Facing the Flame

by Jackie French

  How many idiots had made that joke? Did he really think he was being original? Her temper snapped. ‘My parents didn’t know my father would die when I was a few days old. Do you think that’s funny too? They didn’t know my mother would marry a man called Borgino when I was four. If you’ve got any other Lucrezia Borgia jokes, you can keep them to yourself. I’ve heard them all.’

  ‘I bet you haven’t. I bet you ten dollars the person who gives you an engagement ring will tell you it hasn’t got a poison compartment.’

  ‘Hilarious,’ she said. Who would ever want to marry her? But that was irrelevant. Why would she ever want to marry? She supposed you could learn how to wield a mop and the feel of scone dough and use a timer to know when to take them out of the oven. A blind woman might make the perfect housewife.

  Never. Not for her.

  Silence, but she knew by the lack of those clicking footsteps that he was still there. ‘May I sit with you?’ he asked at last.

  She shrugged, trying not to display curiosity. Not to feel curiosity, because that would draw her further back into the world.

  The strange sound clanked on the steps. Yes, clanked . . . She looked down automatically at where his legs would be, then bit her lip and looked away.

  ‘Ah, you can hear the Terrible Two?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My prosthetic legs. They look a bit like something out of Doctor Who, I admit. My own were blown off in Vietnam. The ones you can hear are metal, a fairly new design. I called them that when I first got them because they were like a two-year-old — they went everywhere except where I wanted them to go.’ She could hear the smile in his voice when he added, ‘Not that I’ve lived with a two-year-old yet. My wife and I are expecting our first baby at the end of July.’

  She was supposed to say, ‘Congratulations.’ She didn’t. She still didn’t bother to turn to face him either. Politeness be hanged.

  ‘I know why you’re here,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Do you?’ He sounded amused again.

  ‘Joe or Matron has decided that you’re A Good Example. Matron has told me about all kinds of Good Examples. Teachers, secretaries, a journalist, a librarian and a broadcaster who are blind and who lead Good and Fulfilling Lives. Now you are going to tell me you can lead a Good and Fulfilling Life with no legs.’

  ‘Well, no,’ he said.

  She did look at him, automatically this time. And kept her face towards him, trying to pick up more information from the way he moved. Because there was something in that ‘no’ that was full hearted and true.

  ‘I’m happy,’ he said slowly. ‘But I wouldn’t say my life is fulfilling. I love my wife, enjoy helping her with her work, helping up at Rock Farm. But it’s helping. It’s others’ lives, not mine. I thought I was half a man, for a while. I’m not. But I’m still not the man I could be yet. And I don’t know how to find him.’

  His honesty shocked her into a reply. ‘But it must be ages since you lost your legs. Haven’t you found anything you’d like to do since then?’

  ‘More than ten years. I could tell you to the day, except I try not to do that to other people. Makes them uncomfortable to be with someone who counts every single day since his loss.’

  ‘I count too,’ she admitted. ‘Try not to. It just . . . happens.’

  ‘Shall we cut the bulldust? I’m here because Nancy Thompson rang me. She and Matron want you out of here —’

  ‘You’re the removalist? They should have sent someone with real legs if you intend to carry me off to a car.’ She stopped, then muttered, ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘If you could see the expression I probably have on my face, you wouldn’t have. Now we’re even. No, I’m not here to shove you into a wheelbarrow and dump you in the gutter outside River View. Nancy thought you might decide to find a life again if you could ride. Matron agreed to let me bring a horse for you to try on. My grandmother-in-law breeds horses and I’ve brought one of them down here today.’

  She let the anger show. ‘A nice twenty-year-old plodder for the poor blind girl to stumble around on? Does Matron know the first thing about riding?’

  ‘No, thank goodness.’ He sounded amused once again. ‘She probably did expect me to bring that nice old plodder. In fact I’ll bring a nice old plodder for the other kids if any of them seem interested. No, the one I’ve brought for you is different.’

  Something seeped through the cocoon of black feathers that had been suffocating her for twelve months. ‘What?’

