Novels 01 Blue Skies (12 page)

Chapter 27

‘I know I set those taps up right, Ade.’ Amanda ran her hands through her hair as she spoke into the phone. ‘I heard the water trickling through the pipe. I just can’t work out what’s gone wrong.’

Adrian had been the first person she’d rung when she found the sheep thirsty and milling around the trough – once she’d fixed the problem. She’d watched with horror as the ewes clambered over one another to get a sip of water and replenish their body fluid. The round trough wasn’t large enough for them all to get a drink at the same time, and their frantic attempts to get to the water showed Amanda how badly dehydrated they all were. She just prayed they wouldn’t miscarry their precious lambs – but with a sick feeling in her stomach, she had to face the fact that they probably would.

She had raced back to the shed, grabbed a bag of salt and emptied it into the trough, knowing that if she allowed the ewes to have unlimited fresh water, it could do them more harm than good.

‘Maybe something rubbed on the taps and turned them back,’ Adrian offered.

‘The only thing that would’ve done that would be a cow, and you know I sold all the cows when I bought in these stud ewes. I just can’t understand it.’ Amanda was working herself into a state and she knew, but couldn’t help it.

‘Well I don’t know. But you’ve fixed the problem now and hopefully there hasn’t been too much damage done. But, Mandy, you’ve got to understand, this is farming. These things happen sometimes and you’ve just got to roll with the punches. Don’t give yourself a hard time about it. I thought we’d worked through this when you lost the sheep during the storm.’

An image of the dead sheep scattered through the bush hit her with full force, followed by another image – the dozer driving through her farm, the driver digging a large hole, and Adrian’s big, shiny front-end loader pushing the dead carcasses into the hole then filling it with dirt. She could see, as though it was happening right before her eyes, the two machines driving back and forth over the filled-in pit to pack the dirt down and squash the bodies, so they wouldn’t rise as they bloated and then started to decompose. That had been her fault and this was too.

‘Anyway, I’d better go,’ Amanda said and hung up the phone before Adrian could respond. The sick feeling in her stomach had suddenly bubbled into her mouth and she raced to the toilet and retched into the bowl.

Then she sank to the floor and started to cry.

A couple of hours later Amanda stalked around the shed with Mingus at her heels, muttering, ‘Maybe I’m not cut out for this. But if I don’t farm, what would I do? Yet if I can’t keep my animals well and healthy, I shouldn’t have them. They rely on me.’ She picked up a spanner and hung it on the wall, then a hammer, then grabbed the broom and started to sweep.

The all too familiar feeling of panic rose and threatened to overwhelm her as she heard the outside bell of the phone ringing. She knew she wouldn’t make it before the answering machine kicked in, but she dropped the broom and ran for the house anyway.

Hannah was leaving a message when Amanda snatched up the phone, breathless.

‘Hi,’ she gasped.

‘Well, I didn’t expect to get you. Where did I pull you from? You sound like you’ve run a marathon.’

‘I was in the shed,’ Amanda panted, trying to catch her breath.‘How are you going? How’s Sydney and the grain trade?’

‘All fine. How about you? What are you up to?’

‘Trying to convince myself that I’m a good farmer. Mingus hasn’t got anything worthwhile to say, so I still haven’t worked out if I am or not.’

‘Ah. Did you have a stuff-up?’

‘You could say that,’ and she went on to tell Hannah the whole sorry saga.

When she had finished, Hannah said, ‘Well, Mandy, I’m sorry but I actually have to agree with Adrian on this. Mistakes happen. It doesn’t make you any less of a farmer . . .’ There was the sound of a mobile ringing in the background. ‘Uh-oh. Sorry, Mandy, I have to dash – the world of grain contracts calls. Good luck, and don’t forget: you are a good farmer!’

That night, Amanda was sitting on the couch in her mum’s study with a glass of wine in hand – she still found it hard to believe that Adrian had changed her beer ways to wine. Flicking through an old photograph album, she could see the happiness etched in her parents’ faces as they pushed her on a swing or held her in their arms.

She turned back to the start of the album and looked again at the photo that she found behind another photo in the album. It always sent a wave of emotion through her. It was taken in the hospital; her mum was in bed and her dad was standing near a window, cradling his newborn child. The smile on his face told a story that Amanda hadn’t felt often with her dad. She wondered why things had changed.

Then there were the farming photos: of the tanks being put up and new dams going in. Even one of the mail box after the mail run had started.

