by Mandy Magro
The sultry heat hit her like a smack in the face as Renee stepped from the plane and onto the steps that led down to the tarmac. Removing her thick jacket, she looked towards the clear unpolluted blue sky and smiled. Even though this was technically winter, it was unquestionably shorts and singlet weather, her favourite. No more applying multiple layers of clothes before she headed out the door. She sucked in a deep breath of clean, salty sea air that carried just a hint of the frangipani trees that lined the edge of the airport’s runway, the scents of the tropics tantalising her senses and distracting her from the nerves in her stomach.
Taking determined steps, her low-heeled shoes clomping on the pathway, she headed towards the arrivals hall where she knew her pa would already be waiting. Not one to condone tardiness, he was always early for everything, no matter what. Renee recalled the time he had taught her a valuable lesson in punctuality when he had driven off and left her stranded without a lift into town because she had refused his countless polite requests to hurry up in the bathroom. Never needing to raise his voice, or his hand, he had a certain way of teaching life lessons in a way that hit home hard, and now she was an adult, she adored him for it. It had been a different story when she was a hormonal teenager.
The security doors swung open and she instantly spotted her pa up the other end, leaning up against the barricade that separated the visitors from the people waiting. His commanding presence always made him stand out in a crowd, just like her dad used to. Like father like son. Stanley Wildwood wore what he always did, unless he was going to a wedding, baptism or a funeral (to which he would wear a suit and tie): timeworn R.M. Williams boots, blue jeans, a brown leather belt, and a collared t-shirt, his cherished wide-brimmed hat old and tattered.
Renee waved madly through the crowd, feeling instantly at ease. No matter how old she was, her pa always made her feel safe and dearly loved, just by being near him. He blamed himself for Scarlet’s disappearance, it being his inherent nature to fiercely protect the ones he loved. Back when it all happened he would say over and over how he should have been there to save Scarlet from whatever had happened to her. Hearing it had broken Renee’s heart every time. Stanley was a good man, a loving grandfather—he needn’t feel what he was feeling.
He looked towards her and then smiled, the weathered skin around his hazel eyes creasing as he waved back to her.
Renee’s heart ached as she got a closer look at him. He looked so damn exhausted, and old beyond his years. She hadn’t seen him since he and her nan had visited for Christmas almost six months ago, but he looked as though he’d aged twenty years in that time. The fright of almost losing his childhood love to a heart attack, and having to manage all the jobs around the station on his own this past week, had visibly taken a huge toll. He clearly needed her support, even though he had tried to convince her he didn’t.
And he thinks I’m bloody stubborn!
As she stepped towards him with her arms outstretched, her pa pulled her close and embraced her, firm enough to make her feel as though any tighter and she wouldn’t be able to breathe. She squeezed him back and then gave him a kiss on the cheek, while blinking back happy tears. ‘It’s so good to see you, Pa. I’ve missed you and Nan so much.’
‘It’s good to see you too, Missy-Moo, as always. Although you know I’m worried sick about you coming back here.’ He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his sun-freckled nose. ‘I know you’re old enough to take care of yourself now. It just worries me, is all.’
‘I know, Pa, but honestly, I can’t hide away forever.’ She gave him a reassuring smile as she held him at arms-length and gave his gnarled hands a squeeze. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine. So stop worrying about me. Okay?’
Stanley chuckled sarcastically. ‘Me? Not worry? You got Buckley’s of that.’ He smirked and took his hat off to reveal his thinning grey hair. ‘This is proof of how much bloody worrying I do, especially about you.’
Renee gave him a playful slap on the arm. ‘Oh, Pa, lay off. I’m not that much of a headache for you.’
‘I’ll never lay off. You’ll always be my little girl—you should know that by now.’ Stanley half smiled and half frowned as he looked around, hands on hips. ‘Now let’s grab your luggage so we can get outta this joint—too many bloody people rushing aimlessly about for this old codger. And your nan can’t wait to see you.’
