The Flyer (11 page)

The camps stretched as far as she could see on either side of the river. At first glance, it seemed as though hundreds of Aborigines huddled in groups of ten or twelve around small fires, tended to by half-naked women. Most of the men concentrated on painting each other’s bodies with the white mud in a dizzying series of lines and dots.

Kadin pulled on her arm, bringing her attention away from a scene that she assumed few Americans had ever seen. “My sister’s over here.”

Suddenly nervous, Helen glanced at Paul.

His smile brought her comfort and an unexpected measure of confidence. “It’s fine, love. There’s nothing to worry over.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Nah. Blue and I have things to discuss. Kadin will bring you back.”

This was why she’d come to Australia in the first place, wasn’t it? To tend to those who needed tending? To bring medicine to places that had never had it?

Steeling herself for her first test in the wilds, she took a deep breath and followed Kadin to his sister’s camp.

“How old is your sister?” she asked Kadin as they approached a group of four women who crouched around a fifth, lying in a curled heap in the shade of a squat tree.

“We don’t measure our ages, but she became a woman three summers ago.”

“What has she been complaining of?”

“Her stomach hurts. She thought she was going to have a child, but her woman time came yesterday. Her husband left yesterday to gather herbs with our mother. They have not returned.”

At first, the women didn’t make room for Helen, but after a few words she didn’t understand from Kadin, they parted. Almost hidden behind their wide frames, the young girl huddled in the fetal position. Her flesh had turned an ashen gray color, and her eyes spoke volumes about the pain she endured.

Helen knelt beside her and pressed her wrist to the girl’s forehead. “What’s her name?”

“Jayla,” her brother answered, his voice cracking. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t believe it’s too serious. At least, not life threatening, if we can help her through it. She doesn’t have a fever.”

“But what’s wrong?”

Jayla mumbled something in her exotic and unintelligible language. The message was clear, however. Any woman would know the fear and desperation winding through the sobbed words. Helen stroked Jayla’s cheek, then turned to Kadin. “I’ll need you to leave for a little while. Can you tell the women to stand just there?” she asked, pointing to the edge of the fire pit. “Tell them not to allow anyone through. I’m sure your sister doesn’t want anyone to see her like this.”

“I don’t understand,” he replied, his face drawn into worried lines.

“She was going to have a baby, Kadin, but the baby hasn’t survived. I need to make sure everything is fine, and in a few days, her body will heal. I’m afraid her soul may take a while longer.”

“You gathered all that from just looking at her?” He frowned.

“Not exactly. But I’m fairly certain I’m right. I’ll know more after I’ve examined her. Now, please, do as I ask.”

A tear formed in the corner of the young man’s eyes, then fell over his defined cheekbone, drawing a path through the paint he wore so proudly. He told the women what she asked, and then joined with them when they formed a human wall nearby.

After what seemed like hours, Jayla had completed her miscarried pregnancy and, in essence, delivered a babe small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Helen wrapped the remains in a square of gauze and laid the bundle next to Jayla, who had finally fallen asleep with the help of a dose of morphine.

There was nothing easy about losing a baby. Not for the mother, and not for any physician with a soul. Helen’s chest burned, and tears threatened to pour out like rain. Wiping the tears back before they could fall, she sniffed. She could cry her personal anguish later. When she was alone.

For now, she had work to do.

By early afternoon, Jayla had been bathed and wrapped in a light sheet at Helen’s insistence to keep as much dust and dirt away from her as possible, and Helen had found Paul in another campsite.

Seeing him brought a slew of questions to the front of her mind. How would Jayla’s husband take the news that his first child had died before it had even been born? Did men suffer as greatly as women at such a loss? If Kadin were any measure, the answer was definitely yes. Would

Paul be a fine father? Would he grieve at the loss of an unborn child?

Did he even want children? Of course, he was much older than she. Perhaps he’d decided years ago not to have a family.

As if she’d spoken aloud, he raised his face in her direction. His frown answered all of her questions in an instant. Rising, he tucked on his hat and crossed to her. “I heard what happened. Rotten luck, that is. Are you jake?”

“Of course. This is part of my job, isn’t it?” she snapped. She didn’t mean to, but he’d caught her off guard. Most people would have asked about the mother of the dead child. Yet for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to understand, Paul seemed more concerned about her.

She didn’t want that kind of attention. Not from him. Not from anyone. She was here to help these people, and help them she would. The sooner she learned that emotion had no place in her work, or her life, the better off she would be.

A herd of children chose that moment to accost Paul, rummaging through his pockets until they withdrew pieces of candy he’d obviously stashed there just for them. Her unspoken questions had been answered. He adored children, and they adored him in return.

