Absolution Creek (31 page)

Cora hardly ever used these yards. Today’s exception to the rule came in the form of Montgomery 201, a stud merino sire purchased in 1962 at the Premier Merino Show & Sale down south. Joined to the pick of Absolution’s finest females he’d produced a drop worthy of a major stud, and when he started roaming a year back, preferring the eastern side of the creek, Cora let him be, as long as he did his duties and took care of his harem first. The old patriarch had been running with the flock rams for the last couple of months and Cora rarely brought him to the main yards unless necessary.

Although smoko was high on Harold’s list of priorities as they headed home, Kendal was on for a gallop. He took off into the bush yelling something about getting ‘the gloss off’ his bay gelding, and soon the three of them were tearing through the scrub chasing a mob of pigs – at least Harold thought there were three of them.

Harold pulled on the reins and his horse breathed heavily. There was a splash of water and Kendal appeared through the trees to trot his horse alongside his uncle’s, his dog, Bouncer, keeping abreast.

‘Did you see Sam?’

Kendal laughed. ‘Sure did. He went this way and I went that way.’ He twisted his hands in opposite directions. ‘I said to Knuckle here –’ he patted the gelding’s neck ‘– “Where’d he go?” Then I heard a scream.’

Harold’s impatience rose. ‘Kendal, where is he?’

‘Beats me, Uncle Harold. He took off like a kid on red cordial. Suppose you’re going to tell me it’s work time.’ He turned the collar up on his coat to ward off the cold southerly.

‘As long as the boy comes back in one piece.’

Kendal stretched his fingers where they clenched the reins. ‘He was hanging on for dear life when I saw him. Anyway, his horse will bring him home.’

‘I guess.’ Harold gestured over his shoulder. ‘He won’t last, you know. He’s a green hide through and through. Heard tell up at the pub that he’s a mechanic by trade. Reckon Miss Hamilton will palm him in a month or so. You gotta give it to him, though. Said he could ride a bit – a bit being the operative word. I didn’t realise until today that he was so ordinary in the saddle.’

Kendal snorted back mucus and spat in the dirt. ‘We’d be better off with a broom and a bucket for all the use he’ll be.’

‘Well, if he didn’t have a liking for the bottle he might have a chance,’ Harold said thoughtfully. ‘At that age – well, it’s a waste of a life. It’s pathetic really.’

Kendal was goggle-eyed. ‘You’re telling me he’s a drinker as well? Oh, this is too good.’

Harold laid a steadying hand on his nephew’s shoulder. ‘Don’t count your chickens yet. There’s plenty an alcoholic who can manage a job. In the meantime we’ll have to give him the benefit of the doubt.’

‘I give him nothing. He took my job.’

‘He doesn’t know that,’ Harold warned.

They walked their horses towards the hayshed, bush quails rising into the air as their horses disturbed the tufted grass. Sue and Bouncer rushed after the low-flying birds, ducking and weaving with little success.

‘We’ll have some smoko first then we’ll let the boss know we’re right to go through the rams. The next job after that is to drive out to the dam in the ridge block. There’s an old fence we’ve got to pull down; she wants the dam delved.’

‘What’s the point of that?’ Kendal asked. ‘There’s a bore drain running through that corner. It should just be re-fenced.’

‘You’re right but we aren’t giving the orders.’

‘More’s the pity.’ Kendal grinned. ‘So what about the jackeroo?’ Behind them the bush was quiet. ‘Why’d she do it?’

‘Age, I guess.’ Harold could only surmise that loneliness finally got the better of the stout-hearted spinster. He only knew of one ‘serious’ relationship in Cora’s life since his arrival in 1952 and that was James Campbell, one-time local vet and owner of Campbell Station. It seemed to Harold that their relationship existed solely on Absolution Creek, for they ventured out as a couple only a handful of times in the four years they were together. Then just recently the relationship ended. Of course, such a liaison could never have worked, at least not while the vet’s indomitable mother was alive. Eloise Campbell was not a woman who bore such dalliances. One’s position in society was everything. So it was surprising that now the Campbell matriarch was gone, Cora and James couldn’t get it together. Not that Harold was complaining. It was one less hurdle to jump. That was, until Meg and her brood turned up.

