Always You (Southern Stars Book 1)

Rebecca Barton
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ALWAYS YOU
SOUTHERN STARS
BOOK I
REBECCA BARTON
Blue Eye Books
Copyright © 2023 by Rebecca Barton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and
retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are
either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
For A.O.W.B
 CONTE NTS

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

Excerpt from Christmas at La Villa Rosa

Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Rebecca Barton
 1

S HE WAS NERVOUS AND SHE KNEW IT . WHY ELSE WOULD SHE BE AWAKE BEFORE DAWN ? WHY WASN ’ T
she asleep and content knowing that today was going to be a wonderful day of celebration for her and
her family?
The sound of a bird stirring outside reassured Stella Lancewood that she wasn’t the only living
thing on the planet awake at this moment, so she swung her legs out of bed and set her feet on the
floor. The lumpy texture of the rag-rug beneath her toes flooded her mind with memories of the many
early starts she’d had in her childhood bedroom. It wasn’t that she’d stopped getting up early during
her student days. Her ambition to maintain her straight A average had meant she never shied away
from setting her alarm. But this morning hadn’t demanded she be up before the sun had risen.
Stepping to the window she drew back the curtain and smiled as she saw the reassuring silhouette
of the mountain—her mountain as she liked to think of it—which was about to be touched by the first
rays of morning light.
Stella leaned against the window frame and rubbed her deep-green eyes. The slightest cold
draught was coming through the wooden sash. There was no double-glazing in the old farmhouse.
That kind of creature comfort had not been part of the plan in 1887 when her third great-grandfather
had built the homestead he’d named Aurora for his first wife who’d died in childbirth back in
Yorkshire before he’d come to start a new life in New Zealand. At least he’d put fireplaces in most of
the bedrooms, which Stella had spent many a weekend stacking firewood for as a teenager. Yes,
summer was over and soon the leaves would be turning. Soon it would be harvest time, the busiest
season in the winery.
A flicker in the sky caught her eye now. Glinting just above the mountain ridge was the Southern
Cross constellation after which her family’s estate was named. Aurora had been built, and then the
Southern Stars Estate had been carved out of the rugged Schist Valley, transforming what had been
native forest and river plains into an expansive sheep and cattle farm. And now it was vineyards.
Hard work was evidently part of the family DNA, Stella mused.
The stars sparkled like a cluster of tiny diamonds and she knew she wasn’t the first of her family
to look to that constellation for reassurance, or perhaps to make a wish. “What I wish for…” she
started whispering and then trailed off.
She knew what she wished for today, but saying it out loud actually acknowledged that her long
awaited future had finally become the present. All the expectation, responsibility and honor was
resting on her shoulders now. Don Lancewood, her father, had always made that much clear. Stella’s
success as a newly graduated winemaker from the country’s top wine school, Allenby Hall, mattered.
And today was the day that every neighbor, distant cousin and business associate was coming to
celebrate her graduation and her official introduction to the Southern Stars Estate family business.
Thank god Nathan, her long-time boyfriend, was going to be there to hold her hand. Nathan always
had her back and with his expertise in viticulture it was looking likely they would make a pretty
unstoppable team once he stopped hinting and actually got down on his knee to propose to her.
But she knew her dad had been her number one supporter from the day she was born; his favorite
is what her brother Jasper had always complained of. The truth was, she loved being a daddy’s girl.
Stella adored her dad, despite the fact that he could be single-minded to the point of frustration at
times. Growing up on the back of the harvester and sniffing around the tasting room, she’d shared her
father’s love of winemaking and her knack for its artistry and science had been nurtured early.
He’d decided she would become a winemaker.
She would step into the family business and Stella had never questioned it. Why would she? She
loved winemaking, she loved her dad and she loved Southern Stars Estate. Everything she needed
was right here.
Now all she needed to do was live up to all that expectation.
No pressure right? She internally mocked herself.
Cynthia Lancewood strode across the yard below. Stella wasn’t surprised, she knew her mother’s
routines, and her early morning ride was a ritual she’d had for decades since she’d been a teenager
herself growing up on the estate when it had still been an operating livestock farm. It was Don who’d
convinced her that vines would be the next significant wave for the rural economy of Schist Valley,
and he’d been right. But despite all the wealth and success the vineyard conversion had brought to
their family, it always made Stella just a little sad to see her mother’s face shadow when she thought
of what her family’s farm had been before. “You know me,” she’d say in a self-deprecating tone. “I
don’t like change much. I loved all the animals, the auction days, getting out and helping with the
lambs and calves. When the shearing was on, this place was like a railway station. The shearers
always claimed mum made the best batch of cheese scones in the district!”
“And now we make the best sauvignon blanc in the district,” Don laughed as he leaned over and
kissed his wife’s cheek.
“As if you’d let us forget that sweetheart,” she teased him back. But it did seem to Stella when she
considered her mother’s connection to the estate—it was her inherited land after all—that she was
somehow a bit sidelined by her father’s drive to do what he thought best. At least he’d agreed to
Cynthia’s insistence to have a dozen or so sheep that could keep the grass and weeds down between
the rows of vines closest to the outbuildings.
Presently she led her favorite chestnut mare, Missy, out of the stable. Maybe mum didn’t mind
being the quiet one who didn’t call the shots? Perhaps it suited her to follow her husband’s lead. That
she may have felt she didn’t have a choice wasn’t something Stella wanted to linger on, and besides,
her mum had always been supportive of Don’s plan for Stella to step into winemaking. Jasper wasn’t
interested. Or rather didn’t have the temperament for it. So his role in the family business was…
Stella tried to think of how she could frame her thoughts lovingly about her brother. She settled for, a
work in progress.
Cyn and Missy ambled along the sweeping driveway that led out from the farmhouse. Stella knew
her mother would be heading for the river. From there the expanse of flat terraces awaited, where
Missy could break into a canter. Stella loved that her mum enjoyed the freedom of roaming over the
land and her dad loved what was beneath it. The rocky terraces created the perfect conditions for
award winning wines. Not that Southern Stars had received too many awards recently. But that was
about to change; Stella had decided. She knew that the summer season had ripened the fruit to
perfection and this year’s vintage was going to be a record breaker.
Morning sunlight touched the crest of the mountain. The deep blue-black silhouette of its ridge
was intensified by the white-gold tint glinting along its highest peak.
It’s a good omen, thought Stella. A day starting as beautifully as this held so much promise.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded to herself. Today was the beginning of a new
chapter for her and for her family. There were only good things waiting and everything she’d worked
hard for at wine college was going to pay off now. The days and nights of study, her long-distance
relationship with Nick who’d stayed behind to do his viticulture training, the punishing expectations
of the professors, not to mention the fierce competition from other students.
Like Zach O’Connor.
Even now, far from the echoing corridors of the prestigious Allenby Hall wine college, she had to
consciously unclench her jaws when she thought of Zach O’Connor. That was the thing about Zach, he
didn’t seem to do much and that’s exactly what irritated Stella about him. His aloof manner, seeming
disinterested in everything that was going on around him and yet...he’d been paying attention alright.
His grades and silver medal next to her top overall student accolade was evidence of that. But while
she put in the hours, cultivated relationships with professors to position herself favorably and learn
everything she could from them, Zach—by comparison—made it look so damn easy. He turned up and
magically blended wines which were jaw-droppingly good.
Vying for top grades with Zach, was like an endless game of tag; his seemingly effortless ability
somehow made Stella feel like she was running around in circles to make the next best wine, while he
never seemed to even break into a sweat. Well, most of the time she had made the best wine and now
he was on his way to California—at least that’s what she’d heard—to step into a junior winemaking
role at an up-and-coming winery in Santa Monica.
Why was she was thinking about Zach this morning?
Damn these nerves, she thought as she pulled her long auburn hair back into a pony tail. I have
high expectations of myself and I’m competitive, that’s all.
Zach had been useful competition. He’d been the reason Stella had pushed herself so hard. And
that was exactly why her dad was proud of her too. Making him proud mattered. Stella knew how
much her stepping into the family winery as assistant winemaker meant to him. He’d been paving the
way for her to do it her whole life it seemed. Stella knew that without his belief in her, she’d never
have come this far. He was a talented winemaker himself. Why their once gold star label hadn’t been
scooping as many awards in the last couple of years, she wasn’t quite sure. But she knew her ideas
for new varietals were going to turn things around.
With that thought stretching a smile across her face, she pivoted and padded back to her bed. Only
her bed was no longer empty. In the middle of her scrunched up sheets was Otto the rusty-colored
German Pointer who’d been her constant companion growing up. “Hey you,” she scratched his
favorite spot behind his left ear. “I didn’t hear you sneak in. You know you’re not allowed on the
bed,” she said. He raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, “I’m not?” and then rested his head on his
paws, sighing out a puff of doggie breath.
“You are just too adorable for me stay grumpy with,” she rubbed both his ears now. “And you
know it, not like that annoying, arrogant Zach O’Connor, but we don’t have to think about him
anymore do we?” Otto blinked in agreement. Her phone vibrated. Nick was calling.
“Good morning,” she smiled as she answered it.
“Morning to you too.” She could hear him breathing hard. “I’m running. Only five minutes away.
Are you up for a coffee before the day takes over.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I’ll hardly see you tonight once your dad starts parading around his
prize-winning daughter,” Nathan chuckled. “Is anyone else up yet? Perhaps I can sneak up the stairs
before your old man surfaces.”
“As if,” she shot back. “Mum’s out with Missy already and Dad will be making breakfast right
about now if I’m not mistaken. Besides I’ve got a hot body in my bed already and his name is Otto.”
“Nice to know where I stand,” he panted out. “Put the jug on anyway, I guess a coffee will have to
do.”
“I guess it will. See you in 5,” she swiped her finger across the screen of her phone. Pulling on a
baggy sweater she leaned down and nuzzled her dog again. “We’re not the only ones up and about
now. It’s time to start this day for real. Promise me you’ll be here tonight so I can tell you all about
it?” The gentle dog’s eyebrows rose, in affirmation or acknowledgement, Stella didn’t really know.
But she did love the fact that her old dog always managed to calm her nerves.
Nathan was so caring too. Of course he’d known she’d be awake early. He knew her so well.
Hell, he knew her whole family like he was a Lancewood himself. Growing up as neighbors, there
wasn’t much that her, Jasper and Nick hadn’t done together as kids and teenagers. Throw her best
friend Louise, and her younger brother Dan into the mix from the other neighboring farm and they’d
almost made a gang. At least that was the joke her mum always made. And that gang of friends would
all be here tonight.
Nick was right, Dad would be parading her around. He was proud and Stella was grateful she had
done all she needed to, to give him reason to be so. “C’mon you,” she said to Otto. “Let’s go start our
next chapter.”
 2

AURORA ’ S OLD SHEARING SHED WAS HARDLY RECOGNIZABLE. BUILT OF NATIVE HARDWOODS , THE
floorboards gleamed, not just from the naturally occurring polish from decades of lanolin that freshly
shorn sheep had given it, but also because the place had been cleaned to within an inch of its life and
it looked spectacular. Fairy lights were strung around the perimeter and large altar candles in glass
canisters were positioned in each of the square sash windows. Each of the nine square foot shearing
bays were set up with stations where food was going to be cooked live for the dozens of guests Don
had invited to his party. Servers and cooks milled around the area, setting up for what was going to be
a showcase of beautiful food and of course Southern Stars wines.
Butterflies erupted again in her stomach. Tonight was to be a display of what her father
considered to be the absolute best of everything. The best food, the best wine and what he evidently
considered his best return on investment to date - herself. It wasn’t that she was ill-prepared for
joining the family business, or schmoozing with the best of the high-ranking business people she knew
would be at tonight’s gathering. It’s just that when she saw the pride and happy expectation in her
father’s eyes as he discussed his vision for the next twenty years of Southern Stars, she hoped she
could live up to all that he wanted her to be.
Jasper’s voice alerted her to his presence just behind her. “No pressure eh?” He was leaning
against the entrance to the shed, the afternoon sun silhouetting him so she couldn’t see his face
properly.
“Of course not,” she said brightly whilst rolling her eyes skyward to indicate the banter she
wanted this conversation to be rather than an angst-fest of Jasper’s complaining which was his usual
go-to. Why he failed to realize that the privilege of being backed by a father like theirs meant you
actually had to deliver, she’d never really grasped. By the time Jasper had drunk himself stupid
through a gap year after he graduated high school and had then gone on to start two degrees—neither
of which he’d got more than a few months into—it seemed to Stella that he was very lucky to have a
paid role as vineyard manager to fall back on. “Dad’s excited. It’ll be a fun party.” She smiled as she
stopped in front of him.
“Oh yeah, it’ll be a blast. Everyone gathered to raise their glasses to his golden girl,” he forced a
smile as he spoke, but the familiar resentment was audible behind his words.
“Everyone in this family has a part to play. You know that. We work as a team and he’s just
excited that now I’m going to officially be a part of it,” she explained. “You know what he’s like, any
excuse to throw a party, and it’s a while since we’ve had a big one. It’ll be fun.” She playfully poked
him in the shoulder, trying to get him to cheer up. “I heard Marnie might even make it.”
 Marnie Swanston was the girl Jasper had always had a soft spot for. From when they started
school on the same day as five-year olds, there was nothing she could do that Jasper didn’t report on.
Her pretty curly blonde hair, her funny stories, the way she could jump double-dutch with skipping
ropes. It had been an adorable childhood crush which had matured into a full-blown adolescent heart-
stopper. Why Jasper had never acted upon his obvious infatuation with Marnie was a mystery to
Stella. Maybe a nice girlfriend might have helped him achieve a bit more stability in those tumultuous
years between adolescence and adulthood that seemed to have entrenched bad attitudes and habits as
far as she could see.
“I haven’t seen Marnie for a long time,” he said with a sigh and Stella noticed his olive
complexion flush despite his attempt to sound disinterested. He pushed his thick, almost black hair,
off his face. It was part of his Lancewood good looks, is what his mother always said. She coddled
her son, and loved his handsome appearance to the point of often failing to see his short-comings that
had nothing to do with his outward appeal. Although their father was quick to point those out. Stella,
with her fair skin, rich auburn hair, and green eyes, had inherited her mother’s genes. “My two
English roses,” Don would tease them and then shoot a look at Jasper, “and the thorn in my side!”
“Well, whatever,” Jasper remarked casually. “I gotta go close off the gates so Mum’s sheep don’t
wander onto the road.” He eyed the trestle table which was set up as bar. Behind it were an array of
Southern Star’s most exceptional vintages. “At least at Dad’s parties there’s always plenty of free
flowing booze.”
“Wine, Jas—fine wine—don’t you forget it!” She did her best impersonation of a middle-aged
wine snob. He shrugged and turned to stalk back out to the yard that stretched between the farm
buildings and the old homestead. Not even her teasing seemed to break through his grumpy attitude
this afternoon. “Well, whatever,” Stella murmured to herself. If Jasper was determined to have a bad
time, that was on him. She checked her phone. There was a range of notifications from Nathan and
Louise who were getting ready to come and celebrate with her and her family. She had just over an
hour to get ready.
Better get on with it, she told herself. It’s going to be an amazing night, you’ve worked hard
and it’s time to celebrate.

