Saving Grace

by Fiona McCallum

  Emily stared back slightly wide-eyed. Should she say something? What was there to say? Katherine was a lovely middle name; she’d always liked it.

  ‘We met the first day of kindergarten, and when we finished school we started courting – going together, you’d say these days. She had the most brilliant sapphire blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed. And this one dimple would appear right here,’ he said, pointing to just below the right side of his mouth. I remember it like it was yesterday.’ He smiled, but it was a sad smile that made Emily’s heart ache.

  She was dying to yell, ‘So what happened?!’, but she knew there was a lot more going on here than her father telling her a story. She bit her bottom lip and continued to pick apricots and put them in the bag, being deliberately slow.

  ‘We were only eighteen, but we knew. We’d been best friends – companions – our entire lives. I asked her father if I could marry her …’ Des Oliphant gave a tight little laugh. ‘He said, “Of course, but what’s taken you so long? You’ve been part of this family for years, Des.” We decided to wait until we were twenty-one. It seemed the right thing to do. If we hadn’t waited perhaps the story would have been different.’ He lapsed into silence.

  ‘Dad, what happened?’ Emily asked gently.

  ‘She died.’

  Emily paused with an apricot in each hand, a multitude of questions running through her head. She stood there, staring at this cross-legged man sitting nearby. He was her father, but he looked more like a forlorn little boy as he plucked at the grass beside him. She forced herself to stay silent.

  After a few moments Des Oliphant gave a sigh. He seemed to be fighting some internal battle over what to say next. He opened his mouth a couple of times but only a moan or part of a word came out.

  ‘A terrible, terrible accident.’ The words were uttered more like a long, drawn-out weary sigh.

  How long had he kept this to himself? Had he ever spoken of it? With her mother? She went and sat down beside him, resisting the urge to put her arm around him. She wasn’t sure why, just that it didn’t seem right. He didn’t need her sympathy, he just needed her to listen.

  ‘Oh, Em,’ he said, patting her leg and offering her a tight, bleak smile. ‘It was just a sad, sad accident – nobody’s fault.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispered, not sure if her words were even loud enough for him to hear.

  There was a shrug of his shoulders and another deep, resigned sigh. ‘She was out riding. Trigger was his name; a lovely creature. A big, dark chestnut. The most handsome thing, and with the kindest nature. They were inseparable. He’d never been broken, in the true sense of the word. Katherine thought it was cruel. Said she wanted a horse who did as it was asked, not told. Respect through love, not fear. Of course the old Pony Club stalwarts thought she was bonkers.’ He paused and smiled at Emily. ‘Katherine always did things her own way – whether it was the right way or not. You know, you’re a lot like her, in some respects.’

  He paused, but Emily again chose not to interrupt. She was thinking about how, when she was twelve, Des had refused to let her join Pony Club with her friends. They’d fought for nearly a month until Emily gave up. Enid, normally the one to disagree with Emily, had been on her side for once.

  ‘Well, Katherine was the only one to ever ride Trigger. And she was right, he would have done anything for her. But that day there was nothing he could do. In some ways I’m glad he died too – I’m sure it would have broken his heart to know he’d killed her.’

  The tears began to gather behind Emily’s eyes and then well in the corners. She tried to stop them by blinking them back and swallowing hard.

  ‘I know it sounds silly, but he was almost human.’ Des Oliphant wiped roughly at his nose as a few tears dripped from it.

  ‘What happened, Dad?’

  ‘No one really knows for sure. When Katherine didn’t come back from her ride, her father and I went looking. When we found them, Trigger was still on top of her. It was in the gully just around that bend. She had a short course of fallen logs she used to jump. It must have been an embolism or aneurysm, or something. He looked like he’d died mid-stride and just collapsed. Or perhaps he fell and broke his neck – though if he had, I’m sure Katherine would have been thrown clear. There was no blood, no outward sign of trauma. It was eerily peaceful. I had to bury him. They were too upset, too angry. I was too, but it’s what Katherine would have wanted. I planted a native pine tree to mark the spot. I could never bring myself to check if it ever grew.’

