Amy's Touch (21 page)

Randall tried to ignore the doctor’s mention of his forthcoming marriage. He knew only too well it was a matter he had to tackle, but that would come later. ‘Will she go?’

The doctor’s shoulders shrugged meaningfully. ‘I don’t know. She’s not the kind of person who runs away from problems.’

‘I assure you, sir, neither do I.’

Dr Carmichael was making it abundantly clear that he didn’t think much of Randall, and who could blame him? They didn’t know one another well, even though the doctor had operated on Randall and saved his life early in the year. No doubt, in the doctor’s books, Randall, more than Amy, had committed a sin that was socially unacceptable, and only the passage of time would make David Carmichael’s opinion of him mellow.

Randall realised there was little point in further debate. He muttered a stilted goodbye and the doctor saw him out. Then, for several minutes he sat behind the driver’s wheel of the Ford, staring at the side windows of Primrose Cottage. He knew which window was Amy’s bedroom, the third one down the side passage. The light was on, the curtains drawn. He wanted so much to see her, to comfort her, to…what? Tell her that everything would come right between them? But perhaps, as the doctor had intimated, it was too soon for that. They both needed time to clear their heads, to
work out their feelings and what they wanted to do. And as the doctor had also suggested, he had some deep thinking to do about his upcoming marriage. First thing tomorrow he’d talk to Byron Ellis about trying to find Danny. He had to know where he was, that he was safe; then he would deal with what to do about Beth Walpole.

Randall had read somewhere that confession was good for the soul, but as he approached the Ingleside homestead myriad doubts invaded him. Not surprisingly, he had slept poorly. The wartime nightmare had surfaced in the early hours of the morning and left him soaked in sweat. Then there’d been dreams about Danny in which his brother had become so down-and-out that he was living on the streets of Adelaide, begging for pennies. And this morning, Byron’s sage advice—that if Danny didn’t want to be found there were plenty of places in and beyond Australia where a man could remain incognito forever—hadn’t cheered Randall one iota.

Reading Danny’s letter had been hard; speaking to Amy’s father had been hard and embarrassing; but talking face-to-face to Beth, trying to make her understand and begging her forgiveness, would be the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. She would be hurt and angry and rightly so, and if she had inherited some of her father’s nature she might also become vindictive.

Accepting that possibility, he squared his shoulders as he left the automobile and walked up to Ingleside’s front door, which opened before he had time to strike the brass doorknocker.

‘I heard a vehicle drive up,’ Beth said, smiling. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘This is a nice surprise, you visiting so early in the morning. Come inside.’

Randall tilted his chin to look up at a clear blue sky. The sunshine was pleasantly warm but not stiflingly hot. ‘It’s a lovely day,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we take a turn around the garden?’

‘All right, but the sun’s warm today. Let me get my parasol.’ Like her mother, Beth was obsessed with keeping her fair skin unlined by the sun, something not easy to do given the sometimes harsh conditions of the Flinders Ranges.

Randall let Beth chatter on about the wedding while they walked around Ingleside’s well-tended garden. The roses were in bud, the shrubs bursting with new growth, and several varieties of bottlebrush had spring flowers. At the end of the garden Bill had built a hexagonal
latticework gazebo with a conical shingle roof, with seating so one could sit and admire the various aspects of the garden.

As they wandered around the garden, Randall was trying to work out the most diplomatic way to broach the subject of their forthcoming marriage. He had decided, after much mental agonising, that he couldn’t go through with it, and that he never should have proposed to Beth in the first place. He now acknowledged that he had done so in a vain attempt to curb the growing feelings he’d had towards Amy. He also knew that there was no easy way to say what he had to say, but he waited until they were seated in the gazebo before he began.

‘Beth, what I have to say is going to cause you great distress, and for that I am sincerely sorry. I wish there was a more gentle, kinder way to say it, but…’ he took a deep breath, ‘I can’t marry you.’

Beth stared at him, and frowned. ‘If that’s a joke, Randall, I don’t think it’s at all funny.’

‘I’m serious. I—I—have thought long and hard about our getting married, and because I respect you so much I’ve concluded that it wouldn’t be fair to go ahead with it, because…I’m not in love with you and…I could never make you happy the way you deserve to be.’

Shock made Beth draw in a noisy breath. She jumped up from the seat and began to pace the timber floor. ‘It’s early November, our wedding is weeks away. The invitations have been posted, the wedding breakfast chosen and other arrangements made too, and you dare to sit there and tell me you can’t marry me?’ She made a strangled squealing sound in her throat, half frustration, half fury. ‘Are you insane?’