“YOU ALL KNOW,” DON LANCEWOOD STOOD AND ADDRESSED THE CROWD OF FRIENDS , NEIGHBORS AND
business associates who were by now pink-faced from the wine and satisfied from the delicious food
that just kept coming from the cooking stations. “That when I decided to take this old sheep and cattle
station and convert it into vines, many locals thought I was crazy.” There was an audible burble of
chuckling. “But you know, I’ve always liked to think big and without my best friend Cyn, by my side,
none of it would have ever been possible.” He looked at his wife with genuine love in his eyes, then
continued. “When we were blessed with two beautiful children, we both knew that the future of
Southern Stars Estate was secure. The legacy of this land, the hard-working people who—for
generations—have strived to make something not just for themselves but for the people of Schist
Valley is a responsibility and honor that we take seriously. Now with a very important new
winemaker joining us—” he gestured to Stella to come and stand beside him, which she did, happily
accepting his strong arm around her shoulder, “—I feel certain that the legacy and future of this
incredible property is going to make us all proud. I would like to welcome Stella Lancewood to the
role of junior winemaker of Southern Stars Estate. We congratulate you on your gold medal from
Allenby Hall and we wish you well in your exciting new journey as a winemaker!”
Don raised his glass, “To Stella and Southern Stars Estate. You are the living and breathing spirit
of the Lancewoods!”
The gathering chorused, “To Stella!”
Her eyes scanned the crowd and found Nathan. He raised his glass merrily and mouthed the
words, “Love you.” The buzz of the crowd hummed through her body and her heart beat faster as she
let Nathan’s tender energy sink into her. It had been an exhilarating evening and it wasn’t over yet.
Although now that the official speech was done, she could relax. Perhaps some of the older guests
would retire and she and her friends could let their hair down a little more.
As the music and chatter rose again, she stepped into the crowd with the intention of responding
properly to Nathan’s loving words. But before she could reach him, she was pulled into a bear hug by
Jasper. In a loud, breathy, alcohol-infused whisper he slurred in her ear, “So how does it feel now
you’ve been crowned Princess?” Stella shrunk down and away from his oppressive grasp.
“I feel very blessed is what I feel. We all are in this family Jasper, it’s not just me.”
“God, you always know the right thing to say don’t you?” he sneered.
“If the right thing to say is the truth, then I guess I do.” With relief she noticed Nathan sidling up
behind her drunk brother.
“Hey you,” he nodded reassuringly at her as he laid his hand gently on Jasper’s shoulder. “I’ve
been wondering where my drinking buddy got to.”
Jasper swung his head around and switched from snarly to smoochy in an instant. He now grasped
Nathan into a tight hug and whispered something into his ear. Nathan laughed obligingly, maintaining
eye-contact with Stella the entire time. He was such a gentleman. It was old fashioned to love that
about him she guessed, but she did. He always kept an eye on her when they were out, not in a
possessive, controlling way, but as a way of showing his support and reassurance. They were a team
—she knew that—even if her old man didn’t fully grasp how significant Nathan was going to be to the
success of the new varieties they’d been discussing.
“Okay, okay—one more glass for me, but you’ve had enough mate,” he was telling Jasper.
“God, you’re as boring as she is—” and the surly was back. He released Nathan, pushing himself
away and almost staggered out the door. It was a relief to see him disappear into the dimly-lit
courtyard and Stella hoped he would sober up a bit out there. She fixed a calm smile on her face, all
too aware of the curious eyes of some of the important guests, not to mention her parents, who were
no doubt observing Jasper’s stroppy behavior. Her response, and Nathan’s smooth management, had
ensured that an awkward moment had remained one, rather than developing into a full-blown scene.
“Thank you,” she murmured as Nathan closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around
her, moving with the rhythm of the music which soothed her.
“You can’t let him get to you, you know that right?” His voice was in her ear and his breath on her
neck. “He’s a tricky pain-in-the-ass, always has been, always will be is my bet.”
“Family eh?” she offered, not really sure how to respond to his truth-telling. He nuzzled her neck
and pressed his hand into the small of her back. The strong plane of his body pressed against her sent
a shimmer of electricity through her.
“We could have a family one day,” he murmured. She was so startled, she pulled back and looked
him in the face.
“We could what?” They weren’t even engaged yet, and twenty-four was still a bit young to be
discussing planning a family, wasn’t it?
 “We could have a chardonnay,” he winked at her and spun her under his arm as the beat of the
music picked up. “You know you are always going on about the classic sauvignon blanc, but what
about a good chardonnay?”
“I’ll give you a chardonnay…” she giggled and swayed with him to the music.
“So the dancing has officially started I see!” Louise had squirmed through the throng of guests to
hug her friend. She instantly started bopping beside them. “I’m so glad you’re back. The old gang is
back together now you’re here for good.” Stella laughed and hugged Louise back. Old friends were
the best, and Louise had been a keeper since before she could even remember.
“Did Marnie make it?”
“Nah, she didn’t. Said she couldn’t get away because of some big deadline at the office,” Louise
rolled her eyes.
So maybe that was part of why Jasper was acting so badly. Darn it, I shouldn’t have even
mentioned her name to him, Stella privately chastised herself.
“Have you eaten yet?” Louise asked. “The shrimp is incredible, not to mention those little fritters.
I don’t know what’s in them, but damn they’re good. You need to eat, you need stamina tonight.” Stella
shook her head, she’d been too nervous to eat before the speech. Dear Louise was such a caring
friend, whatever that gene was that had rural women fuelling hordes of people and making sure no
one was ever hungry - she had it.
“C’mon then, let’s eat,” Nathan agreed and ushered her away from the cheerful group of people
who were now beginning to dance.
“And then we’re going to party!” Louise beamed.
And they did.
It was after midnight when the hum began to die down. Despite what people might expect, Stella
wasn’t a big drinker. She didn’t enjoy getting drunk, she preferred to savor her wine and tonight the
energy and excitement of the celebration had meant a couple of glasses was all she’d needed to
enhance her party mood anyway. Louise and Nathan on the other hand were very merry as her mother
would politely describe it, and it was obvious to Stella that she was going to be the designated driver
to get them both back to their respective beds.
“Right you mob,” she used sheep-shearing lingo playfully, “time to get you both home.”
“I could stay at your place…” Nathan leaned in for a kiss. “Surely your dad wouldn’t mind
tonight?”
“Old school rules at Aurora buddy,” she grimaced, then smiled. “Did you know the old cottage
has a history of being lived in by the young married couples on the station?” She’d surprised herself
by letting that slip out. But she was emboldened by the love and energy of the night. She was so happy
to be finally starting her next chapter right here on her family estate, surrounded by the people who
loved her most.
She wanted to marry Nathan. And as he’d hinted at earlier, one day, she wanted a family with him
too. If he wanted to stop sneaking around like a teenager, he needed to pop the question. Once they
were married, her father would support them in anything they wanted to make happen at Southern
Stars, she was confident of that.
“Young married couples eh?” Louise teased. “We are all getting sick of waiting you know!”
Nathan grinned and pulled Stella in to walk close beside her as they made their way out to her car.
He whispered, “I didn’t want to compete with tonight - it was your night, you’ve earned it. Our
moment together is coming, trust me…” She leaned her head into the curve of his neck, knowing she
didn’t need to even say out loud that she did.
 “You heading off?” Don called from the verandah of the shearing shed. She knew he was pleased
with the way the night had gone, his relaxed stance told her so.
“Yeah, I’m just going to drop these two home and then I’m heading for bed too.”
“I’ll wait up. I’ll see you back at the house.”
“Thanks Dad,” she said over her shoulder as she pulled her door shut and pulled her seatbelt
across her shoulder. Turning the ignition she smiled to herself as Louise and Nathan started singing an
old favorite pop anthem from their youth. “Really? Do you have to?” she laughed.
“You know we do!” squealed Louise before she launched into the chorus. Stella winked at Nathan
in the rear-view mirror and he grinned at her from the back seat.
“I’d better put my foot down then, ‘cos you two are not even close to being in tune.” She swung
the car down the gravel driveway which swooped away from Aurora’s farm buildings and started
along the unlit narrow private road which stretched a kilometer or two before hitting the main road.
She’d learned to drive on these roads and could navigate them easily even without the help of
overhead street lights.
The road rose to the crest of a hill and then sloped down to a small bridge over a stream which
sometimes flooded in winter. The lights of her car illuminated the old and gnarled eucalyptus trees
which lined the roadside. Despite their awful racket, she couldn’t stop herself humming along as
Louise and Nathan now bellowed out the chorus of their song.
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, something— were they sheep?—darted nervously onto the road
just as she’d crossed the bridge. Five or six of the animals were in the direct line of the car and she
jerked her steering wheel to avoid them.
The moments that followed would later replay in her head too many times to count. If she could
have erased the memory, re-wound the moment and braked instead of swerving, put the whole thing
into slow motion so there’d been time to escape the inevitable impact the car was fated to make, she
would have.
It was as if the reassuring grip of the tires on the road’s surface suddenly melted into an oily slick
she had absolutely no control over. The car skidded and shuddered and in a panic Stella attempted to
correct her error. In an instant, as if on a roller-coaster, they were careering in the other direction and
the car was spinning in 360 degree turns. There was no stopping the spinning, and there was no
stopping the backward hurtling of the car which now seemed to have a life of its own. The back
wheels hit a ditch and the car flipped - still moving at what felt like lightning speed. Then a horrible
jolting shudder shot through the vehicle and her body as the car made impact with one of the old trees.
The sound of smashing glass and crunching metal skewered the night and then it was quiet apart from
the ticking of the engine and the heaving of her chest which was gasping to suck air, in and out. She
was hanging upside down from her seatbelt, she turned to see Louise in the same position, but her
eyes were closed and there was blood dripping from her jawline.
“Nathan,” she rasped out. “Nate?”
There was no answer.
She tried to turn, but the pain that shot up her neck stopped her. She grappled for her seatbelt and
released the button, slumping down into the roof of the car. It was dark and she could smell fumes
blending with the aroma of dry wild grasses that bordered the road. She squirmed around, ignoring
the pain which was ricocheting around her body. “Nathan?” she said again, this time with a bone-
chilling fear under her words.
Again silence.
As her eyes adjusted, she could see the slumped form of his body on the roof of the car which was
now doing the opposite of what it was designed for. The entire left side of the car he’d been sitting on
had been compressed into a horrendous mangled mess. Somehow his legs were caught up in it, but his
torso wasn’t. She could see his face, and she reached over quickly to feel if there was breath coming
from his mouth or nostrils. The slightest puff of air registered on her fingertips and she stroked, then
rubbed his cheeks.
“Nathan, sweetie,” she pleaded, trying to rouse him. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. “Good
—stay with me Nathan. You’re okay. We’ve had an accident. I’m going to get you out of here,” she
scrabbled her hands over his body to try and figure out how she could release him. Her hands were
instantly drenched in his warm blood, which was soaking his shirt. “Oh God, baby, you’re hurt badly.
I need to call an ambulance. I need help to get you out of here.” She could see his face from the
headlights which bounced off the tall trees which surrounded the upturned car. His eyes were fixed on
her, his face calm, but distant somehow. “I’m going to get help Nathan, I’m going to get you out of
here!”
She was crying now, her hands trembling as she continued to run her hands over his chest and
abdomen and then desperately trying to find the car door handle, anything to release him from the
deathly jaws of the car wreck. His eyes weren’t focused anymore, she could tell as they weren’t fixed
on her and a stillness descended over him. “No, no—” she moaned. “This isn’t happening, this isn’t
happening. Nathan…”
And then it wasn’t just her moans that filled the small interior of the car, but the sound of Louise
rousing as well. A cold fear washed through her and she squirmed back to help her friend.
Nathan’s just unconscious, she told herself. I’ll get Louise out, call an ambulance and they’ll
get him out. It’s going to be okay.
Releasing Louise from her dangling position, and reassuring her as she regained consciousness,
together they scrambled out of the car and up the bank. They were both sobbing, holding each other
and shuddering with the horror of what had just happened.
When the flames started, Stella’s sobs morphed into screams.
The smell of the burning grass mixed with the gas fumes, the crackle and roar as the explosion
fully ignited the car and the sensation of Louise tearing at her arms, pulling her back from the burning
wreck was the indelible sensory memory that she would never be able to erase.
It would never be undone.
It would be a part of her forever.
 3

IN THE END , IT HADN ’ T BEEN A DIFFICULT DECISION .

It had—she knew—been the only option.
To stay and face the pain of what had happened every single day was too much. The shame and
responsibility she carried was a leaden weight compared to the travel pack she adjusted on her
shoulders as she stood in line at passport control at Milan’s International Airport.
Alice Moretti’s invitation had sounded like a pipe-dream on graduation day when she’d squeezed
Stella’s hand and insisted she come visit her. “You have to come to Italy to have some fun with me,”
she’d said. “Papa will make a big fuss of my star winemaker friend, and you can help me convince
him to try some of these ‘New World’ techniques!” She made air-quotes with her fingers and then
pushed her large round-framed glasses back up her nose.
Alice had come for a year’s exchange to Allenby from Italy, to gain new insights into winemaking
and with the view to return to her generational vineyard with some fresh ideas. Once they’d
befriended each other, Stella had learned that in reality, it was more an opportunity for Alice to have
a working holiday than to revolutionize her family’s winemaking traditions. The traditions of regional
Italian winemaking were hardly gagging for innovation, and her father Giancarlo Moretti was not
particularly keen either. But he adored his daughter and had acquiesced to her plea to travel to New
Zealand, on the proviso that she didn’t get married and never come home. The agreement had worked
for both father and daughter, and Alice could reassure her father that there were certainly no marriage
proposals in sight. “But he doesn’t need to know about all my boyfriends!” she’d giggle with Stella as
the firm friends toasted each other for their regular TGIF wine tasting ritual.
And now Stella was here, four and a half weeks after her life had pivoted in the most horrendous
way. In Italy, no one knew about her terrible past. Her reckless driving, her grief at having killed the
love of her life—even if it was accidental—the shame of drawing public attention to Southern Stars
on the brink of her inaugural vintage. What she was relieved about was that she could now stop
seeing the pitying looks on others’ faces when they looked at her.
Louise, Nathan’s family, her parents, Dominic the long-time viticulturist of Southern Stars, even
Jasper who was never the most compassionate person. They didn’t know that they all did it, but they
did. A quick glance, a narrowing of the eyes or small brow furrow followed by an attempt at a
reassuring smile.
They all felt so damn sorry for her, concerned that she was managing and she was so, so sick of
it. She didn’t deserve sympathy, she’d almost wished she’d been sent to prison, it might have been
easier than the pain of driving past the very place where Nathan had perished.
 She’d avoided a manslaughter conviction due to her blood alcohol levels being well below the
legal limit. Nathan’s autopsy had confirmed that he’d likely died at the scene from massive blood
loss, before the flames had engulfed him, but no one could explain the sheep on the road. It had all
happened so fast, perhaps she’d made up the sheep as a way of trying to fool herself that she wasn’t
entirely at fault. But in the morning as the fire crews and serious crash unit left the estate, the
livestock were all exactly where they should be, behind the fences. In the end she hadn’t even been
charged with reckless driving.
It was just an accident.
How many times did people have to say that? It may have been an accident, but it didn’t mean she
hadn’t caused it. He was dead and she’d been driving. There was no undoing it, but she could try and
put some distance between her and the tragic event.
She stepped forward to the counter where a uniformed customs officer glanced up and accepted
her passport as she slid it under the Perspex window. He flicked the pages, examined her photo,
looked at her and then glanced at his computer screen. “The purpose of your visit?”
“I’m here to work. I have a short-term working visa,” she said.
“What kind of work?”
Stella swallowed. She hadn’t anticipated an interrogation. Had the police report of the accident
popped up on his screen? Was he going to march her straight back onto the plane?
“I have a friend who makes wine. I’m going to help, pick grapes, bottle wine, that kind of thing,”
she stammered.
His face transformed from cool assessment to warm welcome in a moment. “We hope you enjoy
your time in Italia,” he stamped her passport. “Make beautiful wine, beautiful woman,” he pushed her
documents back across the counter. Stella wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, it was so unexpected to
have a customs officer flirt with her, and the heat that rushed to her cheeks was more from the relief
that she was approved for entry, rather than because she was flattered by his compliment.
“Grazie,” she smiled back.
She collected her passport and exited the customs hall.
 4