  ‘My grandmother-in-law is Flinty McAlpine,’ he said, teasing out the information. ‘It’s her horse I’ve brought down. He —’

  Lu sat straighter, trying to detect the smell of horse, the sound of a snicker. But all she could smell was heat, gravel paths and far-off stir-fried cabbage. ‘Not . . . not Mountain Lion?’ Everyone — everyone who mattered — had heard rumours of the young horse in Flinty McAlpine’s paddock. It wasn’t possible Mountain Lion might come here. It was a joke. Nicholas probably wasn’t even related to Flinty McAlpine — just thought it would be fun to take advantage of a girl who couldn’t see . . .

  ‘You know Mountain Lion?’

  ‘I know of him. Everyone’s been talking about him —’ Lu stopped. ‘Everyone was talking about him a year ago,’ she amended. ‘Has Mountain Lion had an accident too? Is that why he’s here?’ Flinty McAlpine was reputed to never put a horse down, even if it would never race again or be put to stud.

  ‘Nope. He is in splendid, energetic and rather annoyed form at being driven down here instead of left in his mountain paddock, where he has Old Downer for company. You’ve got him for a month, then he goes into serious training. Flinty is hoping she’ll finally get a Cup winner this time.’

  ‘But . . . but she’s sent him for me to ride?’ It wasn’t possible. No one would risk a horse like Mountain Lion.

  Except Flinty McAlpine, Lu remembered. The young Flinty had ridden the stallion Snow King so hard she had almost crippled herself, to warn the people in the valley below Rock Farm of the flash flood that was coming as the sun melted the snow. And so Snow King had never raced, even though he had bred champions.

  ‘Let’s see if you manage to lead him first. He’s not easy.’ The prosthetic legs gave a just-perceptible click as he stood up. ‘If you can manage to lead him around the yard, then maybe . . . maybe . . . you can ride him.’

  ‘Around the yard?’

  ‘Maybe more.’ The voice had authority now. ‘I’m not promising you anything, Lucrezia Borgia.’

  ‘My name’s Lu.’ She didn’t bother adding ‘Borgino’. It just wasn’t worth the breath.

  ‘And I’m the one who has the saddle and bridle. I’m not risking Flinty’s horse. If you manage to lead him, if you manage to ride him around the ring, then canter, then possibly, just possibly . . . well, we’ll see.’

  You’ll see, she thought and then ecstatically, You will see, because she would show him . . .

  Doubt paralysed her. Could she?

  ‘Come on,’ said Nicholas. ‘The descendant of Snow King is waiting for you across the river.’

  Somehow she managed to stand, find her stick and follow him down the steps.

  Chapter 14

  LU

  She had to show him how she needed to link her arm into his: further proof that Nicholas Brewster hadn’t been trained as a nursemaid companion for her.

  They walked down the paths that zigzagged to the river, all at an easy gradient for wheelchairs. Heat reflected from the river’s sandbanks slapped her in the face. Beyond them the scent of river weed and rotting logs was stronger, with the air of hot paddocks, rock and grass and thistle further beyond.

  She hadn’t known there was a ford across the river. Nor did Nicholas know how easy it was for a girl who couldn’t see to lose her balance, even if the water was only calf high. They were halfway across before she learned to go more slowly, to feel the changes in the river’s current and let her body move wi
th them.

  She smelled Mountain Lion before they were onto the sand on the other side. Not just on Nicholas’s clothes, a scent that anyone who didn’t know horses would probably miss, not the scent of horse apples. No, this was the smell of him.

  She walked more slowly across the river sand, using her cane now on the uneven ground, feeling Nicholas struggle slightly next to her to keep his balance. That felt good as well: to know that he was using her for balance just as she had needed his help in the river.

  It felt even better to have River View behind her. Then all was blotted out when she heard the whinny.

  The whinny might mean, ‘Have you got an apple?’ More likely it meant, ‘What am I doing here in this strange yard, why am I confined like this, and what are you planning to do about it?’

  She laughed. ‘We’re coming,’ she called.

  Another whinny, even more impatient.

