Unexpected Delivery Read online

  Overwhelming fatigue hit her. This fight had grown old and she had no energy left to devote to it. In between tugging on strands of her loose hair, twirling it so violently it had started to knot, she rubbed her fingertips along the antique side-table. It bought her strange pleasure to trace the smooth and polished top. It had to be a traditional and restored Queen Anne piece. She loved the Queen Anne hutch she had at home. It had been her grandmother’s and was one of her most treasured possessions. Sagging deep into the recess of the chair, defeat took her by surprise and seeped into her veins, spreading through her body like fire. Her lungs were empty, struggling to replenish with air. Being alone became her only mechanism of protection. Alone, she didn’t fear men or give them the chance to control her actions and words.

  How had she got it so wrong this time? How had she let her barriers down? Her fingers tapped the table.

  No, that wasn’t fair. Daniel was different. But perhaps, deep down all men had the same genes, same testosterone desires and issues. He didn’t act like other men she knew: over-confident with tough male bravados always on show and softer sides kept for the privacy of behind doors. And, what made it all the worse, she still longed for his tight embrace and those full lips against her cheek. But how could she trust him when he’d reverted to brutish behaviour the moment things had gone wrong?

  Worse—how could he ever trust her when she’d lied to him?

  Sick of sitting around feeling sorry for herself, Vivienne grabbed her purse, sunglasses and turned off her mobile phone. Then she fled.

  ***

  “Sarina, honey, run over and check the chickens. Colton’ll feed the goats before we head up to check if we’ve got any new arrivals today.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” Sarina skipped across the field to the chicken coop where the twelve hens clucked at her arrival, hoping to scour a scrap or two.

  Scarlett and Big Red chased Westie, their rescue dog. Westie’s little legs were not able to move fast enough to heed them off. The dog was small, white and fluffy, to the other dog’s long legs and lavish manes. Westie would be brave until the edge of the garden, but contact with cows was not her preferred sport. Daniel had not wanted a third dog and not one with issues having come from the rescue shelter. But little Sarina had worked her charm on her father and home had come the tiny bundle of trouble. He had to admit the ball of fun had brought lots of joy.

  “C’mon Maisy. Good girl, get along will you. Daisy and Yates and Winston, c’mon, feed time.” The pet goats followed Colton into their compound for their morning feast.

  Daniel strained his eyes against the morning glare to see if any babies had arrived overnight. The cows would seek out the sanctuary of the warm shed if birthing, but you never knew. He couldn’t spot any at this range.

  “Look, Daddy, six eggs!”

  “Only six! Which hen is not laying?” he joked ruffling Sarina’s blonde locks.

  “I bet it’s Gnome. It’s always Colton’s hen, she’s lazy.”

  “She is not. She lays all the time. Plus, she’s white. How many white eggs do you have?” Colton said.

  Sarina observed the eggs secure in her wicker basket. “Um, one, only one white egg,” she declared confidently.

  “Let me see,” her brother yanked the basket closer to him for inspection. “There’s two, see? That means she’s laid one today and possibly last night. The other chickens lay brown eggs, Sarina,” he said in not an unkindly manner, educating his sister.

  “Where are the ducks, Dad?”

  Daniel looked around him. “Can’t see them, son, must be down by the water. Scatter their food and I’m sure they’ll come running.”

  Corn kernels met the wind and dispersed across the side yard mixing with the nuts fallen from the Bunya trees; the birds might get to them first.

  “Okay, you two; everyone fed and happy?”

  “Yep!”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Dad, do you think there’ll be any new calves today?” Sarina asked as she gripped his hand for the slight incline walk. She’d always been more affectionate than her brother.

  “I can’t see any from here. But, you know, they do often go to the shed or barn to have their pups, it’s nicer for them.”

  “They’re not pups,” she giggled. “Westie is a pup. C’mon, Scarlett I’ll race you.” And she raced ahead chasing after the dogs. When she caught up with them, the dogs bowled her over, all arms and legs until she rolled in the crisp grass.

