A Farmer's Choice Read online

  First published in 2018

  Copyright © Fleur McDonald 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone:(61 2) 8425 0100

  Email:[email protected]

  Web:www.allenandunwin.com

  Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available from the National Library of Australia

  www.trove.nla.gov.au

  eISBN 978 1 76063 597 8

  Cover design by Julia Eim

  Cover photographs: iStock

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 1

  1990

  The motorbike pulled up with a spray of gravel in front of the large, lush garden.

  Struggling to her feet, Carlene pulled off her gloves and stood up from the garden bed she was tending. She put her hands on her hips, drawing her brow into a deep frown and wagging her finger in a no-no fashion.

  The rider had a large grin, even though his face was covered with a helmet. Her twenty-three-year-old youngest son always had a smile on his face for her, which matched his easy-going personality and she was so glad to have him home after four years of ag college. He brought a sunniness to the farm which hadn’t been here before he arrived home.

  ‘If you spray anymore gravel towards my garden, David Burrows, I swear you’ll be out there raking it all back by hand. Your brother’s wedding is only days away!’ Carlene doubted he heard her words over the roar of the engine, but she felt compelled to remind him—even though she said it almost every day.

  The farmyard was stunned into silence as Dave killed the engine and pulled off his helmet, still sitting astride the bike. ‘Hi, Mum. Back making everything look perfect again?’

  ‘The garden won’t take care of itself, you know, and Mandy and Dean will be walking down the path in four days! The countdown is on, Dave.’

  ‘I know, I know. But it has to be fifty degrees out here. Surely you could wait until it is cooler. Or at least get the groom-to-be to help you. Come on inside and I’ll pour you a drink.’

  Carlene smiled and watched as Dave got off the motorbike, dressed in shorts and a tank top. His short brown hair was slicked with sweat from where the helmet had sat. She reached out and patted his arm. ‘I think you’re exaggerating about the temperature. That’s very kind of you, darling, but I need to keep on. Have you seen your father?’

  ‘Not since yesterday.’ He kicked the stand of the motorbike down. ‘I’ll bring you out something cold, then,’ he said and bounded up the stone steps into the old homestead.

  Adjusting her wide-brimmed hat, Carlene pulled her gloves on and turned back to the agapanthus she’d been deadheading before Dave had arrived. Thinking about her three boys, she knew that Dave was the most thoughtful out of all of them. And perhaps the most sensitive. Dean, her eldest, was serious and quiet, whereas Adam used his charm and good looks to draw people to him. They were all so different, her boys, but the one thing which linked them together was their vivid blue eyes—that was the one feature she recognised from her side of the family. Their broad foreheads and high cheekbones came from their father, Sam.

  As she thought of her husband, her brow furrowed again and she turned to look out over the paddocks, hoping to see dust rising in the distance. All she saw was a shimmering mirage over the line of hills that bordered their property. The wheat paddocks had all been harvested, and the grain carted to the nearby silos at Northam. Now, the paddocks of golden stalks had ewes grazing in them, instead of large machines, which just days ago had seemed to eat up the wheat as they’d been driven in endless straight lines.

  Dave had made sure the ewes were drenched and ready to put out into these stubbles as soon as the paddocks were harvested, so they wouldn’t need hand-feeding unless the break of the season was late.

  Turning towards the main road, where the cattle should have been camped on the dam in the midday sun, Carlene looked carefully but couldn’t see any dust or cattle chasing the tractor to grab their first sweet mouthful of hay.

  ‘Where are you?’ she whispered to herself, slowly turning in circles, hoping to catch a glint of a vehicle or a cloud of dust.

  Sam hadn’t come home for lunch, which was unusual. Usually she’d hear his heavy footsteps pounding up the garden path at 11.56 am on the dot. That gave him four minutes to get inside, wash his hands and be sitting at the table when the ABC’s Country Hour came onto the wireless. Today, his place at the table had been empty. When she’d walked up to the shearing shed, it had been silent and unoccupied. Further investigation had found his ute was missing too. Perhaps he was out checking waters, or stock. Carlene hoped he wasn’t checking Dave’s work. And, even if he was, it was unlike him to miss lunch.

  She sighed, her secateurs automatically snipping at the long, dry stems of the flowers and piling them up next to her on the lawn. Her instincts told her he was still smarting from last night’s disagreement.

  With all three boys now living and working together at Wind Valley Farm, it was like pups fighting for food, except they were arguing about who should do what and how it should be done. Sam was used to being the boss and didn’t like it when his authority was challenged. All the boys had gone to agricultural college and embraced new ideas for the farm—not necessarily in agreement with each other. Dean was certainly interested in all the innovative new cropping systems, which were now coming into play—things she’d never heard of before like tram lines, nil-till and raised beds. He’d taken a trip to New Zealand with the college and learned about them, bringing the ideas home. Sam had shot his ideas down in flames at first, but gradually, somehow, Dean had been able to talk him around.

  Adam was more interested in the financial side. He’d brought home a new financial program called Agrimaster. No matter how much Adam tried, Sam wouldn’t have anything to do with the large computer, which sat on top of the bench in the kitchen—he certainly wouldn’t allow it in his office.

