Hope's Road (26 page)

Chapter 42

Hours later and Joe McCauley was still pissed off. He'd been having trouble seeing through the rain, which had got even heavier since Hunter had left in a huff.

The bloody stuff had been coming down all morning with hardly a break in between showers. He wasn't going to be able to pick any bunnies off in this fuckin' weather. A rabbit would have to be mad to be out in it. And what's more, it looked like the rain was coming in from the east, which meant it could be here for a while. Them buggers that forecast the weather very rarely managed to predict this sort of stuff.

He spotted a flash of white, way off in the distance. It seemed to be coming towards the Hill. He grabbed his gun and brought the scope to his eye. Hunter. Comin' back from town. And there was a red-haired woman in the passenger seat. Joe snorted, wondering what the high-falutin artist would think of Hunter's shack at Belaren. It wasn't what this woman would be used to. Darn it, he was feeling a bit edgy this mornin'. Must be all the rain. At least an inch had come down since yesterday. He sat a while, looking out across the flats. They weren't their normal emerald green today, that's for sure. More grey, with wisps of white around the edges where the low clouds were skimming the tops of the foothills that rimmed the valley.

It was still beautiful. But in a different sort of way. It made his home on top of the hill seem almost cosy, especially with the fire going in the kitchen, and it wasn't often he could say that. Usually the old shack was as uncomfortable as a twisted gumboot, especially now Nellie was gone. Not as cold as Montmorency used to be though. With that thought his mind floated to places he usually preferred not to visit. Tom and Mae. More Tom than Mae, really. Lately he'd been thinking a lot about his brother. Even wished he could see him again. Maybe have a yarn, bury a hatchet or two, or three. It was funny how time and age made you see things in a different light.

He put down the gun and rubbed his hands together to get the blood running through his fingers. They were numb from sitting out here in the moist, cool air. He didn't want to go inside though. Four walls felt encroaching even on a day like today. Maybe a cup of tea would be the answer, to settle both the edginess and the cold.

Joe staggered to his feet and slowly shuffled his way into the house. Placed a worn old black cast-iron kettle on the kitchen stove. While the water boiled he took a milk coffee biscuit from an old Arnotts tin, with its Rosella parrot emblazoned on the lid. Nellie had loved that tin.

A wisp of air seemed to pass by his cheek. An angel's kiss, maybe? It was a nice thought, and he found himself strangely comforted by the idea his wife might be in the room.

Filling his mug, he grabbed another couple of biscuits to share with the dogs, and shuffled back to the verandah.

Digger was nowhere to be seen, but Boots put his shaggy head up and thumped his tail. At least someone was good company today, even if it was only a dog who'd spied a biscuit in his hand. Maybe the radio would be a help. Joe leaned over and flicked the knob on the old Bakelite radio he had sitting beside him.

‘
Heavy rainfall is expected over Gippsland during the weekend. Falls of one hundred to two hundred millimetres are expected, with higher totals likely in East Gippsland and across the ranges. There is a minor flood warning current for the Narree River downstream of Narree . . .
'

Well, that was hardly surprising with all this shit bucketing down. Joe brought the mug of tea up to his lips and felt the warmth of the liquid fill his mouth, his throat and then slowly, ever so slowly, seep into his stomach. The warmth of it was comforting, soothing even. As was the dog at his feet, chewing happily on the biscuit he'd been given. Joe dunked his own into the dark brown brew and munched away. He felt the tendrils of contentment seep into his bones, his muscles relaxing. Finally his edginess seemed to melt away.

His mind drifted, flitting from one thing to the next. He fed Boots another biscuit. Thank God for Lucy Granger. She'd left him and Boots enough tucker to sink the boat that would be needed to get out of here if this wet stuff didn't ease up.

Joe chuckled as he brought his cuppa back up to his lips. Miss Granger sure was a square peg in a round hole. He wondered if she'd go through with her new idea for her ideal partner. He mentally shook himself. Why was he even pondering the wherefores of these people who'd snuck into his life? But then he recalled the scene on his verandah the night before and that gave him another little chuckle. Poor Deano. He hadn't known which way to jump when
Jacinta Greenaway had started making a play for him. Although to be honest, Joe was happy enough to see Gibson taken off the market. He didn't want him to come sniffing around Tammy again. Not while Travis Hunter was available.

But he's not available, Joseph
. And there she was. Old Nellie. Infallible as always. Telling him what he didn't want to hear.

