Amy's Touch (32 page)

Oh God, the nearest doctor was in Hawker—and, in the fastest car, that was a three and a half hour round trip from Gindaroo!

T
he first thing to do was not to panic, Amy told herself, though her hands were shaking and she could feel the muscles around her throat tightening with the desire to give way to tears.
Get help
. Years of training came to the fore and she galvanised herself into action, calling for Sarah, Rebekkah and Rosemary to lend a hand. In minutes they had David on a canvas stretcher; fortunately there was an empty bed in the ward.

‘Sarah, phone Dr Franks in Hawker. Tell him what’s happened and get some instructions on what to do until he arrives.’ But she already knew the most they could do for her father was make him comfortable, and pray that the damage done to his heart wasn’t too serious and that it would repair itself. Sarah nodded and rushed off to the telephone in the hospital’s foyer.

‘Are you all right?’ Rebekkah asked Amy.

‘No, I’m not, but I’ll manage.’ Amy turned away and blinked furiously several times to push back tears. Her father was desperately ill; he could die.
Noooo
, she wasn’t going to let that happen. She needed him too much and she wanted her child to have at least one grandparent.

‘I want one of you to take turns in observing him. Check his pulse, heart and breathing every half-hour.’ She glanced at Rosemary. The nurse-in-training was, on occasions, something of a scatterbrain and boy crazy, but she also had a fondness for Amy’s father so she could be trusted to watch over him. ‘Rosemary, you take the first shift. If there’s any change, come and tell me immediately.’

Amy wasn’t sure how she got through the next few hours, waiting on tenterhooks for Dr Franks to arrive, all the while trying to behave normally. It wasn’t until Dot Quinton poked her head around the ward doorway that she remembered the Country Women’s League meeting. It was due to start in an hour’s time. She gave the paperwork and the meeting’s agenda to Dot and asked Dot to chair it on her behalf.

Randall arrived at the hospital before Dr Franks did, and somehow just seeing him calmed Amy’s nerves. Him putting his big, strong arms around her was a comfort too.

‘What can I do to help?’ he asked.

‘Just being here helps,’ she replied, gaining strength from his presence. ‘The patients are due for their evening cups of tea before we dim the lights. We’re a little short-handed. Could you…?’

‘Of course. Point me in the direction of the kitchen and I’ll see to it.’

By the time Dr Franks arrived Amy’s father had regained consciousness, but he was in considerable pain. He was able to talk and describe his symptoms, which helped the examining doctor enormously. Franks proclaimed David a fortunate man: the heart attack was serious but did not appear to be extensive, and only time, as he convalesced, would tell if permanent damage had been done.

‘With rest, relaxation and good food your father should recover nicely,’ Dr Franks told Amy after they’d settled their patient.

‘I told him he was doing too much,’ Amy whispered. ‘You know, Dr Franks, the town and surrounding district have grown a good deal, and we can’t do without a doctor. We need to get someone as soon as possible, to work his practice and attend hospital cases. My father won’t be able to work for weeks, maybe months.’

Dr Franks’s expression showed that he agreed. ‘As luck would have it, I know a good physician I’d be prepared to recommend. He’s young, not much older than you, Amy. His name is Gavin Pearce. He’s single, and as yet has no firm medical commitments in Adelaide. Getting experience in a country practice would be good for him. Would you like me to make the initial contact, sound him out, so to speak?’

Amy realised that she was the one who had to make the decision, even though it concerned her father’s practice, but she was sure the hospital’s governing board would go along with Dr Franks’s recommendation. ‘Please do, and thank you so much for coming. My father’s housekeeper, Meg, has prepared a room for you to stay in at Primrose Cottage overnight.’

‘Very thoughtful of you. I know Primrose Cottage well. Dr Samuel and I used to have reciprocal visits several times a year. I’ll be comfortable there. I’ll call on David again early tomorrow, before I make my way back to Hawker.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You, my girl, should get some rest—you have the baby to think of.’