Stepping through the doors of the disinfectant-smelling hospital room, Renee sucked in a sharp breath when she spotted her nan in the bed. An ECG machine beeped alongside her, monitoring her heart rhythms, and cords seemed to be attached to her everywhere. Usually so full of life, she wasn’t used to seeing her like this. Nan looked so pale and drawn, her skin hanging from her bones, and for a painful few seconds Renee thought she might have been dead. Rushing to her bedside, she tenderly took her by the hand, being careful to avoid the drip that was taped to it. It was warm. Thank God.
Stanley sat down on the end of the bed and placed his hand on his wife’s leg, rubbing it softly. ‘Pearl, dear, Renee’s here.’
Pearl Wildwood slowly opened her eyes, her sun-wrinkled face lighting up the minute she realised it was Renee holding her hand. ‘Sweetheart, it’s so nice to see you.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. She rolled over stiffly to face her, acknowledging Stanley with a tender smile. Stanley leant in and placed a kiss on her lips, holding it a little longer than a peck, before sitting back and gazing lovingly towards his wife, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Renee smiled, her lips quivering as she blinked back tears of her own. The way her pa was regarding her nan with such adoration pulled at her heartstrings. These two amazing people had endured so much throughout their fifty-one years together; enough to break most, but yet here they were, clearly more in love than ever. Yes, both of them were as stubborn as old mules, quite often bickering over daily life and differences of opinions, but beneath the banter they were unquestionably soulmates. One day Renee hoped to experience a love like theirs.
‘It’s lovely to see you, too, Nan.’ She leant in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘To be honest, I could be better. But don’t worry yourself, the doctor reckons I’ll be home and back to my old self in no time.’ She reached out and patted Renee’s arm. ‘And then you can head back to the city, where you’re safe, my love. I don’t need you staying here and fussing over me.’
Renee shook her head. ‘Sorry, Nan, but I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. You’re stuck with me for a while, I’m afraid.’
Pearl raised her eyebrows at Renee, and then at Stanley. ‘I think your pa might have something to say about that—and I must say, I’m not too comfortable with the thought of you being back in Opals Ridge either. You remember what the note said. It still scares me to death that whoever wrote it has never been found. What if…’
The heart monitor started to beep erratically and Stanley quickly rubbed his wife’s arm. ‘Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything right now dear—you just get better. We need you back at home to keep us all on our toes. I’ll take good care of Renee. Don’t you worry about that.’
‘Yup, Pa will take good care of me, Nan, or should I say, I’ll take good care of him.’ Renee grinned cheekily at her pa and then winked at him, trying desperately to lighten the mood of the room. ‘I’m a big girl now, Nan, and I can take care of myself. I would like to stay a little while to help take care of you, that’s all.’
‘Hmm. Let’s just play it by ear then, love, okay? You know how much I hate people making a fuss of me,’ Pearl said as her eyes drooped closed. She blinked them open, chuckling softly. ‘I think this old duck needs some more beauty sleep.’
‘Of course you do.’ Renee gave her nan’s fingers a light squeeze, her emotions welling once more with the frailness of her hand. Pearl had always been such a strong countrywoman with so much energy she’d bounce off the walls. ‘I’ll pop back with Pa tomorrow, okay? And I’ll
bring your favourites, Werther’s Originals.’
Already asleep, Pearl didn’t reply. Stan stood quietly, making sure to kiss Pearl one more time before he pointed to the door, whispering to Renee that they should head home. She nodded, her pulse quickening with the anticipation of driving through the front gates of Wildwood Acres. She couldn’t wait to see what had changed, or if it was still the same as she remembered. The last memory she had of the place she’d spent the first seventeen years of her life was watching through heavy tears as it disappeared into a trail of dust in her rear-view mirror.
Crawling from beneath the comfort of her feather doona, Renee sat up and turned her bedside lamp on, relieved she’d slept through till morning nightmare-free. It was definitely a good sign. Soft light filled the cosy bedroom of the almost one-hundred-year-old home and her gaze flicked over the furniture she’d had as a teenager—a rosewood dressing table, cupboard, drawers and stand-alone mirror.
