Marley pushed the thought away. The kid had been sick plenty of times, but she always got better. She’d take her to the doctor and get some medicine then everything would be all right again.
“It’s okay, Zoe. Mummy will take care of you.” She trotted through the house, the baby’s legs swinging lifelessly as she crouched over the coffee table and grabbed the car keys. Zoe responded with a rattling breath.
Marley laid the child on the back seat, not daring to try fastening her in the baby restraints for fear she’d fall forward and choke.
“Okay. Good, okay.” Marley continued talking as she jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine spluttered and died. Swearing under her breath she tried again. This time the car groaned to life. Not giving the old wreck time to cut out, Marley slammed the gears into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.
“It’s all right, sweetie. Everything will be all right now. We’ll be at the doctor’s in a minute.” She spoke over her shoulder to the unresponsive toddler as the car bounced over a pothole.
Five minutes later, Marley pulled up in front of the doctor’s surgery. Marley bolted from the car and rushed across the narrow strip of lawn, her chest heaving from the excursion. By the time Dr Cole’s wife, Mary, wrenched open the car door, Zoe had been dead for three minutes.
Chapter Six
Maggie climbed the stairs to her bedroom, her shoulders aching with tension and fatigue. She kicked off her shoes, noticing the morning sun creeping across the floor. It felt like a lifetime since she was last in this room. She jerked the curtains closed before stumbling back to the bed. Still wearing last night’s clothes, she crawled under the covers. Images of Eddie, face frozen in death, pushed into her mind. The urge to run through the nightmarish events of the previous evening tugged at her thoughts, tempting her to relive the anguish that was building in her chest like a lump of hardened clay. She closed her eyes, expecting to toss and turn, but instead fell into a deep sleep.
Something chased her. Legs pumping, she ran through a carpet of huge, waxy red flowers. She looked back over her shoulder and saw a stick-like figure jerking its body forward with unrelenting determination. She tried to speed up, but her legs pulled and stretched as if made of rubber. Her progress was maddeningly slow.
A drum pounded, faintly at first like a heartbeat. She opened her mouth to scream and felt her vocal cords twanging without sound. The drumming intensified, the flowers pulsating under her feet. Maggie covered her ears and stumbled forward, desperate to avoid the creature rustling through the foliage at her back. The pounding grew louder, deafening.
Maggie woke, eyes wide, the drum still reverberating in her ears. Heart jumping, it took her a moment to realise it wasn’t the drumming from her dream, but someone knocking her front door.
Still shaken, she struggled out of bed, bracing herself against the wall as she stumbled down the stairs. She reached the door and hesitated, the stick-like creature from the dream still loomed in her mind, mixing with the memory of Tess stumbling out of the darkness holding her dead infant. It was easy to believe the nightmare might still be playing out. Maggie ran a hand over her face, trying to wipe away the sense of dread, and opened the door.
“What took you so long?” Doug Loggie’s friendly smile quickly turned to concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maggie let out a relieved breath before realising she was still wearing last night’s clothes, creased and moulded to her body with sweat. She touched the puffy skin under her eyes. She probably had mascara all over her face too.
“Doug, sorry. I had a rough night. What—”
“I got your message and came over to clear your yard.”
“Yes, the storm.” Maggie still felt confused but tried to cover. “Yes, okay. I’ll leave you to it.” She closed the door on his stunned face.
After taking a hot shower and putting on clean clothes, Maggie felt almost normal again. She tied her long auburn hair in a ponytail and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the sink, puffy eyes staring out of a pale face. Outside, a crow squawked and was quickly joined by a chorus of similar cries. Maggie turned away from her reflection and headed downstairs. After making two cups of instant coffee, she opened the back door.
Doug was busy raking up the remnants of Friday night’s storm. Three piles of freshly gathered leaves dotted the yard, each one peppered with red flowers. A wheelbarrow sat near the corner of the house laden with small branches and clumps of dried grass.
