by Dean Mayes
“Well, it looks lovely,” Max said, setting Genevieve down and patting her shoulder.
“What brings you this way?” Hayden asked.
Max brushed his hands against his sides, hesitating, as though he had something important to share. “Well, I was wondering if you might have some time to help me with something.”
Hayden quirked an eyebrow as Max continued. “Remember how I mentioned I’m on the steering committee for this year’s Vinter Ljusfest?”
“Yes,” Hayden replied, extending out the word on his lips, sensing where this was headed.
Max rubbed his hands together. “Well, the committee is, shall we say, populated with some interesting personalities. We’re having a few issues trying to come to a consensus. I was thinking an outside opinion from a learned man like yourself might help to get things back on track?”
He faltered at the end of his sentence and his shoulders slackened. “I’m worried the wheels are going to fall off if something doesn’t happen soon.” Max turned to Isabelle and he brightened. “The offer is still open to you as well, Belle.”
Isabelle raised her hands, shaking her head emphatically. “Oh no, no,” she baulked. “I’ve told you before, Max, I’m staying out of this one. I’ve heard how explosive those committee meetings have been.” She stepped away from the two men, signalling to Genevieve it was time to go.
Max turned back to Hayden. “What do you think? It would help me out.”
Hayden pushed his tongue into his cheek. “I’m not sure getting entangled in small-town politics is a good idea. Do you really think my presence would be welcome?”
Max brushed his concern away with a wave of his hand. “Of course! You’re Russell and Lavinia’s son. That alone carries some weight. Might even get a few of the folks to listen to an alternative viewpoint.”
“Max, I’m not good in social situations as it is and you’re asking me to attend a fractious committee meeting?” Hayden turned and paced a few steps away from him.
“Look, it’s not a big committee,” Max offered, trying to placate him. “You know most of the people on it. You’ll most likely just be an observer. It’ll be fine.”
Hayden glanced at Isabelle, who held her hands up, indicating he was on his own.
Whistling through his teeth, he scratched the back of his head. “Why do I feel this is a really bad idea?”
~ Chapter 16 ~
THE BELL TINKLED ABOVE THE DOOR AS ISABELLE STEPPED INTO THE GENERAL STORE. GENEVIEVE TROOPED IN AFTER her, her hands grasping the shoulder straps of her backpack. Rameeka America and Lily the Bear poked up from the flap on either side of her shoulders.
“Good morning, team,” Annette said happily, her attention going straight to the basket in Isabelle’s arms. She gasped. “Oh my Lord, is that what I think it is?”
Isabelle grinned and hefted the wicker basket onto the counter. “Now, this is a first effort,” she warned. “I’m still playing around with the recipes for some of them, so keep your expectations low.”
Annette stepped forward to inspect the contents of the basket and saw it filled with a selection of fat rolls, a blueberry Danish cut into portions, and some rustic custard tarts. She salivated as she lifted one of the rolls from inside, resplendent with the aroma of cinnamon. “Is this apple and walnut?” she asked eagerly, turning the roll in her hand and marvelling at the stripes of pearlescent icing adorning the top.
“It is. I used the apples from my tree. The walnuts are shop bought, but they do the job.”
Annette set the sweet roll aside while Isabelle reached in and lifted out the trays of custard tarts, the Danish, and the remaining rolls, handing them over one by one while Annette gazed reverently. “How did you manage this, Belle? These are gorgeous.”
“The warmth left in the oven after a bake,” Isabelle explained. “It lasts for a while actually—enough for me to bake pies, cakes, sweet rolls. I’m still getting used to Agnes so I’m keeping it simple. When I get better, I’ll try some other things.”
Annette shook her head in amazement. “You do realise these are going to bring ravenous hordes, don’t you?”
Isabelle and Annette laughed together and Genevieve glanced at the two women with a broad smile.
“What do you think, Genie?” Annette asked and signed, “Mum’s going to be too popular for her own good.”
