The Farm at Peppertree Crossing

by Léonie Kelsall

  But this is a moment to focus on the joys. As you have this letter it means you’ve completed all of my tasks. Ah, you’re surprised? You still have so much to do? No, you see, my plan wasn’t to measure your success but to challenge your willingness to try in the face of uncertainty, not knowing how much more would be thrown at you. Above all, I wanted you to learn trust, compassion and self-love. These were qualities I lacked for many years.

  Knowing that you now possess far greater attributes than my own, I pass to you both your inheritance and my wisdom—I’m choosing to call it such because no one can argue with me at this point! I can rest easy leaving Peppertree Crossing in your care. Of course, I have no intention of resting but of stirring up merry hell wherever I have been sent!

  Veronica, my love, without ever having truly known you, I miss you. I can’t bear to think this could be our final communication so, hopefully over many years, you will find odd notes and missives from me tucked away around the property. This way, we can get to know one another better, and I shall feel I’m still involved.

  But the sad fact is, I’m not.

  Now, what will be, will be, and I can only seek to influence the outcome, not endeavour to change it.

  As time, particularly mine, is fleeting, my advice would be to make the best of life, Veronica. Don’t be afraid to take chances that may lead to mistakes—when death draws close, you’ll find yourself wishing you’d made far more. Don’t stand on the edge of the cliff, fearing the impact. Instead, anticipate the flight. Leap.

  However this venture ends, Veronica, don’t ever forget that it was more than simply an experience.

  It was a life.

  All my love,

  Marian

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  She should have been elated to discover that the property was hers. At least Scritches would be safe.

  But that’s not what she felt.

  Instead, now she also mourned Marian. Another person she had never fully known stolen from her.

  Without realising it, she had come to enjoy the one-sided chats with her aunt, overcoming her mistrust and appreciating the growing sense of knowing where she had come from, of recognising shared character traits with the woman she could never meet. Briefly, there had been a family bond. But now it was ripped from her, like pages from a book.

  Like Roo.

  She set the letter on the quilt and picked up the brochures the doctor had thrust at her as she ran from the surgery.

  They were wrong. They said Roo had never really existed. It was a lie. Roo had been real, because the loss of a dream couldn’t hurt this badly.

  She rolled over in the cold bed and closed her eyes.

  This time she heard the car before the rap on the door. No point pretending she wasn’t there, it seemed the entire district knew where to find her.

  Tracey shifted from one foot to the other just beyond the screen, an agitated sparrow. ‘Love, you look dreadful! I’m so sorry you caught my flu.’

  ‘Don’t come close, I’m contagious.’ Roni tried to back away, but Tracey thrust the door open and threw tight arms around her.

  ‘Don’t be daft, love, I can’t get it again.’

  The softness of the embrace threatened to start her tears anew. Did her body intend to make up for years of drought? She sniffed hard, refusing to let them spill, though her surroundings blurred.

  ‘Oh, love, you must be feeling really terrible. Come on, into the kitchen with you, I’ll put the kettle on. And I’ve brought chicken soup.’

  Roni sank into a chair. ‘How did you hear I caught the bug?’ There was no need for anyone else to know about Roo. The baby would forever be her secret, untainted by others’ opinions or their unnecessary words.

  ‘Matt, of course. He rang days ago but, truth to tell, I still wasn’t on top form myself.’ She placed a steaming mug in front of Roni. ‘Here, start on that while I heat the soup. It tastes much nicer done on the stovetop, rather than in a microwave.’ She turned back to the hotplate, still speaking. ‘Then he called again this morning, saying you were basically incoherent the first couple of times he came by yesterday, then you shouted at him to go away last night.’

  She didn’t remember that.

  ‘And he’s tried calling on the landline but you’ve not been picking up. I told him that’s entirely understandable; I could barely drag myself from the bed. Don’t know what I would have done without your help.’

  She did vaguely recall hearing the discordant, unfamiliar ring.

  Tracey shook her head. ‘You’ve got him awfully worried, you know.’

  ‘He’s a good neighbour.’ Roni held the mug close, letting the steam clear her head. She would never allow him to be more than that. She was broken.

