The Farmer's Wife

by Rachael Treasure

  ‘There you are!’ said Yazzie, rushing to her with wide eyes. Tonight the younger woman had put heavy eye shadow on and false eyelashes. The effect was dramatic and classy. She looked like a showstopper in her little red dress, with her long straight blonde hair caught up in a chic fishbone braid.

  She grabbed Bec’s arm and leaned towards her. ‘I’m getting really pissed. Make sure you get me home to Evie’s place in town and don’t let me go snogging some old Merino bloke. What is it with me? I seem to only attract older men. Like Hugh Hefnerstyle older men. Depressing. And what is it with you and younger men? Joey has been tailing you all night!’

  Bec laughed. ‘You know what he’s like. We’re just good friends.’

  ‘It looks as though he wants more! Sol is really getting shitty with him.’

  Rebecca pulled a ‘for real?’ face. ‘Sol?’

  Yazzie nodded and pulled a ‘you better believe it!’ face. ‘Never seen him like this.’ She raised her champagne flute towards her and pointed an index finger at Rebecca. ‘He’s in love with you. That’s what’s up with him.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  Yazzie nodded with a wobbly head like a dashboard dog’s. ‘Oh yes he is. He tells me everything. Everything. About his love life. The women. Normally he beds one of his favourites each time he goes overseas, or away. Got a string of “girlfriends”,’ she said, slopping champagne as she fingered the quote marks into the air. ‘But not any more. Nah-uh. He’s got it bad for you, girlfriend! He’s been so depressed lately about not being able to fess up about his love to the vun vooman! Now he love-a you, baby! He’s been celibate for months …’

  Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She knew their phone calls had built a connection between them, but not once did she believe Sol would fall for her in the way Yazzie implied. But now after tonight, and what she had seen deep within herself, she realised maybe it was possible. She deserved to be loved by the best of men. Still, standing before Yazzie, she blocked the notion.

  ‘In love with a pregnant soon-to-be divorcee? He needs to get a life!’ she said, trying to fob off what Yazzie had drunkenly confessed. ‘So, where is the broody Spanish bastard anyway?’ Bec asked, trying to sound distant and tough.

  Yazzie shrugged. ‘Probably getting as smashed as me. It’s in the Stanton genes to lay low, then have a giant bender.’

  With the fashion parade and formalities out of the way, the music was turned on and Ricky Martin boomed through the pavilion.

  Yazzie grabbed at Bec’s arm. ‘Dance! C’mon, dance!’

  Bec smiled and shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘God! You’re so serious!’ Yazzie sulked. ‘And so sober! I wish Gabs was here. I need someone to get shamelessly, titlessly shitfaced with.’

  ‘Yazzie! That’s so not like you!’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a bit over it.’

  ‘You? Why?’

  Yazzie shrugged again. ‘You know.’

  ‘I know,’ Bec said as she watched a cloud of grief pass through Yazzie’s eyes. Even though she had never really talked about the babies, Yazzie knew Rebecca understood. There was an unmentioned thread between them. The women pulled each other into a hug and they stood there for a time, still and silent as the party swirled around them. When they pulled apart, Bec looked empathetically at Yazzie and she reflected back a sad but grateful face.

  ‘I love you,’ Yazzie said. ‘You have no idea what you and the boys bring to me. No idea.’

  Rebecca breathed in that very generous, heartfelt statement and smiled tearily. ‘You too, babe. You too. Now!’ She cleared her throat, then grabbed Yazzie by the cheeks and squeezed her lips into a fish-face. ‘You’re getting us both pissed and emotional! Come on. You just need a root. Let’s go man-shopping,’ she said, hooking her arm and sweeping her free hand out to encompass the expanse of suit-clad men in the room. ‘Which one tickles your fancy?’

  ‘It’s your fancy that needs tickling!’

  ‘But I’m up the duff. No man would want to tickle my fancy while I’m in this condition.’

  ‘Who said?’

  Bec shrugged.

  ‘That’s the best time. My ex-husband loved it when I was pregnant.’

