by Karen Wood
‘What mongrel-bred stockhorse?’
Katrina scoffed and pulled at the rope. ‘You work it out.’
Luke let the rope go and Katrina led Chelpie back to the paddock. The mare pulled at the halter but Katrina held her firmly. He thought of Marnie on the other side of the creek, foaling, on the same day.
Muscles got Chelpie too. That night, in Longwood!
Then he thought of the brumbies, circling the dead red mare.
‘Poor Chelpie,’ he said quietly. ‘They didn’t even let you say goodbye.’ Then Katrina’s words rung in his ears. We hand-raised her since she was a two-day-old foal. So Chelpie had been a potty foal. ‘They didn’t even let you know your own mother?’
When Luke got back to the river flats, Marnie was standing with her hind legs stretched awkwardly behind her. John was still at her back end.
Jess was watching, two hands over her mouth.
‘John thinks he’s got its hind feet,’ Shara told Luke. ‘When the mare stood up, it slipped back in a bit and made it easier to turn.’
‘I got them!’ said John, his arm still inside the mare. ‘I got them.’ He drew out two tiny hooves, twisted together, then grabbed one in each hand, bent his knees and pulled them down towards the mare’s hocks. Two legs began to slide out.
‘Oh my God . . .’ Jess gasped.
‘He’s got it now.’ Shara smiled. ‘It’s coming, Jessy!’
Jess squeaked something unintelligible and began to hop up and down.
The mare dropped to the ground and began pushing again.
‘We gotta get it out quick, Lawson,’ said John. ‘I need a hand.’
Lawson looked at Jess. ‘Stop blubbering and go give him a hand.’
Jess hurriedly smeared the tears away. She crept to the back of the mare, sniffing and swallowing, and took a leg. The hocks came out first, emerging downwards with the mare’s contractions until the foal’s hindquarters appeared.
The mare stopped and rested, puffing, her eyes only half-open. Sweat soaked her flanks and her neck.
‘Come on, sweet thing,’ said Lawson, rubbing the mare’s forehead. ‘You can do this.’
‘It’s a chestnut. It’s a filly,’ Jess blubbered. ‘Sharsy, it’s a girl. I can see its little thingy!’
‘It’s not out yet, Jess,’ said John. ‘Half a horse is not much good to you. Right, now we pull straight out in line with the mare’s spine, okay?’
Jess nodded. It took a few more contractions before the shoulders were out and then the neck and head slipped out into a pool of water and mucus. The foal lay half-covered in a white, plasticky film, one foot still inside the mare.
‘Come away now,’ said John, taking Jess’s arm and drawing her away.
The mare and the foal both lay there, breathing and resting.
Jess grabbed Luke’s arm and squeezed it. ‘I can’t believe she’s finally here! It’s been forever!’ Then she looked at his arm and saw the blood and goop she’d just smeared all over it. ‘Oh, sorry.’
‘No biggy. I’ve had worse.’ He grabbed her shirt and wiped his arm on it.
‘Oi!’
After a few more minutes, Marnie turned and gently sniffed her baby. The foal blinked and sniffed her back, their noses touching for a second. The mare began licking her foal, cleaning away the mucus that covered her.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ said Jess. ‘Her name’s Opal. I named her months ago.’
But Luke didn’t hear her. He was staring in disbelief at the three silver marks, perfect diamonds, that cascaded down the foal’s shoulder like falling stars. ‘Jess, didn’t your horse Diamond have marks like that on her hindquarters?’
He turned to Jess, whose mouth had dropped open. She was staring disbelievingly at the glistening wet foal. ‘What?’ she asked in a distracted voice.
‘I said, didn’t Diamond have marks like that?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Jess, without taking her eyes off the foal. It put one long shaky leg out in front of it, revealing more of its shoulder.
‘It was the lights,’ she whispered in awe. ‘The min min lights, the ghosts, in Marnie’s belly, three lights, three white stars . . .’
‘Whoa, that’s freaky.’
Jess grabbed Luke’s hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s Diamond’s spirit! The min min lights, remember?’
You’ve got dream there, you and this Jess girl.
