by Sasha Wasley
She ran through the process in her head, staring absently at the beasts. A couple of weeks for them to transition to the junicora feed mix, and then out to graze. Hopefully the feed mix would mean they’d quickly adapt to the native weeds growing in abundance in the first pasture. After a few weeks there they would deplete the pasture and need to be moved to the next one. Meanwhile there were still weaners to document and, of course, the payroll nightmare to sort out and —
‘Everything okay?’ Tom was watching her.
‘Yeah. Well, not great, but okay.’
‘What’s wrong?’
She glanced over at Hegney and the station hands. She couldn’t say anything with them so close by.
Tom understood. ‘Let’s take a walk.’
They walked the fenceline for a long time as the sun sank behind them. For the first time, she was able to vent properly about Hegney’s giant screw-up. She didn’t have to control her anger like she had when she was trying to be professional with Hegney or careful with Barry, so she let fly, ranting and swearing. Tom commiserated.
‘Are you sure he didn’t know about the award increases?’ he asked. ‘The Department of Ag always sends out notices. If he’d been reading his emails, or even the newsletters, I’d have thought he would have seen it.’
‘I think he must have known. Maybe he’s just lazy. Forgetful, even. He doesn’t strike me that way, though. I have a feeling – maybe this is way off – but I have this feeling he was trying to fatten up the profit margins to make himself look good. Dad sure handed a lot of the leadership over to Hegney before I came home. Maybe he was hoping to become the senior manager for the station. He might have thought I wouldn’t come back.’
‘Could be the case,’ said Tom. ‘He likes to be in charge, that’s for sure.’
‘There have been some other things that make me think he’s pissed off I came back and took away his chances of promotion,’ she admitted. She told Tom about Hegney’s disparaging remarks regarding cost blowouts.
Tom’s brow furrowed and he looked almost as angry as Willow felt. ‘He can’t talk to you that way.’
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if he was asking genuine questions,’ she said, ‘but he seems to just want to take swipes at me. It’s passive aggressive. Sometimes it’s so subtle I can’t even be sure if he’s criticising or not.’
‘I thought he was an all right bloke, but what you’re describing doesn’t surprise me that much,’ Tom told her. ‘He’s dropped the odd misogynistic comment when there have been no women around. I ignored it because he seemed to be doing right by your family. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘Dad’s always sung his praises.’
‘Just make sure your dad’s aware of anything Hegney does that’s out of line, including those comments he’s been making. You don’t want to be in a position where you’re facing off with Hegney, and Barry doesn’t have the full story.’
‘I don’t think it will come to that,’ she said. ‘I had to tell Dad about the payroll crap but I don’t want him worrying about anything else.’
Tom didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway. He cheered her up a little by telling her how hardy his Brahmans were, and when she confessed she was thinking about adding goats to Paterson Downs, he got excited. By the time they got back to the homestead they had practically mapped out a ten-year plan for organic goat meat production, including which export markets they would target. Amazing how he had a gift for lifting her spirits and making her believe in herself all over again.
‘There’s a watercourse-health talk on in town in a couple of weeks,’ he said as he was leaving. ‘Do you want to go with me?’
‘Yes! Send me the details.’
‘It’s on a Thursday evening,’ he said. ‘We could grab dinner afterwards, if you want.’
‘Okay.’
Tom grinned and departed, leaving her to stare at her new Brahmans with a much lighter heart.
By morning the new herd were showing the after-effects of a sudden change in diet and it wasn’t pretty.
‘They’re sick,’ Hegney told Willow, watching streams of cow dung pour onto the ground.
‘They’re not sick,’ she said, praying for patience. She’d already checked the temperatures of several beasts and was confident it was just the change in diet. ‘We may have concentrated the junicora too strongly in the feed mix but they’ll come good.’
‘Those weeds must be toxic.’
‘They’re not toxic. I wouldn’t poison my own herd.’
‘There’s probably bacteria in the mix. It would have been on the weeds the blokes harvested.’
