Six

Zeke knew it wouldn’t be his kids when he heard horses approaching; it was too early in the day. When he looked up from the post hole, sweat dripped into his eyes, and he blinked away the salty sting of it. Autumn and still the sun was hot as Hades. He lifted off his hat to wipe a forearm over his face, then replaced it.

A couple of troopers reined in. ‘Mr Jones.’

‘Afternoon.’ Zeke leaned on the post-hole digger, glad for an excuse to stop pounding it into unforgiving ground. A fence line had to go in—it was hard work, but it was his work. He didn’t keep many sheep these days and was often hired on other properties to build or repair fences. ‘You’re out of luck if you think Nebo is around.’

‘Not after him.’ The constable, a young fella with a wide black moustache that seemed too big and too mature for his face leaned over his saddle. ‘We heard that you buried a man not long back.’

‘I did. Dr Smith wrote a death certificate and I notified the registrar. Wrote a letter to his folk. I buried him on my place, being a good distance out of town. All legal.’ Zeke looked at the other trooper, another young one with tufts of downy fair hair unshaven on his chin. ‘What’s this about?’ he asked the older one.

‘Heard that he might have had a run-in with your other brother.’

Jesus. ‘Jude hasn’t been in this area much since his wife and girls died. Comes back for a while and goes again.’

The fluffy-chinned trooper shifted in his seat, gathered the reins. His horse shied, stamped his feet, and took a moment to settle. The lad said, ‘Heard the fella who was killed mighta been hidin’ out in Jude’s old place.’

A fiery zing shot through Zeke’s gut as he thought about that. Jude could very well be back in the district, and it wouldn’t be unlike his older brother to slip back and not announce it. The death of Jude’s family had taken a toll on his mind. These days, he was dour, reticent, and lived almost like a hermit. He seemed to roam here and there, always returning, and he didn’t always let his brothers know he was back. But he wasn’t a violent man. Nebo would have said if he’d seen Jude at his place.

‘What about Nebo?’ the older trooper asked.

‘I’m not his keeper.’ It was a half-hour’s ride from here to Jude’s place; no time at all for Nebo to get to, but Zeke would have to walk it because his horse, Milo, had taken the kids to school. Had Nebo been to their brother’s abandoned place and found the Goody boy, shot him as a trespasser then brought the dying lad to him? ‘You said you weren’t here about him.’

The constable on the nervous horse gave a short laugh. ‘Not here to get you mad.’

Zeke ignored that. ‘I don’t know if Jude is back, I haven’t seen him. I haven’t been up to his run for a while,’ he said. ‘What makes you think he had anything to do with the boy’s death?’

The mustachioed policeman lifted a shoulder. ‘Talk.’

‘I don’t listen to talk.’

‘Everyone listens to talk,’ the trooper said. ‘We got instructions to let you know that we’ll be watching out for both your brothers.’ He smoothed his thick moustache. ‘Why is it you don’t run on the wrong side like they do?’

Zeke took up the post-hole digger again. ‘Wasn’t aware they’re on the wrong side. And I don’t care to be.’ He stove the digger into the ground and rotated it hard by its handles.

‘Good day to you,’ one of the troopers said.

Zeke flicked them a look and nodded. They wheeled their horses and rode away. He waited until they were out of sight then threw the auger to the ground. He packed up and headed for his house, too late to go to Jude’s place now. He’d wait until tomorrow, after the kids had left for school. Then he’d walk over to Jude’s property to see what he could find out himself.

Zeke always met his kids at the mail tree by their gate. That way they’d have more time together before they got home and had to do a few chores. Gifford was on foot as usual, Gracie was walking by his side and Jonty swayed on Milo’s back. Seemed like the little fella was tired. He’d perk up when he had to feed the chooks and collect their eggs.

But the chooks would have to wait. Zeke swooped up dark-haired, sturdy Gracie and swung her around. He hugged the raw-boned Giff, ruffled his dark coppery hair, stiff with dust, and noticed how the boy fell into him. Lately, some days Giff was still a lad, like today; other days he was trying to be a man and didn’t want affection from his pa.

Then Zeke lifted Jonty off Milo and carried the sleepy boy down the long track to home. He hugged him close, this third child of his. This boy, his boy whom he loved, who looked so much like his mother. His thick dark mop was in need of a cut.

Skipping alongside, Gracie never seemed to tire. She loved books, loved music, and when Mr Henshaw at school would lend her something to bring home—under dire threat to return it—she treasured it as if it were gold. She was fierce in her convictions and stood a little apart at the tiny school. Sometimes he feared for her wellbeing, but she seemed content in herself. He wondered why she preferred solitude to making friends.

