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Wiri laboured through the first few hours after sunrise, finding he fared better if he kept his muscles moving.
He loaded hay bales from the barn into the bed of his truck and drove through the many gates to the cattle on the upper ridges of Vaughan’s land. Lifting the bales one handed to avoid opening the cut on his fingers took longer than usual. His muscles strained and his back seemed to creak at a point level with the waistband of his jeans. But he kept going, remembering the route from the day before and feeding two mobs of Vaughan’s cattle before taking a break.
Seline’s help never materialised and as the sun grew high enough to chase away the scudding clouds, he remembered he’d forgotten to bring a drink. He missed Poppa Alfie’s hat as sweat dripped from his fringe into his eyes.
As the steers tugged at the hay, he stood for a moment and watched the bales collapse into defined slices. He’d pulled off the orange twine and should have spread out the hay to stop them from jostling, but he’d run out of energy long ago. A shard of guilt lodged in his chest as he watched them nudge and bicker to get to the food.
“Fine!” he growled, shooing them aside for long enough to kick the slices around in a wide arc. “Sorry about the foot in your breakfast, but it’s the best I can do.” Hay wedged in the holes for his laces and stuck to his socks.
He returned to the truck and rested his elbows on the bonnet, leaning down to stretch out his spine and release the niggling ache of compression. A male voice made him jump, and he groaned at the various stabbing pains which set off in a series through his body.
“Sorry, mate.”
Wiri exhaled and rose, screwing his head around to face the newcomer. He squinted, recognising the man’s face but not able to place him. “Hey,” he replied, noticing the rasping of his breath.
“Larry.” The man held out his hand and waited for Wiri to accept it. His mind took him straight back to the tank and the rushing water, which threatened to bury him beneath its swirling grey blanket.
“I remember.” Wiri nodded. “Thanks for getting me out of there.” He tutted as one steer kicked out at another and sent the mob scattering. They ranged too close to his truck, and he cursed, remembering too late that Larry also served as the local pastor. “Sorry,” he added. His fingers closed over the door handle and he gave an ineffectual tug. It resisted, and he tried again. “I should carry on,” he said. His gaze raked the paddock as far as the gate, and he cocked his head at Larry. “Did you walk up here? I can give you a ride to the bottom if you like?” The door opened on the third attempt.
Larry spread his arms to encompass the mountain and the stunning views of the valley. “I’m here to help, my friend. Leilah called. She’s worried about you.”
Wiri let the door close and braced his right arm against the truck’s chassis. He drew in a deep breath and eyed the pastor’s clothing. He’d dressed for work, paint splatter staining a pair of tattered jeans and holes in the checked shirt, which looked too big for him. Though a baseball cap covered his grey hair, he carried a battered Jackaroo in the fingers of his right hand. Wiri sighed. “You didn’t call WorkSafe on Vaughan, did you, man?” He heard the tiredness in his voice and wondered if he’d care. He needed help, and only his pride would reject it on behalf of a misplaced loyalty. But he hoped anyway.
Larry’s face creased, and he shook his head. “Someone called WorkSafe?” he replied.
“Yeah.” Wiri blinked into the sun’s watery glare and held out his hand for his hat. “If you drove Vaughan’s truck, you must be okay to drive a gear shift. Please, can you drive mine because the clutch on this is killing my back?”
***
Wiri settled into the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. “I’ll do the gates,” he offered, keeping his eyes closed.
“Na, don’t worry.” Larry revved the engine. “Those automatic gear boxes don’t have the same torque for off-roading, do they?”
“No.” Wiri squirmed against the pains in his spine. “I forgot to bring water. And my painkillers.”
Larry grunted as he turned the truck downhill. “Leilah didn’t think you’d show up at all this morning. She said you looked terrible.”
“Thanks.” Wiri snorted. “No worse than her. She said Vaughan was ropeable.”
“Yeah.” Larry drew out the word. “That man doesn’t enjoy being cooped up. He’s a law unto himself.”
“How long have you been in the town?” Wiri shifted position and turned his head to watch Larry’s expression.
“Two months tomorrow.” He grinned. “The other guy retired. It’s a pleasant town. Lots of stuff going on below the surface.”
Wiri raised his eyebrows and thought of home. The township beyond his family’s hotel seemed no different. Whispers and gossip drove the economy with as much clout as hard cash. “What about the fire service?” He shuddered at the memory of the rushing water filling his boots. His toes scrunched up inside his trainers.
“I’ve been doing that since my twenties. It’s all hands to the pump in a small town with no retained fire service. I trained as a volunteer thirty years ago.” He winked sideways at him and crinkles appeared next to his eyes.
