The Bark Cutters (6 page)

Anthony walked towards the stables, aware Sarah would be feeding the mare. Charlotte was due to foal within the next few months and looked forward to her nightly stabling and bucket of oats. At least once a fortnight Anthony found an excuse to be nearby, even though he lived in the jackeroo's quarters on Wangallon, a good few miles from Sarah's home. He approached quietly, watching as Sarah pulled her pocket knife from the soft pouch at her waist to cut open the feed bag. Her hands worked quickly, fingers nimbly pulling the hessian apart as Charlotte nudged both Sarah and the bag as the bucket was filled.

‘Steady, girl, let me get it in the bucket first.' Sarah carried the bucket into the stables, Charlotte following closely, her muzzle resting on Sarah's shoulder.

Anthony could hear the horses munching, interspersed with Sarah's reassuring voice. It was nearing dusk, the day's sounds dwindling as small creatures readied themselves for night. Crickets chirped noisily while the rising hum of cicadas could be heard from the pine ridge beyond.

Only three years separated them, Anthony thought. Not a lot really. He and Cameron were nearing twenty-one, while Sarah was soon to turn eighteen. He stuffed his hands in his pockets; a year he'd been at Wangallon, the best year of his life. The responsibility old Angus gave him was enormous and he considered Cameron a close mate. The fact Sarah Gordon completed his small circle of station friends only added to his everyday enjoyment. Sure he'd been sad on accepting the position at Wangallon, for only a chance of birth meant that it was he who left his home and not his older brother, yet now he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Being employed by Angus Gordon still caused a lump of pride to rise in his throat and he admitted finding it difficult not to appear arrogant when discussing his job with the few other jackeroos about the district. Even his own father had congratulated him on being ‘chosen' by the Wangallon Gordons. Friends questioned him on whether the old squatter really was a mean-hearted old bastard with a mind as sharp as a tack, while the mail lady – as she was known – took great joy in relating a story to Anthony that she said was common knowledge in the district. ‘Got a match?' a passerby requesting a light had asked Angus, ‘Yeah, your face and my arse,' had come the unwavering reply.

Anthony prised as much as he could out of Cameron, but it was impossible to decipher the legend from the reality. There were the stories, the rumours, connecting Angus's father, Hamish, with stock theft and illegal dealings, with deaths of family members and Aborigines alike, yet even Cameron admitted that some things were best left in the past. So Anthony had to satisfy himself with the basics. Angus was the product of a second marriage, born when his father was in his early sixties, and the locals reckoned he was as wealthy and as scheming as his father had been.

‘Hi.' Sarah appeared from the stable, bucket in hand, her pale blue jersey filthy, her eyes bright. ‘What are you up to?'

‘Returning these.' He held out a white and yellow envelope.

Tossing the bucket into the shed with the feed bag, Sarah grasped the worn door knob, nervousness attacking her stomach as she slammed the door shut, bolting it against roaming animals. Since Cameron's mad dash through the lignum a few months earlier, her school work had increased dramatically. She was to sit the Higher School Certificate later in the year, which effectively meant free time was almost non-existent. Yet somehow she still managed to see Anthony every week and usually it was here at the stables. She wiped her hands on her jeans and took the envelope from him. They were the photos she'd taken during their morning at the lignum. ‘Thanks.'

‘I got some copies made. You know they're really excellent shots. Especially the one showing Cameron after he stopped running.'

That was Sarah's favourite as well. ‘He sure looked scared.'

‘You should enter a photographic competition, you know.'

‘Well, I'm really only mucking about.'

It didn't look like it to Anthony. He'd shown the photos to a photographer in town and he reckoned Sarah had a real eye for composition. ‘How's the study going?'

‘I had English and maths, missed the muster in the stud paddock, but you know what Mum's like.' Sarah folded her arms across her chest, and then let them fall to her side before finally jamming them deep into the pockets of her jeans. It gave her a bit of a thrill to see Anthony alone like this.

‘Yep,' Anthony agreed. Sarah's mother was definitely a bit loopy, and he instinctively knew that she didn't like her kids fraternising with the hired help, even if he too was from a respected grazing family.

Sarah knew he liked her. Well, at least a bit, otherwise they
wouldn't keep bumping into each other at the stables. He was hardly detouring all the way from the jackeroo's quarters to talk to the horses. Surely he would ask her out. Heavens she wished they lived closer to a bigger town. She'd had her eye on a purple dress with ruching down the front and a sort of tulip style skirt and she figured it would suit her. She pulled the elastic from her hair, shaking it loose about her shoulders before gathering it up again into a rough ponytail.

Anthony moved to sit on the old cement block that served as a step into the feed shed. Already the sky had darkened, leaving only a thin pale streak beyond the distant trees to show the sun's path. He beckoned Sarah to his side. She wavered momentarily as she wet her lips, before walking over and sitting down beside him. They sat silently, Sarah drawing her knees closer to ward off the chill of the night air, terribly aware of their arms touching.

So when had he lost his heart to the girl beside him? Anthony wondered. No longer did he see the tomboy, the girl in patched jeans, a sheathed pocket knife hanging from her plaited leather belt. He could mesmerise himself by examining the pale pink ovals of her nails, dream of his hands resting on her hips and imagine the rich scent of her hair as it cascaded through his fingers. His hand brushed an imaginary streak of grime from his jeans, a half-smile sneaking across his lips as he acknowledged how wimpy he sounded.

