Time Will Tell (35 page)

Half an hour later, Emily and the Strattens followed the casket out into the sun. They waited beside the black mourning car as people spilled out from the church and neighbouring hall. The two funeral men organised the six pallbearers, then folded the steel gurney and stowed it in a concealed compartment underneath the hearse.

Emily looked down as she felt Thora grasp her hand tightly. She gave a reassuring squeeze and offered a grim, sympathetic smile in return before letting go.

When the pallbearers set off, the younger of the funeral men appeared and opened the doors for them to get in.

They did a U-turn and quickly caught up to the casket, which was being carried at walking pace by six of John's friends. Emily could hear Gerald, Thora and the young funeral man talking around her, could see their lips moving, but she remained silent, gazing out the window and feeling nothing.

At the end of the street, the shiny brown casket was placed into the hearse, which was already parked at the kerb. Emily wondered how it had got there without her realising, but then everything seemed to be happening without her realising.

The few kilometres to the cemetery seemed to take forever. Once there, they waited in the car while the casket was unloaded. Then the six young men carried it down a gravel path between the headstones.

Emily, Gerald, Thora and both the funeral men followed the procession to a hole with fresh brown dirt heaped up nearby. She looked vacantly at the funeral man's hand on her elbow as he eased her into position beside the Strattens.

Emily experienced a strange sense of déjà vu; Gran being placed in the ground. But it passed quickly.

She stared at the jagged pieces of gravel at her feet until someone nudged her forward and offered her a small hand trowel containing dirt. She turned the small implement and watched the brown earth tip onto the large wreath and the box beneath. It sounded like a long and gentle sigh.

She accepted a single carnation, tossed it in and turned away with Thora and Gerald, vaguely aware of the nods of acknowledgement from those lining up for a flower and the chance to utter their last words to the deceased. Emily just looked to the ground.

One by one the people dispersed into the graveyard to visit the departed or made their way back to their cars. Emily, Gerald and Thora resumed their positions in the funeral car and awaited the return of their driver. They must have spoken and she must have replied, but afterwards she couldn't recall with any certainty what was said.

At the wake, Emily nodded and thanked those around her for their kind words. But she couldn't seem to feel anything; not anger, not sadness, not nervousness – nothing.

Later she watched herself hug her parents and John's parents goodbye at the door, get into her car – which had somehow made it from the church to the bowls club the other side of town – and begin her journey home. All still on autopilot. Had she seen Barbara and David at all that day? Had she spoken to them? Her inability to answer these questions didn't cause her angst or her heart rate to rise. She just shrugged it off and stared vacantly at the road beyond the bonnet.

As she turned onto the long, pot-holed driveway, all around her became clear again and the music playing on the radio crisp and melodious. It was as if she'd shaken off a heavy coat, emerged from a cocoon, or something. Part of her wished she could have stayed in that state forever. It was nice to be numb, and not to have to think about or deal with anything. She could see why people got hooked on sedatives. Only she hadn't taken anything. It was all just way too weird. Would Barbara say it was the universe protecting her?

As the car bumped and shuddered its way along the track and under the dark, shadowy canopy of the avenue of trees, Emily began to feel really sad about losing Barbara's friendship. The longer time stretched, the harder it would be repair. But it was up to Barbara to apologise. Emily had principles to uphold, and she didn't like being spoken about behind her back. The town and its gossip train was one thing, but you should be able to count on a friend not to do that. If you couldn't, then they weren't a true friend.

She pulled up the car and sat looking at the house she would soon have to leave. The first tears for the day began to fall.

Chapter Thirty-nine

The removal truck idled nearby, waiting for her to take off in her own car and show the way.

Emily would have liked to spend more time in the empty house saying goodbye. It had all happened so fast. She felt an odd sense of guilt and hollowness; like she was letting the house down. She wanted to tell it she was sorry, that she wished things had been different.

Instead, she only paused on the verandah long enough to swallow back the lump forming in her throat and the unshed tears. She then locked the door, pushed the key under and gave it a good shove. She heard it skid a little way down the shiny hall floorboards.

‘Come on Grace. This is it,' she said, patting the dog from her squatting position before standing up. She had to consciously tell herself to take deep breaths as she walked to the car on heavy, shaking legs.
God I hate goodbyes
, she thought as she got into the car and put her seatbelt on.

Lucky Jake had left in such a hurry.
Oh, Jake
. She missed him with an ache she wouldn't have believed possible if she wasn't experiencing it. So much had happened since Saturday. She'd been so busy, but the yearning had been there the whole time. Could he be her Mister Right?

She frowned as she drove past the idling truck and entered the canopied driveway for the last time.
I shouldn't have let him go.
But she hadn't had a chance – he'd been called away.
I hope he's okay
.
I really should call.
But, again, the time for polite enquiry had passed. Anyway, as excruciating as the wait was, if it was meant to be, it would be, right?
Do I really believe that?
She wasn't sure, but thinking it helped.

Emily knew in her heart she loved him, deeply. She didn't yet know if it was as a friend or a life partner – they hadn't had the chance to get that far. But she knew that he would be in her life, somehow, forever. He was someone she could truly trust.

So why did I get so prickly when he asked about my life with John? Fear?

Sometimes she could be her own worst enemy. She laughed tightly and rolled her eyes.

Jesus, Em. Stop with the psychoanalysis. You've got enough to deal with today. Let the universe sort it out, and stop bloody worrying about stuff you can't do anything about.

As she turned onto the bitumen main road she forced herself back to the job at hand – moving back into the farm; her farm. Not John's.
Mine
. And, even better, guilt-free and with Thora and Gerald's blessing.

