Absolution Creek

by Nicole Alexander

  The Aboriginal men squatted beneath the shade of a belah tree. They were dressed in white man’s clothes, with thick leather belts, carbine rifles and wide-brimmed hats. The spokesman of the group spat tobacco through a grey-black beard.

  ‘You boss?’

  ‘I am. Jack Manning.’ He too squatted in the dirt.

  ‘This house when the wet comes, whoosh.’ The man flattened his palm against the ground and scraped the dirt clean.

  Jack tilted his hat on the back of his head. ‘A flood you mean.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ The man drew a squiggly line in the dirt. ‘Creek,’ he said by way of explanation. Then, using the pad of his thumb, he marked out Jack’s burnt hut and his new site. On either side of the creek he drew a wavering line. ‘Last big wet.’

  ‘Is that how far the water came up?’ Jack asked. He was aware of Squib squatting beside him in the dirt, watching the men, them watching her.

  ‘Yes.’ The man nodded at Jack’s partially built house. ‘This bad site.’ He pointed to a number of large trees. ‘That there mark ten feet up, that’s a water mark.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That’s from flooding?’ Based on the height not only would the land on this side of the creek nearly all go under in a big flood, his new house would only have its roof showing. ‘Damn it.’

  ‘You build on a ridge. That’s the place for white fellas.’

  ‘The Mankell house? That’s on a ridge,’ Jack said.

  The spokesman moved his torso backwards and forwards. ‘Maybe you be safe there, maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’ Jack copied the Aboriginal man’s pidgin English. ‘It’s not like I have a lot of options.’

  ‘This area path for water.’

  Squib sat on the ground. ‘Do you know where my father is?’

  The man looked at her. ‘You safe here, little one.’ His hand hovered inches from the top of her head. ‘You safe here with this white fella.’

  ‘Wait.’ Jack rose to his feet with the men. ‘I’ve got sheep. Will they be safe?’

  ‘We hunt on your land?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jack answered.

  ‘You look after black fella and we look after white fella.’ He patted Squib on the head, and spat a wad of tobacco into the dirt. A mob of lorikeets flew over them. ‘Never have sheep on this side when water come.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words sounded tame to Jack.

  ‘You call me Captain Bob. I work for Mr Joseph Campbell. Someone been killing his sheep so I’ll be about a bit.’ The men slipped into the scrub. Jack looked again at the water mark on the rough bark of the trees. He scratched the slight stubble on his chin and gave a groan.

  That night they ate roasted rabbit and fried potatoes.

  ‘So what do we do, Jack?’ It was the third time Thomas had asked the question. Once again Jack shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Do what Captain Bob told us,’ Squib muttered between sucks of bone marrow. ‘My father always said they were here before us.’

  Thomas threw a bone over his shoulder. ‘Can’t you ask a neighbour about this flooding business, Jack?’

  Jack looked at his brother. ‘It’s a day’s ride to the nearest one and they’re nowhere near the creek.’

  ‘A day?’ In the dwindling light Olive looked incredulous. ‘Why would you choose land so far away from people?’ She’d barely eaten any dinner. Every time she tried to take a mouthful she saw an image of the rabbit she’d been forced to skin.

  Jack threw his chewed rabbit bones over his shoulder. ‘This is the bush, Olive.’

  Squib tried not to smile as she gathered the dirty plates.

  ‘If we cross the creek and head due west there’s a good ridge a half day’s ride or so on the other side. That’s where the Mankells’ old house is. It’s a ways from the creek and it runs into pretty sandy ground, so I’d reckon you could make a good garden of it, Olive.’

  ‘A garden? What do I know about gardening?’ Olive flicked at an ant crawling over her lace-ups. ‘I hate these dark nights, you can’t see anything.’

  Thomas stretched his legs out and faced Jack. ‘You’re not serious? Why, you’ve already got half a house built here. Now you’re saying we should up and move just because an old black tells you so?’

  ‘You saw those water marks. What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘All that work,’ Thomas complained.

  Jack didn’t bother reminding Thomas that he did most of it. ‘You ever been in a flood, Thomas?’ He looked at Squib. ‘Or been washed down a creek?’

