A Distant Journey Page 19
Then, all at once, there was the sound of ripping metal. She looked up at blackness. Was that the sky? She was in a corner of the front room and she felt a powerful gust of wind, like a giant paw, reaching inside the house.
Screaming, Cindy pushed herself out the front door, which was instantly ripped from its hinges, and she glimpsed it spinning down the verandah, slamming into the posts she had lovingly painted, breaking them like matchsticks.
She ran blindly towards the front gate, her body being propelled sideways by the force of the wind. Unable to stand on her feet, she grabbed the sturdy front gateposts. The gate had gone, she realised. As she hugged the gatepost for dear life, she could hear the sound of ripping, rattling tin and the splintering of wood. Then she was blown onto the rough ground and felt herself sliding along it, her hands grasping for purchase, her cries for help blown away by the horrific wind.
The last thing she heard, before a piece of flying debris knocked her out, was the roof lifting and being spun in a windstorm of wreckage into the eastern paddock. She didn’t hear the frightful sounds as the old house collapsed into a pile of rubble, more thoroughly demolished by the wind than by the work of any bomb.
*
They told her it was the Aborigines who’d found her and carried her to the feed shed, which had been spared the full force of the mini tornado. They had looked after her as the pain had gripped her stomach and the tiny life within her had slipped away. Murray had come as soon as he had heard and rushed her to hospital, but it was too late.
Now, her head swathed in bandages, her cuts and scratches treated, she was lying in the crypt-like stillness of a small room in Deniliquin Hospital behind stiff white curtains. She started to cry, not for herself, nor for Murray, or the house and everything in it, not for the dead sheep and the burned paddocks, but for her lost child.
She cried and cried. Her precious baby was gone.
They gave her something to help her sleep, but she woke on and off for the next few hours, and every time she opened her eyes she remembered anew the terrible loss she’d suffered. She felt her heart would never heal.
*
Jo sat by the hospital bed in silence, holding Cindy’s hand.
‘Do you want me to call your aunts in Palm Springs, or your father?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No. I don’t want to worry them. There’s nothing they can do,’ said Cindy sadly. She felt hollow and exhausted. ‘I’ll tell them later.’
‘When you’re feeling stronger, you could go and visit them, perhaps?’
‘I’d love that, but there’ll be the cost of rebuilding the house. That’s more important than anything else. I want my home again.’
‘I brought you some books, if you’re up to reading, but you should rest while you can.’
Cindy nodded but was quiet. Finally Jo said, ‘The fire damage in the north was pretty horrendous but it’s all out now, thanks to a wind change. The fire burned back on itself. The locals tell me that it was the worst fire in many years. Thank God it didn’t head your way. That mini tornado you experienced was quite an isolated incident – you were the only one affected. It was such a bizarre thing to happen. I’m so sorry.’
Cindy turned her face to the pillow and tears slid down her face. ‘None of this would have happened if I’d gone up to the big house. It’s all my fault. Am I being punished for something?’
Jo reached out and stroked Cindy’s hair as her body shook with grief. ‘Of course it’s not your fault. How were you to know that there was going to be a freak tornado?’ said Jo vehemently.
‘I feel like I’m cursed,’ sobbed Cindy.
‘Well, if you really were cursed, those Aborigines wouldn’t have been around to rescue you,’ Jo said gently. ‘You were damn lucky they turned up when they did. You were kind to them and they were grateful.’
‘I didn’t do anything special,’ said Cindy, her tears easing. Jo handed her a tissue and she wiped her face.
‘Maybe not, but some people around here wouldn’t have let them stay, I can tell you,’ replied Jo. She took Cindy’s hand and held it. ‘Listen, I have some news. Maybe it’s not the time but, well, there’s something I need you to know.’
Cindy stared at her serious face. ‘Jo, what’s wrong? Are you all right?’
‘It’s Mum. She has been diagnosed with a heart condition and I’m really worried about her, so I’ve decided to ask for a transfer to Sydney on compassionate grounds. I’m leaving Yamboola.’
