Red Dust

Fleur McDonald

• Publisher: Allen & Unwin
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN:
  9781742370057
• eBook ISBN:
  9781925576290
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

Red Dust opens with Gemma Sinclair grieving the death of her husband, Adam, in a horrific plane crash and learning she's inherited the ten thousand hectare station his family has worked for generations. Despite huge scepticism from surrounding landowners, Gemma decides not to sell Billbinya, disregarding Adam's dying words that he's in trouble and she must sell the station. As if the job of keeping the station going isn't enough, a wave of innuendo sweeps through the local community about Adam's involvement in cattle and sheep duffing. There are even whispers the plane crash was no accident. A visit from the police confirms the rumours, with Gemma discovering that not only was Adam involved, but has indirectly implicated her by using Billbinya as a holding station for the stolen stock. Intent on clearing her name, Gemma determines to get to the bottom of what was going on. In the process, she's shocked to discover the masterminds behind the duffing are two former school friends, and that a trusted stock agent and good friend are somehow involved. When Gemma is finally cleared of any wrongdoing, she decides to put the past behind her and return to the family farm - a new love by her side.

Chapter 1

Gemma woke in a sweat. Another nightmare. The plane coming down, her rushing over to it, to Adam. His face bloody and his body twisted. Her screaming in frustration at not being able to open the door. Then Adam had opened his eyes.

‘Not going to make it, Gem,’ he’d gasped. ‘Be careful, I’m in trouble and they might come after you when I’m gone. I’m sorry. Sell the station.’They were his last words.

Although it was only 2 am Gemma threw off the covers and got up. Padding out to the kitchen she made herself a Milo, knowing from experience there was no hope of sleeping again tonight. Picking up her jumper and ugg boots, she headed towards the office, which she’d searched high and low for a clue as to what sort of trouble Adam might have been in. She’d found nothing. Tonight, however, she put that to the back of her mind and fired up the computer. It was time to start working on the accounts and trying to decide what she was going to do with the one hundred and ninety-five square kilometres she’d been left by her husband.

Her inheritance had made her one of the most asset-rich young women in the district. No one had thought she would be able to manage the property on her own, but she had. So far. She employed two stockmen to do a lot of the grunt work – and she wasn’t afraid of getting her own hands dirty when push came to shove – but it was Gemma who made the decisions and ensured things ran smoothly.

Despite what Adam had said, she had never had any intention of selling Billbinya after his death. Her land was good productive land. It was just on the northern side of Goyders Line but close enough to get a bit more rain than those areas further to the north of South Australia. The phone calls from the real estate agents had come thick and fast with offers, good offers, but the answer was always no. She would keep on farming. It was all she knew and all she wanted to know.

Her decision had caused surprise and resentment among the other landowners.

While Adam had been by her side, Gemma’s hands-on involvement with farming had been accepted. Now, she was a single woman in a man’s world and this caused a wariness amongst the women of the district who had always been involved in the CWA, trading tables or tennis, rather than agriculture.

The men looked at her with a mixture of respect and contempt. She knew that the men thought she couldn’t manage the land on her own. As she was leaving the Hawkins & Jones Stock Agents & Farm Merchandise store one day she heard one of them say, ‘She must have balls to take that on but you watch – she’ll get sick of playing farming when the money runs out. It’ll end up on the market before long.’

If asked, Gemma would admit that running a large station was hard, but no one had bothered to ask. It would have been completely impossible without her dependable stockmen, Bulla and Garry. They had worked overtime in the six months since Adam’s death. They hadn’t complained, but she was going to need more manpower so they could have some time off. Besides, there were places on Billbinya she hadn’t been to in weeks and goodness only knew what was going on with the sheep and cows in those areas. The station could use another bloke, she decided, and went about wording a situation vacant ad to run in magazines.

Once the email had been sent she turned to the batch of bills and letters that had arrived in the last mail. Opening them, she felt her heart start to sink. Billbinya was running mainly wethers, with a few ewes to breed replacement stock and some cows thrown in, and wool prices hadn’t been good for a long time. Gemma was beginning to think that there would have to be changes to the enterprises she ran on the station. Obviously wool wasn’t going to make her the money she needed on its own. But she needed to work out what would, and how she could do it.

By the time she’d updated May’s debits and credits, reconciled the last month, and calculated the GST, the sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon. She stretched and got up.

Walking to the doors that led from the office onto the verandah of the rambling homestead, she threw them open and breathed in the icy morning air. She’d stood at this same spot most mornings in the eight years she’d been living on Billbinya.

