Silver Clouds (16 page)

Turning page after page, she saw the children grow until Grace wasn't in one photo and neither was Len.

The dog whined and Tessa realised she'd been lost in the past for too long. If she was going to head over to Harrison's tomorrow to look after Cally, she needed to pack and get ready.

After a quick tea of eggs on toast, she packed her bag and set it at the front door.

Then she went back to the rings. Carefully she pulled out the lining of the box, looking for some sign of ownership, but there wasn't even the name of a jeweller.

In the laundry she found a cardboard box, in which she neatly stacked three photo albums from the shelves. Tessa hadn't touched the writing desk yet – she hadn't felt strong enough to go there – but if she had something to look for it might help. Were there diaries, letters, anything?

She pulled out the drawers and had a quick look through. The first one looked like it held nothing but bills; the second, recipes. The long one across the top contained writing pads, envelopes and stamps, plus letters that needed answering.

Other than that, nothing useful.

She didn't really want to spend much time in Spider's bedroom yet, so she hurried in, yanked open the top drawer in the bedside table and rifled through. There was nothing there either, so she made a quick escape.

She would just have to make do with the photo albums and see what she could come up with.

A bit annoyed but very curious, Tessa stopped and looked around the lounge room. ‘Who were you keeping secrets for, Aunty Spider, and why were you the secret keeper?' she whispered.

Chapter 16

The two-wheel track that led towards Danjar Plains' boundary and on to Harrison's was rough and full of potholes. Deep puddles lay across their path, but Ryan handled the ute with ease.

It was the second week in February and Tessa's babysitting job was about to start.

Tessa was silent, watching, one moment sure she recognised places from childhood, then doubting herself. It all looked the same and she couldn't be certain that the places she remembered were what she was actually staring at.

‘I want to head up to the northern part of the place,' Ryan had said when he'd arrived to pick Tessa up. ‘Haven't been up there for a week or so. Got a few waters and fences I can check on the way.'

‘I haven't been up there for years!'

‘You haven't been home for years,' said Ryan simply, then changed the subject. ‘You can get to Harrison's from the back of our place – do you remember? We butt up against his side boundary.'

‘I may not remember the names of paddocks and things of that sort, but I do know who our neighbours are,' said Tessa. ‘Be a good way to see some of the countryside. Although,' she conceded, ‘I'm having trouble working out where we are.'

The ute hit a pothole and Tessa felt the box in her pocket containing the rings press into her thigh. Even with the hours she'd spent the previous evening poring over the pages of the photo albums, she was still no closer to finding out who the rings belonged to.

She wondered whether she should tell Ryan about them, but there was really nothing to tell. It wasn't in her nature to say something unless she could back it up or there was reasoning behind it. She'd learned that quickly in her job.

As she opened the third gate, she looked about her. There was nothing but vivid blue sky and shrubby bushes, the land stretching on and on until it merged with the sky at the horizon. She'd first thought there weren't any changes, but the soil colour had transformed from white to apricot and the trees were slightly smaller than the ones closer to the homestead. So isolated, so much space. It had taken a bit of getting used to after the busyness of London, but getting used to it she seemed to be. She could feel the land beginning to get under her skin and it was unlike any feeling she had ever experienced. She knew she was changing too. Waking in the mornings, Tessa didn't crave the rush and adrenalin she had when she was working. She had slipped into the relaxed way of life quickly. There were times when she wondered if she might have never left Danjar Plains, but for Kendra's accident. But she'd pushed it away. She knew what she was experiencing now was akin to a holiday and nothing else. The moment she hit the city, her blood would begin to buzz again.

Tessa shook her head as she latched the wire around the fence post and made sure the gate was secured. She didn't want to stay. She was here to do a job, and once Aunty Spider's house was done and the mystery solved, she'd be moving back to the city. There were some jobs she wanted to research on the net and she planned to do that while she was at Harrison's – hopefully his internet connection was better than the one on Danjar.

Jumping back in the ute, she opened her mouth to ask Ryan about the stock stealing, but he spoke first.

‘Tessa, I've been wanting to tell you this for a while. Marni is acting like she is because we're having trouble falling pregnant. You probably worked it out when she rushed off like she did the other night, but I wanted you to know that's the reason.'

