Saving Grace

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘It’ll take you ages to stop thinking of things you need. Everything you do and every recipe you make will remind you of something you don’t have. Just keep a list handy. Anyway, we can heat up the slice in the oven – it’s what they did before microwaves, you know. And David did check it was in working order.’

  ‘You know, that man of yours is an absolute gem.’

  ‘I do, which is why I have to be back home by five-thirty. He’s going to an Ag Bureau meeting and needs to take a plate.’

  ‘I wonder if I’ll ever find Mr Right,’ Emily said wistfully.

  ‘Of course you will. When the time is right, he’ll just pop up. Chances are it’ll be when you least expect him to.’

  ‘Is that how it happened with you and David?’

  ‘Pretty much. You just have to be in the right place – emotionally, I mean. It’s weird the way it seems to work. When it’s the last thing on your mind, it just happens.’

  ‘Well it is the last thing on my mind because right now it’s the last thing I want.’

  ‘Don’t worry, the universe knows that.’

  ‘Well, I wish the damn universe knew how much I hate filthy rodents!’

  ‘Come on, let’s at least see what we’re dealing with. I vote we start in here and see if we can mouse-proof the cupboards.’

  ‘It’s like a bloody open highway in here,’ Barbara said a few minutes later from inside the cupboard under the sink. ‘There’s a gap all the way round the pipes. This is probably their major access point. Pass the steel wool and scissors. And while I do this, why don’t you check the other cupboards?’

  It took Emily two minutes. The other cupboards were free of gaps and, thankfully, free of droppings. She felt a little guilty at having Barbara do all the work.

  ‘Right,’ Barbara said, emerging from under the sink. ‘Hopefully that’ll do the trick.’

  ‘As much as I hate setting and emptying traps, I think I’d rather that than the smell of corpses I can’t find. And I don’t want Grace getting poisoned.’

  ‘Fair enough. That can be plan B. Let’s just do a quick check of the rest of the house for gaps. It doesn’t look like it’s ever had wall-to-wall carpet, so hopefully the skirting boards go right to the floor. That’s where the gaps usually are.’

  They enjoyed a late lunch of leftover zucchini slice and wilted salad.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve done enough for today,’ Barbara said, putting their plates in the sink. ‘But before I go, I want to take a walk up the gully and see if that is an orchard.’

  The gully was steeper than it looked from the house, and Emily and Barbara were a little breathless and red-faced when they got to the top. They stopped in a gravelly clearing that was obviously a creekbed and discovered a couple of dozen different fruit trees. The trees had definitely been hand-planted, likely decades before. Their branches were sprawling and gnarly, and tall weeds grew against their thick trunks.

  Despite the obvious signs of neglect, there was an abundance of ripe and ripening fruit: apricots, peaches, nectarines. Others had finished or were yet to fruit.

  Emily recognised a plum tree with just a few remnants of fruit pulp hanging from seeds still attached; clearly a favourite with the local birdlife. There was a large fig tree off to the side and what looked like a few different varieties of citrus – though without seeing the fruit, it was impossible to tell. It seemed like the typical old-fashioned home-gardener’s orchard, designed to have fresh fruit available for most of the year.

  ‘Fine looking crop of apricots, considering they probably don’t get hand-watered,’ Barbara said.

  ‘I wonder if they’d mind me using the fruit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. These trees don’t look like they’ve had any attention for years. It’s probably the first time they’ve fruited in a few years too, because of the drought,’ Barbara said, plucking an apricot and taking a bite.

  Emily followed her lead.

  ‘Oh, yum,’ they said in unison, and then laughed.

  They munched their way through a couple of apricots each, oohing and ahhing and groaning with delight at each bite.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Emily waved Barbara off from the front verandah before going back inside. She made a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling unsure of how to occupy herself.

  She was keen to make some jam – damn those were good apricots – but it was too late in the day to start picking fruit. She couldn’t leave them in buckets in case there were mice still lurking about. Not that she had any buckets to put them in, anyway.

  She’d had such a busy, emotion-filled day with Barbara that it seemed odd and a little unsettling to once again be alone. Though when she thought about it, why was this evening any different to the many John had spent at the pub, leaving her at home alone while he got up to goodness knows what with goodness knows who?

  The difference now was that she didn’t have to go to bed with the slight edge of apprehension as to what state and mood he would be in when he climbed in beside her. And what he’d want from her.

  Here she was free. Broke and lonely, and with few of the home comforts she’d learnt to take for granted, but free nonetheless.

  Would he come looking for her? Again threaten her not to tell tales out of school? Of course he’d know where she was living – nothing in this district stayed a secret very long. Not that it was a secret.

  Given her experience that morning, it was clear to whom the town had declared its allegiance. But would it support him if everyone knew John had shacked up with someone else so soon? Surely that would go against the fine moral standards they liked to pride themselves on.

  Silly even giving it thought. Attitudes hadn’t changed in the last hundred years – John Stratten’s wife had abandoned him and he had needs to be met. And he was a farmer. End of story.

