The thumb-high shoots would grow into clusters of white agapanthus. When Ewan had returned from town yesterday, he’d delivered Travis’s latest gifts. When the drought had started, Travis’s generosity had kept her vegetable garden full. Her smile widened. And now he was back in the district he’d again taken to sending her plants via Ewan. Despite his years away, a love of gardening still linked them.
She pulled on her worn leather gloves, grabbed her small spade and continued to prepare a new garden bed. When she’d first arrived at Marellen, Travis had taught her what plants grew where and how to make her small garden at the cottage water-wise. Though she’d been naïve and city-green, he’d spoken to her as an equal, something Fergus hadn’t ever done. But then she’d fallen pregnant, rain had become a distant memory, and everything had changed.
As her stomach grew, marking her as Fergus’s wife, Travis’s visits to Marellen slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Heavily pregnant, she’d bumped into him in town one summer afternoon and he’d gazed at her with his serious hazel eyes and wished her all the best with the twins. On that hot and dizzying day, a part of her had shrivelled and died. It’d felt like he was saying goodbye. Their friendship had provided her with the laughter and emotional support her marriage had lacked. Without Travis to talk to, it was as though a light had switched off in her world.
The next time she’d seen him was when he’d come grave-faced and solemn, to tell her he’d be heading south to set up a crop-dusting business so he could someday buy his own farm. Tish paused in her digging. She hadn’t seen him again until Fergus’s funeral. Travis had guided her through the French doors into the garden and held her under the wisteria-covered pergola until no more tears could fall.
She thrust the spade deep into the friable soil. She might make jokes about Travis and Ewan’s bachelor status but if she was honest with herself, the day Travis married would cut far deeper than losing the husband who’d only ever wanted a trophy wife and never wanted to be a father.
Tish straightened to rub the dull ache in the small of herback. A flash of red and yellow caught her eye and she turned to see two small bodies pushing a sand-loaded dump truck.
‘Boys, you’re not going where I think you are, are you?’
Darby instantly took his hands off the large toy truck while Braye continued to push the laden vehicle.
‘Braye Edward Mackenzie, stop right there. Sand stays in the sandpit and doesn’t go into my pumpkin patch. The soil there is sandy enough as it is.’
She’d spent a day carting horse manure from the pile near the stables to dig into the area and increase the soil’s organic matter.
Braye stopped but his eyes remained on the pumpkin patch at the far edge of the veggie garden. The vast expanse was perfect for making a series of roads in between the rapidly expanding vines.
‘Braye … turn the truck around.’
With an exaggerated sigh, Braye did as he was asked.
Tish repressed a smile. ‘Thank you. When the sand is back in the sandpit, how about you head inside, have a drink and a piece of chocolate slice and then we’ll start the afternoon jobs.’
The boys upended the dump truck in the sandpit and bolted over the lawn towards the back screen door, with brown and white Midget close behind. A plate of sliced oranges sat next to the container of slice but she knew if she used the word ‘fruit’ the boys wouldn’t have abandoned their play so quickly.
She removed her gloves and carried them and the shovel into the potting shed Ewan had custom-built for her. The sun had commenced its downward arc. Holly, the lovable old grey pony, didn’t like being kept waiting for her dinner. If Tish and the boys were late with her bucket of grain, she’d whinny andhit the metal gate with her right front hoof. The chooks, too, would be expecting their afternoon food
She pulled on her worn leather gloves, grabbed her small spade and continued to prepare a new garden bed. When she’d first arrived at Marellen, Travis had taught her what plants grew where and how to make her small garden at the cottage water-wise. Though she’d been naïve and city-green, he’d spoken to her as an equal, something Fergus hadn’t ever done. But then she’d fallen pregnant, rain had become a distant memory, and everything had changed.
As her stomach grew, marking her as Fergus’s wife, Travis’s visits to Marellen slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Heavily pregnant, she’d bumped into him in town one summer afternoon and he’d gazed at her with his serious hazel eyes and wished her all the best with the twins. On that hot and dizzying day, a part of her had shrivelled and died. It’d felt like he was saying goodbye. Their friendship had provided her with the laughter and emotional support her marriage had lacked. Without Travis to talk to, it was as though a light had switched off in her world.
The next time she’d seen him was when he’d come grave-faced and solemn, to tell her he’d be heading south to set up a crop-dusting business so he could someday buy his own farm. Tish paused in her digging. She hadn’t seen him again until Fergus’s funeral. Travis had guided her through the French doors into the garden and held her under the wisteria-covered pergola until no more tears could fall.
She thrust the spade deep into the friable soil. She might make jokes about Travis and Ewan’s bachelor status but if she was honest with herself, the day Travis married would cut far deeper than losing the husband who’d only ever wanted a trophy wife and never wanted to be a father.
Tish straightened to rub the dull ache in the small of herback. A flash of red and yellow caught her eye and she turned to see two small bodies pushing a sand-loaded dump truck.
‘Boys, you’re not going where I think you are, are you?’
Darby instantly took his hands off the large toy truck while Braye continued to push the laden vehicle.
‘Braye Edward Mackenzie, stop right there. Sand stays in the sandpit and doesn’t go into my pumpkin patch. The soil there is sandy enough as it is.’
She’d spent a day carting horse manure from the pile near the stables to dig into the area and increase the soil’s organic matter.
Braye stopped but his eyes remained on the pumpkin patch at the far edge of the veggie garden. The vast expanse was perfect for making a series of roads in between the rapidly expanding vines.
‘Braye … turn the truck around.’
With an exaggerated sigh, Braye did as he was asked.
Tish repressed a smile. ‘Thank you. When the sand is back in the sandpit, how about you head inside, have a drink and a piece of chocolate slice and then we’ll start the afternoon jobs.’
The boys upended the dump truck in the sandpit and bolted over the lawn towards the back screen door, with brown and white Midget close behind. A plate of sliced oranges sat next to the container of slice but she knew if she used the word ‘fruit’ the boys wouldn’t have abandoned their play so quickly.
She removed her gloves and carried them and the shovel into the potting shed Ewan had custom-built for her. The sun had commenced its downward arc. Holly, the lovable old grey pony, didn’t like being kept waiting for her dinner. If Tish and the boys were late with her bucket of grain, she’d whinny andhit the metal gate with her right front hoof. The chooks, too, would be expecting their afternoon food
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