  Emily looked to where he indicated, but there was no sign of the tree from here.

  ‘Katherine’s parents moved to Adelaide a few years later and we lost touch. Donald and Trevor moved into a house on another farm they’d bought. I see them occasionally, but since the funeral we’ve never spoken of it. I suppose you’d put it down to men just being men.’ He offered a wan smile.

  ‘Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry,’ Emily croaked.

  ‘It was a long time ago. Look at me getting all weepy and silly.’ He wiped his face with his sleeve and got up. ‘Come on, let’s get those apricots in before they turn themselves into jam.’ He held out a hand to help Emily up. She was both relieved and a little disappointed that the discussion was closed.

  They walked back down to the house in a thick, thoughtful silence. As she pondered his words, Emily realised that maybe this was the real reason for her father’s vehement refusal to get her a horse all those years ago. At the time she’d been surprised at his stubbornness – he’d objected to the cost, time and effort that looking after a horse would take – and his unwillingness to discuss things rationally. Enid was normally the one who refused to see reason, but on this occasion she had actually been quite encouraging. Now she wondered what her mother had been thinking. Did Enid not know – had she never known – about Katherine?

  Impossible. Enid had spent her life here in this district. She was probably the same age as Katherine, could have been in the same class at school, and might even have been friends with her.

  Anyway, the accidental death of an eighteen-year-old girl would have been on the tip of every tongue for months, years, probably decades. Her mother must have known about Katherine’s relationship with Des, no question.

  Something else stirred in Emily’s mind. She’d always been hopeless with figures, but now she found calculations running through her head. Her parents must have married only a few years after Katherine’s death.

  Rebound? It would explain the seemingly strange match. Emily watched her father’s back, half a stride in front of her. His shoulders were hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world. No, just the weight of the past four decades.

  Did he regret his decision to marry her mother? She didn’t think he seemed unhappy. He’d always been a quiet man, perhaps, but then, Enid was so dominant there wasn’t a lot of leeway for him.

  And she could only remember him seriously standing up to Enid twice. The first was around the subject of her getting a horse and the second, only very recently, was over her choice to leave John.

  ‘Right, where do you want these?’ Des asked as they entered the kitchen from the side verandah.

  ‘Just in the corner, thanks. I’ll deal with them later. I need a cuppa, and then I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in the trailer for me.’

  ‘Don’t get too excited – it’s only the contents of a shack, remember.’

  ‘Yes, but a bed, a real bed.’

  ‘Well, there is one of those, and I did check to see it wasn’t too dirty or lumpy.’

  ‘Thanks Dad, you’re the best,’ Emily said, suddenly feeling the need to give her father a hug – which she did.

  ‘My pleasure, dear heart,’ he said, patting her back in return. ‘But I do need a fortifying cup of tea,’ he said, breaking away and sitting down at the table. ‘Is Barbara coming over today?’

  ‘No. She had to rush off to Millicent to help her mother out – she’s recovering from the flu. I was actual
ly hoping we could have got a couple of rooms painted.’

  ‘Well, why don’t I help you do it? I’m not in any rush to get back. Your mother’s gone shopping in Port Lincoln with Wilma. I’ve got the whole day to myself, and actually I wouldn’t mind feeling a little useful – if you’d like my help.’

  ‘I’d love it. But only if you’re sure – or you can just keep me company, if you’d like.’

  ‘Hey, don’t write me off as too old just yet, my girl!’

  ‘In that case, I’d love your help – thanks.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Emily waited until her father’s ute was out of sight before going back inside. She was physically exhausted, but at the same time energised by thoughts of how much they’d got done. They’d filled the holes in the plaster walls of all the remaining rooms, prepared and painted the lounge-dining room, and finally unloaded the trailer and put the whitegoods and few pieces of furniture in place.

  She flopped into one of the two chairs – poo-brown vinyl with wooden arms – that now occupied her lounge area. Des had brought her an old television, but she couldn’t even muster the energy to get up and turn it on. Just having a TV gave her an odd sense of comfort. It was a bit like knowing there was someone to call if you needed help, but never actually needing to.

