Driftwood (19 page)

Satisfied he'd done what he'd come for, he turned on his heel and strode off towards the bough shed, his fists clenching as he recalled Ben's outburst last night. How dare he come back into his life and try to blackmail him, the
hide
of him! For Christ's sake, they used to be best of mates. Now that Ben was sober, and after a decent night's sleep, he was hoping to get more sense out of him and find out what had caused him to be so bitter.

Stomping up the path, William reached out and pushed the front door of the bough shed open, not feeling the need to knock. This was
his
home, not Ben's, and he had no reason to be hospitable. Ben sat on the edge of the fold-out bed, a sheepish smile on his grotty face as he tried to avoid William's menacing stare. William leant on the door jamb and folded his arms, his hat throwing shadows across his face. A few uncomfortable seconds passed as he waited for Ben to speak. Ben shuffled anxiously, wringing his hands, his feet tapping the timber floor nervously. William thought he could see tears in Ben's eyes, but he couldn't be sure, it was too dim to see clearly.

Ben cleared his throat, one time too many. ‘I'm, um, I'm real sorry, Will. I'm so ashamed about what I did and said. I should never have threatened you like that.' He dropped his head in his hands. ‘I'm a no-gooder. I don't know why you're even giving me the time of day right now, or offering me a job. You should have just shot me when you had the chance last night and put me out of my bloody misery.'

William snorted. ‘Believe me, Ben, I thought about it. But then I would have had too many unanswered questions. Like, how are you so sure I was the one who killed Hocking?'

Ben gave a wry laugh. ‘You don't have to be a genius to figure that one out, Will. In hindsight, don't you reckon it's a bit obvious, when you skipped town with Anne on the same night Hocking is found burnt to death in his cottage? The traps have put it down to Hocking being drunk and falling asleep with a cigarette because there was no evidence to prove otherwise, but I know better.'

William felt a jolt of optimism. The knowledge that Hocking's death had been put down as accidental was a huge relief. But the New South Wales traps would still be on the lookout for him for the Ballinger murder, so he wasn't out of the woods completely. He blinked, focusing on keeping his voice even. ‘So, it was a hunch hey, Ben? Well, sorry to burst your bubble but your hunch is wrong. I didn't have anything to do with Hocking's death.' William shifted his weight. ‘And now that's settled, my next question is, how come you have no money, you look like shit and you smell like a piece of meat that's been left rotting in the sun?'

Ben huffed. ‘To cut a long story short: I lost it all gambling. I thought I could rely on David to help me out but the bastard went and shacked up with some cheap whore down in Victoria and she's got him on a short leash. He thinks he's in love but she's just there to use all his money. Stupid bastard. I told him so, in front of her, and she told me to bugger off, and David agreed with her.' Ben finally met William's eyes. ‘It's taken me almost six months to ride all the way up here, living off scraps of food and with the clothes on my back all I own, only to arrive in Driftwood to hear that you and Joey are magnates round these parts. I was so down and out, the jealousy of your good fortune took over. Then I got drunk and acted like a complete and utter fool. I hope I haven't done too much damage, Will, and I also hope that my hard work here will prove how much I want to make it up to you.' Ben shrugged, shaking his head. ‘And in time, maybe you can even forgive me?'

Satisfied Ben was being honest, William unfolded his arms and wandered over to sit down beside his long-lost mate. Jealousy could be a curse, and in Ben's case, it had been. He slapped Ben on the shoulder, recoiling a little from the stench wafting off him. ‘I already forgive you. Just don't prove my trust in your sincerity wrong, or I
will
pull my gun and shoot you in the foot so you can't walk out of here.' William chortled. ‘And if you don't go and have a bloody bath soon, I'm going to have to sack you before you've even started. You smell rotten, Ben!'

Ben chuckled heartily. ‘I know I bloody do. At least you can get away from the pong, Will, I can't! You reckon you could spare a ration of soap?'

Will smiled broadly, his teeth almost glowing in the dimness of the room as he pulled soap from his pocket and passed it to Ben. ‘I came prepared, and when you're finished, come up to the cottage. Anne will be happy to see you, and you can meet my two kids.'

