Читать книгу Breakaway Creek - Heather Garside - Страница 7

Clermont, Present Day

Shelley parked her car in front of the Clermont courthouse and stared at the heat shimmering off the bitumen in desolate waves. The street was empty and the entire town seemed lifeless, as if everyone had holed up to escape the burning sun.

She was probably mad coming here just because of an old photograph.

Her grandmother would be livid if she knew. Not that she really cared what Nanna Audrey thought. Shelley's mother, Noela, was okay with anything that took Shelley's mind off Jason, but it was her Great-Aunt Edie who'd suggested she come to Clermont.

'Now, there's a puzzle,' Aunt Edie had said. 'Audrey has to know something I don't. All I know is, Grandma was estranged from her own family and Grandpa didn't seem to have much contact with his. Audrey ended up with all the family papers.'

Shelley surveyed the low weatherboard building as she walked up the path and mounted the timber steps. It looked old enough to have existed in her ancestors' day. Perhaps they'd once trod these same boards. She wondered how they'd coped with the blistering temperatures in those long, layered clothes they used to wear.

'I'm trying to trace my great-great grandparents,' she told the young woman behind the counter. 'I was told they were married here in Clermont.'

The girl flicked her long fringe out of her eyes and smiled apologetically.

'I'm sorry, but with current privacy laws the public can't access our records. If you know the dates involved, I can look it up for you, though.'

Shelley dug in her handbag for the photograph. She'd found it last week in one of her mother's old photo albums, and looking at it now still made her scalp tingle. She held it out to show the girl.

'Their names are on the back - Alexander and Emma Baxter. It's dated 1898.'

'Was that when they were married?'

'I assume so.'

'That's a starting point, anyway. I'll see what I can find.'

She disappeared into the adjoining room, leaving Shelley to wander restlessly, studying the posters and sample birth certificates on the shabby walls. It was a depressing place. She swung around as the girl returned with a sheet of paper, her face beaming with satisfaction.

'I found the entry. They were married here in Clermont on February 25, 1898. She was Emma Watson. There are also records of a child, born in 1898. If you like, I can order copies of the marriage and birth certificates for you.'

A surge of elation sent Shelley hurrying back to the counter. Perhaps this crazy trip would prove to be fruitful, after all.

'Thank you! That's great. Is there any record of Alexander's birth? I think Emma was a Brisbane girl.'

'Do you know when he was born?'

Shelley shook her head.

'No, but he looks to be in his mid to late twenties here. My guess is sometime between 1870 and 1875.'

'I'll check for you, but births weren't always registered that far back, especially if people lived on remote properties.' She bustled away but was back again in no time. 'I'm sorry, but there's no record of Alexander Baxter's birth.'

What a bummer. Shelley smiled to cover her disappointment. She ordered copies of the available documents, requesting they be posted to her parents' address.

'Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it. My aunt told me Alexander was from Breakaway Creek station. Do you know if it still exists?'

The girl shrugged her thin shoulders.

'I've only been in town a couple of years. Why don't you ask one of the agents? Landmark or Elders know all the properties.'

Shelley stopped at the first stock and station agency she found. The shed-like building was filled with an assortment of rural merchandise which included everything from dog food to elastic-sided boots. Drums of chemicals lined the shelves, along with numerous items whose use was a mystery to a town-reared girl like her.

'Breakaway Creek,' the burly man behind the counter repeated, after greeting her with a jovial affability one seldom encountered in the city. 'I know of it. It's a bit out of the Clermont area now, since the mining towns sprung up. Do you know someone there?'

'I'm tracing my ancestors. My great-great grandfather came from there.'

'Hmm, you could be in luck. I think the family's been there for generations.' His eyes lit up with genuine interest. 'I don't suppose you want a job? I know they're looking for a housekeeper.'

Shelley blinked.

'I don't think housekeeping's quite my thing.' Did she look like a housekeeper, for God's sake? She was on leave at the moment, but her admin job in Brisbane was a far cry from mopping floors.

