Absolution Creek (71 page)

Scrubber looked at the water flowing a couple of feet below the branch where they sat. The girl was still asleep, an occasional low moan escaping her lips. Scrubber’s own discomfort refused to lessen and he knew that time had finally run out. But by jove he’d given that thing way out in the east a good run; that thing waiting to snatch him up and cart him away to the nether world. Not a man could fault him for lack of determination. Scrubber put a hand down his shirtfront. The pouch was still there, if a little damp.

Thinking back to that visit to the gaol cell some forty years ago, Scrubber wished he’d not been so out of sorts. If he’d been of sound mind and not beset by a throbbing ache that refused to ease, he may have paid more attention to the shadowy form of a person lurking behind the police station. At the time he was more concerned with his own wounding and the soft comfort of a hotel bed. So he’d hunkered down by a paling fence not ten yards from the police station, his stomach aching from a lack of food as it couldn’t pass down his gullet. When Squib was finally thrown out of the lock-up it took all of Scrubber’s strength to coerce the sobbing girl back to the hotel. It was too much for him, this doing of good deeds. Nothing ever went to plan.

At some time during that night he awoke to a flare of light. At first he thought the brilliance reflected into the hotel room was due to the rum and laudanum Veronica made him swallow to ease his sleep. Light flickered across the tongue-and-groove wall boards and it took some time for the haze swirling in his head to clear. The commotion in the street cleared his thoughts.

The fire was lit during the night. By dawn the timber lock-up and the station were totally destroyed, a burning pile of timber the only sign left of the law in Stringybark Point, for two constables along with Matt Hamilton were burnt to death and lay buried in the charred heap.

‘You awake then, Squib?’ Scrubber poked at her shoulder. If he was freezing he could only guess at how Cora felt. Her skin was grey.

‘Sure. I’m awake. I’m perched in a tree six foot up off the ground with flood water swirling below me. I’d hardly be asleep.’

Scrubber gave a croaky huff. ‘No point getting annoyed with me. Do you remember that morning when you left Stringybark Point?’ He retrieved the pouch.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I did what you wanted. I went down to the lock-up and scraped up some of the ash.’

Cora turned to him. ‘You did what?’

‘On account of the fact you would have done it and on account of the fact that your father wanted me to let you know where they buried him, if he’d made it to Sydney. Well, he didn’t even get a proper grave. Anyway, the lock-up was at the rear, remember. The bars were still standing the next day.’ Scrubber set the pouch in her hand. ‘I reckon most of what’s in there is him.’ Scrubber scratched his chin. ‘I think.’

‘This is –’

‘Yep, that would be your father, Matt Hamilton, all six foot plus of him. Or near-abouts. Built like a brick outhouse, he was, with a face women loved.’

Cora hugged the pouch to her chest.

‘He weren’t a bad travelling companion, although Dog complained about favouritism from time to time on account of me looking after your father first of a night when we made camp. Anyway, it took me some time to get back to you but a man always keeps his promises.’

‘Oh, Scrubber, I can’t believe it.’

Scrubber gave a chuckle. ‘I guess a man like me with no family worth speaking of . . . well, sometimes he just fixes his mind on a person until they become kin.’ The countryside was submerged under an inland sea. Sticks, grass and a dead kangaroo floated past a stand of box trees.

Cora cradled the cracked leather pouch. ‘You must be the best person in the whole world, Scrubber. Our family was lucky the day Father met you.’ She squeezed his gnarly hand, her eyes brimming.

In an instant Scrubber felt the knife slip between Jack’s ribs; recalled the Hamilton family leaving Waverly Station in the dead of night.

‘To think you’d travel all this way, after all these years.’ Cora sniffed. ‘This means the world to me, to be able to bury my father.’

He could have told her he was dying, that he’d run out of excuses, that he wanted to go to his maker with a clean conscience. That was what he’d thought on leaving the hilly country. Now he wanted more, and wanting more meant he couldn’t tell Cora the truth about the past.

‘Well, you always were Matt’s favourite.’

‘Did he tell you that?’

‘Sure he did, girly. Took after him, Matt reckoned.’ Scrubber cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, you bury him proper like and look to the future.’

‘The future,’ Cora repeated. ‘I’ve always found it pretty hard to escape the past.’

‘Well, you can’t have a life with dead people,’ Scrubber replied sagely. ‘A person’s got to let go and move on.’ Rich words, he mused, when he’d been incapable of doing the same.

‘Maybe I’ll try doing that, Scrubber. Now you’re here, once we get out of this, we’ll be able to sit down and talk about the old days. There are so many things I want to ask you, so many things I need to know.’ Cora’s teeth chattered with coldness. She tucked the pouch down her shirt front.

‘Sure thing, girly.’ Scrubber thought of the people left in the world who knew him. After all the miles travelled and the years spent brewing, in the end only Squib’s good opinion mattered. It mattered far more than forgiveness. How could he tell her the truth?

Chapter 61

T
he helicopter continued to hover over the Absolution Creek homestead. Meg peered out the side of the machine straight down into Cora’s bedroom. Most of the ceiling had collapsed in on itself and the walkway appeared to have sunk a good foot into the ground. Only the leopardwood tree remained rooted securely to the earth, its branches sprawling starkly over the homestead’s gaping roof as Sam was winched into the air. Tripod was in Sam’s arms as the cable reeled them upwards and he gave a bark of acknowledgement when they reached the opening of the hovering chopper. The twins were securely buckled in either side of Meg and Kendal, Curly sitting safely between Meg’s legs.

James freed the dog from Sam’s grip and handed Tripod across to Meg. He replaced the headphones over his ears as Sam stepped out of the rescue harness. ‘Can we do another run over the creek?’

The pilot tapped the fuel gauge. ‘A brief one, James. I can’t risk running low and I still have to drop this lot off at your place before I head back to Stringybark Point.’

The helicopter dipped its nose as it lifted and then flew eastwards. The land surrounding the house was covered in water. Here and there patches of grass broke the shallow coverage as they flew towards the dam. ‘This is local water from the rain, not flood water,’ James informed them, pointing to the white of the dam’s bank. Thirty or so rams were bunched atop it, along with a couple of kangaroos and two poddy lambs. ‘There’s Montgomery!’ James called loudly to Meg and Sam. ‘Cora got him out.’ Absolution Creek’s prize ram lifted his rain-matted head and sniffed the air as the helicopter flew overhead.

The land shimmered under the rays of the afternoon sun. The cloud was breaking in the west and in the fledgling light it became easier to see the path of the flood. The main water extended to the east a good five or so kilometres from the homestead; the remainder of the tree-dotted countryside was simply rain-drenched. Sheep were feeding out through the soggy landscape and cattle were huddled on the odd dry ridge. As they neared the creek James leant further out of the side of the helicopter. The road leading in the direction of the creek crossing was easily spotted from the air and soon they were flying to the line of trees marking the waterway.