‘When I think of the work I’ve done here over the years – yes Miss Hamilton, no Miss Hamilton, three bags full Miss Hamilton. Well, geez, she’s just ungrateful,’ Kendal said.

Harold repositioned his bum in the saddle and gave his customary click of the tongue. ‘Steady on a bit, Kendal. You can lead a horse to water . . .’

‘Yeah, I know, I know. I just thought this jackeroo job was a sure thing, and it’s not like I can’t do the work.’

‘It’s the money.’

Kendal took a swig from his canvas water bottle, wiping his chin clean. ‘See, that’s what I don’t get. You told me she made a pretty good sum during the wool boom, that the place still does. So what happens to it?’

‘Who knows? But she certainly doesn’t spend it on the house or flash trips to Sydney. There’s no David Jones department store paddock here that funds a high life. She doesn’t have one.’

‘So what’s your next move?’ Kendal flicked his reins, whistled for his dog to keep up.

Harold snorted. ‘Next move? I’m buggered. While there was no family around I figured there was a chance Absolution would eventually be left to me to manage. She can’t do the work that she used to on account of that leg of hers, so I figured that eventually she’d be looking for someone to leave it to. After all, what else would a single woman do with it? In time I expected you to take over the running of it.’ He gave Kendal an apologetic shrug. ‘Nice little spread like this . . . well, you could have had the pick of the local girls when it came to marriage and eventually I’d have a fine view of those box trees outside the cottage in my retirement. I had no idea there was any family left. Hell, I thought the Hamiltons and the Mannings were done and buried. The best I can hope for is that this current job I have continues and then I’ll slowly drift into retirement. But you, my lad, well you’re buggered.’ Harold swatted at an unseasonal fly buzzing around his face.

‘This is ridiculous. There must be something we can do,’ Kendal replied.

‘If it all goes to the dogs I’ll become another busted-arse unemployed bushman. Ellen will love that. She’s spent twelve years trying to become a member of the local Town & Country Club. She’ll just love it if we have to move.’

‘I don’t get how Cora Hamilton can even own this land. It’s just wrong.’

Harold reined his mount in. There had been speculation aplenty over the years as to whether Cora actually did own Absolution Creek. There had been talk of leasing agreements and management fees, but no one he’d ever spoken to could confirm or deny that particular piece of information. Everything else, however, had damn well happened in the main street of Stringybark Point. Harold knew those bits – the worst bits – were true. ‘Don’t be thinking you can change things here on Absolution Creek, Kendal,’ he warned. ‘Everyone for miles around knows who Cora Hamilton is and where she came from and she’s been left alone.’ He spurred his horse onwards.

Kendal drew abreast with his uncle. ‘So are the rumours true?’

‘Yes –’ Harold flicked the reins and trotted onwards ‘– they’re true.’

The hay shed was only a short ride ahead. The twenty-six-foot-high wooden roof was an obvious landmark. Over the years Harold continually pestered Cora into boarding up the northern end, the direction most of their weather came from, but she’d refused. Harold didn’t agree with her argument that the oaten hay at that end was always fed out first, negating the need for the expense of protection. This year he wanted it done.

Kendal glanced over his shoulder. ‘No sign of him.’

‘You go ahead. Once he reaches the fence line he can only go left or right. I’ll see him from here.’

A half hour later, Harold was on the verge of considering a search party when Sam appeared. Sure enough he’d followed the fence around and was now cutting across the paddock towards the homestead. Harold raised an eyebrow. The man had a bit of a sense of direction at least. They met up at the gateway leading into the homestead block.

‘Everything okay?’ Harold leant down, unhooked the chain from the gate post and rode through.

‘Fine,’ Sam replied through gritted teeth.

‘Shut it, will you?’

‘No problems.’

It was ten minutes before the lad caught up. Harold waited under the shade of an old brigalow tree; his left leg strung out across his mount’s long-suffering neck. He slapped at sticky flies, cleaned saddle grease from his thumbnail and pulled at a sun scab on the back of his hand with his teeth. He had to admit, it irked him his own nephew had to take second place to an ignorant try-hard.

