Dissonance by Stephen Orr Page B

explained. ‘That’s what Herr Schaedel thinks of your grandson.’
    â€˜But why didn’t you tell us?’ Grace asked.
    â€˜I had to be sure.’ She looked at her parents. It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. ‘Well?’ she asked.
    â€˜It’s wonderful, for Erwin,’ Grace conceded.
    â€˜Dad?’
    â€˜Wonderful …’
    â€˜But …?’
    â€˜It’s a big move, for a boy.’
    â€˜He’s not a boy, he’s nearly a man. And anyway, if you haven’t been noticed by seventeen it’s all over.’
    They sat together for another minute and no one said a word. At last Sam asked, ‘How will you afford it?’
    Madge shrugged. ‘I’ll have to sell God’s Hill Road.’
    Sam sat up. ‘You can’t do that. What will you return to?’
    â€˜If he’s not a success,’ Madge explained, ‘then we can’t come back.’
    â€˜What the hell does that mean?’ her father asked, shaking his head.
    â€˜Do you want us to return with our tail between our legs?’
    â€˜Madge, stop this silliness. You can’t uproot the boy – ’
    â€˜It’s decided.’
    Sam slammed his hand down on the smoker’s table. ‘He’s a boy!’
    â€˜No.’
    Silence again. Madge stared at her father with a grin. He knew the look. It was Grace’s look. There was no point arguing when she’d decided. And now his daughter had become a Cruikshank print – with every line, expression, shadow and mood just as real as the original.
    â€˜It’s decided,’ Madge repeated.
    â€˜Well, you can’t sell the house,’ Sam insisted. ‘You might think this is all very noble and heroic, but the chances are you’ll need to return, sometime.’
    Madge shook her head. ‘When Erwin returns to Adelaide,’ she explained, ‘he’ll buy us a mansion at Torrens Park. For his holidays, when he’s not in Europe.’
    Sam dropped his head and sighed. ‘Madge …’
    â€˜I won’t return to the Valley.’
    Sam looked at his wife as if to say, This is your doing. You filled her head with silliness. I wanted her out on a horse, but you knew better. That damn piano. And look where it’s got us. Why didn’t you teach her to cook a roast? Then she would’ve got a husband, a dozen kids, a decent home and happiness.
    â€˜What?’ Grace asked, looking back at him.
    â€˜What do you think?’
    â€˜If she’s made up her mind.’
    â€˜About the house?’
    She shrugged. ‘If that’s what it takes. Believe it or not, Erwin might have a chance. He’s very good, Samuel.’
    â€˜I know he’s good,’ he blurted, ‘but so are a million others.’
    â€˜A few hundred perhaps,’ Madge conceded. ‘But that’s why we have to go, to narrow it down. How many years was it until a Bray Hereford won a prize?’
    â€˜What’s that got to do with anything?’
    â€˜You had to breed those animals for years.’ Madge looked at a row of ribbons hanging high on the wall. ‘Nineteen twelve,’ she said. ‘You’d been at it for twenty years.’
    â€˜Erwin is not a Hereford.’
    â€˜It’s the same thing.’
    â€˜It’s not.’ He slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. ‘Go on, take him to Hamburg, get it out of your system, but you can’t sell the house.’
    â€˜I have no choice.’
    Sam stared at her. He had no idea that Killalah had already been leased. He was a simple, honest man who still believed his daughter was the girl he’d tucked into bed thirty years before. Grace knew better, but never said anything; that would be like opening herself up to her husband. Even in marriage there were small, sinewy strands that had to be hidden.
    â€˜How else can I get the money?’ she asked her