by Karen Wood
‘She’s been nicer lately,’ he said, wondering what had brought about the change in the little horse. Maybe she just liked having so much grass to eat. ‘She came up for a pat when I rode past the other day.’
‘Yeah, well, she better not come near me,’ said Jess.
‘You hate her too.’
‘She killed my horse, what do you expect?’
It was true. Chelpie had chased Jess’s horse, Diamond, into a cattle grid and got her killed. Jess had every right to hate the mare.
‘May as well leave her there,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘She’ll only get out again.’
‘Let’s ride up along the creek.’ Jess reached through from behind and took one of the reins. She turned Legsy back towards the river. ‘We can swim at Hell’s Hole on the way.’
They left Chelpie and followed the creek up a cool gully, through low-growing ferns. The colt’s hooves sank into wet sand as they followed a narrow track along the side of the creek, ducked under low-hanging branches and squeezed through narrow passes. In some sections of the creek, they crossed wide flat stretches of river pebbles; in others they waded through deeper water. Then they left the creek and traversed the side of a mountain, scrambling over rocks and crossing fallen trees covered in moss. As they climbed the hill, the trees became smaller and the forest more open.
They rode in silence. It was like that with Jess. She and Luke seemed to slip so easily into the same rhythm and pace. When she was around, Luke found the world an easy place to be.
At the top, they came to a clearing and stopped. The view caught Luke’s breath every time. Dark gullies and mountains tumbled down into the valley, which was green and wide and flat. The Coachwood River, like a long ribbon, coiled and slithered in big loops, carrying life to the bordering properties. Farms, patched in all sizes and shapes, ran along the sides of the valley for as far as the eye could see.
‘There’s my place,’ said Jess, pointing west along the valley. ‘Dad’s slashing the paddock – look, I can see him!’ She waved and laughed. ‘Hi, Dad!’
Luke looked out over Coachwood Valley. It was the first place in his life that had ever felt like home – the people, the different farms, the little bunch of shops and the huge freight trains that rattled through so often he barely noticed them anymore.
‘There’s mine,’ he said, pointing in the other direction. Harry’s place was easy to see: a perfect rectangle, cut into neat paddocks.
But it didn’t look right. There were cars all around the house. Lawson’s ute, Ryan’s truck, Mrs Arnold’s four-wheel drive, an ambulance, two other cars he didn’t recognise. They were parked at strange angles all over the front grassy stretch, as if they’d pulled up in a hurry. Stanley Arnold’s little brumby ute drove in and Luke could see him running towards the house.
The day around him went still.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he said.
5
LUKE STOOD IN FRONT of the mirror in the hallway and tried to work out his tie. He was tall now, and lanky, despite trying his best to get some meat onto his bones. He ran his hands through his thick rusty hair, trying to smooth it down.
Lawson appeared in the mirror and held his hand out for the tie. Luke ripped it off and passed it to him.
Ask him. Ask him now.
No one had said anything about his future. Everyone was too devastated by Harry’s sudden heart failure to think of anything else. Annie had barely surfaced from the bedroom. Lawson had been busy with funeral arrangements.
Through the mirror, Luke could see Ryan talking to Harry’s sister, Mrs Arnold, in the kitchen. There was always tension in the house when Ryan came home. Lawson was only helping with the tie as an excuse to stay away from him, Luke was sure. He wasn’t normally the attentive type. If Ryan and Lawson got through the wake without a punch-up, it would be a small miracle.
‘Want Annie to take the rug, or are you going to carry it on the horse?’ Lawson asked as he folded the tie into a knot and handed it back to Luke.
‘I’ll carry it on the horse,’ said Luke, noosing it up under his collar and tucking his white shirt into his moleskins.
It was Annie’s idea for everyone to put something special on the casket. Luke was going to put Legsy’s prize rug over it. Without Harry, they never would have won it. He took a deep breath and felt as though he was going to his own funeral.
Lawson looked him over and nodded. ‘You look pretty snappy.’
