The Auction Trilogy

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Pippa ate her breakfast with blasé acceptance, chatting amiably while Thunderlane waited underneath the table, his tail thumping, for the 'gifts' Pippa slid to him when she thought I wasn't looking. I pretended not to notice the more charred portions of Adam's cooking disappear into the dog's mouth.

Thunderlane didn't care. Food was food. Especially people food slathered with butter and jam.

I coaxed Pippa to take her morning yellow pill, and then got up to clear away the empty dishes.

"Wait!" she called as I reached to remove her father's plate. "I'm not done yet."

Okay. Perhaps not so blasé? I set Adam's plate back down and moved to wash my own dirty dishes. Pippa grimaced as she swallowed her morning dose of Risperdal.

"What would you like to do today, Nipper?" I asked.

"Mrs. Hastings asked me to bring you over to meet her."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

I herded Pippa to her bedroom to get dressed. It had the look of a boy's room hastily converted into a girl's, with an expensive-looking pink and white designer bedspread that clashed with the dark blue painted walls and navy gingham curtains. It had a single closet and a small, wooden bureau, and underneath the window, a sturdy desk overlooked the courtyard.

"This used to be your daddy's room, ay, Nipper?"

"No," Pippa said. "This room belonged to Uncle Jeffrey."

"Your father has a brother?"

"Not anymore." Pippa's face fell. "Uncle Jeffrey died last autumn. And then when my grandpa found out, he died too."

A lump rose in my throat. This poor kid couldn't get a break.

"How?"

"He was a soldier in Af-af-af…"

"Afghanistan," I said. "How did he die?"

"He just disappeared," Pippa said. "Grandma said his helicopter got shot down and the bad men stole his body."

Pippa pointed to some pictures mounted on the wall. They were not pictures of a soldier, but the usual candid snapshots of a gangly middle-schooler and poorly taken state-school portraits. Amongst the pictures was one of a tall, stern-looking man who resembled Adam standing behind two golden-haired boys of equal height. I scrutinized the picture, trying to figure out which boy was Adam.

"They were twins?"

"Yes."

I exhaled. Adam hadn't said a word about his brother. Pippa lost all semblance of chatter as she picked out an outfit, solid purple with a pale lavender sparkly unicorn emblazoned across the front. Her silence grew stifling, so I decided to draw her out.

"Is that your Grandpa?" I pointed to the older man in the picture.

"Yes," Pippa said. "Grandma said he died of a broken heart. Grandma missed him, so she got sick and died too."

And I thought that -I- had things bad…

"Do you miss your Grandpa, honey?"

Pippa paused putting on her socks and pulled her knees into her chest.

"Grandpa didn't like Mummy—" Pippa's voice grew small. "So we didn't visit. Grandma always came to visit us."

I sat down next to her.

"Sometimes adults have disagreements," I said. "But that doesn't mean he didn't love you. He just didn't know how to show it."

Pippa nodded, but her body language said otherwise. What did I know? Maybe her grandfather had disliked her? She didn't look like Adam, so if she resembled her mother, that dislike may have transferred over to her child.

I gave Pippa a hug.

"Get moving, kiddo," I said. "Didn't you say we were supposed to visit Mrs. Hastings today?"

Pippa perked up. Whoever this neighbor was, she and Pippa obviously got along.

The phone rang as Pippa tied her shoes.

"I'll get that." I hurried down the hallway to grab the extension in the living room. "Hello? This is the Bristow residence."

"Is this Rosamond?" a feminine voice asked.

"Yes, this is Rosie." I didn't recognize the voice.

"This is Linda Hastings, your neighbor across the street. I wanted to invite you and Pippa to come over for lunch today."

I felt relieved.

"Yes, we would love that."

It was one thing to be told the neighbor had offered to help, quite another to call up a total stranger and invite yourself over for a visit.

"Come on over around eleven thirty," Linda said. "Pippa usually helps me in the garden, and then we'll make lunch with whatever Mother Nature gives us."

"Okay," I said. "We'll see you then."

Pippa came bounding out of her bedroom with Thunderlane at her heel.

"Was that Mrs. Hastings?"

"Yup."

"I knew it was her!" she grinned. "She always calls at exactly nine o'clock."

