Chapter Five
Lucy rose at daybreak and as soon as it was a decent hour she called Sebastian, full of glee that she could impart the news that Liam and Jemmy were on the way. It would be late afternoon before her cousins arrived, and the anticipation of being together again filled her with excitement. Gran was quiet as they buttered more scones and filled picnic baskets, and the food was ready when the first contractor appeared at the door just after nine o’clock.
“Woo-hoo, what have we here? Some new hired help, Mrs Peterkin?” The young man lifted the edge of the red-checkered cloth keeping the scones warm in the basket.
“Tommy Robinson, you get your hand away from those scones, and no, this is my granddaughter Lucy.” She slapped his hand away from the basket as he peered in at the scones. Lucy smiled back at the appreciative grin that came her way when he raised his eyes.
“I think I’ll volunteer for pick-up duty every day,” he said.
“Come on, hurry up,” Gran said. “The boys will be waiting for their cuppa.”
“See you later, love.” With a wink directed at Lucy, Tommy lifted the three loaded boxes and balanced them on one arm, and then picked up the small esky with the other. He turned to Gran with a wide smile. “You too, Mrs P. The boys are looking forward to this. You still take the prize for the best scones in the district.”
“Get away with you, boy. Flattery won’t work on me. Now, there’s butter and jam in that esky with the milk, along with some whipped cream,” Gran said firmly as she pointed to the small blue cooler, but Lucy noticed the flush that tinged her cheeks.
The morning raced by as Gran and Lucy prepared enough sandwiches to feed an army. Ten loaves of bread had thawed overnight, and two huge slabs of corned beef had simmered on the stove. Gran pulled out her show-winning pickles. As they cleaned up the kitchen after Tommy had collected the lunch, Lucy reached up and wiped away the perspiration that trickled down her neck. The dishwasher was loaded and running, and she was washing up the pots and pans in the sink.
“There’s no way you could have done this without help, Gran.”
“Why not? I’ve done it every other year since you all took off.” Her voice was dry, but there was an undercurrent of sadness that tugged at Lucy’s guilt.
“I’m a bit tired. I might go and have a lie-down after we finish here.” Alarm spiked through Lucy; Gran had always been snarky about people who needed a daytime nap. The day is for working, she’d always said.
“Just the Anzac bickies and the thermoses for smoko this afternoon?” Lucy asked casually. The smell of fresh-baked biscuits was making her hungry.
Gran nodded.
“I’ll do that.”
“That would be good.” Lucy’s guilt climbed higher. Not only was Pop unwell, she was starting to think there was something wrong with Gran, too.
“I think it’s time that you and Pop thought about hiring some more help, don’t you?”
Gran pursed her lips but wouldn’t be drawn into any conversation about the farm.
“I saw Garth Mackenzie at the dam when I went for my swim yesterday.” Lucy flickered a glance across as Gran plunged her hands into the hot soapy water again.
“My goodness, this water’s hot. Pass me a hand towel, Lucy.” By the time she’d wiped her hands, the strange look had left Gran’s face and Lucy wondered if she’d imagined it.
“What was that Mackenzie boy doing on our land?” Her tone was as hard as the words.
Lucy’s head flew up. “He was being friendly. Is there a problem?” Lucy stared at her grandmother. “And why is there a padlock on the back gate? I saw that last night.”
“Did you try to go over there?”
“I did, and I ended up going the long way around. Garth and I were good mates when we were at school. And you and the Mackenzies were best of friends. What’s happened?”
Gran sighed and hung the towel on the hook back on the sink. “Yes, we were. It all gets too hard sometimes. And yes, there is a problem, but I’m not going to discuss it with you. When the others are here, we’ll have a meeting.”
“A meeting? That’s a strange thing to call a family chat,” Lucy said.
“Pah! A family? We haven’t been that since— I have business to discuss with you all, and we’ll do it formally.”
Gran turned away and headed for the hall. “Tommy’ll be back for those sandwiches soon. Don’t go giving him any encouragement.”
“No, Gran. I’ll be a sour old battleaxe, too,” Lucy muttered beneath her breath. As much as she hated to admit it, Sebastian wasn’t far wrong. Gran had been hard and cold after her first welcoming greeting, and Lucy was beginning to feel like the hired help. Maybe coming out to Prickle Creek Farm hadn’t been such a good idea.
…
Garth lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and tugged it over his head before he threw it onto the bale of hay next to the wall. Sweat ran down his face as he stared at the motor in front of him. The pump at the dam that fed the major irrigation sprayers had given up the ghost, and he couldn’t spare the time to take it to town to get it fixed. He’d lifted the motor from the pump yesterday and sat it in the shed, thinking about the problem overnight. Now he narrowed his eyes and stared at it, remembering the pumps at the mine. On a few of his night shifts there, he’d watched the mechanics repair the equipment, and he’d often pitched in and passed tools to them.
He leaned over and unscrewed the arm at the back of the pump. It was bent; a grunt of satisfaction puffed from his chest. As much as he’d resented the time away from the farm, both at uni and at the mine where he’d worked as an engineer, those years away had contributed to his skill set back here on the farm. The cattle raising and the wheat growing were something he’d learned from Dad, but the education and the skills he’d picked up out in the world of work had made the time away worthwhile. He took the arm over to the workbench and hammered it until it was flat. He lifted it up and checked it was no longer bent, and walked back over to the motor. Leaning over, he carefully screwed it back onto the pump. Garth pulled the starter cord and grinned when the motor fired.
Damn, if only everything were that easy. Satisfaction flowed through him for a job well done. Solving little problems like that showed to him every day how much he loved being out here on the Mackenzie farm. He’d never told his parents, but the number of times he’d almost pulled out of uni and quit his job to come back home had been more frequent than he admitted.
But it was all worthwhile. In the last six months since he’d bought out his parents—the farm was his—he’d had a new farmhouse built, cattle prices were high, this year’s wheat harvest promised to be the best yet, and he was building the farm up into one of the best properties in the district. Never again would he have to leave the Pilliga Scrub and go back to working for someone else.
What was that Lee Kernaghan song he’d sung to cheer himself up when he didn’t think he could stand being away from home anymore? “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.” He sang as he put the tools away.