Windflowers

by Tamara McKinley

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas; Action & Adventure Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance; 20th Century Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

If you love Lesley Pearse, you're sure to fall for Tamara McKinley! Claire's greatest dream is to leave behind the quiet life at the cattle station where she grew up for the bright lights of swinging 1960s Sydney. But just when it seems it might finally become a reality, she's summoned to a family reunion organised by her formidable Great Aunt Aurelia. Annoyed that she must again put her life on hold, Claire begrudgingly agrees, but what she discovers there could challenge everything she thought she knew about the station, her family, and even herself.

Release date: July 18, 2013

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 329

Sample

The dirt and squalor of Sydney’s Domain was almost a year behind them as Ellie rode north to Gregory Downs with her father. The dirt track meandered in a blood red ribbon across the empty plains to disappear in the heat haze, drawing them ever deeper into the unknown. Yet, with money in their pockets and horses to ride, progress was finally easier than the months they’d spent tramping the wallaby tracks.

They were on the long stretch to Cloncurry when Ellie noticed the build up of cloud on the horizon behind them. ‘Looks like a big storm brewing,’ she warned. ‘Better dig in quick before it reaches us.’

Her father John turned to look over his shoulder at the broiling clouds that seethed in the strangely yellow sky. ‘Should be able to get to the Curry before it breaks.’

Ellie frowned. ‘We won’t make it,’ she said firmly. ‘The Curry’s at least another two day’s ride and the storm’s not gunna wait that long.’

‘Gotta give it a go,’ he said as he gathered up the reins and smiled back at her with false brightness. ‘If it looks like we can’t make it, then we’ll just have to find shelter and let it ride over us.’

Ellie looked into his handsome face, the despair at his lack of common sense weighing heavy. She was only a few weeks short of her fourteenth birthday and yet he seemed determined to treat her like a kid. She’d heard about the terrible storms they got out here in the middle of nowhere, and knew he was as scared as she was. If only he’d admit it, she thought crossly. If only he’d listen to me for once we might just get out of this alive.

‘Where exactly?’ Ellie replied with sharp impatience. ‘There’s not a hill or valley or outcrop of stone out here, and we might not have time to dig through that.’ Her gaze swept their desolate surroundings. The boulder strewn track was concrete hard beneath its layer of sifting dust and the few blasted trees that wilted in the heat offered little shelter beneath their blackened branches. The nearest mountains were thumbprint bruises far into the distance.

‘We’ll find somewhere,’ he said with his customary doggedness.

Ellie’s brown eyes regarded him solemnly from beneath the raggedy fringe of tow coloured hair. ‘Reckon we ought’a start digging now if we’re to stand any kind of chance. Dust storms are killers, and we shouldn’t mess with ‘em.’

John’s dark eyes became coldly determined. ‘You’ve listened to too many outback horror stories during the drove to Longreach,’ he snapped. ‘You might be thirteen going on forty five, but you don’t know everything.’

Ellie shifted in the saddle as he glanced back at the darkening horizon. The wind was changing direction, but that didn’t make her feel easier. The Aborigine stockman, Snowy White, had warned her how treacherous the elements could be. Had described all too clearly how they lured unsuspecting travellers into a false sense of security before they unleashed their terrible forces.

John Freeman tugged his hat brim down over his dark eyes. ‘We’ll carry on,’ he said with a firmness that brooked further no argument. ‘The storm’s miles away and by the look of it, is changing course.’ He turned the grey’s head towards the wide dirt track that disappeared into the far northern horizon and dug in his heels. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Well I don’t like the look of it,’ she said stubbornly as she urged Clipper into a trot. ‘Wang Lee told me about a mate of his got caught. Died too quick for anyone to save him – lungs full of dust. Wang Lee said death out here can come in a second.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that.’

‘Shut up about the Chinaman and ride.’ John slapped his horse into a shambling trot, and with a final glance over her shoulder at the broiling horizon Ellie reluctantly followed him.

‘It’s time you stopped listening to Chinese cooks and Aboriginal stockmen and began to have faith in me for a change,’ he growled. ‘I might be a bloke from the city, but I’ve seen us this far without advice from others – I’ll get us to your Aunt Aurelia’s.

