by Mavisdavis (aka Lyn)
This short story was
written in response to a writing challenge. The italicised text was provided as
the starter. This was conceived as a
longer story, but since I may never get to complete it, this ‘tempter’ is
posted.
Nick sat at his desk reading the paper, his feet propped up on the
corner as he leaned comfortably in the high-backed leather chair. It had been a long day as he and the boys
mustered those wild mustangs, but they managed it expertly and corralled them
in the temporary corral in the field, waiting for the army to pick them up in
the morning. He smiled to himself as he
turned the page and thought about the lucrative new deal. He had disregarded Jarrod’s warnings and
patted himself on the back for his brilliant scheme. A deal
almost as good, no better than, Heath’s Pacific horse export contract, and,
without anywhere near the months of work necessary training and delivering the
precious cargo.
Despite his brothers
distance in the months before his trip, Nick had missed his little brother’s
company on this chilly unseasonal round-up, and his thoughts turned to musing
on his brother’s journey to deliver the shipment of cow ponies and quarter
horses. He should be somewhere warm
rightabout now he figured, checking the date on the top of the paper, Jan 19,
1877. Yep, if the weather conditions
were right he figured Heath’s steamer should be four days out past Samoa, and a
day or two off Sydney. Although Heath
was only two weeks into his journey, Nick was beginning to feel a large void at
his absence, and had already begun to count down the days remaining. He opened the top draw of the desk, roughly
cleared a space revealing the base, and crossed off another day with the pencil
stub he had also hidden there. By his
reckoning were about 30 to go.
Recalling, now with
regret, the heated arguments between them over Heath’s proposals last
season. They had parted on strained
terms, and in his brothers absence he felt guilt not anger. He could see the benefits now, but at the
time they hadn’t been at all apparent to him. Nick hated to admit it to his
younger brother, but as Heath settled into the family and life on the Barkley
ranch, he became more and more like their father Tom. With his innate
curiosity, he was becoming increasingly adept at sniffing out a good
opportunity for the ranch and other Barkley operations. Nick was again reminded
of the steely nerve and active mind beneath his brother’s quiet exterior.
He briefly glanced out
the window at the glowing lights of the new accommodation buildings glinting
off the adjacent new orchard pack house and process buildings, visible in the
distance through the winter darkness.
He had to admit, he had been somewhat miffed that Audra, his mother and
Jarrod had supported Heath. After one
of these heated family discussions Victoria had tried to quietly admonish Nick
and encouraged him to see this for what it was.
“Don’t judge him
Nick. You are wrong if you think this
is about Heath trying to challenge you about the running of the ranch. He’s doing this for the ranch, for the
future, and as far as the rest of us are concerned, he is not doing it alone.
Heath is just spreading his wings, and, I think he wants to feel he is
contributing his share. You know, he’s so like Tom. I would say ‘To seek’ could
be considered their raison d’etre. Wouldn’t you agree?”
As Nick recalled his
mother’s words he had to agree with her.
The Seeker, yes, she was right.
This latest trip was an entirely new undertaking for the Barkley ranch,
and had been planned months ahead, with Heath’s customary diligence. Heath had spent every spare moment schooling
the horses, settling them with different riders and riding styles, and finally
putting them through their paces with fording rivers and mountain trekking and
stock work. Nick did not have much of
an idea about the kind of place these horses were going to, but really wondered
if all the work Heath was doing to prepare them was necessary. He was loath to tackle him on it. Truth was, he wondered if Heath would even
bother to discuss it with him after the way they had argued, and the frame of
mind he was in. He sighed, these
thoughts momentarily unsettling his happy mood.
He reached an arm
across the desk to pour another glass of whiskey, and sipped slowly at it as he
let his eye absently roam across the page of densely set narrow-columned text,
punctuated with official notification tables, and line illustrated
advertisements. He grinned as he
wondered if Heath was adding ‘ship doodles’ to his repertoire, and resumed his
musings …
…………………………………………………………………………………….
Heath was already pulling
up at the edge of the river with his string of horses when Nick and his two
companions Jeb and Phil crested the ridge and began to descend the track toward the chilly valley floor.
“Heath ” Nick
cried “Wait-up.”
Heath turned and waved,
before turning his back and continuing preparing his horses for the river
crossing. He led off with two horses in
tow across the river, leaving another two on the bank behind him. Nick shivered and pulled his collar tighter
around his exposed neck. He wasn’t looking
forward to plunging through the frigid waters. Luckily being this high up in
the foothills, despite the seasonal rains, the river flow would be easily
managed by the team of horses. Nick wasn’t sure Heath had heard him at all over
the noise of the river. Then again he had been increasingly distant, though
with his customary awareness, as if stitched into his surroundings, but
withdrawn from his companions and family, as if he were hardly there.
Nick watched as Heath
reached the far bank with no hitches, not that he had expected there to be any.
Heath had schooled these horses to ride to hell and back. Turning Heath called
the two remaining horses and they obediently began across towards him. By the
time Nick, Jeb and Phil had reached the riverbank Heath had returned across the
river leading the other pair and was watching as the other two swam across to
him. Heath turned and nodded to them as they arrived and continued working with
his group, expecting them to do the same.
Jeb looked a little
uncertain about his task, and Heath trotted over to him and spoke quietly, then
collected the leads of one pair and urged his mount forward side by side with
Jeb. Nick and Phil followed suit.
“Heath …” called Nick.
