Leanne nodded. ‘How do you know Matt?’
Claire stacked the plates and put them to one side. ‘I met him this morning,’ she said casually. ‘I rather liked him.’
‘He’s a good ten years older than you, I reckon,’ retorted Leanne. ‘I’ll grant you he’s good with horses, but he’s not your type.’
Claire’s blue eyes were steady, but her mouth twitched with a smile. ‘And what is my type, exactly?’
‘City slicker,’ she replied. ‘Wealthy and flash with his own practice and a big house overlooking the harbour where he keeps his speed boat.’
Claire’s laugh held a note of bitterness. ‘We’ve been apart too long if you think that,’ she retorted. ‘Money isn’t everything, Lee, and we’ve both been around men for too many years not to know that the packaging doesn’t always live up to the contents.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t know how we got into this. I only met the man this morning. It isn’t as if I’m about to marry him!’
Leanne finished her cigarette and began to chew thoughtfully on the last piece of crusty bread as she studied her sister properly for the first time. Claire looked tired, but then who wouldn’t after driving several thousand miles in less than a week? Yet her usually fair skin was lightly tanned and she looked wonderfully chic in the brightly coloured minidress that showed off her endless bloody legs. She was glad Angel wasn’t due home yet. His hot-blooded Latin machismo meant he fully appreciated beautiful women and she didn’t fancy being once again in Claire’s shadow. She’d suffered that ignominy all through her teenage years.
It was only when Claire lifted her bright blue gaze from the table that Leanne realised with a jolt of unease that her sister was more than tired. The shadows in her eyes were almost haunted.
*
Matt Derwent flew through the darkness towards Jarrah Downs. He didn’t mind night flying, in fact he enjoyed it. There was a sense of peace up here amongst the stars, a tranquillity he’d rarely found on terra firma except in rare moments when he went bush walking or for long rides. His life was hectic, but he didn’t mind that either, for it had helped him get over Laura’s death and gave him something to cling to when the memories refused to leave him alone.
He adjusted the controls. The little plane almost flew itself, such was the wonder of modern mechanics, and all he had to do was aim it in the right direction and look for the flares that marked the runway down below. Staring out at the galaxy of stars he thought of the Aboriginal belief that each dead soul had to make their way through the jaws of Bigaroo, the giant snake, to the Land of Perfection. From there they were given a glimpse of the world as it once was and how it would be before they ascended to a wondrous kingdom in the sky. Each soul became a star, glittering in the great swathe that white man called The Milky Way.
His smile was tinged with sadness. It was a good story, told to him by an old tribesman shortly before the cancer killed Laura. It had brought some comfort to him in those early days when he’d been alone in their rambling house, haunted by her memory and thoughts of their short time together. For to believe she watched over him and that he could look up and see her shining brightly in the firmament had made her seem less distant.
Matt rubbed his hands through his hair and scrubbed his face. It was only a fairy story told to children to still their fears at night – a gentle and rather sweet way of explaining what happened when a loved one was sung back to the earth. Yet there was a great deal of wisdom in those old legends, and he for one liked to think that maybe the Aboriginals had got it right and Laura was one of those twinkling stars. She’d always loved diamonds.
The distant glow of twin rows of oil pots brought his thoughts sharply back to the matter in hand. Jarrah was up ahead and he had a plane to land.
As the little plane touched down and bounced along the dirt runway, he wondered idly what Claire was doing and whether he would see her tonight. Then he remembered she’d said she was going to Warratah and was surprised at how much this disappointed him. Claire was an un-pretentious girl despite her wealthy upbringing. She also had a great sense of fun and he’d enjoyed their breakfast together. Yet he wondered if she even realised how beautiful she’d looked this morning, with her hippy clothes and her gypsy plait and earrings.
His smile was tinged with sadness as he taxied along the runway and drew to a halt by the railings that enclosed home yard and the stables. Finally, he must be over mourning Laura, for until now he’d not looked at another woman or even contemplated starting again.
