Sundown Crossing

by Lynne Wilding

  The man, roaring in pain and anger, tried to buck her off. One of Kim’s arms slid around his thick throat in a vice-like grip, and squeezed against his Adam’s apple. ‘I kill you, you bad man.’

  Forgetting what he intended to do to Carla, in a fury, Josh twisted and turned, trying to dislodge the clinging Vietnamese woman. Finally he succeeded. She rolled off him but as soon as she did she was on her feet again, kicking him wherever she could, as if demented. Carla, relieved of the burden of Josh’s weight and him moving, found the energy to lift her knee up sharply into his groin.

  ‘Aw. Shit.’ Josh roared like a wounded bull, his pain and frustration doubling. Carla’s open hand delivered a stunning blow to his scratched face, once, twice. Attacked by both women, Josh did the smart thing, and retreated. He stumbled up and onto his knees, then his feet, but Kim, not satisfied, aimed a kick straight at his chest, very nearly knocking him over again. Holding his jeans about his hips he began to run through the vines. One sandal, thrown accurately by Kim, hit him on the back of the head, the other missed by a few centimetres. He kept running until he got to the creek where he could hide in the bushes, catch his breath and calm down.

  ‘Oh, Carla, you all right?’ Kim went down on her haunches, put her hand on Carla’s arm.

  Still on the ground, Carla, sitting up, stared at Kim. ‘Good God, where did you learn to fight like that?’

  ‘Saigon streets,’ Kim said. There was a note of pride in her voice. ‘Life very hard there, as I have said. No fight, you no survive.’ She looked down the row of vines to make sure the man wasn’t coming back. ‘That Josh Aldrich, him pig of a man. Him try to rape you. We tell police, they arrest him. Yes?’ Kim helped Carla to her feet.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m not sure.’ Carla fixed her bra, tied the ends of her shirt together. ‘If I report him, everyone in the Valley will learn of it.’ She amazed herself by being able to think logically because her heart was still pounding, her hands shaking. ‘The gossipers will have a field day. It’ll affect Sam too. You know how school kids tease one another.’

  Kim nodded, understanding Carla’s reluctance. ‘But him very bad man, Tran tell me stories. No can trust Aldrich. What if he try again?’

  ‘I know, it’s a risk. I’ll get a dog, Sam’s always wanted a dog. I’ll train it to be a watchdog.’

  ‘Geese make good watchdogs too, you know. In many parts of Asia geese often used to protect farms from thieves.’

  ‘I think Sam would appreciate the dog more, Su Lee as well.’

  ‘You tell Angie what happened?’

  ‘Of course.’ Carla’s voice was still shaky from the experience meted out to her by Josh.

  Kim walked Carla back to the cottage and said goodnight.

  Once inside Carla went to the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. Josh’s attack made her feel dirty. Her body and her face had red welts from his heavy handedness. If Kim hadn’t come along…she shuddered at the thought because she knew what the outcome would have been. Getting angry again her thoughts moved to the next logical step. She should have him charged. Common sense told her to go to the police but another part of her abhorred the idea of the notoriety that would eventuate from having him charged. And, lately, quite a few people in the Valley were softening their stance against her and the vineyard. Progress was slow, but there was some because she and Angie were proving their determination to make a success of the vineyard. A scandal, such as would occur if Josh were charged, would put her back at square one but, more importantly, it would affect Sam.

  No, she shook her head as the cleansing shower ran over her body, relaxing her. She couldn’t put her son through that. Although, she chewed her lip as she contemplated, she had to do something to make Josh stay away from her.

  Then an idea came. After she told Angie, they’d take several photos showing the bruising, the torn shirt, the welts on her face and then she would talk to a solicitor, get legal advice on Josh’s attack and that Kim could corroborate the fact. In case of…what? If he came near her again. Perhaps a legal letter stating that if he came within ten metres of her she would give the evidence she had to the police. Yes, she gave a decisive nod, pleased with the action she intended to take. The measure wasn’t perfect but it should make Josh Aldrich keep his distance.

