Heart of the Valley

by Cathryn Hein

  Lachie joined her leaning against the stable wall, a plastic lunch box in his hands. ‘I brought some sandwiches.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Have you had any of the tea?’

  She shook her head, unable to take her eyes off Poddy. Tony had administered more painkillers but Poddy’s head remained lowered, his body language forlorn. The sight filled her with pity and anguish. She couldn’t bear to think of him suffering. Not again.

  Lachie took her hand, his skin rough but warm, and squeezed. ‘I’ll pour you a cuppa. It’ll make you feel a bit better.’

  Nothing would make her feel better. Not while Poddy was in danger. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees to her chest. How could this be happening to him? He was a sweet, innocent horse who deserved to live out his days happily grazing with his friend Venus. Not trembling in a drab stable, ravaged by poison.

  She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, wishing the world away.

  ‘Hey,’ said Lachie, sitting beside her and opening his arm. ‘Come here.’

  She sank into his embrace, her body tucked and cradled against his side, her head on his chest. She stared at Poddy with sore eyes while Lachie’s heart beat strong against her ear.

  ‘I’m so scared, Lachie.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.’

  ‘Why Poddy? That’s what I don’t understand. Why not Sod or Elly or Venus or Robert or someone else’s horse?’

  ‘No reason. It’s just life.’

  ‘Then life’s shit.’

  ‘Not always. Sometimes life’s magical.’ He traced his knuckles down the side of her face. ‘Come on. Your tea’s getting cold.’

  She sat up, feeling strange, like she’d missed something, something important, but unable to fathom what. Lachie handed her a mug. She took a sip. The tea was tepid but sweet, milky and comforting. He offered sandwiches and biscuits but she refused. Tea she could tolerate, but food would never make it past the constriction in her throat.

  As the hours passed, the light filtering through the barn’s skylights dimmed and finally darkened. Brooke rose frequently to take Poddy’s temperature and whisper comforting words to him, releasing long breaths when the reading remained elevated but steady. Her mobile rang several times. She answered Tony’s calls immediately, relaying information to him, listening carefully to the vet’s instructions. Angus’s call she answered in monosyllables until he gave up on her. A few seconds later, Lachie’s phone jingled. He excused himself and stepped out into the night. She didn’t need to see the screen or hear his conversation to know it was Angus. If Brooke were her brother, she would have done the same.

  The three calls from Ariel she let pass through to voicemail.

  At ten, Lachie left for the cottage, returning twenty minutes later with damp hair and smelling of soap and Lachie-ness, his arms loaded with pillows and blankets, and another thermos of tea.

  ‘You don’t have to stay,’ Brooke said when she realised he carried enough bedding for two.

  ‘I want to.’ He passed her a blanket and a pillow, and sat down next to her. ‘Anyway, I’m just following orders. You look after Poddy, I look after you.’

  ‘It’s not your job, Lachie.’

  He smiled and draped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her against his warmth, gifting her comfort where none seemed possible. ‘Yeah, it is.’

  The night extended, long and exhausting. Brooke kept trying to think of things to talk about but her mind was too filled with worry to think beyond Poddy. Lachie seemed content to keep the silence. Each time she returned after tending Poddy he’d hold out the blanket and let her crawl into the warmth and security of his embrace.

  As dawn crept slowly through the barn, Tony arrived. He took one look at her and shook his head at her dishevelled appearance. To everyone’s relief, the majority of Poddy’s swelling had dissipated overnight and he was at last able to breathe properly through his nostrils. Despite Tony’s diligent disinfection of the bite zone, the marks had begun to weep, but Poddy appeared more alert and responsive to Brooke’s attentions, raising her hope of his recovery.

  ‘He’s beating it,’ she announced.

  But the vet remained sceptical.

  Despite Brooke’s early optimism, Poddy’s condition improved no further. For five days, except for brief toilet and shower breaks, she didn’t leave the stable. Alerted by Lachie, Nancy bustled in with delicious casseroles, cakes and puddings, mumsily urging Brooke to eat up, but Brooke had no interest in food. She ate meagrely, not tasting any of it, surviving instead on the endless thermoses of milky tea Lachie supplied.

