Their Doorstep Baby

Adam sighed as he dropped his wallet and a set of keys onto the little table at his side of the bed. ‘I’m not ashamed of you, Claire.’

‘But you’re upset.’

‘I’m disappointed that you rushed in and offered Maria and Jim that money without talking it over first.’

Emotion constricted Claire’s throat. She should have known Adam would be decent about this when he had every right to be angry, to lecture her. Illogical as it was, the fact that he was exercising so much self-control made her feel worse.

She forced her eyes wide open to hold tears at bay. She was determined not to cry, but it was so hard. She wondered if she’d sprung a leak.

‘I didn’t have time to talk it over with you,’ she tried to explain, conscious that it was a rather weak excuse. ‘The idea only hit me tonight and—and I couldn’t help myself, Adam. I felt I had to act straight away.’

‘But rushing in like that without talking to me. It’s as if I just don’t count. It’s sure as hell not the way I want to become a father.’

‘Oh, Adam.’ Claire’s voice broke on a sob. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But I’m afraid our—our problem—this whole infertility deal—is so much harder for me than you.’

Adam undid the top buttons on his shirt. ‘What makes you so sure about that?’

In a gesture she realised was overly grand, Claire flung her hands out to her sides. ‘It doesn’t dominate a man’s thinking the way it does a woman’s and society doesn’t have the same expectations for men to produce babies.’

The slight movement of his mouth might have been an attempt at a smile. ‘I always understood that men played an admittedly small but vital part in the quest for babies. I thought you’d noticed.’

Claire groaned. Trust Adam to remind her how much she enjoyed his lovemaking. The most upsetting thing about this whole business was that their sex life could be so powerful and beautiful and yet…so fruitless.

‘Of course you play a role.’ Any other time she would have been able to turn this moment into a friendly joke. A joke that would lead to laughter and love.

Not tonight. Tonight she’d lost sight of her sense of humour. ‘You have to admit that where pregnancy is concerned, ultimately, it’s a woman’s responsibility to come up with the goods.’

Adam walked towards her then. He came around the foot of the bed and reached for her and drew her towards him. ‘Sweetheart,’ he murmured sadly. ‘We’ve been over this before. You know you mustn’t blame yourself.’

With his arms around her, he caressed the side of her head with his jaw. In the past, Claire had always loved the way he did that. She loved the way they fitted together as if they’d been custom-built for each other. She loved the feel of him, especially in the evening when his chin was just a little raspy with the beginnings of stubble.

She wanted to enjoy it again. She wanted to relent and to melt against him, to absorb her husband’s love. But tonight she was too tense and too full of self-recrimination to yield to his touch. Even though she hated herself for doing it, she remained standing stiffly in his arms.

‘We’ve discussed this over and over,’ he said.

‘But, Adam,’ she answered in a hollow, toneless voice that echoed exactly how she felt, ‘if I can’t have a baby, my whole life feels meaningless. What on earth is the use of being a woman if I can’t fulfil the main reason I was put on this earth?’

He let her go then and stepped back a little and a kind of resigned bleakness crept back into his eyes. ‘I think you’re being melodramatic, Claire. We’re still young and you shouldn’t give up hope.’

‘It’s too hard to keep hoping.’

‘Then look around you. There are many, many women who never have a baby and who live fulfilled, useful lives.’

‘But I’m not one of them!’

‘How can you—how can you be so certain?’

Claire sighed.

‘Adam, in my head I know you’re right. But my emotions tell me something else. Deep down I’m sure I’m meant to have a baby of my own.’

‘Oh, Claire—’

The tears welled and spilled. ‘I know I’m meant to be a mother, otherwise I wouldn’t feel this awful, aching, ongoing emptiness. That’s what made me do what I did tonight. I held Rosa and—and I—I lost it.’

‘I know, Claire. I know.’ Gently he kissed the top of her head and his fingers stroked the back of her neck.

But he couldn’t offer her any solution apart from his love. It should have been enough. She knew that. But tonight…why, oh, why wasn’t it enough tonight?

They prepared for bed and, when they slipped between the sheets, Adam didn’t try to seduce her. He kissed her and held her, massaged her tense shoulders and murmured soothing talk, but eventually he drifted away into sleep.

And Claire lay in the dark, tossing and turning, swamped with guilt. She kept seeing Maria’s stricken face and hearing her final words… ‘If you ever have a baby, you will understand. It’s too much to ask a mother to give her baby away. You’re asking the impossible. I’d rather starve than lose one of my little ones.’

If you ever have a baby…Those words echoed over and over in her head and they left her with the same desolate hollowness she’d felt this evening when she’d held Rosa. But now there was the bitter aftertaste of shame as well.

‘I’ve decided to start another garden. We need something more on the western side,’ Claire announced on the first morning after they arrived home at Nardoo.

They were lingering over a late breakfast. Nancy and Joe Fiddler, their elderly caretakers, had insisted that they indulge in one last day of a slower routine before they launched back into full-scale station work.

Adam pushed his empty breakfast plate aside so he could sort through the huge pile of mail that had come while they’d been away. Now he looked up at her and smiled. ‘Another garden? Sounds like a good idea.’

