The Farmer's Wife

by Rachael Treasure

  She scrolled through her contacts and saw Charlie’s number. She thought of the baby they could have just lost, along with Ben and Archie in the fire. They were his children. He ought to know what had happened. On the spur of the moment, she dialled his number.

  Charlie stood in his boxer shorts on rather grotty brown carpet at the foot of Chatelle Frost’s empty rumpled bed. He frowned when his phone rang and he saw it was Rebecca. He’d driven all afternoon and most of the night from Waters Meeting to manage a few hours in the sack with Chatelle, so his parents wouldn’t be any wiser. They had always frowned upon him dating local girls. His mum had already been calling his phone to ask when he would be home and to find out his whereabouts. Now here was Rebecca calling, clearly to give him an earful about Waters Meeting and the mines. ‘What do you want?’ he barked down the phone.

  Rebecca winced at the sound of his voice. ‘Charlie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There was a fire,’ she began slowly.

  ‘So early in the season?’ he said impatiently. ‘Not likely.’

  ‘The homestead. It’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? Whaddaya mean gone?’

  ‘Burned down.’

  Charlie ran his fingers through his thinning hair and felt fury rise to his face and his neck muscles strain. ‘You lit it, didn’t you? How could you? You stupid —’

  ‘No, Charlie. I didn’t,’ she said. ‘It was horrible. We could’ve lost our boys. And … and now,’ she stammered, ‘I’ve just come from the hospital. I thought we’d lost our baby. Our girl.’

  Girl? Charlie thought. As he stood in silence, digesting Rebecca’s news, he watched Chatelle from the bedroom window as she put washing on the line, barefoot, while two of her kids tore about in a noisy game of chasing. The third little one was plonked at her feet on a tufted patchy lawn in a too full nappy, sucking on the end of a turned-off garden hose. Charlie noticed the soft shape of Chatelle’s upper thigh as she reached up in her short black-and-red negligee to clasp a peg on the washing line. He turned his back on the sight.

  ‘Our baby, Rebecca? Our boys? For all I know, none of them are my kids. And now you’ve gone and done this. I’ll be calling my lawyer. And the police. And I’ll be putting in for my full entitlement of the insurance on the homestead.’

  Rebecca felt the coldness in him. Did he not even care if his own children were safe? Did it all come down to money now? She sat in Evie’s little car, staring at the road ahead of her, wondering where on earth the boy she fell in love with had gone? How had he become so lost? How had she allowed herself to be walked on this way by the man she had at one point trusted? Then she shut her eyes and felt the sting of a life she herself had created. It was little wonder given her upbringing. She thought of her aloof career-focused mother and her bitter angry father. And of her mother’s disappointment in her and her father’s coldness towards her. And suddenly she knew why her life had turned out this way. Never had she felt truly loved, or protected in life. Never.

  She let out a deep slow breath. ‘Do whatever you want when it comes to the money,’ she said gently. ‘And do what you like to Waters Meeting — it’s on your conscience for the rest of your life. Just don’t ever take my children from me.’

  ‘That,’ he said definitively, ‘is one thing I will never take from you. I don’t want to see you and I’m not even sure I want to see them. Not for a very long time at least.’ And with that he hung up the phone.

  Rebecca sat for a time slowing her breathing. In through her nose, then slowly out her mouth, closing her eyes and gently trying to bring calmness into her body. Charlie was lost to her. And for now, to the boys. But she knew, slowly, he would come back to his boys, and possibly his third child, once he saw that she was so clearly his.

  Genetic traits couldn’t lie.

  Somewhere in the future all she could do was trust that they would all be happy as Lara, as Dr Patkin had said. Rebecca laid a hand on her belly. It was a nice name, Lara, but it was not for her baby. The memory of the name would forever be linked to the scare she’d just had in the hospital and to the fire.

  Bec looked up to see Ursula Morgan trudging along the street purposefully with a big cardboard box in her arms. She walked right up to Evie’s car and stood, trying to wave with the box. Bec wound the window down.

  ‘I’ll chuck this in the back, shall I?’ Ursula asked, lifting the box. ‘We heard about the fire and the hospital and that. So us school mums did a whip round this mornin’ … got ya clothes, toys and stuff for the boys.’

  Bec tilted her head, amazed at how fast word travelled in this tiny town, and surprised by Ursula’s gesture of kindness.

