CHAPTER
15
Ma Hargreaves warned me she’d be at the farmhouse first thing in the morning, but I don’t expect to see her at seven o’clock, standing on the porch with a broom in one hand. At her feet is a giant Tupperware container filled with chocolate brownies.
‘Just let me in, love,’ she says, kissing my cheek, ‘then go see to your horses. Leave the spring-cleaning to me.’
Ma is going on seventy, with mid-length curly grey hair that’s kept off her face with tortoiseshell clips. She’s a little overweight because her troublesome knees make it hard for her to exercise. Sitting long hours at the cash register in the store doesn’t help either.
When I unlock the door, the sun streams into the hallway. I stand back as Ma bustles inside.
I frown at the spider in the cornice. ‘I’d like to say this is unnecessary, but the cobwebs haven’t been cleared since your last spring-clean.’
Ma isn’t able to bend down low or do heavy work, but her delegation skills are second to none. As soon as Joel, Barney and the other older kids arrive, she tempts them with brownies and puts them to work, refusing to let them leave until they’ve found somebody to take their place.
By the time I return to the house it’s midafternoon and the rudimentary kitchen, hallway, my flower room and the office are much more clean and tidy.
‘Looks great, Ma. Any brownies left?’
‘I saved you two, love. On the table in the front room.’
‘Thanks.’ I pick up the brush and pan. ‘I can finish up. You get back to Pa.’
‘The physical activity is doing me good.’ She starts sweeping again. ‘Don’t you have to supervise outside?’
‘We’re packing up. Everyone knows where I am if they need me, and Joel is with Prima.’
‘He’s a good boy, that Joel,’ she says through the dust motes. ‘Under all his bravado, he has a gentle nature. You can see that from the way he sits with Prima.’
‘He arrives early and takes the last lift home. He still won’t communicate with Corey though.’
‘He’ll talk when he’s ready,’ she says. ‘Give him time.’
I crouch with the brush and pan and collect the dust and other bits and pieces that Ma has swept into piles.
‘I don’t know how it gets so dirty in here.’
Ma pushes the bristles of the broom under the gaps beneath the skirting boards before pointing it towards the flaky plaster ceiling. ‘This house is so old, Sapphie, it creates its own dirt.’
‘I guess.’
She nods towards the door. ‘And you’ve got twenty kids tramping through on Saturdays. When the youth centre opens, you’ll have a lot less to organise and you’ll get rid of the gear. You can move in and set this place to rights.’
If I could trust Ma and Pa to keep a secret, I’d tell them about the option on the farmhouse. But I know that Ma would be on the phone to Robert immediately, and she’d also call the council and local paper and anybody else she might imagine could help. Pa would tell his customers and suppliers what my father has done, and ask for their advice. I need my father to be onside, not only because of the farmhouse, but because, like Matts said, he has influence. If it suits his political agenda, he’ll protect Mum.
‘Stay still for a minute.’ I bunch my sleeve in my hand and wipe the dirt from Ma’s cheek.
‘Ta, love.’ Ma is leaning hard on the broom. Her face is flushed pink.
‘Maybe you need a break?’
‘Don’t you worry about me.’
I sneeze. And then sneeze again. ‘Maybe I need a break.’
We sit on canvas chairs on the front porch with water bottles between us. The weathered floorboards, sheltered by the red gum, are dappled in the sunlight.
‘I can’t believe it’s almost spring,’ I say. ‘The wisteria will flower soon.’
‘Your azaleas are always a delight.’
‘Yep.’
Ma can sense tears at ten thousand paces. ‘What’s wrong, love? You’ve been out of sorts all day.’ She puts her hand on my arm. ‘Are you fretting about your driving? Pa said you did well in the van.’
I do my best to smile. ‘It’s been a long week. I’m tired, that’s all.’
‘You work full time, keep this place going and put your hand up for everything else. You need another set of hands to help you out.’
‘Are you back to telling me that I need a husband?’
‘And why not? You’re a lovely girl, Sapphie, but you’ve never had anybody special. And perhaps you’re too busy to find him. When you go out, it’s to this meeting or that meeting. Last week it was the environment committee, wasn’t it? It’s a lot to take on.’
