Unexpected Delivery

by Leanne Lovegrove

  The relief at not having to destroy another family relaxed her. Now, she just had to deal with the Andersons and, of course, Daniel. Could they be saved through the efforts of their kin in Rosebrooke? Hope fluttered in her chest and like releasing a flock of doves, it spread and grew. All had to be okay.

  Whilst not relieved of her secondment just yet, she’d been directed to meet with people wishing to lodge loan applications to secure their pertinent details and assist with the process. She’d happily meet with these people—futures bright and rosy with possibility and dreams and she could help them achieve by securing funds from the bank to make it all come true. She couldn’t wait to get started. Snuggling back down into the confines of the bed, the sun streamed through the curtains, the day warming. Vivienne reached for her phone to scroll through social media. She needed banal and mind numbing but promising herself she’d get that book later.

  ##

  Jubilant with the day’s events thus far, and blanketing herself in the warmth of last night, Vivienne ventured out. She gave little thought to any reception she might receive in public. She grabbed the baseball cap off the heritage rack as she opened the door and stepped onto the small gravel path leading to the house. She rummaged through her handbag for her darkest Dolce and Gabana sunglasses to complete the look.

  Was she covering up on purpose?

  With her hair wild and tangled, she bound it in a neat swirl and captured it in the confines of the hat. She felt like a different person and with the dark rims of the glasses was unrecognizable.

  Vivienne knew that the market stalls were on today and if she didn’t go out, she couldn’t continue to contribute to the community and maybe help save Daniel’s farm in the process. The mission to keep his property had become personal. Either from the buzz of last night, or the fine spring weather, the town crawled with people. A weekend in Rosebrooke was an event to behold. The weather provided clear, crystal skies with only a few marshmallow clouds allowing people to don T-shirts and abandon their umbrellas.

  One of her favourite pastimes had always been to trawl local antique stores near where she lived. A passion of her mother’s, she’d inherited the love of old, unique things. With little else to do on a weekend in Brisbane, Vivienne would walk from her home to the local markets, collect goodies and her morning coffee and sometimes, an almond croissant to wash it down. And, before she knew it, heading home the sun had started to sink and her hands were laden with bags. Often, she purchased items she knew her mother would love, making her own collection eclectic.

  In Rosebrooke, she acted like a child in a candy shop and flounced from stall to shop devouring everything on sale. Time escaped as she scoured shelves in the secondhand bookstore, ramshackle though it might have been, with books laying atop books and magazines strewn across notebooks and other paraphernalia, she’d located a historical romance perfect for diversion. For good measure, she’d also purchased the last remaining Barbara Cartland novel for fifty cents. Not likely to read it, she still placed in amongst her treasures.

  The antique store overflowed with bric-a-brac and the vibrant colours of the vegetable marquee coerced her into buying more than she needed. She stocked up on local jams and honey, purchasing extra for the women’s shelter. She bought one jar of each bottle adorned with checkered cloth and lace with cardboard tag for each woman she knew. Christmas approached.

  Exhausted before lunch but on a shopping high, Vivienne sat perched on a rock at the far end of the township, balancing a coffee in one hand and a German hotdog in the other. She eyed off the gelato mobile van as her next course. Sated by shopping and the food, she watched people pass by with happy faces, contented skips and hands full of produce.

  Her heart soared.

  If the number of bags people carried demonstrated the amount of purchases, significant money had been made today.

  The sun crept behind a cloud, making the skin on her bare arms goose bumpy. Having paid no attention to anything other than the markets for over an hour, Vivienne hadn’t noticed the approaching weather.

  She pulled out her novel and turned the first few pages. Like unwrapping a new gift, you never knew what you’d find inside. Vivienne was quickly dragged into the world of horse drawn carriages and corsets and ladies and knights.

  One large drop of rain landed on her shoulder but she paid it no heed and read on. Another five in quick succession and Vivienne clutched at her bags protecting the leaves of her book from the splattering rain. People scattered, seeking protection under trees, stall awnings and bus stops. With little room to spare nearby, she searched for an alternative place to shelter.

