A Changing Land(150)
‘Yet Grandfather went to extraordinary efforts to ensure Wangallon’s continuation.’
Frank gave a chuckle and looked at Sarah. ‘It’s genetic.’
‘And what of the Michaels’ family?’ Ronald asked.
Frank sat forward in his chair. ‘A long time ago an impoverished Scot by the name of Hamish Gordon rode into Ridge Gully with a Chinese man. Some months later my great-grandfather’s signature appeared on the deed transfer when Hamish purchased the general store, which eventually grew to become Lorna’s Emporium. I believe my great-grandfather hoped never to meet Hamish Gordon in a darkened street.’ Frank widened his eyes for emphasis. ‘Many years later when the Boxer’s Plains’ sale took place,’ Frank continued, ‘the required paperwork was completed quickly and efficiently. Oscar Crawford was a descendant of the magistrate who sentenced my forefather to penal servitude in Australia. So you see, Sarah, eventually everyone gets their due.’
It was pouring. The rain was driving through the gauze horizontally. Sarah lifted the ceramic platter and carried it inside to escape the torrent of water beginning to run across the verandah’s floorboards. She thought grimly of the losses experienced during her life. Sarah didn’t feel deserving of any more grief. Surely she’d also paid her dues; particularly in one regard. Ronald and she barely broached Maggie Macken’s suicide. It was a shocking thing to happen. All they could do to reconcile the damage Maggie’s single lie had caused was to try to forgive her. Yet it was a difficult lie to forgive; it had affected far too many people and spanned nearly three decades. Sarah wondered how Jim and his father were coping. Jim had left Australia within a day of learning of his mother’s death. Mr Levi had then told Frank about Maggie’s suicide note. The Mackens were proud people and they too had been unsuspectingly woven into Maggie’s imaginary life. If it had been appropriate she would have written to Jim, but the words between them had been too acrimonious and it was better for their relationship to be sealed forever by silence.
‘So how’s the patient?’
Toby Williams was standing at the back door, the rain pelting down so hard that his wide-brimmed hat resembled a waterfall.
‘Come in,’ Sarah held the door wide.
Toby shook his head, the action spraying a ring of water from his hat and sending streams of it down his Driza-bone jacket. ‘Just wanted to let you know that all the cattle are back in their respective paddocks.’
The rain was growing heavier. ‘One minute we’re praying for rain and the next we’re hoping we don’t get too much,’ Sarah commented.
Toby looked down the back path. ‘Reckon you can do with a bit of this for awhile, especially being summer and all.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Toby, I want to thank you for everything. For looking after the cattle on the route, for –’ her eyes moistened – ‘sorry, you know what I mean.’
‘Sure, kiddo. Actually I’ve got something for you.’
Sarah opened the handkerchief-wrapped object. It was a small tortoiseshell hair comb.
‘It belonged to my great-aunt Lauren. Figured you’d like it.’
‘It’s beautiful, but really I can’t accept it. It looks like an antique.’
Toby smiled. ‘Consider it a loan then. I’ll be seeing you, kiddo.’
She leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. Sarah would miss him terribly, however she couldn’t ask him to stay. He was heading north to the territory and he wanted to get back in time for his brother’s wedding.
‘Call if you need me,’ Toby chuckled. ‘Actually that won’t happen. How’s about I just pop down and check on you myself one of these days.’
‘Anytime.’
Removing his hat, Toby placed it against his chest. Instantly his face was saturated. ‘Now she gets interested, right on leaving.’
‘Go,’ Sarah grinned. She watched him walk down the back path. With the rain lessening, she shrugged on a wet jacket and plodded out to the back gate. Toby’s vehicle revved through the mud and drove away to a chorus of barking dogs.
Beyond the gate the house paddock was a sea of water. Bullet and Ferret were out playing in the rain. They raced around in circles, splashing muddy water in dog-high arcs until eventually Ferret began to whimper. Matt’s dog had managed to get himself caught on a small island. Sarah watched as Bullet traced a path to his friend and then, having reached him, led him back through the wet grass to dry land.