  A hundred questions flashed in Bec’s mind about Yazzie’s past life as a mum and married woman. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘A coward. And a bounder.’ Yazzie spun on her heels, subject closed. ‘C’mon, let’s get this party started!’ She took off, headed for the DJ.

  Left alone suddenly, Bec scanned the room. There was no sign of Joey. She smiled. How strange her life felt at the moment. So many new territories to explore in her mind and in her world. Her tumble of good thoughts was momentarily halted when she caught sight of Janine in a far-too-tight, far-too-short black dress with her back to her husband, flirting loudly with the local stock agent and the eldest boy from the Clarkson Merino stud.

  Bec turned away from her and spotted Candy and Doreen, who were tucking into the bruschetta platters. She was about to head over to talk to the women when she saw Sol near the show committee office. From what she could tell, he had bailed up Sam Kekovich and was waving his cake around as much as he was waving his expressive Spanish hands. Sam was clearly enjoying his beer and the entertaining drunken display by Sol. But the fact remained his car was leaving and the members of the show committee were hovering. Rebecca began to make her way towards them as Sam Kekovich was ushered away. She could now tell Sol was trying to offer his chop cake to Sam to take with him. She’d never seen him drunk before. There was something volatile about his energy.

  ‘He does not want to teke mi ceke,’ Sol said, his accent enriched by red wine. ‘What is so wrong with mi ceke?’

  ‘It’s not exactly ideal carry-on luggage for a plane. Let it go, Sol. You’re drunk.’ She grimaced a smile at him. The Bendoorin cocktail party was renowned for once-a-year benders by the most unlikely in a crowd. This year it was the Stantons’ turn to write themselves off.

  ‘And you are flirting with that buffoon, Joey,’ said Sol with a jealous flash of his dark eyes.

  ‘I am not!’ Then Rebecca began to giggle.

  ‘What? Why you laff?’

  She covered her mouth and sniggered louder, looking wide-eyed with amusement at Sol. ‘You said buffoon.’

  Sol pulled his eyebrows downwards and almost pouted. ‘Here!’ he said. ‘You take mi pastel.’

  ‘I don’t want your cake.’

  ‘You don’t want mi ceke?’

  ‘No. You buffoon.’

  Their eyes met and a spark of amusement fired between them. Soon they were smiling at each other.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You have unbalanced me.’

  ‘Me? I’d say it was the red wine that did that. I’ve done nothing.’

  ‘Nothing but be beyond beautiful, Rebecca, and torture my mind every night,’ he said, lowering his tone and stepping towards her, his eyes flaring passion. He dropped his cake onto a nearby table displaying wool and took her arm. ‘Ven comigo.’

  There was something intoxicating about the depth of his voice and the way he spoke. Rebecca felt goose bumps shimmy across her skin. She allowed him to lead her by the hand away from the noise of the party, out a side door of the shed. There, Sol gently spun her around and pressed her back up against the corrugated-iron wall. In the soft glow of the light that spilled from the shed, she could see the passion alive in his eyes.

  ‘Why do you not want me?’ he asked, so close his breath brushed her lips.

  ‘I do want you,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that it’s too soon.’

  ‘Too soon? And what does Evie say about living for now?’

  She looked up at his beautiful dark-skinned face. The manliness of him was softened by an intoxicating vulnerability. She didn’t want to fall in love. Not yet. Not now. Not when the scars hadn’t healed and not with another man’s baby growing inside her.

  ‘Please, Rebecca.’

  When he said her name that way, she felt he
r knees weaken and her resolve melt away.

  She turned her face towards him and pulled him nearer. Then their lips met and Bec swam in the moment. Drunk on her desire for him. Body pressed against him. Arms about his neck, breath coming like sighs, she pulled away, a pleading expression furrowing her brow. ‘This can’t work.’

  He took her face in his hands. ‘But why? We can make it work. I will make it work.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘But why?’ he murmured as he stooped to brush kisses across the taut skin of her neck.

  ‘You know. Because of this.’ She gestured to her belly. ‘It’s Charlie’s baby.’ She delivered the words to the night sky, thinking they would dispel this moment with Sol. Thinking the reminder of the reality would shut him off to her. Like shooting a cannon into the void, Bec was hoping that he would realise his drunken rationale was utterly flawed.