  Emily found herself wondering about her replacement, Stacy. She realised she knew nothing about her. Who was this girl? Did she realise what she was getting into by involving herself with John?

  Emily shook her head to try to get rid of the anger threatening to overwhelm her. She forced herself instead to think about turning the fruit from the orchard into jam, and was instantly calmer. She loved to cook when she had time to relax into it. And she had plenty of time on her hands.

  Then she remembered all the jars she’d collected over the years. Not to mention her large pans. They had all ended up staying with John. They hadn’t been boxed up and in the bottom of the trailer like she’d hoped. At the time she’d been disappointed, but now she was downright annoyed. But there was no way in hell she’d give him the satisfaction of asking for them back.

  Emily wondered if Stacy would be using her things to make her own jam. The trees at home – correction, John’s place – would be overflowing.

  ‘Come on, Gracie, let’s lock up and have something to eat,’ she said. Her voice reverberated through the almost-empty house. It would be good to have some curtains and more furniture to soak up the sound.

  Emily went through the house to check all the doors were locked. It made the place a little stuffy, but she wasn’t game to leave them open. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was keeping out – there was no one around for miles and she’d hear and see a car well before it turned up. But it made her feel safer.

  Later that night as she lay in the swag, again rolled out on the table, Emily pondered the problem of acquiring jars for jam. The only place to come to mind was the op shop. But it was a long shot and it meant going into town again. She sighed.

  Barbara was probably right when she said that people don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do. Yes, she’d brave the town again soon, but only because it was a means to an end – the peace of spending a few pleasant days holed up in the kitchen.

  That was the trouble with fruit trees: all the fruit was ready at once and you had to beaver away before it went to waste. If only someone could breed species that would stagger
their produce over a couple of months. That was the last thought Emily had as she drifted into sleep.

  Emily sat up quickly, startled from a deep sleep. Her mobile phone was vibrating and ringing over on the bench. It was still grey out the kitchen window, but morning was obviously on its way in.

  Her heart was racing as she leapt out of the swag and off the table. In her experience, unexpected calls at unusual times of the day and night only brought bad news.

  ‘Hello, Emily speaking,’ she rasped.

  ‘Em, it’s Barbara. Sorry to call so early.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Six-thirty-ish.’

  Wow, she’d actually managed to sleep right through. Emily peered out the window again. The sky was filled with thick cloud. She was brought back to the phone by the tension in her friend’s voice.

  ‘Look Em, my mum’s not well. I have to go to Millicent and take care of her …’

  ‘What’s happened? How bad is it?’

  ‘She’s okay, recovering from the flu. She’s fine, just a bit weak. My sister Jill has been keeping an eye on her, but she’s booked to go away. She just needs someone to fetch groceries, clean the house, and generally keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I’m really sorry – I didn’t know she was even sick.’

  ‘Join the club. She told me it was just a sniffle when we spoke on Sunday. Jill rang last night – she’s concerned Mum’s not up to cooking a decent meal for herself.’

  Emily found herself wondering why Barbara would call her so early in the morning when there was something like a nine-hour car trip ahead during which she could make the call by mobile.

  ‘Anyway, the reason I’m calling is – just while I think of it – I won’t be back in time to do anything with the apricots this year. So I wanted to offer you my pots and pans, and of course the fruit on our trees – if you can cope with doing two lots.’

  ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘At least a week. If she has a relapse or gets pneumonia – it’s happened before – I could be gone for longer.’

  ‘I hope not, for her sake. Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Listen, I picked eight buckets of apricots when I got back last night and they won’t keep for more than a few days. It’s up to you whether to use the fruit or not, but I just wanted to let you know, and also tell you that you’re welcome to use all my stuff while I’m gone.’

  ‘The thing is, though, I left all my jars at John’s place.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve probably got enough for both of us anyway – Jill brought me a heap when she visited at Easter.’

  ‘Oh, that would be great. I’d really appreciate it. I was beginning to psych myself up to face the town again and see if the op shop had any.’

  God, here she was rambling on about her own problems when her dear friend was probably quite beside herself with worry.

  ‘So, can I do anything for you while you’re away?’

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so. Perhaps just check on David occasionally to make sure he hasn’t pinned himself under a tractor or something.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘In the next half hour. I’m flying. David’s taking me down to Port Lincoln. There’s no point me driving all the way when I can use Mum’s car once I get there.’

  ‘Well, let me know if you think of anything – anything at all. And thanks so much for the offer of your fruit and equipment – I’ll call David and arrange to pick it all up this evening when he gets back. I hope everything is okay when you get there. Good luck.’

  ‘Good luck yourself! And thanks, I’ll need it, living with my mother again,’ she laughed. ‘Okay, see you.’

  ‘Safe travelling.’

  Emily hung up. Poor Barbara, she thought. But her friend didn’t seem all that worried. She could only assume Barbara’s mother would be easier to deal with than her own. She’d never cope if Enid was housebound or bedridden and ordering her around – she’d put a frying pan through her head for sure before a week was out.

