The tiny church had been packed and mourners had flowed out into the street as farmers, footy players and friends had joined Lynda and Zara in their grief. Zara had been grateful that Liz and Lachy had come up from Adelaide to support her. She’d needed the steadying hands of her friends as the footy club had formed a guard of honour at the front of the church and six pallbearers had carried the coffin out and placed it gently in the hearse. Everyone had gathered and watched as it drove away, towards the city, where he was being cremated.

Having Liz and Lachy with her during the wake at the footy club rooms near the oval, where Will had played, had been a comfort too, but somehow she’d found she’d spent a lot of time with Jack. His quiet presence had given her reassurance.

‘Will would’ve been amazed at how many people he’d touched,’ she’d whispered to Jack at one stage, looking at the throng of people. ‘I don’t think he could ever see himself through our eyes and know how much he was loved.’

In the past three weeks she’d fought the waves of grief that threatened to drown her, especially at night when she lay in her bed in Barker, tossing and turning, hearing the words ‘I’m frightened’ replaying over and over in her head.

We kept that promise, Will. I hope you knew that. I hope you knew we were there until the end.

In the first week after Will’s death, Zara had stayed on Rowberry Glen, sleeping in the spare room. Together she and Lynda had shared their grief and planned Will’s funeral. They’d cried together and been strong when the other couldn’t be.

After the funeral, Karl had visited and helped them make arrangements for the farm. There were a few sheep that could be sold and they’d opted not to put in any crops at all this season—it was still too dry. Rowberry Glen, Lynda decided, needed to be run very easily this year, until she got back on her feet.

On Karl’s advice, Zara had talked to Mark Cullen and Doyley and found that one of the footy club boys who had come to see Will in his final days was looking for a job. Ray had settled in well and Lynda liked him. He didn’t need to live on the farm—his parents had land about twenty minutes’ drive from Rowberry Glen, so he could still stay there and come to work every day.

So far he’d proved worth his weight in gold, because Lynda hadn’t been able to face going around the farm. There were too many memories.