Moonstone Promise (5 page)

The old coach-house was five kilometres out of town, in a large open field by the lake. It was a small timber building with a steeply pitched roof. A verandah ran around three sides and four small steps spilled down to the front path.

Lawson and Ryan dismounted and passed their reins to Luke. Other people arrived in cars and made their way to the coach-house. With the help of Stanley and a few other blokes, they placed the casket on a stand on the verandah. Annie, Mrs Arnold and other family members and friends seated themselves on chairs next to it. Riders sat on their horses or stood quietly while a minister spoke from the verandah.

Poems were read and songs sung. Lawson and Ryan made short speeches, and then several other people did too. It took a long time and it was hot. Finally, Lawson nodded to Luke, indicating that it was time to step forward and place his rug over the casket.

First Annie walked up and placed a small black velvet pouch, drawn closed with a yellow cord, on the casket. She stroked the lid of the casket with a shaky hand and walked back to her seat. As he handed his reins to Stanley Arnold and stepped forward, Luke heard the unmistakeable tune of ‘Amazing Grace' swim through his ears from Ryan's slide guitar.

It gutted him. He stood staring blankly at the casket, letting the slow haunting guitar riffs waft in and out of him.

‘Luke.'

He looked up at Jess. She was bawling. She took the rug and helped him to fold it neatly in half and hang it over the casket. Then he watched as she placed a green-and-gold striped tie on top, together with a small handful of black powdery soil.

‘He lived like a gentleman, and he should die like a gentleman,' she whispered without looking at him.

Lawson put Harry's grubby old hat on the casket and then he picked up his father's banjo and joined Ryan. Some old guy Luke had never seen before pulled out a harmonica. It was the saddest music he had ever heard. One by one, other people walked forward and placed flowers, small brass horse statues, envelopes, prize ribbons, crucifixes, bridles, stockwhips, a small hip flask, a stubby of beer, all sorts of things, on the casket. One woman even put a black lacy bra on it. Luke shot a glance at Annie, who was actually chuckling.

Later, the family took the casket to the crematorium. It disappeared behind a small curtain and Harry was gone, before Luke even had a chance to get used to the idea.

The wake went on all night. Back at Harry's place, the arena was full of people, the lights were blazing and various people were playing guitars and singing. Mrs Arnold and Jess's mum passed platters of food around, but it soon ran out and people drove into town to fetch pizzas and hot chips.

It was okay for a while. Luke mingled with Tom, Jess and Rosie, but then some of the guests started getting drunk. The voices got louder and the guitars started sounding out of tune. There were empty bottles, cans and pizza trays all over the arena. People Luke didn't know ran up and down the stable aisle, spooking the horses. In the end, he and Tom let them all out in the paddock where they could get some peace.

‘I'm getting out of here,' Luke said to Tom, as he bolted the door to Biyanga's empty stable.

‘Me too,' said Tom. ‘Dad wants to go. I'll catch up with you on the weekend, hey?'

Luke shrugged and tried to look casual. ‘Yeah, maybe.'

‘Why, you going somewhere?' asked Tom, hanging a halter on a hook in the aisle.

‘Dunno, have to wait and see.'

Tom looked at him, puzzled. ‘What's going on?'

‘The department will have to check over my whole life again.'

Tom's face dropped. ‘They can't take you away from here, can they?'

Luke shrugged again. ‘I don't know.'

‘Single people can't keep foster kids,' said Grace, appearing out of nowhere. ‘That's what Rosie reckons. She reckons a case worker will probably come and take you back.'

There was a stunned silence.

‘That's not true, Grace,' Tom said in an icy voice.

It wasn't true. Luke knew it wasn't, but he couldn't speak. He had an overwhelming urge to walk up to Grace and smack her right in her big, flappy, insensitive mouth. He turned and walked away instead.

‘What?' he heard Grace say behind him. ‘It's true. He's not adopted. He's just a foster kid.'

‘You can really be the pits sometimes, Grace,' said Tom. ‘Mate, stop,' he called after Luke.

Luke flung open the back door of the stables, marched into the courtyard and went directly to the punching bag that hung from the old jacaranda tree. He sank his fist into it so hard that it nearly snapped the tree branch.

‘She doesn't know what she's talking about, Luke,' said Tom, catching up with him. ‘Annie wouldn't let that happen.'

Luke punched the bag again. ‘She's right. I heard Lawson and Harry talking.'

‘What?'

Luke kept punching the bag.

