Date: Tue, 23 Feb 2016 04:47:47 +1100
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Schoolie - Chapter 49

I know that 49 chapters seems long. But, if you are new to this story, may
I suggest that you read patiently from the beginning, to understand the
plot and the characters. You'll enjoy it much more and understand what's
going on!

If you are a regular, thank you for your continued interest!

Warning: If relationships between boys and men is not your scene, or if
you're under age, or if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then
please leave, now, before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy!



From Chapter 48

I chase Andy up the stairs. "I'm gonna get you!" I call, and he squeals in
delight at being my prey.

"What kept you?" he says, turning to face me at the top, displaying the
broadest of grins.

I turn to see Mum taking the stairs singly but at double time. "What on
earth are you doing?" I call at her. "Be careful!"

"I haven't felt this good in ages," she tells me and, at the top, gives me
the most wonderful of hugs, spinning us both around. "I can't explain it. I
just feel great."

"So do I," Mrs T adds, joining the three of us. "I have this really
positive feeling, where previously I was overcome by doom and gloom. It
feels so good! I feel alive again."

I really want to test out the door-opening ability on Mrs T too! And, I am
convinced that there is something much more amazing going on here as well.

Andy and I walk behind the ladies. I throw one arm over his shoulder and he
puts his arm around my waist. "Am I still your friend?" I ask him.

"Trucking hell yeh!" he whispers back. He looks up at me and we both laugh.


Chapter 49


Mum has changed. She is brighter, and more energetic than I ever remember
her since she used to play with me on the beach before Amelia was
born. And, she says that she is currently feeling less pain in her body.

Mrs Thompson has changed. She has already commented on her more positive
mood and outlook.

Andy has changed. He's speaking in sentences instead of single words and
clipped phrases. His legs seem stronger and more stable and the distortion
of his spine is much less apparent.

Have I changed? Hey! Did something need fixing? Just joking! But, if
anything (especially in my thinking positively about Mum and Andy) I'm
feeling even more emotional than ever! Is that an improvement or
deterioration?

We all check out the bedrooms. Greenish. Pinkish. Bluish. Andy and I linger
in the largest one, dominated by a four-poster bed and furnished
predominantly in black and white with red highlights (rug, cushions and
features in the paintings). This feels as though it must have been the
master's room.

Andy implores me to `share' a call of nature with him in the toilet. As our
bladders empty, he swells from `hanging out' to `poking out'. He giggles
and looks from his hard boyhood to my almost-flaccid one and then to my
face for any reaction.

"Yep. You're a big boy!" I tell him, exercising all of the self-restraint
that I can muster to keep my hands to myself. I tuck mine away while it is
still pliable enough to do so.

Andy takes a bit longer. "Help, Tom," he says, smiling. I think that the
little imp knows exactly what he's asking!

I give him some help, but not what he expects - a sharp slap to his
athletic young backside.

"Ouch!" he calls, then frowns at me while vigorously rubbing his painful
rear end.

"That should help it to go down!" I laugh.

He is slow to appreciate my humour, but eventually smiles and says, "Thank
you, Tom. That worked pretty good!" He displays to me his near-limpness,
puts it away, does up his pants then hugs me. We both laugh, and I ruffle
his hair.

We wash and dry our hands then move to join the ladies on the front
balcony.

Andy is reluctant to approach the edge but is not showing the terror that I
had anticipated he would be. "Hold on to me," I tell him. "And, you can
close your eyes if you want to!"

I edge closer until the railing is within reach. "Let's put out one hand on
the railing," I say, taking his right hand in my own. "Now stand in front
of me and lean back onto me then reach out with your other hand by
yourself." There is some hesitation. "It's OK, Andy. I've got you. Do you
trust me? Am I your friend?"

That last comment did it. "Yes, Tom," Andy replies and does exactly as I
have suggested. I press my body against him from behind and I lay both of
my hands over his, urging our bodies close to the edge to grasp the railing
firmly. And, hey, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy my body being
so close to his, and his clean but distinctively boyish smell! Aroma du
garçon!

"That's great, buddy," I congratulate him.

Looking towards Mrs T, I motion with my eyes and head for her to come
closer. She stands beside Andy and me. Mum is on the other side of us. I
lift one hand, that which is near to Mrs T, and she covers Andy's hand with
her own.

I invite Mrs T to replace me, fully. She moves to stand behind him and
embraces her son. "Oh, Andrew," she says emotionally. "You seem so much
better! I am so happy for you!"

"You can open your eyes now, buddy," I tell him.

"They are open!" He quips, "I'm a big boy. Remember?" Turning his head to
look at me standing alongside Mum, Andy says, "Thank you, Tom, for praying
with me to get better. I feel different already. But, I really didn't think
that anything could change so quickly."

He turns to his mother and says emphatically, "Tom's my friend, you know!"

I look at Mrs T first, and then I ask Andy, "How do you feel different,
buddy? What do you think has changed?"

He pauses for quite a while. "Well... Well, I... I can say stuff! The words
in my head are coming out now. Before they were locked up and couldn't get
out. I couldn't make my mouth say what was in my head and what I wanted to
say.... Only baby words would come out."

He doesn't comment, at all, on his considerably-repaired physical
capability. Obviously, for him personally, his communication restriction
was the greatest frustration of all. Mrs T rocks him gently from side to
side as though he is her baby again.

I embrace Mum in a similar manner to how Mrs T is holding Andy. I wrap my
arms around her from behind. She sinks back against my body and I rub my
cheek against hers. "How are you, really?" I ask. "I've been worried about
you."

She sighs deeply. "To be truthful, Thomas," she begins, "I've been scared
that all of the treatments have not been working as they should have. I
didn't know how to tell you. The specialist was most insistent that I start
on chemotherapy, but I've only felt sicker ever since then. When Bill said
that he was coming out here for Danny's funeral and that you would be there
as well, I had the strangest compulsion to come too - not just because of
my teenage friendship with Danny. It was something else. Much stronger."

I know the feeling. It drew me to this place. Also, Mrs T said that Andy
told her that he `HAD TO come'. She had thought that he just wanted to see
me. I'm beginning to believe in forces beyond my comprehension.

"How do you feel now?" I ask Mum. She turns within my arms, leans back
against the railing and stares at me.

"Thomas, I can't explain it. I feel well. Really well. The pains that I had
before are now only a slight ache. I'm so happy, that I just had to almost
run up the stairs just now." Then she adds, smiling, "I was very tempted to
take them two at a time."

"I'm glad you didn't!" I tell her. "There isn't a doctor around for well
over 100km if you had tripped and broken a leg or an arm, or worse!"

She hugs me then turns again to take in the vista of the stark landscape,
and I enjoy the comfort of just holding her.

It's not long before we see a vehicle heading our way. I recognise it - by
sight, not by sound. I wonder whether Will has allowed Uncle Bill to drive
`his' car.

Obviously not! That is confirmed as they get out of their respective sides
and wave, looking up. "Hi, Andy," Will calls.

Andy waves back, calls to Will, then wriggles free from his mother's loving
clench and heads for the doorway. I kiss Mum on the cheek and I hurry after
him, anticipating that he will need help on the stairs.

"Hey, slow down, buddy," I say as I catch up to him. "Take it easy. We
don't want any accidents!"

He puts one hand on the bannister and allows me to take his other hand as
he descends, although I can feel that he is not leaning on me for
support. As we head down the last flight, and face the front door, I see
that it is closed.

Andy and I make it part way across to the entry when we hear the knocker
being pounded. "Come in!" I call as we approach.

"Very funny!" I hear returned from the outside. It's Uncle Bill's voice. He
must have already tried the handle!

Andy opens the door and we are greeted by two different facial
expressions. Uncle Bill does not relish being the butt of anyone's
practical joke. He much prefers the role of joker. Will, however, standing
behind him, is enjoying the moment.

"Did you lock us out, Andy?" Will jokes.

Andy responds, "It wasn't me! Honest. I don't even know how to lock the
door."

Probably anticipating a simple `NO', Will looks at me with obvious surprise
at Andy's improved speech. I shrug.

"Then it must have been Tom, mustn't it!" Will puts to Andy, jokingly.

"Most likely!" Uncle Bill grouches. I move aside to let him in, and he is
greeted by Mum and Mrs T who have followed us at a more leisurely pace.

