by Lucy Walker
‘Cross hands, like we did when we were kids?’ said Sara.
Greg shook his head.
‘You’re too little, Sara. Put him on my back again.’
‘But it might be miles.’
‘Let’s go as far as we can.’
They did. They’d been walking in the blazing sun for what must have been two hours when the tops of green trees appeared above the horizon.
‘One more pull, Sara.’
Neither of them said anything about thirst. They couldn’t. Their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths. Sara wondered if the green trees meant water. If not, it might have been better to have died in the plane.
The trees did mean water. Well, not exactly water, but Greg, being a bushman, knew they were on a dried-out water-course and that if one dug long enough one would find it.
Greg was exhausted beyond measure and dry beyond words, so he did not explain this to Sara. He merely dropped Jack under a tree, straightened Jack’s legs and then began to dig with a heavy stick in the middle of the decline.
After ten minutes he came to moist sand, and Sara copied him and dug out a handful and put it on her mouth. It was cool and wet.
They both dug with their bare hands till there was a pool of water in the bottom of the hole. They both drank and then Greg soaked his handkerchief and carried it to Jack and squeezed it in Jack’s mouth. Meantime Sara went on digging. She went to the trees and gathered some bark and lined the hole with it so the hole wouldn’t cave in.
Greg broke off some small straight sapling branches.
‘Have you got a petticoat, Sara?’
‘Yes, a nylon one.’
‘Good. He’s beginning to come to.’
Sara took off her petticoat and Greg slit it into strips with his knife to make bandages for splints.
Jack was stirring and groaning, but when Greg straightened the bones of his legs he stopped because he had fainted again.
Greg bound the legs to the splints and then got more water for Jack. Then he sat down beside him and waited for him to come to.
Sara found a patch of shade and lay down on her stomach, her face in her arms, to avoid the flies. Then she went to sleep.
It was dusk when she woke up to the sound of an aeroplane thrumming overhead. Greg was out from under the trees, waving his shirt. The plane circled, something dropped in two small parachutes, and then it flew away to the south.
Greg went out on to the plain to retrieve the parcels sent by parachute. Both contained tins of water and one had food, the other bandages, ointments, other medical supplies including morphia and a hypodermic syringe.
Greg handed some biscuits, chocolate, and vitamin tablets to Sara, and went over to Jack. Sara could see that Jack’s eyes were open but his face was sheet-white and he said nothing. Neither did Greg till he had put the needle in his arm.
‘There you are, old chap,’ he said. ‘You’ll have a decent night at any rate.’
In all none of them had said two hundred words since the engine of the plane had finally cut out.
The next morning the plane, the same Airways plane that was to have taken Julia, Clifford and the families to Perth, landed four or five hundred yards away across the plain. Two hours later they were back on the Ashburton sheep run and half an hour later Sara, with two sleeping tablets inside her, was in bed and asleep.
She slept through the heat of the afternoon and well into the night. When she woke up her mouth was dry with thirst. She wondered if that dreadful dryness would ever leave her.
There was a light on in the living-room. Sara got up, put on Julia’s silk dressing-gown and went barefooted into the living-room. She would make herself some tea.
As she came through one door, Greg, with a teapot and a jug in his hands, came through the other. He was in pyjamas.
They stood in silence and looked across the width of the room at one another.
Then Greg put the teapot and the jug on the table. He held out one hand.
Wordlessly Sara went to it, took it.
‘We made it!’ Greg said.
They stared into one another’s eyes.
‘Yes, we made it!’ Sara said simply.
Sara felt her body quivering against Greg’s. His hand was on the back of her head, pressing it against his shoulder. His other arm was round her and held her tight.
But Sara could say nothing. The words dried up in her throat. Greg’s hand gently caressed the back of her head.
‘Sara …’ he said softly. ‘You were very brave.’
She shook her head where it rested against his shoulder. At last she looked up.
