Amy's Touch (8 page)

‘We manage,’ Randall replied, uncomfortably aware that his tone was defensive.

Beth’s features suddenly lit up. ‘I’ve an idea. Come over next Saturday. Mother’s organising a dinner party for Daddy’s fiftieth birthday. Presents are not expected, of course.’ She smiled up at him. ‘What can one get for a person who has everything?’

Aware that he was being pressured, Randall couldn’t come up with an excuse not to attend, and besides, Beth was just being neighbourly. ‘Danny and I would love to come.’

As the band began to play again, the strains of a waltz filled the hall. Beth watched many couples take to the floor. ‘Oh, I do love a good waltz.’

Her tone was so wistful that Randall knew he had little choice but to ask her to dance it with him. ‘Care to dance, Beth?’ He couldn’t help adding, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, ‘If your toes have sufficiently recovered.’

‘They have,’ she admitted with a smile. ‘Let’s dance.’

One of the things Randall liked about dancing was that one didn’t have to converse with one’s partner while dancing, if one chose not to. With an eloquence that made them stand out, Randall twirled and whirled and dipped Beth around the floor, and from the rapt expression on her face, anyone watching could see she was enjoying the dance and the company.

One such person, Amy Carmichael, who was dancing with Frank Smith, glanced in their direction. Several months had passed since
she’d seen or spoken to Randall, and her eyes widened in surprise at seeing Danny’s good-looking brother enjoying himself. With his height, darkness and straight build, Randall stood out on the dance floor. That he was the most graceful male dancer in the hall increased her level of surprise and she felt a grudging interest. She tried to ignore the sudden skip of her heart, the sharp intake of breath, because for several moments she couldn’t move her gaze from him and Beth Walpole. She watched them till they danced out of her field of vision.

Guilt made her smile at her partner. She thought of him as
Earnest
Frank. He was a pleasant young man who was trying hard, too hard, to impress her, though in all truth over several months she had come to feel more at ease with Danny. He made her laugh and was relaxed in her company, whereas Frank was often too tongue-tied to say anything sensible. As the dance ended she and Frank happened to stop beside Randall and Beth. The dancers waited until the band leader announced the next dance, the Colonial Quadrille.

‘Shall we change partners, Frank?’ Randall found himself suggesting. He’d become concerned about the way Frank was pushing Amy around, with as much finesse as he would a bag of coal at his father’s forge.

‘I-if it s-suits the l-ladies,’ Frank stammered.

Both women understood without a word transpiring between them—it would be considered churlish to refuse—and automatically moved towards their new partners.

‘Now that you’ve been here for a while, tell me, what do you think of country life?’ Randall asked as, standing side by side, with one arm around her shoulders, they moved in time to the music.

‘I’m enjoying it. So is Father.’ She glanced up at his profile then away again quickly. ‘And work has started on the town’s hospital, so soon there’ll be more work for Father and me.’

‘Mmmm.’ His tone turned thoughtful. ‘I suppose it’s a sign of progress that the town’s become large enough to need a hospital, even a small one.’

‘Yes. It will be only half the size of the hospital proposed for Hawker, but very modern. We’ll even have an X-ray machine.’

Randall nodded at that piece of information without saying anything. Damn it! What in God’s name had possessed him to ask Amy Carmichael to dance? They had nothing in common other than…Danny. And why, having asked her, did he feel so out of sorts? And,
adding to his confusion, why did it feel so good to hold her in his arms, to smell the light fragrance she wore, to see her enjoying herself? These and other questions roamed in and out of his mind until he forcefully berated himself. They stepped forward, dipped, and moved forward again. Get a hold of yourself. She’s your brother’s girlfriend and Danny’s in love with her. You shouldn’t be thinking or wondering anything about her.

‘I believe it will be good for the town,’ Amy cut into his reverie.

Randall frowned and reined in his errant thoughts. ‘What will?’

Amy gave him a strange look. ‘The hospital, of course.’

‘Oh, yes. That’s partly why your father moved here, isn’t it?’

‘Why we both moved,’ she made the pert correction.

By the time the music came to an end, both had exhausted several topics of conversation, but Randall was aware of a tension recurring within him that over the time of being reunited with Drovers Way had seemed to disappear. It was odd that Amy had the power to cause his gut to tighten, the same way as the European battlefields had. Well, not quite the same way, he was honest enough to acknowledge. He didn’t like being so aware of her every movement, the sound of her voice, the way several strands of hair refused to stay in place and curled naturally around her face. But there was a way to curb this interest. All he had to do was replace it with something or someone else. At that precise moment his gaze happened to rest on Beth Walpole: congenial, self-effacing, intelligent Beth—now she could be a worthwhile distraction. Their eyes met and he smiled. She smiled back encouragingly.