Heath just looked
hollowly at him, continued talking quietly all the while to his horses, urging
Jeb with a nod of his head to copy him.
“Gotta keep ‘em movin’
Nick. Keep ‘em warm. Switch riders
next,” said Heath briefly, as he returned across the river with Jeb, then
turned and called the horses across, then leapt bareback onto a different mount
and continued to repeat the task until they were all cold and soaked through.
They urged the horses into a warming trot along the valley floor and headed
back to the line shack to the groom and feed and settle the horses for another
day.
Heath kept them to this
punishing schedule until the winter rains started. Venturing their twenty strong troop up into the hardest foothill
and canyon country; riding a different horse each day. Heath set them challenges such as riding
past deep shadows, through densely trunked slopes.
By far the worst was
the bank leaping. Nick just could not
comprehend why you would want to teach a stock horse to leap from a bank into
water. Heath didn’t argue with him. He
just carried on, with hardly a word to himself or the men. They understood that Heath was still in
mourning, and his work with the horses was such that he hardly needed to say
anything.
Heath got on with the
job all right, and Nick guessed, in his mind right now there was nothing more
to say, and plenty to be doing, so he just did.
It concerned him,
though, over the two weeks the four of them spent riding and overnighting at
the line-shack, Heath’s melancholy seemed to deepen, he was there in body, but
withdrawn into himself. In the evenings
when the four of them would sit over dinner, having a conversation Heath would
listen, and occasionally nod, but mostly appear to be staring off at something.
Heath didn’t even join in as he and Jeb razzed Phil for his routinely awful
cooking, nor be encouraged to dish up one of his own concoctions.
“Just give him time,
Nick,” said Phil one evening as they sat building the fire and starting dinner,
nodding over in Heath’s direction.
Heath and Jeb were busy rubbing down the horses and settling them with
feedbags. Nick rubbed his chilled hands
together and extended them out over the warmth of the fire.
“I know what you’re
saying, but, just look at him, Phil, he hardly eats, doesn’t seem to notice the
cold, drives himself, and us, on all day after day. It’s like there is a part
of him missing.”
“Well, Nick, I guess
you’re right about that,” murmured Phil quietly stirring smoked meat cubes and
potatoes into the bean base in the cooking pot, not wanting Heath to feel they
were talking about him. “But heck, look at Jeb, he does that too, only he’s
just so all fired up excited ‘bout bein’ here trainin’ horses, and Heath
teachin’ him and all. S’natural to feel
like he does. How’d you feel when one
of your girls left you? Or when your Pa died? You know it. Now ain’t you boiled
that coffee yet!”
Nick grinned. “ Hey, steady on there, Phil. Its Mr Barkley to you, “ he said rising to
fill the coffee pot with water.
“ Boy, hurry on there, Phil,
I’s so hungry, I’d even eat some of Heath’s beans “ chuckled a tired Jeb
flopping down next to the fire, casting a smile back toward Heath. If he heard, he did not respond.
Nick returned to the
fire to find Phil and Jeb arm wrestling, and Heath over at the edge of the
firelight, still talking softly to his beloved horses. What’s he going to do when the horses are
delivered? Nick wondered to
himself. Well, that was a few months
off yet. Things should be different by
then. He hoped.
He walked over and
placed an arm on his brother’s shoulder, and said gently, “Come on, buddy,
enough, lets get some food into you before you fade away, huh?
……………………………………………………………………………………………..
Nick’s absently
scanning eye suddenly caught the Lloyd’s List Weekly Summary – Board of Trade
Wreck Register and Casualty Returns.
With a sudden morbid curiosity born of his brother’s trip he casually
scanned the list of collision, foundered, rammed, sunk, and condemned sailing
ships and steamers. He was astonished
at the number that amounted in a week, noting with interest that there were a
lot of wrecks in the Pacific this past week.
Suddenly his blood went
cold, face frozen in horror. His mouth
suddenly so very dry, he felt overwhelming nausea, his frozen breath gagging in
his throat. Tears of shock smarted his
eyes. The newspaper began to shake
uncontrollably in his hands. He stared
furiously blinking to clear his vision and read, and re-read the line again.
“Heeeeaaaathhh…….”
barely above a whisper escaped his lips.
The sound of a glass
crashing to the floor brought Victoria running to the room.
Nick stood. Both hands on the desktop, bodily holding up
his sagging frame, hands clenched gripping the paper. Knuckles white. Trembling
and struggling to gasp for breath, cold sweat upon his forehead. Eyes staring
unseeing at the newspaper.
“Nick? Nick, what is it?” Inquired Victoria. Then a
little more urgently. “ Nicholas!
Audra!”
Audra appeared after a
moment at the door. “Yes, Mother? Nick!
What’s wrong? What’s wrong with him mother?”
“I… I’m not sure. Audra
dear, run and bring a glass of water.
That might help him.“
She returned her
attention to Nick, taking a step towards him, her eye drawn to the paper clutched
in his hands that he was still staring fixedly at .
“Nick?” she queried.
Nick ever so slightly
raised a glassy eyed stare towards her and uttered a barely audible sound.
“Heeeerrrrgghhshhhhhh……..”
Fear was beginning to
run through Victoria. Her son, she
thought, appears to be having a stroke.
Something in the sound triggered a familiarity deep within her.
“Heath?” Victoria
mouthed and watched as Nick nodded imperceptibly at the newspaper before him on
the desk. She glanced towards it, at
the table framed by Nick’s locked hands, crumpling the sheet around it.
