Matilda's Last Waltz (64 page)

‘Get in the jeep and drive to Wallaby Flats. I got enough to worry about here.' Curly hugged his kids and kissed his wife before watching the jeep disappear in the smoke.

‘Jeez, I hope they'll be right,' he muttered. Then, with a loud sniff, he turned away, picked up a shovel and joined the others.

Brett thought of Jenny and hoped she and the others were still in Broken Hill. But he had a nasty feeling that if she'd heard the news on the radio, they'd be on their way back.

He swallowed the last of a sandwich, picked up his sack and shovel and wearily headed once more towards the line of fire. The other men were small, dark shadows against the monstrous, orange glow as they beat uselessly against the flames.

*   *   *

Jenny drove the utility into the yard at Kurrajong and came to a screeching halt. Helen leaped out and raced into the house, Jenny and Diane followed closely behind.

‘James … Where are you? Where is everybody?' Helen's voice was high with fear as she opened doors and ran from room to room.

Jenny shifted from one foot to another. She wanted to be on Churinga, and Helen's frantic search was making her feel more nervous by the minute. And yet she knew they couldn't just walk away and leave Helen alone.

‘They've all gone to Wilga. I told them to stay here and look after their own, but they wouldn't listen. Fools!'

The words had been delivered with the speed and ferocity of a machine gun. The three women whirled round to face Ethan Squires.

He was in his wheelchair, two bright spots of hectic colour staining his cheeks. His eyes were wild and his gnarled hands gripped the arms of his chair.

‘You'd better get back to your precious Churinga, girlie. It won't be there much longer.' His eyes gleamed maliciously and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth.

‘That's enough, Ethan.' Helen's voice was crisp and cold as she approached the chair and leaned over it. ‘What's the damage so far? How close is the fire?'

Jenny held her breath as those hooded eyes settled on her.

‘Taken Nulla Nulla and Wilga. Heading for Churinga. I wish I could see it burn. I'd give anything to go and watch.'

‘I have to go, Helen. They might need me.' Jenny was already edging towards the door.

‘Wait on. I'm coming with you,' said Helen, turning away from the old man. ‘There's nothing here to keep me and James must already be out there somewhere.'

‘You!'

The shotgun blast of his voice froze them. They turned.

Ethan pointed a bony finger at Jenny. ‘Child of Satan. Spawn of the Devil. I know who you are – know all about you. You deserve to burn in hell along with your precious Churinga.'

Jenny heard Diane gasp, could feel her tug on her arm, but was transfixed in horror as she watched the old man pull himself from his wheelchair.

‘I know you for who you really are, Jennifer McCauley. There are no secrets Churinga can hide from me. I've waited a long time for you to come back.'

His eyes were devoid of sanity but madness had lent him a terrible strength. He shuffled towards her, his outstretched hand trembling with rage. ‘Now may the Devil have the pleasure of your company. Burn in hell with your mother.'

Jenny shivered as his hand clawed her arm. She took a step back – and then another, mesmerised by those crazed eyes, almost powerless before the hatred that spewed from him.

Ethan collapsed at her feet, his head hitting the wooden floor with a sickening thud. As he rolled on to his back, his lips curled into a snarl, exposing long, yellow teeth.

‘You betrayed me, Mary. Stole what was mine.' Then he was still.

The silence seemed endless as they stared down at him, and Jenny wondered how Mary could have ever loved such a man. But then she supposed circumstances had made him what he'd become. If his own father hadn't been so greedy, they might have stayed together and none of them would have had to suffer the awful consequences.

‘I'm so sorry, Jenny. So very sorry.' Helen stood forlornly above the pitiful remains of Ethan Squires. ‘He must have known all the time. But how? Who could have told him?'

Jenny looked up, her mind working fast. ‘Did Ethan ever visit Churinga during the years between Finn's leaving and my arrival?'

Helen twisted a handkerchief nervously. ‘He went over a couple of times in the early years,' she said thoughtfully. ‘I remember James saying he didn't like the way he was poking about the place, taking things away.'

Jenny stepped around Ethan's body and grabbed her friend's hands, stilling them. ‘Think, Helen. What exactly did he take?'

