The McCalister Legacy Page 4

  According to her Uncle Dave, her father had been under financial pressure, something that as a child of ten she wasn’t aware of. Apparently, the pressure had been building and there was a chance that the family would lose Stone Gully.

  At the time Berry couldn’t really comprehend what had happened. In the beginning the truth had been kept from them. They were told that her parents, along with Granny and Pa, had been in a terrible accident and had died. But even at ten, that explanation never rang true for Berry. It wasn’t an accident; so many years later she could still see the fear in her mother’s eyes as she told Berry to ride to the Fords’ in town. Whatever happens, sweetheart, just keep riding. Don’t stop until you get to Jodie’s. Something terrible had happened, and it wasn’t until she was eighteen that Uncle Dave finally told her the truth. She had come across a folder containing the funeral notices for her parents, carefully cut out and placed in a plastic sleeve. Except they were not for her parents … they all seemed to be about her mother, and her father was never mentioned. She had asked her uncle why this was, and he sat her down and told her the truth.

  There never was an accident. Berry’s father had snapped and shot his parents as well as his wife, Berry’s mum. Finally knowing the truth had turned her world on its head, but within that was the comfort of actually knowing what happened.

  Every way she looked at it, she couldn’t fathom that her father would ever hurt her mum—he loved her, Berry was sure to this day about that. She remembered how he would bring her mother a bunch of flowers for no particular reason. Sometimes he would shell out money and buy them from the servo, while the rest of the time he would go out of his way to pick some. Most of the time they were just wild flowers he’d found on the way home, but occasionally he’d go on a midnight raid of Mrs Jenkins’ prize-winning rose garden. But something had gone terribly wrong, and in a matter of a few brief minutes, her dad had shattered their perfect life.

  But the past was dead, a closed chapter that couldn’t be rewritten. Berry knew she probably would never know why her father did what he did and that she just had to accept it. He had taken away her mum and for that she wanted to hate him, but try as she might over the years she couldn’t. The conflict left her feeling as if her heart were torn in two. There was the deep sense of loss for her family and a realisation that it was a hole she would never be able to fill. But mixed in with that was the guilt that she should hate her father but couldn’t. So, Berry did the only thing she could: she buried the events of the past deep inside her, along with the turmoil of emotions that were all wrapped up with it. This was the only way she could function—the only way she could be the Berry that her brother and sister depended upon.

  And that’s what she intended to channel today: no-nonsense determination. She had a job to do and she would just get on with it. Emotions aside, she needed to assess Stone Gully and whip the place into shape before Jess and Tommy turned up. The sun was out, which was an optimistic start, and the electricity provider had promised her that the power would be on by this morning. She could only hope they would keep their word.

  Berry packed her gear, and along with cleaning products and a vacuum cleaner, she included her laptop and external speaker; if she was going to spend the day at Stone Gully she would make sure that she had music to get her through instead of enduring hour after hour of deafening silence.

  Berry parked outside the general store, the street as deserted as it was last night except for an elderly man walking his little terrier and a couple of kids playing in the park. Berry headed into the store and was struck by just how small it was—she had always remembered it being bigger.

  Nothing seemed to have changed. There was a small counter on the right-hand side as you walked in, a fridge that housed the milk, cheese and pre-packaged meat, and the entire back wall was covered in shelves that held a higgledy-piggledy array of products.

  ‘Morning,’ came a disembodied voice from somewhere behind the counter.

  For a moment Berry was taken aback as she tried to work out who was speaking.

  ‘Um, good morning,’ she replied, craning her neck over the rack of chewing gum and lollies.

  An old lady stood up and smiled at her. She was plump with pink cheeks and her white hair pulled up into a bun.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Appleby, I didn’t see you there.’ As a child she had always thought that Mrs Appleby was ancient, so the fact that she was still there kind of blew Berry away. ‘I didn’t realise that you still ran the shop.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got nothing better to do,’ she answered with a wink behind her gold-rimmed glasses. ‘Now, if my memory serves me correctly, I’d say you’re young Berry McCalister all grown up.’