Luke looked at himself next to Lawson. Neither of them got dressed up very often. With the same moleskins, shirt and tie, they could almost pass for real brothers. ‘Wish we were going to a B and S instead.’
Lawson smiled. ‘Yeah.’
Annie emerged from her bedroom, wearing black. She looked shaky and pale. ‘It’s time to go,’ she said quietly.
The showgrounds were full of people; there were hundreds of them. Luke sprang onto Biyanga’s back and joined Ryan and Lawson, who were already mounted and waiting by the main gates. As he took his position at the front, the stallion pulled and snatched at the bit, agitated by all the commotion. It took some strength for Luke to hold him steady while he looked back along the long lines of horses and people, searching for Jess.
She was riding her good horse, Dodger, who had a special boot buckled over his bad hoof. Shara, Grace and Grace’s older sister, Rosie, rode next to her. Luke waved to try to get Jess’s attention. Grace saw him, he was sure, but she turned away. She’d be jealous that he was riding the stallion.
‘Hey, buddy.’ Tom rode up beside him on Nosey.
‘Hey,’ said Luke. ‘You made it!’
‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ said Tom. He looked sharp, as always, in black moleskins and a cobalt-blue shirt. Tom always looked sharp. His parents had way too much money. It was the root of all his supposed problems. Luke had met him at Harry’s horse-gentling program, and despite their different backgrounds they had clicked. Tom was a shit-stirrer, but he was also generous. Luke had been the benefactor of all his excesses: clothes, saddles, technogadgets. He was wearing one of Tom’s shirts today. Sometimes it was embarrassing how much stuff Tom gave him.
Before they had a chance to catch up, the hearse rolled slowly around the corner. The sight of the casket covered in flowers in the back of the vehicle tore at Luke’s heart. Biyanga screamed, shuddering violently, and broke from under him, rearing, tearing the reins from his hands and nearly knocking him from the saddle.
‘You okay?’ Tom reached out to grab the stallion’s reins.
Luke shook his head.
‘You can let go, I got him,’ Tom said quietly.
Luke heaved in a few raspy breaths and wiped angrily at his eyes.
‘I’m okay,’ he said, taking back the reins. ‘All right, Biyanga,’ he soothed.
He saw Lawson and Ryan ride towards the hearse and take their positions. Lawson waved him over. ‘I better go. I’m s’posed to ride up the front,’ he said to Tom.
‘Catch up later, ay?’
‘You bet.’
He rode up to Ryan and Lawson and took his position between them. This was how Harry wanted it: Luke, on Biyanga, flanked by his two sons. It struck him that Harry’s request had more purpose than just giving him the honour of riding the stallion. He hadn’t wanted any fights on this day. Luke eyed his two foster brothers. They were both big blokes and he wouldn’t want to get stuck in the middle of them, that was for sure. But so far, Lawson seemed to be taking the lead and Ryan seemed to be keeping his mouth shut.
‘Up this way,’ said Lawson, reining his horse away.
Luke loosened the reins and let Biyanga take the lead out in front of the hearse. Lawson and Ryan rode up either side of him.
‘There must be two hundred riders here,’ Luke said to Ryan. ‘There aren’t as many riders as this at most drafts we go to.’
‘He had a pretty long history with horses,’ said Ryan. ‘But yeah, I didn’t expect this many.’
And he was at the very front. That was
a big honour. That was pretty cool. Luke took up the reins a bit and asked Biyanga to arch his neck and walk proud while he sat a little straighter in the saddle.
The old coach-house was five kilometres out of town, in a large open field by the lake. It was a small timber building with a steeply pitched roof. A verandah ran around three sides and four small steps spilled down to the front path.
Lawson and Ryan dismounted and passed their reins to Luke. Other people arrived in cars and made their way to the coach-house. With the help of Stanley and a few other blokes, they placed the casket on a stand on the verandah. Annie, Mrs Arnold and other family members and friends seated themselves on chairs next to it. Riders sat on their horses or stood quietly while a minister spoke from the verandah.