  Numbness settled in. Her guard against the darkness.

  People came and went. Chloe, Andrew, Nancy, Angus. Neighbours and Pitcorthie locals dropped by to offer sympathy and support, but Brooke didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone but Tony. Though her relationship with Andrew had improved of late, with hints of their former ease returning, Brooke still expected an argument when she refused his offer to stay, but he barely protested. Mouth thin, he simply glanced from her to Lachie and nodded, as if he finally understood. She had someone else now. Andrew and Chloe might be her dearest friends, but in her blackest, most fear-filled moments it was Lachie, with his calm solidity, who kept her fragile insides from shattering.

  She ceased answering her phone, leaving Lachie to take the brunt. He fielded every call, except those from her mother.

  ‘Talk to her, Brooke,’ he said, holding out his phone for the umpteenth time. Ariel, like the others, had given up calling Brooke’s mobile, bombarding Lachie with calls instead. ‘Even if it’s just for a few minutes. She’s worried sick.’

  Brooke shook her head. ‘I can’t deal with her right now.’ She couldn’t deal with anyone.

  ‘A few words. That’s all. She’s your mother. She loves you.’

  She rolled out a breath, knowing Lachie was right. ‘All right.’ She took the phone and pressed it to her ear. ‘Mum.’

  ‘Brooke, thank God. How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And Poddy?’

  ‘Poddy’s … Poddy’s hanging in there.’

  ‘He’s a strong horse. He’ll fight.’ She paused. ‘Brooke, darling, I want to come up and stay with you. Help you through this.’

  ‘Like you’ve been trying to help me these past months? No, Mum. You stay in Sydney where you belong. I’ll stay here where I belong. Where I should have been all the time.’

  ‘Brooke, that’s not fair.’

  Disbelief and fury turned Brooke’s voice glacial. ‘Don’t talk to me about what’s not fair. My beautiful Poddy’s fighting for his life. That’s what’s not fair.’

  Suddenly the phone jerked from her hand.

  ‘Ariel, it’s Lachie.’ He moved swiftly to the door but she caught his words. ‘I’m sorry. She’s upset … I don’t think that’s a good idea right now … Maybe later, when Poddy’s better … I will. I promise.’

  Brooke’s pointless anger faltered. She leaned her head against the stable wall and let the numbness wash back over her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said when Lachie hung up. ‘I just can’t deal with her right now. I know she’s not to blame. I know I’m not either.’ She turned dull eyes onto him. ‘But I can’t help thinking that if I’d been here …’ She pressed knuckles hard against her teeth as tears, always so close, stung hot.

  ‘Hey, stop it.’ He crouched down next to her, pulled her hand away and gently rubbed it between his big palms. ‘Poddy doesn’t need you upset. He needs you strong.’

  For Poddy’s sake she tried.

  Though Lachie came to check on her during the night, he retreated to the cottage to sleep. The farm couldn’t be neglected, and they both understood the danger of mixing fatigue with machinery. The nights seemed colder without him, lonelier, and in the dark quiet the monster she’d been slowly taming roused and breathed its filth into her mind, blaming her for Poddy’s suffering. For not
having the fortitude to stand up against Mark and her mother. For not fighting for what she loved.

  Poddy’s condition remained fragile. The cold he’d suffered the previous week had left his immune system weaker than normal. Despite heavy doses of antibiotics, infection took hold, and the bite area developed into a large open wound. Layer by layer, the skin peeled away until a sore the diameter of a tennis ball opened up. Tony had warned of the complication, but the reality of that ugly suppurating hole knocked Brooke sideways. She comforted Poddy as best she could but sometimes, when the horror became too great, she huddled in the stable corner, knees drawn up, trembling, as the hope she once possessed leaked slowly into the night.

  At dawn on the sixth day the last of it disappeared.