Billbinya was, for the most part, gently undulating country. Running through the middle of the station was a creekline with big old gum trees and moss-covered rocks.

The homestead was snuggled into the bottom of a granite hill surrounded by large gardens full of rambling ivy, geraniums and lawn. Pepper and almond trees were dotted all around the edge of the garden fence. Once there had been a vegetable garden with an orchard that had produced most of the food, but Gemma had let the garden go now that she was so busy on the station.

The house itself was a stone construction with a tin roof, built by Adam’s great-grandfather. The windows were small but the house was of generous proportions, with five bedrooms, a dining room, formal lounge and an expansive sunroom that looked out over the native bush that led to the summit of the mount.

The side of the house where the office was situated opened out to the wide plains of the farming land.

Gemma could see the dog kennels under the trees and this early in the morning, all except her faithful work companion were still snoozing. Scoota sat outside his hollowed log which passed for a shelter, with his ears cocked, listening to the movements of his mistress inside the house.

To the right stood an old shed full of machinery needed for cropping and feeding stock. Behind that, the shearing shed and sheep yards stood silently in the morning light. The cattle yards were on the other side of the station, near where Bulla and Garry lived.

As she watched, the golden rays of the sun picked up the edges of the gum leaves and made them glow. She loved this time of the morning, but it was one of the worst times for missing Adam. They had always risen early and had their first cup of coffee watching the sun come up and talking quietly. They would work out who was doing what for the day, make decisions and just enjoy being together.

With a burst of determination, Gemma pushed away her feelings of loss. Replacing her uggies with her Rossi work boots, she jumped over the railing of the verandah and raced to the ute which was parked under the lean-to, off the house.

Let’s get an early start to the day, she thought. She revved the ute, fishtailed down the drive and laughed out loud. Shaking her honey-coloured hair, feeling the wind in her face, she felt the day was going to be a good one.

In another house, in another part of South Australia, a man looked at his files and tapped his fingers against his mouth, thinking. He had no idea what Gemma knew – or if in fact she knew anything. Had Adam managed to convey a message to her after the plane crash? The man had heard that Adam had been conscious briefly, but what had happened in those final minutes? He had to find out . . .

Chapter 2

Gemma decided that there was nothing better than checking around your own land, seeing green grass, fat stock and their progeny running, bucking, and chasing each other. There had been many years in the north when there hadn’t been any green grass to see. Drought had turned the grass to dry and dusty soil, so to look at the wonderful spread of green now was good for the spirit. The fact that she was listening to Sara Storer sing about drovers and people who worked the land also helped Gemma feel inspired to keep doing the things she was doing. Tapping her fingers in time to the music, she sang loudly, ignoring the fact she was tone deaf.

By twelve thirty, not having found anything amiss, Gemma turned the ute towards home. Walking into the homestead she put the kettle on and went straight to the office. The message light was blinking on.

‘Hi Gem, Jess here. What’s going on? No word from you for yonks. Hope you’re okay. Give us a call when you’ve got time. Seeya!’ Gemma smiled at Jess’s happy but concerned voice – she must ring her.

‘Ah, hello. It’s Mike Martin from Australian Transport Safety Bureau calling. I just wanted to let you know that the report on the fatal accident involving the aircraft Foxtrot Juliet Papa is being released today. The findings will show that a catastrophic engine failure caused the aircraft to make an emergency landing, impacting with a large tree and resulting in the fatality. If you have any questions, please give me a call. I will be in the office for the rest of the day.’

‘The fatality?’ Gemma mouthed as she wrote down the number which followed. She steadied herself against the office desk as a picture of the plane entered her mind. She could see the wings wobbling madly, the wheels buckling beneath the body, the metal crumpling like a tin can as the plane hit the ground.

‘Gem, it’s me again.’ Gemma looked blankly at the answering machine. ‘I reckon I’ll come and visit this weekend. I’ll be there Friday night about seven thirty. I’ll ring as I’m leaving town. Catchya, mate!’

‘Brilliant!’ said Gemma out loud as her friend’s voice banished the vivid images of a few moments ago.

‘You on the channel, Gemma?’ The two-way crackled to life with the voice of Bulla, one of her stockmen. Turning to where the radio sat on shelves that held the past three generations of records, she picked up the handset.

‘Yeah?’ she answered.

‘Yeah, Gem, I’m getting these sheep in and I think there might be about another four hundred-odd more than we thought, so we’ll need more gear for lamb marking.’

