She lit the candle with a fizzing match. Ben looked up.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’
‘This is my housework positivity candle. Every time I look at this flame, I am going to say to myself, “I get through the housework with ease and grace and joy!”‘ She waved her arms about. ‘I am done with being angry about everything! It’s just going to get done. And I’m going to remind myself of all the good things every time I start to grumble about a bad thing. Man, this stuff takes practice!’
‘I’ll help you,’ offered Ben excitedly, clearing his plate.
‘Good man,’ she said. ‘I’ll fill the sink. Ben, you wash. Arch, you can dry.’
Archie looked pleased that he was being given a job. He ran to get a little old milking stool to stand on.
‘Mum?’
‘Mmm? Yes, Arch?’
‘When can we see Daddy?’
Rebecca stopped folding the washing for a moment.
‘Soon. I promise. I’ll call him. Maybe we can go visit Grandma and Grandpa.’
‘Grandma Fuss-pants or Grandma Vet?’ asked Ben.
‘Grandma Fuss-pants.’
‘Oh.’ Ben took up the dishwashing brush and gingerly tested the water temperature. ‘Why is Daddy on Grandpa’s farm and not here on our farm?’
‘Because Daddy’s brother has married and moved away, and they now need Daddy to help out.’
Satisfied for the moment, the boys fell silent. Bec smiled sadly at them. She felt awful for them that Charlie never called. She wondered if she should take a trip out west so the boys could see their dad. Or would it just unsettle them? It was so hard to know what was the right thing to do for them. Rebecca sent up a silent prayer for the boys’ future, hoping she could buffer them from the storm that might come with Charlie’s push for a divorce and property split.
‘Bus time soon, Ben. You ready to go?’
Ben nodded.
With the boys doing a very dodgy job of washing up, Rebecca left them in their happy state. She gathered up the last piles of washing to take up to the bedrooms, glancing at the candle for mental support before she tackled the stairs. As she climbed with the folded washing towering in a basket, her thoughts once again, for the umpteenth time, roamed to Sol and the night of the show and the terrible way she’d stormed away from him.
It had been a week and she hadn’t had the chance to see him again. He had only called once and the conversation had been brief. Traffic noises were in the background and he’d had to shout for her to hear.
‘My driver’s just pulled up,’ he had said, ‘I have to go. I want to see you again. But if you need more time …’ Then the phone had cut out.
The following day, as she was tossing kitchen scraps to the chooks, she’d heard a vehicle coming along the winding Waters Meeting track. An express delivery van emerged. The driver spotted Rebecca at the chook shed. She raised a hand in greeting, so he swung on the wheel and the van bumped over the tufted pastures of the house paddock, pulling up before her. A short bald man as round as he was tall in high-vis orange got out and passed her a clipboard, asking her to sign. She’d wiped her hands on her jeans before she took the pen from him, frowning at this bizarre occurrence. Delivery trucks never made it this far unless big bucks were involved for something essential for the farming operations.
‘You’ve come a long way,’ Bec had said.
‘Tell me about it.’ He made his way around the side of the van. She heard the sliding door being reefed open, then slammed shut. When he emerged again, he was carrying in his arms the largest bunch of flowers Bec had ever seen. He handed them to her.
‘Someone must friggin’ love ya,’ he’d said, before muttering something else, getting in his van, slamming the door and driving away.
Rebecca had stood breathing in the beautiful perfume of soft pink and white roses. She felt tears prickle in her eyes. How long had it been since she had been given flowers? She set down the chook bucket and reached for the note. It had been written by the florist, but it read: Sorry. Had to dash to Paris. Orchestra work there. Back by Christmas. Thank you for a very special night. Love, Sol.
Now, putting the clothes away, seeing her flowers softening in their vase on her dressing table, she smiled sadly. Of course he had gone again. He was never still. He was either called away by his father, or chasing his dreams with the orchestra. And away two months! Two months! It wasn’t a long time to wait, but by the time Sol came back she would be only weeks off having the baby! Not an ideal time to be trying to foster a new love affair. She almost cried at the impossibility of it, then remembered that she had sent him away. Plus there was her pledge to herself about positivity. Until she sorted that out, there would be no room for a man in her life. Suddenly she chose to laugh at how ridiculous her mess of a life had become.