  “There’s the young calf, Colton. See over there, kneeling beside her mother. She’s having her breakfast, too.” Daniel pointed to one side of the approaching paddock.

  “She’s gonna be a beautiful cow, Dad.”

  Daniel looked at him and regarded his serious face.

  Did he need to be worried about Colton? He’d always fussed over Sarina; girls needed their mother. But Colton talked with confidence, had many friends and turned out to be an ace footballer.

  “You know, Dad, Scott at school said the other day that you’re mad for letting robots milk your cows . . .”

  Uh huh.

  “He did, did he? And what did you say?”

  “He started imitating the robots, all stupid-like and the other kids laughed, thinking it funny. I just walked away.”

  His wife’s influence; hadn’t he taught the kid to stand up for himself? But what did that mean? Yelling at women until their face contorted with fear? A malaise ran through him as he remembered Vivienne’s reaction. He had acted appallingly and he knew it. But admitting that was hard and even harder—doing something about it. His gut roiled at the thought of him racing into her home and speaking to her like he had. Of course, the kid responded the right way. Daniel pushed all those emotions to the side. He needed to focus on Colton. “Next time, when you get the chance, you can tell him why we do it; how happy our cows are compared to other dairy cows.” He checked on Sarina and kept walking. “You understand, don’t you, that this is revolutionary, what we’re doing here? It’s the new age of milking and eventually everyone will realise they should have been doing it years ago.”

  “Is that right, Dad?”

  “Too right it is! Besides, Scott’s Dad would get up, what, before five every morning to go out and hook up the milking machines to his cows, right? I get to sleep in ‘til seven because our cows get milked when they want!”

  Colton laughed at his father’s antics.

  He turned the boy to face down hill. “Look in the milking shed now. You can just see it from here. There’s a few cows on the Lely. Their udders must be full and it’s time for them to be milked. They don’t need a silly old farmer like me telling them the best time to be milked, do they? Look around the paddock, other cows aren’t ready yet, or maybe they’re a bit lazy.” He playfully punched his son on the shoulder. “But they will milk today. They need to, that’s what they do.”

  Both paused, deep in thought.

  “Colton, our cows produce large quantities of milk because of the conditions they live in. They graze the pastures, come out of the sun if it’s too hot in summer, lay on comfortable mats, and feed and eat when they want. It’s all scientific see, just like people, we function better when we’re happy, don’t we?”

  A fire burned alight in Daniel’s belly. “How often do Scott’s cows get sick?”

  Colton shrugged and didn’t answer.

  “I hear it happens.”

  “Yeah, but that’s normal isn’t it, even people get sick.”

  “Yes, I guess they do, same analogy. If we look after ourselves it reduces our chances of falling unwell. Same for the cows, except we are obliged to care for them. Each time one of our cows stands on those scales ready for milking, the machine automatically checks their weight, checks the temperature of their milk, and more importantly we can see if they have any diseases. Plus, it checks how good the milk is.”

  The boy nodded. “Yep, I get that, Dad. Sort of like a doctor’s visit each time they milk, right? Scott also said that we’d
go under while his farm would survive. What did he mean by that?”

  The old churning returned to Daniel’s chest. It swirled like a washing machine going into spin drive around his arteries.

  “He’s just being silly, isn’t he, mate? We make loads of milk and cheeses and sell them to Rosebrooke. How much money do we need anyway?”

  The boy smiled. “Enough for a new pair of Nike footy boots?” He ducked under his Dad’s hand as it swatted at him.

  “Get away with you.”

  As Colton ran away, he shouted behind him. “Can’t see any other calves, Dad, can you?”

  Daniel strained his neck for little animals having just arrived into the world.

  “Look over, there. It’s Betsy, she’s waiting to give birth and she’s still as full as a goog. No baby yet.”

  “There’s another one too, isn’t there?”

  “Yep, another one or two, I think, I probably need to go out and check the pastures for sure.”