There were photos of Christmases, family gettogethers and dinner parties. As she flicked through she came across a picture of a very young Adrian sitting next to her father. On the table were empty plates and serving dishes. There were half-eaten bread rolls and it looked like there had been a big party, but there was no one else sitting there. They each had a beer in front of them, red cheeks and huge grins. She could almost hear them saying ‘cheers!’ to whoever was taking the photo – Amanda assumed it was her mum.

She looked up as Mingus barked and gravel crunched under wheels in the drive. Through the window she saw Adrian’s car and jumped up, taking the album with her.

‘Look at this,’ she said by way of greeting, and held out the album.

He took it and looked at the photo for a long time. Finally he ran his fingers over the photo then handed the album back. ‘That’s a long time ago.’

‘When was it?’ she asked curiously.

‘The last time I ever came to this farm, until that night I met you again.’

‘Want to tell me about it?’

Adrian sighed heavily. ‘It’s not really something I like to remember, but I guess you need to know, if you’re to understand the relationship I had with your father. Have you got some wine? We can settle down in the lounge and talk if you like.’

‘I would like that,’ she said softly, and went to get a new bottle, another glass and some nibbles.

Adrian was sitting in a rocking chair when Amanda came into the lounge room. He seemed to be lost in thought. When she placed a glass on the table in front of him, he looked up, startled, then picked up the glass and took a sip, while Amanda arranged herself on the couch.

‘Brian was like the father I never had,’ he began. ‘Do you know much about my parents?’

Amanda shook her head.

‘Well, my father was a soldier who retired early. He was an upstanding citizen, worked in the community tirelessly, was a good farmer, and was a man well ahead of his time when it came to understanding markets – financial ones that is, not the animals ones – which is why I have been left as well off as I am. But he was also a man who had high expectations. He didn’t give praise or show affection. As the only son, it was expected I would return home as soon as I finished my schooling in Perth. My sister, Jacqueline, didn’t have anywhere near the expectations placed on her that I had but that was fine – I had broad shoulders. My sister had married a Frenchman not long after she left school and she hadn’t returned to Australia, not even for Mum’s funeral.

‘Neither my father or mother would have anything to do with Brian or your mother. I’m really not sure why – that’s a whole different generational thing that never interested me. I assumed there must have been some bad blood between the families.

‘I met Brian at a young farmers conference. He had been invited to speak about stock feed. Yes, you might well look surprised. Your father was a very good farmer. Unfortunately, as happens in farming, he had seasons go against him and the rising interest rates of the eighties caught him unaware. Because of that, your recollection of him may not be the same as mine. And don’t forget there are a few years’ age difference between us!’ He smiled at her.

‘Well, I was impressed by your father’s talk. He was innovative and
excited
about what was happening in the farming industry – the stock industry in particular. He tolerated cropping, but only as a way to better his pastures – clean out the weeds and grasses from the clovers and so forth. I went and spoke with him after his talk and he invited me to Kyleena. I came, we got along very well and after that I just kept coming back. You were just a toddler at the time.

‘Your mother was very welcoming and it really felt like the home I had always wanted. I became quite close to Brian. I think I was almost like a son to him . . . Maybe that’s overstating his affection for me, but that’s how I liked to think of it at the time.

‘About a year after I’d started coming here regularly, my father died quite unexpectedly – a heart attack, we were told. And then my mother started her downward slide. She became very difficult and needy all of a sudden. This, I might say, was really very tricky for a young man who was socialising a lot and trying to find a wife. The women I met didn’t like the way she treated them when I brought them home, or her demanding nature. I can look back now and understand that she was frightened of losing me, but hindsight doesn’t fix past damages,’ he sighed.

‘One night, when I’d come home late and covered in cow manure, she demanded to know where I’d been. Brian had been teaching me to preg-test cows, I told her.

‘Even though she had been aware I was visiting, something seemed to snap in her that night. My mother never usually raised her voice, but she screeched that your family was beneath ours and I wasn’t to go to Kyleena again. I was insulting my father’s memory by mixing with people he didn’t like. She became really quite hysterical, and it was then I realised that I needed to spend some time with my mother and try to sort out her difficulties.

‘I’d thought she was quite healthy, but it became obvious that her mind wasn’t and her condition deteriorated rapidly. She was diagnosed with dementia. I couldn’t handle her and the farm, so I employed a couple of good men and made caring for her my priority until she died.’

‘But that doesn’t explain about you and dad and his reaction to you,’ Amanda said.