Sleep well, Sapphire.
‘Sapphie? What is it, love?’
I fumble for my water bottle and unscrew the lid. I wipe an arm across my eyes. ‘I never used to be like this.’
Ma pats my arm. ‘When your granny passed away, and your mum, you hardly shed a tear. You kept it all inside. It’s best to let it out.’
‘I guess.’
‘So what’s brought this on?’
I take a few careful sips from the bottle and then screw on the lid, making sure it’s secure. ‘My father has been accused of bribery and is worried about the political fallout.’ I put the bottle at my feet again. ‘I might have to go to Canberra, that’s all, so people believe he has my support.’
‘Who did he bribe?’
‘He’s been accused of it, Ma. I don’t think he actually did it.’
‘All the same,’ she says firmly, ‘he can’t make you go to Canberra, or do anything else you don’t want to do. I would’ve thought he’d understand that by now.’
I walk the few steps to the railing and look towards the road. One of the volunteers raises her hand before she steps into her car. ‘See you next week!’
Bright green jasmine shoots curl around the post. Unravelling one, I wind it loosely around my wrist. The shoot is young and fragile, but when it matures it will toughen and harden.
‘It’s more complicated than that. My mother’s name might come up too.’
‘Why would that be? She passed away so long ago.’
‘She was still married to my father when the bribery happened.’
‘You shouldn’t have to do this if you find it upsetting.’
‘I don’t have much choice. This is the best way to protect her, and …’ I settle the shoot back around the post. ‘There are other reasons too.’
Someone clumps up the steps at the side of the house. ‘Sapphie!’ Hugo yells.
‘We’re out the front!’
He appears around the corner with tousled tawny hair and an Akubra in his hand. As he walks towards us, smiling broadly, one of the boards gives way.
‘Fuck,’ he mutters, as he jerks to a stop. ‘What the—’
‘Hugo!’ Ma holds on to the arms of the chair and pushes herself to her feet. ‘Watch your language, young man.’
‘Sapphie’s floor,’ Hugo says, as he yanks his foot from the gap in the boards, ‘attacked me.’
Ma puts her hands on her hips. ‘You can’t blame Sapphie’s floor for your heavy tread.’
Sapphie’s azaleas. Sapphie’s floor.
‘Hugo?’ I force a smile. ‘Did you want me for something?’
He puts his hat on his head and pushes it back. He grins. ‘I thought we could go for a ride. Fancy a trek to the river on those reprobate horses of yours?’
After a full day with children and teenagers in the confines of a paddock, Sonnet and Strider seem relieved to see Hugo and me at the gate, bridles and saddles over our arms.
Lollopy darts in front of the thoroughbreds. I laugh, pushing against his chest so we can get through. ‘Move over. You’ll get your hay when I get back.’
When I loop my arm under Sonnet’s dark brown neck and hold his mane, he walks placidly beside me to the fence.
‘You’d better ride Sonnet,’ I tell Hugo. ‘He’s less likely than St
rider to throw you off.’
Hugo lifts the reins over Sonnet’s head so they rest on his neck, then slips the bit into his mouth and fastens the chinstrap of the bridle. ‘Sounds like a win to me.’
When I hold out my hand, Strider pricks up his big black ears and snuffles my palm. His eyes are dark and earnest. ‘Will you play nice if I take you out with Sonnet?’
Hugo is the first to mount, putting his foot in the stirrup, swinging into the saddle and gathering the reins. Though he never aspired to be a farmer like his older brothers, who swapped horses for motorbikes and quad bikes when they were in their teens, Hugo always liked to ride.
Strider is toey and won’t stand still, so I lead him to the old bathtub I use as a feed trough and climb up that way. He prances on the spot as Hugo opens the gate. After we pass through, Hugo swings it shut behind us and fastens the chain.
‘Thanks.’ I smile. ‘I wish you were here every week.’
‘Bloody miracle I can ride at all.’ He rotates his shoulders. ‘How do you sleep in that bed?’