He shuffled through some papers and produced a tattered sheet.

'Here's the job description. "Housekeeper required for central Queensland cattle station: cooking and general house duties for two single males".'

An image of a pair of desperate and dateless types from the back blocks flashed into Shelley's mind.

She winced.

'Sounds scary.'

The man grinned.

'The brothers are decent blokes. One of them was married, but the gossip is his wife left him a few months ago. They must be sick of fending for themselves.'

'Well, I'll pass, thanks. I just want to visit, ask them some questions.'

'I'd ring ahead if I were you. You can try now, but your chances of catching anyone in the house during the day are pretty slim.'

He gave her the telephone number and Shelley returned to her car to use her mobile phone. As the agent had predicted, no one appeared to be at home, but finally an answering machine clicked in with a male voice: "This is Luke Sherman here. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you."

Shelley left her contact details but didn't elaborate on the purpose of her call. If she didn't hear from him, she'd try again tonight.

She glanced at her watch. Two o'clock, and the gnawing sensation in her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She started the car and drove to the main street, where she found a café and ordered a steak burger. When in cattle country, she thought. She sat at a corner table and wondered what to do next.

If she couldn't contact these Shermans before dark, it looked like she was staying in Clermont for the night. Hopefully even one of the brothers would be able to see her in the morning. In the meantime, she could explore the town. It wasn't like that would take her long.

The steak burger turned out to be delicious, with real salad and beetroot. She then braved the sun to walk the main street, starting at the top where brightly-painted murals decorated a set of coal wagons. At the other end she stopped to rest on a shady seat, watching ducks and geese swim on a sparkling lagoon amongst purple waterlilies. It was definitely the best spot in town.

She tried the Sherman's number again, but still there was no answer. It looked like finding a motel for the night was in order.

****

Shelley shut the door to her motel room and headed for the adjoining restaurant. She fished in her bag for her ringing phone.

'Hello, Shelley Blake speaking.'

'Luke Sherman. I'm returning your call.'

'Oh, thanks. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm trying to find some information on my great-great-grandfather.' She realised she was rushing and took a deep breath to slow down. 'His name was Alexander Baxter and he once lived at Breakaway Creek. That was about 1898.'

'Well, 1898 was a bit before my time.' The masculine voice sounded vaguely amused and not at all like the bashful bachelor she'd been expecting. 'But he was probably some relation. My mother was a Baxter and the family have been here since the 1870s. She inherited the property from her father, John Baxter.'

'Oh, that's excellent. Do you have any family records I could look at?'

The line went silent for a moment.

'There's a family bible and a box of old photos. You're welcome to go through them. I don't know what else we might have. My mother's overseas at the moment, or I'd ask her.'

Shelley took another deep breath.

'Would it be all right if I visited you tomorrow? To have a look through the papers, I mean. Besides, if my family came from there, I'd love to see the property.'

'Of course. So you're in Clermont now?'

At her affirmative, he gave her directions.

'It's over an hour's drive. What time do you plan to leave?'

'I'll get away about seven in the morning, if that suits you?' as an afterthought she added: 'what's the road like?'

'It's pretty good. A lot of bitumen now.'

What did that mean? If it wasn't all bitumen, Shelley thought, how good could it be?

****

As she showered and dressed the next morning, Shelley tried to picture this Luke Sherman, who was possibly a distant relative. He'd sounded much younger than the old, crusty bushie she'd envisaged. Was he the one with the absent wife, or was that his brother? Not that it mattered; she wasn't interested in guys these days, least of all some cowboy.

She pulled on a pair of snug hipster jeans and a knit top with shoestring straps, knowing the outfit flattered her long legs and slim figure. Leaving her dark hair hanging loose about her face, she applied a touch of make-up. Just because she wasn't in the market, didn't mean she shouldn't look her best.

