Absolution Creek

by Nicole Alexander

  Squib went back to the kitchen and with renewed energy tidied the broken plates, threw away the mouldy bread and stoked up the stove with wood. Once the kettle was warming she picked up the mail and stacked it neatly to one side. The newspaper she folded carefully. Jack always read it at least four times and once he was finished with it Squib usually spent an evening cutting it up into neat squares to hang on the rusty nail in the dunny. The letter was sitting beneath the bread knife.

  Dear Squib,

  Much has occurred in your absence and I hope this letter finds you safe. To be brief, Olive and Thomas have left for a better life. We both know Olive was never happy here so I’ve come to see their leaving as being for the best.

  I want to add that you have been nothing but fair and willing since the day I found you by the creek and if at times I or others have treated you poorly I want you to know how sorry I am. To make some amends and to protect you from the likes of Adams I’m leaving for Stringybark Point to have papers drawn up to make you my ward.

  Please know that no matter what happens there will always be a place for you at Absolution Creek and I hope you will stay on. Keep safe.

  Jack

  Squib re-read the letter. ‘Jack’s ward,’ she mouthed softly. She didn’t want to be Jack’s ward. She screwed the letter up tightly in her fist. Clearly Jack didn’t understand that she cared for him. That out of everybody she had ever known in the world he was the one that she now loved the best. There was no one else. Her father had abandoned her.

  Squib knew they were meant to be together on Absolution Creek. She’d dreamt about their lives together, had seen their future. Even with Olive’s presence, Squib understood she would always be by Jack’s side. Not perhaps as a woman hoped to be with a man, however she would settle for second best if the choice was that or nothing, for Squib couldn’t live without Jack Manning in her world.

  Now, though, Olive was out of the picture. There was no barrier to her happiness. Squib knew she would have to saddle up and ride after Jack. She would have to find him and remind him that, with Olive and Thomas gone, only a handful of years lay between them and that she was prepared to wait. She would wait forever if she knew one day he’d be by her side.

  Squib shut the flue on the stove, closed the window and with a handful of currants and a water bag for provisions ran outside. She would ride all day and night to find Jack. She had to. Squib didn’t want to be Jack Manning’s ward. One day she hoped to be his wife.

  Chapter 53

  En Route to Absolution Creek, 1965

  Scrubber awoke on the ground, rain filling the whorls of his ear, mud masking his cheek. He righted himself against the wet earth and fumbled for the pouch. Unlacing the leather, he dropped it down his shirtfront, patting it securely. The pain hit again, stabbing him between breaths.

  Surely that wasn’t his boy over there, was it? Crouching in the grass? How long was it since Brendan had been home for a visit? Ten, twenty years? He must call Veronica, tell the old girl their boy was home.

  When he opened his eyes Dog was standing opposite. He looked like an oversized water rat, and had Scrubber’s hat gripped between his teeth. ‘I’ll be right, mate.’ Scrubber claimed his hat as Dog snuck under his arm. ‘Don’t worry, I ain’t leaving you or the girls out here alone in this weather.’ He knew he needed to get some perspective on the situation, to talk his way out of the pain. A man could be in worse predicaments, after all. And no matter what lay ahead of him it would never be as bad as what his boy Brendan went through during the war: living like rats in that bloody desert, with scant supplies and fouled water. All to stop some bloody General by the name of Rommel stampeding over the rest of the world. Well, they could have it. Brendan was dead of disease by 1943, buried in someone else’s crappy country. That’s what buggered Veronica. That’s when she started to eat and couldn’t stop.

  A few feet away a couple of kangaroos bounded to a stop under a tree. Dog gave a low growl. ‘Plenty of room for everybody,’ Scrubber pacified. The rain was coming thick and fast. Through the scattered trees a flash of lightning highlighted a ridge of storms in the west. Dog howled. Scrubber patted him to quietness. ‘Yeah, it don’t look real good and it’s not very far away.’ He’d never seen two storms converging from opposite directions. He thought back to the publican’s suggested route. They were travelling in a direct line to the west, which meant the creek that eventually wound through Absolution should be somewhere on his right, perhaps only half a mile or so away. After he reached the creek he’d continue to head south, cutting through a few neighbours’ paddocks until he reached a mounded crossing. That was the way towards Absolution homestead. The problem was he was reckoning on things getting pretty damp. A ripple of lightning flashed overhead, revealing the trees Scrubber sought refuge under.

