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Forever Under Blue Skies

By Valerie Massey Goree

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Chapter 1

Queensland, Australia,
November, 1983
Driving nearly eight hundred kilometers from Brisbane to Cunnamulla in Queensland’s interior might not qualify as the most foolhardy action of her life, but it came close.
Marlow Barclay adjusted her sunglasses and stared at the narrow, tarred road shimmering ahead that sliced through the paprika-colored earth like an arrow aimed toward a target on the horizon. The beauty of the Australian heartland had long ago morphed into monotony. No houses. No people. Just scrubby trees, clumps of blond spinifex grass, and acre upon acre of flat land, if possible, flatter than west Texas. Despite aching shoulders, nothing could suppress the excitement bubbling inside her which energized her every more. Another day in this fascinating country, another adventure. And she was eight hundred kilometers closer to her destiny.
She glanced at the odometer. Eight hundred and one.
A gold star for knowing the kilometer-to-mile conversion rate by heart. Five hundred miles. To fulfill Steven’s dying wish, she’d drive five hundred more.
Before the accident, Marlow and Steven had made plans to visit Australia to celebrate their fifteenth anniversary and to honor Great-grandfather Graham Barclay’s wishes. In sorting through family papers, Steven had discovered a letter from Graham. The cryptic missive asked, no, demanded that his oldest great-grandchild reunite with cousins in Australia after his or her fortieth birthday.
And now almost two years after Steven’s passing, Marlow was en route to meet the last cousin on the list.
“You have ranches in Texas, but here we call ’em sheep stations.” Marlow mimicked Cousin Milton’s Australian accent. His lighthearted reprimand made during her visit with his family in Melbourne two weeks ago brought a smile to her lips. And besides, talking to herself helped pass the time on the longest road trip she’d ever made alone.
“Well, I’m tired of driving, Milton. How much further is Jake Barclay’s station? Almost there you say? It’s about time.” She patted the plush koala named after Milton and set it upright on the passenger seat. How was chatting to the stuffed toy any different than talking to a volleyball named Wilson? Doing so kept her sane.
Spotting a mob of kangaroos thundering through the barren land along the road to her right, she eased up on the accelerator. Unusual. Her research indicated they usually traveled in the early morning or late at night, and here it was midafternoon. She glanced at her camera on the passenger seat and—
A sickening thud.
The SUV lurched. Marlow slammed on the brakes, tires screeched as she steered onto the graveled shoulder. She shifted into park. Eyes squeezed tight, she covered her ears, but the memories invaded her mind and the sounds and sensations overpowered her heart’s pounding. Metal scraping metal. Glass shattering. Truck horn blaring. Screams. Warm blood dripping down her forehead. Her darling daughter dead, and Steven severely injured.
Breathe. That was in the past. You’re in Australia.
Marlow opened her eyes, her chest heaving with each breath. What had she hit? Queasy, she peered into the rearview mirror. A kangaroo lay in the middle of the road, its legs flailing.
“Please get up.” She chewed her bottom lip, silently begging it to obey her.
The animal batted its short front legs in the air, reared up, then bounded toward the distant cloud of dust.
Drawing in deep breaths to slow the adrenaline sill coursing through her blood, Marlow rested her forehead against the steering wheel. A trickle of perspiration slithered between her shoulder blades. She massaged her tight neck muscles. So far, she’d collected two of the three puzzle pieces. If Jake didn’t have the last section, she was going home. She’d have done all she could to solve the Barclay family mystery, and Steven wouldn’t know she quit. Marlow thumped the dashboard. But she would.
She slammed the gearshift into drive then floored the accelerator, as much to get to her destination as to keep her thoughts from languishing in the mire of the past.
Several kilometers and two kangaroo crossing signs later, Cunnamulla’s welcome sign flashed by. Marlow followed Milton’s directions to the Grand Skyview Hotel where Jake stayed when in town. The size of the community, the green lawns, and bougainvillea vine-covered trees down the medians all surprised her. She was embarrassed to admit she didn’t expect such a pleasant oasis in the Queensland desert.
Marlow parked close to the hotel—a single-story, pale yellow building with caramel brown trim. She shoved her camera into her large purse then climbed out of the SUV into the broiling heat, but stood beside her closed door as if glued to the ground.
She’d traveled to Australia to fulfill two goals. Marlow had never given her ancestry much thought, but when Steven unearthed Graham’s mysterious letter and decided to arrange the reunion in Australia, she’d harbored the desire to locate her mother’s family. That mission ended in failure and disappointment. While in Melbourne, she’d visited the Genealogical Society, but found no record of Marie Kate Johnstone born in 1926, her mother who passed away when Marlow was eighteen.
Now faced with the opportunity to fulfill her second goal, a flock of butterflies churned in her stomach as she followed the sidewalk leading to the hotel’s entrance. She trailed her fingers along the railing’s intricate wrought iron scrollwork. Shaded by a corrugated metal, bullnose roof, the L-shaped verandah anchored the hotel to its corner lot.
Several Barclay cousins had portrayed Jake as straitlaced, standoffish. Marlow didn’t care, as long as he treated her cordially and allowed her to visit his sheep station to locate his piece of the puzzle.