Her eyes quickly scanned the area urgently seeking anything relevant and then gasped when she read
“…Wreck Register and
Casualty Returns. Judgements delivered
by the Wreck Commissionery … … Scottish Lass.
Steamer. 371 tons. Ran aground, reef. Typhoon. Apia. Lost, all hands, 47. No Salvage. “
A strangled cry briefly
escaped her lips, as she slipped to the floor in a dead faint.
It was raining again.
More heavily this time, and the cold chill of November had begun to settle in.
After last winter’s drought, the rains had come with extra ferocity this year.
Storm fronts over mountain ranges to west and east had been clearly visible
through yesterdays steadily falling rain. The damp earth seeped muddy puddles,
ringed by flattened grass. Animals turned their backs to the rain and huddled
together in corners of the paddocks, and beneath the spread of Oak trees, the
winter parched brown leaves still hanging, giving the trees a deceased rather
than dormant look..
Having finished
checking and stabilising the at-risk waterways and irrigation channels on the
ranch for the season, Nick and Heath had been content to give the hands the
Saturday off.
Nick stood at the study
window and looked out, away with his thoughts.
The sound of rain pressed through grey angled streaks of light upon the
panes. Pages slowly turning, the scratch of a pencil, the only answer from the
room.
Heath, sock clad feet
stretched out on one of the couches, was taking the rain day and a relatively
quiet Nick to follow up some further thinking on the timber operation. Journal and pencil in hand, stack of books
hidden beneath the couch.
He had recently returned
from a week spent at the timber camp in the Sierras, several weeks ago. Heath usually came back musing over ways to
improve things but this time Nick guessed, after their heated arguments over
the orchard last spring that Heath, might well be wary and keep any ideas to
himself. On the other hand Jarrod
thought discussing the timber camp may be a welcome distraction.
Nick was worried about
Heath, the way he had withdrawn, and just thrown himself into work since the
drowning. He just seemed given to introspection so much lately, entirely
focused on the Pacific horse contract and schooling hands to stand in while he
was gone. Heath was up early and home
late, hardly eating with the family.
Jarrod was hopeful this might enable Nick to pull Heath off the work
crews and allow them to spend some time together, talking and planning. Heck, if he could just get his brother to
talk right now – about anything, he’d know he was on the mend.
The family knew Heath’s
habits by now, recognised this as a way of coping. Withdrawing, and throwing himself into work. As a lifelong pattern Victoria guessed, she
shared her consideration that she couldn’t ever see it changing. They knew
enough to let him grieve, but kept a wary eye.
Heath was lying
stretched out on the couch, rather than working at the desk in the study. Nick knew this sign of old too. That too could explain why he was so quiet
right now. He’d been pushing himself to the limit working till he dropped each
day, the heavy digging and lifting work had probably strained his back muscles
again. Ever since the spring wagon accident on the way to the lodge he’d had
regular flare-ups. Nick knew Heath knew how to look after himself, when he was
himself, but sometimes like now, consumed by his grief, he could be his own
worst enemy – becoming inured to battling until a task was done, and done well.
But what Nick didn’t understand was why, when he’d come home barely able to
straighten up on rising from a chair at evenings end, he didn’t take better
care of himself the next day. (He needed a wife who could scold him, and, Nick
grinned a broad dimpled grin, of course, here was an opportunity to see his
girl in town, and keep Heath in town for an evening of diversions.)
Victoria had expressed
to Nick and Audra she felt confident that Heath was settled here in the family
home, had fought the demons from his past, and was moving forward with his
life, his dreams. However, he needed
time to grieve, without punishing himself for what happened. They needed to be there for him even when he
closed himself off.
On a day-to-day basis
Heath didn’t close himself completely, still very much a part of ranch and
family life. He’d even allowed Audra to coerce him into heading out to one of
the autumn dances.
It was his private self
that was closed off. This was locked
away deep, away from where it could be hurt.
The first journal which had been a Christmas gift had long since been
filled and replaced. They seemed to be
largely full of ranch notes, and Heath’s continued sketches of ranch life. Victoria was hopeful that he found this a
place for his private thoughts as well.
Nick had expressed
surprise that someone so quiet could fill a journal so prolifically. “I guess
there’s more going on in there than we think,” chuckled Nick to himself.
Nick thought back to
the happy August afternoon in the rose garden, the water fight, and how they
had teased Heath over being in love.
His brother had been silent then too, still tucked away, but
communicating more in that joyous smile on his face than maybe words could ever
have. He couldn’t help but feel that
Heath would be fine. He’d get through this.
And he would be there to help him.
So he’d been happy to acquiesce to this ‘rest day’ hoping Heath would
give himself a break too.
Heath buried his own
thoughts, and was intent on submersing himself in ranch problems, and his
current stack of Agriculture journals and technical books. On his return from the timber camp, he wired
Jarrod in San Francisco and asked if his assistant could obtain some borrowings
from the library for him, and enclosed a list.
He smiled wryly to himself at the irony of the situation, but was
realistic enough to acknowledge that Katherine and Jarrod were, well, just a
part of life, that’s just how life goes, he told himself. There was no
bitterness, or even envy.
After sending the wire
Heath had collected the week’s copies of The Stockton Chronicle . He would have a chance to sift through
them while he soaked his aching muscles in a hot bath. He mused over visions of
sitting up reading the paper in a hot bath, some of Silas’ cooking, and his own
warm bed. It felt good to have something to look forward to.
