The Farmer's Wife

by Rachael Treasure

  Sol will be here soon, she thought, and felt a shiver of anticipation and nerves. She looked at the kaftan that was drawn tightly over her six-month baby belly and wondered what else she could find to change into. Then she laughed at herself. What hope do I have with Sol? Look at me, she thought.

  She made her way round to the front of the house, passing daffodils and boxed hedges made even more quaint by painted wooden bird houses.

  The Stantons had gone all out for this event. The English oaks that stood elegantly above the homestead were waving their leafy greens to the blue sky and later, the limbs of the grand old dames would be lit by spotlights as the sun dropped beneath the horizon. The garden looked as if it was a patch of a Jilly Cooper novel transported to Australia. The roses were blooming succulently and sunlight was gliding off the flanks of the horses. In a cage near the marquee, doves were fanning their tails and cooing and flapping at each other.

  Bill Hill was busy setting out plastic chairs for the small elite crowd that would soon arrive. ‘Nice outfit! Where’d ya park ya camel?’ he called.

  Bec smiled. He gave her a sympathetic nod of his head. He too was jollying her along this morning, following what had happened at Waters Meeting. The moment she thought of the fire, Bec suddenly felt incredible tiredness wash over her.

  Yazzie, speaking on her mobile, gestured to Rebecca. She placed her hand over the phone and said, ‘After you’ve done the flowers, would you mind taking the silk rugs and dropping the correct ones outside each of the stalls for our veteran runners? The names are on them for each horse.’ Bec nodded and was about to turn to go when her friend put a hand on her arm. ‘You feeling OK?’

  Bec smiled and mouthed ‘yes’. But Yazzie shook her head. ‘You’re not. Go and lie down. Go see your boys, then go lie down. And take that … that … thing off. Honestly! Evie and her shop clothes!’ She pointed to the phone. ‘Don’t worry, they’ve put me on hold. Bloody airlines.’ She rolled her eyes.

  ‘OK.’ Bec made to leave again, but Yazzie came to stand before her on the perfect lawn before the perfect homestead where Rivermont was crawling with staff and activity.

  ‘Sorry about all this,’ she said, waving her arms about the scene. ‘I can’t stand it. But every year Dad insists on doing it. And do you know what … I hate doing it, but every year I keep saying yes to him. I keep organising it for him. For what?’ She rolled her eyes again.

  ‘It’s very glam,’ Bec conceded. ‘A little bit … how shall I say it without being rude? Over the top?’

  ‘I know,’ Yazzie said, wrinkling her nose. ‘To add insult to injury, I’ve just found out Dad’s not even going to make it now. He and Sol are battling it out with a big company on some secret corporate deal. It’s got conservation at its heart, apparently, so Sol isn’t letting go of it. To top that, Dad’s headed for another divorce by not bringing wife number three here to mix with all her fancy-pants guests! She’s furious!’

  Bec felt her heart sink. And Yazzie must have sensed it.

  ‘Men,’ she said. ‘They go off as if it is their duty. As if they are supposed to be the big providers. And what do we women want? To have them home with us and to hear we are loved. My dad, he’s never once told me. No wonder I make poor choices in partners!’ She let out a breath. ‘Come, I’ll walk with you to the house. You, my girl, need a sleep.’ They fell in step on the white gravel drive. ‘Did your dad ever say he loved you?’

  Bec shrugged. ‘Don’t recall,’ she lied.

  ‘Oh, you would if he had. All my life I’ve worked my guts out for Dad and his life … This is the last year I do this. I swear. I’m through.’

  Bec noticed tears in Yazzie’s eyes. The stress of everything was at last getting to her. ‘What is it with us women, hell bent on pleasing men?’ she mused. ‘Men who aren’t even kind to us.’

  ‘Gawd,’ Yazzie said. ‘It’s the whole Cinderella thing. Look at me. I was raised a princess. Blonde hair, blue eyes, small enough to blow over in a strong wind. Oh, I did the men thing. Men would want to own me. Treat me like some little wind-up dolly. Mum put me in ballet shoes and little silk dresses from the day I was born and encouraged it. It was all about meeting the one, getting married. Living happily ever after. What a crock that turned out to be. But I’m glad I went there. I wouldn’t be who I am today.’

