The Burial (10 page)

One of the strangers stepped out onto the road and reached for the horse and said,
Little girl!
But there were no reins or bridle to catch and Jessie rode around him and through the streets until she was near lost completely. She knew at least the direction of the river so she rode until she reached it. She could see people were living in tents along its banks and the smell of open sewers was overwhelming. She rode on regardless, passing more tents, but there was no sign of people until she saw at last a footbridge and one tall, pale figure pushing a barrow. It was Aoife.

Jessie leapt off the horse and ran towards her. Closer, she could see the barrow was empty. She spread out her arms to block Aoife's way and said,
What have you done with our dad?
Aoife did not answer so Jessie grabbed her skirt and yelled again,
What have you done?
Aoife continued walking with Jessie dragging behind her but then she shook her off and Jessie fell against the wooden slats of the bridge.

Your father is dead
, said Aoife.

You killed him
, said Jessie. She could hardly speak the words. She was seething, delirious.

Get up, you stupid child
, said Aoife.
Your father killed himself.

My mother did not believe her.

Aoife left her there and drove away. Jessie walked back to the middle of the bridge and then all was silent but for the black and shimmering river lapping against the bank. Soon it settled and it was just a mirror reflecting stars and it looked to her like the universe had turned itself inside out and over.

Later, Jessie would dream that she dived in after her father. In reality, she sat on the bridge until the sun came up. Only then did she notice the horse was gone. So she walked along the riverbank until she spotted another. She did not care for any consequence, just flipped herself up onto the horse and tore along the riverbank. She rode in the direction of her house but did not stop when she got there. She kept going until she reached The Woods and there she let the horse go and climbed a tree. After sitting in it all day and the next night she realised a terrible thing: her father and Mrs Peel were gone because she loved them both too much and somehow that love had disturbed the perfect balance of the universe. It had tipped things right over.

FROM OLD ROAD the police hut appeared deserted. Jack Brown slowed his horse and examined the place from a distance. A blanketed horse stepped from behind the hut and turned in the holding yard.

Around him, Jack Brown could see the country from this side was swept clean. Winds buffeted the rise, and despite the recent downpour the grass was a yellowy grey and the trees all had a bent-over and craggy look. Mostly, the view was of trees and shadows of trees on empty fields. There were a few young eucalypts clustered near to the hut and their branches fell together like the fanning tail of a lyrebird.

Jack Brown eased himself out of the saddle and tied up his horse at the front of the hut. He approached the hut slowly, stepping heavy on the ground, wanting to surprise no one. He knocked on the door, waited, knocked again and then peered in through a window at the front of the hut. He could see a man tiptoeing around in his socks.

Jack Brown sat on the wooden bench that ran between the window and the door and made scraping sounds with the heels of his boots on the boards so the police sergeant would know he was still there, waiting.

Soon he heard a bolt slide back. The sergeant was at the door.

Jack Brown stood up, took off his hat, offered his hand.
Morning, Sergeant, I'm Jack Brown.

The sergeant was a head or so taller than Jack Brown, but Jack Brown guessed they were about the same age, or maybe Jack Brown was older.

Sergeant Andrew Barlow
, the sergeant said and shook Jack Brown's hand
.

Jack Brown noticed Barlow had put on his polished boots and a police coat before he stepped outside. He had sparse blond sideburns and he had combed his hair down in front of his ears as if to make up for the lack of them. There was a city air about him. To Jack Brown he looked like some fop who had been dropped ill-equipped into the valley and into the hut.

You're the first man I've met here so far
, said Barlow.
Least the first one who's introduced himself openly
.
Mostly people run for cover when they see me coming.

Don't take it personally, Sergeant
, said Jack Brown.
Any policeman round here would find it hard to win favour.

Certainly no one is bringing me hot dinners
, said Barlow.

The two men laughed and Jack Brown could feel himself relaxing.

How long you been here?
he asked.

Twenty-one days and counting.

About as long as my ride up north
, said Jack Brown.

