The Farm at Peppertree Crossing

by Léonie Kelsall

  She couldn’t afford to allow any deviation from the path she had set herself. Her, Scritches and Roo. No room for anyone else.

  Allowing even a chicken into her heart had been a mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  No rooster to wake her this morning. No Miss Fuzzypants waiting to greet her. No need to rush to let the chickens out; the survivors had to stay locked in for a few days.

  She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

  Couldn’t.

  Instead, Matt kept creeping into her thoughts. He was so unpredictable, one moment fun, maybe even bordering on flirtatious, the next taciturn and withdrawn, monosyllabic to the extreme. What the hell was his deal? She was now fairly certain he held no intent toward the property, but then why did he keep shutting her out? What was in his past that left him so … so … She jerked upright in bed, upsetting Scritches from his perch on her belly.

  So like her. Wary.

  She fluffed the quilt, pounding at imagined lumps. Wary enough that he’d said he wouldn’t be back again this week, and that left days stretching ahead of her. She had plenty to do but no real incentive to get anything done, now she didn’t need to impress him.

  No, that was wrong. She’d been trying to earn her inheritance, not impress him.

  Hadn’t she?

  So why was she sitting here thinking about him?

  She threw herself from the bed and stalked to the bathroom.

  As she stepped from the shower a few minutes later and wrapped herself in a towel, she froze. Had she heard something?

  Scritches was ahead of her, racing to the back door before a knock even sounded. He chirruped and rubbed himself against the wooden frame.

  ‘Who is it?’ Roni twisted the damp towel tighter.

  ‘Hey, Roni, only me.’

  Matt. Why did her heart rate increase? Because she looked forward to a good, though undeclared, battle of wills? ‘Hang on, I’ll be there in a minute.’ She raced back to the bedroom and dragged on cheap yoga pants and a long T-shirt, tousled her wet hair. Hell, twenty past five, barely dawn. What kind of hours did this guy keep?

  There was no one outside the back door as she unlocked it, but a barnyard chorus drew her to the orchard.

  His head pressed against the calf’s flank, whose front hoof was clenched between his knees, Matt glanced up. ‘Realised last night I forgot to leave the medication for Baby, and I wanted to check him for footrot, too. Stan’s mad as a cut snake, tends to keep his weaners in a wet barn.’

  ‘Thanks. I thought you had a full-on week, though? It could’ve waited.’

  ‘Footrot waits for no man,’ Matt intoned sonorously, then shot her a glance. ‘I kind of wanted to swing by and check on you, too. Yeah, I know—you’ve got it all under control, right?’

  She crossed her arms as a breeze stirred the air. ‘Not much left for me to have under control, is there?’

  ‘Reckon Goat and Baby here would think different.’ Matt dropped the calf’s hoof and stood, dusting off his jeans. ‘I noticed yesterday you made inroads on the veggie garden. Some interesting choices there. You really eat all that stuff?’

  ‘I can’t pronounce half of it, never mind eat it. Looks like I’ve already managed to murder some, though.’ She nodded at the wilted leaves.

  Matt pushed Goat out of the way with his knee and crossed to the bed. ‘Guessing you bought the seedlings from the hardware shop? Their stuff’s greenhouse raised, so you don’t have much chance once you put them outdoors. And the plants aren’t seasonal.’ He lifted a floppy, yellowing stem. ‘Brussels sprouts. Disgusting, and a winter veg.’

  ‘Why would they sell plants that are unsuitable?’

  ‘Money. The universal motivator.’ The humour dropped from his voice. ‘Bottom line for why anyone does anything, isn’t it?’ He pinched off the top of the plant and crushed it in his hand.

  ‘That’s hardcore cynical.’

  ‘Or realistic.’

  She frowned at the vegetable patch and spoke slowly, unaccustomed to putting her private thoughts into words. ‘Maybe it’s possible to start out pursuing money but then realise there are more important things in life. Like a sense of accomplishment.’

  Why did her pulse ramp up as Matt assessed her for a long moment? Hell, she should be used to it by now. Eventually he nodded. ‘Maybe. Anyway, I’d better head. I’ll catch you next week.’

