Absolution Creek (65 page)

‘What should we do?’ There was a moment’s silence, the void filled with the crackle of the telephone line.

‘Nothing. You’ve done enough. I’ll try and get my hands on a chopper, not that it’ll be easy. There’s been a major disaster east of Stringybark Point. Meg, you guys have got to prepare yourself.’

‘For what?’ She thought of Cora, of the weather, of Kendal lying injured in their bedroom.

‘There’s flood water coming your way. Absolution Creek is one of the wettest spots in the district. You may be isolated for some time I’m afraid. Turn your radio on and –’ The line dropped out.

‘James said there’s a flood coming our way.’ Meg replaced the receiver. ‘The line’s dead.’ A crack of thunder sounded. ‘He said we’d be isolated.’ Lightning sliced the sky, illuminating the kitchen as a loud bang shook the house. ‘That hit something.’ Meg shuddered. There was a screech from the other end of the house. The twins were awake.

‘What’s he doing about Cora?’

‘He said something about a chopper.’

‘Well then, we can relax.’ Sam made more coffee. ‘You might as well settle in and stop stalking about the house. There’s nothing we can do.’

‘I’m so worried about Cora. What if something happens to her out there? What if she dies?’

‘She won’t die. I bet she’s holed up somewhere, high and dry. A woman like her can’t spend her life out here in the sticks without knowing a survival trick or two.’

‘Imagine what James Campbell thinks, us leaving Cora out there all night.’

Sam swirled sugar into his tea. ‘Who cares what he thinks?’

‘I do.’

Sam blew on the surface of the steaming beverage. ‘I know you do.’ The kitchen light flickered and then went out. ‘Great.’

Chapter 55

‘C
ome on, Samsara.’ Scrubber tugged fruitlessly at the lead as thunder crackled. The old girl adamantly refused to budge and a good ten minutes of wheedling and cajoling made no difference. He slipped down from Veronica’s back and quickly discovered he was in a hole. The water was up to his chest.

‘Damn and blast, if a man wasn’t wet enough already.’ Still, he could have fallen on a log and twisted an ankle or worse. Scrubber trudged against the weight of the water, away from the insects massing on floating bits of timber and on the trunks of trees. Branches were weighed down with bird life, and crawling with centipedes and ants that would fall onto him if he brushed a laden tree limb. Reaching higher ground, he proceeded to offload Samsara. He lifted Dog onto Veronica’s back and dumped everything else, including the saddle, in knee-deep water. Finally the bridle was off.

‘Well, you’ve played your part. I’m figuring it’s everyone for themselves.’ Scrubber gave the mare a pat on the nose as Samsara twitched her ears, her brown eyes unblinking. Dog whined. ‘Yeah well, life’s like that,’ Scrubber replied sullenly, heaving his backside into the saddle. Samsara turned and walked away in the opposite direction. ‘Always was the smartest in the pack.’ He dipped his head against the driving rain.

They’d been moving all morning, barely stopping over the last twenty-five hours. The creek gurgled alongside them, spilling its banks in lower places to join the water already lying across the sodden landscape. Scrubber was beginning to doubt if he’d be able to navigate the creek at the crossing the publican talked about. Reaching another ‘give and take’ he dismounted, and pushed and pulled at the wooden upright. So far they’d managed to get through three of these fences that stretched across the winding creek forming a boundary between neighbours. With the ground saturated, the posts bowed under his strength, at least at enough of an angle for him to carefully walk Veronica over the wires. This post was a little more difficult, and it was with a feeling of utter exhaustion that Scrubber managed to get over the fence to the other side. The pain was building again, rippling through him, reminding him that time was shortening.

‘Could be worse. I could be tucked up like the rest of the terminals in a white-walled room, hey, Dog?’

Dog didn’t answer – he was too busy sniffing the wind.

The water came slowly at first, lapping at the edges of her clothes, swirling and prodding at Horse so that Cora’s body moved ever so slightly. With the rain’s return Cora sensed a change in the creek’s movement. The water became muddier in colour. Branches, bottles and a child’s toy bobbed on one side of the crossing, caught by the mound. Soon a surge of dirty flood water mounted the crossing. The pressure of the water grew quickly, pushing at Horse’s lifeless body, slowly dislodging it. With the movement a shocking pain crept through Cora’s trapped leg and she screamed in agony. Then the water was upon her, over her, under her, pushing at her in every direction.

