Secrets of the Springs Read online

  I goggled at her. ‘What do you mean? How would —’

  ‘He’s a solicitor and I have a criminal conviction, Orla, that’s why! Oh, it was downgraded, from murder to man-slaughter and then to self-defence but I was on remand for ten months – ten months in prison and in the end released on a technicality because of some error in the Crown’s case. A pretty wife I should make him with a record like that! He wouldn’t have a client left the moment that was known.’

  I shook my head, unable to believe what I’d heard. ‘You actually killed somebody? I can’t —’ I reached hesitantly to cover her busy fingers with my own. ‘Tell me what happened,’ I coaxed. ‘You’re not Palmer – you wouldn’t murder anyone.’

  There were tears in her eyes and the sight jarred me. ‘Bless you for that, Orla,’ she said shakily. ‘but I did kill him, in self-defence. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t stopped him. I snatched up the knife, desperate – I was so desperate, so frightened – and it just went in. I don’t even remember stabbing him. One minute he was roaring and punching and the next he just stopped as though he’d hit a wall, and the blood . . .’ She shook her head. ‘They said it sliced through the aorta.’ She shuddered. ‘There was so much blood . . . The prosecution tried to make out that I’d known, that I’d aimed the blade . . .’

  ‘Stop!’ I had never seen Marty like this. It was almost too much to take in, Marty who was always so composed, whose private life was just that. I squeezed her hands; she was bone white and shaking. ‘It’s all right,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Who was he? Your husband?’

  She nodded. ‘We’d been married five years.’ She swallowed. ‘They were five years of hell, Orla. The abuse started scarcely a month after the wedding. During those years he broke my arm, and my jaw:, he put me in hospital three times . . . I went to the police but they did nothing. I left him, but he found me and dragged me back – that’s when he broke my arm.’ She shivered, remembering. ‘They said I’d planned it, left the knife where I could grab it. He wasn’t even drunk; he just got off on beating me. He killed our baby the second year. Knocked me down when I was seven months pregnant and kicked me in the stomach. It was after that I tried to get away from him, but his mates told him where I was and he came and dragged me back.’

  ‘His mates?’ I was scrambling to keep up as the sentences poured from her. ‘How did they know?’

  ‘He was a copper,’ she said simply. ‘They lined up to alibi him, to swear he was decent and sober and that I was a liar.’

  ‘Oh, Marty!’ I was appalled. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘I married at twenty-two, so I was twenty-seven when it happened – that counted against me too. Sweet young things might panic, mature women don’t, not in the law’s eyes.’

  ‘And afterwards . . . was that when you came to the Springs?’

  ‘Yes, it was as far as I could get on the money I had. To start again, to be . . . anonymous.’

  ‘So nobody knows you’ve been in prison – not even Ben?’

  ‘I told your uncle when he gave me the job, but that’s all.’ She hesitated. ‘I know he did you a great wrong but his loyalty to me was absolute. I think he – well, sympathised – he knew what it was to be an outsider, to never truly belong in a community. He’d been dispossessed, looked down on too. Both of us outcasts if you will. I don’t know how I would have managed if he hadn’t employed me.’ She stared at her hands, brow crinkled in thought, and I waited as she worked out whether or not to tell me the next piece. ‘Your father knew too – but not from Palmer. The trial and verdict was all over the papers at the time, as you can imagine. Spouse Slayer Gets Off. I remember that headline! And of course there were pictures of me; he must have seen one of them somewhere and made the connection. You know how I told you he came to town a lot? It was . . . I’m sorry, Orla, but he had a mistress there. The doctor’s wife – do you remember Doctor Ferguson? I took you to see him once. He had that little surgery next to the post office. You were – oh, thirteen – and had a really bad sore throat, remember?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I said slowly. ‘A cranky old man with a moustache. I didn’t know he was married.’

  ‘He was probably only forty,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘His wife was younger though. I passed his home one day during surgery hours and saw your father coming out of the house. And Mrs Ferguson was just opening the drapes at an upstairs window. Your father noticed me then and saw I’d made the connection – well, you couldn’t miss it, really. He just smiled at me – it wasn’t a nice smile – and said, “So now we’ve both got a secret to keep.” And that was when I knew he’d worked out who I was.’

