Eight seconds, p.1
Eight Seconds, page 1
EIGHT SECONDS
FRANCES DALL’ALBA
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to a name, character or history of any actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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EIGHT SECONDS
Copyright © 2022 by Frances Dall’Alba
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission from the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via Internet or by any other means without the permission of Poinsettia Publishing is illegal.
ISBN: 978-0-6451162-3-6
For Dianne Lucas Luppi – the inspiration behind this story.
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ALSO BY FRANCES DALL’ALBA
Little Blue Box - Australian at Heart Book 1
The Stone In The Road - Australian at Heart Book 2
The Silk Scarf - Australian at Heart Book 3
Click on the link below and read more about the books.
https://francesdallalba.wixsite.com/francesdallalba/australianatheartseries
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Preface
Author’s Note
Also by Frances Dall’Alba
CHAPTER 1
1966 – 12 Years Old
Grace Maree Lucas pushed on the pedals of her second-hand bike, the basket in front long since gone and only a few tattered ribbons still attached to the handlebars. She wound her legs as fast as they would go, glad she was strong and lean from riding her bike and horse often. The wind whistled through her short, blonde hair, its early morning briskness nipping at her skin as she rode against it.
She inhaled a lungful of the sweet air, her knuckles frozen to the handlebar as she gripped them tighter over the bumps and potholes in the road. She couldn’t wait to spend time with her horse, Megaton.
Riding along the eucalypt-lined dirt road weaving between farms, she hoped to spot a kangaroo or even a blue-tongued lizard along its edges. Wary of snakes, though, she rarely stopped in case they tangled with her wheels.
She was panting by the time she reached the neighbour’s poultry farm. It was eight miles from the outskirts of Kalamunda, an outer suburb of Perth, and where her horse stayed. She wheeled the bike around the back of the chook shed and spotted Liz finishing her chores. “Hi, Liz,” she called out, dropping the bike haphazardly and sprinting towards Liz who stopped and leaned on her broom. “How much time do I have before we leave?”
“About forty minutes. The boys are nearly packed, and I started work early this morning. Make sure you and Megaton are back by then.”
Forty minutes! Yes, yes, yes. Liz was one of the few people who understood her obsession with horses. One of the few people who cared what she thought. Her gut clenched again at the reminder of her father’s anger the night before. Asking for a second-hand saddle had put him in a foul mood. Asking anything of her father always ended badly. If only she were more like her older sister, Annette. He always made time for her.
She pushed all that to the back of her mind and raced past Liz towards the fence behind the sheds, calling out, “Megaton! Megaton!”
Megaton’s ears pricked at her voice, and he bolted across the yard towards her. She had her arms out wide and hugged him when he reached her, joy surging through her chest. He might be the ugliest horse, with short legs and a weirdly misshapen nose, but he was hers to ride whenever she wanted. There was nothing else she ever wanted as badly.
She never left home without sneaking a carrot or apple from the fridge. Today was no different. She straddled the fence and pulled out the chunky carrot from the pocket of her faded jeans and the hobble strap from around her waist. Megaton gobbled it up while she tied the strap around his neck and used the fence to climb onto his back.
Grace threaded his matted mane through her fingers, gripping it tightly as she squeezed her legs against his flank and rode bareback. Megaton whinnied and trotted through the open gate. “Let’s go, boy,” she whispered into his ear. The cool breeze barely raised a goosebump under her loose skivvy as she cantered down the packed dirt road away from the sheds, the thumping of hooves blending with the morning call songs of the cockatoos.
Nothing mattered when she was with Megaton. Except for her best school friend, Diane who loved riding too, Megaton was the only other friend she had. He didn’t laugh at her when she mixed up her letters and words. He didn’t laugh at the shoddy second-hand clothes she was lucky to snare from her older sisters. No, Megaton loved her as she was. Grace nuzzled her nose into his mane; the dusty, horsy smell tickled her nose as she hugged him tighter around his neck.
The patch of eucalypt forest loomed ahead, her laughter getting caught up in the surrounding breeze. Colourful displays of spring wildflowers dotted either side of the track, their mixed colours always delighting her. She loved mornings like this. She’d do anything to be near, or on, a horse. It’s what she lived for.
It was also the one place her father rarely intruded.
