SOPHIE

Sweet Wattle Creek, 1986

The ambulance had arrived from Riverton. We’d made Mrs Davies comfortable and tried to reassure her that help was on its way, but after calling me ‘Belle’ she’d lapsed back into unconsciousness. Josh, her nephew, had turned up just after the medicos, looking wild-eyed with worry.

I let Ian do the explaining. I was feeling a bit shaky myself as I sat down on the front steps of the farmhouse. The border collie snuggled up against me—he was in a similar state to Josh—and I was happy to pet him and watch from a distance. I had an association with ambulances I didn’t really want to relive just now.

Mrs Davies was loaded into the back of the vehicle, and when it drove away, Josh followed after it in his ute. Ian watched them go before he came over and sat down beside me.

‘You okay?’ he asked, and he looked at me as if he really wanted to know and wasn’t just being polite.

I wasn’t used to that, and it took me a few seconds to answer. I didn’t intend mentioning what Mrs Davies had said. I still wasn’t quite sure I’d heard her correctly, or that was what I was telling myself. Really, I knew I had. It just seemed so odd that I wanted to mull over it for a while, and try to sort it out for myself.

‘Yep, I’m okay. What about you? Did they say she was going to be all right or … ?’

‘They didn’t say much.’ He stared towards the road, where the dust was still drifting from the departing vehicles. ‘Josh asked if we’d look after Smithy.’ The look he gave me this time made me think he expected an argument.

‘Smithy?’ I was imagining some ageing gentleman, bedridden, in a back room.

‘Smithy,’ he said, and slid his hand under the collie’s muzzle and lifted it up so we were eye to eye. ‘This is Smithy. He’s Mrs Davies’s pride and joy. Named after Charles Kingsford Smith, the aviator. Mrs Davies saw the man himself when she was a young woman and was rather smitten.’

‘Oh.’

‘Smithy’s not a working dog and Josh is worried he might pine away here on his own, but I think he’s more worried about what his aunt will do to him if anything happens to Smithy.’

‘Oh. And you couldn’t refuse?’

He pulled a face. ‘It seemed churlish to say no in the circumstances. Would you have refused?’

‘Of course not.’ I sighed.

It was tranquil out here. A big pepper tree protected the building from the full force of the sun, its feathery leaves stirring faintly whenever there was the whisper of a breeze. There wasn’t much livestock that I could see, apart from the horses, and they stood in the shade, too, tails swishing. If the Davies’s family business had been reduced to an old lady and her nephew, I could understand why it was so quiet.

‘Come on, then,’ Ian said, getting to his feet. Smithy followed him and didn’t seem too concerned about jumping into the back of the car, although he did pause to give me the sort of look that seemed to say: ‘Are you coming?’

As I walked from the house and the shade of the tree, the heat felt stifling. We needed a storm to cool things down, but by the look of the eye-wateringly blue sky there wasn’t much chance of rain.

Ian’s car didn’t seem to have a functioning air conditioner, so I half opened Smithy’s window—not far enough for him to jump out—and then my own. Ian waited for me to get settled and then he started up the station wagon. This time I got out to open the gate, without being asked, and he smiled at me when I climbed back in. That was nice. I hoped Miriam appreciated him, I thought, as we drove back in the direction of Sweet Wattle Creek.

‘So much for our detective work,’ Ian said, raising his voice above the noise from the open windows. ‘We still don’t know the story of the wedding dress.’

‘We can ask her later. When she’s recovered.’ I didn’t like to mention that she may not.

‘Do you mind if I drop Smithy off with you at the Herald?’ He glanced at me to gauge my reaction. ‘I don’t think Nola would like it if I took him into the library with me.’

‘She might. What do you think, Smithy? Can you sort books for Nola?’

Ian snorted a laugh.

‘Ian, I have a very small backyard,’ I said, wishing I could say no. ‘And a very large cat.’

Ian didn’t seem to consider those excuses good enough. ‘I’ll come and collect him later,’ he said. ‘Or maybe Josh’ll take him back to Morwenstow.’

I peeped over to the back seat, where Smithy was lying. He lifted his head, his doggy eyes miserable, as if he knew we were discussing him.

‘Oh, all right. If it’s only for a little while. I don’t think my landlord would approve if I had him for too long.’

Tim was my landlord and he wouldn’t mind, but I wasn’t going to encourage either Ian or Smithy.

‘Thanks, Sophie. I’m sorry to dump the dog on you, but …’

‘Neither of us could say no.’ I tucked my hair behind my ears, aware of my t-shirt sticking to my sweaty skin. The breeze through the window was warm, but it was better than nothing. ‘Can you take me and Smithy home? I’ll ring Tim and let him know what’s happened.’

‘I’m sorry to mess up your day,’ he said with an anxious look.

‘You haven’t messed up my day,’ I assured him. ‘It wasn’t your fault it went wrong. Poor Mrs Davies. And poor you, Smithy,’ I added over the seat. ‘Perhaps Josh knows about the dress?’ I said hopefully, turning back to Ian. ‘Did you ask him?’