After an early breakfast in her room, Shelley set off in her little blue Mazda. After fifteen kilometres, she turned off the main highway - such as it was - onto a narrow bitumen road. Assuming that was as bad as it would get, Shelley relaxed into the drive just hoping she wouldn't have to pass any trucks. But a few kilometres further on, her relief turned to dismay as the bitumen ran into gravel and her low car scraped on the higher centre of the road. She winced every time the many stones rattled against her tyres.

A four-wheel drive tore past in the opposite direction, enveloping her in dust. What if she got a flat tyre out here, in the middle of nowhere? There was not much chance of anyone stopping if she needed help.

Resigned to taking it slowly, she crept along, avoiding sharp stones and straddling the wheel tracks where necessary. The countryside looked depressingly dry; the grass in the paddocks brown and withered, the sparse grey foliage on the trees drooping in the still, heat-hazed air. The expanse of empty countryside scared her, reducing her to insignificance.

Following Luke's directions, she eventually drove onto bitumen again and passed through a town of tired, generic-looking houses with hardiplank facades. The man at the stock and station agency had told her that the town of Faradale had been built to serve the coal mines thirty years earlier. It had a dirty, neglected air, as if its residents lived here under protest and no one really cared. Clermont seemed charming in comparison.

After a few more kilometres of gravel road, Shelley began to panic. Had she missed the turn? She stopped to consult the directions she'd written down and decided to keep driving. Finally she spotted the sign she'd been looking for, hanging over a brightly-painted oil drum that served as a mailbox. Breakaway Creek. At last, she thought.

Shelley turned off the main thoroughfare and drove up a narrow dirt road through open forest country. The car nudged over a rise and passed a dam of still, brown water. Another bend in the road led her into a cleared paddock, revealing a large, low house, an assortment of outbuildings, and a small cottage hiding behind a hedge of bougainvillea. The open land in front of the house sloped away to a line of trees which appeared to mark a watercourse - possibly the creek for which the property was named.

She drew up in front of the big house, and looked with interest at her surroundings before stepping out and stretching her stiffened muscles. Dogs barked from a row of cages between the house and the sheds as a man appeared on the veranda. She waited at the front gate as he came down the low steps to meet her, the remnants of her preconceptions about bush bachelors evaporating as her stomach tightened in anticipation.

'Hello - Shelley?' Her name was a question, as he looked her over with sharp green eyes, which made her feel absurdly self-conscious.

A few days' growth of whiskers suggested he hadn't placed as much importance on this meeting as she had - unless he subscribed to the 'designer stubble' look. Somehow, she didn't think so. In his faded Wrangler jeans and navy drill shirt he looked conservatively country. Yet the 'hick' label didn't quite fit. If this guy was a bachelor, it must be from choice - unless he was the one with the broken marriage.

'Yes, that's me,' she said, somewhat unnecessarily. 'So you're Luke?'

He nodded and shook her hand, his fingers strong and calloused against her soft skin.

'Pleased to meet you. Come in. I was beginning to think you'd got lost.'

'Sorry.' Her fingers tingled and she had to resist the urge to pull her hand from his. She wasn't usually this fidgety around men. 'I took it slow. I'm not used to gravel roads.'

'Better safe than sorry. Mitch - that's my brother - isn't here at the moment. He had to check some waters. I've been catching up on office work while I waited.'

'I hope I'm not holding you up from anything important.'

He shrugged.

'Nothing special. We mustered last week and we've got weaners in the yards. I'll have to feed them shortly.'

He ushered her into a large kitchen with shabby timber cupboards and pulled out a chair for her at the laminex table.

'Sit down. I've been looking through some old photos and things since you rang.' He sat opposite her and tapped an ancient-looking bible, bound in battered black leather. 'I'm a bit mystified about your ancestor, Alex.'

Her pulse leapt. There it was again - that reference to a mystery.

'Why's that?'