Amy saw Dr Franks to the hospital’s foyer then went back to the ward to supervise settling the patients down for the night, after which Randall joined her in the barely adequate nurses’ room at the end of the ward.

‘You’re exhausted. Come home and get a good night’s rest,’ he suggested, on seeing her sitting with her elbows on the table and her face supported by her hands. ‘Remember the baby. I don’t want you making yourself ill with worry.’

‘I’m staying here,’ she said. Her tone brooked no discussion. ‘Sarah’s set up a collapsible bed in the operating room. I’ll sleep there, so I’ll be close if I’m needed during the night.’

Randall frowned at her and said in an equally direct manner, ‘You know there’s nothing more you can do for your father. It’s in God’s hands now whether he survives or not.’

‘You don’t need to remind me of that,’ she snapped at him, short-tempered because of her tiredness and concern for her father. ‘I have to be here and that’s all there is to it.’

Grudgingly, Randall accepted her decision, but his expression betrayed the fact that he wasn’t in favour of it. ‘All right. I understand, love. I’ll take a room at the Royal. See you in the morning.’ He kissed the top of her head and left.

It wasn’t until she had settled as comfortably as she could manage on the narrow collapsible bed that Amy gave way to tears. They flowed and flowed, until finally exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep.

Dr Gavin Pearce, an earnest young man with sandy-coloured hair, tall and skinny as a whippet, according to Meg, arrived at Gindaroo within the week to take over the reins of David Carmichael’s practice. Amy’s father’s recovery was slow, due to the fact that he’d become run down physically and mentally before the heart attack, and it wasn’t long before Amy realised that Dr Pearce, while he was brilliant in regard to the theory of medicine, had only been practising for eighteen months and thus lacked experience. It would take diplomacy and skill on her part to ease him into becoming a good all-round country doctor.

Spring came and went, as did Christmas, which, for the first time in many years, was truly celebrated at Drovers Way, with Meg and Jim doing the cooking. Amy, seeing her father’s improvement, his growing friendship with Gavin, felt a sense of relief. Gavin could, for as long as her father needed him to, do the lion’s share of the practice and hospital work, with her father adopting more of an advisory role in the management of both.

Summer was fierce that year in the Flinders, the heat almost unbearable day and night. Creeks virtually dried up, water in the earth dams evaporated to muddy puddles, and recently sown fields of wheat withered in the harsh weather. However, in spite of nature’s vagaries, Randall and Amy’s life at Drovers would have been perfect except for one person—Bill Walpole. His continuing feud against Randall also extended to Amy, with Ingleside’s owner using every means at his disposal—political influence, money, bribery, and strong-arm tactics towards those working on the site—to thwart the completion of the Mabel Ellis Sports Field. The opening date was scheduled for 26 March 1926, a few weeks before the McLean baby was due.

Amy saw that Bill’s ongoing ‘war’ was having a detrimental effect on Randall, frustrating and irritating him to the point that at times he was as cranky as a bull without a herd of young heifers to service. Finding money for the basics, to make improvements to stock and for property maintenance, was a continual problem—and deep down the sadness of being estranged from Danny remained, though through the occasional letter to Joe they knew he was doing remarkably well with his island trading business. His letters said he had purchased another ship, similar in size to the
Geraldine
, to increase his business, and renamed it
Amy’s Rainbow
. She had been touched by him remembering the evening they’d watched the rainbow form and disperse in Braddon Park.

Danny had bought property too: a coconut and pineapple plantation on one of the smaller Fijian islands. Amy smiled and shook her head in amazement as she thought about him. Who would have thought her Danny—she still thought of him as hers, but in a platonic way—would become as successful as he was?

