Snowy Mountains Daughter, page 28
The parking spaces outside the stately sandstone church were full so she drove around the corner. Against the muted sky the weathered copper on the pointed steeple gleamed a subdued grey.
Edith was waiting for her at the door of the church hall. As well as being a member of the quilting club, she also belonged to the CWA, which was catering for the mourners who’d later like a cuppa and a sandwich or a scone. ‘Need help with the flowers?’
‘That would be great.’
They’d finished their final trip to the church hall when Clancy’s phone chimed with a message from Heath asking if she could meet him at the water tower.
When she arrived, Heath was already there. Dressed in a dark, well-cut suit, a crisp white shirt, blue tie and brown dress boots, he cast a sombre figure. Hands deep in his pockets, he stood staring at the mural, Bundy by his side.
At the crunch of the gravel beneath her heels, he turned. She walked into his arms and kissed him.
Conscious they didn’t have much time until he needed to be at the church, when their kiss ended she pulled slightly away to ask, ‘How’s your mum?’
‘It will be when she stops that everything will hit her. Dad left some letters and we’re going through them this afternoon when it’s just us at home, so I might not make it to see you tonight.’ Heath ran his hand through Clancy’s loose hair. ‘Everything okay with you?’
Surprised at his question, she nodded. Funerals always made her miss her parents even more but today wasn’t about her.
Heath’s gaze lingered before he turned to study the water tower. ‘Dad saw the mural.’
‘He did?’
‘Mum showed him a photo … he said he was proud.’
Instead of sounding happy, Heath’s voice was as taut as the wire that ran along the nearby fence. A lost expression darkened his eyes.
‘That’s wonderful.’
Heath didn’t reply as he drew her close for a last kiss before they made their way arm in arm over to their vehicles. Clancy waved him and Bundy off before following.
Even though there was still time before the funeral began, the sandstone church was full. Clancy stopped in the doorway to look for Brenna who’d offered to save her a spot. Past the second stained glass window, Clancy caught sight of Brenna’s blonde head next to Taite. As Clancy walked down the aisle towards them, Trent gave her a nod from where he sat on an end pew.
Once in her seat beside Brenna, Clancy fixed her attention on Heath where he sat with an arm around his mother in the front row. A hush settled over the church as the service started. Clancy managed to keep herself together until the moment Lydia kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the fine grain wood of her husband’s coffin. When Brenna reached for her hand, they both sniffed.
The mourners left the church to the dull light of an overcast day that appeared intent on delivering the forecasted showers. Clancy joined the procession of cars driving to the cemetery where Graham would be buried beside his two sons. Once the last farewells had been said, people drifted away to return to the warmth of the church hall.
‘I don’t know about you,’ Brenna said as she huddled with Clancy under Clancy’s oversized umbrella, ‘but I’m ready for a cuppa.’
‘Me too but I’ll stay a little longer … I want to see Mum and Dad.’
Brenna gave her a quick hug before accompanying Taite to his four-wheel drive.
Clancy wove her way through the thinning crowd to where her family headstones were. Light rain splattered her umbrella canopy and splashed on the toes of her thin shoes. After spending a quiet time in reflection and making sure her parents’ flowers were tidy, she walked back to where Graham had been buried.
By now the mourners had dwindled to a handful of locals. Ned stood to one side talking to the sisters while Heath and his mother were over near Kyle’s headstone. As she watched they moved to Andrew’s plot. Heath’s mother covered her mouth with her hand while Heath’s head bowed.
Not wanting to intrude, she took refuge from the wind beside an old gum. Heath and his mother’s pain was so raw it was as though they were grieving anew for Andrew. Heath drew his mother close as they both remained fixed in place. The minutes passed and the rain turned from a drizzle to a shower.
Clancy left the shelter of the tree to walk over. Neither Heath nor his mother had an umbrella and could use hers. As she approached, they were so engrossed in their conversation they appeared oblivious to her footsteps.
Heath’s mother lifted her head to look at him. ‘We have lots to talk about. There’s so much to explain …’
Heath didn’t answer, just stared at the gravestone.
Clancy was so close, she was certain Heath and Lydia would notice her. But still they didn’t look her way.
His mother spoke again, words teary. ‘If he were still here, Andrew would have been so honoured to be your father.’
Clancy froze. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d heard, all she was sure of was that she needed to back away to allow Heath and his mother their privacy. Except then Heath stiffened before he swung around.
She gave what she hoped passed as a serene smile and offered him her umbrella. ‘I thought you might need this.’
Heath’s dark gaze didn’t leave hers as he handed the umbrella to Lydia. He bent towards his mother to say softly, ‘Why don’t you see Ned and the sisters. I’ll be over soon.’
Lydia gave Clancy a small nod before she did as Heath suggested.
Heath’s attention stayed on his mother and when she was out of earshot he crossed his arms and looked at Clancy. Her heart sank. He was again the man he’d been when he’d first come home. Emotionless. Guarded. Inaccessible.
Somehow she had to try and reach him. ‘Heath … is what your mother said true?’
He gave a single curt nod. ‘It’s something I can’t talk about.’
