by Anne Ashby
She knew nothing about the bush. Nothing about bush safety. Nothing about how to find her way out.
Born and bred a city girl, for God’s sake, I have difficulty finding my way about in areas of the city I don’t know! Robby often teased her about being geographically-challenged.
Tightening her arms around her rapidly chilling body, Leath closed her eyes and slowed her breathing to placate her fear. There was still heaps of daylight left; she could find her way home. She just needed to stay rational.
Inspiration struck. If she walked in the opposite direction to the setting sun she would be right. But the tall trees blanketed the sky, let alone the sun. Hold on, don’t panic. Moss grows on the north side of the trees. She’d heard that often enough in movies and books.
She turned in the direction she hoped was retracing her earlier steps examining trunk after trunk. Moaning aloud as she noticed moss growing on all sides of every trunk she conceded that particular boy scout dictum must have come from the northern hemisphere.
Sinking onto a fallen tree, she dragged more deep breaths into her lungs. It was pointless crashing around in the bush without a plan. She’d only waste precious energy and become more frightened.
Continuing to deep breathe, she forced away the fear and concentrated her thoughts. She was a sensible, mature woman, not some bimbo. As long as she remained rational she could find her way home.
Slumped there, hearing only the sound of her ragged breathing and an occasional birdcall to break the silence, Leath’s head shot up. Listening more intently, relief washed over her.
She grinned, leapt to her feet, and ran toward the sound of running water, mindless of branches catching at her bare skin. A stream had to flow toward the coast. Even if she ended up miles from the house, along the coast she could navigate herself back.
Geographically challenged, eh? Wait until I tell Robby about this. She began traversing the more rugged bush alongside a reasonable-sized stream. Laughing out loud, she knew he’d never credit she’d figured this out all on her own.
Leath wasn’t sure how far she’d stumbled and tramped before she came upon a small clearing. The dimming light warned her the sun had set, and although the place looked idyllic with the stream tinkling down across rocks in a lively little waterfall, she knew she mustn’t stop to savour the beauty.
Just time for a quick drink and then she must keep going. On her knees she cupped her hands and leaned into the clear water.
“Stop.”
The brusqueness of the sound sent her heart leaping into her throat and she froze.
“What the hell are you doing?” This time the voice was accompanied by a rough hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you have enough sense to know you can’t drink stream water?”
She was dragged upright before her brain adjusted to the shock. Although relieved to hear another human voice and know her ordeal was over, she just wished it could have been someone else who’d found her. Anyone else.
Lifting her gaze, she was surprised to see Kirk Buchanan’s face soften as his gaze flashed up and down her body. Looking down herself, she noticed numerous cuts and abrasions all over her arms and legs.
“What on earth have you been doing?”
Leath’s chin jutted out. “I got a little lost exploring our property.” She shrugged, refusing to let him guess she’d been petrified. “I was following the stream back.”
Expecting some sarcastic reply, his nod of approval caught her off guard. “You’re a fair way from your section. Wandering in the bush can be dangerous.” His gaze flicked over her again. “You’re not dressed for tramping.”
Annoyed at his implied criticism, Leath stuck her chin out. “It was so beautiful I lost track of time, that’s all.”
“You could have lost much more,” he warned. “Another thirty minutes it’ll be dark. It’s not very comfortable in the bush at night if you’re not prepared.”
Tongue in cheek, Leath decided to accept his comments without argument. He was absolutely right, of course, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting that out loud.
Also she should tread carefully seeing she needed his help. “I’m sorry if I’m trespassing on your land,” she spoke stiffly, hating the need to apologise. “It was unintentional, I assure you.”
“I’m sure it was.” He actually smiled, although it was too dim to see if the smile touched his eyes. She watched him glance around the clearing with a strange expression before his attention returned to her.
“I’m heading back, would you like a ride home?” He smiled again. “Or would you rather continue on your own?”
The panic of being alone in the bush after dark and having to find her own way had receded since his first abrupt words. She mustn’t risk losing her nerve again.
Discovering she wasn’t above begging for help, she was proud of keeping the tremor out of her voice. “Oh, I think I might accept your kind offer, if it’s all the same to you?”
He tilted his head, as if knowing what it was costing her to accept. He held out his hand, which she studiously ignored, and began walking along the track he indicated.
“The truck’s about ten minutes walk. I’ll drop you at your back fence.”
“I appreciate that very much.” She felt forced to add an acknowledgement. “Thank you.”
They walked in silence. His gaze burned her back, and she wished he’d gone ahead or the track was wide enough for them to walk alongside each other. A glance over her shoulder confirmed the intensity of his stare.
A quiet heartfelt sigh escaped her lips when the pasture came into view. Unthinkingly accepting his hand to help climb over the fence, a shot of awareness coursed through Leath. Their eyes locked. Her breath caught in her throat as she faltered.
His other hand shot up to steady her. Captured by a strange light in his blue eyes, Leath couldn’t move. Stuck half over the fence, her heart began to thump and her tongue slipped out to wet parched lips. His gaze followed the movement and Leath felt his hand tightening on her hip.
