Starting Over

by Susanne Bellamy

Serena placed a peacock-blue cushion beside her mother and joined her on the floor. ‘I’d love to try one of your fruit teas please.’

  When the tea was poured and Amber was seated facing them, Dawn got down to business. Not that her mother was ever domineering, but she had a happy knack of cutting to the important things. ‘I understand you sometimes bring craft items into town to sell from stalls. We saw some at the picnic—they were beautiful and unique. I wanted to see what else you’re making.’

  By the time second cups of tea were poured, Amber and her mother were chatting like old friends. Amber rested one hand in the other and met Dawn’s gaze. ‘I can see you have been ill. Cancer?’

  Dawn nodded. ‘I believe I’m on the road to recovery, but some days, I don’t have much energy.’

  ‘I am a Reiki practitioner. Through hands on healing, I draw on universal energy to assist emotional and physical healing. I believe you would benefit from my skills. Would you allow me to help you?’

  Dawn tipped her head to the side. ‘Thank you. Traditional medicine has healed my body, but I believe in alternative medicine to heal the soul. Can we make a time on another day? I’d really like to speak to Sean before we leave.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Amber rose gracefully from her cushion and led the way to her front door. She pulled on boots while they donned their shoes before opening the door and descending the steps.

  ‘Head up the hill and around to the right, past the stand of trees. Sean’s yurt faces west. He enjoys sunsets over the river from his verandah. Not that you’ll see one today. Rain is coming.’ Amber left them at the bottom of the steps into the central community yurt.

  They followed a track up the hillside towards a stand of magnificent red gums. Tucked away over the brow of the hill, a pair of identical wooden yurts linked by a covered walkway nestled into a fold of green. A bank of solar panels covered the near slope and from the farther building, the whine of a machine rose and fell.

  They approached a pair of double doors, wide open and inviting. Serena nudged her mother. ‘Sounds like you’ll get to see the craftsman at work, Mum. Think how envious Trish will be.’

  ‘Behave yourself.’

  ‘Hey, I wasn’t the one talking about checking out his behind.’

  Low-pitched whining rose as they came to a halt in the opening. Sawdust filled the air and motes danced in the shaft of sunlight spilling around them. Sean Flynn worked with a chisel on a piece of red wood turning on a lathe. His long, dark brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail and he wore safety goggles and earmuffs.

  Nudging her mother’s arm again, Serena acknowledged the view from behind was sigh-worthy. ‘He’s not wearing his long jacket this time.’ Maybe her timing was off, or perhaps it was Dawn’s giggle as the lathe stopped turning, but Sean turned around and grinned.

  He pulled off his goggles and pushed the earmuffs down so they hung around his neck like a choker. ‘Top o’ the morning, ladies.’ He reached across to a power board and switched off the machine, picked up a rag and wiped his hands, before crossing to greet them. A heavily pregnant border collie trotted over and dropped at his feet, her mouth open in a doggie smile.

  Sean clasped Dawn’s proffered hand between both of his. ‘It’s pleased I am to see you, Dawn. I had hoped to talk with you after your performance last Saturday. A grand evening, that was.’

  ‘Indeed. This is my daughter, Serena.’

  ‘You’re as lovely as your ma. Can I be offering you a drink?’

  ‘No thanks. Amber has been a wonderful host already. I wanted to see you work—I mean, your work.’

  Serena couldn’t stop the snort. Quickly, she turned it into a cough. ‘Sorry, dust in the air.’

  Dawn thumped her on the back and continued as though her daughter hadn’t embarrassed herself. ‘I’ve heard so much about the pieces you’ve made from our landlady at the B and B.’

  ‘Ah, Trish and her husband bought several pieces from me over the years. Have you seen her cheval mirror? Now that is one of my favourite pieces.’

  ‘She showed me. It’s made from the same wood as this table.’ Dawn strolled over to an almost completed table. A small patch of sunlight fell on the rounded corner, highlighting the red in the grain.