That left us with two and a half hours to kill. One of my jobs was to get Pippa current in her school work. For some reason, Adam had pulled her out of school and brought her here, but never enrolled her in the local primary school. I couldn't help but wonder what he was running from?

"Do you know what I want to do?" I asked.

"What?"

"I studied in college to be a teacher," I said, "but I'm kinda new at it. I was wondering if you'd help me teach?"

"You want to play school time?"

"Yes," I said. "You'd be starting fifth year, right?"

"Fourth—" Pippa's face fell. "I started the year after Daddy was stationed in Saudi Arabia. They said I was too little to start school, but when I got home, Mummy insisted they move me up to the right grade. I keep falling behind, so they said they will hold me back unless I can get caught back up again." Her lip trembled. "The other kids all say it's because I'm stupid."

I bit my tongue before I could ask 'why the hell didn't your parents make you start school on the Australian schedule?' For all I knew they'd made a command decision that delaying a year would be better than sending their daughter to school in a misogynistic country that hated women.

"Do you speak Arabic?"

"Only a few words," Pippa said. "I don't remember much. Only that it was hot and Mummy hated it because she wasn't allowed to drive a car."

Pippa fished out her schoolbooks and we spent a pleasant two hours reading. Despite the fact she was purportedly behind, she answered all of my grammar questions effortlessly. Perhaps she was behind on her other subjects? I would test her subtly, for who wants to spend their summer doing drills?

At five minutes past eleven I announced it was time to get ready for our 'lunch date.' I made certain I looked presentable for lunch with a seventy-two year old woman. Pippa scampered onto a path which led across several pastures which had already turned golden from lack of rain. Across the street was a different kind of gate. Pippa tied it securely shut behind us.

"Mrs. Hastings keeps sheep and goats and alpacas," she said. "Make sure you always tie the gate or the sheep could be hit by a car. They're not very smart, you know?"

Thunderlane barked and raced off to herd some black-faced sheep.

"No, Thunderlane!" Pippa shouted. "Bad doggie! It's too early for them to go back to the barn!"

The dog cut back and forth, nipping at their tails, but not enough to hurt them. The instinct to herd was bred into the Australian Shepherd, which was why so many families favored them to keep their children out of mischief.

We left the relieved sheep. The next pasture contained stately alpaca which had been recently shorn, leaving only tuft balls of wool on the top of their heads, their tails and their ankles. Every single alpaca displayed a different hairdo and some of the smaller ones wore ribbons. Their camel-like faces turned to watch us pass.

"They look like gigantic poodles," I said.

Pippa giggled.

"Mrs. Hastings gets creative when she shears them."

She paid a wide berth around the next pen which contained a black male sheep with four horns which stuck out of his head like the devil on a tarot card.

"That's a Jacob's Ram," Pippa whispered. "Azazel's really mean, so don't go into his pen."

The final gate was of woven sticks supported by a lush, green arbor of buttery yellow roses which smelled lightly of … licorice? It appeared as though the roses had been coaxed to grow upwards and create the lattice. Pippa shut the gate behind her. I realized we stood in a well-watered patch of emerald green m*******a which towered above us like a cornfield.

My mouth dropped open as I touched the slender, seven-leaved plant.

"Is this…"

"Hemp," Pippa said nonchalantly. "Mrs. Hastings says someday it will save the world."

She skipped happily through the cannabis plants, her blond pigtails bouncing behind her as Thunderlane ran after her, his black tail wagging like a jolly roger. I broke off a leaf and raised it to my nose. Yes … and no. Something about the scent was not quite on-point. Not that I would ever admit I knew what real m*******a smelled like!

Mrs. Hastings had a ranch-style house, painted white, the same approximate vintage as the Bristow's, but from there the houses were radically different. Wisteria and trumpet vine crept up to cover every bit of vacant wall, and in front of the picture window, two meter tall hollyhocks shaded the glass from the summer sun. A large white peacock strutted across the emerald green lawn, stalked by a calico cat who appeared fascinated by the bird's long tail. The peacock cried out, 'help' and flared its tail into a magnificent lacey fan.

"That's Shah Jahan." Pippa pointed at the peacock. "He's named for a famous Mughal emperor."

She ran up to the front door and let herself in without knocking. I stared at the colorfully painted red door. Someday, when I found a home, I'd always dreamed of having a door that color.

