The White Earth (31 page)
‘Is there a spare bedroom?’ she asked hoarsely, staring out at the plains.
William watched his mother absorb the news. ‘You’re staying then,’ she said.
‘I don’t know.’ The words were bitten off. ‘It’s not my decision.’
William realised that Ruth was furious. And then, to his alarm, she turned her gaze to him, the cigarette clamped tightly in her fingers.
‘My father said that I had to ask William. Apparently, it’s his choice.’
In a horrified flash, William understood. They had talked about
him
— this nephew who had come into the House. And now the decision was his to make. The old man must have planned it all along. A lesson, for both nephew and daughter. A test for him, and a humiliation for her.
William was aware of his mother’s wide stare, startled and hopeful, and knew what she wanted him to do. But what could he say? He was a nine-year-old boy, and Ruth was a grown-up. It wasn’t right that he could tell her what to do. For a long instant he hung on the horn of the decision, wondering if he actually dared … but it was impossible. He could never say it.
‘Well?’
‘I dunno.’ William’s voice sounded small in his ears. ‘You can stay if you want.’
His mother’s face fell. He had failed her, he knew. And perhaps his uncle as well.
‘Thank you,’ said his cousin stiffly. ‘Now, can someone show me to the phone?’
W
ILLIAM WALKED THE RUINS OF THE GARDEN. IT WAS LATE evening, and he had come out there to escape the heat, but the darkness was just as heavy as the day, the air just as breathless. Overhead the stars were lost in haze, and a sombre glow on the eastern horizon spoke of fires in the foothills.
He was thinking about Ruth McIvor. His cousin had moved herself into one of the downstairs bedrooms of the west wing. William had overheard her on the phone, arranging extra time off from work, her voice tired and brusque as she explained that, no, she couldn’t say how long she would be staying. But for William there was a bigger question. Why was she staying at all? Her father wasn’t dying and did not need her. Indeed, the old man had only insulted her, thrusting his nephew in Ruth’s face, the very boy who had supplanted her. So why was she still here?
He kicked about the garden beds, going nowhere. According to his mother, the answer was simple. It was all about who would inherit the station when his uncle died. Now that Ruth knew her birthright had been stolen away, she would not leave again until she had reclaimed it.
It made sense. And yet…
William looked up to the House, the prize in question. It hulked against the sky, ivy creepers dangling from its gutters like the shreds of torn rigging. He turned away and drifted across to the pool, gazing into its empty depths. He sighed, unsure about everything.
Close by, a naked flame flared to life.
‘Don’t fall in.’
He started. Ruth was sitting on the far edge of the pool, lighting a cigarette. He caught a glimpse of her grey hair, hands cupped close, her eyes watching him. Then the flame died, and she was only a pale figure in the night, exhaling smoke.
‘I’ve been wondering,’ she said.‘Why is this pool empty?’
William studied her doubtfully.‘There’s a hole in it.’
‘That’s a shame. You must wish you had a place to go swimming.’
Her tone was friendly, nothing like it had been earlier. But then William thought of the water hole. He frowned. Is that what she meant? Was she hinting at something?
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was hoping we’d meet up.’
‘Why?’
‘Just for a talk.’
Don’t trust her, his uncle had told him. And yet it didn’t seem to William that he could just walk away. He circled the pool warily, and then sat down on the edge, some distance from his cousin. She smoked in silence for a time, and the air was so still that William could see the smoke from her cigarette rising vertically into the night, an unruffled line.
‘Just so you know,’ she said finally, ‘it wasn’t you I was mad at this afternoon.’
William made no reply.
She blew out smoke and pointed. ‘Look at that, even the diving board is broken. Everything is falling down around here. I don’t know how you put up with it.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘The House, the yard … you don’t mind?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’d want it fixed up, if I had to live here.’
William stared at her suspiciously, alert for a hidden attack. ‘Uncle John said it would cost too much to fix up properly.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘He said it would cost a million dollars. Even more.’
