by Holly Ford
‘But …’
‘I couldn’t let him do it,’ he shrugged. ‘It wasn’t in his best interests. Harry might never see a lump sum of money like that again. Even if it was totally safe, it didn’t make sense for him to tie it up here. It should go into his place, not mine. There are only so many owners one farm can support.’ He looked at her. ‘So I’m told.’
‘So you threw Harry out of the boat.’ Considering his face, she brushed the back of her finger along the line of his newly shaven jaw. ‘I’m surprised you let Mitch stay.’
‘Mitch is harder to argue with. He’s bigger than me, for a start.’ He slid his hands into her back pockets. ‘Anyway, I’m not in charge of Mitch’s money. And he has other things he can fall back on.’
Tess watched his eyes. ‘You knew he’d go back to flying one day.’
‘No,’ Nate said. ‘But I hoped he would. You’ve seen what he’s like up there. It seemed like he was always going to find his way back to flying for real. I thought this might buy him the time to get there.’
‘You’ve been holding things together,’ she said, ‘for a long time, haven’t you?’
His mouth curved slightly. ‘Right back at you.’
‘Take a break for a while. I’ve got this.’ She put her hands to the back of his neck. ‘I’ll bring it home.’
Nate’s arms tightened around her.
‘And because you trust me,’ Tess smiled, ‘you have to believe me. Right?’
•
A week later, they drove out for Gorge Hut in a rain that was more than half cloud, misting droplets that seemed to move of their own accord, flurrying without wind, barely troubling the windscreen wipers. In spite of it, Nate’s windows were down. He and Harry towed the floats, the Mazda’s deck loaded with the last of the gear, the cage of Harry’s ute bristling with dogs, Peg safe in the cab at Stan’s feet. Ahead of Dead Cow Creek, the track was largely flat and fast and they made good time.
In the shadows of the bush alongside the creek, they unloaded and saddled up. Negotiating the steep descent of the washed-out bank on her more than usually laden horse, Tess looked down at the busy water. They’d fixed up the ford as best they could with the machinery they had, but there was still no shortage of flow coming down and it wasn’t the simplest of crossings. On the far side, she and Nate waited, surrounded by shaking dogs, for Harry to lead Stan’s horse over, Peg perched on the saddlebow.
By the time they reached the hut the light was greying, and the passing rain drifting by them had frozen to a fine, aimless snow, tiny flakes floating between Tess and Nate as he glanced back over his shoulder. In the still, damp air, the smoke pouring from the hut’s chimney was hanging low, wreathing the blades of the Robbie parked on the flat nearby.
The hut itself was a big, tidy building not much more than Stan’s age, its porch, stacked with firewood, still hanging straight, an enormous horseshoe bubbling with rust tacked above the open door. They walked in to find Mitch adding more wood to the range in the stone fireplace, orange light playing over the sooty walls from the settling blaze in the firebox.
Dumping her gear in the bunkroom, Tess took a seat at the table, reading the names carved into the wood.
‘There’s no need to hover,’ Stan said firmly, as Nate and Harry circled him like hawks. ‘I’ve been coming here sixty-odd years, and I haven’t been daft enough to set fire to myself yet.’ He paused. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Harry said.
S. Solomon, 1953. Stan. They were all there, the names of the men she knew and many, many more she didn’t. A long column of Simpsons, culminating in K. Beside it, G. McAdam. Nate’s name carved below his father’s in a little boy’s straggly, careful letters. Mitch’s too, below his dad’s. The same year. They must have been, what, seven? Eight? Tess watched Nate move around the hut, biding her time, waiting for the right moment. Catching her looking at him, he reached into his pocket.
‘Here.’ He threw her an army knife. ‘Go on.’
She hesitated, staring down at the tabletop.
‘We all do it,’ Harry said, ‘our first year.’
Tess eased out a blade. T …
‘Interesting choice of spot.’ Mitch glanced over her shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted to get that close to the bloke in real life, I can tell you.’ He looked over at Nate. ‘C. Daley. Remember him?’
