A Changing Land(148)
‘But Father,’ Angus cried, ‘you can’t go. What will we do? What will I do without you?’
Hamish ruffled the hair on his young son’s head. ‘Why, Angus, you shall take my place. You will run Wangallon and your brother, Luke, will help you.’
Luke gave a single solemn nod.
Angus rested his head against his father’s chest and sobbed.
‘Remember, boy, it is better to have lived for something than to die for nothing.’
Hamish watched the moon rise, a shaft of pure light illuminating the garden and extending outwards across his beloved property. He could hear the whistling of the rising wind through the grasses and the myriad sounds of a night growing active with scurrying creatures. He was certain there was a fox at the end of the garden and Hamish experienced a rush of desire to follow the animal out into the timber-draped landscape. He longed to walk away from the homestead and into the moonlit night, if only they would let him go.
It was surprising, this strength of his family. They were like myriad hands holding him still. Hamish faltered, momentarily confused. There was something coursing through his veins, something he’d refused to acknowledge during his lifetime for fear of pain. He gazed upon the faces of those he cared for most in the world and found himself agonising over his leaving. It was the strangest of sensations, yet his body, having failed him like any other mortal man’s, now ached for the most intangible of needs: their love. He drifted somewhere between dusk and dawn, considered returning to the cluster of people on the verandah, however the shadows of his forefathers were calling and he could hear the pipes sounding from beyond this world, drawing him into the next.
Guard her, guard my Wangallon, Angus, Hamish whispered. As he stepped from the verandah out into the light, he knew Angus had heard.
Sarah, Ronald and Frank Michaels were sitting on the top verandah. The sky was overcast. Heavy clouds threatened rain. Out on the lawn, Bullet and Ferret were chasing each other in ever-decreasing circles as thunder rumbled above them like a mighty God exhaling, the noise growing steadily closer. Bullet slowed his pace. Ferret gained a couple of feet and was almost close enough to give him a nip on his tail, then Bullet accelerated again.
‘Stop teasing him, Bullet,’ Sarah called out between their barking. As if on cue, both dogs came to a standstill. Their momentary truce was lengthened by a topknot pigeon which flew low over their heads before reaching the safety of the orange tree. A roar of thunder echoed around the homestead, followed by a loud bang. ‘Lightning strike,’ Sarah called out, automatically scraping her chair further back towards the wall. Bullet and Ferret bolted for cover as light rain began to fall.
Ronald flipped through the pages of the Bible on his lap before returning to the detailed family tree inscribed on the first page by Hamish Gordon. With a pencil he added the generations of Gordons since 1909. The pencil hovered over the page, then Ronald added Anthony’s name. Sarah patted her father’s arm. ‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘Well, it’s only proper, considering.’
Sarah ran a hand over her baby bump. She was due in a little over two months. In a fortnight they were travelling north to the Gold Coast, where Sarah intended staying with her father until the birth. It had been surreal to discover she was pregnant. Having relegated the few queasy sensations and changes in her body to stress, Sarah missed the early signs of the new life within her. Yet acknowledging her altered state and reconciling her abilities and personality versus those of her mother eventually salved her fears. Now she was to be a new mother, a mother determined to provide for her child on every level. Reaching for the platter of chicken sandwiches on the low table, Sarah silently thanked her father for coming home to Wangallon. It had been a tough few months for both of them and she doubted if alone she would have been able to muster the fortitude to deal with everything that had occurred.
Ronald studied the aged photograph of the woman in his hand. ‘She does look like you, Sarah.’ He checked the name Elizabeth written on the reverse with the entry noted in the Bible for what must have been the twentieth time.
Frank took a sip of his whisky. ‘She was Luke’s elder sister. Baby Elizabeth was left in the care of her grandmother, Lorna Sutton, when Hamish and Rose moved north to Wangallon. The details are sketchy however it would appear Hamish wanted his daughter tutored in Ridge Gully, which, considering Wangallon’s isolation in the 1860s, was understandable.’
Sarah offered Frank a sandwich. They’d waited months for this promised visit to Wangallon, which on Frank’s advice could only occur after Christmas when his retirement was official. He’d refused to discuss anything before then.