  ‘Okay, Lucrezia,’ said Nicholas softly. ‘Let’s see what you can do.’

  She stepped more quickly, stumbled, righted herself before Nicholas could, broke free of his arm. She was going to meet this horse by herself.

  Step, step, another, swinging the cane quickly but cautiously, the smell getting stronger, the ground changing from tussock to earth that had been stamped down by human feet and horses’ hooves. Her stick touched wooden railing. She reached forwards and felt wood with her fingers.

  She could hear Mountain Lion, his breathing, his step, across the yard. Heard Nicholas’s weird footfalls behind her. Ignored Nicholas, held out her hand to the horse. She didn’t do Mountain Lion the indignity of calling, ‘Here, boy.’

  She simply waited.

  And he came. Step by step. She knew his gait, knew his smell, knew everything except his colour, and she realised with triumph that colour didn’t matter in the slightest. She knew him.

  A touch of velvet on her fingers. She moved them, slowly, scratched his nose, felt him wrinkle his nostrils and top lip in a flehmen grin as he enjoyed it.

  Nicholas swore behind her. ‘Lu, watch out. He can be . . . unpredictable . . .’

  ‘Not to me,’ she said. ‘Where’s the halter?’

  ‘I’ll put it on.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘He knows me,’ insisted Nicholas.

  ‘He knows you’ve stuffed him in a horse float and confined him in a yard.’ She didn’t say, ‘He can tell I am the one who is going to set him free.’ She just hoped, desperately, that she could. Because she would not risk this horse, and not just because Flinty McAlpine had been unbelievably generous to send him to her.

  Nicholas hesitated. Then she heard the clunk, clunk as he walked around the yard. The halter must have been on a post because he clunked back again and put it in her hand after she climbed over the railings into the yard.

  ‘I know you’re bored,’ she told the horse. ‘I’m bored too. And this is going to be boring too. But we have to do it, or we won’t get out of here. Now I’m going to put the headstall on. Okay?’

  He butted her shoulder, stamped twice and then stood still while she stroked his nose again, his neck on either side, to get the feel of him, the . . . the vision of him, because it was vision, even if she couldn’t see. She slipped the headstall over his ears, buckled the cheekstrap, then clicked the lead rope on.

  She could almost feel his sigh of resignation. He knew how this went. He rose once on his hind legs in perfunctory protest, which would have jerked on her, but she had loosened the rope half instinctively at his first move. She tucked the stick under her elbow, then began to lead him, keeping her far arm in front of her to feel the middle rail of the yard. They plodded round once, twice, three times.

  She stopped. Mountain Lion did too, pulling at the lead rope till she slipped the headstall off him and climbed out through the yard rails. ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Nicholas. ‘You can hop on him tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t want to?’ He sounded puzzled.

  ‘He’s bored now. And so am I.’ She dropped the cane, readjusted her grip on the headstall and lead rope, ducked quickly through the rails and stepped out into the yard with her arms out. She heard Nicholas swear again.

  Would he come after her? She hoped not. He might spook Mountain Lion and if he did, she wouldn’t necessarily be able to get out of the way in time.

  The nose again, once more pushing at her shoulder. No sound of Nicholas behind. She fondled the horse’s nose as she slipped the headstall over his head again, murmuring to him as she did the buckle up. Then she ran her hand firmly down his neck and faced away from his head. She put her left hand up on his withers to grasp a handful of mane. Then quickly and smoothly she skipped down along his body, launched and swung her leg up and over. As the horse stepped forwards, she used his movement to give her the momentum to swing into position.

  She sat in shock for half a second. She had done it. She had actually done it. Then she felt Mountain Lion react too, unsure about this new weight on his back.

  She sat still for a moment, feeling his skin shiver against her legs. She let her feet dangle against his ribs while she rubbed her hand up his mane and fondled his twitchy ears, murmuring to him all the while.

  Mountain Lion blew a gusty, nostril-clearing snort. She grinned.

  She leaned slightly forwards and clicked her tongue, encouraging him to walk. He wasn’t relaxed, but he wasn’t so tense he might explode. He took some short, tentative steps, then, as she sat still but flexible, his back muscles started to relax and his stride grew longer.

