Mountain Ash (4 page)

They moved onto McCauley's Hill on the day of the wedding – the wedding of Tamara McCauley and Travis Hunter, to be precise. Her new landlords.

An entrance gate flashed past with the name ‘Montmorency Downs' chipped into the stone faceplate on the entranceway pillars. With her window wound down so she could enjoy the fresh air, Jodie could hear music and laughter coming from the huge marquee placed in the paddock beside the old country homestead set back from the road. The sounds of revelry were rolling across the green pastures in snatches, slips of noise on an otherwise quiet landscape. Well, quiet except for the gentle snoring of her daughter, slumped in the seat on the other side of the LandCruiser ute. Milly had crashed not ten kilometres out of Narree and Jodie didn't blame her. This was the last load of all their worldly belongings and the packing, the trips to the new house and subsequent unpacking had taken their toll.
Jodie heartily wished she was Milly, snoozing in the warm afternoon sun.

It had been a rugged few weeks. First the accident. Then the packing up of her late father's home, a huge job in itself. Robert Ashton had been a hoarder in his latter years and it had taken ages to go through his stuff. Mue had been wonderful, helping as much as her busy work schedule would allow. Mue was part-time housekeeper for Alex McGregor and for Tammy McCauley, and spent time helping at the local nursing home, where Jodie did some of her shifts. When you ran three jobs it was hard to get some time out. But she'd found it for Jodie and Milly.

Not so Alex. Jodie had barely seen him of late. He'd called around to Mue's a few times after the accident but then there had been some council disaster, a cut-back in funding from the State government, and Alex had been away in Melbourne lobbying for the area's money to be reinstated. She couldn't begrudge him that. The shire council was responsible for the wellbeing of close to forty-five thousand people. She, Jodie, was only one of them.

Anyway, it was fine. She was used to dealing with stuff on her own.

She glanced back over her shoulder across the paddocks at the white tent, flapping gently in the breeze, and idly wondered what it would be like to be Tamara McCauley, born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Although from what she'd heard on the bush telegraph at work, Tammy had had to fight to retain her land. A bit like Jodie had had to fight most of her life to hold on to what
she
had. Her life. Her child. Herself.

Weddings always did that to her. They were a reminder of all those hopes she'd once had herself. Hopes that were shattered when her cowboy had decided to ride on out, leaving her with nothing other than a fretful baby and a fistful of splintered
dreams. That had been someplace west of Augathella. She'd made her way to Charleville, a single mother with no qualifications. Got an afternoon shift at the pub, a day-care lady for her child, and tried to work out what to do next. It hadn't been the best time of her life, that was for sure. In fact, she had hit rock bottom there for a while, until things had slowly taken a turn for the better.

Jodie guided the ute down Hope's Road and through the low-level crossing, then swung right at the T-intersection. Not long now and they'd be at their new house. Home. She rolled that beautiful word and all its comforting connotations around in her mouth, let the endorphins it created seep from the pores of her skin. Finally they'd have a place to call home. A place where they could be together. Mother and daughter. Not at the beck and call of others, like the elderly in the nursing home in Narree where she worked. Not at the decree of officialdom, like the solicitors and bankers working on sorting out her dad's estate. Nor subject to the whims and voracious appetite of the cancer that had slowly consumed him.

Finally peace, tranquillity and a life for themselves on McCauley's Hill.

She turned the ute into their new driveway, checking in the rear-view mirror to make sure the horse float behind was still with her. A useless act really as the loss of Parnie's weight would have been more than noticeable if the trailer had decided to part with the ute. But then, knowing her recent luck, it paid to be sure.

She could see the shadow of the gelding's head through the Perspex window and was reassured. Hopefully he was having a chat to Milly's pony, Buggsy, telling the little 12-hand mare to settle and not be afraid, that Jodie had it all in hand.

Jodie choked back a half laugh at that thought as she braked to a stop. Her? Have it all in hand? If there ever was a time when she wished she could go back to being a child and be cared for by two loving parents, it would be now.

When had she become the parent? The one who was supposed to know what to do, where to go, how to support two human mouths, two horses, a dog and the latest addition … Jodie looked down at the box on the seat between her and her daughter. Two bulbous, unblinking eyes glared back. Milly was always picking up stray bits and pieces and this ugly frog was the latest in the long line of misfits and orphans who'd made their way to the Ashtons' door. What the heck were they going to feed the thing? ‘Ribbit!' the frog croaked. Maybe there were some Frenchmen serving at the wedding who liked frog's legs? The local backpackers' place was full of Europeans earning a dollar from casual work.