The quiet inside the cab was broken only by the jarring rattle of the ute tray as they drove over rough ground.

‘Oh, Ryan,' was all Tessa could think to say for a moment. ‘I did think something was up, when she reacted so badly after I talked about becoming an aunty.'

‘She's been through a bit of a rough time. She miscarried three months ago and we'd been trying for over a year before that happened.'

Sympathy for her sister-in-law hit Tessa hard. She didn't understand the craving for a child but she had heard from friends it was the worst kind of yearning – enough to change personalities. Obviously it had done so with Marni, because the carefree, quick-with-a-smile-and-a-laugh young woman who had married her brother was now a closed-off, quiet, almost haunted woman. She was nothing like how Tessa remembered her. When she'd first arrived home, she'd wondered if the isolation had eaten away at Marni during the previous couple of years, but with Spider's cryptic clues in her letter and Marni's recent behaviour, clearly it wasn't that at all.

‘I'm sorry, Ryan. It sounds like you've had a terrible time.' She chewed the inside of her cheek as she tried to work out what to say. ‘Um, so, what can you do? Have you been to the doctor? Don't feel like you need to answer if you don't want to,' she stumbled.

‘Doctor Mike from the Flying Doctor thinks we should go to Kal for some tests, but he's talking IVF.'

Ryan sounded disgusted.

‘From what I know that's a very good option.'

‘What do you know then?' Ryan shot her a curious look.

‘Not very much, just what I've heard girls in the office say,' Tessa admitted, watching Ryan's shoulders slump slightly. ‘But, I do know it can take over your life, that the desire for a child can overshadow everyday life. It can become an obsession.'

‘That's what it is! Exactly,' Ryan burst out. ‘The thermometer lives in her pocket and if her temperature is slightly raised, she calls me on the radio. “It's time to come home, honey,” she says. On the bloody radio! She monitors everything she eats and getting pregnant is all she talks about. We used to laugh and chat; she'd come out in the ute and we'd have fun. Now she's constantly anxious.' Frustrated, he ran his fingers over his head. ‘Anyway, I just wanted you to know, in case you thought you'd offended her or something. She's just easily upset these days, so don't take it personally.'

Tessa felt her heart squeeze at the defeated look on his face.

‘It's easy enough to get sheep and cattle pregnant,' he continued. ‘We cull the ones who don't, so our flocks are fertile. It's not something I ever really thought about or imagined we'd have trouble with. She blames me – thinks I drink too much, don't eat the right things, it's too hot out here. Apparently high temperatures affect the sperm count, but it doesn't seem to do that with the stock! It's warmer out there in the paddock than what it is in my bedroom, I can tell you. She's got me in these bloody boxer shorts to make sure things – circulate! I don't know who has the problem but I can't see the point in blaming each other. It's just one of those things.' He sighed. ‘I feel like a bloody failure.'

‘You can't feel like that! Neither of you can! It's just nature.' Tessa was trying to sound wise. She hoped what she said was true.

Ryan looked at her and missed seeing the pothole ahead. The ute jarred as it ploughed into the deep rut. Tessa hit her head on the window as the vehicle veered off into the bush. ‘Ow!'

The scratching of the brush against the ute sounded like fingernails down a blackboard and she wanted to put her fingers in her ears.

‘Sorry, sis.' Ryan gunned the accelerator and Tessa felt the back end of the ute swing to the side. She squealed and lunged for the handrail.

Ryan let out a laugh. He turned the wheel and got the ute back onto the track. ‘Awesome!'

‘If you think so,' Tessa said, rubbing her head. ‘Oh my ears. That's a terrible noise!'

‘Ripping it up makes me think I'm a young bloke again. It's fun, and fun, dear sister, is like coffee in the morning. Essential!'

Tessa laughed, then became serious. ‘So can I do anything to help?'

‘Nah, I don't think so. Just somehow gotta get a bit of time away from here, get to Kal and then up to Perth, I guess. Bloody hell, would you look at that?'

Tessa followed his line of sight. ‘What?'

‘The fence. It's down.'