Since the drowning
Heath had continued with his work, as hard as ever, following through on the new
activities in the orchard and nursery, trying to monitor and make improvements
here and there, following up on preparation for export to the Pacific of
Barkley bred and trained stock horses.
He had begun to leave much of the daily nursery and orchard operation to
their new manager and apprentice, Wim and Lyn Van Eck, Geraldine’s
cousins. He and Nick had commenced
training the hands to do a lot of the day-to-day work under the team foremen,
so he and Nick could spend more time managing the whole property. If his trip had not been a long time in the
planning and preparation he wondered if he would still be preparing to go. In
truth it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, leave this place, his
home and the comforting familiarity of family close-by.
As the reality of
Abigail’s death had begun to sink in though, he felt he was only going through
the motions with his ranch work. He
didn’t get the same sort of satisfaction from his work, as if he was outside
watching himself – slightly detached. He was casting around for something, and
training the quarter horses was allowing him to throw himself into as near
oblivion as he would allow himself. He
longed to feel again the passionate buzz of excitement. It was that feeling of being close to someone,
he thought sadly, that was missing.
It was his girl that
was missing.
Sure he and Nick were
close, but with Abigail it had been different.
Heath despaired that he would ever feel like himself again. In the midst of his family, and the busy ranch,
he felt utterly alone.
Nick had caught him the
other day, just standing staring off into space with such a forlorn look on his
face, in the middle of the loud and dusty corral with busy hands and horses all
around.
Since Abigail had
drowned, Heath just felt
nothing. Nothing at all, it was like he was all empty inside. Like he was missing and he
didn’t know how to get himself back. When he looked in the mirror he looked just the
same, and people treated him just the same, the ranch looked just the same, and
night followed day sure as it ever had, but the world had changed. One
thing sure can rely on, is that the world will just keep going on changing,
too, he thought to himself.
“Jarrod?” there was a
knock at the door, and the legal assistant‘s head came into view. “May I disturb you for a minute? I have a
wire from your brother which I’d like to check with you.”
“No trouble at the
ranch I hope?” replied Jarrod waving her inside, expecting perhaps to hear from
Heath about the timber camp visit.
Jarrod was preparing
arguments for a trial and had stacked piles of paper in groups along the floor
of one wall. His desk and the floor around it were covered in thick Lawbooks
and volume-bound journals. Standing in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, he still
appeared dapper despite the intensity with which he worked.
“No,” Katherine shook
her head. “Just another of Heath’s
research request lists. I wanted to check with you before I set off to retrieve
and send them for him. Will you be
needing me for anything more urgent?”
She waved the piece of
paper in the air, “He really has a remarkably wide area of interest you know,
and a prodigious reader. He always
requests large lists of very technical subjects, yet always has them back for
me to return by time. This time its winches, steam engines, gears and ratios,
waterwheels, coal, road building, bandsaws, and … and Blake … and of course all
the latest and most technical information.”
She paused. “Are you sure
your brother is not really an engineer? I think you were all pulling my
leg when you told me he was ‘just’ a rancher…?”
Jarrod’s dark blue eyes
twinkled at her, and grinned and nodded.
“Yes, that is
correct. He is a rancher, but as
you say, pretty lady. Not just a
rancher. I think he’s simply making up
for lost time. “Of course Heath would
be the last person to think of himself as anything but a cowboy and horseman. I’ve plenty to be going on with here,” his
hand swept the room. “It would be fine
to collect the order now. If you hurry
you might be able to send it on tonight’s train to Stockton.” He turned away then paused.
“Blake? Did you say?”
“Yes, why?”
“Abigail was fond of
Blake. She spied some of Heath’s ranch
doodles, as he calls them. Sketches. Sketches
of the ranch. He was forever putting
them on his lists and work notes, so mother gave him a larger journal in the
hope he would keep hold of some.”
“I think I have seen
some too,” interrupted Katherine, “I remember that first time in the library, he
had a small notebook with him. The pages I saw were covered in notes and
sketches.”
“That’s our Heath,”
Jarrod grinned. “Actually they are
really very good, but so small. Abigail
was encouraging Heath to do more sketching.
She was fond of watercolour painting.
I do remember she had loaned Heath a volume of Blake’s illustrations and
poetry, he was very engaged by the illustrations, they were worked around the
writing. Would you…”
He pondered for a
moment.
“… yes … would you also
call down to the bookstore in Dover Street, and purchase a copy of Blake’s
‘Poetical Sketches’. Don’t send it on. Bring it back here, I will inscribe it,
and then I’ll send it on to the train myself. He drew a beautiful sketch of
Abigail that day, you know, down at the pond…” Jarrod looked off into the
distance, remembering, a sad look in his eyes.
“Well, judging from
this reading list, I would say it is clear he is on the mend. After all, that
was two months ago now. They were not serious after all. It was not as if they
were a betrothed couple. I, … er …”
She stammered as Jarrod
glared at her. “I will be off then, to
collect this order. I should be away no longer than an hour or two.”
The first bundle of requests had arrived the previous day, along with a note from the former
librarian indicating a few items would need to be
sought from back east and would be forwarded in about two weeks. Heath smiled a wry smile. No
personally signed note in this delivery, just an account for service.