  The interesting thing Carlene had noticed was that Adam wasn’t at all keen on some of the technology which Dean had brought home. She’d heard him say the raised beds were short-sided and what did they need them in Northam for anyway? It didn’t rain as much as it did in the southern part of Western Australia. Dean had responded that it might help harvest the water and Adam had scoffed.

  Her youngest son Dave seemed to have other ideas—about fixing the place up, making sure that every part of it was operational, then he wanted to research what was best for Wind Valley Farm.

  What was becoming clear was that Sam was stuck in his ways, and didn’t want to change the way he farmed now. What was also apparent was that he would listen, if only half-heartedly, to the two older boys, but he considered that whatever poor Dave had to say wasn’t worth listening to. Why the three boys couldn’t sit down with a beer and talk about what they wanted to achieve was beyond her. The whole situation worried her.

  ‘Here, Mum.’

  Carlene looked up to see Dave carrying two large glasses of lemon cordial. It looked like he’d emptied t
he ice container into the glass!

  ‘Thanks, darling.’ She swiped the sweat from her forehead as she straightened up. ‘I do think I need that drink after all.’

  ‘Come and sit on the verandah for a couple of minutes,’ Dave said. ‘Two minutes break won’t hurt you!’

  ‘Probably not.’

  Together they climbed the stairs and sat on a wooden bench seat. ‘Do you remember helping me paint this chair?’ Carlene asked Dave as she sat down heavily. She didn’t want to admit it, but the heat really was getting to her today.

  ‘Yeah. I think I started it without you knowing and then we had no choice but to finish it.’

  Carlene nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. ‘Yeah, you were always the one who could find trouble.’

  ‘I’m not sure it was completely my fault. If Grandad hadn’t left an open tin and a paintbrush at the door, it probably would’ve never crossed my mind to find something to paint.’

  ‘Your grandfather was tidying up my front door and outside window frames. I’m almost sure he didn’t invite you to paint the seat!’

  ‘No, but I have always liked to help,’ Dave answered, his blue eyes twinkling.

  ‘Isn’t that the truth?’ she said, giving him a loving squeeze.

  ‘Have you got much left to do here, Mum?’ Dave asked, changing the subject. ‘It’s really too hot for you to be working in the middle of the day. It may not be fifty, but it’s certainly over forty degrees.’ He frowned, then muttered, ‘Who’d get married in the middle of bloody summer in the wheat belt?’

  Elbowing him, she answered, ‘Your brother. And the house has to look beautiful for him and Mandy. Have you and Adam been back into town to try your suits on?’

  ‘I’ve organised to go tomorrow. Haven’t talked to Adam since last night.’ He shrugged. ‘His car’s been gone all day, but I didn’t hear him leave this morning.’

  ‘Hmm, I suppose he’s gone to see Tiffany.’ An image of her middle son and his girlfriend came to her—they’d been in the shed with Adam shearing and Tiffany working the board. They’d seemed to work in fluid motion, knowing what each other was doing without having to look. She was sure that match was more suited than Dean and Mandy . . .

  ‘Probably.’ Dave interrupted her thoughts.

  They silently looked across the large lawn and garden, which Carlene had lovingly planted from runners and seeds thirty years ago when she’d been a new bride and Sam had brought her to the farm which had been his parents’. He’d been the last-born child and his parents were elderly and not living on the farm by the time Carlene and Sam had married.

  She looked up at the house, then across the garden with satisfaction. When she’d arrived the whole area had been run-down, paint peeling and no garden to speak of. Now the house was freshly painted and tidy. The garden, well, her friends in the CWA said it could go in the Open Garden scheme, but she didn’t think so. There was still a lot to do before it was that good.

  ‘Remember how you’d always have parts of the garden roped off when you were trying to get the lawn going?’ Dave asked. ‘If we were in there, woe betide us!’

  ‘And more often than not, I’d catch you using the ropes for hurdle practice just before sports day,’ Carlene remembered with a laugh.

  Dave responded, ‘That’s why I always won the race.’

  The multicoloured roses lined the edges of the large garden, with bushes and climbers covering the fence. Tall leafy trees blocked the midday sun from the kitchen and lounge areas of the house. It was a cool sanctuary in the middle of the burning summer heat and would be perfect for Dean’s wedding, she thought.

  ‘When do all of Mandy’s family get here?’ Dave wanted to know. ‘I’ve mowed all the long grass over at the shearers’ quarters, so they should be able to see if there are any snakes around. Can’t wait to see what the city slickers do if they come across one.’

  ‘Hopefully they won’t. I’m not sure Anne would cope.’ She thought back to the previous Christmas when Mandy’s family had spent two days over the festive season with them. Anne had worn white pants and sandals. By morning smoko of the first day, the grey dirt had coated her outfit and she’d managed to get grass seeds under her toes. Since then, this would be their first visit back.

  ‘Do you know what Dad was doing this morning?’ Carlene asked casually. ‘He didn’t come in for lunch.’

  Dave gave a disgruntled snort. ‘He’d never bother to tell me what his plans were. You’re better off asking the other two more important sons.’