  Again the invisible wall slammed into place, as though he mistrusted her intent. Not surprising, given she was no longer certain of it herself.

  More irritating than the wall, though, was her resentment of it. She should appreciate that he backed the hell off and left her to do her own thing. Yet she felt … deserted. Damn, what was it about this man that made her feel such a need to be seen?

  She turned on her heel, throwing the words over her shoulder. ‘No worries. I’ll see you whenever.’

  It was wrong that ‘whenever’ seemed to stretch interminably before her.

  During the week she discovered berry-covered bushes growing in the shelter of the sheds at the bottom of the yard. Birds flitted in and out, making nests among the protective thorns. The trees were blackberry, or raspberry, or something. Should she dare try to impress Matt by cultivating the wild berries instead of waiting for his plants? Perhaps Tracey would teach her to make a pie?

  She tried a couple of berries, screwing up her face at the astringent taste that dried out her tongue. Easily fixed, though: each day she’d bucket water across from the coop. Add sunshine, of which there was now plenty, and she would have a bumper crop.

  Scritches shadowed her footsteps as she roamed the farm, poking his nose into everything and flopping into bed exhausted and dusty each night—much like her. If the prospect of raising Roo in the city hadn’t been deterrent enough, how could she consider taking the cat back there, restricting him indoors after three weeks of blissful freedom?

  Why would she?

  She didn’t have a single valid motive for returning to Sydney but a growing number of reasons for staying here. Despite the threat of the fox stealing her remaining chickens, she liked country life. There was a sense of security with the stone walls of the farmhouse wrapped around her, soothing solitude in being able to walk kilometres without encountering traffic and crowds, peace in the silence that was never actually silent but filled with the whisperings of tiny creatures, the songs of the birds and the poetry of the breeze lilting across the ripening crops and through the trees. Here was better for Scritches. Better for Roo. And maybe better for her.

  It was almost a full week before the text she’d been waiting for arrived. She had been continually tempted to message her mother, hoping for news, but had limited herself to one text a day, never enquiring whether the travel agent had prepared the new itinerary. She refused to appear needy.

  This time, Denise was waiting for her inside Ploughs and Pies.

  Samantha greeted her cheerily from behind the counter. ‘Hello, Roni. Had a go at those lamingtons yet?’

  Keeping her head down at the CWA meeting, she’d not noticed Samantha there, but obviously Samantha had heard all about her. ‘Not yet. Can’t say I’m in any hurry. Baking’s never been my thing.’ She nodded toward the well-stocked cabinet. ‘I guess you’ll be doing it, though?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Samantha swiped a cloth over the top of the glass display. ‘I’m more into plating and presentation than baking. These cakes all come from McCue’s Bakery, over in Murray Bridge. I recommend the Napoleon cake or the honey Swiss roll. Or, if you’re not a sweet tooth, the savoury slice is to die for.’

  ‘You’ve persuaded me. Has Mu—Denise ordered yet?’

  Samantha’s plump features hardened. ‘Not yet. Likes taking up real estate but not paying for it, that one.’

  Roni blinked at the harsh words. ‘Ah. Okay. I’ll see what she wants.’

  Denise clutched Bonnie close as she stood to press her cheek to Roni’s. ‘I’m afraid I was awfully early, Samantha’s probably
had enough of me sitting here. I had to get a lift with a friend because my car’s still off the road. Gosh, the last few days have taken forever! I kept picking up my phone to chat, but I didn’t want it to seem like I’m elbowing in on your life.’ She lifted one shoulder, a note of entreaty in her tone. ‘I know it’s going to take a long time for you to forgive me. And that’s entirely fair.’

  Roni slowly shook her head. ‘No. No it won’t.’ She cleared her throat to remove the wonder from her voice. ‘You made a hard decision, and you made it with the best of intentions. What more could a kid ask?’ Behind her back, she curled her fingers into a fist, digging her nails into her palm. She refused to revisit the harm her mother’s choice had caused. Clinging to those negative emotions and memories couldn’t be healthy for Roo. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, not wanting to linger on uncomfortable topics. ‘What are you eating?’