‘Liam, they aren’t sick. This is normal.’
‘This —’ He stared as a cow let loose a torrent of liquid dung on the ground in front of him. ‘This is not normal.’
She ignored him and went to talk to the station hands, telling them to lower the ratio of weed mulch to regular feed. When she finished supervising the process she spotted Hegney talking to her father on the house’s patio. Barry came over and observed the herd for a couple of minutes.
‘Willow, sweetheart. These animals are sick. They need antibiotic treatment.’
She shot Hegney a bitter look and met her father at the fence, explaining the whole thing over again to him. Barry shook his head doubtfully.
‘Hell of a number of cattle to lose to sickness,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t it be safer to give them some antibiotics? The rest of our cattle get them regularly.’
‘I told you, Dad, they don’t any more,’ she said. ‘Our cattle only get antibiotics if they’re actually sick now. No preventative treatment.’
Hegney came over to interfere again. ‘This lot are sick.’
‘Sweetheart, you normally get some feed adjustment issues with a new herd, but not like this,’ said her father. ‘Every animal in these yards is pissing shit.’
She explained again how she’d checked their temperatures and looked for other signs of illness but that all these animals were properly hydrated and fairly comfortable. ‘If they were really sick, they’d have stopped eating. Do you see any of them stopping?’
Her father had to concede that point.
‘New herd, all scouring,’ Hegney said darkly. ‘They’ll infect the rest of our herds.’
Barry’s face clouded with worry again.
‘Dad, trust me. I know what I’m doing. The herd at the university farm did the same when we tested the process. Tom said to expect this. They’re going to be fine.’
‘They won’t last another forty-eight hours if they keep on like this,’ Hegney mumbled.
Her father looked torn. Finally, he laid down his verdict. ‘One more day,’ he said. ‘If they’re not on the mend within twenty-four hours, we’re dosing them up with antibiotics. We can’t afford such a big loss – especially after . . .’ He glanced at Hegney, his tight mouth showing how pissed off he still was about the payroll mess. Hegney nodded like an obedient dashboard toy and Willow had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
The day wore on and the cows did not improve. The only thing that gave Willow some comfort was seeing they were still eating. Doubt crept in. Could Hegney be right? Could bacteria have got into the feed mix? Free took their father into town for his cardiology appointment and Willow shut herself in the office to open a chat with Tom.
You around?
Just about to head outside. How’s the new herd?
Not so great. The diarrhoea is freaking Dad out. He wants to give them antibiotics, cheered on by Hegney, of course.
Hold out. It’s normal. Read that article by Dodd again.
I know. I’m just —
She stopped. What was she? Scared? She had to pull herself together and stand by her own work. What if I’ve got it wrong? her self-doubt whispered.
Want my opinion on them? Tom wrote. I’ve got a couple of things to do but I can come around after that.
Yes! she typed, thankful.
No worries. See you in a bit.
&n
bsp; Willow waited anxiously for Tom. Hegney hung around the holding yards, muttering with the stockmen. Vern watched as Willow took random beasts’ temperatures.
‘They sick, boss?’ he asked.
She went over the whole thing again, starting to feel like she was stuck on repeat. Maybe if she said it enough, she could banish her own doubts. Vern nodded thoughtfully, waving flies away.
‘Those native weeds have high water content. It’s just like when the rains come and all the new grass sprouts. It’s so full of water, even the roos get the squirts.’
Willow smiled for the first time that day. ‘Exactly.’
Tom arrived late in the afternoon. His opinion was unchanged.
‘They look all right to me,’ he said, pinching the skin over one of the Brahmans’ shoulders to check its hydration. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’
‘Hegney’s putting the word out that I’m letting a sick herd suffer,’ she said miserably.
‘Wanker,’ he said, and Willow was all of a sudden incredibly grateful for Tom.
‘Stay for a coffee,’ she said.
He brightened. ‘Best idea I’ve heard all day.’
‘I’ve got this new-fangled coffee-making thingy,’ she told him as they headed for the house. ‘It rocks.’
