The Flyer (23 page)

“Doc, are you feeling well?” Marla asked, propped on her pillow while she sipped a root-beer float through a straw.

Helen turned away from the window. Forcing a smile, she answered, “Quite. Why do you ask?”

“You look sad. You keep staring out the window.”

“I like to look at the rosebushes, that’s all. Did you know I have the same rosebushes outside my bedroom window at home?”

Marla scoffed. “No.”

“I do. When I was a little girl, smaller than you, Doc came to America and stayed with my family. He liked my mother’s roses so much, my mother dug one up, and he carried it all the way back here and planted it.”

“Seems like a lot of work for a bunch of flowers, doesn’t it?”

“All of the beautiful things in the world require hard work, Marla. But it’s worth it.” She paused to press her wrist against Marla’s forehead, then smiled. “No fever left at all. I suppose you’ll want to go home now and leave us all alone.”

The girl beamed. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

The bedroom door opened, and Mrs. McIntyre, accompanied by her eldest daughter, came into the room.

When she saw Helen, she stopped short. “Dr. Stanwood,” she whispered, nodding.

“Mrs. McIntyre.” Would it kill the woman to smile? Her daughter had been returned from the brink of death with no lasting effects of her injuries whatsoever. One might think her mother would be pleased. “Marla can go home with you, if you like. Nanara washed her dress. It’s in the top drawer, just there.” She pointed to the chest of drawers on the far side of the room.

“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I’d very much like to dress her and take her home immediately.”

The older woman’s cold, hard eyes bore into her. Chills covered Helen from her neck to her toes. Brushing past the foot of the bed, in front of Mrs. McIntyre and her daughter, she lowered her head.

A hand caught her arm, halting her in place. “Wait a moment, if you would, please,” Adelaide demanded. “Mother, don’t you agree that Dr. Stanwood has done an excellent job of tending to Marla?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. McIntyre’s hand flew to her heart, her mouth hanging open so she resembled a baby bird.

“She saved your daughter’s life. I would think you’d like to thank her for that.”

Her mouth snapped closed, her jowls shaking. “I … I …”

Adelaide rolled her eyes, dropping her hand before she faced Helen. “I apologize for my mother, Dr. Stanwood. And I apologize for … well, for making an ass out of myself when you first arrived. I shouldn’t have judged you unfairly. You’re a wonderful doctor. Everyone in town says so. Paul can’t speak highly enough of you, and that’s good enough for me. The fact that without you, my little sister might not have survived is even better. Thank you for saving her life.” Adelaide paused, her lips curling into a friendly grin. “Doc.”

Helen’s throat swelled with the beginning of tears. Her eyes misted, and she blinked away the moisture. “I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

“Say, ‘You’re welcome,’“ chimed Marla.

Laughter bubbled behind her unshed tears, and she let it out just as a tear slipped free, burning her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, laughing again. “You’re welcome, Adelaide. I was only doing my job, but … you’re welcome.”

Helen left the family and practically skipped to her office. Everyone said she was a good doctor? The community appreciated her efforts? She’d been accepted. Her heart burst with joy and the unexpected pride that came from knowing she’d finally made a decision that had been the correct one. She was a doctor. A good doctor.

She closed her office door, her gaze settling on the basket of dried flowers on her desk.

The memory of Paul’s hands comforting her came rushing back. Paul’s soft words. Paul’s kindness. His mouth on hers.

She was a good doctor. She’d been accepted by the community where she planned to spend the rest of her life. Her plan to reinvent herself, to begin her life over, was working perfectly.

And she’d never felt so completely alone.

10

W
hose shout is it, mate?” Tim lifted his empty mug over his head and glanced around.

A few seconds later, the barkeep refilled Paul’s grog. Paul didn’t want to drink it. He didn’t even want to be in the boozer, but Tim had dragged him off the street.

As little as two months ago, he had spent a few hours every evening sitting here. Sometimes he drank too much, but most of the time he simply enjoyed ending the day with his mates. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. He’d been perfectly content.

He drank from his freshened draught and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fellas, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“What? It’s still early, Paul. You can’t go home. Billy hasn’t even fallen off his chair yet!”

Smiling, he slipped off his stool and clapped Tim on the back. “Sorry. I have another big day tomorrow. You stay and drink my share, will you?”

“No worries,” Tim laughed.

Paul escaped the confines of the drinking room and passed through the parlor unmolested, even though Billy’s wife looked more than angry that she had to wait for her husband. Again. Two other wives were busy sewing in the dim light, while a third read a book. In a few hours, they’d each be half-carrying, half-dragging their menfolk home.

He tried to imagine Helen waiting for him at the pub, visiting with the other wives and plying a needle and thread through a worn pair of his socks. Somehow, he couldn’t see it. Not only was she an American, unaccustomed to life in the bush, but she was feisty. She would more likely shove her way past the ladies’ parlor and right into the drinking room, order a shout of piss for the room, and damn anyone who said she couldn’t.

The thought brought a smile to his lips. At least, he suspected that’s what she’d been like before. He’d seen hints of it. These days, she was gun-shy. Trying to fit in, trying to forget her past. He’d tried more than once to get information out of old Doc, but the cheeky bastard was a tightlipped as a frog … Hell, he only wanted to know what had happened to her.