‘We were all very brave,’ she said. Suddenly she was so tired she could hardly stand. ‘It doesn’t mean very much any more, does it? Because one just is. Something just acts for one. One doesn’t think. You didn’t think, did you, Greg?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think. Not after you wouldn’t run for it. After that it was just a team with work to do … against the sun, and against time.’
‘And against weariness. We were very tired, weren’t we?’
‘It was an endurance test.’ He took Sara’s chin in his hand and looked into her face. He smiled. ‘Do you know what, Sara? The tip of your nose is scraped off and you’ve a lopsided cut near your mouth?’
‘And you’ve got a bruise on your forehead and a long cut on the back of your hand.’
‘I wonder how we got them? Do you remember?’
‘No. I was only thinking about what we had to do.’
They sat down at the table, she in her dressing-gown and he in his pyjamas, and drank tea. They had nothing more to say. They were too tired.
‘Go back to bed, Sara child. Tomorrow we’ll talk about it.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Three o’clock. The stars are beginning to fade.’
‘The stars?’
He took her pointed chin in his hand and kissed her gently on the lips.
‘Good morning, Sara,’ he said.
‘Good morning, Greg.’
Chapter Twenty
The heat of the morning’s sun woke Sara. She felt quite different from what she had felt before. Her body was still tired but the rest of her, her spirit, wasn’t. She felt as she had never felt before. She had a purpose. A strong, compulsive purpose and she hadn’t any idea what it was about.
All she knew was that she wanted to get up, have a shower, get dressed and be this different person that she now was.
She had confidence. She had faced the thing she most feared in life … an aeroplane … and had not been afraid. She thought it all had nothing to do with herself but was due to some outside, though unknown, agency, whereas it was in reality her own character which had shone through of its own accord in a moment of extreme trial.
All her clothes had gone up in smoke with the plane, so she found a cotton dress and some underclothes of Julia’s and put them on. They fitted, which made her think that Julia had created an illusion of greater height because of her high heels. Sara thought she would get higher heels with her next shoes.
Mrs. Hunt and Mrs. Sam Camden heard her moving about and they came to see if they could help her.
‘I’m quite all right,’ said Sara. ‘I never felt better in my life. I’d like some hot tea … and some hot toast not made by that dreadful Chinaman who hashes up those stews …’ She paused. ‘That reminds me. We’ve got a very good Chinaman at Ransome. And he can cook. When we get back to Ransome I’m going to see that Hoh does cook. And something more than roast mutton or steak every night too.’
Mrs. Hunt and Mrs. Camden exchanged glances.
‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Hunt, ‘the men at Ransome only eat roast mutton or steak.’
‘Not from now on,’ said Sara, buttoning her frock. Then she smiled. ‘What do you think Julia will say when she sees me in this?’
‘Does it matter very much what Julia says?’ asked Mrs. Sam Camden acidly.
‘No,’ said Sara, ‘i
t doesn’t.’ And then stopped, astonished at herself.
I must have got a bump on my head when we hit the ground, she thought. I am different!
Julia evidently had not concerned herself with Sara’s recovery. When Sara had finished her tea and toast, made by the kindly disposed Mrs. Hunt, she could see from her seat on the veranda that Julia had presumably been concerning herself with Greg’s recovery. They were walking up from the store together. Greg had a pile of cotton goods in his hands so he’d been getting himself, and possibly Sara, a new wardrobe. Yes … Sara could see he had on a new open-necked shirt and a pair of brown cotton drill trousers like the stockmen wore when they weren’t dressed for the saddle.
Julia was talking to Greg in an animated way but Greg was saying nothing. Now and again he wrinkled up his eyes as if looking out into the distance. And once he lifted up his spare hand and moved the brown stockman’s hat to the back of his head.
From the brilliant sunshine outside he could not see on to the fly-screened veranda so it was Julia coming through the door first who saw Sara.
‘So,’ she said. ‘You survived!’ Her eyes took in Sara’s dress. ‘And in my dress by the look of it.’
‘Yes, I’m alive,’ said Sara pleasantly. ‘And in your dress. I hope you don’t mind.’
Greg was on the veranda now. He grinned. ‘I brought you one of the ginghams from the store.’
