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‘We use mud for face paint,’ said Amy, in a tone of voice which suggested she was all-in with Kirsty’s plan and had appointed herself sergeant major. ‘We make a crown of leaves each so when we’re crawling up to the chooks we look like bushes on the move.’
Kirsty spoke around the pencil she had in her mouth as she measured up where the new hinge was going to go on the door. ‘You and Wimble are on your own; I’m heading into town when I’m done here. I was going to have a crack at engraving a sign.’
‘What’s the sign gonna say?’
‘RECEPTION. I thought it could go on a little post beside the homestead, so guests know where to check in.’
‘That is so …’ Amy was whipping a sprig of hibiscus into a circle and fluffing up its dripping wet leaves, and she appeared to be lost for words.
‘So thoughtful? Nifty? Awesome?’
Amy grinned. ‘I was gonna say lame. What about YOURADVENTURESTARTSHERE?’
Kirsty set down the metal ruler and narrowed her eyes at her young sign-writing apprentice. ‘Okay, your suggestions are more fun, but they’re kind of long. Before we get too inventive, why don’t we see how tricky it is to engrave letters into wood? You used a dremel before?’
‘Nope.’
‘Me either. How hard can it be, right? Girl power rules,’ she said, holding out her fist for Amy to bump.
Amy giggled. ‘Girl power rules.’
An hour later, Kirsty was looking at a scrap of old floorboard with a mess of scratches and divots ruining its surface that might, if you squinted and used a bit of imagination, have been an R, anE, and aCEP.
Amy had grabbed a fletch of old fencing timber from the wood pile and not only did it now say The Chook Shed in big, neatlettering, but she’d coloured in the grooves with a black marker pen and was muttering about all the epic ways she could improve it if only she was in her mum’s art room.
‘You, my lamb,’ said Kirsty, ‘are a natural.’
Amy spared a pitying glance at Kirsty’s sign. ‘You’ll do better next time,’ the girl said doubtfully.
Kirsty grinned. ‘Maybe. You know, Amy, I think you’re good enough with that tool to name the cottages, too. Wouldn’t they look lovely with a smart sign next to their front door?’
‘Meh,’ said Amy.
Meh? What did that mean? ‘You don’t seem overly thrilled at the idea.’
Amy pursed her lips. ‘I think I’m more of anemotionalsign writer, Kirsty. Not a practical one.’
Kirsty grinned. ‘Is that so? Well, what signs would you be emotionally prepared to make?’
The little girl moved to the doorway and stared out into the pelting rain. ‘Maybe something for the dunny, like Bruce Lurks Here. That’s got emotion … it’s about the snake’s home but it’s slightly creepy at the same time.’
‘Hang on a second. There’s a snake in the outdoor loo?’
Amy shrugged. ‘Dunno. Grandpa Robbo said there was, a few weeks back.’
Kirsty gave a shudder and tried to think of an alternative. ‘Oh!’ she said. If only she’d brought her backpack over to the shed with her. ‘You know my relatives used to own this farm, right?’
‘Like, back in the olden days? Before Captain Cook? Were your relatives Bundjalung Nation?’
‘No, not that far back, that I know of, anyway. The Bluetts owned this farm from the 1930s … which would be about when your Grandpa Robbo’s dad was a baby. I don’t know much about the family before then, but the name Bluett sounds English to me.’
‘Maybe they were convicts,’ said Amy with relish. ‘Whipped and starved and forced to make bricks out of clay.’
‘Perhaps. Anyway, long story short, the field where the farmstay cottages are used to be called the honeymoon paddock.’
Amy winced. ‘I dunno, Kirsty. Honeymoon? Romance is a bit lame, isn’t it? I suppose I could give it a whirl, since it’s you doing the asking.’
Cheekyandcute, Kirsty thought.