  I was stunned, Marty’s own story momentarily forgotten. I sat turning her words this way and that in my head as if doing so would bring a different meaning to them. I couldn’t believe it. ‘But he and Mum – he loved her! How could he do that? Why would he? He committed bigamy to be with her so why would he want a mistress?’ I heard the pleading note in my voice. ‘Marty, couldn’t you have been mistaken? Maybe he hadn’t been in the house. She mightn’t have heard him knock and —’

  ‘I wasn’t mistaken, Orla. I saw him come out the door and close it behind him. And then why say that to me? You can be certain that Denise Ferguson wasn’t the only one. They left a few months later when Doctor Barnes took over the practice, but Harry was around town just as often.’

  I didn’t believe her. I pictured my parents as I had often seen them, side by side, and smiling. I saw Dad’s face, his piratical smile and heard him say, ‘There’s always a way, colleen.’ And then, slowly, sadly, I did.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I passed the afternoon in a daze, periodically recalling a task undone only to come to a stop, partway through its completion, to examine half-remembered occasions that had seemed normal at the time, but which, viewed in the fresh light of the bombshell Marty had dropped, might or might not have been signs of my father’s double life. Was it possible that Mum had been aware he was cheating on her? I had always believed them to be happy together. There had been no rows that I could recall, no visible signs of tension, but children are egocentric beings and only children perhaps even more so. I remembered Dad’s laughter, the songs he whistled, Mum humming as she brushed my hair before bed at night, our special time when we talked about the day. She had played her piano and smiled over the teacups set out on the white wicker table on the verandah. Surely these weren’t the actions of a wronged wife?

  It was almost a relief when the PGs returned mid-afternoon, Kitty’s face a little wind-burned but all four of them full of their day.

  ‘We saw emus, Orla – ten of them,’ Heather cried, running up the shallow steps to be first with the news. ‘Mark raced them so we could see how fast they went! And there was a big willy-wind and it went ever so high in the sky. High enough to reach the clouds! Well, there weren’t any but it would’ve if there was.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘I bet you feel like a drink after all that driving. Would you like an apple juice? There’s some cold in the fridge and I’ll bet Ellen has something nice to go with it.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ She wriggled. ‘I really like your place, Orla. Mark said you used to ride a pony when you were little. Have you still got it?’ Her eyes were hopeful.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Bessie grew old and died. Ponies don’t live as long as us, you know. Hello, Kitty, how was it? Ready for some tea? Or there’s coffee if you’d rather.’

  ‘Tea sounds perfect.’ She selected a chair and sat, calling, ‘Tea, Adam, Dad?’

  ‘Sold,’ Ray said, coming up the steps. ‘Well, that was a great trip. He’s an interesting bloke, your man. There’s more to this country than you imagine. Pity we can’t stay longer, Mark said they’ll be working cattle next week. I’d love to have seen that.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll come again,’ I suggested. ‘What about you, Adam – did you enjoy the drive?’

  ‘Very much, thanks. And the lunch w
as delicious. Heather got to make the billy tea, didn’t you, lovey?’

  ‘Yes, and there were goats too, Orla. At one of the water places.’

  ‘The bores,’ her father corrected.

  ‘Yes. They were all sorts of colours. Do you know Dad told me goats were white but these were yellow, too, and black and red. And they had beards.’ She giggled. ‘I didn’t know animals grew beards!’

  ‘Goats do. Well, just sit here for a minute and I’ll bring out the tea. It’s not too cold for you?’

  Kitty leaned back with a sigh, her scarlet windcheater unzipped. ‘It’s lovely, so peaceful. The weather out here is glorious.’

  ‘It is.’ No point telling her that summer was a different story. I headed for the kitchen.

  Afternoon tea was a leisurely affair and by the time it was over I said doubtfully, ‘I was going to take you on a walk around the complex but it might be best to leave it for the morning. What do you think?’

  ‘Suits me,’ Adam said. ‘I want to check my spare tyre. It looked a bit flat. Might have a slow leak or maybe it just needs some air.’

  ‘Mmm, I think I’ll have a shower and a nap, honey.’ Kitty yawned. ‘Oh, excuse me. How can just driving around make you sleepy? But I am.’

