Grace Campbell released her grip just enough to prevent her fingernails from cutting into her skin, as rural Queensland, its heat haze distorting the horizon, enveloped her thoughts. The LandCruiser lumbered over the rattly old stock grid, skewed sideways, and hit a huge pothole.
“Shit.”
Grace wrestled with the steering wheel, glancing briefly in the rear-vision mirror. The vehicle swung back onto the track and she crossed her fingers, hoping Daniel hadn’t overheard. Determined to set a good example for her three-year-old son, she tried hard not to swear, but sometimes her mouth just erupted before her brain engaged.
Obliterated by dust, the horse float swayed dangerously behind her. She gripped the wheel tightly as her heart pounded in her chest, took a deep breath, and focused on the track ahead. Her load contained nothing particularly valuable—just boxes of what she believed would help her cope with her new life in the bush. But still, she didn’t want it strewn across the paddock.
Gently, she rubbed her aching shoulder. This morning’s predawn incident added to her heartache and anxiety, and the knot in her stomach tightened as bile burned the back of her throat.
Thick dust blanketed the truck travelling behind them, concealing the driver. Pete slowed and changed gears as he prepared to follow her over the grid. No doubt in total control, perched comfortably in the driver’s seat, she could just picture the satisfied smile spread across his face. He much preferred the responsibility of their precious horses and kelpie dogs to their son. The piping chatter of kids drove him nuts, and if he was honest, she was sure he would admit he really hadn’t wanted to be a father.
In the LandCruiser, Grace’s apprehension, anxiety, and just a little bit of excitement added to her already churning stomach. Pete’s confidence in acquiring this new job was award-winning, but Grace had her doubts.
She heaved a sigh. What on earth am I doing? Did Pete’s charm and smooth talk bluff the agent into recommending him for this job?
“Are we there yet?”
Grace grinned in the rear-vision mirror at her son, roughly awoken by the grid crossing—his introduction to Tullagulla.
“Yes, sweetie-pie. We’re here. Keep a lookout for the house.”
Daniel leaned forward as much as his harness would allow, his eyes lit up with anticipation and excitement. Never one to miss the action, Min, Grace’s black and tan kelpie dog, raised her head from the floor beneath Daniel’s feet.
Being the runt of the litter, Grace had named her Mini Mouse, shortened to Min. She was proving to be a handy little dog around both sheep and cattle; her big heart defied her slight build.
However, her loyalty to Grace and Daniel infuriated Pete. The other dogs, Molly and Tweed, lived in kennels and were kept tied up except for their daily run or when working. Little Min was different, special, and had been Grace and Daniel’s constant companion.
Bumping down the track over ant nests and potholes, Grace’s heart sank as she absorbed the ravages of drought. Except for a few gnarly old gum trees and scraggly gidgee bush, she observed nothing but dust, dry saltbush, and a property that oozed neglect.
A large dam wall appeared on her left, raising the question of water availability—the most precious of commodities. Memories of growing up on a green and rolling property on the upper reaches of the Clarence River overwhelmed her. Water certainly wasn’t a problem there—she was used to good rainfall and beautiful scenery, not to mention the love and support of her family. So far, it looked as though Tullagulla was going to fall a long way short of that.
C’mon, girl. Buck up, she chided herself. You’re thirty-one, fit, healthy, and about to start a whole new life. Inhaling deeply, she eased off the accelerator, forced a smile on her face, and swallowed, her mouth as dry as sawdust.
“I see it.” The shrill voice jogged Grace from her reverie. Glancing in the rear-vision mirror, she followed Daniel’s gaze. A chimney.
As the vehicle swept around a clump of brigalow, Grace’s eyebrows rose another notch. A brick chimney and grey roof were just visible through a high scrappy hedge. Straight ahead, on the other side of an open and dusty intersection of tracks heading every which way, a long low shed squatted in the dirt. It was old and propped up at each corner with huge round timber logs resembling rigid soldiers on sentry duty. A rambling bougainvillea threatened to gobble one end of the shed, its bright magenta colour a dramatic contrast to the brown and dusty surrounds.
