by Mandy Magro
Rolling onto her side so she could snuggle further into her pillow Ivy grimaced as she recalled the gobsmacking encounter. It was as though she’d stepped straight into a scene in Brokeback Mountain. A shamefaced Malcolm had apologised profusely while desperately trying to gather the sheets to cover himself, and his extremely red-faced lover, and it was at this moment she’d hightailed it out of his bedroom. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since, and had no desire to – it had been quite obvious it was well and truly over between them. Apart from the shock and heartbreak of it all, it was Malcolm’s secrecy that hurt her the most. Relationships were meant to be built on trust – she hated secrecy and believed if you didn’t have trust, you didn’t have anything. Once a man blew it, it was impossible for her to ever have faith in him again. Damn Malcolm for proving once more that men couldn’t be trusted. They were all the bloody same. Why did it keep happening to her? What had she ever done to deserve it? And how much more heartbreak could a girl take before she gave up on having a relationship altogether? Maybe she should become a nun, devote herself to God so men were forever out of her life’s equation. She chuckled at the thought. Yeah, right, as if that would ever happen when she was twenty-five and in her sexual prime. But damn love and all it stood for, because, in her expert opinion, it was overrated. Her mum had been right. All men did was cause heartache – Ivy’s cheating father had proved that when he’d run off with a barmaid, never to be seen or heard from again. It had shattered her beautiful mum’s heart and made her think death was easier than life. Ivy fought back the anguish that always had the power to crumble her into tiny pieces – even after sixteen years; she missed her kind-hearted, bohemian-spirited mum each and every day.
Completely shattered, she looked over at her bedside clock and grumbled under her breath. It was two in the morning and she needed sleep. Taking the last gulp of water from her glass she switched off her bedside lamp and threw the pillow she’d been clutching over her face. The anger the nightmare had evoked, along with the recollection of what Malcolm had done and the memory of playing music with her beautiful mother, inspired Ivy to make a firm promise that she would do everything in her power to overcome her fear of playing her guitar again. She’d already come so far, she thought, as her mind turned once more to that evening so long ago.
It was four years before she’d been able to sleep with the light off, her fear of the dark after being attacked beyond anything she’d ever felt as a child. On that fateful night, she’d learnt that bad men were real and that bad things didn’t necessarily happen to someone else. Warren Young, the son of a bitch who’d attacked her, had stolen so much – her dignity, the innocent fearlessness she’d grown up with and the opportunity to make a go of her music. She shook her head, hating his name being in it. Warren had lost his own life that night and, as much as she loathed him, that saddened her, but it had been out of her hands. Over the years she’d come to accept there was nothing she could have done to make things any different, nor could her rescuer – he’d been defending his life, and hers, after she’d blacked out, or so she’d been told. Thank goodness he’d gotten her to the hospital as fast as he had, or she would be long gone from this life. Even though her recollections were hazy and she’d spent two days in an induced coma, she would never forget the fear of having a knife blade pressed up against her flesh, of seeing her life flash before her eyes, and of feeling her life seep out of the wound in her stomach. If only she’d had the chance to personally thank her rescuer, but he’d dropped her at the hospital and fled, for good reason. The police had later told her his name, but that had meant nothing. Being underage at the time of the crime and at the firm requests of her aunts to the police, she’d been kept out of the investigation after her statement. And why would the cops bother questioning her again when she couldn’t give them any useful information or identify any mug shots? She’d never heard of Byron McWilliams, but she did find out which prison he’d gone to and had sent him a thank you letter. Byron never responded.
Among all the horrid recollections there was also a lot to be thankful for. And she knew, thanks to her training as a counsellor and her aunts’ positive way of thinking, she had to keep a firm grip on the good things if she was ever going to get past this. Byron McWilliams had risked his life to save hers, and had already spent years in prison because of it, with a few more to go. She wondered what he’d do once he got out. After ignoring her letter she doubted he’d try to find her. And to be honest, she couldn’t blame him. They all needed to get on with their lives. There was nothing to gain from reliving the past. She couldn’t let that night steal her future any longer. It was time she climbed back into the saddle and somehow, some way, grabbed hold of the reins.
