Country Roads

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  ‘The fire,’ Bec snapped as she pointed to it. ‘You can’t have a fire on a day like today.’

  ‘Oh, it’s alright. It’s not a fire ban day – I checked.’

  He gave her a smile as though that would make everything okay – which only infuriated her more.

  ‘Great, good job, but you still need to put that out.’ Bec closed her eyes as a gust of wind blew the thick smoke in her face. It lobbed at the back of her throat and made her want to cough.

  ‘Why?’

  God, could he actually be this clueless?

  ‘Because the wind has whipped up, and one spark from your fire is all it would take for all this –’ Bec waved her hand in a circle to emphasise her point, ‘– to go up in smoke.’

  ‘It’ll be fine – I’m watching it, and anyway, I’ve got the hose ready in case an ember shoots off.’

  Bec put her hands on her hips and glared at him – hard. ‘Listen, we’ve had a long hot summer and it hasn’t rained here in weeks. It may not be a total fire ban day across the whole state because there has been rain about, but not here in White Gum Creek. The land is dry and we’re all holding our breath. Do you have any idea how quickly a grass fire can spread?’

  At least he had the decency to stop smiling and shake his head.

  ‘Well, it’s fast. With this wind, a fire would blow all the way through my place and I don’t intend to let that happen. I’ve got fourteen hundred acres and five thousand head of livestock to protect – so put the damn fire out.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I will. But in my defence the weather report didn’t say anything about the wind.’

  ‘Fine.’ Bec turned to leave but stopped as he called out.

  ‘No, wait, please. Listen, I reckon we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry that I worried you – I suppose it’s going to take me a while to settle in and learn how everything works out here. I’m Matt Harvey.’

  She gave a curt nod before she headed to her car.

  ‘Wait, is that it? Aren’t you even going to tell me your name?’

  Bec threw a glance over her shoulder. ‘This wasn’t a social call, Mr Harvey. I don’t have time for tea and a chat – daylight’s burning and I have a business to run.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Just put the bloody fire out,’ Bec said before she opened the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat. She turned the key in the ignition, swung the ute around and drove back down the road without bothering to look back.

  ***

  Matt watched as the blue ute drove off, the dust from the dirt road clouding around him.

  Well, that hadn’t gone well. He frowned as he turned away to go and get the hose. As he doused the fire he looked across to his prickly neighbour’s place. There were rolling hills, but for the first time, Matt actually noticed that there was barely any grass, and the land looked dry and hot. Maybe What’s-her-name had a point. The wind was up and the tall gum trees swayed in the gusts. He made a mental note that next time he wanted to do a burn-off, he’d double-check the weather, as he didn’t want to run the risk of pissing her off a second time.

  Matt glanced up the dirt road again and wondered who she was. Not that he was interested or anything – it was just that she was a bit of a mystery. There he was minding his own business when she’d appeared in front of him, all golden in the sunlight. He shook his head at the fanciful thought, but it was true, she had blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and was wearing a pale orange shirt and jeans, which had added to the whole effect. However, it was her golden brown eyes that had snared his interest – well, it wasn’t as if he could help but notice since she’d spent their entire meeting glaring at him.

  Matt splashed more water on the dying embers of the fire and the steam hissed back at him.

  After his dramatic meeting with his new neighbour, Matt needed some air – and preferably air that wasn’t tainted with smoke. He decided to go and check out the town. So far he’d driven through it a few times but hadn’t explored what it had to offer.

  Matt got out of his car and leant against the door as he took in the sight of the township of White Gum Creek. There wasn’t actually that much to see – just an overly wide road which was lined on either side with a small collection of old shops. The general store marked the beginning of the row, and was new in comparison to its neighbours; Matt guessed that it had probably been built in the seventies. The side wall which faced him was made up of a bank of post office boxes. Next to the general store was the Gumnut Bakery, a sturdy brick shop with a cartouche above the front door inscribed with the date 1876.