She felt a deep-seated need to establish contact with Danny. She wanted to know if he was happy and if he’d found someone to share his life with, but Randall had been adamant about not doing so. Sometimes a rebellious thought popped into her head as she prepared
vegetables for dinner. Her husband could be uncommonly stubborn. What if Danny never chose to make contact with them again? But what if she wrote to Danny secretly? She knew that Joe, lazy man that he was, never bothered to reply to Danny’s letters, and surely Randall’s brother was curious to know how they were faring at Drovers Way. However, if she wrote, and it was a big if, Randall would be angry with her, and would possibly not forgive her for doing so.

As she worked automatically, frying steak and onions and cooking three different vegetables for dinner on the antiquated but efficient fuel stove, her thoughts went to and fro as to whether she should risk annoying Randall to satisfy her own need to re-establish contact with his brother. Teetering from one point of view to the other, she found it impossible to decide, so, for the present, she would do nothing.

Later, standing near the sink to cut wedges of rhubarb and apple pie for Randall, Jim and Mike, a stabbing pain hit low in Amy’s stomach. The pain was so strong it took her breath away and the knife dropped to the floor. Then she felt a trickle of moisture run down between her legs. Her waters had broken! Oh, no! The baby was coming—early.

Gripping the sink in preparation for the next contraction, her voice was remarkably calm as she said to Randall, ‘You’d better call Winnie.’ Her friend had become the unofficial midwife of Gindaroo. ‘And Meg. The baby’s coming!’

Meg and Winnie arrived at Drovers in double-quick time, driven there by Amy’s father. Winnie took control, ordering Jim and Mike to keep Randall occupied. Because Amy had prepared the birthing necessities, Winnie’s job was made much easier.

Katherine Marie McLean, a rather large eight-pound baby, was born the next afternoon, after a twenty-hour labour. The birth was straightforward, and Winnie and Meg were able to report to those interested that mother and baby were both doing well.

As Amy cradled the baby in her arms, Randall, watching his wife’s joyous, absorbed expression, was thankful that the labour had, according to Winnie, gone without any complications. For a moment or two his eyes misted as he gazed at the newest member of the McLean family. Smiling as he sat on the side of the bed to take Kate in his arms for the first time, he thought, Can life get any better than this…?

A
month after Kate was born the weather turned on a perfect day for the opening ceremony of the Mabel Ellis Sports Field by the town’s mayor, to coincide with Gindaroo’s first country show. There were the usual speeches. Byron Ellis talked about his mother’s generosity, and Amy spoke about how people had rallied and supported the building work, some with labour, others with donations. Then the recently elected mayor, Clem Yarborough, praised the undertaking and unveiled the bronze memorial plaque, which had been bolted to a huge rock at the entrance to the field.

The sports field itself was a festive scene. Automobiles, trucks and horses and carts were parked around the oval and along Queen Street. The new oval was adorned with colourful stalls that displayed a wide variety of produce for sale, from all kinds of cakes, pickled vegetables, jams and jars of wild honey, to handmade lace and clothes and bric-a-brac. Cattle and sheep judging, as well as sheepdog trials, were being conducted in a roped-off section, and there were stalls with games to play and prizes to win.

‘Gindaroo’s not seen anything like this,’ Randall, who was carrying baby Kate, said as he and Amy walked around. ‘It looks as if almost everyone in the district has turned out for the day. With two notable exceptions: Bill and Margaret Walpole.’

‘Yes, but Joe’s here. I saw him as we came in.’ Amy smiled up at Randall and the baby. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to see how we’ve brought
people together, and that they’re enjoying themselves, even in tough times.’

‘Thanks to you.’

She shook her head as she took Kate from him. ‘I didn’t do it alone, you know. There’s been a good deal of help from so many women, and a few men.’ She spied Byron with his wife, Harriet, talking to a group of people. ‘I think Byron’s getting a big kick out of having his mother remembered in this way.’

‘Do you mind if I go and check out the sheep and cattle? Drought or no drought, I’d like to see how Drovers’ stock stacks up against other properties.’