Helen made a mental note to check everyone’s teeth before she left, but smiled despite the rather serious implication of introducing such a diet to a child unaccustomed to it. When the children ran back to the river, she scanned the banks on both sides. “Now that the emergency is taken care of, I’m not sure where to begin.”

“That’s an easy one. Begin with the elders and work your way down. You don’t have to see everyone today. The gathering will last for several weeks. We’ll be back.”

“Do many of them speak English?”

“A few. Most of those here have resisted moving to the reservation. They like the old ways better.”

Helen turned to the sound of a deep, richly accented voice. A man approached from the forest. Black as night, he was one of the few Aborigines she’d seen who wore clothing similar to Paul’s—khaki britches and a matching shirt with sturdy boots covered in red dust. His hair was shorter than most of the others, but still long by society’s standards. He wore none of the paint on his face that the others did.

“In fact, you’re witnessing a fairly rare event,” Paul continued. “The clans seldom meet like this anymore, especially in this part of the world. A good measure of the young people you see here now have traveled from the cities to get here. Only the oldies keep the old ways.”

“That’s too bad,” Helen sighed, unable to take her gaze from the gentle man who came to a stop next to Paul, slapping him on the back with a friendly hand.

“It is. But then, progress comes, and there is little we can do about it.”

“Progress isn’t always a bad thing, mate. When did you get here, Dju?”

“Last night. I’ve been hunting with a few of the others, or I would have found you sooner. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your woman?”

Helen flushed. “I’m not—”

“She’s one of those progress things you were just harping on about. Dr. Helen Stanwood, meet Djuru.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry if I seem to be staring, but you look so very familiar, and yet I know we can’t possibly have met before.” She paused. “I’ve got it. You look just like Blue. Is he a relative?”

Paul crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at Djuru. “Have you seen your father yet?”

Blue turned at the sound of his name.

Djuru had come home.

Initially, his heart leapt in his old chest, coming to rest in the back of his throat. He thought he’d been prepared for this moment. The dream had come many times over the past season, sometimes lucid and clear while he slept, and sometimes in the Dreaming when he received messages from the Ancestors. He’d known his son would return, but was any parent truly ready to see their child grown into a man?

He was taller now than when he’d left. His shoulders were more squared and firm with heavy muscles. Despite the lack of mud on his flesh, and the whitefellas’ strides he wore loose on his hips, he looked good. He’d been missed.

Still, the bitterness of a bad parting rose like a serpent in his belly. Slapping his hands together to rid them of sand, Blue stood. If only he could reject the pain like so many grains of sand. Perhaps it would have been better if his son had stayed in the whitefellas’ world. He had made a place for himself there, despite his history and the color of his skin. He was a teacher now, working in a school that helped the Aborigines who chose to live in the cities. It was noble work, and Djuru had been raised with the knowledge and wisdom of the Dreaming. It was important to share the stories with the young members of their race.

All of this made perfect sense to Blue, yet he couldn’t help feeling rejected by his son’s abject refusal to live the old way.

While Blue crossed the beach, Djuru’s smile widened and he nodded. Blue followed his son’s gaze to the white woman at his side.

The woman doctor would face challenges, but she would have to face them on her own. As though she’d heard him, she fastened her gaze on him. Her cheeks blushed in the dappled shade, and he smiled. “You are pretty when you smile. You should smile more often,” Blue commented, finally reaching the small group. “The first time I saw you, you were too sad for one so pretty.”

“I remember,” she replied, her head cocked to one side. “You speak in riddles, don’t you?”

“Not riddles. Observations.”
Gifts from the Dreaming
.

“Blue, how many clans have arrived so far?” Paul crossed his arms lazily over his chest, hiding a wince that Blue suspected none but he could see. His shoulder still bothered him, but he wouldn’t let anyone, especially the woman, know it. Such pride could be a harmful thing.

“Almost all of them. Djuru’s bride arrived this morning.”

Djuru groaned. “Father, you know I’m not going to marry her. Why do you insist upon calling her that?”

“You will marry her.” How many times must he explain the process to his son? It was this same argument that had driven Djuru away in the first place, to the whitefellas’ world. He had fallen in love with one who could never be his.

“You can believe whatever you like, but I’m not going to marry some girl you’ve picked out for me a hundred bloody years ago. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to me.”

“It is done.”

Helen cleared her throat. All eyes turned on her, and she blanched beneath the onslaught. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but shouldn’t I get back to work? Is there a place where the elderly or the infirm might be?”

“I’ll take her,” Djuru offered, a bit too quickly.

“We’ll finish this later, son. There is no escaping it.”

5

Y
ou’ll have to pardon my father,” Djuru sighed while he escorted Helen across the campsite. “He refuses to understand that the world has changed.”