Page 45 of Wild Horses

Late morning sunshine filtered through the curtains.

Christy blinked against the light on her eyelids, a smile inching across her lips as she registered the absence of an alarm’s shrill call.

It was Saturday. She stretched luxuriously, relishing the rare opportunity to linger in half-sleep.

The hustle and bustle of Currawong Creek often had her up at dawn, even on weekends, but today was different. Today was her day to relax.

Her fingers combed through her tousled hair.

Christy finally rolled out of bed, and felt the wooden floor cool beneath her feet.

She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then made her way to the deserted recreation room kitchen.

Nearly everyone was away at a weekend music festival near Dalby.

The students, Clare, Tom, their two kids – even Samson.

Clare had invited her along, but Christy wanted to spend as much time as possible at Currawong Creek during these last few weeks, for she was leaving at the end of the term.

She fixed herself breakfast – scrambled eggs, toasted sourdough, and a pot of strong coffee from the new machine that Tyler had donated to them.

Since he left she’d been following him online and was thrilled when he was nominated for the Epicurean Top Chef Award.

The competition was today, and she wished him luck. No chef could be more deserving.

Leo had said that if Tyler won he planned to move to France and take up a position as head chef at a famous Paris restaurant.

Christy had asked him how he felt about moving overseas, but Leo said he was staying in Australia.

She’d almost asked how his dad felt about that, but what was the point?

The Wards’ lives had nothing to do with her any more.

Christy had always loved these kinds of Saturdays at Currawong Creek – days when she could sleep in and then spend the morning reading.

The rarity of such mornings made them all the more precious.

Since she’d bought the old school hall, her weekends had been consumed with planning theatre shows, meeting with the Merriang Drama Society, ferrying students back and forth, and holding working bees for urgent repairs.

But today the hall could look after itself. It would have to learn to manage without her soon enough. Astrid would be a splendid caretaker – as passionate about the drama society as Christy was herself. But as an absent owner Christy would dearly miss being hands-on with her beloved hall.

Four more weeks – that was all the time that she had left in Merriang.

For the umpteenth time Christy wondered what the tarot cards had told Astrid on the evening of Andrew’s visit.

She’d asked her on numerous occasions, but the fortune teller had remained mum.

Oh well, it was a moot point now. Christy had made her decision.

She took her breakfast out to a verandah table where she could look out over the paddocks to the mountains beyond. She took her time, savouring each bite, and saying a silent thank you to Tyler for the excellent coffee. Clouds boiled up behind the peaks. A storm was fast approaching.

As she ate, her mind wandered to the busy days ahead.

There was so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up before she left.

She’d come to care deeply for her students and the drama society was like a second family – a colourful mix of characters who brought their own quirks and talents to the stage.

There was Shirley, the retired school librarian with a flair for costumes, always turning up with bolts of fabric and glittering buttons she’d sourced from op shops.

Dave, the burly mechanic, whose gruff exterior belied his comic timing and unexpected knack for improv.

Even stoic old Bill from the post office had been roped in, his deep baritone lending gravitas to every Shakespearean monologue.

Together, they were an unlikely but devoted troupe, united by their love of storytelling and the shared joy of bringing the old hall to life.

Leaving them would be hard. This place had given her so much – a sense of community, a place to heal.

But it was time to move on, to face new challenges.

The hall, with all its demands, had shown her what she was capable of.

It had allowed her to pursue her passion for teaching drama – something she’d feared was lost – but it had also worn her down.

And she hadn’t realised how difficult life would be at Currawong Creek without Tyler.

She kept expecting to see him, even though she knew how ridiculous that was.

He would never again be standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with a flourish.

He’d never sing out, ‘Dinner is served!’ through the open door.

Never again would he take her riding to their special place beside Currawong Creek. Life was emptier with him gone.

The decision to leave brought with it a strange sense of relief.

The additional salary would allow her to meet the hall repayments, even with having to find somewhere to rent.

She could restore her tarnished reputation and be part of a new and improved college that valued creativity.

