Halfway between Morpeth and Helligen Jim veered off the track and followed a wallaby trail in the direction of the Hunter River. He yawned as Jefferson ambled along the narrow path. After his madcap ride to Morpeth the previous night he was in no hurry to return to Helligen, although he couldn’t shake his feelings of responsibility for Mrs Kilhampton. Strangely, he relished the prospect of discussing Goodfellow with Kilhampton when he returned from Sydney, but he’d be no use to anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion.
Ahead the river drifted wide and lazy through the cleared river flats and he headed for a stand of trees in the distance. Both he and Jefferson needed a drink and an hour’s rest should see them on their way refreshed.
Under the shade of a sprawling gum tree he dismounted and unsaddled Jefferson. Together they made for the riverbank. He crouched and cupped his hands, sinking them into the cool water before splashing his face and drinking his fill. Jefferson, free of his saddle and bridle, performed his usual snorting and snuffling antics in the shallow water.
Jim left him to it, moved up the bank and lay back, one arm folded behind his head, staring up at a solitary white cloud drifting above the hills. Munmurra lay about thirty miles to the west. It would be so easy to return and put the last weeks behind him, admit he’d been chasing rainbows and that his dream of owning a stud of his own one day was as likely as finding a pot of gold.
He rolled over onto his stomach, his gaze following the hills in the distance until he picked out the tree line behind Helligen, a little closer to the northwest. The smell of the river and the warmth of the sun brought back the memory of the press of India’s body when they rode together, the touch of her lips when he’d kissed her. Every time he saw her he wanted to reach out to her, reassure her. Behind her determination and courage he could see the grief etched into her soul, as though she held herself responsible for her family’s despair.
He stretched his back, ignoring the stab of guilt. There was no escaping the fact he’d used India as a pawn in his search. If Kilhampton had been at Helligen the likelihood of his ruse being accepted would have been far less. He was a dead ringer for his father—it was simple luck no-one on the property recognised him earlier. His subterfuge left a sour taste in his mouth; lying didn’t sit comfortably with him and now he’d left it too late.
His promise to Mrs Kilhampton niggled at his mind. He intended to honour it and one day soon take Goodfellow back to Helligen. It was a fitting end to his foolish quest. Without the deed of sale his father could be branded a horse thief. It must have weighed on his mind otherwise he wouldn’t have asked him to set the record straight.
The horse, despite his age, was quite capable of making the trip. Besides, he had more questions to ask Mrs Kilhampton about his father, and when India returned with her father he had every intention of demanding answers. Whether they’d answer them was another matter, but there was more to the story of Goodfellow and Helligen. India had accused him of lying—what had the Kilhamptons been doing, for goodness sake?
Jefferson stuck his wet nose into his hair and snorted until Jim rolled over. He scratched him behind the ears. The perfect stallion he’d reared from a foal. Such conformation, such stamina, and now he’d never have the opportunity to see him race. It was a bloody good job his father had taken Goodfellow away instead of allowing the trigger-happy fool to wreak his vengeance on the poor animal, otherwise Jefferson wouldn’t exist.
Someone had to know the whole story. The horse snorted and tossed his head in the direction of the hills, to the west where the sun was beginning its descent.
‘No, we’re not going to Munmurra, not just yet.’
Jefferson whinnied and ambled off along the riverbank. After about twenty paces he stopped and looked back, then kicked up his heels and took off down the track.
Cursing, Jim leapt up and sprinted after him. Something must have spooked the animal. As he rounded the bend in the river he found Jefferson waiting under the shade of a tree eyeing him.
‘What’s your problem?’
The horse gave him a long, considered look and turned his head once more to the west.
‘I told you we’ll go soon. When India returns we’ll get Goodfellow and take him home.’
Jefferson shook his head and snorted, unimpressed by the response he’d received.
‘We can’t …’ Why the hell couldn’t they? Returning to Helligen via Munmurra would mean an extra day. No more. Then, when India got back she’d see Goodfellow with her own eyes and understand the reason for his subterfuge. At worst, Kilhampton would order him off the property. Tell him to pack his bags. That was going to happen anyway. At best, India would understand. And Mrs Kilhampton would be happy.
Jim looked the stallion in the eye. ‘Stay there.’ He ran back to collect his saddle from under the tree.
Once astride Jefferson and heading west a weight lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a calm certainty. He’d be back at Helligen by tomorrow evening with Goodfellow. It was where the animal belonged and at last his father would rest easy. Mrs Kilhampton would no doubt be overjoyed to see the horse and when India returned … when India returned he would put everything straight.