A hazy mirage of horse and rider finally appeared on the dirt track. Harold held few expectations regarding Sam’s mustering ability, however the lad did have enough nous to follow his lead. And he’d stuck to him like the proverbial, shadowing him as they walked the rams to the yards, only moving to a wing when directed. He got points for that at least. Unfortunately, Sam Bell was a poor rider with no livestock experience, and now here it was late morning with a good day’s work ahead of them. Harold was too old for this stuff.

‘How’re the legs?’ Harold reckoned the furrow between Sam’s eyes had more to do with pain than glare. The boy rode with a stick up his arse, and those washy green eyes made you feel he was accusing you of something.

Sam tried to give a nonchalant flick of the reins, but struck his mare in the eye and a second later found himself sitting in the middle of the tack-hard track.

‘I should have said bum,’ Harold stated solemnly, dismounting his own horse and extending a hand to pull Sam up from the ground.

Sam brushed himself down. ‘Not sure what happened.’

‘Save it for the women,’ Harold advised remounting.

‘That obvious?’ Sam winced.

‘I didn’t pay much attention at the beginning.’

‘Too busy watching the young fella, eh? He’s a bit of a tear-arse.’

Harold burst out laughing, holding the mare still as Sam did one, two, three, eventually five standing leg hops to mount up. Harold flinched, expecting Sam to go straight over and land on the impressive ants’ nest on the other side. The mare whinnied in disgust.

‘What’s so funny?’ Sam queried, pleased at last to be moving again.

‘Tear-arse, you say? Didn’t think he was the one yelping?’

‘What’s wrong with Cora’s leg?’ Sam asked, choosing to ignore the manager’s remarks. The old man was forgetting something: he was family, not staff.

‘Accident. Long time ago,’ Harold replied. ‘We’ll be out again day after tomorrow. You better get yourself a pair of pantyhose.’

‘Pantyhose? What the hell for?’

‘It’ll help with the chafing.’ Harold nodded at Sam’s look of scepticism. ‘You’ll see what I mean in a few hours. Everyone uses a pair in the beginning.’

‘Yeah right. Anyway, what accident?’

‘One that you’d know about if she wanted you to.’

‘Secret, is it?’ Sam gave a snort.

Harold walked his horse on ahead. ‘You ask her yourself,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘you’re family. In the meantime you better tell Cora that the rams are yarded. We’ll have a quick cuppa and be ready to go in twenty.’

There were five sets of sheep yards scattered around Absolution Creek, as well as the central main yards at the woolshed. The yards they approached carried memories so raw that Cora barely used them, electing instead to walk any sheep on this eastern side of the creek across to the main yards, much to Harold’s continued frustration. ‘Time is money,’ he would comment. Cora knew that better than anyone. Nonetheless, when she did choose to sleep she wanted her time on the pillow to be free of dreams of the past.

This year her paddock rotation had all the flock rams running on this part of the property, along with Montgomery 201 and a two-year-old drop of his son’s selected as weaners. Montgomery, in the habit of wandering in an easterly direction, usually pulled up stumps from his flock of ewes once he’d considered his business concluded. Meandering across the creek a good three miles, his preferred spot was a patch of soft green grass that was bordered by gum trees. Cora couldn’t blame him. It was a nice spot, with water views of the creek when there was a run down it.

Today Montgomery was standing in the middle of the large receiving yard when they drove up. Dust swirled around him as the rest of the rams ran away to bunch up in a far corner. Cora could tell Montgomery was peeved. A single strike of his hoof in the caked dirt confirmed her suspicions. Curly and Tripod, the only dogs allowed near the rams in an onlooker capacity, trailed Cora as she walked through a gate into the sheep yards. They sat obediently near the gateway, their eyes fixed on Montgomery.

‘Have you got that dog of yours chained up, Kendal?’ Cora checked.

‘Sure thing. Bouncer’s in the back of the work truck inside the sheep crate.’ Kendal nudged Sam in the ribs as he walked past and said under his breath, ‘Might be safer if you get up in the back too.’