  ‘That’s right. I didn’t think that you’d recognise me. I was just a kid when I left.’

  ‘You’re the spitting image of your mum—darker hair, of course, but other than that you’re just like her.’

  ‘Thanks.’ As always, the mention of her mum caused her breath to stop and her heart to flutter with a pang of sadness, but at the same time she felt happy—it was the first time anyone had ever said such a thing. In fact, it was the first time in ages anyone had even mentioned her mother. Uncle Dave never spoke about his sister, and if Berry ever asked him a question about her, she’d get a brief answer with no extra details.

  ‘So, if the gossip is correct, you’re back to sell the farm?’ Mrs Appleby asked.

  ‘Possibly. I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Well, it will be good to see the lights on again. I understand why but I always think it’s sad to see a place abandoned.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Berry didn’t really know what else to say. ‘Anyway I’d better get moving. The house won’t fix itself.’

  ‘Well, that’s the truth,’ Mrs Appleby said.

  Berry grabbed a couple of snacks and a bottle of flavoured milk and headed back to the counter where she handed over the money.

  ‘It’s good to see you again, dear. And I hope everything goes well for you, whatever you decide.’

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Appleby,’ Berry said with a smile before picking up her items and turning towards the door.

  Nate crested the hill, riding his bay stallion, Ronin. He paused for a moment as he took in the sight of Tarantale Downs. He would never get sick of this view, it was in his blood but also in his heart. Before him the soft undulating ground swept down to the old house and extensive paddocks, stables and large training arena.

  The stud had the reputation for breeding champions, which meant its services were always sought after, making Tarantale a lucrative family business. The Tarants had been on this bit of land for more than a century, and as far as Nate was concerned they weren’t going anywhere.

  Nate stroked Ronin’s neck before urging him forwards and galloping down the dirt track towards the house. Ever since the family settled here, Tarantale Downs had been in a constant flux of improvements. Once one building project or renovation was finished the next generation would want to shore up the business and expand it further. When Alexander Tarant arrived in the late 1850s with his wife Alice and their son Henry, he pitched a tent on his hundred acres, quickly replacing it with a tiny wooden cottage, the remains of which were now nowhere to be found; the only evidence that the cottage ever existed was a small watercolour painted by Alice.

  At the beginning Tarantale Downs was a livery stable, but Alexander had an eye for horse flesh, and as the years went by he began to trade horses as well as breed them. Family lore had it that he even supplied horses to Cobb & Co.

  By the time Henry took control of Tarantale Downs, it had become an established horse stud and a blossoming success. Henry, who had developed more than a hint of respectability, decided that the family needed a grander home than the little cottage, so as well as building a new stable on the edge of the north paddock he set about having the homestead built; it was large and impressive with bull-nosed verandahs skimming three sides. And just to make his new wife, Emily, happy he spared no expen
se and included wrought-iron lacework, elegant steps leading up to the verandah and a dozen rose bushes, all to make Tarantale Downs the envy of Harlington.

  As Nate rode down the drive, the homestead loomed ahead. From the front the house looked like it had in Henry’s day, but as you got closer you started to see the extension out the back along with a conservatory. Of course, inside it had been updated over the generations and it now had all the mod cons, and thanks to Nate’s dad, a state-of-the-art kitchen.

  Ronin’s hooves clattered on the road as he trotted around the house towards the stables. The stables had been built only a few years ago, and just like Tarantales’ kitchen, they were state-of-the-art. Beyond the stables were fenced-off pastures and a training arena.

  Nate pulled back on Ronin’s reins and slowed him down.

  ‘Hey Nate, you want me to stable Ronin?’