She touched the damp wool of his coat sleeve. ‘When you’re ready, I’m here.’
He didn’t reply, just went to shrug off his jacket to give to her.
She shook her head. She didn’t know what wounded her the most, the fact he couldn’t respond or that his expression was still remote. ‘Keep your jacket. Heath … I’m here, if you’ll just let me help you.’
‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow.’ The hard set of his jaw said more than words that he still wouldn’t be talking about what she’d overheard. ‘Let’s get you out of this rain. I’ll walk you to your car.’
‘No thanks. I need some more time here.’
As frustrated as she was that he still refused to let her in, Heath had just lost the man who’d raised him. She had to give Heath the benefit of the doubt. The revelation that Andrew was his father was perhaps only recent and apart from the earlier meeting at the water tower she hadn’t seen him for two days. Such news was something that would take time to process and deserved more than a phone call or hasty explanation.
He glanced over to where her parents were buried. His fingers clasped hers before he walked over to where his mother waited.
Clancy remained where she was. The rain had soaked through her black coat to wet her skin. Her hair clung to her cheeks. She shivered as the warmth of Heath’s brief touch faded. Would he ever talk to her?
Ned came over with her umbrella to hold it over them both. He looked between her and Andrew’s headstone.
While Heath was a master at hiding his emotions, she never was. Her anguish and despair had to be all over her face.
‘Did Heath tell you?’ Ned asked quietly.
Clancy shook her head. ‘It was something his mother said … but she can’t be his mother, can she?’
‘No.’
The chill that had seeped through her coat reached her bones. Ned’s voice didn’t contain any shock, just sadness. He’d had a chance to digest the news. Heath had talked to someone … it just hadn’t been her. ‘He’s known for a while, hasn’t he?’
‘He has about Graham not being his biological father. It’s why he left. But he didn’t know about Andrew until Graham told him before he died.’
Clancy briefly closed her eyes. As much as she could understand how Heath’s life had been thrown into turmoil, the hurt that he’d never confided in her, especially now, rose like a wave. Yes, they were taking things day by day, but they were also working towards a future together. As for the past nights when she’d revealed her deepest vulnerabilities, he’d said nothing.
Ned squeezed her arm. ‘Let’s go to the church hall and warm up. Heath just needs a few days to get his head straight.’
‘You go. I’ll be a little while yet.’
Ned studied her before handing her the umbrella. As he walked away, she knew she’d be a long way behind him. In fact, she wouldn’t be going to the wake. She was going home. Her hand holding the umbrella shook. Except she wasn’t sure if she could.
She stared at the mountains that had always imparted so much peace and strength. They’d weathered every storm Mother Nature had thrown at them. They’d reminded her of who she was and where she’d come from. But now she didn’t feel strong at all; she just felt numb. And adrift again. She needed Rowan to anchor her and he was thousands of miles away.
The hope that Heath would one day open up to her shrivelled and withered until it was nothing but the dust that was turning to mud beneath her feet. The pain in her chest made her feel like she was drowning in grief. Except this time it was her dreams she’d lost. As much as Heath kept her at arm’s length, she’d let him in. Into her heart, her bed and her life. The home that had been her sanctuary was now filled with memories she couldn’t face.
The rugged mountain peaks blurred. She also couldn’t pass the water tower every day and see her naive and foolish smile. Real life would never resemble the beauty of the future that she’d hoped for. Heath not turning to her when his world unravelled spoke volumes. The feelings for her he’d never spoken about couldn’t run as deep as hers did for him. She couldn’t hang in there. She couldn’t keep fighting. The risk of Heath never letting her in was too great.
She turned to walk back to her dual cab, her steps slow and leaden. Heath’s mother would need his care and attention and he needed time to work through all that had happened. It wouldn’t be fair to complicate what was already a stressful situation by her now needing to know where she stood with him. It was as much for his sake as hers that space needed to be put between them.
Her hand hovered on the handle of her car door. She had a small window of opportunity to do such a thing if she was brave enough to take it. Ned and the sisters would look after Heath and Lydia and do far more to help them than she ever could. All of Rowan’s cattle had calved and courtesy of the hail storm her peony season had finished. All it would take was a quick call to Brenna, an hour to throw some clothes into a bag and write a list for Hannah and Ruby and she could go somewhere that wouldn’t contain memories of Heath.
She’d never wanted to leave the high country that was such an integral part of her but she needed to get her own head straight. No matter how much she loved Heath, she couldn’t be with him if he didn’t love her in return. She opened the car door. There was only one place she could go.
Never had a day felt so long.
Heath stared unseeingly out the kitchen window as he waited for the kettle to boil to make his mother tea. She hadn’t eaten or drunk anything at the church hall. For the first time since his father had died—he still couldn’t think of him in any other way—he and his mother had the house to themselves. As much as the Bundilla community’s support had been heartwarming and appreciated, he craved silence and solitude and a chance to pull his fragmented life together.
When he’d made it home after being by the creek, he’d told his mother what his father had said. The time for secrets was over. Through her tears she’d promised him that she’d explain the rest but not until they’d buried his father. She needed time. So they’d made the decision to not open his father’s letters until they were alone. He had checked and found four letters in the small drawer of his father’s desk that had contained his key stash.