Wiri nodded. “Some of my uncle’s stock hands were volunteers. It’s difficult to respond when they’re in the middle of nowhere, stuck up a mountain on horseback.” He sighed. “I thought about joining, but I knew I’d move on elsewhere as soon as I left school so there seemed little point.”
“You also need a sympathetic employer who doesn’t mind you disappearing half way through a job. Wait there a second. I’ll get this gate.”
Larry drove and Wiri guided him through the route Vaughan took on the previous two days. They fed the various mobs of cattle dotting the mountain’s lower slopes and took a break next to a paddock containing horses. Wiri strained to heft the bale over the post and rail fence which surrounded them. They ran to it and he waved them away before bending with difficulty to cut the twine and push it into his pocket. Larry hung back on the other side of the fence. He tilted his head to watch Wiri as he worked without concern at the half tonne horses which milled around him.
Wiri clambered onto the fence and sat on the top rail. He released a groan of relief as his aching back stretched and the thin fence took his weight across the top of his thighs instead of his tail bone. “Feels good,” he said, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to accept the kiss of the sun. “It definitely hurts more than two broken arms.” His lips curved into a smile as he remembered Phoenix’s careful attention as she fed him his dinner on a spoon. He’d loved how her mouth moved, as though chewing the food for him as she mirrored his movements. The few weeks of inconvenience and frustration had been the best of his entire life.
Larry gave a low whistle and leaned his elbows on the rail. The fence line trembled with his movement and Wiri winced. Oblivious, Larry stared at the horses as they stamped away late flies and nuzzled through the hay. “I don’t like horses,” he confessed. “They always struck me as being a half tonne of unpredictability.”
Wiri snuffed and nodded. “Yeah. They are sometimes. My uncle had this white mare for years. Part station bred and part Appaloosa. I’ve seen Sacha chase people she didn’t like, but she adored my aunt and uncle and turned to mush when they were around her.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose between the finger and thumb of his right hand. Hay dust shrouded him and made him want to sneeze. He blamed it for the watering of his eyes and his need to wipe them on the back of his hand. History weighed on his shoulders and the essence of home called to him, the whispered voices of his ancestors issuing a karanga because he’d strayed too far in his pursuit of The Plan.
Shrugging his sore shoulders to hide the shiver which rode his spine, Wiri hopped down from the fence and bent his knees to take the shock of the hard ground on his feet. “We’ll give them the last bale as well,” he said, his voice not much more than a sigh. “I brought one too many.”
“Can I throw it over to you?” Larry’s lips peeled back into a grimace, which displayed neat white teeth. “You can spread it out for them.”
Wiri shook his head. Reluctant steps took him to the bed of his truck. “Na. You’ll spook them.” He jerked his head at a dappled Appaloosa mare who’d pushed her way into the throng. Her stomach hung below her like a barrel. Her roan colours sparkled in the sunlight as though God had sprinkled her with gold. “She’s pregnant. Vaughan intends to move her into the paddock near the house.” He hefted the last bale and buried the grunt of pain by breathing out by slow degrees. “Pass it over to me but don’t drop it.” He retraced his steps over the fence and took the bale, which Larry balanced on the top rung. His thick biceps protruded through his shirt as he took the weight and lifted it down onto the grass.
The twine popped beneath the sharp blade of his pen knife and he spent time splitting it into slices. “Here you go,” he told the mare. She followed him away from the others, nosing at his jeans and his trainers before settling her muzzle into the hay. Wiri took the opportunity to check her over, running his hands over her powerful body and lifting each of her dinner plate hooves in turn. Bending to check the frogs tucked against her hoof wall made his back twinge, and he rested a hand on her ridged spine as he rose for the last time. She inhaled and blew out a gentle, peace filled breath. Wiri ran his right palm over her rounded belly and bit his lower lip as a tiny hoof moved against his touch. “I wish I could afford your foal,” he whispered, resting his forehead against her ribs. “I think it’s going to be stunning.”
He closed his eyes and imagined himself training a rose-coloured yearling in the round pen at home. His former companion’s absence left a void in his emotions, which riding and mustering once occupied. Numbness remained. He ran his fingers over the ridge of hardness and something flickered to life in his chest.
With his back to Larry, Wiri pressed a kiss to the mare’s ribs and wished that life didn’t need to be so hard. Once he’d claimed Phoenix, the round pen and the mountain would no longer welcome him home. He’d become an outcast, a pariah.
Just like his Poppa Reuben.