All her nan and pa’s furniture was still the same as when she’d left, except for a few of the whitegoods, notably a you-beaut new double-door ice-making fridge that her pa was extremely proud of. He was flabbergasted by the discovery that a fridge could make ice, and he’d been quick to tell her how when he was a young anklebiter they didn’t even have fridges. Renee loved the way he always referred to his childhood when he was speaking about the wonders of the modern day—it was endearing.
In the corner of the room her overstuffed suitcase—which had annoyingly cost her excess at the airport—lay opened on the floor. It would be impossible to close it now—sitting on it had been the only way she had zipped it up in the first place. Her once neatly packed clothes were now in complete disarray after her late night hunt for pyjamas, the two glasses of rum she’d had with her pa while stargazing from the swing chair on the back verandah not aiding her search for sleepwear.
She chuckled to herself, remembering how wobbly she’d been as she’d said goodnight. Not being a big drinker, the rum had gone straight to her head, and her legs. She would pack everything into the cupboard and drawers later, making sure to hide the school yearbooks and scarf she’d brought along. She didn’t want her grandparents catching onto the fact she was determined to discover the truth… Otherwise her pa would drag her by the ear and force her onto a plane headed back to Melbourne, with no chance of ever returning.
Pulling her eyes from the suitcase, Renee continued to gaze over her old room. Long gone were the posters of Christina Aguilera, the Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain and Alan Jackson, and instead two of Nan’s watercolours hung in pride of place. One was of her pa’s old stockhorse Gus, and the other was of the glorious views from the sprawling front verandah of the homestead—the land seeming to drop off the edge of the earth in the distance of the painting. A vase with fresh lavender sat on the dresser—her pa had sweetly remembered they were her favourite—and a large framed photo of her and Scarlet taken when they were sixteen sat beside it.
She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, her eyes watering as she took in all of Scarlet’s now fading features. The two of them had been identical back then, even down to the way they wore their hair—short, shaggy and very bleached blonde. Scarlet looked so happy it made her heart sink. She wondered what her sister would be doing now if she were still alive.
‘I’ll find whoever did this to you, sis, I promise. And then you can finally rest in peace,’ she whispered, a lone tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. She sniffled and wiped it away with the back of her hand just as the fragrance of frankincense filled the room, so very fleetingly that Renee wondered if she’d imagined it. She sniffed deeply, trying to catch a hint of it again. But she couldn’t. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Frankincense had been Scarlet’s favourite. She had worn the essential oil as a perfume all the time.
‘Are you here, sis?’ Renee murmured as her fingers gripped the pendant around her neck, almost afraid she was going to get a reply. But of course, there was none. She suddenly felt stupid for even asking. The mind was a powerful thing, so it was very possible she had imagined it. Being back in the homestead was obviously triggering memories she’d long ago buried. That made a heck of a lot more sense than believing Scarlet’s spirit was still floating around.
Shaking off the weird sensation, Renee turned her attention to the doorway, where there were different coloured pencil marks with either her or Scarlet’s names up one side of the doorjamb. Her dad had started the height chart when they were only two years old, and her pa had continued the tradition after their parents had passed away, etching the progress of their growth from toddlers to young women into the homestead’s history forever. It was a beautiful thing.
Renee’s heart pinched with the memories of her and Scarlet standing up against the wall, most of the time the pair of them giggling madly as either their dad or pa begged them to stand still.
You may technically be the eldest, Reni, but I’m the tallest.
You are not, sis. You’re standing on your tippy-toes!
No I’m not, that’s just a figment of your imagination.
But you don’t reckon I have an imagination, so how could that be?
Ha ha, always the serious one, Reni, that’s why I love you.
I love you too, sis. Even when you’re standing on your tippy-toes.