She watched him carry a stack of fallen branches to the wheelbarrow and toss them in. He fished out a few that were too long and snapped them in half as easily as if they were twigs. He’d probably had countless calls, yet here he was. Her throat constricted and tears pricked her eyes. Doug had become her port, in many ways filling the void left when her grandfather died. Last night the world had turned upside down, but watching Doug setting her garden straight was an anchor she desperately needed.
“Coffee?” Maggie held up a steaming cup and noticed her hand was shaking.
Doug turned and gave her a grateful smile. “Just what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”
Maggie handed him the mug and sat down on the steps, setting her cup beside her. Doug stood, one hand on his hip, sipping the hot drink.
After a moment of awkward silence, Maggie spoke. “Doug, I’m sorry about earlier. I practically shut the door in your face…I did shut the door in your face.” She tried to laugh, but the sound was forced, shaky. “I – I had a hard night.”
Doug took his time answering. “I know. I heard about Ollie and the baby. It’s a bad business when tragedy strikes a family twice.”
After three years, she was still surprised at how quickly news spread in a small town. “How did you hear?”
“Half the town heard the sirens last night. Agnes Wells made it her business to find out what was happening. Ran into her at the general store this morning. She was telling anyone who’d listen.” Doug shook his head disapprovingly. “That woman loves to spread gossip, especially when it’s about someone else’s misery.”
Maggie rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the image of Eddie’s lifeless face. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she picked up her cup and took a sip.
“What are all these red flowers called? Do you know?” Maggie asked, searching for something to say.
“Well, there’s a Latin name for them, Floreo pectus, but my mother called them something else.” Doug gestured towards the waxy vines growing up around the back veranda. Even after the storm, flowers and tiny buds still clung stubbornly to the vines. “She said they were so resilient that they could grow out of rock.” Doug finished his coffee and set the cup down on the stairs. “Maureen would know the name. She’s good with things like that; names, birthdays, she keeps a record of the little things so that they aren’t forgotten.” He ran his hand through his bushy white hair and smiled as though he was remembering something sweet.
The way Doug described the flower brought back memories of her grandfather. When she was a little girl, he’d tell her stories about his father, Blue Hawk, and the Cherokee people. He once told her that plants, in response to human suffering, made medicine to cure each sickness that entered the world.
“They’re pretty in a kind of wild way.” She drained the last drops of coffee from her cup. “I was thinking of asking you to cut them down, but they’re growing on me.”
Doug nodded. “I’m nearly finished here, just a few piles of leaves to clear and I’ll be off. Maureen had a difficult night. I think she might be coming down with something. I don’t like leaving her for too long after chemo.”
Coming down with something? “How’s she doing? I mean with her treatment.”
“She’s getting through it. Maureen’s a strong woman.” He nodded. “She’ll beat it.”
Maggie admired Doug’s relationship with his wife. When he spoke of her, there was always affection in his voice, making the elderly man see
m younger somehow. Maggie thought of her ex-husband. He’d taken such pleasure in making her feel small. If it wasn’t for Doug, she wouldn’t be able to believe there were still good men left in the world.
On impulse, Maggie reached out and put her hand over Doug’s. “I know she will.” She stood and picked up the empty cups. “Give Maureen my best. I’m going to drive over and check on Tess and her mum, maybe there’s some news.”
“Tell her I’m praying for her and Ollie. It’s a bad business when a baby dies. Maureen and I were never blessed with children. Lost our only baby before it was born. Maureen was six months along and the happiest I’d ever seen her, but then—” He stopped for a second, as if lost in thought. “Then just as suddenly as it came, it went. It’s been thirty years now, but that loss still weighs on Maureen. Me too, I suppose.” He got up, gave Maggie a nod and went back to the Floreo pectus and the rest of the yard.
Chapter Seven
Maureen rubbed her hands together, the dull ache in her fingers making them stiff and unresponsive. Her head throbbed, keeping time with her pulsating joints. Chemo was nothing new, its effects familiar –fatigue, the sickness – but this new misery was different.
