Authors: Joyce Dingwell
‘So,’ he said very slowly, reading her enchantment, ‘you, too.’
She looked up and he was smiling at her. She was glad that he did not choose this moment to remind her that never,
never,
was she to take Jason along the river unless someone else came with them.
She launched a bark boat, slithered in a pebble ducks and drakes style, which he promptly beat by skithering in a much longer travelling stone, then, the sun slipping away and the swallows breaking up their necklace, she turned back with him to the house.
‘About meals,’ he said. ‘Until the sonno gets the feel of things I think you two should eat together.’
‘Should I eat anywhere else at any time?’ she asked correctly.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he answered irritably, his river mood so completely gone it might never have been there at all, ‘where do you think you are, a baronial mansion?’
‘Not all the places I worked at did I eat with the family.’
‘Here we all eat at the one table. Not the stockmen, they like their own mess, and of course the shearers when they arrive are catered for, but Mrs. Campbell, Bill, Dick my bookkeeper, Jim the fencer, the jackeroos, anyone who comes in. It’s seldom it’s not a big board, and that’s why I thought it would be better for the boy not to face up to too much too soon.’
‘I agree, but I think
—
’
‘Yes, Miss Peters?’
She wanted to say, ‘I think that you, as his father, should begin to have a closer association with your son
than you do now.’ But he had told her, and shown her, that it was none of her business, so she said instead, ‘I think he won’t be eating with anyone tonight.’
‘Tuckered out, eh? Well then, we can expect you.
’
‘I didn’t mean to say it for that. I mean I’m quite content to eat by myself.’
‘You’ll be a deal more trouble,’ he said abruptly. ‘Dinner is at seven. You’ll hear the bell.’
One could have heard it, she thought later, getting up from the window seat where she had been gazing out watching the night shadows fold over the river until it looked like dark plush, half a mile away. But perhaps that was the purpose. She had noticed some small buildings near a copse of trees some distance from the house and been told by
Burn
West it was the bookkeeper’s stronghold as well as the fencer’s quarters. Probably the loud clangour was to bring them, too, to the dining board.
She had changed into a cool dull gold linen. Her colouring was golden and she knew it suited her. She took another look at the sleeping Jason, then went down the hall to where the clatter
o
f plates and ring of cutlery told her the evening meal was
b
eing served.
On her exploration earlier she had not seen this room. It proved ample; it led from an adjoining kitchen and it led again on to one of the wide verandahs. Handy, she thought, for spillovers when the company was large. There was no furniture at all in the room itself except the huge table, the chairs and several large, rather old-fashioned sideboards.
The food was stacked on the sideboards and the diners were helping themselves. Bill Furness saw Frances and came forward with a welcoming smile.
‘Join the hungry locusts,’ he greeted her. ‘This lean and ravishing one is Dick our bookie, this is Jim our fencer and carpenter, these two pink-faced juveniles
—
’
‘Nix on that,’ came in one of the ‘pink juveniles’, ‘you’re only out of coll yourself a few months.’
‘Terry, Toby, jackeroos.’ Bill ignored him. ‘You know Mrs. Campbell. Also, smiling at the kitchen door is our most valued member, good old Cook. Those two minis beside her are Dawn and Sandra, and they’re the reason why Bookie here is always complaining about the potato bill—they peel them too thick.’
‘Surely you would grow your own,’ protested Frances.
‘Caught you out there, Bill,’ grinned the bookkeeper. ‘Yes, we do. Practically everything we eat is home-raised.’ He plopped carrot on the plate that Bill was filling for Frances and the two jackeroos helped her to the dishes that they were dealing with.
‘It’s a case of everyone look after everyone,’ explained Bill.
‘Then let me fix your plate,’ she offered.
‘That’s the style, only I’ve fixed it already. Here’s Burn. Fix his.’
Frances took up a plate and began piling it with everything she came to.
Burn
West stood beside her as she did so, holding her plate, then together they went to the big table and sat down.
‘Met everyone?’ He was taking up his knife and fork.
‘Yes. Oh dear
—
!’