He had casually selected a book on steam engines without
examining the pile further, as he turned in for bed, and as was becoming his
habit of late, read most of the night. As was also becoming a habit, the ‘Nick’ spent most
of the night curled up against his legs, he absently scratching the purring head.
Today he wanted to go back through and make
some notes, about the power output and fuel requirements. Seems the fuel type was going to be critical if they wanted a
constant saw speed in the mill. The mill
location would have to be optimally between where they could haul and store the
logs, store the cut timber and cart out, and cart the fuel in. Didn’t seem to Heath like should burn good building timber
as fuel, and water driven was too inconsistent, that left coal as the only
option. This had led him on to
thinking about a rail siding.
The handling and
transportation of the timber being one of the other issues he continually
mulled over after each trip, but after the heat stirred up over the orchard and
nursery between himself and Nick he felt it advisable to bide his time.
This last trip, as
Charger slogged up the track already sodden and muddy, he thought the
transportation problem was even more urgent.
The moving of timber was effectively halted through the wetter months,
the fine soil turning to a quagmire as with no more than a few inches of
rain. The corduroy road was in constant
need of repair due to the heavy loads travelling between river landing and
sawmill. This was necessitating the
risk of loosing logs down river if they stockpiled them in the float zone, and
the dry stockpile area would need enlarging if they were to expand timber
output from the mill. Space they did
not have. Creating one would be more
work than finding a solution to the problem of the road.
With a steam-driven
rather than water driven mill now definitely on his mental ‘drawing board’ they
were going to have to move on clearing this next hurdle, as Heath saw it.
Heath
had an idea or two in mind, but realised he needed more information on which to
mull. He wanted to make sure he had
looked at it from all angles
With his head full of thoughts Heath
quickly dressed and stretched. His back clicked, as he stretched to ease his stiff tired muscles that burned, and twinged. He’d be glad of this rain day
all right. First he had a few chores to take care of. He peeped
through the window. It was still dark out, raining steadily outside, an occasional
shimmer and surge warning of wind approaching. That was three weeks off and on now and the light loamy
soils were sodden. However,
the dams would be looking pretty good, he thought to
himself. He wondered how the drainage in the peach orchard was running. Have to shoot down and check the outfalls for flow,
he thought to himself, make sure they haven’t collapsed in on themselves. He remembered reading
about peach tree roots killing the trees after flooding. (He made a mental note to write down the
outflows, out of curiosity).
Heading down the back stairs
Heath stopped to set a brew of coffee on the stove and stir up the embers.
Placing some kindling, and several logs in
the firebox, he adjusted the flue for draw. By the time
Silas would be up to bake some of that wonderful cinnamon bread of his, the stove should be good n
ready, thought Heath.
Sooner that bread comes out of the oven the
better growled his stomach.
He padded barefoot through the
still quiet house, into the study and sat to pull his socks from his pocket and onto his
feet. Then he selected a sheet of paper and quickly
dipping a pen in the ink well jotted a note to Nick to confirm the day off for
the hands, he would let them know, and then ride over to check on the orchard drainage
systems. He wrote
an almost identical note for the foreman, blotted the words, and trotted upstairs to deliver Nick’s note under his door.
He then headed back downstairs
to the warming kitchen for a coffee. Silas joined him and began to get his
bread started. He noticed how
slowly Heath walked, holding his body stiffly, but said nothing.
“I’m just heading out for a
few chores,” said the tired looking cowboy, “but I’ll be back for some of your bread before Nick
gets stuck in.”
He flashed a grin and Silas chuckled,
but he was concerned about his Mister Heath. Up so early and working so late. He always
made sure to put aside a generous plate for him when he came in, but often he’d find it untouched in the
morning, just a few slices of bread gone from the loaf instead. He’d been so full of
vim and verve this
last summer. Silas
came back to the present finding himself staring at the grinning Heath. He chuckled again.
“Mr Heath, you know I started
to double the recipe when I knowed how much you liked my bread. Then, well Mr Nick, well he decided he wanted some ‘special bread’ too. Soos now ah make four times the recipe!”
They both grinned knowingly,
and Heath stepped out the kitchen door to the rear porch and veranda, note in
hand. Pulling on his rainslicker, hat, and boots he jogged over to
Dan, the foreman’s,
house. There was already smoke steadily unfurling from the chimney, and he was greeted by a grinning Dan.
“Heath! Howdya convince Nick? Hardly blinked an eye win ya said it, ‘bout this day off.”
Though Dan was still puzzled over how he had achieved it so
smoothly. Heath too had been surprised when Nick agreed so readily. He just winked and mumbled something about wet cowboys not being very good company. Dan smiled and said slowly in a knowing
‘like-hell-I-believe-ya’ tone.
“Sure, Heath.”
Heath grinned. Their now firm friendship and mutual respect evident in each
friend’s face. Dan’s support and
encouragement of Heath in his early days on the ranch had firmed into friendship
over the years that meant much to him.
He couldn’t have known that it meant as much to Dan. Dan marvelled at his incredible work ethic,
admired the skills he brought to it.
But most of all the tenacity and drive required to stand up for his place
in the family; and battle Nick until he had won his admiration too. After Heath had been on the ranch a while he’d begun to figure out the ways
to manage his hot-headed
brother Nick, well, at least some of the time. But always the hardest
worker, and sure enough here he was again today, the only one out and about
attending to the chores.
“I’ll throw some food
to the dogs as I go past. No sense in both of us getting wet. Bones in the
smokehouse tub or the cellar?”