  Carla opened the door of the hairdressing salon and stepped inside. She was finally getting around to a much-needed trim and the luxury of a shampoo and blow-dry. The six chairs in front of the mirrors were occupied by customers and the staff of three, including a young girl, probably doing her apprenticeship, gave her a big welcoming smile, as Carla came up to the reception desk.

  ‘I booked last week for today. Carla Hunter.’ ‘Sure, Carla. Hi, I’m Sarah, the new girl.’ Sarah put a tick in the appointment book against Carla’s name, then she waved her hand around to vaguely encompass the salon. ‘As you can see, we’re playing musical chairs without the music today. The wait will be about ten minutes. Okay?’ ‘Of course.’ Carla found a wicker chair near a table stacked with magazines. She flicked through the pages of the magazine, glanced at the supposedly riveting captions on ‘tell-all’ articles about famous people, mostly movie stars, but they failed to capture her interest. Bored, she began to check out the salon and its customers. In a town as small as Nuriootpa, which had less than three thousand residents, one might expect to see the occasional familiar face. Surprise made her drop the magazine as she recognised a woman at the other end of the salon getting a tint to disguise the predominance of grey. It was Greta Michaels.

  What luck! Aunt Greta without the entourage of other Stenmarks. At their one and only meeting in the restaurant, she had sensed a warmth and a latent interest from her aunt, but had also deduced that, worn down by the stronger personalities in the family over the years, Greta took the least line of resistance just to survive.

  The chair next to Greta became vacant and Sarah beckoned her to it. Carla recognised an opportunity when she saw one and with Greta’s hair wet and about to be blow-dried, there would be several minutes to talk to her. Her intention was to open up a line of communication, how her aunt responded was up to her.

  ‘This is a surprise,’ Carla smiled at Greta via the reflection in the mirror. ‘How nice to see you again.’

  Greta Michaels stared back. Her features first betrayed shock at being addressed, after which she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, aware that for the moment she couldn’t escape her niece’s presence. ‘Carla. Oh, my!’

  ‘A pleasant coincidence,’ Carla said, still smiling. God, what could they talk about? Commonplace, ordinary things, anything. ‘I’m enjoying the cooler weather. Autumn’s a lovely time in the Valley, with the trees and vines changing colour, isn’t it?’ Then it occurred to her that she had first come to the Barossa this time last year. How quickly the time had passed, and how much she and Angie had achieved in that time.

  ‘It’s my favourite time of year,’ Greta’s reply was polite, guarded, her gaze reluctantly fixed on Carla’s reflection. ‘Sorry,’ she said finally, ‘I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like my mother. It’s quite remarkable.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, I’ve never seen a photo of my grandmother.’ Still, she’d had an inkling that she must resemble someone in the family from the way Josh, Luke and her grandfather had stared at her on their respective first encounters. ‘I never knew anything about your family until after Dad died. Dad’s journal and Angie told me about the Stenmark family and…’ she hesitated then said, ‘the long-ago love triangle.’

  Greta shook her head. ‘I’m not surprised your father said nothing. Rolfe always kept things close to his chest, as they say. He was hurt a lot by what happened.’

  Carla’s chin tilted with pride. She wasn’t going to apologise for her father—having read his journal she knew there was no need to. ‘All water under the bridge now. History!’ She decided it was prudent to change the subject. ‘My boy, Sam, has his first football match on Saturday. He’s s
o excited about it.’ Carla took note of Greta’s expression, that it had become less tense. Good. ‘It’s at the oval, 10 am.’

  ‘Kurt was a talented footballer. The whole family used to be dragged along to watch him play. Mutter and Papa were so proud of him. My Luke preferred Australian Rules to rugby but nowadays, when he gets the chance he plays golf.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ Carla wasn’t interested in her long-dead uncle, Kurt, or what Luke did in his spare time. ‘Grandfather, he is well?’

  Greta’s gaze locked with Carla’s via the mirror. ‘As well as an 83-year-old man can be. He resents growing old and being unable to do what he could do twenty, thirty years ago.’

  ‘Dad was like that too,’ Carla admitted, sadness in her smile. ‘He had arthritis in the knees and the hands—all the years of outdoor work, I suppose.’

  ‘Rolfe,’ Greta’s tone softened, and her smile was tinged with melancholy. ‘He wasn’t the sporty type, like Kurt. Too serious-minded. He was a good deal like our mother.’

