Peggy, obsessively healthy, grumbled that she would have fixed a salad had she known it would take this long and be this greasy. Nonetheless, Emily and Elizabeth noticed – they shared a look, but said nothing – that she polished off her lunch quicker than anyone, before voraciously retrieving the last crumbs of pastry from the bottom of the bag and licking them off her fingers.
They finished their sorting just as the last rays of late spring sunshine shone through the dust-speckled windows at the front of the garage, packing what they could fit in their respective vehicles. Emily – knowing she’d cop it for bringing ‘more crap’ into the house – hoped John was at the pub so that she could stow the boxes in the bottom of the large wardrobe in the spare room without him knowing.
After a sleepless night and a day spent amongst Granny Mayfair’s things, feeling the wise old woman’s spirit all around her – not that she’d tell anyone – Emily knew Elizabeth had been right the day before, and that Gran would have agreed: she had to start standing up for herself.
Emily parked the car and carried the largest box to the house, pausing at the door to take a fortifying breath before entering. She stopped in the hallway when she heard the television. Damn. She thought about taking the box back to the car and dealing with them when he was out tomorrow. But somehow she found the strength to walk forward and, with the box hoisted on her hip, opened the door to the lounge room.
‘Hello,’ she said, her voice coming out a little squeaky because of her nervousness.
‘Oh, so you’re finally home. I was thinking I’d have to go to the pub for tea.’
‘There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge,’ Emily answered, surprising herself.
‘How many bloody boxes of crap have you brought home?’
‘Just three.’
‘All useless stuff, I suppose.’
‘Pretty much,’ Emily said, feigning joviality. ‘How was your day?’
‘Boring, absolutely nothing on the TV today. Hey, now you’re here, can you get us some tea?’
‘Sure. How hungry are you?’
‘Starving!’
Emily gave a deep sigh as she shut the lounge-room door behind her and offered silent thanks to the hallway ceiling. There had been no confrontation. Slowly but surely, she told herself, quoting one of Gran’s favourite sayings, as she divided up the leftovers.
While she watched the first plate revolving slowly inside the microwave, Emily felt a wave of comfort envelop her like a nice warm blanket around her shoulders. Part of her said it was Granny Mayfair protecting her. Another part told her not to be so bloody ridiculous; she was just tired from a long day.
The microwave’s shrill cry, signalling the end of its program, startled Emily, and she put her thoughts aside to attend to the demanding appliance before it screamed again and brought John into the kitchen.
The next morning Emily cooked bacon and eggs – their traditional Sunday breakfast – but today she chose to mix things up a little. John’s broad boyish smile and hearty answer of ‘Yes please’ to her offer of sausages with his bacon gave her a glimmer of the man she’d met and thought she’d fallen in love with. Her heart ached for a split second before she was reminded of everything else that had gone on between them.
It took her almost to the end of their meal to summon the courage to mention what had been on her mind since she’d awoken in the early hours of the morning.
‘What do you think about getting one of David Burton’s puppies?’ she asked, after running the line through her head a dozen times.
‘I’m not having a border collie – they’re too bloody timid,’ he said through a mouthful.
‘I was more thinking house dog – for me. I could do with the company,’ Emily said.
‘Oh,’ he said, before picking up his last piece of bacon with his fingers and shoving it into his mouth.
Emily was left to endure an excruciating silence while wondering what was going to happen next. It hadn’t exactly been a flat out no, had it?
‘Fine, as long as it stays outside and away from my sheep,’ John said, pushing his plate away and getting up from the table.
Emily sat in stunned silence, her mouth gaping slightly. Had he really said it was okay?
‘May as well see if Bill Angas has got any kelpies left while you’re at it. I’d prefer a male but a bitch’ll do,’ John said from the doorway with his greasy, battered Akubra in hand.
She had heard right! Emily practically ran to the telephone to ring David Burton. After agreeing to take the last puppy, a female he described, apologetically, as a bit of a runt and therefore a giveaway, she rang Bill Angas and kept her fingers crossed that he had a male left. He did: three. Her day was getting even better.