  Sol stopped his kissing. He pulled back and looked searchingly into her face. A frown on his brow and a million thoughts running behind his dark eyes. ‘Yes, you are carrying another man’s baby. So? And why is this a reason?’

  ‘What?’

  He ran his hand over her belly where her baby grew. He held the palm of his hand there and Rebecca felt its heat. Slowly a smile grew on his face. ‘Rebecca, do you not understand? This baby is part of you. I will love this baby too. As I love Ben and Archie.’

  Rebecca looked at him, puzzled, doubt cast on her face.

  Sol grabbed her gently by her shoulders and stooped to look into her eyes. ‘Do you not see? After what we have been through with Abby and Nicholas, this is a gift. Why would you let this stop what the universe wants?’

  It was the first time Rebecca had heard Yazzie’s babies’ names spoken. It fired a spark of pain in her heart and a realisation that life ought to be lived for now, as he said. Compassion for Sol and astonishment at his reaction fuelled her desire for him. She looked up into his eyes. She saw him openly, with none of her guards up, for the first time since her break-up with Charlie. Live for the moment, she told herself and the moment felt good. Unstoppable. She leaned into him and reached her hand around the back of his head, feeling the soft richness of the short dark curls on the nape of his neck. She pulled his head down gently to meet hers, their foreheads touching gently, resting on one another. Their breath hastening with passion as they pressed their mouths together.

  At first the kisses were soft. The divine strong lips of a piccolo player. Rebecca felt he was breathing her alive with those lips. She kissed him harder as she slid her hand down his back, grabbing his tight backside, pulling him closer. A thrill ran through her when the weight of her own body was answered with the press of his. Rebecca ran her hand to the open neck of his shirt, where she felt the solidity of his chest rising and falling with desire. As she consumed the feeling of him, she relished Sol’s touch, his hands and fingertips running over her already goose-bumped shoulders, brushing past her breast, tantalisingly, then down over the curve of her waist and thigh. He’s playing me beautifully, like an instrument, she thought.

  ‘You are cold,’ he said in a whispered hoarse voice that was as sexy as the night.

  ‘C’mon,’ Bec said. ‘Let’s find somewhere warmer.’

  She led him by the hand. In the pitch black of the night, she could see an old truck parked nearby, its bent pipe frame covered by a blue tarp. Inside there was fresh, loose, warm-smelling straw, ready and waiting for the morning, when the Merino ewes and rams would be carted away by the Clarkson stud.

  She could see Sol’s breath coming quickly; it was mist in the dull sheen of the lights of the pavilion. As they leaned into one another, arms about each other’s waists, they were soon swallowed by the darkness. She kicked off her high heels, raised her silver dress a little at the thighs, then with strong forearms boosted herself onto the truck tray. Turning, she offered a hand to Sol, and helped haul him up.

  Pressed together, kissing all the while, they reached for each other. She unbuckling his belt and sliding down his pants, he hooking a finger along the elastic of her knickers and gently sliding them down.

  He spread out his jacket for her, clasped his large hands about her waist and lifted her onto the ledge of some hay bales stacked at the front of the truck for the sheep. His mouth traced kisses from her earlobes and along the smooth plane of her neck. As he did, he reached to find the warm wetness of her and pushed a finger inside, causing her to moan and her back to arch. She threw her head back, eyes shut, but senses open to the rich smell of fresh straw and hay, the feel of his fingers deep within her and the drape of the cold night air across her skin. In that moment, she was filled with all the joys of living. She reached to find him, her hand clasping the smooth warm skin of his penis. He was decently sized and she delighted in this fact.

  After more than ten years of marriage to Charlie, after so many years in the mundanity of home territory, touching Sol’s body felt like the exploration of another country. Completely foreign to her, but exotic, beautiful, even dangerous. Rock hard, he entered her, and from both escaped soft moans of desire washed with relief. They pulled each other into a mutual warmth. As Sol began to thrust into her rhythmically, she answered back with gentle little noises of pleasure.