  ‘Really? Thank you! Thank you so much!’ Bec swallowed down tears.

  ‘The bub OK?’ Ursula asked as she placed the box in the back seat of the car.

  ‘Right as rain, thanks.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, slamming the door. ‘Sing out with whatever else youse need. A new dress for one thing. That thing you’re wearing sucks. But don’t worry, the Parents and Friends are doing a raffle for ya.’

  ‘Thanks. Tell them thanks,’ Bec said, a little stunned.

  ‘See ya then.’ And then Ursula was gone, hitching up her shiny black tracksuit bottoms and heading to Candy’s store.

  Bec pressed her thumb and forefinger into her closed eyes, overcome by the sudden show of kindness from Ursula and the other mums. It was a good place, Bendoorin. She sighed and tried to find some kind of centredness after all that had happened.

  Soon Evie was coming over to her with two takeaway cups in her hand, along with a bag of groceries and Jesus trotting at her heels. She opened the car door.

  ‘It’s arranged,’ Evie said. ‘Larissa is taking care of my shop while I help at Rivermont. We’ve opened the internal door between the two, like we did when Archie was in the city. Ideal. Customers can wander through. She’ll just run the two tills. It’s easy. I’m all yours.’ As she settled the shopping bags on the back seat, she said, ‘I see Ursula and the P&F ladies found you. That’s good. I got the boys and me a quiche for dinner. You’ll be too tired to cook for them and Yazzie will be busy with the do that’s on later today.’ She shut the door while Jesus pushed his way to the front and sat on Bec’s lap.

  ‘Do? What do?’

  Evie got into the driver’s side and began to drag the seat belt over her shoulder. ‘You’ve forgotten?’ she asked, looking at her. ‘That’s why I was staying at Rivermont last night. Sol’s flying in for it.’

  ‘What kind of do?’ Rebecca asked, stroking the smooth white hair of Jesus.

  ‘The bloodstock show. They used to hold it on their place at Scone … just an annual day to showcase their babies and their stallions. Fancy-pants people fly in, look at horses, sign big cheques for the yearlings or put in dibs for a service fee. It’s a bit of a wank. Yazzie hates it, but does it for her dad.’

  ‘Ah!’ Rebecca said, remembering Yazzie swearing at the over-the-top invitations her father’s new French wife had designed and the ridiculous number of celebrities the woman had asked, ahead of the regular clients.

  ‘They’re people who aren’t even remotely interested in racing!’ Yazzie had said in exasperation, eyeing her new stepmother’s guest list with disgust. ‘They only go for the fashions on the field once a year at the Cup and the attention of the cameras.’ It was all coming back to Rebecca. The Rivermont staff had been preparing for weeks.

  ‘That’s today?’ Rebecca asked Evie, realising she’d been an entire world away from Rivermont lately, with her focus on sorting out Waters Meeting.

  ‘Yes. And Sol’s flying in,’ Evie said again.

  ‘You mentioned that bit. Twice.’

  ‘Did I?’ said Evie with a glint in her eye. ‘Must be getting senile,’ and she turned over the ignition so her little white car purred. Then she locked her green eyes onto Rebecca’s profile as Rebecca stared ahead at the road, trying to stifle a smile. So the old lady knew about what had gone on bet
ween her and Sol. Evie must’ve been his confidante. She knew it all. A sudden rush of feeling for him flooded her mind and body, but as soon as she felt it, Rebecca shut it down again. Her confidence wavered.

  ‘Maybe I should go back to Waters Meeting. Let the chooks out to free range. Check the stock.’

  Evie shook her head as she put the car in gear and pulled out onto the wide empty main street of Bendoorin. ‘Not on your Nellie! There’s no way I will let you go back out there. Dennis and the local firies are dealing with it. All those boozy nights in the shed with your ex-husband will pay off. They’ll handle it for you. Gabs said she’d head out now to relocate your chooks at her place and Frank will check the stock. I’m out at Rivermont anyway for the next few days. You may as well make the most of a free babysitter. Take some time for yourself.’

  ‘But the fire. The mining …’

  ‘It’s all over now, Rebecca,’ Evie said, glancing at her. ‘There’s not a thing you can do. Plus, even though Dr Patkin said you and the baby are perfectly fine, if you go out to Waters Meeting, you won’t rest in here.’ Evie tapped an index finger to her forehead. ‘You must take your mind off that place and the plans those men have for it. It will do you no good. Stay at Rivermont where the energies and people are bright. It will stop you worrying.’