  Nate looked up and saw one of the stable hands, Justin, sauntering across the yard. Justin was just seventeen and working here as a last-ditch effort to keep him out of trouble. He’d fallen in with the wrong crowd and Nate had taken him under his wing six months ago in the hope that working at Tarantale might help turn his life around. Nate had treated him like a younger brother. He made a point of keeping Justin busy, too busy to spend time with his old friends. He was a good kid, or at least Nate thought so—besides that, he was great with the horses and didn’t mind doing the less fun jobs like mucking out stalls and stacking hay. There were only two things that worried Nate: that the kid might slip back into his old ways, and that he might be too handsome for his own good. Nate had overheard his fourteen-year-old sisters whispering about ‘hot Justin’ with his shaggy dark hair that made him look somewhere between a gypsy, a pirate and the lead singer of the boy band that Lia and Em worshipped. Nate had thought the twins were only besotted with horses but he’d recently started to rethink that notion.

  Nate swung off Ronin’s back and gave Justin a grin. ‘Thanks, mate, appreciate it.’

  ‘No worries.’ Justin reached for the reins.

  ‘Is the family still in?’ Nate asked as he gestured to the house, before turning back to Ronin and giving him a pat.

  ‘As far as I know,’ Justin said before he started to lead Ronin towards the stable. ‘I saw one of the girls about ten minutes ago. Catch you later.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nate said, biting back a question about which sister Justin had just seen. ‘See you later.’

  Nate didn’t live at the old house. A couple of years ago he realised for his own sake, and if he was going to maintain a relationship with his dad, he needed to move out. He loved his dad but the man had the need to micromanage nearly every aspect at Tarantale. Nate had converted the original stables into a home, meaning he was still on his beloved Tarantale Downs and close to his family, but not living on top of them. The place was a bit of a bachelor pad—furnishings a little on the sparse side—but it was his own domain, one that his dad couldn’t impinge upon.

  Nate entered the back door of the homestead and found his family in the kitchen. His mother and Em were bustling about cooking pancakes and making school lunches. Lia was finishing up a bowl of cereal and his father, Sam, was engrossed in the local paper, oblivious to everything. It was a familiar picture, one that Nate had witnessed most of his life. His father was always present but in some way or another he was always removed, never fully engaged with what was happening around him.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Nate’s mum, Jackie, said as she looked up from the stove and gave him a smile. ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘I had some cereal earlier, but those pancakes look great,’ he said as he scruffed Em’s hair on the way past.

  ‘Hey, get off—I just did that,’ Em said before giving him a grin and a half-hearted shove.

  ‘Well, sit down and I’ll make you a couple,’ Jackie said.

  ‘No, it’s all right.’ Nate eyed the half-full mixing bowl. ‘You sit down and I’ll make them.’

  Jackie hesitated for a moment but Nate kissed her on the cheek and gestured to the table. ‘Go on, sit. I’m more than capable of flipping a couple of pancakes.’

  Sam Tarant glanced up as his wife pulled out a chair and sat down. It was only then that he appeared to notice Nate.

  ‘Nate, take a seat—one of the girls can do that.’

  Em and Lia looked at each other and rolled their eyes before going back to what they were doing.

  Nate shook his head. ‘She’s right, Dad. They’ll only take a minute.’

  ‘Well, hurry up, I’ve got something to discuss with you,’ Sam said gruffly before turning back to the paper.

  Silence fell over the kitchen. His mum and the girls sat quietly, the only cheery sound that of the kettle boiling and the hiss from the pan as Nate poured in some pancake mixture. It was moments like this that reminded him why he’d moved out in the first place.

  ‘I hear that one of the McCalister girls is back,’ Sam broke the silence as Nate sat at the table with his pancakes. ‘The whole town’s buzzing with the news. They say it’s the eldest one, Berenice.’

  ‘Well, small towns are like that,’ Nate replied as he sprinkled brown sugar and lemon on his pancakes before digging in. ‘Always talking about something or someone.’

  ‘I guess I should go and say hello, welcome her back and all of that,’ Sam said.

  ‘I suppose, though you might want to give her a couple of days. Yesterday was the first time she’d been back to the farm, and I imagine that she’d have a lot to sort through.’

