The Horse Thief (37 page)

‘Jim! Jim Mawgan!'

Why did she insist on calling him that? Jim Mawgan was no more. A relic of the childhood he'd once cherished. The name belonged to the world of halcyon dreams and foolish ill-conceived plans where there was no class structure, no haves and have-nots, and no Kilhamptons.

Jim Mawgan died somewhere on the floor of the barn beneath the soaring roof trusses that matched his infantile notions of right and wrong. Black and white—a world where there was no grey, no grey like the colour of India's eyes.

Eyes that right at this very moment were gazing up into his face like the precocious child who'd ridden on her father's shoulders, convinced everything in the world existed for her own pleasure.

‘What are you doing? You can't leave. Not yet. I have to talk to you.'

‘The time for talking is over, India. I've got a lot of miles to cover today and I need to make a move.' He reached for the gate but she beat him to it, insinuated herself between the five bars and his body. Wildflowers, warm summer skies, everything he'd ever wanted and nothing he could have.

‘Please, Jim, listen for just a moment. It's so exciting. I've been talking to Mama and Papa and everything, just everything, has changed.'

What could have changed, what could have brought such a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes? The prospect of a marriage to Cecil Bryce? He didn't want to hear about it.

‘I have a job, not just for a year but forever. I am the new manager of Helligen Stud.'
Wonderful. The perfect wedding present for her and her husband-to-be.
She performed a small pirouette in front of him, her blue skirt billowing around her.

He gritted his teeth. ‘Congratulations. I'm very happy for you. I wish you and your husband all the best.'

‘My husband? What are you talking about?'

‘Cecil Bryce. He looked suitably pleased when I saw you smother him in kisses in the courtyard.'

‘Cecil has nothing to do with this. He's here because he brought Violet and me back from Morpeth. I have to admit he was wonderful. When I went to the gaol I thought that I'd made matters so much worse and he came rushing to the rescue.'

‘You went to the gaol?' What was she talking about?

‘Yes. I wanted you to know Papa had dropped the charges against you. But I was too late, you'd already left.' She stared up into his face, her brow furrowed, and then she smiled.

His heart performed some sort of backflip and he wrestled it back into place. She had gone to the gaol, to see him. To let him know the charges were dropped. She'd cared enough to do that.

‘Oh! In all my excitement I forgot to tell you. Violet and Cecil are to be married.'

Violet and Bryce?

‘Cecil and I were in total agreement. He was so relieved. He and Violet—'

‘Excuse me, India, I need to open the gate. Let Jefferson out. I have to be on my way.' As far away as he could get from Helligen before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

‘Jim, listen to me, please.' Her tiny hand rested on his arm, her grip firmer than he imagined. ‘I won't be going back to Sydney. I'm going to stay here. Stay and run Helligen. And that's why I'm here. I want to ask you if you'll stay. Do you remember the day you arrived and you said you would help me rebuild Helligen?'

Oh yes! He remembered. He would never forget, but he had no intention of being lured into her world again. A man could take so much, and no more. He didn't want to be beholden to the Kilhamptons, India, her father, anyone.

‘We can make it all real. Our dream. Remember we sat here on this fence on the very first day and you said you would help me. Now we can do it. Oh, please say yes. You don't want to leave. I'm offering you the job as stud master of Helligen.'

Stay! How could he stay and recreate the situation that had caused all the problems they'd faced. He would be living his father's life. He didn't want to work for her. He wanted to provide for her, marry her, and be her husband, not her hired lackey. The thought hit him like one of Kilhampton's punches, right in the kidneys, the truth robbing him of breath.

But first he had a bill to pay and there was no way he intended to work for Kilhampton and hand over his wages like a bonded servant. No! As much as it would pain him to leave his pride was more important. Was pride a sin? Did it matter? One more to add to the long list of sins he'd committed. He couldn't do it.

‘No, India. I'm leaving.'

He opened the gate and slipped the bridle over Jefferson's head, then eased through the gate leaving Goodfellow hanging over the fence with a puzzled expression on his face.