  ‘Who said I’m worried?’ Bec said, a frown on her face. She sat with her head downcast. ‘I worry too much, don’t I?’ she said eventually. ‘It’s as if I’ve learned nothing!’

  Evie laughed. ‘Nonsense. You have transitioned in an amazing way. Believe in yourself. Now I’d suggest, while we’re in range, that you phone your brother. Let him know about the house fire. He can take care of all of it now. The livestock. The lot. If he wants the money, he can deal with it.’

  Rebecca looked at her phone on the dash. The thought of calling Mick settled like lead in her belly, but Evie was right. ‘OK, I’ll call him.’

  Evie pulled the car over. Rebecca looked up to see the police sign. A smart-arse youth had again graffitied the sign. This time it read: POLICE ARE NOW TARGETING FUCKWITS. She found a chuckle. Then she looked at her phone. ‘I can’t. I can’t call him.’

  Evie made a tut-tutting noise. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘give me your phone. I’ll call the fat bastard.’

  Bec chuckled again, this time at Evie. She sat and listened while her friend delivered her clipped businesslike message to Mick. She could hear his charming bluster on the other end of the line. He’d already heard from Charlie about the fire and was wondering what was going on (though apparently not about her or the boys’ welfare).

  Rebecca knew now that Mick would make a few calls, offer some cash and cartons of beer around, and the responsibility of the clean-up and the livestock would be palmed off to some local man. Blokes who Mick would’ve sunk beers with in the Fur Trapper in his youth. Mick always got his way. Bec felt the pang of longing for the sheep and cattle she had begun to connect with again. She was giving those animals over to Mick too. The thought tugged at her heart.

  ‘Fuckwits indeed,’ said Evie once she had hung up, staring at the sign. She drove on.

  Rebecca watched the countryside rolling past: it seemed softer now since the rain. As they began the first climb up the mountain pass, she broke the silence and turned to Evie. ‘You knew the baby was fine, didn’t you? In your room at Rivermont.’

  ‘Yes. I did,’ she said.

  ‘Then why did you take me into the hospital?’

  ‘Because you needed to go to allay your fears. Your own belief system in energetic or self-healing is still a little blocked. Often conventional medicine reassures the mind until you learn to be in your own alignment. It’s a slow process for some.’

  ‘Particularly for dumb buggers like me,’ Bec said, sipping on the takeaway hot chocolate Evie had bought her.

  ‘Yes, especially for dumb buggers like you,’ Evie said with a soft smile. ‘Get control of your thoughts and you will get control of your life. And you must allow. Allow love in. Allow good things in. You deserve it.’ And with that Jesus let loose with a toe-curling stench that sent them grappling for the window winders.

  ‘I’m more about allowing dog farts out of my life at the moment than I am about allowing love in! Jesus Christ!’ said Rebecca.

  Forty-five

  Later that day, Rebecca felt a surge of vertigo that came from the shock of the past few days as she walked to the horse truck that was rumbling into the Rivermont car park. Over at the tack room, Joey was already sipping on a mid-morning UDL of raspberry vodka. He would set the can down in random places as he polished tack and hung the bridles and halters on the brass hooks beside the stalls. The rearing bits clanked as he washed them in buckets of steaming water. He seemed to be excited about the afternoon parade. He looked up, took in what Rebecca was wearing and burst out laughing. She was still wearing the kaftan and a borrowed pair of riding boots.

  ‘Oh! Thanks for the sympathy!’ Bec said. ‘I’ve had a very harrowing experience.’

  ‘You still are, by the looks of it.’

  ‘Joey! A bit of sympathy would be nice.’

  ‘No. No. It suits you! You look really … really … swinging seventies?’

  It was clear Joey was up for a big one, as he apparently had been at every year’s Stanton bloodstock parade that they’d held in Scone. This was the inaugural one for Rivermont, so Joey was putting on an extra show of excitement as he turned towards the horse transport vehicle.

  ‘Scuba!’ yelled Joey as he raised his bottle at the truck driver. ‘Check out the female version of Kamahl here!’

