Snowy Mountains Cattleman, page 23
Grace began walking again, her pace quickening as Brenna motioned at her to come over to where she stood looking at the mural. To the left of the artwork appeared to be a small legend that listed the wildlife Heath had concealed within his painting. Grace gave him a smile before going to help Brenna find whatever it was she was searching for.
Clancy produced a bottle of champagne and they all made a toast to Heath. Grace’s laughter as she and Brenna returned to look for more animals was a sound Rowan would never get tired of hearing. Once everyone’s glasses were empty and Heath had revealed where the final corrobboree frog had been hidden, they drifted back to their cars. The plan was to head to the pub for an early dinner.
Grace came to walk by his side. ‘You were right,’ she said softly when it was just the two of them. ‘My fears did still have a hold over me. I’d like to come back and hear some more stories … we only got up to when you were in year two.’
‘Anytime.’
He hoped his reply sounded casual as the emotions filling his chest were far from relaxed. It shouldn’t mean as much as it did that he had been able to help her.
Heath’s Land Cruiser drove by and they both turned to give Heath and Clancy a smile. When he looked back at Grace, her attention was on the phone in his shirt pocket.
‘Can I please see those photos you showed Frank again?’ she asked.
‘Sure.’
As he took out his phone, Grace rummaged in her bag to produce hers. After he found the formal photo of the woman, baby and child, Grace held up a photo of four girls.
‘Kathy tracked down this picture of the Russell sisters but we don’t know who the other two are.’ She held her mobile next to Rowan’s. ‘Do you think either of the girls on the left resemble the woman in your photo?’
Rowan didn’t need to take a closer look to answer. ‘Definitely. The older girl in your photo has the same shaped face and nose as the mother in mine.’
‘I think so too. I also think perhaps Clancy was right, that Lawrence Senior did have a second family. This is possibly a picture of all his daughters; the spinster sisters and then these two girls who lived in the cottage.’
Grace swiped through the pictures on her phone. ‘Which means that the mother in the apartment could also have been one of Lawrence Senior’s other two daughters. But, even though the apartment bedroom photos were water-damaged, neither girl would perhaps have been the right age let alone height.’ She found the picture she’d been searching for. ‘See … you can’t see the face of the mother holding the baby wrapped in a shawl in this one, but she was very tall and slender.’
Rowan stared at the ruined photo Grace showed him, except it wasn’t the woman he noticed. The man was all but obliterated except for his left side where Rowan could make out the detail of an old-fashioned tweed coat and the wheel spokes of a bicycle behind him.
He took a moment to reply. ‘Grace, we’ve been looking in the wrong place. The mother wasn’t either of the spinster sisters or the daughters in the cottage. I’ve seen someone wearing that same coat, someone who always rode a bicycle … except he was supposed to be an eccentric bachelor. The father who had loved and lost his family has to be Lawrence Russell Junior.’
CHAPTER
15
The weekend of the Bundilla book festival delivered on its blue-sky promise of bright sunshine. The rain that had fallen over the past week had cleared, leaving the rural landscape around the small town green and vibrant with a proliferation of yellow and purple colour beside the roadside.
Grace slowed to appreciate the scenery. Today the mountain peaks were in full view, their granite outcrops glinting in the sun. She wasn’t the only one to be enjoying the scenery. She’d already passed two cars of tourists en route to the festival who had pulled over to take photographs. As pretty as the purple blooms of the Paterson’s curse were, especially when they blanketed an entire paddock, no local would stop to take pictures of the noxious weed.
Even though she knew Rowan wasn’t heading to Crookwell Park and would be setting up for the stall holders in the main street, she still checked every ute she saw. Over the past week since their visit to the local school to see Heath’s mural, she’d barely seen him. Between the rain and being needed to help out at the festival, he’d only been to Crookwell Park for a day. It was the least contact they’d ever had.