  Jemmison’s Stock Feed and Farm Equipment was housed in a Victorian two-storey building with a wide verandah which arched over the footpath, and would have taken out the title of the best building on the street if it weren’t for the elegant lines of the Black Sheep pub, which sat directly opposite on the other side of the road. The Black Sheep boasted not only two storeys and an equally wide verandah, but also a balcony adorned with wrought-iron lacework.

  Next to the pub were two empty shops with faded signs above them. Shading his eyes from the sun, Matt could make out that one read Huntington & Sons and the other simply stated Butchers in copperplate lettering.

  Matt shut the car door, crossed the empty road and started walking along the footpath. His leg was aching from the exertions of the previous few days and he knew he was leaning more heavily on his walking stick than usual. A short walk to stretch out the muscles would do him good. Trying to ignore the twinge in his leg, Matt carried on. It was high time that he familiarised himself with his new home. He bit back a smile at that thought – there really wasn’t a lot of town to familiarise himself with. The quietness of White Gum Creek was going to take some getting used to.

  Walking past the shops towards the other end of the main street, there was a slight incline which led up to an old church and hall. The church was a bluestone building with what looked like an impressive stained-glass window and a belltower. From the architecture, Matt surmised that it must have been built in the late Victorian period. Beside the church sat a weatherboard hall surrounded by a dozen scraggly pine trees and patchy lawn. A wire fence enclosed the block, and next to the open gate there was a faded metal sign that read: White Gum Creek Community Hall built 1899.

  Across the road was the primary school. Matt had learned there wasn’t a high school in town; apparently there just wasn’t a big enough population. The older kids had to be bussed to one of the nearest ones in Castlemaine, which was about twenty-five minutes away, or forty minutes to Bendigo.

  Matt headed to the tiny park next to the school, which was made up of a handful of European trees, a dozen rosebushes, a rotunda and a small fountain. He sat down and stared at the fountain for a minute. It was made of cast iron, with the centrepiece depicting a goddess holding what looked like a cornucopia filled with grain and fruit, and the ornate bowl into which the water trickled was embellished with bountiful grapevines. It had a certain old-fashioned charm to it, but the fountain and even the garden itself seemed out of place in such a tiny town. Matt laced his fingers behind the back of his head and leant back against the wooden seat. The more he looked at the fountain, the more it grew on him. Maybe he’d add a park scene in his latest book, that is if he ever got around to actually starting the damn thing.

  After a few minutes he left the park and ambled his way back to the general store. A bell jingled as he pushed open the door. The shop was divided into two sections, one side comprising half a dozen free-standing shelves and resembling a tiny supermarket, and the other dominated by a large counter surrounded by magazines, a basket of paperbacks and a stand of various sunglasses.

  ‘Hey. I reckon you must be the new guy who’s got the old Hargreaves cottage.’

  Matt turned his head and nodded to the man behind the counter. He had blond hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, an easy smile and was probably in his mid-thirties.

  ‘That would be me,’ Ma
tt said as he walked over and held out his hand. ‘I’m Matt.’

  ‘Good to meet you, and welcome to White Gum Creek. I’m Davey Blackwell,’ the man said as he shook Matt’s hand.

  ‘Thanks, I think I’m going to like it here.’

  ‘Well, it’s a grand place – that is, if you don’t mind the quiet.’

  ‘I like quiet – I’m a writer.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll do just fine.’

  ‘Good to know,’ Matt said with a smile.

  ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

  ‘I just have to grab a few supplies – bread, milk, maybe some cheese . . .’

  ‘I can help you with the milk and cheese but the bread you’ll have to get from next door at the bakery.’

  ‘I was wondering about that. I mean, the town is on the tiny side . . . is there enough business for everyone to survive? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked; none of my business.’ Matt gave Davey an apologetic smile.

