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Back The Orchardist's Daughter Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. PRAISE
  3. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  4. DEDICATION
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART I SEEDS
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. PART II GERMINATION
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. PART III GROWTH
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. PART IV UNDERSTOREY
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. EPILOGUE
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Leon studied the faces of the workers, and they all seemed like serious men. Nobody smiled for the camera—that must have been the way of the times, or perhaps they all lived hard lives. Most of them had moustaches and wore hats, dark trousers and jackets over light-coloured shirts. Leon noticed the way they stood, with arms crossed or cocked on their hips as if they had been carefully set up for the camera—he supposed fewer photos were taken back then, so every shot was important.

He read about the timber industry on Bruny Island at Adventure Bay, where he’d grown up. The book told the story of discovery and settlement, which Leon already knew—he’d been raised on a diet of history and explorers. It was interesting to read about sawmills on the island, however there were few mentions of names, and little that related directly to his family.

He finished by delving into the chapter that Grandpa had recommended, on bushfires and fires in sawmills and their impact on the industry. But he couldn’t work out what the old man had wanted him to glean from all this information. Grandpa’s discomfort was still a mystery. Leon supposed the truth would come out in the fullness of time—he would wait for the right moment to ask. He had a good feeling about his relationship with his grandpa. Weekly visits to the home were going to be interesting.

8

8

For Miki, Tuesday was the loneliest day of the week. That was when Kurt locked her in and went off to Hobart. Usually he left Monday afternoon, which was okay, because she would spend the evening knitting or reading a book. But Tuesdays seemed to last for an eternity. And here she was, yet again, perched on a chair in the empty shop, staring out at the street, watching life pass her by.

Kurt had been grumpy when he left yesterday—there was something about going to the city that always made him edgy. Normally Miki didn’t worry about his mood when he drove off, but since she’d taken the key yesterday morning, she’d been tense, wondering if Kurt had noticed it was gone, and how he would punish her when he found out. But nothing had been said, so for now it seemed her secret was safe.