  God, she couldn’t believe what a machine her dad was. He’d sweated and worked all afternoon, and here she was, so many years younger, barely able to lift her arm.

  It was like he was making up for something. Ah, Katherine. At some point he mentioned that the house was to have eventually become their home. She had felt a little twitch of something at the comment, but let it go. How could you be jealous of someone you’d never met, someone who had been dead for forty years?

  Again she found herself wondering how much her mother knew about Katherine. Had she felt second best – second choice – her whole married life? Was that why she was so unhappy?

  If that was the case, why would Enid stay in a marriage that made her miserable? Though of course, this was all pure speculation. If her mother was miserable, she had no evidence that her marriage was the cause.

  A thought suddenly struck her as she stared at the blank TV screen a few metres away: was her mother’s reaction to Emily’s changed circumstances born out of jealousy?

  Was it what psychologists called ‘projection’ – that she was angry at Emily because she didn’t have the courage to do what Emily had done? She sighed deeply. All the analysis in the world wouldn’t change the fact that there was a gulf between her and her mother.

  Emily looked around the room. It was amazing that a house that had been unoccupied for decades could scrub up so well, and so easily. They’d just had to patch up a few sections of missing plaster and some minor cracks and paint. All the woodwork had needed was a good rub with a damp cloth. It had saved them a mountain of work.

  It would have been nice to decorate each room in a different colour, but that would have cost her a fortune. And it is only a rental, she reminded herself. We only need to be clean and comfortable.

  Speaking of which, she thought, this chair is amazingly comfortable. What a find Des had made. Bless him. Tomorrow they would tackle the hall and then her bedroom. It’ll be so nice to be back in a real bed again – only one more night in the swag …

  Emily woke to the sound of banging somewhere nearby and someone calling, ‘Anybody home?’ She rubbed her eyes as her brain tried to reconcile where she was and what was going on. She must have fallen asleep. The view from the undressed window ahead of her told her it wasn’t yet dusk. She could only have been out for a few minutes.

  The banging started again. Someone was at the front door. She leapt up, pulse quickening. Who could it be? Hardly anyone knew she was there.

  She could hear male voices. Making her way down the hall, she offered silent prayers for it not to be John standing on her verandah. She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to deal with him on her own just yet. She opened the door slowly and peered out.

  ‘Hello?’

  Two men of around her father’s age stood in front of her looking awkward. Then she remembered – Donald Baker had promised to drop in. She opened the door. ‘Donald and Trevor, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Donald Baker. We spoke on the phone.’

  ‘I’m Emily, Emily Oliphant,’ she said, holding out her hand. Donald appeared the slightly younger of the pair, but not by much. He took her hand and appeared to relax.

  ‘Trevor Baker,’ the other man said, offering his hand. ‘You must be Des’s daughter,’ he said as more as a question.

  Whether being Des’s daughter was a good thing or not wasn’t immediately clear. ‘Yes, yes I am. Hello, nice to meet you,’ she said, smiling warmly as they shook.

  ‘Sorry to drop by unannounced, but we were checking some troughs and thought we’d stop by and see how you’re settling in,’ Donald said.

  Emily had the odd thought that they could have hardly announced themselves when there was no phone on and she hadn’t given them her mobile number; Donald hadn’t asked and she’d forgotten to offer. She had no idea why – must have been her slightly groggy state – but she suddenly found this quite funny. She closed her eyes and blinked a couple of times in an effort to ward off the chuckle rising within her.

  ‘Saw your father on his way out. Sounds like you’ve been hard at it,’ Donald said, regaining Emily’s attention.

  ‘Nice looking dog,’ Trevor said.

  Emily cast a quick glance in the direction of the gate, and there was the little dog sitting silently at attention. Phew, she thought. Thank goodness they’d thought to shut Grace in the yard while they worked.

  ‘Thanks, she is lovely. I’ve only had her a few weeks.’