He knew that announcing a totally new project out of the blue was Claire’s way of telling him she didn’t want any more discussion about what had happened at Jim’s.

Ever since the evening at her brother’s, she’d looked vulnerable and uncertain. She’d spent the time in an agony of self-recrimination, going over and over how badly she’d behaved.

Now they were home, he could still see a haunting shadow dimming the loveliness in her eyes, but he hoped she would be able to put the whole regrettable incident behind her.

Claire always worried so much about what her family thought of her. Half the time he wondered why she bothered. Over the years, he’d had to hide his dismay when they hadn’t been more concerned and supportive about her problems.

He remembered the disbelieving, reproachful expression on his mother-in-law’s face when Claire had first tried to explain the difficulties she was having getting pregnant.

‘I don’t understand it,’ Mary Tremaine had exclaimed with a petulant quiver in her voice. ‘The women in our family never have trouble falling pregnant. Maybe you need to take more vitamins. Give some to Adam, too.’

Her younger sister, Sally, had been even less considerate than her mother. She’d simply grinned and winked at him as she’d commented flippantly, ‘You can’t really complain, Claire. Adam is so dishy that at least you can have a scrumptious time trying for a baby.’

And, of course, Jim and Maria had been so busy with their own family.

He noticed that, after initial attempts, Claire tended to avoid talking about her difficulties with her family. If they made enquiries, she invented cover-up lines. ‘Every time I decide it’s time to have a baby, Adam has to go off mustering,’ she’d tell them with a laugh.

He slit another envelope open with his penknife and Claire picked up her teacup. He fancied there was a tinge too much enthusiasm in her voice as she said, ‘I’m so glad it rained while we were away. I was worried that we’d come back to find everything in the garden brown and ugly.’

‘You know Nancy and Joe wouldn’t have let that happen. They’ve lived here for longer than I have and love it as much as we do. The place looks terrific.’

He pushed a pile of letters down the table towards her. ‘These are yours.’

‘I’ll read them later.’ She finished drinking her tea, replaced the cup on its saucer and stood. ‘It was too dark to see everything last night. I want to check on all my babies.’

Jumping to his feet, he walked around the table till he stood beside her. He touched her soft, too pale cheek.

‘Claire, you don’t mind being buried out here in the outback, do you?’

‘Oh, Adam,’ she sighed, dropping her head onto his shoulder and rubbing her nose into his neck. He could smell the clean, sweet fragrance of her hair and the familiar soap they always used at home. ‘Of course I don’t mind. I love it here.’ Then she kissed him and added, ‘Besides, you’re here.’

His heart gave a little tumble when he saw her innocent smile, as if the simple fact of his presence was enough to keep her happy.

‘I worry sometimes that being stuck in the bush makes everything harder for you. You’ve had to adjust to the isolation and you’ve been amazing the way you’ve learned so much about running the property. But you must miss your old friends. And you don’t have children to keep you busy.’

‘I’ve got the garden,’ Claire insisted. ‘And Heather Crowe has been onto me for years about taking part in the Open Garden Scheme. You know, opening our garden up to the public a couple of times each year. Apparently this district is getting quite famous for its gardens.’

‘Would you like that?’

‘I think I would. At least I’m going to give it some serious thought.’ She kissed him again, lingeringly on the mouth. ‘Now, please don’t worry about me. I made a terrible mistake in Sydney, but it doesn’t mean I’m becoming unhinged.’

‘Another kiss like that and you’ll never get to check your garden,’ he told her with a sexy growl. ‘Go, woman.’

Claire crossed the airy breakfast room and went down the hall, pausing to collect her hat from the row of akubras and oilskin coats in the entry-way, and then she stepped out through the heavy, silky oak-framed doorway onto the veranda where huge urns of lilies and wicker baskets full of lush ferns kept the front of the house looking cool and green all year round.

Before her stretched the Nardoo garden.

She was proud of the way she’d preserved the beautiful garden first planted by Adam’s great-grandmother. And she was equally proud of the way she’d extended and developed it, without losing sight of the tone and vision of the original garden with its old-world plants, low stone walls and winding flagged paths.

Even though she’d grown up in Melbourne, from the minute she’d arrived at Nardoo as a young and hopeful bride Claire had loved Adam’s home.

Last evening, as they’d rattled and bumped along the dirt track that led from the main road into their property, they’d both felt a kind of hushed awe as they’d looked around them at the enduring beauty of their own familiar, hazy bush and the soft silvery paddocks that ran down to the river.

Claire had felt the special thrill that only a true sense of belonging and homecoming could bring. She’d leant closer to Adam, slipped her hand along his jeans-clad thigh and rested her head against his shoulder.

And, without taking his eyes off the road, he’d half turned and kissed her forehead and said, ‘Nothing quite like home, is there?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ she’d agreed and she’d felt a flutter of hope that perhaps her shameful episode in Sydney could be allowed to slip away like a bad dream that faded in the forgiving light of morning.

