by Janet Gover
‘We all have those,’ Margaret said softly. ‘We just have to deal with them as best we can.’
Quinn felt her heart twist. She knew what her mother meant, but they never talked about those days. There was nothing in the house to remind them of Kim. At least, nothing that Margaret knew about. There was a small box of things among Quinn’s belongings under the bed in the room she used when she stayed. And of course, there was that tissue wrapped package in the back of her Hummer. But Margaret had removed every trace of her grand-daughter from her life. That hurt. It hurt so very much.
‘So,’ Margaret took a deep breath. ‘I was thinking, the weather is so nice; perhaps we could have a garden party.’
‘You mother means a barbecue.’ Quinn’s father entered the kitchen, pausing to kiss both his daughter and his wife on the cheek. ‘And I think it’s an excellent idea.’
‘We’ll invite all the neighbours. And Richard, you must invite that nice young lawyer from your firm. You know, the new one.’
‘Mother!’ Quinn said. ‘Don’t do this again. Don’t start matchmaking.’
‘I’m not matchmaking,’ Margaret said. ‘I just think it wouldn’t hurt for you to meet someone new. You’re still young and—’
‘Don’t!’ Quinn was starting to get angry. ‘Don’t you dare say I’m still young enough to marry again and have another family. Don’t ever say that to me.’ She was quivering with anger and hurt and surprised by the intensity of her own reaction. She should be immune to her mother’s hints by now.
‘Rachel,’ her father cut in, his voice gentle as he took on the familiar role of peacekeeper. ‘Your mother didn’t mean that.’
‘No, Richard, I did mean that.’ Uncharacteristically, Margaret shrugged off the comforting hand her husband had laid across her shoulders. ‘We have tiptoed around this long enough. Rachel, it’s time you stopped running away and got on with your life.’
Quinn was stunned into silence.
‘What happened was a terrible tragedy. But you can’t give up on happiness because of that.’ Tears ran unheeded down Margaret’s cheeks.
Keeping a stranglehold on her emotions, Quinn stormed out of the kitchen into the living room. She was so angry she was afraid she’d do or say something she would later regret.
‘Rachel. Please. You have to get past this.’
Quinn spun to face her mother, who had followed her from the kitchen. ‘Get over it? Like you did. You forgot Kim so quickly. It’s as if she never existed. Do you even remember what she looked like?’
‘Remember her?’ Margaret was crying openly now, something Quinn hadn’t seen her do since the day of the funeral. ‘Of course I remember her. How could I ever forget? I think about her every day.’
‘So do I, Mother. So do I.’
Margaret crossed the room and opened the drawer on a polished mahogany sideboard. Carefully she removed something and thrust it at Quinn. Quinn looked down at the silver frame and the photograph in it. The photo showed a mother and her child. A smiling fair-haired woman and a little girl with big beautiful blue eyes. Quinn felt tears coming. She gently stroked the glass covering her daughter’s photo.
‘It usually sits on the bookshelf,’ Richard said quietly. ‘There’s another photograph of the two of you in our bedroom. Your mother puts them away when you come to visit.’
Quinn dragged her eyes away from her daughter’s face and looked at her mother. ‘Why?’
‘At first it was because I didn’t want to upset you. Then it was because I didn’t know how to behave differently. You have been so locked away inside yourself all this time, Rachel, I didn’t know how to help you.’
In the silence that followed Quinn looked at her mother. Really looked at her for the first time in a long while. She saw the lines either side of Margaret’s brown eyes and the faint trace of grey hair that the next trip to the salon would hide. In contrast to Quinn’s work-roughened hands, Margaret’s were carefully manicured. But they were beginning to look a little fragile. Her mother was not a young woman any more. Quinn looked more carefully at her face, and saw the shadows put there by the same grief Quinn herself had suffered.
Quinn began to wonder if what she had thought was blame was simply grief. Grief that, like Quinn’s, had never faded.
‘Mum—’
‘It’s time, Rachel. You have got to move on.’