Cora tried to grasp the saddle, her head bobbing briefly above the water before slippery hands tugged her down into murky depths. The current yanked her free of Horse and, gasping for air, she gave herself up to the unknown. She pictured Jack Manning, longing to cradle his head as she had all those years ago, to feel the warmth of his touch.

There he was. Cora could see Jack standing before her, his reflection distorted by the water. Joy welled within and she floated in the dream of him, her fingertips quivering with expectation as she swam through a silvery tunnel. Engulfed by an intense stillness Cora fixed her eyes on Jack, on the stream of light silhouetting his body, on the smile that was only for her. Cora sensed she was only a heartbeat away from being reunited with the man she’d always loved, so why was he suddenly turning from her? Telling her it wasn’t time? Telling her to go back?

Lungs bursting, Cora splashed her way to the surface. She thrust her arms towards a log and made a grab for it. The pressure and jolt that followed knocked the remaining breath from her body and she spun sideways, her arms pinned down.

Cora woke lying on the creek’s bank. Disorientated, she spluttered up muddy water, half-expecting to see Jack Manning by her side. Instead, a grey-headed man was untying a rope from around her chest. A mangy collie was prodding at her bad leg with a paw, and a horse was snuffling her hair. The man gave a chuckle and then collapsed onto the ground beside her.

‘I should have known you’d be in some sort of scrape.’ His voice was barely audible, his words a mess of tangled letters and hoarse wheezing. ‘Recognise you anywhere, I would.’

He patted her arm. The dog licked her cheek. Cora sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in her leg. ‘Do I know –?’ There was a filthy scarf loose about his neck, and where the smoothness of a throat should have been, a crinkly neck with a hole in the middle of it. Cora thought she’d seen a ghost.

The dog barked. The man gave him a rough pat.

‘She knows me, Dog. I knew Squib Hamilton would never forget old Scrubber, her mate from Waverly Station days.’ With a grimace he managed to stand and, extending a hand, helped her up. ‘We’ll get you up on old V and save that leg of yours, eh? I’m sure glad you didn’t turn out to be one of those useless women types.’ The woman was still staring at him. ‘Cause we’ve got to get you to higher ground. Lucky for you, Squib –’ he tipped a sodden hat, gave a long wracking cough that shook his bony frame ‘– I can help. I’m in my prime.’

Chapter 56

I
t wasn’t really a lie,
Jack kept thinking as the papers were drawn up. Grateful that Mr Grey only asked the most essential of questions, Jack remained convinced the immaculately three-piece- suited gentleman knew he was not being truthful.

‘I’m not altogether comfortable burdening a young woman with property. We know how fragile the fairer sex are.’ Mr Grey perused Mr Farley’s title deeds and the agreed letter of contract signed last year for a second time. ‘However, considering the terms of the contract and your assurances that the staff in place at Absolution Creek are capable of carrying on in your absence, I’m happy to oblige.’

They were sitting in an office not dissimilar to Mr Farley’s, although the quality of the furniture was unmistakable. The polished desk was covered in green leather, and two substantial bookcases bulged with the letter of the law. A mahogany sideboard carried an amber-filled glass decanter with two crystal tumblers. Jack doubted he’d ever told so many lies. Absolution Creek’s workforce now included two station workers and a lady’s companion for his orphaned niece.

‘You will have to inform your niece, however, that this is not a permanent arrangement. In the event of your own premature demise, Mr Manning, one must hope that the young lady finds a suitable husband. Mr Farley’s generous terms only last for ten years.’

‘But can be renegotiated, and Mr Farley has no kin,’ Jack reminded Mr Grey.

‘Indeed it can. However, everyone has kin somewhere, Mr Manning: a second cousin, an uncle. Notwithstanding the appearance of such a relative, the contract only stands as long as the agreed twice-yearly payments can be made. Should the unfortunate position arise where the management onus falls on your niece, I would imagine a payment default to be a very real possibility,’ Mr Grey stated with gravity.

Jack signed his name on the document. The timbered walls of the office were hung with pictures of men clustered in groups, and it was on these portraits that Jack concentrated. Mr Grey leant back in his chair, the wooden seat squeaking in complaint.