Now she pulled her wide-brimmed hat down firmly over her blonde curls, walked out onto the expanse of rolling green lawn and turned to look back at the house. It was a gracious, low-set homestead built to house a big family in colonial times, featuring two magnificent bay windows at the front and a bull-nosed, wrap-around veranda.

Last year she’d supervised the house’s repainting and, because she hadn’t wanted it to look too new or bright, she’d chosen a weathered, dusty red for the iron roof and the soft blue-grey-green tone of the surrounding eucalypts for the timber walls.

With its own separate nursery wing built in the late nineteenth century, it was a beautiful, welcoming house crying out for a family to fill it.

But Claire refused to let her mind linger on that dead-end path. She turned her attention to the familiar garden features.

One of her very special delights was to revisit her garden after a time away. There was always something new to discover. New shoots, new buds, and sometimes, sadly, the discovery that a struggling plant had succumbed to the heat, or that others had been eaten by wallabies.

So now, she revisited each part of her garden in turn. The jacarandas sweeping in a row away from one end of the house were still flowering and beneath them the lawn was covered by a romantic carpet of fallen lavender bluebells.

The jasmine and bougainvillaea that rambled along the trellises on the veranda were still making a good show and her rose beds, filled with her favourite mixture of hybrid tea and David Austen roses, were a riot of colour.

She smiled. Italy was grand, but it is most definitely good to be home.

Stepping onto one of the rustic stone paths, she followed it past the hardy, summer stalwarts—pentas, zinnias and dahlias—around to the western side of the house where she wanted to plan a new garden. As she walked she brushed past lavender bushes and they welcomed her by giving up their fresh, heady perfume.

From this side of the house, she could see the flash of the river—the Maronoa—mighty in flood, but quiet and peaceful now. Wide and brown, the river was bordered by black-soil banks lined with century-old river gums.

Adam had told her once that during all the years he’d lived on Nardoo, the river had been like a favourite friend. And she’d understood exactly what he meant. Together, they’d spent many happy hours sitting and chatting, picnicking or fishing beside its wide, silky waters.

He’d built a rough stone barbecue up closer to the house in the shade of a row of ancient Moreton Bay fig trees. But from between the tree-trunks, they could still see the river and they’d enjoyed many outdoor meals there. Now she wanted to make the area into a proper courtyard to be lit at night by dainty fairy lights threaded through the tree branches.

She could picture a central pergola covered in yellow Banksian roses and perhaps a lily pond. And she wanted perfumed plants climbing over trellises to scent the evening air—hoya, port-wine magnolia and night-scented jasmine.

As Claire wandered further, planning happily, checking what other patches in the garden needed weeding or pruning or watering, she felt her garden begin to work its magic…soothing her and healing her hurt.

Restoring her faith in herself.

From the house, she heard the tinkle of the telephone, but she continued her inspection. Nancy would take the call.

The fresh tang of tomato plants reached her as she arrived at the raised vegetable gardens at the back of the house. Here, bok choy, tomatoes, parsnips and eggplants were planted alongside herbs for the kitchen—parsley, basil, oregano, mint and rosemary.

A garden fork was stuck in the earth and she picked it up and began to break up the soil. The ground gave up its moist, earthy scent and her nostrils twitched with pleasure.

She promised herself to put babies completely out of her mind, trusting that once she became absorbed in her garden again, she wouldn’t feel so empty or downhearted.

It was ironic that she had a talent for winning fertility out of the earth when she…

No! No more negative thoughts.

She couldn’t resist testing the rich chocolate texture of the freshly turned earth with her fingers and, almost immediately, she felt her spirits lift.

‘Claire!’ Nancy’s voice reached her and she looked up to see their housekeeper standing on the back porch, holding the screen door open.

‘Am I wanted on the telephone?’ Claire called, annoyed, because she’d just started to get her hands dirty.

The housekeeper hurried towards her. ‘You don’t need to come, but your sister called,’ she said as she drew closer.

‘Sally? What does she want?’

Nancy grinned. ‘She’s staying in Daybreak and she’s coming to visit you.’

‘She’s in Daybreak? Again?’ Claire was genuinely surprised. Daybreak was the country town nearest to Nardoo, but Sally worked as a journalist in Brisbane and claimed to be an urban animal. In the past, she’d always shunned the bush. But over the past couple of years, Claire had noticed that her visits had been becoming more frequent.

‘That explains why she didn’t answer my call when I tried to ring her in Brisbane,’ she told Nancy. ‘I wonder what on earth has dragged her out here this time. Did she say when she’s coming?’

‘This evening.’

‘Oh.’ Claire realised as soon as it was out that her reply sounded less than enthusiastic. ‘That’s great,’ she added with more energy. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t love to see Sally. There was never a dull second when her little sister was around.

But she couldn’t help wondering if Sally had been in contact with Jim. Had she dashed out here to check on her? Her stomach churned at the thought. If Sally planned to cross-examine her, she could be in for an uncomfortable time.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’VE been in contact with Jim.’

It wasn’t the first thing Sally announced after she arrived that evening, but it came far too early in the conversation for Claire’s comfort.

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