Heart of The Tree - 4. Part I - Who is The Heart? Chapter 2

During a hasty discussion, the two sets of parents and the wedding couple had come to the decision that the ceremony would be completed under The Tree, but that it would be moved near the edge, where everyone could get out quickly, if necessary. Indeed, most of the guests would be out from under the canopy. No one was sure what had happened, but Joanna and Peter had insisted that they still wanted to be married there. They wanted their day to have the special touch that The Lovers’ Tree imparted.

Rhys, Vince, and a number of other young men moved all of the wedding odds and ends to the edge of The Tree’s canopy and then took a short breather while the participants prepared to restart the wedding.

The ceremony resumed without a hitch, but there was always at least one person surreptitiously eyeing the branches of The Tree, wondering which would be the next to fall.

Rhys and Vince had both heard Aunt Cynthia’s comment, and they’d exchanged worried looks as a result. Neither knew what she had meant, but they were resolved to find out at the earliest possible moment. Their chance came when the wedding party disappeared for photos.

Most of the guests retired to The Cricketer’s Arms, the closest pub to the park, to wait until it was time for the reception, but Aunt Cynthia headed across the park towards her shop. Without bothering to discuss it, Rhys, Vince and Padma followed her.

The old lady looked very, very tired. The transformation of the usually cheerful and animated Aunt Cynthia into a lethargic and sombre person was so dramatic that it caused the three youngsters concern.

As she opened the door to The Treasure Chest, Aunt Cynthia noticed that they had followed her. For a moment she considered saying something, but just shook her head and entered the shop, leaving the door ajar behind her.

“What do you think is going on?” Vince asked.

Rhys shook his head. “Damned if I know.”

“She’s worried about something that she thinks is serious,” Padma said.

Rhys thought that Padma had stated the obvious, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Padma was the deepest thinker of their group and her statements sometimes offered insights that were beyond the immediately apparent.

The teens stepped into the gloomy shop and moved cautiously towards where they sensed the old lady had gone.

“What’s wrong, Aunt Cynthia?” Mia asked. She had looked after the shop while Aunt Cynthia attended the wedding.

“Can you get me a cup of tea, dear? Then, sit down and join us. You and your friends need to be told a few things.”

“Can we get you anything else, Grandma? You don’t look too well,” a masculine voice said.

“Just a cup of tea, Mark. I’m feeling my years, today, that’s all.”

Mark Loring was another one of the group who’d just finished high school. Rhys hadn’t seen a lot of him in recent days. With Rhys’s afternoon job at the winery and Mark’s early morning work as a garbo, they weren’t crossing paths very often. He was surprised that Mark was keeping Mia company in the shop, as those two had never got along particularly well. Mia had always been jealous that Mark was allowed to call her grandmother “Grandma”, while she wasn’t. The fact that he wasn’t even directly related to Aunt Cynthia just made it worse.

When Rhys reached the desk where Aunt Cynthia was sitting, he paused. In response to the distress he sensed from the old lady, the courtesies his mother had pounded into his head surfaced.

“May I join you?” he asked.

“Certainly, Rhys,” she replied, sounding slightly less depressed than she had previously. “You, too, Padma, Vince.”

Rhys took one of the chairs in front of the desk. There was something going on, and he wanted to find out what it was. He waited patiently for Padma and Mia to join him and for Mark to sit on the other side of Mia, while Vince took his usual place on the tractor seat.

Everyone waited for Aunt Cynthia to take a sip of her tea. Only then did she peer at them.

“Where should I start?” she asked.

“You said that it was happening again,” Rhys said.

“What’s happening again?” Mark asked.

“Shush,” Rhys said, his focus on the old lady.

She sighed and looked down at her desk.

“I suppose so. The last time this happened was in 1946. The time before that was in the 1870s, but I only heard tales about it, while I was there for the last one. It’s a long story, so please don’t interrupt more than you have to.”

She took another sip while the teenagers in front of her exchanged glances. Mark started to ask something, but fell silent when Rhys waved at him to be quiet. They all eased forward in anticipation.