‘What is
it?’
She was looking dismayed at her own plate. ‘It’s such a lot.’
‘You’ll find you need it here,’ he advised. ‘Try and see how far you can get, anyway. I think you’ll surprise yourself. Mrs. Fanning is an excellent cook, one of the
best.’
Frances said, ‘And you insist on the best, don’t you?’
‘Angling for a compliment, Miss Peters?’
‘No, of course not, I mean ... well, I meant that when I was given this job Miss Clegg said that you—well
—
’
‘Miss Clegg was right.’ He was busy eating.
‘But sometimes surely you don’t get what you hope you’re getting.’
‘I never waste time hoping.’
‘Then what you
intended
to get.’
‘It can happen, but it doesn’t happen
long.
Pass the bread, please.’
‘What do you do, then?’
‘You’re persistent, aren’t you? I direct “out”. Butter, Miss Peters.’
Frances turned her attention to her meal. This man obviously chose when and where for discussions, and now was neither the when or where. She accepted a large dessert from Toby ... or was it Terry? ... and when she turned from thanking him found that the boss had skipped sweets and gone.
The meal over, she accepted an invitation from the jackeroos to listen to some records. She sat till she found her eyes growing heavy, said she would not wait till coffee and went to her own room. She checked on Jason, who was still out to it, bathed, stood once more at the window a while but seeing nothing now, only sensing the moving water, hearing the faint wash and ripple, breathing the river smell, then went to bed.
She was awakened by one of the girls with an early cup of tea, and she and Sandra chatted together until Jason gave a little out-of-sleep whimper and she went in to greet him.
He looked at her without recognition, but that was
to be expected, much had happened since the last time he had seen her. His bewildered gaze said clearly: ‘Who are you? Where is this place?’
She took her time with him, explaining how he had fallen asleep after the Dog on the Tuckerbox yesterday ... remember that, Jason? ... and not seen West of the River as they had.
‘Don’t want to,’ he scowled.
‘It’s beautiful, Jason.’
‘Nothing,’ he said.
The mechanical dog diverted him, however, and she took the opportunity of his fresh absorption with the toy to get him up on his poor little feet and into a gown. While he still wound up the dog she manoeuvred him to the window.
‘Look, Jason,’ she said.
He wouldn’t at first, then surreptitiously he peeped at it. As it had won her, immediately it won him.
‘Is there fish in it? Can I go in that little red boat? Can I make a dam? Can I build a bridge? Can I
—
’
‘Yes. Everything you can, my pet. But bath first, and then clothes.’
He was so eager for the river, he agreed. It took a long time, but eventually he was ready for breakfast. Mrs. Campbell brought in a tray and set a table by the window so he could still watch the river. He watched it, smiled Frances fondly, almost as though it might run away from him. He was, as regarded the Murrumbidgee anyway, his father’s own son.
The meal was almost over when Burn West came in.
‘Good morning, Miss Peters. Hullo there, sonno.’ He touched the boy’s head.
Jason did not respond, but at least he did not say ‘Don’t care’ or ‘Nothing’ as Frances half expected.
Also, his attention was on the river, so his father should not be too affronted seeing he himself held the same thrall.
‘Can he go down there?’ Frances asked the man quietly.
‘We’ll take him later. First of all I’d like the doc to look him over. I rang last night for him to call this morning and have a talk with you, see the plates, get acquainted with the lad.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘but until the doctor comes can Jason
—
’
‘He’s here now. He has surgery today, so got West of the River over first. Come in, please, Doctor Muir.’
Frances was buttering toast for Jason, cutting it in mouthfuls so she could pop them in as he still gazed riverwards, so she didn’t look up at once. But when she did the piece of toast she had just buttered remained aloft. She stared incredulously.
Scott was in Sydney with the Meldrum practice. He was taking out expensive appendixes. Treating expensive nerves. He was married to Pam.
Only he wasn’t ... at least, anyway, he wasn’t in Sydney.
Scott was here.
CHAPTER THREE
It
would have taken a much less astute man than
Burn
West not to have sensed at once the instant recognition between them, between Frances and the young doctor, and
Burn
West was anything, Frances thought, but artless.
