Finding Kerra Read online

  Finally he got it out. ‘I’m going roo shooting. Taking Bow.’ I was thinking of the letter Kerra was writing, how it might help.

  ‘Why don’t you wait a while—’ But he was too distracted to listen.

  He didn’t say much else, just, ‘I’ve got to get away. To think. It was never this bad.’

  Richelle’s words returned to taunt me. Did he think I’d stirred up trouble too? And even though I believed it was good that Kerra was starting to think for herself and to stand up to him, I said sorry, and reached out an arm towards him.

  To my surprise he responded, actually put his arms round me. I hung on, knowing it wasn’t the type of holding the girls at school always talked about, but an earthy stand-by-your-mate-whatever-the-cost kind of hug. Kerra wasn’t the only one with a dragon in the closet to clear out. Blake had one too.

  18

  Blake strode out to the ute to pack for his shooting trip that night. I watched him through the kitchen window, saw him take the gun from inside the cabin, check it, and put it on the tray while he yanked out a small box from behind the driver’s seat. I didn’t dare go near him; he was in another world, shoving gear in the ute, throwing other stuff out. Guess he just needed time to cool off.

  After that moment it all happened so fast. Kerra came round from the back of the house. She couldn’t have known he was there because she stopped dead just a few feet from him.

  ‘Blake—’ I heard her plea, almost a whimper, cracked and hesitant. It was the first I’d ever heard her reach out to him like that. I held my breath, in dread, hoping for her sake he’d hear her and understand. Yet, I knew what she couldn’t at her age, that it wasn’t the right time, not with him throwing empty shells out of the box as if hoping they’d ignite and erase all the trouble.

  ‘Blake.’

  He turned then. ‘What do you want now?’

  Even I flinched. I couldn’t imagine what his tone did to Kerra but she kept on. Maybe what she wrote in the note was fresh in her mind.

  ‘I want you to be my brother.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment his mouth dropped and he looked odd, as if he was trying to understand, but it passed as he shook his head. ‘You’ve got a weird way of looking at things.’ He turned back to the open door of the ute, shutting her out. But Kerra hadn’t finished. Guess that was when everything snapped in her head, and when I came face to face with the horror of what my storytelling had led to.

  All the trying through the years to get him to notice her, to care, and nothing worked. And now she’d asked, wanted to let him in, but he wouldn’t come. She stepped forward, too fast for me to realise what was in her mind, too fast to get out there in time, to warn him. I saw her pick up the rifle off the tray, lift it, stagger slightly under the weight, level it at Blake. In the same instant I was out the kitchen door but I couldn’t shout, not like at the dam when she drowned the kittens.

  Blake had turned. He’d seen her now. He was speaking. ‘Give me the gun.’

  His tone was still that of a big brother, as if he knew she’d hand it over as soon as he asked. Did he really believe she’d do what he said with the gun in her hands? When would he see that all she wanted was him, his arms around her, his love, his forgiveness.

  ‘I’m going to save us. You’re not fair. I didn’t do it, not the haystack, not anything. Not Mum. Honey fell. It was cold. She wouldn’t get off Mum. I tried and tried to pull her off. Mum was screaming and I hurt too. But I didn’t do it. It was an accident!’

  ‘Kerra! It’s all right.’ I heard my own words delayed and echoing like a person gassed.

  ‘Kerra! Noo!’ Was that Blake yelling or me? It didn’t stop her; she couldn’t hear. She squeezed the trigger. That click was the loudest and slowest sound I’d ever heard. It reverberated in my head more deafening than any gunfire I’d heard in Afghanistan. For a second Blake didn’t react. Then he slumped against the side of the ute.

  Kerra dropped the gun, tears streaming down her cheeks, the look on her face saying, Now I really am bad. What are you going to do about that! Before she ran off, she turned back to him. ‘Why can’t you just love me? Do things with me, like everyone else’s brother?’

  Then came the sobs. When a guy cries like that he probably wants to be alone, but I couldn’t leave. I knew it wasn’t from fear, or that he could’ve died as Kerra had no way of knowing the gun was unloaded. He saw me standing in front of him. Should I find his father, or call Matt? I did neither. I went to Blake. His arms closed round me as I heard the whispered words, ‘What have I done?’ And I heard the unspoken question between each of them: How could she hate me that much?