Instead of using the time apart to sort through the tangled thoughts in her head, all she’d done was miss him. So much so she’d taken to texting him and sending photos of the goats. On the night he’d called to see if Kathy’s research into Lawrence Junior had yet uncovered any proof that he’d fathered two children, they’d talked for hours.
After their school visit it was as though a heavy layer of darkness had lifted and now all she felt was light. It shouldn’t have taken so long to face the past, but perhaps she hadn’t been ready to deal with her fears until now. Coming to Bundilla, where she wasn’t consumed by work and had time and space to work through things, had proved healing on more than one level. She wasn’t naive enough to think that grief no longer held her hostage, but for now she was at peace. All she needed was to see Rowan for more than five minutes and her day would be complete.
Grateful for Clancy’s advice to park two blocks over from the main street at the dance studio, Grace left the throng of festival traffic. It was only early Saturday morning and yet the town was the busiest she’d ever seen it. Bundy had made a wise choice to stay with Frank. She nabbed a parking spot and then walked towards where she could hear the live music of a bush band.
The aroma of something delicious from a food stall made her stomach grumble at having to wait for breakfast. It wouldn’t be long until she was at the café with Clancy, Brenna and Mabel. But, as she walked through the cobblestone alleyway she’d taken as a shortcut, she revised her breakfast estimate.
Now shut to cars and only open to foot traffic, a sea of people filled the main street. Tina from the vintage charity shop had been right. It would be difficult to move amongst the festivalgoers let alone cross the road. Grace stepped into the throng. Apart from being momentarily distracted by a stall that had a book about goats and one on growing a cottage garden, she managed to find a path through the crowd. She pushed open the café door and when she saw Brenna wave, navigated her way through the full tables towards the back corner.
She sat in the last empty seat with a sigh. ‘That was an experience.’
‘It’s only early; wait until lunch,’ Brenna said with a grin.
Mabel peeked in the bag draped over Grace’s arm. ‘Okay, what books did you buy?’
Grace showed them her purchases while the young waitress took their order. Grace settled for the big breakfast and a large coffee; she was going to need both to face the crowds again.
Once the waitress had left, Grace found herself the centre of attention.
‘Any more news on the apartment?’ Clancy asked, leaning forwards. ‘I’ve been flat out trying to see Rowan all week and when I do he says about two words.’
Grace gazed around at the three expectant faces and her earlier sense of peace returned. She knew she could still sound English and different and that she was sometimes reserved, but the three women around her had accepted her from the start. She even felt she could call them friends.
‘Well …’ She smiled. ‘Thanks to Rowan and his perfect plot twist I do think we are getting closer, even though Kathy has confirmed Lawrence’s name isn’t on any marriage or birth certificate.’ Grace paused as she searched for a photo on her phone. ‘Kathy also found this newspaper photo of Lawrence and, just as Rowan remembered, he’s wearing the same tweed jacket.’
‘It’s such a tragedy,’ Mabel commented. ‘It’s like when he lost everyone, time stopped.’
‘It is sad,’ agreed Brenna. ‘I wonder if his sisters knew about his family and that’s why they fell out. They could have done so much to help him through his grief.’
‘Perhaps they tried?’ Grace showed everyone the picture of Bernice and then Evelyn.
‘I doubt it,’ said Mabel. ‘I always like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but they both look cold and unfeeling.’
‘So, if we assume that they did know,’ Clancy said, looking around, ‘they mustn’t have approved of who Lawrence loved. If this is true, the reason why they didn’t approve might also be why Lawrence had to hide his family.’
They all nodded.
‘What I don’t get,’ said Mabel, ‘is how this has all stayed secret. Someone in town has to know something. From the builder who worked on the apartment to the doctor who treated the little boy for polio, someone knows something.’
Grace opened the photo of the cookbook inscription. ‘So now we are back to thinking that this Melly has to be the mother.’
‘There definitely wasn’t a name similar to Melly in the cemetery records of the unmarked graves?’ Clancy asked.
