Sunset Ridge (48 page)

 

Banyan, south-west Queensland, Australia
July 1918

Dave sat on the bed, waiting for the shaking to stop. Sometimes he wished he had agreed with Luther's improbable suggestion of staying in France. The long, languid summer days at Madame Chessy's farmhouse returned regularly to remind him of how the world could have been were it not for those who chose to ruin it. Often he would picture those heady days amid the bloody fighting: his oldest brother playing cricket, the lush green of the willows framing Thaddeus as he whacked the cloth ball skywards, Trip and Fall stumbling in pursuit or Luther and Harold bartering goods for the sketches he drew. Most of all he thought of the young French girl, Lisette, and the kiss he had so desperately yearned for and never received.

In the end Dave did not sketch her, nor had they returned to the farmhouse. He would have liked to visit Madame Chessy once more, to talk with someone older and wiser who understood the magnitude of loss. At the time Dave thought such a conversation, fragmented by Lisette's translation, may have helped his transition back to his former life. He realised now how simplistic this thought had been. It was only when they were on the troop ship during the long sea voyage home to Australia that Dave was clear-headed enough to understand the enormity of the change within him. The sense of loss he felt at the death of his brother, of his friends, of his innocence, of his very perception of the world weighed on him heavily. To survive he would have to bury his feelings, disguise his night horrors and never talk of what he had witnessed. What sane person would believe what he had seen?

What Dave hadn't been able to hide were his fanatical tendencies. In his old room at Sunset Ridge he slept under his bed, his great coat hanging in clear view on the knob of his bedroom door. He would not stand with his back towards a window, nor go near the music room. In the mornings he was compelled to rake the ground circumnavigating the homestead fence. Left undisturbed he would gather the dirt and leaves, sweeping until an arc of tidiness surrounded his home or his father stilled him with a firm hand.

‘Throw me a smoke, will you, Dave?'

Luther was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his shirtless torso lathered in sweat. Dave tossed his brother a blanket, concerned he would get a chill now the fit had passed, and then lit two cigarettes and passed one to Luther. ‘I don't like leaving you here, Luther. I know you've made your decision but it just doesn't seem right.'

Luther took a drag of the cigarette as the last tremors subsided from his body. When they were in hospital together his brother had not seemed so distressed, in fact Luther had joked and laughed once the operations were finally over and even made a habit of making passes at some of the better-looking English nurses. He had not been considered a model patient, a label that most of the other convalescing Australian soldiers had aspired to.

‘I'll be right. A few months to clear my head is all I need.'

‘Sure, Luther, sure,' Dave agreed. It seemed to Dave that during his recovery Luther managed to contain the demons within, his body focusing on healing the flesh while the horrors witnessed began to erode his mind. If anything, the hallucinations were getting worse. Dave never shared his. In the pit of his stomach Dave doubted if Luther would ever see Sunset Ridge again. It was as his brother explained that fateful night in the trench before they had gone into battle that last time. He didn't belong at Sunset Ridge and he never would, especially now they knew what lay in store. The doctors advised against further operations. The shrapnel lodged in Luther's back could not be removed safely and there was every possibility it would gradually make its way into his spine. The outlook was dim.

‘There is some advantage to slowly losing your mind, Dave. If I end up not being able to walk I won't know about it.' His hand snaked down to rub at the imaginary tomahawk lost in the filth of Flanders.

‘That won't happen,' Dave said adamantly.

Luther stubbed the cigarette out on the timber floor. ‘Losing my mind or not being able to walk? Actually, mate, I think they're both a done deal.' He ground the cigarette stub with the heel of his boot until the gritty remains were scattered across the boards. ‘I blame that damn dog for saving me. How a mutt could drag a man from the German lines,' Luther lit another cigarette, ‘it beggars belief.'

Dave rubbed subconsciously at his shoulder. ‘I remember looking up into those dark eyes and thanking God.' The war dog had found them at night. Dave recalled reaching for the animal as it snuffled among the remains of Thaddeus and Harold. ‘Take Luther,' he had whispered as if the dog could understand. ‘Take my brother first,' he had pleaded. The dog had given him a cautious lick and then, with his great bony head beneath his stomach, had turned Dave onto his back. The pain alone nearly killed him. Then there was only the sound of his body being dragged through dirt, past men who watched their steady progress with unseeing eyes, the great animal's pants coming heavily with each dogged step. ‘Go back!' Dave had cried once they reached the lip of the crater, the pain keeping him lucid. ‘Go back for Luther.' The dog had pushed him into the shell-hole and Dave had tumbled into the dark.

‘What will you do, Dave?'

He shook away the images in his head. ‘Me? I'm going to stay at Sunset Ridge. Father's past running it.'

‘I always knew you'd go back,' Luther responded.

‘I thought of doing other things.'

Luther nodded. They both knew that Dave would not leave Sunset Ridge again. ‘It will be left to you when the time comes.'

‘You could come back and help me,' Dave suggested. ‘Father's already asking my opinion, although Mother has some strong ideas regarding livestock improvement. Hell, I'm still getting over how much she's changed: riding astride in pants, commenting on bloodlines and telling the manager what to do.'

Luther gave a short laugh. ‘I don't think she'll forgive me for what I did to her piano.'

Dave agreed. Luther had taken to the German-made piano with an axe on the third night back at Sunset Ridge.

‘You'll handle it, Dave.'

