The Farm at Peppertree Crossing

by Léonie Kelsall

  Disappointment suddenly swirled in Roni’s stomach as she realised that Taylor’s mention of the pub had been nothing more than a ruse for them to escape the meeting, then annoyance at herself for presuming it would be anything else. ‘I’ve another sponge at home. Mine, not Tracey’s, though. So, you know, consume at own risk.’ Actually, her latest effort didn’t look too bad. Although she’d found fresh bags of feed delivered to the coop, it seemed likely Matt would be a no-show for the twentieth day in a row—not that she was counting—so the cake may as well go somewhere other than the chickens.

  ‘Awesome. If you save me from hiding the Sara Lee boxes, you may be my new BFF. The property’s a bit off the beaten track, so I’ll get Matt to pick you up.’

  Her palms clammy, Roni’s fingers turned to ice. How was it possible to both hate and love that plan at the same time?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jittery with nerves, given their awkward conversation last time she’d seen him, Roni contrived to be near the coop watering when Matt arrived the next day.

  He parked the ute alongside the house, then strolled down to her, his face hidden by his aviators and akubra. ‘Hey, sorry I didn’t get around last week. Busy season.’

  Last week? More like three. ‘Has it been that long? I know what you mean about busy.’ She hefted a pair of buckets, hoping she wouldn’t look too duck-like as she waddled with them.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Matt took the buckets. ‘Where to?’

  She’d had plenty of time to prepare off-the-cuff witty responses, yet now she was practically tongue-tied. His reserve and her inability to read him threw her off stride. She pointed to her precious bushes, which had responded well to regular watering.

  Matt put the buckets down and pushed up his aviators. The corner of his lips twitched.

  Shit. She knew that reaction.

  ‘These bushes?’ He pointed.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘These boxthorn bushes?’

  ‘Berries.’ Boxthorn did not sound promising.

  ‘Whatever you say, boss.’ Water slopped onto his dusty boots as he took up the buckets again.

  She closed her eyes for a second. ‘They’re not edible, are they?’

  ‘Well,’ he drew the word out, ‘I believe technically they are. But African boxthorn is a declared pest plant. Farmers are supposed to eradicate them. Not, ah, encourage them.’

  ‘The birds really like them,’ she defended as tiny brown and grey sparrows darted into the jewelled foliage.

  ‘They make a great protective screen. Bet you’ve had no problems with prowling lions.’ His smile finally broke through.

  ‘Okay, I get it,’ she huffed. ‘Just don’t bloody water them, then.’

  Matt upended the buckets onto the plants. ‘Hey, Scritch. What’ve you done to your nose, mate?’

  As usual, the cat rubbed up against the farmer’s legs, splitting the air with his purrs. ‘His nose is always banged-up, he uses it to root around in stuff.’

  ‘Must be part echidna. Poor fella, I’ve got some cream that’ll help heal that.’

  Great, one nice word for the cat and her own prickles smoothed right down. But, to be fair, it wasn’t like Matt had taken a shot at her for watering the weeds. Nor even really laughed at her stupidity.

  Matt straightened and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. He glanced at her, then made a chore of stacking the buckets. ‘You look good.’

  She’d thrown on an asymmetrical blouse with her jeans—and then spent thirty minutes in front of the mirror, trying to decide whether her left or right shoulder looked better revealed.

  ‘Thanks.’ She bent to stroke Scritches. Not that he deserved it, but her face needed a moment to cool down.

  ‘How’re the other kids doing?’

  Her neck cracked as her head whipped around. ‘What?’

  ‘Baby and Goat?’

  ‘Oh. Good. Baby was limping for a few days, but I put on the cream and he seems fine now.’

  ‘I came early a few mornings and checked him. Mind if I take another look now?’

  ‘Course not.’ No matter how furious she was—mostly with herself—at the way his presence unsettled her comfortable new familiar, she liked the way he engaged with her animals.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Matt said, matching her pace as they crossed to the orchard. ‘Now that you’ve got Baby, you might not want a milk cow? I could arrange a goat. As in, a real goat, not a Goat goat. Only if you promise not to call it Sheep, though, because these names are doing my head in.’

