Secrets of Silvergum

by Mandy Magro

  None of them knew what that fight had been about – Zane had confronted Michael for not even bothering to be at his daughter’s birthday party. Nor did they know the dark secrets Peter had made him keep, to protect Emma, or so Peter had said. None of them had walked in his boots, so who were they to judge? Damn the small-town narrow-mindedness of some people, who had nothing better to do with their lives than spread lies. He had to give it to Peter, though – even in death, the man knew how to draw a crowd. He was the one man that everyone in this room, apart from Michael, at one time or another, would have been happy to see gone. But now, in the harsh reality of death, they must have felt guilty for their thoughts – himself included. Considering that Peter always commanded respect but would walk over anyone to get what he wanted, the people of Silvergum had forgiving hearts. Zane sighed. If only he could find forgiveness in his, it would make this tragedy a whole lot easier to deal with. Would he ever be able to let go of the past, so he could step out of the shadows that it cast? After the past sixteen years of his life spent trying to run from the pain, he doubted it.

  Wishing he were any place but here, he shifted his gaze from the deep mahogany coffin with the large wreath and framed photo of Peter atop it, looking only for her. He needed to know if Emma was going to carry whatever it was that had made her run from his arms last night, into the events of today. Renee had tried to lay his concerns to rest when she’d walked back into the pub, saying Emma had gone home because she wasn’t feeling well, but he wasn’t born yesterday. Knowing Emma the way he did, he was sure there was a lot more to it. But he wasn’t about to press for answers he possibly wouldn’t like hearing. He had to admit, he’d overstepped the friendship line thanks to alcohol and desire-fuelled recklessness. His deep-seated feelings for her were no excuse. But even if that were the case and Emma was cranky with him for acting like a lovesick fool, he knew that by seeing her now, he would feel a certain kind of comfort that only she could give. She’d always had the knack of soothing him when he felt as if he were spiralling out of control, and right about now, he could use a good dose of soothing. As he’d always been her rock when they were growing up, she had been his soft landing; a voice of reason that always made him feel worthy of standing tall and entitled to follow his own path. She was his calm in a storm, and also the fuel to his fire. It was an intoxicating combination – one no other woman had been able to give him.

  Seated in the front row, near Michael and some woman Zane gathered must be Michael’s girlfriend, Emma peered over her shoulder as if sensing his eyes upon her. Liking that thought, he acknowledged her with a restrained smile. She smiled softly back at him, the compassion in her dazzling eyes letting him know it was all going to be okay between them. It was like an offering of an olive branch, and he grabbed it before she pulled it away. Flooded with relief, he finally felt like he could draw in a decent breath. The young girl beside her turned to see what Emma was looking at, and a bolt of nostalgia struck him as their eyes met, the unshed tears she was wiping away wrenching at his heartstrings. Like mother like daughter, the striking teenager sitting between Emma and Renee was undoubtedly Riley. A wave of protectiveness overcame him, and he yearned to try to shield her from the agony of her grandfather’s funeral, to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He offered her a small smile, but Riley looked at him as if he were a stranger, and it cut deeper than he thought it should. How could he blame her, when he hadn’t bothered to keep in touch?

  Mary seemed to be heading straight for Michael and the woman half his age cosied up beside him, but thankfully she slid into a pew three rows back. Saying a quiet hello to Frank, Zane sat down beside the now seventy-something man, noticing how much thinner and greyer the ex-publican’s hair had become. Sitting in silence, Zane’s gaze blurred past Michael and settled on Peter’s coffin. He tried to imagine the irrepressible Peter Wolfe lying in submission in such a confined space. It was a hard image to swallow and stirred emotions he’d hidden so deeply he quickly diverted his attention to stop them rising to the surface. He’d shed his tears the day Mary had called him with the news, in truth only because of the fact he’d never hear the apology he’d so wanted to hear slip from Peter’s lips.

