Moonstone Promise

KAREN WOOD

First published in 2011

Copyright © Karen Wood 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The
Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: [email protected]
Web:
www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 316 4

Cover photo by Bill Bachman / Wildlight
Cover and text design by Ruth Grüner
Set in 11.3 pt Apollo MT by Ruth Grüner
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

For Jack Bradley and Matty Glenn

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

Acknowledgements

About the Author

1

‘LAST ONE! '
yelled Tom, as he sent a bale of prime lucerne tumbling off the back of the semitrailer.

Luke let it fall to the ground end-first. It bounced, then toppled onto its side with a thud. He stabbed his hay hooks into it and with one last surge of energy heaved it up to the top of the stack, where Lawson was arranging the bales tightly in a crisscross pattern.

‘That it?' yelled Lawson.

‘Yep,' Luke shouted back, hanging the hooks onto the beam that ran along the wall of the shed. He was dripping with sweat, itchy from the tiny stalks and dust, and his muscles ached, but he felt great. ‘That oughta keep their bellies full for a while,' he said, looking up at the mountain of hay.

Lawson scrambled down the side of the stack like a mountain goat and brushed the loose green leaves from the front of his shirt. ‘Eight hundred bales. I'm knackered!'

‘Chuck us the water bottle, Luke.' Tom let himself down onto the edge of the empty trailer and sat with his legs hanging over.

Luke tossed a bottle to him, and looked around for a broom. He swept the loose hay into a pile, then leaned on the rake while he looked around the hay shed.

It had taken the three of them all weekend to empty it out for the hay. There'd been stacks of old tyres, drums of diesel, old snigging chains and the skeletal remains of a vintage car. Beneath that they'd found rags, dead mice and mounds of composted God-only-knew-what. They'd salvaged anything worthy, taken the rest to the tip, shovelled up the rotting remains and pressure-hosed the concrete floor. In its place stood the proud castle of leafy green lucerne, enough to last the winter.

Luke got back to sweeping. The sooner he could get this cleaned up, the sooner he could go and find Harry. The old man had been looking brighter this morning. He might even come and do the afternoon feeds. There was a tonne of things Luke wanted Harry to look at down the paddock. He wanted to show him that filly's leg and ask what he wanted done with the western fence.

‘Hey, Luke!' Tom's yell from outside stopped him in his tracks. ‘Luke, quick! The stallion's out!'

Luke dropped the broom and ran around the side of the truck. He'd been the last person to go into Biyanga's yard, but couldn't have left the gate unlatched; he was meticulous about that sort of thing. He stopped and glanced around quickly for Harry's good stallion.

Everything was at peace. The mares were grazing, Grunter the pig snuffled at a leaky water trough and chooks pecked busily beneath feed bins. All seemed to be as it should at Harry's place.

Luke looked up towards the stables and a blast of water hit him with so much force it nearly knocked him over. His arms flew up to shield his face and he stumbled backwards, coughing and spluttering while the jets of water hammered him all over.

Tom screamed with laughter and kept blasting him.

‘You're
dead
, Tommo!' Luke spluttered, rushing at his friend and groping for the hose.

Tom had been playing jokes on him all weekend: dead mice in his workboots, a broken chair leg strategically concealed. It was about time Luke got his own back.

He fought Tom for the hose, knocking him to the ground and shoving his fingers up into his armpits so hard that Tom squealed like a girl and let go. The hose snaked wildly, twisting in the air and sending arcs of water from one end of the yard to the other. A jet slashed across Lawson's chest as he walked out of the shed to see what the commotion was. A look of thunder crossed his face.

‘Now you've done it.' Luke pinned Tom's arms down into the mud. ‘Lawson's gonna get you
bad
.' He let go of Tom and stepped aside as Lawson, bigger than the two of them put together, stormed towards them.

‘He's all yours,' grinned Luke. Tom squirmed in a pool of mud and looked sheepishly at Lawson.

‘Get that hose turned off and stop wasting water, Tom. You oughta know better than that.'

‘Sorry, Lawson,' said Tom, struggling to keep a straight face.

Luke grabbed for the wayward hose and kinked it while Tom pulled himself up and walked towards the tap. Luke followed, and as soon as it was tightly shut off he made a grab for the designer undies peeping out the top of Tom's jeans and gave his mate the biggest, hardest wedgie he could. ‘Take that back to boarding school with you,' he laughed, and bolted for the stables, leaving Tom cursing and clutching the back of his jeans.

Harry was in the stable aisle. Luke stopped in his tracks, dripping wet, and stared at him. Harry: the big charismatic man with the twinkling blue eyes, wheezy cough and leathery skin. He looked so frail and colourless.

‘Hi, Harry,' Luke said, shaking his arms off.

‘How'd you go with the hay?' The old man fumbled in his pockets and brought out a pouch of tobacco.

‘All stacked,' said Luke.

‘Any good?'

‘Nice and fresh, leafy. It's good.'

‘Find that loose stallion?'

Luke startled. ‘I thought . . .' He looked over Harry's shoulder. Biyanga stood in his stable, chewing on a mouthful of hay.

Harry chuckled. ‘Tom got you a beauty.'

Luke watched Tom walk into the building, still pulling at his backside. ‘I got him better.'

‘You nearly cut me in half,' grumbled Tom, as he walked to the feedroom. ‘Feeding up?'

Luke pulled the ute keys out of his pocket and jangled them. ‘Sunday, they all get hay!' He looked hopefully at the old man, who stood there hand-rolling a ciggie. ‘Gonna come, Harry?'

Harry slowly ran his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper and then rolled it shut between his fingers and thumbs. He shrugged. ‘Yeah, Annie'll kill me if she sees me smoking this thing.'

Luke's heart leapt. Harry hadn't been down to the paddock for over a week. He must be feeling a lot better. Luke walked over to the old man and took him gently by the arm.

Harry shook him off. ‘No need for that,' he grumbled and shuffled towards the ute, taking big, laboured breaths. ‘You drive.'