Whether Scott knew this or not, he made no attempt to pretend. He said simply, ‘I’ve met Nurse before,’ and turned his attention to Jason. But the burning awareness still remained there like a flag, it showed in Frances’ heightened colour, in the doctor’s too casual acknowledgement. Frances saw
Burn
West’s tightened lips.
Scott was talking with the boy and receiving the same treatment that Jason allotted to others: Don
’
t
care...
Nothing.’ But Scott had had a lot of experience in the children’s wards, he had been excellent with the young, Frances remembered, and presently Jason showed the doctor the wind-up dog.
They talked of it for a while, and Frances took the opportunity to remove the breakfast tray to the kitchen.
At the door
Burn
West took the tray from her.
‘No need, Nurse,’ he said laconically. They had reached the hallway by now. ‘You can get back to your patient.’ He did not highlight ‘patient’, but it emerged that way.
‘Mr. West, I
—
’
He held up his big hand. ‘No need for explanations, it was not one of my demands that you didn’t know
the attending doctor before you got the post.’
‘I didn’t know it was Scott,’ she stated.
‘That takes credence. A remote town some three hundred miles from Sydney!’
‘I still didn’t know.’
‘
A
ll
right
then, you didn’t know. But know this, Miss Peters, you’re here to attend Jason, not to carry on a romantic To Be Continued from the last chapter.’
‘I’m a nurse, Mr. West,’ she pointed out.
‘Remain one, Miss Peters, and there’ll be no argument.’
Without another word he brushed by her to the kitchen. She paused a while, then went back to Scott and the boy.
Typical of Scott, he was strictly professional for the next half-hour. He spoke to Jason, carefully inserting seemingly unconnected questions in the conversation the same as he had done shrewdly and often successfully in the younger wards in Sydney. But not successfully here. Jason either did not remember how he had received his injuries or chose not to remember. ‘Nothing’ was brought into stubborn use again.
They left him gazing at the river and winding up his dog and sat out of earshot while Frances produced the X-ray plates. Still Scott remained professional. But he was disturbed, as Frances had been, over the evidence she showed him. ‘These are bad breaks. Do you know any personal history?’
‘Nothing at all. I thought you might know something, being Mirramunna’s doctor.’ For the first time in the period of consultation Frances looked fully at Scott.
‘I haven’t been here a great time, and anyway, the child is new to Mirramunna, or so he told me.’ He did not look back at her yet.
‘Yes, but I thought you might have heard something ... encountered someone..
.’
‘I’ve been working all the time I’ve been here.’ Now he
did
look, and the look turned something over in Frances’ heart.
‘Scott
.
’ She had not meant to say it.
‘Fran.’ He had always given her that little name.
‘I didn’t know ... I had no idea you were here,’ she murmured.
‘And I had no idea you were coming. Where have you been all these months? I looked for you everywhere.’
‘I kept away from the Meldrum practice.’
‘But I never joined it.’
‘Then—then you didn’t marry Pam?’
‘Fran, I’ve been looking for you ever since ... it wouldn’t have worked out, going into the thi
ng like that, not after you and I ...
after
we
...’
‘There was nothing, Scott. You shouldn’t have let yourself miss an opportunity like that.’
‘It wouldn’t have worked on that basis,’ he said quietly but certainly, and looked back at the X-rays again.
It was from Scott that Frances had learned the little she did know of the X-ray process. He had been very interested in it, she remembered, had even thought of making it his career. He had taught her what to look for, the meaning of shadows cast by the denser material, the need for progressive rays to show whether the parts were mending in good position.
She was quiet now as he studied finger points that she did not understand. At length he put down the last of the records.
‘There are two comminuted fractures and one involving the blood vessels. I’m concerned more over
that last, Fran, but most of all I am anxious about other harm that might have been done. Injuries like these’ ... he tapped the records ... ‘are much more than physical misfortunes, they can lead to emotional damages as well.’
‘Poor little boy
!’
Frances sighed.
