Absolution Creek (43 page)

Scrubber turned on his side and moaned.

Veronica padded away to return with a bowl of water. ‘You gonna tell me what’s wrong then, lovey?’

Her cooling hand stroked his brow. Scrubber sweated under the weight of her concern. How was it that the difference between right and wrong could creep up on a man unawares? Worse, with the doing of something now undoable and the Hamilton saga circulating through the bush like a water bag on a hot day, there wasn’t even any benefit to his actions. Scrubber sat up; pushed away the wash cloth. He was about as clean as he’d ever be. ‘I need you to do something, Veronica.’

‘Really?’ She hiked her skirt up.

‘Not that. I need to know if anyone’s taken in a kid – a girl.’

‘Not that Hamilton girl.’ She covered her knees again.

Scrubber nodded. ‘The very same.’

Veronica threw the cloth in the tin wash bowl, splashing water onto the bed.

He grabbed her wrist. ‘That girl did me a good turn. Her father did me a good turn.’ He pulled her closer. ‘I wanna return the favour.’

‘All right, just as long as you don’t fancy her.’ Veronica moved the wash bowl. ‘She ain’t that much younger than me.’

‘And
you
ain’t that much younger than
me
, girl, but that don’t mean I’ve taken a liking to her.’

‘What you gonna do when you find her?’

Scrubber twisted his face up. Some things he knew, others he didn’t.

Chapter 32

S
am turned the collar up on his jacket and looked down between his riding boots at the trail of corn beneath them. Harold as usual was finding every pothole on the paddock, and the truck dipped and dived sideways, the feeder slipping half a foot in differing directions with the movement. With only one feeder on the property, Kendal was relegated to chopping wood for both houses and finding a roo with which to feed the dogs.

They met up with Kendal at the entrance to the 800-acre block. Cocky as usual, he wound down his window to ask if Sam was warm enough. There was a dead emu in the back of the old blue ute and a trail of blood painting the metal tray.

‘Nearly finished?’ he asked, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

‘Kendal, we don’t normally shoot emus,’ Harold said, chewing a mangled match. ‘We’ll run this bit out in here and then go back and get another quarter load. That should do us.’

Harold had been itching to get out of the cold as well so Sam knew there wouldn’t be any mucking about. The work truck was missing the window on the passenger side and had lost its winding mechanism on the driver’s.

‘It’s a bit rough in there.’ Kendal pointed over his shoulder to the paddock beyond. A mob of ewes was already walking towards them. ‘I better check that chain.’ He made a show of ensuring they were secure before clapping Sam on the shoulder. ‘By the looks of the light I’ll only have time to burn the feathers of this bird here and chop enough wood for old Uncle Harold. You’ll have to chop the wood for the big house when you knock off, Sam.’

‘No worries.’ Sam resumed his seat on the rear of the truck. ‘I’ll be sure to tell Cora you didn’t have time to chop any wood for her.’ He expected a grunt of annoyance. Instead Kendal gave him one of his lopsided grins.

The vehicles parted and Harold veered from the road, heading towards a clump of trees. Sam grabbed at the side of the tray, his fingers closing over the cold metal as the truck bumped across the ground, a handful of ewes following. They travelled a few hundred yards before Harold gave a wave from the cabin.

‘Righto.’

The ewes were on the corn the moment Sam began to release it. From across the paddock eager sheep made their way towards the feed as a growing wind buffeted the kernels, scattering them across the ground. As the vehicle bounced across the paddock Sam didn’t notice the feeder slipping with its decreasing contents. Harold drove the work truck through a catchment drain and hit a log in the long grass. The impact shunted the truck sideways, the off-skew feeder adding to the vehicle’s momentum as it tipped onto its side. Tossed against the moving feeder, Sam flung himself clear of the rolling vehicle to land on the corn trail with a thud. For a moment he didn’t move; couldn’t move.

Harold yelled.

Sam quickly hoisted himself up onto the passenger side of the vehicle. Harold lay against the driver’s door, his body partially wedged by the steering wheel. ‘How on earth did you end up in that position?’ he asked.

‘Good driving, eh? Bet they don’t drive like that in the Big Smoke?’

‘Geez, you people are strange,’ Sam replied. He reefed open the door. ‘Anything broken?’

Harold gave a grimace. ‘I’m pretty sure everything would be manipulating just fine if I could move.’

‘Well, that tells me nothing. Rope?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Yeah, yeah, behind the seat.’

With the rope located and tied around part of the tray, Sam dropped the end to Harold. ‘Just tie it onto the steering wheel. I’m gonna come down in there and pull you out. The rope’s a bit of a –’

‘Safety line.’

‘Pretty much. I don’t eat as much as you fellas do.’

‘I know.’ Harold shook his head. ‘Saos.’