Emily hung up and hurried off to find John – she wasn’t going to tempt fate by choosing a useless dog herself. He was in the shed changing the oil in the ute and said he’d head off soon.
Back in the house, Emily hummed her way through the dishes and the rest of her Sunday. For once she actually had plans for the following day. Yay! At nine o’clock she would catch up with Liz for a coffee at the bakery before she left town, and then she was, quite literally, off to see a man about a dog. She chuckled to herself.
Emily didn’t tell Elizabeth that John had agreed to her getting a puppy. She wasn’t sure exactly why, except that she didn’t want her cousin telling her she’d blown everything out of proportion and that John was clearly nowhere near as bad as she made him out to be.
At ten to ten, her cousin announced she had to go – her mum wanted to leave at exactly ten o’clock.
Emily was distracted when she hugged her goodbye, her head swimming with possible names and the things she had to get for the puppy.
‘You okay?’ Liz asked when they pulled away.
‘Yes, fine. Why?’
Elizabeth looked at her with a quizzical expression and said, ‘Nothing. Call me, any time, if you want to talk – I mean it.’
‘You can call me too, remember,’ Emily shot back quickly.
‘Take care,’ Elizabeth called from the open window of Aunt Peggy’s late model red Commodore.
‘You too,’ Emily replied, waving as the car pulled away. She waited until it was out of sight before making her way across the street to the rural supplies shop to buy everything she would need for the new puppy.
Chapter Four
The Burtons’ stone farmhouse stood grandly on the top of a small rise. Emily approached it, feeling excited and a little unsure. Was she really doing the right thing? Definitely. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it earlier.
The plain four-panelled door opened before Emily had the chance to lift the ornate brass knocker. Before her stood a lean but robust woman of similar age and height wearing sandals, beige tailored pants and a neatly pressed but untucked, pale pink, short-sleeved linen shirt. Emily blushed slightly and wished she had dressed better than her usual attire of well-worn denim jeans, plain navy t-shirt and Rossi work boots. But she was here to collect a puppy, not indulge in high tea, she reminded herself.
‘Hello Mrs Burton, I’m Emily Stratten – I’m here to …’
‘It’s Barbara – none of this Mrs rubbish,’ she said, accepting Emily’s hand. Emily felt an instant connection.
Barbara Burton was what locals referred to as a ‘ring-in’; she was from elsewhere.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’
‘Only if it’s no trouble.’
‘I’d be glad of the company, actually,’ she said, stepping aside to let Emily in. ‘I was just about to have one myself.’
‘In that case, I’d love one,’ Emily said, returning Barbara’s warm smile. ‘I’ll just leave my boots at the door,’ she offered, looking down the expanse of what appeared to be a horribly expensive, handmade Persian runner.
‘There’s really no need.’ As Emily looked dubiously down the hall, Barbara added, ‘It may look posh, but they really are the easiest things to keep clean – hardly shows the dirt with that
pattern. Once a year you just drag it outside, hang it on the fence, give it a good beating with the back of the broom, and then hose it off.’
Emily couldn’t hide her look of disbelief. She still hesitated.
‘Come on, I’m serious,’ Barbara laughed. ‘They’re not as delicate as you’d think.’
Emily stepped onto the rug, and then followed Barbara past a narrow antique hall table on which stood a tall vase overflowing with long-stemmed roses directing the eye towards a pair of large floral oil paintings in ornate gold frames.
‘Are you sure I’m not intruding?’
‘I’ve got nothing on that can’t wait. I’m here all day on my own most of the time – you have no idea how nice the prospect of another woman to chat to is. But don’t let me keep you if you’re in a hurry.’
Emily was surprised to hear herself saying to this complete stranger, ‘I’m in much the same boat myself, actually.’
They entered a large tidy country kitchen. It was bathed in bright light from two skylights above a massive antique pine table. It reminded Emily of what she’d chosen for her B&B project before it was banished to a cardboard box.