  ‘Okay.’ I looked at Heather. ‘Would you like to help me feed the hens? There’re some new little chickens, just hatched. Only I’m afraid No Name will have to stay here.’ The cat, fickle creature, had deserted me completely and was on her lap, purring as she petted him.

  ‘Can I?’ She shot to her feet. ‘You come too, Grandy. He can, can’t he, Orla?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll just take the tray to the kitchen. Bring the cat in too.’

  The chickens were a big success with the little girl. Ray’s lined face crinkled into a smile as he watched his granddaughter. ‘She’ll never forget this. City kids – the most they get to see are a few pet animals stuck in a cage somewhere in a shopping centre. It must be great to have grown up in a place like this.’

  ‘It was. I had a wonderful childhood.’ Until it ended so abruptly. ‘Did you know my father well, Ray? What was he like, as a man? I mean,’ catching his quizzical look, I sought to make myself plain, ‘he was my dad but children don’t see their parents as people, do they? What I’m trying to say is: if I met him now as an adult, would I have liked him?’

  ‘Too right. He was a great bloke. He really was. A natural leader who always kept his head. Sort of feller you knew would have your back in a tight spot. And if there was a good sort around he could lay on the charm like pouring cream. “Pretty girls are like flowers,” that’s what he used to say, “they deserve appreciation.” He was handsome – far too much so for our comfort. Me, I never got a look in when I was with him and there were sheilas about. She must’ve been quite a girl, your mother, to have hung onto him.’

  ‘Actually, the Lillian you spoke of wasn’t my mother. She was his first wife. You said they had a daughter?’

  He blinked and his gaze changed, I could see him rapidly reviewing that initial conversation, then he gave a little cough. ‘I see. Hope I didn’t put my foot in it back there. He carried a picture of them see, a woman and a little girl – just a babe really, so high.’ He held his hand near his knee. ‘I only saw it the once. Over there, some men held their families tight, thought of them all the time, talked about their letters . . . Others didn’t, they concentrated more on surviving each day as it came. No distractions, see? Your dad was like that.’

  ‘Yes.’ I stared into the distance, seeing again the silvery sheen of saltbush leading on to a hazy distance, the whole of it blurred by memory and a sudden moistening of my eyes. We had ridden that familiar landscape, Dad and I, when I had thought him without flaw or fault, a man to worship. ‘Well, thanks for telling me, Ray. I’ve realised lately that I knew very little about him.’

  ‘He deserved better than he got,’ he said vehemently. ‘He was a good mate, but that’s the way it goes sometimes. Now if he’d been killed over a woman or while saving someone’s life, that’d be Henry – but a stupid road smash?’ He shook his head and sighed.

  The irony of his observation wasn’t lost on me. He was dead because of a woman, or more likely because he had systematically cheated on her. I wondered if Palmer had hatched his plan because he found out about the doctor’s wife, or if discovering the false marriage had driven him over the edge. For a moment I even wondered if Mum had had feelings for her husband’s brother, which could mean . . . But no! That was unthinkable. Her integrity couldn’t be questioned. Besides, if she had known what he planned she would not have got into the car that day. I was shamed by the moment of disloyalty as I put the wheat dipper away and held out a hand to Heather.

  ‘Come along. Your mum will be wondering where you are. You can feed them again tomorrow, if you like.’

  Dinner was another feast. Heather sighed, licking her spoon, happily replete. ‘I wish we were staying forever. Can we have another fire tonight please, Orla?’

  ‘Of course we can. Don’t you have fires at home?’

  ‘Not real ones. I like to watch them.’

  ‘You can see pictures in them,’ I agreed. ‘I used to lie on the rug when I was little like you, and see all sorts of things – pirate ships and horses and castles. And every time a log burned up I’d get to find something different. Did you sort out the problem with your tyre, Adam?’

  ‘I did, thanks. The valve stem was leaking. Luckily I was carrying a spare tube.’