‘Old Arthur?’ Nate blew out his cheeks. ‘Who could forget? Remember that crazy white dog of his?’
Stan, who’d been humming ‘Galway Bay’ to himself at the stove, broke into the chorus.
T. Drummond. She stared down at her name in the wood. By the time she’d finished adding the year, the heat in the hut was getting hard to bear. It had beaten Mitch and Harry back to the bunkroom, where, deck of cards in hand, they were still trading insults over which game they were going to play.
Outside, Tess could hear Nate’s boots on the boards of the porch. Following the sound, she found him leaning against the corner of the hut, his eyes on the country they’d cover tomorrow. In front of him, the braids of the river glowed cold with the last of the sky’s light, the two streams that converged to form Broken Creek River curving away through the dusk-softened grass on either side of the peak between them. High above, the bush was dusted with an icing-sugar sprinkle of snow, and a solitary patch of yellow light moved across the hills as the lowering sun found a dip in the western range.
‘I’ve got something to give you.’ Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the document she’d carried close to her chest all day. ‘I wanted you to read it here.’ Tess held it out to him. ‘It came through this morning while you were loading up.’
Nate looked at the papers in her hand. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘It’s a signed offer,’ she said, ‘to sell you and Mitch a controlling share in Broken Creek.’
For a long, long moment he didn’t speak. In the failing light, she saw the muscle of his jaw work. ‘He’s saying yes?’
‘Actually, he’s saying better than yes. He’s made a counter proposal. You and Mitch get a fifty-two per cent stake, and the rest will be held by’ – Tess raised her eyebrows – ‘the Clancy J. Mackersey International Grassland Conservancy Trust.’
Nate reached for the document.
‘There are covenants all over everything,’ she told him wryly, ‘but you’ll probably like those.’
He squinted down.
‘By leaving so much of his own money in Broken Creek, he’s allowing the two of you to come in here almost debt-free.’ Tess smiled. ‘Looks as if you won’t have to send Rosalie anything after all.’ She watched him flip through the pages. ‘Oh yes. And he wants to build himself a fishing cabin somewhere.’
Nate looked up at her. ‘He can build two.’
‘I guess,’ she said, ‘the answer is that C.J. Mackersey likes you a lot.’ Her tone was light, but the expression on his face had her skating close to tears.
‘Thank you,’ he said slowly.
She shook her head. ‘You did it yourself.’ Tess smiled. ‘He doesn’t like me at all.’
He stared at the offer again. ‘This is really it? It’s final?’
‘All you and Mitch have to do is sign, and Broken Creek is yours.’
As he bent his head to kiss her, they heard, all too close, Harry’s laugh through the wall.
‘Is it safe to come out?’ Mitch’s voice called.
‘Get out here.’ Nate’s eyes shone. ‘Bring a pen. And the Scotch.’
‘What’s up?’ Mitch appeared with the bottle.
‘You and I are buying a farm.’
‘Shit.’ Mitch took the offer from Nate’s hand. ‘He said yes?’
They watched him read it.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ He thrust it, and the pen, back at Nate. ‘Hurry up, before it explodes, or something.’
‘You’ve got plenty of time,’ Tess laughed, as Nate, pressing the contract to the side of the hut, scrawled his name. ‘You can’t get
it back to Mackersey for a week anyway.’
‘Bugger that.’ Swiftly, Mitch added his signature.
‘It’s okay,’ she assured them, ‘it isn’t going anywhere, I swear.’
‘Yes it is.’ Grabbing his bush shirt from the hook on the wall, Mitch stuffed the contract into the pocket. ‘It’s flying out of here right now.’ He broke into a wide, sudden grin. ‘Save me some whisky. I’ll be back in an hour.’