  “I’ll help you later,” his son said as he greeted his sister who was slowly making her way through the fence toward the young animal. It had wandered away from its mother seeking entertainment from the two noisy children. They were all familiar with each other from the children’s frequent visits. The calf nuzzled their necks whilst they scratched its belly.

  When would the pain end?

  If it wasn’t the kids at school questioning his choices, it was the bank and another million people lined up to scorn him. Had he been a fool? Sarah had never thought so, but she’d had unwavering faith in him and a positive outlook on life. Not even that had been able to save her.

  Looking upon his two children playing with the calf, he knew in his gut, his everywhere, that he was doing the right thing. He continued with the best option for all of them, the cows included. He’d never have hatched this half-baked scheme if he hadn’t done his research. Robotic milking of cows was the future. It was just taking time for everyone else to catch up. Old habits die hard, his father had said, and even he, who’d farmed for generations, had accepted modern times.

  If he failed and lost his farm, they’d be laughing at him soon enough. Modern environmental farming would be mocked because he’d stuffed up. There would be plenty of ‘I told you so’ then. He just needed more distributors and places prepared to sell his range. That would be his plan—he’d turn his mind to that—develop a new distribution strategy, and think of other unique ideas. He’d ask Ned, too.

  “Hey, Dad,” Sarina called him over. “Look at the four white feet. Isn’t she beautiful? Can’t we keep her near the house? Can she be my pet?”

  “Pet?” Daniel admonished. “Firstly, you have Westie, Scarlett, Big Red, the goats, the chickens and ducks and you want her too?”

  His daughter nodded and her curls bounced.

  “But, Si Si,” he used his pet name for her. “She needs to be near her Mama. Her Mama will get real sad if she can’t find her baby.”

  Gently patting the calf one last time, Sarina’s face fell at the realisation of taking a baby away from its mother. “Yes, you’re right, Dad, a child cannot be without its mother.”

  His heart cracked all over again.

  Shaking off nostalgia—he’d become adept at that—Daniel roused the children. He could be fantastic at ignoring the issues knocking around in his head and the knot low in his tummy. It paid to be positive, didn’t it? In some vague faraway place, he knew he had to apologise to Vivienne. He’d leave that for another day.

  “Let’s get down and check on the milking cows and then after lunch,” he punched his fist in the air with excitement, “it’s footy time!”

  “Yeah!” yelled his son.

  “Dad,” commiserated his daughter, “I guess I’ll be playing dolls then.”

  Chapter Eight

  Vivienne could not smell manure, or crisp green apples or any scent in the air other than salt. It licked at her skin in the beachside town, only an hour from Rosebrooke. Amazing what a little distance could do, it changed everything. She woke refreshed and closer to her normal self. Her sleep had been dark and dreamless, just how she liked it.

  Of course, being with her sister and having her unwavering support, helped.

  It still amazed her, that word—sister.

  “Hello. Sleep well?” The gorgeous waif of a woman embraced her causing the invasive thoughts to explode into atom bombs and disappear into the earth’s atmosphere. No doubt they would collide back to Earth with alarming speed, but for the moment Vivienne would enjoy the vast room they left behind.

  “Aunty V.” A toddler scrambled at her feet, hands held aloft, demanding to be picked up. Like Vivienne, Gigi had red hair, the only other trace of it in the family. After placing the child back down onto the sandy beach, Vivienne stretched her arms, easing the aches out of her body. Despite the sun high in the sky, it didn’t provide any warmth. And, coupled with the gentle breeze, goose pimples straddled her arms and legs. Vivienne wrapped her arms around herself to trap in the warmth.

  “Aunty V, you are still in your PJs. I dare you to go and jump in the surf!” Riley, eight, beamed at her, knowing adults could never be so foolish.

  Rarely did Vivienne allow a moment to overtake her and never without any pre-thought. Standing on the beach with her sister and children, she felt freer, wanted to be fun, and wanted to do the unexpected. Slipping off the slippers that she’d kept on her feet, she grabbed Riley by the arm and ran with him toward the water squealing with delight all the way. As a strong swimmer, Vivienne didn’t hesitate to dive in at the first opportunity. Riley followed.