Slowing to a trot, she pulled on the strap, guiding Megaton into a gentle turn before squeezing her knees again for the ride home. She didn’t want to miss the trip to the Peaceville Valley Rodeo with Liz and her three sons. It wasn’t her fault that sometimes she wished she lived with Liz’s family who treated her like she belonged with them. Instead, she shrugged off the sharp jab of pain every time her father reminded her they would’ve been better off if she’d never been born.
Yeah, he wouldn’t notice if she was gone for most of the day. More likely relieved she was out of sight. Not used to feeling sorry for herself, she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the horse’s neck, the rise and fall soothing her sadness. Megaton would take her back to the sheds. He did it every other time. She soaked up the smell of his soft and velvety hide, vowing to forget about home for a day.
Grace dismounted and led Megaton to the feed bucket and water trough. The pungent smell of chicken poo drifted towards her. She batted away the smell like an annoying blowfly and untied the hobble strap. Leaving Megaton, she went into the small tack room and rummaged around for the horse brush. A rub down would make Megaton feel better. Who knew when she’d be back for another ride?
“Hey, squirt, ready to go?”
Liz’s oldest son, Larry, was nearly eighteen and so tall and grown-up. She loved it when he called her squirt. Even though she thought she was very grown-up at twelve, she liked that Larry acted like her older brother and taught her things about horses and bikes.
“Just give me a minute. I want to give Megaton a quick rub down.”
He ruffled her hair when he walked past holding a saddle. She was the youngest in her actual family, and except for her brother Robert, no one ever took much notice of her, let alone spent time with her. She and Robert usually fled from their dad’s temper and belt.
She used long brush strokes around Megaton’s girth, resting her ear against Megaton’s flank, enjoying the sounds of his pounding heart. “You be good today. I’ll be back soon.” There was nothing better than the early morning fog rising around them as the sun peeked over the trees. Megaton was hers. Liz had gifted him to her as they had no use for him, and she could ride him whenever she wanted. He wasn’t going with them that day, but at every pony club event that happened within cooee of Kalamunda, somehow, she got herself and Megaton there even if she had to ride him.
“Ready, Grace?”
Grace looked up. Liz was locking up the shed. “Coming.” She gave Megaton one last brush over his back end and a hug around the neck. “See you soon,” she whispered in his ear when he whinnied back. Leading him back to the paddock, she sent him off to graze before running back to put the brush in its proper place.
“Don’t forget your bike,” Larry reminded her.
She smiled sheepishly, taking a right turn towar ds where she’d left it lying on its side in a patch of dewy grass. Larry never got cranky with her but was strict about leaving equipment and bikes lying haphazardly around the yard. The constant reminder that someone could trip over it and hurt themselves was something she should’ve learnt by now. “Sorry, Larry.”
“You’ll get it one day if you ever put horses last on your list of importance.”
Well, that would never happen, Grace mused as she opened the door of the Dodge truck and hopped in.
The rodeo campground was bustling with floats, horses in every size and colour and crowds hiding under cowboy hats. Strains of a Loretta Lynn song came through the speakers, and barbequed onions and bacon made her tummy rumble. Grace jammed her clenched fists inside the pockets of her jeans to stop them from shaking and shut the door of the Dodge with her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
Liz strolled around to her side of the Dodge and, with a kind smile, asked, “Do you want me to enter you in the poddy competition? I reckon you can do it.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. Her usual fierce desire to hop on anything and hold on tight went walkabout. It usually applied to horses, but could she do the same with a small calf? No one had asked her before, and she’d never considered it. She’d been to many rodeos and had fond memories of one when a cowboy enthralled the crowd with his whip-cracking tricks.
Liz patted her on the shoulder, and Grace’s jolt to attention must have looked like a nod.
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded again, not sure what she was getting herself into.
“There are kids who do this sort of stuff all the time. I have a feeling you’re as good as any of them. Sometimes it’s all about the balance and not being scared. I think you have it, Grace. What do you think?”
Scared? She was never scared of climbing on top of a horse. A poddy, well, how much different could it be? She supposed now was as good a time to start not being afraid. She didn’t like being scared. “What do I need to wear?”
Liz put an arm around her shoulder and walked with her to the back of the Dodge. Lifting an Esky, Liz looked her up and down. Her gaze slid over her worn jeans, cotton long-sleeved shirt and scruffy sneakers.
“You’ll do just fine as you are. Come on, let’s organise our camp for the day, and I’ll put in the nomination.”
Larry clapped her on the shoulder. “You can carry the tarp, Grace.”
