‘You’re new here, lovey.’ The burgundy-haired cashier made it a friendly statement.
‘Yes. I’m staying at my—out at Peppertree Crossing.’
‘Oh, you’ll be Marian’s niece, then.’ The woman huffed as she hauled a watermelon onto the scales.
Evidently, Marian had gone out with a bang, making up for years of silence. Roni nodded.
‘South Australia doesn’t do plastic bags, lovey. You’ll have to take a box. Unless you brought a carry bag?’
‘Sorry, no. I didn’t realise there was a bag rule.’
The cashier flattened the sunny-yellow apron over the comfortable lumpiness of her stomach. ‘No problem, just letting you know for next time. No, no,’ she waved away Roni’s cash. ‘Marian’s groceries go on her tab; her accountant squares it at the end of the month. She said same goes for you. Just sign the docket here.’
Roni scrawled her name on the bottom of the printout. If she’d known she didn’t have to hand over cash she would have splurged on the packet of Tim Tams she’d picked up and put down twice. But, then, that would be taking advantage of Marian’s generosity. In fact, Roni would rather pay for her own groceries, but insisting seemed likely to encourage a conversation of more depth and length than she felt prepared for.
‘You found the house all tidy and the cupboards stocked, then?’ the woman continued. ‘I didn’t know whether you’d prefer an apple pie or apricot, but I always feel that apricot has just that bit more flavour to it. Hubs doesn’t agree. He insists that apple is a classic. But you know men; creatures of habit.’
‘Oh, you’re …’ Roni trailed off, trying to remember the name Derek had given. The woman’s nametag had slid down one pendulous bosom and Roni tipped her neck to make it out. Lynn. ‘You’re Marian’s housekeeper, right?’
Lynn smiled. ‘I used to pop out there to help her out. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing me now, though?’
She sounded hopeful, but all Roni could think of was the expense. ‘I guess not. But I’ll see you in a couple of weeks when I’ve worked my way through this lot.’ She hefted the grocery box.
‘Oh, sooner than that, lovey,’ Lynn said. ‘Tracey said you’re coming along to the meeting next week.’ She tucked the signed docket in the till. ‘You’re doing lamingtons, right? I’m more into quilting, myself. I try to avoid the cooking fundraisers, because I’d eat all the profits.’ She slapped her stomach and grinned. ‘Oops, sorry, love, rush hour.’ An elderly gentleman had shuffled up behind Roni, shunting his groceries down the conveyor-less counter, and Lynn smiled at him. ‘Hello there, Young Eric. What can I do you for today?’ She fluttered her fingers at Roni. ‘See you then, lovey.’
As Roni turned away, Lynn whispered loud enough for an apparently hard-of-hearing Young Eric to catch, ‘That pretty little thing is Marian’s niece. You know, that one. Down from the big smoke.’
Her cheeks burned, and she exited quickly. So, she was that one. Just how much of her story had Marian shared? And how angry was Denise about the revelation? She hadn’t seemed upset yesterday, more dryly amused. Mind, she also hadn’t seemed like a woman who would steal her sister’s husband and dump her own bastard in another state.
Roni slammed the car door and took out her phone.
Tracey answered on the second ring. ‘Hello, love, where are you? Standing in the middle of a paddock? Marian always said she had to stump halfway up the hill to get a signal, unless she used the landline. Or are you running away from a bowl of dough that’s taken on a life of its own?’
Roni smiled despite herself. She would win the battle with that damn bread if it was the last thing she achieved here. ‘Actually, I’m in town. I was wondering …’ She rubbed at a worn patch on her jeans. Never in her life had she dropped in on someone.
‘In town? Pop over for a cuppa then, love. I’ve just pulled a batch of pumpkin scones out of the oven.’
It only took a couple of minutes to find the house Tracey described: solid stone trimmed in Brunswick Green with a matching green picket fence and red-painted verandah. Rose bushes bloomed in the front garden and a cast-iron setting, much like Marian’s, graced the porch, overlooking a broad, tree-lined street.
‘It’s open,’ Tracey called from the depths of the house.
