A Changing Land (3 page)

Sarah lay flat on her stomach, a Pentax camera resting precariously on a log. This was her third attempt at photographing a lone wallaby and it was proving a far more difficult task than anticipated. Having first seen the wallaby some days ago when she and Anthony were returning on horseback from shifting a mob of sheep, she had revisited the spot twice. It was certainly a secluded setting. The remains of timber sheep yards were partially obscured by shady green peppercorn trees and the area backed onto a sandy ridge dense with radiata pine trees. It was the perfect environment for the notoriously shy wallaby.

Sarah's initial shots showed shafts of sunlight running horizontally through the branches of a peppercorn tree. The sun's rays gave an almost other-worldly feel to the broken timber railings, chest-high clumps of spear grass and red budded cactus trees in the distance. Unfortunately every time she moved to take the picture the wallaby ducked. Anyone would think you were camera shy, Sarah mused, as the light flattened out. Slowly she eased herself up from behind
the log and looked through the viewfinder of the camera. The day was diminishing and with the transformation, a spindle of pink gold triangulated its way through the peppercorn's leaves. A flutter of butterflies rose from the grass and the wallaby, intent on chewing a long stem, turned its small inquisitive head towards Sarah.

Her finger clicked the shutter. The wallaby gave a small noise much like a growl and hopped away. ‘Excellent.' Sarah jumped up, did a little jig in celebration of capturing what she hoped would be a Kodak moment, and then slipped the Pentax safely back into its carry case. The growl sounded again. Sarah spun around. She was half-expecting to see a wild dog or a pig or maybe even a drop bear, the mythical bush creature Anthony so loved. The noise sounded once more and she looked up to see a koala in a tall gum. Angus, her grandfather, had seen koalas during his lifetime but this was Sarah's first, and the idea that these sensitive creatures still roamed Wangallon thrilled her. She managed to get a single shot before the koala clambered higher amid the branches.

‘So you found one?' Anthony appeared astride his horse, Random; so named because it was purely chance if the gelding didn't try and throw him once a month.

‘You scared me.' Sarah draped the camera over her shoulder.

Anthony slid from Random, who nibbled his shoulder in an effort to court attention. ‘Sorry.' He plucked a long blade of grass, tickling her ear. ‘I haven't seen a koala for ages.' They peered up through the foliage. Anthony draped his arm about Sarah's shoulders and together they watched the koala scramble higher. Random snuffled their hair and tried to wriggle his head between theirs.

‘What is it about this horse of yours, Anthony,' Sarah asked, scratching the gelding between the ears. ‘I think he's suffering from a lack of attention.'

‘Well I know how that feels,' he countered, giving her a kiss on the forehead. ‘So I see you've taken up your hobby again.' He touched the camera strap.

Sarah patted the camera case. ‘Actually I've missed my photography. I think I got a great shot today too. Remember that wallaby we saw?' Sarah pointed to the peppercorn and the broken timber railing. ‘I captured him just there and the light was magical.'

Random gave a whinny of impatience that set Sarah's horse Tess to striking the sandy ground with a hoof. Anthony smiled. ‘Well I'm pleased you're back into photography again. You always loved it. There's no reason why you can't enter a few more competitions like you did before –'

‘Before grandfather died?' Sarah completed his sentence. ‘Didn't feel like it before now.' She walked to her horse.

Together they rode through the peppercorns and out into the cloud-streaked sky. The evening star had risen and it was towards this bright glow that they spurred their horses. They rode side by side; diverging from the normal dirt road back to the homestead to follow one of the many sheep trails that crisscrossed Wangallon. Sarah often wondered what these trampled single-file dirt paths would look like from the heavens; leading to and from watering points and feed.

‘Nice action,' Anthony commented as Sarah trotted through a gate in front of him.

She could tell by the directness of his expression that he wasn't talking about her riding ability. She pouted cheekily. ‘Interested in seeing it up close and personal?'

Leaning from the saddle, he chained the gate closed. ‘Before or after dinner?'

‘Hmm. Depends on your appetite,' Sarah replied, breaking Tess into a canter.

They rode back to the homestead, reaching the stables as the horizon blurred between day and night. The coolness of autumn seeped upwards from the ground as they unsaddled Tess and Random. Anthony did the honours with the curry comb, giving each horse a quick brush down as Sarah put a ration of feed in
their stalls. Having planned on a leg of mutton for dinner, roasted with some potatoes, carrots, pumpkin and lashings of gravy, time-wise it was looking more like spaghetti bolognese, with that special sauce only she could concoct: straight out of a jar.

‘Done.' Sarah bolted the half-gate on Tess. Contented munching sounds echoed through the still air. ‘Shelley's flying up this Friday. You didn't forget?'

Anthony extricated his shirt sleeve from Random's teeth and gave a final shove to the stall gate, bolting it closed. ‘Geez, you're getting an attitude,' he commented. Random turned away from Anthony in disgust.

‘You did forget, didn't you?' Anthony seemed to have relegated her city life into the wastepaper bin. Whether it was due to her time in Sydney being associated with her ex-fiancé or purely because he disliked the city and couldn't relate to it, she'd never been sure.

‘Is she coming with or without the suit?' A glimmer of mischief crossed Anthony's face.

The suit in question was a fast-talking advertising executive, Robert, with an ex-wife, a brand new apartment and a walloping expense account that suited Shelley, aka recently crowned Lady-Lunch-a-Lot, just fine. ‘Without.'

Even in the half-light she could tell he wasn't disappointed.

‘Well even without him that buggers up my recreational activities for the weekend. Guess I better make up for them now.'