Ellie remained silent for she knew her father’s pride had been damaged enough and there was no point in arguing when he was like this. Their long trek from Sydney had been daunting for both of them, but it had to be especially hard for a man who knew nothing of the outback and had the responsibility of his daughter to think about. They had survived – just – on hand-outs and dole tickets, but work had been hard to find and she knew her father was close to breaking point when they’d finally been taken on at Gowrie Station for the annual drove to Longreach. Ellie tipped her hat brim over her eyes to counter the glare and for the next two hours they rode in awkward silence.

The sky was darkening, but the wind had lessened and now there was an eerie stillness surrounding them. An ominous silence in which there was no birdsong, not even the sawing of crickets or the hum of flies. Ellie couldn’t keep her fears to herself any longer. ‘Storm’s getting nearer, Dad,’ she said with a calmness that belied her inner turmoil. ‘Better find shelter in there.’ She pointed off to the west to the stony outcrops and canyons that had soared out of the plains in some long ago volcanic eruption. The blue and red hills were ancient monoliths almost bereft of vegetation, the earth around them laced with deep crevasses and razor sharp obstacles of stone and scree. Ellie shivered despite the cloying heat of the windless plains for she knew it would take a great deal of courage to go into those deeply shadowed, sinister canyons.

John shook his head. ‘Too dangerous,’ he said shortly. ‘Horses will break their legs. We’ll go on a bit further and see if it flattens out. Perhaps there’s shelter on the other side?’

Ellie was restless as she watched the approaching storm. ‘We don’t have time,’ she fired at him. ‘Better to find somewhere now.’

‘You’ll do what I flamin’ tell you,’ he shot back. ‘You’re making a drama out of this just like your mother. Get a move on,’ he ordered.

Ellie bit the inside of her lip to cut off the angry retort. She was nothing like Alicia and it was unfair of dad to make the comparison. But if they didn’t find shelter here they’d be caught in the open when the storm hit. ‘I’m not a bloody kid any more, Dad,’ she shouted. ‘Why won’t you listen to me for once?’

John’s back was ramrod straight as he rode away, his gaze fixed on the empty horizon. There was no reply. No acknowledgement he’d even heard her.

The heat was oppressive, the silence profound as they left the volcanic hills far behind them and headed further into the vast plains. Ellie shot worried glances across to John as the fear grew. How to tell her father his judgement was flawed – that he should have listened to her – should have found shelter two hours back in those canyons? For there was nothing out here. Not even a shadow. Yet his stubborn determination to take charge had become too familiar over the past months and Ellie knew his pride wouldn’t allow him to back down. He’d be damned if he was going to let something silly like a bit of a dust storm stop him – even if it killed the pair of them.

The morning wore on and Ellie had to hold tightly to her hat as the wind increased. With her chin tucked into her collar her eyes were slits against the dust that had begun to swirl around them – the wind driving into their backs – pushing them ever onward towards an empty horizon. She finally reined in her terrified pony and faced the terror that had stalked them. The sky was ochre, bruised by thunderous clouds that rolled ever nearer. The wind howled like a dingo as it swept across the plains flattening everything in its path. Trees were being uprooted and tossed skywards like matchsticks. Spinnifex bowled across the plains and the dust rose like a great curtain in the south, blocking out everything behind it. They were in deep trouble and there was no escape.

She was struggling now to keep Clipper calm, holding on to the reins she rammed her hat deep into her dungaree pocket and lay flat against his neck as the wind tried to tear her from the saddle.

‘Get off the road,’ John shouted above the shriek of the wind. ‘Dig in.’ He grabbed her reins and tugged the reluctant pony to the shallow dip at the side of the rough track. It was just a trench forged over the years by the run-off water during the wet, but it was all the shelter available. They slid from their saddles and struggled to calm their propping, rearing horses as the veil of wind-spun dust tore across the plains and descended upon them in a banshee wail.

Ellie’s scream was lost in the fury as she was plucked from her feet, ripped from the anchor of Clipper’s reins and tossed like a rag-doll into the maelstrom. She felt John’s grip on the hem of her dungarees, his desperate clutch at her waist as the wind tore at their backs. Then she was in his arms, held tightly to his chest as he was forced into a stumbling run. Slammed to the ground in a bone-numbing thud that took her breath away they were dragged along the scree. The howling fury rang in her ears and dulled her senses. Dust blinded her, threatened to choke her, filling her nose and eyes, gritting her tongue. Ellie clung to her father in terror as he fought for some tenuous hold on an earth that seemed determined to reject them.