'Well, I found this photo.' He held up a faded family portrait, featuring a seated man and woman in nineteenth-century dress. Five children of varying ages stood beside the chairs or sprawled on the floor at their feet, gazing solemnly towards the camera. The woman cradled a baby in a long white gown.

'This is Frank and Sarah Baxter, the couple who pioneered this place. There are six kids here, including the baby, and one of them is listed as Alex.' He turned the photograph over to show her the names scrawled on the reverse and then flipped it back again. 'I think that's him here.'

He pointed to the tallest of the children, a boy of about eight, standing at the back. With a quiver of excitement, Shelley took the photograph and looked more closely. It was possible the boy was Alexander - he was dark-haired, like the man in her mother's photo, and the features were similar.

'Yes, that looks like him. But what's the mystery?'

'The thing is, all the other births are listed in the family bible, but not his. The same with the marriages. Who did you say he married?'

'Emma Watson, from Brisbane.'

'It's strange.' He gave a little shrug. 'Perhaps he fell out with the family, which is why they didn't record his marriage. But you'd think the birth would have to be in here.'

Shelley examined the photo with avid interest.

'I wonder ... he looks different from the others. Could he have been an adopted child? That sometimes happened in those days. People took in orphaned or motherless relatives and raised them as their own.'

'It's possible.' Luke passed her the bible. 'You're welcome to look at this.'

The family history was inscribed on a few blank pages at the back: the record of Frank and Sarah Baxter's marriage; the births of five children, and their subsequent marriages. The flowing script had been penned with heavy black ink, and in places there were spots where the pen had spluttered. But there was no mention of Alex.

The hair prickled on the back of Shelley's neck.

'It's very strange. I came up against the same lack of info with my mother's family.' She handed over the photo that had spurred her search. 'This is the couple in question, but my grandmother refused to talk about them, apart from calling Alex "a good-for-nothing stockman". She got quite stroppy when I persisted. It was my great aunt - her younger sister - who sent me here.'

'Family secrets, eh?' Luke's smile crinkled the crow's feet around his eyes as he peered at the picture. For the first time there was real warmth on his face. 'Perhaps he was born on the wrong side of the blanket.'

'Perhaps.' Shelley returned his smile, trying to suppress the foolish quiver in her stomach. What had happened to her recently-adopted disinterest in men? 'That's what's got me intrigued.'

'I can ask Mum when I talk to her next. She and Dad are travelling in Europe so we have to wait for them to ring us.' He stood up, casually stretching his long, lean body. 'Would you like a cup of tea or coffee? A glass of water?'

'Coffee would be nice. But I hope I'm not holding you up.'

'No, it's smoko time. I'm sorry I wasn't more help.'

As he filled the electric kettle, Shelley looked around the room. She judged the house to be only about thirty years old - hardly a pioneer dwelling.

'What happened to the original homestead?'

Luke glanced at her.

'It's still here. It's about a kilometre away, closer to the creek. The floods went through it once or twice, so they built up here in the late sixties.'

'So it's still standing?'

'Yeah.' He took mugs from one cupboard and a jar of instant coffee from another. 'It's pretty dilapidated now.'

'I'd love to see it.'

'Sure. I can show you later.' He made the coffees and put them on the table, then sat opposite her. 'So, where are you from?'

Shelley spooned sugar into her mug, willing herself to relax.

'My family's in Rockhampton - I grew up there. But I've been in Brisbane for the last eight years.'

Luke raised his eyebrows.

'The bright lights, eh? What do you do in Brisbane?'

'I work in administration. I'm on leave at the moment.'

'Then you must be good with computers. Mine's playing up this morning. Keeps freezing on me.'

'I can have a look at it if you like. It must be hard to get a technician out here.'

He grinned and sipped his coffee.

'We can't. We have to take it to them. The joys of living in the bush.'

'It's so quiet. Don't you find it lonely?' Apart from the faint hum of the refrigerator and the twittering of a willy-wagtail in a tree outside the window, the silence was absolute. It was a far cry from the hustle and roar of Brisbane.

