The moon cast a silvery shadow across the smooth surface of the water. Not a breath of air stirred the massive fig trees standing guard over the house, their buttress roots anchoring them deep in the soil. A phalanx of bats flew across a beam of moonlight and India started at the shadows they created on her bedroom floor.
Jim’s presence kindled as many shadows as the bats. Memories of the past and the brief but tantalising possibility she could succeed in the future. She still cherished the dream Papa would return home and Mama recover sufficiently to take part in everyday life. Who didn’t dream of recreating their happy childhood?
The fact Mama had spoken to her yesterday rekindled her hopes; it must be a sign of improvement. She’d seen Jefferson and confused him with Goodfellow but she had at least taken notice, responded. That alone was a sign of change.
A movement caught her attention on the edge of the dam, larger and paler than any bat, and she drew the curtain further back. Breathing heavily on the glass she rubbed at the condensation with the heel of her hand then squinted out the window. A ghostly figure astride a horse swept the perimeter of the lagoon, first walking, then cantering.
Not tonight, please, not tonight.
India raced across the hallway to her mother’s room. Not stopping to offer the usual courtesies to gain entry she flung open the door. Emptiness greeted her. The forlorn bath chair sat by the window guarding Oliver’s empty cradle; the curtains drawn back and a pale patch of light illuminated the carpet.
‘Mama! Anya!’ She charged through to the adjoining room. Anya’s single bed stood pristine and abandoned.
Cold fingers clutched at her stomach as the silence stretched and filled the empty room. She dashed back into the hallway and down the stairs, choking back a sob. A thin sliver of light radiated beneath the library door. Jim must still be in the house.
She tiptoed outside, across the courtyard and into the stables then ran down the aisle checking each bay. The two young stallions peered over the half-doors as she bolted down to the end of the aisle. Jefferson stood in the end stall eyeing her progress with a look of confusion. The mares stood in their stalls, heads turning and ears pricking at her intrusion. The final door swung free—Aura, her mother’s buckskin was missing.
India grabbed a rope bridle from the tack room and slipped it over Cirrus’s ears. Ignoring the whinnied objections of her stable mates India hurried the horse through the doors. Once outside she hitched up her skirt and straddled Cirrus bareback. The clatter of hooves on the flagstones broke the silence and she offered a silent prayer that Jim would be too absorbed in the ledgers to leave the library.
The driveway wound around under the fig trees to the front of the house. The lagoon glimmered silver and the tussock grass glittered, throwing spiky silhouettes on the still water. Coming to a halt she scanned the edge of the lagoon and searched the shoreline.
Nothing. No sight or sound of Mama.
Driving her horse into a canter she skirted the water following the well-worn path. As she rounded the corner Cirrus lifted her hooves high, refusing to move faster than a walk on the soft spongy ground.
At a stand of contorted tea-trees she slipped to the ground. An unnatural stillness loomed shroud-like and chilling.
‘India.’ A voice cut the darkness. Not harsh. Soft and sensible, painstakingly calm. She swallowed and sucked a breath into her starved lungs.
‘Be still. She is safe.’
India shuddered, the words so close yet no visible sign of anyone.
‘I am here. Stand still.’
She stopped, the voice a reminder of her youth and the cool hand that soothed her brow and chased away the nightmares. ‘Anya. Where are you?’
‘Stop and wait. Watch.’ Exuding serenity Anya stood statuesque beneath the tea-trees.
She squinted in the direction of Anya’s pale fingernail and the long slim arm she pointed across the lagoon.
‘She is safe. Watch and wait.’
Unable to resist the habit of a lifetime she followed Anya’s directions. Amongst the grasses framing the lagoon Mama moved, leading a horse so pale it almost glowed in the dark.
‘What is she doing?’
‘What she does every night. Searching. Hoping. Wishing. Praying. It’s her way to heal the hurt nestled in her soul.’
Tears clustered behind India’s eyes as the shadow trailed through the grasses. ‘Oliver’s not there.’ She shuddered as a cold breeze swept her skin.
‘Yes, but where there is hope there is life. And without hope your mother would be long gone.’
‘She must come home. Go inside. She’ll catch a chill, fall again and hurt herself.’ Her words caught in a sob.
Anya’s comforting arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close. ‘No. This is what she must do until she has no further need.’
‘But the doctors said …’
‘The doctors are fools. A broken heart will mend in its own time. Not with medicines or intervention. Just patience.’
‘Does she do this every night?’
‘Not every night, but often. And tonight is special.’
‘Why?’
‘She believes he has returned to help her.’
India rubbed at the frown creasing her brow. ‘Jim?’
‘Who knows? Does it matter? What your mother believes is what matters. If she believes and she can solve her heartache, so be it.’
India dropped her reins and sank onto a severed tree trunk. She rubbed at her temples; the pounding in her head made thought impossible. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No-one understands the mind. And a broken heart even less.’
‘What if she hurts herself?’
‘That won’t happen. She is strong and she is sensible. Except in this one matter.’
‘I see her every day and she is none of those things. She’s weak, a delusional invalid.’
‘You see what she chooses to show you.’
‘I am her daughter.’
‘Yes, you are her daughter, her firstborn, but you are not the child of her heart. That child lies buried beneath those fig trees. Until she is certain he rests in peace she will keep searching.’
India shook her head. Nothing Mama had done for the past fifteen years made any sense. Not since the day she’d fallen from the horse and lapsed into a coma. Or was it when she’d awoken and discovered her beloved son had died? Did she know her daughter was the last person to touch his warm breathing skin, the last to kiss his sweet cheek? The one responsible.
Quietness drifted across the lagoon, moments, maybe hours passed. Anya’s hand rested warm and firm on her undeserving shoulder, keeping her safe or holding her captive. What did it matter? She couldn’t change the past. When she thought she could bear it no longer the white-clad figure remounted. Mama skirted the lagoon before heading back to the outbuildings.
‘It’s time to leave. She will sleep now.’
Speechless, and with her legs shaking, she struggled back along the track in Anya’s wake. By the time they reached the stables a light burned in Mama’s window and her silhouette hovered staring out into the night.
Bidding goodnight to Anya, India stabled Cirrus and made certain Aura was back in her stall. Jefferson stood munching a mouthful of lucerne, a self-satisfied gleam in his eye.