‘Only a few months back and we were down by the river,' Sarah said, tucking her hands under her jumper. It was going to be a cold night.

Anthony recalled the afternoon, the last before the cool of autumn struck; the three of them splashing about in the brown water of the creek, their toes being sucked down into sludgy mud as they cooled off. Later, half asleep, he'd turned on his towel and caught the last of the sun's rays reflecting off Sarah's body. Her lean form, tanned and wet, had become a recurring image
in his mind. Sure he'd experienced something of women but things were a little different at Wangallon, for she was the granddaughter of his boss.

‘Did you hear about old Ronnie Reagan? Apparently he's going to launch all these satellites that will be able to shoot down incoming nuclear missiles.'

Sarah looked skywards. ‘You're not serious.' Above where they sat, the stars appeared gradually, drawn out one by one until they sprinkled the dark space above them like pearls. ‘Is he that worried about the Russians?'

‘Seems like it.'

‘Hey, it would sort of be like
Star Wars
.'

‘Actually that's exactly what some people are calling it.'

Sarah shook her head. ‘Amazing. Here we are watching this stuff at the drive-in and it could be happening in real life. Thank heavens we're here.'

‘You'll never leave here, will you, Sarah?'

‘No, never. Like Grandfather says, once you have this place in your blood, neither will work without the other. That's why the family has been here for so long. To leave is to leave yourself.' She wanted to tell him that she liked him, although maybe he thought her too young. Perhaps that was the reason he had not asked her out? After all, she was still at school.

‘I'd better go, it's late.' Sarah stood reluctantly. Through the line of trees bordering the rear of West Wangallon homestead, lights beckoned. Soon it would be dinner.

‘Sarah.' Anthony moved to stand beside her. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her slight body against his. To smell the scent of sandalwood and saddle grease. He doubted if she had ever been kissed and certainly not by someone with a bit of experience. While he imagined his hands and arms encircling her, he touched her shoulder lightly. If his advances were not accepted by either Sarah or the family, he would be out of a job
in a heartbeat and he did love it here. Being a part of Wangallon was very important to him. ‘Better let you get home. We start shearing in a couple of days, so I probably won't see much of you once it starts.'

‘Probably not.' Something made her turn to face him. His hair ruffled by the wind, the nonchalant lean of his body, the pull of his jumper across his shoulders, a queer sensation filled her.

‘No, probably not,' Anthony repeated, taking a step towards her. His heart pounding, he lifted his hand and let his fingers gently run down her face, following the curve of her cheekbone to the soft hollow at the base of her throat. Reluctantly, he stepped back. He needed time to consolidate his position on the property, time to see if their feelings were mutual, to discover if Sarah wanted him as much as he yearned for her.

Her body mechanically turned towards the lights of her home, while her mind focused on the nearness of him, on the look in his eyes, on the thought of him kissing her. Her feet led her away. However, at the line of trees bordering the rear of the homestead, Sarah dawdled beneath the softly rustling foliage. Darkness had descended and with it would come her mother's taunts of lateness. She briefly rested her palm against the rough bark of an athel tree, the knobbly surface calming the emotions inside her as Anthony's utility roared to life. She recalled Cameron's light-hearted teasing about whether she had given Anthony a Christmas present and his remark about Anthony becoming a permanent addition at Wangallon.

At the timber gate to her home she lifted the latch, remembering the brief lecture on risk she and her brother had been subjected to only yesterday by their grandfather.

‘Yer not going anywhere, lass, if you don't have a debt on the place. No point living comfortable and paying cash, for that means yer not a risk taker. The bush isn't the place for people who don't like risk.'

‘Risk,' Sarah repeated softly, walking the few steps up the cracked cement path. There were different types of risk. One of which was being keen on the jackaroo. At the back door, she scraped the heel of her work boots against the step.

‘Would you mind hurrying it up a little, Sarah? Your father and brother would like to eat before midnight.'

Taking a deep breath, Sarah walked into the kitchen.

Birds and lizards scattered as the chainsaw ripped noisily through the box tree. Anthony pushed the chainsaw harder against the trunk, the blade finally meeting with the cut Cameron had made on the opposite side. A loud crackle sounded as the tree swayed, the rustle of leaves and the accompanying whoosh of wind ending with a resounding crash as twenty feet of timber fell heavily into dense scrub.

Deftly, Cameron cut the top of the tree free of all branches, leaving a good twelve feet of perfectly straight trunk. Wiping the sweat from his brow, his hat tipping back off his forehead with the movement, he caught the water bottle Anthony threw and took a long swig. He remained sitting on the decapitated crown of the tree as Anthony, with chainsaw in hand, straddled the trunk and began to cut a straight line through the bark lengthwise. Eyes focused, woodchips flying, Anthony's hands were steady as the saw ran precisely down the length of the trunk. With the first cut completed, he rolled the trunk over with Cameron's help and proceeded to cut the other side. Later, when they were back at the yards, they would remove the bark. Leaving it on made the tree easier to carry and transport without the slippery under-skin of the woody plant impeding their progress.

‘That's six. Should do it, don't you think?' Anthony asked
Cameron as they heaved under the strain of the tree, pushing it onto the back of the Land Cruiser.