“YOU KNOW THEY DO HAVE SHOPS IN CALIFORNIA?” ZACH SMIRKED AT HIS MUM WHO WAS HOVERING IN
the doorway of his childhood bedroom. He appraised the spread of socks and boxer shorts she’d laid
out for him on his old bed. “What’s this?” He picked up a fine woolen undershirt.
“I don’t want you getting cold over there and you won’t be able to get quality wool garments I
bet,” she muttered through a straight-lined mouth.
“You’re probably right, but that’s because it doesn’t get all that cold either,” he ambled back to
the doorframe and leaned on the jamb so he was at ninety degrees to her. His tall frame filled the
doorway. “But thank you. It’s great to have it just in case. I can pull it on when I finish surfing. I can’t
wait to ride those big waves.”
“Of course you can’t…” her words sounded almost hurt.
“You know this is the opportunity of a lifetime mum…” Zach’s voice was tender and his brown
eyes were soft as he looked at his mother. Cathy O’Connor might present to the world like she was a
tough nut, but he knew better. He knew her better than anyone. “I’ll be home for two weeks in August,
that’s only six months away.”
“It’ll fly by,” she said with a tight smile. But he could see the sadness behind her act. It was what
they called empty nest syndrome, he guessed. He silently did his mental justification again. It wasn’t
like he hadn’t lived away from her. He was twenty-four and a recent graduate of Allenby Hall, New
Zealand’s prestigious wine college, or oenology school as his mum liked to call it. “Just in case
anyone isn’t paying attention to the fact that I raised a clever bugger of a son!” she’d laugh once she’d
had a glass of whatever chardonnay he’d brought her to try on his weekends home. But a two hour car
ride to Allenby was a little less intimidating that a twelve hour flight to the other side of the world.
Overseas vacations weren’t something that Cathy had ever had a budget for. Vacations—period—
weren’t something she’d ever had a budget for. Apparently they’d had a few before his dad had up
and left, but a high and dry young mother with her pre-school son didn’t have much time or money for
R&R.
They’d got by. Just the two of them.
Not letting anyone too close had been Cathy’s strategy after Zach’s father had gone back to his
first family. His rich parents from one of London’s desirable suburbs asked no questions about their
son’s mistake in New Zealand. They wanted nothing to do with the regrettable error their golden boy
had evidently made. Cathy had been told the O’Connor’s would love her and Zach, welcome them
with open arms when they got the chance to visit. Too bad Ethan O’Connor had been a stinking liar.
Zach had no vivid memories of his father Ethan, despite having inherited his dark brown hair and
eyes, chiseled jaw and cheekbones and worth-waiting-for smile. He’d been two when he vanished
and the bitterness in Cathy’s voice whenever he came up in conversation maintained an unspoken
agreement that he was best left under the carpet, swept away with the other regrets of Cathy’s young
adulthood. The other agreement had been to not trust anyone, especially people with money or people
who acted like being rich made them something special. That was something that Cathy would never
want a part of ever again. “Money doesn’t make you a good person Zach,” she’d repeat. “And being
part of a family who step on others to get what they want is even worse.”
Not that Zach had ever been made to feel like he was one of Cathy’s regrets. No, he’d been
cherished by her and he knew he was loved. He could feel it and that damn undershirt was the perfect
understated example of her love for her son. Nurture and practicality all wrapped into one.
He’d watched her work damn hard for very little money his whole life. Working the reception at a
doctor’s surgery had been a major step up after spending most of Zach’s childhood waiting tables at
the local cafe. Any extra had been spent on him and his dreams of becoming a winemaker. And now
he had the opportunity of a lifetime—junior winemaker at Friary Wines—the mega-star of Napa
Valley wineries. The leverage of this job, not to mention the salary would be life-changing. But he
hadn’t anticipated that saying goodbye would be so gut-wrenching.
“What time do you need to get to the airport?” Cathy asked.
“Check-in is at ten-forty-five tomorrow morning.” He tried to ignore the pinched look on her face
and the sheen on her eyes as she blinked and looked away. The sound of his phone vibrating in his
pocket drew his attention from her. Pulling it from his pocket, he frowned at the unknown number.
“Wonder who this is?” He muttered and swiped to answer, “Zach speaking.”
“Ah, good—I tracked you down,” a voice boomed at him in warm acknowledgement.
“Um, I guess you did,” Zach shook his head at Cathy’s questioning look. “Who’s this?”
“Don Lancewood, of Southern Stars Estate. I believe you recently graduated from Allenby with
my daughter, Stella.” Zach’s gut did a flip. Stella Lancewood always seemed to have that effect on
him. Why is her father calling me?
“Yeah, I did,” he cleared his throat. “How can I help you? Is Stella okay?” It seemed the right
thing to ask. Truth was, he and Stella didn’t ever ask kindly after each other at Allenby. That wasn’t
what you did with your toughest competitor. He’d wanted to get to know her better—who wouldn’t—
she was smart, stunning and when he was hovering around he’d noticed she had a great sense of
humor too. But Zach knew that getting close to a woman like her would never help him with his
ambition in such a highly competitive industry. He hadn’t gone to Allenby to make friends, he’d gone
to become the best winemaker he could be. And he had done exactly that. Although Stella had taken
the gold medal. Besides, he wasn’t good at talking with women much. He’d get sweaty and awkward
in a heartbeat. He made more sense on his own, or with his board under his feet and the waves
showing him the way. That’s when he felt most himself. It’s when he felt free.
“Stella is taking some time out—she’s fine,” Lancewood said stiffly. “But we have an opening at
the estate which we need to fill as soon as possible and…” he cleared his throat. “Look O’Connor, I
don’t beat around the bush. This harvest is going to be huge. We need someone good. If Stella is
otherwise engaged, I want the next best person to do her work, which I understand is you.” It was a
compliment, despite the reminder of where he stood in the eyes of one of the biggest guns of the wine
industry. Daddy’s girl no doubt, he thought. But where the hell was Stella? And why was she suddenly
not available to make her family business even more award-winning wine and money? Zach drew in a
breath.
“Mr Lancewood,” Zach began.
 “Don—” he interrupted. “Please call me Don.”
“Right, Don.” Zach swallowed. “That sounds like a really interesting opportunity, but I’m about to
start a new job—” he was interrupted again.
“At Friary, I know. I was talking with Marty about it. I can tell you they are damn excited to have
you and he’ll be fuming when you come and work with me instead. But whatever they’re offering I
will double and your contract breakage penalties will be taken care of by us.”
“Right…” what the hell was this? “Look, you’ve obviously thought it all through, but I really
don’t think I can break the contract with Friary. I’m packing right now, I leave tomorrow. It’s not a
great look is it?”
“It’s business and it happens. You got a better offer. This will be a better offer Zach, I can assure
you.”
A pause stretched between them. “You need a few hours to think it over. I’ll get Susie to email you
through the details of the package. But this is a time-sensitive offer Zach.”
“Sure,” was all he could muster. “I appreciate that.”
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” The line went dead. Returning his phone to his pocket
and raising his eyebrows in disbelief he breathed out.
“Woah, that was unreal…” he couldn’t mask his genuine surprise.
“Who was that?” Cathy probed. “Is there a problem with your contract?”
“No, no—it’s nothing like that. It was a job offer from a winery I never thought would want me to
work with them.” He followed his mum into the kitchen. She began filling the kettle and getting out a
couple of mugs. Zach sat down on a stool on the other side of the counter and continued. “It was the
father of someone I studied with at Allenby, she’s taking some time off and he wants me to step in.”
“Well, you can hardly do that can you? Not when you’re about to leave for your new job.”
“That’s what I said,” he felt his phone vibrate with the promised email from Susie. “But I can’t
lie, they are an amazing winery who anyone in my position would be lucky to work for. Only, I really
thought they were into keeping it in-house, you know. I can’t believe Stella has stepped away from it
all, she always had that silver spoon firmly stuck in her mouth, you know? I wouldn’t imagine I’d fit
in too well at Southern Stars.”
“Well darling, there’s plenty of that in your chosen field isn’t there? You can work wherever the
hell you like, you just gotta have your own back is all.” And there it was, her old mantra - trust no one
but yourself. She poured boiling water into the mugs and lifted the tags of the teabags a few times.
“You want sugar in yours?”
“You know I don’t have sugar. I’m sweet enough already, remember?”
“As if I could forget,” she winked at him. She plonked a laden teaspoon into her own mug and
stirred vigorously.
“Mum, can I use your iPad to read this email on a bigger screen?” He reached across the kitchen
counter and took his mug of tea. “I better check out the details before I ring Stella’s old man back and
break it to him that I am most definitely going to California.”
“Of course you can, it’s just in my bag there,” she pointed to her tote-bag which hung off the back
of the chair beside Zach.
Her email app was open so it was a couple of taps to get to his log-on page, and then he was in.
Susie, presumably Don Lancewood’s very efficient assistant had sent through a detailed contract.
Zach whistled when he saw the promised salary. “He meant what he said, it’s good money.”
“Old family money more like,” Cathy shot back. “How much?”
“Trust me mum, enough,” he mentally calculated that Lancewood was offering double what Marty
at Friary Wines was. He scrolled down the contract further. The package was good. Better than good.
Accommodation, insurance, decent leave and a professional development allowance which would
enable him to get to California or wherever to sharpen his skills further without having to actually go
and live there. He shook his head.
What am I thinking? I can’t actually do this. It’s crazy to burn bridges with Friary just because
Stella Lancewood’s thrown her toys out of her playpen.
He looked at his mum who was leaning forward with her elbows on the counter, her hands
wrapped around her mug. “Well, it’s nice to be asked,” she sniffed.
“It sure is. But, I’ve worked too hard to change direction at the last minute eh?”
She nodded and Zach tried to ignore the flicker of emotion on her face. Sadness, regret,
loneliness? He logged off and the screen returned to Cathy’s email inbox. He was about to swipe the
app off screen, but a subject line caught his eye.
Report time for oncology department.
He couldn’t unsee it. Oncology? “Mum, what’s this? Oncology department? Why do you have a
report time for a cancer clinic?”
Her eyes went wide and she stood up sharply. “Why are you reading my emails? You’re not
supposed to see that.” She pushed out a hand to grasp the iPad and he saw it trembling.
“Mum,” his voice was low and soft. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Her mouth went into a thin line and he could see her jaws clenching. She was an expert in the
silent treatment, but he wasn’t backing down from this. His mind was racing at what this appointment
meant and he felt concerned and pissed off all at the same time. Why the hell hadn’t she told him
about it? The seconds stretched on and then she finally spoke.
“Look, I had a regular screening. You know, the mammogram thing. And they want me to have
some treatment, that’s all.”
“What kind of treatment?” He refused to look away from her face even though her eyes were
downcast and she was avoiding meeting his gaze.
“Just a bit of chemotherapy,” she muttered.
“Just a bit of chemotherapy?” he repeated trying as hard as he could to not shout. “I can’t believe
you didn’t tell me this.”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” she muttered.
“It’s my job to worry about you,” he said more softly. “We’re family.” Now she looked at him, her
eye glazed with angry tears.
“Look, it’s an eight-week course of chemotherapy to treat a small lump in my left breast. It’s
actually not that big a deal. The specialist is optimistic. I didn’t want to distract you from your plans.”
“My plans?” he said incredulously. “My plans mean jack-shit if you’re not okay. And being on the
other side of the world if you are unwell is not exactly plain sailing.”
“Don’t growl at me,” she shot back at him. “I don’t need you telling me off.”
“Okay, okay…”
“I want you to live your life. You’ve worked too damn hard not to take up this opportunity. And,”
she smiled, “I’ll be alright. You don’t think I’m going to let this beat me do you?” she chuckled
wryly.
“I’m sure that’s not part of your plan, but it doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone.” He
reached across and squeezed her hand. Cathy’s dark brown eyes bore into him now.
“I’m not going to get in the way of you living your dream,” she pulled her hand away and crossed
her arms. The fact that she was displaying her classic stubborn pain-in-the-ass reactions was
somehow comforting, Zach thought, even if he did want to grab her and pull her into the bear hug she
so clearly needed. He knew better than to try that. Her prickly exterior was one of her classic coping
mechanisms.
“Right now, I’m going to the supermarket. If you recall, I’m making your favorite dinner tonight.
You can choose the bloody wine.” She grabbed her handbag and headed for the back door. The sound
of her car reversing down the driveway was his cue to release the deep breath he’d been holding in.
“Maybe I’ll choose a sauvignon blanc,” he said quietly to himself. “One from a world-renowned
brand right here in New Zealand.”
There was no way in hell he was going to California if his mum was having breast cancer
treatment. Whatever had happened for Stella Lancewood was suddenly seeming like his lucky break.
She might have her gold medal. But he had his mum, and there was no way he was leaving the country
when she needed him most.
Zach glanced at the email from Don Lancewood’s PA again, and then he hit reply.
 5