  ‘Like you said last week, I’ll have whatever you’re having,’ Denise smiled, lowering herself onto the steel-framed chair, her free hand pressed to the small of her back.

  Roni made a quick trip to the counter, ordering savoury slices and cappuccinos. As she returned, she played with fragments of sentences in her head, wondering how to reopen the conversation about the holiday so that she could share her news.

  She didn’t need to.

  ‘So, have you thought of anywhere else you want to add to our itinerary?’ Denise asked brightly. ‘The travel agent will have the quote back to me today and we can move forward with finalising everything. Is your passport current?’

  Roni frowned. ‘No. I’ve never travelled …’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Denise glanced at her watch. ‘I forgot.’

  The admission disconcerted Roni: she could remember every word of their two conversations. ‘That’s fine. You probably have a lot on your mind. Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask all week, what kind of job did you end up in? You know, after uni didn’t work out for you.’

  ‘Oh, some of this and some of that. Jack of all trades, master of none, you know how it is.’ Denise’s rings flashed as she reached for the coffee Samantha delivered. She winced, holding her breath for a moment. ‘To be honest, my back problem makes it somewhat difficult to pursue a career for any length of time.’

  Delivering flat pastry rectangles, the tops crusted with melted cheese and crispy bacon bits, Samantha snorted. ‘Damn flies,’ she said, shooing an invisible insect as she pushed a plate—which seemed to contain far less salad than Roni’s—toward Denise.

  Denise arched an eyebrow but picked up her fork and angled it to slice a corner from the centimetre-thick pastry. ‘I must say, I’m glad you buy these in, Samantha. May as well pay for the best rather than try to pass off sorry imitations.’

  Samantha frowned as though she wasn’t sure whether she’d been slighted or praised. As the bell over the door jangled, she turned to it with a speed that gave away her relief.

  ‘Try your savoury slice, Roni,’ Denise said. ‘They’re really very good. A regional specialty.’

  Following her mother’s lead, Roni sliced the pastry with her fork, although using the knife provided would undoubtedly have been easier. A rich layer of mince and onion in thick gravy was sandwiched by two slices of pastry, one shortcrust and one flaky. And Denise was right, it was delicious.

  As they ate and chatted, Denise suggesting they extend the holiday to add more countries, anticipation grew in Roni until she was almost breathless. She had to share her secret with the one person who wouldn’t judge her.

  ‘Well,’ she said, when Denise paused, ‘the thing is, I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to travel.’

  ‘Oh, wait.’ Denise picked up her phone, although Roni hadn’t heard it. ‘Oh, no. This is really too bad.’ She frowned at the screen.

  Roni looked around the cafe as Denise jabbed at keys.

  ‘Oh, no, no. Not good enough,’ Denise muttered, her monologue seeming to invite questions.

  ‘What is it?’

  Denise blew an exasperated breath between pursed lips. ‘The travel agent just got back to me. Apparently, the fee to change my booking is nearly a thousand dollars. Completely unacceptable, considering the business I’ve given them over the years. Still, never mind.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘I can’t wait to explore Europe with you, make up for lost time. The problem is … oh, no. Don’t worry about it.’ She shook her head and thrust the phone into the leather handbag that swung from a clasp hooked to the table. Not looking at Roni, she toyed with the red ribbon Bonnie sported. ‘You were saying you don’t know how long you can vacation for?’

  ‘No, that’s all right, go back to this problem.’ Roni’s gut churned uneasily.

  ‘It’s nothing. Simply that ridiculous credit card issue I told you about last week. I’ll need to get a new card before I can pay the travel agent. It’ll be a bit tight, time-wise, but we’ll just have to hope they hold the bookings.’

  ‘I see.’ Doubt oozed like poisoned syrup through her veins, the crushing weight pooling in her chest. You didn’t grow up in the foster system without learning to question everything. Everyone.

  Denise waited a beat, then grimaced, massaging her back. ‘Sorry, I’m not wonderful company when I’m in this much pain. I honestly don’t know how women tolerate being pregnant more than once in their life.’