“Corporal Bruce Yendo, a young man who was born near here, returned home from World War Two with the intention of marrying his childhood sweetheart, Melissa Crandell. He was only nineteen, having lied about his age when he signed up. He came with his best friend from his unit, Corporal Andrew Boyle.

“As was too common in those days, he came back to find a different world to the one he’d left. Melissa, after hearing nothing from him for two years, had given up hope. Bruce came home to find that Melissa was married to Wilson Bradley.”

Vince stiffened, causing the tractor seat to creak loudly.

“Yes, Vince, Melissa and Wilson Bradley, your grandparents,” Aunt Cynthia said, gazing softly at the young man.

Rhys, Mark and the two girls stared over at where Vince was struggling to control his emotions. His grandmother had died when he was young, but it had been only three years since his grandfather had lost his hold on life. Rhys felt a surge of sympathy for his friend. He’d spent some nights with Vince, following that event, and he knew just how deeply the death had affected him.

“Bruce was heartbroken. Despite all efforts by Andrew to try to cheer him up, Bruce was inconsolable. One night, after a drinking spree with his mate, Bruce left his home and walked out into the night. Andrew didn’t realise he was gone until the next morning. They found Bruce’s body under The Tree.”

“Like that guy earlier in the week?” Mark asked.

Rhys glared at him for interrupting, but Mark didn’t appear to notice.

“Yes, Mark. Just like that young man. Indeed, almost exactly like that young man. There was no obvious cause of death. Andrew used to tell me he believed Bruce died of a broken heart.”

She brought out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. The teenagers sat motionlessly, sensing there was still more to the story.

“With nothing better to do, his family in Adelaide being all gone, Andrew stayed in town and starting doing odd jobs. Nothing much happened until a couple of weeks later, when a large branch fell off The Tree. Everyone was stunned. While The Tree was occasionally carefully pruned, no one could recall its ever losing a limb. People became frantic, and the council had an arborist come in to check The Tree. The diagnosis was that there was some sort of rot in the heartwood. The heart of The Lovers’ Tree was sick.”

“Just like now?” Padma asked.

“What do you mean?” Mia asked, surprised.

“A big branch fell off The Tree during my sister’s wedding,” Rhys explained in an aside to Mia and Mark.

“Oh,” Mia said. “Was anyone hurt?” she asked after a short pause.

“Luckily, no, though a couple of kids got a huge fright.”

“How was The Tree healed?” Padma asked Aunt Cynthia.

“They didn’t have any idea of what to do,” she replied. “They tried everything they could think of. No one could conceive of the town without The Tree, and everyone rallied to find a cure. It was an amateur historian by the name of Gregory Plinth who eventually recalled the legend of The Heart of The Tree.”

“That’s you,” Mia said.

Aunt Cynthia stared at her in surprise. “Yes, that’s me, but I didn’t know you knew that.”

“What, or who, is The Heart of The Tree?” Rhys asked, before anyone else could jump in.

When Aunt Cynthia didn’t say anything immediately, Mia responded. “Aunt Cynthia is The Heart of The Tree. I don’t know what it means, but Mum told me that Aunt Cynthia got the title when she was married.”

The old woman nodded her head slowly. “We’re jumping ahead in the story, though. The legend says that The Lovers’ Tree is exactly that: a tree for lovers. Most of the time, it is strong enough by itself, but there are times when it’s hit too hard. It feels the pain of those around it; those that despair of ever finding love, or who suffer from a love shattered. There are times when The Tree can’t cope with the agony. A young man’s dying of a broken heart beneath it can cause The Lovers’ Tree to start to die. The previous time, the one the historian recalled, was back in the 1870s, when a local worker was found under The Tree. Bruce Yendo was also such a man. I fear that this week we’ve seen another.”

Her voice caught at the end. Mia rose from her seat as Aunt Cynthia started to sob. Vince moved around the desk from the other side and the two of them hugged the old lady. Padma slipped away and returned moments later to discreetly place a fresh lace handkerchief on the desk. Mark half-rose from his chair, then sat back down heavily. Rhys watched, wondering what to do. He was more suited to making mischief than to calming someone. He understood why Aunt Cynthia had been so eager to find the cause of death of that young man at the start of the week. She wasn’t being a romantic, as he’d accused her of, when she had seemed to imply that dying of a broken heart was the worst thing imaginable; she had been honestly concerned for The Tree – her tree.