Not daring to wait a moment longer in case he changed his mind, he set a cracking pace across the paddock, Jefferson trotting by his side in an attempt to keep up. He had to go, leave before he weakened, before he remembered her soft skin, the feel of her in his arms …

‘You told me in Morpeth the only thing standing between us was the past.' Her voice, loud and irate, stopped Jefferson in his tracks. Jim tugged the bridle, the horse stood firm. India didn't. Puffing with exertion, or maybe emotion, she caught up.

‘The past has been sorted out. Mama and Papa have resolved their differences, put it behind them. Why can't we?'

His temper snapped. ‘Why, India? You ask me why? Can't you understand that I want you as my wife? As an equal. Not as your hired hand, someone who answered your advertisement. Filled a vacant position.' There he'd said it.

Her face paled, her eyes widened and she sank down into the long grass, a blue pile of soggy silk. Like an injured bird, head hanging, shoulders slumped.

He couldn't stop. She had to understand. ‘Besides, Jim Mawgan answered your advertisement. Not James Cobb. I'm not the person you believe me to be.' His pain made him cruel.

She lifted her eyes, those storm cloud eyes and he waited, chest heaving, for the thunderclap.

‘I'll give away Helligen. I'll come with you.'

His breath hitched and he rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. The sheer impossibility of her statement made him want to bay like a rabid dog. ‘Don't be ridiculous, you could never give Helligen away any more than I could give away my dreams.'

‘I would for you, Jim. I would.'

‘Do you know why your father hit me? Do you know why I took the punch? Not for me. For my father. I can't stay. It will simply be history repeating. I have a debt to pay before I can call myself a free man.' He settled his hat on his head and tugged at Jefferson's bridle. ‘The past can't be rewritten, but the future doesn't have to be the same. History doesn't have to repeat itself.'

Thirty-Five

History certainly wasn't repeating itself and India could do very little to rewrite it. Hiatus was the best word to describe the situation. Everyone else had moved on to new chapters while she stayed locked in a hell of apathy. Cecil and Violet's wedding and the reception at Potts Point was the most glamorous affair and filled the society pages of
The Sydney Morning Herald
. And then last week they'd departed with much pomp and ceremony on their long-awaited Grand Tour. London, Paris, Rome—Violet was beside herself with excitement. Marriage to Cecil had fulfilled her every dream.

Even Mama and Papa forged ahead, the despondency of the past fifteen years firmly behind them. Mama had received a clean bill of health and had settled into Sydney life. She planned to travel with Papa aboard
The Cloud
on his next trip to the East and Anya would finally get to see her homeland once more. Whereas India remained locked in some well of indecision and waiting. Waiting for the mares to foal, waiting for the foals to grow, and then it would be years before she'd know if she'd bred a racehorse.

‘Well, Peggy, it looks as though it's just the two of us. A couple of old women, both of our lovers lost to us.'

‘Least yours hasn't gone off in search of fool's gold.' Peggy pushed a plate of oatmeal biscuits across the table.

‘He might as well have done.'

‘A man has his pride. You wouldn't want him if he didn't.'

‘He rejected me.' And Helligen, the very job he said he wanted, and his dreams, their dreams.

‘Give it time. Give it time. How much does he owe your father?'

‘Thirty pounds.'

‘Well, I'm sure he'll come up with it.'

India pulled the pot of tea towards her. No matter what Peggy said it was not to be. There was only one constant in her life—loyal, unchanging and forever forgiving—and that was Helligen. Even Peggy had deserted her, taken sides. A man has his pride! Well, she had pride, too. She'd give Helligen her very best, follow her dream, and if she had to do it alone then so be it.

‘Now, what are you going to do about employing some more people? You'll need someone to give you a hand, especially once the foals are born.'

‘I could run an advertisement …'

Peggy slammed her hand on the table. ‘I'm not living through that all over again. Can't you employ a few more people from the village?'

‘I do need some help. Fred has an uncle who's looking for a new position. I'll employ him. And I've decided to send three of the brood mares out for mating. It's just … I don't seem to be able to summon any enthusiasm.'

