It was only 7 am yet the light was harsh, as if the sun were closer to the earth out here in the bush. With vague thoughts of returning to the cool of the homestead she turned her shirt collar up and pulled the cap low over her face. The walk would do her good before the engulfing heat forced her indoors for the remainder of the day. The road from the homestead led past the work shed and the clump of trees where Sonia had pulled up in the sedan to talk to the rider yesterday. The ground was cracked, the soil loose beneath her boots. She envisaged the ground shrinking as each gust of wind lifted the topsoil and carried it away. Sleep had come intermittently during the night. The excitement of finding the account for her grandfather’s two commissioned works had kept her awake: were these works part of the forty landscapes the family knew about, or were they undiscovered paintings or sketches? Madeleine mulled over the cryptic name written on the unsent account: Miss C.