  ‘Belah.’ He clucked his tongue. ‘Should have known it.’ Another flash of light silhouetted a myriad of belah saplings. The trees were a prime indication of heavily flooded country. ‘I think we’ll pack up camp and move on, Dog. Ain’t got much choice. I know my limitations. A couple of nights holed up out here and I’ll be buggered.’ He whistled to his girls and began collecting his gear. ‘Come on, Samsara, your turn.’ The easterly storm consumed his thoughts, reminding him of the day they’d left the granite country. That sneaky thing out there lay only days behind. Time had nearly caught up with him.

  Cora opened her eyes to the sting of rain and a coldness that ate at her bones. The shivering had started some time ago, and although it initially helped to warm her now it made no difference. It was her leg that hurt the most. Horse’s dead weight was like a rock sinking into flesh and bone. The only positive element to Cora’s predicament was the heat of Horse’s body, which succeeded in providing some warmth. When the rain eased a touch, she hooked her fingers around the saddle, quickly retrieving her dry sweater from the saddlebag. Stripping off she re-dressed with the dry sweater next to her skin.

  Why had no one come looking for her? Even if Sam didn’t understand the vagaries of the weather, Kendal did. He may not like her much but the kid did have a bit of decency in him. Unless – Cora gave a choke of understanding – unless what she’d battled all her life was finally winning. She knew what everyone thought: Cora Hamilton didn’t have a right to be on Absolution; didn’t have a right to hold land or employ white people like she was one of them, or poke her head above the trees by purchasing Montgomery 201. In fact, Cora Hamilton didn’t have any rights at all, for she was of Aboriginal descent, living in a country that believed Aboriginal children would be better off being cared for by Church Missions or the like, and such prejudice was an act of parliament.

  Cora wrapped her fingers more securely under Horse’s saddle. How easy for all involved simply to forget, to let the rain wash away the stain she made on their lives. It was only fate that saved her instead of her dear brother, Ben, only the enigma of her earlier life that allowed her to exist on Absolution Creek in her own right, on her own terms. Yet such a life was couched in solitude and reflection, and while people were wary of her, Cora was not immune to their glances and snickers. What was worse, there was every reason to be afraid. For it was true – if she lost Absolution – she would have nowhere to go.

  Not that it probably mattered now.

  Cora listened to the creek growing in strength, heard the telltale whoosh of water. She thought of the pistol at her waist and wondered if she had within her the strength to cause her own death. Her heart fluttered. It fell and rose, became sporadic in its beat. All her life the memory of being swept down the creek to Absolution had tainted her dreams. Now it seemed all too likely that the force that had carried her to Jack Manning, to safety, was returning to take her away again.

  If she was lucky the water would come quickly, dragging her under with Horse, her useless leg flailing in the current. If it came slowly . . . at the thought Cora nearly passed out from the terror.

  Dog started howling at dawn and didn’t draw breath until Scrubber
cuffed him on the side of the head. It was hard going for everyone and he never had taken to whingers. They’d already lost one horse during the night. Petal, always the least interesting of the girls to Scrubber’s mind, simply stopped walking around midnight and wouldn’t budge. Not in the mood to fight a woman’s contrariness, he slipped the bridal from her obstinate head, counting on Petal to trot on. It didn’t happen. The last Scrubber saw of the bay mare she was standing in the downpour and was quickly enveloped by darkness.

  Tapping Samsara’s flanks, Scrubber angled through a stand of stringybarks and across fallen timber until they were back trailing the creek through the drizzle. Great watery lakes filled every hollow and swamp to spread across the landscape. In places it drained down the eroded banks back into the creek, which although fast moving was yet to overrun the sandy waterway – a good sign at least.