Danny arrived at Amy’s side, a happy grin in place. ‘Great dance, eh? Amy, would you like a drink?’

‘Yes, please, Danny.’ Amy looked up at Randall and said formally, ‘Thank you for the dance.’

‘My pleasure.’ Randall gave a bow of acknowledgment and, for a few seconds longer than necessary, watched her and Danny walk arm in arm towards the back of the hall.

‘They make a nice couple, don’t you think?’ Beth, who’d come up unnoticed by Randall on his right side, murmured. ‘Joe says Danny’s been courting Amy.’

‘Every chance he gets.’ Randall’s response was dry.

‘Amy and Dr Carmichael have made a good impression on the people of Gindaroo. Joe was quite taken by the way the doctor attended to his arm several months ago, and so was Daddy. Joe
couldn’t work for a week because of the arm and Daddy was very cross with him.’

‘Bill’s not renowned for his forbearance.’ Randall softened the criticism with a smile.

‘Daddy works hard and he expects Joe to work as hard as him. After all, one day he’ll inherit just about everything. Unfortunately,’ she added, a twinkle in her hazel eyes, ‘Joe doesn’t care too much for hard work. Much to Daddy’s annoyance, Joe’s overly fond of gambling and attending the races.’

‘I don’t bet myself,’ Randall admitted. He didn’t want to talk about boring Joe Walpole, or Danny, for that matter—and especially—though he wasn’t quite sure why—not Amy Carmichael. The band began to play a foxtrot. ‘You up to another dance, Beth?’

Her delight showed in the radiant smile she gave him. ‘Most definitely.’ Hand in hand, they headed towards the dance floor.

Beth nestled into the darkened interior of the back seat of Joe’s automobile as he drove her and their father back to Ingleside. The night had turned out much better than she had anticipated. She’d had a wonderful evening and she knew why: Randall McLean. A sigh of satisfaction was lost in the noise the automobile’s engine made. He had finally noticed that she was a woman, not just the girl he’d gone to school with or Joe Walpole’s sister. He had made it clear to her that he enjoyed her company, and they had danced several dances together and shared a plate of supper treats.

It was and always had been easy to talk to Randall. They had many things in common. Their properties adjoined each other, and, frankly, she had almost as much knowledge about raising cattle and sheep as her father—not that he bothered to talk much to her about his various holdings, because she was a woman and country women were, by his and many other country men’s standards—better suited to being mothers and carers, not side-by-side working partners.

Somehow, though, she had the impression that Randall didn’t think the same way as her father; that the woman he settled down with would be invited to play an active part in the development and running of Drovers Way. It would be nice, better than nice, to be that woman, she decided. Randall was a fine-looking man, a war hero too, and so capable, having saved Drovers when, according to her father, it had been a step away from bankruptcy.

Sharp of eye and intuitive, during the evening she had thought he appeared more than casually interested in Danny’s girlfriend, Amy. From various positions she’d taken around the hall, she had watched him slyly observe Amy while appearing to socialise with other people. His gaze had often sought out the brunette nurse, but then, on finding her, his eyes would drop away to study something else. Maybe he was simply curious about the depth of her feelings for his brother.

The automobile drove over several deep ruts in the road, rousing Bill Walpole from the snooze he’d been having.

‘God, Joe, can’t you drive better than that?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘You all right in the back, Beth?’

‘I’m fine, Daddy,’ she replied, still ruminating. Randall McLean was, according to her mother and several members of the St John’s Ladies’ Auxiliary, the best catch in the district. He wasn’t wealthy, in terms of having money in the bank, but Drovers Way was one of the largest and best located properties in the district, and it was only a matter of time before he restored it to the glory days of when Colin McLean had been alive, and before Randall’s mother had become ‘ill’.

Oh, the things she could do with that sandstone homestead if she had the opportunity. Like her mother, Beth was very house-proud and enjoyed the challenge of transforming a house into a charming home. And, from what she’d seen and heard, Drovers Way would definitely benefit from a woman’s touch.

She smiled in anticipation as she thought about next Saturday. Randall was coming to dinner at Ingleside for her father’s birthday, and she intended to make the evening memorable.

Danny saw Amy to her front door after the dance, while Randall waited in the Ford. He had lost count of the number of times he’d stood on the Carmichaels’ front verandah over the last year, never wanting the time with Amy to end and feeling empty inside after they parted. He ached to know if she felt the same as he, but agonised over whether he should declare himself. He knew she liked him, liked being with him; but he wanted more than liking, he wanted her love.

‘I had a lovely time,’ she said.

‘Me too. Ummm…’ He wanted to kiss her, badly. Longed to, was desperate to, but his courage deserted him and he said instead, ‘We still on for the picnic tomorrow?’

‘Of course, providing it doesn’t rain.’

