In no time they’d have the kitchen smelling like baked goods, just the way Beth liked it.
Amy swallowed her tears and got to work.
***
Brandon wasn’t needed. He was basically in the way as Ed and Amy baked in preparation for the influx of people, but he couldn’t stop watching Amy. She moved with confidence and a familiarity with the kitchen, sweeping her frizzy blonde hair back into a ponytail before she even began to get the ingredients out of the cupboards. She didn’t reference any recipe, but soon turned dough out onto the floured table. Such precision. The scents of the flour and vanilla reminded him of his mother and suddenly it was too much.
Saying nothing, he strode out the door and into the warm morning. He inhaled the clean air and listened to white cockatoos screeching from a couple of nearby trees. Across the red dirt by the horse yard, Georgie and Lara mounted two bay horses. He stopped as shock pierced him. The horse Georgie rode looked like Charger, the horse who’d helped him win many a barrel race. Was it possible he was still alive? Brandon itched to stop them, to ask the question, but he didn’t want to interrupt. Lara seemed uncertain of him, as she probably should be of a strange man sitting in her kitchen when she woke.
He sighed and continued walking across the yard. The sheep pens with their rusty red metal fences stood empty, and the occasional puff of wind swept little clouds of red dust into the air. The sheds were still an eclectic collection of buildings full of the same vehicles. The emergency water tanker sat ready with a full tank in case of a bushfire, the truck with its red cab, nicknamed Red Riding Hood by Georgie, and the battered ute he’d learnt to drive in. He knew his father didn’t like to spend money but surely an upgrade had been required.
In the opposite direction, behind the shearing quarters was the first sign of any real change. An army green tent was set up next to a long caravan. Two four-wheel drives were parked next to them.
Campers.
He’d suggested the idea to his father over a decade ago, before he’d left but Bill hadn’t been interested then. Didn’t want strangers on his land. What had Darcy said to change his mind?
It wasn’t any of his business. Not anymore. He moved towards his room, but the idea of being shut inside those four walls made his chest constrict. He needed to do something, anything except sit on his bed and drive himself crazy with thoughts of his parents and his family. Instead he turned towards the red sand dunes behind the farmhouse. It was the highest point of land next to the farmhouse and gave him a view over the property. Before he left, he’d borrow a horse and head up to the Ridge which gave the property its name. That view always inspired him.
A trail showed him the way to the dunes, a narrow path worn there after years of use. Small animal footprints crossed the track and when he reached the smooth slopes of the sand, footprints of all sizes criss-crossed the area, proof there was far more wildlife around than could be seen or heard. One of the Baiyungu people could probably tell him exactly what they were. He remembered the elders giving him bush tucker lessons when he was younger. His father wanted him to know what plants could be useful in case he’d been stuck out in the bush alone.
At the top of the red dune he stopped and surveyed the land. The large metal cattle pens to the east of the dunes sent a cold shock through him. What the hell were they still doing there? Surely his father would have packed them away, got rid of them years ago. No one wanted to be reminded of that day. He certainly didn’t. He squeezed his eyes closed, blocking out the screams which would forever haunt him. He’d spent the past decadetryingto forget, without any luck.
He turned his back on the scene of his crime and looked out at the farmhouse and sheds peeking up in the distance. What was he doing here? No one would have cared if he hadn’t turned up.
He shook his head. He was lying to himself. Georgie’s greeting had figuratively knocked him on his arse. He hadn’t been expecting a joyous greeting from her. But Georgie had always been the little ray of sunshine of the family—optimistic, enthusiastic and full of forgiveness. Even if he’d been a shit brother. Ed’s greeting was about as good as he’d hoped for, but Darcy’s had hurt more than he wanted to admit.
They’d been best friends once, full of plans of what they wanted to do with the station.
Now Darcy could barely stand him.
Brandon deserved his disdain. He wasn’t needed here. They could cope perfectly well without him as shown by the fact he was the only one without a job to do.
But the people he really owed, the ones he’d let down, the ones he’d devastated and whose forgiveness he didn’t deserve, had never earned, were gone. Dead. There’d be no making it up to them.
His legs gave way and he slumped to the ground, not caring if the sand filled his shoes or crept up his pants. He’d let down his entire family.
The wall in his mind crumbled, letting out all the memories he’d sealed up tight in his attempt to forget.
His mother’s kitchen still looked exactly the same with its long wooden table and many seats, and it smelled like baked goodness. He’d done a double take when he’d first seen Amy, her back to him and putting on the coffee like his mother had every morning. Foolish, because it couldn’t be his mother, and a second later he’d registered the frizzy hair, and the slimmer, curvier build, but still a part of him had hoped until she’d turned around and her green eyes had widened and her lush lips had parted in surprise.
He blew out a breath. So clearly not his mother.
Beth could more often than not be found in the kitchen, preparing enough food for an army though there’d only been seven of them. Content to feed the family before she attended her farm duties for the day. Always the reminder, ‘don’t forget your water bottle’, or ‘here’s your snacks for the day’ and the big grin as she’d hugged them all before they left. He hadn’t been allowed to leave the house without a hug, that was her one rule.
The tears leaked out, slowly at first, like a trickle of water in a dry riverbed after it had first started to rain.
His father always had a smile when his wife was near, always loving and at one with the land. It had been in the family for generations, since the ship Retribution carrying European settlers had crashed in 1871 and stranded the Stokes ancestors in the bay.
He remembered being in the ute, his father showing him the land, telling him it would all be his one day. That it was his heritage, his heart. It had been the perfect place to grow up, riding horses or motorbikes all over the Ridge with Darcy and Charlie. No, he couldn’t think of Charlie now. That was too much.
All the family had been together, had been part of one whole. The land was part of their soul.
Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to his father. The guilt and shame had always been too much. He’d done the one thing his father told him never to do and paid a tragic price. It had been his mother who had emailed him, called him, stayed in touch. She had wanted him to come home, but how could he when he could still remember the absolute anguish in her scream when she’d realised Charlie was dead? He’d caused her grief.
It was impossible to see through the flash flood of tears. He buried his head in his hands and wept.
A soft clink of metal and squeak of leather warned Brandon someone was coming. Shit. He wiped his eyes on the bottom of his T-shirt and stood, brushing the sand from his pants. Georgie and Lara rode along the bottom of the dunes, not far away. Lara spotted him and he lifted a hand in greeting.
