Absolution Creek (49 page)

Dog trotted out onto the veranda, lifted his leg and peed through the railings to the street below.

‘Deadly aim, old fella.’ Dog waddled back to sit by his side.

Down the street lay the old police block vacated by fire in 1924. It had been a busy town back then, with three hotels, two shops, a post office; heck, there was even an undertaker dedicated to the passing citizens of Stringybark, and there were quite a few back then. Scrubber rubbed his bristled cheek, and prodded at a tooth only days away from being ejected from his jaw. It was hard this falling apart. What he wouldn’t give for a few more years, just a few. Veronica once told him he should be lucky to make sixty – that sixty was a fair innings – and that people such as them that slaved for others were buggered by fifty. Well, he was over sixty and it was only a fair innings until you got there. He wanted more. The only blessed consolation was that this journey would end with him parked beneath a silver brigalow. Beautiful shaped trees they were, especially of a morning when the sun hit them just so. Would be nice, Scrubber decided, to be compost for such a thing, to know that in the end he’d contributed to something real pretty.

Across the road a single box tree swayed in the northerly wind. The tree was the only reminder of the old days. Planted near the hitching rail outside Green’s Hotel and Board at the turn of the century, it had provided shade for the tethered horses of the patrons inside. Untying the pouch at his waist, Scrubber perched the leather bag on the railing.

‘Not long to go now, mate. We’ll be on our way tomorrow and then it’s just a couple of days’ travel. I’ll make it too. I had my doubts, but now, well, I think we’ll make it. Take a gander across the street, will you? They never did rebuild Greenie’s place. She was a good little establishment too. Remember old George on the piano and candy-arsed Lorraine? Yeah, she was lickable – real tasty – not that I had a second go, not with canny-eyed Veronica in tow. Pretty sure it was Lickable Lorraine that got me so riled that Veronica ended up with child. Anyways, it’s good to remember, ain’t it? Good to remember the good and the bad . . .’

Veronica, always a ferreter when it came to gossip, brought news within a fortnight of a runaway child and a fire on a soldier settler’s block. A blacksmith from down south picked up the tale from a grocer, who’d got it from the publican at Green’s Hotel and Board, who’d heard it off a postal and supply rider by the name of Adams.

Reputable is what the fella said,’ Veronica intoned as she stuffed their few belongings into saddle bags. Circles of sweat patched her dress at the armholes and waist.

‘You sure you want to come, woman?’ Having tried every conceivable angle to dissuade Veronica, Scrubber was considering clocking her one on the back of the head. ‘It’ll be fierce hot.’

‘I’ll manage.’ Veronica sniffed, stuffing a dirty hanky between damp breasts. ‘Besides, there’s a child involved.’

Scrubber saddled the horses, punching his fist into the belly of the old nag he’d brokered for Veronica. The mare was a bugger for holding wind and then letting it out once a man thought the girth strap was good and tight. A fine match he reckoned for his Veronica. ‘Fine. Come then, but I’ll be leaving you in town. It wouldn’t be proper for you to go bush with me and Matt. It’s men’s business. We gotta find the people that took his girl.’

Veronica carried the three-legged stool outside and used it to mount up. ‘You sure that Matt Hamilton will come?’ she asked sweetly, before giving a moan as she flung her leg over the saddle. The horse gave a half-hearted pig-root. Scrubber smacked the mare lightly on the nose.

‘If he’s still out working at Mulligan’s he’ll get my message and he’ll come. We’ll meet at Green’s Hotel and Board, seeing that’s the only place I know of, thanks to you, Veronica.’ Scrubber did one final check of their drafty room and then slashed a hole in the mattress, poking his stash deep inside. There wasn’t much point going looking for trouble.

‘Tell me again why we’re doing this, lovey?’ Veronica swayed dangerously in the saddle. ‘Why you’ve become a good Samaritan. Not meaning to be difficult, but it ain’t really your character.’

Scrubber saddled up. ‘Let’s just say I owe them.’

They poked the horses out of the grounds of the boarding house. In spite of his complaining, Veronica paid the monies owed on their accommodation, plus enough to hold the hut until their return. Scrubber guessed old V knew what she was doing. Having taken charge of such things since their hooking up, he dared not argue. Besides, it weren’t so bad having someone else worrying about the basics for a while. He guessed that was why his parents married.

Veronica’s hand stole into a saddle bag where salted mutton waited. ‘I don’t think my arse was meant to be five foot off the ground.’ She stuffed the strips of meat into her mouth.