Course he
'
s available. This woman will piss off like they always do and it
'
ll all be right as rain. Back to the way we were.

Whatever that was.

Joseph, you are a cynical old man. This is the mother of his child!

Nellie had always been a bit touchy when it came to mothers and their kids. That's why she'd wanted him to make up with Tom and Mae, especially after they lost Natalie. But he didn't want to. Not then.

A waft of icy air came spilling across the verandah, upsetting the plastic dog bowl near the screen door. The dish went skittering across the wooden boards, rattling its way down the steps to land in the mud at the bottom. Boots jumped at the sudden noise, whimpered and then huddled into Joe's legs, coming to rest on the man's socks.

Joe grabbed at his mug, seeking the comfort of its now fading warmth.

Crikey, Nellie. You're scaring the shit out of us.

But there were no answers coming from his late wife. All the old man could hear was the rhythmic sound of raindrops falling on tin. Joe finished his cuppa and biscuit, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. A nap might be in order. Nothing much else was going on. Boots, sprawled at his master's feet, agreed.

Joe woke to the sound of a ute roaring towards the T intersection. What the hell? He must have dozed off. He glanced at his watch. Even though the sky was getting darker it was just going on a quarter past four. He grabbed his gun and took a look through the scope at the vehicle. Hunter. It was a bit early to be heading back into town for tea. Maybe they were coming to see him? Hardly. Not after this morning's little effort. Perhaps they were just going for a drive? But where to in this weather?

The ute headed steadily past the front gate of Montmorency and continued on into the gloom. In the grey smudges of misty water he could just make out an amber-coloured blinker light. They were going right, heading towards Narree. Well I'll be darned, he thought. So much for Billy showing her around.

Hang on. There was another amber light in the glass. It was coming this way though. Dang it, what a busy place Hope's Road was today. Joe settled back into his chair, scope still glued to his eyeball. This one was creeping up the tar towards the hill, stealth like. Slowly it moved along until it traversed the whole road, past Montmorency, through the low-level, up to the T intersection and then it disappeared from view. Joe hoped to hell it hadn't turned in his direction. If it headed right, the only place it could come was to his driveway. He strained to hear a motor over the rain pounding on his tin roof. Nope. He couldn't hear a darn thing. But then the vehicle reappeared. Obviously hadn't gone towards Hunter's Belaren either. It had a whole load of stuff in the back. Big yellow boards. Some star pickets. What was it doing? It had gone right back to the start of Hope's Road. Stopped on the corner. Two blokes got out, dressed in a big black Akubras and Driza-Bone coats. One pulled some pickets out of the ute tub, another a ­sledgehammer.

Joe pulled the sight back from his eye – things were blurring in the wet. He blinked a few times then had another go. By now both blokes had wrestled one of the big signs out. They were putting a frame of some sort together. The star pickets came next, hammered in nice and easy with the soft ground.

Joe strained his eyes to see what the sign said, but it was no good. The angle wasn't right as the words were facing the main road. Maybe it was one of those seed company signs advertising their wares on Montmorency, although he hadn't seen any paddocks worked up of recent times. Perhaps it was a fertiliser mob instead?

He continued to watch with interest as the men piled all their tools into the ute tray and drove back towards McCauley's Hill. They stopped a second time right in front of the main gate leading into Montmorency. Out came the tools again, star-pickets and another big yellow sign. Joe pulled the sight back and blinked again, desperately wanting his vision to clear so he could see what the hell these men were up to.

He pulled the gun sight up to his eyeball just as the sign was being hauled into the air on its frame.

AUCTION PENDING

MONTMORENCY DOWNS

Historic Homestead

First time offered.

That was as far as he got.

No!

Joe tipped himself forwards in the chair violently and staggered to his feet. Threw the gun to the ground, not caring what damage that might do to his precious rifle. The bitch was selling up!

He snatched at the rifle again, intent on a second look, but missed in his agitation and went sprawling, his out-of-kilter body taking little time to thump onto the boards.

His hip hit the ground. Hard. Boots was on his feet, barking and yelping.

Oh holy hell, that hurt. Shit. His hip. Had he broken it again?

But that was secondary to the pain that was hammering through his heart. Please God, no, not
Montmorency
!

She couldn't do it to him. Fuck it. She couldn't do it to the
family
. Five generations of McCauley blood, sweat and tears.

First time offered.

The bitch. The lying, scheming . . . Just when he thought he could trust her, she did this.

It was Mae. Mae Rouget all over again.

