Embracing Change (18 page)

Saturday 30th August

Sarah slipped outside to the summer house, carrying a warm blanket to wrap around her knees. The first signs of spring were apparent in buds and delicate colours, but the air was cold. She arranged herself on the bench and opened her journal, laying it out in front of her. She’d written more than usual over the last couple of weeks, partly from frustration, partly to try and analyse her feelings. Writing had always been a release for her emotions.

She flipped the pages back to the 9th of August:

Joel kissed me tonight. I wasn’t expecting it and don’t think he was either. It just happened as a natural outflow of the day and what we’d experienced together. It was a beautiful kiss, long, tender and passionate, but I can’t believe I responded the way I did. What would Luke think if he could see me? I’m at my wits’ end right now—unsure of what to do next. Are things going to be weird when I next see Joel?

She turned the page to August 11th.

Joel called this morning and asked if we could talk tonight. I knew why and also felt it was necessary. He came after dinner and we went for coffee in town where he told me a whole lot of stuff about liking me but not being able to move on for two reasons:

1. I’m still in love with Luke

2. I’m not a Christian

What a pompous male! I don’t know what I ever saw in him. Actually, that’s putting it politely. He’s the one who initiated the kiss; he’s the one who persisted in getting to know me. Now he ‘dumps’ me, when he’s the one who started it all. I was so surprised that I didn’t really know what to say or do. The evening ended on a very awkward note.

She kept reading, and browsed through several more entries:

Maybe I was a little harsh about Joel—after all, I did respond to his kiss and it did feel good. With regards to his reasons for putting brakes on, I can see his point about Luke. My whole life has been centred around losing him, centred around dealing with the loss. Hard as it is, I know I need to start moving on.

I packed Luke’s photograph away today. I wrapped it up in a silk scarf and bubble wrap and put it in the corner of my bedroom cupboard. I don’t think he would want me to mourn forever. He wasn’t that type of man. I asked God to tell him I was sorry and that he would always carry a piece of my heart.

Talking of God, I’m still angry that Joel has set me aside just because I’m not a so-called Christian. I haven’t said the little prayer that they use at his church—the one inviting Jesus into your heart, but at least God and I are talking these days. I’m still cautious about making a commitment, but I’m interested.

One thing is for sure. If I do decide to become a Christian, it will be because I want to, not because Joel expects me to.

I keep reading my past entries and my mind keeps changing. I haven’t seen Joel for over a week, but the memory of his kiss is as clear as ever. I miss him, his endearing smile, his boyish ways, and hair that curls over his collar. I’ve thought of calling him a dozen times but I can’t do it. I’ve tried to pour my heart into my work but there’s a hollow space inside me. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Eighteen days since the kiss. I haven’t seen Joel at all, but feel stronger inside. I’ve been reading the Bible he gave me—I love Psalm 91. That’s the psalm I was thinking of, that day in the reserve. The words are very meaningful and I feel encouraged every time I read them. I might go to church this week. It’s a while since I went and I’d like to hear Dennis speak again.

Joel stopped in today and we talked for a few minutes. Things aren’t the same, but they’re better than they were three weeks ago. He asked if we could still be friends and I said we could. He reminded me of his promise to take me to watch the sheep shearing and asked if I can make time tomorrow. Apparently they’re almost finished and it’ll be my last chance this year.

“Sarah?” She looked up to see Joel standing in the back garden. “I thought I might find you here.”

She closed her journal, hoping he hadn’t noticed her flaming cheeks, and gathered the blanket up. “You’re early.”

“A little.”

His smile warmed her from inside. “Let me grab my stuff and we can go.”

“You’re sure it won’t mess up your work?”

“I put in some hours last night so I’m up-to-date.” She took the journal to her room and stowed it under the shirts in her chest of drawers before picking up her bag and an extra set of clothes. “Is Shelley coming?”

“She wouldn’t miss a farm visit for the world.”

“The snow’s still thick on the mountains,” Sarah commented once they were out on the open road.

“It is. It’s not unusual to get spring snow either. We’ve even had snow in Christchurch in September.”

Sarah leaned back in the seat. “I love the snow. It’s such a novelty for me.”

The time passed quickly and the awkwardness between them melted away with the kilometres. “I never really thanked you for coming to look for me that day,” she said, shortly before they reached the farm. “I really do appreciate it.”

Joel smiled. “Anytime,” he said.

The farm was bubbling with activity, in sharp contrast to Sarah’s last visit. “We’ll go straight down to the wool shed,” Joel said. “Mom will be down there with the men. Just be prepared for the smell—it’s not pleasant.”

Sarah had come dressed in old clothes, as Joel had recommended, and she noticed he was wearing old jeans with holes in the knees and a scruffy jersey and T-shirt. “Are you going to help with the shearing?”

“I sheared all last weekend, and I’ll do a couple of hours now.”

“How long does it take to shear a sheep?”

“An experienced shearer takes two to three minutes.”

“How many is that a day?”

“Two hundred plus, depending on the hours worked.”

The holding pens were packed with sheep, pushing and butting as a farm hand herded them through to the shearers. The stench inside the shed caught Sarah by surprise, even after Joel’s warning; an unpleasant mix of ammonia, dung and lanolin.

“Eew! I see what you mean about the smell.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Joel laughed. “It wears off after a while. Come and watch the shearers.” There were three of them at work, including his dad, and a couple of other workers were throwing the fleeces, or grading and baling them. Joel’s mom was busy sweeping the floor. She waved at them and indicated she’d see them once she finished her job.