‘Trust me to fancy the one woman that’s way out of my league,’ he muttered as he collected his bag of equipment. ‘She’s too young, too gorgeous and far too rich for you, you old bludger. So you’d better forget it and keep your mind on your bloody work.’
‘Talking to yourself?’ Leanne appeared out of the darkness, hands thrust into the pockets of her jeans, a thick sweater drooping almost to her knees.
‘It’s something we old blokes do now and again,’ he retorted. He noticed she’d put lipstick on and that her hair was freshly washed and gleaming in the light of the stableyard. Leanne was beautiful, but she wasn’t a patch on her sister. He became impatient with his thoughts. Whatever was the matter with him? Both sisters were almost young enough to be his daughters, he reminded himself sharply. ‘How’s Bonny?’ His tone was gruff.
‘Working at it. The amnion sac is already showing and she’ll go down any minute. I’ve left Claire with her.’
Matt felt his pulse quicken and the colour rise up his neck and into his face. Luckily for him, Leanne was busy and hadn’t noticed. ‘Let’s get on then,’ he said briskly.
The stable was lit by kerosine lamps, the shadows deep in the corners beneath the heavy beams. Inquisitive heads appeared over the adjoining doors and he stroked the velvet noses as he passed by. The scent of manure and straw mixed with the softer tang of the leather bridles that hung from a nail on the wall was familiar and welcoming. The warmth a boon after the sharp wind that blew down from the hills.
It was only when he stepped into the stall that he saw her. The mare was down, her legs tucked beneath her and Claire was gently easing her hand into the birth canal to check the foal’s nose was lying along the delicate, soft hoofs. Then, as he watched, the mare rolled on her side and stretched out her legs and began to strain.
Matt glanced around. There was no sign of Claire, but he could hear her soft voice as she talked to the mare in the strange silence that always accompanied a foaling. Unlike human labour the mare was stoic throughout and rarely made a fuss. Stripping off his jacket he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands and arms in the bucket of hot soapy water Leanne had prepared for him.
‘G’day,’ Claire said as she glanced over her shoulder. ‘You want to take over now?’
Matt shook his head and folded his arms. ‘You seem to know what you’re doing,’ he replied.
With calm authority Claire grasped the hoofs and began to gently pull down. It was important to get the foal’s chest over the pelvic brim because it was compressing the umbilicus. The foal took his first breath and moved his front legs, but his hind quarters were still in the birth canal and this kept the mare on her side. One kick from those tiny hoofs and he could detach the cord and start to bleed. Claire pinched the cord and swabbed it with antiseptic as the foal finally slithered into the fresh straw. ‘You’ve got a colt,’ she said.
Matt felt like a spare wheel in a tyre factory, but he didn’t mind. It was interesting to see Claire at work, and he was fascinated by the different aspects of her character – one minute the giggling conspirator, the next the capable vet.
The mare began licking her foal, cleaning him up, stimulating him into getting on to his feet. Then she stood up, the amnion sac still attached. She nuzzled the foal then decided she wanted some breakfast after all her hard work and began to crop at the fresh straw Leanne had put down earlier.
Claire stood back and washed her hands. Matt tied the sac up with string so the mare wouldn’t t
rample it – the weight of it would draw it down and out eventually. But if it took more than twenty minutes it could mean trouble, and he’d be dealing with septicaemia. He then turned to the foal who was struggling to make sense of his long legs and injected him with penicillin. The cord was still open to infection.
Matt stood back and let nature take its course. He glanced across at Claire and saw her enchantment. He understood how she felt, for the birth of a new life was a wonderful moment, one which always stirred his emotions.
The three of them watched as the tiny creature propped himself up on his two front legs, but couldn’t figure out how to lift his bottom from the straw and fell on his side. Then he tried lifting his hindquarters first, but his front legs wouldn’t obey him and he nosedived into the wooden wall that divided up the stalls. At the third attempt he got all four legs entangled and ended up in a heap, only to be encouraged once more by his mother. Then, finally he found his feet and tottered stiffly to where he could smell her milk and began to suckle hungrily.