With him in this mood, I think that we'll leave the three `oldies' alone
for a while. "Come on, Andy," I say. "Let's have a look around down here,
outside."

Standing between them, I put one arm over Will's shoulder and the other
over Andy's. They both put an arm around my waist and we begin to walk
around the lower verandah.

"I missed you," Will quietly tells me, giving me a squeeze. "Don't worry
about dad's grumpiness," he says, referring to Uncle Bill. "He still
doesn't believe that you're the new owner, and he's not happy that I won't
change my story and `tell him the truth'."

Then he says to Andy, "Did you enjoy sleeping with Tom in the big bed?"

"Oh, yes," he replies instantly. He adds, unprompted, "I had a bath and
Marty cooked breakfast and he walks around with no clothes on and ..." Then
he freezes and a look of horror sweeps across his face. "I'm sorry, Tom,"
he apologises. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone that, am I?" He looks as
though he could cry because his inadvertent revelation has broken his
promise of silence.

I am about to grab him and hug him but Will beats me to it. "It's OK,
Andy. I know about the House Rule. I live there too, remember?"

"Uh-huh," Andy mutters, reverting to his previous mode of speech.

"Can I tell you a secret Andy? A house secret that Marty and Tom and I know
about? Now that you're one of us, I think it's OK to tell you, isn't it,
Tom?" Will asks looking at me.

"Well..." I begin, hoping that it's nothing too revealing.

"When I'm at home, I often walk around with no clothes on too!"

Andy processes the information and looks pleasantly stunned. A broad grin
grows across his face and his eyes widen. "Honest?" he asks. Then he looks
at me. I'm not sure whether it's for confirmation of what Will has told him
or if it's my cue to `fess up'.

I let the cat half-way out of the bag. "It's all right, Andy. We're all
guys. There are no girls or mothers or other ladies around at Marty's. You
saw me this morning when I was having my shower, and went back into the
bedroom, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh," he says, nervously.

"What was I wearing?" I ask him. I cast a glance at Will.

"Um, nothing," he replies.

"Do you think that it was OK to have no clothes on?"

"Uh-huh," he says with some reserve. Then he opens up. "You look good with
no clothes on, Tom, like at the beach. Will does too." Will's face shows
that he can't believe what he's hearing, that is Andy's improved speech,
not (necessarily) the subject matter. Andy continues but I hope he's
improved sufficiently to discern when to close his mouth, "I like to have
no clothes on too. But I can't do it at home because mum might see my hairs
and my... thing. Because it's always getting hard."

"Doesn't she see it when she helps you go to the toilet?" I ask him.

"No!" he says vehemently. "Not when I need to pee. I can do that myself. If
I need her to help me after I've done a poo, then I lean forward to I make
sure that she can't see my thing."

I immediately wonder whether it was really necessary for me to help him at
the toilet after the funeral. But, then, he was adamant at the time that it
was more urgent than he was able to cope with on his own. And, yesterday,
he was still far more uncoordinated than he is now.

"It's called a penis," Will tells him. "But you can call it a cock or a
dick if you like." He smiles at me. I nod my approval of his brief anatomy
lesson.

Andy covers his mouth as though some `bad words' had escaped from him
instead of coming from Will.

I reflect on the fun with him at the beach. He is, from memory, a `cock'
rather than a `thing' guy and had previously shown a bit of talent in the
`wanking' department in the showers too, not to mention his `dogginess' in
humping my leg and his `purring' at having his butt and crack massaged and
his young hole touched.

Given what I've seen of his behaviour since yesterday's first visit to the
homestead, I wonder whether his sexual appetite has been restored along
with his other characteristics, and whether he's just over-acting to `cover
up' for some ulterior pubescent motive. Either way, welcome back young
Andy!

He is so much like Kurt, with a couple of minor exceptions. Both are of
similar height although I've confirmed that Andy is a year older. Kurt's
hair is blonde; Andy's is sun-and-surf bleached. Kurt's pubes are light
brown; Andy's are darker. Kurt's adolescent young cock is thicker but
Andy's is longer. Kurt's balls are larger and rounder; Andy's hang
lower. However, their athletic, defined musculature and their overt,
playful, frisky attitudes are identically matched!

It suddenly dawns on me that, if Jan brings the boys out today, Kurt and
Andy will meet. It could be very interesting to see them together and
whether they `click' as I suspect that they might!

Next to arrive are Julie Smith and her husband plus a helper that I've seen
around the pub but whom I have never engaged in conversation. Maybe he's
one of Jacko's mates. They'd be about the same age, I reckon.

I leave Andy and Will together to `explore' and I walk down the front
steps. Julie makes sure that the men and I know each other and we exchange
pleasantries.

When questioned about the best place to `set up' the drinks, the equipment
and the food, I recommend the shaded side of the broad downstairs verandah
rather than inside or at ground level.

"Perfect," Julie's husband replies, looking up at the place, and the two
menfolk start unloading stuff immediately.

"Come and have a look at the dining room," I suggest to Julie. "I thought
that it might be a perfect location to sit and sign the documents. Then
I'll show you the rest of the place."

Julie marvels at the entrance hall with its wood panelling and local animal
skins. Then she comments on the zebra. "I don't understand why that's here!
It looks totally out of place." I share with her that everybody has said
much the same thing. And I wonder, again, why it is hung with the native
animal hides.

She agrees about the suitability of the dining room after almost swooning
over its décor and furnishings. We tour the kitchen then meet Mum, Mrs T
and Uncle Bill in the lounge. I introduce the ladies to one another.

Uncle Bill wastes no time in posing his mind-gnawing question. "Julie,
what's this nonsense I hear about Thomas owning the homestead?" he puts to
her.

She graciously recounts the tale of the curse and the bounty for the first
person to `discover' it after it finally failed to disappear. It's exactly
what I had told him and Mum previously! "He's a lucky man," she adds. "This
looks like a magnificent building, plus there are 200,000 acres to go with
it. Nobody hereabouts has ever explored the full extent of the property,
and very few, if any, of those who will be here today, have actually ever
seen the homestead at all. For decades, people in town have been far too
scared to come anywhere out in this direction."

"And now it all belongs to Thomas?" Uncle Bill asks, still with a tone of
disbelief, or is it cynicism?

"Just as soon as all of the papers are signed," Julie Smith
replies. "That's the primary reason that we are here today." She adds,
"There will be representatives of the local Council and the Police Force as
witnesses." Then, displaying the ribboned portfolio that she has been
carrying, she adds the icing to the cake, "I have the ownership papers with
me, right here in this folder."

"May I see them, please?" Uncle Bill asks, now appearing more curious than
sceptical. Respecting his background and his plan to refurbish the pub at
no cost to her, Julie Smith extends it towards him with both hands, urging
caution because of their age. As he takes the portfolio, turns it over and
rubs a single hand over it, I can tell that Uncle Bill is appraising the
leather and ribbon for authenticity. "Yes, very old," he offers.

"The papers have been kept in our safe at the pub for decades," she
explains, "ever since it was the resolve of all of the Village's residents
as to whom the property should finally belong. They had a council officer
and a lawyer draw up the documents so that they only require the addition
of a name and some signatures for it all to be legal."

The irony that the property could ultimately belong to a descendent of the
very people whom the original owner murdered does not elude me; indeed, the
fact is that the whole of the land could be returned to one of the
Jintabudjaree people from whom the landowner usurped it those dozen (and
more) decades ago.

Having perused the papers and handed them back to Julie Smith, Uncle Bill's
only comment is towards me, "So what are you going to do with your new
manor and estate, my young property magnate?" Is that his (final)
acceptance of the truth?

"I have no idea!" I tell him. "What would you do?" I know that he loves to
be consulted for his opinion in everything, especially if it becomes the
last word.

Uncle Bill checks with Julie Smith, "So Thomas will own the house and
everything in it? Including the library?"

"Of course," she replies. "The old books are his, too." She adds, "And the
furniture and the paintings and everything else, including the zebra!" She
smiles, perhaps in anticipation that the foreign pelt might be removed.

I can see the wheels turning in Uncle Bill's head. But I'm not sure whether
he's thinking of an answer, or summing the potential value of
everything. That's something that Dad would do! It's an accountant thing.

"Thomas," he says, quietly catching my arm. "May I have a word in private?"

Now, it's very unlike him to be so formally polite. Actually, this is
totally out of character for the cynical joker whom I know so well!