  Frustration shot through her. ‘Dave,’ she turned and looked at her son, a stern expression on her face, ‘that’s not how it is and you know it. You’ve all got the same importance in this family and are equal in the business. I don’t understand why you all can’t get along.’ And that includes your father, she thought.

  Dave leaned back against the chair and crossed his arms. ‘I get along with my brothers alright, you know that, Mum. Not as good as you’d like, I know, but we can talk to each other. But Dad? You can deny it all you want and smooth things over when the arguments start, but Dean and Adam are who Dad wants here, not me. He gets their opinions on all of the big decisions, never bothers to ask me. Not since . . .’ He stopped, then looked over at Carlene. ‘Still, it doesn’t bother me too much. I’m farming here on Wind Valley and you know that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.’

  Carlene looked across the paddocks, again, anxiety trickling through her. ‘I know that, son.’

  Chapter 2

  Dave walked into his small bedroom in the shearers’ quarters and slammed the door shut. Fiddling with the knobs on the portable air-conditioner, he used the bucket to pour water into the back of it, then switched it on. He bent down and let the breeze flow onto his face until all the sweat had dried and his body began to cool down.

  Summer in Australia, he thought. Heat, flies and endless sun. Thinking about his mates from ag college, he wondered where they all were. Jimmy was probably still at home on the farm, working his way up the pecking order; and he’d heard Zappa had got a job managing a feedlot in the eastern states.

  Maybe he should call Jimmy. It’d been a while since they’d spoken and he might be having the same problems at home as Dave was having here. Perhaps they could organise a weekend in Perth—head to the OBH and get a skinful. Soak up a bit of sun down at ‘the Cott’. Dave liked Cottesloe beach even though it was always crowded. The water was clear and cold and made for good swimming.

  His eyes wandered across to the faded photo pinned to the wall next to his pillow. It was of Dave five years ago—a skinny, scrawny bloke of eighteen—with his arm around a girl with long curly hair and curves in all the right places. He wondered what Kim was up to now and wished again they hadn’t finished their holiday romance that summer. She’d captivated him from the first time he’d seen her smile and heard her laugh—it had sounded like whiskey, dark chocolate and mischief all rolled into one and Dave wanted to be part of whatever she was involved with.

  That summer had been a big adventure: he’d saved up the money to catch a bus all the way from Perth to Adelaide, where his aunty and uncle had picked him up and driven him two and a half hours north to their farm on the outskirts of Spalding. He and his cousin Kate had spent days riding horses and motorbikes, camping out and alternating between working and playing on the farm. Then the family had all packed up and gone to Wallaroo, on the coast, to their holiday shack. He’d met Kim on the beach. Kim had been wearing a bikini, and although she had curves in all the right places, it’d been her hair and smile that he’d first noticed. Then once he’d heard her laugh, well, there was no going back.

  Having become inseparable for the four weeks he’d been on the coast, his heart had been broken when they’d decided not to try a long-distance relationship. There didn’t seem to be any point, she’d said. He was going to uni to study agriculture and Kim was going back to Barker, where her family lived. They could always write. And they had for a while. Then
the letters had become fewer and, finally, they had stopped altogether.

  He still missed Kim and, since that summer, no other girl had ever turned his head the way she had. Maybe he should write to her and see what she was up to. Or maybe not; finding out Kim had another boyfriend wasn’t something Dave wanted to hear.

  Pulling the chair away from the wall, he turned it around, before sitting down and resting his arms on the back. Dropping his chin down, and putting Kim out of his mind, he thought about last night’s argument with Dad and his mother’s desperate attempts to stop it. Her voice had been full of despair, as if she knew that nothing she said would make any difference.

  ‘Sam, stop. You’ve got to listen to what all the boys have to say, not just the older two,’ she’d said in a calming tone. ‘Don’t you want to keep this operation working well? Somehow you have to find a way to work together, but if you don’t . . . God knows what will happen. Can’t you see that? We’re being torn apart.’

  His father had slammed his fist on the table. ‘Stay out of it, woman!’ he’d roared. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Dave hadn’t been able to stop the anger that had bubbled so violently to the surface. He’d pushed himself out of his chair and launched himself at Sam, stopping inches from his face. ‘Don’t speak to her like that!’ he’d shouted at his father. Then he’d fallen quiet at the sound of his mother crying and begging him to stop. It wasn’t until he’d felt her hand on his arm that he’d walked away.

  Adam and Dean had sat still, not moving. Dean had finally got up and looked at them all, the disgust plain on his face. ‘And to think I want to bring Mandy into a family who behaves like this,’ he’d said, before walking out.

  Dave had looked to Adam for support, but he’d been staring down at the table, his cheeks stained red. From anger or embarrassment, Dave hadn’t been sure. Dave knew he hated the way his father spoke to his mum. Last time he’d tried to talk to Adam about it during the harvest after his father had yelled at Carlene for not having tea on the table at the allotted time, his brother hadn’t responded. Perhaps it had been because he was tired. Or, after this latest confrontation, maybe not. Maybe he agreed, although how Dave couldn’t fathom.