  Squib swished the plates up and down in the bucket. Olive was grinding tiny black ants into the dirt with the sole of her shoe.

  ‘Well, I haven’t and I don’t intend to.’ Jack looked at the faces ringing the fire. The work days were long enough without battling opinions at the end of each one. He reached for his father’s Bible. Thomas settled down for their nightly reading. It was a habit that helped fill the hour or so after their evening meal. Olive, on the other hand, gave an angry sigh and walked away. Her slight form stepped over the low foundations of the homestead. A silhouette appeared from within the canvassed corner as she lit a slush lamp. ‘I’m beginning to believe it would have been better if Olive hadn’t come.’

  Squib snapped to attention at Jack’s words.

  ‘You don’t spend enough time with her.’ Thomas poured cold tea from his pannikin onto the fire. It sizzled loudly before evaporating into the embers.

  ‘I have a property to manage.’ Jack flicked through the pages of the Bible. ‘I don’t have time for hand-holding.’

  ‘So I noticed.’ Thomas rolled onto his side.

  Squib lifted the slush lamp, the weak light illuminating the Bible’s pages. Leaning over, she ran her finger across the passages. ‘That’s where you finished last night, Jack.’

  ‘So it is.’

  ‘Be a full moon tomorrow,’ Squib said, nodding knowingly at the sky. ‘It should be a fine day for travelling.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Squib,’ Jack agreed. ‘We’ll start packing up at first light.’

  Olive sat on the edge of the narrow bed and listened as Jack read aloud. There was some comfort in hearing his voice fill the silence around them. If the others had not been with them she may have sat by his side and shared in the reading. Later they could have talked about the day, spent some time together. Olive needed that. She needed to know that the old Jack, the fun Jack, the caring Jack, had not been totally snatched up by the land he was now tied to. She needed to know that some semblance of the man she’d fallen in love with still existed. The greater part of her was desperate to tell Jack what had occurred in Sydney, however she no longer knew what his response would be. The pity of it was that she had changed too. She would turn seventeen soon and she felt like an old woman.

  Through the canvas the light of the camp fire gave off a friendly glow. Olive could see Jack’s outline. Thomas lay on Jack’s left side, the girl close by on his right. The girl Squib was always close to Jack, and Thomas too was like an extra limb. She stared at the blisters on her palms, at her ragged nails. In spite of the number of times she had washed her hands she could still smell the dead rabbit. She wondered what her family were doing tonight. She had still not written to let them know she was all right. Now she wondered if she should. A change was occurring within her. It was not something she could articulate, for beyond the most obvious of symptoms there was little else to judge her condition apart from intuition. In acknowledging that she believed she was with child, the initial disgust Olive had felt at the possibility of such an event occurring had now been replaced with numbness. That was why she’d not contacted her family. She really didn’t know what to do. It was bad enough that her parents would be furious on learning that she’d run away to be with Jack Manning without a word. But to learn that she was unmarried, pregnant. Olive already felt uneasy in this new world of Jack’s. She couldn’t bear to be shunned by the old world as well.

  Chapter 34

&nb
sp; Absolution Creek, 1965

  ‘He was lucky, simple as that.’

  Having picked up the telephone thinking the ring was for Absolution, Meg was surprised to hear two local matrons discussing Harold’s accident. A doctor must have been called for and by all accounts Harold would be fine.

  ‘Well, that woman wouldn’t be able to run the place without Harold. Anyway, it’s not seemly, a woman being in charge, regardless of whether she’s black, white or brindle.’

  The back door slammed, heralding Sam’s return. Replacing the receiver, Meg quickly went back to the sink and set to work scrubbing the burnt-out saucepan. ‘Is Harold okay?’ she called out to Sam. It was two hours since Cora and Sam’s departure. Two hours since Kendal’s puzzling conversation and the battle to get the twins fed and ready for bed.

  ‘He will be,’ a male voice answered.

  Meg turned to see a man aged somewhere in his forties leaning against the kitchen door. His lanky frame filled the space and his hair gleamed like a crow’s wing. Sam and Cora bustled past.