All sense of time and direction was lost as she lay pinned to the ground beneath him. Eyes tightly shut she buried her face in his coat and fought to breathe as the vibration of his voice ran through him. But his words were whipped away as the world closed in, darkened and became full of stinging, smothering dust. Boulders lumbered and rolled, thudding into them before they bowled away. Stones were hurled as fast and lethal as bullets. Scrub vegetation entangled itself momentarily then was torn into the swirling darkness. Branches and twigs whipped past, spiny claws tearing at clothes and flesh like wild beasts. The howling demon of the wind seemed determined to claim them, yanking at their hair and clothes, shifting them further along the rough ground. For the first time in her life Ellie began to pray.

*

Joe and Charlie had said their goodbyes to the men at Wila Wila Station and now they were heading east to Richmond. They’d heard a cattleman there needed help mustering his mob over to the coast and the chance to catch their first glimpse of the ocean was an exciting prospect for the seventeen year old twins. The long months of tramping the tracks, of sleeping rough and collecting their dole tickets were over. The thrilling brumby muster at Wila Wila had provided them with horses, clean clothes and money in their pockets. No wonder they were on an adrenaline rush.

Joe ran a hand over his stubble. Being dark, his beard grew faster than Charlie’s, and he hated the way it itched. He grinned across at his twin, noting the fair bristles on his chin and the blond hair curling over his collar. ‘Reckon it’s time we had a shave and haircut,’ he said. ‘Look like a couple of swaggies.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Those days are over, mate. Reckon we’ll have the girls crawlin’ over us when we reach Richmond.’ His blue eyes danced, the infectious grin showing strong, even teeth and the trace of newly weathered creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth. ‘This is the life, ain’t it?’

Joe grinned back. ‘Too right, mate.’ They’d come a long way from the broken down shanty back in Lorraine. A long way from the dreary years of poverty and heartache that had seen their parents buried and the farm re-possessed.

His attention was brought back to Satan and he grappled with the reins as the chestnut took it into his head to fight the bit. He’d broken the stallion back at Wila Wila, but the chestnut was still wild enough to cause trouble amongst the other horses in his string which was why he’d elected to ride him. The long journey to Richmond would be a chance to get to know each other and find a compromise. Satan still champed at the bit and tried to pull Joe’s arms from his sockets, but he realised the horse knew he was beaten and it was merely a token show of resentment.

‘Reckon you ought’a let me have him,’ said Charlie as his speculative blue gaze roamed over the rich chestnut coat and proud head. ‘I’d soon show him who’s boss.’

Joe’s wrists ached from keeping the reins taut and his patience was wearing thin. Charlie had had his eye on Satan from the start, and obviously hadn’t forgiven Joe’s luck at being rewarded for breaking him. ‘Satan’s mine,’ he said firmly. ‘He’ll calm down soon enough.’

Charlie pulled his hat brim low and gathered up the reins. ‘Let’s ride. We gotta long ways to go.’ He dug in his spurs, setting the black gelding into a fast gallop across the plains, his other horses stringing out behind him.

Satan shook his head, nostrils flaring, ears pricked as he fought the bit and tried to give chase. Joe hung on, sawing at his mouth in an attempt to keep the pace even. Richmond was at least a week’s ride away and there was no point in letting Satan blow himself out. He frowned as a hot wind swept across the plains and tugged his shirt before dropping away with an ominous suddenness. Looking around him he realised the sky was sepia, heavy with purple thunderheads, the sun almost obliterated by a curtain of darkness that was sweeping up from the south. Solitary trees were stark monuments against the strange yellow light and the distant mountains brooded before the onslaught. ‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured. ‘We’re in for a beaut.’

Charlie was far off into the distance now, his string of horses kicking up dust in a great red cloud, but Joe realised he would slow down soon enough when he realised what loomed on the horizon. He set his string of horses into a canter, Satan easing his pull on the bit as he was given his head, the others picking up the scent of the approaching storm and lengthening their strides. Joe watched as his brother eased off and looked around him.

‘Over there,’ yelled Joe as he pointed to an outcrop of rocks. ‘Dig in!’ His voice carried across the deserted plains and echoed in the strange stillness that heralded the approaching storm as they raced for cover.