Genevieve proffered a thumbs-up. Annette noted Isabelle’s smile had faded for just a moment and she was thumbing an invoice book in the basket. Sensing her awkward, unspoken request, Annette placed the baked goods into a glass cabinet on the counter and signalled with a wave. “Come on. Let me sort out the account for you. I’ll do a quick transfer now.”
“Thanks, Annette,” Isabelle replied.
Annette led them through to a rear office where she pulled out a chair for Isabelle and motioned her to sit. Sam the dog, curled up on Annette’s office chair, awoke with a start as the trio entered. Genevieve held her arms out wide and the dog leaped from the seat and into her embrace, plastering his tongue all across her face, causing her to giggle out loud.
As Annette took up her chair, she gestured to Genevieve. “Would you like to fetch Sam a biscuit bone from the kitchen, love?” she signed.
Genevieve nodded enthusiastically and sprang to her feet, leading Sam from the office.
“Max mentioned Hayden Luschcombe helped you out of a tight spot the other day,” she said.
Isabelle smiled as she sat down. “He did,” she replied. “Saved my bacon, actually. All this time I thought the distributor was shot and instead, it was a blocked fuel line. I would have been sunk if he hadn’t pointed it out.”
Annette grinned as she clicked into her computer’s browser. “He’s a good man. Max and I have known him all his life, you know.”
“I figured,” Isabelle ventured. “I know he lived here as a kid when I used to come up and stay with Granny and Papa.”
A short silence followed. Annette’s smile lingered as she navigated a web banking portal, and she stole furtive glances at the younger woman.
“Okay. I’ll bite.” Isabelle tilted her head. “What’s his story? Why is he back in Walhalla?”
Annette feigned innocence. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
Annette adjusted her glasses, studying the invoice before her. “Hayden’s got a lot to work through right now, but the main reason is that his marriage ended recently.”
Isabelle straightened, surprised at Annette’s matter-of-fact tone.
“He’s home because, well, he couldn’t have gone anywhere else,” Annette continued. “The only family he had in Adelaide was hers, and of course family is going to support family at a time like this. If you ask me, it was a blessing. I mean, finding her in bed with another man was horrible, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I always thought Bernadette had a duplicitous streak.”
Annette glanced up to find Isabelle looking uncomfortable.
“My God,” she exclaimed. “I’m running off at the mouth. Please forget I said any of that.”
“Kind of hard to, Nette.” Isabelle countered. But now she was curious. “Has he spoken to her since—” She held up her hand, cutting herself off. “No! I don’t need to know. Please don’t answer that.”
Annette returned her attention to the computer screen. She finished the transaction and closed the browser window. “He’s a decent person,” she mused. “I’ve watched him grow from a shy little boy into a dedicated and loyal young man. He certainly didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
Isabelle was fidgeting, and her gaze lingered at a spot on the floor. A thoughtful smile tugged at Annette’s lips. “You’re interested.”
Isabelle couldn’t conceal her flustered smile. “I’m intrigued,” she shot back, her cheeks reddening. “He’s been kind. To me, and to Genevieve. And he hasn’t asked for anything in return.”
Annette flashed a grin. “It’s a family trait. The Luschcombes have always been giving people.”
Isabelle stood as Genevieve appeared in the doorway with Sam trotting in beside her. “I should go. I’ve got some bookkeeping of my own to do. Then I have to get into that mess of a shopfront.”
Annette watched Isabelle. “You know, far be it from me to say this, but you could use some happiness in your life. You’ve given all of yourself to the bakery, and single-handedly raised Genevieve. How about treating yourself to a bit of attention?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Isabelle scoffed, scrunching up her nose.
Annette folded her arms and leaned back. “Belle, you know exactly what I mean.”