  It wasn’t hate. Hate, love—they could be close, but I didn’t speak. It was too big. All I could do was hold him. I loved him, I knew that now, but I was holding a shell. I prayed he’d come together again, to be the real Blake I thought I knew.

  It was later, when he came to my room that we knew Kerra had gone. He sat there on my bed, Kerra’s note in one hand.

  ‘And why Cador?’ I almost heard his ‘Kerra’ tone again. ‘She’s done it again. Always goading me, doing things she knows I don’t like.’

  I took a breath. ‘She only does things to get you to notice, to see if you’ll care.’ Even though I believed that, I also wondered if she took Blake’s horse for insurance, to make sure he’d come. But he had to decide that himself. I knew he could be hard, maybe being brought up on the land made people tough, but what if he couldn’t see that he had to go after her? What if he thought there was no danger, that she’d come back when she was ready? She wouldn’t come back. If she could walk into a dam to get him to love her, kill those kittens that ‘deserved to die’…What if she decided she did too? If Blake didn’t go, we might never find the happy Kerra that must be buried inside her.

  Shame and guilt were as plain on his face as the letter chart on a doctor’s wall and I wished I could rip it off.

  ‘Never got to say goodbye,’ was all he said at first and I knew he wasn’t talking about Kerra. ‘Never got to say anything, say how much I’d missed her. But this time I’ll be there. I’ll go after her.’ At first I stiffened; he’d switched to Kerra. Was this the bossy big brother again, taking vent on his little sister? Then I relaxed as he spoke again. ‘We never knew that about Honey. Kerra never said. She never said anything afterwards, like if she did it would make the horror real, I guess. I felt the same. Even though I wasn’t there. Dad told me all he knew.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Kerra was four. I had just started high school in Adelaide. I lived with my aunt. Kerra was always a handful. Dad called it free spirited, like with horses. He used to say she needed a bit of rein. Even then she liked to roam, except it’s dangerous when you’re little.

  ‘One time it’d rained’—Blake made that sound like it only happened once in five years—‘and we’d found her footprints in the mud. She was two then, been dragging her wagon along the road through the water and when all the deep puddles came, she’d swerved and missed them. She couldn’t have known the water was deeper there. It was God looking after her, I guess, but it freaked Mum out. Kerra could’ve drowned. Mum watched her closely after that, kept her in the garden to play.

  ‘One day, Kerra learned how to open the gate. When Mum couldn’t find her, she was beside herself. Dad was bringing the cattle in and didn’t know, wasn’t near the two-way. So Mum saddled up Honey and set out herself. Mum was a good horsewoman…there was no reason for it to happen like it did. It was just the freak weather.’

  ‘What sort of weather?’

  He swallowed. ‘Two-year drought, then that terrible hailstorm. Strange. We lost most our lambs in that. Lot of sheep too.’ He stopped and I knew it wasn’t all that they lost, and I blinked my eyes to keep them dry. He didn’t need my tears.

  ‘They weren’t far from the Fence. We still don’t know how Kerra g
ot that far. When Dad found them, Mum had Kerra, she’d shielded her, was keeping her warm. The hailstones were too big. We thought maybe she’d fallen. Maybe the stones hit her. Honey was down too. Almost frozen. We didn’t know Honey had rolled on her. No wonder…’ The words came as phrases, disjointed, like they hurt on the way out. ‘No help either. The flying doctor…by the time Dad got them back to the house…everybody else had problems…weren’t enough pilots or planes. Twenty-four hours before they finally arrived.’ His words were ragged and sharp, and I felt as if I was looking in where no one had before.

  ‘It was too late. The exposure,’ he added with a force that belied his quiet voice and I felt his pain as I saw an image of his mother dying, a tiny Kerra trying to help.

  ‘What about you?’ I whispered.

  ‘Too late. I flew home from Adelaide for the funeral. Mum and I were like one soul looking out of the same eyes. Dad said it was a wrench for her to send me away in the first place. He said there was nothing I could have done, he was here and still it happened. But maybe I would’ve gone after Kerra. It might have been different.’ I touched his arm.