It was time to let practicality rule. The offer from Principal Mannix was a power move career-wise.

And the thought of returning victorious to put Sandra in her place was a deliciously satisfying one.

Working alongside Andrew again would be a challenge, but it might even rebuild her trust in him, albeit slowly.

Despite all these positives, the thought of leaving Currawong Creek was bittersweet.

This place had become a part of her, and saying goodbye would be like tearing away a piece of her heart.

She’d long harboured a secret hope that Tyler would sweep back into her life and declare his feelings, but she knew better than to cling to fantasies.

Yet even without that dream, she would miss everything terribly – Astrid, Clare, Tom, the kids, the townsfolk who’d rallied behind the old school hall.

And, of course, Honey. She planned to visit often and stay involved as much as possible from afar, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Christy finished her breakfast, rinsing the plate and cup in the sink. She glanced around the recreation room, taking in the familiar details. The worn sofa, the bookshelf crammed with old paperbacks, the cheerful zodiac curtains Astrid had sewn. This place held many fond memories.

She sighed, extracted her book from her bag and headed back out to the verandah.

The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett was a mediaeval saga that carried her away from her own time and place, transporting her to a different world.

Like time travelling. If only she could take just a short jump to the time a few months back when Clare warned her about getting too close to Leo.

She would’ve heeded that warning, and she and Tyler might be together.

The thought brought a sharp ache to her chest.

She settled into an old armchair with the book resting on her lap.

The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her as she shifted, trying to get comfortable.

As she lost herself in the story, embracing the vivid world of kings, queens and ancient battles, her worries and uncertainties faded.

For now she would enjoy the peace, the simple pleasure of a quiet morning.

Hours slipped by. The day darkened as clouds blotted out the sun.

Christy put the book down and stood, stretching.

She grabbed her hat and headed for the horse yards.

It had begun to rain, and she wanted to bring Honey into the stables.

Perhaps she’d miss Honey most of all. The chestnut mare had become her solace, her confidante, her best friend.

Spending time with Honey eased her loneliness in ways nobody else could. Leaving her behind would be a wrench.

As she approached the stables, she found Leo saddling Lofty.

‘Going out in this weather?’ Christy asked, raising an eyebrow as thunder rumbled in the distance.

‘Best time to go riding,’ he replied, the corners of his mouth curving into a half-smile. ‘Sure you don’t want to come?’

‘I’m not insane, Leo.’

He shrugged. ‘Your loss.’

Was there a school policy about riding in storms?

Christy didn’t know. Although Clare and Tom were away at a music festival, she toyed with the idea of calling them to ask.

But mobile reception was notoriously poor at Currawong Creek during bad weather, and Leo was already mounting Lofty with practised ease.

A moment later the pair were gone, swallowed by the gathering gloom.

Christy pulled her jacket tighter around her and went to find Honey, determined to make the most of the time they had left together.

Raindrops splattered against the dusty ground, turning it into slick mud beneath her boots as she hurried to the paddock.

The downpour came from nowhere, drenching her in seconds.

‘Come on, girl,’ Christy called, beckoning Honey. The chestnut mare cantered over and together they made their way back to the stables, the rain lashing their faces.

Once inside, Christy grabbed an old towel, roughly rubbed the mare down and fetched her chaff, oats and hay. ‘Enjoy your meal, girl,’ she said, stroking Honey’s cheek one last time before heading to the tack room.

The scent of leather and oil greeted her as she entered, reminding her of countless hours spent caring for the horses’ riding gear. She took Honey’s saddle from its rack and set it on the workbench, reaching for a soft cloth and saddle soap.

Maggie interrupted Christy’s work. ‘I’m heading off to pick up a new horse from the trainer in Brisbane and probably won’t be back until morning.

Make yourself useful and get loose box three ready just in case.

New bedding, fresh water and feed. And none of that rubbish meadow hay. Make sure it’s top-grade lucerne.’

What did your last slave die of? thought Christy. She had many regrets about moving back to Sydney, but leaving Maggie behind was not one of them.