‘When it’s time to change out of Julia’s dress, I’ll put the gingham on. Have you had tea, Greg?’
‘Yes. I didn’t bring you any. I thought you needed the sleep.’
‘Talking about “when it’s time to change my dress”,’ said Julia, sitting in a cane-chair. ‘I’m likely to need that dress.’
‘But you’re going to Perth. You don’t need cotton dresses like this in Perth. Or in Adelaide, Melbourne or Sydney. Besides, I only want a loan of it.’
‘I need it when I’m at Ransome,’ said Julia peevishly.
‘But you won’t be at Ransome,’ said Sara.
Greg, who had put his bundle down on a small table and seated himself in another chair with his hat on the floor beside him, shot a startled glance at Sara. He was in the act of taking out a cigarette and his hands stopped in mid-air.
Sara looked at him steadily.
‘Oh, I’ll ask Julia quite often,’ she said. ‘Don’t look so startled Greg. I’m quite hospitable at heart really.’
‘You ask me?’ said Julia. Her voice was bored. ‘I happen to be a shareholder …’
‘Not of Ransome homestead,’ Sara said quietly. ‘Of Ransome leasehold … yes. But the homestead was left to Greg in his father’s will. And in my marriage settlement Greg gave me the privileges of the homestead.’ Greg had lowered his eyes and was pushing tobacco in the end of his cigarette with a match. The corners of his mouth twitched. Julia sat up with a start.
‘Greg!’ she demanded. ‘Do you hear what that girl is talking about?’
Sara had heard of a dead-pan face but she had never seen one before. Greg’s face was expressionless.
‘I hadn’t thought of it before. But that is Sara’s legal position.’
‘Do you mean to tell me …’ began Julia with a rising voice.
‘I’ll have to consult my lawyer,’ said Greg. He looked at Julia out of two level blue eyes that were as peaceful as a mill pond. ‘I’m sorry to have come at last to the use of the family chorus. But that’s about it. Every member of the family says, “I’ll have to consult my lawyer”. Now I, too, have come to it. All on account of marrying …’
‘Your secretary!’ Julia put in. She jumped up and stared at Sara. ‘You were in a sweet position to tie him up that way, weren’t you?’
‘I suppose I was,’ said Sara quietly. ‘Though I didn’t really think of it at that time.’ She turned to Greg. ‘When are we going home, Greg?’
The expression on his face did alter now and he looked concerned.
‘We could go right away if we were going by plane. The Airways plane is going to take off with Jack and that sick boy from inland about midday. They’ll fly them to Port Hedland Hospital. But you …’
‘I don’t mind going by plane,’ said Sara. ‘You forget, Greg. I’m not frightened any more. I think I was really frightened of fear. Now I know I’m not.’
Greg was watching her face as she spoke. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘We can leave at midday. I think I can get the Anson through to Port Hedland to pick us up but we may be a day there. I’ll have to get on the air and see …’
‘And what about us?’ said Julia. ‘Have you forgotten that plane originally intended flying to Perth and we were to be its passengers?’
‘I imagine it’s under the Flying Doctor routine now,’ said Greg. ‘If it’s directed to Port Hedland, then that’s where it has to go.’
‘Wait till Clifford hears about this,’ said Julia, and she flounced away as if in search of him.
Sara avoided meeting Greg’s eyes.
‘I don’t think I’ll ask Julia to Ransome for a long time,’ she said. Then she, too, got up and took away the remains of her breakfast of tea and toast.
At midday they left the sheep run in the plane flying the two invalids north. It had been arranged for the rest of the party to go by car to Onslow where they would pick up the ordinary mail plane south.
Jack Brownrigg, who was suffering badly from shock, was still under a soporific so that all that Sara could do for him in the plane was sit beside him.
She brooded over him quietly. He had offered to punch noses for her, but he had done her a better turn than that. He had landed her in the desert and it had taught her to get the spirit of nose-punching herself.