She knew she was attracted to Sol, but he was so different from any man she had ever known. His idiosyncrasies and foreign ways freaked her out a little. Not only were there the cultural differences, but he seemed so ‘citified’ at times. He was so genteel in his speech, mannerisms and clothing that sometimes Bec felt she was more bloke than he. And he played piccolo in an orchestra. In her earlier days, she would’ve taken one look at him and muttered the word ‘poof’. How she had changed!
She was now feeling so much more open to the world. With Sol, a whole new unknown life could open up for her. A thrilling life that she had never even conceived as possible. Not because of the lavishness he could offer, but because it would be so different from all that she had ever known.
She recalled that on the night of the Bendoorin Show, delicious though it had been, and as tender with his words as he had been, he had been pretty drunk. When she hadn’t heard from him the next day, after her grumpy exit, she thought maybe she had burned a bridge. Maybe he thought of her as too raw and damaged after a separation from a long marriage, and their encounter should merely remain as a one-night stand? But now the flowers? At great expense. But what was expense to a Stanton? She wondered if Yazzie knew what had happened between her and Sol that night. Maybe she should talk to her?
She threw Archie’s and Ben’s washing into a chest of drawers that was covered in stickers from her own childhood and now joined by a more modern collection of her boys’. Once she’d got Ben on the school bus, she’d call Yazzie.
Hastily she rammed the drawers shut just as she heard Funny barking in the garden below. Frowning, she looked out the window. The pup, her ears pricked, was trotting to the garden gate just as a white ute pulled up in the farmyard. Another rare surprise visitor. And typically, it was right on bus time. But who was it?
She made her way downstairs, opened the back door and was surprised to see Andrew Travis stooping to greet Funny as he opened the garden gate. Smiling, he walked along the path towards Rebecca and dropped a large canvas bag at his feet on the verandah.
‘Here I am!’ He held his arms out in greeting.
Rebecca didn’t have time to disguise the surprise and also the delight on her face. He looked extra good, with his salt-and-pepper hair freshly trimmed, and his blue RM Williams shirt tucked neatly into his chocolate-brown workman’s jeans with hips framed by a thick stockman’s hobble belt.
‘Hello! What brings you all the way out here?’
He rolled his eyes, eyes that beautifully mirrored the blue of his shirt. ‘Typical RLM! They have me scheduled to do a series of talks and field days in the region.’
‘Yes,’ Bec said, ‘I saw on the email you were coming.’
‘But they forgot to book me into the Dingo Trapper. I turn up and Dutchy has closed all the rooms for renovations.’
‘Renovations?’
‘Apparently mining’s on its way. Old Barry Clarkson caved in and has given up his land. Dutchy knows he’ll get a tonne more business if he fixes up the old pub rooms a bit.’
‘What? Mining?’ Rebecca looked up at the sky. It was finally happening.
‘Yep.’ Andrew shook his head. ‘Coal. It�
��s a travesty.’
Rebecca felt a rumble of disquiet filter through her. She knew the mining industry was gradually creeping out into the better agricultural areas and the geos had been sniffing around for years. But now they’d got a hold here. Her blood ran cold.
In other regions, she found mining on food-producing land so upsetting that she often took the longer route to the city just to avoid looking at earth that was being carved up and tumbled through crushers and into smelters. For what? For people’s insatiable need for bigger and better. For blind greed.
‘Long and the short of it is,’ Andrew continued, ‘I’ve got no place to stay for the next couple of nights. I could stay in Bendoorin like I did last night, but most of the work is this side of the mountain. Would you mind?’
A smile grew on Bec’s face. ‘Not at all. I’d love the company.’