Isabelle blew air through her lips and got up from her chair, making her way to the door just as Genevieve and Sam appeared from the dining room. “I don’t have time for any of that,” she rebuffed, more harshly than she intended. “Look, you and I both know my track record has been less than stellar. I don’t need any more complications in my life—including you playing matchmaker.”
“But you are interested, aren’t you?” Annette teased.
“Interested in who?” Isabelle bristled and turned to leave. She paused in the doorway and looked back to see Annette, arms crossed, eyeing her conspiratorially.
“We both know full well who.”
Isabelle squirmed and shook her head. “Annette!” she scoffed. “Cut it out.”
The walls seemed to close in on her and she huffed as her hand shot out towards her daughter. With Genevieve following her, Isabelle walked out of the office and didn’t look back.
IN THE CENTRE OF A timber-panelled hall stood a large table. Around it sat a raucous collective of locals who made up the steering committee for Walhalla’s Vinter Ljusfest.
The annual festival was the biggest event on Walhalla’s calendar, one whose profile had grown over the past few years. It had been created in the spirit of collaborative European festivals that celebrated the coming of spring, and showcased Walhalla’s history, food, and culture.
Right now, however, any collaborative spirit was sorely missing from the room.
The assembled locals were bickering and talking over one another while other members, Max and Ivan Rumph included, watched on with bewilderment as the proceedings quickly spun out of control.
Hayden sat beside Max, uncomfortable with what he was witnessing. Occasionally, Max stole an embarrassed glance at him.
The committee comprised various stakeholders from Walhalla’s tourist attractions as well as representatives from local businesses and residences. Along with Ivan, Hayden identified Spencer Leckie, the proprietor of the Star Hotel; as well as Margaret Parton, the postmistress from the Corner Stores. There were representatives from the Long Tunnel Extended Gold Mine and the Goldfields Railway. All were trying to be heard over one another, without success.
Hayden watched Max’s features twist and turn, suggesting what may as well have been a cry for help, and he cringed. He couldn’t fathom how Max believed he could contribute anything of value.
He wasn’t even sure what they were all arguing about anymore.
The meeting had begun well enough with Max announcing the receipt of a grant from the Victorian government, and a substantial amount, at that.
There were two distinct camps in terms of the grant, however—those who wanted to focus spending on the town’s centre, where most of Walhalla’s public buildings and gardens were located, and those who wanted to spread it around the town. From what Hayden could gather, this wasn’t a new point of disagreement; it had reared its head several times over the years.
“I can’t understand why people are still behaving like this!” barked Bill Osterbrund, a Nordic bear of a man with a snow-white beard, who sat adjacent to Max. “We’ve been arguing this point for months now. Surely they must realise Walhalla’s signature tourist destinations have to take priority.”
“People are feeling excluded, Bill,” a younger woman protested from across the table. “For too long, there’s been this concentration on the town centre. But Walhalla is so much more. The town is growing all the time and we should encourage tourists to experience all of it.”
“Not if there isn’t enough money to go around!” Bill retorted, before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms sullenly.
Hayden sensed something of a weakness in Bill’s voice, as though he had more he wanted to say but was holding back. His eyes drifted across the faces at the table. Some of them were uncomfortable, as if they knew something the others didn’t. No one appeared willing to speak up.
Soon, however, the bickering and arguing started anew. The tension in the room ratcheted up significantly.
Spying the exit, Hayden entertained the idea of fleeing, but he saw Max lower his head into his hands and felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.
How on Earth had they managed to get anything done?
Max exchanged a dispirited glance with Ivan before staring down the table. He held his hands up in a halfhearted attempt at restoring order, but no one was taking any notice.
Suddenly, a loud clapping sound split through the room as Hayden held his hands out in front of him and brought them together sharply.
All at once, the room fell silent.
Max turned to his friend with gratitude. “Would you like to contribute something, Doc?”
Hayden shifted as he tried to maintain his nerve. “The young woman made a valid point. Walhalla is growing—exponentially. It’s clear from Max’s report the grant is a significant boost on previous allocations. So, why not think bigger?”
