A Changing Land(48)



Anthony stared back at her, shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘It must have been a real shock to learn Wangallon wasn’t going to be left solely to you.’

They stood for a moment facing each other. A flock of tiny jenny wrens flew past them. Bullet jumped up and chased them into the bougainvillea hedge.

‘Well, I’ll let you arrange things with the solicitor.’ Anthony’s voice was flat. ‘You do know that we will have to sell part of the property to pay him out?’

From inside the homestead Sarah heard something breaking, like a glass being dropped. She turned towards the noise. They both did.

‘Probably the wind,’ Anthony stated. ‘We’ll need to make more money off the remaining property because our debt will remain the same. Have a think about how we might do that before you crucify me for trying to do us both a favour.’

Sarah looked at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. When she looked up Anthony was gone, Bullet was sitting waiting for her and the house was silent.





That night Sarah lay quietly in bed listening to Anthony’s soft snoring. He’d returned late and the whiff of cigarette smoke and stale beer signalled a night at the pub. Sleep eluded her as she struggled with the weight of the past few days. Finally she left the bedroom to walk down the hallway to her grandfather’s room. The low wattage light overhead illuminated the room in a yellowish tinge as Sarah sat in the middle of the large bed. It was cold in the room and she felt uneasy, as if she were invading someone else’s domain. A light wind blew; it rustled the trailing vine and the hedges outside the window and sent a scattering of leaves across the corrugated iron roof. Sarah was about to pull the thick brocade bedspread about her when a low growl sounded and then a deep warning bark. Quickly pushing up the window she flicked on the outside light. Bullet stood some five feet from her, his gaze fixed on an unknown form among the darkness of the trees.

‘What is it, boy?’ she called softly, wrapping her arms about her.

Bullet looked briefly over his muscled shoulder. A streak of golden red flashed between tree trunks.

‘What is it?’ she called again.

A fox appeared from between the trees as if in answer to her question. The animal was large and powerfully built, with a solid body, glossy pelt and penetrating eyes. Sarah blinked under the fox’s stare, glad of Bullet who was sitting between them as if on guard. The two animals watched each other for long seconds before the fox finally withdrew, backing into the shadows.

Sarah, discovering that she had been holding her breath, took a gulp of the wintery night air and closed the window. She had the strangest feeling that she was not alone as she drew the heavy curtains closed. She was aware of the creaks and groans within the old homestead, of the spirits that roamed the land that was Wangallon because they loved it so much they could not leave; so what would happen now that one of the chosen custodians was embarking on a project that would change the very face of the property? What would happen now a third Gordon sought his inheritance?

The thought chilled her more than the tiny pinprick goose bumps on her skin and she thought of her great-grandfather. Years ago she’d recognised the cycle of continuity that was Wangallon. In the past it had been fed by the ambitions of her forefathers and their obsessive need to protect the Gordon land, and she’d witnessed this all-encompassing desire for security in her own grandfather’s actions. Succession for the Gordons had never been messy. Why was it now? Suddenly Wangallon was being challenged on two fronts and Sarah didn’t know what to do.

Returning to bed she huddled close to Anthony, the heat from his body warming her immediately as she cocooned against his back. His warmth sped through her as she aligned limb against limb, traversing each small gap between them until only a breath of air infiltrated the spaces between their bodies. Sarah listened to the rise and fall of his breathing as she wrapped an arm around him. She willed him to wakefulness, praying he would turn towards her encircling arm and gather her up as he’d done so many times in the past. At night there could be a coming together, for surely here within the confines of the room in which they’d grown to know each other so intimately, need would reunite them. It was not possible for Sarah to forgive his behaviour, at least not immediately; nor could she ignore the basic longing that consumed her. This was the man she loved and needed. Anthony was part of the landscape of Wangallon, he was her family. Outside the verandah Sarah heard Bullet’s low growl. Anthony gave a loud snore, coughed and then rolled onto his stomach. Sarah moved back to her side of the bed. The flannelette sheets were cold.

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