The House On Burra Burra Lane

by Jones, Jennie

  She wasn’t good enough for diamonds. She was dusty and dirty and by the end of the day she’d be splattered in paint. He’d told her what he knew of her. Described her perfectly, or so he thought.

  She waved him off. ‘Don’t worry. See you tomorrow.’ She turned from him, walked into the living room and grabbed the door, intending to slam it shut on him.

  She stopped, and looked through the window at her untidy, chaotic garden.

  Ignore that box in the wardrobe. Forget it. She couldn’t mow the lawn in a designer blouse. She would not change for anyone again. Not even Ethan.

  Nine

  The air was still when Sammy stepped out of Morelly’s, not even a fluttering of the bunting on the cemetery gate. But it was cool, not cloying and humid like it got in Sydney some days. There was nothing to ruffle her, not even the wind.

  She’d made a big decision about Ethan Granger. If he didn’t want her—she didn’t want him. Easy as pie. The townspeople could go ahead and weave their little stories, she wouldn’t let their gossip or Ethan’s reticence affect what she was here to achieve: her independence. She didn’t need him or any man to show her the way. She had her own agenda, and she was smart enough to conquer any gossip, or ignore it.

  ‘Get yourself over here and give an old man something to look at,’ a familiar voice called.

  ‘Hello.’ Sammy moved towards Grandy. ‘I was buying more of your tools. You might have to restock soon. I’ve just about cleared you out.’

  ‘A boy scout is always prepared. Got a warehouse in Canberra, how do you think you got all the roof sheeting and fence posts so quickly?’

  Sammy sank to the bench. ‘My word, you are a man of hidden means.’

  ‘More than you know, young Walker.’

  ‘Fine day to be outside,’ she said, giving him a smile.

  ‘Every day at my age is a fine day. How’s my bet doing?’

  Sammy peered at him. ‘How much are you going to lose?’

  He chuckled. ‘A hundred.’

  Wow. ‘That’s a lot of cash around here.’

  ‘You’re a lot of woman—inside, that is. On the outside you’re a tiny tot.’

  She leaned back, rested her elbow on the bench. ‘I’m five foot five, which is not an insignificant height.’

  ‘You’re scrappy, too.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Grandy brought his cane between his thighs and gave his hands a rest. ‘You did well at the fair. How many women did you have pestering you to help out?’

  ‘I didn’t mind helping. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Felt like you were beginning to be accepted.’

  It wasn’t a question. ‘I did, yes.’ She looked at Grandy. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Take that frown off your face, you’ll get sunburn creases.’

  ‘Is that how you got so many?’

  ‘Ha.’ Grandy struck his cane to the floor. ‘Scrappy.’

  ‘Not sure if I like that. Do you mean I’m short or that I’ve got too much attitude?’

  ‘What are you going to do about the art lessons?’

  Must be attitude. Sammy shuffled into a more ladylike position, anxious not to appear too casual and laidback, as though she were a bona fide townsperson. ‘I start this Thursday. I’ve got eight children.’

  Grandy grunted.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. Eight kids. The number rattled in her head like beads on an abacus. ‘I’ve never taught a class before.’

  ‘Might have a few fights on your hands with the mothers wanting their kids to be the best. We tend to get possessive out here, back of beyond.’

  ‘It’s not so remote, really. Feels good, all this alpine air and country aromas. Even now, I can smell the coffee percolating on my old stove and hear my chickens scratching at the coop.’

  ‘You’ll do fine with the kids and the mothers,’ he said. ‘Sounds like you’ve got the smell and the sound of the place.’

  ‘I hope so. I don’t want to spoil anything.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like my standing in town.’

  ‘You think you’ve got one?’

  Sammy pursed her mouth. Grandy was sussing her out, looking after his hundred dollars. ‘I think I might have the start of one.’ She’d made some good acquaintances with the women, they might not be friends yet, but she was on the way. ‘Should I be worried?’

  ‘What have you got to be worried about?’