‘One thing,’ Scott smiled, ‘he couldn’t be in better hands. You always understood children, you’ll understand this small fellow.’
‘It’ll take time,’ she demurred.
‘So will that leg. We’ll heal the leg and the spirit together ... only it would make it easier for us if we knew some of the history.’
‘I rather think that making it easy for Jason is the whole thing that Mr. West is interested in.’
‘And rightly so,’ nodded Scott. ‘Actually we need no data, not when the evidence is there.’ He said it a little grimly, and Frances understood. It had always enraged Scott that a child should be called upon to suffer pain that might have been averted.
They went back to the little boy and the doctor spent a rather fruitless ten minutes trying to make friends. Because it was surgery, he could not spare any more time, so, saying goodbye to Jason and receiving no answer, he smiled to Frances and went to the door.
Burn
West was just coming in, and Frances could hear the two men talking.
‘I doubt if I’ve progressed far this morning,’ Scott admitted, ‘but there had to be a beginning.’
‘Yes, he’s a crazy mixed-up little cuss, I agree, but I rather gather there’s plenty of time ahead for getting acquainted.’
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘I want you to see a lot of him, for only in that way can you make any progress. I’m no medico, but I feel
it’s more than attention to that leg of his he needs.’
‘You’re right,’ Scott agreed, ‘so I’ll come out when I can.’
‘I think Jason should experience the surgery as well, after all he’ll have to attend there sometimes for further plates.’
‘That’s a very good idea,’ Scott agreed. Frances heard their steps receding and presently a car moved off.
She had rather supposed that after their few sharp words in the hall earlier
Burn
West would forget about taking Jason down to the river, but the big man returned at once.
‘Right, sonno, the Murrumbidgee awaits.’
The little boy took no notice until Frances translated, ‘The river, Jason, you’re going down to the river.’ Then his face lit up. As Burn West had not included her as he had previously Frances sat on until a curt, ‘Are you ready, Miss Peters?’ brought her to her feet.
On their way down
Burn
West deviated to the garages, where, putting Jason on his feet, he rolled up one of the shutters to display a neat mini-model car.
‘Yours, Miss Peters, I’ll give you the keys when we come back.’
‘It’s too good of you,’ she murmured.
‘I like to keep a contented staff, and I can’t expect content from you when on your time off you have to wait for a lift into town.’
‘It mightn’t be town.’ She was thinking of the little offshoots of tracks as they had come from Wagga Wagga and how they had attracted her as delightful roads to explore.
‘Also beyond credence,’ he said significantly, rolling down the shutter again. ‘There’s no friends like old friends, as the old song goes.’
‘Mr. West, I
—
’
Once more he held up that imperative hand of his, Jason secure on his shoulder. ‘Let it rest, Miss Peters, it’s none of my business, anyway. My business with you is entirely the boy. This car is for your personal relaxation so that you can come back to the job ready to do it as I want it done.’
‘The nursing, teaching—and guarding?’ she asked sharply.
‘That’s it,’ he said coolly. ‘Let’s go, sonno.’ He stepped riverwards again.
A little sulkily Frances followed, but by the time they reached the stream she forgot her resentment. She found herself asking eager questions about this part of the Murrumbidgee ... why did the water ripple slower here than further astream?
He pointed out that though they were on an offshoot of the river proper they were also on a kind of loop, which slowed up the flow.
‘We have another loop, a cut-off one that leads to nowhere and is only replenished by floods.’
‘That would be a billabong,’ she said.
‘Yes, the bill is aboriginal for river and the bong, or bung as it really is, for dead. Dead river. But it’s far from dead really. Frogs abound there. All kinds of interesting things.’ He said this to Jason. He went on to tell Frances that because of the slowed-up flow there was the possibility of alluvial gold. ‘Gold seldom remains where the flow is really rapid.’
To both Jason’s and Frances’ delight... but particularly Jason’s, as it was to emerge later ...
Burn
West took some equipment from a minute lean-to concealed in a copse of river oaks.
‘I keep these down here. Panning has always been a delight of mine.’
