Women and War (33 page)

‘Go on.' Alys tapped her hand. ‘I expect Mrs Reilly would like you to go and help attend to Robyn. I'll stay with my mother for the time being.'

The maid got to her feet, obviously relieved and trying not to show it.

‘Are you sure, Miss?'

‘Quite. Off you go.'

In the doorway she paused, looking back. ‘You won't be going off to Alice Springs tomorrow now then, I suppose.'

Alys looked down at the motionless form. She could see the twisted mouth now; lifted at the corner as it was it appeared as if Frances was smiling. A shudder ran through Alys and a swift involuntary thought, for which she was instantly and thoroughly ashamed.

You got your way again, Mummy.

She tore her eyes away from the face which it seemed had managed to dominate all her life.

‘No, Norma,' she said. ‘I won't be going now.'

Twenty-four hours later Frances came out of her coma and the second stroke which Dr Whitehorn had warned of was uncharacteristically slight. Two weeks of dedicated nursing and Frances was able to sit out for short periods in the chair beside her bed, another week and she had graduated to whole days by the window. But although she gained daily in strength, there seemed to be no sign of her faculties returning to normal. Her face remained drawn, her speech slurred and uncertain, her arm and leg were still paralysed and she had trouble in swallowing, or indeed accepting food and drink into her mouth at all. The nurses fed her with devoted efficiency just as they washed and dealt with her every need and Daniel arranged for a lift to be installed on the staircase.

‘You see – in no time at all you'll be downstairs again!' Alys said.

Frances merely stared at her. One eye was half-closed but the other, wide and shrewd, saying things that her lips could not, was disconcerting to face.

You are not going to leave me, are you? said that eye. I may have nurses to attend to my every need but that is not the same as having my daughter here.
I want you here
. And what Beverley said was true – it is your fault that I am as I am. I would never have had this stroke if you had not been so wilful and worried me into it. The least you can do now is remain here and do your duty …

Alys swallowed hard.

‘Don't look at me like that, Mummy,' she begged. ‘I'll stay here just as long as you need me, don't worry.'

‘My … good … girl,' Frances managed, slowly and with great effort. But Alys saw the gleam of triumph in that glassy eye and the way the good side of her mouth curved upwards into a smile and cringed.

She could not go now. Her conscience would never allow it. But oh God, how long would she be here, trapped into submission by Frances' condition? Weeks – months – years – who could say? Only one thing was certain, Frances now had her in a strangle hold and as long as there was life in her body, she would not let her go.

Tara knew what she had to do. She had known from the moment Richard had said that Alys was coming back. She had pieced it all together with his ideals about commitment and his strictly honourable code and it pointed her in one sure direction.

Oh yes, Tara knew what she had to do – the difficulty was in finding the opportunity to do it.

The Wet had returned, hot and steamy – the dusty ground was already turning into a quagmire and the tropical vegetation was rioting all around. Why hadn't she pressed her advantage and tried to get things moving while the weather had been good? They couldn't go for walks now without wearing gumboots, and any drives in the ute, unless they remained on the bitumenized Track, were likely to end with their being very firmly stuck in the mud.

Tara gained a respite when Kate Harris told her she had received a letter from Alys saying that her mother had been taken ill and she would not be able to return to Northern Territory until there was some change in her condition, but Tara had no way of knowing how long that would be.

Then there was the problem of becoming an AMWAS. As Matron Swift had predicted, its formation was authorized on 1st December, 1942 and Tara knew she would soon be pressed into enlisting. But supposing when she did she was sent off to an army training camp to learn to drill? Worse – supposing she was posted elsewhere than back to 138 AGH – with another group of new AMWAS, perhaps? As an enlisted member of the armed forces she would have no leeway for protest. The thought of leaving a clear field for Alys Peterson was an agonizing one.

One steaming December day Tara was working in the dispensary. A new consignment of drugs and supplies was expected when the convoy could plough its way up the Track and the half-empty shelves made it an ideal opportunity to dust, clean and wipe away the little pocket of mildew that had already begun to collect in corners and grooves. Tara hated the work. The steam rising from the bowl of hot soapy water was making her uncomfortable and she had to stop every so often to wipe her hands and mop the little trickles of perspiration out of her eyes.