  Everything, regardless of her earlier bravado. Her reputation was at stake. She’d sauntered through the last weeks, easing her way into the world of Swallow’s Fall. If she dented what she’d accomplished so far, how long would it take to scratch her way back to the giddy heights of community spirit? ‘When is someone going to change the number on the population sign on Main Street?’

  Grandy glanced over. ‘When I tell them to.’

  ‘When are you going to tell them to?’

  He grinned.

  Sammy settled back on the bench. Grandy knew everyone, and everyone’s business probably. Could she ask about the old letter she’d found, and the people who had lived in her house before her? And about what Patricia had meant when she’d asked how Ethan was coping at her house? Just because she was over her fascination with their handsome vet didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in learning more about him.

  ‘I won’t push any of you into liking me,’ she said. ‘I’m happy to do things alone. If necessary, I’ll become a mad reclusive woman. The town will become famous because of my strange habits, whether they want me around or not.’

  ‘What strange habits?’

  ‘How I stay in my house all day and only come out when the sun’s gone down. I only come into town when I need supplies—I buy in bulk so you only see me once a month. I wear a big floppy hat to cover the sunburned crazy-woman creases on my forehead.’

  Grandy turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed.

  ‘And I carry a pitchfork,’ she added. ‘And a chainsaw.’

  ‘I could start a few rumours for you, if you like. Get this story moving.’

  She grinned. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Do you what?’

  ‘Have a standing in town.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Ooh, he was a wily one. Sammy swung her gaze to the sky and pulled a face.

  Grandy slapped her gently on her arm. ‘Sunburn creases,’ he warned. ‘You’re doing well, stop your worrying.’

  ‘I don’t expect miracles, but I want to feel part of the town.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘You know a lot about everyone, don’t you, Grandy?’

  ‘I do. How’s the house shaping up?’

  Her blood ran warmer whenever someone asked, and this time the question was beneficial because she could bring up the subject of Dr Steadfast and what her house meant to him. ‘I love my house,’ she said, rubbing her hands. ‘I’ve scrubbed the veranda so much, it shines. Needs painting though. I have to figure out how to take the shutters off the windows first. And I’ve got a rose bush out the front. I’d like it climbing up the house but at the moment it’s rambling all around.’ She paused for a beat. ‘Someone before me must have loved that rose bush.’

  ‘The yellow one. I remember the day it was planted.’

  She turned to Grandy, hoping to ask by whom, but he continued before she got a chance.

  ‘It’s a tough plant for a strong house,’ he said. ‘But get it cut down soon. Don’t let it wander any further than it already has.’

  Funny that Grandy should choose that expression for her house: strong. She thought the same. It had stood for over a hundred years. Built to be an invincible homestead. What stories would it tell about her in twenty years time?

  She sighed. Two decades. Hopefully the sign would have been changed by then.

  ‘Somebody asked me if Ethan was comfortable at the house,’ she said. ‘I thought it a strange question, considering he’s there most days.’

  ‘Talk around town is that you
and he have got something going on.’

  ‘I can assure you, we haven’t.’ She couldn’t hold back the dry tone. ‘Except a business arrangement.’

  ‘Could be more, though, couldn’t it?’

  She moistened her mouth. ‘How much have you got down in this bet?’

  He cast his gaze sideways. ‘More than I thought I had.’ He had a serious intent in his old-man blue eyes. ‘He’s a loner. He needs to get things done in his own time.’

  Sammy paused. Didn’t want to ruin this by asking the wrong questions, but she needed to keep Grandy on this interesting track. ‘He’s well liked, isn’t he?’

  ‘A respected man, manages things without getting involved too. I like that about him best. He could do with some prodding though, sometimes.’

  ‘In what direction?’

  ‘Let’s just say a man doesn’t always want to acknowledge what’s in front of him. Or behind him.’

  The need for more answers almost sweated through her pores. Her mouth watered. ‘I heard some talk about him, at the fair.’

  Grandy nodded. ‘There’s always plenty talk at fairs. First time he’d hit the High Striker in years.’