“The last piece,” she muttered. Once she had fulfilled her promise to her husband, she would focus on what she wanted to do with her life instead of on want Steven dictated.
Chin up, shoulders back, Marlow entered the lobby which provided little relief from the heat. A floor fan circulated the odor of stale tobacco.
A heavyset man seated behind the reception desk glanced up from his newspaper. His gaze traveled from her boots, over her jeans and shirt, all the way to the top of her head.
Did he just wiggle his eyebrows at her?
“G’day.”
She removed her sunglasses and approached him, but words stuck in her throat.
The man stood, dusted cigarette ash off the counter and scrounged among a pile of tattered magazines to unearth the guest register. “You’re not local because I know every pretty sheila in town. Are you checking in?” Pen in hand, he waited to write down her details.
Marlow grinned. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called a sheila. “Hi. I don’t need a room yet, thanks. I’m looking for someone.”
“American. I knew it.” He straightened and sucked in his belly. “I’m Lion Williams, the proprietor. Maybe I can help.
She leaned on the counter. “I hope Jake Barclay is here this weekend. I’d rather not drive to his isolated sheep station by myself.”
“Too right. The road to Long Gully is terrible, but no worries, luv.” Lion jutted his whiskered chin toward the door. “You’re in luck.” All business now, he stubbed out his cigarette, his eyes squinting through the last curl of smoke. “The area’s most eligible bachelor just walked through the door.” He motioned. “Jake, you have a visitor.”
Footsteps pounded on the concrete floor behind Marlow.
“A visitor? Righto.”
She spun around at the sound of a deep, gravelly voice. The silhouette of a tall, muscular man filled her vision. Bright light from a large window behind him prevented her from seeing his face, but she continued to stare at the dark shadow under his hat, trying to distinguish a recognizable feature.
“The lady’s been asking about you.”
“Has she?” Jake stepped closer to the counter, and his face emerged from the shadows.
Marlow drew in a sharp breath. This was not a stranger’s face. Jake could be her husband’s brother. Same square jaw and dimpled chin. Same blue eyes—although, at the moment, Jake’s eyes were tinged with iciness. He was also beefy, a tad over six foot and even had a little gap between his two front teeth.
“Hi. I’m Marlow Barclay.” She extended her hand. “You are, um, were, related to Steven, my late husband. Your grandfathers were brothers, and you’re second cousins, or first cousins twice removed. Something like that. I can never remember lineages and relationships and…” Marlow clamped her lips together to give him no more reason to think she was a blabbering idiot. Five-hundred miles alone with nothing but a toy named after a cousin to talk to could do that to a person.
Jake stared in silence for a second or two, then his rough hand engulfed hers in a firm grip. “My Aunt Celia has mentioned the family branch in America.” He placed his stained and worn stockman’s hat on the counter then tucked his thumbs into his belt loops. His movements failed to conceal his keen visual inspection of her.
The second man in Cunnamulla to give her the once-over.
Heat crept up her neck. “I’ve traveled through Australia getting acquainted with Steven’s relatives, and you’re the last one.”
“You’ve come a long way to meet me. You thirsty? I have time for a quick drink at Annie’s Place.”
What a perfect opportunity to show him the family tree and ask about the missing piece of the puzzle. Before she could respond, Jake had already grabbed his hat and propelled her toward the door with a firm hand on her lower back. He opened the screen door and waited for her to exit.
Jake shoved on his hat, and joined her as they crossed the wide, sunbaked street. He pointed to the sunglasses she held. “Those won’t do any good unless you put them on.”
She glared sideways at him but couldn’t hide the unbidden smile as she donned her shades. He was definitely related to Steven—same commanding personality. Fine with her for now, as long as he didn’t criticize her every thought and action like her husband had.
At the next intersection Jake turned left onto a eucalyptus-lined street. The trees’ sharp fragrance swirled around her. She never tired of the invigorating smell.
“How did you know I’d be here this weekend?” he asked.
“Cousin Milton said you usually come to Cunnamulla the second weekend of the month. I planned my trip accordingly.”
“Milton?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “You met him and survived?” His cynical tone spoke volumes yet contrasted with her opinion of his cousin.
After she’d acquired Cousin Henry’s piece of the puzzle, Milton had entertained her, provided tips to survive the outback, and gave her a cute, stuffed animal for a companion. “Not sure what you mean by that, but I don’t want to discuss him right now.”
“Suits me.” Jake slowed when they approached the corner.
“What brings you to town once a month?”
“I shop for supplies, and the trip allows Isabel, my daughter, to socialize with her school chums. Several of the families from surrounding stations bring their children to town the second weekend. The kids know each other from their School of the Air program.”
“What about your son?”
“Rick works on a cattle station about seventy kilometers from us. Sometimes I purchase supplies for him, too, and then he travels down to our place to get them.”
“He must be a lot older than Isabel.”
“We call her Bella, and yes, she turned twelve last month.” Jake opened the door to Annie’s Place. “He’ll be twenty-two next birthday.”