  “You’re mad. I’ve got my swimmers on and I’m already wet. Your clothes are soaked!” Whilst he admonished her, admiration sat on his young face. Before long his brother, Tom, and sister, Giselle joined in, allowing Bec, Vivienne’s sister a quiet rest on the shore—a break from her demanding family. Dragging herself and her soaked clothes from the surf an age later, Vivienne noticed a picnic breakfast of croissants, juice and coffee had arrived. “Jeez, Bec, this is decadent. Please tell me you don’t do this everyday?” Vivienne said as she reached for an almond croissant and a coffee.

  “No. Are you kidding? Usually we roll out of bed, stay in our PJs for hours watching T.V. We don’t do anything so productive or useful as this most Sunday mornings. The kids wanted to bring you to the beach and they couldn’t wait. So, I told them to come down and you’d be here as soon as you woke up—and here you are.” Her smile held no judgement even though Vivienne’s arrival last night in a flurry and refusing to talk, must have caused concern.

  “What about the coffee and food? Where did that come from?”

  “Todd had to go and do an early job this morning. He arrived home while you were swimming and delivered all this.” She spread her arm across the picnic laid out on the rug. “Aren’t we lucky?”

  “You are lucky, dear sister. What a man!”

  “Aw, shucks, Vivienne, love ya too,” said the man himself, changed into board shorts and sun-shirt despite the spring air. Vivienne leapt up, excited to see him. Todd kissed her on both cheeks. His tradesman roots did not give away his cultural side, plus he’d do anything for a laugh.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Aunty Vi! Aunty Vi!” Three cherub faces surrounded her. “Let’s play. Come and build sandcastles with us. We’ve already started. Riley is digging the moat, I’m going to do the drawbridge and Giselle, well, she’ll probably just wreck it,” exclaimed Tom, aged six, and standing so close to her she could smell the croissant on his breath.

  “Oh my gosh, that sounds amazing! But only if I can be the princess that lives in the castle, okay?”

  “But you can’t live there, it’s too ‘ittle,” Giselle mumbled. That kid was smart.

  “Okay, I get to decorate it then with loads of seaweed and shells and flowers.”

  Arms pulled her up. Vivienne looked back at Rebecca; a rueful grin greeted her that said later sister. It amazed her how cathartic children could be. Viv
ienne realised as a child she must have provided that release for her mother. Frightening, it must have been, but those moments where she had to focus on her daughter, where she depended on her, needed her must have been her mother’s salvation.

  Together she and the children dug, carved, smoothed over bumps and lumps of sand, fought off random waves and took great pride in the creation made near the water’s edge. The activity cleansed Vivienne’s soul and mind and equipped her to tackle all range of issues with her sister. And she knew she’d have to. But that’s why she’d come right? Morning turned to midday as they dragged themselves off the beach. The sun sat high now, beating down its rays and cancer stings as Rebecca placed lost hats on heads and located buried sun-shirts.

  “I’m exhausted!” Vivienne collapsed into the nearest comfy lounge chair back at the house.

  “Huh!” Rebecca snorted as she rinsed swimmers, hung up wet towels, separated fighting siblings and started prepping for lunch. Mothers were amazing.

  Vivienne realised how selfish she’d been and got up.

  “Go and have a shower, do whatever you need to. I’ll make lunch. Just tell me what the kids will have.”

  “Uh! That would be great. I’ve sand everywhere and would love to rinse it off before the end of the day. There’s fresh ham and bread but just check with each of them before you make the sandwich, they are particular. We’ll just have a salad. Sound okay?” Bec said.

  “Sounds perfect,” Vivienne replied. “You go and do what you need to and it’ll be ready when you are finished. Did I spy white wine chilling in the fridge? We’ll open that too.”

  ##

  Sunday afternoons were meant to be lazy. You’d hope it’s the end of a great weekend, and a relaxing introduction to the new week.

  “Are you heading back to Brissy this afternoon?”