  Brooke woke from a doze and rubbed her eyes. Suddenly she stilled. She peered into the hazy light as a creeping sense of wrongness sent goosebumps down her back. Hands braced against the stable wall she moved upright, eyes not leaving Poddy, dread weighing her limbs.

  Across the smell of wood and manure came the scent of corruption, sweat and pain. Swallowing hard, she took a careful step forward. Poddy’s good eye stared dully back at her. Ears that had swivelled with life and attention hung limp. His tail was raised in distress and his once glossy coat was sweat-stained and devoid of shine. Wheezy breaths scraped the quiet like sandpaper.

  Working fast, praying against all instinct that she was wrong, Brooke checked Poddy’s temperature. She stared at the thermometer, swaying in shock as she registered the result.

  ‘No. Please, no.’

  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his fevered neck, choking on the knowledge that the worst of Tony’s warnings had come true. Poddy’s once powerful body could no longer withstand the infection. In all likelihood it had reached the bone.

  ‘Brooke?’

  She kissed Poddy’s cheek and stepped away. Time mattered now. She couldn’t afford grief.

  Lachie’s gaze flicked from her to Poddy. He placed the thermos and a plate of toast on the ground before standing in front of her and cupping her cheek. Her lip trembled at his touch, the sympathy in his expression threatening to unravel her. She grasped his fingers and held them against her skin, then breathed in hard, willing herself to say the words.

  ‘Can you fetch the rifle for me?’

  ‘Don’t you want to wait for Tony?’

  ‘No. He’s suffering. I can’t …’ She shuddered in a breath. ‘He’s endured enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know how much you love him.’

  Her mouth wobbled as grief rose like a solid prickly mass in her throat. Using what little strength she had remaining, she clamped down on it. She’d indulge it later. Once Poddy was out of pain. ‘Thank you. Now, please, can you bring the rifle?’

  He nodded and walked briskly to the cottage where the property’s .22 was safely stored in a steel cabinet in the spare room. The keys were once Brooke’s responsibility but Angus had passed them to Lachie. At the time she’d seen it as a betrayal. Now she was grateful for the time it granted her.

  ‘You stay brave, Poddy-baby,’ she said, standing on his good side, stroking his cheek. ‘You stay big and strong and you never forget how much I love you. You’re going to see your old friend Oddy now. He’ll have missed you.’ A sob broke. ‘Like I’m going to miss you.’

  She ran out of words. The stream of love she’d wanted to offer him was sluiced away by tears she couldn’t stop. She stroked Poddy’s cheek, his neck, his shoulder, his ears, an ache throbbing in her chest as she tried to memorise every muscle, every contour of his big courageous body.

  Hearing Lachie’s return she placed her lips against Poddy’s white star, kissing him for the last time. ‘Be brave, Poddy. I love you.’

  She stepped away, breathing hard, digging into her core, mining it for steel.

  No more room for sentiment. She had a task to complete.

  Lachie stood outside the stable with the gun, barrel angled to the ground. She approached, preparing herself to take it, for the feel of warm timber and cool metal, the machinery of death.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Greg Hitchcock has a front-end loader we should be able to borrow. Maybe you could get it for me? We’ll bury him up with the others.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She waited for him to move, to pass her the rifle, but he stood there looking at her as though it was her who should be moving. ‘It’s time,’ she prompted, holding out her hands.

  His face dropped. He took a swift step backwards. ‘No way, Brooke.’

  ‘He’s my horse,’ she said, angry at him for delaying. This needed to be done fast. ‘It’s my responsibility.’

  ‘Like hell it is. And I’m not going to stand here and argue over it either. It’s cruel to all of us. So say your farewell then go lock yourself in the cottage and don’t move until I say you can.’

  She recognised the jut of his jaw, the squared feet and shoulders, the tense body, and knew there was no point fighting. The wash of relief made her dizzy. Lachie would make sure it was done right, without shaking hands and blurred vision. A swift and painless end.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, before turning to her beloved horse once more. ‘You be good for Lachie. You be brave and stand still and soon it’ll be over.’ She kissed his star, his cheek, the soft hair above his good eye, hands caressing, stroking, memorising. ‘I will never forget you, my champion. Never.’

