THIRTY
Thirty
As he followed the track winding its way downwards to the camp, a movement in the bush caught his eye. A small wallaby, startled by his presence, had jumped from its feeding spot and was now watching him curiously. He’d seen a number of kangaroos and wallabies in the time that they’d been up here, as well as other wildlife, birds and insects. The team frequently heard the rustle of smaller creatures like echidnas and native marsupials digging around on the bush floor in search of food. He wondered what they made of the humans digging about in the dirt.
The little wallaby remained nearby, still watching him, its brown eyes holding his in an almost calm way that was unusual. The way it watched him so intently began to strangely unnerve him. He started walking again, and the animal hopped along beside the track, as though following him.
‘What’s your problem, little guy?’ he finally asked.
The wallaby just looked at him.
Maybe it was injured? He studied it carefully, not seeing any obvious signs. There was no blood, nothing looking abnormal. He made to step towards it and it jumped out of reach. Okay, that’s more normal behaviour . He turned to walk away and again the wallaby hopped along beside him, then jumped sideways into the bush as he turned to watch it.
‘What is it, Skip?’ he asked with a grin, mimicking the old Skippy reruns he’d watched as a kid.
Oddly, the animal hopped slighly sideways again, looking back over its shoulder, almost expectantly, as though waiting for him to follow.
Right , he found himself thinking sarcastically, the wallaby wants you to follow it into the bush. Because that’s a completely normal thing for a wallaby to do. But each time it took a small hop forward, it would continue to look back over its shoulder at him. ‘I have to be losing my mind,’ he muttered before giving a fatalistic sigh and moving off the track towards the animal. It began hopping slowly, getting a few paces ahead then stopping to wait for him. It crossed his mind that this would make a great horror movie—a lone camper in the Australian bushland gets lured from the track by a cute wallaby to be attacked by a pack of wild dogs …
As far-fetched as the idea was, he was definitely having second thoughts about following the damn thing when he glanced over his shoulder and realised how far off the track they’d ventured. He really wasn’t looking forward to the possibility that Mike and the camera crew would have to come and find him if he got lost. But just as he was convinced this was the craziest idea ever, the wallaby stopped and allowed him to get closer, until they were almost side by side. Then it turned its head from him to look straight ahead. Damian was not feeling overly confident that he hadn’t somehow fallen asleep and was dreaming this entire weird situation, but as he followed the direction of the wallaby’s gaze, he found himself frowning.
Across a small creek was a rock face covered in overgrown vines and bushes. He noticed that there was an odd crevice, a shadowy area behind the overgrowth that looked out of place. Carefully, he made his way across the ankle-deep water of the narrow creek to the wall of rock. He carefully moved aside some of the overgrown vines and leaves, and to his surprise discovered it was an opening to a narrow cave.
He turned the torch of his phone on and held it up to shine around the inside, realising it opened into a large space before breaking off into two separate tunnels. Damian had always found caves fascinating and he was glad he’d stumbled upon this one, but he reluctantly realised it was getting late. He didn’t want to be fumbling his way back to camp in the dark. Maybe he’d mark the GPS setting in his phone so he could come back later to explore it a bit more.
He’d just finished loading the coordinates when he glanced up and spotted something on the wall of the cave. At first, he thought it was just some graffiti that kids might have left behind, but as he held the torch up closer, he reconsidered his first reaction. It was graffiti of sorts … but it was a poem.
And it was signed: JACK McNALLY .
It seemed to be written in charcoal and measured about half a metre or so across one wall:
In the heart of the Australian bush, Where the tall trees whisper and kangaroos bound, two souls met, in a dance of fate.
She, with hair like bronze fire, so young and so slight, he, a master of the bush, a ghost of the night.
Through the dust and the heat, their love did grow, beneath the Southern Cross, a secret only they would know. He stole her heart with a bandit’s charm, she tamed his wildness with her gentle calm.
Moments stolen from the world’s harsh glare. Amidst the camps and hideaways they’d share, In the quiet of night, ’neath starlit skies, They’d whisper vows, of a future bright.
Though fate may part them, trials would bind, their love burned bright, no man could divide. For in the tales of bushrangers bold, their love story would be forever told.
Damian stared in disbelief at the writing before him. He began snapping photos, still unsure if this was real or just a dream.
He left the cave and retraced his steps, marking the spot on the pathway where he left the trail so he could bring Mike up and show him what he’d found. Maybe they hadn’t discovered what they’d been looking for, but perhaps not all was lost. If this turned out to be an unknown cave used by Jack McNally and his gang, maybe this was something even bigger.