‘Oh,’ said Gemma in surprise. Adam had always kept such up-to-date records of stock numbers, yet it was the third time since Adam had died that they had found mobs with increased numbers. ‘That’s weird. Well, no worries, I’ll get it organised. Everything else going okay?’

‘Yeah, we’ll be at the yards in about half an hour.’ Gemma signed off and went to the kitchen to fix herself some lunch. While she was eating she started making a list of things she’d need in town. She knew she would have to return Mike Martin’s call at some stage, but she couldn’t deal with it now. Instead, she’d focus on the lamb marking – and looking forward to Jess’s visit.

Gemma was excited. Jess had rung – she was on her way – and Gemma couldn’t wait to have some female company. Although she had loved Adam to distraction, there was no denying that marriage had affected her female friendships as she’d devoted herself to working and spending time with her husband. Not that she was complaining – that was the way she wanted it – but she’d missed partying till the small hours with her brilliant, energetic friend. She and Jess had a history! Growing up as farmers’ daughters, they had travelled on the same school bus, until Jess’s parents sold up and moved to Port Pirie. The girls had been ecstatic when they realised that they would be attending the same boarding school, along with other friends from the local school. They had been inseparable ever since.

Of course, Jess’s partying had calmed down slightly since she shifted back to town, so she could practise her profession – banking. Gemma shook her head every time she thought about the profession Jess had chosen. Gemma had thought her wild, outgoing friend would do something that would turn the world upside down – instead, Jess had become a boring old loans manager. It was almost as bad as being an accountant!

Chuckling, Gemma put on some music, mixed herself a rum and Coke, and sang along while she made the gravy for the roast lamb she’d bred, butchered and cooked herself. The breeding and butchering were her forte, she noted ruefully, not the cooking.

Hearing the dogs bark, Gemma raced outside and saw Jess’s red Holden ute pull up. It looked every part of the souped-up ute that a young bloke would drive, complete with huge spotlights and aerials, autographs from famous country singers on the tail gate, and the bar runner she’d pinched from Oodnadatta pub when they had been up for the races running across the dash. It was always sparkling clean and hardly ever saw dirt roads these days. Flying towards her friend, with her arms outstretched, Gemma pulled her into a huge bear hug.

‘Jess, you made it!’

‘Gem, wonderful to see you, gorgeous.’ Jess returned the hug with vigour. ‘Man, I forgot it was such a long way out here. I didn’t even think to get some roadies as I came through town, I’m so used to not drinking and driving. But the cops wouldn’t even know this road existed!’

‘You poor bugger, it must be hard to drive a whole hundred and fifty k without a drink!’

‘Well, you know a girl can get kinda thirsty.’

‘Obviously,’ Gemma said dryly.

‘So how are you?’ asked Jess as they headed back to the house, their arms slung around each other.

‘I’ve had my moments. But mostly I’m okay.’

‘I knew you would be. Any word from the out-laws?’

‘Hey, let’s just have fun tonight,’ said Gemma.‘We’ll talk that stuff tomorrow.’

Walking inside with her friend’s arm warm around her shoulders, Gemma felt a peace she hadn’t known since Adam died. It was nice to feel almost whole again, to know that whatever happened, she’d be all right.

The smell of burning met them at the door. ‘Oh bugger! That’s what’s left of the gravy,’ said Gemma, running to the...

Table of contents

• COVER PAGE
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR
• TITLE PAGE
• COPYRIGHT PAGE
• DEDICATION
• CONTENTS
• PROLOGUE
• CHAPTER 1
• CHAPTER 2
• CHAPTER 3
• CHAPTER 4
• CHAPTER 5
• CHAPTER 6
• CHAPTER 7
• CHAPTER 8
• CHAPTER 9
• CHAPTER 10
• CHAPTER 11
• CHAPTER 12
• CHAPTER 13
• CHAPTER 14
• CHAPTER 15
• CHAPTER 16
• CHAPTER 17
• CHAPTER 18
• CHAPTER 19
• CHAPTER 20
• CHAPTER 21
• CHAPTER 22
• CHAPTER 23
• CHAPTER 24
• CHAPTER 25
• CHAPTER 26
• CHAPTER 27
• CHAPTER 28
• CHAPTER 29
• CHAPTER 30
• CHAPTER 31
• EPILOGUE
• POSTSCRIPT
• ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
• PREVIEW: Indigo Storm - Chapter 1
• Preview: Indigo Storm - Chapter 2