Absolution Creek

by Nicole Alexander

  At the thought of Squib, Jack patted the documents sitting safely inside the saddle bag. Part of him wanted to be back at Absolution Creek, to be drinking sugary tea around the camp fire as he explained to her with a wink that she was now his kin. The look in those brown eyes of hers would be priceless. There would be questions and quarrelling, and then her innate good humour would present itself with a smile and a sticky elbow to his ribs.

  The rest of him, that part buried by church teachings and Bible readings and wooden crosses, conjured a vision far more revealing. In it a young woman reached out and he took the warmth of her hands between his. It had been there all along this wanting. Finding Squib all wetted up like a drowned animal was the beginning of Jack’s fondness. After that his partiality towards the girl slowly blossomed as she left the bedraggled despair of being lost, and joined in with the world again, his world. What Jack didn’t know was the strength of Squib’s feelings for him, although he sensed a mutual attraction. Not that it mattered.

  In another world Jack may have fought to keep his maleness in check. In another time he could have waited until she turned sixteen. That seemed proper. The problem lay in the current attitudes of the people who considered themselves educated. Squib was too young to marry and too old to live at Absolution Creek unless she had the protection of his name.

  Jack checked his carbine. The lever-action rifle would remain loaded until Squib was safe. It was what lay sandwiched between action and goal that worried him. He’d dreamt of it last night, of killing Adams, and the sensation of going against his beliefs fairly winded him. Not because of guilt, nor the Ten Commandments. The truth of the doing was that Jack didn’t really care what action was required, as long as Squib was safe. It was three days since she’d run away. Three days since she’d sat beside him outside the stables. Jack was ready to head home. He yearned to be back on Absolution’s rich soil, to breathe in the tangy scents, to meander along her cool waterways and ride through grasses wind-dried and crackling. At least that’s what he told his brain; his heart knew otherwise.

  The steady clop-clop of a horse and the grind of wood on dirt broke Jack’s thoughts. The black horse-drawn carriage was quite a flash affair. The contraption halted outside Green’s Hotel and Board beneath the shady box tree and Jack, having not seen such transportation since he’d left Sydney, began walking his horse across the unmade road to get a closer look.

  A woman stepped out of the doorway of the hotel, a small travel bag in each of her hands, and greeted the driver. She wore a clouche hat and was as dainty in form as Olive. He couldn’t see her face, but at the resemblance Jack experienced a slight twinge of regret.

  Across from Jack the two riders ceased their talking and turned to look, clearly intrigued by the carriage too. The rider on the slighter horse trotted over for a keener inspection. There was something about him; the way he held his shoulders, tight and bunched, ungainly . . .

  Jack spurred his flighty mare into a trot.

  The scream was so loud Jack almost fell from his ride. The mare bucked and backed up and bucked some more. Digging his heels in he jerked the reins. The horse wrenched back, chewing on the bit, finally coming to a reluctant standstill.

  ‘It’s him! Get him away from me, Thomas! Get him away!’

  Recognising the voice, as much as the fear in it, Jack flew from his mount, rifle in hand and crossed the dirt street to where his brother Thomas was attempting to stop Olive from sinking onto the ground. His brother was as white as a sheet. Olive was visibly trembling. Jack locked eyes with the man they were staring at.

  ‘Mary, Jesus and Joseph! Mills McCoy!’ Jack exclaimed, recognising the fighter’s busted nose as the man dismounted.

  ‘What’s going on here, Scrubber?’ the man on the Clydesdale queried.

  ‘Mistaken identity,’ Scrubber suggested, unconvincingly, looking at the assembled group as if ghosts.

  ‘He was the one that did it, Jack!’ Olive wept, slipping free of Thomas’s grasp to slide down a wooden pillar into the gutter. ‘He did it. Not Thomas. I never would have done this to you on purpose, Jack, never.’

  Jack looked from Olive to Thomas. The man on the Clydesdale jumped from his horse.

  ‘Are you sure it’s him, Olive?’ Thomas pointed at Scrubber. ‘Are you sure he was the one who attacked you?’

  Olive nodded. ‘He was the gardener that worked at the boarding house,’ she confirmed between sobs. ‘He was the one who attacked me.’

  Jack pointed at Mills McCoy. ‘He did it?’

  Thomas shook his head in confusion. ‘That’s Mills McCoy. The Mills McCoy from Sydney?’