‘No, it didn’t seem the right time. I’ll ask him when I ring later on to see how his aunt is doing.’

Once we reached town I directed Ian to my house and he pulled up outside. When I opened the back door of the car, Smithy crept out and sat, tail moving tentatively, looking from me to Ian. I knelt down.

‘It’s all right, boy. This is just temporary. You’ll be fine if you stay away from the cat. He’d tear you to shreds.’

Despite my warning, Smithy seemed to perk up at the mention of a cat and he followed us inside the house quite cheerfully.

Ian led the dog through the big glass windows that opened onto the small concrete patio and the rectangle of lawn. I’d put some potted herbs out there, but they didn’t look very happy. After a year I still wasn’t used to the dry heat of Sweet Wattle Creek. I’d grown up in the tropics, to humidity and lush vegetation, and sometimes the parched brown land was depressing.

I found a water bowl and some old blankets for a bed and took them out onto the patio. Ian was giving Smithy a pat and a talking-to, so I left them to it and put the kettle on.

I have a theory that people who are kind to animals are usually good people. It isn’t always foolproof but very nearly. Walter had no time for animals. I should have known what sort of person he was the first time he said it, but by then I was in too deep.

The kettle had boiled by the time Ian joined me in the kitchen. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves today—a small concession to the heat—but he didn’t seem to feel it like I did.

‘I’ll have to get back to the library,’ he said. ‘There are things I need to sort out—you’d be amazed how many donations I get every day. And then I want to set up some more displays in the hall. Nola told me the committee’s planning a surprise visit.’

‘Sounds daunting. Just as well she’s on your side. Although I’m sure they’ll be happy with what you’ve done.’

‘Thanks. They want their money’s worth. I understand that.’

‘Coffee?’ I asked. ‘I only have instant.’

‘Is there any other kind?’

While I was making it, he wandered through the arched doorway into the lounge and peered at the framed prints on my wall. They didn’t mean anything, they were just random objet d’art. I’d left all my belongings behind me. But there was one small print of a flowering flame tree, its red flowers brilliant against a cloudless blue sky. I’d had one just like that outside my house in Brisbane, and somehow when I saw this for sale in an op shop in Riverton I just couldn’t resist.

‘I like this,’ he said.

‘Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it? So, apart from the Centenary Exhibition … what else is the committee arranging? Sorry, I should know. Tim’s always telling me.’

He turned to look at me and for a moment I thought my swift change of subject had given me away, but an instant later he smiled and it seemed as though I’d got away with it.

‘A ball with everyone in fancy dress and a Back to Sweet Wattle Creek at the primary school for all the former students. There’ll be posters and pamphlets to hand out to the shops. I think the committee’s also paying for a few radio advertisements, and one for television in the last week before the big weekend. And of course we have the Herald’s invaluable publicity.’

‘Ah. I’ll get on to that. Pity about the dress, but I think I need to know the whole story before I can put it together. Perhaps I’ll take a photo of you on that ladder in the hall and do a bit about you and Miriam.’

He set down his cup carefully and then looked at me. ‘You say that as though Miriam and I are an item.’

Did my mouth fall open? ‘Aren’t you? You said “your partner” so I just assumed …’

‘That I was being precious about calling her my girlfriend?’ He gave that wry half-smile and I noticed his ears were pink, which meant he was embarrassed again. ‘She’s my business partner. Nothing more. Well, she’s also a friend. We’ve known each other for eons.’

‘Right. Sorry.’ I fiddled with my own cup, the coffee half drunk. ‘Not that it’s any of my business, of course.’

He didn’t answer.

‘Eh, so you’re living next to The Grand. Not exactly the view I’d want from my front window.’

‘I suppose not. It has quite a history, you know. The Grand. It may pay you to read up on it. Might make a good story for the Herald. I’m planning a special corner for it at the exhibition. The Bartholomews owned it, one of the original settler families. In fact, they were here before Sweet Wattle Creek.’

I made the right noises but I wasn’t really listening. I was still trying to work out why he’d been so adamant about Miriam not being his girlfriend, and why he thought it should matter to me. Did it matter to me? Why did I have this light, fluttery feeling going on inside?

He finished his last gulp of coffee. ‘That was good but I’d better go. Thanks for your help with Mrs Davies and Smithy. I never meant to involve you in any of that.’

‘There’s nothing to thank me for, and it really wasn’t your fault. You’ll let me know how Mrs Davies is?’

He stared at me as if there was more to say but he couldn’t remember what it was. Finally he just nodded and turned to leave. I heard his car start up and drive away, but I didn’t move. Not for a long time.

* * *

I arrived back at the Herald after lunch, and Tim met me at the door of my office. He’d been bemused when I rang him earlier and told him what had happened, and he still didn’t seem to be ticking any boxes.

‘And this was the Mrs Davies who sent the parcel? The wedding dress, you said?’

‘It belonged to someone called Belle, who married Charlie.’

He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Doesn’t ring any bells in my sleep-deprived mind.’

I looked at him hopefully. ‘Would you like to look after Mrs Davies’s border collie?’

