The Lawson Sisters Page 11

  Liz looked at her work worn hands as they unfastened the chic pearl buttons of a fine cream silk blouse. They almost looked like a man’s hands, with short, ragged nails and the tiny white scars of many small scratches from fencing wire and raw timber. She remembered a time when they were softer; a young girl’s hands, one slender finger adorned by a gold ring. The sort of ring a teenage boy would give to the girl he loved. As she slipped off the skirt and placed it carefully on the hanger, Liz allowed the embarrassment and shame she had felt earlier full rein. Was this what she had come to? Borrowing her sister’s clothes so she was fit to be seen in public? It was true that she didn’t go out much, but that was because she worked all hours of the day. The few places she did socialise were mostly horse shows and sales. And anyway, she wasn’t a girly girl. Never had been.

  That’s not strictly true, said a voice deep in the back of her mind.

  Liz pushed away memories of fussing with her hair and clothes. Of wearing a pretty ring and even nail polish. That was another time and place; the world had moved on since then. She changed into the jeans and cotton shirt she had brought with her for the journey home, then feeling restless, she opened the glass doors onto the balcony and stepped out into the night. The city lights were spread out in front of her like jewels. They were beautiful, but they were also distant. She was on the twelfth floor, but the sound of car horns and the occasional police or ambulance siren floated up to her. There was nothing of nature here. Not even a whisper of breeze. Liz felt no connection with her surroundings. It wasn’t like Willowbrook, where the very feel of the ground beneath her feet gave her energy and strength. In the city, she had nothing. She was nothing. But that was fine. She didn’t belong here. Willowbrook was her home and she knew it always would be.

  But what if you have to give it up? The voice in her head just wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Inexplicably irritated, Liz walked back into the flat, firmly closing the door behind her. She pulled the curtains closed to keep out both the lights and the noise of the city. Then she looked around. Kayla must have some sort of bar. Liz opened the doors of the living room’s pure white cabinets and found glasses and bottles. She studied them. Liz seldom drank more than the occasional beer at home or at a show or sale while talking and doing deals with other breeders. But tonight she wanted something a bit stronger.

  She rejected the spirits and pulled out a bottle of wine. A glance at the label showed it to be from the Hunter Valley. How apt. Kayla didn’t have screw-top bottles, but it didn’t take Liz long to find a corkscrew. The wine made satisfying glugging noises as it flowed into her glass.

  She sat on one of the sofas in the centre of the room and aimlessly picked up a magazine from the glass coffee table. It was, of course, a wedding magazine. She flipped through the pages. Cakes and gowns and shoes and something called bomboniere leaped off the pages at her. It all seemed such a waste of money and effort. She took a sip of her wine and reached for another magazine. This one had a feature on what it called ‘rustic weddings’. These seemed to involve restored sheds, vineyards and, yes, properties not that dissimilar to Willowbrook. But those places had beautiful gardens and their timber floors shone with a golden glow, the sort of glow her mother had managed through much polishing. These ‘rustic’ properties were old, but they weren’t like Willowbrook.

  ‘It’s shabby and neglected. And no matter how hard I work, I can’t fix it.’

  There. She had spoken the words out loud. She couldn’t ignore them any longer.

  The magazine had a series of advertisements for wedding venues. Liz studied them carefully. There were lots of things she didn’t really get, but the figures—those she did understand. One article on the cost of a big wedding suggested people would pay $10,000 or even more for the venue. That couldn’t be right. It must include food and drink as well, surely? No one was going to pay that sort of money just for a place to stand and say ‘I do’.

  But it didn’t matter if you were spending thousands of dollars on a dress and lights and fancy food, or standing in a little wooden church with just a priest and his wife as witnesses. The feeling was what mattered—the place, the way you chose to be married, didn’t matter at all.

  Unless the cost of the time and place was beyond bearing. Unless that cost was measured in lives and tears and heartbreak.