Lying sprawled on his own wooden verandah, gasping with pain, Joe McCauley was shocked to find himself crying. Tears he should have shed years ago. For the pain throbbing down his leg. For the people he would never see again – not in this life. For his father, his mother, his brother. For Mae. For Nellie. All his regrets.

It was all too late. All too fucking late.

How could she sell Montmorency Downs?

He should have known.

The land-grabbing little fucker.

Chapter 43

Tammy had just climbed out of her ute into dismal weather when the bullet came skidding over her head.

Bang!

‘What the hell are
you
doing here?' the old man roared.

What? They were back to this again?

Oh my Lord. He'd seen the sign. She'd only just spotted it herself coming out the gate. It'd been like a kick in the guts. She couldn't believe they'd have it up so quickly.

‘I don't need you up here on my hill. Get the hell off my farm, you –'

Tammy threw her arms in the air. ‘I know, I know. But if you'd just let me explain –'

‘There's nothing to say!' roared Joe. ‘The fuckin' auction sign says it
all
!'

Bang!

Tammy ducked. The bullet was closer this time.

‘If you'd just stop shooting and let me come up there and talk –'

‘Talk?
Talk!
Get off
my land
! I know you wish you could offload this place too, you little strumpet. You're just like your grandmother!'

Tammy stood in the rain, a drowned rat, water pouring off her head, her body. ‘What do you mean, just like my grandmother?'

‘She wanted me first. Not my brother. But he had the best of it coming to him, so she chose Tom. It should have been
me
!'

Bang!

‘
Joe
, just listen to me –'

‘
No
!' the old man roared. ‘Get the hell off my property and never come
back
!'

Bang!

Tammy could feel herself getting angry. If he'd only just listen to her, she could explain. She would tell him about Shon forcing her hand. Tell him it was the only option she had, the only thing she could do.

Bang!

Oh
hell
.

She jumped back into the ute. He was sitting on the top step of the verandah, red with rage. She could see him reloading the magazine with bullets, which any minute now he'd slot into his rifle . . .

She'd better leave. No way was she going to be able to talk with him today. Possibly not ever. She wound down the window to have one last go, oblivious to the sheet of water now pouring through her window.

‘Joe? Can we just talk?'

‘Get off my property!' he yelled again. Then he leaned forwards to grab at his leg.

Christ, what had the old bugger done now? ‘Uncle Joe?' she called. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Fuck
off
!'

‘Okay, I'm going. I'm out of here, you stiff-necked old bastard.' She cranked the engine, put the ute in gear and took off, wheels spinning in the slippery mud. The last thing she heard was Joe McCauley's voice, chasing her in the rain.

‘Good riddance to rubbish. And don't ever come
back
!'

The anger Tammy felt towards Joe escaped like air from a plumped-up balloon as soon as she reached the front gate of Montmorency. The big yellow sign seemed to mock her.
First time offered.

‘This title is so old, it'd be an original,' Hilary Stratton had told her. And Tammy could hear the crackling of thick paper over the phone. ‘Obviously the property hasn't been sold before. That doesn't happen very often.'

She remembered the first time she'd seen that precious piece of her heritage. Her grandfather had shown it to her when she was a little girl. The paper it was on was called vellum.

They'd been in the ancient office in the old part of the house. Musty, filled with cobwebs and dust, the room exuded odours of days long past. The title had been in an antique ornate frame up on the wall. Her grandfather had taken it down, carefully removed the backing plate and taken the vellum from against the glass. He'd let her touch it, saying, ‘Here, place your fingers on history, Tim Tam. And one day this will be yours to carry on the McCauley bloodline.'

‘I'm just organising the vendor statement, which includes the title of course, and any other certificates that pertain to the property. The flood level certificate from the Shire has been a bit slow. Is there a history of flooding on Montmorency? Will there be any difficulty with that?' The solicitor had sensed a foreboding silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Never mind. All will be in order once the Shire gets their paperwork sorted. I'll be in touch with a date for the auction.'

Tammy drove down the drive and parked the ute. The phone rang as she made it inside. She looked at it – it seemed to deliver nothing but bad news lately. Finally she willed herself to pick up the handset, just as it stopped ringing. Good. Tammy went to walk away, when the damn thing started ringing again, insistently. Someone really wanted to get hold of her. It was probably Shon ringing to gloat about the property being on the market, something which he knew would break her heart. She let it go to the answering machine.