Matt smiled and turned to Claire, wanting to share this magic moment with her. It was as if the world had faded and there was just the two of them in that pool of light. Everything slowed and came into sharper focus as Claire gave a soft cry of pleasure. He could see the single tear-drop suspended from her lashes – watched it glitter and tremble before it fell. He blinked and looked away. He was getting to like this girl more and more; if he didn’t watch out he’d make a complete idiot of himself.
4
‘I don’t know why you needed him here last night,’ said Claire as she poured another cup of tea. ‘I am a qualified vet and perfectly capable of dealing with a mare in foal.’
‘How was I to know you’d be here?’ Leanne buttered toast and chewed it as she cleared up the remains of their supper from the night before and prepared for the day. ‘You never told me you were coming, and I’m not a mind reader.’
Claire started on the washing up. ‘You could have rung him,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Could have stopped him coming all this way once I was here.’
‘I didn’t think,’ said Leanne sharply. She crashed the pots down on the marble work top and stood with her hands on her hips glaring at her sister. ‘What’s it to you anyway?’ she demanded. ‘He’s the local vet, we’re on his rounds. Why are you getting so stirred up?’
Claire realised she was making a big deal out of nothing, and trying to say anything to Lee at this time of the morning was always hazardous – especially after their lack of a good night’s sleep. ‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘He just unsettles me, that’s all.’
Leanne’s green eyes widened. ‘Matt Derwent?’ she scoffed. She rammed her hands in her pockets and eyed her sister thoughtfully. ‘Is there something you forgot to tell me about your meeting yesterday? I noticed how he looked at you last night, and wondered then if there was something going on.’
Claire shook her head. ‘Fair go, Lee,’ she exclaimed. ‘We met by chance, we talked, I found I liked him. End of story,’ she said firmly.
Leanne frowned as she reached for her hat and boots. ‘He’s obviously smitten,’ she muttered. ‘And you’re all fired up. Reckon it isn’t as clear cut as you make out.’
Claire decided this conversation was getting out of hand and changed the subject. Drying her hands she turned to face Leanne. ‘The van’s all right out front isn’t it?’
Leanne rammed her feet into her boots and squashed her hat over her hair. ‘Makes the place look as if the gypsies have moved in, but it’s not in the way. I’ve got the mare and foal to see to and I need to talk to the men about preparing for the arrival of the stock. Some of those corrals need repairs and the termites have made a meal out of the corner of one of the barns. Will you be here when I get back?’
‘Probably not. It’s time I went home – I can’t put it off any longer.’
Leanne took a deep breath and folded her arms. Her green eyes were steady as she regarded her sister. ‘You’ve never told me what it is that’s been needling you all these years, Claire. Why won’t you talk to me?’
‘And have my head bitten off?’ Claire sighed. ‘We’ve never had the closest relationship, Lee,’ she said quietly. ‘And going by the way things are between us at the moment nothing’s changed.’
‘Try me,’ Leanne demanded.
Claire glanced out of the kitchen window towards Jarrah’s graveyard. ‘You don’t have the answers,’ she muttered. ‘There would be no point.’
‘How do you know if you won’t discuss it with me?’
Claire looked away. ‘Because if you did know anything you’d have told me,’ she said flatly. ‘In spades.’
Leanne had the grace to redden. ‘I’m not that much of a bitch,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve not been invited to this family pow-wow,’ she said bitterly. ‘Don’t you think I have a right to know what’s going on?’
‘Probably.’ Claire put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘But I’m not keeping secrets from you, Lee. Just trying to make sense of suspicions and doubts.’ She gave a tremulous smile. ‘There’s nothing really tangible I can put my finger on. Perhaps this family conference will make things clearer. Give me some slack, Leanne. Please?’
Leanne nodded before she turned away. ‘I reckon you’re just making a drama out of nothing. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.’
Claire watched her leave and heard the slap of the screen door as her sister hurried out. ‘I hope so, Lee,’ she murmured. ‘But what if you’re wrong?’