He glanced around, but there was no sign of the wallaby.
Lottie pulled up outside her mother’s house and spotted Hannah kneeling beside a bed of herbs, pulling weeds.
‘Hello,’ Hannah said, looking up from under a wide-brimmed hat. ‘This is a nice surprise.’
‘I brought dinner,’ Lottie said, holding up a bag with two containers of soup she’d picked up on a sudden whim from Skye and Tori’s cafe.
‘What’s the occasion?’
‘No occasion. I just wanted to have dinner with my mum.’
Hannah smiled and stood up, dusting off her pants and wrapping an arm around Lottie’s shoulders. ‘Checking up on me, you mean?’
‘Well, that too,’ Lottie shrugged as they walked inside and Hannah washed her hands. ‘You’ve been quiet lately.’
‘The same could be said of you. How’s the big dig going?’
‘It’s not going as well as they’d hoped it would,’ she admitted. ‘How have you been?’
‘Busy,’ her mother said, taking down two bowls as Lottie found spoons. ‘Too busy, really,’ she said with a long sigh. ‘All I seem to do is pack orders and drive into the post office.’
‘So they’ve still been rolling in since the festival?’ Lottie asked.
‘They haven’t stopped. I’ve picked up two more stockists and they’re keen to take on more, but I’m struggling to keep up with demand.’
‘Is it time to maybe think about expanding and hiring staff?’
‘I’m not sure that’s the direction I want to go, to be honest. When I started this, I wasn’t trying to grow a company. I just wanted to make my tea for people who enjoyed it. My first love is the retreat and the spirituality side of this place, but the online stuff … it’s like a demanding child I’m constantly having to feed and give all my attention to. It’s draining.’
‘Is that the only thing going on? You really don’t seem like yourself lately,’ Lottie said, taking a sip of her soup
‘I’m starting to realise that I may have overreacted slightly where Gordon was concerned. I’m finding myself … thinking about him … a lot.’
‘Have you told him?’
Hannah shot her a startled glance before shaking her head. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because after the way I acted, he probably thinks I’m some sort of psycho.’
‘I think if you explained to him and told him why you acted like that, he might surprise you.’
‘No, I can’t. It’s probably for the best anyway. I’ve never wanted a relationship. It’s probably too late for me to change now.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum,’ Lottie said gently. ‘It’s never too late. You should think about it.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said after a slight pause, then changed the subject. ‘How’s the book going?’
‘Damian’s?’
‘Yours,’ her mother corrected, tilting her spoon into the creamy broth. ‘I haven’t heard you talking about it for a while.’
‘It’s going,’ she said slowly.
‘That didn’t sound too convincing. What’s going on?’
‘I’m not really sure my heart’s in it at the moment. This whole thing with Catherine and the dig … there’s kind of been a lot going on.’
‘Maybe this time apart from Damian will reignite your spark again. You have been a little consumed by him and his project since he arrived in town.’
‘That’s not true,’ Lottie protested. ‘I’ve been working on my book and at the shop. But this Catherine thing is huge.’
‘Yes, it is, but it’s no more important than your project is to you. You’ve spent years researching and writing. You’ve come too far to give up on it now.’
Her mother’s words stung a little bit, possibly because of the truth in them. She had been neglecting her book. Living with a real author had shown her just how much of a novice she really was. ‘I just haven’t had the same drive that I had at first.’
‘You just need to spend some time getting back into it. You’ll find your mojo again,’ her mother said confidently.
Driving home later, Lottie thought about her mother’s words. She had been ignoring her book. The research had taken so much time and now that she was doing the actual writing, she really wasn’t sure what she was doing. When it was just a hobby—something to do for her mum—it hadn’t seemed like such a big deal, but now that they’d discovered the truth about the ring, and what had happened with Catherine, that changed everything. Her whole family history. It was a lot of responsibility and suddenly, it was no longer just a fun little project she was working on. It was, in fact, quite daunting and she wasn’t sure what do with it.
The previously quiet bushland was no more. With the discovery of the cave came a renewed energy. Everyone was busy. The hidden cave entrance was now where the team was focusing its attention. Care had been taken to ensure no damage was being done to the area and to keep track marks to a minimum as they assessed the site for further artefacts and historical relevance, but Damian was sure this place had never before had this many people coming and going at one time.
The date on the poem was just after the stagecoach robbery and prior to Jack taking Emeline hostage, though the poem seemed to well and truly put doubt over the ‘hostage’ version. Damian knew this would be of great interest to Lottie and her family research and he couldn’t wait to show her. Despite the whole area being hush-hush due to the filming and the documentary, Damian knew they wouldn’t be able to keep any of the discoveries under wraps for too long.