Her blue eyes stared back, bright with realisation. ‘James said he'd taken an old trunk, but after locking it away in his study for years, he ordered it to be returned.'

‘The diaries were in that trunk, Helen. That's how he knew. And I bet you a dime to a dollar he returned the trunk about the same time Peter discovered the connection between me and Churinga.'

Helen looked at her in horror. ‘He meant for you to read them?' she breathed.

Jenny nodded. ‘He knew Churinga would never be his once I was found. It was his final act of spite.'

‘Dear God. How can anyone be so evil? But how could he have kept track of what was going on? He hasn't left Kurrajong for years.' Helen frowned, then put her hand over her mouth. ‘Andrew,' she gasped. ‘He had Andrew spy for him.'

‘We don't know that for sure,' Jenny replied firmly. ‘But it wouldn't surprise me one bit.'

She looked out of the window. The sky was dark, boiling with the storm. ‘The only thing I want to do now is get back to Brett and Churinga. Are you coming too?'

Helen nodded. Without a second glance at the body on the floor, they left the house.

*   *   *

Daylight disappeared. The men were exhausted but still the fire raged. It was impossible to see the sky and the earth was lit by the eerie orange glow of the flames which loomed over Churinga. The men had taken the mob and the rest of the stock to the water hole beneath Tjuringa mountain. The trees were green there and the earth damp from the underground streams. It was their only hope of salvaging anything.

Fire trucks had come from miles around but water was scarce and the pumps soon ran dry. The firemen turned to beating at the flames with sacking and branches and anything else they could lay their hands on.

And still the fire roared across the paddocks and headed for Churinga homestead.

Feet trampled over the small cemetery and the vegetable garden, spades desperately cleared scrub and axes tore down trees. Water was carried in buckets from the stream and thrown over dry timber walls. Still the flames marched on.

Brett ran into the house, grabbed Ripper who was cringing in the bedroom and threw him into Diane's camper van. Then he returned to salvage what he could.

The two-way radio was ripped out and stashed in the back. This was followed by the box of paintings Jenny had obviously packed away to take back to Sydney and an armful of the women's clothes. He caught sight of the lovely dress Jenny had worn to the dance and couldn't bear the thought of it burning so added that to the pile. The diaries lay scattered around the room. After a moment's hesitation, he left them there. Fate would decree whether they survived or not.

He hurried back into the house for the last time. The silver and linen had been at Churinga for years. It was too valuable just to leave. Dumping the whole lot into the camper, he grabbed hold of Clem who was wearily leaning against the barn drinking tea.

‘Drive this to Wallaby Flats and make sure it's locked up good before you leave it,' he said, handing over the keys. ‘Take the pup to the pub.'

‘I can't leave me mates and go swanning off to the bloody Flats, Brett.'

‘You'll bloody do what I tell you,' he snarled. ‘There's bound to be a lift back here soon enough and you're too tired to be of much use right now.' He slammed the door on further argument and walked away.

At least Jenny'll have something to remember Churinga by, he thought as he watched the camper disappear down the road. Because the way it looks at the moment, it's doomed.

The majority of the men had been on their feet for more than three days and nights with no more than a few hours' snatched sleep. But still they kept battling. The wind had dropped now and with it came the smallest chance of being able to turn the fire before it reached the homestead. Hope was everything. It was what kept them going.

Then a spark flew from a pepper tree and settled on the verandah, and within minutes that spark became flame.

‘Get a line of water going,' Brett yelled as the fire took hold and began to lick at the walls.

He heard glass explode. The heat grew so intense it was almost impossible to get near enough to dowse the flames. The only way of beating the fire would be to isolate it in the clearing. The men had already dismantled the jackaroos' bungalow and a couple of the barns, now they had to do what they could to damp down the rest of the buildings before the fire reached the storage sheds and garages. The winter feed and hay, the petrol and kerosene, the gas bottles and oily machinery they stored there would only add fuel to the inferno.

Hand over hand they filled the buckets from the trickle of water left in the creek, but it was slow work and there just wasn't enough. Brett looked desperately back at the house. He glanced up and knew he had just one last chance to save Churinga from oblivion. The water tanks at the side of the house.

