Home Before Sundown (23 page)

The outside of the little white wooden church in Gidgee Springs was washed clean by the summer storms that had come three nights in a row. On the day of the funeral the building was packed, with many people having to stand at the sides and at the back.

Bella and Luke sat either side of Virginia, ready to support her if she needed them, but she remained wonderfully strong. Liz, watching them from her seat at the old organ, was pleased that Zoe and Mac were sitting in the same pew as the Fairburns. Poor Zoe looked very pale and shattered.

Virginia had asked Liz if she'd like to speak at the service, but she hadn't trusted herself to remain composed in front of an entire congregation and she'd volunteered to play the organ instead, choosing music Peter had loved. She'd gone through the sheet music in the piano stool at Mullinjim, finding hymns their mother had played right here in this church when they were small.

Luke had accepted his role as the family's spokesman with admirable maturity. He and Bella had sat up long into the night, composing a beautiful eulogy, and Liz was so proud of her nephew. Luke wasn't very like Peter physically – his hair was lighter and his features were more like Virginia's side of the family. His warmth and genuine manner, however, were exactly like his father's, and he proved, on this saddest of days, that he was a man of substance.

‘Please think of the happy times you had with Dad,' he told the congregation as he reached his eulogy's conclusion. ‘Remember how he could raise our spirits with his open, happy way of greeting people, his dry sense of humour.'

Liz knew that everyone present was both moved and uplifted by his words.

Sitting three rows behind Bella during the service, Gabe was tense. He was remembering his mother's breakdown after his father's death and he was grateful, for Bella's sake, that Virginia was composed, on the outside, at least.

He found it hard to keep his eyes from Bella. She was wearing a summery dress in a pale coffee-latte shade that blended perfectly with her tawny hair and complexion. She looked more beautiful than ever, even though she was wrapped in sadness. She so rarely wore dresses and this one was sleeveless with a scooped neckline, front and back, showing lots of honey-toned skin. The dress was cinched at the waist and fell in soft, uneven folds to just above her knees. She'd wound her hair into a neatly braided knot, leaving her elegant neck bare. She wore small, polished stone earrings and her horseshoe locket.

Gabe knew he shouldn't have been dwelling on any of these details, but he couldn't help himself. Bella looked subdued and understandably sad, but so lovely he could barely sit still.

Once, during the singing of a hymn, she turned and saw him. Her green eyes were extra shiny, her smile a little wan, but there was a flash, a fleeting moment of affection, of intense connection.

Gabe clung to that moment. He had so much to tell her, all of it incredibly important, but today she was burying her father and her family's needs were far greater than his. At least he'd learned patience the hard way . . . and he had no choice but to wait a little longer.

After the service there was a crush of people outside the church, all lining up to pay their condolences to the Fairburns. Roy nudged Gabe's arm.

‘Did you notice the ringers who've shown up?'

Turning, Gabe saw Julia, a beefy stockman who'd worked on the mustering team on both Mullinjim and Redman Downs and who'd scored his nickname because he hailed from Julia Creek. With Julia was Billy, a young indigenous ringer from Cape York, and the two of them were both spruced up with their boots cleaned and their hair carefully damped down and combed, looking uncomfortable in crisp white shirts and ties and dark trousers.

‘G'day,' Gabe greeted them, going over to shake their hands. ‘I didn't realise you fellas were working around here.'

‘We're not,' said Julia. ‘I was working near Ravenshoe, but Billy rang me last week.'

‘I was home,' added Billy. ‘I'd gone up the Cape for Christmas.' His eyes were wide, making the whites stand out in his dark face.

‘And Billy's Uncle Clarrie gave him a warning,' Julia went on, as if they were part of a duo act. ‘He said something was wrong at Mullinjim.'

‘Really?' asked Gabe. ‘Last week?'

‘Uncle used to work for Peter years ago,' Billy explained. ‘They were good mates.' He shrugged. ‘But the old fella won't travel anymore.'

‘And yet he knew there was trouble down here?'

‘Yeah. He had a dream and he told me to get down here real quick. Told me to call Julia, too.' Billy stopped and swallowed as if he'd been overcome by the significance of his story.