  Scrubber slid down into calf-deep water and let Dog off Veronica’s back for a stretch and a pee. He didn’t figure the storm being finished yet. The wind had dropped and there was still no birdsong. He chewed on a piece of bread from the loaf purchased at the hotel, washed it down with water, and then offered some to Dog. The mutt gulped at it, begged a bit more and then drank from Scrubber’s sodden hat.

  ‘Now are you right?’ Stupid question, Scrubber decided. The water was part-way up Dog’s body and he didn’t complain when he was sitting atop Samsara again. ‘Righto, Veronica, we’re on the homeward bound. It’s up to you. Now be careful where you’re walking, girl, there’s hollows and such like about and we don’t want you going down.’ The mare didn’t look that certain, though she took his weight without complaint when he bustled up quickly to escape a black snake gliding across the water’s surface. The snake headed straight for Samsara.

  ‘Damn and blast.’ Scrubber reached for his rifle as Samsara reared upwards in fright. Dog slipped off and into the water. Deciding the rifle would be of little use, Scrubber slid from the saddle and splashed through the water as the snake veered off in Dog’s direction. ‘I don’t bloody think so,’ Scrubber roared, wading forward. The snake, momentarily confused by the rippling surface, halted. Scrubber lunged and grabbed the slithering creature near its head, then smashed it against the trunk of a tree. Blood splattered the rough bark. The snake plopped lifeless into the water.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he panted heavily, as a familiar pain ripped through a body beginning to fold. Staggering back to the horses, Scrubber lifted Dog up onto Samsara’s back and mounted Veronica. Dog let out a stringy bark.

  ‘Save the thanks for later,’ Scrubber mumbled. ‘We haven’t got there yet.’

  Chapter 54

  Absolution Creek, 1965

  Meg tucked the blankets around Kendal. His forehead was hot, his skin flushed. Hollows of black underlined his eyes and with the slightest of movements a moan would escape his lips. Bex powders were the only medicine Meg could offer and she doubted their effectiveness. Kendal, awake intermittently throughout the night, complained of nausea, shivering and pain. All Meg could do was apologise, finally offering the last of Cora’s hidden rum to help ward off his misery. At least now he was asleep. Closing the door Meg checked on the twins. They too spent part of the night awake. Jazzed up by the leaking house, the fierce storm and Kendal’s misfortune, sleep finally came amid tears and tantrums. They lay top-to-toe in one of the single beds, a vision of fanning hair and small hands and feet. Meg left them to their dreams.

  The veranda was soaked from the rain. Out near the dam an inland sea appeared to have engulfed them overnight. Water surrounded them. It gurgled down the drainpipes, overflowed gutters and was still spilling into the house as it trickled through holes and gaps in the iron roof to track strutting and beams. Finally it seeped through the joins in the pressed metal ceilings or crept down walls. Meg peered through the clingy wet gauze. There was no sound except that of water: dripping, trickling, seeping, flowing water. Although the rain was now only a drizzle, the clouds were still thick with moisture. She guessed she would have to go back to the kitchen, to Sam. It was all she could do not to cry, both for the state of her marriage and her lost aunt. Why hadn’t she pushed Sam to try to do more to find Cora last night, instead of slinking away in shame?

  In the kitchen Sam fiddled with the radio, a screwdriver in one hand, a scatter of broken parts on the table. Meg checked on Tripod. Much to Sam’s annoyance she’d bundled Cora’s dog up, settling him in a dry corner of the kitchen. Apart from the occasional whine, Tripod made little noise, however he was still alive.

  ‘Any luck?’ Meg asked brightly. One of them needed to attempt a reconciliation.

  ‘What do you think?’ Sam didn’t look up from his task.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t break it,’ Meg snapped. They’d slept in separate rooms last night. She with the twins and Sam on a mattress in the kitchen. ‘There’s more rain coming.’

  ‘You think?’

  Meg rinsed her empty coffee cup in the sink, her teeth grinding. ‘Lose the attitude, Sam.’

  He flung the screwdriver across the room. ‘And why the hell should I? That first week we were here I told you this was the wrong decision.’

  ‘A few nights ago you were telling me how much you were enjoying working here.’

  Sam glowered.