  Clearing his throat excessively, as if telling everyone to quieten down, the priest stepped out from behind the altar and nodded. Following the sudden hush, the young man, sweating in his vestments, didn’t waste any time in beginning the service. After welcoming everyone, he spoke of beginnings and endings, and how the only way forward was to accept both with a wholesome heart, and how it was important to embrace grief at such a tragic time. Two people unknown to Zane went up to read scriptures from the Bible, even though Peter was never a god-fearing man. Then it was Michael’s turn to stand up and make Peter into a man he wasn’t, to sugar coat his life. His objective clearly was to leave a sweet memory of a man who Zane would always remember as a harsh figure in his life. As Michael’s words jumbled and faded into mindless drivel, Zane shifted his gaze between Emma and Riley, the coffin, and back again, his heart vaulting from nostalgia to despair, to longing and regret. It was only when Michael spoke the words that struck his very core, did Zane turn his attention back to him once more.

  ‘We all come from the earth, and in the end, we yield to it, free and void of pain, sins and sorrow. It is only then, once the dirt is placed over us, we are returned to Christ, our Lord, in our purest form, to be pardoned for our wrong deeds, celebrated for our good ones, and accepted into heaven unconditionally.’

  Zane gritted his teeth – Michael must have copied his words from some book.

  Gripping the sides of the pulpit, Michael closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before continuing. ‘This, my dear friends and family, is what I wish for, for my father, a man who deserves to be honoured for the righteousness he brought into this world, and not remembered or judged for things we may or may not agree with.’

  Zane unfurled his white-knuckled hands from the pew in front of him, the proclamation so close to home the haunting memories he’d learnt to disregard stormed into his mind, and the terror and shock he’d experienced was suddenly as palpable as it had been that terrible night. Emma glanced towards him, her face as pale as what he imagined his to be. Trying to offer her comfort with his gaze, he fought not to show what he was thinking as Michael stepped down from the polished wooden pulpit, descended the steps and placed his hand on the coffin, whispering words Zane wished he could hear. Or maybe it was best he didn’t.

  The priest nodded solemnly and said a few final words, inviting all to the cemetery. The congregation then stood, and Zane joined them, unsure of what to do next. It was time to carry the coffin. Up until this second, he hadn’t even considered if he should be one of the pallbearers. His mind tipped and swayed. Should he or shouldn’t he?

  Sensing his uncertainty, Mary leant into him. ‘Go on, love, if you feel it’s the right thing to do, you should. I’m sure Kay would have liked you to be involved, if she were here.’

  Still unsure, but with no time to think, he stepped past Mary and Frank and over to help carry the coffin. With six men already on either side, he chose to go to the back.

  Michael subtly elbowed him in the stomach as he passed him. ‘Don’t you dare …’ he spat out beneath his breath.

  Anger and humiliation settled in Zane’s gut, cold and hateful. But not wanting to make a scene, he stepped back. This was the lowest blow, but where Michael was concerned, what had he expected? Shame washed over him, and he turned away from prying eyes.

  Emma came to his side and gently placed her hand on his back. ‘Don’t let him get to you … you’re a better man than he’ll ever be,’ she whispered, before stepping past him and taking a weeping Riley by the hand.

  Emma’s words soothing his anger and heartache, Zane waited for the church to begin to empty before following the remaining line of people outside. Keeping to himself, he stepped around the side of the church and drew in the deepest breath he could muster, while reminding himsel
f to calm the hell down. Michael had always known just how to flick his switch, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of losing it in front of everyone, especially today. It was exactly what the son of a bitch wanted, so he could prove to everyone that his and Peter’s theories about Zane were right. Wandering in circles under the shade of a paperbark tree, he watched the hearse pull out and the mulling people disperse. Safe from being cornered by some well-meaning Silvergum local, he strode over to his four-wheel drive and retrieved his cowboy cover. It was well needed.

  Head down, he walked to the cemetery, hands shoved in his pockets and his wide-brimmed hat pulled low. Apart from a nod of acknowledgement or a short g’day in passing, he kept to himself. A block down from the church, spiked black fencing surrounded the graveyard as if it were a prison. Stepping through the open wrought-iron gates, he made his way up the path that weaved its way through a maze of graves, both new and run-down. Although hot in his long-sleeved shirt, he shivered – the place felt so full, yet so empty at the same time. His mother having chosen a cremation, the family had followed her wishes and spread her ashes at Wattle Acres. Zane was thankful she wasn’t laid to rest amongst all of this. A free spirit in life, she deserved to be so in her death.