Luke couldn’t get Tyson’s voice out of his head. He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
There was a shrill whinny from the river and everyone turned. A flash of white darted through the trees. Chelpie came cantering up over the river flats with a rope dangling between her front legs.
Jess groaned. ‘Not her again.’
Marnie jumped to her feet and Lawson had just enough time to grab her halter before she charged at Chelpie. Opal lay on the ground and called a tiny whinny to her mother.
‘Did you get that gun, Luke? asked Lawson.
‘Get out of here, you evil thing,’ screamed Jess. ‘You’ve already killed one of my horses. You’re not getting this one!’
‘She’s not evil,’ said Luke, running out towards the mare. ‘She’s just lost a foal.’ He took Chelpie’s halter and tried to calm her by running his hand up and down her neck. She nickered anxiously. ‘She thinks Opal’s her foal.’
‘Get her out of here, she’s upsetting the mare,’ Lawson snapped.
Luke turned Chelpie and tried to lead her away. She reared up and struck at him, and as she did, Luke saw milk running down either side of her hind legs. ‘You poor thing,’ he said, holding her firmly.
Then an idea came to him. ‘Come on, Chelpie,’ he said, turning her about. ‘There’s someone back at Harry’s place you might like to meet.’
That night, Luke slid through his bedroom window and slipped across the courtyard. Filth whimpered. Fang yapped and growled. He unclipped them from their night chains and then snuck in through the back door to the stables with them padding softly behind him. He heard Legsy snoring. Biyanga shook his head over the half door, ruffling his mane.
Outside, the brumbies nickered softly to each other. Luke walked out into the night and leaned on the rails of the yard to check on them.
A small, smiling moon cast dappled light through the old coachwood tree. He could see Rusty standing next to Chocky with a low head and a resting leg, looking sleepy. The fillies raised their heads and pricked their ears.
Luke walked to the next yard and poked his head over. A rush of white, gleaming in the moonlight, charged at him with a full set of teeth. Chelpie swung around and double-barrelled the fence, connecting with a bang so hard it almost rattled the pins from the rails. She trotted back to Tinkerbell, nuzzling and nickering protectively. Then she stood between Luke and the filly with a leg raised in warning, ears flat back.
Luke smiled. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I won’t let them take this one away from you. Not for a while, anyway.’
Luke had talked the Pettilows into leaving Chelpie in his care until she calmed down a bit. All it had taken to convince them was six months of free feed and agistment, and an agreement not to ride her. Unbeknown to the Pettilows, and with only a small dose of sedative, Luke had managed to settle Chelpie enough to introduce her to her new baby.
Tinkerbell nickered and Chelpie nuzzled the filly to her belly, offering her milk. The little foal tottered around and butted at her udder.
‘Bunch of little foster kids,’ said Luke quietly as he looked at all the horses in the yards. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’
He walked to the feedroom, gathered up the horse rugs and took them out to the stable aisle. There he made a cosy nest, flinging straps and buckles out of the way, and flopped himself down in the middle, jockeying for position with Filth and Fang.
He lay back and thought of Marnie’s little red filly with the three diamonds cascading down its shoulder like falling stars. Then of Tinkerbell the orphaned brumby foal, nuzzled up with
Chelpie, the show pony with impeccable breeding and faultless conformation.
And as he lay there thinking, listening to the familiar, soothing sounds of home, there was a soft, flapping noise above him and a dark shape glided across the top of the building to land on a crossbeam. A big owl looked around the building. Luke smiled up at its tawny-brown dinnerplate face.
‘We’re all just the same, aren’t we?’ he said to the bird. ‘Same way my mob. Same way your mob.’ He shrugged. ‘Same way that horse mob.’
The owl sat silently with a shrewd look on its face for a while longer. Then it shook its feathers, lifted its wings and glided off through the western window into the darkness.
Acknowledgements
To Tyson Kaawoppa Yunkaporta, for your advice,
encouragement and wonderful ideas, thank you from
the bottom of my heart.
Thanks also to my wonderful and adventurous
friend Suzanne Sandral, for showing me the Gulf.
And to my perfect husband, Anthony, thanks for
your never-ending love and support.