  She spotted the hall.

  Images of last night danced in front of her, but in the grey daylight now descending on the mountainous ranges, it could have been any local hall in a number of country villages.

  The decorations from the trivia night no longer hung from the rafters. Instead, smaller tables lined the edges selling a variety of more delicate wares – bead bracelets, silver necklaces and silk scarves. Overjoyed with the prospect of further gifts, Vivienne manoeuvred her way to each table. She found a cluster of bangles that would delight Gigi with the clanging and jingles. Vivienne added it to her growing parcels.

  A group of people gathered at the far end, near a makeshift canteen. A dozen or so stood amongst white plastic tables and chairs as if waiting instruction. Rain pummelled the tin roof, making a din. It reminded her of ferocious summer storms as a child where the wind carolled and thunder struck and where she would bunker down in her room under the bedcovers. Here, no one paid the noise any attention. Rubbing her arms, Vivienne wished she brought her sweater. Moving amongst the small assembly of men, women and a handful of children, Vivienne stalled.

  Ned stood tall on a chair above them all, peering down at the crowd .. Having removed her sunglasses as she entered the dim interior, Vivienne bowed her head, her cap still camouflaging her noticeable hair. Her fingers glided awry strands back into its tight hold, lest the vibrant colour gave her away.

  “Look, we all know what’s going on, but best not to dwell upon that. We’ve declared today open day at the dairy and this is an opportunity to take a tour of Bunyatree. It’s a rare treat. Plus, the other exciting news is that a film crew is, as we speak, at the farm interviewing Daniel making an episode for T.V. To my knowledge this is the first time the farm operation has been recorded for the public. Never had a need, hey, to have a gander around a working farm, but now the time is right.” Ned’s face frowned and his lips compressed. “Firstly, it’s time people understood how the farm now functions given its modern revamp a few years back. It’s a serious farm, a working property with its only objective to make good quality milk and dairy products. Let’s show our support to Daniel and his family by heading out, the rain won’t last long—look, I can see clouds parting and clear sky peaking through—and not only help save this business but also learn to appreciate what it does. And, you might be on television, too.”

  His solemn words caught the crowd’s attention. A few nodded their heads. Vivienne forgot her effort at subterfuge and listened too, the emotion of the moment sweeping her up.

  Ned caught her eye but didn’t stop his sermon. He tapped his hat with his finger to acknowledge her. “Tickets are available for the next tour, we’ll be doing a few over this weekend, all proceeds going to keep Daniel making his milk and caring for those cows he loves so much.”

  People wandered over to where Ned had indicated and handed over money for paper tickets. A quantity of the joy keeping her alive today seeped out, like a river drying up. It had become stark and real again. When she reached the head of the ticket queue, Vivienne handed over a fifty dollar note.

  “That’s too much, love, let me get you the change. Here is your ticket.” She didn’t recognise the woman—were there still people in this town she hadn’t met yet—who rummaged around in a money wallet.

  “No, please, don’t worry about the change, keep it, a further donatio
n.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” the lady asked in an incredulous manner.

  Vivienne offered her broadest smile happy the volunteer had not distinguished her role in this tragedy.

  “Okay, I’m sure Daniel appreciates your support. Tour will leave in fifteen minutes from over yonder.” He pointed towards an open doorway.

  To ward off the chill, Vivienne helped herself to a steaming cup of tea. Moments later after having gulped down the hot tea and burning her mouth, she sat on a mini-bus for the short journey to the farm. She knew the road, the adulations in the bitumen and recognised the verdant green of the rolling hills before descending into the valley. Bunyatree had three hundred and sixty degree views from the back with those huge imposing trees lining the drive. It could feature as one of the homesteads in her novel.

  With the rain having ceased for the moment, the ground underfoot soaked shoes and caked mud to their soles. Every surface sat slick and smooth, clean and fresh. The glow that came after rain.