‘Yeah, sure.' Dave lit another cigarette. ‘What are you thinking about?'

‘She's here, you know. I saw her,' Luther said softly.

‘Who?' Dave asked his brother.

‘Corally.'

Dave knew that it was true. The girl was ensconced at the far end of the hallway. Dave had been aware of someone peering at them from behind a partially open door when he had helped Luther move in yesterday and it took little time to discover who the other occupants of the boarding house were.

‘Miss Waites is here too,' Luther told him.

‘I know.' Although Dave would have preferred to blend into the blue haze of the scrub he missed so much in France, the Harrow boys were treated as returning heroes and it mattered little whether they were interested in the local goings on within the village or not, there was always a kind soul willing to share every skirret of information.

‘You know that letter Miss Waites wrote, Luther? She could have been mistaken.'

‘Go and see her, Dave. It's you she wants.'

Dave thought back to the machine-gun nest and the revelation that Corally, having written to them all, was actually in love with him. There was no reason not to believe Miss Waites and yet he felt ambivalent where Corally Shaw was concerned. In the pit of his stomach he harboured a kernel of anger towards both her and his former governess – he couldn't help but wonder how that last day in Flanders may have panned out had it not been for Miss Waites' admission. Would Thaddeus and Harold have survived, and Luther escaped unscathed, were it not for that moment when those three soldiers, his brothers-in-arms, his blood, had decided to protect him, protect him not only because he was the youngest, but because they all loved Corally Shaw and she loved him?

‘I'll wash up, then.' Luther dragged his body upright with a wince, and poured water into the ceramic bowl on the washstand. ‘The three of us could have a meal together. What do you think?' He slopped water on his face and neck, the liquid dribbling over the scars on his back.

‘Sure thing.' Captain Egan's words rang in Dave's ears – they all needed something to fight for in an effort to understand the carnage they were a part of. Thaddeus, Luther and Harold had found that something. They had all gone to war and ended up fighting for love – a love that went beyond a spirited young woman on the other side of the world. There was no other way to explain the fierce loyalty to be with one's battalion, with one's platoon, with one's mates, no matter the consequences. Love for fellow man led many to their deaths, yet it could also save.

It was with Luther's salvation in mind that Dave walked down the narrow hall and knocked on Corally Shaw's door while his brother dressed in anticipation. When the door opened Dave caught a glimpse of a well-dressed, beautiful young woman and then Corally was in his arms, sobbing and calling his name. He inhaled the scent of lavender and powder and the cheek against his was plump and soft. With difficulty he untangled her arms. The girl blushed but didn't move.

‘You came home,' she said, reaching for his hand.

Dave allowed the soft fingers to rest within his. ‘Luther's here.'

‘I know.'

‘You should see him,' Dave suggested, wondering how anything so fresh and clean and beautiful could cause such turmoil among men.

‘I can't. It's not right. None of it's right.'

Dave led her to the narrow bed where they sat, their fingers entwined. ‘I don't know why you wrote to everyone while we were at war, Corally.' She hung her head as if ashamed and the anger he harboured shifted a little within him. Dave lifted her chin with a cupped hand. ‘But I want to say thank you. It gave us something to hang onto, something to believe in.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes.' For a moment he faltered. Dave recalled the night at Madame Chessy's farmhouse when Corally's letter nearly went up in flames, yet Dave had kept it, dirty and bloodstained though it was. ‘They all cared for you, Harold and Thaddeus and Luther.'

‘And you, Dave? Do you care?'

Dave couldn't answer. In truth he didn't know how he felt. ‘Luther's here now and he's in love with you.' The warmth of her hand slipped away as Corally moved to stare out the window. ‘It's him you should be with. Hell's bells, Corally, it was you he was thinking of when he chopped off Snob Evans's finger.'

‘That time is like a distant memory, Dave.' Placing a hand on the window, she looked down into the street below. ‘I watched you ride in yesterday. I've been waiting so long to see you that I thought I would burst with anticipation when I heard you'd returned to Sunset Ridge.'

‘You've grown up,' Dave said with appreciation. He knew what it was like to be with a woman. He had accompanied Luther to a brothel in London after they had been released from hospital and although he had not been a willing participant initially, the girl was caring and careful and Dave had gone back a number of times.

‘And you,' Corally replied. ‘Dave –'

‘Don't say it, Corally. Please don't say anything.' Maybe it was because Dave knew that she loved him or perhaps he realised what it meant to have such a beauty waiting on the other side of the world, but while Luther dressed at the end of the long hallway Dave drew Corally to his side.

 

Corally's long hair was twisted about his wrist. Dave tugged at it playfully, flicking the strands against her cheek as her slight body melded with his. He traced the whorl of her ear as the late-afternoon sun slanted through the partially drawn curtains onto the end of the bed. It was too late to ride back to Sunset Ridge and he was beyond explaining to Luther why the morning had drifted into the afternoon and he was yet to return, although he figured his brother would guess. There was only the present and the sense of wholeness that seeped through his body. The war had barely entered Dave's mind since stepping into Corally's room and he was aware of a sense of freedom, of having moved beyond the chaos of the battlefield to a place where peace reigned. This, he told himself, was what it felt like to be back among people who knew what it was to be human, who knew how to treat each other with respect and love. This was what it meant to be home. He thought of Luther down the hallway and his own good intent. He wanted Luther to have Corally. She should be his, yet he couldn't move from her side.