"Ah, come in!" the voice I'd heard earlier called. "I was just feeding Humpty and Dumpty."

The scent of fresh-baked bread hung heavily in the air of a kitchen which would have been a twin for Adam's had the cupboards not been painted a bright sunshine yellow. At a huge, rough-cut slab of a wooden table sat a woman who did not look anywhere near the 72 years that Adam had claimed. Her waist-length tresses were purest white, and in her hand she held a tiny baby bottle as she fed a foxlike creature wrapped up in a dish towel.

"Mrs. Hastings?"

"Linda, please. And you must be Rosie?"

"That would be me."

As she turned towards me I spied something crawling in her hair.

"Eek!" I shrieked. "You've got …"

I pointed at the creature, my mouth agape with disbelief.

"Bats," Pippa giggled.

"That's just Dumpty," Linda Hastings said. "Humpty's little sister. They became orphans when their camp got hit by lightning."

The flying fox peered out from the safety of Linda's hair with inquisitive dark eyes. But not for the fact its long arms contained a hook-like claw at the end of leathery wings; it otherwise resembled a tiny reddish fox pup. Her little brother Humpty squeaked with frustration when Linda removed the bottle from his mouth.

"Pippa!" Linda called. "Could you please go check the nests to see if the chooks have left us any eggs?"

Pippa grabbed a basket and headed out the back door. A joyful bark indicated Thunderlane had run around the back to meet her.

"Come, sit." Linda rubbed her hip. "I fell off a ladder and the doctor said I'm supposed to stay off my feet. Not that I listen, mind you."

She gave me a mischievous wink. She was a slender woman, with delicate wrists and long fingers which absent-mindedly stroked the bat wrapped up in the towel. She wore a bright pink Indian kurti shirt with white embroidery around the yoke and yoga pants which stopped just below her knees. She wore no shoes, and every one of her toenails was painted a different color.

"So tell me, Rosie, what did Adam offer to entice you to come all the way out here?"

"Five hundred dollars a week," I said.

"That's not much when you get back to Brisbane. I told him I thought he should offer you six hundred a week."

"It includes room and board, plus a bonus at the end of the summer." I stared at the two orphaned fruit bats as they wrapped their wings around one another for warmth. "Besides," I said more softly, "I needed the work."

Linda stared past me, her expression thoughtful.

"I'm glad Adam agreed to interview you. I've never seen him so distraught as the day Eva showed up at his mother's funeral and made a scene."

"He made it sound like Eva abandoned Pippa?"

"She did," Linda said, "but I guess she doesn't see it that way."

She reached across the table to grab a heating pad before I could say, 'here, let me get that for you.' The bats squeaked, a lonely, plaintive cry, as Linda wrapped them in a receiving blanket and tucked them into a basket.

"Had you ever met Pippa's mother before that day?" I asked.

"Only once," Linda said, "at Adam's wedding. She was a beautiful girl, but I could tell Adam was making a mistake."

"Why?"

Linda's expression grew wary.

"Sometimes doing the right thing is not the right thing to do," she said.

Pippa came skipping back in, carrying a basket full of eggs.

"And what did the ladies have for us today?" Linda asked.

"Six eggs," Pippa said. "Enough to make a frittata."

Linda Hastings stood and clutched at her hip. I could see from her grimace that she resented the fact her injury slowed her down. She was lucky, at her age, her hip hadn't broken.

"Let me help," I offered.

Linda waved away my hand.

"Get the bushel basket, Pippa," she called. "You'll have to show Rosie where the vegetable garden is. I'm not quite steady enough to hobble outside."

Pippa took my hand, her silver eyes bright with excitement.

"Follow me." She yanked me out the door like an excited dog on a leash, past rows of flowers where some clucking chickens scratched contentedly for grubs. Through a gate was an enormous garden where every kind of vegetable you could imagine grew. The air spoke of the fertility of the land.

"What should we pick?"

"Anything we like," Pippa said. "Mrs. Hastings's sons come every day to help her, but there is always too much, so she lets me take whatever I wish."

She filled up her basket almost exclusively with cucumbers. I carefully picked some pole beans and arugula, and then pulled up a leek and threw that into the basket as well. Scattered throughout the garden were a variety of sculptures. One of them, a tall, thin wooden figurine, appeared to be Aboriginal in origin. Pippa spoke to the statue as if it had come to help us pick.

