Chapter Six
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Chapter Six
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In the morning Catherine
woke up with the intention of leaving the shop closed for another day, but her
father had worked too hard all these years to have his business stand idle. Not
opening the store would most certainly have him turning in his grave. Leaving
her two sons still sleeping, she wrote them a note as to where she would be, and
quickly added a list of jobs to be done before she returned from work. Not long after she had gone,
Daniel awoke and immediately busied himself by jumping up and down on Joseph’s
bed. Unaware of his brother’s restless night, Daniel soon found himself on the
floor, at the mercy of Joseph’s bad temper. ‘What the blazes do you
think you’re doing, Danny? I haven’t slept a wink all night and I’m not in
the mood for your tomfoolery.’ ‘If you didn’t sleep,
it’s not my fault,’ retorted Daniel. Joseph calmed down and made
his way to the kitchen with Daniel close on his heels. As they were making
breakfast, Joseph spotted the note. ‘It looks like mother is
working at the shop today, Danny, and she’s left you some jobs to do.’
Joseph smiled as Daniel rushed to snatch the note from his hand. ‘Steady,
Danny, I was only kidding. We’ve got to help granddad and Uncle Andrew with
some fencing.’ The boys finished their
breakfast and headed down to the south paddock. ‘Morning, Uncle Andrew.
Where’s granddad?’ asked Joseph. ‘Good morning boys. He’s
gone to Benalla to see his brother and won’t be back until Saturday.’ Joseph was a little
disappointed in not seeing his grandfather, especially now that he knew he had
been a friend of Ned Kelly the famous outlaw. Spending a couple of hours working
with their uncle, Joe asked if they could take a breather. Andrew just smiled. ‘Tired
already? Okay, you two -- take half an hour, but I want you back here as soon as
the half hour’s up.’ ‘Thanks, Uncle Andrew. Oh,
by the way,’ Joseph added casually, ‘granddad said he used to help his
father make horseshoes years ago up in the bush somewhere behind the farm.
I was just wondering if you knew where it was?’ ‘You mean the old forge up
near Murphy’s creek? I haven’t been there for donkey’s years. Why do you
want to go up there?’ ‘No special reason, Uncle
Andrew,’ replied Joseph. ‘We were just curious to see what it looked like,
that’s all.’ ‘Well, do you see that
broken fencing near the top of that rise? On the other side you’ll see an old
track or what’s left of it. The track is most probably overgrown with grass by
now, but if you can follow it for about a half a mile, you’ll come to the
creek. Cross the creek and about a hundred yards further on, you’ll see a
burnt out tree stump to the right hand side of the track. If you turn west at
the stump and go into the bush about another two hundred yards, you should find
the old forge. Be careful though -- once you leave the track, there’s nothing
but scrub.’ Andrew was about to continue
when their attention was drawn by a rider approaching from the farmhouse.
Drawing closer, the boys soon realised by the mop of red hair it was their best
mate, Fred McAllister. ‘G’day, Freddy! What are
you doing here?’ asked Joseph. ‘I thought you’d be at school.’ ‘No, mate,’ he replied.
‘If you two aren’t going, there’s no way I’ll be there. I’m sorry
about your granddad. Me and me dad were at the funeral, but he told me to leave
you be so’s you could grieve or something. He’s gone into town for a couple
of hours to pick up some feed so I thought I’d come over and see what you’re
doing.’ ‘Uncle Andrew, can we go
talk to Freddy?’ Joseph asked. ‘Sure, Joe, go ahead,’
Andrew replied with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Take Danny with you. Just don’t
get lost in the bush.’ Andrew continued working
while the three boys walked up to the broken fence that led to the old track. ‘Where are we going?’
asked Fred. Joseph stopped walking when
he knew he was out of earshot of his uncle and turned to face his mate. ‘What
I’m about to tell you, Freddy, you’ve got to promise to keep a secret.’ ‘What is it?’ Fred was
starting to get excited. ‘Spit on the ground and
hope to die!’ cried Daniel. Fred swore his secret oath
and listened as the boys explained what they had found in their grandfather’s
shed. Fred was now more than
excited. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, boys? Let’s go hunt us some
treasure!’ Joseph shushed him. ‘Fred,
we’re not sure what the map’s all about yet, but it could be dangerous.