The outcrop reared from the plains in a soaring, jagged jumble of stark red and black. Trees clung to its sides and tufts of grass poked through here and there, but on the whole it was as barren as the plains, with slippery shale underfoot and glowering overhangs of rock that cast long shadows.

‘Through there,’ said Joe as he took the lead and pointed to a deeply shadowed canyon between over-hanging rocks. There was an eerie silence as the glowering sky encompassed the earth and the world took on the hue of half-light.

The boys dismounted and the horses picked their way through the rocky outcrops and slippery shale, their hooves echoing in the stillness. Joe led them through the narrow gully and coaxed his horses up the slope to the cave. They had been lucky, he realised, for the cave’s entrance was side-on to the approaching storm and it appeared to be the only shelter for miles.

The mouth of the cave was enormous and they led their horses further into the darkness. The scuttle of tiny feet told them animals were sheltering there already, and the stink of guano and the overhead rustle and squeak revealed a colony of bats. Joe and Charlie quickly hobbled the horses and lashed the reins to a thick pillar of rock that stood in the centre of the cave.

Charlie lit a match and peered into the dancing shadows. ‘Looks like the black fellers were here first,’ he murmured as the frail light picked out the ancient paintings on the cave wall. ‘How big d’you reckon this is?’

Joe shrugged and carried on rubbing Satan down. The big horse was trembling, the sweat breaking out as the storm’s approach resounded through the cave. ‘Big enough to give us shelter, but we’d better keep an eye on the animals. They could bring this whole place down if they pull too hard on that pillar.’

Charlie rolled a smoke. ‘They’ll be right,’ he murmured in his matter-of-fact way. ‘Brumbies are used to storms.’

‘Out in the open, maybe,’ retorted Joe. ‘Reckon they won’t like it much cooped up in here.’ He pulled the saddle blankets over their eyes, gave them a pat of reassurance, checked the hobbles and joined Charlie at the mouth of the cave.

They sat and shared a cigarette as they watched the forks of lightning jag to earth. ‘Some poor bastard’s getting it over there,’ said Joe as he followed the curtain of dust that whirled across the plains to the south. ‘Whole bloody trees are being torn up and thrown about. Wouldn’t like to be caught out in that.’

Charlie smoked the last of the cigarette. ‘Reckon we was lucky to find this place.’ He grinned as he flicked the butt and watched it being swept away. ‘But I wouldn’t have minded getting caught – can you imagine the rush you’d get? Must be the nearest thing to flying.’

Joe lifted a dark brow. ‘Yeah, right,’ he drawled with heavy sarcasm. ‘You do come up with some bloody silly ideas, Charlie. Must be crazy to think getting caught in that lot could be fun.’ He eyed his brother’s profile and noted the shining eyes and rapt expression. There was no getting away from it, Charlie had always pushed his luck. He seemed to have no fear, no sense of danger at all. In fact, he thought with a grin, no bloody sense whatsoever.

The wind howled like a banshee through the tunnels and caves, making the horses prop and dance in their hobbles. Satan’s eyes rolled white, his ears flattened to his head, nostrils distended and blowing as he pawed at the cave floor. Joe went to soothe him and the others, his hands gently running down their quivering withers. Brumbies or not, the animals were terrified, and he knew that given half a chance they would be long gone.

The wind picked up, shrieking through the canyons, tossing stones and trees and grass before it as its dervish whirls tore at the earth. Dust descended in a pall of stinging, blinding red to block out the meagre light and fill every crevice in its path. Joe caught Charlie’s excitement and together they stood at the entrance to the cave, arms outstretched to the broiling sky – almost daring the storm to come and get them.

‘See?’ shouted Charlie as his hat blew back and his fair hair whipped his face. ‘Told you it was a blast!’

Joe was about to agree when the wind swiftly changed direction and he was almost knocked off his feet and sent plummeting to the canyon floor. He grabbed Charlie’s shirt and pulled him into the cave. ‘Strewth, that was close. Better stay back before it blows you away.’

Charlie’s blue eyes were bright with excitement. ‘So what if it does?’ he yelled as he tore free and headed back to the mouth of the cave. ‘I’ve never ridden the wind.’

Joe grabbed his arm and yanked him back from the edge. ‘Don’t be such a bloody fool,’ he shouted as he pushed him into the lee of a boulder and scrambled in beside him.