‘Wow, what a gorgeous kitchen,’ she said.
‘Thanks, it’s only just finished. It kept me out of trouble for three months. Next is the office. I have to have a project else I’ll surely go mad – God knows what I’ll do when the house is finished; garden, I expect. Please, sit.’
Emily carefully pulled one of the plain pale timber chairs out from the table. The upholstered seat matched the cranberry checked curtains that hung above the sink. She noticed that the classic black and white tiles laid in a diagonal pattern on the floor were not ceramic at all, but lino.
‘I can’t get John to spend a cent on the house,’ Emily said wistfully, now staring up at the expanse of timber cabinetry running around almost the entire perimeter of the room.
‘John Stratten, big spender,’ Barbara said, stopping herself abruptly and blushing slightly. ‘Sorry, I should learn to keep my big mouth shut.’
‘That’s okay. You know what farmers are like – they’ll only spend money on something that has a chance of making them some more.’
‘Oh yes, only too well. That’s why I made the renovation a condition of the marriage.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I told David I wasn’t moving here unless I had somewhere nice to live – not necessarily overnight, but eventually. Mean, I know, but I figure if they love you enough, well …’
Emily stared in awe at the woman who had her back to her as she pulled cups from a glass-fronted cupboard.
‘So, tea or coffee?’ Barbara asked, half turning from the sink as she filled the kettle.
‘Coffee would be great, thanks – white with one.’
Barbara joined Emily at the table as the kettle slowly began hissing into action.
‘How long have you lived here?’ Barbara asked. ‘Sorry to be nosy, but David didn’t tell me anything about you.’
‘All my life.’
‘Raised on a farm?’
‘No, a townie – over at Hope Springs. My parents still live there. And you?’
‘I grew up on a farm near Millicent, in the south-east.’
They were distracted by the roar and then click of the kettle signalling it had finished boiling. Barbara got up to tend to their drinks. After placing two plain white tapered mugs on pewter coasters, she disappeared into the pantry and returned clutching a large square glass jar full of homemade melting moment biscuits.
‘My other hobby to keep me out of mischief,’ Barbara said, sounding a little apologetic, as she took off the lid then pointed the open jar towards Emily.
‘I love them, but I’ve never tried making them,’ Emily said, taking one out.
‘They’re actually a lot easier than they look – remind me to copy the recipe for you before you leave.’
They became engrossed in discussing their favourite recipes and it seemed only minutes later when Emily looked at her watch to find it was almost one o’clock – John would be furious.
‘I really had better get going,’ she said with a groan. She was disappointed her morning was ending.
‘Have some egg sandwiches before you go – I made them first thing, before I found out David wouldn’t be home.’ Barbara got up and went to the fridge.
‘Only if you’re sure …’ Let John be furious, Emily thought, feeling a rare surge of boldness.
‘Of course – it’s so nice to have a visitor.’
‘Just don’t let me leave without a puppy,’ Emily laughed.
‘Yes, quite,’ Barbara giggled, as she placed a small white oval platter of plump sandwiches, garnished with sprigs of parsley, on the table, and went back for a large jug of homemade lemonade.
How very postcard, Emily thought, feeling somewhat insecure about her own domestic skills, which she’d thought quite adequate until now.
At three o’clock Emily announced that she really did have to get going if she was to have the puppy settled before nightfall.
‘Come on then,’ Barbara said, getting up and leading the way back down the hall.
As they crossed an expanse of rubble to the shearing shed, Barbara said, ‘I hope you like her. I’m not sure what will happen if you don’t take her, dear little thing. She’s a bit too timid for a sheepdog, but she really does have the sweetest nature.’
Emily had already made up her mind she was not leaving without a puppy; they’d learn to like each other. ‘She’s for me – a housedog – so she can be as timid as she likes.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief. Even though I’m a farmer’s daughter I’ve never got used to the matter-of-fact way they deal with these things …’
‘No, me neither.’
‘Sasha, come on, girl,’ Barbara called as she pushed a huge corrugated iron sliding door aside. A large long-haired border collie waddled out of the shadows.
