Beyond the Horizon (18 page)

He stepped through the doorway and immediately saluted. The man, who seemed to know him well, returned the salute. ‘Welcome back, Tom,' Major Cooper said, rising from his chair and crossing the short distance to shake Tom's hand. ‘It was touch and go but I made sure those rear-echelon bastards kept you alive.'

‘Thank you, sir,' Tom answered. Major Cooper walked back to his desk, a battered table, and sat down. Tom knew he should remember his superior officer, but he didn't.

‘You are just back in time for the big push on the Hindenburg line,' the major said. ‘I am posting you back to your old platoon but you now have a new officer to break in – a former articled clerk from Sydney. He's just arrived and I'm depending on you to look after him so that he doesn't do too much damage in his first days on the line. Have you heard about Corporal Frogan?'

‘Sergeant Bourke informed me that Dan caught it about a week ago,' Tom responded. ‘I'm sorry to hear that.'

‘I was going to promote him to platoon sergeant,' the major sighed. ‘No bloody reinforcements coming from Australia and we need every experienced soldier we can muster. Your head wound should have had you shipped back home, but I'm very grateful you insisted on returning to the battalion – a very worthy effort indeed.'

‘The battalion is the only home I remember, sir,' Tom said. ‘I suppose you know that the head wound has made me to lose my memory, but I haven't lost my knowledge of soldiering, sir.'

‘Yes, I was informed just after you applied to return to the unit,' the major replied. ‘I was a bit doubtful at first, but seeing you here I am sure you will be all right among your old comrades. I will get Sergeant Bourke to take you to meet your new platoon commander, and give you a chance to settle in. You and he will be sharing a billet with Paddy. Good luck, Tom.'

Tom thanked his company commander and left the office to find Paddy Bourke lingering outside the former shop. ‘Boss tell you that I'll be showing you around?' he asked and Tom nodded. ‘We'll start with finding Mr Hopkins, and after you settle in, I know where we can get something to drink.'

The walk down the cobbled street brought fleeting memories back to Tom of other places he vaguely remembered, and he found that he was looking for a water fountain in the centre of the town. He did not know why, and he had no time to dwell on the fleeting memory as Paddy had brought him to a house on the main street. There were a few older French civilians out on the street but no young Frenchmen.

A very young officer wearing the rank of second lieutenant stepped from one of the houses.

‘That's Mr Hopkins,' Paddy said and the two approached him.

‘I have Sergeant Duffy with me, sir,' Paddy said.

‘Haven't you forgotten something, Sergeant?' the young officer said haughtily.

Paddy remembered and saluted. ‘Sorry, sir,' Paddy said sarcastically. ‘I've been too long at the front – if I saluted you there, you might get dropped by a Hun sniper.'

‘We are not at the front now,' Second Lieutenant Michael Hopkins retorted. ‘I expect military courtesy to be maintained – along with discipline and good order.'

Paddy glanced quickly at Tom with an expression of sympathy.

‘Tom Duffy, sir,' Tom said. ‘I am reporting for duty with the platoon.'

The young officer looked Tom up and down. ‘I see that you are correctly dressed but I expect a better shine on your boots as you are to set an example to the men.'

Tom felt his anger rise. What would this snotty-nosed young man know about soldiers? he thought angrily. Five minutes in the country and he thought he was General Monash. ‘I'll see to that as soon as I can, sir,' Tom replied wearily.

‘I did not want you in my platoon, Sergeant Duffy,' Hopkins said. ‘You have been wounded, and from what I have been told, have little or no memory of your time with the battalion. What will happen if you break down under fire when I need you most?'

‘With all due respect, sir,' Tom said, ‘have you been under fire yet?'

The young officer looked uncomfortable. ‘Not as yet, Sergeant Duffy, but I expect that I will do my duty in the face of the enemy.'

‘With respect, sir,' Tom said, ‘the best of men do not know how they will react when the bullets and shells start flying, but I reckon I was over here soldiering when you were probably still in school.'

‘Careful, Sergeant Duffy, you are behaving insubordinately,' Hopkins said.

‘You have the best sergeant in the battalion, sir,' Paddy butted in, trying to calm the situation before it escalated. ‘I would trust Sergeant Duffy with my life – I have in the past.'

Michael Hopkins turned to Paddy. ‘I can only take your word for that, Sergeant Bourke,' he said. ‘You are dismissed for now.'