Poems were read and songs sung. Lawson and Ryan made short speeches, and then several other people did too. It took a long time and it was hot. Finally, Lawson nodded to Luke, indicating that it was time to step forward and place his rug over the casket.
First Annie walked up and placed a small black velvet pouch, drawn closed with a yellow cord, on the casket. She stroked the lid of the casket with a shaky hand and walked back to her seat. As he handed his reins to Stanley Arnold and stepped forward, Luke heard the unmistakeable tune of ‘Amazing Grace’ swim through his ears from Ryan’s slide guitar.
It gutted him. He stood staring blankly at the casket, letting the slow haunting guitar riffs waft in and out of him.
‘Luke.’
He looked up at Jess. She was bawling. She took the rug and helped him to fold it neatly in half and hang it over the casket. Then he watched as she placed a green-and-gold striped tie on top, together with a small handful of black powdery soil.
‘He lived like a gentleman, and he should die like a gentleman,’ she whispered without looking at him.
Lawson put Harry’s grubby old hat on the casket and then he picked up his father’s banjo and joined Ryan. Some old guy Luke had never seen before pulled out a harmonica. It was the saddest music he had ever heard. One by one, other people walked forward and placed flowers, small brass horse statues, envelopes, prize ribbons, crucifixes, bridles, stockwhips, a small hip flask, a stubby of beer, all sorts of things, on the casket. One woman even put a black lacy bra on it. Luke shot a glance at Annie, who was actually chuckling.
Later, the family took the casket to the crematorium. It disappeared behind a small curtain and Harry was gone, before Luke even had a chance to get used to the idea.
The wake went on all night. Back at Harry’s place, the arena was full of people, the lights were blazing and various people were playing guitars and singing. Mrs Arnold and Jess’s mum passed platters of food around, but it soon ran out and people drove into town to fetch pizzas and hot chips.
It was okay for a while. Luke mingled with Tom, Jess and Rosie, but then some of the guests started getting drunk. The voices got louder and the guitars started sounding out of tune. There were empty bottles, cans and pizza trays all over the arena. People Luke didn’t know ran up and down the stable aisle, spooking the horses. In the end, he and Tom let them all out in the paddock where they could get some peace.
‘I’m getting out of here,’ Luke said to Tom, as he bolted the door to Biyanga’s empty stable.
‘Me too,’ said Tom. ‘Dad wants to go. I’ll catch up with you on the weekend, hey?’
Luke shrugged and tried to look casual. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Why, you going somewhere?’ asked Tom, hanging a halter on a hook in the aisle.
‘Dunno, have to wait and see.’
Tom looked at him, puzzled. ‘What’s going on?’
‘The department will have to check over my whole life again.’
Tom’s face dropped. ‘They can’t take you away from here, can they?’
Luke shrugged again. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Single people can’t keep foster kids,’ said Grace, appearing out of nowhere. ‘That’s what Rosie reckons. She reckons a case worker will probably come and take you back.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘That’s not true, Grace,’ Tom said in an icy voice.
It wasn’t true. Luke knew it wasn’t, but he couldn’t speak. He had an overwhelming urge to walk up to Grace and smack her right in her big, flappy, insensitive mouth. He turned and walked away instead.
‘What?’ he heard Grace say behind him. ‘It’s true. He’s not adopted. He’s just a foster kid.’
‘You can really be the pits sometimes, Grace,’ said Tom. ‘Mate, stop,’ he called after Luke.
Luke flung open the back door of the stables, marched into the courtyard and went directly to the punching bag that hung from the old jacaranda tree. He sank his fist into it so hard that it nearly snapped the tree branch.
‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Luke,’ said Tom, catching up with him. ‘Annie wouldn’t let that happen.’
Luke punched the bag again. ‘She’s right. I heard Lawson and Harry talking.’
‘What?’
Luke kept punching the bag.
‘Oh, come on, Luke,’ Grace said from the stable door. ‘I’m sorry, okay?’
‘I think you should go away, Grace,’ said Tom. ‘You’ve already said enough.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Grace, sounding suddenly heated. ‘This is my family’s place. Not yours, not his. Don’t tell me to go away!’
