Nina sniffed the wind and smiled. She loved the scent of rain on dry earth and, even after days of wet weather, the sweet smell lingered down here by the river.
Rain had catapulted the stagnating Bunyip into wild good health. All the grief and disappointments of recent weeks could not detract from Nina’s joy in the rising river. And there was more to come. They said the Hopeton Dam was breached. This was no curse; it was a blessing. Those who thought floods were just water going to waste didn’t understand how this country worked. It had been many years since there’d been a decent overflow at Red Gums. The river had overtaken the last peak, bursting free of its banks, and was still building. In her hat and Drizabone, Nina stood hypnotised by the spectacle. Occasionally she ran in with a stick to mark the water level as it crept incrementally higher and higher.
This was the first real test for her riparian revegetation program. At the river’s edge she’d chosen low-growing rushes with matted roots to bind the bank – frogsmouth and cumbungi and other tough reeds that could withstand inundation and fast-flowing water. Higher up grew the medium-sized plants with vigorous root systems. Lignum and callistemon. Tea-tree and thyme-leafed honey-myrtle. Higher up again were the red gums, coolibahs and coobas, well established now and mature enough, she hoped, to cope with the current. As the Bunyip swelled, so did her excitement. The river’s power flowed into her veins, washing away her weariness. Let it keep raining. Let the mighty waters sweep downstream to restore the dwindling billabongs, flush out the stagnant streams and breathe life back into the wetlands. Let the river reclaim its strength. A sudden heavy squall knocked her off her feet and she yelled in excitement, shouting a duet with the wailing wind.
Nina picked herself up and made her way along the bank. Further downstream, the restless water was streaming through a casuarina woodland, exploring her tree guards, gurgling into hollows and carrying away the she-oak needles it found there. Good, the young trees were holding their own. Look at that. A thrill ran through her as an elusive web-footed rakali was flushed from its hollow and darted to safety. She hardly ever saw those shy little animals. And look, a water dragon and a marsh snake swimming for the same snag. They climbed to safety, and perched facing each other in a kind of reptilian Mexican standoff.
Wherever she looked, something new and interesting was happening. It was only when a dead calf floated by that she remembered this weather could turn deadly. What about the bridge? It was bound to be flooded by now, stranding Ric and Sophie on the other side. She’d go and look later on, not that she could do much to help. Not that Ric even deserved any help, but his daughter did. Nina hurled a stick into the water. Why was everything so complicated? Her mobile phone rang, barely audible above the roar of the river. Probably Ric again. This time she just might answer it. But it wasn’t Ric, it was her mother.
‘Mum? Can I ring you back? I’m in the middle of something.’
‘They’ve found Max.’
Her legs went weak. ‘Where? When? Is he . . .?’
‘He’s dead, Nina. They found him yesterday, floating down the Kingfisher. The rains must have flushed out his body.’
‘What does this mean for Dad?’
‘We don’t know yet. The police aren’t giving much away, but they want to talk to him again.’
‘He needs a lawyer.’
‘Frank Trumble will sit in on the interview.’
‘I’ll come as soon as I can.’
‘Thank you, Nini.’ There was a catch in her mother’s voice. Nini. Mum hadn’t used that pet name since she was little, and Nina’s eyes swam with unexpected tears. Poor Mum. The family’s dependable tower of strength, the embodiment of calm and humble dignity. Nina pictured her mother’s kind hazel eyes. Her generous, comforting bosom that always smelled of eau de toilette. Her strong capable hands, wrinkled now and mottled with middle age. Nina thought of Sophie, across the river. Sophie, who hadn’t known that solid sense of family, of security, of belonging.
It had come as a surprise to discover just how much she missed Sophie. More than she missed Lockie. More even than Ric. They didn’t need her, not the way Sophie did, and it was nice to be needed. And maybe, just maybe, she needed Sophie too. Needed to help Sophie with that new horse, if it ever happened, the way she’d promised. Needed to show her the secret billabong where the snake-necked turtles hatched, teach her how to spot a platypus, tell her Freeman’s dreaming stories. Needed to share her love of the wetlands, to pass that passion and knowledge on, the way Eva had to her long ago. But seeing Sophie meant seeing Ric, and that was still a bridge too far. Last night she’d sat out on the porch, watching the lights of Donnalee homestead through the trees until one by one the windows went dark. Hoping Sophie was getting along with her father. Saying goodnight.
Nina cast another stick into the water, where it was swallowed by a whirlpool. What had happened to Max, out there in the swamp? Had he died alone, with only river red gums to witness his passing? She wouldn’t want to die like that. But maybe everybody was alone at the end, no matter what their circumstances. Maybe death was always a lonely affair.
A chill ran through her. The rain had somehow found its way down her neck and she couldn’t feel her fingers any more. Better get moving, stop moping around. There was plenty to do before she made the drive to town.