“RIGHT , I THINK THAT ’ S ME MUM,” ZACH SAID AS HE SLID HIS SURFBOARD INTO THE BACK OF HIS OLD
station wagon. “I’m not getting any prettier standing around here am I?”
“It doesn’t take much to look prettier than me these days,” she smiled wryly. She’d had her first
chemo treatment and had managed the side-effects well, but her washed-out face highlighted her dark
eye circles and lustreless hair. Zach sidled over to her and spoke softly.
“That’s not what I meant.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her into a hug that he
hoped would say what he was actually feeling.
“I’m fine,” she squeezed back. “You’re only a few hours’ drive away and I’ll call if I need you.”
“You’d better,” he eyeballed her.
The relief on Cathy’s face was evident after he’d announced that he was accepting the job offer
from Don Lancewood. And he was relieved too. His mother meant too much to him to up sticks and
move to the other side of the world when she was not well. Once they’d talked through the treatment
plan, he was satisfied that in fact, her prognosis was good, but still that C word had a way of scaring
the shit out of anyone. Anyway, he was going to be close enough that he could come back easily for a
weekend to check up on her and that was all he needed to ease his anxiety.
“It’ll be pretty full-on when I get up there, the harvest is going to be massive.”
“Good, you do well when you’re busy,” she said as she ushered him to the driver’s door. “Just
don’t forget who you are. You’ve got nothing to prove, you deserve to be there because you’re one of
the best graduates in the country, not because of some rich old family name.”
“Yeah, I know,” he leaned on the window as he wrapped up the conversation. “I’ve got my own
back, don’t worry.”
The image of her standing in the driveway in his rearview mirror as he pulled out stayed with
him. He couldn’t help the itch of guilt questioning whether even leaving to be a few hours away was
acceptable when he was her only family.
As the motorway opened out onto the coast road, he felt his shoulders loosen somewhat and the
salty smell of the sea kelp and waves crashing on the rocks eased his mind and made room for the
facts that had helped him make this decision.
This was an incredible opportunity to make his mark as a winemaker, not just nationally, but most
likely internationally too with the reputation that Southern Stars had. The salary and package was
unquestionably good. He could be close enough to keep an eye on his mum and the smell of the briny
kelp washed up on the rocks and the sight of those big waves rolling in was the sweetener of them all.
Access to surf beaches. When he was on the water, he could make sense of almost anything. Study,
relationships, wine. But most of the time he didn’t have to make sense of anything when he was out
there. That was the point; the waves seemed to make sense of him. Sliding him around, sometimes
crashing him down and other times rewarding him with the promise of a wave that felt like it was
never going to end.
By the time he turned onto the gravel road that led up to the imposing farm house which was
surrounded by row upon row of vines, he almost felt like he needed to pinch himself. A large copper-
colored short-haired dog came bounding off the verandah as he pulled up. “Hey there,” he murmured
to the dog as he stroked its head and walked up the steps to the front door. A warm-faced woman,
with faded auburn hair streaked with grays opened the door as he came to a stop.
“Hello there, we don’t need a doorbell with Otto around,” she smiled. “You must be Zach?”
“I am,” he offered his hand to shake which she accepted.
“I’m Cyn, Don’s wife. He told me to expect you. C’mon in,” she turned and beckoned him to
follow her. He took in the ornate runner that sat atop the old polished boards of the hallway and
cushioned his footfalls. Lining the hallway walls were framed artworks, some landscapes, some
portraits. A handsome sideboard was decked with a crystal vase of fresh flowers and at the end of the
hallway, before she turned into the kitchen, was an imposing grandfather clock.
Old money he thought. You could literally smell it in the scent of wood polish and cut flowers.
She was dressed in simple weekend clothes. Faded blue jeans and white linen shirt. A heavy silver
chain hung around her neck and her fingers sparkled with more than one wide-banded gold and
gemstone ring. She was athletic in her build, yet softened by the late stages of middle-age. There was
a capability about her movements with an undercurrent of nervous energy that reminded him of his
own mother. Her oval face was well balanced with a kind smile and defined cheek bones, but he
couldn’t help but notice the dark rings under her eyes—which despite her smile—spoke of sadness.
“Take a seat,” she gestured to one of the wooden chairs that framed a large farm-style wooden
table. In its centre was a wrought iron candlestick affair and beside it, a bowl, laden with oranges. He
wondered if they were for eating or decoration. The kitchen had an abundance about it in scale which
sharply contrasted his own mother’s bare Formica benchtop and table. “I’m about to make tea,” she
continued. “Would you like a cup?”
He was about to agree, a cuppa would be lovely, when the energy in the room palpably changed
as a tall, sandy-haired man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in jeans, slung low across his
hips and held in place by a worn brown leather belt. His pale blue polo shirt, softened by constant
wear, set off his tanned handsome face. He smiled and his crow’s feet crinkled as he announced, “A
cup of tea won’t cut it Cyn. We need glass of our finest to welcome Zach to the family.”
Zach stood quickly, his chair scraping across the floorboards. He stepped forward, hand
outstretched. “Great to meet you Don,” his hand was instantly gripped by both of the imposing man’s.
“Welcome to Southern Stars.”
Zach was a bit starstruck. He hadn’t expected such a warm welcome - and it felt genuine. Don’s
clasp on his hand lingered and his eyes remained locked on his with an intensity that communicated
genuine warmth, rather than the sizing-up he’d anticipated.
“You’re right love,” Cyn flicked off the kettle and promptly placed three wine glasses on the
table. “It’s a perfect excuse to open a sparkling.” Moving into the kitchen, Don pulled out a chair and
gestured for Zach to make himself comfortable. The wine was poured into the tall glasses and Cyn
passed one to them both.
“We make really good wine Zach,” Don stated as he inspected the bubbling liquid in his glass.
“And we only work with really good winemakers.” Zach swallowed, he hoped not too noticeably,
and nodded. He was aware of Cyn’s face tilted slightly down as she nestled her glass in her lap. “We
are delighted to have you on board and we know you are going to be a great addition to the team.”
How to respond wasn’t entirely obvious to Zach, but he had enough good manners to know that he had
to somehow find the words to acknowledge his unexpected invitation to come work with them.
“Well, I’m flattered and honored. Stella and I weren’t close at Allenby—I tend to stick to my own
company you see,” he paused, trying to read the room. Cyn’s face was still downturned but her eyes
were fixed on him. “But, just having a classmate as good as her, lifted my game every single day. So,
this is a dream come true for me. I want to make the best wine in the world, and I know this is the
place where I can do it.” Cyn’s mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles.
Okay—so far so good, he thought.
Daring a glance at Don, he was relieved to see he was beaming.
“To making the best bloody wine in the world,” Don said, lifting his glass to meet both Zach and
Cyn’s. They all took a sip. Zach let the effervescent liquid swim in his mouth and across his palette
before swallowing. He was nodding, suddenly in the wine zone, is how he thought about it. It was
impossible to not be really. His nose and taste buds, plus a geeky love of science had determined his
destiny to be a winemaker since he’d made his first batch of ginger beer as an eleven-year old. It was
his gift, which had become his passion, and now he was in a paid position to do it full-time.
With Don Lancewood of Southern Stars Estate.
A smile stretched across his face.
“Bloody good wine Don,” he laughed and the Lancewoods joined him. The tension was broken
and his gut told him to just be himself. “I’m looking forward to making much more of it.”
 6

FIVE YEARS L ATER

THE RINGING OF HER PHONE PULLED S TELLA FROM DEEP SLEEP . THE HEAVY QUILT WHICH PINNED HER TO
the narrow bed in Alice’s grandmother’s spare room was her best friend on these cold February
nights. As Nonna’s boarder, she tried to encourage her to leave her heating on through the night, but
the frugal elderly woman, would always have her own way.
The insistent ring tone dragged her consciousness to the moment and she crept her hand out from
under her covers and wrapped her hand around the phone. The gut-sinking thought of any long-time
expat hit when she instantly recognized the number as a New Zealand one. It was her mum. Two in the
morning here, meant almost twelve hours ahead in New Zealand. And everyone in New Zealand knew
they were awake before the rest of the world. Cyn never called her in the middle of the night, she
rarely called anyway. Calls had dwindled out when she’d gradually given up answering her mum and
Louise.
So this must be important. She couldn’t deny it.
She slid her finger across the screen to answer. “Hello?” her voice was low and croaky.
“Oh, sweetie,” her mum’s voice said. “Is that you Stella?”
“Yes, mum, it’s me,” she replied. “What’s wrong.”
“Where are you?” Her voice was quivering.
“I’m in bed, it’s the middle of the night,” Stella elbowed her way up to a seated position. “What’s
wrong mum?”
“I’m sorry love, I forgot about the time difference,” her voice trailed away and Stella could hear
shuffling in the background, people talking and was it the sound of a door closing?
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Stella offered. Her gut was clenched now as she tried to tell
herself that her mum was simply having a distracted moment. “Where are you calling from?”
“I’m at the hospital,” Cyn’s voice trembled. “I’m here with your dad.”
“Hospital?” Stella repeated. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” There was silence on the other
end of the line. Silence weighted with emotion that her mother now couldn’t contain, but clearly
couldn’t articulate either. Sniffles and a choked sob came next.
“They couldn’t do anything—” her voice cracked again and her crying continued in earnest.
“Mum?” Stella was trying but this was hopeless. The impotence of being propped up in her bed in
the middle of the night, while whatever was happening with her mother, was simply awful. And she
didn’t like the way it brought back the gut-churning memories of other conversations that had had the
same revolting tone of fear and distress. There were always too many memories whenever she talked
with people from home.
It’s why she was here. It kept her safe from the pain of it all.
Time and distance helped.
Her mum’s muffled sobs did not.
Next she could hear the scratching of someone else taking the phone from her mother, and a low-
toned voice soothing her. She could make out a few words between them.
“Let me Cyn…”
“I should…I…what do I…couldn’t…”
“…exhausted…flights…” The male voice came on the line. “Stella?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“It’s Zach,” there was a pause long enough for a heart beat. “Zach O’Connor.”
“Right, what the hell is going on? Can someone please tell me?”
“Of course, look your mum’s very upset. She can’t talk, she’s exhausted.”
“Yeah, well I got that much,” Stella didn’t hide her irritation.
“It’s your dad,” Zach’s voice was thick with emotion now too. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you
this. But, he’s passed.”
“What do you mean he’s passed?” She knew it was a stupid question. The euphemism was as
plain as day, but suddenly a numbness wrapped around her more tightly than Nonna’s quilt. It seemed
only the most obvious words would penetrate her. So she waited for him to say something more.
Dread filled the seconds which were stoked with the inevitable truth he’d tried to say gently.
“He died Stella.” His voice was firm but kind. “It seems he had a massive stroke. We got him to
the hospital as fast as we could, but there was nothing the doctors could do for him.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, your father Don. I’m so sorry. It was a massive bleed in his brain. He dropped like a sack
of potatoes. The doctors tried at the hospital, but all his electrics went out—you know—his brain, his
heart. He couldn’t move. They said he’d have felt nothing.”
Her father…dead?
Surely, it was some hideous mistake? She was in one of those awful lucid dreams which played
out your worst fears to yourself. But as she scrubbed her hand over her face, she knew she was
awake. And Zach’s voice was not a trick of her mind.
“Tell her I’m coming. I’ll call her back once I’ve confirmed my flight.”
“Ok, yes. Great, that’s wonderful. I’ll tell her,” he said.
“Jasper—” It was a question.
“He’s here.”
“Good.”
Silence stretched between them.
“It’ll be okay,” Zach’s voice said softly. “I mean, I know nothing about this feels okay, but it will
be okay.” Stella bristled. Whatever had happened since she’d left, she was not about to be patronized
by this guy.
“If you’re offering a shoulder to cry on, I don’t need it. So let’s get clear about that now.”
“Right,” he murmured.
“I appreciate you being there for my mum. As I said, I’ll call her as soon as I get my flights
organized.” She hung up. There was no doubt her reputation as being a cold-hearted bitch was well
established at Southern Stars now. Particularly in the mind of Zach O’Connor.
When she’d decided to leave, despite her parents’ pleading that she stay, the last thing she’d
expected was for her shoes to be instantly filled by her stiffest competition from Allenby. She’d
thought a junior winemaker would step-up, and that her dad would continue to do his thing. But
evidently, his big plans for the ongoing expansion of the vineyard meant, in his mind, a new
winemaker—and a good one at that—was necessary. Not that her dad had shared his plans with her at
the time.
With distance, she’d been surprised at how disengaged she’d been over the last few years.
Southern Stars became abstract in her mind somehow. A drama acting out away from her immediate
attention, with actors she no longer had to live with, or without, day in and day out. Life at Alice’s
family estate had kept her busy. Rooming with Alice’s Nonna as live-in carer covered her rent and
board, and supporting with whatever was happening at the small vineyard and winery satisfied her.
Or at least it applied enough balm to her cauterized heart, so she could live her quiet life as quietly as
possible. She’d left her ambition by the roadside with Nathan. Existence was what she’d strived for
since then. Existing and sustaining herself with as little pain as possible.
Pain? Is that what this was?
She’d become so expert at pushing it away, to the edge of her consciousness, that this sudden
wave of dark emotion was making it hard to breathe.
Her father was dead.
No, she wouldn’t drown in this, she needed to get home. Within twenty minutes her flight was
booked. She tapped her mother’s number. It rang three times and then a voice answered, “Stella.”
“I’ll be there soon Mum,” she said, hoping her voice sounded strong despite how wobbly she felt.
“My flight gets in on your Tuesday morning at eleven-thirty.”
“Tuesday…” she repeated.
“Yes, I fly out from here later today.”
“Can you text me the details too? I don’t think I’ll remember,” she said softly.
“Of course. I’ll let Jasper know too okay.”
“Just let Zach know, he’ll pick you up if I can’t,” she broke off as the sound of a man’s voice
started talking to her. “I have to go.”
“Okay mum, I’ll see you soon,” she swallowed. “I love you mum.”
“I love you too,” Cyn said. “Just get home.” The line went dead.
Immediately the rush of things she would need to do to get to the airport in time flooded her mind.
There was plenty of food in the fridge and freezer for Nonna, and Alice would step up to support the
stubborn old lady who refused to move to a care home. It was too early to ring her friend. She would
pack now and get to the train station as soon as she could, to get herself up to Milan for her flight
which left in ten hours’ time.
When her phone buzzed again with a notification, she noticed her hands were trembling as she
picked it up.
Great u r on yr way
Keep in touch. I want to help in anyway I can
This is Zach
Of course it was, she thought sourly. Well, her first priority was to get home, not to waste time
thinking negative thoughts about him. She had left five years ago and he had stepped into an
opportunity; it was as simple as that. So what if he’d saved the day so monumentally that now he was
acting like part of the family? I’m the one who left, she reminded herself again.
But she had to go home now, she had to say goodbye. She had to stand by her mum and do the best
she could, even if this felt like another bad dream.
 7