Normally a cynic and rebel, Rhys felt the truth in the legend. Everyone in town knew the power of The Tree, or more precisely, The Lovers’ Tree. It was so obvious in hindsight that if The Tree projected the power of love, then it would be vulnerable to the pain of a love lost.

When the old lady had regained her composure, Mia and Vince resumed their seats.

“There has to be more to the legend,” Mark said.

Aunt Cynthia nodded. “Yes, there is. The young man’s death is only part of the legend. Somewhere nearby, a young maiden will be dying inside. Someone who’s so full of despair that The Tree was already weakened by her the pain. She is, literally, The Heart of The Tree. The only cure for the sickness in the heartwood of The Tree is to heal the despair of The Heart of The Tree.

“When the young man dies, there will appear another young man, a stranger. If he can restore the heart of that young maiden beneath The Tree, The Lovers’ Tree will recover.”

“Mia said you’re The Heart of The Tree,” Rhys half-stated, half-asked.

The old lady nodded slowly. “I was, but I don’t think I am, anymore. Let me finish my story first, though.

“The war destroyed a lot of things, and one of them was my love. I’d been dying inside for more than a year after hearing that my fiancé, Trevor Rockford, had been killed on the Kokoda Trail in Papua New Guinea. We’d been engaged only a month before he enlisted. When I heard the news, I stopped wanting to live. I stayed at home, not seeing anyone and barely eating.

“It was Melissa who introduced me to Andrew. She was the only one who understood what I was feeling, how the news of Trevor’s fate had ripped my heart, and she saw how badly Andrew had been hurt by Bruce’s death.

“That was the event that really saved The Tree, though none of us knew it at the time. While I was given the title of Heart of The Tree, I’ve always thought of Melissa, your grandmother, Vince, as the real saviour of The Lovers’ Tree.”

She paused and dabbed at her eyes with the fresh handkerchief that Padma had placed there. A faint smile crossed her face as she dried the moisture from her eyes. Rhys glanced across at Vince in time to see him wiping an arm across his face.

“Andrew and I fell in love. He saved me from despair. I can still remember the night, under The Tree, that he proposed.

“While all of that was going on, though, The Tree was still dying. The town council tried to keep it fenced off, to stop anyone from getting hurt by falling branches, but the young people would quietly remove the barriers during the night. The council eventually gave up.

“By that time, people were resigning themselves to losing The Tree. Nothing that anyone had done had reversed the disease. It was dying, slowly but inexorably.

“I told Andrew that I wanted to be married under The Tree. Even if it wasn’t going to be there much longer, I still wanted the blessing of The Tree on our matrimony. I was in the minority with that opinion; weddings under The Lovers’ Tree had stopped, both from the fear of injury from falling limbs and from the worry that the blessing would die with The Tree.

“Our wedding was held one bright summer day, several months after The Tree had started to die. No branches fell that day. Indeed, no more branches fell at all, until today. The Tree recovered and slowly regained its health. People gave me the title of Heart of The Tree, the young maiden whose heart reflected the heart of The Tree.”

She peered across the desk at Mia. “I don’t think I’m The Heart of The Tree, anymore. While it’s been eight years since Andrew was taken from me, my heart is still filled with his love.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “There is someone else around here who is dying inside. Until they find love and marry under The Tree, there is no Heart of The Tree.”

* * *

Two non-typical topics dominated conversations at the wedding reception that night.

The first was the unexpected absence of Aunt Cynthia. She had sent her apologies via Rhys, saying that she hadn’t felt up to attending. It was the only time, in anyone’s memory, that she’d missed a wedding reception.

The second topic was The Tree.

Rhys, Padma and Vince spread the story that Aunt Cynthia had told them. Rhys had expected to be laughed at and to have the legend disbelieved, especially given his reputation as a mischief maker. He was surprised – and worried – when almost everyone he spoke to accepted it instantly. A few of the older guests added their affirmation of the original tale.