The bellow of a cattle beast close by broke the tension, and the next thing Leath knew she was standing in the paddock. Kirk’s abrupt removal of his hands and terse gesture toward his vehicle sent her scurrying into the farm truck, praying the fading light hid her fiery face.
As they drove off, she searched for some way to breach the awkwardness. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t climb any fences in the bush. Were there any there?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Once we get everything sorted out, I’ll see about defining our boundary.”
“There’s no need to fence the bush, for God’s sake. As long as the stock can’t get in and get lost.”
Leath chewed her lip at the frustrated tone of his voice and turned to him. “But I wouldn’t want our guests encroaching on your land.”
“What?” He slammed on the brakes, his face tightening into an angry mask. “How can you do this?”
Do what? Dazed by the unexpectedness of his reaction Leath dredged for a response. But her brain came up empty.
What are we doing? What is sticking in his craw so much? What the hell does it have to do with him, anyway?
Boldly staring him down, she jutted out her chin, letting him know she was no pansy to be walked all over. Not begging him to explain himself seemed to infuriate him further.
With more scrunching of gears, they tore down the hill, hitting every uneven bump. Thank Heavens it isn’t far. Leath clung on, her teeth clenching as her head hit the ceiling again.
“Aren’t you destroying enough of what Penny loved? She’d have hated what you’re doing.”
Her knuckles white against the dashboard Leath managed to stop herself propelling forward when he swung the wheel and jerked to a stop next to her back fence.
“But you don’t care, do you?” he ground out between his teeth. A cold, contemptuous expression tightened his face. “As long as you get what you want, you don’t give a damn about anything else, or who else you might hurt.”
H
is mouth twisted with disgust. “You never visited Penny, did you? Not even when she was dying.” He didn’t allow her to interrupt. “Oh, I suppose you were busy those two years. What a shame, never mind.” His smile was filled with loathing. “Why should you care she died all alone.”
With a grunt of disgust, he leaned over and thrust open her door. “Get out before I say something I might regret.”
Shocked by Kirk’s attack, Leath was left standing beside the fence, her mouth working as she tried to find words.
A thickening at the back of her throat told her the guilt had resurfaced. All the guilt she’d ignored since first hearing Penelope Maguire’s name. To understand, she had to find out exactly who Penelope Maguire was.
Clambering over the fence, she stalked toward the house. It was time for that desk to reveal its secrets.
Chapter Six
Leath strode toward the garage where she remembered seeing a rusty metal toolbox. Rummaging amongst the hodgepodge of bits and pieces on the work bench, she prised open the box’s lid and glared at the collection of mysterious tools.
Who knew what she might need to break open those locks? She stalked out, lugging the heavy box into the house, slamming doors behind her and doggedly approaching the desk.
“I can’t wait any longer,” she told it by way of an apology as she knelt down and selected what appeared to be her most useful tools. With all the care of a theatre nurse, she laid them out before examining the lock. Then with a deep breath, she proceeded to chisel her way into the door of the ugly, but perhaps antique, desk.
Surprised when the first lock gave way without any real effort, Leath deflated.
She needed to do something vicious, hit or break something to drain away the anger at Kirk Buchanan’s unwarranted attack. A sick, trembling sensation spun in her stomach as she heaved up the heavy roller top.
The interior revealed an assortment of papers. Her heart raced. Would the answer be in here? Should she start going through them, or force open the two lower cupboard doors before starting to discover who the hell Penelope Maguire was?
Her hands trembled as she tried deep breathing, but to no avail. If anything, they shook more. I have to calm down. Stop this sick nervousness dictating to her whole being. In this state she’d be sure to miss something important.
Caffeine. She needed caffeine. Doubtless keep me awake all night as well, she guessed, stumbling to the kitchen. But that was preferable to risk missing what might be a vital clue. She had to find out why this woman had given everything she owned to her and Robby.
Kirk Buchanan would never throw her name at Leath again. Or accuse them of neglecting a poor, sick old lady. I’ll find out everything there is to know about Penelope Maguire, she swore as she returned to the desk, now calmer after her fix.
With steadier hands and concentrated deep breaths, she opened each envelope, careful to keep the papers in the order Penelope had put them in these cubbyholes. Envelope after envelope she emptied. Page after page she exposed. Her burning excitement soon waned.
Frustration made her clumsy, and one pile slithered onto the floor. Shuffling them up, she stuffed them carelessly onto another pile. These papers told her nothing. No, that was wrong. She gave the desk a good hard kick, regretting her action when pain shot up her leg.
The papers revealed a lot of trite information. Like how much Penelope had spent on electricity and phone and groceries and petrol and every other damned thing she ever bought. Leath sank to her knees, demoralised. Maybe later she’d recheck the common bills but for now their triteness fuelled her disappointment.
A screwdriver clenched in her fist, she plunged it into the crack above the bottom cupboard door’s lock and jerked the left side open.
Her heart pounded like a jackhammer as she swung the door wide. Light shone on a mass of crockery stacked high on the shelves.
Surprised back onto her heels, Leath’s body collapsed even more. What good were these? They weren’t going to help. With a heavy sigh and a quick prayer, she jimmied the second cupboard. Her breathing escalated again.