As she stooped to pick up his bag, he put his hand over hers and stopped her. ‘Now look here, young missy, you’re not carrying my bags for me! How about you let someone help you for a change? I’ll carry that in and then you can show me where the kettle is and I’m going to make you a cuppa. Then you can show me where the woodpile is. There’s a big cold snap coming through. It’ll be cold in November, especially up here.’
‘I’m afraid it’s school-bus time, so my cuppa will have to wait. I’ve got to run Bennie to the main drag.’
‘Can I take him for you? Run him out in the RLM ute?’
Rebecca looked into his eyes. His outburst of kindness sparked emotion in her. Suddenly she felt her body relax a little and when she did, she realised just how leaden with exhaustion she really was. ‘That would be such a help. Yes. Please.’
Andrew saw the tears rise in her eyes. He frowned at her in sympathy. ‘Looks as if you need a bit of help and a bit of a hug.’
‘I’m right. Tough as old boots. And I’ve had so much help already.’
Andrew stooped and shook his head, searching her face. ‘The truth.’
She cast her eyes downwards. ‘I am a little overwhelmed. Yes,’ she admitted quietly.
‘Plus a baby on the way. And Charlie’s gone,’ he said gently.
She nodded, then the tears arrived. ‘Sorry,’ she said, swiping her eyes with the back of her hand, embarrassed. ‘I thought I was done with bloody crying all the time! Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
And then he drew her in, folding her into his strong arms and rubbing his hand up and down her back. Rebecca stood there, feeling the beat of his heart, allowing herself to be held, grateful for the kindness from this amazing man, whom she had admired and adored for so long. It was like having someone like her brother Tom back with her again. She felt relief sweep through her whole being and again the knowing that things would turn out all right.
Thirty-five
Later that morning, Rebecca stood drifting her palms over the tall native grasses of one of the mountain-run paddocks while Funny galoomphed her puppyish form in and out of the tussocks in loop-the-loop circles, her pink tongue hanging out, her eyes bright with excitement. Archie looked up from where he played in the tray of the ute with a bucketful of Matchbox cars that used to belong to her, Mick and Tom. Archie pointed to the pup. ‘She’s being Funny, Mummy.’
Rebecca threw her head back and laughed. ‘She is Funny.’
Andrew smiled too. ‘Funny name. Funny dog.’
‘It’s not funny when she drags the boots from the back verandah onto the lawn,’ Rebecca said.
She watched Andrew drive a spade strongly into the ground to sever out a square sample of plants and soil from the earth and felt warmth run through her. It was rare she had Andrew Travis all to herself. Normally she was out in the field with a cluster of other farmers. This one-on-one time with him felt utterly precious.
She knew she was in awe of him intellectually and from a farming perspective. But she hadn’t known she had relied on him and his energy so much to keep her motivated and going with Waters Meeting until now. She admired the smooth tanned skin of the back of his neck and his squarely cut hairline as he squatted down and inspected the soil, crushing the loamy earth between his fingers, smelling it, his fingertips splaying out root systems. As she watched, Rebecca plucked a pretty kangaroo-grass seed head from a stem and rolled its bristly golden brown husks between the palms of her hands. She shut her eyes and allowed herself to soak in the peaceful energy of the land up here on the mountain and the comforting presence of Andrew.
When she opened her eyes, the view of the valley that was cast out before her stole her breath. She could feel it too. The pulse of the land within her and of her baby too. And she felt the presence of Tom.
‘Just look at this,’ Andrew said excitedly and Bec snapped out of her daydream.
She walked over to him, weaving through the tussocks and poas and stepping over a scattering of speckled, lichen-covered rocks.
‘As above, so below,’ Andrew said emphatically. He held up a freshly dug grass plant that offered up not only new shoots, but also long yellowing withering leaves. Beneath it hung an equally long, feathery root system as pretty as lace.
‘This is what we’re after,’ he said, his fingers teasing out both ends of the plant specimen. ‘The leaves that are dying will become composting leaf litter, and that’s what will feed the creatures in the soil. You’ve done a great job, Bec. It’s been years since this run has been allowed to have grasses left to grow long enough to compost down.’