Randall gave her a strange look and wondered if she was referring to his mother’s mental problems. ‘Some people might think so.’ Probably half the people in the district believed he was marrying her for her dowry. ‘The fault isn’t yours, Beth, it’s mine.’ He tried to grab hold of her hand to stop her pacing but she snatched it away from him. ‘It was wrong of me to offer you marriage when…when…there was no emotional bond on my part.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What will Mother and Daddy say? And our intended guests. What do I tell them?’

He saw unshed tears glistening in her eyes and his guilt rose another notch. ‘Say whatever you like. Blame me. After all, it is my fault.’

Beth stopped pacing and scrutinised him. Her gaze was intense. After several seconds of consideration, a glimmer of understanding came to her. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there? That’s why you don’t want to marry me.’

Randall had the grace to look flustered. ‘No, I’ve told you why. You deserve happiness and I can’t give it to you.’

‘Because you’re in love with another woman. That’s why.’

Damn it, this wasn’t going as he’d expected. He had expected tears, recriminations, even a tantrum, but her almost cool acceptance and her incisive questioning was sending him into a mental spin. He had no intention of divulging the name of the woman for whom he had feelings, but he knew Beth well enough to know that—like a dog intent on getting every morsel of meat off a bone—she’d worry and probe at him until she had the answers she wanted. He had to get away from Ingleside before she…

‘It’s Amy Carmichael, isn’t it?’

‘That’s utter nonsense.’ Randall tried to control any expression that would give him away. ‘I’ve given you my reason, and for your own sake, Beth, accept it as such.’

Beth, however, wouldn’t let the matter go. Anger made her shout, ‘I’m not a fool, so don’t treat me like one. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. The longing.’

Randall’s mouth tightened; the tension along his spine doubled. ‘This conversation isn’t going anywhere. Would you like me to talk to your father, explain why I’m calling the marriage off?’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘Not a good idea. Daddy is going to be furious. You’ve embarrassed all of us with your…decision.’ She pulled herself upright, her features tight with repressed anger. ‘I’d give him and Ingleside a wide berth from now on…and don’t you worry, I’ll tell everyone who needs to be told.’

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Randall stood up. ‘Then I’ll say my goodbyes.’ He gave her a long, please-don’t-think-too-badly-of-me look. ‘Believe me, I am very sorry, Beth.’ He wanted to run but he forced himself to walk down the steps, across the lawn, and only expelled a grateful sigh when he reached the refuge of the Ford.

Beth Walpole watched until Randall’s automobile moved out of sight. Oh, this was very bad. She wasn’t going to be Mrs Randall McLean after all! When she was sure that she was alone, her control crumpled and she half-fell into the gazebo seat and covered her face with her
hands. She let the tears come then. How long she stayed there she didn’t know, but when she’d calmed down and dried her tears, the expression in her hazel eyes was glacial.

She would never let anyone know, not her mother, not her father, how much Randall’s recanting his offer of marriage hurt. But she would make him pay. Rumours could be spread…She could tell select people that
she
had called the marriage off because she believed Randall was becoming mentally unstable. Oh, yes, that would be a juicy rumour to start. And suggestions could be made that he was infatuated with his brother’s fiancée. People in and around the district were for the most part straight-laced and would then think poorly of him
and
Amy. Her father could be manipulated too, into seeking revenge in a way that would hurt Randall more than anything—by taking Drovers Way away from him.

Her smile was laced with a slyness that had always been there, but was usually hidden just beneath the surface. After ‘sowing the seeds’ she would go to Europe for a nice long holiday, and let human nature—being what it was in a small community—run its course.

C
ommon sense told Amy she couldn’t continue to sit by the parlour window staring through the lace curtains to the street outside, but since reading Danny’s letter a mental and emotional lethargy had overtaken her and she couldn’t shake it off. Danny breaking their engagement would have been easier to bear had his letter shown a degree of anger and disappointment. It hadn’t. His words had been carefully chosen and reflected a maturity, understanding and compassion she hadn’t thought he possessed, all of which made her feel worse and more guilty than ever.

Through Meg she learned that Joe Walpole had driven him to Hawker, and from there it was believed that he’d hitched a ride in a cattle truck going south-west, possibly to Whyalla. Where he’d gone from there was anyone’s guess. Everything, she had decided, was her fault. If she hadn’t fallen in love with Randall, and he hadn’t returned that love, this situation wouldn’t have arisen, and she wouldn’t be continuing her heart-wrenching deliberation and apportioning of blame to herself.

Her father was disappointed in her, and Meg—well, their housekeeper was keeping her own counsel. But she hadn’t meant to, hadn’t wanted to fall in love with Randall, it had just happened. She had intended to marry Danny and live happily ever after with him; now, unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. Danny would be miserable, she was miserable, and most likely so was Randall. They’d been so close, Danny and Randall, as brothers, companions and good mates. That too had come to an end, and Danny had cast himself
adrift somewhere with, she believed, little sense of a goal or purpose to guide him.