‘It won’t. I’ll take you to a spot at Boolcunda Creek where we can paddle our feet. There’s plenty of water in the creek at present. If you like, bring your sketch pad and draw the creek.’

‘That would be nice.’ The next instant she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, as she had done several times in the past. ‘I’d better go in now. Goodnight.’

And before Danny could take advantage of her closeness she opened the cottage’s front door and slipped inside. For several seconds he stared at the door, more than a little befuddled. Then, satisfied, and determined that when they picnicked tomorrow he would declare his feelings, he grinned and began to whistle some unrecognisable tune as he walked towards the Ford.

B
oolcunda Creek was still, the flow of water barely moving as Danny and Amy motored close to the water’s edge for their picnic after the church service. Danny had found a crossing low enough for the Ford to be driven safely through. The spring day was unseasonably warm for that time of the year. Leaves on the eucalypts and an out-of-place weeping willow all drooped without a breath of air to stir them. Even the insects and birds appeared gripped by lethargy; the silence around the creek was complete.

‘This is a nice spot,’ Amy complimented Danny on his choice of location as she took her portable easel and the box that contained crayons, charcoal and pencils from the back seat.

‘It is. But the good thing about it,’ he said, grinning at her, ‘is that at this time of year the ants won’t join us for lunch.’

Amy smiled at his banter. He had been unusually quiet on the drive to the creek, and it had taken a good deal of cajoling and persistence to find out why. He and Randall had had a row about using the automobile to take her for a picnic. Danny had won the argument, though he’d had to promise to be back in time to do chores. A frown flicked momentarily across Amy’s unlined forehead. What was wrong with Randall McLean? Why was he such a difficult man? Didn’t he want his brother to have time to relax from the neverending work required of him at Drovers Way?

While Danny set out the rug and the picnic hamper, she continued to wonder why Randall was the way he was. Had he always been hard to get along with? She could ask Danny. It was quite possible
that his dictatorial streak had surfaced because of the Great War. He’d been an officer, and as such had been used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Or was there another, more subtle reason? Could it be that he was simply mean-spirited and didn’t want to see Danny enjoying himself?

She unfolded the legs of the easel and set it up so she had a view of the creek and the gums on the opposite bank, having decided that would make the best subject for her sketch. Turning the pad to a blank page, she clipped the paper to the easel.

‘I’ve brought a billy and will make a fire so we can have a mug of tea with lunch,’ Danny said. He’d spread a plaid blanket out on the ground, placed a couple of cushions there for them to sit on, and was happily delving into the recesses of Amy’s picnic hamper to make sure that Meg had included tea, sugar and a small container of milk.

‘I’ll gather the wood if you’ll make the fire pit,’ Amy suggested.

She admired Danny’s bushcraft knowledge. He’d told her of earlier times when he and his brothers would take off for a few days and live rough in the bush. How they’d slept under the stars, lived off the land, explored the more remote corners of their property and tried, unsuccessfully, to pan for gold in the upper reaches of Boolcunda Creek. According to the many tales Danny had recounted, the three had shared a wonderful, carefree childhood until their mother became unwell, after which everything had changed.

Over the many months Amy had been seeing Danny he had also told her a good deal about the McLean family history, and there’d been pride in his voice as he’d told her of the success of his grandfather and father on Drovers Way. From what he’d told her, she understood that there was considerable camaraderie between himself and Randall, which made the elder brother’s present behaviour harder to comprehend. Perhaps, the thought ran through her mind, she shouldn’t even try. After all, Randall was Randall. But then…why did his prickliness have such an effect on her? She believed she was capable of getting along with anyone, but she could not get along with Randall McLean and that was a fact!

So…stop thinking about him and enjoy the day with Danny, she told herself.

She began to pick up kindling to start the fire, and some larger branches too. Watching Danny build the fire pit, she silently acknowledged the warm feelings she had for him. Were they love? She wasn’t sure, though she knew that she felt good and at ease when
she was with him, that she admired and respected him, and that she cared about him, his wellbeing, but…was what she felt strong enough to be love? Embarrassed by the train of thought, her cheeks tinted a delicate pink. She dumped her gatherings near the fire pit and retreated to the easel, determined not to analyse what she felt for Danny, nor her uncharitable thoughts towards Randall, but to concentrate on getting her drawing finished before they had lunch.

Sketching the line of eucalypts with their gnarled roots partly exposed, the half-submerged tree in the creek, the way the bank scalloped due to the creek’s flow, succeeded in taking Amy’s mind off her earlier wonderings. The only other thing she was aware of was the smoky smell from the fire pit as Danny boiled the billy.

‘My, that’s looking good.’ Danny peered over her shoulder at the crayon sketch as he gave her the compliment. ‘I envy people who can draw. I can’t draw a recognisable cat, myself.’