The tracks divided and Grace braked hard, her thoughts a tangled web. A glimpse of yards, stables, and a woolshed were away to her left. Immediately to her right was a new corrugated iron vehicle shed complete with two silver roller doors, and she squinted at the reflection of the bright afternoon sun. Towering over the back of the shed, a windmill clanked lazily in the otherwise still and silent paddock. In the corner of the homestead yard stood a huge red cedar tree.
“Wow, that’s beautiful.” Grace breathed her surprise. The tree’s filtered shade consumed both the lawn and a semicircle of paddock. Beyond the tree, the paddock sloped away to the east, a limp windsock suggesting an airstrip and dusty road beyond.
Grace allowed the vehicle to creep forward again, pulling on the handbrake as they halted outside the fence. Switching off the engine, she sat in silence, gazing at the homestead.
Above the gate leading into the yard was an overgrown and tumbling honeysuckle vine, precariously supported by an equally rickety and rusted archway. A brittle attempt had been made at a garden below it, and Grace marvelled at the strength and determination of the surviving vegetation. A single red rose lifted her spirits a notch, the straggling bush almost devoid of leaves.
“Mum. Let me out.”
Grace released her seat belt and opened the door before helping Daniel. She breathed in the warm, dry air as the truck shuddered to a halt in the middle of the crossroad behind them. Air brakes screeched and hissed and the engine quietened. Thankful that her sunglasses concealed the trepidation in her eyes, her heart still leapt as Pete jumped down from the cab.
His commanding presence, his height, and his hopeless good looks turned heads, including Grace’s. Those bright blue eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled and his black closely trimmed beard outlined straight white teeth that belied his love of sweets and all things unhealthy. She had first set eyes on him at a campdraft competition five years ago, and Grace still pinched herself at the realisation that she was now Pete’s wife. After knocking her off her feet with his charm, and in a whirlwind of steamy romance, they’d progressed rapidly from long phone calls to driving hundreds of kilometres to meet for weekends—mostly at campdrafts, rodeos, or polocrosse carnivals. Within a year, she had been pregnant with Daniel and they were married.
Now Pete strode towards her, his mouth twitching as he chewed a toffee. A short, stocky, middle-aged man appeared from the track behind the machinery shed. Limping slightly, his face was partially hidden by a huge black Akubra hat. He was almost upon them when Grace swivelled, hiding her surprise at his eye patch.
A wide, beaming smile welcomed her. “You’d be the new fellas then?” he drawled as if time was never of the essence.
Grace waited.
“Yep! Pete Campbell.” Pete shook the older man’s hand, nodding towards Grace as he swallowed the remainder of his toffee. “My wife, Grace, and my son, Daniel.”
Grace smiled her acknowledgement. “Hi.”
“Greg Walton. Two IC here at Tullagulla. Welcome. Been here a while now, so anything ya need to know, just ask.” He nodded towards the homestead and looked at Grace. “Me missus has been in and lit the stove for ya and put some fresh food in the cold room. Squire killed a mutton—it’s hangin’ in the slaughterhouse. Will cut it up and bring it over later.”
“Thanks, Greg.” Grace returned his friendly smile.
“We’d better get these horses and dogs unloaded. Are there spare pens somewhere for them?” Pete interrupted.
“Sure, I’ll take you down to the yards and stables and show ya round.”
“So, what happened to your eye?” blurted Pete.
Grace cringed at her husband’s lack of empathy but Greg just laughed.
“Stupid accident. Workin’ in the shed and threw a screwdriver up onto the trailer as I bent down. I wasn’t watching and the bastard bounced back at me and the sharp end went fair into me eye. You wouldn’t believe it, would’ya?”
Pete roared with laughter. “Bet you don’t throw things around now, hey?”
Grace flinched. What must this poor guy think? Most people who heard that story would show a bit of sympathy, but not her Pete.
If it bothered Greg, he didn’t show it.
They really do breed them tough out here, she thought ruefully.
“Nah, take life a bit steadier now.” Greg laughed. Glancing in Grace’s direction, he waved his arm at the homestead, turned, and ambled unevenly towards the truck, calling back as he went. “Go in the house and have a gander, and I’ll show the boss the lay of the land.”
Pete gave an approving nod as he spun on his heel and caught up.
The truck started again, Pete’s head turned away from them, dismissing all but his companion.
“Come on, mate,” Grace called to Daniel as she pushed the gate open. Who’s Squire?
