Moonlight Plains Read Free Page B

When?’
    ‘First thing tomorrow morning? Are you staying in town?’
    Sally nodded. ‘I’ve booked a motel room.’
    Luke glanced out the window to the moon-silvered lawns and tennis courts that belonged to this hall, and he drew a deep breath.
    His sudden difficulty breathing was crazy. About as crazy as his next suggestion. ‘It’s two days off full moon and the homestead looks amazing in the moonlight. We could always escape out there now.’

3
    Boston, 2010
Dearest Kitty,
    Here I go again. After all these years, almost seventy of them, still revisiting lost dreams. Often my recollections are happy ones with you, but there are times when unsettling memories of the war take over, usually when I’m desperate for sleep.
    Now, with yet another generation in harm’s way, they’re working on treatments for post-traumatic stress. I have my own answer. Remembering you and everything we shared blocks the dark memories, and writing it down helps to package my feelings safely and neatly.
    There’s only one problem with this. I now have a carton filled with my ramblings, like the X-Files at the Pentagon or Pandora’s box in a hidden cave . . . never to be opened.
    Fortunately, I haven’t been troubled for many months, but last night I was in a jammed cockpit again and it wouldn’t open and I could smell fire. I woke in a sweat and, as always, I took a while to recover. I forced myself to remember happier times.
    I remembered you.
    Once again you saved me, Kitty.
    When I finally slept, I dreamed I was back at the homestead, walking up the path between the old rose gardens. I could see the house perfectly, big and rambling and built of timber with verandahs all around.
    The front door with its beautiful stained-glass panels opened to my touch and I went in, down the dark central hallway, past the row of pegs with your uncle’s WWI greatcoat, past the lounge room with the Beale piano.
    I found you in the kitchen at the back of the house. This was unusual. Most times, when I dream about you, you’re magically, impossibly here in America. Sometimes, you’re getting along famously with my family, which is also impossible. They don’t even know about you, and never will.
    But last night it was so good to be in Australia with you, my darling girl. You were sitting at the kitchen table shelling peas, your hands quick and graceful and mesmerising. The sunlight fell on your hair, warming it to a rich honey glow. You were wearing a blue floral dress with a scalloped neckline, so pretty, and you looked up at me and smiled that slightly crooked smile of yours. You were so beautiful my heart swelled with happiness.
    Then, in that mysterious way of dreams, we were in the big old metal bed on the island. It was morning and you were in my arms; early light filtered past the corrugated-iron push-out windows. We made love while the pale-green light cast wonderful patterns across the bed.
    Next, you were in front of the faded mirror, trying on my leather flight jacket. It kept slipping from your bare shoulders. You were laughing as you snapped salutes at your reflection . . . and I just stared at your beauty and soaked up your joy, your womanly promise of life . . .
    These are the best memories, Kitty. These are the memories that have kept me going all these years, the memories that sustain me now when I’m just a silly, sad old fool.
    Winter’s hanging on too long this year and thoughts of you keep me warm.
    All my love,
    Ed

4
    Charters Towers, 2013
    Sally knew she should reject Luke Fairburn’s suggestion. She couldn’t believe she was hesitating, that she could actually contemplate saying yes, even for a moment.
    How could she possibly go off with a guy she’d just met? Into the bush in the middle of the night?
    It was crazy.
    Admittedly, Luke had assured her it wasn’t far to the homestead.
    ‘I can have you back at your motel before the ute turns into a pumpkin.’
    It was the sort of thing her friends did all the