Sundown Crossing

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘Hello,’ he said awkwardly to the three lads, aware that it had been a long time since he’d talked to young boys. Two regarded him warily; he couldn’t blame them for that, they didn’t know him from Adam. Not that he cared about them, he was only interested in Sam. ‘My son used to play football here, when he was young.’ He tried to break down their wariness. Then he addressed Sam. ‘Do you know who I am, Sam?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Sam’s reply was hesitant. For several seconds he squinted in the afternoon sun, staring up at the older man. ‘You…kind of remind me of someone I…used to know. My grandpa. He looked a lot like you but he had a beard.’

  ‘Oh. Was he a good grandpa?’ Carl noted that the other boys, bored with the conversation, had edged away to the side of the field to pass the football to each other.

  ‘He was the best,’ Sam’s reply was quick and honest. ‘B-but he, he, Mum told me he went to heaven.’

  ‘I see.’ Carl nodded. ‘That must make you very sad.’ He watched Sam’s small features settle into serious lines. ‘What would you say if I said that I knew your grandpa, a long time ago, when he was a young man?’ His gaze was fixed on Sam and his ginger hair, the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the curiosity in him. He was so much like Kurt and…Carla. The muscles in his throat tightened unexpectedly with emotion. This boy was his own flesh and blood, twice removed. He was or could be…the future. But, what, he asked himself, was he trying to achieve, talking to Carla’s son? Damn it, he didn’t know. It had been a compulsion to which he’d had to submit and, somehow, amazingly, he found the exercise energising.

  Sam looked at the man in his business suit with something close to wonder in his eyes. ‘Did you? Really?’

  ‘Yes. What would you say if I said you looked a lot like your grandpa’s older brother. I knew him too, you know.’

  ‘Hey, Sam,’ one of the boys cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, ‘remember what we learned at school about stranger danger.’

  Hearing that Sam took a couple of steps back from Carl. ‘Mister, I…I’ve got to go play now.’

  Carl shook his head. Of course. How foolish of him. He was a stranger to the boy. Sadly, in today’s society, it was normal for children to be wary of strangers; no doubt his mother had drummed such an awareness into him. He saw a coach break away from the boys on the field and hurry towards them.

  ‘You okay, Sam?’ A tall, older man with grey hair asked. As he got closer, he recognised Carl. ‘Oh, it’s you, Mr Stenmark. I’m Verne Wakely, anything I can do to help?’ He looked from Carl to Sam and back to Carl again. ‘Sam’s waiting for his mum or Angie to pick him up—his session finished a little early today.’

  Carl waved off the coach’s concern. ‘It’s all right. Just having a chat with the boy, telling him that my son used to play rugby here.’

  ‘I remember Kurt, I’m a few years younger than he was. He was a fine player.’ Verne’s smile was sympathetic. ‘Young Sam shows promise too. He has good concentration and ball skills.’

  ‘What position do you play, Sam?’ Carl asked. Anything to prolong the possibility of being here a few minutes longer, learning a little more about the child.

  ‘Full-back.’ Sam’s gaze narrowed in on the older man. ‘Stenmark, your name is Stenmark? My grandpa’s…oh,’ his earnest features gave away the fact that he’d made the connection. ‘My grandpa’s name was Stenmark. You must be…’

  ‘Your great-grandfather, Sam, that’s who Mr Stenmark is,’ Verne informed him.

  ‘Cool.’ Sam, all innocence, grinned up at the man with the snowy white hair. ‘I guess that’s why you look like my grandpa.’

  ‘Here comes Angie to pick you up. On time, as usual,’ Verne noted, approval in his tone.

  Carl held out his hand to his great-grandson. ‘Nice to meet you, Sam.’ Without hesitation, the boy’s small hand slipped into his.

  ‘Nice to meet you too, sir.’ A frown etched into his forehead. ’Gee, what should I call you? Not Grandpa ‘cause you’re not my grandfather…?’ He fixed Carl with a quizzical look.