‘Tammy. Rob Sellers here. Just ringing to let you know they've put out a minor flood warning on the Narree River. The weir outflows have been upped to eight thousand mega­litres per day. They're expected to keep rising –'

Tammy, by then, had dived for the handset, anxious to catch the man before he rang off. Rob lived upstream of her, just below the weir wall, and he was the flood warden. ‘Rob! I'm here. What's going on?'

‘Tammy. Thank God I've got you. It's not looking good, mate. The telemetry systems that measure the inflows have gone down above the weir. We're not sure of the volume of water coming but from what they're saying further up in the mountains there's a lot of it heading our way. I reckon we're dead certain to go to at least moderate flooding so thought I'd give you the heads up so you can start dropping your fences.'

Shit. This was all she needed. The cows were right where they shouldn't be. The water came out of the river into her lower paddocks whenever outflows from the weir exceeded twenty-two thousand megalitres.

‘How long have we got, Rob?'

‘Not sure, mate. But I'd be starting to put your flood plan in action right about now. I'll ring you back as soon as I hear from the weir-keepers. Better go. I've got a truckload of others to ring.'

‘No worries. Thanks, Rob.'

‘I'll be in touch. Stay safe and get Hunter to help you.'

‘I will.' Not while she was supposed to be keeping her distance. Plus she was perfectly capable of managing this.

Rob rang off and Tammy wasted precious seconds trying to get Jock and Barb on the phone until she remembered they were off shopping in Melbourne, seeing it was so wet. They were staying overnight, where she didn't know.
And
they didn't have a mobile phone. Damn, damn, damn. Maybe old Joe could help her in the ute? Ha. He'd just thrown her off his property.

All that time spent mending fences and forging trust with her uncle had come to naught. He was the only family she had left, and now he too was gone. She hadn't realised just how lonely she really was until Joe had come along – and Billy and Trav.

Tammy felt her heart dip at the thought of Travis Hunter. She could feel a dark pit of anxiety deep down inside her belly. Whatever happened with his family, right now she was on her own. Again. And she didn't know if she could bear it this time.

The phone jolted her out of her reverie once more. She grabbed the receiver. ‘Tammy McCauley.'

‘Ha, ha, ha – got your comeuppance this time, haven't ya, bitch?' Shon Murphy's voice, slurred and full of hate, came down the line. ‘That auction sign gone up yet? Bet that kicked ya in the guts. It'll teach ya for sooling your good-for-nuthin' uncle on me.'

Why had she answered it? ‘I hate you, Shon Murphy, with every fibre of my being,' she said out loud.

Drunken laughter spilled from the phone. Laughter which then erupted into a fit of convulsive coughing and spluttering as her husband choked. Die you bastard, die, was all she could think as she slammed down the hand-set.

The phone immediately rang again. Bloody Shon. He never gave up easily. The message bank clicked in.

‘Tammy, it's Rob again. They've just upped the outflows to at least thirty thousand megalitres. It looks like we're heading towards a major flood.'

Shit.

She dived for the handset. ‘Rob, I'm here. A major?'

‘Yep. Pretty sure she's gunna be a big one. You can't do this on your own, girl. Have you contacted Hunter yet?'

‘Nope. But I will,' she lied. She'd be fine. Floods had come and gone all her life. She knew what needed to be done.

‘They're expecting the water to be here by the morning.' Rob's voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I'll ring both your mobile and home phones if I hear any more.'

He disconnected quickly, no doubt in a hurry to ring the next person on his list. The man must live on adrenaline, reflected Tammy, what with his community ambulance work and this flood warden business. But, she had to admit, without people like Rob to spread the word, all those in the Narree flood zone would be so much worse off.

She needed to move the cows up near the dairy. The young stock were on the run-off block with Jock and Barbara, out of the flood zone, so they would be right. The autumn calving cows and their calves were already near the house because of the wild dog attacks. They might get a bit wet but she'd had the laser grading people build up a high pad of dirt in that paddock a few years earlier for a new hay-shed. If the cattle moved onto that they'd be able to get out of the water, and if she deposited a round bale of hay in a hay-ring up there, that would see them through the duration of the flood. Then there were the fences. She needed to drop the wires so they would flow with the water rather than have the pressure and accumulated debris reef the posts from the ground.

Tammy quickly sorted in her mind the best order in which to do all the work. Then she strode onto the enclosed back verandah, donned a Driza-Bone, a broad-brimmed Akubra hat and gumboots, and stepped out into the rain to do battle with the river-borne demon that was to come.