‘I could teach you,’ she offered, with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. ‘I believe everyone is capable of drawing a recognisable cat.’

‘Mmm, I might take you up on that offer some time. You know, one day I’d love you to come to Drovers and sketch the homestead, when we’ve tidied the place up a bit more. But right now, Miss Carmichael, come and have lunch. The billy’s boiled and I’ve set the food out.’ He chuckled as he looked at the rug and the various plates arranged at one end of it. ‘Do you think Meg thought she was feeding a regiment rather than just two people?’

‘Meg does tend to over-cater,’ Amy admitted. She took a final look at the sketch and nodded with satisfaction at what she had captured before she took her place. Almost half the rug had on it an assortment of crockery that contained appetising slices of corned beef, a jar of pickles, boiled eggs, tomato wedges, cheese, and thick slabs of homemade bread.

‘I think Meg knows we have fairly plain fare at Drovers and she’s spoiling me,’ Danny said as he sat cross-legged and began to fill a plate for Amy, then one for himself, with various items of food. ‘And there’s boiled fruitcake in one of those tins.’

Danny had a hearty appetite and Amy enjoyed watching him demolish the food on his plate while she ate more sparingly. But when she picked up the mug of tea, he cautioned her.

‘Don’t drink it yet. You’ll burn your lips.’

She smiled a thank you for the warning and put the mug down on the ground. They continued to eat in companionable silence until,
finally, both pushed their plates away and downed the remains of the cooling tea.

‘That was great,’ Danny enthused, and added in a teasing tone, ‘now, if you’re game, fancy a paddle in the creek?’

‘Game?’ She took up the challenge. ‘Of course I’m game.’ After which she turned away and proceeded to remove her high-heeled, lace-up boots and lisle stockings. Gathering her skirt up to her knees, Amy didn’t wait for Danny. She rushed to the bank and sank her toes into the wet sand and then the water. ‘Heavenly.’

Danny, his trousers rolled up to above his knees, with his jacket off and his high-neck collar and tie loosened, joined her. ‘There isn’t much depth at the creek’s edge, but further out it deepens to almost four feet,’ he told her. ‘Edward, Randall and I used to swim there. In the summer it dries up and doesn’t fill up again until the winter rains come.’

‘This is fun.’

Danny smiled at her almost childlike enjoyment of something so simple. ‘That it is.’

They were standing side by side, close to each other but not touching. She felt his arm go around her shoulders and his other hand turned her towards him. And then their faces were only inches apart and she could see his eyes filling with emotion. His fingers reached under her chin to tilt her face slightly upwards and, as she realised his intention, he kissed her on the lips—for the first time. His mouth was warm and firm against hers, but not demanding. She heard his heavy breathing, and felt the tension in his body—they were so close—as his arms drew her against his chest. His lips moved, kissing thecorners of her mouth, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. Gentle, caring caresses. They had never kissed like this before; there had only been respectable pecks on the cheek. And…it was a pleasurable sensation—yes, very pleasurable.

‘Amy…’ he whispered close to her ear. ‘I’ve longed to do that ever since we first met, long ago, in Britain. You know, I used to watch you come down the ward towards my bed and dream of you being in my arms.’

She drew back from him slightly and regarded his features, tanned by hours exposed to the sun. ‘Did you now? Aahh, yes, now I understand why your pulse rate was often erratic back then.’

He chuckled low in his throat, his grin as good as an admission. ‘Don’t think I was the only one. Amy…’ the expression in his eyes
changed, the light brown eyes becoming more intense. ‘I love you, Amy Carmichael. I have loved you practically from the first time I laid eyes on you.’

She took a deep breath, tried to keep her composure. ‘Danny…’

‘No, let me finish while I have the gumption to.’ He put a finger across her lips to silence her. ‘I don’t want to rush you into anything, but I want you to know that, if you’ll have me, one day I’d like us to get married.’

She shook her head. ‘Danny, I—I’m…’
overwhelmed
‘…deeply honoured.’ What could she say? She wasn’t sure how she felt, didn’t know if the feelings she had for him were love. And when did liking turn to or become love? She didn’t know. Confusion swept through her for several moments as she agonised over how to respond.

‘Don’t give me an answer now. I’m a relatively patient man. All I need to know is that maybe there’s a chance for me. I’ll be content with that. For now.’ He kissed her lightly on the lips again.

‘All right.’ Thank goodness. He was giving her time to think, to work her feelings out.

As if to break the seriousness of the moment, he looked up at the sky. ‘Sun’s on the way down. We’d better think about drying our feet and packing up.’

‘Oh, y-yes. Of course.’ Amy fought to regain her composure but it was difficult. She had not expected the day to bring a proposal of marriage. She tried to keep her puzzlement at what had transpired under control. She knew she had a good deal of thinking to do.