She held her father’s hand as they walked the driveway. ‘I do wish I didn’t have to do sums, Pa. I try hard, but I’m much better with me reading and me letters.’

‘Sums are good to learn. Try a little harder.’

‘Oh, I will. But I know I’ll never be really good at them—’

‘Girls aren’t good at sums,’ Giff said, leading Milo.

‘Am if I want to be.’

Giff cut off the argument. ‘Pa, Dougie Carter said Uncle Jude was back. His pa saw him riding down Jones Track.’

Ah. So someone had seen his brother on the old property’s track. At one stage, the track connected all the properties their father had owned on the one lot, before it was split into three and reallocated.

Zeke swung Gracie’s hand in the air and squeezed Jonty with his other hand. The boy had slumped over his shoulder, secure and comfortable there. ‘Did he now? I haven’t seen Uncle Jude yet. I might have to visit tomorrow.’

‘Can I come?’ Giff, suddenly wide-eyed and hopeful, had always wanted to be around Jude.

‘It’s a school day tomorrow.’

‘Yeah, but if I take these two then come back—’

‘School is just as important for you, too. If Jude is home, he’ll be here a while.’

Giff frowned but didn’t argue.

Zeke looked over at him. ‘You know he takes a day or so to settle in. Let’s leave him do that first before we visit.’ By the look of it, Giff found that a reasonable request. ‘And he wouldn’t think too much of you missing school, either.’

Giff’s shoulders dropped. ‘I just wanna work on the farms, Pa. I could look after Uncle Jude’s when he goes roamin’.’

Gracie still skipped along. ‘Me too, Pa,’ she chimed. She pushed forward. ‘And before you put your tuppeny’s worth in, Gifford Jones, girls do work on farms.’

Zeke hid a smile. Hitching Jonty before he slipped any further, he said to Giff, ‘School first. And I’ll decide when you leave school. I’ll be talking to Mr Henshaw about your marks and until they’re good enough—’

‘Mine are good now, Pa,’ Gracie said and poked out her tongue at Giff.

‘Mine too,’ he answered, poking out his tongue at her.

‘Until they’re good enough on my say-so, no one leaves school.’

At the house, Zeke set Jonty on his feet. The lad grumbled for a bit but there were chores to be done. Today was Giff’s turn to rub Milo down and feed him then feed the dogs, Gracie’s turn to lay the table for dinner, and Jonty was to collect eggs as usual, and fill the bowl for wash-ups. There would be fights, yells, and a push here and there, but all in all his children got along well. He was careful to watch Giff for any of the brooding his two brothers displayed, but it hadn’t showed itself, and it might never. He would be a happy man if Giff remained free of it, and free of Zeke’s own temper.

As the children went about their tasks, Gracie hummed a tune, Giff talked to Milo in low and measured tones, and Jonty crept inside with the eggs, storing them on the bench in a basket. Then he filled the water bowl, concentrating on not spilling a drop. Zeke felt his chest expand. He and Maisie had made these kids in those early days with love, in the days before she changed, in the days before his heart had gone to sleep. Filled only with his kids now, there was no room in his heart for anyone else, even if he had noticed someone. It was shut off to another woman, and its sleep was deep.

He looked at his good kids. He would see to it that they turned out to be good adults. A niggling thought wormed in. How much longer could he do it by himself? The older they got, the more the farm would be required to support them. He’d need a strong lad to help with that. But Giff was still a couple of years off eleven, the age at which Zeke had decided he could finish school. And Gracie. Well, she’d need a woman’s help—Zeke knew he’d be well over his head in that department, and he only had five, maybe six years if he was lucky. He looked at Jonty whose tongue was on his top lip as he tried to prevent the wash-up bowl from slopping water over the rim. Jonty was already missing a mother. Gracie had told her father that Jonty sometimes called other mothers Ma and would hold onto their skirts. Zeke figured he’d grow out of it but it pained him, all the same.

The older two had a few hazy memories of Maisie, but Jonty was too young when she’d died. An aneurysm of the brain, the doctor had told a bewildered Zeke. It had happened so fast, with no warning. Maisie had died at twenty-eight, four years ago. Mother at the time of a five-year-old, a four-year-old and a two-year-old. It hadn’t been long after their fourth child was born. Perhaps the heartbreak of his death had brought on the deadly aneurysm. He didn’t know.

His thoughts turned to his brother. Jude had been spared the infection, even after tending to his wife Anne and both daughters, Clementine and Bess, until their deaths. In the early days afterwards, Jude said he’d rather have gone, too. Zeke wondered if Jude’s roaming was due to guilt that he hadn’t saved his family, that he’d survived.