‘Exceptionally well. And stop complaining. You’re lucky I gave it to you.’
We walk the horses in single file on the road, but trot side by side as we cut across the paddocks to the property owed by Edward Kincaid. It’s only fifty hectares, a small landholding compared to many others, but the land is well maintained and I’m aware of most of the dangers like rabbit and wombat holes. The grass is drying out, but the paddocks have been rested for the past few months, so it’s in much better shape than neighbouring properties.
We’re almost at the bottom of the gently sloping hill when I pull over and point towards the river. ‘I usually give Strider his head on the flat stretch down there. Having Sonnet here might cause a problem, but you go ahead if you want to.’
‘I’m good,’ Hugo says as we walk on. ‘By problem, you mean Strider will take off, don’t you? Do you reckon you can get him out of that habit?’
‘He only does it in company, which isn’t surprising when he’s spent most of his life as a racehorse. He’s a gentleman on a lead rope, so works well in horse therapy.’
‘The kids don’t have to ride him?’
‘Handling is just as important. When the kids are anxious, Strider picks up on it. If they’re angry or impatient, we won’t let them near him. That means, to have any chance of going to him, the kids are forced to stay calm and quiet and to be patient. He’s good for another reason too—being young and beautiful wasn’t enough to keep him safe, which is why he was bound for the knackery. Corey tells some of the older kids that he might have been rejected like they’ve been, but he deserves a second chance.’
Hugo rolls his eyes. ‘Bloody teenagers.’
When a flock of cockatoos fly out of a paperbark tree ahead of us, Sonnet shies, skittering into Strider’s path. Hugo brings Sonnet under control straight away, but Strider sees it as a challenge. Within moments he’s as tense as a spring and bunching his hindquarters like he’s at a starter gate. I sit back in the saddle, turning him away from Sonnet and cantering him in smaller and smaller circles until he settles.
‘Good boy,’ I say, leaning low to stroke his neck.
‘You reckon?’ Hugo says as he cautiously pulls in alongside.
‘It’s been a couple of months since he’s thrown me. All I have to do is work on his manners.’
‘What is he? Seventeen hands? He’s a bloody strong horse, Sapphie.’
‘He was trained to race. And after he was sold a number of times, he was mistreated. He might make a good dressage horse, because he’d be in an arena all by himself. There’s a chance he’ll be suitable for rehoming.’
‘So, in addition to Prima, you can buy another crazy horse that no one else can handle?’ He loosens Sonnet’s rein. ‘You shouldn’t be out on your own with him.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll amend that—you shouldn’t be on your own unless you have a flare and a satellite phone. Otherwise, if he bolts, you’ve had it.’
‘I can handle him. And if he bolts, I’ll bail out. I’ve done it before.’
‘And that’s supposed to comfort me? When a racehorse runs at seventy k’s an hour?’
I push Strider into a trot so we’re in front of Sonnet as we veer off the main track to the narrower one that heads to the river. ‘Are we checking for frogs today?’
He laughs. ‘Why don’t we change the subject?’
‘Well?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Hugo.’
Hugo and I dismount and loosely tie the horses to a paperbark tree. Now I’m off his back, Strider is almost as chilled as Sonnet. He rests a back leg, watching with mild curiosity as Hugo and I push through the undergrowth to the river. It’s only a few metres across and not very deep because it’s been so dry, but the rocks either side are damp with moss and lichen.
Hugo whistles. ‘This is great.’
Under the shade of the paperbark trees, boulders, logs and branches have been deliberately placed either side of the river and in the river itself. They trap leaf litter and other debris and form a series of catchments. Additional trees and shrubs, grasses and rushes have been planted en masse. Moisture stays in the ground, even when it’s dry.
‘Edward’s a convert to regenerative agriculture and other environmental initiatives. He’s done a lot of work down here.’
Hugo points to the water. ‘Look at the aquatic vegetation.’
‘Good for frogs, right?’
‘Tadpoles eat algae and frogs eat insects. Fish, birds, lizards and snakes eat tadpoles and frogs. They’re a crucial part of the ecosystem.’
