A Changing Land(35)
Sarah cleared the dining room table. She stacked the plates and left them on the kitchen sink and then poured herself another glass of wine. Glass in hand, she walked outside and sat on the top step. The air was cold and crisp; the dome of the sky bright with stars. A slight scuffle announced Bullet as he struggled out from beneath the elevated rainwater tank. He stopped to look over his shoulder at Ferret, the one dog he appeared agreeable to sharing his special camping spot with, and ambled slowly down the cracked cement path towards her. He took up position on the cement step, his head in her lap. Sarah stroked him, examined the dried blood on his nose. He wriggled, wagged his tail, and then opened his eyes briefly to look up at her. He smelled of cow manure and dirt. She ruffled the dog’s back and leant against the door. Surely Anthony could see that for their relationship to work he had to let her be totally involved in the running of Wangallon. Even the knowledge that her father intended to leave his ten per cent share in the property to her on his passing didn’t really change things. The two of them had to live, love and work as a team. There was no other way, for things weren’t perfect and she had a feeling that time was running out. Anthony was right, although Sarah hated to admit it. Jim did have the right to claim a share in Wangallon. It’s just that no one knew if he planned to.
Two days later Sarah was back in the office reconciling the previous month’s accounts. The mail would have been delivered by now and it would take Anthony only ten minutes or so to drive down to the boundary gate and collect it. The last few days had been difficult. Their conversation was still limited to only the very necessary. At least her mother’s condition had stabilised, although Sarah was unsure as to whether that was positive or negative. It was hard to feel much for a woman who’d barely tolerated her when she was growing up and then conveniently slipped into mental oblivion after her son’s death. Sarah almost succumbed to discussing her mother with Anthony, but they’d never been friendly and Sarah was still angry enough not to want to admit to needing his support. Instead she reconciled herself to a trip north at some future stage, if only for her father’s sake.
In the office Sarah flipped open the paddock book, her fingers running along each line as she checked the stock moved to various paddocks during the last two weeks. The steers had been moved to an oat crop, 6,000 ewes due to lamb in September had been walked 15 kilometres south to the black wattle paddocks, the bulls were on oats taking a well deserved holiday from their breeding duties and … Something was wrong. Sarah flipped back through the pages of the paddock book: Stumpy, Ridge, Back, Stud, Corner, all recent paddocks involved in stock movements. She checked and rechecked dates, mobs of sheep and herds of cattle. Boxer’s Plain was overstocked with both sheep and cattle. Well it was pretty clear which mob would be first out on the stock route. Boxer’s was prime grazing country. A good third of it was comprised of a flat expanse of grassland. That was the last block she wanted to see eaten out. It took too long for the grasses to regenerate when the rain finally did come.
Anthony returned with the mail, his signature slam of the back door reverberating through the house and causing Sarah to frown. He dropped the bundle on the edge of the oak desk and surprisingly gave her a light kiss on the top of her head. He was wearing a brown cable-knit jumper that made him look totally huggable.
‘How’s the office secretary going this morning?’
Sarah dearly wished that she didn’t have to wipe the smile off his face, especially when there hadn’t been one there for quite a few days. Pulling the rubber band from the rolled up newspapers and envelopes, she sorted through the pile quickly.
He leant against the desk. ‘I’m sorry we argued.’
Sarah passed him the rural newspaper and gave a shrug. ‘It’s inevitable, I guess. There will always be something happening that one of us doesn’t agree with.’
Anthony rolled the paper back into a long tube and began tapping one end of it into the palm of his hand. ‘And? I can tell by that matter-of-fact tone that something else is wrong.’
‘I don’t want us to have another argument …’
‘Which pretty much means we will.’ His smile vanished, replaced by a flat look of defence.
‘I’m worried about Boxer’s Plains. It’s overstocked. We’ll have to move some of them immediately. As it is we’ve probably lost carrying capacity over the winter. Those cattle will have to be the first to go on the route and –’ A raised palm made her halt mid-sentence.