  The door opened and out jumped a lean-framed man; a little scraggy white dog wagged her tail from the driver’s seat, mirroring Joey’s excitement. The Rivermont dogs and Funny joined in the fray, Jesus curling his lip and growling wildly yet wagging his tail at the same time.

  ‘Hello,’ the man said to Rebecca. ‘Nice frock. Did it come with a flying carpet?’

  ‘What took you? Did you use your dick as a compass and get waylaid?’ Joey asked.

  ‘That’d be you, Joey,’ came Scuba’s dry reply.

  Yazzie emerged from the stable office. ‘What lucky straw did we draw getting you to drop the horses off?’ Yazzie called when she saw which driver had transported the Rivermont gallopers back from their city stable at the racetrack. ‘How are you, gorgeous?’

  Scuba beamed at her and opened up his arms. ‘I’m better than good! I wouldn’t miss a day like this with my galloper girls! Oh, I much prefer you over my pacer girls any day! You’re a far classier lot and you fight less between yourselves!’ He folded Yazzie into a hug before dropping the truck’s hydraulic tailgate, which acted as a rubber-coated loading ramp. With speed and efficiency, the Rivermont crew soon had the sheened horses unloaded from their angled bays and the gear unpacked from the side boxes of the truck.

  ‘Only light duties for you,’ Joey said, taking the bag of racing prize-winner rugs from Rebecca. ‘There’s flowers to arrange in the smoko room for the podium where Sol will speak.’

  ‘Flower arranging? Me?’

  ‘Go on. Get in touch with your girlie side.’

  As Bec walked alongside Joey, she realised Evie was right: there was no time to dwell on the fate of Waters Meeting or the fire. She heard a fizz and next Joey was handing her a watermelon Midori that he’d grabbed up from his stash in an Esky near the stables.

  ‘There you go, hot stuff,’ Joey said with a wink.

  ‘But I’m pregnant. I’m just out of hospital. And it’s only eleven-thirty.’

  ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere and it’s got fruit in it. It’ll be good for the bub. Drink up, you smokin’ hot mama, you!’ He began to sing ‘Light My Fire’ and cast a stirring grin over at her.

  She’d thought she would spend her day in a state of shock, exhaustion and devastation, but instead she felt utterly energised. It must be Evie’s magical kaftan, she thought jokingly to herself. The complexity and tragedy of the situation over at Wat
ers Meeting felt an entire world away as she watched Joey’s and the crew’s energetic efficient manner as they led horses to and from the washbay, soaping the animals’ tails, gliding the scraper over their perfect coats. She had already stopped into the stable to see Miss Luella, and the mare had whickered to her and leaned her head into her chest, acting as divinely as if she was a horse from a pony-club novella for kids. Tears of shock and gratitude rose again, but Bec soon settled herself with her slowed breathing and inhaling the rich scent of her beautiful horse. Then Rebecca had returned to the smoko room, where tubs of flowers had been delivered, making the room look like an opera diva’s dressing room.

  ‘We need six big vases in all. Two for the podium, two for the buffet and two for the entrance to the parade ring,’ Yazzie had instructed, looking cowgirl-chic in cut-off jeans, cowgirl boots and a white lacy top.

  ‘Righto,’ said Bec, taking in this odd world she had found herself immersed in. They’re rich people doing their thing, she thought, but they’re good people, somewhat still tortured by their parents, she concluded. No different from herself.

  ‘How’s your Martha Stewarting going, Smokey Bandit?’ Joey called to her through the window of the tack room. As painful as Joey sometimes could be to all the staff with his occasionally over-the-top exuberance, Rebecca was grateful for his stirring jibes. She knew he was doing it out of support for her.

  He’d come alive, knowing there would be more people here soon to satisfy his insatiable thirst for attention and he was keeping her buoyant too. Evie again was right: the energies of this place and its people were brighter, somehow.

  With a vase of red and white roses clasped in her hands, Rebecca walked through the gleaming white wooden gate to the front lawn, where a marquee was being put up. The younger of the horses were already being led about by Steph, Daisy and the rest of the girls to get them used to the ring, their brushed, washed and glossed tails cut to blunt ends. Some yearlings called out, others snorted with bowed heads, wearing headstalls of leather with brass buckles of gleaming gold. Bec spotted one filly with the nearside brand of SS for Sol Stanton. It stood out in frosted white against her deep bay shoulder.