History certainly wasn’t repeating itself and India could do very little to rewrite it. Hiatus was the best word to describe the situation. Everyone else had moved on to new chapters while she stayed locked in a hell of apathy. Cecil and Violet’s wedding and the reception at Potts Point was the most glamorous affair and filled the society pages of The Sydney Morning Herald. And then last week they’d departed with much pomp and ceremony on their long-awaited Grand Tour. London, Paris, Rome—Violet was beside herself with excitement. Marriage to Cecil had fulfilled her every dream.
Even Mama and Papa forged ahead, the despondency of the past fifteen years firmly behind them. Mama had received a clean bill of health and had settled into Sydney life. She planned to travel with Papa aboard The Cloud on his next trip to the East and Anya would finally get to see her homeland once more. Whereas India remained locked in some well of indecision and waiting. Waiting for the mares to foal, waiting for the foals to grow, and then it would be years before she’d know if she’d bred a racehorse.
‘Well, Peggy, it looks as though it’s just the two of us. A couple of old women, both of our lovers lost to us.’
‘Least yours hasn’t gone off in search of fool’s gold.’ Peggy pushed a plate of oatmeal biscuits across the table.
‘He might as well have done.’
‘A man has his pride. You wouldn’t want him if he didn’t.’
‘He rejected me.’ And Helligen, the very job he said he wanted, and his dreams, their dreams.
‘Give it time. Give it time. How much does he owe your father?’
‘Thirty pounds.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’ll come up with it.’
India pulled the pot of tea towards her. No matter what Peggy said it was not to be. There was only one constant in her life—loyal, unchanging and forever forgiving—and that was Helligen. Even Peggy had deserted her, taken sides. A man has his pride! Well, she had pride, too. She’d give Helligen her very best, follow her dream, and if she had to do it alone then so be it.
‘Now, what are you going to do about employing some more people? You’ll need someone to give you a hand, especially once the foals are born.’
‘I could run an advertisement …’
Peggy slammed her hand on the table. ‘I’m not living through that all over again. Can’t you employ a few more people from the village?’
‘I do need some help. Fred has an uncle who’s looking for a new position. I’ll employ him. And I’ve decided to send three of the brood mares out for mating. It’s just … I don’t seem to be able to summon any enthusiasm.’
The best thing about being alone at Helligen was the peace and the quiet. The knowledge that at long last the past had been laid to rest. Old wounds healed and for everyone else the promise of the future. Her dreams hadn’t changed. She would do as she always intended and one day present Papa with the Melbourne Cup—not a watch anymore, now they presented a cup. It would sit well on the mantle in the library under the portrait of Goodfellow. A fitting end to a long drawn-out saga.
‘I’ll go and check on Fred and then do some paperwork in the library. As silly as it sounds now, I rather miss my afternoon visits to Mama.’
‘You do that. Me, I’ve got things to do. No-one’s appetite seems to be missing. Shall I lay the table in the dining room?’
‘No, it’s a waste of time. I’ll eat in here with you and Fred and Jilly.’
‘Sounds as good an excuse as any. Can’t get you out of those work clothes no matter how hard I try.’
India tucked her shirt into her gauchos and threw Peggy a wink. It was as well Violet was no longer around to reprimand her about her attire. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at her blue evening dress that Peggy and Jilly had so laboriously restored. It hung in some cupboard along with all her Sydney clothes, consigned to the past, to a time when hope had sparked an odd moment of vanity. She wouldn’t wear them again.
The warm summer sun beat down on the top of her head as she crossed the courtyard and made her way to the small yard next to the vegetable garden. Goodfellow greeted her with his usual supercilious stare and tossed his head before nudging at the gate. He had become more of a companion, ambling around after her, picking and choosing his spot in the sunshine and the tastiest treats in the garden.
Really he was too old to ride although a quiet walk would do him little harm. She slipped the rope bridle over his head, pulled her old cabbage palm hat from the peg by the door of the stable, then mounted the old horse bareback. Needing no encouragement Goodfellow followed the path out through the gate and took the track past the lagoon, through the edge of the paperbark forest to the river.
The ibis foraging in the shallow waters turned beady eyes on her progress, more interested in their search for food than a lonely woman invading their territory. As she crossed into the bushland she searched for the goanna, but it had found a better place to sun itself than the hard-packed dirt of Helligen. In the distance the mighty Hunter wound its perpetual, lazy way through the empty paddocks.
The river drew her gaze, to the wharf where Papa had taken her to paddle her feet in the cool water, chase the dragonflies as they danced and skimmed across the tranquil surface. The memories surfaced. Not memories of Papa this time. Jim occupied her thoughts and her dreams.
Safe and secure astride a large bay stallion, the hot sun beating down on her cheek. The warm breeze and the scent of leather, sweat and saddle-soap. All poignant reminders of that one stolen afternoon before the past had caught up with her. Jefferson’s steady gait and flawless motion, Jim’s warm breath tickling her neck, his fingers light as a feather over her cheek and along her lips. His hard muscles as he pulled her into his arms, holding her firm, drawing her close. A lifetime of regret yawned in front of her.
Goodfellow picked up his pace, sniffing the welcome scent from the river, longing for the cooling relief of the water as much as she did. Summer had taken its toll; the paddocks beyond the lagoon were no longer the verdant green of spring and the ground cracked and crackled as they picked their way along the track. She pulled back on the reins. It was too hot for an old horse, but he had a mind of his own. He broke into a gallop, his mane flicking and the heat from his body permeating hers. Clinging tight to the bridle, and with her legs clamped firmly around his round belly, she gave him his head.
As the wharf came into sight she reined him in and pushed back her hat, wiping the stinging sweat from her eyes. He tossed his head, impatient for the water, for the river.
‘Slow down, old fellow. It’s not far.’
The sun hung bright in the sky, a shining yellow orb turning the landscape to gold, creating distorted flickering silhouettes and sparkles that danced on the surface. She squinted into the light.
Another horse frolicked at the water’s edge. Poachers? Trespassers? She slid from Goodfellow’s back and shaded her eyes. The bridle slipped from her hand and Goodfellow, free at last, kicked up his heels and bolted.
The two horses cavorted and capered at the water’s edge, mirror images of each other. India scanned the river, the wharf, the tiny half-moon bay, searching for Jim’s familiar long, angular shape. God, how she’d missed him. The force of her longing swept through her heated body. It had been six interminable months. She’d forced his memory away, buried beneath hard work and the day-to-day grind. Now it swelled like a tidal wave ready to consume all in its path.
‘Jim.’ Step by step she made her way to the water’s edge, his name a prayer on her lips, an unanswered prayer.
When she looked up Goodfellow stood alone in the shallows. He snuffled and snorted, droplets of water cascading from his mane in the dappled light. No sign of another horse. She shook her head and rammed her hat back down low over her eyes. Dreaming. Imagining. Wishing. What nonsense!
Striding across the tussock grass she jumped down onto the patch of sand below the bank and whistled through her teeth. The old horse lifted his head and ambled over to her; she slipped the bridle over his ears and led him back onto the path. It was time to go home.
And that was when she noticed the figure beneath the spreading branches of the red gum, lolling against the trunk, a large bay horse standing untethered by his side. A tantalising shiver covered her skin with goosebumps and her breath caught in recognition.