When he reached the street, he turned left and headed for his Rugby. The night was dark. Overhead, a few stars winked, but storm clouds had moved in since he’d gone inside. Just as he slid behind the steering wheel, a horrific shriek cut the velvet of night.

Helen!

Tim and the others hurried out of the pub behind him. Together, they ran to Helen’s apartment and found her standing in the center of the street, her long white nightgown practically glowing in the moonlight. Nanara stood beside her, also shaken but not overly so. “It tried to kill me!” Helen screamed, turning in a frantic circle until she saw Paul, then throwing herself at him with the force of a small wildebeest.

She impacted his chest and sent him two steps back before he regained his footing, took her by the shoulders, and finally brought her attention to his face. “Calm down, Helen. What tried to kill you?”

“It’s huge! Paul, you have to kill it! It tried to eat me!”

“What are you talking about? Tell me what you saw.”

“Huge! Gigantic! Oh my Lord, Paul,” she finished, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. After a moment, she seemed to regain some of her composure and released a long, slow breath.

“Are you better now?” he asked, pulling her against his chest and stroking her hair. She gripped him tightly, her hands like branding irons on his back.

“I think so. But I can’t go back in there. I just can’t.”

“What was it, love?”

“A … a spider. I think. But it was enormous!”

The crowd laughed. “A spider?” Tim echoed. “All this for a bloody insect?” He took his hat off and shook his head. “Women.”

“Mr. O’Leary,” Helen chastised. “I’ll have you know, this was no ordinary spider.”

“What kind of spider was it?” Paul asked, reluctantly setting Helen back to arm’s length while he tried to catch his breath. She wore the scent of lilacs and woman, and holding her so closely was more of a danger than any spider.

“The gigantic kind, obviously,” she answered, smoothing her hair, then her gown.

“I’ve never seen one like it, Paul. Honestly, it truly is enormous,” Nanara interjected.

Suddenly Helen seemed to realize she stood in the street in her nightclothes. Immediately she folded her arms over her chest. “It’s black, and it has fur. And eyebrows.”

“How big was it?”

She held her hands in a circle about six inches wide. “About so.”

“Including the legs?”

“Yes. All eight of them, thank you. It’s gargantuan. The damn thing could start a conversation with you if it wanted to.”

“Come. It couldn’t have been all that,” interjected Adelaide McIntyre.

Helen sent Adelaide an imploring glance. “Trust me. It was all that and more.”

Adelaide slid her arm around Robert’s and pulling him close whispered, “Shouldn’t someone go see to the beast for her?”

“I think you’re exactly right, Addy,” Paul grinned before clearing his throat. “Would you like me to vanquish it for you, my lady?” He tipped his hat in what he hoped was gallant fashion.

Helen cast her gaze to the street for a moment before raising her eyes to meet his. “I can’t go back in there until I know it’s gone. It’s in the upstairs parlor.”

“Very well. I’ll slay the beast for you and be back momentarily.” He strolled to the front porch while Tim and Robert Kelley, Adelaide’s fiancé, followed.

“The door’s open,” Helen called after him.

Paul had been in the flat a few times over the years. The parlor was the first room. With the lights burning low, he had no trouble finding the offending creature, hanging on the wall like a grotesque decoration.

“Hello. How did you get all the way out here?” Paul asked, more to himself than either his companions or the spider. A huge birdeater looked back at him with venom in the cluster of its black eyes.

“Crikey, mate. That’s a bit out of place, isn’t it? I haven’t seen one of those since we sailed out of Melbourne before the war.”

“I need a bloody net, don’t I?” Paul thought for a moment. Before he could figure out exactly how to catch the spider without suffering a nasty bite or leaving a rather large stain on the wallpaper, Helen snuck around the corner.

“Did you find it?”

“It was rather hard to miss, wasn’t it?” Paul rubbed his chin. “Have you any stockings?”

“Excuse me?”

“Stockings. You know, those silken things you ladies like to put on your legs …”

“Yes, I know what they are. Why do you want them?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Humor me.”

She hurried down the hall and returned with a single stocking in a nude color. The heavy silk was cool in his hands when she gave it to him, and his blood heated at the thought of her wearing a pair—and nothing else.

He stifled a moan and turned back to the wall. The spider hadn’t moved. It was as though it was trying to blend into the pattern of the paper.

Concentrating on ridding the flat of its troublesome invader, he ripped the stockings along the seam. A startled gasp came from behind him. He knew it was Helen, but she didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t look at her. She was so beautiful in her nightdress, like the first night he’d seen her. Her hair, curling wildly instead of straightened tight against her head, begged for a man to run his fingers through the silky strands.

No, he couldn’t look at her, not for a second, and still keep the promise he’d made. Instead, he redoubled his efforts to the problem at hand. Once he’d opened the stocking, he stretched it and crept to the wall. He placed the silk over the spider, quietly and carefully. Its legs quivered, and for a moment, it looked as if the birdeater would rise up and strike. In a flash, Paul covered it, scooped it into the stocking, and tied the ends together, trapping the spider inside. The creature fought wildly, but couldn’t escape the woven silk. Helen screeched and leapt to the door.

Sweat formed on his forehead when he’d finished, and he wiped it away with the back of his sleeve. “There, that wasn’t so difficult.”

“Is it dead?”

“No. I don’t think you want me to do that. Talk about a mess.”

“Kill it! Take it outside and kill it. Now!” She vacated her position by the door and scurried to the far side of the room.