The House On Burra Burra Lane (16 page)

S
ammy parked the SUV outside Cuddly Bear and gripped the steering wheel. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. She wanted to be alone with the fallout of her life, but life wasn’t letting her be. Hard work yesterday hadn’t helped, and sleep hadn’t come cleanly. But she’d finally got the kitchen garden cleared of weeds, stones and old tin cans. It was now a masterful display of corrugated troughs ready for planting.

Be thankful
. She had her house and her land. That’s all she’d wanted.

She shook her head, her hair flying around her face as she whipped herself into a better frame of mind. She’d need her smile, her common sense, and a dusting of community spirit. She was giving an art lesson to Mrs Johnson’s grandchildren, Andy and Jane, who had won joint first prize in the art competition with their drawings of Ruby—the pig she’d fallen over the day she met Ethan.

She brushed her knuckles over her closed eyes. She hadn’t cried. Not a drop, and neither would she—even if she had to superglue her tear ducts. No. She got out of the car. If she did that she’d have to answer to,
‘Why so desperate’?

Up on the walkway her sorry mood was pushed to the breeze as Cuddly Bear’s door flew open so fast it rang the bell above it as though it had been shot with a rifle. Mrs Johnson moved out of the door like a hurricane, one small child in each hand.

‘Can’t stop,’ she said, headscarf flying.

Sammy stared after her.

‘She’s gone for one of her walkabouts, that’s all,’ Mary Munroe cried out from Cuddly Bear’s doorway.

‘Who’s gone walkabout?’ Sammy asked.

‘Ruby. Dug under her pen and got out. Not the first time. She’ll be in the high field by the Smyth farm, that’s usually where she wanders.’

Sammy glanced over her shoulder at Mrs J and her two young charges fleeing to the street and the ancient 4WD parked behind Sammy’s SUV. ‘Does she have anyone to help her?’

‘Mr Johnson is on a fishing trip. Typical huh, just when you need your husband.’ Mary swept a hand through her hair. ‘Don’t worry. She’s treated that pig like a third grandchild ever since she turned up as a piglet, lost and wet on her doorstep. Couldn’t find her owner, and after a few weeks little piggy was christened Ruby and Mrs J bought a lead.’

Sammy smiled. There was always something sweet to think about. Then she frowned, looked over her shoulder again.

‘All those drawing packs arrived from Sydney,’ Mary said. ‘And there’s a lot more interest about your art lessons.’ She folded her arms and nodded at the store. Today’s earrings were interwoven shimmering silver circles, dangling to her shoulders. ‘There isn’t a mother in town who wants to be left out, in case you decide their child is a genius.’

‘I think Gemma might be a genius, Mary.’

‘We’ll see.’ Mary raised her brow. ‘Kids change their tune so often it’s not funny. Last year it was soccer she wanted, now it’s art. I don’t suppose either will do her any harm. She’ll probably end up in Canberra anyway, working in some office.’

Sammy’s childhood flashed before her. ‘Just give her the chance, let her pick the pace.’

Mary nodded, appeared distracted, or perhaps doubting that her daughter might go further than the closest city. ‘Do you want these art packages? Or shall I keep them here?’

Sammy didn’t waste time dithering. ‘I’ll pop in later to sort them out.’ She turned, ran down the walkway. ‘Mrs Johnson. Wait. Can I help?’

The wind blew Sammy’s hair across her face and rustled the thin nylon rain jacket she wore.

‘That’s a fifty foot drop,’ Mrs J said, looking into the ravine.

‘How will Ruby get out?’ Jane asked, her bottom lip trembling.

Sammy stepped closer to the little girl. ‘We’ll get her, Janie, don’t worry.’

They stood in a craggy top field, studying the grassy bank that led down to the mud pit where Ruby lay, partly on her side, three legs disappeared in the sludge.

‘It’s the spring melt,’ Mrs Johnson said, looking at the funnelled gully to their right and the spill of water running through it. ‘The streams are flowing fast, even the MacLaughlin’s filling up quick this year.’

Sammy walked the children back to the car. ‘Stay here.’ There was little trouble they could get into; the road was way back. Mrs Johnson had driven hard and fast, bumping over ditches and rocks in her hurry to get to the area she said Ruby usually strayed.

‘We’ll stay put, Miss Walker,’ Andy said, pulling his six-year-old shoulders back, his mouth pressed as he took hold of Jane’s hand.

Sammy ruffled his hair. ‘Good boy.’

‘What do we do?’ she called as she ran back to Mrs J.