Larry and his two younger brothers were unloading the rodeo gear needed for the events they were taking part in. Grace reached for the tarp still sitting in the back tray of the Dodge that Larry would tie between some trees to give them a bit of shade. He was always doing thoughtful things for his mum.
She followed Liz to the rear of the fenced area, behind the rodeo grounds, where families set up for the day. Crated trucks were parked haphazardly under shady eucalypt trees, messily surrounding temporary pens. Different pens separated calves, steers, horses and bulls. She never tired of looking at animals and they never intentionally hurt her.
With only an hour before the rodeo started, cowboys and organisers mingled outside the main arena. A booming voice tested the PA system, and music played intermittently. Others carried clipboards and were writing names and confirming nominations.
Grace almost changed her mind and was about to stop Liz from nominating her when something made her halt. The only way to stop being scared was to give it a go. If she was still scared afterwards, she didn’t need to do it again.
She walked up to the pen holding the meanest bulls and eyed the one standing closest to the railings. The bull snorted at her. In a flash, she was back in Mount Gambier, where her family had once lived. She was out picking mushrooms with Robert and Annette when a bull with the longest horns came out of nowhere and chased them. They made a mad dash through a barbed-wire fence, leaving the bull on the other side stamping its front hoof and snorting with rage. With legs shaking, Grace had stared at it and remembered thinking: one day, I’m not going to be afraid of you.
Those words kept running through her head, and the confidence to ride her first poddy settled comfortably inside her. She just had to hold on tight for eight seconds. How hard could it be?
Grace waited with the small group of kids the same age as her, conspicuously devoid of girls. She was often mistaken for a boy even when riding along the roads and wearing a halter-neck top. It confounded her. Obviously, she dressed like a girl, but her short-cropped hair was as far as people went.
Anyway, what did she care about how she looked, despite some girls at school already sporting sizeable breasts and wearing bras. Peering down at her chest, she checked just in case they’d magically grown in the past couple of hours, catching her out for wanting to ride a poddy with the boys. She shook her head at the silly thought. They were the same as yesterday—flat as a board and unlikely to change in a hurry.
She didn’t know any of the kids from Peaceville, and nobody talked to her. The other boys stood in clusters, and she didn’t mind being ignored. Instead, Grace followed some of their excited chatter about previous rides and best times. It didn’t sound like any were newcomers to poddy riding and the muscles in her stomach clammed up. The pain worsened when the chute boss bellowed from atop the fence rail.
“Okay, kids, line up. Your event is on next. For those who make good time and impress the judges with good points, we’ll call your number and get your details after everyone’s had their turn.”
Grace bit her bottom lip, her hands clenching and unclenching. Should she barge up to the front and get it over and done with, or have her go last? Her feet were frozen to the ground, so that decided for her.
One of the marshals neatly dressed with a press-button cowboy shirt sidled up alongside them and ticked off numbers on his clipboard, assigning which chute they would ride from. Liz had pinned her number thirteen onto the back of her checked long-sleeved shirt, and it flapped against her back when the breeze raised the square piece of material held by safety pins.
The announcement of their event sounded over the PA system, and she licked her dry lips. Eight seconds. That’s all I have to hold on for. How hard can it be? Larry assured her she could do it. She hoped he and his brothers Geoff and Greg were watching as she wanted to make them proud. Some days they all went to a lot of trouble to make things easier for her.
When the first boy climbed onto his poddy, Grace tried to peer over the others and into the tiny chute where they readied themselves. She couldn’t see a lot, but her heart leapt when the chute gate opened and the calf burst free. With a better view of the arena, the young boy lasted only half a second before he was thrown off.
Entrants two, three and four didn’t make it to four seconds. Holy Shoot. Eight seconds was feeling like a very long time, and those boys were experienced.
Grace watched in dismay as each boy struggled to make it to the eight second time limit. There were only three kids ahead of her and her stomach decided at that moment to play up with a cramp across her lower tummy. She swallowed a couple of times, hoping to settle it. Her eyes darted around the yards searching for a tap. She needed a swig of water—but no such luck.
“Number thirteen,” the marshal called out.
She had no idea how long the last few entrants stayed on; she was busy stewing with her worries.
“Up ya get, mate.”
Grace climbed up into the chute and was helped onto the poddy by a cowboy. With the rope wound around the poddy’s belly, it bucked against the confines of the pen. She swallowed back a lump of fear.