“ONE MINUTE HE WAS STANDING THERE, DOING HIS USUAL, TALKING ABOUT WHICH BLOCK WE WERE
going to sample next week,” Zach listened to Dominic intently. “And the next moment he went stiff.
Stopped talking. He looked kinda…” he searched for the word, “…confused.”
Dominic, the viticulturist who’d worked at Southern Stars since he’d been an eighteen-year-old
school-leaver, knew Don Lancewood as well as anyone at the estate. And when he found the word
‘confused’ to describe his long-time mentor and boss, the look of pain which washed across his face
was lamentable.
Don Lancewood didn’t do confusion. And he never stopped talking. That in itself would have
been odd. “He tried to say something and then he just crumpled,” the emotion choked his voice. Zach
reached across and put his hand on Dominic’s shoulder.
“Mate, that’s rough.” What else could he say?
“By the time you came in, he was somewhere else, not with us anymore,” his earnest expression
hit Zach’s core. “You know what I mean?” Zach nodded.
The two men sat in silence in the break room of the main winery building. It was late afternoon,
the day after Don Lancewood had literally keeled over and died in the very place that he’d put his
heart and soul into. To say they were all in shock was an understatement. Everyone was reeling,
including Zach. Problem was, it was late February already, and that meant harvest was well and truly
on the horizon for Southern Stars. Both Dominic and Zach were hurting. And their predicted season in
decades could hurd in a completely different way if it wasn’t managed properly in the absence of the
man who always had a plan.
Don. What would Don do?
This was the very question that Zach had quickly learned to ask himself when he first came to the
estate. Don’s genuine and warm welcome to the young winemaker, in what had been stressful
circumstances that season too, had underpinned a steely expectation that Zach would watch and learn
and anticipate. Don had the confidence of a businessman and entrepreneur who expected people to
catch up fast without him having to explain the details. Don’s plans developed at such a rapid pace he
was often mistaken for being arrogant or dismissive because he didn’t have time to explain the
details. The hefty share of the export market that Southern Stars now held made them one of the
biggest players of the local industry and pretty hard to ignore on an international scale too. Don
seemed to have a way of making decisions about winemaking that were intuitive and strategic at the
same time and then he’d have pretty strong opinions about how to promote and engage new markets
which struck gold every time.
 On his arrival at Southern Stars, Zach had been a very good winemaker. Under Don’s mentorship,
he’d become exceptional and he was excited about the fact that his wines were getting recognized by
some pretty important people who would only help them gain more international recognition. But
now…
“The thing is,” Dominic scrubbed a hand over his tanned stubbled chin, “Jasper isn’t going to be
the one to step up is he?” Zach puffed out his cheeks with a sigh.
“Not likely.”
“And Cyn, well, she’s never been part of the winery work has she?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“Which means, it’s you mate.”
Zach shook his head slowly. “We’ll have to bring Jasper into the conversation. He’s got to tick
things off, but maybe when Stella gets here…” his voice trailed away.
“Stella? She’s coming?”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s been so crazy, I can’t remember who I’ve told what.” Zach had not had much
sleep either by the time he’d driven Cyn home from the hospital and then sat up with Jasper who had
decided to use whiskey to numb himself. But he’d had to stay and listen to the guy. He’d lost his dad.
Even if Zach didn’t consider Jasper a friend, he felt for him, the shock was huge. And Jasper was the
winery manager, well at least that’s what his contract said, and any insight Zach could get into how
Jasper might approach the next few months would be helpful. In the end, he’d said nothing insightful
about the upcoming vintage - but then, when did he ever? So at least Zach had confirmed it was
business as usual.
Jasper was not a happy man, even when his dad hadn’t just died. His permanent frown,
dismissive comments about others and hunched shoulders advertised everything about why having a
silver spoon wasn’t always cracked up to be as good as you might think.
“She flies in tomorrow morning.”
“That’s going to be interesting,” Dominic whistled low. “The daughter no one talks about…”
“Yeah, well, it won’t be easy for her either I guess, but it’s good she’s coming. Cyn needs her if
nothing else.” Zach’s stomach clenched. What Dominic said was true, Stella wasn’t talked about at
Southern Stars, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t lingered in his mind the entire time he’d worked with
Don. At first he’d felt self-conscious, knowing that he’d stepped into her role at the winery. Then he’d
tried to ignore her, telling himself that she’d made the call to leave, it had nothing to do with him.
Finally he’d just felt sorry for her.
As his involvement in the business had become more intense, his relationship with Don deeper
and more trusting, and the success of producing award-winning wines being the buzz he’d always
aspired for, what Stella had walked away from became all the more real. Whatever she’d done, or
felt she’d done to warrant turning her back on her family and all the opportunities that had been here
for her, must have been an over-reaction.
What the heck would she expect on her return though?
His own mother’s cynical attitudes about old-money and how they only looked out for themselves
crept in. But Cathy had been the beneficiary herself of how generous and caring the Lancewoods
were. Her remission from cancer had been eased by long stays with Zach at the old farm cottage
which was his contracted accommodation. In that time she’d been befriended by Cyn and to Zach’s
surprise had learned how to ride horses with her and Louise, from the neighboring farm.
Southern Stars and the Lancewoods had treated Zach so well, he’d never once regretted his
decision to not go to California. But his head was spinning at the shock of Don dying so suddenly and
now Stella returning.
One step at a time. Fast steps, but one at a time.
Don’s words of advice came to him. Zach’s stomach clenched again. There was still so much
more to learn damn it, and it was exactly those kinds of nuggets that had filled a void for Zach. He
didn’t like to meditate too much on the father-shaped hole Don had filled in his life, but today the
punch-in-the-guts pain he was reeling from told him that it was exactly what he’d done.
As well as push me to be the best bloody winemaker I can be.
“It’ll be fine. Let’s just get her home and assume that you and I will be making a few executive
decisions at the winery for a bit, until Jasper, or Stella or someone is able to sort things. You can hold
things with Vinnie for the next week or two right?”
“Of course, no problem, it’s just you know…”
“I know,” he drew his mouth into a tight line. “In about seven days, decisions start.”
So many decisions. Weather, soil, sugar… Zach closed his mind.
One step…

THE SWATHE OF OCEAN BENEATH HER WAS ENDLESS . S TELLA HAD LITERALLY RUN THROUGH THE AIRPORT
to make her connection in Singapore and having conked out for a few hours, then watched a movie,
she’d now resorted to peering out the window. Her eyes were gritty, her hair a greasy mess scraped
up in a top-knot and she’d been holding on for longer than was comfortable so she didn’t have to
disturb the middle-aged couple sitting beside her by clambering over them to get to the bathroom.
She remembered her flight when she’d left all those years ago. She’d not flown a long-haul by
herself back then, and she’d sheathed herself in a cloak of numbness to even get herself on the plane.
That same numb feeling was with her again - perhaps it was just jet lag?
Who was she kidding really, though?
She recognized the stab of grief, the clench on her heart and brain-dulling ache of sadness that
lingered. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. Her life in Italy was so established,
routine and essentially undemanding that she’d stopped thinking about when she would return, but she
had never anticipated it would be under these circumstances.
The tiny plane symbol on the map of her on-board entertainment screen told her they had under an
hour of the nearly eleven hour flight to go. And then a change at her window grabbed her attention.
Above the horizon, breaking through the tufts of cloud were snow-covered peaks. Mountains in their
proud majesty had materialized after so many miles of ocean and Stella could not refrain from a small
gasp of astonishment that she was finally looking at her homeland. The ridge lines of the Southern
Alps now caught the eye of others on her side of the plane and a ripple of energy shifted through the
cabin as weary travelers shared their excitement that they were nearly there. That there, was not just
anywhere. There was this unexpected scattering of islands that promised the effort would be worth it.
Once inside the airport and making her way to the small domestic gate where she would make her
final connection, she was struck with how clean and clear the air was. She gazed out the windows to
the plains and mountains beyond and felt like she’d been given super-sonic vision, she could see so
far. Despite the awful circumstances that had brought her here, there was a buzz of excitement to be
back home. She couldn’t complain about scenery living in Italy, but there was something raw about
the landscape in New Zealand that matched her energy. And even if she was never to see her dad
alive again, she thought with a dry swallow, at least being in the environment that meant so much to
him allowed her to feel their connection.
Another hour later, and the tiny plane with a dozen people on board was touching down on the
runway of Schist Valley.
After five long years, Stella Lancewood was home.
 8

CYN HAD WANTED TO COME BUT SHE WAS TOO DISTRACTED TO DRIVE, SO ZACH HAD BROUGHT HER TO
the airport. Jasper was who knew where, but no one seemed surprised by that. He went AWOL at the
best of times so it was hardly surprising his dad’s unexpected death had him hiding away. Working
alongside the Lancewoods had taught Zach a lot about family and some of what he’d learned made
him appreciate the simplicity of his own family being just him and his mum.
The tension and unspoken judgements were always there between Don and Jasper. With Cyn - not
so much. Her loving energy for family seemed to burn through any tension, but there was always a
quiet undercurrent of loss under it all. She must have missed her daughter, mothers always did. His
memory of Stella from Allenby was of an upbeat and relentlessly successful student, he’d always
assumed she’d been a favorite child. But since he’d come to Southern Stars to take up the role that
was supposed to have been hers, she rarely got spoken about. At least not by Don and Cyn.
Zach knew the details of the crash—it had seeped out through a variety of people he worked with
in the winery—but based on what he’d known of Stella back in the day, he wouldn’t have picked her
for someone to walk away from her responsibility and family.
Now she was back.
“God, I feel so jittery,” Cyn said as they stood side-by-side in the small arrivals lounge. “My girl
is coming home, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.”
She was right, and Zach didn’t really know what to say. He often didn’t, which is why he stayed
quiet. Listen and observe; this had been his approach regardless of whether it meant people thought he
was stand-offish. Saying something that was worth saying was how he thought of it. He lightly
pressed his hand on the back of her shoulder.
“Can you see her? Where is she?” Cyn nervously asked.
A line of people were emerging from the pip-squeak plane. There was no mistaking her. That
auburn hair piled high caught the sunlight and Zach knew it was Stella. He ran his hand over his own
cropped brown head and suddenly felt nervous, like he should have thought about what he was
wearing or something. “That’s her,” Cyn breathed out. “She’s here at last.”
Sliding glass doors parted and Stella entered the humble airport. She paused and scanned the
room as she adjusted her backpack on her shoulder. “Stella—” her mother called and her head darted
to Cyn’s voice. In a matter of seconds the two women were holding each other, Cyn shaking with sobs
and Stella still, as she stroked her mother’s head. It was almost the opposite of what you’d expect of a
mother and daughter reunion, thought Zach. The composure was all on Stella’s side for now, but he
guessed she was holding it together for her mum. He got that much. He’d had to do it a few times for
his own mother in recent years.
She drew back from Cyn, but her mother kept her hands clasped tightly around Stella’s. She
regarded Zach. “Thank you,” she said, her green eyes holding his. It sounded genuine. “I know you’ve
done such a lot for mum and dad.” He could hear the tension in her voice.
“It’s good you’re here,” he murmured uncomfortably. He’d been happy to bring Cyn to the airport,
but now he felt like a douche. The situation was awkward and so sad. This was about as intense as it
got and he was just an employee, wasn’t he? He wanted to get back to work now and leave them to it.
“Let’s grab your bags and I’ll drive you both home.”
“Zach—” Cyn smiled at him despite her weary tear-stained face. “You’ve been amazing.” She
turned to Stella. “You know what Jasper’s like, he’s off somewhere dealing with it in his own way for
now. There’s such a lot to think about with your dad…” her voice cracked.
“Well, I’m here now too and I can help with whatever you need mum,” Stella wrapped her arm
around her mother’s shoulder and started ushering her toward the baggage claim. “We’ll figure it out
and I’m sure Jasper will step up when he’s got his head together. These kinds of experiences affect us
all differently.”
They sure do, thought Zach.
She was all business. How was it that Jasper and Cyn were so wobbly and she seemed contained,
controlled and...cold? No, he didn’t want to judge her. Just because Cyn was weepy it didn’t mean
she should be.
“We’ll just take one step at a time, right?”
Zach recognized the adage. She was her father’s daughter, that’s why she was so together despite
the discomfort of this situation. She’d made a decision about how she was going to turn-up and she
was sticking to it. He was glad she was here, despite his reservations about how it would be to see
his old classmate, who he’d never got to know properly. Now he could step back from the emotional
support role he’d unexpectedly been thrown into and focus on the winery, which was going to be a big
enough job on its own.
“Yes, darling girl, you’re right. One step at a time,” she paused. “I need to run to the bathroom.
I’ll meet you at the baggage claim in a minute.” She scurried away and Stella and Zach made their
way to the baggage carousel which lamely moved without any bags on it yet.
They stood side-by-side and Zach felt even more awkward. There was an intimacy about this
situation which was plain weird. He’d constructed a number of narratives about Stella and who she
was during the years he’d been at Southern Stars, and his memory of her physical appearance from
Allenby had been pretty accurate. The top of her head was at his chin height, her crown of hair and
the startling green eyes being the unforgettable impression from his student days. She was just as
striking now. Her creamy white skin was a little more freckled now and her inquisitive, elegant lips
were just as pretty against her complexion. What certainly hadn’t changed, but he’d clearly forgotten
about until now, was the taut energy of her body. Like she was always ready for the next thing. It was
an athleticism which wasn’t necessary for winemaking, but somehow gave her an air of being
prepped for quick decisions.
She turned to him. “Look, I don’t know what you know about me and why I left, but I just want you
to know that I do truly appreciate what you’ve done for my family and I have no intention of hanging
around and getting under anyone’s feet. I have a life in Italy and responsibilities I need to get back to.”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s all good. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes, I could just see that Cyn
needed a hand today and Jasper was busy.”
“We both know he’s not busy,” she muttered. “But who am I to judge?”
 “Southern Stars is my workplace and with Don gone, it’s simply about the team pulling together to
help out. Cyn has always been good to me, it’s not a big deal to drive her around or whatever…” he
was acutely aware of his face warming with the anxiety of trying to say the right thing. “And, please
let me know if there’s anything you need. I’m honestly happy to help. It’s a terrible thing for you to
have to come home under these circumstances. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
She remained silent, as if considering how she wanted to respond. She drew in a breath as if
steadying herself and then replied. “Thank you, that’s kind. I can see why Dad would’ve liked having
you on his team. You’re very accommodating.”
“Responsive,” the word came out before Zach could stop it.
“Dynamic?” she completed his thought. “He was still using his buzz words eh?” Responsive and
dynamic were the words Don often used to explain the nature of the hundreds of decisions that had to
be made within a winery.
“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged, “I guess they rub off.”
“And they’re useful words for more than just winemaking right?” Despite her evident tiredness,
her eyes were still bright and he caught the tiniest curve of a smile on those soft pink lips. Cyn came
up beside them.
“Look at you two,” she said. “I know this is the most awful time to have to come home, but seeing
you here and with Zach,” her voice caught in her throat. “Your dad would have been very happy to
have his two favorite winemakers standing side by side.”
“You know I don’t make wine mum,” Stella said softly.
“I know, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, it’s nice. Don would have liked it.”
Cyn’s admission surprised Zach. Don had never talked about Stella much at all. It was only on the
few occasions when they were sampling and discussing blends and Zach might offer a suggestion that
would elicit a comment like, “Stella would’ve said the same thing. You university boffins eh?”
The bags started filtering out through the plastic curtain. “There’s mine,” Stella pointed at a large
battered case. Zach stepped forward and she swiftly maneuvered herself in front of him. “I’ve got it,”
she said as she grabbed it and hauled it to the floor.
You sure have, he thought as he stepped back and let her grapple with the heavy case. Without
looking back, she started heading out of the airport toward the carpark.
Cyn winked at him. “You’ll get used to her.” Zach raised his eyebrows in response. “She’s just
like her bloody father.” Cyn chuckled, swallowed a sob and dry laughed again. He wrapped his arm
around her shoulder. He couldn’t help it, even if he was over-stepping the mark. Cyn was more than
just his employer and Stella was in the carpark already, perhaps in her own world as much as her
brother was.
“C’mon, let’s get your girl home,” he said as Cyn leaned her head into his shoulder and he guided
her to the exit.
 9