  She turned away, tears dripping, mouth contorting.

  ‘Go now,’ said Lachie. ‘And take Billy with you.’

  She nodded and walked to the door, determined not to look back, but the elastic band of love holding her to Poddy was too great. One hand clinging to the frame, she took him in, locking him deep and safe in her heart.

  Her darling Poddy. Her friend.

  Tears splashed. She blinked, needing her vision clear, but they fell relentlessly. She gave in. Photographs, video and memories would be her comfort now. And her never-ending love.

  ‘Promise me you’ll make it quick,’ she whispered.

  ‘I promise.’

  Seventeen

  Lachie watched Brooke as she snatched up Billy and ran from the barn. At the cottage door she halted and glanced back, expression stricken, clutching Billy high against her chest the way a frightened child clutches a favourite soft toy. He willed her onward, understanding the plea in her eyes, the fear for Poddy. Only when he pressed a hand over his heart and then opened his palm to her, reinforcing the promise he’d made to make Poddy’s death quick, did she finally mouth ‘thank you’ and step inside.

  Aware of Poddy’s increasingly laboured breaths, he worked fast. Though he’d lost condition, Poddy still weighed close to half a tonne. Lachie needed him to fall within easy access of the front-end loader, which meant leading him into the space at the rear of the shed near the big sliding doors, an area that had the added advantage of being easily washed down. He didn’t want Brooke remembering Poddy in death, marked by a bloody stain. She’d already witnessed enough.

  To make room, he slid open the doors and drove the truck out, leaving it parked close as an extra shield in case Brooke tried to watch from the cottage. The space cleared, he loaded the gun and with the safety on, laid it flat next to the float. He stared at it for a moment, his stomach tensed against what was to come. Though it was a necessary part of life on the land, he hated shooting animals. He hated the snap of the bullet, the sudden slump of extinguished life, the hollow feeling it left in his gut. But neither could he stand suffering. And Poddy was suffering badly.

  Not wanting to hurt the horse with a noseband across his wound, Lachie led Poddy out of the stable using a lead rope wrapped around his neck. Racked with fever and pain, the horse made shuffling, slow progress, but he followed obediently, standing where Lachie positioned him with his head lowered, a gentleman to the end.

  Heart thumping hard, Lachie picked up the rifle, flicked off the safety and took aim. Suddenly, the enormity of what he was a
bout to do overwhelmed him. In Brooke’s eyes he might never escape this act. This one shot could forever taint him as the man who killed her beloved Poddy.

  He lowered the rifle and waited for his breathing to steady. He couldn’t afford to think about the consequences for him and Brooke right now. What he needed to do was take steady aim and not fuck this up. For Poddy’s sake, and Brooke’s, he had to do this right.

  Jaw set, he raised the rifle.

  Poddy blinked his dull eye, resigned to his fate.

  The shot cracked the morning calm, rushing birds to flight and sending horses squealing. As the last echo rattled into the distance, peace descended, as though the Valley’s creatures had all bowed their heads to mourn in silence the passing of one of their favourite sons.

  Lachie walked from the shed to look at the sky, aglow with the rising day. Across the paddocks came the low of dairy cattle moving to morning milking. A magpie warbled to a mottled juvenile from her fence-top perch before hopping down to join her offspring. Sod whickered from his yard, seeking attention and breakfast. The world roused again, embracing life, moving on.

  Something he prayed Brooke could do too.

  Lachie stood guard over the body until Nancy arrived. He should have called her before, had Nancy sitting with Brooke when she heard the shot, but he’d been too worried about getting her out of the way and saving the horse further suffering to think of it. While he waited, he phoned Tony and then Angus to pass on the news and assure them Brooke was being well cared for. He phoned Chloe as well, and her sobbing lament for Poddy and his special place in Brooke’s heart did nothing to alleviate Lachie’s unease.

  Nancy’s hand fluttered to her mouth when she saw Poddy’s collapsed form, but to Lachie’s relief, bar a moistening of her eyes, she held her emotions in check.