They stood in silence then, on the veranda, looking out into the valley.

What brings you here, Jack Brown?
said Barlow finally.

I'm a drover for Fitzgerald Henry
, said Jack Brown
. I'm just back from delivering his cattle up north, but on returning I discovered there's been a fire at his house and neither he nor his wife are there now and there are no neighbours to speak of, or none who would be concerned for their whereabouts. So, Sergeant, I'm not really sure why I am here, whether it is to report them dead or to report them missing.

Barlow's eyes lit up.
Have you had a good look around the house?

I have
, said Jack Brown, and as he said it there were feelings welling up in him and he did not know what to do with them. He found it easier to look out towards the valley as he spoke rather than to look Barlow in the eye.
I found no sign of either one of them. There are some horses in the stable, but many are missing and there are cattle still wandering all over his property.

Were there children?
asked Barlow.

No. Or rather none yet.

Yet?

Jessie was pregnant.

Jessie?
said Barlow. Then, to Jack Brown's surprise Barlow put a hand on his shoulder.
Jack Brown, it is right you are here because this is much more than one man can handle.

Right, Sergeant
, said Jack Brown. He was relieved to have a partner in it all.

Will you ride there with me?
said Barlow.

Of course. It's about half a day's ride.

You lead
, said Barlow.

They set off down Old Road, Barlow's horse freshly saddled, Jack Brown's watered and fed. From the outset the horses they rode were not in synch; Barlow's horse was edging out in front of Jack Brown's and Jack Brown thought it was better not to irritate the man or his horse. He pulled back.

Do you know where you're going?
Jack Brown said to Barlow.

No
, said Barlow,
I'm off the map.

Cross the field. You'll get to the river. Follow the river to the forest then head into the forest. You'll see a track. Keep on it till you get to the other side.

They steered their horses off Old Road and into the field. The grass cracked against the legs of their horses and within the grass Jack Brown could see the ribs of cattle but it did not slow them. Both men's horses slewed across the paddock, kicking up dirt and bones, neck to neck, Jack Brown's horse hedging Barlow's.

THEY MOVED LIKE apparitions, shifting in swathes of red in the distance.

Jessie pulled up her horse. There was a woman, her skirt draped over her arm in a bundle, and a man wearing a jacket with tails that flew out as he walked. He was twice the width of the woman, even with her carrying the bundle.

Jessie was twelve years old. By then she cared for nothing, nothing but pushing her lean body to the limits of itself, climbing higher and higher trees and riding recklessly. Every day Jessie launched herself onto her horse and tore across the paddock at breakneck speed. And when she was bored of charging back and forth, she'd flip herself around to ride seated backwards or push the horse to clear a fence and then turn it sharply to clear the fence again, zigzagging a course. She did not care for style or form, as long as she felt the air passing through her.

One day she rode the horse right up to the fence and, just before it jumped, she flipped her legs up along its back, as if she were flying.

They saw her.

Jessie regarded them from her horse but she did not ride towards them. She sat watching as they walked, as the details of their forms became clearer. The sun caught the gold threads of the man's jacket and he glimmered in patches. Jessie shielded her eyes from the glare of it. The woman wore a headdress, though it might have been hair piled up on her head, with flowers and combs and feathers poking out of it.

Dear girl
, called the woman, waving a lace handkerchief above her head. She was striding now, almost running towards Jessie.
My dear girl, we saw you riding. We're on our way out of town, but we had to stop and ask you . . .

The woman was out of breath. Her cheeks were pink and her hair dripped in ringlets around her high forehead.
Ask me what?
said Jessie.

Your name, darling girl. Your name and the age of you.

Jessie swung down from her horse and stood in front of them.
Why do you wanna know?

Jessie was aware that her own hair hung around her shoulders in knots. She was barefoot and the clothes she wore were her brothers'cast-offs.

Where is your mother
? asked the woman
.

Jessie pointed to the rusted roof of the house at the edge of the paddock.
She's over there.