He took from the lean-to a battered gold dish, gold knife and an old corn bag on which he explained he would throw the silt on, then from his pocket he withdrew a folded newspaper sheet, tweezers and a tiny bottle.
‘Do you always carry these around?’ she asked.
‘They’re usually in my work pants, and if I’m by the river I try my luck.’
‘You evidently don’t expect much luck,’ said Frances, eyeing the size of the bottle.
He smiled tolerantly. ‘Know how much you’d have if you filled it?’
‘How much ?’ begged Jason, saucer-eyed.
‘A trip to the moon and back, sonno.’
‘In a rocket ship?’
‘Reckon so.’ The big man was probing the bottom of the watercourse now. The small boy and the girl watched fascinated as he placed dirt in the dish and proceeded to wash it. Round and round he manipulated it until the dish’s contents were reduced by half, then he turned it suddenly upside down on the co
rn
bag and looked at it carefully.
‘Gold, gold
!’
claimed Jason triumphantly, and pounced on a brassy pellet.
‘Sorry, sonno, it’s gold all right, but fool’s gold, iron pyrites. But here’s a tiny speck.’
Burn
took up the tweezers, removed the speck and put it in the jar. ‘You can see,’ he grinned, ‘that it will take a long time to fill it up.’
They sat by the river a while, its wash and ripple almost mesmerising Frances to sleep, but Jason was alert and keen to try his luck.
‘Not just yet, sonno,’ refused West. ‘That leg of yours isn’t up to managing soft banks and you could go for a drink.’
Jason’s lip dropped, but he responded after a while to a game of ducks and drakes, and when he actually skithered a flat stone for one bounce more than Frances managed to bounce, he seemed to forget the gold.
From the homestead came the clangour of the lunch bell, and Burn West returned the dolly pot and corn sack to the lean-to in the huddle of river oaks and hauled Jason into his arms again. As they made their way back to the house
Burn
said ... pleased ... to Frances, ‘It wasn’t too bad, was it? Present party I’m referring to. Perhaps I could introduce him to the dining-room after all. What do you think?’
‘No. You see’ ... a smile in Frances’ voice ... ‘he won’t be ready even for the tray by the window.’
‘Asleep again?’
‘It was quite a morning,’ she reminded him, ‘and he’s only a
lit
t
le
boy. I’ll just put him down as he is and let him eat when he wakes up.’
‘Then I’ll expect you along to the communal board.’ He carried Jason to his room where Frances covered him with an eiderdown, drew the blinds, then went to her own room to wash and brush up.
There were two extra for lunch, an agent to see
Burn
West and a travelling salesman to see the ladies of the house.
‘He has some beautiful things, Miss Peters,’ Sandra confided as she brought in the dishes and put them on the sideboard, ‘Melbourne things. I like them better for best wear than Sydney’s. Sydney has more fun gear, but Melbourne is dressier, I think.’
‘They’re fab,’ added Dawn. ‘You must have a look.’ Womanlike, Frances knew she could not have resisted looking, and, the meal over, the two young girls, Cook, Mrs. Campbell and Frances cloistered themselves in the sitting-room, the salesman kneeling on the floor and spilling out of his cases lengths of material, filmy blouses, knitted jumpers, up-to-date frocks
.
They all bought something, and the time fairly flew. Frances was as shocked as Cook was when Cook exclaimed, ‘Why, it’s afternoon tea and I’ve not made a scone! Just as well the cut and come again is only half eaten.’ She went bustling out with her length of grey crimplene that Frances had promised to help make over her arm.
Frances, too, got up, suddenly
.
.. and rather ashamedly ... aware of Jason. She put down her money for the stockings and slip she had purchased, then went to her room and put them away.
Still no wake-up whimper from Jason’s room. Poor little boy, he must have exhausted himself this morning. She took a book and sat by the window and waited for him. Soon, she thought, as well as nursing him I must begin to teach
Jason.
She found herself looking forward to teaching him, for after all teaching had been her chosen career. Also, there was a bright little brain here, she felt sure of it, and a quite surprising imagination. France, indeed! Berne!