“Yep, the tub. We’ll
need some more meat for them, tho’ this time next week. I’ll cut out a couple
of killers from that mob of sheep, later in the week.”
Heath waved as he
turned, leapt down the steps and jogged around to the dogs. He winced at the
stabbing pain in his back as he landed, the jogging helped warm his stiff sore
muscles though. As he rounded the
smokehouse he was aware of a small dark shadow, following the dry zone against
the buildings.
“Looks like it’s just
you and me working today, Nick, ol’ buddy,” Heath muttered more to himself than
the following cat, his frequent shadow.
Heath
recalled the surprising arrival last spring of ‘Nick’s’ kittens. He and Audra
teased Nick about the new line of working ‘attack’ cats the Barkley Ranch was
breeding, and not to forget recording all the breeding details, this time.
Jarrod had continued the joke by wiring a bogus order for a Barkley Attack Cat
from San Francisco, hinting if the rumour’s he had heard were true then Nick
Barkley would be the first tomcat in history to give birth to kittens. Nick,
unaware of the originator’s identity, was absolutely fuming.
Heath had
unintentionally added to the torment. This time he’d merely got in first with Beth
Anderson at one of the spring dances, while Nick was still humming and hawing over Geraldine
O’Rourke. Still
smarting from the experience with Katherine, Heath himself had been happy to chat to
Beth almost
entirely about Nick. Beth was fervently interested in what
Heath had to say, and as the evening passed he sensed this, and so continued to
do his good deed for the evening. By mutual agreement, Heath also monopolised her dancing for most of the night.
To the casual observer, they both appeared to be quite absorbed in each other,
but it was by the third person that both
their attentions were
held. Nick noticed
Heath monopolising Beth and was madder than a hornet by the end of the evening.
It had been worth it, Heath thought, to see just how riled up he could get
Nick. Was he jealous because Heath had bested him, or because he had clarified
his feelings for Geraldine, and for Beth. Heath knew there was no doubt about how Beth felt for
Nick. He couldn’t resist however teasing him about her.
After a few weeks winding up
Nick’s jealousy, Heath had turned to him one evening riding in, sighed heavily and ‘confessed’ to Nick that Beth only
talked about Nick to him; and he was going to ‘
pull out’ deferring to his brother.
Nick had brightened
considerably and this had produced two main benefits for Heath. Nick now felt obliged to him
for a favour, and Nick was now “in infatuation” with Beth and considerably calmer and more
distracted.
This calmer mood had even continued into the wet autumn work, making the hands
very happy for a respite from Nick’s intense outbursts during the heavy, wet
and muddy work.
Heath ambled next to the stable. Nick the cat came bounding out, chirruping,
and swept around his feet. He bent to
scoop her up in his customary fashion arm along belly, holding her against his
side, and felt his aching muscles sing, back twinge, and familiar burning
sensation shoot down his legs. He
absently scratched her head with his other hand. Nick purred, paws hanging relaxed, she always looked so absurd.
Could a cat be eccentric, he wondered as he deposited her on a on a straw
bale. She rolled prone, green eyes
blinking up at him, paws still extended batting at his withdrawing hand before
climbing up the steep ladder to the hayloft.
The tired man walked to
feed the horses. Nick followed, purring, leaping from stall
to stall. Sliding a halter over Charger he leant against
the big stallion closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his neck. For a long moment the world was filled with
the smell of horse and straw, the warm silky strength of his horse, sounds of
purring, breaths and slow heart beats.
And pain.
Charger whinnied as
Nick leapt onto his back, drawing Heath back to the present. The burning sensation had dropped to a dull
but intense ache. He continued, as
always, with his day.
No sense in getting the tack wet again, he
thought as he led Charger out and slipped up in a graceful catlike motion onto
Charger’s bare back. Moving as one they swung out toward the orchards, and the south bridge. The bridge he and Nick had fought over and fixed a
few years before. Seemed like a lifetime ago he thought, and rode on, rain dripping off his hat, absentminded grin, away with
his memories. Yep the bridge was holding well and the water level in the creek wasn’t
too bad, steady
flow, no caught debris, or scouring around the abutment this year. So the
upstream work this season seemed to have paid off.
He turned and trotted towards
the orchard main drains. Walking and riding he gradually made his away around
all the feeder and main drain lines making sure of the flow, and no collapses or
blowouts anywhere. Everything was running nicely, and the water levels in the sumps
was percolating away nicely to the river. Happy with what he observed, and intent on his task
his aches and pains faded to the background. He turned Charger for home, dampness spotting his knees, the last autumn leaves caught damply on both their feet. After feeding and grooming Charger he turned all
the horses out into the corral until later in the day. They nickered
and cavorted as they headed out.
By the time Heath re-entered
the kitchen 2 hours later, around 7.30 am, he could hear the family in the dining room. Leaving his wet things hanging in the kitchen porch,
and boots on the rack by the stove he stood drying off his jeans for a while near the
stove whilst taking in the wonderful cinnamon aroma of the freshly baked bread which thickly filled the kitchen. Having dried out a little, he padded into the dining
room. Audra was still idling upstairs.
“Morning Mother,” he bent down
and pecked her cheek.
“Good Morning, Heath,” she said, reaching up as she did so to stroke
his cheek, and smiled with surprise when she registered his unshaven face.