  ‘Aye, red river gum.’

  Dawn ran a hand over the smooth plane of the table. ‘I can see how it got its name.’

  ‘Aye, but red gums range from light pink through to almost black, depending on age and weathering.’

  Sean too ran his hand over the table, stopping just short of Dawn’s hand.

  Her mother and the woodworker faced one another, hands close, but not quite touching. Pheromones filled the air and their gazes meshed, and suddenly Serena felt like a third wheel.

  As she turned with the intention of leaving them alone to explore whatever sparks were zapping between them, her heel caught in the electric cord and she stumbled against a workbench. A chisel clattered to the floor and her mother started. Sean retrieved the fallen tool and returned it to the workbench. Folding his arms across his chest, he rested his backside on the table. ‘Where were we?’

  So intent had Serena been on the scene playing out in front of her, it took several moments to gather her scattered thoughts. Her mother, who was never speechless, stood mute as Serena offered a simple explanation. ‘You were telling us about the wood. I’d never seen red gum furniture until I saw Trish’s pieces.’

  ‘When it’s old and well seasoned, it takes a fine polish and carves well. And here’s a secret I’ll share with you. Come look outside.’ They followed Sean around the back of the yurts. As they neared the stand of red gums, buzzing filled the air, growing louder until Sean put out an arm to stop their advance. They stood on a low ridge looking down into a grassy dip between the yurt and the trees.

  Hives dotted the clearing, alive with worker bees flying between their homes and the gumtrees. Speaking softly, Sean pointed to the largest hive. ‘The queen bee is in that one. It’s not only the wood of the red gums that is beautiful. Red gum honey is the best in the world.’

  Dawn stood beside him, her beanie a bright splash of green next to his dark work clothes. ‘I’m envious of your world, Sean. It’s filled with so much natural beauty and peace.’

  ‘That it is.’ He looked down at her mother.

  From her vantage point a little behind Dawn, Serena saw that look and caught her breath. Beautiful as the setting was, Sean wasn’t talking about their surroundings.

  Her mother had an admirer in Sean and suddenly Serena’s search for her father took on a different aspect. Part of her reasoning—what she’d thought of as the main reason for her search—had been to find her other parent so she wasn’t left alone if the worst happened to her mother. Those dark days of hospital visits and her mother’s chemo had made Serena selfish. She saw that now.

  What she hadn’t considered was that her mother might have been lonely as she raised her daughter singlehandedly. Dawn had never complained about her lack of adult companionship, or bemoaned her fate, or badmouthed the man who had left her alone and pregnant. She’d made her choice and forged a wonderful life for the two of them.

  And now it was her mother’s turn to choose; whether a new direction or a return to the spotlight, it didn’t matter. Serena’s father was a piece of history in Dawn’s life.

  Sean turned to face Dawn, orienting himself like a magnet drawn to north. ‘If you come out one evening, I’ll show you the stars from the top of the hill. They’re bigger and brighter than you’ll ever see in town.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  The colour in her cheeks could have been put there by the wind that swirled around the treetops and set the leaves dancing.

  But the brightness in Dawn’s eyes could only have been caused by one person.

  Sean’s gaze reflected hope and desire, and at that moment, Serena believed.

  It was possible to fall for someone at first sight.

  Wishing she’d been able to leave without br
eaking the magic of this moment, she knew it didn’t really matter. Once forged, the connection wouldn’t be broken. Her mother and Sean would spend time getting to know one another, and Serena would choose whether to continue her pursuit of the truth of her parentage for herself.

  ‘Mum, we should be getting back to town if you want to meet your friend this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh dear, where has the time gone?’ She held Sean’s hands in farewell. ‘I’ve enjoyed visiting with you, Sean.’