‘I think you’re both just upset,’ said Tom. ‘It’s been a big day for everyone.’
‘Luke gets treated like royalty around here,’ Grace whined. ‘He gets all the good horses, while I ride all the crap ones. And who asked him to ride Biyanga at the funeral?’
Luke spun around to face her. ‘Harry asked me to, that’s who,’ he yelled. ‘Have you got a problem with that?’
‘Come on, guys,’ said Tom soothingly. ‘You’re upset. Don’t get into this now.’
But it was too late. Something in Luke had opened up, like a deep wound that had healed on the outside but was still festering way below. ‘What’s it to you that I rode the stallion?’ he yelled at Grace. ‘It’s none of your business. That was between Harry and me!’
‘None of my business? You’re not even family. Not even blood,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘Someone in the family should have ridden him.’ She burst into tears and ran from the stable building.
Luke froze, not game to move or speak. He could feel poison oozing from everywhere.
Tom put a hand out towards Luke’s shoulder. ‘Don’t listen to her, mate. You know what she’s like.’
Luke turned away from Tom and back to the punching bag, but no matter how hard he hit that thing, he could still hear the drunken voices from the arena. His old life, snapping at his heels, as if it was coming to get him. The voices were getting louder and more obnoxious. He ripped off the starchy white shirt that clung to his body and kept punching.
‘Take it easy, kid,’ Lawson said from the door of the stables.
‘You take it easy,’ Luke panted, still swinging.
‘I heard what Grace said to you,’ said Lawson, stepping closer and holding out an arm.
Lawson shouldn’t have kept talking. He should have known the rules and kept clear.
‘Don’t come near me, Lawson,’ Luke yelled. ‘I’m warning you, get away from me.’
‘Enough, Luke.’ Lawson wrapped his large arms around Luke’s shoulders and tried to pull him away from the bag.
That’s when Luke swung at him. He punched Lawson smack in the jaw and it felt fantastic, liberating, bringing a gush of relief that left him able to breathe again.
Until Lawson punched him back, fair in the mouth, sending him sprawling onto the pavers with a pain that was brilliant, pure and intense, like fire marching over his face.
Lawson shook out his fist. He spoke to Luke in a low, measured tone.
‘She’s right – you’re not one of us. That’s not how we go about our business in this family.’ He turned and walked to
wards the stable doorway, but stopped and looked back before he went through it. ‘Young Grace is going through about as much pain as you at the moment, probably more. Harry was like a second father to her. Of course she was cut that you rode the stallion.’
Luke gazed up at Lawson, his head foggy. ‘So I’m not a part of this family anymore, then?’
Lawson glared down at him. ‘You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.’ He turned and walked back into the feedroom, banging the door behind him.
6
LUKE STAGGERED TO the river, sank to his knees and scooped handfuls of water over his head and face, washing off the blood. His lip was swollen and his cheek felt puffy, but the swelling would go down in a couple of days. He knew that Lawson could have done much better if he’d wanted to; the fact that he’d held back was all the more insulting. But it wasn’t the punch that stung the most.
You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.
The river churned in time with the churning in Luke’s gut. He splashed more water over the back of his neck and let it run down his spine, then some more over his face and eyes, so he couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.
‘Luke.’ It was Jess.
‘Not now, Jessy,’ he choked out. He didn’t want her seeing him like this. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this: exposed, stripped bare of everything, his family, his dignity. He didn’t even have a shirt on.
She was still standing there. He could feel her staring at him. ‘Get away from me!’ he yelled.
There was silence, and then he heard her walk away. He wanted to call out to her to come back. God, he didn’t mean to say that to her. But he couldn’t. If he tried to speak he knew nothing would come out but big sobs.
Maybe Lawson was right. He wasn’t a Blake. He didn’t belong around here at all.
He ran his hands into the coarse river sand and squeezed its coolness through his fingers. It felt good, comforting. He ran his hands in deeper, up to his elbows, and then began digging until he lay with his entire body encased in the watery river sand, and the familiar comfort of the Coachwood River.