Jude had been there for Zeke, only a year later when Maisie died.

Then there was Nebo, not touched by loss, but lost nonetheless.

Next morning when Zeke waved his children off to school, the barking kelpies at his heels, Giff had given a forlorn look as he led Milo down the track. The moment they turned onto the road, Zeke called back the dogs and tied them up under a shady old gum. He filled a water flask, slung a bag over his shoulder and set off for Jude’s place.

Rolling grassland hills and hints of green cheered him. No rain yet, but early dew might have teased new shoots to the surface in the last few days. He’d given up on growing wheat; the market had dropped away. Dairy cows were the word among those who gathered in the town, and maybe cattle for meat; the postmaster had said he’d heard a fair bit of talk about that. Zeke would have to do something soon to bring about a change in his fortunes. And not the same way Nebo was trying to change his fortunes—by robbing others of theirs. He laughed to himself. It wasn’t a great place for a bushranger’s headquarters. Country was so wide open there was nowhere to hide. But he had to give it to Nebo; Zeke had no idea where he kept his band of merry men.

If Zeke found Jude was at the property, he’d speak to him again about a joint venture. Jude had long stated that his heart wasn’t in the land since Anne and the girls had gone, since life had been sucked out of him. Zeke felt that couldn’t last forever but at the same time, he just didn’t have the money to do anything about it and buy his brother out. He needed him to agree to form a partnership. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. No point planning; first, he had to see what state Jude was in.

He strode on—the house was only a few hundred yards away over a low rise. The hut stood close to an unfinished stone dwelling. It had been an exciting time watching the house form, and Anne could barely contain herself that perhaps, within that year, she, her husband and two girls would live in such a grand, though small, house. It wasn’t to be, and the shell of her dreams had stood unfinished for years. The hut would be patched up and re-patched when absolutely necessary. No sooner would Jude finish mending some part of the hut, he’d up and leave.

Movement caught Zeke’s eye.

‘G’day, Zeke.’

Jude looked the same as ever as he stepped out through the doorless entry of the stone house. His battered hat was pulled low, sleeves were rolled and his waistcoat opened over a seen-better-days loose shirt. His moleskins were well worn; he was a working man of the land, as Zeke was. Zeke just didn’t know where he’d been working, if at all.

‘You’re back, brother,’ Zeke said.

Jude spread his hands out. ‘Here I am.’

At forty-two, Jude was still lean. He had a frown, always, so his features looked dark and brooding—he’d always been a thinker. Zeke reckoned Jude’s trouble now was that he was trying not to think at all. He had dark hair just like his brothers, but with a distinctive wave that swept back from his face and fell behind his ears. Shot with grey these days, it matched the beard stubble glinting with silver. There were even patches of snowy white in the whiskers.

‘Back for long this time?’ Zeke knew not to step forward for an embrace of any sort. Since Anne had died, Jude kept his distance from everything but his horse. Even Giff stood back. Poor Gracie wasn’t aware; he could barely pat her shoulder before retreating from her hug as quickly as he could. Perhaps she reminded him too much of his daughters. Gracie hadn’t seemed to mind. She still hugged him whenever she saw him.

‘Who knows?’ Jude looked around as if seeing the place for the first time. ‘I reckon someone’s been here, maybe camped.’

Zeke dipped into his bag and pulled out the flask of water. He took a long swig. ‘A young fella came by, we think someone found him here, or maybe he was hiding here after he got into trouble. Nebo came around—just checking on the place, he said—and found the boy shot up bad, brought him over home.’

‘Nebo didn’t shoot him?’

‘Don’t reckon he did. So he brings the kid to me, and we got the doc who did what he could, but the kid dies. Took his time, poor bugger. Raved on about his home and family. Just looking for adventure, I think, and came off second best.’ Zeke scanned the area too. ‘You find anything I should know about?’

‘Like what?’ Jude asked.

‘Maybe he left something, more than what Nebo brought me.’

‘Found nothin’ so far but you’re welcome to look.’

‘The troopers might have been by here. Seen them?’

Jude shook his head. ‘No.’

‘They reckon they’re watching this place.’

Jude grunted as he walked past him. ‘I’m ready for another drink of tea. You want one?’

Zeke followed his brother as he headed into the hut. Inside, the place looked like it had done when Anne and the girls still lived here, except that Jude had burned all their clothes and bedding. Two cots sat end to end on one wall, stripped of everything but the rawhide straps to hold the mattresses. On the bigger bed, Jude’s, his swag was still rolled up. He would throw that on the ground outside, or if the weather was bad, take shelter in a rough humpy out the back.

