Absolution Creek (57 page)

‘I’ll accept a compliment from you any day.’ Resting the tools on an upturned tin, Jack sat on a knobbly log and patted the space beside him. ‘Noisy little fellas.’

Squib sat down and placed her leather-encased feet squarely in the dirt. ‘Woolshed next?’

‘It’s not too bad.’ He gave her a nudge. ‘Might get you to run your eye over it, though, you being a bit of a sheep woman.’

Squib nudged him back and felt her cheeks heat up. ‘One of the timber planks is broken where you roll the bales out and there’s another needs replacing on the board itself. One of the pens has a broken latch on the gate and there’s an overhead beam, non-bearing, that has a crack in it.’

Jack let out a sound that was half-cough, half-surprise.

‘Well,’ Squib said, shrugging, ‘you asked.’

‘And I’m glad I did. We might ride over there this afternoon.’

‘Okay.’ Squib smoothed her skirt as she’d seen Olive do.

‘Do you know where Thomas has got to? I thought we might ride out and check the ewes.’

‘I’ll come.’ It was days since Jack had doubled her on his horse across the creek. During that time Squib waved Jack off to work in the morning and welcomed him home at night while Olive either slept or tidied herself before their evening meal. That single event had altered things between them. Although neither of them spoke of it Squib knew they’d crossed their own creek that day.

‘Won’t Olive need some help in the house?’

‘If I wasn’t here she’d have to do it herself,’ Squib argued.

Jack turned to her. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Squib asked, genuinely surprised. ‘I’m not staff.’

‘Have I ever treated you that way?’

‘Sometimes, a bit.’ Squib kicked at the dirt, becoming overly interested in a line of ants heading to a nest a few hundred feet away from where they sat. ‘No, not really. The others do, though.’

Jack brushed dirt from his trousers. ‘And I’m sorry for that. Olive’s used to a different life.’

‘My father would call that a poor excuse.’

‘Smart man, your father. I wouldn’t mind meeting him one of these days.’

‘It would be real good if that happened,’ Squib agreed. ‘So can I come?’

‘No. I want you to find Thomas for me and then help Olive.’

‘Well,’ Squib answered carefully, ‘he’s probably with Olive. They spend a lot of time together.’ Squib knew her father would not be happy if he could hear her now, however what was she to do? Captain Bob had told her that she would be safe with Jack, yet Olive’s dislike of her was a danger.

‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Jack took a few steps backwards and looked up at the stable roof. A piece of corrugated iron was flapping in the breeze. ‘I better fix that.’

Squib took a breath. ‘Well, maybe you should
notice
– Olive and Thomas, I mean.’

Jack turned to her. ‘Meaning?’

‘I’m not a child, Jack. I see things.’

The pallor of Jack’s face resembled the blue-grey of the iron above him. ‘What have you seen?’

It was enough. Squib patted him on the arm and, lifting her skirts, walked away.

‘Hey, Squib, Cora, come back!’

She kept on walking. Jack Manning only used her real name when he was being
serious
Jack, and on those occasions she rarely answered him. There was, she realised, some advantage to belonging to no one. Yet she knew one day Jack would say those words again and it would be proof of his need for her, of his wanting. She crossed the short distance from the stables to the dirt track and looked eastwards. Part of her wished they’d not moved from Jack’s original house site with its tall sheltering trees. She had a sense things would have been better on that side of the creek – happier, safer. Now she couldn’t even revisit the site without Jack by her side, for the creek lay like an impenetrable barrier between the past and present and Squib knew her fear of water would remain with her for life.

This then was her home – this place that once belonged to another. This place with its roughly built homestead and wind-twisted trees. The soil varied from hard ridge areas to rich black soil such that Mr Purcell would have dreamt about, yet trees layered some paddocks like the hairs on Jack’s hand and to make a go of things he would have a hard time thinning them so that grass could grow. This place contained both a multitude of possibilities and nothing. It could be the best and worst of things to come.

Squib wasn’t sure what made her turn northwards. The wind blew from that quarter and she faced the strong breeze as a gnawing sensation grew in her stomach. Without knowing why, she ran to the stables. With Jack gone she peered out from behind a tree, the hairs prickling on her arms. The screech of hens carried on the air. She heard a door slamming and then raised voices. Two men on horseback dismounted at Jack’s campfire at the front of the homestead. Squib pressed her shoulders against the bark, craning her neck to look again at the strangers. A tall man and a squat one with a beard. ‘Adams,’ she breathed. His build and facial hair were unmistakable. She recalled Captain Bob’s words: that the spirits would not protect her, that there would be a reckoning. Swiftly untying the tight leather shoes, Squib hid them under an old canvas bag in the stables along with her hat, then she did the only thing she could. She ran as fast as her maimed leg allowed.

