Absolution Creek (26 page)

‘Clean miss,’ Squib yelled, clambering onto the post. She stood silently, balancing carefully as her brother brushed himself off and ran behind the colt, chasing the horse towards her. As the horse trotted past, Squib gave a yelp and sprang from the post. She too landed in a spray of dust on the hard ground. ‘Touched him,’ she called proudly. ‘Your turn.’

‘You’re bleeding.’ Ben pointed at her knees as he readied for the colt to pass. He sprang forward quickly on his second attempt and landed on the horse’s back only to slip to the ground. ‘Ouch.’

Squib balanced on the post and counted softly to four as the colt raced past in a flurry of dust. She leant forward, pushed off with her toes and launched herself into the air. This time her aim was straight. The horse was beneath her. Quickly flinging her leg over and grasping the colt’s mane, she yelled with delight. ‘I did it!’

Ben’s mouth turned. ‘Dumb luck.’

‘Well, dumb luck’s better than no luck.’ She wiped at the sheen of perspiration with dirt-smeared hands and slid from the colt’s back.

They mucked about in the yards until it neared Bible time. Ben looked at her from head to toe. ‘She’ll give you a roasting,’ he warned. ‘You’re filthy.’

Squib figured she probably wasn’t at her best. Her knees were bruised and bleeding, her dress torn, and dust seemed to be sticking with equal determination to skin, hair and clothing. Worst of all she was starving and she wasn’t of a mind to be withheld a meal just because she’d wanted a bit of fun. The trough next to the iron water tank was full and it was into this she sat fully clothed. Ben’s mouth gaped.

‘It’ll be almost dry by the time we get back.’ She rubbed at the dirt on her dress, scrubbed herself and then dunked her head under the algae-slimed liquid as Ben busied himself, splashing water on his face. The sides of the trough were slippery and sludge plastered the bottom. Squib managed to get out without falling and promptly shook herself like a dog. ‘Ready.’ She patted her hair into order, ignoring the stinging grazes on her knees. Ben gave her a shake of his head.

The dog appeared on Monday. He was all bony rib cage and large droopy eyes, and Squib knew immediately she wanted him. She named him Dog, tied him up under one of the crooked trees on the western side of the house, gave him water and fed him scraps of bread snuck from the kitchen. At nearly fifteen years of age, Ben was taking lessons from Mr Purcell’s farrier. His hands ached from belting in horse shoes. Quite often he returned to the stables at dark to be with the horses. With the heat making the air almost too dense to breathe, any stock work was completed by midday, which left the afternoon for the men to attend to yard building and fence repairs. For once Squib liked the hazy heat-filled day. There was no one around.

That first day the yellow dog wouldn’t let her pat him, but by dusk he was nuzzling her arm and by midnight, when the cottage was bathed in darkness, he was lying stretched out by her side with his head on her arm, both of them gazing into each other’s wide brown eyes. Squib spent the night outdoors, cool and uncramped, her timber confines exchanged for a web of stars. Tomorrow was Christmas and she dreamt of a horse she could call her very own.

From the cottage came the sound of Beth whimpering, and her father and stepmother arguing. Their voices rose and fell intermittently.

‘They’ve got no proof, Matt,’ Abigail was saying. ‘Tell them to search the cottage. Ask Mr Purcell if I can speak to his wife. She’ll believe me.’

‘It’s gone too far for that, Abigail. The necklace went missing after your last visit to the main homestead.’

‘But I didn’t take it. You believe me, don’t you?’

‘People get an itch for wanting more, Abigail. I can’t blame you for wanting to better yourself. Why, my first wife –’

‘Your first wife knew no better. I do.’

‘It’s a loose loyalty that exists out here in the bush. One man’s problem is another’s boon. Evans has pointed the finger and the men are beginning to take sides. There’s talk that Martin didn’t hang himself, that maybe I wanted the overseer’s job too much.’

‘Evans? That jumped-up –’

‘He’ll be the next overseer, Abigail.’

‘But I didn’t take the necklace.’

‘I can’t risk the authorities getting involved. I’ve got two kids to think about.’

‘You have four, Matt.’

‘Two kids that will be taken away from me if I’m not careful. You know that.’

‘How a man like you ever married a woman like that –’

‘She was a good woman and she didn’t breed a conniving daughter. I want you to start packing. If things turn real sour, we’ll have to leave and soon.’

Squib lay bug-eyed awake. The lamp went out in the cottage and a door slammed. She couldn’t believe what she’d just overheard. Abigail must have stolen Mrs Purcell’s pearl necklace and because of that her father would lose his job as overseer. What was worse was that now they would have to leave just in case Mr Purcell called in the coppers. Her father always said that she and Ben would be safe on Waverly Station, that Mr Purcell would turn a blind eye to their presence just as long as the work was done on time and there wasn’t any trouble. Well, now there was trouble. Big trouble.