  Inspired by the moment, Carl suggested, ‘When my grandfather was alive I called him Papa Fritz. What about Papa Carl? That’s easy to remember.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Angie Dupayne get out of the pick-up truck and come towards them, the blonde-haired woman’s features were tight with concern.

  Hands on hips, she asked, ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s okay, Angie. Mr Stenmark stopped by to watch the boys practise football. It’s,’ Verne explained as he ruffled Sam’s hair, ‘cool.’

  ‘I meant no harm, Ms Dupayne,’ Carl assured her. ‘It was a spur of the moment thing.’

  Angie’s expression showed that she wasn’t convinced. ‘Fine. Get your gear, Sam. We have to go.’

  Affronted by the woman’s dismissiveness—Carl wasn’t accustomed to people, women included, speaking curtly—he watched in silence as, holding Sam’s hand, Angie led the boy to the pick-up truck, saw him safely inside and drove away. Mein Gott, what was he doing? He asked the question again as he got back into the Mercedes and instructed Felix to take him home. It had been a spontaneous decision to make visual and verbal contact with the boy. But why? Curiosity. Loneliness. The muscle in his square jaw jumped in uneven spasms. Need. He shook his head vigorously and thumped his right fist into his open left hand. No. No. It had been foolish. He would not weaken and let Carla and her son into his heart. Rolfe had been the cause of all his pain and unhappiness, and he refused to allow anything similar to happen again.

  As Angie watched Carla apply make-up in the bathroom’s mirror, she made sure that her features remained neutral, but still she couldn’t refrain from the comment, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Doing? All I’m doing is having dinner with Luke Michaels. That’s it, period.’

  ‘Is he calling for you?’

  ‘No, I’m meeting him in Tanunda, at the restaurant we agreed on.’

  ‘So, it’s not really a date?’

  Carla rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t see it as a date. Luke says he wants us to be friends and I’m prepared to meet him halfway. That’s only fair and,’ she paused before applying lip liner, ‘smart. If anyone can influence my grandfather to soften his attitude, logically, it could be Luke.’

  ‘Ah, so you have your own agenda?’

  ‘Well,’ Carla thought for a moment then answered honestly. ‘It’s not really an agenda as such. I’m just going with the flow and hopefully, something good will come out of it.’

  ‘I hope so. We’re close to getting our finances under control, now that Walt’s taken last year’s vintage to retail—he promised to send us a cheque next week after the bottles are delivered to a bulk liquor warehouse in Adelaide. Another eight months, by the time the next vintage is due, and we should be in the black.’

  ‘I know. Luke and Grandfather must know it too so the ball’s in their court, as the saying goes. They either have to do something drastic to force us out or…accept that we’re staying.’ She paused to apply lipstick. ‘Assuming that Luke’s olive branch is genuine, I hope that he and others in the family are coming to accept that Sundown Crossing will be a small but viable part of the Barossa Valley.’

  Angie smiled briefly but the expression in her eyes was sceptical. ‘I wish you luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Carla hoped she wouldn’t need it. She had agonised over accepting Luke’s dinner invitation, tried to dissect the negatives and the positives but deep down she was an optimist and she so wanted and needed Stenmark approval, not so much for herself, but for Sam. He’d been full of talk about meeting his great-grandfather the other day, bemused by his resemblance to her father and was now more curious about the Stenmarks. She wanted him to have more family than just herself and Angie. As she walked through the living room to pick her car keys off the dresser, she leant over Sam and kissed him goodnight. ‘See you later, my darling boy, and it’s into bed when Angie says so. Okay?’


  Sam, his gaze fixed on a program on television, nodded agreeably. ‘’Night, Mum.’

  Carla was first to arrive at The Park Restaurant in Murray Street. She was surprised that with the German heritage of Tanunda, the restaurant hadn’t chosen a German name as others had. She imagined that once it had been a house, and was probably more than a hundred years old judging by the height of the ceiling and the thickness of the walls. The front rooms had been converted into the restaurant with the kitchen out the back. It was small and intimate, and half-full of diners, most of them tourists. A log fire burning in the hearth of the main room gave the room a wintry cosiness.