•
Six days later, having said her goodbyes to the dogs Mitch had lent her, Gorge Hut, the screes and slopes she’d walked and ridden for three long days and – with less regret – to the yards they’d been crutching in for two more, Tess sat watching the terrace go by through the open window of the Mazda. Behind the ute, the float clanked. It was over, her first and last autumn muster at Broken Creek done. Looking out at the sheer faces rising above the cut of the gorge, she wondered what the chances were of her ever seeing them again. In the side mirror, she could see Harry’s ute behind them. He was driving this country for the last time as well. Alone, since to everyone’s well-concealed surprise Mitch had offered Stan a lift home. Tess wondered how Harry was feeling.
‘Something wrong?’ Nate asked.
‘No.’ She smiled quickly. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Time to move on. It was what she did. She cast a glance at Nate’s profile across the cab. She could honestly say that she’d never been so happy to leave a farm in someone else’s hands.
Back at the stables, they pulled up beside the HiLux. Leaning across the seat, she kissed him briefly. They were both filthy, their clothes reeking of wood smoke at best, her hair unwashed and Nate’s jawline half-hidden below the rough beginnings of a beard.
‘You want me to come over later?’
Tess nodded. Pretty soon she’d be the one who had to ask to visit the homestead.
Nate looked at her. ‘You sure everything’s okay?’
‘All good,’ she said briskly. ‘See you up at the house.’
The kitchen was empty and silent, the low afternoon sun lighting corners she’d never seen it reach before. There was a casserole dish in the oven and a plate of scones on the bench. Taking one, Tess slumped into a chair, her body refusing to rouse itself for the shower her mind was craving. She was bone-tired and bleary from yet another celebration at the hut last night, mobs of merino still streaming across the back of her eyes. She groaned as the phone rang.
‘You’re back,’ Mark said. ‘How did it go up there?’
‘Yeah, good. All done.’ Keeping an eye out for Stan, Tess spared his clean bench and sat back down on her chair. ‘Low losses. The stock’s got some decent condition on. I’ll start pulling the full figures together tomorrow, but it looks like we’ll be heading into winter in pretty good shape.’ Lowering the receiver, she smothered a yawn. ‘Especially with the feed we’ve got.’
‘Good,’ Mark said. ‘That’s good.’
Something about his voice suggested it wasn’t.
‘Look, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. We’re being forced to sell Broken Creek.’ He paused. ‘Tess, I’m so sorry. I had no idea this was coming.’
Shit. A smart person would have planned for this conversation. But somehow, she hadn’t.
‘It’s all part of this vanity project the board’s letting Mackersey have to slide him out the door,’ Mark said. ‘He’s putting the station into a conservation trust. There was nothing I could do.’
‘It’s okay,’ she managed. ‘Don’t feel bad.’
There was another pause on the end of the line. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘I – I heard a rumour.’
‘Who from?’
She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I kind of got a heads-up from the stock manager that something like this might go down.’
‘He’s involved in this?’ Mark snorted. ‘Of course he is. The two of them’ll be putting a bloody fishing lodge in next.’
Tess was silent.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, his voice softening. ‘Look, if you still want a permanent role, there’s a run coming up outside Ohakune. Rolling hill, fully irrigated. A good tidy house. Say the word and it’s yours.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Really. I appreciate that, but if it’s okay with you, I think I’d rather go back to interim contracts right now.’ It was going to take a while – a long while – to get this job out of her mind. She couldn’t face the thought of committing to somewhere else yet.
‘Are you sure?’
Tess looked around the kitchen. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Then I won’t pretend I’m not happy to hear it.’ She heard him let out his breath. ‘I’ve got an acquisition on my desk right now that I could really use your help with. How soon do you want to start?’
‘You don’t want me to stay on here till the sale’s gone through?’
‘Why waste your time? It’s not our concern anymore. Your stock manager’s full of ideas. I’m sure he can manage without you.’
•
Fingernails soaked clean at last, Tess put a match to the fire in the living room. As it turned out, MetService concurred with the warning that had been blazed all over the sky above Gorge Hut that morning. There was heavy weather coming in, and she was pleased to be down ahead of it. Getting up, she walked to the window, intending to pull the curtains.
