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THE UNEXPECTED GIFT - CHAPTER 1 TOTALLY REVISED

K

Kate

Guest
Somehow I posted a much older version of this story and not what I intended at all! Here is what should have gone on! My apologies for the confusion. :roll:

Chapter 1
I’m quite comfortable with my own company. No choice really since mum died nearly 10 years ago. I manage to run the small farm by myself. I hire help from the town occasionally for the heavy stuff, but mostly I cope alone. It’s 50 km to Tolligunda, the nearest town, so I only go every couple of weeks to get supplies. I’m pretty much self-sufficient, what with the chooks and the sheep and goats. Mum always kept a thriving vegetable garden and I just followed in her footsteps. I rarely eat meat, but I can throw together a passable veggie soup.

Mum believed in the power of nature and said that we must trust the heavens to provide all we need – the sun and the rain to grow our food and enrich our pasture, the wind to cleanse the earth. She taught me how to grow herbs for healing just about anything that ailed us and wouldn’t have a bar of the doctor in town. Perhaps if she had let me call the doctor when she took ill she would still be here today. Every day I visit the small grave at the edge of the house paddock and put a few wildflowers in a little jam jar. She loved the wildflowers, especially the white heath.

I don’t get many visitors out this way and I never did make many friends at the town school. The only human contact I get is from the seasonal workers who come in to help with the sheep and they’re usually a rough lot, so I keep to myself. Men scare me, probably because there have never been any men in my life. I never knew my father. Mum wouldn’t talk about him. She’d only say that a father is irrelevant. The kids on the school bus used to pick on me constantly for not having a dad. They called mum a slut and said I was just a little bastard.

Life’s not bad for me now really, but sometimes I have a little grizzle because I’m lonely and know I’ve got no chance of getting married and having a kid of my own. The shearers don’t glance my way. Well, I’m no oil painting now that I’m the wrong side of 40. I’m middle-aged, plump and no longer blonde. Life’s funny – you never know what it’s got in store for you. Like the day the stranger came.

I was down by the creek checking on a fence when I saw her, her fuzzy blonde hair framing her face like a halo in the harsh afternoon sun. She looked about 16 and she was sitting on the riverbank starting into the water. She must have heard me gasp, because she leapt to her feet, trembling like one of my young goats, all skinny and spindly legs, tawny eyes wide with fright. I spoke quietly to her and walked slowly towards her, holding out my hand to reassure her. The girl grasped my hand, but when I spoke to her she didn’t seem to understand a word! I asked her if she’d broken down on the rough track that ran behind my lower paddock. It wasn’t fit for cars, only a four-wheel drive could handle it, I told her, and then only in good weather.

“Come up to the house out of the heat, girl”, I said in the end, still holding her hand and drawing her towards my old trail bike. “Hop up behind me and for heaven’s sake, hold on tight”. The girl looked blankly at the bike, but obediently clambered on after me and held on to my shoulders as we bumped our way over the paddocks to the house.

I took her inside and sat her down at the rough timber table. I was sweating heavily from the heat and the dark, shady kitchen was a blessed relief. I noticed the girl’s skin was dry and cool. Her skinny arms were the colour of burnished copper as she rested her elbows on my old table and took in her surroundings.

“Where are you from, girl?” I poured her a cold glass of goat’s milk and watched as she gulped it down, leaving a lacy white down on her upper lip. Looked like she hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. The girl spoke, but the words made no sense to me. It wasn’t any language I’d ever heard, not even at the movies in town. Her eyes struck me though, the colour of clear amber, just like mum’s and a mirror of my own.

“I’m Maddy Hallett, pleased to meet you. Do you need help with your car?”
The girl spoke again, her accent lilting and strange. I couldn’t make head nor tail of what she was trying to tell me.

“We’re not getting far, are we? Come on, better go back and look for your vehicle”. I heaved myself wearily out of the chair and headed outside. The heat hit me like a brick wall and there wasn’t a breath of air. This time the girl didn’t hesitate to climb up behind me on the bike. When we reached the dirt track near where I had found her, it was deserted as usual. I scanned the flat, dusty road but there was nothing.

“Well, girl, no car. How the hell did you get here?” I looked closely at my strange visitor. For the first time I noticed her bizarre clothes, a tunic of some rough woven yellow fabric I’d never seen before, short, no sleeves and an unusual high rolled collar.

“Are you from the big smoke, running away from home then? There’s nothing around here for you, love. Better go home to mum and dad and patch things up. Or are you one of those refugees? That’s it, I reckon!” That would explain why I couldn’t understand her. She was probably from some small remote country I’d never heard of before, something –istan, I suppose.

“Well, from what I hear, life’s pretty damn awful in those refugee camps, so I don’t blame you for taking off. I could do with some company for a while and you look as if you need a few decent meals. If you’re willing to help out around the place you can stay and we’ll just keep quiet about it. How about that? Can’t pay you much though.” She just smiled and I took that as a yes.