‘He's here to stay, Mum, so don't get that look in your eye.' Her daughter was awake and had an eyebrow cocked while a little grin played around the edges of her cute bow-shaped lips. At seven years old, she knew her mother better than anyone else alive.

‘What look?' Jodie tried her best to sound indignant. And failed. Her mouth gave her away. She could even feel her own dimples starting to dance on her cheeks. Damn it. The child was just too intuitive for her own good.

‘His name is Ribbit and you need to be nice to him,' stated Milly. ‘He might make all your wishes come true when I turn him into a handsome prince.'

Jodie rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh. ‘You have to kiss him to do that, Milly.'

‘I do?' Her daughter looked horrified. ‘Since when?'

‘Since the Grimm brothers or Hans Christian Andersen or whoever made up that fairytale said so.'

Jodie could almost see the gears of her daughter's brain grinding as Milly looked down at the frog.

‘Ribbit!' it croaked.

Milly glanced back at her mother. ‘What's say we leave him down here then? Behind us, near the creek that runs to the crossing? He won't like it up there on that dry hill.' She nodded towards the roof of the old miner's shack they could see just above them.

‘Great idea,' said Jodie, trying her best not to sound triumphant.

Milly glared at her mother with suspicion. ‘Are you pleased?'

‘For the frog,' said Jodie hurriedly. ‘Nothing to do with me.' She tried her best to act like it didn't matter one iota to her whether they ejected the horrible disgusting amphibian from the ute.

Milly twisted her lips and seemed to consider the frog a moment more. She then bailed out of the vehicle, her short legs hitting the ground before she turned and dragged the frog in its box towards herself. ‘You sure about that kissing thing?'

Jodie nodded. ‘Sure I'm sure.'

‘Pinky promise?' said her daughter, raising a little finger and pushing her hand across the seat at Jodie.

‘Pinky promise,' said her mother, raising her own little finger and linking it with her daughter's, secretly thanking whoever the hell wrote that fairytale for the kissing twist.

‘Well then,' said Milly, taking back her hand and pulling the box into her arms, ‘I'll only be a minute. Don't go away.'

Jodie's heart twisted in her chest. As if she would ever leave her. Since the campdrafting accident Milly had become very
clingy, and who could blame her for that? Milly's father, Rhys, had gone riding out of their lives and off into the wild blue yonder six years before, when she was only a baby. Then her grandpa had gone. A reluctant departure to heaven for sure, but gone all the same. And her grandmother, Jodie's mother, didn't care. Bribie Island and all its retirement glamour were far too interesting to leave to spend time with a mere granddaughter. Or a daughter, for that matter. In a nutshell, the word ‘Gone' had become the story of their lives. It was just the two of them now.

Jodie watched in the side rear-view mirror as Milly's denim-clad bum moved quickly away from the ute, back towards the other side of the gravel track, through the gateway they'd just entered and across the dozy tarred road. The little girl disappeared as she dropped to the ground and was swallowed by tall slivers of mustard weed and fronds of scotch thistle. Jodie pictured her squatting in the patch of grass among the weeds, her freckled face scrunched with concentration as she carefully emptied the box by the side of the creek. Jodie could just hear the sound of tinkling water, as the stream swished over flattened river rocks.

She was a wild thing, that little daughter. A will-o'-the-wisp of boundless energy, an adventurous spirit filled with buckets of naive love. A lot like a younger Jodie. And this was the thing that scared her the most. How could she keep Milly protected from the darker side of the world? How could she provide her with the security – financial, yes, but more importantly emotional – she needed to grow into a confident and well-rounded woman?

Jodie took her eyes from the rear-view mirror and glanced up towards the solid corrugated iron glinting in the afternoon sun. The walls of the shack were now also shining like they
were saying, Come hither. Come and make this your home. Jodie sighed. She knew up there the view of the Great Dividing Range was incredible. She also knew the house was now decorated, in part, with their own stuff. The patchwork quilts she'd made over the years were gracing walls, couches and beds, making the cold space warm and comforting.

