Read Online Hope's Road by Margareta Osborn - Free Book Online
Authors: Margareta Osborn
Tags: Fiction
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Billyâs mother wasnât around so Hunter must have left her or something. Heâd been here for about six months but she hadnât sighted him much. Hadnât even known theyâd turned up until one day she saw Billy waiting for the bus down at the intersection of Hopeâs Road and the NarreeâLake Grace roads. The boy sure as heck hadnât come from Joeâs place so that left only one option. The old Hunter joint. Lucy hadnât been able to shed any light on the details: Travis Hunter preferring to keep to himself, which nearly killed Lucy as she loved a good gossip. Especially about someone so enigmatic.
Crikey, what must that man think of her now? She had no right to blow up at him like that. Just all this stuff with Shon, then Billy arriving and looking like a little lost soul. Damn it! Didnât that man see what he was doing to his son? The kid was desperate for love, for a father. And where the hell was he? Up the bush playing with dogs. He left Billy alone for hours on end. No wonder the child looked feral half the time â though that appearance belied the guts of it. The boy was capable of a lot. He was intelligent, loved words, loved learning but just not in the traditional way. Billy really needed a schoolroom set in the scrub, one that was part of the environment. To learn by doing in the real world rather than by rote in a stuffy Âclassroom.
And Tammy couldnât shake off the feeling there was something else wrong with the boy. He was so bright but sometimes couldnât get really simple stuff through his head. Something was holding him back. She just couldnât put her finger on what it was.
Whatever, she needed to apologise to Travis Hunter. Sheâd had no right to meddle in affairs that werenât anything to do with her. She had enough troubles of her own. Sheâd go later this evening, after sheâd finished her jobs and had tea. Shon was staying in Cann River in far East Gippsland tonight, so she didnât have to concern herself about him coming home.
It was around seven-thirty when Tammy let herself out her back door, gathering up the paperwork sheâd found printed beside a humming computer. She decided to walk. The night was bright with a full moon and it would do her good to trudge up that hill. Sheâd had a shower, slapped some concealer around her eye to blot out the bruise, donned a pair of clean Wranglers, a soft blue shirt and her Redback boots. Leaving her hair to float around her shoulders to dry, she walked down her driveway and along Hopeâs Road, hesitating as she got to the low level crossing. Up on the bank of the Backwater Creek and casting dark shadows in the moonlight was a decrepit bark structure. It had once been a hut for an elderly prospector named Cecil Du Pont. Such an auspicious name for a vagabond who lived in hope of finding gold.
She walked on, around the corner and then through Travis Hunterâs front gateway. As she climbed the hill, she started to puff and wondered at her stupidity. She should have brought the ute. Damn. So much for feeling cool and fresh. She was sweating and cursing as she topped the rise that led to the house yard.
A smart red car sat in the drive. She hadnât pegged Travis Hunter as the owner of a girly car like that. She slid past the vehicle where it sat shining in the moonlight, let herself in through the garden gate and walked onto the old wide verandah. She spotted a beer fridge, dog kennel, and a blackened metal washing machine inner drum that had seen better days. It was stacked with firewood. Obviously the drum was all ready to be set out in the yard and lit on a clear night, so you could watch satellites, cook jaffles, drink beer and pretend you were camping up the bush. Tammy felt a stab of jealousy. She wished Shon enjoyed doing that type of thing. She used to do it as a kid with her grandfather. Cook marshmallows and draw pictures in the sky with the end
Crikey, what must that man think of her now? She had no right to blow up at him like that. Just all this stuff with Shon, then Billy arriving and looking like a little lost soul. Damn it! Didnât that man see what he was doing to his son? The kid was desperate for love, for a father. And where the hell was he? Up the bush playing with dogs. He left Billy alone for hours on end. No wonder the child looked feral half the time â though that appearance belied the guts of it. The boy was capable of a lot. He was intelligent, loved words, loved learning but just not in the traditional way. Billy really needed a schoolroom set in the scrub, one that was part of the environment. To learn by doing in the real world rather than by rote in a stuffy Âclassroom.
And Tammy couldnât shake off the feeling there was something else wrong with the boy. He was so bright but sometimes couldnât get really simple stuff through his head. Something was holding him back. She just couldnât put her finger on what it was.
Whatever, she needed to apologise to Travis Hunter. Sheâd had no right to meddle in affairs that werenât anything to do with her. She had enough troubles of her own. Sheâd go later this evening, after sheâd finished her jobs and had tea. Shon was staying in Cann River in far East Gippsland tonight, so she didnât have to concern herself about him coming home.
It was around seven-thirty when Tammy let herself out her back door, gathering up the paperwork sheâd found printed beside a humming computer. She decided to walk. The night was bright with a full moon and it would do her good to trudge up that hill. Sheâd had a shower, slapped some concealer around her eye to blot out the bruise, donned a pair of clean Wranglers, a soft blue shirt and her Redback boots. Leaving her hair to float around her shoulders to dry, she walked down her driveway and along Hopeâs Road, hesitating as she got to the low level crossing. Up on the bank of the Backwater Creek and casting dark shadows in the moonlight was a decrepit bark structure. It had once been a hut for an elderly prospector named Cecil Du Pont. Such an auspicious name for a vagabond who lived in hope of finding gold.
She walked on, around the corner and then through Travis Hunterâs front gateway. As she climbed the hill, she started to puff and wondered at her stupidity. She should have brought the ute. Damn. So much for feeling cool and fresh. She was sweating and cursing as she topped the rise that led to the house yard.
A smart red car sat in the drive. She hadnât pegged Travis Hunter as the owner of a girly car like that. She slid past the vehicle where it sat shining in the moonlight, let herself in through the garden gate and walked onto the old wide verandah. She spotted a beer fridge, dog kennel, and a blackened metal washing machine inner drum that had seen better days. It was stacked with firewood. Obviously the drum was all ready to be set out in the yard and lit on a clear night, so you could watch satellites, cook jaffles, drink beer and pretend you were camping up the bush. Tammy felt a stab of jealousy. She wished Shon enjoyed doing that type of thing. She used to do it as a kid with her grandfather. Cook marshmallows and draw pictures in the sky with the end
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