Renee sighed despairingly. She wasn’t going to allow herself to feel weighed down with the anguish. For if she did, she would send herself spiralling down that awful pain-filled path once again and possibly bring on a return of the debilitating panic attacks she’d experienced all those years ago. As her therapist had told her over and over, she needed to focus on the positives, remember the good times, and rejoice in the lives of those she loved and had lost. She was now home with the two people she loved most in this world, back where she had longed to return to for years, so she was going to try her hardest to focus on that.
Checking the time on her watch, a wisp of a smile tugged at her lips. It was just before six in the morning—almost daybreak. Pa would already be out at work on the station with his six-year-old trusty border collie, Henry, beside him—Renee had met the dog last night and had adored him instantly. Pa had mentioned that he had to fix one of the windmills in the bottom paddock. She had offered to help but he had told her to take some time today to settle in, so she’d organised to join him for smoko. She was delighted she had a few hours to herself to potter around the house and venture outside for a good squiz around.
Four generations of Wildwoods had lived under this roof and made a living off the land and there were so many memories of her own precious time here. A buzz of excitement rushed through her. Having got home in the dark, she’d only caught fleeting glimpses of Wildwood Acres in the headlights of Pa’s dependable old Land Cruiser. She couldn’t wait for dawn to break so she could finally lay her eyes on the countryside that had stolen her heart all those years ago.
Jumping from the bed, Renee tugged her robe over her pyjamas. Back in the city, she’d hated early mornings, but out here in the country, it was a whole different story. With no traffic noise, pollution or loud neighbours to dull her into being blasé about the undeniable beauty of a sunrise, she got to witness the birth of a brand new day. Padding down the hallway, the old timber floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet, she admired the family photographs hanging on the walls, some colour, and some black and white. She would take time to look at them in more depth later, but for now, she longed to feel the grass and dew between her toes while enjoying her morning cuppa.
Stopping off at the heart of the home—the large galley-style kitchen—Renee switched on the lights and got to making herself a cup of tea, halting to admire her nan’s pride and joy, a classic AGA oven. So many mouth-watering meals and gloriously moreish cakes, scones and biscuits had been baked within its cast-iron doors. At the centre of the kitchen sat a lengthy island bench with bar stools lined down one side of it, the timber top worn beautifully ov
er the years from her nan’s passion for cooking. Near the huge double window, with a scenic view to die for, was an eight-seater dining table, the same table she and Scarlet used to sit at with Mum and Dad. In a book stand, open to a page with a recipe for raspberry white chocolate cheesecake, sat a Country Women’s Association cookbook. Above this, a myriad of well-used copper pots hung from a reclaimed-timber pot hanger, and off to the side of the kitchen was shelving that housed at least a hundred other cookbooks. Her nan loved getting cookbooks for presents, and they had added up over the years—Renee religiously buying her one every birthday and Christmas.
While waiting for the kettle to boil, she wandered into the walk-in pantry, her mouth watering at the sight of the endless delectable goodies on its shelves. Jams, relishes and every type of pickled vegetable sat waiting to be devoured, and the herb and spice rack was something to be envious of. Licking her lips, she spotted her nan’s old biscuit tin in the exact same place it had always been.
She smiled to herself. Not a lot had changed around here, and that in itself was extremely comforting—she needed familiar comforts to ease her through her first few days. Grabbing the tin, she popped open the lid, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree upon discovering it was filled with her favourites—homemade macadamia shortbreads. She eagerly took two to enjoy with her tea. Not the healthiest of breakfasts, but yummy all the same.
Cuppa and bickies in hand, Renee wandered through the warm and welcoming lounge room which smelt a little of leather from the laundry-cum-tack-room beside it, and towards the back door, admiring the big open fireplace along the way. It didn’t get used much, the weather on the Atherton Tablelands usually warm enough without it, but when they did have the occasional cold snap her pa was always keen to stoke it up. She and Scarlet had spent many a night by the fire with their grandparents over the years, toasting marshmallows, sharing yarns and telling jokes. Those were the kind of memories she would be forever grateful for.