Charlie elbowed away. ‘You ain’t no fun no more,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s only a storm.’

Joe didn’t bother to reply. Charlie wouldn’t have listened to reason anyway – not when he was like this.

The wind buffeted the outside walls of their hiding place, howling its fury as it bore down on them and shook the earth to its very core. Within moments it was no longer possible to speak or see, for the wind changed direction once more and spun dust and darkness into their shelter as if determined to seek them out. The brothers sat with their knees to their chins, arms tightly around their heads, noses buried, eyes shut as false night closed in. The screams of the wind echoed those of the horses as the dust storm battered the mouth of the cavern. Its howls rebounded off the walls and funnelled deep into the hillside tunnels with a bass moan that seemed to run shockwaves right through them.

They huddled together for warmth. Shared the same mixture of fear and excitement as the storm raged around them. The terrible thrill of it all made Joe shiver. He wasn’t proud of the fear that laced his excitement, but understood it came from an awareness of how precious life was and how much he wanted to survive to see the future he’d planned. Yet he knew that given the chance Charlie would have tempted fate, taken the mixture of fear and euphoria they shared now and used them as a defiance in the face of danger. They might have been twins, but they were very different, and sometimes his brother’s almost careless attitude to life scared him far more than any storm. For Charlie would always want to live on the edge – live for the moment and not really care about the consequences.

Perhaps Charlie’s right, he thought. Maybe I’m not so much fun any more. But we’re not kids. We’re seventeen going on eighteen. Surely with age came maturity? A time when we become responsible for our actions? He buried his head in his arms and turned his thoughts to the property he would have one day. To the horses and cattle he’d muster on green pastures, and the homestead he’d return to each night. It didn’t have to be grand, this place he dreamed of – just somewhere he could call home.

*

Charlie shivered as the cold wind tore through the mouth of the cave. This was life. This was living. This was part of the excitement he’d craved for so long in the dreary endless days of his youth when all there seemed to be was poverty and hard work. He grinned and instantly regretted it as dust filled his mouth and gritted his teeth. Spitting it out he buried his head deeper and imagined the future. A future of riding the plains with the wild horses. Of travelling vast distances to new adventures, new people, new places. This country was made for men like him. Men who called no place home, who forged new paths for others to follow and were of the stuff that made them legends.

Impatience rode his back as the wind tugged at his clothes and he longed to feel the wild freedom of that wind and to join it in its mad dash across the plains. Yet he knew the time wasn’t yet right. He had a lot of living to do first, and for now he would have to be content to follow his brother’s more measured steps.

*

They had no idea how long they remained huddled against that dank boulder in the darkness, but as the wind’s shriek lessened and the sandblast ebbed they lifted their heads and listened. The storm was heading north, still blowing hard, still wailing and moaning as it tore a path of destruction across the empty plains – but for them the danger was past. They crawled from their hiding place, spitting dust, rubbing it from their eyes. They’d had a lucky escape.

The horses reared and propped as they took the blankets from their heads and checked them over. One of the bays had a cut on her leg where she must have knocked against the stone wall, but it didn’t look too deep and Joe knew it would soon heal. Satan rolled his eyes, the whites gleaming in the darkness. He curled his top lip and snapped at Joe’s hand as he adjusted the bridle.

Charlie laughed, the adrenaline still coursing through him. ‘You’ll never tame that bastard,’ he said. ‘Wanna give him to me. I’ll soon show him.’

Joe stroked the long chestnut nose and traced the white flash on the proud forehead. ‘Can’t beat a horse into good manners,’ he drawled. ‘He lashed out ‘cos he’s scared. He’ll learn when he’s good and ready. Don’t want to kill his spirit completely.’

Charlie snorted and took a long drink from his water-pouch. ‘Bet ya a quid I could get him sorted in a day. How about it?’ His blue eyes gleamed and the broad, enticing grin seemed forced.

Joe recognised Charlie’s need to prove he was the better man – the stronger and more adventurous of the two who had the right of acquisition purely because he was an hour older and an inch taller. It was a familiar scene, one that had been played out ever since he could remember. Only this time the stakes were too high and he wasn’t going to give in. He shook his head. ‘Satan’s mine, and he’ll stay that way. No bets on this one, Charlie,’ he said firmly.

Charlie untied the reins from the stone pillar and led his horses to the mouth of the cave. ‘We’ll see,’ he said under his breath.