  Carla appreciated that because the temperature outside was in the single digits though it was still not as cold as Christchurch in winter. She didn’t miss her home town’s chilly winters and, occasionally, when she took the time to think that New Zealand was where she’d spent a good percentage of her life she was surprised by how quickly she had acclimatised to the Barossa. Having a goal helped, she was sure of that, as did her job with Paul. He was out of the office more than he was in it because of the volume of work, and was giving her more responsibility for the drawings and handling clients. She missed him, and their talks, the laughter, his easygoing manner. She looked towards the restaurant’s front door and saw Luke divesting himself of his overcoat and scarf. He hung them on a row of wooden pegs on the wall near the door.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. Last minute drama at the office. Nothing serious,’ he said as he sat opposite her.

  The problem had been Lisel who was in a vitriolic mood because an advertising program she had initiated had gone off the track—something that was never her fault, always someone else’s. He’d had to play the diplomat and damp her temper down before he left. His aunt could be a real problem sometimes and, more than once over the last twelve months he wished she’d take off on a long, all-expenses paid, fact-finding wine advertising mission to Europe or the United States of America. Personnel, particularly those involved with Lisel at Rhein Schloss, relaxed noticeably when she was overseas. Perhaps he’d suggest such a trip the next time they talked.

  ‘Been here long?’ Luke’s query was punctuated with a guilty smile.

  ‘A couple of minutes. Just long enough to thaw out.’

  He laughed. ‘Cold? I’m sure here isn’t as cold as Christchurch is near winter’s end.’

  ‘True, but it’s cold enough for me.’

  A waitress came along and presented them with individual menus and a wine list. They spent several minutes deciding what to order.

  ‘So, what’s happening at Sundown Crossing? Have you finished pruning the vines yet?’ Luke asked after the waitress had taken their order.

  ‘Almost. With days being shorter and me working for Paul four days a week, I don’t see much of the vines till the weekend. Angie said there’s about a dozen more rows to prune. She’s trying to teach me the cycle of grape growing, explaining how and why the vine is dormant in winter, and that much of their food reserves are kept in their roots, safe from winter frosts, waiting for the warmer days of spring to burst into new life. I’m finding it very educational.’ Her lips formed a brief smile. ‘Of course you know all that. I’m only sorry my interest has come so recently. Dad wanted to teach me about winemaking, but when he was alive I wasn’t interested.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, no doubt you were busy with other things and, if my memory’s correct, didn’t you tell me once that after your parents broke up you only saw your father a couple of times a year, until you were working?’ Carla looked at him, surprised. He remembered then that it was his mother who’d told him that. She and Carla had become close over the last several months. ‘It would have been difficult for him to teach you the cycle of grape growing if you weren’t with him for much of the time.’

  He gave her a few seconds to absorb that, then asked, ‘So, things are going well with van Leeson? The job, I mean?’ Luke made the question sound casual but in all truth, as his interest in Carla had become more evident, he saw several eligible men in the Valley, Paul included, as possible rivals for her attention.

  ‘Very well. He’s so busy that some weeks I hardly see him.’

  Good! It was hard to form an intimate relationship with someone if you hardly saw them. Which was why he had to contrive to see Carla more often, and learn if something could develop between them. Of course if it did he didn’t know how he would explain it to his family but he’d leap that hurdle if and when the problem arose.

  Their entrées arrived and they began to eat. Luke had seen the uncertainty on Carla’s face; she didn’t quite know how to take their newfound congeniality with each other. Instinct told him he had to break down her reserve and win her trust, a task he was going to work hard at achieving.

  ‘I heard that Conrad took the vintage off your hands.’

  She stared at him, her expression cautious. ‘Yes. Walt’s generously agreed to act as middleman without charging a fee, for which Angie and I are grateful.’

  Luke was aware that she knew he knew how tight her finances were at the moment, and that he had ventured onto a touchy subject by mentioning Conrad. He didn’t trust the man; quite a few in the Valley didn’t, but badmouthing him to Carla would only make her defend Walt and his wife more strenuously. ‘Well, I hope it works out for you.’