***
Racing down the stairs and through the sun-dappled kitchen, Ivy skidded to a stop to give her aunt Alice a kiss on the cheek, smiling at her bright pink polka-dotted pyjamas and matching fluffy slippers.
‘Morning.’ Alice graced her with one of her loving smiles as she tucked her long copper hair behind her ears. ‘Did you have a good night’s sleep love?’
Ivy shrugged. ‘Not the best – but that’s to be expected with everything going on.’ She grabbed a grape from the fruit bowl on the bench and tossed it into her mouth.
‘Yes, you do have a lot on your plate, my dear.’ Alice reached out and cupped her face, her sandalwood perfume drifting. ‘Just make sure you take time out to destress, okay?’
‘I am, which is why I’m forcing myself to go for a jog this morning. It always makes me feel better.’
‘That’s good, love.’ Alice watched her for a few more seconds before turning her attention back to the bowl she was stirring on the sink. ‘Anything that can make you feel better is a good thing.’
Getting a whiff of something delicious, Ivy almost drooled. ‘What’s that glorious smell?’
‘I’m baking some honey and oat bars.’ Alice turned and opened the oven, peeking inside. ‘And it looks like they’re almost ready. Would you like one before you go for your jog?’
‘No, thanks – it’ll give me a stitch. But I’ll be sure to have one when I get back.’
A groan drew their attention. Aunt May shuffled in, her pyjamas askew and her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair dishevelled. ‘Morning all,’ she said in passing as she made a beeline for the kettle. Ivy giggled. May always needed her morning cuppa before she could function properly.
‘Morning Aunt May.’ Ivy grabbed another couple of grapes. ‘Right, I’m off, catch you in an hour or so.’
‘Okay love,’ May and Alice replied in unison.
With her well-worn Nikes pounding the winding dirt roads of Healing Hills and her earphones blasting one of her favourite country bands of all time, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Ivy allowed her mind to go where it needed to. Jogging was a form of meditation to her, and she quite often solved things that were troubling her while out exercising.
Her mind decided it wanted to think about how she and Malcolm should have been celebrating her graduation as a counsellor after three long years of online study, but nope, life was throwing curve balls left, right and centre. She sighed. Although she’d only done what her aunts had encouraged her to by gaining a degree in her dream profession, she couldn’t help but feel it was partly her fault they were in huge financial trouble. Her uni fees alone had cost close to eight thousand dollars a year. Little had she known her aunts had re-mortgaged the property to pay for them, among other things, including a hefty tax bill after forgetting to do their tax returns for the past couple of years. It was only after opening a letter from the bank by accident last week that she had finally discovered the truth. She’d then gone over the books with a fine-tooth comb, and discovered Healing Hills’ running costs were heavily outweighing their income. She should have insisted May and Alice let her handle the bookwork years earlier, but out of respect for their wishes in leaving the business side of things to them, she hadn’t. Hindsight could be an absolute bitch.
She and her aunts needed to do something, and soon. Times were undeniably tough – tough enough for their longstanding bank manager, Gerald Fromstein, to send May and Alice a gentle letter of warning saying that if they didn’t catch up on the mortgage payments, he’d have no option but to allow the big wigs from the city branch to issue them a foreclosure letter. And there was no way Ivy was going to allow that to happen. Ever. This was her family home, as it had been for generations, and it was over her dead body that some toffee-nosed suit-wearer was going to waltz in here and take it from them like it meant nothing – because to her, and her aunts, and the people who came here for healing sessions with the horses, Healing Hills was everything.
