East of Outback (31 page)

“Plan to. Got reservations through the turf club.”

Silence again. Then, “Do you suppose we could go camping? After the Cup, I mean.”

“The usual place? I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about it. I suppose so. I’ll discuss it with Mum. She’s the one will have to do without a maid.”

“I’ll do the dishes!”

“That’ll be the day!” With difficulty Cole stifled an impulse to take the hammer and do the work himself. He watched Edan, who suffered the clumsiness of a child with poor coordination and hands too small yet to get a good grasp on the tools. He frequently missed the nail heads, bending them over and carving hemispherical dents in his boards. But he succeeded, too. Slowly, but surely, he completed one in the time it would take Sloan to knock four together. He set each aside proudly, and began instantly to work on the next.

“Is this a school project?”

“No.”
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang
. Silence hung awkwardly between them again.

‘The way you’ve been acting lately, I’m wondering if something is bothering you.”

“No.” The boy tipped his head ever so slightly in Cole’s direction.

“Nothing worrying you or making you upset?”

“No.”

“Angry at anything or anybody?”

“No!”

“Guess I must have been mistaken.” Sloan watched Edan’s face intently. No change of expression, no flicker of emotion suggested that Sloan’s words had hit home.
Bang. Bang. Bang
.

What had Romales said?
Listen. So what do you do when the child won’t speak?
Sloan would like to have scrubbed Romales’ weird suggestions, had it not been for a strong, almost divine direction to heed the Texan’s advice.

Cole popped open his pocket watch. “Bedtime in half an hour. Come in then.”

Edan nodded.

Intensely frustrated, Sloan walked back into the house. He stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, letting his thoughts wander to days gone by. A new Coleman Cooker gleamed in the dim light. Nineteen years ago at Sugarlea, Sam, as cook and houseservant prepared his food on a primitive wood stove, turning out breads, soups and dinners every bit as good as those she served today. Progress. Today she didn’t have to split wood and shovel ashes.

“Did you get past the wall?”

He wheeled in the direction of her voice. Sam leaned in the doorway, backlighted, her arms folded.
How long has she been standing there?
She launched herself erect and crossed the floor to his side.

“Aptly spoken.” Sloan grimaced. “No.”

“I can’t crack it either. But I know something unusual is going on.”

“What’s this birdhouse business?”

“It began a week or two after we returned from camping last.”

“He wants to go again.”

“Then perhaps we ought to.”

“He says he’ll do your dishes for you.”

“That will be the day.”

“That’s what I told him!” Sloan laughed suddenly. He gathered this one faithful woman into his arms and hugged her soundly, feeling her warm embrace in return. He kissed her long and happily. This was home.

______

Surely her tea had steeped sufficiently. Hannah poured a few drops into her cup. Dark enough. She filled the cup, slipped in a spoon of sugar and sat down on the shaky chair at the long table. She felt so very tired. She looked around the kitchen, and thought of what Colin would think. Would he be mad at her? She didn’t care. She had brought all their food supplies—the sugar, the tea, potatoes and vegetables—into the kitchen to supplement the Colfax pantry. Actually, it was more than a supplement. The Colfax larder was bare.

Last year Bushell’s Tea distributed half a pound of their blend to every home in Sydney as an advertising gesture. They should have sent the tea out to the rest of New South Wales, where it was so sorely needed.

Dr. Newsome’s awesome bulk suddenly filled the doorway.

Hannah hopped to her feet. “What can I get you, sir? Tea’s steeped.”

He waved a ham-sized hand at her. “You sit down, young lady.”

She dropped again into her chair.

He wandered casually to the stove, poured himself a cup of tea and sat down near her. He still seemed tall. “Now you listen to me, young lady. Attend to every word I say.”

She nodded, fear-struck at his admonition.

“You are not exactly a dynamo of energy. You are a mere girl. I do say you’ve done splendidly with the tasks left to you so suddenly, but you can’t save the whole world. You are going to be sorely tempted to wear yourself out taking care of everyone. But, you must not yield to that temptation, or you’ll become ill also.”

She didn’t understand a bit of this. She nodded anyway.