We excuse ourselves and leave Julie Smith to chat with Mum and Mrs T.

Uncle Bill ushers me next door into the library and closes the door. I
wonder whether I've done something wrong, or, does he want to share
something about Will? Good or Bad? Perhaps he intends to apologise for
doubting what I had told him. Nah! It's definitely not going to be an
apology!

"What's up, Uncle Bill?" I ask, to initiate the dialogue, not wanting to be
kept in suspense.

"Thomas," he starts. "May I suggest something?"

"Of course!" I reply, still guarded about the potential subject matter.

"Thomas, I don't know these people as well as you do," he states bluntly.

Without commenting, I simply stare at him and await the rest of whatever is
coming. I feel my facial muscles tighten.

He adds, "They MAY all be very nice and honest people, but..."

"But what?" I put to him brusquely, sounding a little miffed, because I
am. I cannot imagine why he would be critical of these unfamiliar country
folk or why he would have any reason to cast aspersions on any of their
characters. Was something said last night, or did something happen? Need I
remind him that it was he who corrupted one of the local girls 18 years ago
(even though the result thereof was my amazingly skilled and physically
adorable young brother)?

"Thomas," he continues. "The books and documents in this room are all
extremely valuable and many may be of great historical significance. It
would be unfortunate and very sad to see any accidental damage done to
them. Is there any way that this room could be `off limits' for the day?"

"What?" is all that I can manage as a reply.

"Don't get me wrong," he adds, sensing my undisguisable displeasure at his
(perhaps unintended) insult of the people. "They need to be preserved. And"
the fewer the number of people who handle them, the better."

I can tell that he means well and, for once in his life he is genuinely
serious, but I certainly won't be coaxed into hanging a skull and
crossbones on the door with a `keep out' sign!

"I see your point," I tell him. "Now, may I suggest something?"

His facial expression indicates some doubt in my ability to make any
worthwhile contribution to his supposed cut-and-dried argument, but he
says, with measured reserve, but not quite condescendingly,
"Certainly. Tell me what you are thinking."

"I don't know whether you ran into and met Davo, the local sage and
historian, last night?" I put to him. He shakes his head. "It was he," I
comment, "who first alerted me to the potential value of some of the
books."

Uncle Bill doesn't say anything, but, in my deference to his assessment of
the value of the library, the altered expression on his face reminds me of
his smugness whenever he has proven a point or caught me out in one of his
practical jokes.

I put to him, "Why don't you and Davo `set up camp' in here for the
afternoon? That way you can `guard' the books, and you may even enjoy each
other's company and the sharing of worldly experiences."

His smile tells me that I'm back in his good books, and not totally
incapable of conceiving a good idea. "Brilliant!" he comments, patting me
on the back.

Julie Smith's husband and his helper knock and look in. "Hi, Tom," he
says. "We're all set up. Meat's cooking. Is it OK if we have a look around
before it gets too busy? Great place, by the way, from what I can see!"

"Of course," I tell him. I ask, "Would you like a guided tour or are you
happy just to browse by yourself?"

"We'll be fine," he replies. "Just a quick sticky-beak will do us. We'll
leave all the fancy talk and carrying-on to the women." One of the things
that I like about him, and many others out here, is that they don't beat
around the bush, say what's on their mind, however politically incorrect,
and then they get on with things.

I smile, and give him a few pointers, literally. "The lounge is right next
door. Julie is in there now with my mother and her friend. Across the other
side of the building is the dining room and kitchen, and upstairs are four
bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms." Then I add, "If you see anything in
the kitchen that might be handy today, go right ahead and use it."

He nods his thanks. The young guy bows, awkwardly, as though it's the first
time in his entire life that he's performed such a manoeuvre, and comments,
"Thank you, Mr Mayor!" Yep. He's one of Jacko's mates! They leave.

Uncle Bill looks at me questioningly. "Local joke!" I tell him. "I'll fill
you in later. In the meantime I should go and see if Andy and Will are OK."

"Mind if I stay and browse?" he asks.

"Nope. It's all yours," I tell him. "I'll introduce you to Davo when he
turns up."

As I head out, the interplay of voices from the lounge tell me that the men
have joined the women.

I quickly check the verandah. No sign of Will and Andy. I can't hear them
either. I walk around past the food. What a spread! And the aroma of the
cooking meat is already tantalising.

I stop on the back of the verandah as it wraps around the house, looking
west. This aspect isn't visible from upstairs as that verandah doesn't
progress past each of the bathrooms on the north and south side. The
countryside is mostly more of the same - flat, red and barren. However,
away on the horizon there are some irregular features. I can't make them
out, but I will definitely drive out there to investigate some time.

I hear familiar voices. Not far away. "Will?" I call.

He emerges from beneath the verandah, directly under where I am
standing. "Hi Tom," he says, looking up. "Come down here and look. You
should see what we've found!"

Andy then pokes out his head and parrots Will's words, "Hi Tom. You should
come and see what we've found."

"Be right down!" I say, thinking that a fireman's pole would be handy
instead of having to walk all of the way to the front of the house, down
the steps and then around to virtually the same spot again.

As I reach the top of the front steps I see rising dust plumes way off to
the east. More visitors on the way! This will have to be quick if I am to
be free to welcome them. I reckon that I still have a few minutes to spare.

Using the railing for stability, I descend the steps two at a time, then
scoot around to the back of the house. The underfloor area is semi-enclosed
by vertical strips of thinly-spaced timber, but open fully towards the
west. From here, it is difficult but possible, to see through to the front
where the cars are parked because we are directly behind the front steps.

Will and Andy are very excited. "Come and look," they tell me.

Sitting, half-uncovered by an old, heavy piece of canvas that the boys have
partially removed, is a large buggy. What is most striking at first glimpse
is its ebony colour with contrasting pale wood inlaid into what looks like
a crest on the small gate-like door, which (I ponder) may even be a clue to
the identity of the original owner.

Now, I know absolutely nothing about these things but, apart from the
obvious 4 wheels, separate and raised driver's seat and two facing
passengers' seats that can probably accommodate four people with ease, I
can't help but notice the quality of the thing. Highly-polished wood. Black
leather seats and internal linings. Brass or copper ornamentation,
including two lamps at the front and another pair at the back. Also,
extending forwards, is a centred pole that obviously means that the vehicle
is intended to be drawn by two horses, hitched one on either side. Or is
the pole long enough for four horses? I don't know. Will might.

"Can we sit in it, Tom, please?" Will pleads. He looks at my raised eyebrow
then corrects himself, "MAY we, please sit in it?" Andy simply turns on his
puppy-dog face, and I'm unable to refuse them.

"That's OK, but ..." I start.

I don't get to finish my warning to take good care of it, and of
themselves. In a flurry of activity, Will has the door already open,
helping Andy into the back and he then surprises me by not joining Andy but
by taking up a position in the driver's seat, elevated above the rest of
the vehicle at the front. They both sit in silence for a moment, apparently
spellbound.

Then, "Home, if you please, driver," Andy says, putting on toffy airs. Will
and I look at each other, in another flash of astonishment.

"As you please, Master Andrew," Will replies, continuing Andy's creative
role play. "Gee up, there, you lot," he tells the make-believe horses and
manipulating imaginary reins. He adds an equine warning. "And don't trample
Master Tom, or my arse is in big trouble!" Instead of covering his mouth,
Andy laughs. Could he possibly know what Will is inferring?

From his response, I don't think that he does: "Tom can smack pretty hard,
Will, so you'd better control those horses."

Thankfully, Will doesn't ask about the smacking but calls, "Whoa!" jumps
down, and helps Andy to the ground. He throws in, "Tom, there is enough
room under here for your Beast and my car too!" Then, his mind races off in
a new direction. "Hey, we could live out here, away from everyone, and get
some horses, and drive this carriage around, and we could..."

"Whoa, yourself!" I tell him. "What about the house that Ash has designed
for us near the school? And your art studio, and the gymnasium and the pool
and the guest rooms? And, remember, it's right next to Karl and Kurt's
place."

That stops him in dead his tracks. But not for long. "We could live in
there on school days, and out here the rest of the time," he offers. "We
could still have visitors in there, or out here. Or both!"