Tom threw a salute, turned on his heel and marched away with Paddy Bourke beside him.

‘What a jumped-up little arse,' Paddy hissed under his breath. ‘With any luck he'll cop it in the next push.'

‘He's okay,' Tom replied with a shrug. ‘He's frightened that he'll stuff things up, and puts on airs to disguise the fact that he's frightened. I'll sort him out.'

‘You have more faith in officers than I do, Tom,' Paddy said. ‘I'd shoot the little bugger first chance I had. He's almost as bad as that bastard, Smithers, who was always causing trouble for you.'

‘Smithers,' Tom echoed. For some reason the mention of the name made hate well up inside Tom. He struggled to remember why, but nothing came to him. He filed the name way; he'd ask questions later. Somehow, he felt the name was the key to many things he might not actually want to remember.

17

L
enny Johnson had good reason to look over his shoulder whenever he left Maude's flat. Detective Inspector Jack Firth was searching for him, and Lenny did not want to meet the feared policeman on the streets.

But he had to leave the safety of the flat to convince a colleague to assist him by driving his automobile to the residence of George Macintosh. He already had a down payment for the job, as Maude had been able to inveigle George into giving her a substantial amount of cash on the pretext of needing the money to buy more clothes and other female essentials.

‘This the place?' Lenny's accomplice asked. He was a small man, with weasel-like characteristics, who sat behind the wheel of the car with a toothpick protruding from his lips. Lenny leaned out of the car window and stared at the big house behind the wall of high hedges and wide wrought-iron gates.

‘Yeah,' he said and settled back in his seat. ‘We park here so that we can see who comes and goes.'

‘What's this job all about?' the Weasel asked, changing the position of the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. ‘We gonna do it over?'

‘You ask too many questions,' Lenny growled. ‘But maybe that is not such a bad idea.'

Already Lenny was considering that he might be able to kill the woman and at the same time ransack the house to make it look like a robbery that had gone bad. He would ensure that Maude kept Mr George Macintosh occupied while Lenny broke into the Macintosh mansion. Lenny would use his sidekick to act as the driver on the job, and later the Weasel and the car might have an unfortunate accident, driving off the infamous Gap on Sydney's southern headland. It was not wise to leave witnesses to high-profile murders – Lenny knew from experience that only one person in a crime could keep a secret.

They waited, the driver reading the race form in the newspaper while Lenny continued to watch the house for movement. After a boring hour of surveillance Lenny was rewarded by spotting a very pretty woman emerge from the house, holding the hand of a toddler. Lenny frowned. Was this the nanny or Mrs Macintosh? He had not thought much about what she would look like and realised he was getting sloppy. He would have to rectify that and also learn how many servants might be on the premises at any given time.

‘Okay, we can go now,' Lenny said, leaning back against the seat. The driver put down his paper and engaged the ignition as the woman wandered into the garden, following the laughing child.

*

‘I don't know what his wife looks like,' Maude said. ‘That's your job to find out.' She stood with her hands on her hips, wearing nothing but a flimsy nightdress.

‘I need you to get me information on the layout of the house and how many servants live or work there,' Lenny said.

Maude looked thoughtful. ‘I could get one of the staff to tell me about the house, maybe a nanny or a maid. I reckon it would just be a matter of accidentally meeting one of them away from the house, then getting them to talk. I wouldn't be seen as a threat. You identify the right one and leave the rest to me.'

‘That could work,' Lenny said. ‘You have a devious mind for someone so young, and that's a compliment, little sister.'

Maude broke into a mischievous smile and took Lenny's arm. ‘I don't intend to live the rest of my life in this place – or until Mr Macintosh tires of me. One day I will be the lady of the house and maybe the new Mrs Macintosh.'

Lenny looked hard at his sibling and could see the expression of youthful determination in her eyes. He remembered that at her age he too had aspired to better things in life, but he hadn't had the opportunities. Having a sister so well placed could only improve his lot in life, so he'd do everything he could to carry out her plans to get rid of Mrs Louise Macintosh.

The sun was high when Giselle rode out across the plains of Glen View. An Aboriginal stockman had ridden to the house to inform her that one of the European stockmen had taken a fall from his horse and broken his arm.