“When Sister Gertrude tells you to quit and go lie down, or eat something, you are to obey instantly. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Trudy is a fine nurse, wise to this kind of illness. And she’s a lovely person. I think you’ll enjoy her. You’ll certainly learn a great deal; you’re a bright lass.”

“Thank you, sir. May I get you some soup, sir? Turnips and potatoes in mutton broth. It’s better than it sounds.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

She bolted to her feet and lifted a serving bowl from the shelf because there were no soup bowls. As she ladled it she inhaled deeply. It smelled quite good, considering she had sufficient onions for it but no garlic.

“You’ll have some, too, won’t you, Hannah?”

She grinned. “Yes, sir.” She ladled her soup into a small saucepan and joined him at the table. She closed her eyes to ask a very hasty blessing, lest he see her and make comment. She sipped the hot broth. Not bad at all. Not Mum’s by any means, but not bad. “Colin’s eating well, isn’t he? I mean—good food?”

“Nourishing, yes. This is quite good, Hannah.”

“Thank you, sir. I didn’t know what to prepare. Soup seemed best for everyone. Will the sister want some?”

“After she’s prepared the body, I’m sure she will. It will be good to have that taken care of. I want you to keep Ruth here in the kitchen when we carry it outside.”

Hannah nodded.

Colin. She pictured him suffering as these poor souls did—the racking cough, the chest pain and nausea, the fever and weakness. Poor Mrs. Colfax could not even sit up.

Hannah was getting weary of being here with these dismal strangers. She felt uncomfortable in this cramped, cluttered house with its filth. She didn’t like to be around the morose Mr. Colfax, his listless wife, the terrible stench from the dead body in the side room. She wanted to be with Colin. He needed her. She needed him. Why had he left without her? The question was silly as she thought about it.

The soup was losing its savor. She stared at the saucepan, trying to keep her burning eyes from shedding tears.

“Hannah, come here.” Dr. Newsome crooked a finger.

She stood to her feet and crossed to his side. “Yes, sir?”

“You have been concerned since I’ve been here about what I want and what everyone else wants. You’ve even inquired about your brother. Now I want to know what Hannah Sloan wants.”

She shrugged and studied the dirt floor. “I’ve all I need, sir.”

“That’s not what I asked. Needs and wants usually differ.”

The tears welled up and over. She was behaving most foolishly!

Dr. Newsome’s huge, long arms reached out. He drew her into his lap and held her closely, just the way Papa did. “I know one thing you want, possibly two. You want your brother to recover, and you want to be with him.”

She bobbed her head and sniffled. She burrowed her head deep into this comforting man’s shoulder.

His strong voice, sometimes frightening, settled to a gentle whisper. “Colin is receiving excellent care; you could do nothing for him were you there, and I desperately need you here. The Colfaxes need you. One nurse here is just not enough. I knew that before I left town, but I couldn’t afford to bring Hester or Jane, particularly since I’ll likely never see a farthing in payment from this family. These Soldier Settler selections never succeed. I’ll take you back with me if you wish, but I’m hoping you’ll stay.”

“I understand. I’ll not let you and the sister down.” A sudden thought struck her. “Perhaps before you leave, sir, you’ll help us drive a mob out to pasture? I doubt the sister and I can do it alone.”

“Certainly. What else does Hannah want?”

Thoughts and memories flooded her already confused brain. She snuffled and a sob slipped out. “She wants to go home.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

F
IRES OF
H
OPE

Three different kinds of perky little honeyeaters flitted in the wattle bush by the veranda rail. Busily they sought out the morsels honeyeaters eat. It couldn’t be honey; the wattle had done blooming for the year. Mary Aileen could identify the many varieties of honeyeaters. Colin could not. He would not be bothered with such things. He sat in his canvas chair on the airy veranda now and with nothing else to do, watched the birds’ busy activity.

He had heard many horror stories of war hospitals and wretched infirmaries in the hearts of teeming cities. There was legitimate reason to fear and despise hospitals. But this little place was not bad at all. A kindly woman from across the street came to prepare the noon and evening meads—good old-fashioned home cooking like Mum’s. The building itself, of vertical clapboard painted white inside and out, sprawled unassumingly across its acreage. It contained two four-bed wards, quarters for the three resident sisters, and several examination rooms.