“Turning into a Barbarian are we?” she
asked, eye twinkling.
Nick started, “Honestly Heath. One day off work and you start going to the pack already…” he teased.
Heath passed him a tired
grin. “Actually, big brother I thought
I’d give myself a trip into town to the barber. Been getting a bit shaggy over the autumn and haven’t had the time since
mustering.”
Audra arrived and kissed her
mother and brothers good morning. “Haven’t had time for what since
mustering? Spending time with your
sister! …Both
of you! When are you going to...” began Audra.
“A hair cut,” interjected Nick.
At this all eyes moved to his
rather short blonde locks in surprise.
Victoria arched a
suspicious eyebrow. Something was up. Maybe, she
thought, Heath and
Audra are still playing match-maker and
looking for an excuse to drag Nick to town, with Nick and Beth, or was it still Nick and
Geraldine?
“ha ha ha,” laughed Audra
melodically, reaching over to run her hand through his short locks. “Heath! You can’t be serious. Why all the ladies at the last dance
remarked on your sun tinged waves after mustering. If you want to snare a lady…” She stopped, her face taking on a serious look,
realising her error. Then looked at horror at the clumpful of
hair in her hand. She quickly hid her hand, and stared at her lap. Victoria looked in consternation from Audra
to Heath. Heath continued to
concentrate on his still empty plate.
“Yeah, it’s fallin’
out, Sis, “ he murmured quietly.
Nick jumped in quickly
staring squarely at his mother in concern.
“Well, I might
just join you at the barber’s little brother,” running his fingers through his own dark locks and patting his
brother on the shoulder.
Perhaps he could inveigle Heath into staying in
town for the evening, play a little cards, try and get things back to
normal. Heath continued to stare at his
plate, trying to push down the strong feeling that he was tumbling continually
downwards, away from the time and place he had known just a few short months
before.
“Be good, Nick,” Heath mumbled, and making an effort, slapped him on the back before helping himself to cinnamon bread, mushrooms and bacon.
He tried to pay
attention to the little details at the table, things he could concentrate on,
and distractions to keep his mind busy. Audra’s plan for Nick and Beth was
going well and he’d have a chance to take his mind off things for a while
nipping into the Stockton Chronicle and check their back copies for some of
that information he was looking for, and after play a little poker, maybe.
“Autumn mushrooms! Boy Howdy!
This rain’ll
put paid to the last of ‘em. All gone
in the orchard already.”
“Mother and I have put
away some jars for the winter, Heath. There
will be …” Audra was interrupted by Nick’s horror stricken voice, attempting to
cajole a smile from his brother.
“Oh no! Audra!
Why is that safe, I … ergh…” A glare from Victoria cut his comment
short, and he attempted to turn the look of horror into a beam. It failed
miserably, but only Victoria and he noticed.
“Why that’s mighty nice
of you both. Say,” Heath’s voice brightened as he made an effort to get on,
“When are you seeing Beth next?”
“Well, its funny you should
mention that little brother. Beth
invited Audra and I to call for afternoon tea this afternoon, when I saw her at
church last Sunday.”
Heath was surprised,
but maintained his poker face. He had
been a little preoccupied of late.
Clearly his brother had planned to take this time off a week ago! No wonder he was so amenable to the
suggestion of a day off. Victoria
looked on amused. She had begun to
figure that each of the brothers was bluffing the other, but neither had yet
figured it out. She thought she’d add a
little mischief of her own.
“I have a little
visiting myself planned for this afternoon.
Perhaps we could all drive in the carriage together. It would keep us all out of the rain a
little longer. Shall we plan to leave
around 1?”
“What will you do with
the rest of your time Heath?” asked Audra frowning, trying to think of a way
not to leave him alone all afternoon.
“Your eyebrows will
fall off if you frown any harder, Sis” he teased, “Oh, I’ve one or two things
that want doing, and check on something at the foundry. Just ranch stuff.” He
helped himself to some more cinnamon bread.
Victoria put a firm
hand on Heath’s arm, and looked him in the face, speaking gently, but
firmly. “This wouldn’t have anything to
do with that large stack of books that arrived for you yesterday would it? As Nick has already said, do you know what a
day off is young man? ”
Heath smiled a brief
grin whilst pouring a refill of coffee. Not much passed by Victoria. He winked, and helped himself to more
cinnamon bread.
“Heath!” Nick slapped
him on the back just as he was sipping a mouthful of coffee, making him
choke. “The whole ranch is having a day
off, you can too! Here steady on little brother,” he said eyeing the rapidly
disappearing bread, “save some for me.”
“Save some for ya?”
Heath teased. “Nick, Silas tells me he
makes four times as much bread as he used to, and I only eat the one loaf he
ices for me, so …” he reached over and patted his brother’s stomach “I’d be plannin’ on a bigger belt if I were
you.” They all laughed.
“Heath…?” Victoria
began.
Victoria noted his
hunched posture, dark rings beneath his eyes and ragged hair. He looked very tired, but just kept pushing
himself. Maybe she could convince Nick
to keep him in town tonight, enforced rest.
“ Oh.” he shrugged and
sighed. “That’s just some bits and
pieces Jarrod thought I would be interested in. Wet weather work…” he avoided,
and then winked. “Since Nick’s going to
be busy courtin’ I’m planning on having a few more of these ‘Wet weather
days’.”