Feeling exhilarated for no particular reason, Anne swished her skirt around her ankles, the chickens at her feet clucking and flapping as they eagerly pecked the grain she and the children had scattered. She picked three-year-old Mary up and gave her a cuddle, laughing as five-year-old Will darted around behind her legs, giggling hysterically as he avoided their dog's frantic licking. Today felt like it was going to be a glorious one.

She glanced around, breathing in Waratah Station as it pulsed with life. It was a picture-perfect summer's day, the humidity a little high after the previous day's monsoonal rain. The cloudless sky was a remarkable azure, the birds were chirping harmoniously as they fluttered among the native trees, and the wind was soft and gentle. If there was a heaven on earth, this place she and her family called home was it.

Placing a fidgeting Mary back on the ground, she halted, a shooting pain travelling from her belly and into her back. She clutched at her sides and bent over at the hips, easing herself down to a crouch, the pain intensifying at an alarming rate. It had been three years since she had given birth to Mary, and she knew from experience childbirth was agonising, but she couldn't remember sudden excruciating pains like this. And it was too soon,
much
too soon for her child to be born into this world and live.

She began to pant as she grasped her belly, a combination of pain and anxiousness stealing her ability to breathe normally. Something was very wrong. She motioned to young Will and he ran towards her. As he peered at her with concern she tried to keep a smile on her quivering lips. She didn't want to scare her children. ‘Will, I need you to go and have a look for Daddy down by our old house. I think he's there with that man who came last night.' A stabbing pain gripped her and she gasped, biting her lip to stop herself from screaming. ‘And can you tell him that Mummy needs him here very fast?' She patted his bottom lovingly. ‘Now, go, as quick as you can. I'll wait right here for you, my love.'

Anne watched her spirited son take off down the path, his bare feet accustomed to the stones and heat. Mary clutched her hand, the child sensing her distress. Anne wrapped her arms around her, begging herself to hold it together as she repeatedly kissed Mary on the cheek. Another wave of pain washed over her as wetness gushed out from between her legs, instantly soaking her skirt with blood. Anne quickly hid Mary's eyes, fear gripping her heart as she began to sing lullabies. The flow of wetness continued and the sensation of needing to push suddenly overwhelmed her. She grunted while trying to hold back the pressure between her legs, her intuition telling her this was something Mary should witness. A misty haze came over her, the shooting pain so intense it clouded her vision as she slumped forwards and prayed for William to hurry.

Heavy footsteps came in behind her, a familiar man's voice announcing he would take the children inside then there was William's soothing voice. He knelt down in the dirt and cradled her in his arms. Anne looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears.

‘Will, something's wrong with our baby. I have to push and I don't want to.' She broke down, weeping loudly. ‘If I push then our baby will die, I just know it.'

William brushed her long red shock of curls back from her face, panic choking him as he spotted the amount of blood on Anne's skirt and on the ground. ‘My love, I'm going to carry you inside to the bed and then if you have to push, you must. I don't want anything happening to you.'

As William lifted her from the ground a contraction gripped her, squeezing her insides. Anne cried out as she tightened her hold around William's shoulders, panting vigorously. William held her close as he stumbled through the cottage and towards their bedroom. He placed her down on the bed, all the while controlling his own fear as he tried his best to pacify her.

‘Ben, I need cloths and hot water in here. Now!' he yelled while pulling Anne's skirt up around her hips. He could see the baby's head, and blood, too much blood. How was his darling Anne going to survive this? And their baby — how was he or she coping? And what was he meant to do to save them? What if he couldn't save them? He clutched Anne's hand, stroking her sweat-soaked forehead as she wept in between her laboured panting.

Ben bolted in. His boots heavy on the floor and his eyes shadowed with trepidation. William took the cloths from him with trembling hands and then gestured towards the end of the bed with his eyes. ‘Put the bowl of water there, Ben, where I can use it, and then can you go and keep the children amused. Whatever you do, don't let them in here, no matter what.'

Ben nodded then strode out of the room.

Anne gripped the sides of the bed, the urge to push now too much to ignore. Forcing all her energy downwards, she grunted, the intense burning between her legs insufferable, the torture in her heart beyond anything she'd ever felt before. As the contraction faded away, she stole a few moments to catch her breath and then when the overpowering urge gripped her once more she began to push again, all the while feeling gushes of blood rushing from her. She knew this wasn't right; this wasn't how a normal childbirth went. Was she going to live through this? Images of Mary's and Will's faces flashed before her, and she howled loudly, the fear of never seeing her gorgeous children, or feeling her beloved Will's embrace again crushing her.