‘You spending all the station money again?’ he teased.
‘Gah, don’t! Sore point.’
Barry was resting but Free joined them for coffee. ‘Dad was in a grump while we were in town earlier,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’
Willow couldn’t stand telling the story over again so Tom explained. The way he said it, the whole incident seemed much more minor and surmountable than it had even ten minutes ago. He even joked about how stupid Hegney would feel tomorrow.
Free, never worried about anything for too long, laughed blithely and added her own joke. ‘Sounds like Hegney’s going to be up shit creek without a paddle – literally.’
‘How was Dad’s specialist visit today?’ Willow asked. ‘What were the test results like?’
Free’s face dimmed. ‘Okay, but not quite what the doctor wanted. His blood pressure seemed all right, a little on the high side, but the cardio says last week’s blood tests showed high cholesterol and something else I can’t remember. I’ll show you the result letter later.’
Willow was suffused with guilt. She’d added to her father’s stress over the past few days. Tom took in her expression and pressed Free for more details on Willow’s behalf.
‘They’re upping his medication and they might change it altogether. The doctor says if he hasn’t improved in a couple of months, they want to do surgery. Angioplastic, or something like that. They put in little things to hold his arteries open.’
‘Angioplasty,’ Willow corrected. ‘Did you tell Beth? She can talk to the cardio and get the full details.’ Beth would be able to explain the situation to her and Free, she figured.
‘Of course. Although she doesn’t always tell me everything,’ she added.
Willow couldn’t deny that.
‘Your coffee thingy is a winner,’ Tom said, defusing the situation. He pulled it across the table to examine it. ‘I’ve heard of these. It works with air pressure, right? Expensive?’
‘No, Hegney,’ Willow said, giving him a wry look. ‘Only sixty bucks.’
‘Might investigate one for Quintilla,’ he said. ‘I think our machine’s on the way out. It’s given us a few years of faithful service but the self-clean function is acting up. Glad you were a guinea pig for this gizmo first.’
‘Well, I’m a happy guinea pig,’ Willow said. ‘It doesn’t froth the milk but I don’t normally bother with that anyway.’
‘That’s a shame. Froth moustaches suit you,’ he said.
She attempted a glare but couldn’t help smiling instead.
‘The awards last weekend looked like fun.’ Free was on her own train of thought. ‘I saw photos of you all on Facebook. Willow looked so pretty, don’t you think, Tom? Blue’s her colour.’
‘It is,’ he agreed, his eyes still on Willow.
She sipped her coffee, remembering his comment that she looked incredible. It had crossed her mind more than a couple of times since that night. Stop it, she told herself. Who cares what anyone says about how I look?
‘I saw that photo of you dancing together,’ Free went on. ‘You two are so adorable.’
‘Ugh,’ said Willow. She had a Facebook account but hardly ever bothered with it. ‘We danced for, like, sixty seconds and someone managed to get a photo?’
‘Did it capture her stepping on my foot?’ Tom asked.
‘Hey!’ Willow protested.
‘Is it official?’ Free asked, looking between the two of them.
Tom snapped his head around to Free. ‘Is what official?’
‘You two.’
That hot, uncomfortable blush started again and Willow could have curled into a ball under the table. Jesus, Free, she thought. Tom had his twinkling eyes back on her.
‘You mean, are we . . .’
‘Together, officially,’ Free supplied.
‘Town gossip again,’ Willow said, scowling a little.
Free groaned. ‘I was hoping it was true this time. I don’t know why I never thought of it before, but you two would be so sweet together.’
Willow stared at her coffee cup, wishing she was better at being nonchalant in awkward situations. Tom came to her rescue.
‘I couldn’t be with someone who dances like Banjo,’ he said, leaning back casually.