  Liz dropped the magazine on the table and stood up. She had to get out of the city. She couldn’t think clearly here amid the people and the noise and the lights. She couldn’t find herself in this stylish apartment where the stranger who was her sister lived. She poured her barely touched glass of wine down the sink and collected her overnight bag from the bedroom. She was looking for a pen and paper to leave a note when she heard the sound of a key in the door.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you would still be up,’ Kayla said as she walked in, looking as cool and stylish as she had all those hours ago when they’d set out for the wedding. ‘Lachie has a key so I borrowed his to let myself in.’

  She looked at the open bottle of wine and raised an eyebrow. Then she poured herself a glass and dropped onto the sofa. She slipped her shoes off, but without the grimace of pain that Liz had made.

  ‘So, Liz, what did you think?’

  ‘Think?’

  ‘About the wedding.’

  ‘It seemed an awful lot of mucking about.’

  ‘Okay, the mother of the bride was a bit of a bitch, but the bride herself was lovely. This was a bit upmarket, but it can’t have been much different from any other wedding you’ve ever seen.’

  Liz didn’t answer.

  ‘Liz,’ Kayla said slowly. ‘You have been to other weddings, haven’t you? Everyone’s been to at least a couple.’

  Liz’s mind flashed to a place a long way from this smart city flat. To a time when she was much younger. A time when it was all right to defy her parents—because they were still alive. She remembered a small country church with sun-faded paint. There had been no Champagne, no music and no crowd of well-wishers. The only flowers had been a small bouquet carried by the young bride as she stood in front of a priest with a kind face. The policeman’s face was kind too, but the words he’d said had robbed her of almost everything she loved. All she had left was Willowbrook, and the sister who was now looking at her with something approaching pity on her face.

  ‘What do you want me to say? That I’ve never been to a wedding? What does it matter if I’ve been to a wedding or not? You’ve been to enough for both of us.’

  She ignored Kayla’s startled reaction and reached for her bag. ‘I’m heading back now. It’ll be much easier driving at this time of night.’

  ‘It’s late. You must be tired. And you’ve been drinking.’

  ‘I didn’t drink the wine. Sorry to waste it. I hope it wasn’t expensive.’

  ‘But it’s such a long drive. You don’t want …’

  An uncomfortable silence settled on the room as both sisters’ thoughts returned to another day and another hurried journey.

  ‘It’s not the time of day or the distance that matters, is it?’ Liz said softly. ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Liz, you’ve got to stop it.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Stop running away. You’ve been running away since the day of that crash. And you weren’t even in the car. I was, and I’ve got the scars to prove it. I’ve come to terms with it. It’s time you did too.’

  Liz paused. ‘You don’t understand, Kayla. You never will.’

  ‘I can try, Liz. For God’s sake, just this once, talk to me. We used to tell each other everything. What the hell is it you’ve been holding inside all these years? Whatever it is, I’m your sister. You can tell me.’

  Liz shook her head. ‘No. I can’t.’

  She picked up her bag and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER

  25

  There’s nothing better when you’re sixteen than starting work at your first job. Especially when that job is yo
ur dream job. It’s even better when the two people you want most in the world to impress are there.

  Better, but scary.

  Mitch’s hands aren’t shaking, but that’s only because he’s got a tight rein on himself. He isn’t going to mess this up. And besides, his hands never shake when he’s handling horses. That comes as naturally to him as breathing.

  ‘When you’re ready, Mitch.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Lawson.’

  Mitch gathers the reins in his left hand and places his foot in the stirrup. His boss is holding the filly’s head. She’s never been ridden before, but Mitch isn’t afraid. He and Sam Lawson have been working with her for several days. She’s shown herself to be smart and good tempered and she’s ready. Mitch has always dreamed of training young horses, and this holiday job on Willowbrook is his chance. He’s not going to mess it up.

  Mitch lifts himself onto the horse’s back in one fluid movement. As he lowers himself gently into the saddle, he can feel her stiffen beneath him.

  ‘Let her get used to your weight,’ Sam says in a steady voice. ‘There’s no rush.’