Cindy stared at her dear friend. ‘Oh no! You poor thing. That is terrible news. It’s good that you’ll be close to her.’ A lump rose in her throat and once again tears sprang into her eyes. ‘What am I going to do without you? You’ve helped me so much, Jo. I shouldn’t be selfish when you’re so concerned about your mother, but I am going to miss you so much.’
Jo smiled sadly. ‘Cindy, I’ll miss you, too. I thought I’d never find a kindred spirit out here. Look, we won’t lose touch. You’ll have to come and visit me. Be an excuse to come to Sydney. Think of the good times we’ll have!
I want you to meet all my family.’
‘I’m really so sorry about your mother,’ Cindy managed to say. The news was devastating for Jo, but it was bad news for her as well. They sat quietly for a while until Jo had to leave.
‘I’ll call in again tomorrow, okay?’
‘Jo, don’t be silly, it’s miles to come to see me in Deni.’
‘Nonsense, what are best friends for?’
Cindy watched Joanna turn at the door and give her a quick wave, then she shut her eyes. Coming on top of the loss of her baby and her home, the news that she was also losing her best friend was shattering. What had she done to deserve so much heartbreak?
*
Murray drove her home from the hospital two days later. He was sad and withdrawn. He’d been so excited at the prospect of finally becoming a father. She glanced at his profile and tight expression. He seemed to be in pain, but she could tell he was pushing it deep down inside himself, locking it in the secret place that was beyond her reach. Murray had told her that he’d been frantic with worry about her when he’d returned to the house to find nothing but a pile of rubble. Now he said little, as if there was nothing he could say that would lift their spirits or change their fate.
While she’d been in hospital, Cindy’d had time to think and she knew that she desperately wanted to mark the life she’d sheltered for three months. Murray refused to talk about it, only commenting that they had to put all this behind them. But Cindy did not want to deny the baby’s existence. She wanted to grieve, to mark the little lost life. She needed a place to lay her grief, somewhere she could mourn and let her lost child know she hadn’t forgotten the brief joy they’d shared.
And there was another matter she wanted to settle.
‘Murray, I want to find the family group who rescued me. To say thank you.’
‘Don’t be silly. They’ve been thanked enough already. Besides, if you hadn’t given them shelter, they might have all died. You’ve done enough for them.’ Having dismissed that subject, Murray continued, ‘Now, about the old house. Some of our stuff has been salvaged, but I have to warn you, it’s not much. That tornado scattered our things far and wide. But we’ll be perfectly comfortable at the big house. We’ll have space to ourselves, and Mrs Flowers is looking forward to having you under the same roof. I think she gets a bit lonely for female company. She said she’d enjoy looking after you.’
‘I won’t need looking after, but that’s nice of her.’ Cindy paused. ‘So, how long will it take to rebuild our house? How long before we can move back in?’
Murray gave her a quick glance, then shook his head.
‘The place is a total wreck. It’s completely flattened. Kaput. Dad hasn’t assessed exactly what our losses are yet. The house was insured, but no matter what the payout, there won’t be eno
ugh money to rebuild it.’
Cindy felt her stomach drop. ‘But, surely … surely we have to have our own house, Murray …’ She swallowed, hearing the rising panic in her voice.
‘The main house is big enough for all of us. It’s quite a substantial home. It has plenty of rooms,’ Murray said reasonably.
‘But your father … what does he think of the idea? He won’t like having me underfoot one bit!’ Never mind that she would hate to be living under the same roof as such an arrogant man who constantly snubbed
her.
‘His life isn’t going to change if we’re there,’ Murray said matter-of-factly. ‘And besides, you’ll have Mrs F to work with you. You were always complaining about how difficult things were in the old place, what with limited electricity and having to use that old copper. Think how much easier everything is going to be. And you have to admit that the old place was pretty run-down.’