  ‘Well, you were. Don’t blame me for the mess we’re in now. I wasn’t the one who had the fight with Kendal or refused to go and look for Cora.’

  ‘We should have packed up and headed back to Sydney. Talk about being deceived. You’ve got a ripping family, Meg.’

  ‘And like you had anything better to offer. No job, the drinking and fighting, leaning on me all the time and then abusing me when my attempts at trying to better our position in life aren’t perfect.’

  Sam piled the radio parts on the table. ‘Well, I can understand why you would want to do that at least.’

  ‘That’s an unkind thing to say.’

  Sam shifted in his chair and threw an arm over the back of it. ‘I’ve been outside,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s water everywhere. We’ve got about two days’ wood left for the fire if we’re careful. Food?’

  Meg tucked sleep-ruffled hair behind her ears. ‘We can make do for a week. There’s a heap of tinned goods in the pantry.’

  ‘Kendal?’

  ‘He’ll survive. What about Cora?’

  ‘I don’t see there’s much that I can do for her. Have you seen the water out there? A horse might be fine out in it but I haven’t had the experience.’

  And the one who has, Meg thought with annoyance, is laid up in bed, thanks to you. She picked up the telephone.

  ‘I’ve tried the operator, I can’t get anyone.’ Sam filled the kettle and placed it on the Aga.

  ‘The storm’s damaged the lines, I guess, but I wonder . . .’ Meg rummaged through the books on the bench until she located a district telephone book. She twirled the handle on the telephone. ‘James, James Campbell.’ A shrill noise carried down the line. ‘Well, this part of the line isn’t damaged.’

  ‘Campbell Station, James here.’

  Meg briefly described the situation, including Kendal’s ‘accident’.

  ‘And you’re telling me she’s been out since yesterday and no one bothered to go after her?’ James was clearly distraught.

  ‘Well, um, I didn’t know until it was near dark and then Kendal hurt himself and –’

  ‘Forget it, Meg. So where exactly did she go?’

  ‘Where did Cora go?’ Meg repeated to Sam.

  ‘Over the creek to the back paddock to get that bloody ram,’ Sam said loudly.

  ‘I heard him,’ James confirmed.

  ‘What should we do?’ There was a moment’s silence, the void filled with the crackle of the telephone line.

  ‘Nothing. You’ve done enough. I’ll try and get my hands on a chopper, not that it’ll be easy. There’s been a major disaster east of Stringybark Point. Meg, you guys have got to prepare yourself.’

  ‘For what?’ She thought of Cor
a, of the weather, of Kendal lying injured in their bedroom.

  ‘There’s flood water coming your way. Absolution Creek is one of the wettest spots in the district. You may be isolated for some time I’m afraid. Turn your radio on and –’ The line dropped out.

  ‘James said there’s a flood coming our way.’ Meg replaced the receiver. ‘The line’s dead.’ A crack of thunder sounded. ‘He said we’d be isolated.’ Lightning sliced the sky, illuminating the kitchen as a loud bang shook the house. ‘That hit something.’ Meg shuddered. There was a screech from the other end of the house. The twins were awake.

  ‘What’s he doing about Cora?’

  ‘He said something about a chopper.’

  ‘Well then, we can relax.’ Sam made more coffee. ‘You might as well settle in and stop stalking about the house. There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘I’m so worried about Cora. What if something happens to her out there? What if she dies?’

  ‘She won’t die. I bet she’s holed up somewhere, high and dry. A woman like her can’t spend her life out here in the sticks without knowing a survival trick or two.’

  ‘Imagine what James Campbell thinks, us leaving Cora out there all night.’

  Sam swirled sugar into his tea. ‘Who cares what he thinks?’

  ‘I do.’

  Sam blew on the surface of the steaming beverage. ‘I know you do.’ The kitchen light flickered and then went out. ‘Great.’

  Chapter 55

  Absolution Creek, 1965

  ‘Come on, Samsara.’ Scrubber tugged fruitlessly at the lead as thunder crackled. The old girl adamantly refused to budge and a good ten minutes of wheedling and cajoling made no difference. He slipped down from Veronica’s back and quickly discovered he was in a hole. The water was up to his chest.