It’s probably got something to do with Ned Kelly and his gang.’ ‘Ned Kelly! Are you
kidding? Why would Ned Kelly leave a map inside your granddad’s shed?’ asked
Fred. Joseph couldn’t keep his
grandfather’s secret any longer, and proceeded to tell the others what he had
heard the night before. Daniel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His
grandfather, this loving, gentle man, was a friend of the notorious outlaw Ned
Kelly. Before Daniel could utter a
word, Joseph stopped him in his tracks. ‘Danny, you and Fred can’t mention
this to anyone. If you do, granddad will most certainly go to prison. Now you
don’t want that to happen, do you?’ The two boys shook their
heads and, with more spitting and swearing, again took the oath of secrecy. ‘So what are we going to
do, Joe?’ asked Daniel. Joseph finally revealed his
plan. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all night. We must find the old
smithy’s forge before we can follow the map. That’s where the search begins.
Now that we know where the old track to the forge is, I think tomorrow morning
will be a good time to start. If you want to come, Fred, meet us at the broken
fence just over there at half past seven and don’t be late. Tell your father
you’re going to school and we’ll tell our mother the same.’ Daniel looked at his big
brother in astonishment. ‘Lie to mother, Joe? If she finds out she’ll kill
us.’ ‘Don’t worry, Danny,
we’ll be there and back before she gets home. Don’t forget, granddad’s
gone to Benalla and won’t be back ’til Saturday.’ ‘Yeah, but what about
grandma and Uncle Andrew? Grandma’s got eyes like a hawk and she’ll spot us
a mile off. And what about Uncle Andrew? He’ll most probably be working on the
fences all day. We’ve got no chance.’ ‘Leave it to me, Danny.
We’ll work everything out tonight after tea. Are you in, Fred?’ ‘Try keeping me away,
mate! I’ll see you at half past seven on the dot.’ With the secret oath and a
final round of spitting, the plan was finally sealed. The boys returned, and
without a word continued on with their work. Andrew rubbed his whiskers and
stared at them for a brief moment, all the time asking himself, ‘What on earth
are you little buggers up to now?’ Catherine meanwhile had been
run off her feet for most of the morning. The shop had been closed for almost
two days and in her father’s eyes, God rest his soul, two days would have been
two days too many. Dave Jenkins had popped in just to buy some matches, but soon
found himself behind the counter and up to his neck in customers. ‘If only it was this busy
every day,’ Catherine thought, ‘we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in.’ Just as Catherine was about
to weigh some flour for Mrs. Ferguson, she happened to glance through the front
window and caught sight of two men on the opposite side of the street talking to
each other, then looking back across to the shop. On taking a closer look, she
realised it was John Pottinger, the bank manager, and the nefarious Isaac
Jacobson. Whatever they were talking about seemed to be greatly upsetting John
Pottinger, as he stared at his shoes shaking his head with disagreement at what
Jacobson was telling him. After a few minutes the pair parted, walking off in
opposite directions. Pottinger, hands stuffed in his pockets, was still looking
at his shoes, and Jacobson stared straight ahead with a smug look of
satisfaction on his face. ‘What on earth is going on
there?’ Catherine wondered. ‘Whatever it is I think it spells trouble,
especially if Jacobson’s involved.’ Feeling rather uneasy,
Catherine called on Dave’s good nature again, and asked him if he could mind
the shop for a while. As usual Dave agreed, and Catherine was soon on her way to
the National Bank, intent on finding out what Isaac Jacobson was up to. John Pottinger had been the
manager of the National Bank of Wangaratta for eight years. He was always
friendly to the townsfolk, and never missed the Sunday service with his family.
He was also the man who had approved her father’s loan when times were hard.