  ‘Didn’t seem to worry him, he said he could do it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have had any problems striking the bell, Sammy, but there’d be a few concerns about the fact that he had you standing at his side while he did it.’

  ‘Why? Didn’t he hit the bell all the time in his younger days? He must have had lots of girlfriends to show off to.’

  ‘Had his share.’

  Before his wife, though. How many after? ‘I heard about his wife. Must have been hard on him.’ She leaned back, feigning general interest while her heart pounded in anticipation of the answer.

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  She flicked her tongue across her top lip. ‘Just gossip, though. I don’t want to get involved in that. Tittle-tattle won’t get that sign changed in a hurry.’

  ‘It would probably dent your current standing,’ Grandy agreed.

  She wasn’t getting anywhere fast. ‘I could do it myself—the sign, that is. I’m an artist.’

  ‘Wouldn’t want you falling off the ladder.’ Grandy chuckled. ‘Where’s your family?’

  Sammy shot upright on the bench. ‘My mother lives in Sydney. My father died when I was small.’ She said it quickly, a tickertape response she’d become accustomed to giving anyone who asked.

  ‘Nobody else? Brothers, sisters?’

  ‘Nope. Which means no nieces or nephews, no cousins either.’

  ‘All alone then, huh?’

  ‘Yep. Just me.’

  Grandy chuckled. ‘You’re sure sounding like a country sheila there, Miss Walker from the city. And I can see there’s a wheelbarrow-full of questions in your head.’

  Sammy wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s bad, isn’t it? Nosey.’

  ‘Natural,’ he said, with a nod. ‘Fire away, but nothing about Ethan. Whatever he wants to tell you, he’ll tell you. Not my place to interfere on that score.’

  ‘Okay.’ She swung around and hooked her leg on the seat. This wasn’t anywhere close to what she wanted, but she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to push Grandy a little more, in case he dropped his bulldog guardedness and the subject returned to Ethan. ‘You’re the first on my hit list. How many children have you got?’

  ‘Some.’

  ‘Four, I heard. Young Mr Morelly, another boy, and two girls.’

  ‘Middle-aged women now, not girls. They’re in Canberra. Married and settled. Don’t see them much, they decided to take on their husbands’ families—something about being independent. It was my good wife who kept the family together, I don’t seem to have the knack for it.’

  ‘You must miss your wife.’

  ‘I do. Been without her too long.’

  ‘And your other son?’

  ‘My boys are doing okay. Got Junior here, I gave him my business. He learned quickly how to keep the customers happy. They still come from around parts to my store. They like the personal touch.’

  ‘You taught him well.’

  ‘His older brother is in Victoria, farming. I sent him to college to learn agriculture and whatnot on a formal basis. He worked hard, even with the aptitude he already had, and a few years ago I gave him money to buy his farm outright.’

  ‘Did you give your girls anything?’

  Grandy fired her a glance.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t. And I wouldn’t suggest there was a fault—if you didn’t.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Sammy. Fortunately for me and any regard you might have for me, I made sure both my daughters were financially secure before they married. Made ‘em work for it though. Insisted they train for something. One girl became a banker, the other a PR person for the politicians.’

  ‘Big jobs.’ How on earth had he managed to finance all that? Plus a warehouse.

  ‘Well … ’ Grandy drew the word out. ‘I never took to the racetrack or the dogs, but I did like to do some wagering on the ASX now and again. Didn’t do too badly in my choice of buying and selling shares as it turned out.’

  ‘You did well for your girls, Grandy.’

  ‘A woman alone is a worrying thing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look at yourself. Working hard, making a go of things. Imagine if you’d arrived here with only pampering and pleasure behind you. There’s no way you’d have got those chooks to lay. To my mind, a woman needs to know how to look after herself. On the other hand, I don’t like to think of a woman being alone all her life, without the comfort of a man around to help her out, or give her a bit of courage when she needs it.’

  ‘Would you say the same for a man? That a man could also do with a bit of backup, from a feminine quarter?’