  ‘Mills ‘Scrubber’ McCoy.’ Scrubber crouched and drew a knife from his belt. ‘Well fancy,’ he growled, ‘what’s a city lad doing here?’

  ‘I could ask the same of you!’ Jack threw his rifle to Thomas, and rushed the Irishman. With a low tackle he swept him against the hotel wall. Bone and flesh thudded against the timber boards, a spray of dust billowing out from the pine wood. Jack’s fingers were on Scrubber’s wrist holding the knife, his free hand on the Irishman’s throat. ‘Is it true what my brother speaks of? Did you violate her?’ The man kept his lips clamped shut. Through the hotel window, the publican drew the curtains.

  The burly hand of McCoy’s companion was on Jack’s shoulder. ‘Leave off, mate, whoever you are.’

  ‘You leave off,’ Thomas growled, edging at the man with Jack’s rifle.

  For a moment Jack was back in Sydney again fighting off McCoy’s thugs. He could smell the tang of the salt-crusted sea; there was blood in his mouth as the coin he’d laboured for was thieved. Jack tightened his grip. Sweat smothered the Irishman’s brow and dripped down his nose. Slowly Scrubber pushed his knife fist against the weight of Jack’s grip.

  Jack strained against his opponent. He rammed his hand harder against the Irishman’s windpipe, knowing what was coming yet unable to stop the path ahead. He saw Olive, alone and frightened, ruined for eternity. Jack felt sinew and muscle depress slowly under his grasp. He could hear Thomas asking the stranger’s name, what his business was. The man’s voice was tight.

  ‘Matt Hamilton. Scrubber and I are here to find my daughter, Squib.’ For the briefest moment Jack loosened his grip on Scrubber’s knife-wielding hand. ‘You’re here for Squib?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Scrubber croaked. ‘She belongs with her father, not you.’

  Jack thought of the girl he loved. His brief dream of a life with her dissolved in seconds. Squib was too young. Matt Hamilton would never allow them to be together. He thought of Squib. If she did care for him, she would feel torn between her father and him. Hadn’t she suffered enough? And once she left, what would become of his life?

  He loosened his grip on the Irishman’s knife hand.

  In the split second that followed, McCoy’s knife was in Jack’s side. Jack kept his fingers pressed hard against the man’s neck as the sharp pain rippled through his body. The busted face of the Irishman turned puce and he stopped breathing. When Jack stepped away the Irishman slid down the wall to land with a thud on the dirt.

  ‘Are you all right, Jack?’ Thomas asked, keeping his rifle on Matt.

  ‘Sure,’ Jack replied shakily. Turning towards his brother he too fell to the ground.

  Thomas dropped his rifle and was by Jack’s side instantly. With only the slightest hesitation he pulled the knife free of Jack’s body. He undid his brother’s waistcoat and pressed his hand against the glossy redness staining the shirt.

  Jack looked at Thomas. Behind his kneeling brother, Matt Hamilton stood by Olive’s side. ‘You should have told me,’ Jack gasped, ‘about Olive.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’ Blood seeped between Thomas’s fingers.

  ‘Only for you and me,’ Jack winced. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Thomas lied, ‘not too bad. Anyway, it’s not too late. You know the truth of things now.’

  ‘I should have known better,’ Jack admitted.
‘Looks like you’ll be carrying on the family name, eh?’ Jack gave a pained smile. ‘Do one thing for me, Thomas. Tell Squib –’

  ‘I need a tube, something I can get air in with!’ Matt yelled.

  A few feet away Mills ‘Scrubber’ McCoy was thrashing about like a landed fish. Jack watched as Squib’s father, pocketknife in hand, flicked open the blade, made a rough incision in Scrubber’s throat and jammed it into the dying man’s windpipe.

  ‘Well, he’s dead now,’ Thomas uttered, clearly stunned.

  Jack felt in his coat pocket for his wooden pipe, and flicked it across the dirt. Matt gave him a surprised glance and then broke the end of it before rotating it into the Irishman’s throat.

  Scrubber spluttered as a gurgling noise rumbled up from deep within.

  ‘He’s breathing.’ Matt rested back on his heels. From upstairs in the hotel came the sound of footsteps.

  ‘You’re a regular Florence Nightingale,’ a gruff voice said. The butt of a rifle knocked Thomas sideways.