"What is that?" I asked her.

"That's a Mimi," Pippa said. "Fairies. They like to hide in the rocks wherever there is water. Grandma said they taught the First Australians how to make a fire."

I stared at the tall, sticklike figure painted with rings of blue and navy. I remembered Adam's off-the-cuff comment.

"Is this one of the fairies?"

"No," Pippa said. "That's just a statue of one. The real Fairy Queen likes to bathe in the river. You'll know when she's there because the Mimis always welcome her with a bonfire."

I paused mid-snip.

"A fire? Down by the river?"

"Of course," Pippa said. "She came to see me last night."

She skipped over to the next section of the garden, her purple outfit a splash of color amongst a hedgerow of magnificent dark green kale. For a kid who'd grown up in Brisbane, Pippa seemed quite at home in the garden. I followed her back into Linda Hasting's house.

"Wash these for me, dearie?" Linda asked Pippa. "Remember to soak them really good."

I watched the way Linda artfully orchestrated the running of her kitchen. Every command was phrased as a request, and the more she made Pippa work, the more work Pippa seemed eager to do. I had never seen such a gift with children before except…

"You're a teacher?" I guessed.

Linda Hastings laughed.

"Guilty as charged," she said. "Though I've been retired for seven years. I taught at the state secondary school for forty-five years, starting with Adam's mother, and then I taught Adam and his brother." A cloud came across her expression. "Poor Jeffrey. I can't believe he's gone."

"Adam's brother?"

"Yes. He was everything his father wanted him to be … and it cost him his life." Linda grew thoughtful. "They never did find his remains, but it didn't matter. Adam's father took a heart attack three weeks after the men came from the Army."

"Pippa's had it bad, hasn't she?"

Linda glanced over to where Pippa had paused washing arugula in the sink. She gave an evasive answer.

"I'm just glad Adam brought her home."

She changed the subject to talk of lesson plans and which of us had taught the naughtiest students. Pippa finished preparing the salad and sat down with us, her bright, silver eyes watching as we relayed tale after terrible tale about our most mischievous students and the naughtiest stunts they'd ever tried to pull.

"You win," I said after Linda related a tale of a boy who'd mistakenly baked her cookies made with salt instead of sugar. A boy who, it turned out, was none other than Adam Bristow! We both laughed as I realized I'd found a kindred spirit. I remembered the peculiar 'crop' out in the pasture.

"I, uh, noticed you grow hemp?" I asked. "Isn't that illegal?"

"I specialize in growing natural fibers," Linda said. "If it's got value as an industrial export, you can petition the government for a special license. It's my most profitable crop."

We discussed things like pedagogies and lesson plans until the sun settled in the west and it was time to take Pippa home.

"By the way," Linda said as we got up to leave. "Macy Robertson, who teaches seventh grade, is due to have a baby at the end of the month. If you put in an application at Saint Joseph's, they may take you on as a substitute teacher while Macy does her maternity leave."

I thanked Linda and gathered up the basket of fresh cucumbers and goat cheese, enough to keep Pippa in her favorite lunch for the next few days. The answering machine light blinked red when we got home. I hit play and listened to the sound of four hang-up phone calls and then a message from Adam saying he'd called to see how Pippa was doing. No sooner had the message finished when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Rosie?" Adam's voice was filled with worry. "Has Pippa been okay?"

"Yes, she's fine," I reassured him. "We just got back from visiting Linda Hastings. She's in the toilet, washing the chicken germs off her hands. You didn't warn me Linda was such a character."

"Yes, she is." Adam's voice instantly relaxed. "Now you see how my mother convinced me to drag Pippa out into the middle of whoop whoop."

He told me about his flight to Sydney, the business meeting he'd attended, and the long trip he still needed to make out to the heart of the Surat Basin to check some gas wells. It was a strange, intimate conversation, as if he felt more comfortable speaking to me over the telephone than in person. Severed from the distraction of his drop-dead gorgeous body, his voice was warm, friendly, and musical like a cello.

I handed the phone to Pippa as soon as she came bounding out of the toilet.

"Hi, Daddy," she said.

I left them alone to discuss their day.