*

Ellie opened her eyes. She was almost buried in her father’s topcoat, the weight of him bearing down on her making it difficult to breathe. ‘Dad?’ She pushed against him in an attempt to wriggle away, but found she was stuck fast. Struggling to breathe, she began to panic at the lack of her father’s response. ‘Dad,’ she said more firmly, giving him a hard jab in the stomach. ‘Get off. You’re squashing me.’

John lay still and heavy across her, his coat-tails flapping in the remains of the wind as it chased across the empty plains. Ellie squirmed and shoved, the onslaught of dread making her heart bang against her ribs as she realised she couldn’t hear him breathing. ‘Dad?’ she yelled. ‘Dad, wake up.’ Terror brought the strength to push him harder.

John rolled away and lay still in the dirt. His face was ashen, streaked with dry, dust encrusted blood. His mouth fell open in a silent scream and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky through the caking of dust.

‘Dad?’ she whispered, her trembling fingers covering her mouth. She was unaware of the tears splashing darkly on the veil of dirt that covered her hands as she knelt beside him and touched his cold face. His head rolled to one side and she flinched at the sight of the gaping hole where his temple had once been. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘You can’t leave me here. I won’t let you. Wake up. Wake up!’ She shook him, jabbed him, slapped his face, crying all the while for she knew it would serve no purpose.

John lay there as still and silent as their surroundings. One hand rested by his side, open to the sky, the fingers curled as if beckoning her to clasp them. Ellie threw herself across his chest, the tears coursing tiny tracks through the dirt on his clothes. ‘You can’t die,’ she sobbed. ‘I won’t let you.’ She rested her cheek on the still chest, pummelling him with her fists in a last ditch effort to beat him back to life.

But there was no answering movement, no rise or fall of that thin chest, no breath emanating from the open mouth. Bereft of strength she slumped against him and gave into despair. He was all she had. Now he was gone.

The sun was almost at its zenith when she finally raised her head and faced reality. She looked at her father, so naked of all character and colour in death – so still and distant – like a stranger. She softly kissed his cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I know you didn’t mean to leave me.’ Ellie knuckled back the tears. ‘But I’m scared, Dad. I don’t know what to do.’

She knelt beside him and looked out at the vast emptiness. The storm had removed all trace of the track they’d been following and the few trees that had survived the onslaught were bare of foliage. The horses were gone. There was no sound, no welcome cloud of dust heralding another traveller. Even the birds seemed to have deserted her.

Ellie shivered despite the warm breeze that sifted through the dust. She had never felt so alone – or so small and insignificant. She crept closer to her father’s side. Her gaze trawled the seemingly endless horizon for some familiar landmark as the sun beat down on her bare head, and finally, far in the distance, she saw the purple thumbprint of what she guessed were Cloncurry’s guardian hills.

She finally steeled herself to look at her father, then shuddered. Flies were already swarming around his head, blackening the wound, crawling around his eyes and mouth. She knew then she had to find the courage to bury him. For death brought scavengers, she’d seen it on the roads they’d tramped despite her father’s attempt to shield her from the horror. She thought of those bundles of rags that had once been men whose search for something better had come to an ignominious end. Picked clean by the crows and the dingoes they had become the forgotten and unmourned. Dad deserved better than that.

Ellie closed her eyes. ‘Goodbye, Dad,’ she whispered. Getting to her feet she retrieved her hat from where she had tucked it in her dungaree pocket and took a deep breath. Self-pity wouldn’t help. She had to keep her wits about her if she was to survive.

Shadows drifted across the earth and she looked up. A flock of crows circled, dark against the midday sky. ‘Go away,’ she yelled, waving her hat at them. ‘Clear off you bludgers. You aren’t having him.’

She looked around, panic and frustration setting in. The horses were gone, and with them the packs that carried their supplies. She had nothing to dig with, nothing to frighten the birds away. In a flash of temper she dredged up all the swear words she could think of as she grabbed a sharp stone and began to scoop the earth out around her father’s body. It was hard going and she cursed everything around her as the sun beat down and the crows gathered and the hole seemed to remain stubbornly small.

The heat was remorseless, the sweat evaporating on her skin as her thirst grew and work on her father’s final resting place continued. Remembering the aboriginal stockman’s advice, she picked up a small, smooth pebble and put