And even though it was his wedding day, Travis Hunter had said he'd light the old combustion stove and get the water pumping through the water jacket so it would be hot for a shower. For that she was so grateful. The man had stood at the door of the shack on the previous Sunday while she'd been unpacking, looking for all the world like he'd prefer to be anywhere else. Apparently the old bloke who'd lived there before her had been Travis's best mate. He was dead now. Gone for twelve months, they'd said at the nursing home. Old Joe had been Tamara McCauley's great-uncle. Tamara, or Tammy as she'd asked Jodie to call her the day she'd handed over the key, still hadn't been up to the shack. She'd left the clearing out of the old man's stuff to her fiancé, Travis. He, for all his gruffness, had nearly broken down when faced with the prospect of moving it all into the shed.

Taking pity on the man, and also because she didn't have much decent furniture to call her own, Jodie had suggested she take the shack furnished. To leave most of the big stuff there. She'd thought for a minute Travis was going to kiss her and had taken a step back. He was a handsome kind of bloke but he was taken, like most of the good blokes in the world. Plus she didn't really go for the strong silent type and he was silent most of the time. Not like his son, Billy. That child talked non-stop and he'd become Milly's best mate within the first ten minutes of meeting. Jodie shook her head. The trouble those two
were going to get up to probably wasn't worth thinking about. Two wild children on a wild hill. But God bless the pair of them. Let them be kids for a time. Adulthood, and all its troubles, would come soon enough.

‘Well, it's done.'

Jodie started in surprise. Her daughter was back, slapping her hands together and clambering up into the ute. ‘He looked reasonably happy. I must tell Billy about that kissing thing …'

Jodie widened her eyes. Billy? Kissing? That wasn't the wild stuff she meant! Good Lord, Milly had only just turned seven! And how old was Billy? Eleven or twelve?

But Milly was still talking. ‘And Billy thought he could turn his frog into a princess. I told him he was wrong. That they all turned into princes, which wasn't going to be much use to him. He's gotta have a princess and I've gotta have a prince. I don't know why but that's the way it goes.' Her daughter sighed. She sounded so age-weary and disgusted that Jodie let out a laugh.

‘What? What's so funny?'

Jodie smiled, leaned over and ruffled Milly's hair. ‘You, that's what's so funny. I love you, Milly Molly Dooks.'

Her daughter, like most people when faced with Jodie's larger-than-life smile, including deep dimples on either side of her mouth, couldn't resist smiling back. The child shuffled her way across the seat and ducked under her mother's arm, pulling herself in close to Jodie's side.

‘And I love you too, Mum,' said the little girl, snuggling in, as though she was seeking reassurance, making sure her mother was there and was going to stay.

‘What say we head up?' Jodie nodded towards the peak of McCauley's Hill.

‘Yes!' yelled the girl beside her. ‘Up we go.'

Jodie rammed the gearstick into first and set the ute moving towards the track, which crabbed across and up the side of the hill.

McCauley's Hill.

Their new home.

Jodie hefted the biscuit of hay she was carrying with one hand and unlatched the gate with the other. She walked into the paddock and dumped the load of lucerne onto the ground. Parnassus, hearing her coming, was already waiting to tuck into his meal of wiry green stalks. As with most males, the way to Parnassus's heart was via his stomach. He had escaped serious injury at the campdraft but had been lame, bruised and sore since. She suspected he still wasn't a hundred per cent but at least his limp had largely gone. She sat on the edge of the nearby water trough to wait. Sooner or later her favourite boy would have his fill and come over to give her a nuzzle.

In the meantime she could afford to just sit. Look out across the incredible vista of mountains to her left, the lush irrigated flats to her right and just be for a while. The school bus wasn't due to hit the end of the road until four-thirty. She had a quarter of an hour to do her chores before Milly came home. A few
minutes of taking in the view from up here would rejuvenate her tired body and get her ready to weather the onslaught of a cranky seven-year-old who didn't want to do her homework.

So Jodie sat and just gazed. The soaring peaks of the two mountains in front of her drew the eye. She thought they were Mounts Cullen and Adelong. Well, that's what Billy had told Milly, who'd told her mother when she was pondering the question aloud one day. Both were magnificent. Jodie reckoned she could have sat there for a hundred years and not grown tired of the view. Old Joe obviously hadn't grown sick of it either – he'd had to be carted away in a pine box. She wondered if he haunted the place. Not that she was into that sort of nonsense, but sometimes, well, sometimes on a still silent evening, her dog Floss's bowl would go skittering across the verandah for no real reason. And the light in the front bedroom would come on even though neither she nor Molly had flicked the switch.