Mrs J darted her gaze along the ridge. ‘Have to make sure she doesn’t get herself deeper in the mud. We’ll try and get something beneath her. I’ve got a waterproof sheet in the car. If we can turn her, get her on her feet, we might be able to drag her to the grassy bank so she can walk up.’

‘What if we can’t turn her?’ Sammy asked, shrugging her jacket off.

‘I’d like to try.’

‘I’ll go.’ Sammy stepped to the edge of the ravine. ‘You stay up here with the children. Get me the waterproof sheet, and there’s a bottle of water in my bag. Ruby must be thirsty.’

‘Silly old piggy,’ Mrs J muttered. ‘Got herself down there expecting a muddy bath, not a near drowning.’

Sammy sat back on her heels, hands on her knees, the mud burping around her. Breath coming hard, hands shaking from the effort it had taken to get the sheeting under Ruby’s head, she knew it wasn’t any use. She was nowhere near strong enough. ‘I’ve just pushed her deeper into the mud,’ she called up.

She fisted her hands and looked the pig in her bullet-dark eyes, the white skin surrounding them shiny and wet from when Sammy had cleaned her up and given her a drink of water.

Ruby whinnied, just like a horse, but her snort had a dissatisfactory sound to it.

‘Mrs J,’ Sammy called. ‘We need rope, and something big to pull her out … a tractor.’

Mrs J nodded, scrambled to her feet. ‘I’ll get Ethan.’

Sammy shifted from her knees to sit cross-legged and relieve the muscle strain. She’d been singing to Ruby, whose eyes were blinking wild and panicky. The jittery little squirms seemed to have settled inside Sammy too.

She wiped the grime from her watch. Forty five minutes. She was running out of songs.

Ruby squealed—a high-pitched shriek that nearly shattered Sammy’s eardrums. Then Ruby squirmed, putting effort into moving her bulbous body as though it were her last chance.

Sammy threw herself on top of her, lying flat out. ‘Don’t move. Please don’t move.’ The pig’s body had sunk another ten centimetres already. Sammy petted her nose and spoke softly. ‘Not long, baby. Ethan will be here soon.’

As though her prayer had been answered, the sound of his ute’s engine sang on the breeze. She couldn’t see over the ridge high above her but she recognised the engine’s hum the way a faithful dog left at home would. And Mrs Johnson’s 4WD was behind it.

Both vehicles stopped, engines running. A door slammed, the children’s voices rose, sounding like pleas, and then Ethan’s voice, the low steady timbre telling the children to stay clear.

‘Here we go,’ Sammy whispered, and wondered if she was calming Ruby or advising herself to remain controlled when she saw him.

The ute’s engine purred, then the tow bar came into her view. The door opened and closed. The tarpaulin ruffled on the tray. Some shifting sounds, and his voice again, asking the children to bring his bag.

Sammy breathed deeply, steadying herself when he stepped to the edge of the ridge.

The afternoon sunshine shone on his back. The wind billowed his tan checked shirt and blew his sandy hair across his brow. For a moment, he melded with the breeze and the tall gum tree behind him like a painting from another era. A time of bushmen, and horses and roping; the layers of oil on canvas darkened at the edges. The sunshine glistening through the emerald green of the tree branches, resting like a halo on the shoulders of a man at home on the open land.

Legs akimbo, rescue gear in his hands, he looked as though he could ring any bell in the world.

Sammy’s heartbeat skittered. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since yesterday in the kitchen and hadn’t expected to be in touch with him until … she didn’t know. Didn’t have any idea what would happen between them next.

He had his gaze on Ruby. Then it moved to Sammy, and his eyes narrowed.

Ruby shuffled her snout, as though she sensed his presence. She oinked, and wriggled in the mud.

Sammy put her hands flat on the pig’s midriff, and pushed to keep her still. She glanced up to the ridge again. It was the strangest moment to feel thrilled. She had no right to it, but no matter what he was doing—holding rabbits, patting horses or saving pigs, her heart would always burn with pride at his composure. He was a flagship of strength and her eyes would forever welcome the sight of him.

She straightened, wanting to meet his eye and let him know it was okay—she wasn’t going to create a fuss or behave in any different way than she had before yesterday. Her hand of friendship was still there, if he wanted it.

He smiled suddenly. A big, cocky, countryman grin. ‘Ruby’s fine, kids,’ he said as he swung a coiled nylon rope over his head and torso. ‘I can tell from here. We’ll have her out in a jiffy.’ He threw a lightweight bag over his shoulder, followed by thick canvas straps, and stepped over the ridge of the embankment.