Chapter 45

C
ora sat at the base of the great tree in her bedroom, her shoulder blades pressed tightly against the bark. By her side lay Tripod. The blood from his ear had congealed nicely, although his breathing remained erratic, his nose warm. Running her hand lightly across his back, she tucked in the old blanket around him. She hoped he would recover. It was asking too much of her at this moment to lose him as well. On the long, lonely return journey from Campbell Station Cora had dwelt sadly on what she was riding away from. She’d been so careful after Jack with her emotions; careful of not getting too close in relationships. Then she’d met James and he’d opened her eyes to something Cora had long since forgotten. Hope. She shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Once again she was alone.

Relationships were impossible, Cora decided as she rubbed her scalp against the knobbly bark. Fate turned against her with the first and pride had destroyed the second.

Cora wondered how she would manage to pay out Jarrod Michaels and not default on the lease payment. If the worst happened, where would she go?

Outside the wind lifted. A scatter of leaves skidded down the corrugated-iron roof. A soft spray of rain patterned the open veranda and louvred glass. Although still winter, the rain would certainly help the parched oat crop. It had been struggling since a late March planting, surviving on intermittent showers that appeared unheralded and passed over the countryside. Every cleansing shower, however slight, left in its wake an optimism that one day soon it would rain, relieving both the land and those upon it from the burden of an unfathomable future. Cora carried this faith like a woman carried the thought of her lover. It was a seed planted by her beloved father, tended by Jack Manning and carefully cultivated by her own considerate hands once the management of Absolution Creek passed to her.

This mantle of responsibility was so much more than the daily running of the property. It was an understanding of the land, of the living matter within and on the earth’s surface, whose survival was linked to the vagaries of the weather. Rain was life-giving out here. Nothing could survive without its presence. The more Cora thought of the coming rain, the more restless she became. Laying her hands against the bark of the great leopardwood, she recalled those who had walked the land before her, the old people of the bush. Through the woody plant she could feel their energy, their comprehension of all things beyond that made and controlled by man.

In her mind’s eye they walked the earth again. Eight men, warriors all; stalking the moon-drenched night as Cora rode for help that wasn’t forthcoming. She should have known better. She should never have gone to see James. It was always the same. You could never depend on anyone except yourself. Yet those men last night hadn’t shown themselves for James’s sake – they were beyond the loves of mere mortals.

A remembrance came to her then. It was over forty years ago. She could see the clearing, and Captain Bob and the two men with him who appeared like wraiths out of the scrub. It was his finger that captured her attention. She’d followed its line of sight, the bent finger pointing to evidence even Jack Manning could not ignore. And there it was: the telltale ring of darkness that stained the large trees around them. The marks so high neither man nor animal could survive such a deluge.

For a second it was as if the world went black. Cora took a steadying breath, recalling the words spoken to her during the dead of night at Waverly Station.

When the people of the night sky come together in battle you will understand, for this will be the sign. This will herald the ending to the beginning of it all.

Everything depended on the rainfall east and north of Absolution. There had already been one flood here of shocking proportions, and Cora, having seen the evidence, knew the result could be catastrophic. Even now she could picture Jack looking at the watermarks on the trees, shaking his head in concern. Why hadn’t she realised before how much rain was coming? Why had her gift failed her? Certainly in the past her intuition did not always present itself accurately, yet nor did it abandon her so that action became impossible.

Running her hands against the bark of the tree, Cora’s fingers touched an unusual bulge. Hidden in the shadowy corner of the bedroom a crystallised bubble of the tree’s life force welled up through the bark. The oozing sap was the tree’s attempt at healing whatever ailed it, and as Cora prodded the timber she understood that this life as she knew it was about to change.

Chapter 46

J
ack squared up opposite Adams on the dirt path at the back door. It was clear the postal and supply rider wasn’t here on a social call, for the man accompanying him carried a carbine rifle, and an air of expectancy showed in his dusty face.

‘Where’s the runaway? The Hamilton girl?’ Adams spat on the ground, his companion’s shifty gaze alert and untrusting.