A Changing Land(111)
Sarah squatted down in front of the chest. She didn’t know exactly what she expected to discover, except that there now seemed to be three issues at stake: Jim’s inheritance and Anthony’s development plan, which in turn appeared to have raised questions about the Gordons’ past. The lid gave a squeak of complaint and then the overhead light illuminated a piece of folded red cloth. A musky scent pervaded the room; a hint of tobacco wafted about her. Sarah lifted the cloth tentatively, wondering whose hand had last reached for the contents and under what circumstances.
There they were. The historic ledgers her grandfather talked about: All the station ledgers since the settlement of Wangallon. Sarah carefully lifted one out. It was cloth-bound, dated 1907. She carefully turned the creamy pages. A tight hand had recorded the minute happenings of station life: dates and stock movements, weather conditions and acquisitions, supplies and sales. There were detailed lists of canvas sacks of flour and potatoes, condensed milk, cod-liver oil and beechams pills, tobacco and wooden pipes, nails, cast iron buckets, bridles and saddles, bolts of material and sewing thread. This was the year of West Wangallon’s purchase and the conditions of sale, acreage and purchase price were all noted down. There was also a hand-drawn map of the property on one of the ledgers’ pages and a carefully folded copy of the deeds. Searching through the remaining books, Sarah found each one meticulously filled out. This was going to be relatively easy, she decided, selecting the ledger dated 1909, the year Boxer’s Plains was purchased. Sarah merely needed to know who Hamish purchased the block from and then she would have a starting point for further investigations. She ran her fingers through the entries and was stunned to find that after late January the rest of the ledger was blank. There was no reference to Boxer’s Plains, no details of stock movements, not even acquisition lists of station supplies. She sat with her legs tucked under her, double-checking the ledger contents. The only points of interest were the dates noted for full moons in December and January 1909 and a remark about missing cattle thought to be on Crawford Corner.
‘That’s just weird.’
At the bottom of the chest were numerous letters tied with ribbon. Sarah flicked through them, discovering that many of them were either to or from Hamish Gordon’s solicitor, the firm Shaw-Michaels. She sat back heavily on the floor. The Gordons had been dealing with the same firm for over one hundred years – no wonder Frank Michaels was so involved. With renewed interest she skimmed some of the letters. There were instructions regarding a will belonging to Lorna Sutton of Ridge Gully. Apparently the entire estate was to be left to a woman named Elizabeth. Sarah had never heard of her. There were also wool shipment information and proceeds, bills of sale and purchase orders for supplies including a new dray and a number of horses. But there was no deed for Boxer’s Plains. Right at the bottom of the chest was a gold fob watch, a knotted dirty grey handkerchief, which appeared to have dirt in it, and a mourning card. Sarah opened the card and instantly found herself staring into the craggy face of her great-grandfather. The black and white photograph showed him as an older man although his eyes were alert, almost defiant. Beneath the picture was his name and a line from Psalm 27.
‘The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear.’
The hairs stuck up on the back of Sarah’s neck as she turned the card over. On the reverse was a grainy photograph of a woman aged somewhere in her thirties or forties. How bizarre, Sarah thought, she looks a bit like me. Lifting the small photograph with the corner of her fingernail, she peeled it from the cardboard backing. A name was visible: Elizabeth.
‘Elizabeth.’ Presumably the Elizabeth willed Mrs Sutton’s estate, Sarah decided, as she repacked everything in the tin chest except for the fob watch, and shoved the trunk back into the corner of the wardrobe. This wasn’t getting her anywhere and with a return trip to Sydney looming, there were other things to concentrate on, like Anthony.
Sarah returned to her empty room. Anthony had not returned during the night and now as dawn clambered over the horizon she looked at the ruby engagement ring on the bedside table. It spoke so much of hope and the future, both Wangallon’s and hers, so why couldn’t she just put the damn thing on forever and say I do? Dressing warmly in a beige skivvy, matching jumper and jeans, Sarah swept the fob watch from the dresser. She flicked the small latch on the side and the cover sprung open to reveal the watch face. On the inside of the lid were inscribed the initials HG. Sarah touched the engraving, shut the lid and found herself looking over her shoulder. Don’t be silly, she chided herself as a shiver ran down her spine. She slid the watch and chain into the pocket of her jeans.