Instead, she found herself standing there clutching a handful of chintz older than she was, its original colour anyone’s guess, watching the familiar line of the ridge darken against the sky, the first star blink up over the hills. It was a stupid thing to be doing. She was one small step ahead of everything she felt about leaving this place, and dwelling on every detail of what she was going to miss wasn’t helping her stay that way. The tight knot of misery she felt in her stomach when she thought about walking out of the homestead for the last time was by the by. She didn’t, couldn’t, regret what she’d done. Nothing in this room, this house, this valley, was hers, and it never had been. She was the only thing in this picture that didn’t belong. Still, Tess couldn’t quite bring herself to bring the curtain across.
‘Is that track stuck again?’ Walking in, Nate gave the chintz a tug. He tilted his head, looking at her. ‘That’s quite a smile.’
Tess touched the soft, newly shaven skin of his cheek. ‘I’m happy you’re moving back in here.’
‘I’m pretty happy about it myself.’ He kissed her, the tide of it lapping her body, bringing up more than the usual ache.
‘Looks like it’ll be all yours by the end of next week,’ she told him lightly. ‘I talked to Mark this afternoon. He’s pulling me out of here ahead of settlement date.’
Nate let go. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Carnarvon’s got a new project lined up. They want me on it straight away.’
‘Are you saying’ – he shook his head – ‘that you’re leaving?’ Backing away, he circled the space between the sofas.
‘Well,’ Tess said slowly, wondering what the hell he’d expected, ‘I kind of have to, what with my company no longer owning the place, and all. I don’t have a job here.’
‘What happened to making a commitment? Wanting to see this thing through?’
‘It’s not my farm to run any more.’
‘I wasn’t just talking about the farm.’ Nate stared at her. ‘I didn’t think you were when you said it either.’
She swallowed. ‘I’m not saying it’s over for you and me. We can still see each other. I – I hope we will.’
‘When? One weekend a month?’
Yes. If they were lucky.
‘Do you even know where you’re going?’ he demanded.
‘Dannevirke.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wish this was easier. I wish I could be closer. But I don’t have a choice. This is my job. I have to go where Carnarvon sends me.’ Tess rubbed her forehead. ‘It’s only for a few months. Maybe next time I’ll be just down the road.
’ Or at least on the same island.
Nate stopped pacing. ‘What if you had a better offer?’
‘What are you saying?’ she said gently. ‘I manage farms. Are you going to own this place and carry on working for me?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve never had a problem with that.’ His smile tore at her logic. ‘Okay, maybe not for you, but with you. You running the business, me running the stock – I think we make a pretty great team.’ Nate’s eyes gleamed as he rounded the couch again, perching himself on the back of it, drawing her in. ‘Besides, somebody’s got to keep an eye on me. Who’s going to do the GST?’
‘And what about Mitch?’
‘Mitch has already got ten days of heli-mustering work booked in. I’m not sure I’m going to be seeing too much of him in daylight for the rest of the year.’
‘You don’t need me here. And’ – Tess tried to put it as softly as she could – ‘you can’t afford me.’
‘But I want you,’ he said. ‘I want you here, in this house, on this place, every day. You’re the one in charge of making things work out, and this isn’t the ending I want.’ He took both her hands, holding them lightly between his knees. ‘So fix it. You have to stay.’
Epilogue
‘There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’
Tess looked out the window at the black cloud lying low on the hills. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too.’
‘It’s about’ – she took a deep breath – ‘more than a job.’
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. ‘I see,’ Mark said.
She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I never meant to …’ Tess hesitated. ‘To let you down.’
‘You didn’t.’ His voice was rueful, kind. ‘I think maybe I was the one who did that.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It was just …’ Through the window, she watched Nate climb out of his ute, a fine rain swirling over the patio between them. ‘Bad timing, that was all.’
Mark sighed. ‘Tess, is there some way to put this right? I don’t want to lose you.’ He paused. ‘From the company, I mean.’
‘You can always send me a file every now and again,’ she smiled, ‘if you want. I’ll still be here at the end of the phone. Anything I can ever do to help.’