Grace shook her head. ‘Without her surname, it’s impossible to know whether any of the unmarked graves could be her children. Kathy has ruled out the two that shared a surname. Kathy also suggested, to explain why none of the remaining unmarked graves share a surname, that perhaps Lawrence is only the father of the baby. If the mother had been married, then her older son would have her husband’s last name.’
‘This is making my head hurt, but maybe that was why the family had to be hidden?’ Brenna said as the waitress came to deliver their orders. ‘The mother was a married woman?’
Their discussion lapsed as they tucked into their breakfast.
Mabel appeared thoughtful. ‘Here’s another idea … the mother didn’t die in childbirth. Maybe just the baby girl did. The mother couldn’t cope so she left, or if she was married, she went back to her husband.’
Clancy took a sip of her tea. ‘If the mother did survive and then go, that would leave Lawrence Junior heartbroken just as if she had died.’
‘Like Miss Havisham from Great Expectations,’ Brenna said.
When everyone looked at her in surprise—tomboy Brenna would rather be on horseback than reading—she shrugged. ‘What? I listen at book club … sometimes.’
Once the laughter had subsided, Clancy said to Grace, ‘Show everyone the photo you showed me at the pub of the Russell sisters and the other two girls who we suspect are Lawrence Senior’s secret family.’
When Grace held up the photo, Mabel stared at the picture. ‘I can’t help but think the two secret families are connected. Maybe that’s how Lawrence Junior got the idea to hide his own family. If so, it’s heartbreaking that both generations couldn’t live with the ones they loved.’
‘No wonder the mansion is said to be cursed,’ Brenna said, her solemn expression matching the others around the table.
‘What’s the next step?’ Clancy asked. She didn’t need to say what they all were thinking, that they needed to right the wrongs of the past. Two families had already suffered enough.
‘Edith’s very kindly asking around at the CWA meeting this week,’ Grace replied. ‘I have everything crossed someone will recognise the cookbook handwriting or the name.’
The waitress returned and after they’d made a second coffee and tea order, the conversation changed to what festival events everyone was going to.
When they’d finished their hot drinks, they readied themselves to leave the sanctuary of the café. While Grace and Clancy headed off to a talk by Allison Butler, a medieval historical author, Mabel and Brenna went to listen to a panel of crime writers.
As Grace and Clancy made their way to the library where the talk was being held, they passed Dr Davis speaking at a podium in the adjacent park. His introduction for the writer standing beside him must have been going for a while as Grace saw an elderly man’s head bob as he briefly nodded off.
Once their own author talk was over and in Grace’s bag were several signed books, Grace and Clancy went out to wander through the book stalls. By now the live music was provided by a brass band playing old-time favourites. Brenna soon joined them.
Grace had just added another book to the pile in her arms when she heard her name. She turned to see Millicent and Beatrice. The identical twin sisters each gave her a small smile which she knew by now was their version of a real one.
‘How lovely to see you, Grace,’ said Millicent. ‘Apparently Bundy’s still with you?’
‘He is. Somehow he’s lasted all this time.’
Beatrice’s attention went to the books in her arms and the bag hanging off her shoulder. ‘You look like you’re having fun. You must enjoy reading?’
Grace didn’t immediately answer. Clancy and Brenna stood behind the sisters and Brenna was shaking her blonde head.
‘I … do.’
‘I said to Beatrice you were a reader,’ said Millicent. ‘Now the festival won’t be taking up so much of our time, book club will be on again. We’d be delighted if you’d join us.’
This time Brenna’s headshake was both fervent and rapid.
‘Ah … thank you. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town but I’ll keep book club in mind. I always love to talk about books.’
‘Wonderful,’ Beatrice said with a nod before both women continued on their way.
Brenna came to Grace’s side. ‘That was close. Next time I have to get out of something I’m asking you what to say. That was very smooth.’
Grace looked between Clancy and Brenna. ‘What’s wrong with book club?’
