a trail of tiny footmarks leading to the pantry.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Cora exclaimed when she opened the door. The girls were rummaging in the pantry, their discarded findings lying in a heap on the vinyl floor where they sat.
‘What are you doing?’ Cora demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Penny answered, shoving sultanas into her mouth.
‘Cooking,’ Jill replied proudly, wiggling a white finger into something brown and liquid on the floor.
‘Oh, Jill, please. Not the treacle,’ Cora admonished.
Jill held up a stained finger.
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘Catching the blasted rooster,’ Jill said solemnly, sticking her treacle-covered finger up her sister’s nose. Penny squealed and retaliated with a sharp pull of her sister’s hair.
‘And where’s your father?’
‘Mustering the bloody back paddock,’ both children replied.
It didn’t take long to find the girl’s mother. Meg, hair askew and scratches up the length of one arm, appeared at the back door. Outside the kitchen window, a rooster crowed. Considering there was only one on Absolution, Cora could only guess at what happened.
‘Harold will catch the rooster.’
‘You’re sure?’ Meg tucked stray bits of hair behind her ear. She looked as if she’d been climbing a tree. ‘The girls left the gate open and –’
‘Probably best if you’re with them until they get used to things,’ Cora suggested.
Meg glanced apologetically at Cora and sat the kettle on the stove.
‘The twins are in the pantry when you’re ready to deal with them.’
Meg moved towards the door.
‘If you don’t mind, Meg, you might save it for after I’m finished.’ Cora gratefully accepted the tea her niece made and swallowed two Bex powders with the scalding beverage.
‘Bread and jam?’ Meg offered.
‘Yes, I suppose.’
Meg placed strawberry jam, butter and two slices of bread on a plate and sat it in front of her aunt. ‘Look, Cora, I’m sorry, but kids are kids.’
Cora removed her revolver, placing it on the table. ‘I’ve been up since midnight, Meg. I’m not inclined to come back and find my home a disaster zone.’ She bit into the bread, silently cursing the loss of her morning staple – scones and cheese. ‘It’s been two weeks since your arrival. Have you got the run of things now?’
‘Yes. I just got waylaid.’ Meg glanced at the wall clock. From the pantry they could hear the twins singing. She was starting to wish she were back in Sydney. At least there it was easier to keep an eye on the girls, and she had enjoyed a semblance of a life. So far, all she’d done at Absolution was listen to Sam complain and try to remember everything her aunt told her to do. She wasn’t sleeping very well, and as yet hadn’t managed to muster the courage to ask Cora about the strained relationship that existed with her mother. Then there was Cora’s sleeping habits. Meg was pretty sure she stalked the house in the dead of night before heading outdoors. ‘Can’t you put that revolver somewhere else instead of sitting it on the table beside you every morning?’
Cora glanced at Meg in surprise before looking aimlessly about the kitchen, finally holstering the gun at her waist. ‘Your girls aren’t bush kids, Meg. There are any number of places they could hurt themselves: the dam, the dipping trench, playing with old wire and tin. The dogs could even bite them – they aren’t used to being played with.’ Meg didn’t respond. The fiftieth rendition of ‘Row, row, row your boat’ sounded loudly from the pantry.
‘Do you go out at night, Aunt Cora?’
Cora cupped her hands around her teacup. ‘What do you mean by go out?’
‘In the evening after dinner. It’s just that Sam isn’t a good sleeper and on a few occasions he’s thought someone was outside.’
Cora hid her smile and took a sip of tea. ‘There are plenty of things outside to disturb a person not used to the sights and sounds of the bush.’
‘You’re never here for breakfast, you come back mid-morning, sleep during the afternoon.’
‘I have a routine I keep to.’
‘I once thought I saw you near the dam with your horse.’
Penny and Jill appeared, food filthy.
‘I’d appreciate it if you two behaved yourselves,’ Cora admonished. ‘No more playing in the pantry or cooking or playing dress-ups with my working dogs. Is that clear?’
Penny and Jill stared wide-eyed at Cora. Then, as if on cue, both girls burst into tears and ran to their mother.
Maybe she had been too harsh, Cora thought.
As Meg consoled her children, Jill turned her treacle-covered mouth towards Cora and poked out her tongue.
The knock on the bedroom door came just as Cora was about to put head to pillow. It was 3 pm and she expected it to be Meg. She raised herself up on her elbow. ‘Yes.’
‘Gidday, Cora. See you’re ready for me.’
‘James.’ Cora swung out of bed, pleased her change of clothing before her afternoon rest consisted of a baggy cream jumper and matching long johns, and not her favourite flannelette nightie and bed socks. ‘What are you doing here?’ Although the afternoon was chilly the sun streamed in through the louvered windows, silhouetting him.
Removing his hat, James closed the door. ‘I’ve dropped by a couple of times but the place is awash with kids and staff. Figured as I know your habits I’d have to catch you and everyone else unawares.’ He nodded at the bed. ‘Maybe take the opportunity to create a bit of gossip.’
Cora caught her smile before it appeared. ‘Behave yourself.’
‘Yeah, right. Anyway, for someone who likes their space you seem to have a full household.’
‘My niece, Meg. The rest of them – husband included – came with the deal.’
James looked about the room, at the great tree filling the opposite corner, before sitting at the desk. ‘So I’ve heard. You didn’t actually mention the other mor
ning it was a permanent arrangement.’
‘You didn’t ask.’ There were only a few feet between them and Cora could already feel her heart trying to take control of her mind. James smelt of wet dogs and antiseptic, reminding her of warm days.
‘The husband’s in a spot of trouble with the Sydney police. I reckon that’s why he slunk up here. Clobbered some fella in a bar fight.’
Cora tidied unruly hair. ‘So, you’ve been checking up on me.’
James fingered the brim of his hat. ‘You know I always figured we couldn’t get it together on account of you being the independent sort. Guess I was wrong on one count.’
‘There are some things in my family that needed sorting, James, and I owed my sister.’
He fiddled with a polished black stone holding down some accounts. ‘I wondered when you’d make your move.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Well, getting the girl here to spite your sister, for one. Payback time, eh?’ He adopted a soothing tone. ‘It was a long time ago. Why not let it go?’
‘Because I don’t want to.’ Cora tied her hair back with a length of ribbon. ‘You forget, James, things happened, people are dead.’ She bit her lip. ‘Anyway, I don’t see why the girl shouldn’t know the truth of things.’
‘How’d you entice them here?’ James asked. ‘It had to be something attractive enough to get Meg away from her mother.’ He rubbed the stone paperweight. ‘Something feasible.’
Cora hated the direction James was taking their conversation. Why was he making her out to be the dastardly relative?
‘Oh, I get it.’ James dropped the paperweight on the desk. ‘You’ve dangled Absolution Creek in her lap, made vague promises to gift it to Meg despite your own intentions of not leaving until you’re carted out on a door.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘Wow, that makes me look like a bit of a fool. Here I’ve been talking joining forces and living happily ever after, and you’re too busy plotting revenge to bother with me.’
‘James, look I’m –’
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