The Wildwood Sisters (7 page)

Already asleep, Pearl didn't reply. Stan stood quietly, making sure to kiss Pearl one more time before he pointed to the door, whispering to Renee that they should head home. She nodded, her pulse quickening with the anticipation of driving through the front gates of Wildwood Acres. She couldn't wait to see what had changed, or if it was still the same as she remembered. The last memory she had of the place she'd spent the first seventeen years of her life was watching through heavy tears as it disappeared into a trail of dust in her rear-view mirror.

Crawling from beneath the comfort of her feather doona, Renee sat up and turned her bedside lamp on, relieved she'd slept through till morning nightmare-free. It was definitely a good sign. Soft light filled the cosy bedroom of the almost one-hundred-year-old home and her gaze flicked over the furniture she'd had as a teenager—a rosewood dressing table, cupboard, drawers and stand-alone mirror.

All her nan and pa's furniture was still the same as when she'd left, except for a few of the whitegoods, notably a you-beaut new double-door ice-making fridge that her pa was extremely proud of. He was flabbergasted by the discovery that a fridge could make ice, and he'd been quick to tell her how when he was a young anklebiter they didn't even have fridges. Renee loved the way he always referred to his childhood when he was speaking about the wonders of the modern day—it was endearing.

In the corner of the room her overstuffed suitcase—which had annoyingly cost her excess at the airport—lay opened on the floor. It would be impossible to close it now—sitting on it had been the only way she had zipped it up in the first place. Her once neatly packed clothes were now in complete disarray after her late night hunt for pyjamas, the two glasses of rum she'd had with her pa while stargazing from the swing chair on the back verandah not aiding her search for sleepwear.

She chuckled to herself, remembering how wobbly she'd been as she'd said goodnight. Not being a big drinker, the rum had gone straight to her head, and her legs. She would pack everything into the cupboard and drawers later, making sure to hide the school yearbooks and scarf she'd brought along. She didn't want her grandparents catching onto the fact she was determined to discover the truth… Otherwise her pa would drag her by the ear and force her onto a plane headed back to Melbourne, with no chance of ever returning.

Pulling her eyes from the suitcase, Renee continued to gaze over her old room. Long gone were the posters of Christina Aguilera, the Dixie Chicks, Shania Twain and Alan Jackson, and instead two of Nan's watercolours hung in pride of place. One was of her pa's old stockhorse Gus, and the other was of the glorious views from the sprawling front verandah of the homestead—the land seeming to drop off the edge of the earth in the distance of the painting. A vase with fresh lavender sat on the dresser—her pa had sweetly remembered they were her favourite—and a large framed photo of her and Scarlet taken when they were sixteen sat beside it.

She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them, her eyes watering as she took in all of Scarlet's now fading features. The two of them had been identical back then, even down to the way they wore their hair—short, shaggy and very bleached blonde. Scarlet looked so happy it made her heart sink. She wondered what her sister would be doing now if she were still alive.

‘I'll find whoever did this to you, sis, I promise. And then you can finally rest in peace,' she whispered, a lone tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. She sniffled and wiped it away with the back of her hand just as the fragrance of frankincense filled the room, so very fleetingly that Renee wondered if she'd imagined it. She sniffed deeply, trying to catch a hint of it again. But she couldn't. Her skin prickled with goosebumps and the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Frankincense had been Scarlet's favourite. She had worn the essential oil as a perfume all the time.

‘Are you here, sis?' Renee murmured as her fingers gripped the pendant around her neck, almost afraid she was going to get a reply. But of course, there was none. She suddenly felt stupid for even asking. The mind was a powerful thing, so it was very possible she had imagined it. Being back in the homestead was obviously triggering memories she'd long ago buried. That made a heck of a lot more sense than believing Scarlet's spirit was still floating around.

Shaking off the weird sensation, Renee turned her attention to the doorway, where there were different coloured pencil marks with either her or Scarlet's names up one side of the doorjamb. Her dad had started the height chart when they were only two years old, and her pa had continued the tradition after their parents had passed away, etching the progress of their growth from toddlers to young women into the homestead's history forever. It was a beautiful thing.