‘By the time we both got here, the word was out. Peter was already gone,' Julia finished solemnly.

‘Somehow old Uncle Clarrie knew.'

There was a moment of shared silence as they took this in.

‘Amazing.' Gabe's voice was rough with emotion. ‘I've lived in the bush all my life, so I can't say I'm totally surprised.' Reaching out, he gripped the two men by the shoulders. ‘It's really great to see you both. Have you had a chance to talk to Luke? You know Mac's here too?'

As they continued to chat, Gabe glanced back to Bella and her mother. They were being hugged and fussed over by Nancy Hedges, but he decided to edge closer, so he excused himself and began to make his way towards the Fairburns.

‘Gabe.' Another hand grabbed at his elbow.

Annoyed, he turned to see Nikki Browne. ‘Oh, g'day, Nikki.' He made no attempt to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

‘Hey there.' Nikki smiled coyly, the way she'd smiled ever since he'd made the mistake of asking her to accompany him to a party about a year ago. He'd never repeated the mistake, but Nikki had kept up the eyelash fluttering whenever she saw him.

‘You'll never guess,' she said.

They were at a funeral – Peter Fairburn's funeral – and Gabe didn't want to play guessing games. ‘Okay,' he said impatiently. ‘Tell me.'

‘I've found Sassy and I'm buying her.'

Gabe stiffened. Of all the bloody cheek. How could Nikki be so insensitive? He glared at her. ‘How come?'

‘She was passed in at auction down at Hughenden. The reserve's twelve thousand dollars and I thought I didn't have a hope in hell, but it looks like the bank will give me a loan.' Nikki grinned gleefully.

‘Does Bella know about this?'

‘She probably guessed I was thinking about it. Don't look like that, Gabe.' The girl lowered her mascara-black lashes, suddenly defensive. ‘I'm not a complete jerk. I rang Bella last week and told her that Sassy was for sale, but she said she wasn't in a position to buy her.' Nikki looked up at him again, her eyes smug, her mouth curved in a self-satisfied smile. ‘Bella said she was heading back to Europe.'

The hum of voices around Gabe went silent. All he could hear were Nikki's chilling words echoing over and over . . .

Soon, Bella told herself. Soon Gabe would extract himself from Nikki Browne's clutches and come over to speak to her. She longed for that moment, even though she was nervous. She longed to hurl herself into Gabe's arms. He, out of anyone here, could give her the consolation she needed.

He understood. He'd been through this. He'd experienced the unbearable loneliness.

But could she expect Gabe to offer her comfort when a horrible gulf of silence and unanswered questions still lay between them? She'd coped today by staying numb, breathing and moving like an automaton, existing in a strange kind of limbo between the old, happy world when her father was still alive and a vague future where nothing was certain. But now, as Gabe turned from Nikki and crossed the dusty churchyard, numbness wasn't an option.

Hot pins and needles broke out all over her as he stopped in front of her, remaining at a restrained distance that contradicted the stormy mix of tenderness and fierceness in his eyes.

What was he thinking?

She had so many questions that couldn't be asked in this public place.

Gabe's eyes shimmered. He kissed her cheek and then she felt the heat and broadness of his hand as it closed around hers. She longed to lift his hand to her cheek, to press her skin to his suntanned warmth, to make the briefest contact.

‘You've been so brave, Bella.'

‘Not brave. Just numb.' She dropped her gaze. “You've been through this.'

‘Yeah. And I know it's hard to talk about, so don't feel you have to.'

She forced a tremulous smile. ‘To be honest I've been thinking that Dad would be worried if he knew how sombre we all are today.'

Gabe looked surprised, but then his mouth tilted. ‘I reckon you're right.'

‘He was always so good at cheering us up. And I've been remembering all sorts of things, like the story you told me about how he saved Marjorie Jensen. Thanks for that, Gabe. I told Mum and Luke and Liz and they loved it, too. It helps to keep remembering the good things.'

‘I'm glad you're doing that, Bella. Really glad. It's so much better than how I handled my dad's death.'