Wedging his foot between the seat and the hump of the drive axle, Sam reached Harold quickly, pulling him free of the wheel. Harold managed to stand on the driver’s door.

‘Now we’re cooking.’ Sam grinned as he jumped from the vehicle to pull Harold free. They both landed heavily on the ground. ‘Well, at least you didn’t fall on me.’ Sam laughed.

‘My head’s killing me.’

Sam shrugged off his coat. ‘Here, put this on and try and keep warm.’ He helped Harold to a nearby wilga tree, noticing that the man’s head wound was directly where the ram had struck him.

‘It’s a fair walk,’ Harold reminded him.

‘Do me good. See you soon, eh?’ Sam gritted his teeth against the cold and began the five-mile trek home.

Meg was at the sink peeling potatoes as the day dwindled to a close. She added water to the saucepan of vegetables and checked the eggs simmering on the stove top. The twins loved to plunge buttery toast into the rich yolk and an easy dinner suited Meg. The day had become quite topsy-turvey after Cora’s weather forecast. Lunch was rushed; biscuits needed to be rebaked; Jill required disinfectant, bandaging and cuddles after a tumble outside; and firewood needed to be gathered and covered. The lady of the house had, of course, retired to her room.

With the house quiet, Meg opened the letter she’d received that morning and had been carrying around in her apron.

Meg reread the letter and scrunched it into a ball. So it was true, Cora Hamilton wasn’t even her real aunt. Now what was she supposed to do? Pack up and go home? Meg tossed the letter in the Aga, slamming the door shut. Through the window a figure walked across the paddock. Meg was startled to see Cora climb over the low hedge to walk swiftly towards the approaching man. As he drew nearer she could see it was Sam.

Meg was out the back door and racing towards her husband as Sam and Cora reached the work shed. Kendal was slouching against the blue utility, watching a mound of something burning on the ground. Meg could smell petrol and flesh and, whatever it was, it stank enough to entice Curly and Tripod to within a few feet of the burning mass.

‘Sam, Sam?’

Meg felt her arm gripped tightly. ‘Everything’s all right. We tipped the truck and I had to leave Harold out in the paddock. I’ll get him.’ Her husband looked drawn, his features tight with cold and concern. He turned to Kendal. ‘Checked the feeder chains, did we?’

Kendal stared at Sam, a blank expression on his face, the air thick with dislike. ‘Is he okay?’

‘Freezing, I’d imagine, in this weather.’

‘You’re bleeding.’ There was a rip down the front of Sam’s jeans, the area glossy with blood. Meg knelt to inspect the wound only to be brushed aside by Cora.

‘It’ll take more than that to kill him.’ Cora slipped onto the bench seat of the ute.

‘I’m fine,’ Sam agreed, ‘we’ve got to go.’ He sat behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition.

‘Me too.’ Kendal left the burning mass.

‘No.’ Cora held up her palm. ‘There’s not enough room. We’ll be back soon.’

As the ute disappeared through the house paddock gate the twins arrived. They walked up to the molten black mass of scorched flesh, gooey moisture and scattered feathers, and turned opened mouths and wide eyes towards their mother.

‘It’s, it’s . . . What is it, Kendal?’ Meg asked.

‘An emu.’ Kendal kicked at the carcass. ‘Anyone would think he was
their
uncle.’

‘What are you killing the bird for?’ Jill asked. Tripod was by her side immediately, his wet nose nuzzling her bandaged knee beneath her stockings.

‘For the dogs to eat.’

In the months since their arrival, Meg rarely found herself in Kendal’s company. He was a raggedy-looking youth with a mango-shaped head and thick eyebrows, and there was just something about him Meg didn’t like. ‘Is it normal to kill emus?’ she asked.

Kendal eyed her off slowly. ‘Does it matter?’

Tripod gave Jill’s hand a lick and joined Curly, who was already snuffling around the edge of the dead bird.

‘The meat’s good for them and so’s the oil. Gives them a real shiny coat.’ He ruffled Penny’s hair, his hand slick with dried blood. ‘It’s like you having to eat your vegies.’

Penny screwed her nose up. ‘Yuk!’

Curly set to chewing on the carcass, his growls of delight matching the twins’ chorus of
yuk
. Kendal laughed.

‘Come on, girls. Back to the house.’ By now Meg knew the eggs would have boiled dry, probably burning the bottom out of the saucepan as well. It was proving to be a long day.

‘You know, I told Sam to check the chain on the feeder properly. Make sure it didn’t tip and cause an accident.’

Meg wrapped her cardigan more snugly about her.

‘I have to tell you, it’s a bit difficult having to carry Sam.’ Kendal kicked at the burning carcass. ‘He’s a good bloke and all, and I know Harold would never say anything, but you know, being the one that’s doing the work and not being paid, well it’s a bit difficult.’

‘I’m not really in a position to say anything, Kendal.’