About the Author
KAREN WOOD has been involved with horses for more than twenty years. After owning many horses, she has finally found her once-in-a-lifetime-horse in a little chestnut stockhorse called Reo. Karen has an Arts degree majoring in communications and a diploma in horticulture. She has syndicated a gardening column in several newspapers throughout Australia, has published feature articles in various magazines and has published photographs in bushwalking guides. She is married with two children and lives on the Central Coast, New South Wales.
A SNEAK PREVIEW
OF THE THIRD BOOK IN THE DIAMOND SPIRIT SERIES
‘WOOHOO!’ JESS SLID DOWN the front stair rail, her arms out wide, and landed expertly on the driveway. ‘Today’s the day!’
For the first time in weeks, the sky was a clear blue, and the air was still, not a breath of wind. The sun was warm on Jess’s face and everything about the day seemed perfect. She skipped to the feed shed, hauled out some hay and threw it over the fence. ‘Come on, Dodger, it’s time to go and get Opal!’
Dodger nickered to her and began snuffling at the hay. Jess stepped through the fence and gave the old stock–horse a big hug. ‘Eighteen months we’ve been waiting,’ she said, running her hands through his shaggy brown coat. ‘I can’t believe I can finally bring her home!’
She took a brush to him, rubbing in hard circular motions as she talked. ‘Opal’s a very special filly. She’s connected to Diamond. You remember Diamond, don’t you?’
As Jess rubbed Dodger’s back, the old horse curled his lip with pleasure. She combed out his tail, painted his hooves with grease, and pulled her phone from her pocket to thumb a message.
U guys saddled yet?
Before she could send it, Jess heard a shrill ‘Coo-ee!’ A clatter of hooves sounded along the road, gradually getting louder. From behind the hedge, she could hear her friends, chatting and laughing.
‘I thought you’d have that old stockhorse saddled up by now,’ Shara called as she rode through the gate on Rocko.
‘Sharsy!’ Jess squealed. ‘You’re home!’ The day was becoming more perfect by the minute.
‘Dad brought me home for the weekend,’ her best friend grinned.
‘How’s vet school?’
‘I’m their star student!’
Rosie followed on her quarter horse. ‘You’re back on the legend, Jessy!’ she said, as she pulled Buster to a halt and jumped off.
Jess gave Dodger a pat on the neck. ‘I will be in a minute.’ She picked up her new stock saddle and slung it over his back, pulled the girth through the rig and slapped the fenders down into place.
‘Are you excited?’ asked Grace, appearing on a leggy chestnut.
‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ answered Jess, as she reached for her bridle.
‘Have you got a little halter for her?’ asked Shara.
‘We don’t need one. We’re just going to lead the mare and let Opal follow.’
‘What? All the way back to here without a halter?’ Shara sounded mildly alarmed.
‘Probably the best way. She’s never been touched by a human, let alone had a rope on her,’ said Jess. She pulled a face. ‘Lawson’s rules.’
As part of the purchase agreement with Lawson, Jess had agreed not to handle Opal during her first six months. Lawson didn’t like foals being mollycoddled by girls. He said it made them ‘rude and disrespectful’.
Shara snorted. ‘He’s such a killjoy.’
‘Not for much longer,’ said Jess. ‘As soon as she’s weaned, she’ll be mine! I’ll have three whole weeks to handle her before she goes out west to Longwood.’
‘Wish we could go on that trip,’ said Grace.
Lawson had inherited a share in his father’s grazing property, Blakely Downs, and was taking several horses, including a mob of brumbies, out there for a droving trip. Opal, together with the other young horses, would be turned out onto the station to fatten up on the Mitchell grass. The older horses would be put to work on the stock route, droving fifteen hundred cattle to the saleyards.
‘Me too,’ Jess sighed. ‘Droving would be so much fun.’ She rammed a foot into a stirrup and sprang into the saddle.
‘Are you leaving Opal’s mum with her for a couple of days?’ asked Shara.
‘Yeah, just overnight to get her settled, then Lawson wants to get Marnie back into work for the droving trip.’
‘You’d better look after her,’ said Rosie. ‘Do you have any idea how much he paid for that mare?’
‘Mum reckons it was enough to buy a brand-new car,’ said Grace.