  They lapsed into an awkward silence. Suddenly Emily wondered if they were there to collect rent. ‘I put a cheque in the post for the rent – you should get it in the next day or so.’

  ‘Oh, we’re not here looking for money. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Really didn’t mean to intrude.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, everything’s just fine. Brilliant – thank you so much. Sorry, where are my manners? Would you like to come in, for a cup of tea, perhaps?’ Emily asked, finally recovering her composure. She stepped aside.

  ‘That would be nice. What do you think, Trev?’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Trevor said, beaming as he moved past Emily into the hall.

  The two men walked slowly up the hall looking about like real estate agents taking everything in.

  ‘Scrubs up okay, doesn’t she?’ Donald said, pausing to peer into the lounge room on his way past the door.

  ‘Sure does,’ Trevor said.

  ‘Hard to believe it was left empty for so long,’ Emily said.

  ‘Nothing like a lick of paint to freshen things up,’ Trevor replied.

  Emily had the sudden fear that now they were seeing the house clean they’d turf her out and move in themselves. She shook it aside. There was nothing she could do about it if they did; it was their house.

  ‘You don’t have much furniture,’ Donald said, peering past his brother to where the two armchairs and television were dwarfed by the huge space of the combined lounge-dining room.

  ‘No,’ Emily said. She was about to say, ‘You should have seen it before Dad turned up this morning’, but didn’t.

  ‘Good to see you have more financial sense than that husband of yours,’ Trevor muttered.

  A blush crept across Emily’s face. ‘We’ll sit in the kitchen,’ she said, trying to hurry them along while at the same time work out what Trevor meant by his comment. ‘Please, have a seat while I put the kettle on,’ she said, waving at the chairs before going straight to the sink.

  ‘I see you’ve found the orchard,’ Donald said, nodding at the bags lined up against the far wall.

  Emily flushed again. ‘Yes, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s good to see them not go to waste for a change.
And that the trees have fruited. They haven’t the past few years, thanks to the drought.’

  Donald and Trevor stayed long enough for one cup of tea, but they didn’t linger. They didn’t seem to have a lot to talk about, and the men didn’t seem totally comfortable being in the old house. Half an hour later they made their excuses and got up to leave.

  Emily thanked them again for renting the house to her and assured them she would take good care of it. They said they were pleased she was so clearly taken with the place.

  ‘I am, very,’ Emily replied, and had to literally bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself asking them about selling. She stood on the verandah and waved them off, waiting until their battered old blue ute had been swallowed by the trees before heading back inside.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘Yoo-hoo, Em, it’s me.’

  Emily stood back from the sink and pushed her hair away from her damp face. ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ she called.

  After collecting the jam-making things from David the evening before, she’d got up early to start the mammoth task of doing two large batches.

  The first lot had gone very well – Emily had used her fruit for the trial run so as to not risk botching up Barbara’s – and the top of the bench was covered in clear jars of bright orange jam. The consistency, the thing she usually had the most trouble with, was perfect, and the flavour was a delicate balance of sweetness and tang. She was now washing everything and getting ready for the next batch.

  Des entered the kitchen and kissed Emily on the cheek. ‘Ah, looking good,’ he said, scrutinising the line of plates on the bench with small test dollops on them. ‘Can I have a taste?’

  ‘Please, I’ve had so many samples my tastebuds are ruined. I’d love a second opinion.’

  ‘Mind if I have it on some bread? I’m not so keen on it by itself.’

  ‘Sure – in the freezer. You’ll just have to zap it for a few seconds.’

  Thank goodness for the fridge and microwave, Emily thought as Des got to work. The microwave was an oldie with just two dials, but it did the trick. The night before, while waiting for her dinner to heat up, she’d wondered at all the functions microwaves now came with. She’d only ever used ‘high’ and ‘defrost’. The only time she’d tried another program it had ended in disaster. The whiting fillets were ruined, causing John to berate her for her incompetence. He’d had a point, but there was no need to be nasty about it; everyone made mistakes.