Chapters (48)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Also by Tricia Stringer
- Title Page
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Excerpt
- One
A year ago today Milt had been the one to find his father sitting on the side verandah in his old wicker chair, just resting his eyes, as he liked to say when he dozed off. Only this time his eyes were permanently closed, never to rest his kindly gaze on any of them again. Milt had been a rock for his mother, for all of them, but when they were in bed after the long days of dealing with the sorrow and the quagmire of paperwork, Natalie would hold him close while his silent tears washed his cheeks. They didn’t talk about it, it wasn’t Milt’s way to talk openly about his feelings, but she knew he’d been hurting badly. She wondered if he still had the unexpected stabs of memory, the surge of loss that she did from time to time.
She pushed back from her chair, the exercise books unopened, and looked around her neat kitchen. She had a sudden urge to bake; even though her freezer was full of food ready for the extra mouths to be fed during lamb tailing she knew Laura would appreciate some fresh home-baked goodies.
Natalie went to the little desk in the corner of the kitchen and rummaged through her shelf of cookbooks. She had a mind to make a caramel shortbread slice. The recipe, a favourite of Laura’s, was in a church ladies guild compilation crammed with old favourites.
When it wasn’t among the cookbooks on the shelf above, she pulled open the drawer below. It came part way out then jammed. She tugged, to no avail, then reached in and felt something stuck at the back. Wiggling out one item at a time, she soon had a pile of well-thumbed school fundraisers and CWA cookbooks. At last the book at the back came free. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the little red book in her hand. How on earth had that got in this drawer?
She stared down at its faded cover, more maroon now than its former vibrant red. The title had been embossed into the leather and was almost rubbed off but Natalie knew what it said. The Model Wife. The book had originally belonged to Milt’s grandmother who had passed it on to Olive as a young bride. Natalie remembered the first time she’d seen it. Olive had given it to her when she was pregnant with Kate. Natalie was still at the feeling nauseous stage and not full of the joy of expectant motherhood she’d observed in her friends. She had laughed when Olive had handed the book to her, thinking it was a joke to cheer her up – until she’d seen the serious look on her mother-in-law’s face.