‘She’ll be all right,’ said Jess. ‘Lawson’s been over and checked the fences to make sure she can’t hurt herself.’
At that moment a low rumbling noise rolled through the valley, making the ground tremble.
‘What was that?’ asked Jess, looking up at the cloudless blue sky.
‘Storm,’ said Grace. ‘It’s supposed to come through later this afternoon.’
‘Look, the sky’s turning green over there,’ said Shara, pointing beyond the mountains to the south. ‘It’s gonna be a doozy!’
Jess gathered her reins and kicked Dodger on. ‘Let’s get going. We don’t want to get stuck in it.’
The girls headed towards the river flats. As they followed a well-worn track to the crossing, they could hear thunder rumbling through the valley again.
‘That sky’s getting darker,’ warned Rosie.
‘It’s coming up over the hills,’ said Shara. ‘Look!’ Behind Mossy Mountain, the sky was turning an eerie mix of green and purple. It suddenly flashed white with the afterglow of distant lightening. ‘We’re going to get drenched.’
‘I don’t care – I love riding in the rain,’ said Grace.
‘So do I, but I hope it doesn’t unsettle Opal while we’re trying to move her,’ said Jess.
Grace scoffed. ‘Horses aren’t scared of rain.’
‘But what if the river rises?’ Jess squeezed Dodger into a trot. ‘We might not be able to get her through. I couldn’t handle having to wait until next weekend to bring her home.’
Dodger swished his tail and gave a skip with a hind leg. He broke into a canter. Jess led the girls down the riverbank and they splashed through the knee-deep water.
Shara cantered up on her shoulder. ‘Can’t that old gerry go any faster?’ she yelled, as she thundered past.
Dodger seized the bit and took off after Rocko, with Buster and Milly following closely behind. Jess gave him the reins and let him stretch his legs. It felt fantastic to be flying along on him again, his hooves making a loud melodic rumble over the grassy flats. She laughed into the wind and kicked him on.
Beyond the grassy flats at the Slaughtering Creek junction, the group reached Katrina Pettilow’s place. Her horse Chelpie stood listlessly on a timbered hillside. When the little white mare saw the girls, she pulled a horrib
le face and charged at the fence.
‘Have they weaned Tinkerbell already?’ asked Shara, pulling Rocko back to a walk.
‘About a month ago,’ said Jess. ‘Katrina wanted Chelpie back.’
‘Did she ever find out about Tinks?’
‘Nope. She didn’t visit Chelpie once in six months.’ Jess shook her head. Her friend Luke had used Chelpie to foster his orphan brumby filly when Chelpie had lost her own foal. The little mare had been a good mother, ferociously protective. ‘She’s done nothing but pace up and down that fence since Tinks was taken away from her. She looks terrible.’
‘Look how skinny she is,’ Shara said in disgust.
‘Katrina should sell her if she’s not interested in her anymore,’ said Rosie. ‘Poor horse.’
‘Chelpie’s so sour. Who’d buy her?’ said Jess. ‘I just wish Katrina would feed her a bit more.’
She looked up at the bank of thick cloud that was swelling behind the mountains – it was moving unbelievably fast – and pushed Dodger into a trot. Chelpie called a screeching whinny as they departed.
The weather caught up with them just as they rode around the bend alongside the old sawmill. Heavy drops speared into their oilskin jackets and rolled down their helmets. Up ahead, Lawson’s blue timber house stood as neat as a pin. Perfectly straight fences radiated from brick stables and, in the paddocks, the mango trees were heavy with ripening fruit.
The girls walked the horses through Lawson’s fat red cattle dotted about the flats, then rode up the laneway and into the stable block. The rain was deafening on the tin roof, but it was warm and dry inside.
Lawson pulled himself from beneath the horse he was shoeing and stretched. ‘I’ve got another couple of horses to trim before we can move that filly,’ he shouted over the din. ‘And I’ve gotta get the cattle in. That river’s gonna rise this afternoon.’
Jess’s heart sank. Opal was too little to be swimming across rivers, especially fast-flowing ones. ‘Do you want us to bring them in?’ she yelled. ‘We can do it while you finish shoeing those horses.’