  ‘Hmmph,’ Tracey snorted. ‘Didn’t notice him being quite such a good neighbour when it was me laid up. He’s a fine man, that one, you have to admit. I mean, he’s not my type, obviously, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.’ The soup ladle dripped as Tracey turned, eyebrows raised, waiting expectantly.

  Roni shook her head, too exhausted to think clearly. ‘Not interested. Told you, I don’t need any more complications.’

  ‘I’d have thought he’d be an asset, not a complication.’

  ‘I don’t need a guy to bail me out.’ Her own dream destroyed, she owed it to Marian to keep hers alive. Follow in her footsteps. Maintain the farm single-handed and alone. At least that way she could protect Scritches and care for the other orphaned and unwanted animals she had collected.

  Tracey set a bowl in front of her. ‘Of course you don’t. As Marian expected, you’re perfectly capable.’ She bent to the soup. Salty and good. Her shoulders relaxed a little, though her head pounded. Yet, as sick as she felt, it wasn’t fair to snap and snarl at Tracey. She heaved in a breath, though the effort took all her strength. ‘Matt’s a nice guy, I’m not arguing that. But like you said, Marian trusted me to be capable, to run this place like she did.’

  ‘How does that exclude Matt? He’s been here for years.’

  ‘Yeah, but he only worked here. If I let him stay, he’d have to run the place because I don’t know what I’m doing. I have to let him go so that I learn. Marian managed alone, so I will too.’

  ‘Oh no, Veronica, you’ve got it all wrong.’ Tracey’s fluffy hair trembled like a windblown dandelion clock as she plopped onto a chair. ‘Marian was a strong woman, but she certainly wasn’t alone. Sure, she directed every move Andrew and Matt made—that was typical Marian—but it’s not like she drove the header or carted the grain to the silos. She was the manager, but Peppertree Crossing flourished as a result of teamwork.’ She sat forward, patting Roni’s hand. ‘See, she didn’t only have Peppertree Crossing to love. She also loved Andrew and she loved Matt. She loved me, too. Love doesn’t mean losing your dreams.’

  Roni shook her head, trying to hold back the sob. ‘I didn’t say anything about love.’ Or about dreams. Both were ephemeral notions, a playground for fools and hopeless romantics.

  Neither had been enough to keep Roo alive.

  She let Tracey in each day, but every time Scritches let her know Matt was at the door, she pretended to be asleep. She needed more time to process her emotions. She couldn’t risk letting anyone else get close to her while she was vulnerable, while anything she felt might be nothing more than her grasping for comfort.

  Eventually, she opened the door to him, forcing a smile. ‘Hey. Not sure whether I’m still infectious, so you might not want to come in.’

  ‘I don’t care about that.’ His glare pierced her like an ice spear. He was mad because she’d ignored him.

  He gestured jerkily, requesting her permission to enter.

  She stood back unwillingly. ‘Your risk.’

  His fists unclenched. ‘I’ll take it.’

  In awkward silence they made their way to the kitchen, Scritches tying them together by winding figure eights around their feet.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on.’ Ma
tt waved a hand toward the table. ‘You’re as pale as milk.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, pushing away the memories of the blood loss. So much blood. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘It’s Sunday.’

  She stared back at him. ‘Ugh, I’ve had the flu for four days?’

  ‘Four days? Try eleven. I’ve never seen the flu knock anyone around that bad. Taylor wanted you in hospital, but she said you refused.’

  She had no recollection of discussing it with Taylor.

  ‘In any case, I’m on holidays. At least, from being a vet. It’s reaping season. Did you take the meds Taylor left?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And you’ve been eating?’

  Again, it was concern that made him seem angry. What was it about this place that made people care? Tracey, Taylor, now Matt. ‘You know I have. You sicced Tracey onto me.’ She scowled. ‘Have you ever been force-fed chicken soup?’

  The tension seeped from his shoulders and he sank onto a chair. ‘Wouldn’t that be like waterboarding for vegetarians?’ Scritches jumped onto his lap but then moved back to hers, kneading and purring but watching Matt, as though he couldn’t decide which knee he preferred.

