Part One

February, 1996

A thin wail rose through the apartment, just as Diana Lynch was placing the third plate onto the dish drainer. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push down the jumble of emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her. Seven-month-old Imogen had only been asleep for fifteen minutes, there were three days’ worth of dishes piled in the kitchen, the tiny apartment was littered with things that needed to be put away and she had not had a moment to herself in days. The only part of the housework that Di was managing to keep up with religiously was cleaning the floor – and that only because the baby spent so much time down there. She gave a fleeting thought to the cleaning service her father had offered to get for her, but dismissed it at once; she felt guilty enough about the allowance he was already paying her without adding to it.

The cries were becoming louder now and so she dropped the sponge back into the hot water and went to see what could be done. Entering the bedroom, she saw a screwed-up, red face peering at her through the bars of the cot. Knowing that she was too late to get her back to sleep, Di scooped up the baby and gave her a cuddle.

“You really should still be sleeping,” she told her daughter. “I thought I was going to get a few things done.”

Imogen squawked once more, as if in response, but it was clear that she was beginning to calm down. Di took her back to the sink with her and tried doing the dishes one-handed for a few minutes. Progress was slow, but if she did not get them done, there would be nothing to eat off at the next meal. Eventually, she judged that the baby would be happy enough if put down and she did so. She was rewarded with a frown but the crying did not recommence.

Di turned back to the dishes and felt as if she was the one who should be crying. Her mind flicked through her options as she tried to think of someone, anyone, who could help her, but she came up empty. Her father had gone away on a business trip and taken her mother with him. Honey was away, too. Dan and Jim would be at work. Brian and Mart were too far away. It was Friday, so Mrs. Belden would be at her garden club. No one was staying at the Manor House this week, so it would be all closed up. She considered, just for a moment, whether she could call on Isabella Regan, but decided against that.

As the pile of dirty dishes dwindled, Di came to the conclusion that the only possible person who she could turn to was Trixie, but would she be available? Trixie’s work schedule was unpredictable at best and prone to sudden, dramatic changes. Even if she called ahead, there was no telling whether the answer would be the same when she got there as it was when she left home.

With three-quarters of the job done, Imogen seemed to decide that she had been neglected for long enough and started crying once more. Di glanced over the things that were left and decided it was near enough. She let out the water and dried her hands before covering her face with them. The crying, the endless housework and the isolation were getting to her and she knew that she needed some contact with the outside world or it would drive her mad.

She turned to the unhappy baby. “Let’s go and see if Aunt Trixie is at home, okay? And, if she’s not, maybe we can drive around town until we find someone who’ll talk to me.”

The sky was heavy with clouds and the air was crisp as Di hurried up the front steps to Rose Cottage with Imogen perched on her hip. She had begun squalling again almost as soon as they had left the apartment, but Di was feeling so desperate for adult conversation that she was willing to bear this. She shifted her weight back and forth in a steady rhythm as she waited for the bell to be answered. Hearing a series of sounds from inside, she breathed a sigh of relief that puffed out in a little cloud as Trixie opened the door.

“Hi, Trixie. I’m just so glad you’re here and I hope you don’t mind my dropping by. You’re looking really well today.” She drew a breath, realising that she was beginning to babble. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just need someone to talk to who actually talks back. Oh, and a room to sit in that has no baby clothes in it that need folding.”

Her friend grinned. “I can help with the baby-clothes free zone, but I’m not sure about the rest. I’ve got a business associate here at the moment.” The disappointment must have been clear on Di’s face, for Trixie hurried on, “I don’t think he’d mind if you stayed, though. I’ll just ask him. Come on in.”

Trixie took the baby from Diana so that she could take off her coat and went into the dining room, leaving Di in the living room. Imogen’s crying eased to the occasional sob. After a few moments Trixie re-emerged, indicating that Diana should follow her. The dining room table was strewn with drawings, photographs and pages of notes. A strong lamp had been set up on the table and within its pool of light a dark-haired man sat, pen in hand. He was, perhaps, in his mid-thirties, well-dressed and neat but with sad eyes.