  ‘Nah, it’s alright. You’re part of the town now, it’s only natural that you want to know how everything works. Most people do a weekly shop in one of the bigger towns once a week but for everyday items they support this place. There’s been a general store here ever since the town started and people don’t want to lose it. As for the bakery, their bread is the best – it really is. They supply restaurants and cafes all over the place and we’re just lucky enough to be able to snag a loaf every day.’

  ‘It’s that good?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Trust me, once you’ve eaten Gumnut bread you’ll never eat ordinary again.’

  ‘I guess I’d better pick up a loaf then.’

  ‘You won’t regret it.’

  Matt opened his mouth but closed it again. The action didn’t escape Davey. ‘Go on, what were you going to ask?’

  ‘I guess the same sort of thing. You said that the town supported you and the other couple of businesses because they didn’t want to lose them – is that the same for the primary school?’

  ‘In a way. The town’s population is 689, soon to be 691 as young Dani Hillcrest is about to drop twins. But the school catchment area also includes the outlying areas so there’re always enough kids to keep it going. It employs two full-time teachers, one part-timer and an office worker-cum-teacher’s aide. Once the kids are old enough for secondary school they have to go to one of the bigger towns.’

  ‘I see, that’s great. I’m learning that White Gum Creek has a real community at its core.’

  ‘Of course it does. If something goes wrong everyone will chip in and help out,’ Davey said with a nod. ‘It’s just the way it is here.’

  Matt gave him a smile and turned to check out the shelves but Davey called him back.

  ‘So, have you met Bec Duprey yet?’

  ‘I’m sorry – who?’

  ‘Rebecca Duprey – she’s your neighbour. The Dupreys own Bluestone Ridge. They’ve been here just about forever; rumour has it that the town was founded after the Dupreys had already established their place.’

  ‘Ah, is she a tall blonde with a fiery temper?’

  ‘That’d be our Bec. Sounds like you’ve met her then. She always says what she means and can be considered a tad on the fiery side. She’s a straight-up kind of girl, you know what you see is what you get. Bec’s one of my wife’s best friends – but I’m guessing your meeting didn’t go too well?’

  ‘Let’s just say as first impressions go, I reckon I crashed and burned.’

  Davey let out a booming laugh as he shook his head, and turned to continue restocking the tall shelves behind the counter.

  Matt bought a handful of items, including some locally made apricot jam and goat’s cheese, before nabbing a loaf of grainy bread from next door. Then he drove home, taking in the perfect rural countryside as he went. He liked the light and the air – it seemed to make it easy to breathe. As he sat down at his kitchen table and took his first bite of his freshly made toast smothered with the jam, he had to admit that Davey had been right about the bread – and wondered if that also went for what he’d said about Bec Duprey.

  ***

  ‘I reckon that’s it, Bec!’

  Bec turned around and gave Jamie Bannon a smile. ‘We’re good then?’

  Jamie closed the last lid of the seed container. ‘Yep, crank her up.’

  Bec turned the key in the tractor’s ignition. She threw the vehicle into gear and started moving forward, pulling the large seeder behind her. She drove on for a few metres before bringing the tractor to a halt.

  ‘The furrows aren’t too deep, are they?’ she called out as she got down from the tractor and walked back to Jamie.

  He squatted down and poked around one of the newly dug furrows. ‘Nope, I think they’re about perfect, wouldn’t you say?’

  Bec dropped to her knees. The little narrow grooves in the ground were about two centimetres deep and were deposited with a fairly even flow of oat seeds. Bec sat back on her heels and gave him a grin. ‘Looks good – thanks for your help loading up the seed trays.’

  ‘Any time, you know I can always do with the work.’

  ‘Sorry it’s not more.’

  ‘It’s okay. Besides, I’ve got my little firewood business to keep me going.’

  ‘Speaking of which, that old red gum in the far paddock didn’t make it through the drought. You’re welcome to it. And give me a ring at the end of the week – I think there’ll be a couple of days’ work coming up.’

  Jamie grinned. ‘Thanks, Bec, I appreciate it.’ He turned to leave. ‘See ya.’