Renee's heart pinched with the memories of her and Scarlet standing up against the wall, most of the time the pair of them giggling madly as either their dad or pa begged them to stand still.

You may technically be the eldest, Reni, but I'm the tallest.

You are not, sis. You're standing on your tippy-toes!

No I'm not, that's just a figment of your imagination.

But you don't reckon I have an imagination, so how could that be?

Ha ha, always the serious one, Reni, that's why I love you.

I love you too, sis. Even when you're standing on your tippy-toes.

Renee sighed despairingly. She wasn't going to allow herself to feel weighed down with the anguish. For if she did, she would send herself spiralling down that awful pain-filled path once again and possibly bring on a return of the debilitating panic attacks she'd experienced all those years ago. As her therapist had told her over and over, she needed to focus on the positives, remember the good times, and rejoice in the lives of those she loved and had lost. She was now home with the two people she loved most in this world, back where she had longed to return to for years, so she was going to try her hardest to focus on that.

Checking the time on her watch, a wisp of a smile tugged at her lips. It was just before six in the morning—almost daybreak. Pa would already be out at work on the station with his six-year-old trusty border collie, Henry, beside him—Renee had met the dog last night and had adored him instantly. Pa had mentioned that he had to fix one of the windmills in the bottom paddock. She had offered to help but he had told her to take some time today to settle in, so she'd organised to join him for smoko. She was delighted she had a few hours to herself to potter around the house and venture outside for a good squiz around.

Four generations of Wildwoods had lived under this roof and made a living off the land and there were so many memories of her own precious time here. A buzz of excitement rushed through her. Having got home in the dark, she'd only caught fleeting glimpses of Wildwood Acres in the headlights of Pa's dependable old Land Cruiser. She couldn't wait for dawn to break so she could finally lay her eyes on the countryside that had stolen her heart all those years ago.

Jumping from the bed, Renee tugged her robe over her pyjamas. Back in the city, she'd hated early mornings, but out here in the country, it was a whole different story. With no traffic noise, pollution or loud neighbours to dull her into being blasé about the undeniable beauty of a sunrise, she got to witness the birth of a brand new day. Padding down the hallway, the old timber floorboards creaking beneath her bare feet, she admired the family photographs hanging on the walls, some colour, and some black and white. She would take time to look at them in more depth later, but for now, she longed to feel the grass and dew between her toes while enjoying her morning cuppa.

Stopping off at the heart of the home—the large galley-style kitchen—Renee switched on the lights and got to making herself a cup of tea, halting to admire her nan's pride and joy, a classic AGA oven. So many mouth-watering meals and gloriously moreish cakes, scones and biscuits had been baked within its cast-iron doors. At the centre of the kitchen sat a lengthy island bench with bar stools lined down one side of it, the timber top worn beautifully over the years from her nan's passion for cooking. Near the huge double window, with a scenic view to die for, was an eight-seater dining table, the same table she and Scarlet used to sit at with Mum and Dad. In a book stand, open to a page with a recipe for raspberry white chocolate cheesecake, sat a Country Women's Association cookbook. Above this, a myriad of well-used copper pots hung from a reclaimed-timber pot hanger, and off to the side of the kitchen was shelving that housed at least a hundred other cookbooks. Her nan loved getting cookbooks for presents, and they had added up over the years—Renee religiously buying her one every birthday and Christmas.

While waiting for the kettle to boil, she wandered into the walk-in pantry, her mouth watering at the sight of the endless delectable goodies on its shelves. Jams, relishes and every type of pickled vegetable sat waiting to be devoured, and the herb and spice rack was something to be envious of. Licking her lips, she spotted her nan's old biscuit tin in the exact same place it had always been.

She smiled to herself. Not a lot had changed around here, and that in itself was extremely comforting—she needed familiar comforts to ease her through her first few days. Grabbing the tin, she popped open the lid, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree upon discovering it was filled with her favourites—homemade macadamia shortbreads. She eagerly took two to enjoy with her tea. Not the healthiest of breakfasts, but yummy all the same.