But she had a solution – a good one. A mixture of excitement and apprehension washed over her. She was going to renovate the cottage her mother had left to her and sell it. Not an easy task, but certainly doable if Gerald agreed to loan the capital needed for the renovation. The money from the sale would most certainly get them out of their financial strife. And although it broke her heart to sell the home she’d spent the first nine years of her life in along with the many memories she had of her and her mum within its walls, Ivy honestly couldn’t see any other way around it. She just hoped Alice and May would accept her offer of selling the cottage and pocket of land adjoining Healing Hills without too much fuss, because she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Rolling her eyes at her seemingly on-going bad luck of late, she tried to keep her focus on the here and now – her motto of living in the moment something that had gotten her through the hardest of times. All around her the dawn fog shrouded the sweeping landscape in a thick white veil, the quietness a little eerie. The songs of the bellbirds would normally be filling the air around her, but this morning they were quiet and she couldn’t blame the birds for their lack of effort – she could barely see a metre in front of her. She was a little crazy being out here on a morning like this – but desperate times called for desperate measures. She slowed her pace. After the heavy downpour last night the ground was muddy beneath her feet, and it was an achievement in itself to miss the water-filled potholes – some big enough to swallow a small dog whole. But, true to her usual form, she found one. She tried ungracefully to remain upright, her arms flailing as she struggled to regain her footing. She was sure Bo, running beside her, would be amused. And why not – if she were watching herself right now she’d probably be hooting with laughter.
Now her joggers were soaked through, it was icy cold, the sun nowhere to be seen behind the thick blanket of grey clouds, and she was fed up with everything. This morning jog was not lifting her mood as it should. If she was five years old, she’d probably chuck a tantrum, but she was a big girl now with big girl problems and she needed to pull on her big girl boots to deal with it all. Being an adult could really suck sometimes.
Ignoring her burning desire to give up and crawl under a rock, Ivy continued to jog with the grace of a sack of wet cement. The mist gradually cleared enough for her to glance down at Bo legging it beside her – she’d named him after one of her favourite characters of all time, Bo Duke from The Dukes of Hazard – and smiled at the loyal pooch, grateful for his steadfast company. Much like herself, it did him good to come for a jog. Bo was renowned for digging crater-sized holes in her aunts’ treasured backyard if she dared leave him alone for an entire day. He was always up for fun, and while his stamina and endless energy were challenging at times, his goofiness gave her endless smiles, and his unconditional devotion gave her a certain kind of comfort that only a dog could give – something she especially needed right now. He truly was her best friend, and was the only male in her life she’d ever been able to properly trust and rely on. Giving Bo a quick pat on the head, she turned her attention back to the road.
Pushing onwards even though all she wanted was to climb beneath her warm feather doona again and go back to sleep, Ivy headed for the creek that flowed down from the surrounding mountains and passed through Healing Hills. Crystal clear and icy cold, it was moving a little faster today due to the rain. The water rushed over boulders in its haste to reach the bottom of the valley. Slowing, and then stopping, she bent down and cupped her hands, relishing the water as she tipped it into her parched mouth. Bo followed suit and furiously lapped at the water before flopping himself into the creek as he chased floating twigs. Ivy smiled, amazed at his resistance to the cold. But there was no time to sit here and wallow – she had a healing session booked in with two troubled teenagers and she wasn’t about to let them down by not doing the best she could for them.
Standing, she whistled to Bo and he bounded out of the creek, shaking the droplets from his spotty coat before happily joining her once again. Crossing the rickety little bridge that spanned the creek, Ivy began jogging up the steepest part of the hill. With her breath escaping her in little white clouds and her calf muscles burning from the exertion, she turned a bend to head up the home straight. She gave everything she had for the last few hundred metres, gratitude for the beautiful land she called home filling her. Beside her Bo matched her pace with fortitude, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Ivy loved this part of the seven-hundred-acre property, the summit giving her a magnificent panoramic view of Healing Hills in all its glory. Beyond the grand two-storey homestead her family had lived in for four generations, rolling green fields gave way to a labyrinth of woodlands, plateaus, gorges and scribbly gum trees, all of it goosebump-worthy, the vast expanse of untainted countryside jaw dropping to say the least. And the air up here, it was just so pure. She was a blessed woman to be able to call this her home. And her home she was determined it would remain.
Reaching the business sign hanging from the timber railing that read: HEALING HILLS, ALICE, MAY AND IVY TUCKER, HEALING WITH HORSES, she slowed and bent over at the waist, breathing the mountain air in deeply before her usual routine of warm-down stretches.