A puff of air played with her hair. Jodie jumped then sank back down, relieved. It was only Parnie. He'd finished his late lunch. ‘Crikey, old fella, you frightened me!'

Her horse nickered and nibbled at her hair some more, his whiskers and thick rubbery lips nuzzling her cheek.

‘No, mate, you're not getting any more. You'll turn into a fat old mule if I do that.'

The horse nickered again. ‘You old reprobate.' Jodie laughed. ‘I'm not giving in, you know.' But she rubbed the chestnut's neck all the same, loving the feel of his warmth and sleekness. He'd first belonged to her father but Robert had given him to Jodie, sensing she needed to get back a part of herself when she and Milly had first come to live with him. That was just after his diagnosis of the big ‘C', three years before.

Parnie was special. It was him, her and Milly against the rest of the world.

The sound of a four-wheel drive labouring its way up the hill caught Parnie's attention. He flicked his ears forwards, flung his head up and snorted.

Jodie put a hand to her brow, trying to see, beyond the glare of the late afternoon sun, who was coming up the hill.
Her
hill. She unconsciously rolled those words around in her head for a millisecond. Damn, they sounded good.

When she spied the bonnet of the platinum-grey BMW X5, Jodie wasn't sure how she felt. Pleased Alex had come for a visit? Annoyed that he'd arrived right on bus time, when her little girl would want and need all of her attention? Cross he hadn't shown his head around the place while she was shifting? Vindicated that his interest in her hadn't waned even though her moving out here hadn't been what he wanted?

Alex had had something very different in mind. Three months previously he'd called in to her late father's house, after dinner, to see how they were going. Had taken her up on the offer of a coffee. It wasn't unusual to see him. In the two years they'd known each other, Alex had always taken great interest in her and Milly's lives. And as he was her father's weekly chess partner, she'd got to know him rather well. Since her father's death she'd relied on him more and more as a sounding board, so she'd shared with him the news that Robert's house had finally been sold, and asked if he knew of anyone with a house and small acreage to rent.

Alex's response had been, ‘You can move in with me.'

Jodie had obviously looked startled because her father's friend had then backtracked. ‘Into the guest quarters, of course,' he'd added hurriedly.

‘And my daughter?'

‘Milly too, of course,' had been his reply. ‘There are two bedrooms in the place.'

Barely, thought Jodie uncharitably. She'd seen the second bedroom of the guest quarters when she'd been given the tour on her first visit. It was obviously only meant to house a pygmy or at the very most a small office table and chair.

‘Listen, Jodie,' said Alex, his tone warm and inviting. He'd put down his coffee, taken a deep breath and moved in closer to her. Taken hold of her hands. ‘You know I think a lot of you.' He'd stumbled to a halt, which was interesting because Alex was one of the most articulate men she'd ever known.

She had nodded to encourage the older man, then stared at their interwoven fingers. Up close and personal wasn't the usual state of their friendship, although recently she'd found herself wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship with such a steady and charming man. As a grazier with historical family property ties to the Narree Valley, he wouldn't be upping and going anywhere, not like the Rhys's of this world.

‘Well, I was just wondering if you'd be interested in us seeing more of each other?'

What? Had he been reading her mind?

‘I know I'm a fair bit older than you …'

Like, at least twenty-five years.

‘But I can look after you, provide you both with a home.'

What was he really trying to say here?

‘You don't have to decide straight away. The death of your father was a huge shock. To you. To both of us …'

Jodie could believe that. Although Alex hadn't shed a tear at the funeral, as he stood beside her the whole day making sure all went like clockwork to see her father into his grave,
she knew the man had been terribly upset. She'd seen that the night she'd called him to come to town for those last few hours of her father's life. Alex had shed a lone tear as he'd looked down at her father that night, but then shuttered it all away.

‘Alex …'

‘No, don't say anything yet. Just think on it for a while. I'll be back in town at the end of the week. I've got a load of bulls to deliver to the sale-yards. A bloke from Benambra is coming through to pick them up on Friday.'

He'd let go of her hands then and headed towards the door, taking his good ‘town' Akubra from the chair on the way. ‘I can be a patient man when it comes to things that I want.' He'd turned and fixed her with a long look, one that made his mature, rugged face seem younger. There was a fleeting touch of possession in that look, which made Jodie's insides momentarily quiver with uncertainty. But it was shuttered away as quickly as it had come, and an engaging smile was back on his face. A grin she had come to rely on for its ability to brighten her day.

