another sandwich. ‘He never knew, which was why Angus was so determined to ensure Jim Macken was made aware of his birthright. Guilt, I guess. Angus wanted Jim to have what his older half-brother had been denied: his share of his inheritance and his family. Imagine thinking all your family were dead, which Luke did, except for a much younger half-brother and a steel-edged father who ruled with the proverbial iron fist. It was Claire who eventually discovered Elizabeth’s existence. She forwarded the majority of the illegal documents she’d found back to my father, including the family Bible, which mentioned Elizabeth. I guess they wanted the family history safeguarded by someone they could trust.’
‘So Claire agreed with Hamish.’ Sarah rubbed her tummy. The baby was practising his rugby kicks. ‘I don’t get it.’
Closing the bible, Ronald passed it to his daughter. ‘Sure you do, Sarah. As the years passed it was easier to leave Elizabeth in the care of her grandmother. Why? For succession purposes, of course. He didn’t need a married daughter arriving with a demanding husband and complicating his inheritance plans. And Hamish had a new wife and family. Elizabeth took her grand mother’s name and was raised as her ward.’ Ronald shrugged. ‘That’s what happened back then.’
‘But why not tell Luke?’ Sarah argued.
‘They wanted Luke to stay at Wangallon. Angus was still a boy at the time. They did it to safeguard Wangallon. If he’d learnt of a sister floating around in the ether do you think Luke would have been happy to stay? He would have been furious he’d never been told of her existence.’
‘To quote your grandfather, Sarah,’ Frank brushed crumbs from his lap, ‘the end justifies the means.’
Sarah took a sip of water. Today of all days she could have quite easily consumed a bottle of merlot. ‘And Boxer’s Plains?’
‘As you saw from the document I left in the bible, your family purchased it legally from the estate of Oscar Crawford following his death and that of his son in an Aboriginal uprising.’
Sarah lifted an eyebrow. ‘What Aboriginal uprising?’
Frank returned her suspicion with a smooth smile. ‘Anything else is innuendo,’ he instructed her. ‘Gossip’.
Sarah scrunched her lips together. ‘You won’t tell us?’ The rain was steadily increasing and for a moment Sarah thought Frank may not have heard her.
Frank looked out at the garden. ‘I could tell you there was a dispute over stock.’ He took a sip of his whisky, which was so filled with ice it was nearly clear. ‘And that Hamish was of an unforgiving nature. I can also tell you that as a Scot he loathed the English with a passion capable of retribution.’ He stared dispassionately through the rain-flecked gauze. ‘Lives were lost, Sarah. Including Boxer’s, the old Aborigine Hamish treated as a friend.’
‘So Hamish named the new block after him.’ Sarah thought it all sounded a little simplistic. ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’ She looked at the deeds to Boxer’s Plains.
Frank drained his glass. ‘The truth, Sarah, is that the events of 1909 left such an impression on your grandfather’s mind, that Angus never purchased land again.’
‘Yet Grandfather went to extraordinary efforts to ensure Wangallon’s continuation.’
Frank gave a chuckle and looked at Sarah. ‘It’s genetic.’
‘And what of the Michaels’ family?’ Ronald asked.
Frank sat forward in his chair. ‘A long time ago an impoverished Scot by the name of Hamish Gordon rode into Ridge Gully with a Chinese man. Some months later my great-grandfather’s signature appeared on the deed transfer when Hamish purchased the general store, which eventually grew to become Lorna’s Emporium. I believe my great-grandfather hoped never to meet Hamish Gordon in a darkened street.’ Frank widened his eyes for emphasis. ‘Many years later when the Boxer’s Plains’ sale took place,’ Frank continued, ‘the required paperwork was completed quickly and efficiently. Oscar Crawford was a descendant of the magistrate who sentenced my forefather to penal servitude in Australia. So you see, Sarah, eventually everyone gets their due.’
It was pouring. The rain was driving through the gauze horizontally. Sarah lifted the ceramic platter and carried it inside to escape the torrent of water beginning to run across the verandah’s floorboards. She thought grimly of the losses experienced during her life. Sarah didn’t feel deserving of any more grief. Surely she’d also paid her dues; particularly in one regard. Ronald and she barely broached Maggie Macken’s suicide. It was a shocking thing to happen. All they could do to reconcile the damage Maggie’s single lie had caused was to