Within three days, the team had uncovered a number of interesting pieces. There was a stash of personal items—an old tobacco pipe, the rusted remains of what may have been a tin cup and plate, empty bottles—and a tin box that had been buried, which contained a few banknotes and some nuggets of gold and other small gems.
The question now was how did this new piece fit into the puzzle of what they already knew? If Jack wrote the poem the day after the robbery, the banknotes they’d found were likely to have been part of their plunder. They were waiting on the partial numbers they could read on the money to match the serial numbers they had on record of the stolen cash. So how, if at all, did Catherine fit into this now?
Damian still firmly believed she had been on that coach, and quite likely taken from the scene. In the likely event she and the baby had passed away, he’d assumed the family plot at Kate’s was where they would have buried her. But then, why? If word got out about Catherine being on the coach—if someone in Sydney had come forward and told the authorities they’d seen her leave with Alexander—the police would come looking, and likely have noticed a newly dug grave. They wouldn’t have risked it. So therefore, Catherine could still be out here somewhere, her remains forever lost in the bush.
He’d been half hoping that maybe they’d uncover some human remains inside the cave, but deep down he knew that wasn’t how Jack or his brothers would have treated the remains of a lady. She would have had a burial—that much he knew for certain. They may have been hardened bushmen and criminals, but they weren’t animals.
He sat down back at the new camp, where they’d relocated to be closer to the cave, and opened the esky to take out a beer. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling at the moment. He was excited, of course, by the discovery of the cave, and the vital pieces of evidence they’d managed to find, but he was still frustrated and deeply disappointed that his own research had come to a halt.
He tipped his head back and drank deeply. The cold brew felt good running down the back of his parched throat. As he lowered his hand and looked straight ahead, he paused. Two brown eyes stared at him a few feet away—a small wallaby watching him intently. It couldn’t be . He held himself still. He hadn’t mentioned his weird encounter with the wallaby to the others when he’d returned to camp after finding the cave. After all, when he’d replayed it over in his head later, even he thought he was crazy, so there was no way it was going to sound any less crazy out loud.
He reached slowly towards a small camping table and picked up a dry cracker, then tossed it across to the wallaby. It didn’t take its gaze from him. ‘What do you want?’ he asked it quietly. Almost immediately, it turned, took a jump and looked back at him. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he muttered. Surely this couldn’t be happening again?
Reluctantly Damian got to his feet and gave a small chuckle of disbelief at what he was about to do. What was the worst that could happen—ending up on a wild goose chase? At least he could finally put the first encounter down to some kind of fluke.
This time, the wallaby moved a lot faster, to the point that he lost sight of it now and again and found himself swearing and cursing as he trudged across uneven ground, snagging his boots on large sticks and branches, avoiding rocks poking through the surface and loose ones on the top. It was on one such loose rock that Damian lost his footing and fell, landing hard on his side and momentarily winding himself. Pain shot through his side and arm as he tried to ease himself upright. He dropped his head, breathing heavily as he caught his breath.
He closed his eyes and took in another deep breath. The familiar smells of the bush helped focus him. Eucalyptus, wattle, the freshly disturbed earth beneath him and the heady scent of roses …
He opened his eyes and frowned. Maybe he had a concussion … roses ? Wincing, he heaved himself off the ground and looked around. A few feet away, much to his disbelief, was a blossoming rose bush.
What the hell was a rose bush doing in the middle of nowhere? Limping slightly, Damian made his way across to where the pale cream-flowered bush grew. He didn’t know a lot about gardening or plants, but this definitely smelled like a rose, even if the flowers were smaller than he would expect, maybe only about five centimetres across. There was an abundance of them clustered on the small bush.
In the quiet surrounding him, he unexpectedly detected a murmur of voices and turned his head to locate the direction the sound was coming from. Although his ankle still ached, it wasn’t as painful as it had first been, and he managed to hobble his way up a gradual incline, using small saplings and trees to pull himself up until he reached the top and looked down on the rest of the team outside the cave entrance. From his position, he turned and looked back the other way and could work out where their camp was, as well as where the previous camp was located, not far from the homestead ruins. A stirring inside his chest began to flutter. The location of the rose bush suddenly didn’t seem so random.
Damian stumbled his way down towards the cave, causing Mike to look up at him and frown as he saw him limping.
‘What happened? You okay?’
‘I need the GPR up here,’ Damian said without preamble.
‘What? Why?’
Damian ignored the throb in his ankle. ‘I think I’ve found her.’