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chapter 2
Sam – Six months later
We’d arrived home from boarding school at the end of term. Dad had picked us up and listened most of the way home while Craig and I complained about the end of term tests and planned our two weeks of winter holidays.
“Your mum and dad’ll be at our house.” Dad stepped out of the fourbie, his shoulders hunched and his lips turned down. He looked to be carrying the weight of the world. I hadn’t noticed until that moment, but there was an impossible weariness hanging off him. My dad was larger than life, but with the dullness in his eyes, it was as if all the fire and vitality had been sucked out of him. Why? What had happened? Was someone sick? Was it him? Ma?
Craig furrowed his brows and followed silently. As I trailed behind, every step I took was like walking to the executioner. I stepped over the threshold, waiting with bated breath for the news. What greeted us was completely different to my fears, but just as dire.
Our parents were gathered around the table drinking a cuppa. A Christmas-themed biscuit tin lay open, the empty white patty pan papers off to the side. Weary gazes met our own, and sadness radiated from everyone. Then I looked around the room, expecting to find the comfort of home. But my world came crashing down around me.
Instantly, I knew that the news we were getting was something that would irreversibly change our lives. Boxes were stacked neatly along the back wall, taped closed with ugly brown packing tape. Pictures had been taken down and the floral antique china dinner set that Ma proudly displayed in the glass-fronted cabinet was missing, its shelves stripped bare. She loved that ugly dinner set. I swallowed the lump in my throat and prayed I was wrong. That I was misreading the situation.
But I hadn’t.
I reached for the chair, eased myself onto it when my legs wobbled underneath me, threatening to give way. I met Craig’s startled gaze from across the table. Fear had stolen away my teen bravado, and he was pale and wide-eyed, his hands shaking as he balled them into fists. I was sure the look on his face mirrored my own.
The letter had been delivered a week earlier, Dad said. The bank gave us three more weeks to clear out our personal belongings. Dad thumbed through the paperwork and explained it, painstakingly going through every option the bank had given them and why it wouldn’t work. Why it couldn’t. The bank’s refusal to extend the line of credit meant that we needed to come up with some cash and fast.
“What about the horses? We can do it. Sell them all off except one or two of the mares and stallions. That’ll reduce down the debt. There are other things we could sell too. What about logging the trees closer to the river? Couldn’t we get some money from them?” The panic bubbled through my veins and bled into my words.
Ma’s smile was impossibly sad, but patient. “No, son. We’re out of options. I’m sorry, but this is our only way forward. We’ve kept the farm running as long as we possibly could. But all of us need to eat, and if we stay here any longer, that won’t even be possible.”
“But they can’t just kick us out like this,” Craig interjected.
Craig’s dad reached out and grasped his shoulder sympathetically. “The bank offered to keep us on. I’d continue as lead horseman, but our new bosses would be the bank’s agri-managers. But would you want that, Craig? Sam and his parents wouldn’t be here.”
“What? No!” Craig’s panic made his voice ratchet up to a squeak, his eyes darting around the room. “No, they have to be able to stay.”
Craig’s ma sat on the other side of him and she reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. “We haven’t advised the bank yet, but we’ve made our decision. We wanted to run it by you and you agree. None of us are staying.”
“Who’s going to look after the animals? You can’t just leave them here without anyone to feed them. We need to be able to stay.” I balled my fists and slammed my hand on the table. Injustice and impotence stole over me. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. They should be staying. All of us should be.
This was our land. What right did the bank have? They were some dickheads sitting in suits in the city signing off on things they didn’t understand. No one understood what it was like to be out here. They wouldn’t survive a day, and we’d been here for generations. This was my home.
“Why don’t any of you care?” I yelled. “Why can’t you all just stay until we can come back? Surely we can go talk to someone higher up. Surely this is just a mistake. They don’t get how hard it is here. If we talk to them, we could make them understand. I could get a job. I could help pay it off. Quit school and work full-time. We could save up enough if they’d give us time.”
Dad’s chair scraped on the scuffed timber floors as he shifted and came to crouch next to me. His knees popped and ankle cracked as he moved, but he was still fit as ever. “Son, we’ve tried. The one thing we no longer have is time.” He covered my still-clenched fist with his own much bigger hand. Callouses decorated his palms, his hands veined and weather worn. “I’m sorry I failed you. This place was supposed to be your future, and I know how much you wanted it to be. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you anymore.”
I opened my mouth to interrupt him, but the words were stolen from my mouth when I saw the tears tracking down his face. He was blaming himself?
No, this was the bank’s fault. Not his.
*****
Over the next fortnight, we watched the winter mists roll over the plains and be burned off once the sun began to rise in the sky. And just like those mists, my carefully constructed plan of eventually taking over and running our farm as my own, with my best friend beside me, dissipated into thin air. My whole future—every dream I’d ever had—evaporated into a great void of nothingness right before my eyes. Three generations of my family before me had called Hayes Horse Farm home. I was supposed to be the fourth. But it was all over.
We’d lost everything.
Our home. Our legacy. Our livelihood.
My hands were freezing as I helped haul the last of our furniture into the rented truck. I hated every minute of it. We should have been caring for the horses in the stables, riding our own along the dusty paddocks and slowly starting to train the foals. We usually camped out too, coming back a couple of days before we returned to school. It was my favourite time of year. Sore after days on the saddle riding upriver, we’d bundle ourselves up in heavy jackets and sit around the campfire toasting marshmallows and listening to stories of adventures and tall tales so exaggerated they were impossibilities. Instead, I stood outside and watched as Dad hitched up the horse float, my new reality crashing over me.
I hadn’t had time to think about what it would be like to leave the farm for the last time. Until I suddenly had to.
Dad moved his fourbie slowly, driving in a Y-shape to back the float into the big shed. That moment was one I’d never forget. It dawned on me then—or maybe I’d known and had refused to acknowledge it. But with the clanging shut of the sliding door to the shed, it was as if the death knell sounded. I couldn’t deny it any longer. Our horses weren’t coming with us. We were leaving them. My girl, Eadie, was staying behind. Same with Craig’s horse, Delilah.
My heart beat faster, and my breaths became short and sharp. Dizziness washed over me. Panic surged like a violent tide. My heart broke. No. I couldn’t leave them. I wouldn’t. Our horses were family. They weren’t the bank’s. They were more than dollar signs. More than numbers on a page.
