A Changing Land(86)
‘She can see you.’
Her father stood beside her, a paper bag of takeaway in one hand, a thermos in the other. ‘It’s time to let go of the past and move forward, Sarah,’ he said wearily. ‘You need to do it for all our sakes.’ He placed the items on the chair near him.
Sarah wanted to argue with him, yet somehow the words were already dissolving.
Ronald took her by the shoulders, turned her towards him. ‘She’s not like you, Sarah. She never could be like you. Can’t you forgive her?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘I can’t Dad. At least not at this moment.’ Too much had occurred in her life to date to make forgiving or forgetting easy. Maybe when she was older with a family of her own she would come to understand her mother’s attitude, but not now. Everything still seemed so raw.
‘You will one day, Sarah.’ Ronald moved a step closer to his wife’s side. ‘In some respects I blame myself for your mother’s troubled life,’ Ronald revealed quietly. ‘She never loved Wangallon. She didn’t fit into the bush.’
With her father’s words Sarah understood the heart of her parents’ troubled relationship. Her father loved Wangallon enough to spend nearly his entire life there while knowing his own father would never pass on the reins to the property. And he had loved Sue, wanted Sue, even knowing that his life was not for her. Sue’s time on Wangallon had eaten away at her until the final irrevocable loss of her child, Cameron. Sarah suddenly understood that Sue Gordon had no room in her heart for her daughter because it was broken before Sarah was born.
‘She was a city girl,’ Ronald said fondly. ‘Used to parties and socialising and getting dolled up to go out. She was beautiful when we married, Sarah. Fun and vibrant and everything a man could want.’ He swallowed loudly. ‘I took her out to the bush and from day one she was like a plant that could never get enough water. I think she thought we’d live in the main homestead, have staff like my parents, visit Sydney regularly. Worst of all she grew bored; firstly with station life and then with me.’ Ronald glanced at Sarah and then turned back to his wife. Sarah could feel her father’s sadness. It filled the room.
Sarah knew her mother was dead. There was a small gasp, like an intake of collective breath at a cinema when the unexpected appears on the screen, then silence filled the room. She looked at the woman before her, watched her close down like a wilting flower. Sarah was ragged with exhaustion, however she wondered what Sue witnessed at her final crossing and who she would meet once she travelled to the other side. It would be Cameron, Sarah surmised, and his father, Sue’s lover: Reunited in death with the only people that mattered to her.
‘It’s for the best.’ Ronald sounded unconvinced. He wiped at his eyes and blew his nose loudly. Eventually he took his wife’s hand and, kissing it gently, sat beside her on the bed. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said shakily, ‘while you bring the nurse. I don’t want her to be left alone’.
Sarah nodded. There would be no burial for Sue Gordon at Wangallon. Her mother’s wishes were for a cremation and for her ashes to be sprinkled around the rose garden at the crematorium. Even in death she would be apart from the Wangallon Gordons. Sarah kissed her father on the cheek and walked from the room without a final glance at her mother. There was no need to. She had said goodbye years ago. Despite her best intentions tears came to her eyes.
When Hamish did not return by the evening of New Year’s Eve, Claire sent word to discover what had become of him. No one knew. Most of Wangallon’s stockmen were out in the further corners of the property mustering Wangallon’s cattle in readiness for the next drive south. By midday a feeling of nausea had settled in Claire’s stomach. She’d never known her husband to miss a New Year’s Day luncheon. She berated herself for being unable to eat, seethed at Hamish’s selfish, uncaring attitude, and then the vomiting began. She blamed the phantom child for her sickness, and silently willed the brief painful cramps to continue when they stopped. She spent the afternoon lying on her bed, the dull heat layering her body with droplets of moisture. She was thirsty, yet her throat would not take the water she held to her lips. She found herself wishing for Luke, but he did not come. She sent word to Wetherly only to discover he too had vanished. She wished again for Luke and dry-retched at the guilt of it.
Only when darkness stripped her room of light did Claire rise. She thought perhaps a little moistened bread may help, and a sip of sweet madeira. She wondered why Mrs Stackland had not come to check on her needs. As her bare feet padded on the polished floorboards, the object of her thoughts appeared before her. Mrs Stackland carried a tray of food, her puffy white face registering awkwardness.