He might be onto something. Actually, I begin to wonder about the need for
the other house at all. Ash could design a complementary addition to this
place, probably a separate building. I'm sure that he'd enjoy doing
that. We could have an indoor pool and gym and off to the side could be
Will's art studio. But, where would the water come from for the pool? Where
did the original owner get his water? It's way too far from the river!

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a few cars. "Back later,
guys," I tell them. "You can either stay and play with the `horses' or come
with me to meet everyone else."

I notice that there is doorway-sized space on the northern side, to exit
almost directly to the front of the building. I emerge at the same time as
the visitors clamber out of their vehicles; Marty, Acacia and Anna emerge
from Marty's SUV, Sean and Chad from the police car. Chad is in
uniform. Davo and a few men that I recognise from the pub join the others
and wait for me to walk the dozen or so steps across to them.

Acacia appears not in the best of moods. She's breathing heavily through
her flared nostrils, her face is flushed, her lips pursed and her eyes
slightly squinting. She reminds me of a Disney-animated bull who is about
to charge the matador's red cape. Marty has quickly moved away from her to
stand next to his brothers by the police car. Unseen by her, Marty's
expression to me of gritted teeth and pulled-back mouth-corners confirm my
assessment of his mother's temperament at the moment. I believe that he's
in deep shit!

"Mrs O'Brien, Mum," I say, greeting her first of all, as jovially as I can
manage. "It's so good to see you again. Thank you for coming." I offer my
hand. She takes it, and I move closer and kiss her on the cheek.

"Hello, Tom," Anna says demurely. Now, if I wasn't gay, I might certainly
find Anna sexually attractive, in her tight riding pants and snugly-fitting
top; all of her curves (top and bottom) begging to be caressed. Maybe
she'll find a young man amongst all of those who come out here today. In
all the time that I've been in The Village, I've never known her to go
anywhere that she could socialise other than into Big Town once or twice
with Acacia and Marty, probably shopping for household necessities.

I give her the single-cheek greeting as well. "Hello Anna. Where have you
been hiding? I haven't seen you for ages."

"Mum and I have been decorating the cottage," she replies. "You should come
over and have a look at it."

"Wow," I tell her. "You are certainly a talented pair, aren't you? I'd
certainly like to see what you've done to the place."

My friendliness towards her daughter seems to reduce Acacia's heat by a few
degrees. In her eyes, I'm not only male and single, but now I'm
`well-to-do' also. Does she know that yet? Has Marty told her? A perfect
match? Not quite! For her nephew, William, yes. For her daughter, Anna, no.

"Let me escort you both around the building," I tell them. "Just give me a
moment."

I take the handful of steps to where Marty, Chad and Sean are talking in
hushed tones. "What did you do to her this time?" I quietly ask Marty,
indicating his mother so that she can't see my pointing finger.

"Nothing!" he replies quietly, "except maybe telling her something that she
didn't already know. Everything was OK until I let slip that everyone else
in the district already knew about what was happening today. I'm glad that
you weren't there to see the volcano explode!"

"And how many dog bones did you have to dodge this time?" I whisper, much
to Sean and Chad's amusement, most likely from first-hand experience.

"None," Marty replies. "But I did learn that she's not as accurate with
pots and pans!" Sean, Chad and I all titter at the thought.

"Leave her to me," I tell him. "I'm about to do you a big favour! You will
owe me!"

I greet Davo who introduces to me the other men so that they are no longer
just nameless pub patrons. "Is that Marty's little sister?" one of them
asks me. "Wow, hasn't she grown up!" he exclaims.

"And filled out!" another adds. The sudden protuberance in the front of his
jeans betrays some fantasy or other that is playing out in his mind.

"I've told my Uncle Bill about you," I say to Davo. "I left him in the
house. He'll be delighted to chat with you about some local history."

I gather them all together, introduce the guys to Anna, and offer Acacia my
arm, as an escort. We ascend the stairs and, opening the closed front door
(that thing either has a mind of its own or it was hung by a superb
craftsman to shut automatically and ensure that dust would always be
blocked out!), I head straight for the lounge area. Introductions are
completed all `round and I beckon Davo to follow me to the library.

"Uncle Bill ... Davo," I introduce them to each other. "I'll leave you two
to chat and I'll catch up shortly."

I return to the lounge and offer to conduct a guided tour to all who want
to follow. Mum and Mrs T decline. Julie Smith hasn't seen the upstairs yet,
so she rises from her chair to join us. I again offer Acacia my arm and
lead off, trailed by Anna and the three guys plus Julie Smith, Marty, Sean
and Chad. Julie Smith's husband and helper are already out there or
upstairs somewhere, `going it alone'. Will and Andy must still be `horsing
around' downstairs.

We start with a brief glimpse of the library. After Davo has introduced
everyone to Uncle Bill, we continue. There are very few questions from
anyone, except Acacia who seems intent on learning as much as possible. I
know why. She can't wait to show off her knowledge to some other
people. Make that everybody! She and Julie Smith exchange occasional
comments with each other.

The three amigos and Anna seem mutually engrossed. Marty, Sean and Chad
appear content to absorb anything that I say which may be of personal
interest but, otherwise, talk among themselves. Maybe they are discussing
their little sister and her admirers, and keeping a `big-brotherly' eye on
them all.

Everyone takes in the kitchen with a single sweep of the eyes. Nothing much
interests them. Not even Acacia.

The zebra, on the other hand, up close, elicits much discussion, even
diverting the attention of Anna's admirers away from her. Knowing horses,
as they obviously do, they seem able to judge that it was a huge beast in
both height and body length. "I heard that they were rather weedy buggers,"
one comments. "This brute would have given grandad's Clydesdales a run for
their money."

So, there was something special about the striped enigma after all! I
wonder if there is anything recorded about it in the library papers,
perhaps in a diary.

We do the tour of the bedrooms and bathrooms and find ourselves on the
upper front verandah.

More vehicles on the horizon. "Why don't you all wander down and help
yourselves to the drinks on the lower verandah," Julie Smith says,
indicating the southern side of the house. "Some of the food should be
ready as well."

Indicating the approaching vehicles, I declare, "I'd better go down and
play `host'."

I leave the group pointing in various directions and I overhear where they
think certain properties lie, considering that there are no visible
landmarks apart from the thin line of river gums in the distance.

The brothers (Sean, Chad and Marty) have sidled up to their mother and
Julie Smith. The three pub-patron amigos have bunched around Anna, each one
jockeying for position with her, seemingly to outmanoeuvre or out-do the
other two. Anna is enjoying the attention and (if her eye for guys' bodies
is as keen as mine is) maybe, also, the in-jean displays of unrepressed
country-bred manhoods.

I wonder about the exchange of male and female pheromones. I can see the
obvious effect on the two of the three guys. Why only two? Hmm.

On the way to the front door, I look in on Mum and Mrs T in the lounge and
Uncle Bill and Davo in the library. All of them seem contentedly occupied
in their own discussions.

Outside, I check with the cooks. "How's it going, guys?" I ask, as if the
aroma of cooking meat and the array of prepared food does not already
pre-empt their answer.

"All good, Tom," I hear. "Would you like a drink or something to eat?
There's plenty prepared to go already."

"Thanks guys," I reply. "I'll come back shortly, but first I'd better greet
the new arrivals," nodding in the direction of the vehicles.

About five SUVs and a noisy old Land Rover pull up and begin to expel their
occupants. Among them I recognise Reg, Di and family, Jan Andersen with
Karl and Kurt, Councillor Helen O'Sullivan, and some of my cherubs with
their parents in tow. Our numbers just doubled! "Hi everyone!" I call as I
descend the front steps, waving and then hoping that it was not too regal
or mayoral a gesture.

"Good afternoon, Mr Grant," all of the kids chorus, as if it was our usual
day-end exchange at school, the sing-song effect of which has Will and Andy
emerging almost immediately from beneath the house.

Will introduces Andy to Jake, Jane, the little kids and then gets to Karl
and Kurt. Karl shakes Andy's hand cordially. Kurt, on the other hand,
simply stares until his brother nudges him. He extends his hand and Andy
shakes it - slowly. It is almost as if they are long-lost acquaintances,
trying to recall from where they know one another. As well as their
conjoined hands, their eyes are also fixated upon each other. I think to
myself, if one was dynamite and the other was fire, that there would be a
massive explosion.