On his way through the hut, Jude grabbed a pannikin from a simple hutch where other kitchen utensils were stored. He left through the back door to where a small cooking fire had burned down to smoking coals. He threw on a handful of leaves, tossed down a few sturdy twigs and flames soon licked beneath the billy. His own pannikin rested on one of the rocks that circled the firepit.

Jude’s horse was tied to a rail under the shade of a eucalypt. The saddle had been slung over a fallen branch.

‘You been here a coupla days?’ Zeke asked.

‘Aye. Your kids good?’ He took a seat on a sawn-off log. ‘Dogs good? Bizzy?’

Zeke did the same. ‘Kids and dogs, they’re all good. Giff grumbles about going to school. Gracie loves it. Jonty’s just Jonty.’

‘Will be grand to see them.’

Interested to hear that, Zeke only nodded. Coming from Jude, who these days would run as fast and as often as he could from home and family, it sounded like a change for the better.

Jude dipped his cup into the billy and indicated to Zeke he should do the same.

‘Matter of fact,’ Zeke said, dunking his pannikin, ‘Giff reckons he’s ready to look after this place while you’re gone.’

Jude nodded. ‘Don’t reckon you’d let him out of school.’

‘Not yet.’

‘And Nebo? He still pretending he’s a bushranger and hiding in the scrub somewhere?’

‘He is. He came by yesterday to bring me the dead boy’s possessions. Nothing of value that I could see, except sentimental. A woman’s locket for one thing.’

‘Sentimental,’ Jude agreed. He pushed his hat back, scrubbed a hand through his hair and re-settled his hat. ‘I was checking things over while I was in the stone house just before,’ he said, staring into his tea. ‘I might start work on it again. Might need a hand, time to time.’

Zeke hadn’t been prepared for that. He nodded as if considering. ‘Good idea.’

‘Been listening to a few things about the place. About what might work now.’ Jude hadn’t looked up. ‘Beef cattle, maybe.’

‘Need good fences for beef cattle.’

‘Need a lot of things. Need to do a lot of things … I haven’t even gone back to my girls’ graves.’ He looked away. ‘Can’t bring myself to just yet. Maybe tomorrow. I should, I know. I’ve let that go a bit. I’ve let the whole place go, I reckon. Time to get on.’

Zeke nodded, liking what he was hearing. He knew not to make a fuss. ‘Nothing that won’t come good when you put your back to it.’ He tugged at his hat, rolled his shoulders. It felt good that maybe his older brother had found his way and come home. For a time, anyway.

Jude held his pannikin with both hands, hunched forward. ‘Been thinking that we might be able to join up, somehow. Depends what you’re doing.’

Keeping the relief out of his voice, Zeke said, ‘Fencing’s been keeping the money coming in, but the blocks are small, money’s tight. I’m not putting in crops again, not buying more sheep. Was thinking dairy.’ He watched for Jude’s reaction.

‘Might work, too.’

The talk moved and shifted, ideas were tossed around. While their voices remained low, controlled, Zeke could have sworn his brother seemed lighter in himself. He sensed Jude must have considered returning for a while and for whatever the reason, he was glad of it.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky. While he wanted to sit and talk, wanted to be close to his brother, he knew he had to get on, get his chores done. They had more things to discuss, but the chores needed doing now, today.

Zeke got to his feet. ‘It’s good that you’re back, Jude. If it was later in the day, I’d say we have a rum.’

‘Time of day never stopped us before.’ His brother dropped his pannikin, stood, his attention focused over Zeke’s shoulder.

Zeke turned. ‘Know him?’

A lone man on a horse was coming up the track. Didn’t seem in a hurry.

Jude shook his head. ‘No, looks like he’s come a long way. Horse is loaded up.’

There was a swag over the saddle behind the rider, and stuffed saddlebags. A rifle. Zeke said, ‘He’s out of the way here. Must want something particular from you.’

The man pulled his horse up at a respectful distance. He tipped his hat with a forefinger. ‘Greetings,’ he called, and dismounted. He wasn’t a tall man, was solid but not portly. He had thick forearms, and big hands that looked used to hard work. He had brown hair that tufted out from under his hat, was unshaven but not bearded. Maybe he was as old as Jude, it was hard to tell.

Zeke’s gaze flicked to the rifle on the other side of the man’s saddle.

Jude nodded. ‘Morning. What can I do for you?’

The man stood with the reins loose in his hands. He nodded at Jude then at Zeke. ‘Name’s Curtis Goody. I believe one of you fellas buried my son.’