TWENTY-THREE
After taking the coast route down to Rosebud Village, Cal turned inland as though heading for the farmhouse, but Emma knew better than to ask another question, so peered out of the window watching a feather-duster breeze shake dry soil over the trackside scrub. Storms had prevented the usual summer drought, and autumn rains had been average, yet the bush still seemed in dire need of moisture, the branches shed by taller eucalypts forcing the truck to weave from side to side at several points. Cal soon abandoned his cheerful whistling to sit hunched over the steering wheel, his body tense as he manoeuvred the heavy vehicle around obstacles that could have caused excessive damage to the undercarriage.
The truck slowed to a crawl as it rounded a bend, prompting Emma to turn awa