  Atop the hill, a freshly dug hole awaited its new occupant, and a portable canopy covered it. Trust Peter to buy a site at the highest point of the cemetery – he was always above everyone when he was alive, and now he would remain so in death. The black hearse was parked nearby, the pallbearers ready to carry the coffin. Successful in dropping his anger a few notches on his walk over, he avoided catching Michael’s eyes. He didn’t want to deal with his mean spirit right now, or the drive to knock it right out of him.

  As the mourners gathered by the grave, he remained off to the side, his gaze fixed on Emma. She was, as always, a beautiful distraction. Despite her five-foot-nothing height, she was an impressive sight. Her long hair tied back in a braid accentuated her petite features and the tiny diamond stud in her nose. As she lifted her hand to push a stray tendril of hair back from Riley’s face, her sleeve slipped, revealing the tattoo of an angel he remembered so well. He had given it to Emma as her sixteenth birthday present, from one mate to another, and he’d sat right beside her as she’d braved the pain of the tattoo gun. He knew she had more, too, a black rose on her exquisite hip, a Native American woman at the top of her thigh, and a lotus flower at the lower part of her back, right at the place he now longed to place his hands while he pulled her to him, just like he had last night.

  He found himself mesmerised, watching how her lips moved into a soft smile while she wiped tears from Riley’s cheeks, before pulling her daughter to her, protectively, lovingly. He ached to be a part of their bond, to share their sense of family. These two special souls had endured so much of late and he longed to embrace the pair of them, to protect them from any more hurt in their lives, and to shelter them from Michael’s narcissism. Something he should have done a long time ago, instead of running back to the States with his tail between his legs. And so, without another thought, he closed the distance, ignoring Michael’s gaze burning a hole in his back. Even though adopted, he was a Wolfe, Kay had made him so, and he deserved to be here as much as any other person – to hell with Michael and his self-righteousness.

  ‘Hey, Em …’ He kept his voice low as he watched Riley turn and snuggle into Renee, who offered him a kind smile. ‘You okay?’ he said to Emma.

  ‘Yeah, you?’

  ‘Yup, all good.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ She didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy and can deal with my own shit.’

  Up on her tippy toes before he realised what she was doing, Emma brushed a kiss over his cheek and gave him a tight hug. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened back at the church.’ She looked to where Michael was standing by the hearse, waiting to carry the coffin over. ‘He’s such an arsehole,’ she whispered behind her hand.

  ‘Damn straight he is.’ He leant towards her. ‘How’s Riley doing?’

  ‘Not great, but to be expected. She loved her grandfather.’ A worried shadow lurked as she swept her eyes over him. ‘How are you doing? You look beat.’

  ‘Oh gees, thanks … lack of sleep will do that to a person.’ She looked like an angel, and he ached to tell her as much. ‘It’s just been a big couple of days, and last night didn’t help. I should’ve just hit the sack as soon as I got here, but I kind of wanted to drown my sorrows. Hindsight can be a bitch, huh?’

  ‘Yup, it bloody well can be, and a big fat ditto to drowning the sorrows.’ She smiled ever so slightly as Riley wandered back to her side. ‘Do you remember Zane, sweetheart?’

  ‘Hey, Riley.’ He reached out and touched her arm. ‘You’ve shot up a fair bit since I was last here …’ He smiled. ‘It was at your eighth birthday, if I remember right.’

  Sniffling, Riley tipped her head to the side. ‘I kinda do. You’re my long-lost uncle, aren’t you?’

  Her honesty was confronting, but he smiled through it. ‘Correctomundo.’ He looked to Emma. Her face suddenly pale, something unfathomable passed in her gaze. Had he said something he shouldn’t have? He went to ask but Riley continued.

  ‘It’s nice you made it all the way here, Uncle Zane. I’m sure Grandad would appreciate it, even if my father doesn’t. It wasn’t very nice, what he did to you at the church. I’m really sorry about that.’ Riley smiled, the fragility behind it reaching right into Zane’s heart and squeezing it tight.