Tim stared and then he began to laugh. ‘No! Here, I took some phone calls for you, told them you’d get back to them.’

‘Right. Thanks. Do you know much about The Grand? Ian thinks that would make a good story.’

‘Ian, huh?’ He chuckled.

‘You’re being childish.’

Tim had already moved on. ‘Hmm. The Grand. We probably do have some stories from the old days when my grandfather ran the Herald. Bill would’ve written one about the fire, that’s for certain. I can search the archives when I have a spare minute.’

Which meant never. ‘I’ll do it.’ I didn’t mind. I liked searching through the Herald archives. They were a treasure-trove of information.

When Tim had gone I returned the phone calls and completed some work on sporting events that had happened or were due to happen. The local football team was on the verge of folding after another poor showing in the finals, but it had been limping on for years. My ideas for the Centenary edition of the Herald were coming along nicely, although I still needed to find out who Belle and Charlie were, and who the dress had belonged to, but I was confident that would come. I just hoped Ian wouldn’t find out before I did.

Idly, I wondered how he was getting along with the visit of the committee to the hall. Were they impressed? I couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t be but you never knew. I was tempted to go over on the pretence of taking that photograph of him on the ladder, just so that I could eavesdrop. But no, I’d spent enough time with Ian McKinnon for one day. He might start to get the wrong idea.

Actually, I was worried he already had.

I turned my thoughts to old Mrs Davies lying on the floor, looking up at me and calling me ‘Belle’. I had fair hair, so perhaps Belle did, too. And blue eyes? Or was the old lady affected by her head injury and simply seeing things that weren’t there? But she must know Belle. Her name was on the box containing the wedding dress, so Mrs Davies had to know her from somewhere, and surely you didn’t give your wedding dress to a total stranger?

Thinking of Mrs Davies reminded me of Smithy. I glanced at my watch. Dillon would be home from school soon. I’d left him a note on the kitchen bench so Smithy wouldn’t be a complete surprise to him, but I needed to see to the dog’s needs. In other words, I had to get food.

‘I’m heading home,’ I told Ellie. She nodded, ear still glued to the telephone, and waggled her fingers. Her nails were painted blood red today. Brad had already gone but he’d had an early start. Tim’s small staff were a dedicated bunch.

Leaving the search through the archives for another day, I set off for the General Store. Word of Mrs Davies seemed to have got about. There was a cluster of three women around the dairy fridge, shaking their heads and looking concerned. I found myself listening to them as I hesitated over vintage or cheddar.

‘I knew old Mrs Davies,’ said one of them. ‘The mother. Violet, she was. A dear soul. Heart of gold.’

I’d noticed before that once someone died their reputation suddenly assumed saintlike proportions, no matter how awful they might have been in life. But perhaps I was cynical.

‘She had her crosses to bear,’ murmured the second woman. ‘Her husband was gassed in the First World War, you know. Mustard gas. He was never right after that. Couldn’t do any of the work on the farm.’

‘Plenty never came back at all,’ muttered the third woman, not to be outdone in the bad-news stakes.

I decided this was my chance. I didn’t know any of them very well, only to nod and smile at and talk about the weather. But they knew who I was, I was sure. People in small towns were like elephants when it came to social history, and it was possible one of these three knew about Belle and Charlie.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, giving them my best smile. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear. I was going to interview Mrs Davies before she took ill. She has a dress that she’s given to the Centenary Exhibition.’

They turned to eye me in surprise and a little suspicion. ‘You’re from the Herald.’

‘Yes, I am. The dress Mrs Davies gave to the exhibition was a wedding dress and we think … I think it might have belonged to Belle, who was going to marry Charlie.’

Glances were exchanged. ‘Charlie? No, I don’t think so. Nothing to do with Mrs Davies, dear. Sorry.’ Their mouths closed and it was clear nothing more was going to be said, even if they did know the answers to my questions.

I thanked them and went off to buy the dog food.

When I got home Dillon was sitting on the sofa watching cartoons, and Smithy was at his feet. BC was sitting high up on the bookshelf, glaring down at the scene with contempt.

‘Where did the dog come from, Mum?’ Dillon asked as soon as I was through the door. He took the bag from me and put it on the counter, taking out a tin for Smithy. ‘He’s hungry. I gave him a biscuit but I don’t think that’d be good for his teeth. Christy said he needs proper food.’

‘Christy?’

Did he blush? ‘She was over for a little while. Homework.’ He shrugged as if that was all there was to it. I knew Dillon was a good boy, but he was still sorting through what had happened a year ago. I didn’t want him embroiled in a relationship at fourteen.

Smithy was wagging his tail enthusiastically as Dillon opened the tin and put out the dog food on one of my best plates. We both watched, smiling, as the dog wolfed it down. It was only when BC let out a raucous meow that we remembered he also had to be fed.

My son did that, too, petting the cat and placing his food far away from Smithy. I remembered my thoughts of earlier, that those who were kind to animals were generally good people. Well, if that was the case then my son had to be one of the best.