*
Ellie had lain awake in the darkness, her mind going endlessly over the things she had to say to her daughter when she came home. She knew Claire was with Lee over at Jarrah, she’d telephoned the night before and one of the men had told her. And although she understood the girl’s reluctance to put off her return she wished she’d come straight here. The sooner the waiting was over the better. This was like playing Russian roulette.
The sun was barely touching the horizon when she saddled up her favourite horse and released the Blue Heelers from the kennels. They set out across the pastures into the sunrise as the dew sparkled in the grass and the birds began their morning squabbles. The dogs, delighted to be free, streamed ahead of her, tails aloft, ears pricked, their coats gleaming blue in the dawn light as they sniffed out rabbits and small vermin.
Ellie made an effort to relax, but her thoughts and memories refused to allow it, and after a couple of hours she returned home. She was in the paddock rubbing her horse down when the ancient utility roared into the yard and came to a screeching halt in a cloud of dust. She grinned and went to meet her visitor. There was only one person who drove like that.
‘You can tell an old woman to mind her own business,’ grunted Aurelia as she struggled out of the utility and planted her sturdy brogues in the dust. ‘But I thought you might need some support.’ She straightened the ancient jacket, adjusted her monocle and glared through it defiantly.
‘Always,’ said Ellie. ‘But…’
Aurelia rummaged in the utility for her bag which she stuffed under her arm. ‘No buts, Ellie,’ she said firmly. ‘I instigated this. We must stand together.’
Ellie took her arm to help her up the steps and was brushed away with an impatient grunt. Aurelia might be eighty, but she was a tough old bird, and just her presence gave her strength for what lay ahead.
*
Claire pushed through the gate. The picket fence had been painted recently and the grass cut so it formed a pathway through the little cemetery that stood beyond home yard on the edge of Jarrah’s home pasture. Bright red bottle brush vied with the delicate cream of native laurel, white warratah and yellow banksia in the hedge around the outside. The red and green flowers of the delicate kangaroo paw danced amongst the longer grass where pink headed parakeelya and yellow daisies glowed in the sun. A jacaranda tree dripped purple blossom from fern-like foliage, and the golden rain of a delicate acacia offered scented shade to the weathered wooden seat in one corner.
/> Claire stood there for the moment, drinking in the atmosphere. She could hear the muted sounds of life as it went on at Jarrah, and the soulful cry of a crow as it flapped from the top of a tree and flew away. The haunting single note of a bellbird rose above the sibilant insect chatter and a kookaburra chortled as if he had a secret and was keeping it to himself.
She slowly walked amongst the graves. There were one or two Victorian table tombs that were surrounded by rusting iron railings – a posthumous sign of wealth for the Irish pioneers that had cleared this land nearly two centuries ago and given it a name – some so badly eroded by the elements and their covering of lichen it was impossible to read the epitaphs. Tiny granite crosses were the only reminder of stillborn babies and children who’d died from fever or snake bite and Claire felt saddened as she thought of the mothers who’d buried them here. It must be the deepest sorrow to bury a child. It didn’t fit the proper order of things.
Moving on, she finally came to the more recently interred. The headstones were marble and finely carved by masons, the epitaphs clearly visible. The last member of the Maughan family was buried here in 1946 – the year she’d been born. She stood there for a moment then reluctantly stepped from the path and made her way through the long grass to the far corner.
The headstone was leaning and almost buried in the undergrowth, but as she pulled the trailing fronds of wild bougainvillea away from the marble, she was able to read the enigmatic epitaph. Kneeling in the torpid heat of that tiny outback graveyard she sensed the spirit that still lingered here and recognised the same restlessness that had been with her for years. It was time to go home. Time for some answers.
The van creaked and groaned and the temperature gauge rose as Claire drove the two hundred miles between the two stations. The sun was high as she crested the final hill and looked down on Warratah and she pulled up the handbrake and switched off the engine. Climbing out, she shielded her eyes from the glare and surveyed the only home she’d ever really known.
Windflowers Page 9