  He pursed his mouth and took a moment to think that through, his wise old face a puzzle of his own making. Sammy could almost see his brain slotting secretive pieces of information together.

  ‘Why do you think I’m pushing you about Ethan?’

  She held her breath for a second. ‘I don’t know. Why are you?’

  ‘Give a man a fish and you’ve fed him for the day. Teach him how to fish, and you’ve fed him for a lifetime.’

  The puzzle was more complex than she’d bargained for. ‘Don’t bother baiting the hook for either me or Ethan,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing going on. Nor likely to.’

  ‘Then why are you so damned keen on knowing more about him?’

  She stretched out, crossed her legs at the ankles, folded her arms and contemplated the street. ‘Why are you so damned keen on not telling me?’

  She didn’t get an answer. She still hadn’t learned what it was Ethan needed to cope with at her house.

  This was one close-knit town.

  Ten

  Sammy walked on the balls of her slippered feet, the packed, stony earth of the driveway hard underfoot. She was still in her pyjamas but the postie had revved his car’s engine and honked the horn. His way of letting her know she had mail. There might be a letter from Kate about the art supplies for the children. No time to get dressed.

  She pushed the mailbox to upright and lifted the flap. Must get that quick-dry cement.

  More horns blasted: two quick honks and a longer, chortling trill.

  She waved to Fast Frank as he slowed his fire-engine red 1950s sports car. He wore a black Stetson and had a smile whipped across his slim-as-a-reed face. Tom Munroe, Mary’s husband, followed in a 4WD filled with men whom she recognised from around town. With the camping gear and fishing rods stacked high on the roof, it looked like a boys’-own weekend was starting early on a Friday morning.

  They whistled as they passed the gate, arms out of open windows, thumbs up, waving a Like-it sign.

  Sammy grinned, had no choice but to participate in their banter. She performed a twirl then curtsied deeply, head bowed. By Monday it would be all around town that the new woman on Burra Burra Lane
was holding pyjama parties. Serve her right for being lazy this morning. It was gone 7 am. Yesterday’s art class with eight youngsters had taken its toll on her eardrums and her sleep patterns.

  She waved the men on their way, a ribbon of pleasure curling in her stomach at the sense of belonging. She looked down. Three letters, the top one the electricity bill. Her first bill! She did another twirl, and made for the house. How much power had her wonderful old house used in the last eight weeks?

  She jarred to a halt, and stared at the spirally feminine handwriting on a royal-blue envelope.

  ‘Hello, mother.’ Like a fool, she nearly added, ‘It’s me’.

  ‘I have to write to my own daughter before she calls me?’ The clipped voice, so familiar.

  ‘You know where I am,’ Sammy said, ‘and I asked the neighbours to watch out for you.’

  She accepted the indrawn breath at the other end of the telephone, knowing it led to the next stage. Whatever her mother wanted, she was gearing up.

  ‘Insolence doesn’t suit you, Samantha. I sit here alone wondering where I went wrong with you.’

  ‘We’ve had this conversation a million times, mother. Let’s put it behind us. You’re you. I’m me.’

  The silence dripped for seconds.

  ‘What you are is ungrateful.’

  Sammy closed her eyes. She’d melted into contentment in Swallow’s Fall. How foolish to have forgotten the belittling voice of Verity Walker and all the old inferences.

  ‘Do you have it?’ Verity asked.

  ‘Have what?’

  ‘You put me into a difficult position when you told me what you’d stolen from Oliver.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one doing the stealing.’ Sammy flexed her fingers then gripped the telephone more firmly. ‘I do have the paperwork and I’m not giving it back.’ It was her only security. One day, she might need it. ‘You’re still in touch with him, aren’t you?’ she asked. She’d thought the continued squabbling between Oliver and her mother would die down once she’d left them.

  ‘He wants you back. He’s a decent man, at heart, but he won’t wait forever.’

  He’d shown physical force, there wasn’t a single decent thing about him. ‘How often is he calling you?’