THE DAY HAD BEEN LONG AND SHE WAS RELIEVED WHEN IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH TO A RESPECTABLE
bedtime that she could excuse herself and retreat to her bedroom. Otto followed her up the stairs, a
little slower, but faithful as always and her heart was filled with gratitude for her old friend and
confidant. Jasper hadn’t appeared, which was hardly surprising given how anti-social he could be
and Cyn seemed to have such a bond with Zach one would have thought they were mother and son
anyway.
It was a bit weird, but then, she reminded herself, she was the one who’d decided to leave
Southern Stars so she had to hold back whatever jealous feelings her little girl self might want to
indulge in for the flight back to Italy. It wasn’t fair to come home and expect a big welcoming party or
a whole lot of understanding about why she’d left in the first place. In truth, it was the thought of her
dad’s disappointed face that had stopped her from coming back on so many occasions when she’d
considered it. And now, it was the stillness of his face, peaceful and only slightly older looking in its
state of eternal rest that she couldn’t get out of her mind. His casket was in the front room of Aurora,
ready for tomorrow’s official day of mourning that would have people come to the house to pay their
respects before the funeral the day after.
Cyn had been all chatter as she’d ushered Stella into the house, as if her dad lying in the large
wooden casket was a new piece of furniture to be admired. So when it had registered within seconds
that Stella was looking at her dead father, her first thought was that it was ridiculous. She’d been
momentarily distracted by her mother’s jitteriness and the smack of sensory information that her body
was absorbing which was telling her she was home.
Wood polish, fresh cut flowers, an undercurrent of Otto’s scent.
By the time she’d been bustled up the verandah, in the door and then into the elegant front room,
she had felt the sight of her father lying dignified but dead, as a physical shockwave of pain that
literally rippled through her. “He looks handsome doesn’t he?” her mum had said, rushing forward to
stroke his hair lightly at his sun-weathered forehead. Stella’s eyes were transfixed for a moment on
his face.
Her dad’s face.
Why wasn’t he waking up?
And then the sway of her body, reeling from the shock of what she’d known she’d come to witness
—but did not want to see—pushed her off balance. It was Zach who’d steadied her, grabbing her arm
and softening her fall, before she crumpled to the floor.
“Oh darling, I’m so stupid, I should have warned you!” Cyn cried as she darted over to kneel
beside her.
“I hadn’t realized he would be here. It’s his face…” Stella’s words were coming out despite her
desire to bite the inside of her cheek and snap herself out of this bad dream. “His face…it looks like
him, but he’s not there,” she looked searchingly at her mother. “He’s gone.”
If he had been here, what would he have said to her anyway?
She wondered as she lay back on her bed, so glad for the privacy and comfort of her old
bedroom. She had only ever guessed at what her dad may have said, but all her assumptions had
pointed to her own shame and embarrassment that she couldn’t deliver all that she’d hoped to. After
Nathan’s death, she’d decided that hoping might be the most dangerous thing she could ever do again.
Her hopes had been so high, they hadn’t even seemed like dreams, she had believed they were
guarantees in her immature mind.
She had an amazing family, the job of a lifetime and a man she loved and knew was going to stand
by her forever. A perfect life. But the night of the crash had taught her there were no guarantees. If the
guilt of losing Nathan had encouraged her to abruptly leave all those years ago, now she had a
double-whammy of regret. She would never get to explain to her dad that she was sorry she’d let him
down and that gut-churning reality made her want to get the hell away from Southern Stars even
more.
She hadn’t expected it, but Zach being with her mum at the airport had been kind of helpful. She
hadn’t had to absorb the sadness of her mother alone and he’d ensured that she’d kept it together.
There was no way she was going to cry like a baby in front of Zach O’Connor.
No, he represented a time in her life when she’d been together, her reputation had been
impeccable and what’s more, she’d been his rival. She knew part of what had got her that gold medal
from Allenby that her dad liked to show off about so much was due to Zach. She’d been so fixated on
being the best winemaker, she’d worked her tail off to guarantee it. And Zach had scraped in beneath
her every time. She wasn’t sure why it wasn’t a more friendly competition. She’d had other
classmates at Allenby where the camaraderie had been a big part of the fun and friendship which
ultimately had helped them all do their best. But Zach had never seemed a part of that.
His tall frame, strong jawline and dark brown eyes had created a lot of chatter amongst the
students—even some of the male students—in first year. But Zach’s aloof manner hadn’t allowed
others to get to know him well. He didn’t live in the student accommodation like most of her
classmates, he was always disappearing in his clapped out station wagon before even Alice could
bustle over and round him up for obligatory student socializing. She’d heard he roomed away from
campus. He probably thought he was too mature or sophisticated for the student lifestyle that they all
enjoyed. And so, it was quickly established that he was an egotistical asshole who thought he was
better than everyone else.
But at the airport, he hadn’t put out that energy at all. In fact, he’d been kind and thoughtful, and
had continued to be so as she’d observed him throughout the rest of the day. He had Cyn figured out
with his gentle check-ins, a touch on the shoulder, a pause to stop and listen rather than talking over
her like her dad and brother always did. Cyn trusted him and it looked like he’d earned it. From the
number of messages he was checking on his phone, the workings of the winery clearly rested firmly
on his shoulders too, despite Jasper wearing the winery manager job title. What had appeared as
aloof in her early twenties, looked like self-containment to the nearly thirty-year old Stella.
When she considered how monumentally she hadn’t understood the world when she’d graduated,
it was hardly surprising she’d misinterpreted Zach’s character. Mind you, he’d been committed to
being the outsider - she hadn’t made that up. She couldn’t think of another student who’d been so
disconnected from the rest of the student community. He’d been a loner, through and through, so seeing
him here, evidently enmeshed in the Lancewood legacy, she wondered if she should refrain from
assuming he was so different from her previous impression.
Perhaps he was self-serving, making himself indispensable so he could lay a claim? What had
made it so different for him to become a part of things here, when he’d always been so distant at
Allenby?
Whatever - why try to figure this out now, she told herself.
Zach O’Connor was clearly a valued team member of Southern Stars, that was all. Like her, he
was grown up and was getting on with his life, it just happened to be at her family’s estate.
Which she’d chosen to abandon.
God, her buzzing brain betrayed her heavy eyelids. She knew she was running on fumes now, she
was beyond tired. So tired that she was kicking into over-thinking big time. How was she going to
navigate all of this family stuff? She’d heard Cyn and Zach discussing the funeral arrangements in
hushed tones when she’d excused herself to have a shower and she’d intentionally hovered in the
hallway to avoid having to talk about it. She felt pathetic for reacting that way, but it was enough to be
here right now. Tomorrow she would ask her mum what she could do to ensure the funeral ran
smoothly.
The funeral.
It still seemed so surreal. How was it possible her father wasn’t here? Surely he’d tap on that
door in a moment and tell her to put her light out? She shuddered and grief gripped her heart. She
needed to keep her emotions at bay if she was going to survive this. She scratched Otto between the
ears as she leaned back on the pillows, his warm fur grounding her…just. Hopefully her jet lag would
soon take her mind into sleep. Surely tomorrow would be easier?
Tomorrow Jasper would no doubt make a dramatic entrance and take the heat off her, but she
couldn’t afford to let her petty thoughts and reservations about Zach get under her skin and she needed
to be strong for her mum. And for her dad.
It was the last time she’d ever have to do that, she thought, as a silent tear—the first one since
she’d heard the news—ran down her cheek.
 10

WHEN S TELLA WANDERED INTO THE KITCHEN EARLY NEXT MORNING , SHE WAS SURPRISED TO SEE J ASPER
at the table drinking tea with her mum. He stood without speaking and opened his arms in a gesture of
welcome. “Hello you,” she said as she accepted his embrace. He was wiry and strong, and his arms
encased her easily. Just like Dad’s, her mind whispered. She shook off the thought and pulled back to
look her brother in the face properly.
Unlike Stella and Cyn, Jasper had dark, almost black hair, which was pushed back off his face.
The only real similarity between the siblings were their green eyes. Stella smiled at him and sat down
next to her mum, who was now pouring her a cup of tea.
“With milk right dear?” she checked with Stella.
“Yes thanks mum. You’re good to remember,” she said. Cyn sighed and shrugged as if this was a
stupid thing to say to a mother who remembers everything about her own children. Stella glanced at
Jasper and smiled wryly. He hadn’t changed much and she instantly recognized the energy of his
inquisitive face which suggested he was always observing, taking note, keeping score.
“I thought I’d give you yesterday to get over your jet lag,” he said.
“Thanks,” she stirred a teaspoon in her cup. “You’re right, I wasn’t much use to anyone. But I’m
glad we’re all here now. I want to do what I can to help.”
A silence wrapped around them. Awkward and heavy. When would this surreal bad dream feeling
wear off? Was it possible to snap out of it? She chastised herself for even asking those questions. She
knew how this worked. It hurt, and then hurt some more. Grief wasn’t some problem that could get
sorted out, wrapped in tissue paper and stowed at the back of the closet. It hung around with you for
the rest of your life, fading and on some days smacking you in the guts all over again as if the person
had died only the day before. And currently it wasn’t even a week since her father had been in this
very kitchen, no doubt cajoling Jasper into whatever was going on in the winery, and flattering his
wife with tender words.
“The funeral is tomorrow,” Jasper said flatly. “And most of the details have been sorted already.
We couldn’t wait for you to get here before we started planning it.”
“Of course,” she said. “I got here as soon as I could, but it’s a long way. Surely there’s something
I can do to help now that I am here.” She turned to her mother whose face was passive as she sipped
her tea. Trying to keep track of her own flitting feelings was hard enough, she couldn’t imagine what
her mother might be going through. “Mum, what do you want me to do? Do you have the order of
service planned?”
“He’d planned it.”
 “He what?”
“He’d planned it already. His funeral service.”
“But, how is that possible, had he been unwell? He wasn’t expecting to die was he?”
“I don’t know,” Cyn shook her head. “I don’t think so. The lawyer didn’t say, it was all a bit too
much information for me to take in. We have to have another meeting with them next week, to go
through details to do with the will,” her voice cracked.
“He was a control freak,” Jasper said. Both women turned to look at him in admonishment.
“What? He was! I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It was his thing. It doesn’t surprise me. Lots of people
leave detailed wills and instructions for when they’ve popped their clogs. You know how he was, he
liked to have a plan and he liked to execute it.”
“Sure, but there’s no need to be so insensitive about it before he’s even been buried,” Stella
protested.
“Cremated,” Cyn murmured. “He wanted to be cremated. That part is private to us only, but the
funeral will be big. There are people traveling from all over. They’re going to open the church hall
and live-stream into it to accommodate the expected numbers.”
A wave of panic rose from Stella’s stomach to her chest. The people, the faces, the memories.
How was she going to navigate it all? She swallowed a big gulp of tea to try and calm herself.
“There’s a reading he wants you to do,” Cyn glanced at her. “He was specific about that.”
“The golden girl returns…” Jasper muttered.
“That’s not helpful,” Cyn snapped. “Look, this isn’t easy for any of us. I don’t know why he would
have planned his own funeral, we never talked about that kind of thing, but you know how he was. He
had a million ideas that he kept lock-safe in his big imagination and above all, he always wanted to
look after us,” the emotion in her voice was thick. Despite this side-swipe, her mother was finding a
way of seeing the best in her husband regardless. She wasn’t going to drown in self-pity or
resentment, she was seeing Don’s foresight as an example of his expressive personality and desire to
manage the unexpected difficulties of family life. Cyn loved him—always had, always will—Stella
thought. She pressed her lips together to hold back the tears that were threatening to flow.
“He did, and it’s on us to honor that and look after each other right?” Stella managed to get out.
Jasper said nothing, which was better than him saying something and her mum nodded.
“I’ve missed you,” she reached across the table and squeezed Stella’s hand. “I’ll give you the
reading from the lawyer in a minute, I left it upstairs in the study.” Stella nodded.
“Well, I must get to the winery,” Jasper pushed his chair back. “You’ll be pleased to know that
I’m a pall-bearer at least, dear sis. Like the last time…” He let the statement hang in the air.
“Do you have to?” she said.
“Well someone had to didn’t they, and it may as well be me. Or are we all going to just pretend
that you didn’t desert the family after the last significant funeral?”
“Jasper, you said you wouldn’t.” Cyn said, her voice tight.
“I did, that’s true, but really what’s the big deal? We’re in the shit-swamp of emotions anyway.
I’m just one traumatized Lancewood being upfront and honest with another?”
“I’m sorry if you’re angry with me Jasper, but I’m here now,” she wouldn’t rise to his bait. For
her mother’s sake, she wouldn’t.
As he stalked out of the room he muttered, “You’re here alright, not for long I’m sure, but we’ll
make the most of you bestowing your company on us for now I guess…”
The kitchen was silent again as Stella tried to ignore her hammering heart. Jasper could be such
an asshole, but in truth, she could understand why he felt she’d abandoned him, her dad and her mum.
What she couldn’t articulate, then or now, was that she’d never left to hurt anyone, she’d left because
she knew she just couldn’t stay. For her own self-preservation, she’d had to get the hell out of the
place where at every turn there was a reminder of Nathan and the incredible blessed life they’d been
destined to have. That was, until she’d ruined it all in some distracted moment.
Cyn broke the silence.
“We’re all hurting,” she blew her nose with a tissue she’d retrieved from her pocket. “You know
what he’s like, he thinks he’ll feel better if he makes someone else feel worse. I don’t know why he’s
like that, but he always has been. It works against him in so many ways, but I’m too old and tired to
try and change him now.”
“What about Dad? How did he manage it?” Stella asked, genuinely curious.
“Oh, you know. Put up with him, barked occasionally and then took him hunting in the high country
to get some perspective on it all. It was working for the most part. I think Jasper was getting better at
leading the team and being a part of it. Your Dad told me so, although there was always talk I wasn’t
a part of,” she paused and drew in a weary breath. “Business stuff…”
“It will have hit him hard then,” Stella said.
“It’s no excuse, I know, but yes, it has and it will for God knows how long. I know it’s not an
excuse, but he always lashes out when he’s feeling most vulnerable.”
“I can’t blame him for being angry at me…” her voice trailed off.
“You don’t have to beat yourself up about the past. It’s in the past, you’re an adult and you made
your choice. It’s okay sweetheart. Your dad wouldn’t want you to be carrying that as well as
everything else this week is asking of you.”
“That’s the problem though isn’t it?” Stella could hear the self-pity in her voice. But sitting here
with her mother with a cup of tea after all these years, she couldn’t help it. The little girl in her just
wanted to be looked after. “If I’d come home sooner, even just to visit, he could have told me himself.
I could have explained more about why or what the hell I was doing. Instead I just left…” She shook
her head, the misery of her pain fully taking hold and the hot tears pushing through her reserve.
“There are greater forces at work, we don’t know why, and if anyone was capable of making a
rash decision, it was Don.” She smiled dryly. “I mean, look at this situation for goodness sake. He’s
the one who shocked us all in the end—” she stifled a choking sob. “He was meant to be here forever
and he’s gone and bloody left us all. At least you could get on a plane, I can’t believe he’ll never be
back here with us—with me—at Aurora.”
Stella leaned into her mother and nestled her head into her neck. They sat like that for a few
moments, the sadness of the situation soaking in. The comfort of having each other at least, seeping
out. “Why don’t I go and get the poem your dad wants you to read?” Cyn murmured.
“I don’t know if I can do it Mum,” Stella sniffed.
“I know you don’t know if you can, but I know you will.”
 11