‘As much as that?’ She was taunting him now, he knew, but then the smile in her voice faded away. ‘Tell me, Will, have you ever heard of the Heritage Trust?’
‘No.’
‘It’s an organisation that looks after historical buildings. Like this one.’
William glanced up to the House and its broken-back roof line.
Ruth was looking at it too.‘Ten years or so ago the Trust made an approach to my father. They wanted to restore this place. People in the district thought it ought to be done — the House used to be the centre for the whole region, after all, so they didn’t like the idea of it just falling down. There was talk of fundraising and getting in volunteers. All they needed was my father’s permission. And the only thing the Trust wanted in return was for the House and the gardens to be open to the public occasionally. Not all the time, just now and then.’
‘He said no?’
‘More than that — he took legal action against the Trust to stop them interfering in his business. So that was that.’ She flicked ash away, turned her shadowed gaze to William. ‘Believe me, my father has no interest whatever in fixing this place up.’
William looked towards the House again, its ruinous presence a mute witness. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her, it sounded like something his uncle would do, it was just that …
Ruth laughed lowly. ‘I know. Why should you listen to me?’
William thought in puzzled silence. ‘How do you know this stuff?’
‘About the Trust?’
‘You said you’d never been here before.’
‘I heard it from a friend at work. But the truth is, I have been here once before. Only I didn’t go past the front door.’ She inspected the stub of her cigarette, ground it out against the wall of the pool. ‘I was just here to pick up my mother.’
Her mother. William hesitated, feeling that, out of respect for his uncle, this was not something he was meant to know about. And yet he did want to know.
‘What happened to her?’ he asked.
‘She left him.’
‘Why?’
‘It was partly because of this place. I think it was 1970 when they finally moved in. My mother hated it. Dark little rooms, dark little hallways. She left after only a few months. Of course, leaving was the easy part. What she had to do then was build up the nerve to actually divorce him. That took her another five years.’ She paused. ‘He’s never told you any of this?’
‘No.’
‘I wonder why.’ For a moment it seemed that she would say no more. But then she shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to mind so much, when she left. But divorce — that got him mad. Divorce involved money. He didn’t want to give her a cent. We had to take him to court in the end. After all, it was her inheritance that got them started in the first place.’
She tilted her head ironically.
‘It’s odd, you know, but my father has always been lucky with inheriting things.’
She cleared the thought away.
‘Anyway, we won, and he owed mum exactly half of everything. The problem was, all his money was tied up in this station. So he was left with a choice — either split the property and give half to her, or buy her out. It nearly killed him, I think, that decision.’
‘What did he do?’
‘The place is still in one piece, isn’t it? But he had to go into debt to do it. He’d never liked loans, but this time he borrowed a lot. Obviously, after that, his plans to restore the House had to be put on hold. He hated us for that. Hated Mum, anyway. He was already long through with me.’
William sat up straight. ‘Then it’s not his fault.’
‘What isn’t?’
‘He really couldn’t afford to fix up the House.’
Ruth laughed again. ‘That was eighteen years ago. He’s got plenty of money now. No — he
likes
the House this way. So he can show everyone how badly the world has treated him.’
William slumped. It seemed that there was no safe ground between father and daughter. But Ruth was oblivious, lighting another cigarette.
‘You see, after fighting so long to get his hands on this place, it all fell apart. His wife left him, he had no money, I suppose he felt robbed. And everything else was changing. The Whitlam government was in then — it was their new divorce laws that helped my mother win — and all the rules were being thrown out the window. People out here didn’t like it, my father in particular. So he holed up in this terrible old building and sulked. Then he started up the League.’
‘You know about that?’
‘Know about it? I’m a member.’
William was speechless.
‘It’s true.’ She considered him.‘Do you know what I do for a living?’
William shook his head.