As Roni hesitantly opened the flywire door, Tracey appeared at the end of a short hallway, rubbing floury hands on a chequered apron. ‘Don’t be a stranger, love, door’s always open. Come on in. I’ve got to get this batch in the oven. Bear doesn’t bite.’ She disappeared again.
Roni wiped the dirt from the pavement on the doormat, then made her way along the hall, trying not to stare too obviously at the photographs lining the walls. A medium-sized grey dog, fluffier than a pompom, barrelled into the hall and sat at her feet, a friendly smile on his face.
Tracey popped her head around the door jamb. ‘Did you spot your aunt in the pictures?’
‘I’ve no idea what she looks like.’
‘Oh. Oh, of course you haven’t, you poor thing.’ Bangles jangling, Tracey embraced Roni in a one-armed hug and led her back to the front door. ‘Well, you will now. Though Marian wasn’t one for albums and scrapbooks, I certainly am. Look. Here. And here.’ She pointed to a pair of framed eight-by-tens, two laughing women sitting astride an elephant, their faces obscured by sunglasses and hats.
‘You rode elephants?’ The only reins she’d imagined Marian holding were those of the farm.
‘Oh, yes. That would be, what, twenty years ago, I think. Before Andrew got sick. Bali, of course. What Aussie doesn’t make a Bali pilgrimage?’
Maybe one who’d never been able to afford to leave Sydney.
‘And look, this is a lovely photo. Adelaide Cup Day, 2008. Doesn’t she look beautiful?’ Tracey clasped her hands, lips thinning as she pressed them together.
A handsome woman raised her champagne glass toward the photographer. Roni’s heart tripped. Clear-cut features, an aquiline nose much like her own—and Denise’s—but steel-grey hair in a pixie crop rather than a brown-streaked mane. But her eyes. So familiar.
Roni had spent more time wondering about Marian than about Denise, probably because they were linked by the letters. To discover they shared so many features rocked her, the sense of homecoming, of finding where she belonged, hitting her with an unexpected, almost physical force. She staggered, fingertips pressed to the wall.
‘Are you all right, love?’ Tracey bubbled with instant concern.
‘Yeah, sure. It’s just I’ve never … never had a face to put to the name. Well, I guess until a couple of weeks ago I didn’t even have a name. Are there—do you have any pictures of … of …’ Her mouth wouldn’t form the words. Denise’s visit had been too short, almost dreamlike, and she needed tangible evidence to piece her family together.
‘Your parents?’ Tracey said gently. ‘I’ve none of Denise, but there’d be some of Andrew in my albums, somewhere or other. I’ll dig them out for you later. Oh. My.’ A horrified look crossed her face. ‘You did read the letter? You know now?’
‘I know. And I met Denise. She came around. Briefly.’
Tracey paused, hand in the small of Roni’s back. ‘How did that go?’
Roni lifted one shoulder. ‘Fine, I guess.’
Tracey waited for a beat, then pointed along the hallway. ‘Come into the kitchen and sit down, I’ve a cuppa brewing. It must have been a shock for you, discovering you have family over here.’
‘That’s an understatement.’ She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and placed it on the table. As she sat, the dog—Bear—rested his head on her knee, looking up with soulful eyes.
Tracey slid a deep-blue mug with a large hand-painted sunflower on one side across the table and added a plate of split, buttered scones. ‘Try a scone, love, they’re best when they’re hot. Marian said she’d discovered you ended up in state care rather than being adopted?’
‘I was fostered.’ Why, even now, with all her experience, did that still
sound better than admitting to state care? As though, at least briefly, someone had wanted her to be part of their family.
Just not in any acceptable way.
Tracey’s fair eyebrows rose. ‘Why didn’t you stay with your foster family, then?’
The scone turned to a lump of lead in Roni’s mouth and she swallowed painfully. Why? Because she couldn’t take the fear and humiliation any longer. It had required every ounce of courage she had to inform the authorities of what had been going on. Only to have them lock her in care like it was a juvie, like she was the one who’d done something wrong. ‘It just didn’t work out too great.’ She choked the words out and washed them away with hot tea.
‘It’s such a shame you couldn’t have come here, then.’
Roni’s trembling fingers crumbled the scone into tiny pieces on her plate.