“We’ll have to get you some decent working clothes. You seem to be traveling pretty light, no luggage or nothing. We’ll run into town tomorrow and get you some jeans and stuff. I’d like to get my hands on whoever dumped you here in the middle of nowhere”.

The sunset tinged the paddocks a pale yellow as we headed back towards the house. I loved the light at this time of the day. It made me want to paint, but I had no idea where to start with painting a picture. I was no artist, that’s for sure, and as I only went to school till I was 14 there was no time for art classes. Mum needed me to help on the farm.

The girl watched me carefully as I prepared some tucker. She was ravenous and cleaned up everything I put in front of her. No table manners though, but most likely she hadn’t had a proper upbringing. Those countries were always at war, so she was probably an orphan. After she’d wolfed down the food it didn’t take a genius to see that she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Come on, have a wash and pop into bed. You look bushed.” I handed her a towel and showed her the bathroom, but she didn’t even know how to turn on the taps. Poor little blighter must be retarded as well. I washed her as if she was a child and then made up a bed in the spare room. As I helped her out of her rough dress and pulled one of my nightgowns over her head I was shocked to see she wore no underwear. More items for the shopping list!

“I can’t keep calling you girl, you know. I’ll call you Jean. That was my mum’s name. You even look a bit like her in her young days.” The girl only smiled dreamily and closed those familiar tawny eyes.

I was up and cooking breakfast when she awoke the next morning. She sat at the table, hair all mussed, watching while I dished her up a large plate of baked beans. There was certainly nothing wrong with her appetite. She was intrigued when I drove the old Ford out of the shed, running around the car like a kid with a new toy. I made sure she was buckled in the passenger seat and, instead of heading for Tolligunda, turned the other way towards Stellar. It’s 15 km further, but somehow I didn’t want anyone to recognize me with this extraordinary youngster. There were too many questions I couldn’t answer.

Jean learned fast enough though and I don’t think she’s retarded at all on reflection. She picked up the language fast enough. She had the approval of my old dog, Sol, who followed her everywhere and seemed to have a new lease of life, leaping around like a pup. I taught her to bake cakes and make jam and pick the veggies and get them ready for tea. It took her a while to get used to the clothes I bought her and I had to remind her every day not to forget her undies. She helped me milk the goats and check on the sheep every day. The sheep loved her – I roared with laughter when I first saw her sitting in the middle of the paddock surrounded by sheep, her gabbling away in her own language and stroking their wooly heads! Stroking their heads like dogs she was. Perhaps she’d been a shepherd or something in her own country. It was a peculiar sight all right. Usually it took Sol and I hours to round them up.

One day I walked into the sitting room and saw her staring at a photo of mum on the mantelpiece. She must miss her family, wherever they were. I didn’t question her, as I might find out more than I bargained for. I couldn’t explain the uncanny resemblance she had to mum. As far as I knew we had no living relatives. No one came looking for her and she just stayed on and I accepted her as an unexpected gift from heaven – the daughter I’d never have. She hasn’t lost her strange ways though. Sometimes I’d see her kneeling in the grass, her arms reaching up to the setting sun, gabbling away in her strange way. Through the glare, it seemed as if a golden light surrounded her thin form and that the very air was charged with some electric force. Each day I thanked the heavens for the magic that this strange young woman-child who seemed to have dropped from the sky had brought to my life. I had no inkling of what lay ahead.

Continued in the next episode
 
Mmmh ?

8) KATE,,,mmmh Very Good,, intriguing & Angelically written,,methinks there is
the beginnings of Your Book,this surely is the preamble of This !!!??
I sense or see,,,deep,, right through the central magma to Tazzie :shock:

I hope so,,This is Your creativity,, it needs to be Told,, Thanks John :)
 
No!... No!... No!... NO! It cannot be left there! Come on Kate, even if we don't get the end just yet, let's have some more... pleeeeeeeeeze.
 
Hmm, I'll have to give it some thought. It might get my brain working again. We've been snowed in today - first time in 20 years. Snow right down on the beach. More expected tomorrow so maybe I can start on the sequel. 8)
 
I'm sure the snow could be of some inspiration - write it into the story, Katy.

Please don't do a JerryD on us, we're waiting.
drool.gif
 
As it's set in the outback in my imagination snow would be hard to factor in - unless it is brought on by aliens landing or something. But I've started to have some ideas for the next chapter.
 
Great to hear we've got you going.

A friend once told me the way round writer's block is to pretend you're a professional and whether you eat or not depends on getting something done. Unfortunately, it doesn't work for me cos it takes imagination.
 
Paul, I'm sure this happens to you too when you write something that turns out well it's because the characters actually talk to you. You actually hear them in your head.
Well, I am a Tasmanian - you know those inbred islanders with two heads. :lol:
 
Now realising I had posted the completely wrong version of my story I understand your comments. They had me a bit puzzled and when I looked closely at the story I realised my error. Now posted the correct version and a bit of an attempt at the continuing story.
 
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