'You city girls,' he smiled, shaking his head. Then his grin faded. 'That's what my wife used to say.'

That answered one question. Luke was the one with the broken marriage.

****

You must be crazy, Shelley Blake, she told herself later while sitting at his cluttered desk. Here she was, in the back of beyond, with a cowboy-type hanging over her shoulder as she ran through the settings on his computer. At least he smelled clean, which only proved he hadn't been working outside today. She just wished he wouldn't stand so close.

She glanced for the umpteenth time at a framed photograph on the desk. It was obvious that the laughing, younger guy in the picture was the same man who now stood behind her. Luke had one arm around a pretty blonde woman, who cradled a baby in her arms, and the other held a small boy of about two against his hip.

Shelley set the anti-spyware to scan and turned to look up at her companion. From this angle his stubbled jaw looked squarely determined in contrast to his wide mouth and full, well-shaped lips. His eyes looked tired.

'This could take a while,' she said. She pointed at the photo and took a calculated risk. 'Is this your family?'

Pain flickered in his eyes.

'Those are my boys. The photo was taken about three years ago.' He took a deep breath. 'I don't see much of them now. Their mother took off recently.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.' His obvious distress made her wish she hadn't asked. 'Where are they living?'

'In Brisbane. Back where she came from.'

Ouch. His derisive tone indicated he didn't think much of Brisbane.

'How old are they?'

'Ben's five and Jack's three. They're real little bushies. They must hate it down there.' The corners of his mouth tugged down in dejected lines.

A rush of warmth, or empathy, had her sharing more than she'd ever intended.

'I've just been through a break-up, too. Luckily there were no kids involved.'

'Were you married?'

'No, living together. Jason didn't want to get married, and I'm glad of that now.' She abruptly pushed out her chair. No more talk about Jason - he wasn't worth it. 'Well, I'd better leave you to it. It looks like the mystery of Alexander Baxter isn't going to be easily solved.'

He stepped back, giving her room to rise.

'It was a long way to come for nothing. Are you in a hurry to leave? I need to feed the weaners now, but I could take you to look over the old house later.' He hesitated. 'If you'd care to stay a couple of days, my parents usually ring on a Friday night. Mum might know something.'

'Oh, I couldn't impose on you like that.'

For the first time he grinned with real humour. It made him look almost as young as he did in the photograph.

'Did you know we're looking for a housekeeper?'

Shelley stood up and gave him a level stare. His grin was hopeful, boyishly charming - but no, she wasn't falling for it. She glanced around her at the untidy, dusty furniture.

'Nice try, buster. Do I look like the domestic goddess type?"

He shrugged.

'Do they still exist?'

It would be disappointing to leave without any of the information she'd come for. It would also be nice to spend a few days on a working cattle property - something she hadn't experienced before. The stock and station agent had given the brothers a character reference and there was a family connection.

'If I stay, I'll pull my weight, but I'm not going to be your slave. Does your brother live here too?'

'Yeah. He used to live in the cottage, but when Miranda left we decided he might as well move back in. He's got a girlfriend in town though, so he stays there a bit.'

'Okay. I'll stay for a few days. Thanks. And I'd love to see something of the property.'

'Of course.' He flashed that quick grin which transformed his face. 'I suppose you want to see kangaroos and koalas, that sort of thing.'

His mildly patronising tone made Shelley's neck prickle. She tilted her chin and looked him in the eye.

'I don't expect to see koalas. I know there aren't many left around here.'

He shook his head.

'True. We have a few roos, though.'

'I've seen the odd kangaroo or two. I did grow up in Rockhampton, remember.'

'I'm glad to hear it. So I suppose you know all about horses and cattle, too?'

She knew he was taking the micky out of her.

'Not much about cattle, no. But I learned to ride as a kid - I went to Pony Club for a few years.'

His grin widened.

'Sounds like you'll fit right in, Shelley.'