Numerous books were stacked tightly on top of each other. These books might hide a secret. Her heart began to race again as she removed each one and piled them onto the floor in order. Whether that mattered or not she didn’t know, but better to take a little extra time in case.
When the cupboard was empty, she sank back. The butterflies clamouring inside her stomach had transformed into huge ugly bats screaming and clawing for release.
Her hands were shaking again, shaking badly. Breaths had slipped back into shallow, painful panting. These books being locked away must mean something. Mustn’t it? Did they contain a secret? Penelope’s secret.
Leath started with what appeared to be a photo album. Stay calm. Relax. Take deep breaths. Come on, I can do this. I mustn’t miss something important.
She inched opened the cover, the pounding in her ears almost deafening.
Stale air whooshed from her lungs.
Snap shots! It held ordinary, uninspiring photos of hordes of people. Photo after photo she slipped from their connecting corners to check for names, places, dates, anything scribed on their backs. There was nothing. A big fat zero.
The albums started around the time of the Second World War, she guessed. She sat laboriously going through book after book, the leg tucked underneath her bottom numbing.
Every album held similar snapshots. Some people featured again and again, gradually aging as time passed. Recognisable as the same people, perhaps they were Penelope’s siblings?
Disappointment slumped Leath’s body further and further. She had no way of knowing who they were, or more importantly, whether one of them was Penelope. Maybe none of them were. Perhaps she’d been the photographer.
Leath stopped dead, an album open across her knees. Her head flopping back as she blinked frustrated tears from her eyes and swore. Then sliding clawed fingers through her hair, she dug them into her scalp and swore again. Loudly.
She wanted to bawl like a baby. She’d been so encouraged when she’d seen the albums. She’d been sure the answer lay within their covers.
Nowhere did she find anyone who looked even remotely like her parents. If they were related but had a falling out, surely it must have been after they were adults. There were no gaps in the albums to indicate Penelope had been spiteful and removed any photos.
Frustration settled over Leath as she picked up the last album. Listlessly flicking over pages a wedding photo with a date attached stilled her. It must be significant for Penelope to have annotated a date beneath it.
Leath studied the photo. The couple weren’t young, possibly into their forties, but they looked happy. For some reason her picture of Penelope had been as a wizened old spinster, bitter, sad, and angry at the world. It was comforting to think she may have been completely off track.
Leath drew the album closer to the lamp. This must be her, she decided, trying, and failing, to see any family likeness.
Rubbing her gritty eyes, Leath stretched, grimacing as she massaged life back into her numbed leg. She put the last album aside. Meticulously going through each one had taken so long. She should be in bed.
Her tiredness wouldn’t have mattered if she’d found something. She wouldn’t have cared if she’d sat here all night if her search had been productive.
With a despondent sigh, she grasped the last item, a chocolate box that had been tucked away at the back of the cupboard.
Carelessly flipping off the lid Leath froze. With uncontrollable shaking hands she tipped the contents onto the bed and stared, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.
Here were more snap shots, but this time, she recognised every one of them. They were of her and Robby.
Spreading them out, her breath caught in her throat and she had to blink furiously to stem tears from escaping. There were baby photos, school photos, snapshots from holidays. There were even photos she’d sent home from her years away in London. The back o
f every photo had been annotated by her mother’s hand!
The shake in her hands travelled up her arms at the speed of sound until it engulfed her whole body. Leath trembled so sharply only a hastily planted foot on the floor stopped her sliding off the bed.
Her hands clasped her head as she stared at the scattered pictorial record of their lives. She knew her eyes bulged and her mouth hung open because her brain responded to her face’s objection with a sharp ache. But she couldn’t relax her features. She couldn’t move. She was frozen in this moment of discovery.
The short, sharp breaths she was managing to catch burnt her lungs. Their pain squirted torment through her veins alongside the much-needed oxygen.
Penelope’s puzzle had taken on a different meaning, one of unbelievable distress. Leath’s arms dropped, wrapping around her body to shield herself from her mother’s lies.
That hurt. Hurt so much. By her omission, her mother had lied to them all their lives.
With her chin collapsed onto her chest, Leath tried to associate the loving, caring parent she’d known with a liar. A deceitful, heartless liar.
As her mind delved through years of her mother’s love and sensitivity, she realised she couldn’t.
There was another explanation. Somewhere. She just had to find it.
Now absolutely certain in this knowledge, Leath’s head lifted and her back straightened.
Her mother had to have a very good reason for sending Penelope Maguire their photos over a period of twenty years. But why never mention the woman’s name?
Mum had been a softie—Leath smiled—almost gullible in her desire to be of service. She’d always helped at school outings, fundraised, volunteered for committees. Anything Mum could do to help others, she did with little thought for herself.
Oh, why couldn’t she still be here?
This situation was even more bizarre than Leath had imagined. Her search had revealed some long-standing relationship. These photos and her mother’s handwriting proved that. But what? Penelope couldn’t have been her mother’s aunt. Leath had never met her maternal grandmother but knew she’d been an only child.