Earlier, she woke from a dream about a little girl who’d wandered into the backyard. The bedraggled child moved around the garden on unsteady feet. Her small, frail body was shrouded in mist, making it difficult for Maureen to keep track of the child’s movements. She seemed to be searching for something, was it her mother? The girl approached a large tree and came to an abrupt stop. Maureen felt herself drawn to the child as if invisible arms were reaching out for her. The girl’s bare feet moved across the misty ground, and with each step, the pull of the child’s need for her grew stronger. She searched for someone to love her. If Maureen could just take her hand, everything would be all right. Her chest still ached with loss, all the sorrow bottled and stoppered after Beth’s death. She was so small, not ready for the world.
The lost child in her dream seemed to be looking up at something in the distance. Maureen turned her head and saw a square shape floating in the blackness; it was filled with light, a light so brilliant it seared Maureen’s eyes.
She turned back to the little girl and noticed a swing, made of some sort of dark wood but instead of ropes it hung from a chain of stiff white sticks. Maureen shuffled forward, desperate to reach the child. If she could just take her hand then the little girl would know. She’d know that she wasn’t alone. Know she was safe.
Maureen reached out to the girl, her fingers stretching as invisible needles pierced her knuckles like knifes. Then, everything spun backwards. The garden shrank into a whirlpool of mist and leaves. Before it disappeared, Maureen felt cold skin press against her fingertips.
Dreaming of children was not uncommon for Maureen. She supposed it was a commonality in childless women, but last night had been different somehow, real.
Waking up, Maureen found her arms crossed over her body, holding tight to a non-existent child. Crows screeched outside her window as the sun broke through the curtains. She’d watched the morning light play across the cheerful floral bedspread that covered her thin frame and allowed herself a few moments before she pushed away the sorrow of losing yet another child, if only in her dreams. She’d promised Doug she was fine, making a big show of eating the scrambled eggs he’d made her for breakfast, only to vomit them up once he left the house. Ah, Doug. After all these years of marriage, when she thought of her sweetheart, she couldn’t help but smile. He worried too much.
Maureen dropped painfully into the rocking chair Doug had made for her when she was pregnant. So many years ago. She wrapped a soft wool throw around her shoulders and stared out the window. Concentrating her gaze on the cloudless blue sky, she waited for the aches and pains to recede enough so she could walk to the bedroom and get dressed. Maybe a couple of paracetamol and a glass of water would dull the pain. Wincing, she took hold of the sides of the chair and pushed herself up. The room tilted and her legs shook, giving her no option but to drop back down.
She wished she hadn’t been so stubborn and pig-headed, always so sure she could get through whatever life threw at her. She should’ve told Doug she didn’t feel well. He’d have stayed home and she wouldn’t be alone. Bowing her hairless head, she lifted aching fingers to her face. Her cheeks were wet.
Icy shudders ripped through her chest, jerking her against the backrest of the rocking chair. She whispered Doug’s name over and over until she wasn’t sure if her body shook from pain or sorrow. Cold spasms sent darts of lightning up and down her fragile limbs. Maureen closed her eyes and prayed that Doug would come through the front door. But when her eyelids fluttered on her cheeks, blackness swallowed her and dragged her downwards. In the seconds before Maureen’s world collapsed, she heard a child’s laugh.
Chapter Eight
Maggie watched the ice cubes bob around in the amber liquid, clicking together when Sandra put the two glasses of tea down on the coffee table. The sound reminded Maggie of Agnes’s party. It seemed like an old memory of a life uncomplicated by sudden death and grief. Maggie sat facing Sandra. Her usually impeccably made-up face was scrubbed clean, fine lines around her eyes and mouth painfully visible in the morning light.
They were in Tess and Ollie’s living room. The last time Maggie had been in the house, it was abuzz with noise and activity. Eddie, fresh from a bath wriggling on the changing mat while Tess dried him with a fluffy towel. Today the place was silent. The smell of baby powder and fabric softener hung in the air. A pile of carefully folded baby clothes sat on the ironing board near the kitchen door. Maggie found her gaze drifting between the clothes and Sandra’s face.