‘Go ahead. I want to look at the cake competition. Meg has an entry.’ Amy waved him away and, cuddling four-week-old Kate to her, she continued to browse from stall to stall. Many people stopped to congratulate her and have a look at the baby, including Christine Cummings, who was trying in vain to keep her noisy twin boys under control. Part of the oval had been roped off for those who wanted to picnic and several families sat on colourful woollen rugs, munching their lunches and drinking tea from their flasks.

Winnie came up to Amy, a beaming smile on her face. ‘I think we can claim that today is a great success. I’ve spoken to quite a few people’—working at the Royal Hotel she knew many who came in for a beer or a meal—‘and they’ve said what a good time they’re having.’ Her smile widened. ‘We might be able to make the show an annual event.’

‘That’s a good idea, but it would take a lot of organising,’ Amy replied, then added, ‘I saw Jonathon at one of the stalls. He appears fully recovered from his accident.’

‘Thank goodness.’ A frown flitted across Winnie’s forehead, ‘but between you and me, I’m a little concerned about Rebekkah.’

‘Why? She’s doing well at the hospital. She is quite bright, you know,’ Amy tried to reassure her friend.

‘I know.’ Winnie hesitated then the words came out in a rush. ‘I think she’s infatuated with Gavin Pearce. She talks about him constantly: what a marvellous doctor he is, that he’s sensitive and good company. And…’ her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘I think he likes her too.’

Amy laughed as she settled Kate into the crook of her other arm. ‘That’s not surprising. Rebekkah’s a pretty girl and she’s almost eighteen. If Gavin feels the same, it could be an ideal match.’

Winnie paused again, then said, ‘He’s not Jewish.’

‘Oh!’ Amy understood her friend’s concern. Winnie and her family appeared to be devout Jews, observing the Jewish holy days and special food preparations. ‘That may be true, but if Gavin makes her happy, surely that’s more important than him being of the same faith.’ She didn’t want to get into a religious discussion with her friend because their views were poles apart, and especially not today, when things were going so well.

‘I wish I could think that way, but it’s…hard,’ Winnie admitted. ‘I want her to be happy, but…’

‘Winnie, you’re worrying too much. Is that a Jewish trait?’

Amy’s friend smiled. ‘You’re right. It is. If we’re not worrying about something then we’re worrying that something is wrong with us for not worrying.’

Amy laughed. ‘Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? At present you don’t really have a problem, so you could be worrying unnecessarily. Often, infatuations run their course and end.’ She added, ‘I’m going over to the cake competition. Want to come?’

‘I thought I’d get a cup of tea and a couple of those wonderful biscuits the St John’s Ladies’ Auxiliary have made. I’ll see you later.’ Winnie smiled a goodbye and headed towards the refreshments stall.

As Amy turned to go towards the cake competition, which was being held inside a canvas tent, a man cannoned into her, almost knocking her off her feet. Automatically, she gathered the baby to her more tightly. The culprit was Joe Walpole, in a rush to be somewhere else.

‘Sorry, Amy, I didn’t see you.’

Amy’s hold on Kate had tightened, as she’d tried to keep herself from falling onto the grass. Suddenly startled, the baby began to cry. ‘Joe Walpole, you could have hurt me and the baby. Watch where you’re going, for goodness’ sake,’ she said crossly, her tone decidedly critical.

‘S-sorry,’ he repeated. His grey-eyed gaze darted to and fro over the crowd as if seeking someone in particular. The next instant his eyes widened and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. ‘Got t-to go.’ He doffed his hat to her, spun about and merged with the crowd, seeming not to care that he was jostling others out of the way.

‘He is a pig of a man,’ Amy whispered to her frightened baby daughter. ‘Just like his father.’ She straightened her wide-brimmed hat and continued on her way to the judging of the cake competition.