The temperature dropped the moment they entered. Marlow spied Annie’s secret weapon against the incessant heat—an arsenal of whirring fans placed in strategic locations. Lace curtains fluttered at the windows, tables sported small vases of artificial flowers, and painted scenes of a lush countryside graced the walls. Refreshing.
Marlow chose a two-person table against the wall, sat, and set her purse on the floor.
A dainty woman bustled out from behind an embroidered screen. She tugged on her frilly apron and beamed at Jake. “What brings you back so soon, luv? Can’t get enough of my scones, I’ll wager. Who’s your friend?”
Jake removed his hat and balanced it on his knee. “Annie, this is Marlow Barclay from America, my cousin Steven’s widow. Marlow, Annie Rushton. Tea and a plate of scones, please.”
“Welcome to our little town. I’ll have your order ready in a tick.”
Marlow returned a nodded greeting from the patrons at the only other occupied table. Jake, though, seemed more interested in her. She was tempted to remove the clip that held her hair up in a knot but settled on brushing strands out of her eyes. “I like this cozy little haven.”
Before he could respond, Annie delivered the tea along with a plate of scones topped with strawberry jam and whipped cream. A delicate hint of lavender accompanied her. “Enjoy, luv.” She patted Marlow’s shoulder, gave Jake another wide smile, and headed to the door to greet three women who entered.
Jake looked at the teapot then at Marlow.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“You being American…”
She waited for him to explain more. When he didn’t, she leaned forward and whispered, “What does my being American have to do with tea?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask if you drank hot tea.”
“I do.”
“Good. Aunt Celia says when a lady is present, she should have the privilege of pouring.” He hesitated, reached for the teapot. Hesitated again, and finally grabbed the handle.
Marlow stopped him from lifting the pot. “I would be honored to serve us tea.” When his hand didn’t move from under hers, she added, “My mother taught me the correct way.”
His brows rose.
“With milk.”
He moved his hand. “In that case…”
With confidence from the familiar action, she poured the milk then the steamy brew. “Mom used to say, ‘Tea is not tea without milk’. She loved a cup any time of day, no matter the weather.” Marlow set down the teapot. “I am much like her.”
“Is that a warning or a boast?”e hesitaHe
Marlow chuckled. “You decide.” Dainty china cup to her lips, she studied Jake over the rim as she sipped her tea. His dark brown hair was graying at the temples, which added to his rugged good looks. The tiny strip of white skin around his ears and hairline indicated a recent haircut. According to the family tree, he was widowed, in his mid-forties, and his bronzed skin confirmed he spent a lot of time outdoors. Ah, those Barclay blue eyes, so much like her husband’s had been. Jake’s eyes had lost some of their iciness, but even now, a hint of frost lurked at the edges.
He bit into a scone and licked the cream off his upper lip.
Marlow lowered her gaze and cleared her throat. Locate the last puzzle piece. Return to Texas. No time for frivolous thoughts.
As she refilled his cup, she reflected on why his relatives curtailed their association with him. Milton’s remarks led her to believe Jake might be a churchgoer. Maybe that’s why he chose Annie’s Place rather than the hotel pub. Anyway, Jake Barclay seemed to be a decent guy, but she’d thought the same when she’d met and married Steven.
“What brought you out here to meet me?” Jake asked, cutting off her thoughts. “I have several business transactions to complete before sunset, and I can’t spend much more time yacking over a cuppa.” His smile negated the hint of criticism.
Marlow placed her empty cup in the saucer then searched through the plastic-covered papers in the accordion file in her purse. She removed the family tree document from its protective cover and spread it on the table. The paper was yellowed with age and creased from the numerous times it had been folded, but the beautifully written names were clear enough to decipher.
“Here is the Barclay family tree created by George who was my husband’s grandfather and the eldest child of Graham and Elizabeth. He began the document in 1919, soon after moving to Texas. Over the years, he corresponded with his nephew, Charles Phillips, who provided additional details of births and deaths. I stayed with his son, Henry, in Melbourne, and met the other family members.”
“Henry and I are the same age. I often spent school holidays with his family. How did you locate them?”
“Would you believe one of the letters Charles sent to George was included in his papers which were handed down to Steven. We took a chance and wrote to the address and received a reply. Charles and his wife still live there.”
“I remember their large home. How is Henry? I’ve only seen him once since his stroke.”
“Although he has to take it easy, he gets around well in his wheelchair, and, according to his wife, he hasn’t lost his sense of humor.”
“I must write to him more often.” Jake rubbed his chin then pointed to the diagram. “The information of my branch is all correct, including the names of my deceased twin siblings. I don’t remember much about them. They died when I was seven.”
“That must have been hard on your parents.”
“It was, especially on Mum. I do recall she spent a lot of time in her room crying. Gran helped take care of me. My dad handled the loss by spending time away from the station.” Jake paused and shot Marlow a cold stare. “You didn’t have to drive to the middle of Queensland just to prove the family connection and to serve me tea.”
She folded her arms and swallowed. Jake’s condescending tone touched a nerve. Maybe he would thwart her quest of locating the final puzzle piece.


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