  ‘So, you must be Meg,’ he said, striding towards her and shaking her hand.

  Meg extricated her hand from the warm grasp as Cora introduced the stranger as James Campbell. He sat beside Sam, long legs stretched out across the linoleum flooring. ‘We’ve met actually. You were having a conversation with two dogs and a poddy lamb, if I recall.’

  ‘That was you?’

  His chin dipped in acknowledgement. ‘I cut through Absolution on occasion to visit clients. Anyway, Cora here said I should come for dinner, seeing as I saved her manager.’

  ‘There’s enough?’ Cora clearly expected Meg to say yes.

  ‘Of course.’ Meg looked at her husband. ‘How’s your leg?’

  ‘Fine.’ Sam frowned.

  Meg turned her attention to dinner. As it appeared no one was showering before eating, she retrieved the corned meat from the warming oven and was about to carve when James reached for the carving knife.

  ‘It’ll be precision perfect,’ Cora reassured her. ‘You can set the table, Sam.’

  Meg backed away, moving to plate up carrots and potatoes and cut thick chunks of bread. ‘You haven’t said how Harold is.’ Did she sound breathy? Breathy, how ridiculous she reprimanded herself. She’d met a man in her aunt’s kitchen with her husband and suddenly she was a school girl again.

  James opened a drawer and, selecting a serving fork, arranged wedge slices of the pink briny cut on their plates. ‘He’ll be right,’ he answered, a piece of meat finding its way to his mouth. ‘He has a nasty bump on his head, which will keep him horizontal for a bit.’ He licked his lips. ‘Tasty.’

  Meg wasn’t quite sure if it was the meat James was referring to.

  ‘I’m sure Harold feels a whole heap more comfortable having received the expert attentions of a vet.’ Sam prodded his injured leg.

  ‘Large animals are my specialty.’ James unsheathed his pocketknife and prised open the blade. ‘Sure you don’t want me to have a look, Sam?’

  Cora poured four shots of rum and clinked glasses with Sam as Meg sat the plates down. ‘Here’s to you, Sam. You got Harold out of the vehicle and walked back here in record time without getting lost.’ She left the rum bottle sitting on the table.

  ‘I’m sure Kendal thinks he would have done a better job.’ Sam took a sip of the rum.

  ‘He was only riled because he didn’t come with us when we went to fetch Harold,’ Cora answered.

  James sculled his own drink and topped up everyone’s glasses. ‘Anyway, a darkened room and a noiseless environment is the only way Harold will lose the headache.’ He smiled at Meg who had taken up residence at the head of the table. ‘I’m looking forward to this. It’s a long time since I ate a meal whipped up by such a pretty chef.’

  Meg felt her cheeks warm. ‘Well, that’s what I seem to do here. It’s four meals a day and –’

  ‘And a bottle at night?’ James looked directly at Sam. ‘It’s an old bush saying, Sam. Four meals a day and a bottle at night. Cheers.’

  ‘Word gets around,’ Sam answered soberly. If it killed him he wasn’t having another drink in front of Campbell.

  They chewed their way through the brine-flavoured meat and vegetables and then started on the bread. By the time the meal was over the new loaf was relegated to crumbs, the jam tin was nearly empty and the rum bottle remained enticingly centre stage. Meg watched her husband’s eyes stray to the dark liquid throughout the evening.

  ‘When I was at the Jeffersons’ barbecue on the weekend everyone was talking about the next weather change coming through.’

  Cora twirled the dregs of rum left in her glass. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yep.’ James dabbed a finger at some crumbs on the table. ‘Marjorie Williams says it will be a beauty.’

  Meg did her best to join in the conversation, however she and Sam were relegated to the periphery of bush life. They knew none of the locals James talked about and were surprised to hear of the whole other life that existed beyond the boundary gate. There were barbecues by the river, tennis and cricket competitions, local picnic race meetings and the odd amateur theatrical group that travelled through the area from time to time. Although their time on Absolution was only just passing the two-month point, it seemed to Meg that their new life was being constrained by Cora’s almost reclusive existence.

  ‘The tennis comp starts again in late August. You should come up, join in a bit.’