Through the kitchen window Aoife saw the couple and Jessie leading her horse beside them. The woman looked dazzling to Aoife and she was made even more dazzling in contrast to the neglected lawn and house. She slipped behind the cupboard to wet her lips, pinch her cheeks and push up the messy tendrils of her hair.

Hello
, the woman called through the door.
Are you Jessie's mother?

Who's asking?
said Aoife, going out to meet them.
What's she done now?

I am Miss Spangellotti and this is Mirkus
, said the woman.
And we have had the good fortune of meeting your daughter.

What could be fortunate about that?
said Aoife.

We are forming a circus and we think your daughter could be one of our star performers
, said Mirkus.

Jessie saw Aoife's eyes narrow.

Of course
, said Mirkus,
we will offer you some compensation for the absence of your daughter.

To make up for your loss
, added Miss Spangellotti.

You know she is worth a lot to me
, said Aoife.

If Aoife had asked any questions other than
How much for my daughter?
she might have discovered that Miss Spangellotti and Mirkus were both German and they were determined to tour ‘Mingling Bros Circus of the World'to every city and town in Australia. But she did not care to know where her wild daughter was headed.

That afternoon, Jessie hugged her little brother but not her mother and she climbed into the back of the high-wheeled wagon. There was no one else to say goodbye to. Her older brothers and sister had already left home and were working in the city, her brothers as blacksmiths and her sister as a domestic. Aoife walked out to the front of the house holding her youngest son by the hand but he broke away and ran after the wagon.

Jessie waved to him and she thought to yell,
Go home,
but she did not because they did not seem to be the right words to say. The dust from the road soon enveloped him and soon she was numb to all feeling.

ON THE EDGE of Fitz's forest Jack Brown unsaddled his horse, unstrung his swag and saddlebag and threw it all down. There was just enough light to pass them through the forest but Jack Brown convinced Barlow they did not want to arrive at Fitz's in the half-dark and have to camp there all night among the unbroken horses and frightened cattle. It was easy to persuade Barlow. By the end of the day he was flopping around in his saddle and Jack Brown could see the circles under his eyes had grown darker over their ride.

Jack Brown was in a sour mood. He felt it coming on as they approached the forest. He had compromised himself, and the forest and all it contained reminded him of that. Cobbling together half-truths and worrying more for his own neck than anybody else's were not the actions of the man he had supposed himself to be. Why should he have to win his freedom with lies? And if he could actually confess it, what would the truth be anyway?
Sergeant, for three years I have been rustling horses and cattle for Fitzgerald Henry alongside his wife, and over that time I came to love her, or at least I believed I did. Fitz was a brute and I did not have the courage to stand up to him and when finally I did have the courage the man was dead.

Fitz had died by Jessie's hand, Jack Brown knew it. By escaping and leaving Jack Brown to find the body, Jessie had made him a suspect. And he knew now they were in the worst kind of bind. Their freedom was in competition.

Jack Brown tied up his horse and began to brush it down. As he did so he watched Barlow out of the corner of his eye. Barlow was floating around the campsite with his jacket over his arm. He picked up a fallen branch and stuck the end of it in the dirt and then hung his jacket over it. He continued undressing, removing his shirt and boots, and unrolled his swag. Then with a great sweep he brought his arms up over his head, circled them down, pressed his hands to his feet and began breathing like Jack Brown had never heard a man breathe.

The sight of him made Jack Brown more uneasy than he already felt. Jack Brown believed he could tell a lot about a man by the way he handled his horse and how he held himself in the saddle, and after observing him over the course of the day Jack Brown thought Barlow was plainly odd.

Jack Brown distracted himself by gathering up kindling and wood, and when he returned to the camp Barlow was leaning up against his own saddle on his swag, sipping whiskey from a cup. There was no fire and he had made no preparations for dinner. He offered a cup of whiskey to Jack Brown but Jack Brown refused it. An unskinned rabbit lay near Barlow's boots, a rabbit that Jack Brown had shot some miles back. He found himself freshly annoyed to see Barlow already reclining.