He manoeuvred his way down the slope, grasping the bank only once to steady himself. The earth was wetter at the bottom though, and he skidded the last two metres on his thigh and hip.

His boots hit Ruby’s belly and brought him to a stop. She squeaked gently, as though it had tickled her.

‘Sorry about that, didn’t mean to slip.’

Sammy blinked at the mud splashed on her eyelashes.

‘Can hardly see you for mud, Miss Walker.’ He lifted his still-clean hand to her face, and wiped the soggy earth from her eyelids with his thumb. ‘That’s better.’

She stiffened, like a child being tended to.

He didn’t take his gaze off her as he slid the bag from his shoulder then took the rope from around his neck. ‘Wonder if Dolan would want to marry you if he saw you now.’

Sammy’s jaw dropped.

‘And your mother wouldn’t see your pretty face for dirt.’

He paused long enough for Sammy to splutter a surprised, ‘What?’

He grinned. ‘Smile, Sammy. Life’s an adventure, there to be smiled at. That’s what my mother used to say when I was a boy.’

She closed her mouth. She was getting an exposition on childhood from the man who kept everything to himself—like his dead wife and unborn baby.

She took her thoughts off that and back to the problem at hand. ‘How are you going to get her out? Is she in pain?’ She winced. ‘I had to sit on her.’ She felt bad about that.

‘You haven’t hurt her. She’s oinking with the best of them.’

‘She’s shivering.’

‘She’s happy to see me. It’s called Ruby’s Quiver.’

‘Ethan!’ She couldn’t hold onto the frustration.

He turned from her which was just as well, because her heightened breathing would definitely betray her confusion and fluster.

He pulled a syringe from the nylon bag and filled it with something from a small vial.

‘I thought you said she didn’t need anything.’

‘Just giving her something to help. It won’t be pleasant for her when I haul her up.’

‘You?’ Sammy asked. ‘Are you going to try and drag her up?’

He looked her in the eye, gaze a steady blue. ‘I can ring a bell for you without any problem, and I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t pick up a quarter ton of pig by myself. Looks like I’ll have to use the ute.’

He waited, looking at her.

Sammy moistened her lips and took the image of him hammering every bell in town out of her mind. ‘Are you trying to make me laugh?’ She had to speak, this was ridiculous, not what she’d expected. ‘Are you doing this on purpose?’

His gaze softened. ‘I’m trying to put you at ease, yes.’

‘About what?’ It wasn’t this. It wasn’t Ruby.

He didn’t answer. She sighed and lowered her chin.

‘About us,’ he said quietly.

Blast her heart. It gave her away with its erratic beating. Her skin prickled with unease, with angst, with …

‘Sammy.’ He leaned forwards, hooked his arm around her and pulled her into his shoulder.

Her hands came up to his chest. Her face rested against the soft cotton of his shirt, she breathed in the aroma of him. The energy and heat he kept so tightly controlled.

He settled her with a small squeeze of his arm, and dipped his face to nestle in her hair. ‘Ruby’s fine,’ he whispered. ‘So are you. Everything’s fine.’

‘Did you know that in Denmark there are twice as many pigs as people?’ Ethan called out to the children as he uncoiled the ropes.

Sammy sat back as he threw the longest length like a whip, blue and yellow nylon yarn spinning in the air until the tip snatched at the ground behind him.

Ruby squealed.

Sammy slapped her hands over her ears.

‘And that a pig’s squeal,’ Ethan yelled, ‘can get as loud as one hundred and fifteen decibels.’

‘They can run a mile in seven minutes, Dr Granger,’ Andy called out once Ruby quietened.

‘Can they now.’ Ethan paused, looked up at the children. ‘Is that how Ruby got so far from home?’

‘It’s a long way home,’ Janie shouted, her voice a soprano tremor.

Ethan smiled. ‘Not so long, Jane. We’ll soon have you all home.’

He looked at Sammy, the crease of a frown on his brow. ‘I’ll try to make this as fast as possible,’ he said, his tone serious. ‘But it’s going to be hard. Pigs use mud to cool them down, not to get dirty. She’s not happy being dirty and she’s been stuck here all day. Her back is getting sunburned.’

Sammy shuddered.

‘Are you going to be able to handle this?’

She nodded. ‘Just want to get her out.’

He gauged her for another second, then turned to the children. ‘What’s that nursery rhyme about pigs?’

‘The little piggies,’ Andy called, cupping his hands to his mouth like a megaphone.