Never mind. Another half-hour and she was due off duty and she had nearly finished – praise be!

The door swung open and Kate Harris came in. The sister whose place she had taken on Leaping Lena was fully recovered from her bout of fever and Kate was now back with 138.

‘How is it going?' she asked.

‘Almost done.' Tara straightened, wringing out her cloth and giving the shelf one last sweep.

‘I thought so. How do you fancy a trip out into the outback?'

‘A trip?' Tara glanced out of the window. It was hardly the weather for trips, not actually raining at the moment but the sky looked laden and dark.

‘Well, not a trip exactly. We've had a call from Bluey Freeman. It seems he is worried about Reg. His breathing is very bad and his temperature is high. Bluey has to go down to Pine Creek on urgent business but he doesn't want to leave Reg without getting somebody in to have a look at him. To be honest, it sounds to me as if he should have made the call a couple of days ago but Bluey says they've been very busy. You know what they are both like when it comes to that station of theirs – everything else takes second place, including their health.'

Tara flopped the cloth back into the bowl of water. ‘I know.'

Bluey and Reg Freeman were fruit and vegetable growers who ran a market garden some twenty miles down the Track. They were two of the few civilians who had been allowed to remain in the Territory because they supplied the armed forces with fresh food. And very popular they were too. Besides sending in the extra special treats of bananas and pineapples, mangoes and tomatoes in season, they had opened their station to those on the nursing staff who were keen horsemen and women – Kate, herself raised on a Victorian farm, was amongst those who had been there to ride and take advantage of their easygoing hospitality. But, by the same token, the two men, bachelor brothers, were stubborn as mules about leaving their property – ‘It would take a whole army of Japs to move them' was often said of them.

‘Anyway, Richard Allingham is going,' Kate went on, automatically rearranging a row of bottles Tara had replaced on a shelf. ‘He wants someone to go with him and suggested you. I know you are off duty in half-an-hour or so, but as Richard said, there is really no need for a fully qualified sister to go when they have so much to be doing here and he didn't think you would mind.'

Tara glanced at her and thought she caught the hint of a twinkle in Kate's eye, but before she could be sure it was gone again. Kate was not exactly overloaded with a sense of humour, she thought, but she was a very nice person.

‘Of course I'll go,' she said.

Kate glanced at her wristwatch.

‘Go and get your gumboots on then – ten minutes, Richard said. I'll finish putting these bottles back on the shelves.'

‘Right – thanks.' Tara picked up the bowl of soapy water. In the doorway she glanced back. Kate was replacing the bottles with a precision that was almost unbelievable. Tara bit back a smile. She would be there all night at that rate!

Tara threw away the dirty water, went to look for her gumboots and the smile returned, full-blooded. A drive down the Track and back alone with Richard – thanks Reg Freeman! Once again you've turned out to be a sport!

The Freeman place was off the Track at the end of five miles or so of unmade-up road. In places it was only just wide enough for the ute and already the rain had made it heavy going. But not many vehicles passed this way – it had not been churned up as some parts of the Track were – and the four-wheeled drive ute held it easily.

‘What do you think is wrong with Reg?' Tara asked.

‘From what Bluey said he's got chest trouble – bronchitis probably.' Richard was concentrating on driving, looking out for potholes or dips in the track; his clear profile made Tara feel weak inside. ‘He smokes too much, of course, they both do. But try telling them that!'

Tara said nothing. His words had brought her a picture crystal-clear, of Maggie, cigarette drooping from her lips, smoke curling up into her hennaed hair. Oh yes, Maggie, too, had smoked too much. And telling her so would have done no more good.

A small lump rose in her throat. Oh Maggie, Maggie, I still miss you so! Before you were always
there
. Now – now there is no one …

She sniffed sharply, tossing her head.