“Di, this is Thornton Huntley,” Trixie introduced. “He’s a good friend of my boss and I’m working with him on a project at the moment, which might interest you, as it happens. He’s an illustrator.”

Di shook his hand and murmured the usual greetings. The man gave a brief smile and she was struck for a moment by the change it made to his face. A moment later, she wondered if she had imagined it.

“We were just about to take a break,” Trixie told Di. “Why don’t you two talk amongst yourselves while I fix the drinks?”

After finding out what her guests wanted, Trixie set Imogen on the floor to play and closed the door behind herself. The baby pushed up onto hands and knees and began to rock back and forth.

“She’ll be crawling soon,” the man observed. “Any time now. You won’t know what hit you.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Di answered, rather ruefully. “She’s been doing that for weeks. I’m torn as to whether I want her to get going, or if I want her to just stay as she is.”

“Whichever she does, it’s a lot of work, I guess,” Thornton replied. “She’s your only one?”

Di nodded. “How about you? You have children of your own?” she inquired, adding as an afterthought, “if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Three,” he told her with another brief smile. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a photograph. “That’s Rachel – she’s twelve; then there’s Aaron – he’s ten; and Gina has just turned nine.”

“You don’t look old enough to have such grown-up kids,” Di commented in surprise, then covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

He waved the matter away. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I meant it that way.” She looked at him critically, then back to the photograph. “They’re all very like you.”

“I keep hoping they’ll turn out like their mother, my late wife,” he answered, the lingering sadness she had noticed earlier flooding his handsome face. “Sometimes when I look at them, though, she seems to have gone from them completely.” He produced another photograph. “This is her, a few days before she died. She’s been gone more than five years, now.”

Diana took the photograph from him and compared it to the one he had given her earlier.

“Your oldest – Rachel, I think you said?” He nodded and she continued. “She’s the most like your wife, I think. Her face is the same shape.”

“Yes,” he replied. “Rachel does look a lot like Margaret. I lose sight of that sometimes.”

A sad smile crossed Di’s face for a moment. “Sometimes I see Imogen’s father in her expression, but mostly I don’t see any resemblance at all, not even to me.”

“She’s still very young,” he answered.

Di cast around for a different topic of conversation and her eyes alighted on the sketch he had in front of him.

“That’s very interesting,” she noted. “Is that what you’ve been working on today?”

He nodded. “It’s a reconstruction of the artefact in these photographs. Trixie seems to think there’s something wrong with it, though, but can’t tell me what it is. It’s been a little frustrating.”

Di laughed, knowing the feeling. “She’s got good instincts, but she can’t describe what she means. May I take a look?”

He slid the page and the photographs of what had once been a rounded metal container of some sort over to her and she studied them for a few moments. Her eyes were still on the sketch when Trixie returned with a tray.

“Are you going to tell me I’m crazy, too?” Trixie asked, distributing mugs and placing a plate of cookies in the middle of the table.

“I never said that,” Thornton objected, in a mild tone. “I just don’t understand what the problem is.”

“Nobody ever understands the problem,” Trixie grumbled. She turned to her friend. “I know that the photos show something that’s kind of flat, but it’s been squashed down for hundreds of years. It should be more round than it is in the photos, but not so round as this. We don’t think it was completely round, so it still needs to be flat-ish, but not flat-ish like it is in the sketch; a different kind of flat-ish, if you see what I mean.”

Di frowned for a moment before enlightenment appeared. “So, what you’re saying is that this line here is too curved, but this line here isn’t curved enough, and that the shading over here should be a different shape and cover less area.”

Trixie shrugged. “Probably.”

Thornton took another sheet of paper and made a quick sketch, in line with what Diana had suggested. He held it out to Trixie.

“More like this?”

“Yes!” she answered. “Exactly like that.”

“And you couldn’t have just explained that to me?” he asked, with the first glimpse of humour that Diana had seen in him.

Trixie shook her head. “Di just speaks my language, I guess. It’s lucky she came by; we might have taken an hour to sort that out.”