Oh dear! She could drive herself crazy with recriminations and feelings of guilt, but where would that get her? She was already knee-deep in a morass of misery. What she needed was something to occupy her physically and mentally. Work, lots of it, that was what she needed, she decided. Starting today, she’d return to the hospital and also plan the first meeting of her proposed country women’s league. But first, a strong cup of tea to fortify her…

Amy made her way to the kitchen. Meg, who’d returned from a shopping trip, had the kettle on the fuel stove, and steam was beginning to waft upwards from its spout.

‘You must have read my mind.’

‘I’m ready for a cuppa too,’ Meg replied. She took the china teapot off the kitchen bench, added three heaped teaspoons of tea from the caddy, and when the kettle began to whistle, took it off the stove and poured the boiling water into the pot. As she worked, Meg gave Amy an all-encompassing glance. ‘You’re looking a touch brighter,’ she said with her usual frankness. ‘Which is good. I’m sure Danny wouldn’t want you to mope about as you’ve been doing.’

‘I’ve had a lot of thinking to do. Danny’s letter said he didn’t want me to be unhappy. It’s hard, but I’m trying to see the sense in all this.’

‘You will, in time. Keeping occupied will help.’ Meg waited for the tea to draw before pouring out two cups, adding milk from the recently bought ultra-modern gas-fuelled refrigerator and placing the Arnott’s biscuit tin on the kitchen table.

‘I heard some interesting news at the butcher’s this morning.’ Meg waited until Amy glanced at her expectantly. ‘Beth and Randall have called the wedding off.’

Amy blinked several times, then swallowed hard. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Beth and Randall aren’t getting married, so Stan the butcher said. It must be true ’cause Joe Walpole told him.’

‘Oh!’ Amy’s mind went blank with shock and for a moment or two the room began to spin. After a while her heartbeat steadied, and another thought struck her. Randall and Beth’s broken engagement was going to make things worse. Certain people in town and around the district were going to draw the obvious conclusion, once they knew that Danny had broken their engagement too, and left town. Gossip, innuendo and snide accusations would abound. Some people
would have a field day! She had lived long enough in Gindaroo to see it as a typical country town, with its share of gossipmongers as well as good-hearted people who, unfortunately, weren’t as vocal as the other kind. And in a close-knit community such as Gindaroo, character assassination could devastate, even destroy, a person’s reputation.

‘I thought you should know before you stepped out,’ Meg said with a nod as she dunked a biscuit into her tea. ‘I chatted with Winnie Cohen at Quinton’s. She’s rented Grey’s cottage down near the creek. She said to tell you that some people are jumping to conclusions already.’

‘Talk never hurt anyone.’ Amy squared her shoulders determinedly and continued to drink her tea, but deep down she knew those words were as brave as they were untrue. She remembered her father’s suggestion about visiting Aunt Alice in Melbourne. No! That would be running away, taking the easy way out. Besides, her father needed her at the hospital. The medical needs of the district were growing and already there was talk of expanding the hospital, building another ward for an additional five beds. To lighten her father’s load she had become more involved with the management and running of the hospital: seeing to accounts, supplies and employing labour as required. Winnie Cohen’s eldest daughter, Rebekkah, had just started at the hospital, replacing Christine, who’d married at seventeen and was already expecting her first child. No, she reinforced her decision. She couldn’t leave, even though she hadn’t seen her aunt for many years and…there was Randall too. For the moment she couldn’t face him, because she didn’t want to deal with the emotions that lay between them, but in time, when people’s tongues stopped wagging and they had another topic to interest them, well…

‘You’re right, Amy. As soon as something more juicy comes along they’ll forget about you and Randall and Danny,’ Meg agreed.

Amy stood and took her cup to the kitchen sink to sluice the tea leaves down the drain. ‘I must get ready for work.’

‘You’re going to the hospital?’ Meg asked, eyebrows raised. When Amy nodded in the affirmative, she added, ‘Good girl. You’re needed there.’

Was her imagination playing tricks on her or were people giving her some strange and decidedly unfriendly looks? Amy wondered as she made her way down Queen Street to the hospital. Only one or two women she passed said good morning. One woman actually crossed
the street so she wouldn’t have to pass by, and Andy Cummings, the barber, who was Christine’s husband and spent more time outside his barber’s shop leaning on the doorframe than cutting hair or shaving men’s whiskers, dared to leer openly at her as she went past. Disgusting behaviour for a recently married man. Andy had swept the teenage Christine off her feet, and one unkind rumour had it that the girl was already pregnant when her mother had hastily organised a small wedding.

By the time she reached the hospital’s front door and entered its familiar confines, Amy understood that the ripple of gossip about herself, Danny and Randall had well and truly begun.