Free’s face was wistful. ‘Are you sure? I could give her some dancing lessons. She’s so pretty.’ She transferred her open gaze onto Willow’s face. ‘I want to paint her. That beautiful dark hair, just like Mum’s, and her soulful, dark eyes. And all lithe and slender, but with a bit of boob still. She’s like an old black-and-white picture of Audrey Hepburn, if Audrey had worn jeans and steel-caps.’ She sighed, looking back at Tom. ‘And you, all burly farm boy, like something out of an old Western. Golden-haired and blue-eyed. I keep expecting you to catch a brumby and ride down a mountainside. You guys are a movie poster come to life.’
‘Your powers of description, Free . . .’ Tom shook his head. ‘You should have been a writer, not an artist.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if I should dabble in some poetry.’
‘I challenge you to a haiku,’ he said. ‘Nice and succinct.’
‘Challenge accepted!’ she said with delight.
Willow just looked on, hoping their banter would continue so she could die an embarrassed death by herself. But Free wasn’t done with her yet.
‘You should consider it,’ she said, looking directly into Willow’s eyes.
‘A haiku?’
‘No! Getting together with Tom. He’d be a beautiful big brother for me.’ She sank her chin into her hand, looking at Tom dreamily. ‘And you two – you’re like one brain, two bodies. One heart, two minds.’ She sighed at her own lyricism, then brightened suddenly. ‘Shit. I’m going to write that down!’ She abandoned them and her coffee.
Willow stared into her empty cup, her cheeks aflame. Tom waited for a minute and then cleared his throat.
‘And on that note,’ he said, pushing back his chair.
She jumped up. ‘I’ll see you out.’
Willow barely slept. She kept startling awake, disturbed by thoughts of hundreds of dead Brahmans in the holding yards. She refused to check on them, knowing logically that they were fine, but that didn’t ease her panic. It was only when she felt her hands and lips starting to tingle that she forced herself to get up. She sat on the edge of the bed and held deep breaths in her lungs until she calmed down.
Why was she having these almost-anxiety attacks again now? Now she was home, in the place where she felt most comfortable in the world, doing what she’d always wanted to do? She’d dealt with that stuff about her mother. What on Earth did she have to be anxious about these days?
The answers weren’t far away. She reme
mbered the payroll screw-up, Hegney and her father muttering together about the sick Brahmans, and Free’s comments about her and Tom.
Willow tried pacing the quiet house but that just made it worse. Whenever she stopped she kept thinking she’d heard her mother’s bell ringing in the wind – that dragon-embellished front-door bell that had lost its clapper. In the end, she had to go outside and look at it. It was swinging slightly but making no noise. She closed the front door behind her and checked her boots for frogs or snakes before slipping them onto her feet. A farm dog trotted up to greet her and she was glad of its company. The dog was named Jazz. Willow was annoyed momentarily that no one had continued her mother’s tradition of giving all the pets and working animals fantasy names. She clicked her fingers so that Jazz would walk with her.
She grabbed the heavy-duty flashlight from a hook on the patio and visited the new cattle. Out of the darkness came the occasional gentle grumble from the herd, the usual sounds of teeth grinding and lips smacking, as well as the gurgle of bovine stomachs under the sighing night-time breeze. She shone the light on the ground at the exact moment that one of the cattle dropped a massive cow pat. Solid. She sagged with relief. She’d never been so happy to see a firm pile of cow crap. Tears jumped to her eyes. Why didn’t she trust herself more? Why had she let Hegney, and even her own father, undermine her like that?
She checked the others and was satisfied with what she saw. Heart much lighter, Willow wandered around the quiet station with Jazz at her side. A soft nicker came from the horse yard and she smiled. Tuffie. She headed for his shadow beside the fence. Jazz was distracted by the movement of another dog and abandoned her partway there.
‘Sorry, Tuffie,’ she whispered when she reached him, slipping her arms around his warm, fluffy neck. ‘No treats.’
He didn’t seem to mind and she turned her back to the fence so he could do his old trick of resting his chin on her shoulder, breathing his warm, horsey breath down her neck. This was her happy place. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling that comforting mixture of horse, red dirt, and dewy night air. For the first time in days, she felt peace.