The drooping honeysuckle desperately tried to wrap around her head and tickled her arms as she ducked underneath it. Careful where she put her feet, she led Daniel by the hand as they negotiated the cracked concrete pathway. Where the path reached the house, there was a wide stone step, so old that a groove was worn in its middle.
Reaching to push open the screen door, Grace glanced up at the high, rapidly moving wispy clouds strewn across the sky, indicating strong winds above. A flock of screeching cockatoos flew overhead as she turned and stepped through the open door onto the gauzed-in veranda. A second door led straight into the kitchen.
A sudden gust of wind charged the windmill into action. Grace jumped as the blades turned, clanking loudly, stopping again as fast as they had started. After kicking off her boots, she helped Daniel remove his before entering the room. They stood still, taking in the new surroundings.
Dominating the room was a large table—solid, scrubbed, and surrounded by eight chairs of different styles, colours, and conditions. Behind it, the long bench held a sink in the centre, a small gas cooktop in the corner, and wooden under-bench cupboards all the way along the wall. There was no sign of a dishwasher or any modern conveniences except for the cooktop, a relic of the 1970s with its three gas rings. The old Aga, spilling its warmth into the already hot room, stood on the wall next to the pantry door, and a comfy-looking couch squatted beside the wood stove, transporting Grace to a previous time in history. Memories of a neighbour’s farmhouse from her childhood flashed through her mind. Painted red and white with an old grey benchtop, this kitchen had a cosy 1960s retro appearance, just as her neighbours had. Shoved hard against the window overlooking the entry gate was a small, polished wooden table supporting a surprisingly new television.
Well, at least the place looks clean. Grace gave a small sigh of relief.
Holding Daniel’s hand, she explored farther. On the left wall of the kitchen were two doors. The first revealed a small room containing a single bed, a bookcase, and an old timber wardrobe. The cook’s room. A flutter of anticipation mixed with a few drops of dread coursed through Grace. Yikes, I am now the cook.
“Can I play in here, Mum?” Daniel piped up. Leaning on the bed, his little forefinger traced the patterns in the faded but beautiful old patchwork quilt.
“Sure. When we unpack the car, we’ll put your toys in here and it can be your play room.” Grace smiled indulgently at her young son.
Behind the second door was the farm office. An ancient leather-topped desk dominated the room and on it sat a new computer—as if to defy the aging process and introduce the mix of old and new. To the side were two shelving units laden with books, papers, and a myriad of old shoeboxes, yellowing and wearing various thicknesses of dust.
What will Pete think? Somehow I think it will be me who uses this room, Grace reflected wryly. He wasn’t fond of office work and relied heavily on Grace’s patience, practical knowledge, and good record-keeping skills.
Cautiously, she turned the handle on the corner door leading to the rest of the house. As it swung away from her, the kitchen flooded with bright sunlight. A wide corridor led to the main house, lined from floor to ceiling with glass-louvered windows along its left-hand side.
Grace stood, her jaw slack, her expression resembling that of a stunned mullet as she began to grasp the enormity of the housekeeping job that lay ahead. There was a small room tacked on to the corridor containing a toilet and hand basin, and next to it, a modern refrigeration unit was linked to the corridor with a heavy, sliding insulated door. A fleeting image from the far doorway startled Grace. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she froze, her pulse thumping so hard she was sure it would deafen Daniel. Someone was watching.
Whipping around, she almost tripped over her little boy in her attempt to flee. Sweeping him into her arms, she reached back to slam the door behind her, willing herself to take a second peek. Puzzled and confused, there was nothing. She was sure she had seen someone standing at the end of the hall, but now, there was no one there.
Bolting back through the kitchen, Grace pushed the screen door open to the outside air before casting a glance skywards as she regained control of herself.
“How weird?” She gulped deeply and her pulse attempted to return to normal.
A thunderhead was building in the west, a stillness in the air suggesting an impending storm.
The cedar tree, a shaggy plumbago hedge lining the east fence line, and a bit of green lawn to the side of the house appeared to be the only evidence of the property having had any love or water for a long time. Her tiredness now forgotten, her pulse slowly returned to normal as she swallowed and convinced herself firmly that it had just been a long day, and her imagination had been swayed by the age of the homestead. Dismissing her concerns, she squeezed Daniel’s hand.
“Come on, mate. Let’s go and have another look around.”