Cuppa and bickies in hand, Renee wandered through the warm and welcoming lounge room which smelt a little of leather from the laundry-cum-tack-room beside it, and towards the back door, admiring the big open fireplace along the way. It didn't get used much, the weather on the Atherton Tablelands usually warm enough without it, but when they did have the occasional cold snap her pa was always keen to stoke it up. She and Scarlet had spent many a night by the fire with their grandparents over the years, toasting marshmallows, sharing yarns and telling jokes. Those were the kind of memories she would be forever grateful for.

Stepping outside, the view stole her breath instantly. She paused as the screen door closed softly behind her, unable to move, her eyes filling with happy tears, the beauty of Wildwood Acres somehow otherworldly. Her hand fluttered to her chest and she shook her head in wonder. How had she survived staying away from such a heavenly place so long?

She wandered dreamily to the swing chair and eased herself down, completely captured by what was unfolding before her. The atmosphere felt acutely alive, the energy around her filling her spirit with the kind of vitality she'd been craving. A slight mist lingered above the lush green grass, the sky partly cloudy with patches of powdery blue peeking teasingly through. Off in the distance, a stand of ghost gums and a slowly revolving windmill stood like towering shadows contrasted against the first rays of light as, like a chivalrous bow, night began to give way to day. Like the burning red and orange embers of a fire, the sun rose slowly amongst the coal grey clouds, sending hues of pink and auburn throughout the blue. It was like watching a well-choreographed dance as the elements of the earth came together in a spectacular show worthy of a standing ovation. And stand she did.

The horses in the paddock opposite the homestead whinnied and snorted as they, too, welcomed the new day. Renee's heart sang at the sight of her old chestnut stockhorse, Jackson. He was close to seventeen now, and retired from station duties, happily living his days out grazing and sleeping. Her pa said he and Mick took him out occasionally, just to keep him on his toes, but he preferred to use his own horse, Gus. She couldn't wait to go and give Jackson a good brush down while breathing in his glorious horsy scent. Jackson had always been extra keen on being groomed. She wondered if he'd remember her.

With the landscape now bathed in golden sunlight, she stood and made her way down the five front steps and towards the horses, the earth beneath her bare feet pulsing with life and filling her with the kind of peace that she'd found impossible to ever feel within the grip of the city. Until now, she really hadn't realised how much she had missed the sensation of being at one with the earth. After all the years of stress over coming back here, the sense of feeling at home took her by surprise. Wherever she gazed, she was completely captured by the beauty surrounding her. It just felt so good to be able to walk out the front door and feel grass beneath her feet, instead of cement, and to see glorious rolling land instead of building after building. Here, in the heart of the country, she couldn't help but look forward to her day.

First, she was going to go say hello to her horsey mates, and then after a shower she was going to pop over to the workers' quarters and say a quick g'day to Mick before she met her pa for smoko.

Pa had warned her that Mick was a little on the grumpy side at the moment—a result of the sixty-two-year-old stockman finding himself cooped up all day long when being used to working the land day in day out—but she didn't mind. After forty-four years of loyal service at Wildwood Acres, Mick was like an uncle to her. The old bushy was as tough as nails on the outside, but a big softy on the inside. It was such a shame he'd never got married, but he was happy that way.

After nine years away, she was looking forward to giving him a hug—he'd always been a champ at bear hugs. Drawing in a lungful of fresh air, she smiled broadly as she bounced across the dew-covered front lawn and towards Jackson, feeling like today she was ready to face whatever the universe wanted to throw her way.

Admiring the blanket of flickering stars in the velvet-black sky while noticing they all looked way brighter and bigger than he'd ever seen before, Dylan strolled from where he'd just parked his Land Cruiser in the machinery shed and made his way up to the front door, being careful to remove his boots before he stepped inside. It had rained for half the afternoon, leaving him grottier than usual. Shelley would kick his butt if he walked mud in on her freshly cleaned floors. He grinned as he imagined her giving him a serve. She was so adorable when she was angry.