‘Sorry, I didn’t even bring you anything,’ Barbara said, ruffling the dog’s ears. Before long, a small puppy emerged tentatively from the darkness. It hid behind its mother and peered out from under her belly at Emily and Barbara.
Emily’s heart melted. ‘Ooh, aren’t you just the cutest thing,’ she cooed, bending down to examine the fluffy little bundle. Sasha stepped aside to expose the puppy, and Emily, seizing the opportunity, scooped the creature up into her chest. It whined and wriggled a bit before snuggling into her armpit. Sasha looked up, wagging her tail.
‘Look, she’s happy her last one is going to a good home,’ Barbara said.
Emily looked down at the large eager eyes of the mother dog and felt her throat tighten. She bent down, still clutching the puppy tightly, and patted Sasha’s head.
‘I’ll take good care of her, don’t you worry. You need a name, little one,’ she said, holding the puppy out from her and examining her markings. She was the quintessential black-and-white border collie, with one exception: she didn’t have the broad white collar.
‘I’ve been calling her Grace,’ Barbara said.
‘That’s perfect. What do you think, little Gracie?’
Emily put Grace gently on the towel in the bottom of the box she’d brought, placed it on the front passenger seat, and pulled the seatbelt around it. All set, she offered Barbara a broad smile and an extended hand to complete the transaction, thinking as she did so that their lovely day together warranted more. Barbara, clearly thinking along the same lines, acted, drawing her into a tight hug.
‘I’ve had the best time – promise you’ll come back soon and bring Grace for a visit with her mum,’ Barbara said.
‘I’d love that, but it’s my turn next. What about next week?’
‘Okay, but call me tomorrow and let me know how she settles in. We’ll organise something then.’
‘Thanks for a truly lovely day, Barbara, and for Grace, of course.’
‘Pleasure. Drive carefully.’
Emily’s bright mood was tinged with a touch of sadness a
s she drove back down the Burtons’ driveway. Her heart ached for taking the tiny dog away from her mother, but she vowed to be the best, most loving replacement mum she could possibly be.
Chapter Five
Grace didn’t make a sound the whole way in the car, and when Emily pulled into the shed and the box beside her was still silent she was suddenly concerned – maybe she hadn’t put enough air holes in it after all. With her breath held and a slow thudding heart she carefully prised the flaps open and peered inside. Two eager eyes greeted her. The puppy was in almost the exact position she’d placed it in forty minutes earlier.
‘Thank God you’re all right – I thought you’d died or something!’ she cried, scooping the black-and-white bundle up and pressing her cheek to the puppy’s fur. Grace gave a little whine in response and tried to lick her face. Emily got out and closed the car door.
‘Come on, little one. This is your new home.’ Emily carried the pup around the yard and sheds in the immediate vicinity. She thought it strange the dog didn’t wriggle or insist on being put down. She looked at her new friend with concern. What if being the runt meant it wasn’t right in the head or something?
Back at the car she put Grace down, saying, ‘You’ll have to walk now while I carry all your things. Come on.’
On the verandah, just outside one of the four doors that led into the house, Emily placed the pet bed, a bowl of dampened biscuits with the contents of a small tin of puppy food on top, and a bowl of water far enough away to avoid being knocked over during any ensuing feeding frenzy. As Emily explained everything, Grace looked on with great, yet solemn, interest, though with no apparent inclination to eat. Emily then placed the puppy in the centre of the plush foam pet bed and told her that this was where she had to stay.
‘I’ll be back soon to check on you,’ she reassured, one hand on the door handle ready to step inside the house. But the puppy was so tiny, and looked even more so perched on the large bed, chin on her outstretched legs and sad eyes peering up at her. For the second time that day, Emily’s heart melted almost to the point of tears.
‘Oh, come here,’ she said, scooping the puppy up and taking it inside. She’d worry about training her to stay outside later. After all, she was only a baby and it was her first night away from her mum – she’d be terrified.
Saving Grace Page 3