  Alighting from the bus, Vivienne searched for Daniel. Her stomach dropped when she couldn’t sight him. No doubt he’d have to repair an urgent post or downpipe after the burst of rain. Inhaling the freshness, she never tired of the aroma. After the wet, the strong scent of sweet sandalwood filled the air, mixing with the rampant damp of fur; the smell of Ginger coming in out of a rainstorm. The distant smell of hot manure also combined to provide no doubt you were in the country.

  Nerves and excitement vied for top position and Vivienne could hardly control herself. Being so close to Daniel, to his home, his life, made her became jittery and her pulse raced. One second she was sick in her stomach, the next, Vivienne craned her neck, desperate for a glimpse of him.

  Ned, who had traveled on the bus with them, shouted orders to disembark and move forward in an orderly fashion. With around twelve people on the tour there seemed to be little need for shouting or unnecessary directions. But given his height Ned stood out amongst the crowd. Waiting for further orders, her gaze skipped in all directions, never lingering long. The house was dim and quiet like the nearby sheds.

  Vivienne’s heart sank. She kept one eye forward and the other observed her surrounds. Since delivering the calf, she’d not set foot back on the property. So much had occurred in that short time. Her heart had grown an inch and carried more battle scars. With thoughts swirling in her head, she stepped past the house and into the farm itself, following Ned. She felt like she was trespassing and spying on Daniel without his knowledge. Pulling her cap down lower, she didn’t know whether to continue her subterfuge or release her wild hair and be done with it.

  A blanket of looming rain clouds bade her to keep the hat on; she needed that excuse anyway.

  “What we have here, ladies and gentlemen, is a unique farm. You are going to see and learn about the magic of modern farming today. You will not visit another farm like this one in this region. There are others, of course, that operate in a similar method to Bunyatree, but not in this area, and truth be told, you’ll be lucky to find an experienced man of the land who endorses what you’ll see here today. Let’s move out into the open paddock to see the cows better.”

  As the group walked, a camera crew appeared to their right. One fellow had the oversized camera on his shoulder, moving slowly to ensure he didn’t trip. He moved the lens sideways to capture the entire group and surrounds. As he scooted past her, Vivienne ducked low, pulling the cap over her eyes. Can you imagine if she featured in the show? The headline would read: here is the woman who ruined the farm.

  As the camera lens focused on Ned, he stood up taller, wiped his hands down his jeans pants and kept diverting his eyes from the group to the film crew. His voice came out serious and deep.

  “Let’s start with the cows. What sort of cows do we get milk from?”

  “Dairy cows,” shouted one of the kids.

  The group laughed.

  Ned didn’t.

  “Funny boy. Yes, dairy cows provide milk but what breed?” Ned glared at the little smart mouth now, aiming to embarrass.

  A man standing near the boy, answered. “Jersey?”

  “That is what everyone thinks, but no, most cows that produce milk on dairy farms are Holstein cows. For a start, they’re nice-natured cows, are placid. But more importantly is that they are the most efficient at converting their food to milk and they have a higher level of protein in their milk to fat. So, all round, they are a winner. So, now we have the best cows, what’s the best way to get the milk?”

  He paused, letting his information sink in. Ned could not avoid slicking back his short hair and eyeballing the camera. The prospect of a T.V appearance had changed his demeanor.

  “Everyone is aware that dairy farmers rise before the sun and gather their herd to be milked. Usually the farmer must attach his herd to herringbone machines and they milk the cows. It’s been like that for ever, with a few minor improvements and most farmers around here, who produce milk, will do it that way.” His arm spread wide encompassing the entire valley.

  “Daniel likes his cows, knows his science and wants to help the environment. He hears about a new, different system, a system that doesn’t require a herringbone machine to milk his cows. To him, it seems the way of the future. Let’s move closer nearer the milking shed to see if we are privileged enough to see one of the girls giving us her precious milk.” Again, we trolled after him, this time lower on the mountainside.

  Daniel didn’t need to appear on the show, Vivienne thought. Ned could do a great job at selling these milking practices alone.