  ‘Thanks, Riley, and please don’t apologise for him. It’s not your fault.’ He recognised the hollow look in his niece’s eyes and understood all too well the hurt of having a father who didn’t know how to show any love for his child. Unsure of what to say when silence fell, he grabbed onto his first thought and ran with it. ‘You still obsessed with horses?’ Stupid question, as he knew she would be with a horse-loving mother like Emma, but he wanted to divert Riley’s attention to something that made her smile from the inside out – if that were possible on a day like today.

  His strategy worked, and her sad smile broadened into one filled with joy and warmth and everything good in this world. ‘I sure am.’

  ‘I’ll have to call around sometime before I head back to the States, maybe go for a ride with you and your mum, if that’s okay with you both.’

  ‘That’d be nice, hey, Mum?’ She looked to Emma for her agreement.

  ‘It would be lovely. How about tomorrow afternoon, and then you can stay for dinner, if you like?’

  ‘It’s a date,’ he said all too quickly.

  The priest’s arrival meant he didn’t have the chance to backpedal and explain that wasn’t exactly what he meant. They all turned to watch the coffin being carried across the picture-perfect green lawn to the tune of ‘Time to Say Goodbye’. His heart heavy, more for never having experienced Peter’s love or pride, as Michael had, Zane still couldn’t quite come to grips with the fact this was all really happening. Emma stood so close to him now, the gentle breeze whipping the hem of her long skirt against his leg. His senses heightening, he could feel her warmth, her energy, and hear the small intake and outtake of her breath. Riley cuddled into her, her weeping becoming more of a deep sob as the coffin was lowered. In that instant, hearing Riley’s raw heartbreak, something deep inside him slipped and shattered, taking him by surprise. He fought to remain composed as he longed to pull his niece into his arms, to somehow take away her pain and make it his. Clasping his hands together tightly, so he didn’t do just that, he drew in a desperate breath and then another, the surge of emotions overwhelming him.

  Emma gently wrapped her arm around his waist, closing the inches between them. Catching sight of them so comfortably close, Michael scowled across the grave towards them, while mumbling beneath his breath. Zane returned the look of disapproval, ten-fold. Michael was, and always would be, a selfish prick. His arm was wrapped around his expressionless girlfriend, who Zane imagined to be c
ounting the inheritance while staring at Peter’s coffin, instead of wrapped around his heartbroken daughter. Zane sucked in a desperate breath. The heartache gripping him like a vice wasn’t for the loss of Peter, but for the only people other than his mother who had ever made him feel a part of a family. He felt a bond with Emma and Riley he’d never felt with another living soul. For the first time in as long as he could remember, unconditional love and a sense of belonging replaced the empty restlessness that had occupied his tortured soul.

  CHAPTER 12

  Wattle Acres, Silvergum, North Queensland

  Not much had changed in the seven years since she’d last stepped foot in here. Emma knew her face was ashen because she’d felt the colour drain as she’d inched her way through the front doors. Memories clung to every inch of the homestead, some good, some horrific; she just had to find a way, for today, to let them all go. Never in her wildest dreams would she have believed she’d be back here. She looked at the table where she and her own mother and Kay Wolfe used to sit, drinking tea and sharing scones when they would pop in for a visit – which was quite often, given the two women were close friends and neighbours. If only she’d known then what she did now, how different their conversations would have been.

  Wiping sweaty palms down her cotton skirt, she tried to rid her mind of the harrowing images of Martin Turner collapsing to the floor, blood pouring from the wound where he’d knocked his head against the marble bench top. Just what he’d been doing kneeling on the floor of the kitchen, of all places, was beyond her. Her pulse was racing and had been since stepping foot in here. She wondered if anyone could hear it thudding against her ribcage, for the sound of it filled her head. Turning her back on the busy CWA women who had gathered in the kitchen to lend helping hands, she stole a second of privacy. A tear rolled down her cheek before she even realised she was crying – if only Peter hadn’t lied to them about Martin being part of the Mafia, she would have gone to the police. What had he wanted to cover up with his deceitfulness? It sure as heck wasn’t to save her sorry arse. With a quivering hand she quickly wiped the tears away and drew in a steadying breath. Nobody could know what had happened in here. She needed to get a damn grip.