‘Flora, may I present my sister, Maria? Maria, this is Flora McPherson.’

‘Welcome, Miss McPherson,’ said Maria softly. She didn’t move towards them. Her accent was good, only slightly colonial. The mystery must be under that veil.

‘Call me Flora. We shall be sisters soon.’ Flora stepped towards her, slightly unsure of the correct way to approach a lady behind a veil worn indoors, and by one evidently not of a religious order. She tentatively lifted one edge, a breach of manners, but she could resist the mystery no longer.

Maria stepped back, swallowing a small cry. Flora could almost feel Ezekiel’s determination behind her: Flora McPherson’s father’s debts were paid. No matter what horror was hidden here, Ezekiel Clancy was not going to let the bride he’d spent good money on escape now.

Flora lifted the veil. Her hand froze, then slowly she draped the cloth back over Maria’s head, exposing her face.

Or what was left of it. One half of Maria’s nose was gone, collapsed to a stub of blood-red nostril. Her left cheek bulged, with the slit of a goat’s eye above it. The other side of her face was normal, even pretty. Her right eye shone, clear and brown and scared.

Those foolish men, thought Flora. Those poor, silly men.

‘I have always wanted a sister,’ she said quietly. She placed her hand on Maria’s shoulder and carefully kissed the bulging cheek.

Beside her Clancy smiled, then wept.

Chapter 4

Blue McAlpine’s Zucchini Fruit Slice

185g butter, 200g brown sugar, 3 eggs, 1 tsp vanilla, 250g plain flour, 1 tsp mixed spice, 175g chopped dates, 85g chopped sultanas, 85g chopped walnuts, 45g coconut, 300g grated raw zucchini

Cream butter and sugar; add eggs; mix in other ingredients. Spread into greased and floured tray; bake at 200°C for 30–40 minutes. Test with a skewer. Cool a little before turning out of the tray. Cut into slices with a sharp knife while still warm, but out of the container, to help prevent crumbling.

GIBBER’S CREEK, 1979

JED

‘She’s got a dirty nappy, Auntie Jed.’ The boy in the doorway held out a child who seemed to have accumulated half the dust of the drought-worn playground.

Jed — who was genetically no one’s aunt but an honorary one to many — took her whiffy daughter. ‘Thanks for looking after her. So what was the matter with Maria?’ she added to Nancy.

Nancy shrugged. ‘No idea. All I know are the stories Gran told me. Maybe no one knew — there were a lot more deformities about back then, and even when I was kiddy.’ Nancy glanced at her watch, then stood up. ‘I’d better pick Tom up from cricket practice and put dinner on. Or call in at the Blue Belle and pick something up. Same time tomorrow? Clancy! Stop that!’

The boy paused, camera in hand. ‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘You can’t take pictures of people in —’ Nancy stopped, as if uncertain how to phrase the rebuke.