“How is she?” Maggie picked up her glass and made herself focus on the liquid.
“I don’t know...Last night, when I told her about Ollie, she just stared at me as though she didn’t understand.” Sandra swiped at something on the leg of her jeans. “She’s asleep now, I suppose that’s good. When she wakes up, I’m going to drive her back to Perth where I can look after her and we’ll be near Ollie.”
“And Ollie?”
“In a coma. They took him to Fremantle Hospital last night.” Sandra paused. “Two days ago, everything was perfect. Tess and Ollie were so happy and we had a beautiful new baby. Now....” She waved a hand at the room filled with baby paraphernalia and choked back a sob.
“Oh, Sandra.” Maggie got up and sat next to her on the sofa. She placed her arm around Sandra’s shoulders. Not sure of what else to do, Maggie let her own tears flow. After a moment or so, Sandra pulled away and took a sip of tea.
“What are we supposed to do now, Maggie?” This new defeated Sandra was so different from the glamorous, confident woman Maggie knew.
She didn’t know what to tell the woman. There were no easy answers. “Focus on Tess and Ollie.” Maggie swiped at her eyes. “It’s all we can do now.”
Sandra nodded, but looked distracted. “You’re a good friend to Tess. I’m glad she has you.” She put her glass on the coffee table. “I wish I could make everything all right for Tess, like I used to when she was little.” She paused and took a long shuddering breath as she looked around the room. There were reminders of the new-born’s presence in every corner.
“Last night, when I finally got her to bed, Tess said... she said her heart hurt and then she closed her eyes and wouldn’t speak to me.” Sandra stopped and looked at Maggie with red-rimmed eyes. “How do I fix that?”
Maggie searched for something to say, anything that would help the woman make sense of the tragedy. She didn’t know what life would be like for Tess and Ollie after all this was over... She didn’t know if it would ever be over.
“We concentrate on taking a few steps at a time. Getting through today. Looking after Ollie.” She stood and took Sandra’s half-empty glass from the coffee table. “I’ll tidy up in the kitchen. You go pack some things for Tess and Ollie.”
Sandra looked surprised but gave Maggie
a weak smile and nodded.
“Good. When I’m finished in the kitchen, I’ll take your car and fill it up.” Maggie took the glasses and emptied the remnants in the sink. She washed the dishes and emptied the bin. As she moved around the kitchen, she could hear Sandra upstairs opening and closing draws.
Maggie took Sandra’s car and drove into town to get petrol. It was Sunday, so the usually busy main street was quiet. Maggie turned onto Sutton Street just as a police car drove past going in the opposite direction. She craned her neck to see who was driving, but the vehicle sped past in a blur of white and red. I wonder if it’s Harness. Last night she’d left the station without really speaking to him...What was there to say? She wondered what new tragedy he was dealing with and hoped, for his sake, that it wasn’t as bad as last night.
A few moments later, Maggie pulled into the petrol station. Like the rest of town, it was quiet, almost eerily so. She filled the tank and then took the watering can next to the pump and poured water over her hands. A lone crow hopped across the little grassy area at the side of the petrol station. It jumped onto a picnic table then fluttered up to a telephone pole. Holding her dripping hands out in front of her, Maggie gasped. There were crows, maybe two dozen of the things, lining the wires above the pumps. The scene put her in mind of an old movie where birds suddenly started gathering and attacking people. She wiped her hands on the front of her jeans, keeping her eyes on the birds. Had there always been so many crows in Thorn Tree?
She was about to go inside and pay when an old green Jeep pulled in and parked on the other side of the pump. Jackson flung open the door and jumped out. Behind him, the birds squawked and flapped their wings.
“Maggie.” He sounded breathless. “I heard about Tess.” He stopped, seeming unsure of himself.
“It seems like everyone has heard about Tess.” The minute the words were out, she recognised how bitter she sounded and wished she could take it back.
The Stone Flowers Page 5