  Roni closed her eyes for a second, focusing on her own pain. Did it hurt more that her mother thought her an idiot or that she was trying to con her? ‘If I paid the cancellation fee, we’d be able to travel together?’

  ‘Obviously I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But,’ Denise kissed the dog’s nose, apparently immune to the ice in Roni’s tone, ‘if you lend me the money until my card’s sorted, we can make sure we don’t lose our reservations.’

  ‘May as well round it up. I’ll lend you money for the car, too?’

  Eagerness curing thirty years of backache, Denise sat straighter. ‘Oh, that’d be just wonderful, Veronica. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’

  ‘The problem is, I don’t have any money.’

  A deep line fought the botox between Denise’s eyebrows. ‘Surely Marian left you funds? She always had cash on hand. Have you searched the house?’

  ‘She’s paying the bills, but there’s no cash involved.’ Her mother’s greed dashed Roni’s last doubt. Her last hope.

  ‘Derek Prescott could advance you a little something. Or I know a broker who’ll give you cash against Marian’s car.’

  Roni stood, regret and anger vying for dominance. And disappointment. Not at Denise; she had no reason to expect any better from her. But at herself. She knew better than to trust anyone, especially the woman she had been warned against, the woman who had already deserted her. ‘You think I want to buy your undying maternal affection? Think again, Mother.’

  Denise thrust to her feet. ‘Oh, Veronica, I’m so sorry. You’ve construed this quite the wrong way. I knew we should’ve gone for counselling before we tried to build our bridges. But it’s all right, I do understand. It must be quite overwhelming to discover there is one person in the world who only wants the best for you. It’s natural for you to be mistrustful.’ She unhooked her bag from the table, smiling gently at Roni. ‘Don’t give it a moment’s thought, I’ll sort it and we’ll talk later in the week.’ She blew a kiss from the flat of her hand and swept from the cafe, leaving her coffee undrunk. And the account unpaid.

  Her cheeks burning, Roni took out her wallet and made her way to the register.

  ‘That’s the lot, then?’ Samantha’s voice sounded falsely bright, hiding pity.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Not wanting Tracey to hear the gossip on what was clearly a very effective grapevine, Roni had gone straight there after the cafe. Tracey made tea and listened to her admission of how she’d been foolish enough to entertain a childish dream of a relationship with her mother.

  ‘She’s an odd one, that woman,’ Tracey said. ‘No explaining what she does. Marian would have bee
n the first to tell you that both she and Denise were manipulative, but Denise is just plain bloody selfish. She just doesn’t care for anyone’s feelings.’

  Tracey cut a large wedge from a cake topped with glistening caramel-covered apple slices. ‘Here, love, try a slice of apple upside-down cake. I’m trying to decide whether it needs cinnamon in the topping. Tell me what you think.’ She slid the slice onto Roni’s plate. ‘You know, you can’t change people. You can only learn to live with them. Or consider whether it’s better to learn to live without them.’

  She was right. The fantasy of a relationship with her mother had only existed for a few days of her entire life; before that she’d been too smart to be seduced by hope. Now she would pretend it had never happened.

  She left Tracey’s a kilo heavier, but her heart a little lighter, her plan firm: her best revenge against her mother would be to succeed in what Marian wanted her to achieve.

  And, coincidentally, that’s what would be best for her family, too. Her real family.

  ‘Door’s open, love,’ Tracey responded to her knock a week later. ‘Kettle’s on.’

  Tracey’s house had become familiar, each visit during the week highlighted by cake and tea, each departure seeing her plied with more casseroles than she could ever eat.

  As Roni wandered toward the kitchen, pausing to fondle Bear’s ears and silently greet her aunt in the photos on the wall, Tracey continued to chatter. ‘It’s going to be another warm one today, so I whipped up the sponge cake last night, while it was cooler. You can have a go at dipping the lamingtons, then take them home with you. You never know who might pop by on the weekend.’ Her hair bounced enthusiastically over her arched brows. She’d not missed one opportunity to check how frequently Matt came by.

  Never. That was how frequently. Roni hadn’t seen him for nearly two weeks. ‘Well, I guess I can guarantee it won’t be Denise.’