  ‘You can milk goats?’

  ‘Sure. If you can handle milking a cow, a goat’s easier, based on the size alone.’

  ‘My experience with milking is limited to fighting the screw top on the carton.’ That one earned her a faint smile.

  ‘I’ve a cow with a calf at heel. You could come by, have a go at milking her. That is, if you’re thinking of sticking around long enough to make adding to your family worthwhile.’ Matt adjusted his hat and rubbed at his chin, watching the sheep and cow thundering toward them.

  She would be adding, all right. ‘I can’t see any reason not to stay. For a while, anyway.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Matt kept his gaze on the livestock. ‘That should make Scritches happy.’

  Only Scritches? The silence between them was heavy and stretched on until she pointed toward the house. ‘I’ll grab the lamingtons while you do Baby?’

  ‘You baked?’ Matt smiled. ‘Awesome. Don’t suppose there’s one left that couldn’t fit in the container?’

  Her voice hooked a little crazily on the reply, sudden butterflies getting down and dirty in her throat. ‘I think there might be a couple. I’ll put the kettle on.’

  A few minutes later she settled into the chair opposite Matt. ‘I never imagined this would be my life. Sitting on a verandah, drinking tea and eating cake like a pair of oldies.’ She spluttered as she realised that she might have just verbally coupled the two of them. ‘I mean the whole tree change thing, that kind of stuff.’

  Matt reached for a lamington. ‘Sounds cool to me.’

  Which bit? She tensed as a sudden desire to know, a longing for something undefined, surged through her.

  ‘Did you really bake these? They’re as good as Tracey’s.’

  No, they weren’t. They were heavy and a little dry. Yet Matt sounded as though he meant the compliment. And her heart was beating way too fast.

  The unnerving blue eyes settled on her as he leaned toward her over the wrought-iron table. ‘Actually, I’ve a favour to ask, Roni.’

  Her heart calcified into a tight knot, crushing the emerging butterflies. Greg’s favours were always of the can-you-spot-me-some-cash-for-weed variety. She’d known this was coming. Them. Greg. Denise. Now Matt. Her only value was to provide for others.

  And what she didn’t willingly provide, they took by force. Hands bunched in her lap, she was unable to drag her gaze from Matt’s.

  Matt’s voice lowered, as if he were making sure no one could overhear their dealing. ‘If you’ve a couple spare, I’d really like them for during the week.’

  A couple of what? Joints? Hits? ‘You mean you want … the lamingtons?’

  ‘Hell, yeah. Don’t take them all to Luke’s. He won’t appreciate them the way I will.’

  Relief bubbled in her laugh. ‘You could’ve been eating test runs all week. The animals are over being my garbage disposal.’

  He pulled a disappointed face. ‘I knew I’d miss out if I stayed away.’

  He wanted free cake: she had to take his words at face value, not wish more into them. She glanced at her wrist, though she never wore a watch.

  Matt nodded. ‘Yeah, we’d better shift it. Not sure what time the game starts.’

  It took them twenty minutes to reach Taylor’s place. Much like Roni’s, it was set in a valley and surrounded by stone sheds. ‘These places seem to be built to a formula.’

  Matt used two fingers to steer, his left hand lyin
g on his knee. ‘Guess the German settlers recreated what they knew. My farm’s much the same.’ He pulled up alongside four other vehicles, three of them utes, one a motorbike. ‘If you want to hide those lamingtons at the back of Tay’s fridge, I’ll make sure they don’t get forgotten. I’ll grab the drinks.’

  Roni watched in the rear-view mirror as he unlatched a small fridge on the tray of the ute, transferring the contents to an esky. She’d brought apple juice, hoping her abstinence wouldn’t cause questions.

  The guy who opened the front door matched Matt for height, his eyes an unusual shade, almost violet. ‘Mate, good to see you. It’s been like, forever.’ He shook hands with Matt, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I was beginning to think you’d lost your way.’

  ‘Sorry, got side-tracked. This is your new neighbour, Veronica. Roni, Luke Hartmann.’

