Exclusive extract from The Valley by Di Morrisey (Pan Macmillan Australia).
Dani was glad they were in Helen’s old station wagon as the back roads were dirt and gravel. She could hardly believe the beauty of the gullies and hills, and every so often a vista of green river. She took photos of old houses and barns with rusting rooftops, some leaning precariously and partially covered with uncontrolled vines. She photographed a cow beneath a flowering fruit tree and a standing brick fireplace — all that remained of a simple farmhouse. The rolling landscapes, its colours, the way the sunlight fell through the trees, the small hamlets, isolated community halls, a schoolhouse for a dozen kids, a lopsided old wooden shed, a rusting 1930’s truck in a field, all excited her.
Occasionally they called into some of the newer homes or friends of Helen who’d charmingly “fixed up” rundown farmhouses into farm stays or B&Bs.
“These places are lovely. I had no idea people came out here for holidays.”
“City families, wanting a taste of country living. Their kids haven’t been near a cow or had the kind of freedom our kids took for granted,” said Helen. “Tourism is an issue with council, we have to be careful how it’s managed, what regulations are in place. More and more farmers are doing the farm stay as a very good sideline.”
“I can see I need longer than a week here. I could spend days in the historical society in Cedars,” said Dani. She’d taken to the local habit of abbreviating the town’s name.
“Have you talked to Henry?” asked Helen as they headed into thick scrubby country on a dirt road.
“Who’s he?”
“Henry Catchpole. Virtually runs the historical society, very big on family histories. In his seventies, probably knew your family. He’s been here all his life apart from the war and his great-grandparents were pioneers.”
“Would he be useful?”
“I reckon. He knows everything that’s happened in the valley and might give you some ideas of subjects and places to paint. He’s very entertaining, tells a good yarn. He’s been very helpful to me in sensitive issues with the council.”
Dani didn’t answer as she looked around her. The scene was beautiful. The track wound down to a creek surrounded by ghost gums shedding their bark in hanging strips revealing silvery trunks mottled with faint mushroom-pink spots. The creek was clear, the stones beneath the water looked like they’d been artfully placed by a landscaper. On the other side of the creek the track was steep and sharp.
“Can we stop please, Helen? I’d love a photo of this place.”
Helen grinned. “That’s why I brought you here. This is pretty famous or rather infamous. It’s Kelly’s Crossing. Goes back to the first settlers in the area.”
“Any relation to Ned?” asked Dani.
“Isabella was years before Ned. Apparently she was a pretty tough bird. A single woman who made a fortune in land, cattle, horses. There are stories of underhand dealings, that she befriended bushrangers, even slept with them, and flogged her convicts. There are stories about her riding around the country packing pistols on her hip. What’s truth or legend, no one knows for sure.”
“Wow, if half of that is true, what a legend! What happened to her?”
“Not sure. Most people around here didn’t even know she existed.”
Dani stood at the edge of the dancing creek, sunlight glinting on its surface. It was still and quiet and she could clearly imagine a woman riding across the creek, then spurring her horse up the steep bank.
“Fabulous spot,” she exclaimed. “I keep getting visions of how it must have been here way back in Isabella Kelly’s days.”
Helen, a pragmatic woman, surprised Dani. “I had a feeling you’d relate to this place. A lot of things have happened at Kelly’s Crossing over the years. Good and bad. Few people come here anymore.”
“What kind of things?”
“Ask Henry. He’s got some bee in his bonnet about Kelly’s Crossing.”
Dani kicked off her shoes and walked to the edge of the creek. The water was refreshingly cold. But there was something else that made her shiver. Dani had the feeling unhappy ghosts hovered here. She resolved nonetheless to come back to this place.
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