Giselle immediately fetched her medical kit, then had her horse saddled, and quickly explained to Hector MacManus, the station manager, that she was riding out to see to the injured stockman.

‘Take care, lassie,' said the stocky Scot as she hurried out of the house. ‘Be back before sunset.'

On her mount, Giselle followed the Aboriginal stockman as he cantered through the scrub still damp after a sudden and violent spring storm. Already tiny shoots were sprouting that would herald the small but pretty wild flowers Giselle loved so much.

After an hour they slowed to a halt. Cattle stood grazing and the rest of the mustering crew had lit a fire to boil up a billy of tea. They greeted Giselle with great respect. One of the men sat with his back to a rotting tree trunk, holding his arm with an expression creased with pain.

Giselle could see that the bone was protruding through the flesh of his lower arm. She knelt and examined the injury.

‘Hurts like buggery, missus,' said the stockman through gritted tobacco-stained teeth.

‘I can only splint your arm and sling it until we get you back to Glen View, and then to a medical doctor for proper treatment,' Giselle said, reaching into her leather bag and retrieving a triangular bandage. Giselle turned to a couple of stockmen standing a short distance away, watching the procedures with enamel mugs of steaming tea in their hands.

‘Please find me a couple of small sticks I can use as a splint,' she said and they shuffled away, returning moments later with suitable splints sticks, which Giselle used to immobilise the arm before applying the sling. All the time the injured stockman did not complain, although sweat glistening on his face belied his agony.

‘Like a cuppa, missus?' one of the stockmen offered.

‘Thank you, I would,' Giselle answered, rising to her feet. ‘I need a couple of you to escort this man back to the house,' she said, accepting a battered mug from the stockman. The tea was hot, black and sweet.

‘Horry and me can take Jacko back,' said the man who had offered the mug of tea. ‘You comin' with us?'

Giselle shook her head. She knew that when the injured man was returned to the station house Hector would know what to do. As she was out on the plains she wanted to ride to the sacred hill, which was not far away from here. She did not exactly know why, but she felt as though the hill was calling to her. ‘Tell Mr MacManus I will be home before sunset,' she said.

‘Okay, missus, if that's what you want,' the stockman shrugged.

Giselle walked over to her horse grazing on the first shoots of spring. She mounted and rode away in the direction of the hill, leaving the cattle and the stockmen of Glen View behind.

Giselle rode for an hour, then pulled on the reins to bring her horse to a halt.
Funny,
she thought.
I should be at the hill by now.
She looked around her but could only see the monotonous stretches of tough and spindly scrub. A tiny suspicion crept into her mind that she was lost. The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky and Giselle knew that it would be wise to retrace her tracks. But she was not a trained tracker and after a few minutes she lost all trace of her horse's shod hoof prints in the sandy soil.

Giselle did not panic – she knew that if she had not returned by nightfall Hector would organise a search party – but she felt foolish for deciding to visit the sacred hill. This land was so vast and she had become complacent. This ancient land still had the ability to isolate one who was not born to it.

Giselle was not sure what to do but she felt that all she had to do was turn around and ride a little further and eventually the hill would loom up over the plains. At least from there she could make it back to the homestead.

It was late afternoon when Giselle finally dismounted, and she still had not found the hill. So it would mean an uncomfortable night camped out on the plains. She had a canteen of water and she reassured herself that she was not going to starve to death in the next few hours.

What she could do for the moment was gather rotting, termite-eroded timber and light a fire. Thankfully she always carried matches with her, and soon she had a small fire flickering away. A wisp of smoke rose but disappeared in the clear late-afternoon sky.

Giselle was glad that she was dressed in sensible riding jodhpurs and a long-sleeved flannel shirt as the night would grow chilly when the sun set behind the limitless horizon of scrub.

‘Please, God,' she prayed, ‘let them find me in the morning. I am a foolish woman but you need to save me for the wellbeing of my son.'

The night came and so did the cold. Giselle sat for some time watching the beautiful moonless night sky. She could not help but be awed by its magnificent serene beauty. Tiny shooting stars occasionally blazed streaks through the constellations, and in the distance Giselle could hear the dingos calling to each other. After some time she fell asleep, curled into the cooling soil, and began to dream.