  ‘Do you?’ Carla queried with raised eyebrow.

  ‘Yes.’ And he meant it. Now it suited him for Sundown Crossing to do well, no matter what Grandfather wanted.

  Their conversation paused while the waitress took the entrée plates away and came back with their main course.

  ‘I hear that your son’s good at rugby.’

  She smiled, pleased to change to a subject more to her liking. ‘Who told you that? I confess to being biased but I think Sam’s terrific at it; he tries so hard.’

  ‘Verne, his coach. We’ve known each other for years. He’s a member of the local rifle range. I’m a pistol shooter and I shoot there twice a month.’

  ‘Shooting. An unusual hobby?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m fairly average at it but I find it relaxing, like golf where, really, you might be playing to beat others but you’re also playing against yourself, against your weaknesses.’ He stared into her blue eyes for a moment or two. ‘What do you like to do in your spare time?’

  ‘First, I’d like to have some spare time,’ she answered with a wry smile. ‘Some days there aren’t enough hours in the day. Working for Paul, being with Sam, trying to learn how to be a winemaker—I think that’s going to take me forever. In New Zealand I used to do cross-country skiing, before Sam was born and…and Derek passed away.’

  ‘It’s been hard for you, Carla. I appreciate that.’

  The expression in her blue eyes turned quizzical. ‘Do you?’

  ‘As much as a man can who’s had, by comparison with your life, an easy time of it. Silver spoon, top education, anything I wanted I usually got.’

  ‘Dad used to say that adversity breeds character.’ A whimsical smile hovered at the corners of her lips.

  ‘He was right. Rolfe had his share of hard times too.’ He could have added but didn’t, thanks to his father’s harsh edict. He didn’t have to, her expression, often closed and wary around him, at that moment was transparent. He saw that she had finished her meal and asked, ‘Got room for dessert?’

  She chuckled. ‘If you’re paying, I have.’

  Luke knew he was, he’d invited her out. He beckoned to the waitress to bring the menus over. They both decided on sticky date pudding.

  ‘This must be some kind of record. We’ve managed to get through more than an hour without having a disagreement.’ Luke pointed out. ‘That has to be a good sign, surely?’

  ‘It’s amazing what you can do if you try,’ she quipped, smiling to soften the sarcasm.

  Briefly his hand covered hers, then moved away. ‘I agree. Then anything’s possible, wouldn’t you say?’

  Over in a corner o
f The Park Restaurant, where the lighting was subdued, sat Josh Aldrich. He had come in after Luke and seeing his boss and Carla together, had sat somewhere unobtrusive to observe this unusual event. Luke and Carla dining together, Luke and Carla getting on! What was his boss thinking or…was he trying a different kind of strategy on her?

  Fascinated and at the same time repelled by seeing them at the restaurant, Josh hadn’t enjoyed his meal nor the fact that he was too far away to hear the gist of their conversation, but the body language—especially from Luke—wasn’t hard to fathom. He knew what to look for. The concentration, the leaning forward to catch every word, studying her different nuances of expression when she didn’t know he was doing it. Luke was interested. Christ, yes, and from his behaviour it was more than casual interest.

  A bubble of jealous bile lodged in his throat. Josh coughed and swallowed it. What on earth should he make of this new development? If Luke had, or intended to, cross over to Carla’s side it could change the balance of power at Rhein Schloss. Carl would not be happy but Luke was his heir and the only person in the Stenmark family capable of running their vast holdings. Lisel wasn’t up to it because she didn’t have Luke’s management abilities and wasn’t liked by most employees. Shit, things could get interesting, indeed they could. Carla and Greta were already friendly and if Carla and Luke became close, they could be a—what did the French call it?—a tour de force, leaving Lisel out in the cold because there was no love lost between aunt and niece.

  Not that Josh cared a whit for Lisel, his own prospects at Rhein Schloss were what interested him and, if Carla was welcomed into the family, he knew she wouldn’t want him around, especially after what he’d tried to do that night in the vineyard. His face went red as he recalled the embarrassment of being thwarted by her and Kim. No doubt they’d had a good laugh about it.