  Greta saw Rachel, the salon’s owner, bearing down on her to finish off her hair. She said, ‘You probably take your boy to the Coulthard Reserve. I often walk there Sunday mornings after church, weather permitting.’

  Carla understood. Perfectly. Her aunt was as good as telling her that she’d be available to talk to at the park. She smiled and nodded. ‘I do. Then I’m likely to see you there from time to time.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Greta replied, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.

  Rachel beamed at them as she turned the dryer on—the noise limited further opportunities for conversation but Carla didn’t mind. She had made contact with her aunt and learned that Greta wasn’t averse to developing a closer bond, in spite of her father. That her aunt was willing to risk his anger was, in Carla’s mind, indicative of her interest. Another surprise! Several minutes later she watched Greta leave the salon feeling that she might possibly have an ally at Stenhaus, and that couldn’t be a bad thing.

  Luke, sitting on a chair in the solarium, watched his mother check that the dinner table had been set correctly. Sometimes Margit, the cook, mixed the cutlery up and Grandfather was a stickler for such details being correct. There was something different about her today. Ah, yes, she had been to the hairdressers. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. Almost always in tune with his mother’s moods he sensed something else. What was it? A secretiveness about her smile and the way she hummed under her breath implied that, clearly, she had had a very good day.

  ‘You look like the cat that swallowed the canary, Mum. What have you been up to?’

  ‘What makes you think I’ve been up to anything?’ Greta glanced in his direction, her answer evasive.

  ‘I can usually tell when something special has happened to you or is going to happen. You know that. Are you planning a party, a holiday, or…?’ He fixed her with a quizzical stare, his curiosity rising in tempo with her contrived vagueness. One thing his mother wasn’t, was vague.

  ‘I just had an interesting day, that’s all.’

  ‘At the hairdressers?’ he queried, not convinced.

  Greta came and stood beside him at the window. Her tone lowered to a shade above a whisper. ‘All right, I’ll tell you but you have to keep it to yourself, Luke. I ran into Carla today, she was having her hair done at the same place.’

  ‘How convenient.’ His tone hardened. ‘I hope she didn’t make a scene.’

  ‘She didn’t.’ Greta’s reply was quick, a little sharp. ‘We talked for a while, mostly about her son, they’re very close, as we are. Carla, she seems…nice, that’s all.’

  ‘No one’s said she isn’t nice. It just isn’t right for her to be here. Grandfather doesn’t want her around, she reminds him too much of the past. Neither does Lisel.’

  ‘Lisel doesn’t like her because Papa doesn’t,’ Greta shot back at him. ‘And as for Papa’s reasons, what happened did so a long time ago. He’s old and stubborn and he thinks he did the right thing by sending Rolfe away but…’ She took a breath then said calmly. ‘I don’t. I never have. I didn’t believe the things Marta said about Rolfe years ago—she was a sly, conniving young woman who made a mistake and didn’t have the guts to admit it. The whole situation was her fault and we’ve all suffered because of it.’

  Startled, Luke turned to look at his mother. ‘Suffered. What do you mean?’

  ‘That woman’s story deprived me of the brother I loved. Deprived Rolfe of the life he should have had in the Barossa, with his family.’ She looked up at him. ‘Even you. You were deprived of the uncle you should have known and grown up with, as was Lisel deprived of a big brother.’

  Luke let that sink in before saying, ‘You’re basing that on the assumption that Marta lied about her affair with Rolfe. What if she didn’t?’

  ‘She did, though now we’ll never know. I knew my brother. Rolfe wasn’t capable of doing the things she said he did. Like him, I believe Kurt coerced her into telling Papa what she did, because he knew how Papa would react.’ Before he could ask another question she added, ‘Kurt’s pride was hurt by his fiancée having a one-night stand with Rolfe. That’s why he did what he did. Afterwards, when he realised that Papa wasn’t going to bring Rolfe home—I overheard them talking one day—he tried to convince Papa to change his mind but Papa wouldn’t,’ she shook her head. ‘He had his all-important heir and so his resolve towards Rolfe didn’t waver. He was sure in his heart that he had done the honourable thing, to protect the family’s good name.’