Catherine thought him to be an honest businessman, but was concerned about the
influence Isaac Jacobson had over him, like so many others in town. After speaking to one of the
tellers, Catherine sat down on the bank’s cold wooden bench and waited for its
manager. Fifteen minutes had passed when the door to the manager’s office
finally opened and John Pottinger beckoned her inside. ‘Good morning, Mrs.
Delaney! First of all, please accept my most sincere condolences at the loss of
your father. The town has lost a good, hardworking and honest man. I attended
the funeral with my wife and could not believe the number of people who
attended, which of course, my dear lady, is a good testament to his
character.’ Catherine opened her mouth
to reply, but Pottinger started in again. ‘Mrs. Delaney, I know that
you must be upset by the death of your father, but there is something I must
bring to your attention.’ Pottinger started to run his
fingers around the inside of his closed collar while beads of perspiration
formed on his forehead. ‘You are most probably aware of the fact your father
borrowed quite a substantial amount of money from this bank, and as I see it is
behind on two payments.’ Catherine sat with her hands
folded in her lap, knowing but not quite believing what was coming next. ‘I know business has been
slow since the war started,’ Pottinger went on, ‘but you must remember
it’s been tough on all of us.’ Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out a
copy of the loan and placed it in front of him. ‘You may not be aware, but the
conditions of the loan state quite clearly, if any payment is in default, the
balance of the loan can be called in within seven days of notifying the
borrower, which, as you can see, I am doing now.’ Catherine’s anger had been
mounting to such an extent she could hold it no longer. ‘What sort of a man
are you! My father is still warm in his grave! He was a good and valued customer
for more than twenty-five years with this bank. How can you sit there in all
good conscience and ask for this amount of money to be paid in just seven
days!’ Realising she was almost
shouting, Catherine composed herself. ‘Mr Pottinger, I always thought you were
a fair man, but what you are doing I can hardly call fair.’ Pulling a handkerchief from
his coat pocket, John Pottinger started to wipe his now profusely-sweating brow
as he rose from his chair. ‘Tell
me,’ Catherine went on. ‘Has Isaac Jacobson got anything to do with this?’
With a look of total
culpability, the bank manager spun his head around sharply to face Catherine.
‘What do you mean, Isaac Jacobson? Why do you mention him?’ Still wiping his face, he
dropped into his chair, looked at Catherine and said nothing for several
seconds. John Pottinger’s conscience had finally gotten the better of him. ‘Mrs. Delaney, I don’t
want to do this, but I have no choice. If I do not do my job and call the loan
in, I would be looking for a job myself. There are certain influential and very
wealthy men on whom I rely to keep the bank trading. If they decide to take
their business elsewhere during these difficult economic times, we may as well
just close the bank.’ ‘What have they got to do
with me? We only run a small general store.’ John Pottinger looked
Catherine squarely in the eyes. ‘Read between the lines, Mrs. Delaney. Read
between the lines. If you cannot make the payment for the balance of the loan in
seven days, the bank will have to seize your business to retrieve the
outstanding debt, and sell it for whatever we can get for it.’ Determined not to break
down, Catherine stood up, picked up an open bottle of ink, and poured it all
over the manager’s desk. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Pottinger. That is
what I think of your bank and your so-called influential customers. Good day.’ With her head held high and
her shoulders pulled back, Catherine walked from the bank, proud of what she had
just done to Pottinger’s polished and intricately carved mahogany desk. When Catherine returned from
the bank, Dave Jenkins knew by the expression on her face there was something
wrong. ‘What is it, Catherine? You look like the world has fallen down on
you.’ ‘I should be so lucky,’
she said. She had never felt so lonely as she did now. Thanking Dave again for
his help, she got on with the business of running the store, if only for the
next seven days. Throughout what seemed an
eternal afternoon, an endless trickle of people drifted in and out, mostly to
offer their condolences, but only a few purchasing any goods. At four o’clock Catherine
had had enough and decided to close the store early. Her head was pounding and
the thought of Jacobson getting his greedy hands on their business was just too
much. She knew he was the one who had the hold over John Pottinger, but found it
difficult to believe a man could stoop so low. ‘If Michael were here,’
she thought, ‘he’d give him a good punch on that big arrogant nose of
his.’ This thought alone brought a brief smile to her lips as she visualised
Jacobson flat on his back with her knight in shining armour standing victorious
over him. But Michael wasn’t here, and she alone would have to face the fact
that everything her father had worked so long and hard for would soon be lost.