Margaret stepped forward and slowly wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her close. Neither spoke for a few moments, but Quinn was left with the feeling that the barrier between them was beginning to fall away.
Her father came and placed his arms around them both. Quinn could feel the dampness of his cheek. She had been so wrapped up in her own grief; she had forgotten that her parents had also suffered when Kim died.
Quinn still held the photograph tightly in her hand. She gently stroked the glass covering her daughter’s photo. She walked over to the bookshelf and set the frame down.
‘Leave it,’ she told her mother with a faint smile. ‘It looks good there.’
‘Yes. It does.’ Her mother dashed a hand across her eyes.
‘Wait here, I’ll be right back.’ Quinn darted outside to where her Hummer was parked in the driveway. She opened the back and carefully removed the tissue wrapped package from its place.
Back inside the house, she handed the package to her mother. Margaret carefully opened it. Inside was a delicate pink baby’s jacket. Knitted with care and a great deal of love. It had never been worn. Quinn reached out her fingers to stroke the soft wool.
‘This was the last thing I knitted for Kim,’ she said. ‘Can I leave it here with you?’
Margaret nodded. Ever so carefully, she rewrapped the parcel and placed it in the drawer where the photo frame had rested.
‘I’ll keep it there …’ she didn’t finish the sentence, but Quinn knew what she was going to say. Until there was another little girl who needed it. Quinn wasn’t ready to go that far yet. Neither of them was. But they had made a start.
‘So,’ Quinn said, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile onto her face, ‘when were you planning on this barbecue?’
‘You’ll come?’ Margaret asked, her eyes shining.
‘No, but I’ll stay a few days longer. After that,’ she glanced through the open doorway to the kitchen table, where the magazine lay open, ‘there’s somewhere I have to go.’
As always, Quinn was glad to be back on the road. But this time, it was a little different. She wasn’t running away from anything. She and her parents had become much closer during the past few days. They had talked about Kim. The small box of photographs and other mementos had come out from under Quinn’s bed. They had talked and shared and better understood their grief. Quinn had even talked about Dan. Now she was on her own again, but she wasn’t alone.
Once more she had everything she needed with her in her Hummer. Her cameras and laptop. Her knitting. She frowned. Actually, not so much knitting. She had finished her last project and given that to Ellen as she passed through Coorah Creek on her way home. She hadn’t started another yet. She needed to get some wool before she found herself in a place where there was no wool to be had. She knew the location of almost every yarn store for several hundred kilometres. She would get what she needed as she passed through the next town.
Quinn walked into the big room no different from a dozen others she had encountered in her travels. The walls were lined with brilliant coloured balls of yarn. Sample knitted garments hung in the window. And in the middle of the room was a large table covered with pattern books, needles, balls of wool and the other tools of the knitter’s craft. A group of women, all holding knitting needles, sat around the table chatting. One of them was heavily pregnant, and was working on a garment not unlike the ones Quinn always knitted. They all looked up as Quinn entered.
‘Hello,’ a friendly dark-eyed woman said. ‘Welcome. Can I help you with anything, or do you just want to browse.’
‘I’ll just browse
, thank you,’ Quinn said.
‘That’s fine. If you need anything, I’m right here.’ The woman settled back to her knitting and her friends.
As she always did, Quinn headed for the section of the shop featuring baby wools. The colours here tended to be more pastel. The yarns were finer and softer. She didn’t pause at the patterns. She didn’t need one. She knew what she was knitting. She picked up a ball of multi-coloured yarn in cream with pale pink and green highlights. She touched it to the skin of her face. It was beautifully soft and would knit up well. She picked up a similar yarn, but this time in shades of blue and caramel. Something that might suit a little boy. She seldom knitted pink wool. As she fingered the soft wool, the conversation behind her began to filter through to her mind.
‘… never really liked a redhead, but I might make an exception for him.’
‘Trust you, Jean. The story is about the horses, not the man.’
‘I know. But there’s no crime in looking. And that’s a man well worth looking at.’
‘It’s that photo,’ said a third voice. ‘It’s almost like a love song to him. I wonder who the photographer was. Whoever it was, they obviously have a thing for him. It shows in every inch of that photo.’
