Free The Engagement by Chloe Hooper Page B

His grip was hard. Last night he’d just seemed weary or not in the mood; now, in his rejection of me, I detected actual menace.
    As my breath grew steady I stared into the distance.
    The light had changed over the lake. Rather than being a study in purple, all Middle Earth mauves and indigos, it resembled a black-and-white photograph—the mountains and sky, and therefore the water, were different tones of gray. This landscape was so full of morphing colors and noises that it occurred to me I was not actually seeing the place. It was all disguise.
    “I think I’ll ask you my question later,” Alexander said softly, taking his arms off me.
    Only the green reeds held their pigment. “Is this what your land would have once looked like?” I needed to not show any fear.
    “Before it was cleared? No, not exactly. The plains below were similar to parks. It was grasslands and gum trees.”
    “How did your ancestor first find it?”
    “An Aboriginal guide was employed to show him.”
    “He just took it?”
    “What’s your point?”
    “Nothing,” I said vaguely.
    Why was I provoking him? What did I care?
    Alexander was already repacking the basket. The half-eaten picnic looked spoiled on the plates—a second meal that had not worked—and scraping the leftovers into a container, he had a private, tight air about him. “Well, here it is,” he said without glancing up. “The bush.”
    “Do you know what happened to the Aboriginal guide?” I persisted.
    He fixed shut the basket’s clasps. “He lived a long, happy life under the banner of his Lord Jesus. Is that what you want to hear?”
    I didn’t answer.
    His eyes were bright and hard. “Liese, we’ll go home and have a quiet night, but first I have my surprise for you.” Lifting the basket, he started carrying it toward the truck, walking a few paces ahead. When he reached the dogs they began moving expectantly on their chains. He ignored them and secured the basket again.
    I hung behind, contemplating the ground. The nearby trees were twisting, roiling as if trying to break free. At the roots of one of them I noticed a small maroon cylinder. Then I noticed a second cylinder, or rather a second shotgun cartridge; someone had been hunting here, where the animals drank.
    Turning, Alexander saw me registering this. He sighed, but the sigh wasn’t tired or unhappy. “I’d come here when I was a child. Camp, catch yabbies, shoot rabbits and ducks—and never once did I ever see a soul.”
    “What would someone shoot now?”
    “Perhaps kangaroos that jump the fence and eat his crops.”
    I nodded.
    He waited. “You were right, Liese. This is one of those places that’s special to me. If I’m ever under pressure I come here in my thoughts. I want you to be able to do that too. Do you suppose you will?”
    “Yes.” Wind played through the leaves of high branches above us. “I expect so.”
    He was giving me his blue stare. “The mountains and water are so peaceful. I want you to keep the feeling in your head. To remember it. Okay?”

VI
    A s we drew closer the house was all windows, reflecting the blankness of the darkening sky. Gray clouds rolled over the glass, camouflaging whatever waited behind it. This building sat in the dusk, expectant and watchful, emitting a low piercing sound. Every nearby tree was alive with bird din. Hundreds, thousands of them were seething in the branches. They signaled to each other, the garden vibrating with their calls—although more truly the sound seemed to come from the stone walls of the house, from deep inside one of its rooms.
    Nature might be a wonderful thing, but if you’re not used to it, it’s a series of creeping shocks. On the drive back I’d found a cobweb stretching along my seat belt holster, and I kept brushing a crawling sensation off my shoulder. Alexander stopped for me to open and close the gates. A frost was coming down; the steel felt damp to the touch. I tried to resist glancing at my watch. I