‘No. No it doesn’t. When I explained to Brian why I couldn’t visit Kyleena anymore he didn’t take it very well – especially when I repeated what my mother had said about the Greenfields being beneath the Majors. I tried to explain that I didn’t know what had caused the bad blood between our two families and I didn’t care, but as you know your father doesn’t forgive very easily. He told me if I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for our friendship, I wasn’t worth knowing.

‘So between the two ultimatums, I chose to stand by my family – my mother needed me, you see. I think anyone would’ve done the same in my situation.’ Adrian sighed deeply. ‘I’m sure Mother’s outburst about the Greenfields was a symptom of her dementia and an overreaction, but I couldn’t risk hurting her by disobeying her wishes.

‘But I guess there are always two sides to every story and that’s mine.Your father might tell a different one if he was still alive.’

Amanda sat silent and still, saddened by the stubbornness of both families and the hurt they had caused Adrian – but she couldn’t help but replay his final words after he had left later that night:
Your
father might tell a different one if he was still alive
.

Chapter 28
1938

Michael walked across the paddock he’d named
Karru behind his horse-drawn disc plough, with
Bowy at his heels. He had finally finished ploughing
and was on his way home.

Karru had been the first paddock he’d cleared,
and he thought it might be the most productive area
of his farm, as the areas he had cleared since didn’t
seem to have the heavy, rich soil of the river.

He smiled as the hut came into view and he saw
Grace in the vegetable garden. It hadn’t taken her
long to settle into Kyleena and discard her finery in
favour of his old work trousers and shirt.

Today he could see the outline of her stomach as
she dug the hoe into the ground, and he wondered if
the baby might be moving inside her.

Her work in the vegetable patch and orchard
was an enormous asset – the plants and trees had
blossomed under her care – and Michael had been
glad to hand the responsibility for them over to her.

From her arrival two and a half years ago until
recently, when she had grown too large to help with
the lifting and ploughing, they had worked side by
side to create what had become their shared dream.

For weeks on end, they had left the hut at first
light and worked together to clear their land,
knocking down scrub and piling up branches and
sticks around the dead trees before burning them to
the ground.

They had their favourite jobs, in amongst the
back-breaking toil. Michael loved the sweet smell of
the ‘black boys’ as they burned and Grace enjoyed
listening to the crackle of the kerosene bush as it
threw up flames that looked like they were almost
touching the sky.

Together they had started to make Kyleena what
it could be and now, as of today, he was ready to put
in his first crop of oats and was eagerly anticipating
the birth of their first child, which he hoped would be
a son.

As he drew near Grace looked up – she must
have heard the rattling of the plough – and smiled.
Awkwardly, she eased herself into a standing position
and walked towards Michael. He felt his heart swell
with love as he looked at her.

‘Did you finish?’ Grace called.

‘We did! And what a sterling job these animals
have done! They never once faltered or set a hoof
wrong. Extra oats and hay for Clip and Clop tonight!
Moving closer, he could see she looked tired. Dark
rings had formed under her eyes and her hand was
held to her back as if she was in pain. ‘How about
you, my love? Is the baby active today?’

‘It must be going to make an appearance soon,
if its movements are anything to go by.’ She took his
arm and together they walked to the river so the
horse could have a drink.

‘Do I need to speak with Phyllis Collins?’ Michael
asked as he took the harnesses off his two Clydesdales.
‘If you are close to birthing, we should let her know.’
Their neighbour on the eastern side had midwifery
experience.

‘She called by this morning after you left for the
paddock, on her way to Harpers’,’ Grace said.‘Nancy
is close to giving birth as well and Phyllis wanted to
check on us both. She thinks we will not have long
to wait.’

Michael finished tending to the horses and stabled
them for the night, while Grace dished out their
oats and hay and called the chooks to their coop.
Collecting a large cauliflower and some beans to
add to their evening stew, as well as some ripe juicy
plums for a dessert, they entered their little hut, their
arms around each other.

Michael spoke of the new road that was being
built which would run right past their land. ‘I think
we should move our home closer to where the road
will be. We need a bigger shed for the new kerosene
tractor and this little hut won’t be big enough when
the baby arrives. What do you think?’

‘It would make sense to be closer to the road – an
easier journey to Esperance when we go. But what
would we live in?’

‘If we build a shed we could enclose one end for
our living quarters. We could build walls, have two or
even three rooms.’

Grace smiled. ‘Imagine two rooms! We could have
a kitchen and a bedroom.’ She cast her eyes to the
roughly made camp bed covered in empty wheat
sacks she had sewn together for a bedspread. ‘That
sounds wonderful.When can we start?’

‘Once the crop is in,’ Michael replied, filled with joy
at the thought of the future which lay before them.