  “Look over yonder. There’s a missy, she might be thinking of heading toward the milker. If we keep quiet, she might give a demonstration,” he whispered. But until then, you can see here,” he pointed to four large machines, one closer to us than the others, “this is a Lely Astronaut Robot.”

  The cameraman raced around in front of the machine and blocked everyone’s view.

  As the gathered crowd got a look, murmurs of surprise were uttered. The cameraman spun around and captured the awed expressions. A guy carrying a thick cable shadowed the cameraman’s every move.

  “This is the machine that milks all of Daniel’s cows. They are trained to know that feed sits here.” He gestured toward a bucket filled with grain. “The cows learn that the food is available to them when they step onto the scale, it’s their reward if you like. Once they step inside their tag is read by the machine and we know which cow it is, and like going to the doctor, all their vital signs are checked. So, it will alert us to any sickness the cow might have, take its temperature plus as it takes the milk, it is checked for quality. It measures protein levels and the like to ensure everything is tiptop. But it operates like the old machine-style cups. They attach to the teats after they’ve been washed,” he looked around with a grin, “and then takes the milk. A cow prepared to come into the space-age station allowing us to observe her be relieved of her heavy milk sacks.”

  The crowd went silent, Ned paused and all eyes focused forward, the cameras forgotten for the moment. Despite the care and consideration toward the cow and the machine’s ingenuity and gentleness, sterile metal still had the old girl trapped in its claws.

  Vivienne checked around her for the one hundredth time for any signs of Daniel. None. After she’d scanned the group, she did a double take. It seemed to have grown larger-not counting the crew-in the short time they observed the milk process. She counted heads and spotted two unassuming characters. There’d been a handful of children on their tour, easily discernible with their doting parents. But now, to the edge and as meek as mice, stood two more, a boy and a girl. She didn’t know these two, but the shock wave of dark curly hair on the young boy meant he could only belong to one person. Jon Snow junior had joined the group.

  The two exchanged mischievous smiles, proud of their efforts in trickery. Ned watched the people, gauging interest in the show, and if she hadn’t been watching, Vivienne would have missed his ever
so small shake of head and wry smile at the discovery of the children. Their snorts and giggles may have given away their camouflage.

  Despite her best efforts to pay attention, she couldn’t drag her eyes away from them. Vivienne watched the children’s mannerisms like a hawk, attempting to identify similar character traits to their father. Being near them intensified her thoughts of Daniel.

  Ned gathered the group around and asked that we follow him to observe where the cows rest in their luscious green pastures, roaming free like free-range chickens. The afternoon closed in, dark clouds filled the sky and sank down to the mountaintops creating an eerie environment. If she reached out, she could almost touch the tips of the dark grey balls. Traversing a slope and trailing at the back of the pack, Vivienne didn’t realise how slowly she was walking. She could no longer hear Ned giving his missive at the front, but could see his hands flailing in animation. Walking the terrain became an adventure sport as she tried to avoid manure pats.

  The camera crew must have caught what they wanted because they had disappeared. She spotted them down below, heading for the house, cords trailing behind them. Perhaps Daniel was in there being interviewed? As if floating along in a daydream, Vivienne didn’t pay much attention as she dreamed of locks of dark hair and wishing she’d encounter the more adult version.

  Without warning, or shudder of the earth, or lightning strike, and with no fuss or aplomb, the ground slipped beneath her, sliding away down the rise taking her with it.

  Tumbling bottom over top, her body thumped into the ground as her heart catapulted out of her chest. Vivienne stuck out her arms to brace a stop, but they gripped wet grass and mud. The muck slithered through her fingers, splattering on to her face, and her eyes shut. Her head connected with soft muck she prayed was not cow shit. Her hat flew off, releasing her hair that flung into her eyes, the strands like little whips. After only a matter of seconds, she stopped, the force knocking her head backwards as her legs lodged against a tree branch. Composing herself, she drew in short, shallow breaths. On each breath in, she listened for cracked ribs or loose organs.