“That’s true.” His tone was dry.

“You didn’t need to agree with me so quickly,” Trixie grumbled. “I’m sure you would have understood me sooner or later.”

He gave a brief smile, but did not comment. Instead, he began working on a new version of the drawing.

“In any case, it all worked out well. Di interpreted for me and we saved her from baby-induced insanity.” Trixie grinned at her friend and winked.

“It’s nice to have other adults to talk to,” Di mentioned. “I don’t ever get that at home.”

“Oh! So, you’re on your own, too?” Thornton asked, surprise showing on his face even though his eyes were still on his work.

Di grimaced a little, then nodded. “Her father is only interested in himself. He’s never even met her and I doubt he’ll ever want to.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he answered. “It must be very difficult.”

“Which is why I turned up here unannounced.” Her expression was rueful. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” he countered, as Trixie slipped out to the kitchen for some reason. “We were nearly finished anyway and I’ve appreciated your contributions. You helped us greatly.”

“I was happy to help,” she answered, feeling a slight blush rise in her cheeks.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then handed something to her. “My card,” he explained. “Call me sometime, if you like, when you need someone to talk to. I often work from home, so I’m available when everyone else seems to be busy.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and took the card. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all,” he answered and turned back to his work.

Trixie rejoined them and chatted with Diana while Thornton completed his drawing. This time, it met Trixie’s full approval and she declared herself satisfied with the day’s work.

Thornton began to collect his belongings. “Well, Trixie, if that’s all, I think I’ll be leaving you in peace. Will you speak to Sir Winslow about the other matter, or should I?”

They went on to discuss work matters for a few minutes, before Thornton repeated expressions of pleasure at meeting Diana and bid them farewell.

When he had gone, Diana and Trixie sat in the living room to chat for a while, as Imogen slept. Di was feeling weary and enjoyed the sensation of not doing anything while seated in a comfortable chair. She was jolted out of her daydreaming by Trixie’s voice.

“It’s strange. I’ve never heard him talk about his wife before.”

“You haven’t?” Di asked. “He talked about her to me almost as soon as we met.”

“I’ve known him for years, now,” Trixie continued. “He’s never mentioned her in all that time. I never even knew her first name. And someone else told me how she died.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a colleague,” Di mused, her eyes drooping sleepily. “Or, maybe, it was too painful when he first met you. It must have been not all that long after she died, if you’ve known him for years. I think he said it’d only been five years she’s been gone.”

“Maybe,” Trixie answered, frowning. “You’re not going to go to sleep, are you? What will I do when the baby wakes up?”

“I’m sure you can figure something out.” Di smiled, letting her eyes close. “I manage to look after her, so I’m sure it won’t be too difficult for you.”

Trixie huffed in response. “You have certain other – ahem – attributes. It’s not like I can feed her.”

“If she’s hungry, you can give her a banana.”

“I’ve seen her eat a banana and if you think I’m going to clean up that kind of mess…” Trixie huffed out a breath. “Fine. Go to sleep. Just don’t expect your child to be clean and well-behaved when you wake up.”

Early March, 1996

As he walked along, checking Happy Valley Farm’s boundary fences, Mart struggled to keep his mind on the job at hand. Ten days before, he had taken his girlfriend Daphne to the airport for her flight home. In the intervening time, he had felt lower than ever before, distracted and subdued. His work had suffered and he felt that he was testing both his uncle’s and Hank Gorman’s patience.

With a sigh, he realised that he had gotten distracted once more and retraced his steps for several yards to check that stretch of fencing again. Stopping to examine a potential problem he had overlooked, he made a quick repair using the materials he carried with him before moving on. When he reached a corner, he stopped to look back over the stretch he had just covered. There were a number of places where he had been forced to back-track.

Mart leaned against the corner post, his shoulders drooping. The misery he had been feeling for the last ten days hung around him like a cloud, obscuring the peacefulness he usually felt out here on the farm. In his mind’s eye, he pictured another, very different, farm on the other side of the world. He remembered riding horses across rolling hills against a background of taller hills, covered in grey-green eucalypt trees and the sound of Daphne’s laughter as she passed him at a canter.

