On the drive home Jackbird saturated the truck with his thoughts on what they should do with the boat. Fishing, sailing, exploring—the things Ned had already obsessed over all summer. But Jackbird’s ideas did not end where Ned’s did: they included setting drumlines for sharks, boarding other vessels, lassoing and enslaving dolphins in an effort to turn the boat into a kind of ocean chariot, shooting albatrosses, and convincing the daughters of the rich cattle farmers on the eastern side of the river to sail with them all the way to Flinders Island.

In this wash of talk Ned remembered that Jackbird hadn’t gone to the river mouth during the reign of the mad whale. Had only ever known a flat river.

It was only when his father commented that Ned would be the owner, not both of them, and that a lot of work needed to be done in order to get it seaworthy, that Jackbird relented. He turned his words to asking Ned when he’d buy it, how he’d fix it, where he’d store it. Ned said little in response.

They arrived at Limberlost in the late afternoon. Once he’d thanked Jackbird’s father and said goodbye, Ned did not go into the house or shed. He walked to the orchard. He walked past each row of trees, scanned each leafy corridor. The harvest was still over a month away, but already the fruit was red and swollen. Branches dipped with the weight of their crop.

After finding nobody in the apple trees Ned moved to the empty paddocks. He crested the two small hills at the back of the property. He threaded through the old black gums the family had reserved for firewood. He looked over to the road, to the driveway, back to the shed. He considered the ground he hadn’t covered. He thought of going back to the house, helping Maggie, checking on the quoll, running a peeler over some potatoes. But he kept walking, eventually reaching the waterline, where he finally found his father, pushing a wheelbarrow overburdened with planks of wood towards the northern boundary of the property.

When his father saw him, he set the legs of the wheelbarrow down. Adjusted his hat, waited for his son to start speaking. Ned could see how the old man was reading the nervousness in him. Felt pinned, exposed.

Eventually he found his words. ‘You know how I’ve been selling those rabbit pelts.’

‘I’m aware.’

‘Well, I’ve been saving the money.’

‘Good lad.’

‘I’ve saved quite a lot.’ Ned waited for his father to respond. He didn’t, so Ned swallowed, stiffened. Paused. ‘I thought I might buy a small boat.’