‘Think about it, Jodie,' he'd said. ‘I can make your and Milly's life very comfortable.'

And then he'd gone. Alex McGregor had been one of her father's best mates, someone she respected and liked. Charming in his old-fashioned courtesy and ways, he was secure like a rock-solid mountain range. Whereas she, Jodie Ashton, felt vulnerability pressing in on all sides, like a spindly gum tree clinging to soil on an upwards slope.

While the offer of accommodation had been alluring, Jodie had declined, preferring to keep some independence. The Hunters via Mue had offered her the house on McCauley's Hill and it was perfect. A reasonable little house and room for the horses.

That had just left Alex's offer of a relationship to deal with, a proposition Jodie's head was telling her was a good one. Her heart wasn't so sure. But last time she let her heart rule her head she'd lost out big time, so she'd not said no to Alex's suggestion.

The all-wheel-drive vehicle was nosing its way into the house yard, as Jodie called it. It wasn't a garden. A scraggly rose bush was the only flower to be seen that wasn't a native shrub or a weed. The word ‘Boots' was emblazoned on a cross near the rose. She'd asked Billy who Boots was, but the young boy had swallowed and mumbled ‘just a dog'. That, by the look of the glassy eyes she'd glimpsed as the child turned away, had not been the truth. She'd left it be, though, figuring Billy would tell them in his own good time.

She could hear the diesel motor of the school bus coming up the road as she watched Alex climb from the car and walk towards the house. He was an auspicious-looking man with a gait that promised someone who was comfortable with his place in the world. His silver hair beneath the Akubra would have looked dowdy on some blokes, but with Alex, it made him look more solid, mature and confident. Like he'd earned the right to stride the earth and be dismissive of anything in his way.

Jodie knew she should have got up, walked towards the house, called out, waved a hand and let him know she was there. But still she sat …

She heard the school bus pause at the bottom of the hill, obviously letting Milly clamber down the tall stairs and tumble out onto the road. She was a pint-sized kid, as Jodie had been. Blonde hair, silvery-blue eyes.

The bus driver crunched his gearbox and revved the motor so he could take off along the road. At that moment
Alex appeared from the verandah, making his way down the rickety steps and moving back across the house yard to his car.

And still Jodie sat. She didn't want to think about tomorrow.

She really should get up. Go say hello and pass the time of day with him. But when her mind didn't tell her body to get up off the trough as it should have, Jodie realised she was a little more annoyed with Alex than she'd thought. Okay, so he'd needed to attend to his council crisis and he had a station to run. A high-country cattle station. But hadn't he wanted to spend more time with her? Since the accident she'd hoped he'd be a bit more attentive. But he was busy. Just so busy, she reminded herself. And he
had
caught up with her. Okay, it was briefly and both Milly and Mue had been there, but then Milly would always be there, so why was she acting like some love-starved teenager? As Dr Brian had reminded her on that terrible night in the hospital, she was a single mother with responsibilities, the same as Alex. Responsibilities, that is. He did have a grown-up son somewhere but he never spoke of him. Some sort of rift years ago. Come to think of it, she didn't even know the boy's name. If she and Alex were going to spend time together she should probably rectify that.

Alex was now writing something on a piece of paper. He tramped back to the house, up the verandah steps, again grabbing the rail to steady his way to the top. She really needed to whack a few nails into those steps; they were decidedly creaky. She heard the bang of the screen door. A few minutes later he returned, got into the Beamer and reversed out of the yard. He hadn't even looked way up beyond the house towards the hayshed, where she was sitting. Probably hadn't even thought to check, his mind on the next job he needed to do.

And then there was Milly, on her red bike, pedalling her way up the track. The child met and carefully avoided Alex's vehicle near the massive red gum tree that marked the start of the steepest part of the hill.

She should go rescue the child. That part of McCauley's Hill was a tough haul. Jodie jumped off the trough and climbed over the gate. She made her way down towards the house, watching as the brake lights flashed on Alex's vehicle. A few seconds passed then the BMW crawled past her daughter. Milly's face was red with exertion and Jodie could see by the set of the child's shoulders that the going was real hard. She'd need to have a nice cold glass of cordial ready for her.

Was it too early for something stronger for herself?

Thinking of the accident, seeing Alex and thinking of her father …

It was that kind of a day.