He shook his head to dismiss the memory. She had not been his girlfriend back then and she no longer lived on her parents’ farm. Her studies had taken her to the nearby state capital, Brisbane, a sprawling city of around one-and-a-half million people. He smiled in remembrance of the exasperated way she had once corrected his pronunciation, insisting it be called ‘Briz-bn.’

If she were still living on the farm, his current dilemma would have been easier to resolve, he knew. A city was no place for him, even one that was scattered with pockets of green space. He was quickly coming to realise that Happy Valley was no place for him, either, if she was not there.

“How is it going?” asked a voice, which made Mart jump.

He turned to see his uncle approaching and gave a shrug. “I don’t think I’m doing a very good job.”

“You have other things on your mind.” Uncle Andrew stopped a few paces away and cast his eyes along the line of fencing. “I don’t see any troubles here, though. That’s a new repair just back a little way, isn’t it?”

Mart nodded. “I think I’ve walked twice as far as I should have, but I hope I’ve noticed everything that needs noticing.”

“I’ll take another look in the morning, just to be sure.” The older man stood gazing across the fields, not looking at his nephew. “I didn’t come here to talk about fences. I actually came to offer a piece of advice. Plan it out and see how it looks. Maybe, then, you’ll be able to make up your mind on whether you should do it.”

“Do what?” Mart asked, carefully.

Andrew turned to look at him, with sympathy in his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. You want to go to her, but you can’t make up your mind to do it.”

“I can’t see myself living in a city,” he admitted, in a rush. “What would I do there?”

“I’m sure you could find something,” his uncle answered. “You have plenty of skills that would be useful. And don’t try telling me that you need to be on the land to be happy – you’re on the land now and it’s making no difference at all.”

Mart directed a wry smile at his feet. “That’s true.” He shook his head. “I guess that’s why you never gave me one of those lectures – you’re in the half of people I know who are convinced that I’m going to drop everything and go to her.”

“I never gave you a lecture because I’m not the lecturing type,” his uncle corrected with a laugh. “And I’m not fully convinced that you’ll go. I just need you to make up your mind. My sheep are relying on your being attentive to them.”

“I’m really sorry, Uncle Andrew. I’ll try to pay better attention in future.”

The older man dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Just make up your mind, okay? Really think about it; think of the solutions to those things that are holding you back and see whether it’s going to be worth it. I’m pretty sure you already know the answer, it’s just a matter of bringing it into focus.”

A moment later, he was walking away and Mart was left standing next to the fence.

That evening, he got a piece of paper and a pencil, along with his last bank statement, and started mapping out a way that he could go to be with Daphne. Some time later, he wrote a dollar amount at the bottom of the page and circled it. He lay down the pencil and stared at the amount for a few minutes.

He got out the calculator and divided that amount by the sum he usually saved each week. Taking that number, he counted on the calendar and swore as he discovered that at the current rate it would take him until almost Christmas to save the amount required, but then would have no money left over to buy presents for his family and friends.

At the edge of the page, he tried writing himself a new budget, but only managed to gain four or five weeks. Using the calculator once more, he tried working in the other direction, dividing the total amount by the number of weeks until he would like to be ready. The answer was more than he earned in a week. Mart groaned.

“I guess, if I want to go soon, I’ll have to get a higher-paying job,” he murmured to himself.

He turned the page over and wrote a new plan. When it was finished, he nodded. Now, he knew what he had to do and tomorrow he would begin. His uncle had been right: once he could see what needed to be done, the decision was obvious.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you,” Trixie exclaimed, while dragging her best friend into her house. “You’ll never guess what I just heard.”

“What?” Honey answered, allowing herself to be taken into the kitchen, where Trixie handed her a coffee mug and waved her in the direction of the coffee pot.

“Di is going out – on a family outing, she insists – with a man that I work with! Can you believe it?”

Honey finished making her coffee and took the first sip before she replied. “Maybe it’s just that – a family outing. Does the man have a family? I suppose he must, if they’re going on a family outing together.”