  ‘Yeah, well, maybe I should tie you down and try it. I reckon I’m about nine-tenths liquid now. I probably slosh when I walk.’ She dragged her fingernail along a groove in the tabletop, avoiding looking at him. ‘Hey, thanks for taking care of the animals. I don’t think I could’ve staggered that far.’

  ‘No worries. We—they—all missed you, though. Goat comes to the gate to let me pet him, but I’m wise to it; he’s just using me to lean on so he can see across the garden, waiting for you to come.’

  ‘It’s cereal love. As in the breakfast variety. I bribe him.’

  ‘Is that so? I was feeling kind of second-rate. I’ll stuff my pockets with cereal when I see him today, then.’

  ‘Nu-uh. That’s my trick. You’re forbidden. He has to l-love me best. Actually, I’ll go feed him now,’ she finished hurriedly. She didn’t want to sit around talking anymore. ‘Then you can see who’s the favourite.’

  ‘Not a fair contest unless we have equal quantities of cereal.’ He pushed to his feet and flipped the kettle off.

  ‘You’re on.’

  She snatched at the back of a chair as she stood, and his hand snaked to the small of her back. ‘Sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘Yeah. Of course. Just been sitting around for too long.’ She grabbed a handful of Weet-Bix from the pantry and strode from the room, determined to show him just how okay she was.

  She didn’t recall the orchard being so far away. Scritches accompanied them part way, then darted off down the yard. Roni shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting after him. ‘Poor thing hasn’t been out for a few days. Guess he needs to go check everything’s in order.’

  ‘Man of the house,’ Matt agreed.

  Goat nuzzled hard into her hand, then leaned as far as he could over the gate, sniffing and blowing at the pocket of her light windcheater and butting his head against her chest.

  ‘Hey, dude, take it easy with your mumma. She’s a bit fragile.’

  Mumma. She never wanted to hear that word again. ‘Hardly. It was probably only a cold, not even the flu. Tracey had it far worse than I did.’

  ‘I was more concerned about you.’

  She refused to look at him, focusing intently on Goat.

  He raised an empty hand in defeat. ‘You’re right. Goat likes you better.’

  ‘Of course. But it’d be a fairer contest if you weren’t hiding the biscuits behind your back.’

  The corners of Matt’s eyes crinkled. ‘Just testing his smarts.’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s a whole lot to test. He’s probably stomach-driven, like Scritch.’

  ‘Well, I might have to make Baby my best mate, then. Mind, once I castrate him, he might not act so friendly toward me.’

  ‘Would you blame him?’

  ‘Can’t say that I would.’

  Eyes closed for a moment, she allowed the fresh breeze to wash clean over her body. She felt like one giant, aching bruise, the pain both inside and out.

  ‘Okay?’ Matt asked quietly.

  ‘Sure.’ She forced a smile and pushed herself from the gate. ‘I’d better look in on the chickens. I’d been letting them run around for an hour or so outside since the fox, so they’ll be going crazy penned up for this long.’

  ‘Out? How do you round them up to get them back in before night?’

  ‘Yelling. Running. Extra food. Maybe a little cursing.’

  Matt grinned, though his eyes held far too much concern. ‘This I’ve got to see.’

  ‘I don’t think I fancy that much exercise today; I’ll stick with feeding them in the coop.’

  ‘Why don’t you head back to the house? I’ll take care of them.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Damn. She’d never be able to follow Marian’s advice, never be able to trust. The moment anyone intimated they cared, all her defences rose, prickly as an echidna’s spines. Because she knew where fake concern led. Despite the summer warmth, she shivered.

  Matt cast her a sideways glance and she forced herself to drop her arms from where she’d crossed them over her chest as they walked down the yard.

  He pointed toward the coop, where Scritches hunched over something. ‘So much for him not being the great ginger hunter. Looks like he’s caught you a present.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want anything he’s scrounged.’

  ‘Probably a good call.’ Matt narrowed his gaze on the cat. ‘What you got there, mate?’ Then his voice rang out like a gunshot. ‘Shit!’ He broke into a run, covering the twenty metres in seconds. ‘Hell, no! Scritch, drop it!’