‘It won’t be if you keep eating.’ Scrubber pulled on the reins, turned the mare onto the dirt road and jabbed at the horse’s flanks. ‘If you need to chew on something, chew on this.’ He tossed her a wad of tobacco from his pouch and watched with surprise as she caught it. It would be a good week’s ride across to Stringybark Point if Veronica didn’t hold him up. Scrubber hoped Matt would only be a day or so behind them. ‘Come on, Veronica,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You’re gonna have to keep up. I don’t want to have to leave youse by the side of the road.’

‘And who else will wash your filthy smalls and service you regular like, if you get rid of me?’ Veronica hollered.

While he was loath to admit it the woman had a point. ‘Cook you a tasty feed of chops for tea,’ he promised. ‘Keep your eye out for my favourite feed.’

‘A stray sheep on the side of the road?’ Veronica fluttered her eyelids.

Scrubber nodded. ‘That would be it.’

Chapter 37

S
quib tailed the Aboriginal men, slipping between thick stands of belah and spiky dry grass, shadows hovering as the trees grew denser. Having noticed them in the distance while investigating the land around the homestead, she had been intrigued to see Captain Bob. Although previous ramblings had taken her over many parts of Jack’s land, this area was completely foreign. When she heard the sound of trickling water, Squib gathered she’d been drawn in a half-circle back towards the creek.

Captain Bob squatted alone in a clearing within a clearing. A fire burnt at his feet, a spiral of white smoke heading directly skyward as a cross breeze rustled branches overhead. Squib hung on the edge of the tree-lined circle, her toes cushioned by short springy grass. Fallen timber, unseasonal clumps of wildflowers and grazing wallabies fringed this new world. The trees ringing the clearing were misshapen and odd, as if recovering from old wounds carefully inflicted.

‘We have sacred places, our people,’ Captain Bob whispered. It was as if his words were gathered by the branches and flung back and forth through the air. ‘Some are ceremonial for corroborees. Other areas are used for our living needs. Some for the carving of women’s cooking things and some for canoes.’ He gestured to the trees surrounding them.

Squib noted that the woody plants were aged and knotted, many scarred with great pieces cut from their trunks. ‘For canoes, for the flood you talked off?’

‘For past floods and those to come.’ Captain Bob nodded. ‘We don’t own the land, little one, the land owns us. The land is our mother. You know this, yes?’

A number of wallabies, crouching on their stubby front legs, ambled slowly from Squib’s path as she walked across the clearing. The fire was hot and pungent.

‘The Dreamtime all around us, little one. We exist in it and beyond it. Listen to your heart.’ He gestured to a rock and a wallaby, then scooped dirt into his palm and let it trickle freely back to the ground. ‘Feel what they feel. We share their spirit.’

A lady beetle settled on Squib’s hand.

‘This is not the time for the black man. The white fella’s time has come and we must be like the animals when the cold comes. So build your nest, little one, and do not venture far, for the whites would see you taken from the man who would be your kin.’

Squib thought of her long dead mother, of her brother. A vision of Ben in a room crowded with boys drifted with the heady smoke. There were large wooden crosses on the pale walls and many of the children were crying. ‘Ben? He’s lost too?’

Captain Bob sprinkled the fire with water.

‘And my father?’

‘You will meet again, but it will not be as you imagined.’

Squib bit her lip. ‘So I have to stay with Jack? I knew I did.’

‘And now you have something for me, but remember the spirits cannot protect you from another man’s judgement.’

Squib considered Captain Bob’s words. Only one man knew the secret of her family. She looked Captain Bob directly in the eyes. ‘The man who brings the mail, Adams, he’s the one who is killing the sheep.’

Captain Bob displayed bright pink gums and partial stubs for teeth.

Squib looked at the dwindling fire. The hollowed dirt that protected it provided no fuel for the dying flames. She looked back to the place where Captain Bob sat. It was empty.

Chapter 38

T
he twins were poking their fingers in the air vents on the dash.

‘Now, I want you girls to stay very quiet. Remember what I told you?’

They nodded obediently, elbowing each other into submission, and wiggled back into the bench seat. Meg turned the ignition, and placed her foot on the clutch. She slowly moved the column gear stick into first and accelerated. The station wagon gave a series of hops forward and the twins slid off the seat, squealing excitedly as the vehicle stalled.

‘What happened, Mummy?’ Penny asked.

‘Damn it all.’ Meg mentally retraced her steps. At least Sam’s station wagon was clear of the garage. She had managed to reverse it out of the narrow timber structure without any damage, although her stress levels weren’t faring as well.

Penny elbowed Jill back against the seat. ‘Stop it.’

‘You’re hurting me,’ Jill complained, pinching her sister.

‘That’s it.’ Meg turned to them. ‘Out. Come on, hop out. It’s hard enough trying to teach myself how to do this. I don’t need you little scallywags distracting me.’