  ‘But after Kurt and Marta died, didn’t he reconsider?’

  She smiled at him. ‘No, because he didn’t have to. He still had an heir—you.’ She thought for a moment then said, ‘Even so, Rolfe might not have returned. He had his pride too, and I think, though I don’t know for sure, that he never swerved from believing he was wrongly accused.’

  His mother’s disclosure was something of an eye-opener. She had never spoken so openly, or been critical of his grandfather. All of which left him in something of a quandary. Who did he believe, and who did he align himself with? Carla, though she didn’t know it, had a champion for her cause in his mother and in a way he understood why, especially after what had just been revealed. Greta had missed her brother over the years and now she had the opportunity to get to know his daughter and grandson. Luke could see the appeal that held for her because she was so family oriented.

  And, opposed to Greta’s opinion was his grandfather, for reasons that could be just or misguided. Luke’s love and respect for the grandfather he had grown up with was strong. Carl was the family’s patriarch. He had taught Luke everything he knew about winemaking and looked to him to carry on when he retired. So, while he understood his mother’s feelings it made sense to side with the powerbase—Carl Stenmark. And here was the rub. He had some sympathy for Carla, and admiration for what she had achieved. Whether or not Grandfather recognised the trait she was proving that quality Stenmark blood ran through her veins in spite of the difficulties her vineyard had been subjected to.

  Right now though he had to clarify in his mind what his mother was going to do with regard to Carla. ‘So, about Carla, what are your intentions?’

  ‘I will not cut her dead or pretend that she and Sam don’t exist,’ Greta said. The firmness in her tone made it clear that she would not be swayed from this intent. ‘If we meet somewhere, we will talk. If she asks me to visit Sundown Crossing, I will go.’

  ‘And tell Papa?’ a voice queried from the doorway.

  Mother and son turned to see Lisel standing there. How much of their conversation she had listened in to, they couldn’t know.

  ‘Only if necessary, or asked. I don’t tell Papa everything and neither do you,’ Greta’s reply was pointed.

  Lisel joined them, her expression tight, her irritation obvious. ‘Foolish, soft-hearted Greta. Carla will use you, like she used Josh Aldrich. Milked him unmercifully to get information about Rhein Schloss, according to him.’<
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  ‘I wouldn’t give Josh too much sympathy. Josh never does anything or gives out information without an ulterior motive,’ Luke said hard-heartedly.

  ‘He was very upset when she dumped him, I could tell that though he tried to hide it,’ Lisel went on. ‘The woman’s an out-and-out bitch.’ She stared at her sister. ‘I don’t know why you can’t see that.’

  ‘I don’t see everyone through jaded eyes, as you do,’ Greta responded, ‘and I’m tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do. If Carla wants to be friends I see no logical reason why we can’t be.’

  ‘Don’t you see what she’s doing?’ Lisel persisted. ‘She’s pitting us against each other, driving a wedge between us that didn’t exist before.’

  Luke tried to smooth the animosity between his aunt and his mother. ‘Mum, Lisel, if you could only hear yourselves. I can’t and won’t tell either of you what to do, but please, think of Grandfather. Carla’s being in the Valley is an aggravation he doesn’t need at this time in his life. I hope she won’t have the intestinal fortitude or the ability to stick things out till the vintage is saleable. The next twelve months will be critical for that.’

  ‘Twelve months. We don’t want her here for another twelve months.’ Lisel turned her ire on Luke. ‘We should be doing something to get rid of her now instead of pussyfooting around, hoping she’ll get fed up with scratching for every dollar and decide to move on. Carla needs to be…attended to.’ Her dark eyebrows rose meaningfully. ‘If you know what I mean.’

  ‘In the past you’ve made your opinion clear about Carla, Lisel,’ Luke’s tone was dismissive. ‘You also know that Grandfather agrees with my strategy but,’ he challenged, knowing in his heart that she lacked the nous to do so, ‘feel free to take the matter up with him.’

  ‘Christ, are you going soft on her too, Luke?’ Lisel accused, her expression one of acute disappointment. ‘You know she’s a threat to you, to your inheritance.’