When the kettle clicked off, he reached for the teapot. They were going to need more than one cup. The recipients of the other two letters would soon be here.
He checked the time on his phone. He just wished the afternoon was over and he could see Clancy to explain everything. Until he knew the truth, and whether or not he had another family out there, he hadn’t wanted to involve her in the rollercoaster that had been his emotions over the past days. The funeral today couldn’t but help trigger her own sense of loss and was why it’d been so important to see her at the water tower. He also still felt it wasn’t his story to tell until he knew exactly what had happened for him to end up being raised by his grandparents.
Shoulders tight, he spooned tea into the pot. Before he told Clancy anything, and dealt with every emotion he’d ever repressed, he had to get himself in order. His feelings were so raw and unstable that when Clancy had earlier asked him to let her help him, it had taken all of his self-control to not tell her he loved her. When he did say such long overdue words, he didn’t want to be standing in a cemetery where they both were weighed down by grief. He hadn’t missed how she’d gone to stand by her parents’ graves. He wanted to create happy memories with the woman he’d always loved, memories they could tell their kids.
He glanced out the window at the rolling hills as hope shone through the darkness of his grief. The knowledge that Hawks Ridge would be his gave him a sense of certainty and of belonging. He could be a cattleman and an artist. Once his commissioned overseas murals were completed, he’d focus on projects closer to home and on turning Hawks Ridge into the property it once was. His future with Clancy no longer seemed so out of reach.
When a car engine sounded, he moved to take off his tie and unbutton his shirt collar. The day’s heavy emotion was far from over. After placing some mugs and the teapot on a tray, he walked along the hallway towards the living room. While the walls were bare, they wouldn’t be for long. The pictures he’d been painting of his father’s life sat in the kitchen and he and his mother would hang them later that afternoon.
He sat the tray on the coffee table. His mother had gone to open the front door. Voices murmured before his mother and the sisters walked through the doorway. He still wasn’t sure why his father had left them each a letter but he hoped things would soon make sense.
Millicent and Beatrice greeted him with a hug before they sat together on the lounge. They wore identical black suits and expressions of sorrow. His mother poured everyone tea before she looked over at Heath with a nod. He took his father’s letters from out of his suit jacket pocket.
When he passed them to their owners, no one moved to open the white envelopes. His mother’s mouth trembled before she slid her letter between the tapestry cushion and the side of the armchair. She wasn’t yet ready to read the contents. Both Beatrice and Millicent sat their unopened letters on their laps, their hands folded.
Heath felt the weight of his letter and as he pressed the envelope he recognised the shape of a key. He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll open mine.’
‘Before you do, Heath,’ Millicent said, her voice quiet, ‘we need to tell you how we fit in. It might help you to understand why Graham acted like he did.’
Beatrice nodded. ‘I’m not sure how much you know so we’ll start from the beginning. Millicent and I were separated when we were seven after our mother died in childbirth and our father was killed in a car crash. Our new families thought it for the best that we had no contact … they also never told us what happened to our younger brother.’
Heath glanced at his mother whose sad but composed expression hadn’t altered. She already knew the connection between his father and the sisters.
Millicent took over speaking. ‘Your father was only four when our parents died and like us he never got to say goodbye to either of them. Then, when we were taken into care, he was there one day and adopted out the next. We again never got to say goodbye.’
Incapable of words, Heath looked at the letter in his hand that represented how deep his father’s scars had been that he’d never said goodbye to those he loved, even before he’d lost his sons and Minnie.
Millicent kept talking. ‘When Beatrice and I were reunited, we went looking for your father. It took a long time. While Beatrice and I had loving families, your father didn’t. He’d moved around a lot.’
Beatrice nodded. ‘So after we found out he was married and living in Hawks Ridge, we travelled to Bundilla for a visit. When we heard about the loss in his life and then met you at the town Christmas party … we made the decision to move here.’
Millicent, after a glance at Heath’s mother, spoke again. ‘We never knew you weren’t Graham’s son but what we did know was that you’d inherited our mother’s artistic ability. For you, and in memory of her, we couldn’t let such a gift be stifled.’
Heath looked around at the three faces all carefully watching him. ‘Your letters … Dad knew you were his sisters.’
Sadness touched Beatrice’s mouth. ‘He did. We met with him when we first arrived to explain who we were. It’s no surprise it didn’t go well. But we understood why he didn’t want anything to do with us. He couldn’t remember his birth family, plus he’d had his own battles to fight over the years.’
Heath’s chest tightened as he thought back to the anguish in his father’s voice when he’d spoken about losing the people he loved. His mother had been right about his father not letting the people he should into his life. It hadn’t only been him that his father had closed himself off from to avoid further pain.
Millicent gave a small smile as she ran her hand over her envelope. ‘We’d told him it was never too late to reach out, and now he has.’
Silence settled between them before his mother addressed the sisters. ‘I’m so sorry for not telling you Graham was sick, and for not returning your calls. Graham didn’t want people to see him like that.’ She looked across at Heath. ‘I’m also sorry for the way you found out Andrew was your father.’