‘Marian would have loved it. I know she would have loved you.’
Yeah, well, shame Marian hadn’t sent for her before state care became a necessity. Before the nightmare. Before she was broken. She shoved her hands under her thighs, where Bear immediately tried to snuffle them out. ‘Seems there was a whole lot of loving going on in my family. You know, with my uncle being my father.’ A father who’d married so he could have children but had been too ashamed to claim her.
Tracey shook her head and tutted. ‘Yes, well that was messy. Bear, enough,’ she chided the dog, though her tone was fond.
‘Denise said she stayed close with him?’ Why was she picking at the scab, reinforcing that, despite their supposed antipathy toward one another, she was the only one who had been excluded from the family?
Tracey snorted. ‘Stayed close? Oh, she tried. Not that Andrew would have a bar of her. That woman never knows when enough is enough, it’s like she has something to prove. And she was particularly bad with Andrew. Of course, none of us knew about them, but there was plenty of gossip. She revelled in your father’s guilt but especially loved to taunt Marian that she’d had Andrew once, and could again.’ She handed Roni a paper serviette. ‘The ridiculous thing is, if she’d known her sister better, Denise would have realised Marian was immune to that particular threat.’
‘That is messy.’ Roni pressed a palm over her mobile, hoping Denise wouldn’t pick this moment to reply to the text Roni had impulsively sent on the way into town. After vacillating all night, she finally decided that, regardless of their history, for Roo’s sake she should get to know her mother. Now she wasn’t so sure. ‘Seriously, is your dog actually smiling at me?’
Tracey chortled. ‘He’s a keeshond. They’re known as the smiling Dutchman. Knows the way to any woman’s heart, that one Though he has Matt wrapped around his paw, too.’
‘Speaking of Krueg—Matt. He said something about a cow sale. Do you know if it’s held every week?’
‘Cow sale? The stock market, you mean? Yes, every Thursday, end of Maurice Road.’ Tracey waved a hand as though the direction would mean something to Roni. ‘But why on earth do you want to know about that?’
‘M-Matt’—using his first name sounded odd—‘was going to pick up a poddy for me, but he’s been busy.’ A creative mix of truth and extrapolation.
‘Really? I wouldn’t have expected him to go there. Most of that stock is headed to the abattoir.’
Roni lifted an eyebrow but Tracey nudged her chin at the plate of scones. ‘What do you think of them then, love? Flo Bjelke-Petersen’s recipe. Oh, she’d be before your time, wouldn’t she? I don’t know that she was ever in the CWA, but I’ll tell you, we do love her recipes. Good home-style food, none of your fancy cooking-in-a-plastic-bag rubbish. I was thinking, we might even start you off with her scones.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what Marian was thinking, insisting you try bread first.’
‘Apparently something to do with self-sufficiency. So Matt can judge whether I’m good enough.’ She hid the sour words in strawberry jam. ‘Though he did say the loaf was nice yesterday. It wasn’t.’
Tracey snorted into her cup. ‘Matt would say it’s nice because he’s nice. He suggested I drop by regularly to make sure you’re not alone too much. As though he needed to ask!’ Her halo trembled in mild annoyance. ‘And the poor boy probably hasn’t had any home cooking, good or otherwise, since Marian passed.’
‘His mum doesn’t cook?’
‘Elayne? I suppose she does. She’s not in the CWA, though.’
Clearly, the CWA was the measure of all women.
Over a little more discussion about baking and the people she would meet at the CWA, Roni finished her cup of tea. ‘Okay then, I’d better be off. Oh, is there a library in town?’ Her heart raced, not solely because of the sugar hit. Within minutes she would be able to see exactly how her baby looked right now, at almost ten weeks.
‘Of course there is, love.’ Tracey seemed miffed that Roni would question the likelihood. ‘Open every Thursday, because that’s pension day. It’s in the council office. I’ll write down the address. Better yet, pop past here on Thursday and I’ll take you down and introduce you to Sid. Just make sure you leave plenty of time, because he loves a good chat about everything you’re reading.’