Trixie nodded. “His wife died a few years back and he’s got three kids. The oldest one’s in middle school, I think, and the youngest is in maybe the second or third grade.”

Her friend’s eyes widened. “How old is this man, exactly?”

Trixie shrugged. “No idea. Thirty-something, I’d guess.”

“It must be what she said, then, don’t you think? Just a family outing. It couldn’t really be a date, could it?” Honey shook her head. “So, how did she meet him?”

“She dropped in at my house when he was there,” Trixie explained. “They kind of hit it off right away. I didn’t know that they’d made any plans to contact each other, though.”

“You left them alone together?”

Trixie nodded. “A couple of times I had to go and get something. I didn’t know it was going to end up like this, though!”

“It hasn’t exactly ended up at all just yet,” Honey pointed out with a smile.

Trixie shrugged her indifference to the distinction. “So, Mart announces that he’s going to go off after Daphne and Di starts a relationship with Thornton, right at the same time. It’s almost like fate.” Trixie screwed up her nose. “It’s so perfect that it just has to be right.”

“I’m not so sure.” Honey frowned a little. “It seems a bit too… neat.”

“Well, what do you think is going to happen?” Trixie demanded.

Honey considered for a few moments. “Well, I couldn’t really say about Di. I mean, she told me so many times that she wouldn’t consider another relationship so soon after what happened with Lennox, but that makes me inclined to think that she was just trying to convince herself.”

Trixie nodded. “That’s what I meant. She was too insistent about this, too. She said too many times that it wasn’t a date, but just a family thing.”

Her best friend’s eyebrows rose. “That does sound kind of serious.”

“You don’t think it’s because Mart is leaving, do you?” She paused a moment, frowning. “If you’d asked me a year ago whether Di would ever be upset over Mart again, I’d have laughed. But something about the way she’s acting has got me wondering if there’s more to it than I thought.”

Once more, Honey considered. “I don’t think so. I think she’s a little sad about him leaving, but in a Bob-White kind of way and not in a lost love kind of way. At least, I hope that’s what she’s feeling. It would be awful if, after all this time, she realised that she really wanted Mart, just at the moment when it’s getting to be impossible.”

Trixie nodded once more. “And what do you think about Mart?”

Honey shook her head. “He’s not troubled by lost loves. He’s so eager to get going that he’s hardly going to miss the rest of us at all. He’ll probably forget to write for about a month after he gets there.”

“Moms will go after him if he does that,” Trixie predicted. “She really doesn’t want to let him go, but she can’t think of any way to stop him. I don’t think she’s considered, yet, that he’s going to be gone for more than a few months.”

Her friend frowned in concern. “He’s not going to be able to afford to visit very often. I wish there was something I could do about it.”

Trixie leaned over to give her a hug. “You can’t fix all of our problems, Hon. Some of them we need to fix by ourselves. You might bring Dan around sometimes, though, after Mart’s gone. Moms seems to need boys to mother – I’m just not good enough.”

“I think Dan likes being mothered by your mother, so I don’t think that will be any hardship for any of us,” Honey answered with a giggle. “You could always bring Jim, too. He would like to be mothered by your mother as well, I’m sure.”

“It’s probably the best we can do,” Trixie answered, glumly. “Boys! They’re more trouble than they’re worth, half the time.”

Honey began to giggle uncontrollably. “Are you sure about that, Trixie? I’ve found a use or two for them. Maybe you’re not, erm, handling Jim right, if you haven’t.”

Trixie’s head shot up from her contemplation of her knees. “I meant my brothers.”

“Well, other people seem to have found uses for your brothers,” Honey pointed out, “and all men have to be somebody’s brother, unless they have no siblings at all, which is, of course, the case for both of our significant others, but that’s not the case in most cases, is it?”

“If you say so,” Trixie answered. “I still think brothers are trouble, though. Poor Moms. With Brian settled in Buffalo and Mart going to the other side of the world and Bobby talking about – did you hear that part? He’s only applied to colleges that are at least a thousand miles away. No matter what Moms and Dad say to him, he won’t apply to anywhere closer.”