After they had observed all of the reception formalities, the three friends found a moment to talk quietly.

“We need to find the new Heart of The Tree, guys,” Rhys said.

Vince shook his head. “If only it was that easy. There’s the bloke she’s supposed to marry that we need to find, too. I haven’t noticed any strangers in town that stand out, and in a couple of weeks we’ll be knee-deep in tourists. How do we find the right guy and then make sure the two of them get hitched?”

Padma frowned at the two boys. “This won’t be an arranged marriage, people. Even if you find the right pair, they still have to fall in love. Pushing them together might just ruin the whole thing. By all means, try to work out who they are. But don’t shove them together; you just might drive them apart.”

“Okay,” Rhys conceded, raising his hands. “But just to let you know, I think it’s the ‘pedia.”

“Karen Christian?” Vince asked, before pausing to consider Rhys’s suggestion. “Yeah, it could be. She’s pretty well driven off all the eligible guys. I don’t think anyone’s been game to ask her out for more than a year.”

“Just because she doesn’t have a boyfriend doesn’t mean she’s in despair of finding love,” Padma said. “In my chats with her, I’ve seen that she’s got her heart set on going to Sydney to become a doctor. Her focus is on that, not on finding a boyfriend. With her brains, she should get into medicine without a problem.”

“Maybe she’s just focused on that because she can’t find anyone,” Rhys suggested. When Padma looked ready to argue, he held up both hands, as if to ward her off. “Okay, it’s only an idea. We don’t know who it is, but Karen has to be a candidate.”

“I’ll accept that, but I really don’t think it’s her,” Padma said.

“If we can’t find the guy, it doesn’t even matter who the girl is,” Vince said. “How’re we going to do that?”

“Aunt Cynthia married the best friend of the guy who died. Maybe we need to find the best friend of this dead stranger,” Rhys observed.

Padma shook her head. “Too simplistic. Plus, in Aunt Cynthia’s case, Andrew Boyle arrived with Bruce Yendo. To the best of our knowledge, this guy came alone.”

“Transport is easier today than it was then. The stranger’s friend could’ve been here and gone,” Vince said, making a face. “If that’s the case, then we’re sunk before we start.”

“We have to be optimistic,” Rhys said. “If the guy’s not here now, he will be. All that we need to do is to get him and her together.” Glancing at Padma, he added, “without pushing them, but just letting things take their course. Finding the two of them will be the hardest part.”

Rhys stared challengingly at the other two. “Are you in?”

Padma and Vince exchanged looks before turning back to Rhys. “We’re in.”

* * *

Rhys pulled into the driveway. He’d managed to get his keys back from his dad when he pointed out he didn’t have any other way of getting to work, but his dad had made him walk to the police station to pick them up.

It had been another boring day at The Mourton Wineries. The real tourist season wouldn’t start for another week, when things would get busy in the cellar’s sales. He’d spent the day fielding comments from his co-workers about Peter and Joanna and where they’d gone for their honeymoon. Rhys had told them the only thing he knew: they had flown to Cairns. He thought they’d be heading out to one of the islands in the Great Barrier Reef, but he wasn’t sure.

As he got off his bike, he noticed his dad’s car wasn’t there. While that was out of the ordinary, it wasn’t exactly strange. It just meant that something unusual was going on, as his father always tried to get home in time for dinner with the family. Rhys put away his helmet and went inside.

“Hi, Mum!”

“Hi, Rhys! How was work today?”

He shrugged. “Boring, as usual. Things should pick up soon, but until then the main activity is gossiping.”

“Well, dinner will be late. Your dad rang to say he’s on the road back from Dubbo. We’ll eat when he gets home in an hour or so.”

“Okay.”

Rhys went to his room. Work really didn’t interest him. It was just a way of earning some extra money until he found out if he got into university. It had been slowly dawning on him over the last couple of weeks, since the year 12 class had finished school, how important that year had been. His occasional skipping of homework, because he didn’t see the point of it, could make the difference between whether he went to university with his friends or stayed behind as a failure. He had started making tentative plans to advance as a salesman at the winery, but that wasn’t a career that appealed to him. He was hoping inspiration would come along, or a dream job fall into his lap, but he wasn’t setting his heart on either.