‘Oh, come on, Luke,' Grace said from the stable door. ‘I'm sorry, okay?'

‘I think you should go away, Grace,' said Tom. ‘You've already said enough.'

‘I'm not going anywhere,' said Grace, sounding suddenly heated. ‘This is
my
family's place. Not yours, not his. Don't tell
me
to go away!'

‘I think you're both just upset,' said Tom. ‘It's been a big day for everyone.'

‘Luke gets treated like royalty around here,' Grace whined. ‘He gets all the good horses, while I ride all the crap ones. And who asked him to ride Biyanga at the funeral?'

Luke spun around to face her. ‘
Harry
asked me to, that's who,' he yelled. ‘Have you got a problem with that?'

‘Come on, guys,' said Tom soothingly. ‘You're upset. Don't get into this now.'

But it was too late. Something in Luke had opened up, like a deep wound that had healed on the outside but was still festering way below. ‘What's it to you that I rode the stallion?' he yelled at Grace. ‘It's none of your business. That was between Harry and me!'

‘None of
my
business? You're not even family. Not even blood,' she said, her voice rising. ‘Someone in the family should have ridden him.' She burst into tears and ran from the stable building.

Luke froze, not game to move or speak. He could feel poison oozing from everywhere.

Tom put a hand out towards Luke's shoulder. ‘Don't listen to her, mate. You know what she's like.'

Luke turned away from Tom and back to the punching bag, but no matter how hard he hit that thing, he could still hear the drunken voices from the arena. His old life, snapping at his heels, as if it was coming to get him. The voices were getting louder and more obnoxious. He ripped off the starchy white shirt that clung to his body and kept punching.

‘Take it easy, kid,' Lawson said from the door of the stables.

‘
You
take it easy,' Luke panted, still swinging.

‘I heard what Grace said to you,' said Lawson, stepping closer and holding out an arm.

Lawson shouldn't have kept talking. He should have known the rules and kept clear.

‘Don't come near me, Lawson,' Luke yelled. ‘I'm warning you,
get away from me
.'

‘Enough, Luke.' Lawson wrapped his large arms around Luke's shoulders and tried to pull him away from the bag.

That's when Luke swung at him. He punched Lawson smack in the jaw and it felt fantastic, liberating, bringing a gush of relief that left him able to breathe again.

Until Lawson punched him back, fair in the mouth, sending him sprawling onto the pavers with a pain that was brilliant, pure and intense, like fire marching over his face.

Lawson shook out his fist. He spoke to Luke in a low, measured tone.

‘She's right – you're not one of us. That's not how we go about our business in this family.' He turned and walked towards the stable doorway, but stopped and looked back before he went through it. ‘Young Grace is going through about as much pain as you at the moment, probably more. Harry was like a second father to her. Of course she was cut that you rode the stallion.'

Luke gazed up at Lawson, his head foggy. ‘So I'm not a part of this family anymore, then?'

Lawson glared down at him. ‘You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.' He turned and walked back into the feedroom, banging the door behind him.

6

LUKE STAGGERED TO
the river, sank to his knees and scooped handfuls of water over his head and face, washing off the blood. His lip was swollen and his cheek felt puffy, but the swelling would go down in a couple of days. He knew that Lawson could have done much better if he'd wanted to; the fact that he'd held back was all the more insulting. But it wasn't the punch that stung the most.

You wanna be a Blake, you gotta earn the name.

The river churned in time with the churning in Luke's gut. He splashed more water over the back of his neck and let it run down his spine, then some more over his face and eyes, so he couldn't tell if he was crying or not.

‘Luke.' It was Jess.

‘Not now, Jessy,' he choked out. He didn't want her seeing him like this. He didn't want anyone seeing him like this: exposed, stripped bare of everything, his family, his dignity. He didn't even have a shirt on.

She was still standing there. He could feel her staring at him. ‘Get away from me!' he yelled.

There was silence, and then he heard her walk away. He wanted to call out to her to come back. God, he didn't mean to say that to her. But he couldn't. If he tried to speak he knew nothing would come out but big sobs.

Maybe Lawson was right. He wasn't a Blake. He didn't belong around here at all.

He ran his hands into the coarse river sand and squeezed its coolness through his fingers. It felt good, comforting. He ran his hands in deeper, up to his elbows, and then began digging until he lay with his entire body encased in the watery river sand, and the familiar comfort of the Coachwood River.

Luke didn't know what time of night it was when he eventually hosed the sand off himself in the horse wash before heading back to the stables. He knew what he had to do.