The best thing about being alone at Helligen was the peace and the quiet. The knowledge that at long last the past had been laid to rest. Old wounds healed and for everyone else the promise of the future. Her dreams hadn't changed. She would do as she always intended and one day present Papa with the Melbourne Cup—not a watch anymore, now they presented a cup. It would sit well on the mantle in the library under the portrait of Goodfellow. A fitting end to a long drawn-out saga.

‘I'll go and check on Fred and then do some paperwork in the library. As silly as it sounds now, I rather miss my afternoon visits to Mama.'

‘You do that. Me, I've got things to do. No-one's appetite seems to be missing. Shall I lay the table in the dining room?'

‘No, it's a waste of time. I'll eat in here with you and Fred and Jilly.'

‘Sounds as good an excuse as any. Can't get you out of those work clothes no matter how hard I try.'

India tucked her shirt into her gauchos and threw Peggy a wink. It was as well Violet was no longer around to reprimand her about her attire. She couldn't even bring herself to look at her blue evening dress that Peggy and Jilly had so laboriously restored. It hung in some cupboard along with all her Sydney clothes, consigned to the past, to a time when hope had sparked an odd moment of vanity. She wouldn't wear them again.

The warm summer sun beat down on the top of her head as she crossed the courtyard and made her way to the small yard next to the vegetable garden. Goodfellow greeted her with his usual supercilious stare and tossed his head before nudging at the gate. He had become more of a companion, ambling around after her, picking and choosing his spot in the sunshine and the tastiest treats in the garden.

Really he was too old to ride although a quiet walk would do him little harm. She slipped the rope bridle over his head, pulled her old cabbage palm hat from the peg by the door of the stable, then mounted the old horse bareback. Needing no encouragement Goodfellow followed the path out through the gate and took the track past the lagoon, through the edge of the paperbark forest to the river.

The ibis foraging in the shallow waters turned beady eyes on her progress, more interested in their search for food than a lonely woman invading their territory. As she crossed into the bushland she searched for the goanna, but it had found a better place to sun itself than the hard-packed dirt of Helligen. In the distance the mighty Hunter wound its perpetual, lazy way through the empty paddocks.

The river drew her gaze, to the wharf where Papa had taken her to paddle her feet in the cool water, chase the dragonflies as they danced and skimmed across the tranquil surface. The memories surfaced. Not memories of Papa this time. Jim occupied her thoughts and her dreams.

Safe and secure astride a large bay stallion, the hot sun beating down on her cheek. The warm breeze and the scent of leather, sweat and saddle-soap. All poignant reminders of that one stolen afternoon before the past had caught up with her. Jefferson's steady gait and flawless motion, Jim's warm breath tickling her neck, his fingers light as a feather over her cheek and along her lips. His hard muscles as he pulled her into his arms, holding her firm, drawing her close. A lifetime of regret yawned in front of her.

Goodfellow picked up his pace, sniffing the welcome scent from the river, longing for the cooling relief of the water as much as she did. Summer had taken its toll; the paddocks beyond the lagoon were no longer the verdant green of spring and the ground cracked and crackled as they picked their way along the track. She pulled back on the reins. It was too hot for an old horse, but he had a mind of his own. He broke into a gallop, his mane flicking and the heat from his body permeating hers. Clinging tight to the bridle, and with her legs clamped firmly around his round belly, she gave him his head.

As the wharf came into sight she reined him in and pushed back her hat, wiping the stinging sweat from her eyes. He tossed his head, impatient for the water, for the river.

‘Slow down, old fellow. It's not far.'

The sun hung bright in the sky, a shining yellow orb turning the landscape to gold, creating distorted flickering silhouettes and sparkles that danced on the surface. She squinted into the light.

Another horse frolicked at the water's edge. Poachers? Trespassers? She slid from Goodfellow's back and shaded her eyes. The bridle slipped from her hand and Goodfellow, free at last, kicked up his heels and bolted.

The two horses cavorted and capered at the water's edge, mirror images of each other. India scanned the river, the wharf, the tiny half-moon bay, searching for Jim's familiar long, angular shape. God, how she'd missed him. The force of her longing swept through her heated body. It had been six interminable months. She'd forced his memory away, buried beneath hard work and the day-to-day grind. Now it swelled like a tidal wave ready to consume all in its path.