  ‘But don’t you want to repartner?’

  Yazzie looped her arm in Rebecca’s, her slender fingers resting on her forearm. ‘My dad is doing enough repartnering for all of us. With wife number three chucking the hissy fits she does, it won’t be long till there’s a number four on the way. So after today, I am outta here. At least for a month, so Dad realises what I do for him.’

  Bec glanced at her with concern, not wanting Yazzie to leave.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry! You can stay at Rivermont. As long as you like. There’s room, as you know,’ she said, gesturing to the house and shaking her head. ‘And Sol will be back soon for a stint to keep you company. I rattle around in it by myself. Just me and the dogs.’ Then she looked out hopefully to the hills. ‘I’m going to stay with a family I stayed with once in Argentina. Beautiful horse place. Lovely people. Just for a month to get my thoughts right again. I’ll be back in time for you and the baby though,’ she said, smiling. ‘In the meantime, get your head on that pillow, girl!’

  The first helicopter laden with guests woke Rebecca at around one-thirty that afternoon. She got up from her bed and pulled on a robe, then picked up the purple-and-gold kaftan and made a face. She was stunned to realise that after the fire she didn’t own a bra, or a set of undies, let alone any party clothes. All of her past was burned. As she stood naked beneath the bathrobe, she felt utterly cleansed. All she wanted to wear right now was a set of wings, so she could fly in life.

  She smiled when she saw the pile of clothes for her to try and a little daisy set nicely on top with a note from Yazzie. For the new you, the note read.

  Just inside the door someone had placed polished cowgirl boots turned in fancy tan and turquoise embellishments. Judging from the red rose that protruded from one boot and the bottle of fruit Midori that jutted from the other, Bec figured Joey had been on the job and he and the stable girls had got together to organise the boots.

  She glanced out of the window, seeing the trees whirl about as the chopper landed. She wondered if Sol had changed his plans and would be on board. Part of her wished he had.

  In the shower, she took extra care in washing her hair. There would be some fancy people out there and she didn’t so much feel compelled to look her best, as she wanted to help put on a good show for Rivermont.

  When she went downstairs, she found the boys, exhausted from the night before, snuggled with Evie on the couch, watching Puss in Boots. The sound of Puss’s accent only accentuated her longing for Sol. She sat with the boys for a moment, giving each of them a cuddle.

  Neither Ben nor Archie were interested in going out for the horse parade, where the guests were clustering in the marquee, bubbles in hand, women divoting the lawn with their spiked heels. Bec’s boys had seen enough of the choppers and they’d had a quick tour of the setting. It was enough for them to get that this was a boring adult world and they were better off inside with Evie and the DVD.

  Bec chose a fresh white linen shirt that draped nicely over her pregnant belly and pulled on faded but new denim maternity jeans, which she did up with a thick leather hobble belt beneath her belly bulge. It was down to its last notch.

  As she looked in the mirror, she felt renewed. And utterly grateful for the care of the people around her. Before her stood an entirely different person. On the outside and within — not to mention that other part of her that sat high up somewhere on another plane of existence.

  Bec let her hair down for a change, blonde waves brushing her shoulders and down her back. It felt odd to be putting on makeup in Yazzie’s fully stocked guest bathroom, but she enjoyed what had become an unfamiliar process. She stopped and smelled the roses th
at Yazzie had placed in a small clear vase on the bathroom vanity. ‘Delicious,’ she said, allowing the scent to seep into her senses.

  She went downstairs, out the main front entrance and walked towards the soirée that was gaining momentum on the Rivermont front lawn.

  She could hear Yazzie on the PA system, taking over from Sol’s designated role of MC and compere. She read from notes and was describing each horse that paraded the ring.

  Bec could see Joey was parading himself more than the fancy stallion he was leading by wiggling his perfect, pert little backside sexily as he walked. There was no doubting Joey moved just as nicely as Shining Light, one of the most successful Rivermont stallions standing in the country.