Colin had one of the wards all to himself. The other ward housed the hospital’s only other patient, a ringer named Steve Haynes from north of Goolgowi. A horse had fallen on the poor chap. Colin thought he would wander over and talk to the tough, sandy-haired fellow. He had already enjoyed yarning with the man a few times.

But moving about required energy, and Colin had precious little of that right now. Perhaps he’d just sit awhile and enjoy the late spring warmth.

“Anyone been by for me?” If Mohammed will not go to the mountain, the mountain will come to Mohammed. Steve Haynes stood in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick.

“G’day, mate. No. Expecting visitors?”

“Ride home.” Steve settled his square-built frame into a canvas chair and propped his stick against the wall. “I’m discharged. Now if the boss cocky will just come for me, I can quit this place.”

“Passing up a lot of good food.”

“And a lot of meddling sisters getting professionally personal. I realize it’s their job, but I detest being in the hospital. It’s belittling.”

“Never thought of it quite that way. When will you be back in the saddle? Any predictions?”

“Soon’s I can get my leg to fly up over the cantle. There’s lot’s of work I can do ‘til then—driving trucks, building fence, chores.”

“Always one more bit of work waiting to be done.”

“Too right! Hah!” He pointed out toward the street. A small pick-up truck came rattling to a stop in front of the main entrance. “There’s my ride.”

Colin lurched to his feet. “Hope our paths cross again. I don’t doubt we both have a few stories we didn’t get around to telling.”

Steve Haynes laughed heartily and initiated a warm, firm handshake. He had to be ten years older than Colin; and yet they were equals in life and experience. Colin relished this moment. He enjoyed being accepted as a man by a man. Diz was that way, too.

With a smile and a wave Steve lumbered out on crutches to his companions and the outside world. He waved again from the open truck window as they left. Colin sat down again, feeling somewhat lonely and isolated, the only patient in the facility.

After a few moments he stood and shuffled inside. The short trip from the veranda to his own ward left him exhausted. How long would it take to get over the weakness? The cough persisted too, as Sister Hester predicted it would. Bronchitis and other complications often hang on for months, she’d told him.

Sister Hester. She was quite a woman. Built like a water tank, she had the vocabulary of a shorefront rouse-about. She could lift Colin easily; she could even lift the ringer Haynes. She could probably lift a horse without any trouble at all.

Max’s Lady! What had happened to her? Was she dead or alive? Colin had asked, but no one seemed to know. They claimed that a man named John would know, but Colin was stuck here in this hospital. There was no way to find John, whoever he was.

He dozed for a while and awoke more restless than usual. The clock at the end of the ward showed eleven o’clock. An hour ‘til lunch. He shuffled back out to the veranda. A noisy miner and a pair of blue wrens had replaced the honeyeaters. Complaining fiercely, the noisy miner fled as an auto pulled up out front. Dr. Newsome had arrived on his rounds.
Good! Surely he’s brought news of Hannah
. Poor girl, pressed into slave labor all alone in that dreary household. She was much too young for such awesome responsibility, no matter how Dr. Newsome praised her work.

He could hear the doctor’s foghorn voice, and twisted around to see if he was coming onto the veranda. Instead, a blur of blue came bursting through the doorway, latching on to him in a sudden embrace. “Oh, Colin!” Hannah wailed, “it was so terrible!”

Eventually, after some urging, she loosened her grip enough to look at her brother. Her nose was peeling, a sure sign her new hat had been no help at all. Her frock looked tight and drawn; Colin realized with a mild shock how quickly she was growing.

“Colin, you look terrible. You’re pale and thin. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out.

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault. I got the illness from Uncle Edgar, I suppose.”

“I’m not apologizing,” she replied testily. “I’m trying to tell you I feel sorry it happened.”

“Oh. How is it down there?”

“If Gerald survives the next three or four days, he’ll likely make it, but they’re not sure. They can’t bring him in because they’re afraid he wouldn’t be able to handle the rough track. The rest are recovering, except Mr. Colfax has a collapsed lung. That’s what Sister Jane said. She went down to serve the latest round of duty. Ruth never did get sick, and Sister Trudy muses constantly about why one person gets it and not another. The sheep aren’t doing very well, not enough forage; and—” she went on and on, discussing everything from leaks in the worn canvas roofs to the total absence of rabbits.