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Later that morning Heath lay on the couch resting his back,
jotting and reading. As he jotted he made points in the margin of things
to discuss with Nick. The location was critical. He thought Jamestown might
be a good spot, or maybe even Oakdale, rather than closer up to the camp itself, since the
camp would move around. Maybe the mill should be
portable he mulled. If it were
near Jamestown, maybe a paper mill in time as well …
The morning progressed
with Heath silently working away, and Nick daydreaming out the window or
engrossed in Dime novels. After a few hours Nick broke the silence. “Well, I’m
going to go and get some air, work on the tack room, fetch those horses in. You
coming?”
“Uh? What was that?
Sorry. I was miles away.”
“I’m going to go and
get some air, work on the tack room, fetch those horses in. You coming?” Nick
repeated gently. Watching his brother, concerned. Heath had not stirred from
the couch all morning. Not a good sign.
“Ah, yeah. I’ll be
right with you.”
Heath swivelled his
aching legs over the side on the couch onto the floor and sat up. He leaned
forward to stand, as he did so he eye fell upon the volume of Blake that Jarrod
had sent, and reached out for it, then froze in pain. He tried to stand upright, but felt only a weakness in his lower
back, so rolled up using his shoulders, and finished hunched over, staring at
the book in his hand.
Nick watched in horror
at the silent struggle to stand. He
knew Heath had just overdone it, and normally Heath himself would have
mentioned this and taken himself onto light duties. Lately he simply seemed intent on punishing himself. Nick frowned
and pursed his lips at the irony of that thought. He remembered what Geraldine had said, and wandered over to
gently push his brother back down again.
“I forgot you’ve
already put in a few hours today, I’ll do this shift. Bring the liniment back with me, huh?”
Heath was still staring
at the book. Nick glanced down at it,
and realisation dawned. He rubbed a hand across his brother’s shoulder and said
softly, “Gerry’s in Stockton this week with her trainees. How about we call in
there after the barber, huh?”
Heath glanced at him,
as if from far away and said weakly, “I’d like that,” then looked back down at
the book.
Nick wandered out to
the corral, and expended some energy cleaning the tack room. He did not
honestly expect there to be anything to do there. Heath and his boys, Jeb and Mac kept the place in good shape. It
had really been an attempt to draw Heath out, out with the horses. Nick’s frown deepened. This wasn’t like him. Usually Heath would retreat to spend time
with the horses to work out his problems, but this time it was different. The visit with Gerry would help, he
hoped. At least, that would help with
the physical hurt. He continued to
brood as he brought the horses in, groomed them, and checked the tack room
until lunch.
Heath was stunned to
find the book of Blake’s ‘Poetical Sketches’ in the pile of books from
Jarrod. Abigail had shown Heath
Illustrations of Blake’s after she had glimpsed his ‘Ranch Doodles’ as he
called them. Abigail called them sketches, or illustrations. He remembered the light in her face as she
excitedly turned the pages revealing the illustrations, and as she turned she
talked, and looked towards him with such admiration. As if the illustrations on the page were his.
It had been words from
Blake she quoted to him that last fateful afternoon. He closed his eyes, the
book in his lap. As he recalled her
soft, clear voice from that afternoon reciting from the other end of the boat,
words lifting up into the overarching sky, her arm resting on his leg, he
gently stroking her ankle, tears silently rolled down his cheeks.
“ …
Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath nay care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair …’[1].
He was disturbed from
his memories by the rustle of Victoria’s skirts. Lying there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, he felt sure she
would not disturb him.
Victoria noticed Heath
asleep on the couch as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Pleased he was at
least resting for part of the day, she moved closer, planning to sit and read
herself until lunch. As she neared him,
she took in his exhausted appearance and the still wet, tear stained
cheeks. Fighting the impulse to disturb
him, to hug away his pain, and knowing this would not help she leaned to kiss
Heath gently on the forehead.
Victoria glanced at the
book on his lap. She drew a sharp
intake of breath, surprised, and knowing.
She brushed a gentle hand across his cheek, resisting again the urge to
hug and console him, and murmured
“Heath. Don ‘t forget we love you, son. I know it hurts, but each day will
get better, I promise. You ‘re not alone. Not alone.”
Heath ‘s eyelids
flickered, but he didn’t open his eyes. She kissed him on the cheek, and then
rose to check on lunch.
Hearing the rustling depart,
without opening his eyes Heath rolled to face the back of the couch, clasped
the book tightly to his chest, buried his face in his arms, and silently
sobbed. Sorrow building with each
breath until strong sobs racked his body, with each breath his back sending out
its own cries, he let out strangled crying sobs, and then a long exhausted
sigh. Feeling drained, and fearful of Victoria finding him so exposed, he
rolled up, pulled his socks off, rolled up on his knees, stood and headed for a
walk in the rain to clear his head.
The cool air and rain
felt delicious, soothing to his hot face.
He shivered as it tickled running down his neck. He stretched his arms out, feet braced wide,
head tilted up, mouth open and spun around, catching the drops. This was a favourite trick from
childhood. Even better with
snowflakes. As he spun focusing on the
falling drops he cooled and calmed, shoulders relaxing, hands flinging wide. Damp earth and hair, the slapping of bare
feet in shallow water. Cool air damp and
fresh. Cleansing breath. Slowing, he slipped back towards the house, shook his
head, shedding the wet, and tiptoed to the couch. Stretching, yawning, he closed his eyes and slept.
[1] William Blake [1757 – 1827] The Clod and the Pebble