Bill Osterbrund sat forward in his chair. “I don’t think we need any outside opinions here. We can sort this out on our own.”
Hayden shot the older man a probing glare. “Well, you certainly haven’t progressed very far. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to agree on anything.”
A ripple of murmurs went around the table. Members exchanged alarmed glances with one another. Their suspicion was palpable.
“Look,” Hayden continued, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Let’s all take a step back. As an outsider, I can see some obvious roadblocks that could be tackled quite easily. Why are some of you so concerned about extending the reach of the festival and embracing the whole town?” His gaze went across the young woman who had spoken up earlier. She was considering his question.
She looked around the table, aware that all of her colleagues were focused on her. She unfolded her arms.
“Go ahead, Amber,” Max urged. He leaned over and whispered to Hayden, “That’s Amber Rillby. She owns the café at the Corner Stores with her partner, George.”
Amber spoke up. “I think there’s a concern among some present here, that any extension of lighting displays beyond the town centre will get out of control.”
“How do you mean?” Hayden asked.
“Well, they’re worried everyone will want to light their homes and their patch of the main road, and they won’t be able to control how people do it. But people want to participate. They want to feel as though they’re a part of it. It’s just some people don’t want them to.”
Bill Osterbrund issued an indignant scoff. “Look, we’re attracting some significant attention for this year’s event from those media folks down in the city. I don’t want to see the entire valley lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, all ridiculous colour and tackiness. The grant money should be focused where we can expect most people will spend the majority of their festival experience, and where we can quality-control it—in the town centre.”
“But, Bill,” Ivan challenged. “You really are casting the townspeople in a very poor light. It’s as if you don’t trust them.”
“And it’s because of that thinking, we now have a rebel group who will more than likely press on with their own displays regardless,” Amber added for good measure.
Bill puffed his cheeks out like a bullfrog, as did his cohorts beside him. Their protestations threatened to start anew.
Hayden held out his hands. “Please, eve
ryone,” he urged. “Max. You said the grant money has been given by the government to the steering committee of the Ljusfest on behalf of the town—the whole town—right?”
“It has,” Max said.
“And we’re not talking about a small amount of money, either. Are we?”
Max smiled. “It’s the largest grant we’ve ever received.”
“Well, why don’t you bring the entire town into your confidence and encourage participation, so long as certain conditions are met?”
“Certain conditions?” Bill ventured.
Hayden rubbed his chin. “Okay. Bill, I agree with you that the light festival could run out of control if you don’t exercise some restraint in how it’s executed. So, how about this: the committee agrees to rolling out a broader lighting installation north and south of the town centre, and invites participation from residents on the condition they adhere to a set of guidelines for lighting their homes and gardens. You could even offer a small portion of the grant money to each resident by way of application. That way, you can exercise a sort of quality control, and the residents will feel they have a stake in the festival.”
A fresh wave of murmurs broke out as people considered Hayden’s suggestion—the first thing they’d considered all evening.
Max gestured to Margaret. “What do you reckon, Marg? Can you run the numbers and see how they stack up?”
Lifting her spectacles, Margaret took a pencil from the pocket of her shop apron. She examined a large notebook in front of her while engaging in a whispered exchange with the woman sitting to her right. After several moments locked in intense murmuring, Margaret turned to the table and smiled. “We should be able to do it.”
Max smiled and turned to Amber Rillby. “What do you think? Will this sit well with the rebel group?”
Amber considered this. “I think they’d be happy to hear it.”
Max looked down the table. “And you’re happy, Bill?”
Bill Osterbrund shifted in his chair and ran a hand over his beard thoughtfully, his previous rancour having dissipated. “Good enough,” he harrumphed. Max expelled a puff of air through his teeth and ticked off an item on the sheet in front of him. All at once, the angst that had plagued the committee had dissipated.