  Luke lifted a hand. ‘Hey, Roni. Chins will really start wagging once the old biddies find out you’ve persuaded Matty to take time off. Speaking of work, Tay’s been held up, so you’ll be the token female for a half-hour or so. Come on in.’

  She forced herself to smile. She didn’t do social events at the best of times—now she’d be alone?

  ‘The guys are down here.’ Luke led them along a central hallway and ushered them into a lounge room.

  A room with two men already in it.

  The walls splashed with lurid colours as the TV volume cranked up.

  Her chest tight, her hands curled into fists as she fought the flashback. She wasn’t fourteen anymore.

  Taylor would be here in a moment. And there would be four men with Luke and Matt. Four was fine.

  Luke made the introductions. ‘Steve, Jake, meet Roni. Grab a pew, I’ll get some chips. Want me to take your esky, Matt?’

  Roni returned the greetings and dropped onto the couch. The cushions sank, trapping her.

  No. She wouldn’t think that.

  Except, right now, there were three men in the room.

  Steve and Jake messed around with the remotes, angling the TV, and then sat either side of her. Why had she given in to her shaky legs and taken the first seat she’d spied, instead of the single chair Matt now occupied?

  Luke returned, flipping off the overhead light as he entered. ‘You’re in pole position, Roni. Makes you the designated chip holder.’ Illuminated by the flickering TV, he placed a plastic tub of Doritos on her lap. ‘There’s dip and stuff, too, but I’ll let Tay sort that out when she gets back or I’ll be in trouble.’

  Steve’s chuckle vibrated through her. ‘Last year you screwed up the dip with whipped cream, so you can’t really blame her, mate.’

  Four men now. She was fine.

  She tightened her grasp on the Doritos as Steve reached for a handful.

  Matt stood again. ‘I’ll grab our drinks. You guys want anything while I’m up?’

  No! No, four men minus one would be … She wanted to tell him not to leave, but fear glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

  Jake reached a hand through the gloom, toward her thigh.

  No, not her thigh. The chips, just the chips. She had to cut this out, to refuse the memories and fears. It had been years ago, half a lifetime.

  Luke turned the TV up and the guys settled further back on the lounge. Alongside her. So close she could feel their pulses, hear their too-rapid heartbeats. Smell their sweaty excitement.

  Darkness fringed her vision. The bowl slipped in her grasp. Her toes curled, cramping against the straps of her sandals. Her stomach turned to rock.

  If she moved, tried to stand, to escape, they would shove her face-down on the lounge. Bury her screams in the cushions as they turned up the TV. She knew how it went.

  No. There was no need for this. No reason to let the memories in.

  Except she could taste the blood in her mouth, she could hear the screams.

  Her screams.

  Heart racing, she couldn’t breathe. The hands came faster. Pretending they were reaching for snacks, but reaching for her. Threatening to brush her legs. Her thighs.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Any second now the touching would start.

  Her breath sobbed in her throat. Her jaw ached as the first scream clawed for escape. Chips avalanched over the edge of the bowl.

  ‘Roni?’ Matt stood in front of her, holding out a drink. Though he blocked the TV screen, shut off the glaring images that triggered her brain, she couldn’t speak. Could only stare at him as she dragged at the air for oxygen that didn’t exist.

  He set the glass on the coffee table with a crack that should have snapped her out of the miasma of terror. It didn’t. Nothing could. She was trapped, just like she’d been all those years ago. Nothing had changed, nothing was better. A kid again, she was unable to protect herself. Unable to fight back. Unable to speak out. Panic oozed in, as thick as tar, crushing her chest.

  She knew how to combat it. Breathe and count.

  But the numbers wouldn’t come. Nothing would come, except the memories; blinding flashes of light in the dark room, scars from her past ripping apart her future.

  Eyes locked to hers, Matt extended his hand. ‘Hey, I meant to show you how Taylor netted her fig tree. Might work in your orchard. Come and have a look now, while it’s still light out.’

  ‘Smooth, mate,’ Luke laughed. ‘That line’s right up there with, “Come to my room and see my etchings”.’

  She prised her fingers from the bowl, willing her hand not to tremble as she snatched at the lifeline Matt offered.

  ‘Hey, no buggering off with the chips, you two.’ Steve took the bowl from her lap, and she leaped up so quickly he tumbled sideways into the depression she left.