Honey’s brow crinkled in concern. “That’s going to be so hard on your mother, when he’s gone, too. You’re right, Trixie. I do need to bring Dan around more often.”

“Just don’t say I told you to,” Trixie advised. “I don’t think she wants us to think she needs coddling… but she does want the attention, I’m sure.”

Honey nodded. “Okay. I will faithfully remember to bring Dan around to your mother’s general vicinity for her to mother him – and I’ll warn him about it, so he feels mothered and not smothered – but I won’t tell your mother that you told me to do that. Does that cover it?”

Trixie laughed. “I think it does. If only all of my problems were so easily sorted out.”

When Diana arrived at the designated meeting place for their family outing, she saw at once that Thornton and his kids were already there. They had chosen a playground for this reason, so that the bigger kids could work off some energy during any waiting. Thornton waved her over to his spot on one of the benches scattered around and she sat next to him.

“It’s good to see you again,” he told her, while smiling at the baby. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“So am I,” she replied, feeling a little nervous. “It’s good for Imogen to get out, but I don’t do it enough on my own.”

“It does take some effort,” he agreed, his voice light. “So, are you ready for the ordeal of meeting my three?”

“It’s hardly going to be an ordeal,” she disagreed. She had, by this time, picked out the three that she was sure were his and they seemed quite well-behaved.

“Kids, come here, please,” Thornton called, and they came running. He gestured to each child in turn. “Rachel, Aaron and Gina. This is Diana and her daughter Imogen.”

The three chorused a jumble of greetings, then Rachel’s voice came to the forefront. “She’s so cute! May I hold her?”

Di glanced at the girl’s father for his approval before handing Imogen into the waiting arms. Rachel jiggled the baby up and down and Imogen smiled.

“Look, Dad! She likes me.”

“So she does. Just don’t drop her, sweetie. She won’t like you at all if you do that.”

“Of course I won’t do that.” The girl turned her attention to the baby in her arms. “I wouldn’t do that to such a little cutie as you, now, would I?”

Imogen responded in baby talk and the two seemed to start up a conversation.

“So far, so good,” Thornton noted, in a low voice. “Will we risk moving on to our next destination?”

Di nodded. They took a few minutes to transfer Imogen’s car seat from Di’s little car to Thornton’s large people mover, then got all of the kids inside. There was a brief squabble caused by the rearrangement of seating positions, but Thornton soon sorted that out. Then began the drive to nearby Tarrytown, which passed in relative peace.

Once there, Thornton guided them around a variety of locations, including a short visit to Sunnyside, the former home of Washington Irving. Diana had been there before, of course, as all Sleepyside children went there on school trips, but she found the experience quite different this time. Thornton had strong interests in architecture and history, sharing his knowledge in interesting ways.

He also knew a number of other places of interest in the vicinity and they visited several sites that Diana had never been before. She particularly enjoyed visiting one of the local churches that boasted a number of stained glass windows, one of them by Henri Mattisse.

Imogen enjoyed the attention given by the bigger children during the expedition, but began to fuss if kept too far from her mother. Overall, she seemed content to travel with them, something that had concerned Diana when she had accepted the invitation. In all, the day went well and she was glad that she had agreed to go.

At the end of the day, Thornton took them back to the place they had left Di’s car and carefully transferred the seat, with a sleeping Imogen inside it, back where it belonged.

“Thank you for coming with us today,” he told her, after seeing that the baby was secure. “It was a very enjoyable outing.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” she answered, smiling. “I really enjoyed it, too.”

There was a pause, with each of them looking at the other, not quite knowing what to say. The silence was broken by Thornton.

“Would you like to get together again sometime?” he offered, looking both hopeful and unsure.

At once, Di nodded. “I’d love to.”

“Well, I’ll talk to you again soon, in that case.” He squeezed her hand and headed back to his car.

Di got into the driver’s seat, tossed her bag onto the passenger seat and started the engine. There was a smile on her face as she drove away.

Continue to part two.