‘Nothing really,’ answered Clancy. ‘It’s fun, it’s just that missing book club is a serious offence; once you’re in it’s basically for life. If you do join, don’t be surprised if you’re expected to attend meetings via your laptop when you go back to Sydney.’
‘And when it comes to saying what you think of a book,’ added Brenna, ‘sucked isn’t exactly on the approved word list.’
Grace resisted a smile. She could see Brenna saying such a thing much to Millicent and Beatrice’s disapproval.
As they moved on to the next stall, Brenna drifted away to talk to two teenagers who had to be sisters with their yellow-blonde hair. Thrilled with finding a 1916 copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, Grace lost track of what Clancy was doing. When she looked around to see where she was, she found her standing stock still. Her attention seemed to be on a willowy blonde wearing a short cream shift dress with a tan designer handbag draped over an elegant shoulder. The woman was talking into her phone and when she turned she revealed a classically beautiful profile.
Even before Grace registered her compact but definite baby bump, she knew who the stranger was. Eloise.
‘Clance?’
Clancy seemed to come to life. She grabbed Grace’s arm. ‘I have to find Rowan. Eloise being here isn’t good. She never does anything without a reason.’
‘Go. I’ll take my books to the car and meet you later.’
Clancy nodded before pulling out her phone and dashing away.
Grace couldn’t help but stare as Eloise continued to talk into her mobile. She was breathtaking. There was no other word to describe her. No wonder Rowan had lost his heart.
She turned to make the trek back to her car. She had no doubt Rowan was over Eloise but between her mother’s attitude at the long lunch and now Clancy’s worry, unease made the bags she carried feel extra heavy. Seeing a pregnant Eloise would have to have an effect on Rowan. He’d once wanted to spend his life with this woman.
After she’d offloaded her books, Grace wasn’t in any rush to leave the quiet of the car park. As much as she was enjoying the festival, she needed some time out. She scrolled through her texts to find the message where Rowan had sent her Ned’s address. A quick check on her phone map revealed that Ned wasn’t far away. Instead of driving and losing her car spot, she set off for the short walk.
The battered white Hilux parked out the front of a weatherboard house let her know she’d arrived even before her phone GPS announced she’d reached her destination. The sound of hammering led her up the driveway towards a large shed.
She stopped at the garden gate. ‘Hi, Ned. It’s Grace.’
Ned appeared at the shed doorway, his smile welcoming. ‘I was hoping you’d call round. Come in out of the sun.’
Grace let herself through the gate. Even though she wore a sleeveless white dress the cool of the air-conditioned shed provided a welcome respite from the summer warmth. She gazed around at the interior, which was as neat as Ned’s garden outside. Dismantled rocking horses hung on the walls, while stacked containers of smaller parts and what looked like paints were clearly labelled on the shelves.
A dappled grey rocking horse that she barely recognised stood in the middle of the shed. No longer did the apartment horse appear bedraggled and unloved. Instead it was the proud owner of a flowing pale grey mane and tail, its polished wooden coat gleamed and the leather of its bridle and saddle had been oiled.
‘Ned …’ Grace touched the soft mane. ‘This looks like a different horse.’
‘There’s nothing better than discovering what’s under the dust.’ He motioned towards a chair. ‘Take a seat and I’ll find my photo album.’
He went to the filing cabinet before settling himself in the chair beside Grace. After opening the album of the horses he’d restored, Ned flipped over two pages. ‘See, this one is almost identical; the only difference is the paint colour.’
Grace glanced from the photograph of a golden horse with dark dapples to the grey horse in front of her. ‘They are.’
‘I checked but I haven’t kept my paperwork from twenty years ago, and for the life of me I can’t remember the owner’s name.’
Grace banished a pang of disappointment. ‘It’s a long shot that both of the rocking horses would have been connected to the apartment.’
‘This one wasn’t in as good shape as yours. I had to replace this.’ Ned pointed to the blue saddlecloth that didn’t match the picture. ‘The woman was adamant that she wanted it blue and not its original olive green because the horse had belonged to her nephew.’