  Jack looked up to where Adams towered over him, and then back at the ground where Thomas was lying, out cold. Olive was crying.

  Adams laughed. ‘Now back up,’ he growled, pointing his rifle at Olive and Matt, indicating that they should flatten themselves against the hotel wall. As they did as they were told, something caught Matt’s eye. ‘That’s my daughter!’

  Squib was being held by Will, the man who had accompanied Adams out to Absolution Creek. A filthy rag was clamped between her teeth as she struggled like a wild cat.

  Jack couldn’t believe it. He’d imagined he would lose Squib to her father, not Adams. Now, when Squib needed him the most, he lay on the ground mortally wounded.

  ‘So you’re the infamous Matt Hamilton.’ Adams gave a bow. ‘Well, well. This is a pretty picture. I really have to give Scrubber there my congratulations.’ He pointed the rifle at Matt’s chest.

  ‘Damn it, man,’ Matt yelled, ‘let her go!’

  ‘Now that you’ve had your quarrel, I’m here to tell you that there won’t be no problems if you mind your own bees wax.’ Adams gestured for Squib to be brought forward, patting her mussed hair, oblivious to a number of well-aimed shin kicks. ‘The kid must have ridden half the night I reckon. We found her camped not five mile out of town.’ Squib continued to wrestle with her captor, rips to her dress proof of a fair struggle. ‘Saved us a lot of travelling, she did. Now I’m sorry but the government says that these here minors have to be removed for their own safety.’

  At that moment a young woman stuck her head out of the hotel door. ‘Scrubber, my lovey, what have they done to you?’ The girl rushed to his side, cradling his head. His throat was covered in blood. ‘You mob of heathens.’ She rested Scrubber’s head on the ground, stepped over his body and was in Adams’s face in a heartbeat. ‘That would be right: I should have known a man like you would be involved. Bog Irish, that’s what my Scrubber calls you. Piece of trash.’ She spat on the ground. ‘And what are you doing with that girl tied up and gagged?’ She swung around. ‘You should all be ashamed of yourselves. You either dumped her or hunted her, and it’s only my man who thought to save her.’ She glared at Squib. ‘I hope you’re worth it.’

  Adams pushed her away and she returned to Scrubber’s side, sobbing quietly as she cradled his head in her lap.

  Thomas came to and rubbed his head. ‘Jack needs a doctor.’

  ‘Dark blood.’ Adams pointed to the stain seeping across Jack’s shirt. ‘He’s finished.’

  Squib bit the man holding her and rushed forward.

  She was stopped mid-flight by Adams’s burly arm.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Jack managed to whisper, clutching at his bloody side. He gave Squib a wan smile. ‘Everything will be all right now, Squib. See, your father’s here.’

  Squib’s eyes flicked towards Matt, then to Scrubber and back to Jack.

  ‘Now, this is an interesting conundrum,’ Adams said, removing the gag from the girl’s mouth and casually lifting his arms to show he no longer barred Squib’s path. ‘She doesn’t know which of you to go to.’

  Matt called Squib’s name. She inclined her head weakly towards him and then fell to her knees by Jack’s side.

  ‘Squib!’ Matt exclaimed. ‘How do you even know that man?’

  Squib took Jack’s hand, holding it against her cheek. ‘He’s the one who’s been looking after me all this time. I waited and waited for you, Father, but you never came.’ She laid her fingers on Jack’s chest; his breathing was shallow, raspy. ‘Why didn’t you come?’ she sobbed.

  ‘I wanted to.’ Matt took a step forward.

  Scrubber remained partially stunned on the ground. ‘My Scrubber cared for you, girly,’ Veronica sobbed. ‘He’s the one that spurred your father on. Like a dog after a bone he was chasing you, and for what?’ Veronica prostrated herself across Scrubber’s body.

  ‘For what indeed,’ Adams agreed. ‘For a half-caste gone feral.’

  Squib blanched.

  ‘You’ll always be my Squib.’ Jack coughed. Interlacing his fingers with hers he pulled her closer. ‘I’ve left everything to you. Absolution Creek is yours to manage now,’ he whispered.

  ‘Jack, don’t.’

  He laid a bloody finger on her lips. ‘While you have Absolution you have a home, Squib. Take care of her and she’ll take care of you.’

  ‘But I don’t belong anywhere except with you. Please, Jack, let them fetch a doctor.’