  There were three of them here tonight: Sol, Rebecca and her child within. Rebecca thought it would feel grubby or inappropriate, but here, now, it felt nothing but right. It felt like pure, universal love. It felt like beauty. Her body surprised her as it rushed its way to orgasm. As Sol followed suit, she enjoyed the gentle waves of pleasure like a surfer’s perfect set and she failed to stifle a giggle at her own visual cliché. Sol too let out a deep chuckle as he nuzzled into her, still breathing hard.

  ‘Our first time,’ he said. ‘In a sheep truck. And afterwards you laff. This I will remember. You are so beautiful, Rebecca.’ He smiled and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  Never with a man had she felt so happy and so … worshipped. They reluctantly pulled apart and began to help each other rearrange disordered clothes. When they were presentable, Sol lifted her down from the truck. His hands about her waist again felt good. She reached up towards him and laid a palm against his cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bec said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘It’s been a long time between drinks.’

  Sol laughed gently and kissed her softly on the cheek. ‘I am happy I could help. There is plenty more, should you wish,’ he said. ‘But for now we had better get back to the party. Yazzie is messing herself up tonight. Worse than me.’

  ‘I know.’

  He took her hand and held it up, kissing the back of it, playfulness and desire still roaming in his eyes. ‘You are special, my beautiful woman. Come.’

  He led her back towards the shed, and for a moment Bec felt as if she was walking on air.

  But suddenly in the dark, under a solitary spotlight, Janine Turner stood before them. She had her arms wrapped about her body, mascara clouding darkly beneath her eyes. Rebecca was shocked to see her there in the damp of the night, glaring at her.

  ‘Slut,’ Janine said angrily, stomping towards them. ‘You made him leave me!’

  Bec held up her hands as if to calm her. ‘Janine, you’re pissed. I don’t want some ugly scrag fight with you. Let’s just let it lie.’

  But it was too late. Janine had been fuelling her demons with straight vodka all night. She was like a machine gun ready to fire, and Rebecca was her target at point-blank range. ‘Fucking slut!’ she screamed as she came rushing towards Rebecca.

  ‘Leave her!’ Sol said commandingly, as if he was addressing a dog. His words only seemed to incense her.

  Janine clamoured at Rebecca, her false nails clawing at her chest and arms. Hysteria raised her voice to an ugly pitch. ‘Slut! He was right! Charlie was right. Now we know where your bastard baby’s come from!’ she said, turning her contorted face towards Sol. ‘And now Charlie’s gone. All because of you, you bitch. You sent him away from me! He’s gone now! Al
l because of you!’

  Bec grabbed Janine’s arms and tried to push her away, shocked by the moment and stunned by the sudden hit, followed by the torrent of Janine’s rage.

  From behind, Sol was suddenly dragging her attacker away. He was shouting something aggressively to Janine in Spanish. He turned her to face him. ‘Stop this! Now go!’ he said forcefully. ‘Go back to your husband. Stop humiliating yourself, or do I have to slap sense into you?’

  ‘Piss off, you rich prick!’ slurred the lost, drunken woman as she pushed Sol in the chest and lunged again at Rebecca. ‘I’ll kill her!’

  Rebecca felt an energy stir within. She’d had enough. Grabbing Janine with the vice-strong grip of a farm girl, Rebecca held her at arm’s length and bored her furious gaze into Janine’s eyes. ‘Back off, Janine!’ She said the words through clenched teeth, the rage in her seething. ‘Can’t you see, Charlie was just using you? He’s an arsehole. He screwed around on me. He’ll screw around on you. He shot my animals and left, and he fucked you and left. God, Janine. Wake up to yourself! Forget about him. And leave me out of your own miserable crap!’

  The words were enough to deflate Janine entirely. She wouldn’t look at Bec, but she drew back from her. Sobbing, she turned and swayed away into the darkness, in drunken tragic S-bends. From a little distance away, Rebecca heard Janine shout back at them, ‘I don’t know why you’re bothering, Mr Stanton! Charlie told me she’s a dud in bed. And a dud farmer’s wife!’