  She’d heard Sol once say the racehorses were bred to run, but not to thrive or to think. This stallion, however, looked anything but frail and flighty. He was swishing his tail faster than a cheerleader. The well-dressed men in the crowd stood shoulder to shoulder watching the horse as the manicured women watched Joey from behind big sunglasses that glinted gold. Many of the women were indeed not really there for the horses, but more for the glamour of the event, and sat looking somewhat bored in the fancy marquee with its scallop-edged trim, getting themselves quietly tiddly.

  What was missed by the women but admired by Bec was Joey’s expert handling: he gave just the right amount of check on the lead rope, inviting the best behaviour from the stallion. He had nailed the stallion’s arrogance in the most subtle way in front of the crowd so they didn’t even notice. Rebecca knew from the giant bruises the Rivermont staff sometimes wore on their eyes, their torsos or thighs, just how dangerous the iron hooves of a horse could be. They had the ability to pulverise muscle into permanent dents and to splinter bones. Bruises the size of dinner-plates were common in this world. As he walked past in his aviator sunglasses, Joey gave Bec a quick grin. She smiled back.

  Bec felt herself falling into this world, tumbling into it, away from her known existence. The world of sheer hard work and Waters Meeting’s daily domestic grind. It made her realise there were many entire worlds out there — any one of which she could choose if she wanted to. She was free.

  When the parade of bloodstock was over, a string quartet began playing on the lawn, the musicians sitting straight-backed, all in black. Yazzie, in a pretty little dress of gold sheered with black lace, looked over to Bec and discreetly mimed putting her fingers down her throat, then grinned. She turned back to a big fat bald businessman, who was red in the cheeks and clearly drooling over her.

  Not wanting to join the guests just yet, Bec headed back to the stables. She was more aligned with the worker’s world and when she got there, she realised she and Sol would never fit. She couldn’t be in his world. Only on the edges of it: with the farm and the horses. The rest of it held no interest for her. She felt sad at the realisation, and almost relieved Sol hadn’t come so she wouldn’t have to face his desire for her.

  Suddenly she thought of Andrew and wondered how he was. Where he was? He would be out there, quietly revolutionising the world and helping enlighten others to care for the soil. She realised with a tug that she missed him too.

  At the stables the team was tidying up and putting horses back in their stalls. The sun was lowering itself behind the mountain and a gentle glow was settling over the landscape. It wouldn’t be long until the helicopters shattered the peace, taking many of the exclusive guests up and out of the valley, back to the city. The rest would be wined and dined at the homestead before being shown to their rooms in the guest wing.

  Bec entered the courtyard and there sitting on the fountain, having a cigarette, was Joey. He was holding onto one split rein of Miss Luella’s. She was saddled and standing quietly beside him, clearly pleased to be out of her box, looking about with curiosity.

  ‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Joey said, narrowing his eyes as he drew on his cigarette.

  ‘She sure is. What are you doing with her?’

  ‘You, my princess, need to ride her. I spent hours schooling her for you.’

  ‘You did!’

  ‘Sol said it was on my head if she put a foot wrong. So here she is, my gift to you.’ He stood and held out the rein to her, along with a set of spurs hooked on his index finger. ‘Take her for a ride. It’s the best therapy. And don’t worry about your baby falling out of you. I swear you are the bloody Virgin Mary. I’m still amazed you got up the duff by not having sex with me!’

  Bec laughed at him. Then his face turned serious.

  ‘Go on. Even if you just walk her. You need it after what you’ve been through.’ There was a rare stillness to him. A softening. Bec took the spurs from him and stooped to strap them onto her new cowgirl boots. As she did, she could feel the nearness of Joey.

  ‘You know you’ll always be my Deni princess,’ he said.

  She stopped buckling the spur and looked up at him. ‘Don’t ever call me princess.’

  He flashed a look at her. ‘Get over yourself. You’re gorgeous and I can call you what I like. Princesses can be strong and wear spurs too. Now get on.’

  Bec took the reins and swung on. As she settled into a beautiful Western saddle that clearly belonged to the Stantons, Joey put his hand on her leg and looked up at her.

  ‘You know you are awesome.’