Eventually she slept, only to awake in the dead of night. The moon hung like a teardrop above her. Dog whimpered. It was nice to have a dog, Squib thought, nice to have a –. Something made Squib sit upright. She scanned the shadows cast by the moon’s glow: cottage, vegetable garden, outdoor dunny. Nothing moved. The space lived in by her family was still. Then Dog stirred and gave a low growl and she spread herself flat against the trunk of their tree.

‘What is it?’ Squib whispered, taking hold of his back. Again the same long, low growl.

Squib saw them then: a line of black fellas walking single file across the face of the paddock beyond. Their long, lean legs shone in the moonlight as they swished through the grass, faces turned towards a scrubby rise in the east. They carried shields and long hunting spears and walked westwards into darkness. Squib wanted to run after them, to ask where they were going, yet something held her to the earth. She finally gained the courage to take a step in their direction only to find a lone man waiting in the shadows near the creaking toilet door. He was dressed in white man’s clothes. He squatted in the dirt, his knees creaking.

The hairs jumped to attention on Squib’s arms and she bit her lip, tasting blood on her tongue.

‘One day the land will call to you, little one, and you must listen.’

Squib was sure her own eyes were as wide and as white as the man’s opposite. She twisted her arms behind her back. ‘Why?’

He placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Because she needs to know we can still speak her language. 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.’

‘New friend?’

Squib picked at the sleep crusting her eyes. It was daylight. The men on walkabout were gone. Crawling into a sitting position she brushed dirt from her face and hair. It was then she noticed the heavily bandaged wrist. ‘His name’s Dog.’

‘Good choice. If I have a dog I’ll be sure to call him that. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for what you done with my wrist.’ He held it towards her, flexing the fingers. ‘It’s fixed and I’m off scrub cutting.’

Squib took his hand, prodded at the bones. The dog nuzzled her arm. ‘It ain’t, you know.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Well, if I stay, Evans will throw me off the place on account of not being able to work. Your father knows that. It was him that got me the work scrub-cutting.’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘Look out for the Boss Cocky. He probably won’t like your dog,’ he said.

‘Even if he’s my friend?’ Squib wondered how a man got such a stretched out nose.

‘Don’t make no difference.’

Squib swatted at a black fly. ‘Suppose not if you’re a dog on a sheep place, but my father says if you’re a friend then you’re a friend for life.’

‘Maybe, I wouldn’t know. I ain’t never had one.’

‘Hey,’ Squib called after him, ‘you’ve got a friend now.’ He gave her a look like someone had just offered him two bob for nothing. Squib figured it for a smile. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she called after him. He answered with a wave.

It was a whole day before Ben knew of her pet. Christmas Day passed barely noticed, with their father away all day and Abigail and Jane hunkered in the kitchen whispering. Squib kept to herself, afraid for the dog, waiting for the worst to happen. Afraid to mention her father and stepmother’s argument to her brother for fear the talking of it would make things worse.

‘You can’t keep him,’ her father said on catching sight of the stray at dusk. ‘Mr Purcell doesn’t allow feral dogs on the place. You know that, Squib.’

Ben kicked at the dirt. ‘He doesn’t have to know.’

Their father plied the soft plaited leather of his hat-band. ‘He’d find out.’

‘We won’t tell him,’ Squib argued. ‘We promise.’ Ben nodded in agreement.

‘He’ll know.’ Their father’s mouth thinned.

‘Only if
she
tells him.’ Ben gestured towards the cottage.

‘Don’t talk about your mother that way. She’s doing her best.’

Ben sat down by the dog and scratched him between the ears. ‘She’s not my mother.’

Squib readied herself for an argument, for her father’s belt to be loosened from his trousers. Ben was fast for a kid, but their father could run like the wind, especially when it came to giving them a hiding. Ben firmed his jaw. A pale blue blood vessel pulsed in his throat. ‘I think we should be able to have a pet.’

Ben’s calm words settled their father. He scratched at his crotch, gave a trademark sigh. ‘Mr Purcell reckons any stray dog ends up being a sheep killer. Don’t forget what ram lives here on Waverly Station.’

How could they forget? Mr Purcell handed out a shiny new shilling coin to every man and child on the property when Waverly No. 4 became famous. On that day Squib determined that she too would have such a grand animal and a dog.

Their father left them sitting under the tree, the dog flanked by his protectors. Squib knew she wouldn’t have him for long.

‘I hate the blasted Purcells. I wish we could leave,’ Ben said, stroking the dog’s back.

‘And go where?’ Squib asked hesitantly. Clearly her brother knew nothing of the argument.

‘Anywhere, Squib, almost anywhere. If we could leave
her
behind it would be even better.’ Ben’s gaze was on the house again. They could hear arguing. ‘I don’t like her. Never have.’

‘Me neither.’ Squib drew a pattern in the dirt with a stick. The dog licked her arm.