  ‘She was a special woman, Mum. Strong, saw God’s goodness in everybody. Nothing got her down for long.’ I looked up at him quickly, and I couldn’t help thinking he needed to say all this to Kerra. He was quiet then, far away, until I heard the sobs again. ‘And all this time…we never knew…Kerra pulled Honey off Mum. She must have kept Mum alive long enough till Dad got there. All this time I thought if only she hadn’t run off—’ He stopped then, wiped his eyes.

  ‘I know it wasn’t her fault. It just felt like it sometimes, but I never knew I was still doing it.’

  ‘Blaming her?’

  He stood up. ‘Hell, I’m a jerk.’ Then he paused, thinking. ‘Maybe if I tell her, it could change, for both of us.’

  He hugged me then, kissed me too, and he groaned as his mouth slipped from mine onto my cheek. ‘Jaime, I have to find her. If I don’t—’ I knew what he meant, that it would be so much worse if anything happened to her as well, but I understood, too, what Kerra would be thinking. She’d be remembering the stories of the brothers looking for their sisters, she would be waiting for him to come, and instantly I took off the silver ring I wore, the half of the puzzle ring I’d given to Kerra.

  ‘Blake, take this. This will sound weird but give it to her.’ Blake wasn’t too wrapped with the ring, but he put it in his pocket. He was only an image of the Blake I knew, all the vitality and energy gone, looking at me yet not seeing me. It felt like a test of how strong real love is: could I still love him with all his stuffing knocked out of him?

  I reached up, stroked the hair back from his forehead. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll find her.’ I hoped I sounded convincing.

  After Blake went, it didn’t take me long to unearth Mr Townsend; he was down at the horse yards. I was breathless when I reached him. He looked up from brushing the Arab, his face asking me the question that anyone else would’ve asked aloud and I replied, ‘Kerra’s gone!’

  ‘How do you reckon that?’

  ‘She and Blake had an argument.’ I didn’t feel like explaining it all. ‘You haven’t seen her? Since the haystack?’

  ‘Nup. I thought you were keeping her low, like out of my way. Wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t have belted her.’

  He turned to saddle his horse. ‘You better saddle up Rainmaker.’ I started off towards Rainmaker’s stall. ‘Uh, Jaime? Meet you at the house.’

  When I finally got Rainmaker saddled (no mean feat without Blake to coach me) and arrived back at the house, Mr Townsend had already rung Bulcanna. ‘Pity Blake’s away,’ he muttered as he flowed into the saddle and flicked the reins over the Arab’s neck.

  ‘Blake’s gone to find her on the bike. He thinks she’ll be out near the Dog Fence.’

  ‘That so? Then we’ll check the west.’

  The sun was hanging low, fat and growing pink. There were only the two of us and I was scared. What if I wasn’t good enough at riding? What if we didn’t find her in time? A thousand square kilometres is a big area to comb and night was coming on—wouldn’t there be exposure? Maybe a rogue dingo? What if we never found her? It was as though Mr Townsend could read my thoughts and he pulled his Arab close to Rainmaker.

  ‘Matt’ll bring Zack, lass. He can track an ant on cement.’

  My mouth twisted into a grin. With Mr Townsend, if it wasn’t understatement, it was hyperbole. But my grin soon faded; Mr Townsend was as scared as I was, I could tell by his crooked smile.

  We went to the dam first. I don’t know how Mr Townsend could do it, but he put his stallion through most of it, checking. When he was satisfied he decided we should split. I was to go down to the gorge where Blake took me for that disastrous first picnic and ride up and down the creek.

  ‘You won’t get lost, lass, if you stay within cooee of the creek.’ Then he gave me a .22 rifle. ‘If you find her, or need anything, give two shots.’ And he showed me how to squeeze the trigger, and to keep the safety catch on until I was ready to do it. It took a full minute while the Arab pranced on the spot. Mr Townsend held my gaze. I didn’t want to split up, but without Blake, what could we do? So I swallowed the fear and smiled. He seemed satisfied, tipped his hat and was off in a cloud of dust and clatter of little stones.

  Rainmaker and I headed to the creek. I called for Kerra until my voice was a croak, trying not to think about whether she took water or food. The creek didn’t look a lot different from the day I was there with Blake, except I found a spot further on with water. It was low and alive with algae but Rainmaker stopped to drink. Listening to the calming sounds of her bridle clinking against her cheek made me wish I could forget the thought of what we mightn’t find.

