After returning from the bush run, Jeremy stayed on for another three weeks, busying himself with checking and tidying-up work around the station. He made sure that all the machines were serviced, cut three hundred wood posts for fencing and welded up some spare gates. He also told Alice that before he left he needed to be sure she’d found a trustworthy replacement for him. ‘You might end up stuck out here with some sort of sleaze,’ he said in genuine concern.
Then an idea occurred to him. After struggling with himself for a day or so, he did the honourable thing.
‘Ali, are you still in touch with Troy?’ he asked over morning smoko.
‘Yes, every now and then. Why?’
‘Because I reckon if you let on to him that I’m leaving Redstone, he’ll be back in the country before you can scratch yourself, to snap up my job.’ Jeremy looked at Alice searchingly.
She sat quietly for a moment, her eyes downcast.
Jeremy went on, ‘Troy’d do the right thing by you here, Alice.’
‘Of course he would!’ she agreed earnestly. ‘But I could never forgive myself if he wasted the opportunity he’s been given overseas to rush back home. He’s only just starting to settle in over there and make a name for himself. No, best not tell him. We’ll have to think of someone else. I have a few more phone calls to make yet.’
Involuntarily, Jeremy felt a rush of relief at Alice’s words, then cursed himself inwardly. He had no right to be feeling possessive towards her. Why couldn’t he get it through his thick skull that Alice didn’t want him? After two-plus years of being with her almost every day, he’d had more than a fair go. And why shouldn’t Troy have her? There weren’t too many better fellas kicking around.
In the end, it was decided that Arthur and Beryl Sawtell would come to Redstone to help caretake and assist with the odd jobs. A few months ago the old couple had sold Serena Downs and retired to town, none of their children being interested in returning to work the place. Beryl had been lamenting the situation to Alice at church one day: she herself was thoroughly enjoying the social activities in town, but Arthur was very unhappy, ‘cooped up and impossibly cranky’. Consequently, the Sawtells had jumped at Alice’s offer.
Jeremy telephoned the elderly couple on the sly, to make sure they were going to do the right thing by Alice. He spoke to Arthur and explained how reluctant Alice always was to ask anyone for help. ‘She won’t wanna put you out. She thinks she can do everything by herself,’ Jeremy warned. ‘If it looks like she’s struggling you need to keep a bit of a tab on things. You might have to dig your heels in a bit and make her let you help.’
‘My oath I will,’ Arthur assured him. ‘Can’t wait to get my hands dirty again. They’ve gone all pink and soft like a townie’s. Anyway, Sammy Day was one of my best mates. You can trust me. I am a Rotarian, after all.’
‘Oh well, in that case . . .’ Jeremy tried to sound serious.
‘And Beryl will enjoy having someone to fuss over again. Like a mother hen she is, and not a single grandkid within cooee.’
A few days before Jeremy was to leave, it was Alice’s twenty-first birthday. She was awoken before dawn by soft, stealthy sounds coming from the kitchen. She lay still, listening, wondering whether a possum had found its way into the house. Next came a clatter and a clang, followed by the sound of Jeremy swearing. Then the noises ceased abruptly and the pre-dawn stillness took possession of the house again. But sleep had fled for Alice, so she climbed out of bed and pulled on some clothes.
The kitchen light revealed an odd arrangement that had been placed carefully at the centre of the old wooden table, in the spot usually reserved for the teapot. Placed neatly side by side on the checked tablecloth was a pair of exquisitely crafted old-fashioned riding boots. The tops of the boots had been crammed full of gumtips and an unusual assortment of weedy bush flowers. A tin mug and spoon that Alice had left after a bedtime drink were lying on the floor: the intruder must have knocked them off the table.
She walked closer. The leather of the boots was decorated with a delicate embossing of leaves and swirls. There were several solid brass studs around the top edge and the soles were also made of thick, dark leather. Scrawled on a pale blue envelope that had been placed beside the boots were the words, Happy 21st, Alice. Love from Jeremy.
The words suddenly blurred as Alice regarded the familiar messy handwriting. She picked up the envelope and turned it over. It was empty; it must have simply been something Jeremy had found in his cottage to write on. Alice smiled. The soft shade of blue was her favourite, and she wondered if he’d chosen it on purpose.
Alice gently removed the foliage and flowers and put them into a vase that had been sitting empty on the windowsill, dormant since her grandmother’s death. Then she pulled on the boots. They were a perfect fit and soft with use. It was clear that the former owner of the boots had taken exceptionally good care of them, oiling them regularly as the leather had a supple sheen.
Stepping lightly out onto the veranda through the open door, Alice savoured the soft thud of the leather soles on the old timbers. There she stood for a time, watching the orange glow that was kindling in the east and listening to the first birds heralding the birth of the day. Looking down at the boots in the dim light, she suddenly recognised them for what they were. Jeremy had once told her about a precious prize he’d won in a calf-riding competition: these boots Jeremy had named as the pride and joy of his early teens. Alice had never imagined he’d still have them, or that they would still be wearable. She felt humbled and undeserving, as though he had given her a small wedge of his own flesh. How would she ever thank him?
‘Look, Jeremy,’ was all she said, glancing down at her feet when he came over for breakfast. Then, smiling up at him, she hoped her gratitude was written on her face. Unspeaking, he smiled back and she could see that he was well pleased.
Jeremy’s last days slid by, and all at once the time of his departure was upon them. By six o’clock in the morning, Jeremy had packed his few belongings into the tray of his ute. Alice stood by sadly as he tied down the load.
‘Hop in, Ace!’ he commanded, in as bright a tone as he could muster. Then he turned to Alice. Their eyes met briefly before she lowered her lashes to hide the tears that threatened.
Her voice trembled. ‘Jeremy, how can I ever begin to thank you for everything you’ve done?’
‘It’s no big deal, Ali,’ he said, with forced lightness. ‘Just give me something to remember you by. A kiss’ll do. I promise ya, you won’t catch any diseases from a little old kiss.’
To Jeremy’s surprise, without hesitation Alice put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. Then she buried her face in his chest. He put his arms around her and held her tightly, planting a few tender kisses on the top of her head. Then he released her and turned quickly away, climbing into his ute.
He tried to sound cheerful as he waved casually out the window. ‘I’ll see ya when I’m looking at ya.’ But his voice cracked and the last word came out sounding more like a sob. He looked away from Alice, who was crying in earnest now, and accelerated away in a cloud of dust. He slowed down a little at the grid and Ace took the opportunity to jump out and lope back towards Alice and the Bennet sisters, who were still standing where he’d left them. Jeremy halted for a moment, watching his dog’s desertion in the rear-vision mirror.
‘Bugger him, he might as well stay. No place for a dog where I’m going.’ Then he sped away down the Redstone road.