She peered out, searching the bush. She couldn't even see a fence, let alone one that was down.

Ryan drove off the track and into the scrub, picking the path of least resistance. They bumped over clumps of grasses and avoided large sticks and piles of rocks.

Then Tessa spotted it. ‘How the hell did you see that from the road?' she wondered aloud. The fence seemed the same colour as the bush to her and was about twenty metres from the road.

‘I'm going to know where my fences are. I run the joint!' Ryan killed the engine. ‘Can you grab me the pliers? They're in the toolbox in the back.'

They got out. Tessa retrieved the pliers then watched as Ryan inspected the fence.

He pulled a couple of wires and tested the tension on the top one. ‘Look at this,' he said. ‘The top two are fine. They haven't been touched. But the lower ones have all been pulled away from the posts. It's been done so you have a quick glance at the fence, see the top wires and think everything is okay. But if there are any stock grazing along here, which they do to get to the tank, they can go under the fence and into next door's place.'

‘What are you saying? The neighbour has deliberately done this? Why?' Tessa asked innocently.

‘Not a neighbour. I think it's someone who has local knowledge, but I don't think it's a neighbour.' He shook his head. ‘We haven't got any proof who's doing this. This is the whole reason I've been driving around at night. I'm trying to see if we can catch them at their own game. We've got theories about who it might be, but no firm proof. It started four years ago. Stock counts were down, and when the Hunters came to muster the cattle for calf marking the number of calves was right down. It took a while to work out someone was deliberately dropping fences and turning off bores, because it doesn't happen often. Whoever is doing it isn't doing it all the time.'

He tugged on the wire again. ‘Grab me the wire strainers from the toolbox, will you? I've got to fix this now.'

Tessa did as Ryan asked then looked on as her brother fixed the strainers onto the fence and started to jack the handle. The slack wire seemed to take on a life of its own, rising from the ground into a tight line.

‘Far out,' she said, looking around her. ‘That's terrible. We're in the country. Everyone is supposed to be honest.'

Ryan lined up the wire on the post then grabbed his hammer and stapled it firmly into the wood. He then cut a piece of wire as a tie and poked it through the hole in the steel post. Deftly he tightened it until it held firm. He did the same for the next three strands then stood to view his handiwork.

‘‘Ha! Don't let where we live fool you. Farms and stations are often targeted for theft. People drive in off the road and fill up their fuel tanks from ours. We've found slaughtered cattle with the prime cuts taken. The list goes on, let me tell you. It really used to get up Spider's nose. She'd come with me sometimes when I'd go out at night.' He looked up from his work with a grin. ‘She wanted to be there when the perpetrator was caught so she could roast them. You can imagine it, can't you?'

Tessa knew it wasn't a laughing matter but she couldn't help but giggle at the thought of Spider, hands on hips, dressing down the thief. She sat down on a rocky outcrop. ‘How did you find out?'

‘We figured it out when all the owners and managers caught up for our annual meeting about wild dogs at the last Nullarbor Muster,' he said. ‘It turned out we'd all had the same sort of experiences.' He walked down to the next post and tested the ties. They were firm.

‘Anyway, the sheep just walk under the fence and into next door. I suspect what's happening is, whoever is doing it keeps an eye on the fence line, and when he sees the stock, he drops the fence and maybe even encourages them through. Not sure how he does that, 'cos no one has ever noticed car tracks on our side of the fence and, believe me, we've looked. Spider thought she'd tracked someone one day, but it turned out to be Joe riding a horse he'd been breaking.'

Tessa took the hammer he handed her. ‘Someone is stealing them? Tell me how?'

‘That's what we think,' he answered grimly, turning to face her. ‘Like this. There is someone dropping the fence and once the stock – cattle or sheep – cross that boundary, someone collects them. See, if you turn off the water this side of the fence and have water on the other side, the stock will just walk through to the next watering point. They don't care whose land they're on.' He pushed his hat back and scratched his head. ‘They must keep them in some sort of yard and take them away from here. Personally? I'm guessing they're ripping our tags out and replacing them so they can be sold. It's not hard to change an earmark with a pocket knife. All hearsay, mind you.'