  Mitch loosens his hand on the reins a little and forces himself to relax his body. ‘I’ve got her, sir. I think we’re fine.’

  Sam nods. ‘I think so too.’ He releases his hold on the filly’s bridle and backs away.

  It’s all up to Mitch now.

  He does nothing for several long heartbeats. He knows how to be patient. He doesn’t want to frighten the filly.

  ‘What do you think?’ His voice is soft and the young horse flicks her ears as she listens to him. ‘I know it feels funny to have me up here. The weight is all wrong, isn’t it? But that’s fine. You’ll soon get used to me. Do you want to take a couple of steps forward? Go on. It won’t hurt.’

  He gently squeezes his legs against the filly’s sides until she hesitantly moves forward. His hands are rock steady on the reins. His legs keep a solid pressure, with no signs of jerking or kicking, and he never stops talking in that soothing voice.

  Leaning against the wooden rails of the fence, Sam nods slightly. The boy is good. Very good. Mitch gently urges the filly forward another few steps. Then a few more. The filly is walking easily now, her muscles starting to relax. Her breathing returns to normal and she is no longer wild eyed and frightened.

  Lizzie and Kayla are beside Sam, also watching Mitch and the horse.

  Kayla is too little to look over the rails, but she peers between them, her face shining with admiration. She’s spending more time watching Mitch than the horse. Her heart clenches with fear when the filly suddenly stops and humps her back, as if to throw Mitch off. But he’s ready for this and urges her gently on. The moment passes, and Kayla sighs with relief. She couldn’t bear it if Mitch was hurt.

  Lizzie is standing on the bottom rail and leaning on the top of the fence. She too is watching Mitch, thinking how very good he is, but she is also watching the horse. Sam has promised her that she can ride this filly in competitions when they’re both ready. She’s thrilled at the thought that she and Mitch can compete together. They’ll make a great team.

  ‘I think that’s enough for this first session,’ Sam says. He steps into the yard, ready to take the filly’s head while Mitch dismounts.

  ‘I’ve got her, sir,’ Mitch says.

  Sam hesitates, then steps away. He trusts the boy’s judgement.

  Mitch brings his mount to a stop in the centre of the yard. He sits for a minute, stroking her neck and talking to her quietly. Then he swings down off her back. The filly tenses, but begins to relax again as Mitch strokes her neck.

  In an instant, Lizzie is over the fence. She knows better than to run and approaches boy and horse quite slowly. She joins Mitch in stroking the filly’s face. ‘That was so good,’ she says.

  Mitch isn’t sure if she means him or the horse, but either is fine by him.

  ‘When can I ride her, Dad?’

  ‘Let’s give her a few more days,’ Sam says, smiling. ‘Once Mitch has her responding well, you can have some time with her.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘For now, why don’t both of you take her to the stables and give her a good rub down? It will be good for her to have the handling.’

  ‘All right.’ They speak in unison and set out, chatting happily about their plans for the filly.

  At the fence, Kayla watches them walk away. From where she stands, it looks like they could be holding hands. She goes to follow them, but her father puts his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Kayla, do you want to get Ginger? We could take a short ride together and check the fences along the river flat.’

  What she really wants is to go up to the stables with Mitch … and Lizzie. But then her father smiles at her. She goes with him to fetch her pony.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Once again, Mitch guided his mount across the creek and up the steep bank onto Willowbrook land. He was very aware that he’d spent more time here in the last twelve hours than in the past fifteen years since Liz, standing next to her parents’ graves, had pushed him away and told him she never wanted to see him again.

  He glanced at the hilltop, and without thinking too much about it, turned his horse’s head in that direction. At the top of the hill he dismounted and stood beside the stone crosses. There were no weeds around the graves. Liz obviously spent a lot of time here; perhaps more time than was good for her. It was a beautiful spot, with a view across Willowbrook. Mitch could see his place and wondered if Liz ever thought about him when she was here. Did she ever regret sending him away?

