Paul shovelled the final spadeful of dirt into place and tamped it down. The smell of damp earth mixed with the scent of eucalypt. He panted, less from exertion than emotion, stood back and looked at the small mound that marked Jack’s resting place by the river, their favourite haunt when they were young. Water tumbled over rocks in that constant, soothing babble he knew so well and a magpie carolled its sweet tune from a branch overhead.
No more pain. Jack has no more pain.
But his chest hurt with a huge, aching, Jack-shaped hole. Leaning on the shovel, Paul tipped his head and looked at the tracery of leaves patterning the sky. The pattern blurred and Paul sniffled—hard. He wiped his face on his sleeve and drew a shuddering breath then turned and trudged back to the farmhouse. His mother opened the screen door as he tugged off his boots, heavy with river mud.
‘Coffee’s poured, darling. With a dash of something to take away the cold.’
Paul nodded, not trusting his voice, and sat with his back to the woodstove. He raised the mug, aware of the peaty scent of whiskey lacing his drink before it even touched his lips. He sipped, then sipped again.
‘Okay?’ His mother’s hand rubbed his shoulder and her soft voice grounded him.
‘Yeah, thanks, Mum.’
She slid into the chair next to him. ‘I know you used to talk to Jack and get things clear in your mind. You can talk to me, if it helps?’
‘How do you always know, Mum?’ He did need to talk—about the mill, and Serena, and—
He looked around, realising how quiet the house was. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Off to meet Josh. Hayden’s in the top field.’
Paul wrapped his hand around the mug and leaned both elbows on the table. ‘You know Frankston is out of prison? He turned up at the mill saying he was going to buy it. If he does, it will be the end of Mindalby Cotton because he’ll strip it and sell off the pieces for revenge.’
His mother gripped his free hand between hers. ‘Then it’s up to us to stop him. We’ll have to find a way.’
‘This damned mill closing—it’s caused chaos.’
‘But the community will pull together. Profit from the picnic will go a long way to—’
‘Help, I know. But for how long? Will it see those who can’t get work through winter?’ The Cotton Bale’s bedrooms were all taken by people who lived from pay to pay. The need in town was overwhelming.
‘People are doing what they can. Opening your property has helped.’
‘How did you know?’
She grinned and patted his hand. ‘No second sight needed. I know my son. And Josh has a big mouth.’
He sighed. ‘It’s nowhere near enough. What we need is an injection of capital. No one in town has that kind of money, not alone, not even—’
‘Together?’
Together. Together?
The idea struck him like a flash of summer lightning. It was bold, it was brave, it was—madness. The concept was way outside his comfort zone, but just maybe—
‘You’re a genius! Gotta get into town and see Penny, see if—’
‘Go. Love you.’ She kissed his cheek and straightened his collar before he jumped down the front steps and headed for the ute.
***
Penny tapped her pen on the yellow legal pad as she read from her screen, making occasional notes, emitting occasional hmms.
‘Is it doable?’ Paul gripped his hands together between his knees. The waiting was killing him and he began to doubt the idea that had seemed brilliant back at the farm.
‘Very doable, actually. A co-operative would mean no one person has control.’
Paul nodded. ‘I reckon that’s key to getting people onside. One thing about Carter’s actions, they’ve taught us a valuable lesson about control. This has to be a better way.’
Penny did a quick calculation, noted the figures on her pad and nodded to herself. ‘If you pitch the idea to the bank and back it up with, say four hundred thousand dollars, I think they’d be more than ready to listen. As it is at the moment, they stand to make a substantial loss if the mill is sold at a knockdown price.’
His stomach flipped at the thought of who the purchaser could be, and the reason he was here talking with Penny. ‘The possibility of Frankston buying the mill is like the threat of a nuclear war. He’d leave nothing standing and Mindalby would cease to exist.’
‘I agree. Problem for us is the drought has affected crop prices, and the flow-on effects in the community make the mill a less attractive proposition to an outside buyer. But I think there are enough people in town who would tip in money to save the mill.’ Penny made one last note and sat back, a smile growing on her face.
Paul leaned on the desk as faint hope shimmered in front of him. ‘So it would be run by an elected board? No one person would control it?’
‘That’s correct. Why don’t you ask around, get a feel for which businesses would be the biggest losers if the mill doesn’t reopen?’
‘I’ll go and see Julian Stone and Tox Ryder for a start. Their transport businesses must have taken a big hit already.’
‘Well done, Paul. I have a good feeling about your idea. A co-op for Mindalby cotton would give the town control over its future.’
‘Anything will be better than letting a bastard like Frankston—sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t apologise, you’re right. He was a bastard. It was a sorry day for Mindalby when he rolled back into town. I was lucky I found out what he was really like before I married him. Now, take my advice and start canvassing support.’
‘Thanks, Penny.’
‘There’s no charge for today. I’m happy to help however I can. Call this my contribution to our town pulling back from the brink.’