  ‘I’m glad you came, macushla. Don’t leave it too long till next time. I want to show you the stars.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Paul looked over the crowd assembled in Joe’s Café. Every seat was taken. Josh and Warren Leadbeater had encouraged the mill workers to attend, and late-comers stood at the back, blocking the view through the plate-glass window. The ragged line curved in front of the cake cabinet and Beryl raced to wipe down the glass top each time someone raised a mug to drink. He took a deep breath before tapping a spoon against his glass of water until all eyes turned to him.

  ‘Thanks for coming, everyone. This turnout gives me hope that today, we have reached a turning point. Today will be the beginning of taking back control of our lives, and of ensuring the security of our jobs, our families, and our community. Today, we propose a change that gives Mindalby back its cotton mill.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Warren led a round of applause.

  Paul waited until it stopped and clicked into the first slide of the digital presentation he’d put together with the help of Penny Fordham.

  ‘Recent events have shown us the importance of controlling our own livelihoods. We must have control that cannot be abused and misused; control that rests in the hands of a company run by a group of elected shareholders who operate for the good of all. Control that belongs to us, the workers, and business owners, and operators.

  ‘We offer you shares in the Mindalby Cotton Co-operative, owned and operated by the people of Mindalby.’

  The off-white sheet he’d hung as a makeshift screen dimmed the colours of his opening slide, but nothing could dim the bright hope embodied in those three words.

  Paul had hoped for a good reception to the idea, but the excited cheers and whistles were like a valve relieving dangerously high pressure. He looked at Josh who gave him a thumbs up, and Warren who cracked a broad smile for the first time in recent memory.

  Eventually the crowd settled and Paul worked through his PowerPoint presentation, explaining in layman’s terms what Penny had set out for him. ‘There are certain requirements that have to be met, but if you are interested in being part of this exciting innovation for our town, Warren Leadbeater, Josh Carey, and Julian Stone have ‘expression of interest’ forms at their tables. Signing up doesn’t commit you absolutely, nor does it guarantee your application for shares.

  ‘However, on our behalf Penny Fordham has been in negotiations with the bank and if we can raise four hundred thousand dollars by the fifth of July, on the strength of that commitment the bank will allow us to re-open the mill. We already have fifty thousand dollars worth of offers to purchase shares. Let’s raise the next three hundred and fifty and take control of our mill and our lives.’

  Paul flicked onto the final slide—the new name superimposed over a transparency of the mill—and left it on display. Glad to have made it through the presentation, he picked up his glass of water and drained it. The audience gravitated to the three sign-up tables, adding their names and picking up a copy of the brochure outlining the operation of a co-operative, and their rights and responsibilities.

  As the crowd thinned, Julian Stone strolled up and clapped a hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘Well done, mate. I reckon this idea is a goer.’

  ‘Thanks. How are the sign-ups going?’

  ‘Looking good. Offers are in single digit hundreds or thousands. But we’ll get there.’

  They had to get there. The co-op was the only way to make sure the mill and their town not only survived, but thrived. ‘Whatever it takes. You heard the rumour about Frankston wanting to purchase, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. But now the bank is aware of the co-op, nobody is going to be able to make a knockdown bid.’

  And if they raised the funds in time, the co-op would go ahead, the mill would re-open, and Hayden could get on with managing the family farm.

  Which left the problem of Serena.

  Now was the time to knock that zero point one per cent chance his father had mentioned off the continental shelf.

  He turned to seek out his uncle and clear the air. Josh’s chair was empty. ‘Where did he go?’

  Warren stood and shuffled the pages into a neat pile. ‘He said he had an errand to run, but he’ll end up at the pub. Did you ever know Josh to miss a celebratory drink?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Macushla. As they drove back to Mindalby, her mother was quiet, but Sean’s macushla ran through Serena’s mind like a promise of happiness for her mother. And if the glint in her mother’s eyes was any indication, Sean might become her stepfather.

  She pulled into a parking space in front of the craft store, Dawn’s new favourite shop.

  Dawn got out, eager to share the news of the commune’s interest with Callie. ‘Phone me when you want to be picked up. I’m off to see Paul.’