Something had happened between Greg and herself. The experience had drawn them together. She didn’t know quite what it all meant but she did know that she, Sara, would stand up to anything the future had in store for her. Greg had something to offer her. She would take that something, and if it was not all she would be philosophic about it. But she wouldn’t have Julia, or anyone else, taking him away from her. She knew that much at least.
When they arrived at Port Hedland she was surprised to find herself overwhelmed with that dreadful fatigue again, as if something physical had suddenly collapsed inside her. She was even more surprised to find the Flying Doctor clapping her into hospital for the day and shooting a needle into her arm too.
‘You need that, my girl,’ he said. ‘You’re not nearly as hardy as you’re cracking. But I admire you for the show.’
The next day the Anson was waiting for them and it took all day to get to Ransome. Sara wasn’t at all nervous or air-sick. That was probably due to another soporific they had given her before leaving the hospital.
‘They all think I’m suffering from shock,’ she said to Greg. ‘But I’m not. I’m just tired.’
‘It’s not you who is suffering from shock, Sara,’ Greg said with a smile that could almost have had a hint of fun in it. ‘It’s the rest of us.’
Now what did he mean by that? Did he know she was different now? Accidents made people lose their memories. Did they also bring out a latent aggressiveness like shock therapy sometimes did?
Was that what was different about her? Sara’s confidence faltered a little. Then she pushed up her chin again.
‘I’m going to stay this way,’ she said. ‘Maybe I could get thrown by a horse now and again to keep me this way …’
Greg had seen her chin go up and the small firm set of her mouth. He looked down at the cigarette he was packing with a match and the corners of his own mouth twitched. But his face was expressionless and his eyes were blue limpid pools when he looked up.
They arrived at Ransome in the late afternoon, and Sara, who had dozed under the soporific for most of the journey, would not allow anyone to suggest she was tired.
Mrs. Camden and Marion, except for some concern for Jack Brownrigg, seemed to think the aeroplane crash was something of a joke.
‘You both look so fit,�
� they said.
Mrs. Whittle turned to Greg first.
‘Mr. Greg, are you sure you’re all right?’ she asked, and then turned to Sara. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Sara?’
‘Ask Hoh if he’ll come and see me,’ said Sara. ‘I’ve got a longing for fried rice for dinner. He makes it beautifully. I had some one day … in the secrecy of the men’s kitchen down by the quarters.’
‘Fried rice? Well, of course, my dear. I’m sure Hoh won’t mind.’
‘Let him make it in the kitchen, please, Mrs. Whittle. Ask him to make enough for everybody.’
‘Everybody? Well, he could make it by all means. But I expect the men at the table won’t eat it.’
‘Yes, they will,’ said Sara. ‘They’ll have to eat it, sooner or later. I’m going to have it often. I love it. Specially when it’s made with a curry and sweet-and-sour sauce.’
They were all in the billiard room while this conversation was going on, Sam Benson too. There was a stunned silence.
Mrs. Camden broke it with something that sounded like a hollow laugh.
‘My dear, you won’t get away with those ideas for long. Greg always takes the men’s part. Doesn’t he, Sam?’
Sam nodded his head in agreement.
‘He’s not going to now,’ said Sara. ‘Not in the house anyway. He can be master outside, but inside …’ She paused. ‘What are you laughing at, Sam?’
‘You, young ’un. If you think you’re going to tell Greg what to do, inside or out, you’ve got another think coming.’
Greg, in between blowing smoke-rings, contemplated the toe of his shoe. He said nothing.
‘What’s more, Clifford and the rest of the family gang like ordinary dinners,’ put in Marion.
Sara stood up.
‘I don’t want to hear you, Marion, or Mrs. Camden either, talk about Clifford or Jack Brownrigg any more. They are pleasant persons and I like them. But they bore me. At least the discussion of them bores me. Sam! I don’t want any more wise advice from you either. If you don’t like my new ear-rings, then please don’t say so to me. I like them. That’s what’s important.’
Nobody had their mouths open, but the expressions on all the faces except Greg’s looked as if the mouths would open any minute.