He dropped onto his bed and kicked off his shoes. The time gap between the end of school and the release of exam results was a killer. Even after they got those results, the students would have to wait to find out which universities, if any, would offer them places. Guiltily, Rhys was pleased that the search for the new Heart of The Tree was something to take his mind off his future.

After getting changed, he went to the study and started going through the books on the shelves. He smiled as he found what he was looking for: a book on the local history. He’d never read it, but he was hoping it would give him more information on the legend of The Heart of The Tree. He knew without checking that there wouldn’t be anything on the Internet about the subject.

It was some time before Senior Sergeant Ernest Dresden stormed into the house. Seconds after closing the front door, he bellowed, “RHYS!”

Rhys looked up from his book and frowned. His dad sounded furious, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong that day. Normally, when his dad yelled at him he at least could guess why. He put down the book, which, while interesting, didn’t seem to contain anything pertaining to his search subject, and headed out to see his dad.

Uncertain as to what was going on, Rhys entered the living room. His dad was pacing back and forth, like a bull preparing to charge. Ernest Dresden stopped when he caught sight of his son.

“SIT!” He pointed at a chair.

Rhys dropped into the indicated seat. Instead of keeping eye contact with his dad, as he normally would, he looked around nervously. Something wasn’t right. He saw his mum standing in the doorway from the kitchen, staring wide-eyed at her husband.

“You are, without a doubt, the most difficult, obnoxious, infuriating and downright disrespectful son a father could ever have.”

“Dad…” Rhys tried to interrupt.

“SILENCE!” Mr. Dresden bellowed.

Rhys’s mouth dropped open. That was not the way his dad did things. His dad’s pride in trying to stay cool and rational despite provocation was something Rhys often tried to take advantage of, and he was rattled by the change. His mind raced as he tried to work out what it was that he’d done, but it came up with nothing. He couldn’t even come up with any past misdemeanour that he thought he’d gotten away with that might’ve provoked his dad’s tirade.

“You will sit there silently until I am finished. You will not say a thing and you will not move a muscle. You will pay attention and you will listen to everything I have to say. UNDERSTAND?”

Rhys nodded his head. Even without the injunction to say nothing, he doubted he’d be able to make more noise than a humiliated squeak.

“Good! As I was saying, you have done more to give me grey hairs than my job has ever done. You show no respect for the law, or me. You deliberately flout it every time you step over the line, just daring me to appear like an uncaring father before the entire town.

“I’m looking forward to the coming years when you’re off to university in Dubbo. I’ll be able to rely on my friends in the police force there to keep me informed of whatever holes you’ve dug for yourself. You won’t be able to manipulate them like you do me, and you’re going to get a huge shock when you realise that. I’m hoping to be able to come around, smile, and tell you that you’re an adult and you have to learn to live with the consequences of your actions.

“When you finally leave Mourton for good, and I can start to dream of having some peace and quiet, I fully expect to find myself dragged off to god-knows-where to bail you out of whatever disaster you have inserted yourself into. This family’s good name will be destroyed and your mother and I will be spending the last days of our lives visiting you in a procession of prison cells.”

He paused and looked down at his son. “Despite all of that,” he continued in a suddenly gentle tone, “you are my son and I will love you as such for the rest of my life. There is nothing, nothing, that you could ever do that would make me disown you. I promise you that, and I hope you know that your mum and I care for you now and always will. It doesn’t matter if you end up in prison, if you work as a male stripper, if you become a hippy, or even turn queer. You’re our son and we’ll always love you.”

He turned away and started to rub his hands together. “Now, let’s have some dinner. I’ve had a long drive and I’m starving.”

Rhys just stared at his dad. He was stunned again when his dad stopped by his mum, pulled her close, gave her a quick kiss, and said, “I love you.” His dad just didn’t do those sorts of things. His mum looked shell-shocked.

Rising slowly to his feet, he shook his head in disbelief. Something had happened, but there was no point in wondering about it. He would try to question his dad during the meal and hope he’d give a straight answer.