On her way home, Catherine
dropped in to see how her mother was coping. She gave her a hug and sat down for
their usual cup of tea. Edith looked very tired; she had not had a good
night’s sleep for quite some time. Looking at her mother’s face, Catherine
couldn’t help but notice how much she had aged this past week. Edith’s face
looked drawn and pale, and her once sprightly manner was gone. ‘Mother, why don’t you
come and stay with me and the boys for a while? With Michael away we could do
with the company. There’s plenty of room, and you can share my bed, just like
when I was a little girl.’ Edith looked at her daughter
and smiled lovingly. ‘My dear girl, this is where I belong, here with your
father. He may have left us in body, but his spirit will always remain with me
in this house. This is where our life together began, and this is where it will
end.’ Catherine threw her arms
around her mother once more, and both wept bitterly.
The pain of losing both
husband and father was more than they could bear, and both knew this pain would
remain to torment their hearts for many years to come. Before leaving, Catherine
asked her mother to prepare a list of anything she might need at the shop, and
she would stop by and pick it up the next morning. She gave her mother one more
hug and was soon on her way home to her boys. It was after five when
Catherine finally arrived at Agnes’s. With only a brief hello, she went
straight to her own home and tried to forget her problems with a short nap. Too
tired to even take her shoes off, Catherine lay on the bed and slowly eased her
throbbing head onto the pillow, closed her eyes, and fell into a twilight sleep. Not more than five minutes
had passed before thunderous knocking on the front door jolted Catherine back to
the land of the living. ‘What on earth!’ Still half asleep, she made
her way to the front door. It was Agnes in a very excited state. ‘Catherine,
Catherine, a letter, a letter from Michael! It’s a letter from Michael!’ Catherine’s heart started
racing. Snatching the letter from her mother-in-law’s hand, she tore
frantically at the envelope to read its contents. Agnes circled the kitchen
table, waiting for Catherine to read the letter aloud, but Michael’s
long-awaited words were, at first, for his wife’s eyes only. ‘What does he say,
girl?’ cried Agnes impatiently. ‘Is he okay? He’s not hurt, is he?’ ‘Calm down, Agnes and give
me a chance, please!’ Agnes sat down, but did not
take her gaze from Catherine’s eyes as they danced backwards and forwards
across the lines her beloved and sorely-missed son had written. An expression of
sheer happiness and contentment swept across Catherine’s face as she wiped her
tears and started reading the letter aloud. ‘My darling Catherine,
It has been unbearable being away from you and the boys for so long. It
seems like an eternity since I saw you last. Every day seems like a year. The
only thing that gets me through each day is to think of you. How I miss holding
you in my arms, my darling…’ Catherine skipped over some
of the words that were meant only for her, and continued. ‘I pray you are all well
and hope the boys have been behaving themselves while I am away. Could you
please tell my parents that I am thinking of them, and tell Andrew to look after
the farm or I’ll give him a good box on the ears. I shall write to them soon
when I have the chance. How are your parents, Catherine? I hope old Bob isn’t
working too hard. Please pass on my best wishes.’ Pausing for a brief moment
to compose herself, she continued. ‘We are having a bit of a
break at the moment as the fighting has stopped again. This seems to happen all
the time. It’s amazing how many of the men are country folk from just about
every part of Michael. The two women sat down
beside each other on the sofa and stared at the letter in silence. Agnes took
Catherine’s hand and rubbed it gently. ‘Thank God, Catherine, he is alive
and well. Let us pray he’ll be home soon.’ Agnes’ words didn’t make
Catherine feel any easier. She had noticed the letter was dated 16th
February and it was now already June.
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