A Changing Land(57)
The Landcruiser bumped across the bridge, shuddered as a tyre hit a pothole and then swerved to miss a wallaby. Of course Anthony knew he should be going straight back to Wangallon, but the thought of facing Sarah on Jim’s first night was more than a little off-putting. Jim Macken was legally entitled to his inheritance. Anthony could only hope that Sarah would be able to come to grips with losing part of Wangallon, for even with this current project underway there was no possibility of borrowing all the money required to pay Jim out. All Anthony knew was that they needed to increase productivity and quickly. The only positive aspect of Jim’s arrival was that he would take all of Sarah’s attention, so hopefully the work on Boxer’s Plains could continue on without further stoppages.
Best they have a bit of time together, Anthony decided. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to meet the man; a man who had as much right as him to be in the Wangallon Homestead. What he really needed was a beer and the bright forgiving eyes of the young backpacker Anastasia Kinder, with her gentle voice and general disinterest in all things farming. Besides which it was $12 roast night at the pub.
Matt drove away from Wangallon Homestead to the refrain of barking dogs. In the rear-view mirror he watched the Scottish ring-in walk slowly up the back path to the house, his head continuing to swivel from side to side. The boy didn’t miss a trick during their morning tour and asked questions of him to the point of exhaustion. Matt continued on past the two orange trees, the remains of the once impressive orchard and the site of an old timber hut that some old Chinese man by the name of Lee lived in eons ago. Jim Macken was not at all what he’d imagined. The boy was tall, broad shouldered and clearly had a bit of nous behind that freckled face. However, he was certainly missing one thing. He didn’t have the presence of a Gordon. He blended in with the rest of the population like a soldier ant. Strange that. Dodgy breeding, he concluded. The only thing that would make Jim stand out in a crowd was money, which was clearly why the boy had flown halfway around the world.
Matt was aware of the stipulation in Angus’s will regarding the time frame for Jim to be told of his inheritance. Angus had hoped Sarah and Anthony would be married and have consolidated their working relationship on the property before Jim’s arrival. Up ahead, two emus crossed the dirt road, their long necks lengthening as they moved from a stately walk to a disturbed trot. They ducked through a stand of box trees and disappeared quickly from view. Matt accelerated, turned the radio up and twisted the knob until a Glen Campbell number came on. He listened to the lyrics for some time until his thoughts took him back to the days after Angus’s return from hospital after nearly being killed by a rogue bullock.
They were sitting on the front verandah of Wangallon Homestead, Angus sprawled in an old squatter’s chair, his left leg flung out over one of the extendable arms. Matt was smoking, flicking his ash into an ancient-looking brass spittoon, occasionally looking over his shoulder towards the oldest of the bedrooms that led out onto the verandah. Old houses gave him the creeps. He cradled a glass of beer in his injured hand, his mind still coming to terms with what Angus was telling him. The old patriarch had hand-picked Anthony from a short list of possible jackeroos years earlier and his judgement was rewarded with the lad having risen through the ranks to become manager. Angus explained that back then Anthony’s selection was about finding a suitable marriage partner for Sarah. Angus knew the girl’s strengths and figured that with Sarah and her brother, Cameron, living on Wangallon the place would go on for at least a couple of generations. Fate, however, had interceded and the boy had died.
Angus poured himself another shot of straight whisky and drained the glass. He offered Matt a highly coveted management role on Wangallon.
‘I’ve done my homework, Matt. The Carlyons speak extremely highly of you, as they would after twenty-eight years’ service – they were sorry to see you go.’
Matt stretched out his injured hand, recalling how once he could pretty much do anything: Now his ability was limited to stock work, and more managerial at that.
‘I knew your father, Matt, honest as the day was long and I trusted him. My solicitor, Frank Michaels, agrees with my decision.’
At the word solicitor Matt straightened his back. He never had taken to men with soft hands who wore suits for a living. He took a gulp of beer.
‘After I’ve gone I need you to watch over the young ones.’
Matt opened his mouth, stifled a belch. Angus quieted him with a shake of his head.