THE WORDS OF S HAKESPEARE’ S POEM WERE COMING OUT OF HER MOUTH, BUT THERE WAS A PART OF
her that was not really in the church at all.
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
The faces of the mourners, so many she recognized and who, from their sad smiles acknowledged
her too. She couldn’t be fully present and get through it without breaking down. So she would use that
knack she’d perfected since Nathan’s funeral, of numbing herself, becoming so neutral that she could
go through the motions of dealing with the pain without letting it fully penetrate her. Because to let that
happen right now might mean she would crumple to the floor and never get up again. No, better to not
stop, just keep going. Somehow, it didn’t matter how, you just keep going.
One step at a time eh Dad?
His words flashed through her mind as his casket had been walked in by the pallbearers. She
hadn’t expected Zach to be amongst them, but he was—her mother had insisted.
She’d sat at the front of the church with Cyn and the array of aunts, uncles and cousins who’d
traveled from near and far to pay their respects. The words of the minister, the tributes by his old
school friend, a respected local politician and then her. Her mouth kept moving and she could see the
words landing amongst the pews, giving permission to everyone who’d gathered to say goodbye. And
now she was almost at the end of it. She’d nearly completed the public act of tribute to Don
Lancewood; his last request of her.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renownèd be thy grave!
It was Zach’s face which caught her eye as she glanced up from the words on the page she’d
brought to the lectern. He was looking at her straight, a heartfelt sorrow so evident in his eyes, that
she had to gulp in a breath to tamp down her own sadness. She was not going to get this far with her
Another random document with
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of a dark and rainy night, some of the servants having left the gate
open, Trumpeter made his escape, and was never again heard of.
With the manners of this species during the breeding season, its
mode of constructing its nest, the number of its eggs, and the
appearance of its young, I am utterly unacquainted. The young bird
represented in the plate was shot near New Orleans, on the 16th of
December 1822. A figure of the adult male you will find in Plate
CCCCVI; and should I ever have opportunities of studying the habits
of this noble bird, believe me I shall have much pleasure in laying
before you the results. Dr Richardson informs us that it “is the most
common Swan in the interior of the Fur Countries. It breeds as far
south as lat. 61°, but principally within the arctic circle, and in its
migrations generally precedes the Geese a few days.”
As the adult bird will be subsequently described, I judge it
unnecessary at present to enter into a full detail of the external form
and characters of the species, and will therefore confine myself to
the colours and proportions of the individual represented.

Cygnus Buccinator, Richardson.—Trumpeter Swan, Fauna Bor.-Amer.

vol. ii. p.464. “White; head glossed above with chestnut; bill entirely black,
without a tubercle; tail-feathers 24; feet black.”

Young after first moult. Plate CCCLXXVI.

In winter the young has the bill black, with the middle portion of the
ridge, to the length of an inch and a half, light flesh-colour, and a
large elongated patch of light dull purple, on each side; the edge of
the lower mandible and the tongue dull yellowish flesh-colour. The
eye is dark brown. The feet dull yellowish-brown, tinged with olive;
the claws brownish-black; the webs blackish-brown. The upper part
of the head and the cheeks are light reddish-brown, each feather
having towards its extremity a small oblong whitish spot, narrowly
margined with dusky; the throat nearly white, as well as the edge of
the lower eyelid. The general colour of the other parts is greyish-
white, slightly tinged with yellow; the upper part of the neck marked
with spots similar to those on the head.
Length to end of tail 52 1/2 inches; extent of wings 91, wing from
flexure 23 1/4; bill along the ridge 4 3/8, from the angle of the eye 6,
along the edge of the lower mandible 4 1/8; tarsus 4 1/2; hind toe
1 1/4, its claw 3/8; middle toe 6 1/4, its claw 1; inner toe 4 1/2, its claw
10/ ; outer toe 6 1/4, its claw 3/4. Weight 19 lb. 8 oz.; the bird very
12
poor.
 SCOLOPACEOUS COURLAN.

Aramus Scolopaceus, Vieill.

PLATE CCCLXXVIL Male.

This very remarkable bird appears to be entirely confined to that

section of the Peninsula of Florida known by the name of “Ever-
glades,” and the swampy borders of the many bayous and lagoons
issuing from that great morass. Few are found farther north than
“Spring-garden Spring,” of which I have given you an account. I have
heard of its having been in one instance procured on one of the
Florida Keys, by Mr Titian Peale, whose specimen, which was a
young male, has been described and figured in the continuation of
Wilson’s American Ornithology. None were seen by me on any of
these islands, and our worthy Pilot told me, that in the course of the
many years which he had spent in that country he had never met
with one off the main-land. It did not occur to me on any part of the
coast, while I was proceeding to the Texas, nor is it to be found in
that country, which seems very strange, when I look at this bird, and
compare it with the Rail family, which is so abundant along the whole
of that coast, and to which it is very nearly allied in some of its
habits, more especially to the Fresh-water Marsh Hen, Rallus
elegans.
The flight of the Scolopaceous Courlan is heavy and of short
duration; the concavity and shortness of its wings, together with the
nature of the places which it inhabits, probably rendering it slow to
remove from one spot to another on wing, it being in a manner
confined among tall plants, the roots of which are frequently under
water. When it rises spontaneously it passes through the air at a
short distance above the weeds, with regular beats of the wings, its
neck extended to its full length, and its long legs dangling beneath,
until it suddenly drops to the ground. Few birds then excel it in
speed, as it proceeds, if pursued, by long strides, quickly repeated,
first in a direct course, along paths formed by itself when passing
and repassing from one place to another, and afterwards diverging
so as to ensure its safety even when chased by the best dogs, or
other not less eager enemies inhabiting the half-submersed
wilderness which it has chosen for its residence. When accidentally
surprised, it rises obliquely out of its recess, with the neck greatly
bent downward, and although its legs dangle for a while, they are
afterwards extended behind in the manner of those of the Heron
tribe. At such times these birds are easily shot; but if they are only
wounded, it would be vain to pursue them. Although of considerable
size and weight, they are enabled, by the great length and expansion
of their toes to walk on the broad leaves of the larger species of
Nymphæa found in that country. They swim with the same buoyancy
as the Coots, Gallinules, and Rails.
The nest of this bird is placed among the larger tufts of the tallest
grasses that grow at short distances from the bayous, many of which
are influenced by the low tides of the Gulf. It is so well fastened to
the stems of the plants, in the same manner as that of Rallus
crepitans, as to be generally secure from inundation; and is
composed of rank weeds matted together, and forming a large mass,
with a depression in the centre. The eggs, which rarely exceed five
or six, are large for the size of the bird. The young are hatched early
in May, and follow their parents soon after birth, being covered with
coarse tufty feathers, of a black colour.
The Ever-glades abound with a species of large greenish snail, on
which these birds principally feed; and, from the great number of
empty shells which are found at the foot of the nest and around it, it
is probable that the sitting bird is supplied with food by her mate.
Their notes, when uttered while they are on wing, are a sort of
cackle, but when on the ground, much louder, especially during the
pairing season, or when they are started by the report of a gun. The
flesh of the young is pretty good eating. Although it is alleged that
this bird occasionally alights on trees, I have never seen it in such a
situation.

Ardea scolopacea, Gmel. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 647.—Lath. Ind. Ornith. vol. ii.
p. 701.
Aramus scolopaceus, Ch. Bonap. Synopsis of Birds of United States, p. 39.
Scolopaceous Courlan, Aramus scolopaceus, Ch. Bonap. Amer. Ornith.
vol. iv. p. 111, pl. 26, fig. 2.—Nuttall, Manual, vol. ii. p. 68.

Adult Male. Plate CCCLXXVII.

Bill long, being double the length of the head, rather slender, but
strong, much compressed, straight, its breadth less before the
nostrils than towards the point; upper mandible with the dorsal line
straight until towards the end, then slightly arcuato-declinate, the
ridge convex in its whole length, the sides nearly erect, more convex
towards the extremity, the tip blunted, the edges broad and obtuse
for half their length, sharp but thick in the rest of their extent; lower
mandible slightly ascending at the base, then direct, much
compressed towards the tip, which is acute, the angle long and very
narrow, the dorsal line slightly convex, the edges obtuse, becoming
sharp towards the end. Nasal groove nearly half the length of the bill;
nostrils direct, linear, long.
Head rather small, oblong, compressed. Eyes rather large. Neck
long and slender. Body ovato-oblong, much compressed. Feet very
long and slender, rather stout; tibia bare in its lower half, which is
anteriorly covered with hexagonal scales, posteriorly with transverse
scutella; tarsus long, compressed, anteriorly with numerous broad
scutella, laterally with very small elongated scales, posteriorly with
large scutelliform scales, many of which are divided; toes long,
rather slender; hind toe small and elevated; fourth considerably
longer than second, middle toe nine-twelfths of an inch longer than
the outer; the anterior toes are divided to the base, compressed,
scutellate above, scaly on the sides, papillate beneath, compressed
and not marginate. Claws of moderate length, very slightly arched,
compressed, tapering to a point; that of the first toe smallest, of the
third largest, without serratures on the inner edge, which is thin and
a little expanded.
Plumage of ordinary texture, rather compact and glossy on the upper
parts, blended on the lower; feathers on the head and neck short,
oblong; on the back ovate and very broadly rounded. Wings of
moderate length, very broad, concave, rounded; primaries broad,
secondaries very broad and rounded; first primary two-thirds of the
length of the second, which is ten-twelfths shorter than the third; the
fourth, which is longest, exceeds the third by one-twelfth, and the
fifth by half a twelfth; some of the secondaries reach to half an inch
of the tip of the longest primary when the wing is closed; the three
outer quills are narrower toward the base than toward the extremity,
more especially the first. The tail is short, broad, convex, rounded, of
twelve broad, rounded feathers.
Bill greenish-yellow, dusky toward the end of both mandibles, but
especially of the upper; iris hazel; feet lead-grey, claws dusky. The
general colour of the plumage is chocolate-brown, the upper parts
glossed, with purple and bronze reflections; the fore part of the head
paler, inclining to grey, each feather with a greyish-white central line;
the sides of the head and the throat are still lighter, and a small
portion of the throat is whitish, these parts being streaked with
greyish-brown and greyish-white; the lower eyelid white. The hind
part and sides of the neck are marked with elliptical spots of white in
regular series, there being one on each feather, some of them
extending forwards to the posterior angle of the eye. Some of the
feathers on the middle of the breast and the lower wing-coverts are
similarly marked with lanceolate white spots; the tail is more highly
glossed and coloured than the rest of the upper parts.
Length to end of tail 25 3/4 inches, to end of wings 25, to end of
claws 32, to carpal joint 13 3/4; extent of wings 41; wing from flexure
12 1/2; tail 5 1/2; bill along the ridge 4 7/12, along the edge of lower
mandible 4 3/4; bare part of tibia 2 1/2; tarsus 4 8/12; hind toe 1 1/12, its
claw 7/12; second toe 2 4/12, its claw 3 1/2/12 twelfths; third toe 3 1/2, its
claw 10/12; fourth toe 2 8/12, its claw 8/12.
The Female is somewhat less, but resembles the male.

Length to end of tail 25 inches, to end of claws 33 1/4; to end of

wings 24, to carpal joint 12 3/4; extent of wings 42; wing from flexure
12; tail 4 3/4; bill along the gape 4 3/8.