  Dawn held her door open and pinned Serena with one of her listen-to-mother-she-knows-best looks. ‘Be nice to him, darling. Don’t let your search for your father stop you living life to the fullest. Paul likes you—a lot.’ She closed the door and threw Serena a kiss before walking briskly into the shop.

  Had she become fixated on finding her father at the expense of a relationship? If she did nothing more, she would never know.

  Not for certain.

  And if she didn’t know for sure, what was there to stop her enjoying time with Paul? Nothing.

  Nothing except honesty and the fact she cared about Paul and his family. Nice as it would be to know the face and name of her father with bone-deep certainty, filling in the other half of her family tree had become less important than wanting to disprove her father was one of the Carey twins.

  Didn’t that tell her anything about what was important in her life?

  Her mother had set her mind at rest about the Carey men, but Frankston was still an obstacle. There had to be a way to determine if he was her father without raising Paul’s suspicions. Because Frankston looked like being the last man standing in her quest.

  Paul’s yard lay quiet in the late afternoon, and long, dry grass whipped backwards and forwards in front of the paling fence. She parked, surprised Paul hadn’t come out at the sound of her car. Was she really in his bad books? She knocked on the workshop door and waited, listening with half an ear for the sound of Paul working or Jack’s short, sharp yips. She knocked again before pushing the door open.

  Two weeks in town and it still surprised her how many people left homes and shops unlocked. City ways were too deeply ingrained; she still locked her car when she left it.

  A quick look around the workshop revealed only that Paul’s tools were neatly packed away. A sheet covered the leather panels he’d been working on so hopefully when she first arrived. Had he finished for the day and gone to visit his parents? Biting her lip, she considered leaving but curiosity got the better of her and she lifted a corner of the sheet.

  Exquisite workmanship and sublime detail leapt from the panel. Gently tracing a fingertip over the cotton bolls, she realised Paul had done more work since her last visit. The panel was complete and the compulsion to see the whole consumed her. Carefully, she lifted the sheet off the work of art and stood back to take it all in.

  Four panels of this size, hung side by side on a white wall, would be stunning; they deserved a place of honour where the public could see and enjoy them. Someone influential and wealthy enough to facilitate the purchase had to see what Paul had created.

  Someone such as the head of the Cotton Board.

  Without st
opping to think it through, Serena switched on the lights above the workbench. Whipping out her phone she clicked off several photos of the second panel, then lifted the sheet covering panel number one and took several more photos from different angles. She checked the images on her screen and muttered, ‘Not good enough.’ Well aware of her limitations as a photographer, and with a growing sense of unease, she dragged a stool into place and scrambled onto it. Her head banged the light and she angled her body awkwardly to avoid casting a shadow over the panels, but at last she lined up both within the same frame and held her finger down on the button.

  The series of clicks was soft, but still she didn’t hear him until he was standing below her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His gaze was wary and the barrier she’d sensed the other day loomed higher than before.

  Hand over her thudding heart, she teetered on the stool. ‘Paul, good grief, you startled me. You weren’t here and I came inside to wait out of the cold and—I’m sorry but I peeked under the cover and when I saw you had finished the second panel, I wanted to see the whole of it.’

  He folded his arms and his gaze dropped to the phone still in her hands.

  ‘This? I—I’ve had an idea. Can I shout you a coffee and run it by you?’ Shivering, she jumped off the stool and bumped into the solid expanse of Paul’s chest.

  He was like a furnace, giving off heat and displeasure in equal measure.

  She backed off a couple of steps. ‘You really should keep a heater on in here. Jack will be—’

  It was the flicker of pain across his face that halted her babble mid-sentence. With a sinking heart, she looked into the far corner. Jack’s bedding was gone and bare floorboards mocked her failure to see what was now clear.

  Swallowing the awful certainty, she dragged in a breath before asking him. ‘What happened to Jack?’

  ‘He passed away a couple of days ago.’ Paul’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he turned away.

  ‘Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry.’