The little ones cluster around Jane. Jake makes a bee-line for Will and
Karl. Jan greets Helen O'Sullivan very cordially and immediately they
engage in some close chatter, as if sharing a secret or some confidential
information, perhaps about Whispering Gums (the place of Jan's current
employment, and Helen's former family home). I do the rounds, greeting
everyone and introducing myself to those parents whom I had not previously
met. Andy and Kurt are still mesmerised by one another, but have at least
started talking.

"Thank you all for coming," I announce, raising my voice. "I'm sure that
you're all keen to look through the place. If you're happy just to browse,
I'll wander and be around to answer any questions that you might have. And,
your timing is perfect to grab some food and drink - it's all prepared and
waiting up there," I indicate, pointing. "There is something for everyone,
including the children." I was tempted to say `kids', but then these are
farming folk and none of the parents might understand or appreciate any
inference that they look like goats. Then, again, they just might! I can't
envisage any of them be upset at anything so intentionally benign.

A convoy of more cars, SUVs and a truck.

The only people that I recognise are Jacko and some of his drinking
buddies. I'm greeted by a variety of `Tom', `Mr Grant', `Mr Mayor' and,
inevitably, `Harry Potter'. "G'day, Jacko," I reply to him. I add, "How's
that magic wand of yours? Keeping a firm grip on it are you?" His mates
guffaw at my throwing his own joke back at him, slap me on the back, and
mete out some sociable thumps to Jacko as well. I'll give him this - he
takes it all very well! I'll bet that he's endured much worse! I like these
guys.

Leaving his helper alone to turn another picket fence of darkening
sausages, Julie's husband joins me at the bottom of the stairs. Being the
local publican and knowing everyone in the region, he introduces me to all
of them.

Mentally doing a quick head count, I think we have upwards of seventy
people overall, including the children.

I invite everyone to partake of the refreshments that Julie Smith and her
husband have provided, to wander through the house and that I'll catch up
with them later.

Now, as you might suspect at a social gathering (apart from the candle and
the moths that she attracts - aka Anna and a bunch of young, horny guys)
most people separate into women on the top verandah and men closer to the
beer on the lower level. For the sake of propriety, especially in front of
my cherubs, I stick to soft drink. The children, ever supercharged,
continually shift from top level to bottom, going in and out, eating,
running, drinking, hiding, playing tag and generally providing their own
entertainment.

Will, Karl and Jake pass me a few times in my meanderings. While ever Jake
is with Will and Karl, he will prevent them from partaking in any
`mischief'. However, I muse, if Will was alone with either of them it might
be a completely different story.

On the other hand, I have not seen Andy and Kurt. I can't help but wonder
whether the rejuvenated Andrew Thompson has inveigled the irrepressible
young Kurt Andersen to `help him out' with something personal. My emergent
curiosity gets the better of me and I head in search of them, aiming to
start with the big buggy-thing under the house. I bump into Davo in the
hallway. "Come for a walk with me," I put to him. "There's something
underneath the house which I think may interest you."

We head down the front stairs and enter the under-house space by the narrow
doorway just around the corner of the building. I have a sudden flush of
anxiety at Davo and I finding Andy and Kurt in a potentially compromising
position so I raise my voice to alert them. "The boys found this big buggy
under a canvas down here... It is really impressive... What do you think
about it?"

We approach more closely the vehicle which has been left mostly
uncovered. I breathe a sigh of relief. The boys are not here.

Davo stops and looks at it. He walks around it, taking in its features.

"I know what it is," he comments. "It's a Landau - a ceremonial open
carriage. And an exquisite specimen, too! But what on earth is it doing
here? And whose was it?" He pauses as if awaiting somebody to answer his
questions then he adds, "Actually, I recall seeing a picture of one just
like it somewhere upstairs. Now where was it...?" He appears to go into
suspended animation while his memory attempts to recall the location of the
likeness. "In one of the books!" he finally concludes.

He inspects the crest on the door more closely. "If I'm not mistaken,
although I could be, I think that this carriage could have belonged to one
of the early governors. It appears to be a state coach. The crest is that
of Queen Victoria. Can you see the ornate initials, `VR' for `Victoria
Regina' in the woodwork? Our first governor took office in... 1859. How on
earth...?" he repeats. "I must go and find the picture. I'm sure it was in
one of the first books that I looked at."

With a purposeful quest, he leaves me. And I again ponder the whereabouts
of those two attractive imps whose naked bodies I have variously felt and
held against my own. My heart flutters at the remembrances of them, and
those occasional times. My heart isn't the only part of my anatomy that is
in motion and my pants begin tighten.

I inspect the Landau (a new word for my vocabulary) with more respect,
savouring its craftsmanship, the smell of the leather and the smooth touch
of its finish. I ponder the question raised by Davo regarding its origin
and the means of its delivery to this frontier of colonial Queensland. My
lower body returns to a state that is fit for socialising in mixed company
again.

I continue a circumambulation of the house, passing and chatting with
cherubs and Village folk on the way, arriving back at the mysterious rose
bush. No sign of Kurt and Andy, nor has anybody seen them. I decide to
check upstairs. I do a complete tour of the downstairs verandah, again
declining the offer of food ("not just yet, thank you") from the
men. They're not here. Maybe inside. Not in the library. Nor the lounge
room. Nor the dining room. Surely not the kitchen! No, not here
either. Hopefully, I will find them on the top level.

I emerge from the kitchen and stand, just outside the door, in the `great
hall' (as I choose to call it), thinking. I glance up at the zebra on the
wall. From this angle, something in my mind suddenly whispers, `Wrong!'
Then I stare at it. I don't think that it's the skin itself. What about the
wall on which it is mounted? I scan the wood panelling from top to bottom
and left to right. The vertical strips of ornate scrollwork between the
flat wood panels are exquisite. I check again for imperfections or lack of
symmetry. I can detect nothing wrong. But, something is not right!

I step back into the kitchen and cast a glance from the doorway to the west
end of the elongated room. I make a mental note, then step out to again
look at the zebra. Kitchen. Zebra.

I position myself so that I can see both walls at the same time. It
suddenly becomes obvious. The kitchen extends about three metres farther
than the wall on which the zebra is mounted; a detail unnoticed during
earlier brief perusals.

The reason is obvious - there must surely be a 3 metre space behind the
zebra panelling! I feel a tingling surge of excitement at my
`discovery'. Today I will be Sherlock Holmes instead of Harry Potter, thank
you!

I push the kitchen door so that it swings to its full extent then walk to
the end of the shelving-clad wall, looking for a door to the hidden chamber
of secrets. I walk back and forth fruitlessly, even pressing knotholes on
shelves and lifting every single item on them. Nothing secretive opens.

I grasp the door handle and am about to close it, in total defeat, when I
notice the marks on the floor. They remind me of something having been
dragged, or continually rolled over the same spot. I look more closely at
the shelving and realise that it is not one solid construction as I had
first assumed, but section after section of neatly-fitting units.

With the door to the kitchen fully open, there is no room for the first
unit to move, but when I half-close it, I am able to slide (roll, actually)
the first section towards the doorway, revealing... a blank, whitewashed
wall.

I test the second unit. It rolls firmly up to the first. More blank wall.

I continue to move the units one at a time. Nothing is revealed behind
them, until...

As the second-last unit slides to the right, what appears is not the
continuation of whiteness, as behind the others, but a gap; a doorway to
the space behind the zebra wall.

I look into the `treasure room'. It is dark. I am greeted by a musty smell
- not of dampness, but of disuse. I step through the gap. The only light in
here is that which follows me from the kitchen.

I stand still. My eyes slowly accustom themselves to the dimness, and I am
able to make out certain aspects of the room and its treasure. Although
only three metres wide, it stretches completely across the house, to finish
at what must be a common wall with the far corner of the lounge room.

I can discern multiple pots, pans and large boilers. Also, there are jars,
urns and tubs. Of course! The things missing from a normal kitchen! It
hadn't dawned on me until just now that there must have been stuff like
this, somewhere. Hey! I'm not a kitchen hand - not even a cook! Definitely
not a chef! I don't know what should be here, in this giant pantry.

I wonder how anything could be found in this dimness. Then again, I suppose
if you knew where everything was, even in dim light, you could go straight
to it, like I can do at night in my attic room at Mum and Dad's, without
switching on a single light. I suppose, a century ago, people would have
had candles to help them. I must come back here with a torch or an LED
lantern and check out the contents. I hope that I don't find any shrunken
heads!