  The third time round she worked out where Nicholas was standing. The fourth time she used her hands and the lead rope against his neck to guide Mountain Lion to a stop directly in front of him. ‘Okay?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re well named, Lucrezia Borgia. The great deceiver.’

  ‘I didn’t deceive you at all. You were the one who said I could lead him and that was all. I never agreed.’

  ‘You let me think you did.’

  ‘Ha,’ she said. It was one of Joe’s favourite terms. A useful word.

  ‘I am not opening the yard gate for you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m going to lead you the first time you ride out here. Otherwise you’ll gallop off at the first opportunity.’

  ‘Canter,’ she said. ‘I don’t know this territory. I won’t take risks with him.’

  ‘Just with yourself.’

  ‘It wasn’t a risk.’

  Silence from Nicholas.

  ‘Look,’ she said at last. ‘I agree. I had to meet him and lead him first, to see if he’d respond to me, if we could work together. I had to ride him in the yard first. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. But once I was on his back, I knew I was safe.’

  More silence. ‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘You knew that, but I didn’t. I’ve been packing death.’

  She laughed. It felt so good to laugh. ‘What do you plan for us tomorrow then? A sedate walk with you leading us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said frankly. ‘If I had any sense, I’d pack Mountain Lion back in the horse float before you decide to steal out at midnight and ride him cross-country down to Melbourne and enter him in a race at Flemington.’

  ‘I promise I won’t get up at midnight and ride him cross-country down to Flemington.’

  ‘Not enough, Lucrezia Borgia. I want you to promise, “I am not going to sneak out and see him at all tonight. I am not going to come till Nicholas brings me here again.”’

  ‘I promise,’ she said and hoped he could hear the sincerity in her voice. ‘I’m not going to sneak out to see Mountain Lion tonight. I’ll wait for you to bring me.’

  She patted Mountain Lion’s neck, whispered, ‘See you tomorrow,’ then slid off his back. Her legs wobbled unexpectedly — she’d got soft — but she was pretty sure Nicholas didn’t notice. She walked the two careful paces to the fence, ducked through and stood, one hand on the top rail. �
�Would you mind handing me my cane?’ He pressed it into her hand. He must have picked it up after she dropped it. ‘I’m sorry I scared you. I . . . thank you. Really. Thank you bucketloads.’

  It wasn’t enough. No thanks would be enough.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Nicholas lightly. ‘You want to brush him down before we let him out into the paddock?’

  Chapter 15

  SCARLETT

  Jed was unusually silent, sitting next to Sam on the way back from the obstetrician’s visit and ultrasound in Canberra. Sam was driving Jed’s sports car with Scarlett in the back, her wheelchair strapped on behind. Sam had suggested taking his ute, with a stop-off in Fyshwick for a mooch around the hardware stores, but Scarlett had adamantly opposed the suggestion. She knew Sam and hardware stores. He’d be excitedly discussing the latest catalogue for an hour with a bloke in grey overalls while Jed wilted in the car. And Jed looked tired. Deeply, disturbingly tired.

  Scarlett examined her as they turned off the highway onto the Gibber’s Creek road. Eyes smudged with weariness . . . okay, maybe it was hard to sleep when your circumference was the size of the asteroid that upset the dinosaurs. But the joy of the past months had evaporated. Jed looked far away, and as if that distant destination was not good.

  Yet the obstetrician had been upbeat — and tolerant of all Scarlett’s questions, which showed that she was intelligent and to be trusted. The baby was moving well; head down, into the ‘let’s get out of here soon’ position, though with legs carefully and stubbornly positioned so there was still no answer to the boy or girl question. There was no reason Jed’s baby shouldn’t be delivered at the Gibber’s Creek Hospital. The new doctor, Dr Svenson, was experienced, the hospital now had two qualified midwives and, if there appeared to be any problems, Canberra was a phone call and an ambulance ride away. All would be okay . . .

  Sam slowed down to let a blue Holden pass them. Jed started, gripping the dashboard, staring at the car.