  She had been little more than a kid, trying to cope with unimaginable grief and a burden of guilt she did not deserve. He’d been a kid too, and much as he’d wanted to help, he was too young to know how. Deep in his heart, he’d always believed she’d change her mind in a week or a month or a year. But she never had. She’d straightened her shoulders and carried on alone, sending Kayla away, first to boarding school and then to university. Not once had she asked anyone for help as she took on running a property that was too much for one man, far less a girl who had just turned eighteen.

  Mitch still hadn’t known how to help her. Each time he tried she had pushed him away. He’d hated her for that. He’d hated himself too. Then finally he’d left because it hurt too much to stay. He’d joined his family in Queensland and tried to bury his dreams in hard work and hard drinking. Women too.

  ‘I came back, sir.’ Mitch gently ran his fingers across the top of his mentor’s grave marker. ‘I should never have left her like that, but I did find my way back. I couldn’t let her sell the church and the river flats to a stranger.’

  He’d used every cent of his savings and tied himself into a bank loan he could barely afford to buy that piece of Willowbrook. The land was exactly the sort of property he’d always wanted. But this purchase wasn’t just for himself. It was for Liz too, and the hope that one day his land and hers might be reunited. Instead, he’d found himself faced with more of her anger. Anger he didn’t understand.

  ‘It’s good to be back here,’ he said, ‘and Liz is talking to me again. That’s something.’

  But it wasn’t all good, because Liz was in trouble. She would never have asked for his help otherwise.

  ‘Sir, you know how I’ve always felt about her. I’ve been patient all these years. I’m not going to wait any longer. I hope you understand.’

  Hope is a hard thing to kill; almost as hard as love. But if it’s left too long, it will wither and die. Mitch knew that now.

  He turned away from the graves and swung onto his horse, pointing its head down the hill, towards Liz’s stables. He wasn’t sure when Liz would return, but he wanted to make sure the work was done before she got here. She would probably be happier if he was gone too.

  He put his horse into an empty yard and walked to the stables, stopping by the feed room. Liz had left pre-mixed buckets of feed for each of the stabled horses, not trusting Mitch to do it. When it ca
me to her horses, Liz liked to make sure everything was done just right. He picked up two buckets. Like last night, the first horse he’d encountered was Liz’s much loved old gelding Zeke. He’d been her competition horse when they were teenagers and she would no doubt care for him to the end of his days. That was the sort of loyalty Liz could show.

  Mitch stroked the old guy’s greying muzzle as he opened the stall door. When he stepped inside, he saw Liz, curled up asleep on a pile of straw in a corner of the stall. She had done this so often when she was a kid. She would come to the stables late at night when she was troubled. The horses were her great love, and being around them calmed her, so this wasn’t the first time Mitch had found Liz asleep in the stables near her favourite horse. He was pretty sure there had been many, many other times when there was no one here to find her.

  A strong push on his arm reminded him he was here for a purpose. He tipped the feed into Zeke’s bin and then walked over to where Liz lay. Her face was totally relaxed, her lips parted as the breath came slowly and softly between them. She looked so young, almost as young as the first time he’d seen her like this. Until you looked at her hands and the lines starting to form around her eyes. A lot had happened in those intervening years.

  In his mind’s eye, Mitch saw his teenage self lying on the straw beside her. They would lie there waiting for the sun to rise, whispering their hopes and dreams. Making plans for their future. Making promises that they were certain they would keep.

  Liz sighed and moved slightly in her sleep and Mitch looked away. He no longer had the right to watch her sleep but maybe he could take a little bit of the weight off her shoulders, even if just for one day.

  It didn’t take long for him to finish feeding the horses in the stables, taking care all the while not to disturb their owner. He thought about taking the colt to the round yard for exercise, but decided against it. Liz would want to do that herself. Instead, he turned his attention to the horses in the yards—or, more specifically, the yards themselves. The Willowbrook yards were old. The posts and rails were timber, rather than the metal more commonly used these days. Personally, Mitch liked the look and feel of the wooden rails. They were a nod to tradition and history and the days when you didn’t simply place an order and have something delivered the next day.