I link my hands in front of me. ‘Frogs live in water and on land, so are perfect for assessing the health of the environment.’
He makes a face. ‘Are you having a go at me?’
I laugh. ‘You always talk about frogs. But,’ I look up and down the river, ‘I agree this place is amazing. Shelter for adult frogs, organic matter for tadpoles.’
‘So you were actually listening to my talk last week?’
I tread carefully to the water because the undergrowth is damp. ‘I don’t know as much as I should about the wetlands.’
‘They’re home to the striped marsh frog, brown-striped grass frog and spotted grass frog.’
I hide a smile. ‘What about the crucifix toad?’
‘Don’t get me started, Sapphie.’ He kneels and peers into the water. ‘I have nightmares about losing the green and golden bell frogs.’
‘Can you see any tadpoles down there?’
He scoops up water, splashing his face and neck. ‘The water’s not warm enough yet.’
Crouching next to him, I run my fingers through the water, crisp and crystal clear. ‘We’ll come back again when it is.’
‘So long as you do your homework beforehand,’ he says, standing and holding out his hands. When I grab them, he pulls me to my feet. If someone came along and saw us like this, we’d look like a couple. He’s smart and funny and very good-looking.
But he’s not Matts.
Matts? I take a deep breath. We have a history. I find him attractive. But that doesn’t mean much. That doesn’t bring happiness.
Hugo frees my hands and looks at me suspiciously. ‘You read my report after the meeting, didn’t you? Why would you bother with that?’
‘Because it was interesting and I missed some of it and … if I leave the committee, you might have to take my place.’
‘Why would you leave the committee?’
‘I’ve got a lot on.’
‘That’s never stopped you before.’ He crosses his arms. ‘It’s not because of Laaksonen, is it? The committee would be crazy to refuse him.’
‘It’s a few things.’
‘What the hell? It is him, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I thought he might be an arsehole given his credentials, but he seemed like a regular guy. What’s your problem?’
Matts and I fell out as teenagers, which se
ems a weak excuse for leaving the committee. And I can’t tell Hugo about Matts’s dealings with my father, because if that got back to Robert, I don’t know what he’d do.
‘I haven’t made a final decision yet.’
‘You’re so damned secretive, Sapphie.’ He lifts his hands. ‘When are you going to open the vault?’
When tears spring out of nowhere, I pull away and barge through the undergrowth to the horses. Untying Strider, I throw his reins over his head and face the saddle, fumbling for the stirrup leather. I talk over my shoulder. ‘Can you give me a leg up? I have to get back.’
‘What’s the hurry? It’s Sunday tomorrow.’
Matts will be at the schoolhouse at seven o’clock.
I jump when Hugo blows a raspberry onto the side of my neck. ‘Don’t do that!’ I hiccup and sniff. ‘Idiot.’
‘Hoped it’d change your mindset.’
I croak a laugh. ‘It worked.’
‘Why are you crying?’
I wipe my arm across my face. ‘I’m worried about your corroboree frogs. You didn’t even mention them.’
‘Northern or southern?’ He pokes me in the ribs. ‘Before I lift you onto your firecracker horse, I want to know you have vision.’
I scrub my eyes again. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’
He kicks my boot firmly. ‘Lift your leg then, drama queen.’
CHAPTER
16
As a sliver of sunlight sneaks beneath the blind, I yawn and stretch, careful not to slip off the couch.
It was just after dawn when I woke up the first time. I stepped into gumboots in the half-light before running through the cold, damp grass to the toilet. By the time I got back to the schoolhouse, my feet were numb. I had an hour before I had to face Matts. I huddled under the blankets to warm up and …
A car door slams.
I sit bolt upright and kick the covers to the end of the couch. ‘Damn.’
My clean clothes are in a heap on the floor where I left them last night. I yank a long-sleeved T-shirt over my pyjama top and step into jeans.
There’s a rap on the door. ‘Coming!’ I hiss, before tiptoeing to the bathroom, splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth. Searching through a tangle of bedclothes, I find my jacket and throw it across my shoulder. I trip over Tumbleweed, still buried under his mohair throw, as I rush to the door.
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