Nearly there!
Joe gave a relieved sigh as he recognised his almost-new automobile, the one his father, having become weary of Joe’s complaints, had bought for him. Those ‘enforcers’ Reggie Brown had sent couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, he thought, his upper lip curling in a sneer. The bookmaker’s goons had been easier to elude than he’d thought. What he hadn’t expected was for them to turn up on the day of the country show. He wiped the moustache of sweat from his upper lip. Another ten feet and he’d be safe. So he owed Reggie a lot of money? So what! The bookie knew he was good for it. Didn’t he always pay? Eventually. He’d had a particularly bad run of luck lately, one loss after another, both at the racetrack and at the card table.

If only his father would loosen the bloody purse strings and give him a decent wage! But no; Bill Walpole had always espoused the theory that thriftiness built character. Shit, the old man held on to his money tighter than a fish’s arse. But one day—he smiled smugly—it would all be his and he’d do what he liked with it. All he had to do was be patient for a little while longer.

‘Where are you going, Walpole? We’ve got some unfinished business with you.’

Joe stood still as a tall, burly man whose features were so disfigured he must have, at one time, been a prize-fighter, came out from behind one of the automobiles to block his path.

‘Reggie’s not a happy man because of you, and when he’s not happy,’ the man pointed to another man who had come up behind Joe, ‘we’re not happy.’

‘Yeah.’ The second man was now right behind Joe and spoke in a rough, gravelly voice. ‘Reggie don’t like welchers. You owe him money, Walpole, and he wants it. Now!’

‘He’ll get it. I always pay.’ Joe felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. These were tough-looking fellows and they meant business. If he didn’t tell them something to satisfy them, they’d beat the shit out of him. ‘I—I just have to liquidate s-some…’
What?
He knew he didn’t have anything to liquidate, but they didn’t. Besides, he could always get money out of his mother, who wasn’t tight-fisted like his father. She was a soft touch. ‘Some shares. Reggie will have what I owe him within the week. With interest.’

‘He wants the money today, now,’ the tall man said, taking a step closer to Joe.

‘Fellers! Be reasonable,’ he pleaded. ‘Next week. I promise.’

As soon as he said the words the man shook his head. He nodded to the man behind Joe to come up and hold his arms. As soon as he was held, a fist crunched into Joe’s face and then another blow came to his stomach. Joe dry-retched as air whooshed out of his lungs. After the third punch he didn’t remember much. His knees gave way on him and he fell to the ground, after which they proceeded to lay into him with their boots.

‘Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Randall McLean shouted from about thirty feet away. He couldn’t see who or what the two men were kicking but instinct told him it wasn’t a football or a tin can. He started to run towards them, praying his action would make them take off because they were big and he really didn’t want to fight them…Fortunately, his tactic worked. The two men turned and dashed back into the oval, no doubt intending to get lost in the crowd.

Randall found Joe. He knelt down and turned Joe onto his back. Joe’s face was a mess but he was conscious.

‘The bastards broke my arm,’ Joe cried out miserably, as he attempted to protect his injured left arm with his other hand.

Randall helped him to sit up and used a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood off Joe’s face. ‘Why did they want to hurt you?’ He knew Joe had a smart mouth and a temper and thought he could take care of himself in a fight. ‘Did you pick a fight with one of them?’

‘No. They’re…they’re strong-arm blokes who work for Brown, the bookie in Hawker. I owe him money and he’s impatient for me to pay up.’ He saw Randall’s expression change from concern to unsympathetic. ‘I know, you think I’m a fool. Perhaps I am, but gambling is one of the few pleasures I have in life.’

Randall knew there was little point in responding to that. ‘Come on, get up. I’ll help you. You need to go to hospital, get an X-ray and have that bone set.’

‘I guess.’ With Randall’s help Joe shuffled along, towards the hospital. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Randall. After I’ve paid Brown off I won’t be placing any more bets with him. He might offer the best odds but he isn’t the only bookie in Hawker.’

Randall shook his head and didn’t bother to reply. Joe Walpole would never learn.