  If she’d been a second slower, he would have fallen onto her. Into her.

  Dizziness swept in and her legs faltered, darkness thundering in her ears and pressing on her brain. Matt’s arm around her waist half-dragged her from the room.

  A thigh-high rail ran the length of the verandah, and Matt led her to it, his support firm until she’d planted her hands on the wood.

  Chest hollow, she curled her shoulders in. Fighting for breath. Fighting not to cry.

  Like a tide, the fear slowly receded.

  She had known it would. It always did, but knowing never made the panic attacks easier to face. Matt stood silent, close but not touching, as she struggled for control. Struggled to pretend she was normal again.

  As her panted breaths slowed, her fingers unclenching from where her nails gouged the wood, she felt the tension seep from his stance. ‘Sorry.’ She laughed unsteadily. ‘Just been one of those weeks, you know. Well, turning into one of those years, really.’

  She caught the shake of Matt’s head, though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. ‘There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?’ he said. ‘Did someone say something? Do something?’

  How dare he probe? ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ he insisted. ‘Something in that room triggered you.’

  ‘Armchair psychologist.’

  He grunted, probably relief at the realisation she wasn’t going to break down into full-blown hysterics. ‘Sometimes I catch Dr Phil during lunch.’

  Trying to hide her shuddering breath, she waved at the yard. ‘Where’s this orchard you’re showing me?’ Damn. Her voice trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. Not tears of fear but of mortification at how close she had come to revealing her secret.

  ‘Near the creek. Bit of a walk.’ The dust from a Pajero jolting up the driveway thickened the encroaching dusk. ‘Ah, here’s Tay.’ Matt sounded like he’d been granted a stay of execution. He vaulted from the deck, greeted Taylor and hauled her groceries into the kitchen. Roni trailed him like a lost puppy, useless and underfoot. Matt put the carry bags on the table, gave her a nod without meeting her gaze, then ducked back to the safety of the lounge room, fig trees forgotten. Clearly putting as much distance between them as possible.

&nb
sp; Fine. That suited her perfectly.

  ‘Sorry I got held up.’ Taylor unpacked the bags onto the counter. ‘Did the guys feed themselves?’

  ‘Yeah, they have beer and chips.’

  ‘You managed to drag Matt away from such bounty? Props for that. Nice guy, isn’t he?’

  ‘That seems to be the consensus.’

  Taylor caught a packet of spaghetti sliding toward the tiled floor. ‘Everyone’s happy to see him opening up again.’

  ‘What—’

  A bellow from the lounge room interrupted and Taylor smiled. ‘I can never work out whether they’re louder when they’re winning or losing. Want to tip these salads into bowls for me? Maybe I’ll be able to fool them into thinking I cooked.’

  ‘Don’t do that, babe.’ Luke entered the kitchen and grabbed Taylor by the hips, spinning her to face him. ‘They might not eat.’ He took the sting from the words with a kiss.

  God, how long did Taylor say they’d been married? Because they kissed like they’d just hooked up. Roni looked away, fiddling with bowls instead of staring.

  Except she was staring.

  Because suddenly she wanted someone to kiss her like that, kiss her like she was the only thing of importance in his life, like she was the only person in the room. Kiss her with absolute intention, as though he would protect her forever.

  She grabbed a knife and stabbed the bag of salad leaves, slicing it open.

  ‘Anyway,’ Luke continued, as though he hadn’t just spent two minutes making out with his wife. ‘Guys don’t eat green stuff, you know that. Feed the man meat.’ He plucked up a couple of leaves and tossed them in his mouth, then pulled a face.

  Taylor took out another bowl. ‘Except Matt. Remember? Some mate you are.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Maybe you can work on him, Roni? He’s letting the team down.’

  Roni squirmed. Hell, it wasn’t like they were an item. ‘Hardly my business.’ Technically, she was his boss. Who had just humiliated herself in front of an employee who didn’t have the decency to pretend he hadn’t noticed. ‘In any case, I’m thinking of turning vegetarian myself. I accidentally bought a bull calf and I don’t want to have to eat him.’