***
Legs folded beneath her as she sat in the shade of a towering jacaranda tree, Ivy smiled at the two teenagers enjoying their afternoon tea of homemade carrot cake and herbal tea, revelling in how far they’d both come. Imposing yet gentle, perceptive yet non-judgemental, the healing horses had silently helped both Max Jacobs and Michelle Harrison gain essential insights into their inner demons and innate strengths, in turn giving them the drive needed to work through what was needed, and they’d come along in leaps and bounds because of it. Contrary to what many believed, people’s problems didn’t always need to be talked about, mulled over and dissected – and that was the beauty of healing horses. One of the other huge benefits of equine healing for teens was it encouraged them to focus on the well-being of another while realising their moods and anxieties affected all around them, including animals – they needed to stay calm and focused while riding or they’d risk falling off or spooking the horse and they needed gentle movements and temperaments when working on the ground with the horses too. Ivy made very certain to push these facts home before anyone who came for the healing sessions stepped foot into the healing arena. The safety of both the horses and the clients was imperative.
‘So, Max. Pastor John tells me you’ve gotten yourself a job as an apprentice mechanic,’ Ivy said before taking a sip of her peppermint tea.
Max nodded proudly as he swallowed his mouthful of cake. ‘I sure have.’ He held up his hands, the kind of grease that refuses to wash off embedded in his palms. ‘And I got me some dirty hands to prove it.’
Ivy laughed. ‘Good for you.’ She gave him the thumbs up. ‘I told you you’d get your dream job if you believed you were worthy of it, and look at you now.’
Max flipped his cap back from the front of his head and smiled shyly. ‘Yup, and it’s all thanks to you and the horses.’
‘No, not really, Max. We’ve guided you, but you’re the one who’s chosen to find the courage to move forwards. So a big hurrah to you.’
Max’s eyebrows scrunched together. After a few seconds he shrugged and revealed h
is teeth with a huge smile. ‘I reckon it’s thanks to all of us then.’
Ivy turned to Michelle. ‘So how are things looking for the photography course?’
The girl jiggled on the spot. ‘Really good – I start next week.’ She reached out and touched Ivy’s arm. ‘Thank you so much for helping me organise it.’
‘My pleasure.’ She gave Michelle’s hand a squeeze. ‘And how was your AA meeting last week?’
Michelle popped the last of her cake into her mouth, talking between chewing. ‘Great – I even got up and talked this time.’
Ivy clapped her hands. ‘Wonderful. Good on you. I’m so very proud of you both.’
Max and Michelle looked at each other and grinned, their deep connection making Ivy wonder if there was a bit of a romance bubbling, but it wasn’t her place to ask: she was here to give them hope, and a sense of security in life, and to help them find the strength within to get past their addictions and anxieties. So, with cake and herbal teas consumed, it was time to move on.
‘Now, I’d like you both to close your eyes and sit in quiet contemplation for a few minutes. Have a think about how far you’ve come in the past eight weeks, how much better you feel about your lives and what you’ve achieved, before we move on to the next part of the session.’
‘With the horses?’ Michelle said, grinning.
Ivy nodded. ‘Yup.’
‘Yes,’ Max said as he fist pumped the air.
‘But only after a few minutes of meditation.’
Max and Michelle both squeezed their eyes shut. Ivy couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. After first being afraid of the horses, Ivy loved how both teenagers were now eager to spend time with their equine mates. The two had evolved from hating the world and everyone in it, to beginning to believe in themselves and others – and they’d both been off the drink and drugs for almost two months now. They still had a bit to go, but along with her and Pastor John’s help back in Sydney, they were getting there, together. The very thought warmed her heart. It was gratifying to know she was making a difference to people’s lives, and somehow giving back to the universe. Her work was what gave her the strength to get through her own inner turmoils, and to have faith everything was eventually going to be all right. Seeing how other people fought their battles to reach their full potential inspired her, and always had. She’d been watching May and Alice do healing sessions ever since she could walk, and her dream had always been to do the same. She’d been living that dream for the past five years – firstly as an offsider for Alice and May, and now as a group leader herself, thanks to her degree.