‘But I do think I understand what you must have felt,' she said softly. No matter how hard she tried to stay positive, the most appalling black grief could jump out of nowhere to grab her by the throat.

Bugger off, Yewengie
.

Even so, when she looked at Gabe, she felt a rush of longing. ‘You've been away,' she said.

He nodded. ‘A quick trip to Noosa.'

‘Is everything okay?'

‘With my family?'

‘Yes.'

‘Yeah. They're very okay, actually.'

‘That's . . . that's great.' Her pulse quickened. She longed to ask more questions, but Gabe was far too sensitive to start expanding on his family's situation at her father's funeral. ‘Gabe, we . . . ' Once again she swallowed. ‘I've done a lot of thinking . . . like you suggested.'

His eyes took on a new tension. ‘I hear you've decided to head back to Europe.'

Whack
. Bella flinched. ‘Really? Who told you that?'

Gabe shot a glance back in Nikki Browne's direction and Bella's heart sank as she remembered their recent phone conversation.
Damn
.

‘It's not definite,' she said. ‘I haven't really decided.' She wished she could assure Gabe that she was staying, but how could she be so rash? Could she bear to stay if he didn't want her?

If only she knew what he was thinking, what he felt.

‘We need to talk,' he said.

‘Yes.' If only they could steal away now, but of course they couldn't. Today, her family, in particular her mother, was her first priority.

Luke came over to her. ‘Time for the burial now, Belle.'

*

It was during the burial that Liz fell apart. With no way to stop the memories, she simply couldn't watch her brother being lowered into the earth. Halfway through the ordeal she knew she was going make a terrible, noisy, blubbering scene, so she hurried away.

She made it to the back of the church hall before she collapsed with her back slumped against the ridges of chamferboard, her sorrow breaking from her in painful, gasping sobs. She was crying for Peter . . . for their parents who'd died a decade before . . . for her poor little baby boy . . .

Oh, dear God. How could she go on? The memories were crushing her.

She should have been the one who'd died, not innocent, gentle Peter.

‘Liz.'

Despite her sobbing she heard the concerned voice.

‘Liz, I'm so sorry. Can I help?'

It was Jack – she'd seen him at the back of the church and they'd nodded hello.

‘I'm okay,' she told him, despite the noisy sobs that belied this. ‘Just having a moment.'

‘Come here.'

He drew her into his arms, but she shook her head against his shoulder. ‘No, don't be nice. I don't deserve it.'

Ignoring her protests, Jack held her close, his chin against the top of her head. He didn't speak, didn't prod her with questions, simply held her. The unexpected comfort was impossible to resist and Liz gave in, sank against him, felt the firm muscles beneath his crisp cotton shirt as she absorbed his silent strength.

Eventually she felt a little calmer.

‘Thank you,' she whispered, drawing away after a bit, and searching in her handbag for tissues, which she used to blot her eyes and blow her nose.

‘Losing someone you love is always unbearable,' Jack said quietly.

‘Yes.' Liz remembered that only a year ago he'd suffered a parent's worst nightmare, the loss of his daughter and son-in-law. How on earth had he found the strength to carry on?

She couldn't stop thinking of that terrible day Peter had helped to bury her tiny son. It had been thirty years ago, but she'd never been reconciled, had never let go of the guilt.

‘You were wrong, you know,' Jack told her now.

‘I usually am.' Liz managed a rueful smile. ‘But which particular mistake are you referring to?'

‘You said you don't deserve me.'

‘Oh.' She looked away. The tears had exhausted her and it was tempting to agree with Jack, to simply go with the flow and let him be kind to her. But she couldn't pretend that she didn't have issues. She'd been pretending for too long. ‘Unfortunately it's true.'

She tucked the ball of damp tissues into a pocket, set the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. ‘Jack, if I'm honest, I wasn't only crying for Peter.'

Jack stood, watching her, waiting, giving her space to continue. Somehow his quietness gave her courage.

‘Something happened years ago. I – I lost a baby. A miscarriage at almost four months. I never told anyone. Not even the baby's father. Only Peter knew about it. He – he helped me.' Her tears threatened again, but she managed to hold them back.