  Jack cradled Squib’s face and brushed at a tear tracing the curve of her cheek. ‘While you’re on Absolution I’ll be there beside you. Always.’ It was then he saw it, the wanting. It was as he imagined her heart to be, layered with sunlight. ‘I’m sorry to be going, now I know –’ he wheezed ‘– now I know that you love me more.’ He smiled under the pressure of her lips and, slowly retrieving the knife from the ground, slid it across his bloody wounding into Squib’s hand. He folded her fingers over the bone handle. ‘Live a good life.’ Jack held her eyes as Adams walked forward. ‘Stay on Absolution and be safe, Squib, be safe.’ Then he gave a nod of consent.

  Squib’s fingers curled tightly around the knife. She held Jack’s gaze.

  ‘Do it,’ he encouraged. ‘You’re surrounded by people who will protect you.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Adams dragged Squib up, twisted her around roughly. ‘You’ve given me a pretty chase.’

  Gritting her teeth, Squib speared the knife into the lard of Adams’s belly. When her knuckles hit flesh she twisted the blade. Adams staggered backwards, looked at the protruding knife in stunned silence and lifted his rifle.

  A single shot rang out.

  Chapter 60

  Absolution Creek, 1965

  The flood water appeared like a shimmering mirage in the distance. It slipped quietly over the countryside, driven on by the strength of the surging water behind it. Cora slapped at ants and beetles as they swarmed to safety. Kangaroos and wallabies splashed in the distance as they trailed those that had already bounded towards higher ground.

  Below them the water lapped at the trunk of the tree, while next to her Scrubber slept. His head had sunk onto his chest, and his breathing was ragged. Seeing him after all these years, having him next to her again, was a comfort; the memories he rekindled were not.

  After her father shot and killed the man Will, the day blurred into a series of distorted events. A doctor was called and she waited by Jack’s side, hissing like a wildcat at anyone who came near as her hope, like Jack, slowly faded.

  As Jack lay dying in the shade of the balcony, the town solicitor, the grocer and the publican tied Matt’s hands roughly behind him. They announced it was intentional murder and that the stranger would hang for the shooting.

  ‘That one with the gash to his throat, Scrubber,’ the publican said, his face sweaty with excitement, ‘he was attacked by that man.’ He pointed at Jack.

  ‘Who stabbed this Jack Manning fellow, then?’ the solicitor asked.

 
; Olive and Thomas remained silent. Their eyes wide with shock.

  ‘Who stabbed my Jack?’ Squib screamed.

  ‘I did it,’ Matt announced, accepting the blame. He looked briefly at his daughter. ‘I shot the man called Will and stabbed Adams; and that man there, the one called Jack Manning –’ he glanced at Scrubber and gave a barely perceptible nod ‘– I stabbed him too.’

  ‘Fath–’

  ‘Don’t say a word, Squib,’ Jack warned quietly. ‘Everyone’s trying to protect you.’

  ‘But?’

  Jack held her wrist. ‘If you acknowledge Matt as your father all of this will have been for naught. It won’t save him and you’ll be taken away for sure.’

  Squib bit her lip until blood flowed from the fleshy skin. Her gaze met her father’s. Was it true? Had her father really stabbed Jack? She gripped Jack’s hand tightly as they walked Matt down the dirt street to the lock-up, her eyes blurring with tears.

  ‘Scrubber, you make sure that nice young girl comes and sees me, won’t you?’ Matt called out.

  Squib’s eyes met Scrubber’s as the doctor sat a black bag in the dirt beside Jack. He prodded the wound and dabbed a finger in the dark blood. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Squib accused. ‘What do you mean sorry?’

  ‘I can’t help you, my dear.’ The doctor closed Jack’s eyes. ‘Only God can ease your sufferings.’

  Squib gave a choked sob.

  Cora bit her knuckle to stifle a cry. It wouldn’t do to start bawling now, especially with Scrubber sitting next to her like a cockatoo, his head tucked under a wing. What would she say to her old friend? That she still lived in the past? That her previous life with Jack haunted her days and nights? That Jack was the reason she still rode out at midnight, hoping to be near the spirit of him and the land he loved? A habit of sleeplessness had been replaced by a desperate longing for a man she could never have, for Cora didn’t see Jack as dead, merely physically missing from her world. That was why she continued her own nightly haunting of Absolution Creek. She searched for a world only darkness could conjure.