Sister Sarah Osborne met her at the ward door. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come in. We’re barely managing.’

Sister Osborne had Rebekkah and two other nurses’ aides to help her, plus an older gentleman who acted as cleaner/wardsman. ‘You’d better tell me what’s been happening,’ Amy said as she tied and pinned her nurse’s apron on.

‘The boiler in the laundry has broken down. Again. The patient in bed four, Mr Rosenbaum, has complications after an appendectomy. Dr Carmichael suspects septicaemia. He has a drain in and has required constant nursing. In bed nine we have Mrs O’Donnell. She was admitted with double pneumonia, and isn’t responding to medication.’

‘How old is Mrs O’Donnell?’

‘Eighty-two,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s slightly delirious and we’re having the devil of a time keeping her in bed. She wanders around talking to the other patients.’ Sarah’s eyebrows rose. ‘She even tried to get into bed with Mr Rosenbaum.’

Amy’s lips twitched from the effort of not smiling. ‘Then we have no choice, she must be restrained. And as soon as she’s well enough—when her temperature is normal—her family should take her home to convalesce.’ Her gaze swept down the ward. ‘Where are the nurses’ aides?’

Sarah Osborne blinked and looked around. ‘Rebekkah is doing morning teas in the kitchen, Therese is helping Dr Carmichael at the clinic, and Rosemary—well, I think the girl has a crush on the laundry boy. When I can’t find her in the hospital, I catch her out there talking and giggling with him.’

‘If she continues to neglect her duties, for which she is receiving a wage, she’ll be looking elsewhere for work.’ Amy’s tone was firm. ‘If she can’t or won’t pull her weight, we’ll find someone who can.’

Sarah’s eyes widened, because she knew Amy didn’t enjoy confrontations. ‘Do you want me to tell her that?’

Amy shook her head as she turned in the direction of a side door, which led to a back verandah and the outside laundry. ‘I’ll tell her myself.’ Her father had given her authority over staff, designating her as the hospital’s matron, after the state authority had approved her certification, and while she didn’t relish the prospect of laying the nurses’ aide’s obligations on the line, she had sufficient experience over the years to know that if staff didn’t or wouldn’t work well together, both the hospital and the patients suffered.

She spied Rosemary slouching against the laundry-room doorway. Just inside she could see the freckle-faced, curly-haired Charlie. ‘Rosemary,’ she made her tone sound authoritative, ‘a word, if you please…’

Bill Walpole’s hands gripped the steering wheel of the automobile harder than was necessary as he drove along the dirt road that led to Gindaroo and through to Hawker. He glanced furtively at his daughter. Her features were composed, almost serene, he thought, but he knew her well enough to know that inside she seethed with anger. In the back of the automobile were three suitcases, packed to the hilt with clothes and toiletries.

He was aware that since Randall’s last visit to Ingleside, Beth had spent a lot of time on the telephone and used every method she could think of to blacken Randall McLean’s character, as well as to insinuate in a roundabout way that Amy Carmichael was to blame for everything. As a man used to scheming and dealing himself, Bill admired his daughter’s thoroughness. Beth had written personally to all the wedding guests, told Reverend Whitton the wedding was off, and confided in the sharpest gossipmonger in town, Dot Quinton. From then on, people’s imaginations and the very human trait of expecting the worst of people would do the rest.

‘What will you do when you reach Adelaide, dear?’

‘Book passage on a ship sailing to Europe.’

‘That might take weeks.’

‘I know.’ She tried to stifle the sigh but couldn’t. ‘I’ll stay with cousin Eugenie in the meantime.’

‘Well, have a good time in Europe. And don’t you worry, there are plenty of fish in the sea, as the saying goes: better fish than
Randall McLean. And you can rest easy about him, I’ll make him pay for the embarrassment he caused you and the family.’

Beth, her interest piqued, straightened in the seat. She winced at the mention of Randall’s name. What he’d done still hurt so much, but she would have the last laugh, by God she would. She had kept her vengeful streak hidden from those outside the family, and she was confident that her father would know exactly what to do, though she pretended otherwise as she asked, ‘What are you going to do, Daddy?’

‘Hurt him where he can be hurt the most. I’m going to make it hard—no, hopefully impossible—for him to keep Drovers Way.’

Beth put her gloved hand on her father’s coat sleeve and her smile was one of satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Daddy. You do what you have to do.’

Bill Walpole made a growling sound in his throat. He had it on good authority that Randall, with his obsession to make Drovers the best property in the Flinders, was always skating close to the wind financially. Let’s see if he could survive when Bill dramatically reduced the sale price of his beef and wool, edging Randall out of the market. Bill owned so many properties in and around the Flinders Ranges that he could afford to do that for a couple of years. His smile was almost identical to his daughter’s. Drovers Way was going to be in for a very tough time indeed.