  19

  Kerra wasn’t at the gorge. Mr Townsend didn’t find her either. He came across me again just as it was getting too dark to see and we headed back to the house. Matt and Richelle were there and plans were laid for a full search at dawn. I raised my eyebrows ready to question this when Mr Townsend said, ‘No point you all getting lost in the dark. That won’t help Kerra.’ I bet he’d go out by himself though. Finally Mr Townsend radioed the Flying Doctor to be on standby and also a neighbouring station that had a small plane. I was to keep within cooee of the radio while everyone else went out to search in the morning.

  That night I couldn’t sit with the others. Zack kept turning his hat round and round in his hands. I caught Matt’s understanding glance on me when I stood to go to bed early. Richelle was cool, her gaze reminding me we’d have more trouble, everything being my fault, of course. I lay in bed, trying to imagine where Kerra would be and would she be scared? Would she be eating those snotty gobbles that she’d told me about when she took me to the dam that first time? Would Blake find her, and if he did, what if they still couldn’t get it right and they had another bust up?

  I texted my family to pray. I didn’t remember sleeping but woke early before the sun had started its decorating. It was the same time I used to wake up for weeks after Liana was killed, early, and I’d find myself sobbing uncontrollably. In time, my sobbing changed to what Pakistanis call weeping and that’s what I did this morning: wept and prayed for Kerra and Blake and all that had happened to them and all they’d need to do to have a normal relationship again.

  The waiting was hell. The others went at first light. The mailman came in his van. I had no news for him. Nor he for me. I didn’t even collect the eggs. What if the radio called while I was in the yard? The time when Mr Townsend would have come in for lunch came and passed. He called once on the two-way. He’d taken the ute; said he’d tried most of the water run within the range he thought Kerra could be and was going to see if Blake needed help near the Fence. I sat there after he’d said, ‘over’, just staring into space, my mind a husk.

  The phone rang. I raced over to it. Maybe someone had found her. It was Mr
s Hall. ‘Any news, love?’

  ‘No.’ She was kind as she went on but I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think was someone might be trying to ring to tell me Kerra had been found. I kept listening for the two-way. When Mrs Hall got tired of talking to herself and hung the phone up, I tried doing mundane jobs, peeling spuds for a potato salad. There was cold lamb left in the fridge (as always). I took two loaves of bread out of the freezer, opened a big tin of beetroot. Lots of people would need to be fed. I prayed aloud while buttering bread. ‘Please let Kerra be found. Please, God, let her be alive.’

  When I heard the roar of the bike and Bow’s sharp excited bark, I raced out the kitchen door. Did he find her? I was too scared to look at first, and then I saw them: Kerra perched in front of Blake, Bow on the back, balancing himself ready to jump. There was an aura about them that stopped my wild flight outside to welcome them home. They were quiet but there was a peace, an easiness that I’d never sensed when they’d been together before.

  As they came in, I stood at the door, smiling, feeling awkward. There was so much I wanted to say, how happy I was, but I couldn’t find the words. They hardly seemed to notice me even though Blake gave me a hug and Kerra smiled at me. She had the full ring on her finger, the silver hand clasp that said it all. Kerra was ravenous and I let them get on with lunch. Mr Townsend rushed in and picked up Kerra. He held her for ages, his shoulders shaking.

  I reached Matt on the two-way. Then I rang Mrs Hall.

  ‘I’m so sorry I was distracted before,’ I began.

  ‘She’s found.’ It wasn’t even a question.

  ‘Yes, well and happy.’ Tears welled up. ‘And hungry.’ My voice squeaked on ‘hungry’.

  I heard Mrs Hall’s sob. ‘Praise the Lord,’ she whispered.

  It was Kerra who said to me as she crawled into my bed that night, ‘He does love me.’ She whispered it as though the knowledge was so new it might disappear like a shadow when the sun’s high. ‘He was looking for me. I saw him, and when he found me, he cried.’ The wonder in her voice tore me up, not only to share her joy but also from sadness that it had to be this way. ‘He doesn’t think I’m bad, either. I wasn’t, you know.’