Barbara Hannay - The Cattleman's Special Delivery

‘Good evening, Mrs Cassidy.’

‘Hello, Sergeant.’

He nodded towards the cot and smiled. ‘I believe congratulations are in order.’

‘Thank you.’

He stepped closer. ‘She’s a little sweetie, isn’t she? It’s been a big night for you.’

‘It has rather.’ Jess swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. ‘Have—have you seen my husband?’

Sergeant Bryant dropped his gaze and cleared his throat and in that moment Jess knew, even before he spoke.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

‘He’s d-dead?’

‘I’m afraid he is.’

At some primitive level, she had probably known all along, but until now she’d never allowed herself to think it was actually possible. But faced with the horrible truth, Jess felt strangely numb. She’d run the full gamut of her emotions tonight and it was almost as if there was nothing left to feel right at this moment …

She couldn’t even squeeze out a tear, but she knew the grief would come … later …

‘At some stage I’ll need to talk to you about the accident,’ the sergeant said. ‘But I won’t bother you tonight.’

She nodded.

‘The rain’s almost stopped, so I’m hoping that the ambulance will be able to get through in another few hours,’ he went on. ‘It will bring you back to Dirranbilla. You’ll be able to see a doctor. And then we can talk.’

He looked into the cot again and his face creased in a soft smile and then he left her.

Jess lay dazed, unable to focus on anything except the news that in another few hours … she would be leaving. She would be starting a new life.

How strange … For a short space of time this simply furnished room had been a little sanctuary for her and for Rosie … a safe haven from the wild night … and from the real world where all her savings were lost and accidents happened and husbands died …

Reece had been so kind. He’d delivered Rosie so beautifully. But in another few hours …

She would be gone … and the cruel irony was, she would be a single mum, after all.

2/56 Mary Street,

Edmonton, Cairns

3rd March

Dear Reece,

Once again, thank you, although I know thanks aren’t enough. Rosie and I owe you our lives. I will write again properly when I have more time, but I wanted you to know that Alan’s funeral was yesterday and I’m managing OK.

I thought you might like this photo of Rosie.

She’s growing already, isn’t she?

Warmest wishes and masses of gratitude,

Jess.

2/56 Mary Street,

Edmonton, Cairns

25th April

Dear Reece,

Thank you so much for the pink teddy bear and the little sleep suit dotted with roses. They are so cute—and such a kind thought. I cried when they arrived. I should be sending you gifts. I owe you so much. One day, I promise I’ll repay you.

At least I can tell you that Rosie is thriving. She’s filling out nicely and she doesn’t wake too often, although she sometimes takes a bit of settling, especially in the evenings. Still, I can’t complain.

She’s started smiling. You’ve no idea how cute her smiles are. Once she starts, she just keeps on smiling as if she thinks the whole world is hilarious.

Thanks again and warmest wishes,

Jess

4a/89 Potts Street,

Redlynch, Cairns

16th June

Dear Reece,

Another big thank you from Rosie and me. What a lovely surprise to open your parcel and to find your note and the gorgeous board books. Rosie loves picture books and these are perfect.

I showed her the cows and the pigs and the turkeys and told her all about your farm—not that I saw much. She squealed and crowed and bashed at the pages with her fat little fingers, which is her way of showing how much she loves something.

You’re probably sick of seeing photos of her, but here’s one more. You can see she’s quite roly-poly now. Please ignore how I look. I was a bit tired that day and I hadn’t washed my hair, but then, you’ve seen me at my worst, haven’t you?

Reece, I hope all is well with you. You didn’t actually say much in your concise and slightly cryptic note. Mind you, that’s not a criticism.

For ever in your debt,

Jess

REECE opened the door to his father’s room—just a crack—and made sure the old man was sleeping peacefully. Satisfied, he went back to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and snapped its lid. Tipping his head, he took a draught, letting the icy lager slide down his throat.

He pushed the flyscreen door and went through to the veranda, propped his elbows on the railing and stared out at the paddocks that stretched long and flat to the distant line of trees. He thought again about Jess.

She made out that she was fine in her letters, but something wasn’t right—he was sure of it. To begin with, she had no computer or phone for sending emails, and now she’d changed her street address. On the surface, that was probably no big deal—although a single mum moving house with a young baby couldn’t be a picnic—but it was the photo that really bothered him.

He took it again from his shirt pocket and stepped into a circle of light to examine it carefully. The baby Rosie was as roly-poly and cute as Jess claimed. Reece found himself smiling as he recognised the same features he’d first witnessed on the night she was born, now filling out.

But he was shocked by the change in the young mother. Jess was so thin, with dark shadows under her eyes, and no sparkle to her smile. She’d claimed she was just tired, but to him she looked ill, or worried. Or both.

You’ve seen me at my worst .

Not so, Reece thought, remembering her flushed cheeks and bright eyes as she greeted her baby for the first time.

Admittedly, becoming a widow and a mother on the very same night would be a terrible strain for any woman, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Jess Cassidy was carrying an extra burden.

On top of his worries about his father, it was enough to keep him awake long into the night.

At the first lull in the café’s morning chaos, Jess gave in to her fear. Ducking out of her boss’s line of sight, behind the big commercial refrigerator in the back kitchen, she rang the day-care centre.

‘Alana, it’s Jess Cassidy. I’m just ringing to check if Rosie is still OK?’

‘She seems fine,’ the young attendant assured her.

‘Are you sure there’s no sign of a temperature?’ Rosie had been fretful all night and Jess was terrified she was getting sick.

‘No, Jess. I knew you were worried so I’ve kept an especially close eye on her. She’s had a nice nap and she woke up quite happy.’

‘Well, that’s good to hear. She was so upset last night. All night.’

‘Perhaps she’s teething. I noticed she’s been chewing on her fists.’

‘That’s probably it. I guess it’s about time.’

‘Jess!’ roared a male voice. ‘What the hell are you up to?’

Jess spun around to find Joel Fink, her boss, glaring at her. Last time she’d looked, he’d been at the far end of the café busily chatting up his favourite female customer. ‘I—I had to make a quick phone call.’

‘Not on my time and not on my phone.’

‘It wasn’t a social call,’ Jess told him coldly, refusing to be cowed. ‘I needed to ring the day-care centre.’

‘My customers’ needs come first. And they need you to stop chatting and to feed them.’ Snatching the phone from her, he slapped an order onto the bench. ‘Two serves of strawberry pancakes. Cream, no ice cream. Get cracking.’

Lips tightly compressed, Jess got to work. Pancakes. Again. She was heartily sick of cooking breakfasts and lunches. As a fully qualified chef, she found it a breeze to produce light fluffy pancakes, or perfectly scrambled eggs and crisply fried bacon. But after almost six months of this she was bored. Just the same, this part-time job, working four days a week from six-thirty till two, was keeping a roof over her head and it was keeping Rosie fed. With Cairns’s growing unemployment problems, she knew she’d been lucky to get the work and she should be grateful.