I quickly remember that I am actually searching for Kurt and Andy and hope
that they haven't gone from upstairs to outside while I have been occupied
in the kitchen.

After pushing the sections of shelving back to their original positions I
leave the kitchen door fully open and I begin to mount the staircase.

Left or right? Eeny, meeny, miny, left.

Are they in this bathroom? No.

The green bedroom? Nope.

The pink one? Nyet.

I step out onto the verandah and survey the array of vehicles below -
parked far more orderly than if they were outside the pub. I see two neat
rows. 23 in all. Many I recognise; most I don't.

While chatting with parents, cherubs and others, I stand directly opposite
the doorway, looking straight across the internal void to the staircase in
case I see Kurt and Andy using it.

After a quick glance down each side of this verandah, I continue my search
inside. Only three possibilities remain.

Not in the blue room.

I begin to dread that something unfortunate has happened to them. Please
let them be in here... ensconced in a wardrobe, or something! My fear is
heightened when the master's room is not hiding them either.

I feel my heart pumping well beyond its normal rate as I push open the door
to the very last room, the other bathroom. I check it carefully, multiple
times (as if the first time wasn't sufficient). Empty. Panic! Where are
they? What has happened to them? What will their parents say?

I stand at the top of the staircase and lean on the balustrade to steady my
trembling body. I run through my mind all of the places that I have
checked. I overlooked nothing.

Where could I have missed them? Could they have made it from the dining
room to the library while I was checking the lounge? Unlikely! I was only
in there for a matter of seconds. I would have seen them scoot across the
hall. Perhaps they could have made it down the front steps while I was
around the back of the lower verandah. Remote, but possible.

Just as I determine to go and check the under-building area again, my
concentration is shattered by two cavorting adolescents bursting forth from
the bathroom that I have just checked.

"Hi, Mr Grant," Kurt beams.

"Hi, Tom," Andy adds, greeting me with a high-five. Then he adds, "Kurt is
my friend!"

I step to block their access to the stairway. They are about to dash past
me, on either side, but I reach out and capture one in each of my arms,
then draw them close to me and tightly grip their wiggling, giggling
bodies. They don't try to escape, but allow me to hold them and, if
anything, snuggle against me.

"Where on earth have you two been? Where did you come from?" I ask,
tickling them both. "I was just in there and I didn't see you!"

They stop squirming sufficiently to look at each other's face. They laugh.

"Secret passage!" Kurt chirps.

What's this, I think to myself? Another architectural surprise? Or a joke?
"Show me!" I insist, jovially but disbelievingly.

"Can't!" Andy cackles. "'Cause then it wouldn't be a secret!'

They both laugh again, probably at both Andy's boldness and the resultant
expression on my face. Or, perhaps at me falling for a fabricated tall
story! But, then, where were they hiding while I was in there?

I release Kurt, grab Andy from behind with both hands, hug him close to me
and then, with my arms crossed over his chest, I begin to tickle his ribs,
mercilessly.

He squirms and squeals and squeaks and squawks, lifting his feet off the
ground and flailing his legs wildly in front of him.

"Aargh!" he cries. "Stop. Stop! Stop!! I'll tell! I'll tell!!!"

I desist, and his gasping for oxygen reduces to laboured panting.

I set him down and he scoots to stand alongside Kurt who has backed up
against the wall near the bathroom. They each throw an arm over the other's
shoulder - buddy style. Comrades in arms (literally). Co-conspirators!

While I know that Karl and Kurt are identical twins physically, these two
seem to be each other's equal in every other way: their smiles, their
humour, their optimism, their friendliness, their mischievousness. I'll bet
that if I could see an aura for each of them, they would be identical
also. I look at them closely. Alongside Kurt, I note that Andy appears
slightly more `mature'. After all he is a year older! But his features are
finer than Kurt's boyish face. His cheek bones are more discernible and his
nose is thinner. His chin, although similar to Kurt's is more strongly
defined. He has, indeed, begun the transition from a handsome adolescent
into a very handsome young man.

My heart melts just looking at them. It is a privilege to even know them
both.

"OK, sport!" I say directly into Andy's alluring eyes. "What's all this
about a secret passage?"

"It's true, Tom. We found it by accident," he replies.

"Actually, I found it," Kurt corrects Andy's apparent major oversight in
not giving his new friend the credit. I say nothing but wait for the
detail.

"He wouldn't have found it without me," Andy interjects, obviously intent
on claiming back a small percentage of the recognition.

Kurt fills me in. "Mr Grant, you see, we were playing hide and seek. I came
in here," indicating the bathroom, "and was looking to see if I'd fit
inside the cupboard where the towels and things are stacked. When I
couldn't, I closed the door, and leaned back on the bit of wall next to it,
and it swivelled around. I stepped in and closed it and Andy couldn't find
me. It was really funny listening to him. He called out, `I saw you come in
here. Where the f*** are you?' He would never have found me if I hadn't
burst out laughing."

Andy blushes deeply as if embarrassed by being `outed' for using the
4-letter word! Kurt shows no such emotion in relaying the expletive. I
could imagine that the twins might dob each other in to their father all of
the time for a myriad of trivial offences! Fraternal rivalry and
one-upmanship!

"I should have said `truck', shouldn't I have, Tom?" Andy asks, hoping to
redeem himself.

"It's OK, Andy," I tell him. "Just try not to say it too often, because it
might slip out one day in front of your mother and then I think you would
be in big trouble, mister!"

"You're not wrong," he says with a pained face, rubbing his backside as an
indication of what would be in store for him.

"And did you explore your secret passage? Was anything inside it? How much
could fit in there?" I ask, and then feel myself redden slightly at the
realisation of the unintended innuendo. Hopefully, it went straight over
both boys' heads. It would never have escaped Will, though!

Kurt volunteers, "We couldn't explore where it went because it was too
dark. We were just about to leave when we saw that you were coming this way
from the front balcony. So we just hid in there. From you." He smirks. "It
was a good hiding place, wasn't it?"

"Too right!" I say. "OK, You'd better show me."

Andy turns to Kurt, "Did he say please?"

"No, I didn't hear it," Kurt replies, smirking even more broadly.

"Well, then..." Andy commences. "I don't think that we should..."

That's as far as he gets before he finds himself in my clutches again,
facing another imminent tickling torture."

"NO! OK. OK," he squeals. "We'll overlook your bad manners... this time."
Cheeky devil! They both laugh.

They bustle through the doorway and stand in front of a plain, innocuous
but broad piece of panelling between the double-doored set of cupboards and
the rear wall of the house.

"After you," Andy tells Kurt.

"No, after you," Kurt replies.

"But I insist," Andy continues.

"No, no, no..." Kurt says, obviously seeking to prolong the revelation and
joke around with me. He glances at me to gauge my reaction.

"Let me try my hand," I say, and immediately swat them both on their firm
young tails at the same time.

After a millisecond of initial shock, they both burst out
laughing. Heavenly beings do have a sense of humour!

Without another word, Kurt leans forward onto the panel and pushes
confidently on one edge. It yields, swinging inwards.

I look in. Despite the dimness I can make out a large space which,
logically, is above the yet-to-be-explored `treasure cave' off the
kitchen. I wonder if they are connected by a staircase somewhere inside. I
lead the way in, taking no more than three steps to see if anything else is
discernible. They follow me. "We should come back with a torch and
explore," I tell the boys, which is met with whoops of excitement.

"Do you want to tell anyone else about this, or should we just keep it our
little secret?" I ask, while fully anticipating their answer.

"Secret!" they say in unison. I concur. They high-five each other.

Suddenly we are standing in complete darkness. Somebody just pushed the
panel closed. "Wooooo! I am the ghost of the big house!" one of them moans
in a low, fabricated voice. I think it was Andy, but I couldn't be a
hundred percent certain.

I suddenly feel a hand gently grasping my package. In my mind I wonder
which of them it is. I attempt to quickly grab his hand, but he's too fast
and I only succeed in causing my `delicate duo' a measure of pain. Then, as
quickly as it was closed, the panel flies open and both boys `escape'.

I wonder whether they have discussed their individual intimate moments with
me, or whether this was just a rogue gesture by one of them. But, which
one?

I can't imagine Kurt saying anything to anybody about our encounters,
especially to an almost complete stranger. And I don't think that Andy
would risk endangering our `friendship' by blabbing either.