In the sacred cave Wallarie sat by his fire. It had been a good day – he had been able to spear a small wallaby and the remains of his meal smouldered at the edge of his fire. It would provide further meat in the morning. The fire kept the cave warm, and the nocturnal sounds of the bush were his lullaby. The dreams came again to him but this time it was not Tom's spirit that came to him, but the spirit of the little boy called David, who Wallarie knew was the son of Giselle Macintosh. The little boy smiled at Wallarie and held out his hand to him. Wallarie took the boy's hand, rising from where he slept to be led from the cave and into the dark night.

They walked through the scrub side by side, the old Aboriginal warrior and the little white boy. Wallarie did not know why the spirit boy had come to him but he followed anyway, knowing well that the ancestors always had a reason for what they did.

Then the boy was gone, and Wallarie could see a tiny light flickering through the scrub. He continued alone until he reached the point of the light, seeing that it was a campfire beside which lay the spirit boy's mother.

‘Hey! Missus!' Wallarie called – just loud enough to wake Giselle but not to startle her. She stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes, blinking away the sleep.

Wallarie stepped into the feeble light.

‘Wallarie!' Giselle gasped.

‘You bin lost,' Wallarie chuckled, squatting down on the other side of the fire, which was almost extinguished now. Wallarie reached for a small piece of wood nearby and stoked the fire into flames.

‘How did you know?' Giselle asked, brushing herself down.

‘You got no reason to sleep out here alone,' he said. ‘You got any baccy?'

‘Sorry,' Giselle replied. ‘I don't smoke.'

‘Mebbe you get some baccy and leave it at the cave sometime,' Wallarie said.

‘I promise I will.' Giselle felt a great sense of relief to be in the old man's company. ‘I last saw our stockmen around midday,' she continued. ‘So I guess Mr MacManus will send out a search party at first light. I feel so foolish for causing all the fuss that a search will entail.'

‘You orright, that is the main thing,' Wallarie said with a shrug. ‘The ancestor spirits guided you here because I am not allowed to go to you and warn you that you must not go south to that other place where a
debil
lives. A bad man who would hurt you and the spirit boy.'

‘Spirit boy?' Giselle queried. ‘What spirit boy?'

‘The one who is of your flesh and is called David. He got mighty strong powers if the ancestor spirits tell him to fetch me.'

‘Fetch you?' Giselle asked, confused by the old man's strange conversation.

‘Young David come to me in the spirit world and show me where to find you. You bin dreaming 'bout dark water,' he said.

‘I have!' Giselle gasped. ‘And so has my mother.'

‘The spirit is in the blood and the old ones warn you with pictures in your sleep. Mebbe I help them but I also bin to the place of evil, and you and the boy must not travel south. Place
baal
, man there
baal
,' Wallarie growled, using an old word for bad. ‘There is a terrible death coming to this land and we will not see it – 'cept in the bodies the crows and hawks come down to feast on.'

Wallarie's prediction chilled Giselle. Did it involve her family? ‘What is this terrible death?' she asked and Wallarie simply shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Don't know. Just that the old ones from the Dreaming time say it a revenge on what the whitefella done to my people. Many will die.'

‘You must mean that terrible war we are fighting on the other side of the world,' Giselle said.

‘No, the death that will come to all this land in not a long time,' Wallarie replied. ‘But now I will stay with you because you cannot go to the cave. No woman should enter the cave. It is a place for the men. Mebbe if you are hungry I will go back and bring you some cooked wallaby. But they will find you in the morning before the sun has reached the top part of the sky.'

‘How can you be sure of that?' Giselle countered.

‘Because I will fly to your mother and the pastor and tell them where you are,' he replied matter-of-factly. He began to chant a song and Giselle was fascinated by the melody that drifted on the sound of the old man's voice. She had been born on the other side of the world in Germany and yet it was in this land that she was drawn closer to her own spirituality. Giselle closed her eyes to absorb the hypnotic chanting.

It was sunrise and Giselle awoke to find herself alone. She sat up with a start and the only sound now was the tinkle of the horse bell on her mare grazing a short distance away. Where was Wallarie? He said that he would remain with her.

Giselle waited. She did not quite know whether she had dreamed the meeting with the elusive Aboriginal elder or whether he really had come in the night to warn her off accepting Louise's invitation to spend Christmas in Sydney with her. The small campfire was already cold and there did not appear to be any signs in the sand of his presence. But she put her faith in the words he had uttered – whether real or imaginary – and waited.