“Come over here.” Joel led Sarah to a spot where she could see exactly what was happening. “The shearer will always start by getting the sheep on its back. It becomes passive in that position and won’t struggle. Then they start by shearing the belly wool.”

Sarah watched as the man lifted a set of electric clippers attached to a pole in the roof and started sweeping them along the sheep. The wool fell away in long strips that hung together, forming a fleece.

“I didn’t realise the sheep were so big,” she said, watching as the shearer shifted it round to cut the wool from its back leg.

“They’re heavy, too.” He pointed to the next shearer, who was just rolling a sheep onto its back. “Watch the way they cut. The belly wool comes off first, followed by the crutch, then the left back leg, over the tail, up the brisket, the neck, ear and under the chin, then the left shoulder, and roll the sheep to expose the back. Long sweeps over the right shoulder and side, and finish with the back leg.” His commentary ended as the shearer pushed the shorn sheep onto its feet and pulled the next one onto its back.

“Incredible. They’re so quick!”

“Hello, dears.” Joel’s mother came up behind them. “Good to see you both.”

Joel gave her a hug and a kiss, and Sarah embraced her.

“Are you going to shear, Joel?”

“Yep, I’ll give Dad a break. Is there anything Sarah can do to help? She’s wearing old clothes, so don’t worry about that.”

“She can help me in the kitchen. You know how hungry the men get when they’re shearing.”

Joel stripped his jersey off and went to relieve his dad.

“Watch him shear a couple of sheep, then come find me in the kitchen.” His mom winked at Sarah.

“Thank you.” Sarah turned to watch as Joel took the shears from his dad and effortlessly rolled a sheep onto its back, sliding the cutters up its belly. His muscles rippled beneath the old T-shirt and his face was set with concentration. Sarah could have watched all day, but after three sheep she turned to go to the farmhouse.

“No airy-fairy food for these men.” Izzy pulled a mound of grilled steaks from the oven. “Can you butter these rolls, Sarah, and I’ll assemble them?” She grabbed a bowl of lettuce and tomato from the fridge. “Sorry for the rush, but shearing season is always frantic.”

They worked in tandem, with Sarah stacking the rolls into plastic boxes.

“That should do it. Let’s take them down to the men.” They picked up a box each and walked towards the woolshed.

“Do you ever get used to the smell?” Sarah asked.

“Not really. It’s pretty putrid, isn’t it?” She walked inside and banged an old gong attached to the wall. Within moments the sound of machinery ceased, and shorn sheep went skittering into the pens. “Food’s ready,” she called. “Come and help yourselves!”

Joel had his shirt off now, and Sarah watched as he moved towards them. He was tanned, even though it was winter, and his chest swelled into muscle from narrow hips. He needed a hair cut, but the blonde curls hanging on his neck suited him.

“Penny for them,” Joel’s mother chuckled as a flush rose up Sarah’s neck. “I’m just teasing.” She hugged Sarah as she passed her to sort out the men. “Go and wash your hands before you put them near my food!” she instructed sharply.

Joel came over to Sarah. “Hope she’s not bossing you around as well.”

“Not at all. We’re getting along very well.”

“Sweet as.”

By the end of the afternoon Sarah had thrown her first fleece, and received an in-depth lesson on grading the wool. Joel offered to let her shear a sheep but she only agreed to cutting a strip off its back—and that was with him helping her. Even so, she was filthy and smelly at the end of it all.

“There’s an outside shower for the men,” Joel’s mother told her, “but you come and use the one in the house.” It was spacious, like the rest of the rooms, and Sarah luxuriated in the hot water that washed away the filth and excrement.

“I feel much better now,” she thanked Izzy, “but I’m exhausted. I think I’ll sleep all the way back to Christchurch.”

“You’d better not,” came Joel’s voice as he walked into the kitchen. “Shelley’s not much of a conversationalist.”

“I’ll do my best,” she teased him in return, relieved that their friendship was back on track. That the easy banter was once again flowing.

The only big difference was that Joel was keeping away physically. Apart from helping her shear the sheep’s back, he hadn’t touched her once.

Chapter Twenty Five

Life is full of twists and turns and I’ve given up trying to predict what’s next.

From the journal of Sarah Johnson

Tuesday 7th October

The e-mail was waiting when Sarah awoke on the first Tuesday of October.

My Dearest Sarah,

Dlamini is back in jail. Unfortunately he killed a man before he was caught. I’ve attached the clipping for you to read. I’ll be in touch soon.

Much love, Dad

Sarah clicked on the attachment.

Hijacker Captured after 8 Weeks at Large

Sipho Dlamini is back under lock and key after a failed hijacking attempt this morning. He forced an unnamed motorist off the road in central Johannesburg but did not realise he was dealing with an off-duty policeman. A struggle ensued, resulting in the policeman being shot through the right lung and Dlamini being knocked unconscious seconds later. The policeman died at the scene and Dlamini has been returned to Stanmore after a few hours of observation in a prison hospital. He is expected to appear in court later this month on charges of murder and hijacking.

Sarah lay back in bed, laptop on her knees.
How do I feel about this? Gutted for the family of the policeman. Relieved Dlamini is off the streets.
She was pleased he was back in jail … but it didn’t feel as sweet as she imagined it would. In fact the news uncapped fresh bitterness.
Why now?
I’m finally learning to move on and put the past behind me and now this happens.
It felt as though someone had ripped a scab off a newly healed wound.
They should have executed him when they had the chance. If he gets out again, he’s going to keep on killing and hurting.