‘I’m a legal adviser. I work for the state government — in the Premier’s Department. One of our jobs is to keep an eye on radical political organisations. One day someone was passing an Independence League newsletter around the office, laughing at this crazy little right-wing group from the bush. So I had a look. And there was the name on the letterhead.’ She breathed out smoke in wonderment. ‘My own father, chief proprietor of Fascists Incorporated. The weirdest thing is, take away the bogus patriotism and the inherent racism, and he’s mouthing the same old anarchist shit he used to hate so much.’ William was staring at her in bafflement, and she caught herself. ‘Sorry … It’s all before your time. Anyway, I subscribed to the newsletter. Not under my own name, of course. But it was one way to stay in touch. Poor Dad. I gather the rally was something of a disaster?’
‘You know about that too?’
‘Oh, I know plenty of things. I know that my father has been dumped from the League’s central committee, for a start. In fact, there
is
no League any more. Now it’s called Unity Australia. I got their new magazine the other day. Nicely printed too. But otherwise, it’s the same old names, and the same old policies. They’ve just tacked on a militia and a call to arms. Plus they’re going to start running candidates in elections. The idiots are actually going to register as a political party.’ She shook her head, disbelieving.‘I don’t think my father would ever have stood for that.’
William had nothing to say. The way she spoke about the League was so bizarre. He had always known that his mother, for instance, didn’t approve of his uncle’s activities … but that had seemed mostly because of the money the old man wasted. This was different. Ruth sounded almost amused by the League, in a cruel way. He found his eyes drawn to the flagpole in front of the House. And for the first time since the rally, he noticed that the Eureka flag was no longer hanging there.
‘You actually liked all that League stuff, didn’t you?’ Ruth asked.
He could only nod.
‘That’s what I thought … He’s got you locked away with him in this House, and he’s filling your head with all his crazy ideas. I don’t know why your mother allows it, or why she even brought you here. Except, I do know.’
But that didn’t seem fair. ‘We had nowhere else to go.’
‘There’s always somewhere else to go.’
William shifted his legs uncomfortably. Her judgment was spoken with all the weight of her years, and he couldn’t argue.
‘Where’s
your
mother,’ he asked.
‘She died,’ said Ruth simply. ‘She’d been living with me in Brisbane. I wasn’t sure my father would come to the funeral, but he did. That was the last time we spoke. You know what he seemed most interested in? Who Mum had left her money to.’
‘Was it you?’
‘Of course it was me.’ She was stubbing out her second cigarette, sparks showering down into the pool. ‘And he was pleased with that. He thought it proved something.’
She fell silent. As it was, William already felt he’d heard too much, seen a hidden part of his uncle’s life nakedly exposed. All the things he’d thought he understood, they sounded different when they came from her — twisted and strange. He remembered his uncle’s warning. Maybe she was just trying to confuse him. But why? Indeed, why was she talking to him at all? If it was the station she wanted, then it was her father she had to deal with.
He realised she was watching him sidelong.
‘So,’ she said, ‘will you fix the pool, when this whole place is yours?’
William went still. There it was. Spoken out loud. Now the attack would come.
Instead, she smiled. ‘You don’t have to worry, you know. I don’t want it. Not the House. Not the property. Not any of it.’
He stared at her. ‘You don’t?’
‘Not even if my father offered it to me. Which he never would. But what about you? Do you want it?’
Amidst his surprise, William wasn’t sure what to answer.‘Yes,’ he said at last.
‘I thought so.’ Ruth sounded almost sad.‘And to get it, all you have to do is be nice to your Uncle John…’ Then, abruptly, she was standing up, tucking her cigarette packet away. ‘Enough for one night.’ She turned to face the plains. ‘God, it’s hot. And look at those fires, up in the hills. They must have burned out half the national park.’
William rose as well, still uneasy, yet relieved.
But Ruth was studying him again. ‘It was a fire in the wheat, I’m told.’
William blinked at her.
‘Your father, I mean.’
‘Yes.’
‘That must have been hard,’ she said. And then to William’s dismay she reached out a hand and rested it on his shoulder. ‘Poor boy. I know what it’s like.’
Then she set off back across the garden, picking her way with care in the darkness, while her father’s House waited silent to receive her.
B
Y 1969, JOHN MCIVOR HAD TO ADMIT THAT HIS DAUGHTER baffled him.