North Star by Karly Lane Page B

didn’t care about her little gran down here in nowhere Widgerry. If he did, surely he wouldn’t have allowed her to suffer as she did. And for that matter, Kate thought now, if the pious Presbyterian community had been so closeknit and Christian, why had no one ever stepped in and put a stop to Henry’s violence?
    â€˜Most churches have stopped keeping records of burials, marriages and baptisms nowadays,’ Bert Harris was saying. ‘The government records all births, deaths and marriages. But I’m a bit old-school, I guess. I take pleasure in keeping going the tradition of recording religious ceremonies. Our register dates back as far as 1869,’ he informed her, leading her out into the church office.
    â€˜Please take a seat,’ he offered, pulling a second chair up to his desk.
    As she sat down, the minister pulled out the biggest book Kate had ever laid eyes on. The smell of its leather binding and aged paper filled the air as the minister opened the book.
    â€˜Do you have an idea what date we’re looking for?’
    â€˜Not exactly. I wanted to find out a bit more about my grandfather and his parents and siblings. I’ve only just found out he was a twin—no one had ever mentioned that to me before.’
    â€˜Well, we can start with Henry’s death and work our way back from there.’ He flipped to the rear of the book and the most recent entries. ‘I conducted the funeral myself. There was no church service, just a graveside burial.’
    Although she didn’t detect any judgement in his tone, Kate felt an urge to defend her absence. ‘We weren’t close . . . Henry and me.’
    â€˜No,’ he agreed, lifting his gaze from the book to search her eyes. ‘He was a hard man to understand. I tried on a number of occasions to get through to him, but unfortunately the alcohol had taken too great a hold on him,’ he said quietly, then brightened. ‘Here it is, his date of birth is listed as 25 August 1916. Henry Alexander and Harold James Campbell, born to Ella and Jake Campbell, North Star, Widgerry.’
    There was no burial listing for the other four siblings, but their deaths were noted in the ledger. John, Francis, Charles and Edwin Campbell had all died within months of each other, their bodies never returned home.
    Kate was quiet for a moment, contemplating the sacrifice Ella Campbell had been forced to make for the Empire.
    â€˜So can we find Harry’s date of death?’ she asked eventually.
    â€˜I can’t say I recall much about that,’ Bert said thoughtfully.
    â€˜I know he was still alive at twenty-two, and that was in October 1938. It was on the back of a photo,’ Kate suggested helpfully.
    Bert’s eyes lit up again and he began carefully turning the pages to the appropriate date. There was nothing under Harry’s name, but as Bert ran his fingers down the list of entries he exclaimed, ‘Here it is! Ella Campbell died 4 December 1938. Mother of Harold Campbell, drowned, aged 22, 25 October 1938 .’
    Kate dragged her gaze from the page. ‘The photo must have been taken not long before Harry died.’ A shiver of foreboding ran through her. They could never have suspected when they were being photographed that within days one of them would be dead. ‘I wonder what happened,’ she said quietly.
    â€˜Maybe I can make a few enquiries and find out for you,’ Bert Harris said. ‘The records only go so far in answering our questions. However, I do know that a lot of the bigger properties have family plots on them and I remember someone bringing it up when we buried Henry. He specifically put in his will that he was not to be buried on North Star. I assumed he wanted to be buried with his wife, in the town cemetery. Not to mention that nowadays it’s not easy to be buried in a private cemetery—there’s a lot of red tape to go through.’
    Kate