Thursday only? And a librarian who got his nose in her business? She would have to think her way around that one, but for now she would make do with bookmarking some pages on her phone to read through later. As she pulled from the kerb, pressing a palm to the horn in response to Tracey’s enthusiastic farewell wave, her mind flicked to Greg. She neither wanted nor expected anything from him, and experience proved she’d get even less. But he had rights. At some stage she would have to tell him about the baby. But not yet. For now, Roo was her secret, one to nurse closely, revelling in the thrill that came with every thought of the life growing within her. So much to dream about. So much hope and potential for a future, things she’d not have dared imagine being possible only a fortnight earlier. And undeniably, all thanks to a woman she had never met.
She shook her head, as though she could erase the confusion. Even in their absence her family seemed determined to tear her apart. She felt both anger and gratitude toward Marian, and loathing and … something she chose not to label, something unbearably hopeful, toward Denise.
The hardware store was easy to find in the small town, and, with unexpected cash in her wallet as a result of not paying for groceries, she loaded her cart with seedlings. The lush greenery she could imagine filling the vegetable beds would impress Matt Krueger when he came by. Which was supposed to be today, and now she realised with a jolt of confusion that a tiny part of her regretted she would miss his visit.
Pushing the thought away, she grabbed a punnet of each variety. Then doubled up. Never mind self-sufficiency, she would produce enough to feed the town. Show Matt how it should be done.
She paused among the fruit trees, fingering the labels. Nectarines, apricots, almonds, oranges, some with buds furled tight, waiting to burst open. Should she expand the orchard? It would prove her commitment to Marian’s self-sufficiency ideals.
And then maybe she should stay to see the trees fruit? A buzz of excitement tingled through her at the thought, but she quickly tamped it down. It was clear that remaining longer than necessary would see her dragged into the community. She knew it was safer to stay comfortably numb, encased in her own existence, than to open herself to hurt and disillusionment. She had made that mistake as a kid and then stupidly ignored the lesson, allowing herself to trust Greg.
No one would slip past her defences again.
Her phone chimed and Denise’s name flashed onscreen. Defying her determination to stay numb, her heart smacked painfully against her ribs and she angrily opened the text.
Fantastic! Let’s do coffee tomorrow morning! Soooo looking forward to it! Ring me on your way in, I’ll give you my addy. Bout ten?
Roni pressed her fingertips to her lips. She wouldn’t count the exclamation points. She mustn’t. They didn’t mean anything.
Did they?
Chapter Nine
teen
Roni stared at the message, disappointment heavy in her chest.
Sorry, tiny problem’s come up. I’ll have to cancel today. Mum xxx
Lucky she had checked her phone as she crossed the cattle grid, before driving all the way into town for the second day in a row. She carefully slid her thumb across the screen, making certain the message saved. Mum xxx. From now on, would there be birthday and Christmas cards with the same valediction? Shame. Anything I can help with?
The reply came instantly. No. Thanks, though. I’m just really sad not to see you xxx
She hugged the phone to her chest for a moment, then took a deep breath. I’m in town on Thursday, would that work? A simple suggestion was not the same as being needy.
Oh, it might! I was hoping to make it before then, though. Will let you know for sure later xxx
Roni sent back a smiley face, then spent fifteen minutes repeatedly checking her phone. Had her response been too offhand? Maybe she should have ended the message with a kiss?
No. She wasn’t ready to go there, yet.
She started the engine and turned the car around. With plants to get in the ground and work to do, she couldn’t park on the edge of the drive all day, waiting for contact that might never come.
Still, she took a break every hour, walking up the hill behind the house to get a signal and check her messages.
Hours later, after getting all the plants in and locking the chickens away, she made her final foray for the day.
Sorry, Veronica. I planned to come out and surprise you tomorrow, because I really don’t want to wait almost a week to see you again. We’ve a lot of time to make up for! But my car’s broken down, so I’m kind of stuck. Spent all day running around, trying to get a decent quote on repairs xxx
This was the sort of normal Roni had always secretly longed for, a to-and-fro of the mundanities of life. The message had only been sent eight minutes earlier, and she told herself she shouldn’t reply immediately. It would look needy. Except … Did you manage to get anything sorted?
The Farm at Peppertree Crossing Page 15