‘I remembered you telling me you need to give Mother Nature a chance to heal the land by herself,’ Rebecca said. ‘I’ve pushed the stock rotation out to at least one hundred and fifty days. Longer for the less fertile areas, so they get more rest from grazing.’
‘I have taught you well, grasshopper,’ Andrew said.
She smiled at him. ‘You have, master,’ Bec answered back, bowing with the palms of her hands pressed together. ‘My master teach me this fact: you need birth, you need growth, and you need reproduction, but equally you need death and decay. Plants need the four seasons. You say: we farmers always miss one of these seasons; we do not allow time for death and decay to replenish the soil. So our soil never gets fed. So I am giving the death and decay season to the soil by keeping the stock off longer and growing longer plants.’
‘Velly good student,’ Andrew said, then suddenly turned serious. ‘That’s my next push. To help everyone understand that grazing animals aren’t bad for Australia. People need to realise this continent needs ruminant animals to cycle carbon, as much as it needs predators to cycle carbon. We, by eating meat, are part of what could be a sustainable cycle. Not like this bullshit being dished up. This “lock it up to protect the land” crap that the scientists are coming up with, and their drive to save the planet by everyone turning vegan is so damaging.’ He held up the plant. ‘This little baby can help the entire world, if we let it. We need to compost the whole landscape, create a canopy so we cycle water and nutrients slowly. That’s not happening on most farms. But here, you’ve made a start.’ He glanced up at her and the sun caught the glint of genuine admiration in his blue eyes.
‘You really are a nerdy scientist,’ she said. ‘You’re only masquerading as a Queensland cattle farmer, you know that?’
He laughed.
‘And if only we could get those scientists who try to deny your work to come up here and see it for themselves,’ she said, ‘it might stop them from giving you a bollocking.’ Rebecca squatted down next to him and took the plant. As she did, Funny trotted over and leaned against her leg.
She knew that many of the environmental problems the world faced could be solved in six months by grasses storing carbon in the soil — they were so much faster than trees, which took years to store carbon in their wood.
Bec knew the long root systems were now helping restore the Waters Meeting soil. She wanted everyone to see what could be achieved in a relatively short time. But she knew the work they were doing had sparked controversy.
‘Money rules m
ost,’ Andrew said. ‘And people will do what they do. You and I will do this work, and then along comes a mining company or a property developer and tears it all away,’ he said, looking at her mildly. He gently nudged her with his shoulder. ‘No point stressing over what others do.’
She smiled at him. She loved the fact he was incredibly humble and quietly spoken, so self-contained in his own skin. She watched the way he stroked Funny in long soothing pats along her back.
Even though he knew how dire the world’s food-production future was, Andrew never seemed daunted by the huge task he had set himself. He simply showcased his own farm and gently warned of the situation everyone faced if nobody changed their ways. Andrew simply walked quietly among farmers and trusted that just a handful would begin to see. He knew the ones who did would no longer need so much costly fuel, or the manipulated plant varieties or the expense of artificial fertiliser. He held a vision where farmers were paid to increase carbon in the soil — and the healthier the agricultural sector, the healthier the food for people.
Rebecca, here on this hill, knew the man beside her had some big mountains to climb. The large companies were out to silence Andrew and his renegade soil-scientist friends because the corporations of genetically engineered seed companies, fertilisers and oil companies stood to lose millions of dollars if his knowledge became widespread.
‘You know,’ Andrew said, ‘Franklin Roosevelt once said, “The nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.”‘ He stood up, offered Bec a dirt-etched hand and pulled her up from where she squatted.
She took it and relished his steadying touch. Then Andrew dropped her hand and began to tread the sod back into the neat hole from which he had dug it.
‘I wonder how long it will take for the rest of the farmers to realise that we are being fed bullshit and lies by the big companies and the scientists?’ Bec said.
‘It’ll take as long as it takes,’ Andrew said. ‘Or it won’t happen at all. All we can do is what we do on our own places. You’re doing it now, Rebecca, and that’s all that counts. Waters Meeting is singing now, thanks to you.’
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