wood, though – it was always cut too green and too small for her great fireplace. And they charged way too much. She stamped on the piece she had just cut to break the last wedge free, only to see it roll down the hill away from her, turning faster and faster until it went plop into the creek.
She was breaking her father’s golden rule, ‘never chainsaw alone’, but she didn’t have much choice. She could hardly callthe neighbour over every time she needed wood or wanted to remove a tree, and it wouldn’t be right to make Henry stand by. As soon as Kay got wind of it, that would be the end of his lessons. Though it wouldn’t hurt him to learn how to do something practical, or to carry the logs up to the woodpile.
She did make sure she always had her mobile in her shirt pocket. When she was up on the roof, too. There’d be no use calling if she severed an artery, though; by the time the ambulance located the address and found her among the trees, she would have bled out.
She had been with her father, that last winter, when one of the men slipped and cut into his leg, just above the knee. She had steered the truck to the public hospital, and stood on the clutch, while her father changed the gears, holding an old towel against the man’s leg. Her father had remained calm, and taken the time to praise her second attempt at driving, but the dark blood seeping into the seat and the pallor of her father’s face left her in no doubt as to how serious it was.
Jen’s concession was never to use the chainsaw in the rain, or if she was feeling unwell, and she tried to concentrate. She hung the earmuffs around her neck. The birds had started up again, celebrating the end of all the noise. She bent to lift a log with her right arm, loaded another on top of it, and carried them and the saw back up the slope to the house.
Mother
S he tried Aunt Sophie again, imagining the old phone echoing up her wallpapered hallway. It was not unusual for her to be out midmorning – she was always busy with bridge or shopping for quilting supplies, or meeting friends. But it was the third time she had tried this week.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Jen,’ she said. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine, love,’ her aunt said. ‘I’ve been enjoying this weather, getting out in the garden.’
‘Planting?’
‘Some more gardenias. Out the front.’
Jen smiled. Her aunt already had about a hundred gardenias. ‘They’ll get good sun there, in the morning.’
‘I think so, yes,’ Aunt Sophie said. ‘Anyway. What about you?’
‘Weeding, mainly and some replanting. I’m trying a native groundcover where I cleared fishbone fern. It has white flowers and edible fruit.’
‘Midyim?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Well, it’s a good time of year for it. And the drawing?’
‘A little. A local gallery wants a few pieces,’ she said. ‘You remember May?’
‘Of course, I love her gallery. It’s hard to know whether to look at the pictures inside or out, the view’s so good.’
Jen laughed.
‘I’m glad you’re showing your work again. That’s the best news I’ve had for ages.’ Aunt Sophie hesitated, and Jen could hear the currawongs starting up out the back. ‘I heard about that missing girl,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘The police called me in. Asking about Dad.’
‘After all this time?’
‘I guess it’s routine …’
‘When was this?’
‘Last week.’
‘Oh, love,’ she said. ‘I knew I should’ve called.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It sounds awful,’ her aunt said. ‘Is there someone you can talk to?’
‘I’m okay, Soph,’ she said. ‘They haven’t called you?’
‘No. Something to look forward to!’
Jen smiled at the humph in her voice. She could always rely on Aunt Sophie to be on her side.
Losing a parent at such a young age had not been easy. Nor had the not knowing. A lifetime of not knowing. She had always hoped – still did some of the time – that she might see him again. It
She was breaking her father’s golden rule, ‘never chainsaw alone’, but she didn’t have much choice. She could hardly callthe neighbour over every time she needed wood or wanted to remove a tree, and it wouldn’t be right to make Henry stand by. As soon as Kay got wind of it, that would be the end of his lessons. Though it wouldn’t hurt him to learn how to do something practical, or to carry the logs up to the woodpile.
She did make sure she always had her mobile in her shirt pocket. When she was up on the roof, too. There’d be no use calling if she severed an artery, though; by the time the ambulance located the address and found her among the trees, she would have bled out.
She had been with her father, that last winter, when one of the men slipped and cut into his leg, just above the knee. She had steered the truck to the public hospital, and stood on the clutch, while her father changed the gears, holding an old towel against the man’s leg. Her father had remained calm, and taken the time to praise her second attempt at driving, but the dark blood seeping into the seat and the pallor of her father’s face left her in no doubt as to how serious it was.
Jen’s concession was never to use the chainsaw in the rain, or if she was feeling unwell, and she tried to concentrate. She hung the earmuffs around her neck. The birds had started up again, celebrating the end of all the noise. She bent to lift a log with her right arm, loaded another on top of it, and carried them and the saw back up the slope to the house.
Mother
S he tried Aunt Sophie again, imagining the old phone echoing up her wallpapered hallway. It was not unusual for her to be out midmorning – she was always busy with bridge or shopping for quilting supplies, or meeting friends. But it was the third time she had tried this week.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s Jen,’ she said. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Fine, love,’ her aunt said. ‘I’ve been enjoying this weather, getting out in the garden.’
‘Planting?’
‘Some more gardenias. Out the front.’
Jen smiled. Her aunt already had about a hundred gardenias. ‘They’ll get good sun there, in the morning.’
‘I think so, yes,’ Aunt Sophie said. ‘Anyway. What about you?’
‘Weeding, mainly and some replanting. I’m trying a native groundcover where I cleared fishbone fern. It has white flowers and edible fruit.’
‘Midyim?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Well, it’s a good time of year for it. And the drawing?’
‘A little. A local gallery wants a few pieces,’ she said. ‘You remember May?’
‘Of course, I love her gallery. It’s hard to know whether to look at the pictures inside or out, the view’s so good.’
Jen laughed.
‘I’m glad you’re showing your work again. That’s the best news I’ve had for ages.’ Aunt Sophie hesitated, and Jen could hear the currawongs starting up out the back. ‘I heard about that missing girl,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘The police called me in. Asking about Dad.’
‘After all this time?’
‘I guess it’s routine …’
‘When was this?’
‘Last week.’
‘Oh, love,’ she said. ‘I knew I should’ve called.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It sounds awful,’ her aunt said. ‘Is there someone you can talk to?’
‘I’m okay, Soph,’ she said. ‘They haven’t called you?’
‘No. Something to look forward to!’
Jen smiled at the humph in her voice. She could always rely on Aunt Sophie to be on her side.
Losing a parent at such a young age had not been easy. Nor had the not knowing. A lifetime of not knowing. She had always hoped – still did some of the time – that she might see him again. It
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