Dinner that night was quiet. Rhys watched his dad make small talk, but detected an undercurrent of anger that he was loath to let loose. He was lucky. It was his mum who triggered it off.

“How was your trip to Dubbo, dear?”

Mr. Dresden scowled and looked down at his empty plate. “I have never met a worse excuse for a human being, and I’ve known some real lowlifes. I was ready to throttle the guy! I had to walk out to stop myself from doing something I’d regret later. Not that I’d regret beating him to within an inch of his life, but I’d never forgive myself for getting fired over that scum.”

“Who was he, Dad? A drug dealer?” One value Rhys shared whole-heartedly with his father was his opposition to drugs and those that push them.

His dad dismissed that idea with a wave of his hand. “No, this was the so-called father of that young man who died under The Tree.”

Rhys leaned forward, eager for news. The man who’d died was still a mystery as far as most of the town was concerned. No one even knew his name.

Rhys’s interest must’ve been written clearly on his face. His dad stared across the table at him for a moment, and then sighed. “Okay, you can have the details.”

Ernest Dresden scratched his head, wondering where to start.

“Let’s see. His name was Gary Ross. He was a student at the university in Dubbo, but his family lives on a small farm a few hours east. I went back to the morgue to be there when his father went in identify the body.

“I hate being in that place at the best of times, but this was the worst. Firstly, the guy shows up late. Then when I try to be polite, he just says he’s come to see the piece of shit and let’s get it over and done with.

“I’ve seen some callous people in my life, but this guy takes the cake. He walked in, looked down at the body, said ‘Yep, that’s him,’ and then started to leave. I asked him about arrangements for the body to be sent home and he told me that we found the body, so that makes it our problem. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He told me he may have been the father at one point in time, but as far as he was concerned, that thing on the slab was no son of his. That’s when I walked out. When I returned, he’d gone back to whatever hole he crawled out of.”

Mrs. Dresden spoke up. “Did he say why he was like that?”

Her husband shook his head. “No, but I’ve seen it before. It could be anything from objecting to a girlfriend to an argument about inheritance.” He looked over at Rhys and added, “Farmers can be really funny at times, Rhys. Your friend Vince is a good example. He’s probably not told you, but if he goes to university next year, his dad may end up losing the farm. That’s the sort of thing that can split a family and make them say things that should never be said.”

Rhys was surprised. He knew Vince had been evasive on the subject of going to university in Dubbo, but he’d taken that to mean he wasn’t confident that he’d have the marks to get in. He never considered the possibility that Vince’s family couldn’t afford for him to go. As with many things, it was obvious in hindsight. Vince’s dad was becoming arthritic and unable to do as much as he had been accustomed to doing. Vince was unpaid labour, and if he left, they might have to sell up or hire someone to work the farm.

“So, what ended up happening with the young man’s body?”

Mr. Dresden looked across at his wife and made a face. “That was the bit that got me in the end. Since the father refused to take the body, the local hospital said that it was a police problem. I spoke to my superior in town and ended up making the two-hour trip back from Dubbo with a dead body in the back of the van. It’s over at the clinic until we decide what to do with it.

“Mike was with me and the idiot kept making off-colour jokes about stiffs, until I threatened to pull over and make him walk back. That just capped off the day for me.”

“Did they ever find out how he died?” Rhys asked, crossing his fingers beneath the table. His dad didn’t normally talk about things like that at the dinner table, but he was in an odd mood; he might make an exception.

It was only Rhys’s years of practise at looking innocent under his dad’s gaze that stopped him from flinching at the glare he received following his question. He was about to look away and effectively concede the contest, but his dad dropped his eyes first.

“There was lots of medico gobbledegook that works out as he’s dead because he died. They have the reason for death – his heart stopped – but they couldn’t work out a cause.”

He looked up at his son. “I know why you’re asking. You kids have a bee in your bonnet about this Heart of The Tree rubbish. Okay. Yeah, he might’ve died of a broken heart. Happy now? He’s still dead,” he said, scowling at his son.