With one last colossal push, the pressure eased instantly, as her ears strained to pick up the first cries of her baby. But other than her heavy breathing, silence greeted her and Anne's heart sank.

William placed cloths against her to soak up the blood then gathered the bundle into his arms, tears now falling freely from his eyes. He met Anne's gaze, and gently shook his head, the simple gesture devastating her as she reached out her arms. ‘Please, Will. I need to see our baby.'

William hesitated. ‘But Anne, he's . . .'

Anne held her finger to her lips, weeping. ‘I'm begging you, Will. Don't say the word. I know. I knew the minute I felt the pain. I just want to hold him in my arms before we have to bury him.' She stretched her arms out further. ‘Please.'

His steps difficult, William ambled towards her and placed the stillborn in her arms. Anne pulled the bundle to her breast and placed a lingering kiss on the baby's cheek.

‘I think we will name you Edward, after my father. Goodbye, my little man,' Anne whispered.

Sniffling, his throat so constricted he was taking wheezing breaths, Will sat down beside Anne and did the same, kissing his never-to-be-known son on the forehead as he quietly said his goodbyes.

2012 — Far North Queensland

The balmy moonlit landscape lay hushed, the whisper of wind encouraging a soft melody from the bamboo wind chimes outside Taylor's bedroom. She switched off her alarm and crawled out from beneath her sheets, yawning. Stretching her body to life, she padded towards the parted curtains, debating whether she had time for a shower as she peered out at the night sky still peppered with blazing stars. She was enthralled by the uncomplicated beauty of the sleeping bushlands and faintly aware of the scurry of nocturnal animals as dried leaves rustled beneath her window.

She'd left herself plenty of time so a few minutes luxuriating under a warm shower wouldn't hurt, she decided. It would be the last one she'd be having for a while: over the coming two weeks the earth would be her bed, the pastoral lands of Waratah Station her home and Stoney Creek her bath, as they made their way across the station's six hundred thousand acres, mustering and drafting twelve thousand head of cattle.

Taylor grinned, excitement fizzing in her belly as she quickly made her bed and imagined what adventures might lie ahead. From today on she was officially a jillaroo, and she couldn't wait to be sitting in the saddle, even more so considering she'd be working alongside Jay. This is what she'd dreamt of doing since she was a little girl and how blessed she was to finally be living that lifelong dream. Only months ago it had seemed so unattainable, but thanks to Jay and his big, beautiful — albeit broken — heart, it was now a reality.

Pulling her dreamy gaze from the window, Taylor slung her towel over her shoulder and padded out towards the bathroom, passing a freshly showered Adam Brand along the way, his towel secured around his waist. Trying to keep her focus away from his fit and lusciously hairy chest, Taylor almost tripped over her own feet, Adam's presence still felt so unbelievable.

As though reading her thoughts, he grinned in her direction and she quickly ran her fingers through her wild red hair, hoping she didn't look too awful, not uncommon first thing in the morning with her wayward mane of curly hair.

‘Mornin', Taylor.'

‘Morning, Adam,' she said, not stopping for fear of staring at his half-naked body. Not that she was interested in him in that way, but he was a country music star for goodness' sake, and a sexy one at that. How could anyone blame her for wanting to admire him? A woman would be crazy not to!

Over a breakfast of bacon and eggs, the ABC radio playing softly in the background, Taylor listened intently to the men sharing stories of mustering in years gone by. Every bloke at the table had his own unique way to put a spin on each yarn. From her observations, Tom was the serious one, the one the men turned to for leadership and wisdom; Fang was the brawn, not afraid to tackle the wildest of mickey bulls from his chopper; Graham was the clown with a cheery can-do, anything-goes attitude, making her laugh until her sides ached with his recollections; and Adam was the deep-thinking soul of the group, the one who sees everything in the bush through the enchanting eyes of a musical artist. Such a varied group of blokes blown in from all over Australia, yet all of them bonded on a level she guessed only people who had braved the fierceness of the bush coupled with the brutality of the north's infamous wet season could.