On either side of the track the foliage was thick and luscious. It was amazing how quickly it could grow once the Wet came. Fronds slapped the sides of the ute; looking past them Tara noticed the air was clear like a magnifying glass so that the distant trees looked to be within touching distance.

‘There's going to be one hell of a storm when it breaks,' she said.

Richard steered around a hump in the road. ‘Let's hope we can get back before it comes or we could get bogged down. These tracks pretty soon become impassable.'

A tiny imp of hope leaped deep within Tara. ‘ Marooned in the back of beyond with my favourite man!' she joked and her tone did not give away for one second the fact that she could imagine no nicer fate.

Another mile or so and the Freeman place loomed up – a sprawling bungalow which had once been white-painted but now, after thirty Dry seasons had spewed whirlwinds of dust at its rough-plaster walls, was nearly as red as its corrugated roof. To the front of it, across a broad yard, were the outbuildings – a shed which had once housed farm machinery and now provided cover for the Freeman brothers' battered ute, and a dome beneath which they nursed some of their plants and seedlings and grew the tomatoes. Behind the house was a paddock and stables and then the start of the nursery proper – plantations of banana and pineapple palms, mangoes and peach trees. Further out, the Freeman brothers had a small herd of beef cattle – they believed in having their own steak to precede the fruit sweets at table.

Often in the late afternoon one or other of the brothers could be seen sitting on the veranda which ran the length of the front of the bungalow, smoking and downing a cold beer. Today the house looked deserted. Bluey must have already left for Pine Creek. Richard drew the ute up to the foot of the veranda steps and reached into the back for his bag. Tara scrambled down onto the caked-mud yard and stood waiting for him. She felt oddly nervous.

I'd never make a real nurse, she thought. But as long as she could follow Richard in she supposed she would manage.

The door was ajar. ‘Reg! Hullo-ah!' Richard called pushing it wide open. There was no reply. ‘Hullo-ah!' Richard called again.

Tara hung back uncomfortably. The windows were open all along the veranda yet the room seemed airless somehow.

‘He's in bed most probably,' Richard said.

Tara followed him across the narrow L-shaped kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, the remains of a meal heaped into a sheet of newspaper ready for disposal. Plainly Bluey had forgotten to throw it in the bin before leaving, and now the flies were buzzing around it, jockeying for position and settling. There was a pair of gumboots abandoned in the middle of the floor and a trail of small clumps of dried red mud leading to them. Men! Tara thought impatiently. But considering that the women who ‘did for' the Freemans had been evacuated south, the kitchen was remarkably tidy.

The bedrooms ran along the side of the bungalow but when he reached the doorway of the kitchen Richard needed no further guidance as to where to find Reg. The rasp of his breath carried across the passageway. Following him Tara saw a plainly furnished room with a bed, a washstand with a rose-sprinkled china jug and basin and a chest topped by a large glass-funnelled Tilly lamp.

Reg lay in the bed. He was flushed and not only his chest but his whole body rose and fell with every laboured breath. He was slumped against the pillows, his eyes half-closed; even the briefest greeting was too much effort for him.

‘Well, Reg, you are a fine one!' Richard said. He had his medical bag open but Tara could fell from his expression that he had made a diagnosis already. Even she, with her scanty experience, was able to hazard a guess and she was not surprised when Richard straightened up removing the stethoscope from his ears and trading her a grave glance.

‘How would you feel about us getting you into hospital Reg?'

Reg managed to recover enough breath to open his eyes wide. They were rheumy and distant, a faded watery blue. ‘No,' he managed.

‘I'm sorry, old sport, but I don't think you have any choice,' Richard told him. ‘You're verging into pneumonia and you're going to have to be where we can look after you. When do you expect Bluey back?'

Again Reg summoned his breath with an effort. ‘Tomorrow'.

‘Well, you can't stay here alone. You are a lot worse since he left you, I expect. Now look, Reg, I'm going to have to use your wireless to call an ambulance. Where is it? In the kitchen?'

Reg confirmed with a nod. ‘Pedal wireless,' he gasped.