  A grin quirked Roni’s lip at the thought of the fun Matt would have trying to get hold of whatever disgusting thing the cat had picked up; she’d lost plenty of socks to play fighting. Whatever it was, Scritches had trouble carrying it. He was dragging his hindquarters, using only his front legs. He looked toward her and yowled.

  She frowned in surprise at the odd noise and tried to hasten her step.

  Matt snatched at something and pulled the cat in the opposite direction. Instead of fighting back, Scritches dropped to one side and lay still.

  Wobbly with fatigue, Roni rested one hand on the hot steel of the coop as she reached them. Matt booted Scritches’ prey further aside, and it coiled into itself, bloodied guts hanging from one glistening loop.

  Coiled.

  Her breath stopped.

  A snake.

  Fear paralysed her and she glanced from the twitching copper scales to Scritches. He lay on his side, rib cage heaving, hindquarters jerking spasmodically.

  ‘No.’ The word trembled on her lips.

  ‘No!’ This time it ripped from her as she flung herself to her knees. ‘No, Scritch, no!’

  ‘Listen, Roni.’

  She shook her head, trying to push Matt aside as she reached for Scritches, who convulsed, his great golden eyes glazed and unfocused.

  Matt seized her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. ‘Roni, listen! You’ve got to sit with him. Keep him still, okay?’

  Her lips numb, the words were barely intelligible. ‘Is it poisonous?’

  Matt’s jaw hardened. ‘Yes. Try to stop Scritches from struggling. But if he stops moving, just let him be, don’t try to rouse him. You hear me, Roni?’ He shook her by the shoulders and then, at her jerky nod, he raced up the yard.

  She ran her hand over Scritches’ soft fur, pressed a finger to his wet nose. His breathing laboured, he didn’t even look at her.

  For the first time ever, he didn’t purr at her touch.

  ‘No, Scritches,’ she whispered. ‘No, not you. You mean more to me than anything. You’re the only thing that’s real in my life. Don’t go. Please don’t go.’

  The golden tiger stripes quivered as Scritches struggled for breath. His limbs spasmed, then stiff
ened. She wanted to cradle him, to cuddle his warm body in her lap. But Matt had said not to move him, so she lay beside him in the dirt, her face close to his, one hand on his trembling flank, the other on his head. Willing him to look at her.

  Slowly, his eyes closed. A shudder rippled through his body and then he lay completely still, his side no longer rising. No longer fighting.

  ‘No.’ Tears rolled sideways across her face, the dust beneath her turning to mud.

  Matt dropped next to her, IV needle in hand. ‘Okay, buddy, let’s get this into you.’

  ‘Is he—’

  ‘Not yet. Quicker he gets this, the more chance he has.’ He inserted the needle. ‘That’s why I keep antivenom in the ute.’ He depressed the plunger, then withdrew the needle, his face pinched.

  She pushed upright and grabbed Matt’s arm. ‘Please make him be okay. Please. I’ve never loved anything, never had anything love me like he does. He’s all I’ve got.’

  Matt winced and looked away from her to the motionless bundle of dust-covered fur. ‘I’m going to grab a drip. Though I think we might not need it.’

  They were too late. She couldn’t live without Scritches. She’d have no one, nothing. She concentrated on the cat, willing him alive.

  Not that it had worked for Roo.

  She ran her fingertips over the soft fur. Though she didn’t look up, she heard Matt’s heavy tread as he ran, felt the rush of air as he skidded to a halt alongside her. He moved a stethoscope bell across the cat’s motionless chest. She held her breath, wishing her own heartbeats into Scritches’ immobile body.

  Matt’s hand covered hers. He squeezed gently, then repositioned her hand and pressed her palm down. ‘Here. You can feel his heartbeat.’ His fingers lingered on hers.

  ‘I can’t feel anything,’ she whispered desperately.

  Matt shifted the stethoscope, put the earpieces in her ears. ‘Listen.’

  There was nothing but the pounding of her own blood. She shook her head, her hands trembling as she clutched the cold metal tubes. ‘I can’t!’ What if Scritches’ life relied on her believing in it? Was that how she’d failed Roo, had she lacked faith?