While it didn't have the same depth of character as the Bakers' house, the place she was returning to did have its redeeming features, namely a bathroom
inside the house
. And the heating lamps on the ceiling would come in very handy when the cold weather returned.

It would also be nice to put her feet on thick wall-to-wall carpet when getting out of bed. And she wouldn't have to wonder every time it rained whether this was the shower that would make its way through the delicate roof above.

It would take a while to get unpacked and re-settled, but she couldn't afford to waste any time. Having spent money on the surveyors and the removalists, her savings were being quickly eaten up. At least she could get the survey costs back – she'd damn well be forwarding the receipt to Tara as soon as it arrived. She'd be okay when John's money came through, but in the meantime things were as dire as they had been when she'd first discussed the purchase with Barbara.

God, there was so much to do. She hoped David would agree to take on the sheep. She didn't know anything about livestock, and it would save poor Gerald from having to check on them all the time. At some point there were all the sheds to be gone through. And she'd have to do some serious setting up of books if she were going to run a business – the farm. Even though she had leased the land to David, there was still a considerable amount of responsibility on her shoulders. It was quite exciting, if somewhat daunting. She felt a little guilty at feeling so committed to this new life when only days ago she'd been committed to the other house. But none of this had been her doing.

First things first: she really had to get herself made signatory to John's bank accounts in order to get the bills paid.

She'd been putting it off, but now the funeral was over, there were no excuses left.

*

It was nine o'clock when Emily collapsed into bed after a long hot shower, pleased with herself for making the bed her first task after the removalists had unloaded everything and left. She had got a lot done, but each room in the house still had a few boxes waiting to be unpacked. She'd had all the furniture and whitegoods from the Bakers' place put in the washhouse and out of sight – it was mostly stuff Des had picked up for her from the shack sale, and she wouldn't be needing it now.

Later on she'd take a load to the op shop to be put to use by someone else. But for now there were more important things to put her limited energy towards.

She lay back and stared at the button jar – in full view and pride of place on the tallboy – wondering how she really felt being here in the same bedroom she had shared with John.

The last time I slept here was the night before I left him.

She half wished she'd had the removalists set her up in the spare room next to John's office at the other end of the house. As it was, in the morning she'd open the curtains to the ugly view of the partially built hayshed and the demolished cottage in the distance.

Well, she was stuck here for now.

Emily still wondered why wanting to run the farm in partnership with John had been such a problem for him. It made her angry. It was true they were from two different worlds, but why should that matter? It hadn't mattered for her grandparents.

Prior to marrying Grandpa, Gran never even had to do her own washing, let alone sit on her hands and knees and scrub the floor of a shearing shed. But she had done it all without complaint. Grandpa always said she gave as good as any man. He'd been proud of his wife, and had had no qualms about telling anyone who would listen.

So although farming didn't exactly run in her blood, it
could
be learnt. John had just been too short-sighted to see that.

Well, thanks to him, she might soon have the best of both worlds; a country life with no neighbours for miles and a small but adequate and steady income. But she'd have to do something with her life; otherwise she'd be bored within weeks.

Emily turned on her side and looked down at where Grace was curled up in her bed on the floor under the window. She couldn't see the dog in the dark, but could sense her presence.

What do I want to do with my life? Study?

There were all those ads about universities offering distance education; she could get a degree. But in what?

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. Really, this was no different to before, except soon she would have the money to relax and bide her time. Waiting for a while to see what panned out made sense. And she could afford to do that now.

Chapter Forty

When Emily woke the next morning, it took her a few moments to realise she was back at the farmhouse. She heard a shuffling noise beside the bed and leant over to find Grace peering up at her over her paws.

‘Have you got a cuddle for Mum? Come on, up you hop,' she said, patting the edge of the bed. Emily didn't feel ready to get up just yet, but the dog sat at attention. She clearly needed to go out.

‘Oh all right,' she said, and threw back the covers.

Emily sat on the back step wrapped in her robe and with her feet in her worn sheepskin slippers while Grace went about her business and then snuffled about. It was quite cool for the middle of summer. She smiled, seeing that the dog's routine seemed the same as it had been at the Baker place. Grace didn't seem too unsettled. She couldn't say the same for herself.

Though, to be fair, it wasn't being back at the farm that was unsettling her; it was her next trip into town. It would be the first time since John's funeral that she would be stepping into the lions' den. That's how it felt; appearing in public alone to be scrutinised and spoken about behind her back – or to her face – by the townsfolk. All comments would have been halted, like an armistice, for the funeral. But that was over now; the gloves were essentially off.

Everyone would now know that she had inherited the farm and that she had moved back in. Opinions would be flowing back and forth. There was a snowball's chance in hell that people would be happy about her change of fortune. No, she was a woman, and a townie at that. She had no right to own farmland, let alone work it.

And then there were the circumstances. At least Thora and Gerald knew the truth about everything now. They were really the ones who mattered. Everyone else would eventually find something else to talk about, stretch the truth about, or completely make it up. The only good thing about being the centre of negative gossip –
and let's face it
, Emily thought,
good news dies a pretty quick death out here
– was that eventually it ceased. Emily just hoped that time would come quickly; that the whole town would decide John was a nasty piece of work and that his widow was entitled to everything for her years of torment.
Yeah, right! And pigs might fly.

Widow. Yes, she was no longer his estranged, soon-to-be ex. She was his widow. A much more satisfactory tag, to be sure.
Oh God, here I am sounding just like my mother – in my own head!
But oh, what a mess! Being the widow was a hell of a lot more complicated than waiting for the twelve months to elapse and send in divorce papers for rubber-stamping. If only she could do it all online.