Quickly leaving the water chain, he gathered a few men together and explained what he wanted them to do. Then, with ropes and pulleys, they approached the homestead inferno.

It would take a brave man or a fool to do what he wanted. Brett had no doubt which one he was – why bother when it was soon to belong to Kurrajong? But he was damned if he was going to stand by and see it burned to the ground, and he wasn't going to ask the others to risk their lives.

Taking the ropes, he edged towards the nearest tank. The heat seared his face and he was driven back. He dipped a cloth in a bucket of water and draped it over his head, then took a deep breath and ran. With the rope circled around the tank, he tied it fast and made his escape.

‘Pull!' he yelled. ‘For Christ's sake, pull!'

He helped take the strain with the others until the great tank shifted on its pilings and crashed down on to roof of the house. Hundreds of gallons of water flooded over the smouldering wood and red-hot corrugated iron. Glass shattered and wood snapped, but the flames had been dowsed enough for him to make the run for the next tank.

Soaking the cloth once more, he wrapped it around his head. He could hear some damn' fool bringing a ute into the yard – but he was too preoccupied with what he was doing to give it much thought.

He filled his lungs and dashed for the tank. The remains of Churinga hissed and crackled as he ran over the blazing debris. The rope burned in his hands as he circled the tank, the smoke choked him, ashes stung his eyes and singed his hair. Then a race back to the relatively cooler air, fighting for breath, putting all his weight behind the pulling of the rope.

Hundreds more gallons ran over the house and yard. Flames were quenched, earth became sodden, the dry timber of the remaining buildings soaked it up like blotting paper.

The main body of the fire was even nearer now. The distance it had travelled had done nothing to weaken it.

Another tank. More water. The earth was muddy, hands were stinging, eyes blinded, flesh seared. The smell of singed hair and hot skin mingled with acrid smoke, burning eucalyptus oil and ash. The world seemed full of the sound of animals in fear, of flames out of control and men shouting.

*   *   *

Jenny saw the camper in the distance. She could also see a great pall of smoke and the bright orange glow which had turned day into macabre night – and knew what they meant. She pulled the jeep to a halt and leaped out. Ripper saw her and threw himself out of the window and into her arms.

Jenny held on tightly to his squirming body. ‘How bad is it, Clem? Where's Brett? Is he all right?'

‘Not good, Mrs Sanders,' he replied, his soot-smeared face almost unrecognisable. ‘Brett's with the others. Should be getting back meself, but he said I was to take this lot to the Flats.'

‘Bugger that, Clem,' she said firmly. ‘You get back to the fire if that's what you want.'

He didn't need telling twice, and as Jenny climbed back into the ute, executed a three-point turn and headed back the way he'd come.

‘Tie Ripper to the seat, Diane,' she said grimly. ‘Brett's in trouble and I don't want to worry about anything else.'

‘So you've decided you do want him, then?' Diane yelled above the roar of the jeep's engine. ‘About bloody time.' She pulled the long silk scarf from her hair and tied Ripper to the metal bar under her seat.

‘But what about kids, Jen? Don't you think you should get expert advice before you go haring off with him?' Diane yelled as she clung to the dashboard.

Jenny gripped the steering wheel. She'd had the same awful thought and already dismissed it. ‘I had Ben, remember? He was a perfect baby. Why shouldn't I have other healthy children?'

‘Too right,' agreed Helen. ‘If there was any likelihood of anything going wrong, it would have happened with your first child. And with the incestuous link broken between Matilda and Mervyn the chances are extremely remote.'

‘How come you know so much?' said Diane.

‘Post grad in genetics,' Helen shouted back. ‘Correspondence course I took when the kids went away to boarding school.'

Jenny slammed her foot to the floor and raced for home. She just hoped she wasn't too late.

She finally slewed the jeep to a halt by the creek and almost fell out of the door in her haste to find Brett.

‘I'll stay here,' said Diane, shifting into the driver's seat. ‘You'll need me to keep an eye on the ute if we have to make a run for it.'