  Bec was touched by his rare show of seriousness. ‘No.’ She laughed nervously. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Think what you like,’ Joey said, ‘but I think you are fucking awesome, Rebecca Saunders. I love you to bits.’

  She smiled down at him. ‘And I love you too, buddy. You really have helped me get back in the saddle again. I owe you. I’ll never forget that night. It opened me up to seeing myself differently.’

  ‘I know the timing wasn’t quite right,’ Joey said, his hand still on her thigh, ‘and things flopped between us quite literally, and the age difference and all, but in another life, Bec, you’d be my woman.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You would.’ He looked up at her, sincerity on his face.

  ‘Thanks, Joey. That’s special.’

  ‘So I suppose a quick fondle in the stable’s out of the question then?’ he shot at her, his joking demeanour suddenly firmly back in place.

  Bec slapped him on his shoulder. ‘In your dreams, man whore!’

  Joey sank his hands in his pockets and said in mock indignation, ‘Go on then, git with you. Heartless hussy.’ He flicked his head in the direction of the stable archway and the hillsides beyond, rising up to steep-pitched granite mountaintops. ‘They say if you love something, set it free … Now go for a ride, princess, and don’t come back until you’ve figured yourself out.’

  As she cued Miss Luella with her legs, neck-reined her round and rode away, Bec felt a great gratitude for Joey. As she rode on out the gate and along the laneway, she tried to read what her body might be telling her. She felt cautious about riding after that morning’s scare, but her body felt fine. In fact, better than good. Live without fear, she decided suddenly, and she urged the mare on to a faster walk. There would be no cantering away to the mountains today. This evening she would ride at a walk and slow herself and everything about her life down. She wove her fingers into the luxurious blonde mane of the mare and smelled the air around her, which was scented with bushland in flower. Bec could feel she was sitting astride the most wonderful horse she had ever ridden. She registered the easy rhythm as Miss Luella walked freely over the long grasslands of Rivermont. She felt the freedom.

  As she climbed the hill, the breeze quickened. The wind picked up the mare’s tail and carried it through her hind legs and blew her mane in a dance, but still she ambled on in her calm quarter-horse gait. The well-schooled mare brought Rebecca thoughts of Joey’s fun and kindness. She imagined what she could do with her riding once the baby was born and she could cue the mare with the spur. Surely she would spin on a dime!

  Rebecca sent out a thank you to Joey and then of course to Sol.


  Not only had Sol given her this amazing creature, but as she took in the freshness of the healthy landscape, she was grateful Sol had created all the health and vigour that grew about her on this farm.

  She felt so lucky that both she and Sol had shared in the lifetime work of Andrew and his gift for inspiring others. Two incredible men. Two forms of answers to her prayers. But what now? What future could she choose? She had a deep love for them both in different ways, but as she sat on her horse, she reached deep down inside herself for an answer. Within, she felt something flicker. A glow. It wasn’t strong, but she knew with time she could build it to a brighter flame … and that flame was to do with love. Not for men and ‘finding the one’ or relying on a man’s stability. Nor was it the flame of love she always carried for her children. Instead it was the start of a burning candle that represented love for herself. For the first time in her life she could see the light within herself. She was, if she chose to see it, magnificent.

  As she sat upon the golden horse high up on a ridge and looked out at the vast stretch of treed mountains before her, suddenly Rebecca knew for certain what she must do, for herself and for the world. She looked at the tall grasses wavering their native seed heads in the breeze.

  And then, her mind made up, digging her heels gently in, she spun the mare on a dime.

  Forty-six

  The ten days following the Rivermont parade had become a flurry of packing and paperwork for Rebecca. Now, Ben and Archie waited excitedly beside an airline dog crate while Funny sat within, her face looking dour and unimpressed at the situation. The gangly young dog sniffed at the air, taking in the unfamiliar scent of the aviation gas and hunching over slightly from the noise of the busy airport. In a smaller crate, Jesus sat, worrying at the world he found himself in, letting out the occasional ‘yip!’ At the freight check-in desk, Rebecca passed the vet’s letter and the rabies injection documents to the man at the counter.