‘So how’s the patient?’
Toby Williams was standing at the back door, the rain pelting down so hard that his wide-brimmed hat resembled a waterfall.
‘Come in,’ Sarah held the door wide.
Toby shook his head, the action spraying a ring of water from his hat and sending streams of it down his Driza-bone jacket. ‘Just wanted to let you know that all the cattle are back in their respective paddocks.’
The rain was growing heavier. ‘One minute we’re praying for rain and the next we’re hoping we don’t get too much,’ Sarah commented.
Toby looked down the back path. ‘Reckon you can do with a bit of this for awhile, especially being summer and all.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Toby, I want to thank you for everything. For looking after the cattle on the route, for –’ her eyes moistened – ‘sorry, you know what I mean.’
‘Sure, kiddo. Actually I’ve got something for you.’
Sarah opened the handkerchief-wrapped object. It was a small tortoiseshell hair comb.
‘It belonged to my great-aunt Lauren. Figured you’d like it.’
‘It’s beautiful, but really I can’t accept it. It looks like an antique.’
Toby smiled. ‘Consider it a loan then. I’ll be seeing you, kiddo.’
She leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. Sarah would miss him terribly, however she couldn’t ask him to stay. He was heading north to the territory and he wanted to get back in time for his brother’s wedding.
‘Call if you need me,’ Toby chuckled. ‘Actually that won’t happen. How’s about I just pop down and check on you myself one of these days.’
‘Anytime.’
Removing his hat, Toby placed it against his chest. Instantly his face was saturated. ‘Now she gets interested, right on leaving.’
‘Go,’ Sarah grinned. She watched him walk down the back path. With the rain lessening, she shrugged on a wet jacket and plodded out to the back gate. Toby’s vehicle revved through the mud and drove away to a chorus of barking dogs.
Beyond the gate the house paddock was a sea of water. Bullet and Ferret were out playing in the rain. They raced around in circles, splashing muddy water in dog-high arcs until eventually Ferret began to whimper. Matt’s dog had managed to get himself caught on a small island. Sarah watched as Bullet traced a path to his friend and then, having reached him, led him back through the wet grass to dry land.
Years ago Anthony had done the same thing. He’d rescued her and together they’d built a life together. Sarah placed a hand on her stomach. There would be a fifth generation on Wangallon and her unborn boy would be called Cameron. Sarah would like to have thought that only she and Anthony could be congratulated for the achievement, however she knew better. Sarah could just imagine her grandfather sitting up there in his squatter’s chair, accepting applause from all of those intrinsically connected to the property, shaking his gnarled hand on the fruition of all his convoluted planning. Sarah guessed Angus deserved some recognition, although at times she wondered what had occurred in her grandfather’s life to make him so obsessively protective of Wangallon. ‘Come on, baby. We better have ourselves a nap.’
Tomorrow was a busy day. Sarah was flying to Brisbane to see Anthony and her obstetrician. The doctor said there was every chance he’d be out of traction and able to hold his newborn son when the time came, and although it was a tenuous thing to cling to, it had given Anthony something to strive for during his recovery. Sarah studied the engagement ring on her finger and smiled, recalling Shelley’s suggestion she take on the role of wedding planner. The new year was going to be a busy one. With a sigh Sarah took a long lingering look at her land. They were assured of a good summer and autumn with this fall of rain. A kookaburra was laughing in the distance and as the rain eased, a distant rumble sounded in the west. There were knobby clouds deep on the horizon and the blue–grey tinge heralded further storms.
Sarah thought of the men and women who’d lived and died on the property, of those who’d been unhappy, and others who’d been unable to envisage setting foot beyond her rich soil. Wangallon was an intriguing legacy to be part of. No wonder the old homestead never felt empty. It was filled with the thoughts of her ancestors and she suspected they would have much to say over the coming years. Jim’s thirty per cent share of Wangallon had passed to her following the news that he was not remotely related to them, so that Sarah now controlled sixty per cent of the property. This was how it was meant to be, Sarah mused. One descendent in every generation, one strong-willed Gordon to act as custodian until the arrival of the next. Now she was on the verge of creating her own family, of producing an heir, she was beginning to understand the lengths her forefathers were prepared to go to protect their heritage. In the future Sarah knew it would be no different for her.
No book such as this can be written without acknowledging the pioneers of this great country, Australia. Their tenacity and determination to forge new communities in an unknown, harsh environment continues to provide inspiration for those of us attempting to tell a little of what their lives may have been like. A Changing Land is the sequel to The Bark Cutters and in writing it I have once again drawn on my rural landscape, although the work is entirely fictional.
My parents, Marita and Ian, like many of their generation, have a strong oral storytelling tradition and I thank them for their love, guidance and humour. Thanks to my agent, Tara Wynne, and my sister, Brooke; between the two of them they have covered every business element I could think of, and then some. And to David, thank you for your ongoing support.
To Random House and the wonderful team within: publisher Larissa Edwards, editor Chris Kunz, rights manager Nerilee Weir, marketing strategist Tobie Mann and PR stalwarts Karen Reid and Judy Jamieson-Green, thank you for your continued assistance and professionalism.
Thank you to Margaret Adams for advice on the Kamilaroy tribe and to the enthusiastic booksellers across Australia who continue to support me.
Lastly, to my readers and friends, both old and new who have joined me within the pages of my novels. By reading my work you have made it come alive for me, thank you.
In the course of her career Nicole Alexander has worked both in Australia and Singapore in financial services, fashion, corporate publishing and agriculture. A fourth generation grazier, Nicole returned to her family’s property in the late 1990s. She is currently the business manager there and has a hands-on role in the running of the property. Nicole has a Master of Letters in creative writing and her poetry, travel and genealogy articles have been published in Australia, America and Singapore.
Visit www.nicolealexander.com.au
Succession planning – the passing on of the family property to the next generation – is a major issue in Australian agriculture. In A Changing Land a strong succession plan is vital to Wangallon’s longevity. Do you believe Sarah has a right to be offended when she learns she must share the property with others?
Do you think Claire makes the right choices in A Changing Land? In what ways is she different to Hamish’s first wife, Rose?
Lauren and McKenzie each have their own agendas throughout the course of the novel. Did you feel empathy for them at the end of the novel? Why?
Do you agree with Anthony’s decision not to tell Sarah immediately of his development plans? Discuss.
Consider the role animals such as Bullet, Ferret and the fox play in A Changing Land.
What significance does the tortoiseshell hair comb play throughout the novel?
To what extent do you blame Maggie Macken for the events that unfold in A Changing Land?
What do you make of Luke’s feelings for his stepmother? Do you think Hamish is aware of these feelings?
The spirits that roam Wangallon are tied to it for many reasons. Discuss.
The author uses an interwezaving narrative involving different timeframes in this work. Why do you think she chose to write the novel in this way?
Random House
A Changing Land Page 40