‘In that case, I hope it was a woman,’ replied the woman called Jean. ‘Because if it was a man, I might have to change my mind about how gorgeous this park ranger is.’
Quinn turned around slowly. The magazine lay in the centre of the table, open to her photo of Dan. How well she remembered taking that shot. It was a wonderful portrait of Dan, the strong clean lines of his face silhouetted against the sky. Her heart did a long slow tumble. The woman was right. The photographer who took that shot was desperately in love with Dan. It had just taken her a long time to figure it out.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the owner of the shop. ‘I think I do need some help after all.’
‘Of course. What are you looking for?’
‘I am thinking of making a change. I usually knit for babies, but now I need a pattern and yarn to knit a man’s jumper. Something that would look good on an outdoors type of man. One with red hair.’
The woman looked down at the magazine again. ‘A bit like him you mean? You lucky girl.’
‘Yes, I am lucky,’ Quinn said. ‘I’ll need a lot of yarn because where I’m headed there aren’t any yarn stores.’
A few minutes later, Quinn was packing a large bag of yarn and needles and pattern books into the Humvee. She didn’t need to consult a map. She knew exactly where she was going.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dan was due to meet Justin and Carrie at the pub for dinner. The outing was rapidly becoming a regular event. After the success of the brumby run, his friends had refused to let him withdraw back into himself. Although he’d fought it at first, refusing their invitations, he was glad now that he had decided it was time to re-join the world.
He enjoyed Justin and Carrie’s company, although it was sometimes hard to watch the love they shared growing stronger every day. Each time they met he would ask Carrie about Quinn. She told him just enough for him to know the woman he loved was all right. He hadn’t given up hope that one day she would come back to Coorah Creek. Back to him. But first, he had to give her time to resolve the issues that isolated her as much as PTSD had done to him.
He knew he was finding his way back from his dark place. He hoped Quinn was doing the same.
He was only halfway up the stairs when the pub doors swung open and a crowd of people surged out towards him, talking loudly. He made to step aside, but Trish Warren grabbed his arm.
‘Dan, that’s great. You’re just in time.’ She turned him around. ‘In fact, you can drive. Unlike the rest of this lot, you haven’t been drinking.’
‘Ah … Okay.’ Dan allowed himself to be led back to his car. ‘But all these people will not fit in my car.’
Just then, Justin’s car pulled in beside him.
‘Excellent timing,’ Trish said as if she personally had organised it. ‘Half of you go with Justin. The rest with us.’
Trish got in beside Dan, as her husband and a couple of people he didn’t know crowded into the back seat.
‘Just where am I driving too?’
‘To the hospital,’ Trish told him. ‘Jack and Ellen’s baby has come. He just rang. They have a little girl.’
Dan started the engine. ‘That’s great.’
‘We’re going down to see her, and to congratulate them.’
‘And who is looking after the pub?’ Dan asked as he backed out of his parking place.
‘That doesn’t matter. Everyone will be at the hospital. We’ll come back later for a party.’
Dan shrugged and turned in the direction of the hospital. In his rear-view mirror, he saw Justin fall into place behind him.
As he pulled up at the hospital another vehicle pulled into the car park. He recognised the driver as the mine manager who had helped with their brumby muster. The back of the vehicle was filled with men who, presumably, knew Jack from his work at the mine.
‘Good news, eh?’ said Chris Powell as they all made their way up the steps into the small hospital.
‘All right you lot, stop right there.’ A smiling Adam Gilmore was standing in the hallway.
‘Hey, Doc, how are they?’
‘Mother and baby are fine,’ Adam said. ‘I’m not so sure about Jack. He looks as if someone has hit him with a brick.’
There was a murmur of laughter.
‘Can we see them?’ Trish asked.
‘Of course, but I think maybe not all at once. Ellen is tired and the room is not that big.’
Trish was, of course, the first one through the door. Dan held back. He wasn’t really a part of this community. He didn’t want to intrude. He leaned against the wall, hoping for a chance to congratulate Jack. Then he’d leave.