The young when fully fledged is of a much lighter tint; the head and
fore-neck brownish-grey, the lower parts greyish-brown. The bill is
yellowish-green, darker toward the end; the feet much darker than in
the adult. Excepting the quills, primary-coverts, tail-feathers, and the
rump, all the plumage is marked with spots of white, of which there is
one along the centre of each feather; those on the neck elongated,
on the back, wings, and breast lanceolate. In this state it is figured in
the continuation of Wilson’s American Ornithology, by the Prince of
Musignano.
Length to end of tail 23 inches.
This remarkable bird has exercised the ingenuity of the
systematizing ornithologists, some of whom have considered it as a
Heron, others a Crane, while many have made it a Rail, and many
more a genus apart, but allied to the Rails, or to the Herons or to
both. It seems in truth to be a large Rail, with the wings and feet
approaching in form to those of the Herons; but while frivolous
disputes might be carried on ad libitum as to its location in the
system of nature, were we merely to consider its exterior; it is
fortunate that we possess a means of determining its character with
certainty:—if we examine its digestive organs, we shall at once see if
it be a Rail, or a Heron, or anything else. If a Heron, it will have a
very wide œsophagus, a roundish, thin-walled stomach, very slender
intestines, and a single short obtuse cœcum; if a Rail or Gallinule, or
bird of that tribe, it will have a narrow mouth, a narrow œsophagus, a
very muscular stomach, intestines of moderate width, and two
moderately long, rather wide cœca. Here then are two specimens,
shot in Florida, and preserved in spirits.
The first, which is found to be a female, has the mouth narrow,
measuring only 7 twelfths across; the tongue very long and
extremely slender, trigonal, pointed, extending to within half an inch
of the tip of the lower mandible, being 3 7/12 inches in length. The
œsophagus, a b c d, which is 12 inches long, is narrow in its whole
length, its diameter at the upper part being 6 twelfths, below the
middle of the neck 8 twelfths. The proventriculus, b c, is nearly 1 inch
long, 9 twelfths in its greatest diameter, bulbiform; its glandules
cylindrical, 1 1/2 twelfth long. Between the termination of the
proventriculus, and the commencement of the stomach, the space, c
d, is more elongated than usual, an inch and 2 twelfths, and presents
the appearance of a tube curved toward the left in the form of the
letter S. The circular fibres of this part are strong, and its epithelium
is very thick, soft, and raised into twelve very prominent rounded
longitudinal rugæ. The stomach, properly so called, d e f g is an
extremely powerful gizzard, of an orbicular form, compressed, with
its axis a little inclined toward the right side, its length 1 inch and 9
twelfths, its breadth 1 inch and 8 twelfths, its thickness 11 twelfths.
The left lateral muscle, d f, is much larger than the right, occupying
nearly one-half of the organ; the muscles are thick, but not very
remarkably so, their greatest thickness being 4 twelfths; the
epithelium is very hard and rugous. The duodenum, g h i, curves in
the usual manner, folding back upon itself at the distance of 3
inches. The intestine, g h i j k, is of moderate length, 31 inches, its
greatest diameter 3 twelfths; the rectum, k l, 3 inches long, including
the cloaca, l m, which is globular, 1 1/2 inch in diameter; the cœca, n
n, of moderate size, 1 3/4 inch long, for nearly half their length 2
twelfths in diameter, in the rest of their extent from 4 to 6 twelfths,
obtuse; their distance from the cloaca 10 twelfths.
The trachea, o p, is 10 inches long, narrow, of nearly uniform
diameter, being narrowest in the upper third of its length, unless for
three-fourths of an inch at the commencement. Its rings 186 in
number, are ossified, and a little flattened. The contractor muscles
are slender, as are the sterno-tracheal; and there is a single pair of
inferior laryngeal. The bronchi, p q, are wide, tapering, of about 15
narrow cartilaginous half rings. The heart is of moderate size, 1 7/12
inch long, 1 inch in breadth. The liver is small, its lobes, which are
equal, being 1 inch in length.
The other individual, a male, has the œsophagus 12 inches long; the
distance from the proventriculus to the stomach 1 2/12 inch; the
stomach 1 8/12 inch long, and the same in breadth; the cœca 2
inches long, the greatest diameter 5 twelfths; the intestine 32 1/2
inches in length, their greatest diameter 3 1/2 twelfths.
Now, in all this there is nothing indicative of any affinity to the
Herons; the structure of the intestinal canal being essentially like that
of the Coots, Gallinules, and Rails. Even the external parts
sufficiently indicate its station, the bill; the plumage, and the
colouring being more like these of the Rallinæ than of any other
family.
The Prince of Musignano, who first described this bird as a Rail,
Rallus giganteus, afterwards adopted for it Vieillot’s genus Aramus,
and considered it as belonging to the Ardeidæ, forming a connecting
link with them and the Rallidæ and “aberrating somewhat towards
the Scolopacidæ, as well as tending a little towards the Psophidæ,
sub-family Gruinæ” and claiming “again a well-founded resemblance
to the most typical form of the genus Rallus.” Finally, he reverts to
his original idea, and places it at the head of the Rallidæ. Mr
Swainson refers it to the Tantalidæ, associating it with Anastomus,
Tantalus, and Ibis, to which it certainly has very little affinity in any
point of view.
The efficiency of the digestive organs as a means of determining
affinities in cases of doubt, is happily illustrated in this instance; and
any person who will make himself acquainted with them will easily
discover numerous false associations in all systems founded on the
external aspect alone.
 HAWK OWL.

Strix funerea, Linn.

PLATE CCCLXXVIII. Male and Female.

It is always disagreeable to an author to come forward when he has

little of importance to communicate to the reader, and on no
occasion have I felt more keenly than on the present, when
introducing to your notice an Owl, of which the habits, although
unknown to me, must be highly interesting, as it seems to assimilate
in some degree to the diurnal birds of prey. I have never seen it
alive, and therefore can only repeat what has been said by one who
has. Dr Richardson gives the following account of it in the Fauna
Boreali-Americana:—
“It is a common species throughout the Fur Countries from Hudson’s
Bay to the Pacific, and is more frequently killed than any other by the
hunters, which may be partly attributed to its boldness and its habit
of flying about by day. In the summer season it feeds principally on
mice and insects; but in the snow-clad regions which it frequents in
the winter, neither of these are to be procured, and it then preys
mostly on Ptarmigan. It is a constant attendant on the flocks of
Ptarmigan in their spring migrations to the northward. It builds its
nest on a tree, of sticks, grass, and feathers, and lays two white
eggs. When the hunters are shooting Grouse, this bird is
occasionally attracted by the report of the gun, and is often bold
enough, on a bird being killed, to pounce down upon it, though it may
be unable from its size to carry it off. It is also known to hover round
the fires made by the natives at night.”
I lately received a letter from my friend Dr Thomas M. Brewer of
Boston, Massachusetts, in which he informs me that “the Hawk Owl
is very common at Memphramagog Lake in Vermont, where as many
as a dozen may be obtained by a good gunner in the course of a
single day. Its nests in the hollow trees are also frequently met with.”
It is surprising that none should have been seen by Mr Nuttall or
Dr Townsend, while crossing the Rocky Mountains, or on the
Columbia River; especially as it has been found by my friend
Edward Harris, Esq. as far southward on our eastern coast as
New Jersey.
The specimens from which the figures in the plate were drawn, were
given to me by Thomas Macculloch, Esq. of Pictou, who had a
good number of them. Two entire individuals preserved in spirits
afford materials for the following descriptions.

Strix funerea, Linn. Syst. Nat. vol. i. p. 133.—Lath. Ind. Orn. vol. i. p. 62.—
Ch. Bonaparte, Synopsis of Birds of United States, p. 35.
Hawk Owl, Strix hudsonia, Wils. Amer. Ornith. vol. vi. p. 64, pl. 50, fig. 6.
Strix funerea, American Hawk Owl, Richards. and Swains. Fauna Bor.-
Amer. vol. ii. p. 92.
Hawk Owl, Nuttall, Manual, vol. i. p. 115.

Adult Male. Plate CCCLXXVIII. Fig. 1.

Bill short, strong, higher than broad; upper mandible with the dorsal
line declinate and decurvate, the ridge convex, the sides convex
toward the end, the edges nearly straight until toward the end, the tip
decurvate, trigonal, acute; the cere covered with stiff bristly feathers
directed forwards; lower mandible with the angle very wide, the
dorsal outline convex, the ridge broad and convex, the sides convex,
the edges sharp toward the end, the tip obtuse, thin-edged. Nostrils
roundish, in the fore part of the cere, concealed by the feathers.
Head very large, roundish, convex above. Eyes very large. Neck
very short; body of moderate size. Legs very short, robust; tarsus
very short, feathered, as are the toes, of which the outer is
reversible; claws long, stout, compressed, tapering to a very acute
point, that of third toe with the inner edge considerably dilated.
Plumage full, very soft, blended; the cere covered with slender
stiffish reversed feathers, having their filaments disunited; the facial
disks incomplete above. Wings rather long, rounded; the third
primary longest, the fourth one-twelfth and a half shorter, the second
four and a half twelfths shorter than the third, the first intermediate
between the fifth and sixth; the first four cut out on the outer web
towards the end, the barbs on the greater part of the outer web of
the first, and the terminal portion of the second, thickened, and a
little separated, but not recurved; the secondaries of moderate
length, rounded. Tail rather long, much rounded, of twelve rather
broad rounded feathers, of which the lateral are two inches shorter
than the middle.
Bill pale yellow; iris bright yellow; claws dusky. The facial disk is
greyish-white, the shafts black, at its anterior part intermixed with
black filaments. The upper part of the head brownish-black, closely
spotted with white, there being generally three roundish spots on
each feather. The hind part of the neck is brownish-black, with two
broad longitudinal bands of white spots; a semicircle of brownish-
black feathers margins the facial disk behind. The general colour of
the upper parts is chocolate-brown, becoming lighter behind; all the
feathers marked with white spots in pairs, larger and more
conspicuous on the scapulars, disposed in bars on the rump and
upper tail-coverts. On both webs of the quills are several
transversely elliptical white spots, the outer webs of the first two and
five inner primaries excepted; the tips of all brownish-white. The tail
is marked with about eight transverse bars of white, formed by
narrow oblong alternating spots on both webs, the feathers also
tipped with white, the throat is greyish-dusky, that colour being
succeeded by a semi-circular band of white, beneath which is an
obscure brownish-black band; the rest of the lower parts transversely
barred with dusky and white; the dark bars of a deeper tint anteriorly,
approaching to chestnut on the sides and legs, fainter on the
abdomen and feet, and greyish-brown on the lower tail-coverts.
Length to end of tail 15 3/4 inches, to end of wings 12 1/2, to end of
claws 11 1/2, to carpal joint 3 3/8; extent of wings 31 1/2; wing from
flexure 9 8/12; tail 7 1/2; bill along the ridge 1 2/12, along the edge of
lower mandible 1; tarsus 1; hind toe 3/12, its claw 10 1/2/12; middle toe
10/ ,
12 its claw 10/12; inner toe 8 1/2/12, its claw 11/12; outer toe 6/12, its
claw 10/12.

Adult Female. Plate CCCLXXVIII. Fig. 2.

The Female is somewhat larger, and resembles the male, but is of a
lighter tint, especially on the wings and tail, where the white
markings are smaller and less decided.
Length to end of tail 17 1/2 inches.
An adult male, presented by Thomas M. Brewer, Esq. of Boston,
and preserved in spirits.
Fig. 1.
 Fig. 2.

The palate is concave, with two longitudinal, parallel, papillate

ridges. The posterior aperture of the nares is lanceolate, with an
anterior fissure, the space between which and the lateral ridge is
papillate. The tongue is short, fleshy, deeply emarginate and
papillate at the base, rounded and notched at the end; its length 7 1/2
twelfths, its breadth 3 1/4 twelfths. The mouth is very wide,
measuring 1 inch 1 twelfth across. The œsophagus, a b c, which is
4 3/4 inches in length, is of nearly uniform diameter, its greatest
breadth being 11 twelfths, and at its entrance into the thorax 10
twelfths. Its walls are extremely thin; but its longitudinal and
transverse muscular fibres are distinctly seen. The proventricular
glandules are very large and cylindrical, forming a belt, b c, 1 inch 1
twelfth in breadth. The stomach, c d e, is of moderate size, roundish,
1 inch 5 twelfths long, 1 inch 1 1/2 twelfth broad; its walls very thin,
the muscular coat being composed of slender fasciculi converging
toward two roundish tendinous spaces; the inner coat or epithelium
very soft and rugous, but partially dissolved by the gastric juice. The
pylorus has a semilunar margin, but is otherwise destitute of valve.
The contents of the stomach are tufts of reddish hair, resembling that
of some hare. The duodenum, e f g, which is 3 1/2 twelfths in
diameter, curves backwards and upwards, running across to the left
side, and returning upon itself opposite the fifth rib; it then proceeds
to the right side under the liver, receives the biliary ducts, passes
behind and above the stomach, and forms three folds, terminating in
the rectum, which is laterally curved, and ends in a globular cloaca, j
k, 10 twelfths in diameter. The entire length of the intestine, e f g h k,
is 18 inches, its diameter from 4 twelfths to 1 1/2 twelfth. The rectum
is 2 inches long. The cœca, Fig. 2, a b, a b, are 2 1/4 inches in
length, for 1 inch and 2 twelfths very narrow, their diameter varying
from 1 to 2 twelfths, their greatest diameter 4 twelfths, their extremity
blunt.

Fig. 3.

The aperture of the ear, Fig. 3, although very large, is inferior to that
of many Owls of similar size. It is of an elliptical form, 5 twelfths in its
greatest diameter, and 4 twelfths across.
The trachea is 3 inches long, flattened, its diameter nearly uniform,
averaging 2 twelfths; the rings moderately firm, 74 in number. The
bronchi are long, slender, of about 20 very slender cartilaginous half
rings. The contractor muscles are moderate, as are the sterno-
tracheal. There is a single pair of flat inferior laryngeal muscles,
going to the first and second bronchial rings.
 RUFF-NECKED HUMMING BIRD.

Trochilus rufus, Gmel.

PLATE CCCLXXIX. Male and Female.

This charming Humming Bird was discovered by the great navigator,

Captain Cook, who found it abundant at Nootka Sound. It does not
appear to have been seen by Dr Richardson or Mr Drummond in
the northern parts of America, traversed by those most zealous and
highly talented naturalists. As no account has hitherto been given of
its habits, the following notices from my friends Mr Nuttall and Dr
Townsend, will, I doubt not, prove highly interesting.
“We began,” says the first of-these enterprising travellers, “to meet
with this species near the Blue Mountains of the Columbia River, in
the autumn, as we proceeded to the west. These were all young
birds, and were not very easily distinguished from those of the
common species of the same age. We now for the first time (April
16.) saw the males in numbers, darting, burring, and squeaking in
the usual manner of their tribe; but when engaged in collecting its
accustomed sweets in all the energy of life, it seemed like a
breathing gem, or magic carbuncle of glowing fire, stretching out its
gorgeous ruff, as if to emulate the sun itself in splendour. Towards
the close of May, the females were sitting, at which time the males
were uncommonly quarrelsome and vigilant, darting out at me as I
approached the tree probably near the nest, looking like an angry
coal of brilliant fire, passing within very little of my face, returning
several times to the attack, sinking and darting with the utmost
velocity, at the same time uttering a curious reverberating sharp
bleat, somewhat similar to the quivering twang of a dead twig, yet
also so much like the real bleat of some small quadruped, that for
some time I searched the ground instead of the air, for the actor in
the scene. At other times, the males were seen darting up high in the
air, and whirling about each other in great anger, and with much
velocity. After these manœuvres the aggressor returned to the same
dead twig, where for days he regularly took his station with all the
courage and angry vigilance of a King-bird. The angry hissing or
bleating note of this species seems something like wht’t’t’t’t sh vee,
tremulously uttered as it whirls and sweeps through the air, like a
musket-ball, accompanied also by something like the whirr of the
Night Hawk. On the 29th of May, I found a nest of this species in a
forked branch of the Nootka Bramble, Rubus Nutkanus. The female
was sitting on two eggs, of the same shape and colour as those of
the common species. The nest also was perfectly similar, but
somewhat deeper. As I approached, the female came hovering
round the nest, and soon after, when all was still, she resumed her
place contentedly.”
Dr Townsend’s note is as follows:—“Nootka Sound Humming Bird,
Trochilus rufus, Ah-puets-Rinne of the Chinooks. On a clear day the
male may be seen to rise to a great height in the air, and descend
instantly near the earth, then mount again to the same altitude as at
first, performing in the evolution the half of a large circle. During the
descent it emits a strange and astonishingly loud note, which can be
compared to nothing but the rubbing together of the limbs of trees
during a high wind. I heard this singular note repeatedly last spring
and summer, but did not then discover to what it belonged. I did not
suppose it to be a bird at all, and least of all a Humming Bird. The
observer thinks it almost impossible that so small a creature can be