Sarah found herself thrown uncomfortably over Anthony's shoulder. ‘You Neanderthal.'

He laughed, smacking her hard on her backside. ‘That would be me.'

Sarah flung open the double doors of her bedroom and breathed in dawn's chill. The air caught at her throat and lungs, pinching at
her cheeks. Young Jack Dillard, their jackeroo of twelve months, had taken particular care in fertilising the lawn during spring and summer, the result obvious in the prolonged green tinge carpeting the expanse of garden around the homestead. Within a week, however, the lawn like the rest of Wangallon's garden would begin to shut down for winter. Sarah grinned happily as she scraped her hair from her face, twisting it nonchal antly before securing it with an elasticised band. Every season on Wangallon was filled with wonder. The crisp breath of frosty mornings, birds ruffling feathers to warm themselves and bush creatures foraging amid sleeping trees were just as welcome to her as the new shoots of spring.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Sarah waited until a glimmer of the new day appeared in the east. Rays of red-tinged light infused trees, grass and geranium-filled pots until finally the ancient bougainvillea hedge with its straggly trails of flat green leaves and desert bright flowers of pink and red were saturated with light.
Pink in the morning
, Sarah thought,
shepherd take warning
. Her grandfather would have predicted a shower of rain within three days at the sight of this morning's sky.
Let's hope so
, she murmured, for this morning they would begin to discuss their winter feeding plans. Selecting a rusty brown sweater from the cedar wardrobe, she slipped it on.

‘Morning,' Anthony said groggily.

Sarah's eyebrow lifted in amused accusation. Shelley and Anthony had gone for the
pass the port
routine after dinner last night. Sarah, never having liked any type of fortified wine, stuck with her preferred poison, a soft merlot, and consequently was feeling pretty healthy. ‘Choice of beverage not agree with you, honey?' Sarah covered the few short steps to the side of the bed and planted a kiss on Anthony's sun-brown cheek. He struggled up from beneath the warmth of the bedclothes, his arms folding quickly across his bare chest.

‘What's with the blast of cold air?' He frowned, glancing at the alarm clock.

‘What's with the sleep-in?' she countered, softly nuzzling his neck.

Anthony squinted against the morning glare, focusing on the antiquated dresser belonging to Sarah's great-grandfather, Hamish. It was an ugly old thing made out of packing cases with large cut-off cotton reels for handles. He'd never liked it. ‘We need a blind on that verandah.' He tweaked Sarah's nose playfully before trapping her in a great bear hug. ‘Better still, let's move into Angus's room. It is bigger, plus it has an ensuite.'

Sarah, recalling last night's intimacies, found her thoughts quickly grounded. ‘We'll survive.'

He buried his face in her neck. ‘You smell of sandalwood. You always have.' He held her, his strong hands clasping her shoulders, his fingers lifting to trace her cheek. Knowing how easy it was to succumb, Sarah placed her palm against the warmth of his chest and then ruffled the rusty brown sheen of his hair. Their usual weekly meeting was due to start in half an hour. Anthony, as if reading her mind, glanced at the alarm clock.

‘No,' she said strongly.

‘Hey.' Anthony picked up her ruby engagement ring, twiddling it between his fingers. ‘It's about time this ring had a gold band to sit beside it.'

Taking the ring, Sarah sat it back on the bedside table. His grandmother's ring and two hundred thousand dollars represented Anthony's share of his family's property and she knew he deserved every penny. ‘Come on, it's a work day.'

Padding down the hallway in her socks, Sarah glanced into her grandfather's empty bedroom. On impulse she entered, drawing
the heavy burgundy curtains aside. Instantly a rush of light leapt into the room. Crystal ornaments and a silver-backed hairbrush sitting on the mahogany dressing table caught the light, refracting myriad dancing squares across the still life of hydrangeas hanging above the king-sized bed. On the hardwood bedside table a picture of her grandfather with his half-brother, Luke, caught her eye. The yellowing image showed her great uncle on horseback. Her grandfather, far younger in age, stood beside him with a rifle and a brace of ducks over his shoulder.

Next door Anthony could be heard moving about their bedroom. Cupboards closed noisily, drawers stiff with age creaked on opening. Anthony's own belongings, including a number of antique items left to him by his grandmother, were still sheet-covered in one of Wangallon's many spare rooms. At some stage she would need to find homes for them, although with the house already stuffed with Gordon furniture, each piece a tangible link to their history, she was at a loss to know where they'd go.

Glancing again at the dressing table, Sarah opened one of the drawers and placed the silver hairbrush safely inside. It was a small step towards accepting that her grandfather was never going to use these items again. She made a promise to herself that during winter she would open the wardrobe and pack his clothes away for good. It was time, Sarah decided. Outside the bedroom window a willy-wagtail fluttered against the glass. The small bird, intrigued by his reflection, hovered momentarily before darting between the glossy green leaves of the hedge. Sarah turned slowly, silently wishing some of her grandfather's wisdom would seep into her.

In the months of instability and grief following her grandfather's death, Sarah worked at keeping busy. They all did. There was much to come to terms with. Angus Gordon's passing left a deep hole in their lives. It was as if a great tree had been rooted out leaving everyone without both direction and stability. Sarah didn't know when she'd awoken from grief's stupor. It was as if each
new day brought with it a renewed clarity, allowing her mourning to settle into a livable although still tender state. What she did appreciate was the sense of growing maturity within her. She felt ready to embrace the next part of her life, ready to lead Wangallon into the future. In this future there would be children, heirs for Wangallon, and Anthony would be their father: A fifth generation on Wangallon. Sarah knew her ancestors would be pleased.