  Now that she was up, Emily remembered that her dad would be arriving later. She couldn’t wait to see what he’d found. The place would look much better with more furnishings.

  He wasn’t due for a few more hours, so she had time to have breakfast, tidy up and pick some apricots. They’d be okay to store in the eskies for a few days while she dealt with Barbara’s. She’d keep them separate and present Barbara with her own batch when she returned. It was the least she could do after all her friend had done for her.

  But how would she get the apricots down from the gully? Full eskies would be too cumbersome to lug back on her own. And anyway, she couldn’t empty them until her dad arrived with the fridge. She really needed a stack of buckets. Emily picked up her mobile again and called home.

  ‘Hi Dad, just the man I wanted to speak to. You’re still coming out this morning, aren’t you?’

  ‘I certainly am.’

  ‘Well, do you have any spare buckets I could borrow?’

  ‘I could probably manage about three or four. What are you up to?’

  ‘I’ve found some apricot trees that I want to pick for jam – the Bakers wouldn’t mind, would they?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. Is there anything else you need, other than the load of stuff I got for you yesterday?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Thanks heaps, Dad. I’ll see you a bit later.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure. See you in a few hours.’

  Emily hung up and then went into the laundry to look for something useful for storing the apricots in the meantime. She was itching to get started now. There was an old copper in the corner. She dragged it to the bathroom for a rinse, then sat it on the kitchen floor. It was perfect, and would hold heaps. She’d take her chances with any mice still lurking about – hopefully they couldn’t get over the sharp lip.

  But there was still the problem of getting the apricots from the trees to the copper. Then she spied the pile of green eco grocery bags in the doorway. Perfect! She grabbed them and headed outside, Grace trotting happily beside her.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Emily had filled three of the green grocery bags and was well on her way with the fourth. She was engrossed in the meditative process of selecting the ripe apricots and removing them from the tree, enjoying not having to give too much thought to what she was doing.

  Grace had given up investigating the multitude of nearby scents to lay quietly in the sunshine. Suddenly she gave a bark.

  Emily, startled from her near trance, looked up to see her father trudging slowly up the gully towards her.

  Grace bounded the few metres to meet him, the tip of her tail bobbing up and down through the long grass and heads of wild oats.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Des Oliphant said, leaning on a nearby tree trunk for support. He was a little red-faced and out of breath. ‘That walk is deceptively hard work,’ he said, tossing the words over his shoulder.

  ‘Sit down, Dad,’ she said. ‘You look like you’re going to have a heart attack.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Just need a second to catch my breath. Hello girl,’ he added, bending to pat Grace, who was waiting patiently by his side, flapping her tail. Emily went over and gave her father a hug.

  Looking a little brighter, he surveyed their immediate surroundings. ‘I remember when that fig was a mere sapling …’ he said wistfully.

  ‘So how did you know the Bakers, again?’ Emily asked, hoping this time he’d be more forthcoming.

  ‘Their sister – the child who was killed – was the first girl I ever loved,’ he said, sounding even more wistful. ‘And I think it’s true when they say it’s something you never really recover from …’

  Emily stared at her father, waiting for him to continue. A series of questions filled her mind, but she stayed silent. He was standing there near her looking … what? Mournful? Morose? Regretful? It was hard to tell.

  ‘Dad, are you oka
y?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh, yes, just thinking of days past.’

  ‘Happy memories, I hope.’

  ‘Some good, some not so good. You know how life is, Em. You look back over things and despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome, you still wish things had been different. They say hindsight is wonderful, but it can also be a curse.’ He let out a big sigh.

  What was Des talking about? She felt decidedly uneasy with where this conversation was heading. Should she shut it down, shove the cork back in the bottle before the genie was let out? Of course she should, but she was also desperate to know.

  When the silence had stretched beyond reasonable, Emily ended it.

  ‘I’ll just finish filling this bag, and then you can help me carry them back, if that’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’ll save me a trip. You sit there in the shade and relax – I won’t be long.’

  ‘Righteo.’ Des settled himself on the ground against a trunk. Emily had always marvelled at how he’d never lost the flexibility to sit cross-legged. Grace curled up in front of him with her head resting on the cross of his ankles.

  Emily began picking apricots again. But the more she picked, the heavier the silence grew between them. A couple of times she looked across to check on her father. And then it became so excruciating that she could stand it no longer.

  She swallowed. Forcing her tone to be casual, she said, ‘So, who was she, this girl you loved?’ She thought to add, ‘before Mum’, but as she was about to utter the words it suddenly struck her. Maybe he’d never actually stopped loving this person. Apprehension and fear bit her again.

  ‘It was a long time ago …’

  And you’re remembering it like it was yesterday, Emily wanted to say.

  Des Oliphant sighed again as if resigned to speaking. ‘Her name was Katherine. Katherine Rosalind Baker …’

  She looked sharply at Des. My middle name is Katherine! It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  ‘Yes, you have her name,’ her father said, looking up at her.