No, this was a solo effort! Who? Hmm. On the one hand, Kurt can have me
almost any afternoon, if he chooses. On the other hand, Andy has been
making a play for me to get personal and `help him' almost since the moment
he arrived. I remember that when we were in the showers at the beach, he
loved holding me and was wanting to demonstrate how good he could be at
jacking me off. It's obvious! My deduction is Andy! What do you reckon Dr
Watson? I pause to think, Then again...

I step out, close the panel and, ensuring that there is a sufficient time
lag between the boys' exit and mine, I leave the bathroom.

I decide to indulge in some of the food that has been prepared and make my
way down to the lower verandah. Even before I round the corner, the aroma
of well-done sausages and caramelised onions fills my senses as a wisp of
pale blue smoke wafts from the country-sized cooker to greet me. My mouth
is already watering. I exchange pleasantries with the guys and some
visitors. I take a large, soft, elongated, pre-sliced bread roll, butter it
liberally and lay on some mayonnaised coleslaw with finely-sliced
vegetables before adding a sausage, onions and topping it with a squirt of
sauce.

I walk towards the back of the verandah intending to stand above the Landau
and eat in private, without having to chew and talk at the same time. As I
round the back corner, I come face to face with Mum, doing what appears to
be, consoling Mrs Thompson, Andy's mother. My expression by itself is
enough to say, `What's wrong?' so I don't need to contravene one of Mum's
rules about speaking while I have food in my mouth.

Both women turn to face me. It's clear that they've both been crying, but
their countenances are anything but distressed. I make an obvious point of
swallowing and then open my mouth to speak.

Mum beats me to it. "It's another miracle," she says, rubbing Enid's back.

"What has...?" I commence.

Mum continues, without me needing to finish my question. "First Andy and
me, and now Enid," she answers in something between a confidential whisper
and a cry of joy.

"Yes, I know that Mrs Thompson was feeling very well, too," I say. "She
told us so."

"It's more than that," Mum adds. I look at her, anticipating that she will
continue. She does. "Enid spilled some sauce on her blouse so we went
upstairs to wash it," Mum says. She pauses. "When Enid removed her blouse,
she almost collapsed in tears."

"Why? What happened?" I ask.

"All of the scars from when Derek Peters burnt her with a cigarette have
completely gone," Mum says. They both burst into tears again and hug each
other.

I have to wonder whether this house has healing powers for everyone, or
only Jintabudjaree descendants. Speaking of which, I wonder how many others
of us there are. So far, I know of Andy and Mrs T, me, Mum and Amelia (of
course). And then there would be Mum's Aunty Doris and Karen. I'll
definitely have to begin drawing up a family tree. It would be interesting
to see how far back I have to go before Mrs T's branch and ours actually
coincide!

I know! Marty's been here. I'll have to check him out tonight to see
whether the scar on his shin from the snake bite is healed. If not, this
`magic' is a Jintabudjaree legacy only. And, how long will it last?

"Oh, there you are, Tom," Julie Smith says, popping her head around the
corner. Then she notices Mum and Mrs T. "Everything all right, dears? Can I
help with anything?" she asks them.

"It's fine, really," Mum replies. "We were just sharing a happy
moment. But, thank you!"

"Tom," Julie continues, "would you be ready for the signing of the
paperwork in about a quarter of an hour?"

"Sure thing!" I reply. "Let's do it!"

"I'll have the police and the Council representatives in the dining room in
fifteen minutes then, and I'll ask Davo and my husband to round up everyone
so that they don't miss it. I think that Davo has a bit of a speech
prepared."

"Thank you, Julie," I say. "Yes, I know Chad and Helen. But I hope that
Davo doesn't expect me to speak after he does. I haven't even thought about
it. The pen is mightier than the tongue."

"Thomas!" Mum chides. "You can't mix two adages like that!"

"Like what?" I ask, sensing, even as the words tumbled out of my mouth,
that they didn't quite sound right.

"'The pen is mightier than the sword' is the correct expression," she says.

Mrs T adds, "And the other one is, `The tongue is sharper than a two-edged
sword."

"OK!" I reply. "So I just took away the swords!"

They titter together. It wasn't all that funny. They are either being
polite at my attempted humour, or sharing a joke at my expense - that
teachers aren't perfect!

I walk back past the food and cannot resist the tantalising aromas. I
select a pork and beef kebab on the way. And I take another lemonade.

Sipping and chewing, I do another circuit on ground level, and discover
Jake, Will and Karl on the driver's seat of the Landau. Inside are Kurt and
Andy, with David and his little brother, Eric, on the other seat, facing
them. Reg, Di, Jane and some other locals (one of whom I recognise as David
and Eric's mother) are standing to one side, admiring it and I hear them
proposing possible explanations for it being here.

"Can I join you?" I ask, looking at everyone in the Landau.

"Don't you mean, `May I... ?' SIR," Will pronounces with a hint of sarcasm
because I am always correcting HIS English.

"Is it possible, gentlemen, for me to fit into your carriage?" I respond,
looking at the `passengers' and then staring at Will. I continue, "And, if
there IS room, then MAY I please join Your Lordships in a circuit of the
estate?" I bow and they all giggle. So do the observers, entertained by the
good-natured interplay.

"By all means, good fellow," Will answers.

Andy and Kurt separate and I take the seat between them. I'm enjoying the
role play. "You may drive on, my good man," I tell Will, "but be wary of
highwaymen. Behold yonder mob of ruffians," I say indicating Reg and those
talking around him. "They look to be particularly undesirable characters."
Jake turns to look at me then his face lights up at my jovial insult of his
parents and sister.

"Bale up!" Reg suddenly shouts, jumping forward, joining in my game and
pointing one hand, revolver fashion, at the drivers. This seems out of
character for the dry-humoured Reg O'Brien whom I thought that I
knew. However, I do appreciate it. Good on him! Bravo, Sir!

I throw my hands into the air, and the kids all follow suit, squealing and
pleading.

"Your money or your lives!" Reg gives the ultimatum.

"Please, sir, we have no money!" Andy replies, doing a great impression of
shaking with fear.

"Then it will have to be a life!" Reg growls, pointing his finger-gun at
each of us in turn.

When it's pointed at him, David responds instantly, "Here is a life, sir,"
he exclaims, holding his little brother forward. "You can have this one."

Little Eric's wails of protest are interrupted by Davo's voice. "Ladies and
gentlemen, I invite you to move to the dining room and witness the signing
of the title deeds." Everyone acknowledges and thanks him.

Reg, Di and the others move towards the Landau and share a laugh with
everyone on their improvised drama. Everybody is happy with, perhaps, one
exception. Five year old Eric pouts, kicks David in the shins then jumps
and runs to take refuge behind his mother.

Everybody moves.

Have you ever seen cows align themselves as they head for the milking shed?
I smile to myself as I and the herd of others head for the dining room.

I also think of a conga line at a wedding reception dance, with more and
more people joining themselves to the end and going wherever the leader
goes and the line follows. 1-2-3-kick. 1-2-3-kick. Although tempted, I
refrain.

Some children have run ahead. Others attach themselves to me, literally,
while others are restrained by more patient parents.

At the near end of the long dining table just inside the door are Julie
Smith, Davo, Chad the cop and Council representative, Helen O'Sullivan. I
recognise the leather-bound document wallet, open on the table. There is a
stylish silver pen lying beside it.

People fill the room around both edges and the far end. They shuffle around
until everyone is in.

Karl, Kurt, Andy and Will are close by me to my left with Mrs T. behind
Andy. Mum and Uncle Bill are behind Will. On my right are Acacia, Marty,
Anna and Sean.

"Why don't you sit down, Tom, love," Julie Smith says. It's not a question,
and she indicates the carver chair at the head of the table.

Raising his voice, Davo begins, "Ladies and gentlemen, ..." He pauses for
silence then continues in a very congenial tone, "Today, we close the book
on a piece of sinister local history, and open a new page in a new book."

"Here! Here!" rolls around the room.

"According to the express wishes of our forefathers, this homestead, a
magnificent piece of early colonial architecture, is about to become the
property of our much-respected Schoolie, Mr Tom Grant, known to some as
`His Worship, the Mayor' of our village - long may he reign!" He waits for
his homonym of `rain' joke to register with the locals and then for the
chuckles to subside. He continues, "To others..." he stares at Jacko, "he
has been likened to Harry Potter."