  ‘Hey, do you need a ride back to your car?’

  ‘Nah, it’s only a ten-minute walk – and anyway, you’ve got a whole paddock to sow.’ He gave her a nod before turning around and sauntering back towards the house.

  Bec watched him go for a second before walking over to her car. She grabbed her hat, bottle of water and mp3 player from the footwell before heading back to the tractor. Then she settled into the seat, fired it up and started sowing the first field.

  The late April sunshine warmed her; it had finally lost the intensity of summer and now there was a coolness to it. The sky was a deep blue and the gentle slopes of Bluestone Ridge seemed almost endless. She counted her blessings on days like today. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

  She had about thirty hectares to sow, which equated to about seventy-five acres, or more to the point, the four northern paddocks. It was a big job, but between her and Jamie, she reckoned they’d get it done. Before Jack had had his accident the annual sowing of the hay crop had been a bigger affair. Mind you, that was when they’d had several permanent farmhands working as well. Jack used to put in about four times more than Bec was planning. He’d keep a third of the harvest for Bluestone Ridge and the rest he’d send to a local exporter who would sell it Japan, Korea or China. But after his accident, when things had fallen apart and Bec had done her best to keep the farm going, she’d had to let some things slide, and the export hay was one of them. She had every intention of bringing their production back up to where it used to be, but with only Jamie to help her it wasn’t going to happen this year.

  On the positive side, she had managed to plant a paddock full of Vetch hay a couple of weeks ago. Vetch was an annual plant and a legume similar to lucerne. Jack had liked to use it to feed lambing ewes as it was higher in protein and energy than oaten hay, and Bec was happy to follow his lead on this.

  The day progressed well and Bec only stopped seeding a few times – twice to check if the seeder was okay and once for lunch and to grab another two bags of seeds to top it up. Her plan had been to keep going all day but at around four o’clock the weather began to turn.

  Dark and angry-looking clouds boiled up in the north. The wind had picked up a bit and was blowing the storm directly towards her. Bec pulled out her phone to see if the forecast had been updated.

  Possible unsettled conditions with squally winds and an increased likelihood of electrical activity – little rain.


  Bec frowned at the screen and then at the sky. She might be wrong, but that weather front looked more than just ‘unsettled’. She wasn’t going to chance it – better to call it a day and start up again in the morning than be caught in a storm. Decision made, she stopped the tractor and pulled up a couple of levers on the seeder itself – one to stop the grain from dropping and the other to lift up the teeth so she wouldn’t dig a line of furrows all the way back to the shed.

  Bec didn’t regret her decision to pack it in early. By the time she’d stowed the tractor away and stepped out of the shed, the sky was becoming more ominous, and far in the distance she could just make out the rumble of thunder. By teatime the cloud cover seemed to have settled directly over Bluestone Ridge. There was hardly any rain in it, just the occasional splatter of fat raindrops on the rooftop for a minute or two. Bec watched from her bedroom window as multiple lightning strikes forked across the sky and lit up the hills.

  Between the rumbles and cracks of thunder, Bec could hear the sound of a fire engine’s siren as it sped past the front gates. In this kind of weather, she could only assume that a lightning strike must have started a fire. She wondered where the fire truck was headed and hoped that it wasn’t too serious and that no one was about to lose their house.

  Her questions were answered the next day when she dropped back in to the house at lunchtime. The storm had finally dissipated during the night and Bec had been up early to continue with the sowing.

  ‘Looks like the Turners had a bit of bad luck last night,’ were the first words her father spoke as she opened the back door.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Your mum got back from town a while ago – everyone is talking about it. Apparently a lightning strike triggered a fire that took out one of their main sheds.’

  ‘Are the Turners alright?’

  ‘Yes, I gave Mick a call in case he needed anything. He said that the generator in the shed exploded and they lost everything that was stored in there – tools, the stock crate, his new whiz-bang chainsaw and the quad bike. Thank God it was insured.’