  James’s invitation, Meg noticed, was directed at her.

  ‘Sure,’ Cora intoned. ‘I meant to mention it to you, Meg. No doubt you could find a babysitter somewhere.’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit of tennis.’ Sam licked jam from his fingers, his upper lip a smear of red.

  ‘Really?’ Meg wished she didn’t sound quite so surprised.

  James put the kettle on the Aga and rummaged for the tea caddy in the cupboard. ‘Your aunt is a bit of a home body, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a life. I’ll let you know when there’s something on and you can jump in the utility and drive yourself to Stringybark.’

  ‘Meg can’t drive,’ Sam replied. ‘She relies on me.’

  How to make a woman feel useless, Meg decided, as she watched James negotiate his way around the kitchen. He had the build of a swimmer, with a tapered waist and a well-developed chest and shoulders. She quickly drew her eyes away as he located teaspoons, sugar and her baking tin of biscuits.

  ‘Jackpot.’ He promptly devoured two biscuits and sat the tin on the table.

  Sam opened four wall cupboards. ‘Okay, I give up. Where are the cups?’

  James, Meg and Cora all pointed to the same cupboard. Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you’ve been here before, James.’

  The kettle boiled and finally they were all sipping their tea.

  ‘You haven’t met our little ones,’ Sam said over the rim of his cup, ‘Penny and Jill.’

  ‘Kids too?’ James nodded approvingly at Meg. ‘You’d never tell.’

  Sam clanged his cup on the saucer.

  ‘That’s enough.’ Cora lit her second cigarette in as many minutes. ‘You’ve made your point.’ She flicked the silver lighter shut. ‘You’ll have to excuse James, Sam, he doesn’t get out much either and he’s a bachelor since his dear mother died.’ Cora couldn’t believe it. James actually thought he could try to make her jealous by showering attention on Meg?

  ‘Mummy’s boy, eh?’ Sam taunted.

  James drained his tea cup, thanked Meg for dinner and excused himself. The kitchen was silent as his footsteps sounded in the hallway.

  ‘Did I say something?’ Sam gave a yawn.

  ‘Turn the outside lights on for him, Meg.’ Cora slumped back in her chair.

  Attempting to ignore the tiny flutter in her stomach, Meg followed James outside. He was at the end of the path near the laundry, his hands busy with a cigarette. Meg flicked the light on the external laundry wall, a pool of white haloing James.

  ‘You’ll be
right then?’ It was freezing and her breath appeared as puffs of steam.

  James was wearing a large jacket, the collar of which revealed a lining of tawny wool. Meg could almost feel the heat radiating from him.

  He took a puff of his cigarette. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got something on my mind. I shouldn’t have behaved like that. In my defence you are as pretty as a picture.’

  For a moment she couldn’t answer. Meg almost expected to see another woman standing behind her.

  ‘Not used to compliments, eh?’ Another drag on his cigarette. ‘If you don’t mind me saying it, there are plenty of fish in the sea for a woman like you.’

  Having met the man all but an hour or so ago, Meg couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or concerned. ‘I do mind actually,’ Meg replied.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that I’ve had a bit of experience with messy relationships. Anyway, Cora told me you don’t have the best of marriages, so I figured –’

  ‘Well, you figured wrong and I don’t appreciate my personal life being discussed!’

  He cocked his head to one side. Despite his wide-brimmed hat Meg sensed he was faintly amused. ‘Sorry. I may be a little rusty when it comes to helping a person.’ He dropped his cigarette on the cement path, ground it dead and said loudly, ‘Particularly pretty ones.’

  ‘I’m married, with children,’ she replied stiffly, looking over her shoulder towards the house. James’s last comment was loud enough for Cora and Sam to hear. Was that what he wanted?

  ‘So why are you whispering?’

  She stamped her feet against the cold. ‘You’re impossible.’

  James scratched his cheek. In the stillness Meg heard the faint rasp of nail on stubble. ‘There’ll be a full moon in a couple of days. Cora’s right, there will be rain.’

  Meg’s cheeks were numb, her fingers icy. ‘It’s too chilly for rain,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t know how Cora thinks that could happen.’