‘But it was our home,’ said Cindy dejectedly, thinking of the work she had done to make it one.
‘Cindy, I’d like us to have our own home too, but it’s just not on the cards at present. Living with Dad in the main house is the only practical solution,’ said Murray firmly, and Cindy knew she wasn’t going to win the argument. He had already made up his mind. Lawrence had spoken. There would be no new house and they would have to adjust.
She bit her lip and stayed silent. They drove through the main entrance to Kingsley Downs and down the dirt road, where the gum trees had been scorched and the undergrowth charred as if a huge blowtorch had been waved across the land.
Cindy gasped. ‘Everything is burned to a crisp! Did the fire come close to the big house?’
‘No, we were lucky. This is all the damage to the place. We didn’t lose much. The grass on a couple of the back paddocks went up, but the home paddocks were saved and Tom managed to move the sheep to safety. The old windmill got burned, as did those trees back there. Embers must have blown over. But everything else is fine. Could’ve been a lot worse.’
But it was, thought Cindy. I lost my baby and my house. How much worse could it be? She closed her eyes, suddenly tired and overwhelmed.
Murray drove them over to the remains of the old house and Cindy wandered around the flattened rubble that had once been their home, the ruined garden bringing painful tears to her eyes. She was shocked how little was salvageable from their old home; however, one of the things saved was the little Indian bowl that Adsila had made for her. She loved that bowl, because it connected her to Palm Springs. When she turned her back and they drove away, she vowed never to revisit the place where she’d spent the first years of her married life.
*
Over the next few days, Cindy tiptoed forlornly around the big house, keeping out of Lawrence’s way and trying to make herself useful, but feeling that there was nowhere she could call her own. Then, several days later, she found a space that she could connect with, a retreat and a safety net, that would be hers and hers alone.
At the edge of a small gully where a few blackberry bushes grew was a grassy ravine, a few feet deep, and in it was a tree. She had glimpsed it from the front of the house on her previous visits and now she was drawn to it.
It was a peppercorn tree of immense girth, its branches gnarled with age and its delicate leaves shrivelled by the recent heat. But Cindy knew its roots went deep and that it had survived storms and fires for decades. The tree spoke to Cindy; of strength, of permanence, of fortitude and aged beauty.
So it was here she chose to come quietly, tearfully, to bury a few small objects that told of a life expected and a life lost. She brought a little rattle, a pair of booties that Jo had made and a beautifully embroidered little jacket and placed them into the only thing of value she had left: Adsila’s bowl. Then she dug a shallow hole into the dry ground and placed the bowl carefully in it. When it was covered over, unseen by any eyes, she clung to the tree, burying her face in its scratchy bark, and howled, a wild and desperate sound, as though her deep pain was being torn from within her.
When she had no more tears, she slid to the ground and leaned against the tree, drawing strength and comfort from its substantial presence. She knew that in spring there would be a whisper of new greenery and fresh leaves would unfurl. And at that thought, a small shoot of hope and strength trembled in her heart.
Slowly Cindy pulled herself to her feet and walked back to Lawrence’s house.
7
Cindy could not believe that she was about to celebrate her tenth Australian Christmas. Here they were again, gathered at sunset in early December, in front of the rose arbour by the steps of Kingsley Downs’s big house for the annual Christmas photo.
Cindy and Murray sat on wicker chairs in the centre of the lawn. Their younger son Russell sat at his father’s feet, while his older brother Gordon stood at his side and Gordon’s twin sister, Sally, perched on the arm of Cindy’s chair. The boys wore crisp white shirts and navy shorts, long socks and shoes. Sally had been wrangled out of her shorts by her mother and was dressed in a spotted voile dress. Sally had drawn the line at wearing a bow in her hair, but mother and daughter had compromised on a plastic clip to hold back her thick, red-gold curls.
The photographer urged them to smile as he began snapping this year’s Christmas portrait.