  ‘You mean with the contents?’

  Nate gave Sam an incredulous look. ‘No, Dad, I mean it must be tough facing the house where most of your family was murdered. The bad memories would outweigh any of the good ones, wouldn’t they?’

  Sam put down the paper and looked at him with an intense and uncompromising expression, which always felt a bit unnerving, but eventually he nodded. ‘You’re probably right. I’ll give her a few days to settle in. I doubt I’d even recognise her. She was just a kid when they left town.’

  ‘You can’t miss her,’ Nate said as he glanced up from the pancake. ‘Long dark ponytail, pretty, not scared to speak her mind.’

  His father stared back at him. ‘Since when did you meet her?’

  ‘Yesterday, when I drove to the shop. Berry had just arrived, so I stopped and talked to her,’ Nate said with a shrug as he felt his sisters’ eyes burning into him.

  ‘So, do you know why she’s here?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Well, it’s their house,’ Nate said, ignoring the twins.

  ‘You think she might want to sell it, after all this time?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I guess she’ll have to talk that out with her brother and sister. She said it wasn’t just her decision.’

  ‘Hmm, I guess not.’

  ‘I was always surprised that they kept the place,’ Jackie said before taking a sip of orange juice.

  ‘I thought it was odd as well,’ agreed Sam. ‘I mean, why would you want to live in such a place? All those terrible memories.’

  ‘Maybe they decided to let the McCalister kids decide,’ Lia added as she polished off the last of her cereal. ‘I think I’d want to make that decision rather than have someone else do it. Guess her family decided to wait until they grew up so they could say what they wanted.’

  Jackie nodded. ‘You’re probably right, sweetheart. It would make sense if the family could afford to keep the property, that is. I always thought they were struggling at the time of the … well, you know.’

  ‘They were,’ Sam said. ‘That’s what everyone believes pushed Jordy McCalister over the edge—the financial strain. But apparently the other side of the family was loaded.’

  ‘So, why didn’t he ask for help?’

  ‘Too proud, I guess. Anyway, I was told at the time that the kids’ uncle paid off the mortgage so they could keep it. Always thought it was a waste, that good land sitting idle for all these years.’

  ‘Well, it looks like things a
re about to change,’ Nate said. ‘Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. Were you friends with him, Dad?’

  Sam took a moment and stared across the table. ‘Yeah, I was. It was a terrible business. Jordy McCalister was always a bit of a dreamer. I never could believe that he’d do something like that. I know that depression and financial strain can eat at a man, but I never thought he’d snap like that. He worshipped his wife, I can’t see how he could have hurt her.’

  Nate studied his dad for a second. ‘Are you saying you don’t believe he killed his family before taking himself out?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘They say he did but I’ve never been able to believe it.’

  ‘Do you know something? I mean, if you have doubts you should have told the police.’

  ‘I don’t have any evidence, it’s just a gut feeling that the guy I knew would never have done what they said. I talked to the police at the time but they said it was a cut-and-dried case. Jordy had snapped and killed his parents and his wife. Thank God the kids got away, though that must be an awful burden to live with, especially the eldest, because she would remember more.’

  Nate nodded. ‘I reckon so.’

  ‘It’s a tragedy, all right. And one that should have been buried by now. Whether Jordy did it or not, it’s in the past. The family should have got rid of the place back then rather than letting it fester.’

  Chapter Six

  The first thing Berry did when she arrived at Stone Gully was to open every window and door to let the breeze and sunlight cleanse the house. The next thing was to set up her portable speaker so she could pump music through the place. Once this was done, Berry stood back and marvelled at how some sunshine and music could change the atmosphere.

  The farmhouse had taken on a different feel today. There was still an undercurrent of melancholy but not the sense of foreboding doom that surrounded her yesterday. It was just a house that needed to be cleaned and put in order. She ferried in the vacuum cleaner and other cleaning products she’d brought up from Melbourne and set to work, tackling the kitchen first.