‘Is that Dan Mitchell out there?’ a gentle voice called from inside the room. ‘Dan, come in here. There’s someone you should meet.’
Ellen was lying in a big bed that did not look at all like it belonged in a hospital. She looked tired, but very happy. Sitting beside her, Jack looked not only happy, but stunned. The two kids, Bethany and Harry, were there too. It was such a perfect family picture; it brought a lump to Dan’s throat.
‘Come and meet our little girl.’ Ellen waved him forward.
The child in her arms was impossibly tiny, and looked as ugly as all newborns do to anyone who is not a parent.
‘She’s lovely,’ Dan said, meaning it.
‘Have you got a name for her yet,’ Trish Warren cooed from the other side of the bed. She had taken up residence in the room’s only chair and showed no signs of making way for anyone else in the near future.
‘Not yet,’ Ellen said, glancing up at Jack. ‘We’re still arguing about it.’ The love that shone from her face put a lie to the words.
Dan glanced around, looking for a way to tactfully back away from this family moment, and his eyes fell on something lying on top of the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Something pale yellow and soft.
‘Quinn gave it to me before she left,’ Ellen said quietly, following his gaze. ‘It’s beautiful. I thought it would be perfect for the christening.’
Dan nodded, remembering the care Quinn had put into knitting the garment. If he closed his eyes he could still see her, sitting by the gas light, her hands moving quickly and surely. Muttering his congratulations, he left the room and walked to the other end of the hallway, where he leaned against the wall. He missed Quinn so much he could hardly breathe. He missed the way a flash of her eyes could make his heart skip a beat. The way her cheeky grin could lift his spirits. And he missed the warm comfort of her body in the night, when his memories made sleep impossible.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking through an open door into an empty, darkened room. For a moment he thought he saw someone there. The little girl with the big dark eyes who haunted him. He had seen her face
in the darkness or in the flames of a campfire. But he’d never seen her like this. Standing there, looking almost real. Almost as if she was still alive. And this time, for the first time, the little girl was smiling at him.
He blinked and she was gone, but he knew what he had to do. He’d probably known all along. It had just taken some time for his thick brain to accept it.
Pushing himself off the wall, he strode back through the hospital. The first person he saw was Dr Adam.
‘If anyone is looking for me, I’ll be away for the next few days,’ he said. ‘There’s something I have to do.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Where were they? Dan stared down the track leading from the ranger station back towards the main road. It was empty.
‘Come on, Justin,’ he muttered under his breath as he glanced at his watch for the twentieth time.
As if called into being by the words, a slightly battered and dusty utility appeared on the road, followed by another smaller car.
‘At last!’
The two cars pulled up outside the ranger station. Justin emerged from the first, a huge grin on his face. The door of the second burst open and Carrie darted out, to wrap Dan in a bear hug.
‘You’re going to get her?’ Carrie asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, his heart lifting at the mere thought.
‘Just as soon as you let him go,’ Justin added.
Carrie unwrapped her arms from Dan’s neck. ‘We brought you my car. It’s not exactly what you’re used to, but it’s reliable. It’ll get you where you have to go.’
After leaving the hospital two days ago, Dan had driven straight to the Coorah Creek police station to tell Max Delaney, the sergeant, that he would be gone for a time. He didn’t know how long. The park, he said, would remain open. Another ranger would arrive to take his place until he could return. Organising that other ranger had taken far more time than Dan expected. When he’d phoned the department, he’d ended up talking to Thomas Lawson. When he heard the man’s voice on the other end of the phone, his heart had sunk, but if finding Quinn meant losing his job, so be it. Lawson had, surprisingly, accepted Dan’s explanation of a personal emergency. A temporary replacement ranger was not that easy to find, however. Dan had chafed under the delay, but leaving the park unattended just was not an option. Visitors needed to have someone to help them – a lifeline in case of emergencies. Dan wasn’t going to just abandon his responsibilities. But at last the parks service informed him that a ranger was on the way to cover for him.