Cindy looked at her little family with a mother’s pride and reflected on just how lucky she’d been these past few years. After the anguish of the windstorm and losing her baby, a dark cloud had hovered over her life for a long time. Then, joyously, she had discovered that she was not only pregnant again but expecting twins. It was a happy surprise, but one which kept her anxious until two gloriously healthy, if small, babies arrived: a boy and a girl.
‘A pigeon pair … you clever girl.’ Murray had kissed her with delight.
Cindy had hardly dared to believe such happiness was possible.
Having two tiny babies had been a blur of worry and exhaustion that Cindy had felt utterly unprepared for. There seemed to be a never-ending need to feed them, settle them, soothe and comfort them. They were hungry all the time, and she found she would nurse and settle one baby only to have the other cry and wake up its twin again. Cindy felt she was sleepwalking through most days, the deep urge to care for her children the only thing keeping her going. She washed nappies and baby clothes until her hands were pruned and chapped. She could not believe that two such tiny babies could create so much work. Cindy had no idea how she would have managed without practical Mrs Flowers, who was always willing to help with the washing or keep an eye on the twins so Cindy could catch some sleep. Mrs Flowers had delighted in the babies and adopted a proprietary air with them. Occasionally she had pushed them in the pram around the garden, and if Tom Flowers was about he’d lean down and admire ‘the wee ones’, as he called them. Murray adored his children and took every opportunity to cuddle and care for them, but life on the land continued unabated and, while he did his best, the sheep and stock still needed his attention as always. The twins brought Cindy and Murray deep satisfaction and joy. Occasionally, if somewhat miraculously, Sally and Gordon would sleep through the night, which though very welcome, would also throw Cindy into a fresh bout of anxiety that something was awry. Despite Murray urging her to rest while she could, Cindy would tiptoe into their room to watch them sleep, leaning close to their little bodies to hear and feel their soft breath.
Lawrence, however, had taken very little interest in the twins. Cindy had wished they had been able to move into their own home with the children, but Lawrence had sternly rebuffed any suggestion of rebuilding. Over time, Cindy had let go of the idea of ever moving out again. Lawrence seemed to find the chaos and clutter of the children annoying and Cindy felt on constant alert to stop them crying and fussing when he was around.
‘How can he not love his own grandchildren?’ Cindy had asked Murray. ‘He takes no notice of them at all.’
‘Of course he loves them,’ Murray had assured her. ‘He’s just not very interested in babies. You wait. When they get older, he’ll want to do lots of things with them.’ And as the twins grew, their formidable grandfather did show more interest in them, though Cindy could see he was never going to be a source of love and affection the way her own grandparents had been for her.
Despite having to share a house with Lawrence, life for Cindy was full, happy and busy. Every so often she caught herself watching the twins as they gurgled happily, or slept, curled together like plump puppies, and her throat would catch with the overwhelming love she felt for her children.
Less than three years later, Cindy had been overjoyed to find she was pregnant again. And, after an uneventful pregnancy and a rushed trip to Deniliquin hospital, Russell had arrived in a hasty but uncomplicated birth.
Joanna had come to see her in the hospital and admire the new arrival. Much to Cindy’s delight, her friend had moved back to Yamboola. Cindy had been devastated by Jo’s leaving at the time when she had been in such dark despair. In the years that followed, it had been a struggle to find her feet without a woman friend to share things with, and although she’d grown to like many of Murray’s friends’ wives, those friendships had not been able to replace the rapport she’d had with Jo.
But now Jo was back, having been assiduously courted by Donald Fraser, a local grazier she’d known when she first lived in Yamboola. Donald had been doing a three-month course in Sydney and had looked Jo up. They’d started dating, and when Jo’s mother had been given the all-clear after an operation to relieve her heart condition, Jo was delighted to marry Donald and move back to the Riverina. Cindy and Murray had flown to Sydney for their wedding, and now that Jo was living on the Fraser property, the two women had picked up their friendship where they’d left off, and became even closer when Jo gave birth to a daughter a couple of months after the arrival of Russell.