  ‘About tomorrow,’ I said, ‘in the morning Joe will give you a shearing demonstration. It’s really quite interesting. Then I’ll show you round the complex and tell you about the Park’s history. There was just a shanty at the Emu Creek springs when Malvern Park was first gazetted, so there’s lots to see. I sometimes think nothing’s ever been thrown out on the station. It just gets stacked away in what I call the history shed. Even the rubbish dump is interesting – I’ve found old bottles there dated back to 1890. Some of the factories imprinted the date in the glass when they made them, you know. Anyway, after that I wondered if you’d like to explore a bit by yourselves? Ellen would pack you lunch and you could go to the original mine site where European settlement actually started – it’s not far, about twenty minutes’ drive out of town – then maybe you’d like to have a look through Emu Springs itself? There’s a small mineral museum the council is trying to get up, with a few pioneer oddments on the side. You could have a coffee, talk to the locals, perhaps – they’re a friendly lot. How does that sound?’

  ‘Pretty good,’ Ray said. ‘Suit you, Kitty?’

  ‘Yes. Any chance of buying souvenirs in town?’

  ‘There’s bound to be something, if only fridge magnets. The newsagents is probably the best place to look, a block down from the post office. I must just say it’s wonderful to have guests with a real interest in the country and its history. Right then.’ I rose. ‘I’ll go light the fire and bring the coffee through to the parlour when you’re ready.’

  The following morning went off as planned. Joe peeled the fleece off the wether in a workmanlike fashion, demonstrating the holds that kept the animal immobile in his grasp, then went on to answer the men’s questions. Heather, experimentally trying a handful of fleece cried, ‘Ooh it’s soft, Mummy.’

  ‘And dirty, don’t get it all over you.’ Kitty looked at the dust-covered bale in the cage of the press. ‘It goes in there, does it? Everything seems to be quite greasy.’

  ‘They call unwashed fleeces greasy wool,’ I explained.

  ‘How many sheep – fleeces – to fill up that bag?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Dad ran cattle. I expect Joe would know though.’

  Joe was already trotting out figures for the men. ‘You’d maybe run fifteen to twenty sheep to the acre. Mind, that’s on saltbush – mulga country’s lighter carryin’ ’n’ it depends on the season, of course. Ev’ry bloody thing does out here. I remember when I started at the Park, close to
fifty years back that’d be now . . .’

  Heather was tugging at my hand. ‘Orla, can we show Mummy the little chickens? She hasn’t seen them yet. Oh, please?’

  I raised an eyebrow at Kitty, who pulled a face and nodded towards her father. ‘Dad’s set for an hour at least. I think he secretly hankers to be a farmer.’ With Heather skipping ahead we left them to it and walked out of the dimness into the blinding light. ‘It’s so big,’ she said, ‘and so empty. Don’t you – do you mind if I ask? – but don’t you find it lonely, Orla? I would. Of course I’ve got Adam and Heather but . . . you’ve nobody close?’

  ‘I’m used to it – to being alone,’ I said lightly. ‘Only child, and then my parents dying as they did. Besides, I love the place. I didn’t realise quite how much,’ I added truthfully, ‘until I returned.’

  ‘So you haven’t always lived here?’

  ‘I left at nineteen. Well, you do, don’t you? Spread your wings, travel, meet people . . . I’ve only been back a bit over a month. Tourism’s a brand new venture for me – for all of us. The cattle industry’s in the doldrums so we’re branching out, as it were. If it succeeds, well, I’ll be too busy to worry about being alone.’

  ‘Judging from our experience it’ll be a great success,’ Kitty said warmly. ‘It’s been fantastic. To be truthful I wasn’t keen on the idea when Dad raised it, but I’m really, really glad we came.’

  I smiled. ‘That’s wonderful to hear. Of course, I couldn’t do it alone.’

  ‘You’ve a great team.’ She caught sight of the chickens. Oh, aren’t they adorable! Look at the little black one – oh and a red one too! Why is the hen holding her wings out like that?’

  I answered their questions, let them both scatter wheat about and reflected that if all PGs were as easy to please as this party then Station Stays were going to be a doddle.

  Afterwards, following a lengthy walk around and a late morning tea, Kitty collected the esky holding their lunch, Adam the thermoses, and I waved them off from the front steps. They wouldn’t return much before five, which gave me ample time to see to their rooms and set a fresh fire ready for lighting tonight. Clearing out the ashes was the worst job; the slightest movement of air in the room spread them like smoke. Later I put some washing on and watered the garden and when Joe came in for afternoon smoko, complimented him on his performance on the shearing floor that morning.