"Onya, Jacko!" one of his mates interjects.

Davo continues, "But to all of us, he is about to become our neighbour and,
I am sure, friend."

"Here! Here!" resounds again.

"Over the years, what we know as the `Jintabudjaree curse' has claimed more
than a dozen people, relatives of many here today..." He nods to Acacia and
her family; also to Helen O'Sullivan and some others scattered around the
room. "They were friends of us all, and we remember them, especially today,
with great fondness and love."

"Here! Here!"

I look at Acacia, wiping her eyes and being given a loving squeeze by Marty
on one side and Sean on the other. I feel a sudden pang of guilt (not for
the first time). The curse took away her husband, Jack, and their father in
his prime which left them to cope as best they could. And who am I to
deserve to own the most prestigious property in the district; me, a `blow
in' from the Gold Coast? Then I think ... I didn't choose this house; it
seemed to choose me to discover it! It could well have been anyone else;
Marty, or one of his brothers, or Helen O'Sullivan. I will have to accept
my fate gracefully and gratefully, and resolve use this `gift' somehow for
the good of the locals.

Davo interrupts my thoughts. "Just before Helen O'Sullivan representing the
Council and Officer Chad O'Brien, representing the Queensland authorities,
and, of course, Tom, all sign these title deeds," he says, "would anybody
like to say anything?"

There is a silence, and I am gripped by an apprehension that I am sure a
bride and groom about to be wed would experience when the question is asked
whether anyone knows a just reason why they shouldn't be married.

There is a hush. I expect and hope for continued silence. No such
luck. Multiple hands are raised, like children in a classroom offering the
answer to a maths problem.

Davo indicates the speaking order.

Marty begins. "Thank you Davo for the opportunity to speak. Many here today
will not know that Tom actually saved my life not long after he arrived."
There are gasps. "I ended up in hospital and it was really `touch and go'
for a while, I was told. It's long story, or should I say a long tale
(tail)." Some, who are acquainted with the details, laugh politely at the
`extended' reference to the snake. He continues, "Tom being here has made
an enormous difference to me personally and to my family, especially to
young `Will', as Tom re-named him. Tom took him under his wing in difficult
circumstances, as you may all remember, and my young cousin has come to
appreciate Tom as much more than his teacher, and to love him, as we all
have. I can think of no more deserving person to own this house."

While I ponder Marty's use of `love', some begin to clap then,
progressively, all join in with enthusiasm. I feel very humbled by Marty's
words and have to actively fight back tears.

Next, Reg praises me for changing Jane's and Jake's attitudes towards
school, adding that they have insisted on coming to school every day since
I arrived, even when they were feeling `off colour'. "In the past they
would have gladly missed school had they even stubbed their toe on a gum
leaf!" He adds his blessing to Marty's. More clapping.

Jan adds a few words of indebtedness for the much more positive outlooks of
his sons, Karl and Kurt, who had previously been forlorn at the departure
of their mother from their lives. I look at the twins. Karl gives me a
`thumbs up' and Kurt appears a touch embarrassed and smiles sheepishly. I
return Karl's gesture and to Kurt I give a quick, reassuring wink.

Jacko, towards the rear of the room, raises his voice as if stepping onto a
soap box in the style of a politician or an evangelist. "I don't know Tom
that well," he begins, "but I can tell that he is a great guy and a good
sport. We need him around here, and I hope he stays." Then, staring at me
directly, he adds, "Besides, he could need a good strong hand from time to
time." He has previously hinted at employment (actually, from memory, he
came right out and said that I might need to hire a farm hand which would
help him pay off his bar tab) although I can't help but ponder the double
meaning in his tone of offering to give me a hand, coupled with his
previous jibe about my `magic wand'. I wonder whether he might `bat for our
team' as the saying goes.

Another pub patron adds, "Tom seems to have a positive influence over many
things, even the weather. It will be a pleasure to have him as a neighbour,
and I look forward to getting to know him better." He then tacks on, "When
are we going to get some decent rain, Mr Mayor, instead of just this
overnight drizzle?" Everyone laughs, but I can tell that they are serious
too.

And so it goes on; anyone and many add their own words. Even Acacia. When
she is finished she steps across and gives me a hug. "Thank you, Tom,
dear," she whispers into my ear.

Will is given the opportunity to speak, and I wonder exactly what he will
say. I am nervous. Will he `out' us? Even accidentally, in front of all of
these people, including cherubs and their parents? I take a deep
breath. There is no escaping what will come out of his mouth; best to just
grin and go along with it, I guess.

He begins slowly. "Hi everyone. You all know me. I have lived here all my
life, and I guess that many of you knew my mother better than you did me."
He pauses and looks around the room. I notice that the eyes of quite a few
men deliberately avoid Will's own. I can guess why; even though he could
have been a lot younger then, he would still recognise all of Lilly's
`visitors'. What on earth is he going to say?

"We are all very lucky that Mr Grant came to The Village as our
teacher. He's really good at everything he does and the kids all love
him. Don't we?" he addresses his question to the many cherubs in the room.

"Yeh!" they all chorus, the little ones being the loudest, totally
uninhibited.

He continues, "From the very first day that I saw him at the weir, I knew
that Mr Grant was different to the other Schoolies that we have had in the
past." He pauses and, again, I feel a flush of nervousness. "This one looks
just like me, or, rather, I look like him." He takes a breath and adds, "He
IS kinda handsome, isn't he?" OMG, Will! Shut up!

Well, that breaks everyone up and there is raucous laughter. I'm starting
to perspire. Where is he going with this?

When calm is restored to the room, Will says, "Mr Grant helped Marty to
look after me every time that my mother got into one of her bad moods and
did bad stuff to me. I remember the day that he confronted her outside the
pub and told her that he was my guardian angel and that she would die if
she ever abused me again. She looked really scared because she couldn't
tell us apart. That day he DID become my guardian angel and protector."

There are polite mutterings of support from around the room, together with
looks of incredulity on the faces of many, my cherubs especially.

"At the end of the first term, Mr Grant even took me to the Gold Coast with
him for a holiday, and while I was there my whole life changed." I
instantly recall the night that Will and I first enjoyed each other's body,
fully. I am no longer nervous. Now I'm shit-scared of what is still to come
out of his mouth.

He goes on, "While I was there, he introduced me to a wonderful, generous
and loving man. Mr Grant had somehow put the pieces of a puzzle together
from what I had told him and, for the first time in my life, I met my
father."

While he is wiping his eyes on his sleeve, there are gasps, mutterings and
we even hear a snide remark about `the guy who knocked up poor Lilly'. It
draws an immediate response from Will in defence of his dad. "AND I learned
that my dad is not the evil person that my mother always led me to believe
that he was. Exactly the opposite, if anything! I have come to the
conclusion that he was actually the unsuspecting victim of my mother's
snare. Once a fly gets caught in a spider's web, it's hard to escape."
There are men in the room who would agree, but not in front of their wives!

I look at him. In a hushed voice I say, "Will..." My eyes plead with him to
say no more.

He looks at me and shakes his head. "I have to tell you all something."
There is immediate silence. "My wonderful dad, who is here today, is also
Mr Grant's father. What are the odds of him becoming a teacher and being
posted to this place, hundreds of kilometres from his home, only to
discover that he, too, had a brother, here? I reckon I am the luckiest guy
in The Village to be here with both the father and the brother that I never
knew I had. And That's why I'm going to share with Mr Grant, Tom, my
brother, in this house, and I'm going to buy a horse or two and ride around
in that grand carriage downstairs."

There is laughter at his focus on the Landau. They all know his passion for
horses.

In one brief (well, almost-brief) statement, Will has put everything right
- that his father was not the one-night-stand predator that everyone had
thought, who had gotten Lilly pregnant. He has thrown the culpability back
on her. He has revealed the reason for his and my similar appearance and
has cleared the air about why we will be living together.

He turns to Uncle Bill, our dad, and embraces him. I cannot remain seated
and I join them. Family hug! I reach for my trusty handkerchief, mop my
face and then give it to Will.

There is nothing more to be said.

Davo presides over the signing of the papers, and it's done! I'm the owner
of the 'Jintabudjaree Station'.

There is spontaneous applause and cheering and then we all hear the loud
rumble of thunder.



(To be continued...)

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