Rhys dropped his eyes, shamefaced. In his eagerness to find the two people who’d cure the tree, he’d forgotten the tragedy that had started it all.

* * *

The Dresden family was relaxing in the living room after dinner. The TV was on, but no one was paying attention to it. Rhys had gone back to reading the book he’d started earlier. His dad was reading the newspaper and his mum was knitting.

When they heard a knock at the door, Rhys jumped up and answered it.

“Aunt Cynthia!” he said in surprise, stepping forward to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Come on in.”

“Thanks, Rhys,” she said, smiling as she entered the house. “I’m here to see your dad.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No, but it’s work-related, unfortunately.”

Rhys frowned as he followed her into the living room. She hadn’t returned to her normal, cheerful self as before the wedding.

“Aunt Cynthia. To what do we owe this honour?” Ernest said, as he rose to his feet and offered his seat.

“Thank you, Ernest,” she replied as she lowered herself carefully into the chair. “I’ve got something I need to discuss with you.”

“Should we go to the study to talk in private?”

“No need,” she said, waving a hand. “This won’t take long.”

Cynthia looked around the room, letting her gaze rest longest on Rhys, before returning to his father.

“I understand that you have to organise the burial of the poor young man who died last week.”

“That’s right, and they won’t give me any extra money for it, so whatever I do will be cheap and nasty.” The regret in his voice was clear. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he didn’t have a lot of choice.

“Forget that. You organise it, but I’m paying for it,” Aunt Cynthia said.

“What? You don’t have to do that.” Ernest started to say something else, but was cut off.

“It is my choice, and yes, I do have to do it. The young man deserves a decent burial, and if the penny-pinchers in Dubbo won’t pay for it, I will. No argument!”

“Now, Aunt Cynthia…”

“That’s enough, Ernest,” she interrupted, leaning forward. “I have the money and this is something I want to do. You’ve already said that the police won’t pay for it, so you don’t have any option.”

Before he could say anything more, she settled back and continued as if the matter was closed.

“Now, I have some details from Mike for the headstone, but I thought I should double-check with you. His name was Gary Ross, is that right? One ‘r’ in Gary?”

Ernest nodded his head. He knew that she was going to get her own way and that he might as well make life easy for himself by helping and not hindering.

“Born 1983. Died 2005. Do you have anything I can use as an epitaph?”

“Sorry, no. I don’t know that much about him.”

“Hmmm. I’ll work something out.”

As she started to push herself out of the chair, Rhys jumped forward to help.

“Thanks, dear,” she said to Rhys, before turning her attention back to his dad. “I’ll get it organised. Let me know when the service will be. I think it should be as soon as possible. That poor boy deserves his rest.

“I’ll leave you, now. You have a lot of things to get ready. Don’t get up; Rhys can see me out,” she added as Rhys’s parents started to clamber out of their chairs.

“Bye, Aunt Cynthia,” Ernest Dresden said in a bemused tone.

“Bye,” his wife added.

Aunt Cynthia stopped after she’d stepped outside and looked over her shoulder at Rhys. Taking the hint, Rhys joined her and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you, Rhys, for everything you’ve done and for all the things you’re planning on doing.”

Rhys was surprised. “What do you mean?”

She smiled and reached over to pat his hand. “You’re going to find The Heart of The Tree and her beau. I have faith in you and your friends. Feel free to use my shop for any meetings you want to have. I’ll get keys to you all so you can meet up even when I’m not there.”

“Thanks,” Rhys said. “But, why?”

She sighed and looked away. “You don’t understand, and I hope you never will, but whoever she is, she needs help in the biggest possible way. I can’t do it, so you young people will have to do it for her. I’ll do whatever I can, but the fate of two people is in your hands.”

As Aunt Cynthia looked up at Rhys, light from the nearby streetlamp reflected brightly off her eyes.

“Don’t think this is about The Tree. This is about a young girl who’s dying inside and the young man who can save her.” She grabbed Rhys’s hands. “Find them, Rhys, please. They need help.”

With that, she let go and shuffled off. Her normally light walk had been replaced by that of an elderly woman who was weighed down by some unimaginable burden.