like being blind. If you despise me for what I did, you must tell me.â He broke off, glancing over his shoulder. âWouldnât you think that guy would go away?â he said in frustration.
âPeople want to speak to me, Kyall,â Shockingly Sarah felt like laughing.
âOkay, but you canât shelter behind your wall of silence forever. Iâll be back in town tomorrow afternoon. Say, around three,â he said, looking every inch the arrogant, always-gets-what-he-wants McQueen. âIâll come and fetch you at the shop.â
âKyall. I thought I made it clearââ
âThatâs just it.â He mocked her with the merest flashof his marvelous smile. âYou never have. To this day. I almost have to wonder if you were part of some conspiracy.â He strode away.
Â
M URIEL D EMPSEYâS FUNERAL was, in every way, an event no one was destined to forget. It brought Sarah back to town, the one place sheâd planned never to go again. It brought her back into Kyall McQueenâs orbit with its powerful emotional pull. It struck fear into Ruth McQueen, watching their intense conversation from across the room. Sarah had never spoken out in all these years. Neither had Muriel. Now with Muriel gone, what would happen? Sarah might think she could tell her story with impunity. As always, Ruth would be ready to step in. Nevertheless, fear pounded forcefully through her veins, raising her already elevated blood pressure.
There were anxious stirrings inside Harriet Cromptonâs breast, as well. Harriet had once believed young Sarah was pregnant when she left town. She wouldâve done everything in her power to help, but Sarah had gone off with Ruth McQueen in the unlikely guise of benefactor and protector. Harriet couldnât dispute the fact that McQueen money helped many. The child had gone willingly, seduced by education. Lord only knows, sheâd been the one to encourage Sarah. Sarah had written to her frequently over the years, sounding fulfilled and happy. Why, then, did she continue to think there was some mystery? Obviously it hadnât been a pregnancy, after all. Harriet was certain Sarah would never have given up her baby. Muriel, too, would never have given up a grandchild. And Sarah wouldnât have kept such momentous news to herself. She wouldâve told Kyall. For surely Kyall McQueen was Sarahâs first and only lover. Both of them so young, so beautiful, so radiant and careless, suddenly thrust into adult love.
It was a puzzle Harriet often brooded about. Both of them had locked up their hearts. And Murielâ¦
Harriet didnât want to consider whether poor Muriel had died of a broken heart.
CHAPTER THREE
L ATE THAT AFTERNOON Sarah drove into the desert to scatter her motherâs ashes. Harriet sat beside her in the passenger seat, her motherâs friend Cheryl in the back.
Red sand streamed off in the wind, the four-wheel-drive bouncing over the golden spinifex clumps that partially stabilized the dunes. It was an unending vista, awe-inspiring in its vastness. Low sand plains and ridges extended to the horizon, dotted here and there with a tremendous variety of flowering shrubs and stunted mallee, the branches of which were bent into weird scarecrow shapes.
Desert birds flew with themâthe lovely swirls of budgerigar in flocks of thousands, trailing bolts of emerald silk across the sky, the countless little finches and honeyeaters, the pink and gray galahs, the brilliant mulga parrots and the snow-white sulfur-crested corellas that congregated in great numbers in the vicinity of permanent water holes. Apart from early morning, welcoming the sunrise, this was the time of day the birds were most active. In the noontime heat they preferred to preen or doze in the trees to escape the blinding intensity of the sun.
Sarah crossed Koomera Creek at a point where the iridescent green waters had subsided to a shallow, tranquil
âPeople want to speak to me, Kyall,â Shockingly Sarah felt like laughing.
âOkay, but you canât shelter behind your wall of silence forever. Iâll be back in town tomorrow afternoon. Say, around three,â he said, looking every inch the arrogant, always-gets-what-he-wants McQueen. âIâll come and fetch you at the shop.â
âKyall. I thought I made it clearââ
âThatâs just it.â He mocked her with the merest flashof his marvelous smile. âYou never have. To this day. I almost have to wonder if you were part of some conspiracy.â He strode away.
Â
M URIEL D EMPSEYâS FUNERAL was, in every way, an event no one was destined to forget. It brought Sarah back to town, the one place sheâd planned never to go again. It brought her back into Kyall McQueenâs orbit with its powerful emotional pull. It struck fear into Ruth McQueen, watching their intense conversation from across the room. Sarah had never spoken out in all these years. Neither had Muriel. Now with Muriel gone, what would happen? Sarah might think she could tell her story with impunity. As always, Ruth would be ready to step in. Nevertheless, fear pounded forcefully through her veins, raising her already elevated blood pressure.
There were anxious stirrings inside Harriet Cromptonâs breast, as well. Harriet had once believed young Sarah was pregnant when she left town. She wouldâve done everything in her power to help, but Sarah had gone off with Ruth McQueen in the unlikely guise of benefactor and protector. Harriet couldnât dispute the fact that McQueen money helped many. The child had gone willingly, seduced by education. Lord only knows, sheâd been the one to encourage Sarah. Sarah had written to her frequently over the years, sounding fulfilled and happy. Why, then, did she continue to think there was some mystery? Obviously it hadnât been a pregnancy, after all. Harriet was certain Sarah would never have given up her baby. Muriel, too, would never have given up a grandchild. And Sarah wouldnât have kept such momentous news to herself. She wouldâve told Kyall. For surely Kyall McQueen was Sarahâs first and only lover. Both of them so young, so beautiful, so radiant and careless, suddenly thrust into adult love.
It was a puzzle Harriet often brooded about. Both of them had locked up their hearts. And Murielâ¦
Harriet didnât want to consider whether poor Muriel had died of a broken heart.
CHAPTER THREE
L ATE THAT AFTERNOON Sarah drove into the desert to scatter her motherâs ashes. Harriet sat beside her in the passenger seat, her motherâs friend Cheryl in the back.
Red sand streamed off in the wind, the four-wheel-drive bouncing over the golden spinifex clumps that partially stabilized the dunes. It was an unending vista, awe-inspiring in its vastness. Low sand plains and ridges extended to the horizon, dotted here and there with a tremendous variety of flowering shrubs and stunted mallee, the branches of which were bent into weird scarecrow shapes.
Desert birds flew with themâthe lovely swirls of budgerigar in flocks of thousands, trailing bolts of emerald silk across the sky, the countless little finches and honeyeaters, the pink and gray galahs, the brilliant mulga parrots and the snow-white sulfur-crested corellas that congregated in great numbers in the vicinity of permanent water holes. Apart from early morning, welcoming the sunrise, this was the time of day the birds were most active. In the noontime heat they preferred to preen or doze in the trees to escape the blinding intensity of the sun.
Sarah crossed Koomera Creek at a point where the iridescent green waters had subsided to a shallow, tranquil
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