"Doctor's orders," Chris said. "Give it another couple of months and I'll be back in the saddle. Meg knows the country, she can play tour guide.”
Cornered, Meg had no option but to play the third wheel.
"We'll change," Meg said, adding, "and I'll saddle the horses."
It took Meg five minutes to pull on her oldest jeans, a long sleeve, check shirt and her elastic-sided boots.
She saddled the two horses and led them around to the front of the house where Liz waited, immaculately attired for a hack in the English countryside, wearing long well-polished leather riding boots, cream jodhpurs, a tweed hacking jacket and neat cream shirt and leather riding gloves. Her hair, tied back in a chignon, beneath her hard hat.
Meg gaped. She could not help it.
"Good, God," Chris exclaimed as he came out of the house, like Meg, dressed in jeans, an old shirt and old walking boots.
"What's wrong?" Liz asked, looking from one to the other of them.
Chris swallowed. "Nothing. You look very professional."
Meg nodded. "You put us to shame." She glanced up at the sky, where dark clouds gathered on the western horizon. "It looks like rain. I'll just go and grab the oilskins. We may need them if we're re going on after the lookout."
She found the long, brown oil skins hanging with an assortment of scarves, hats and jumpers. Her hand lingered on the one that had been Sarah's. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the coat, smelling the old fragrances of oilskin, horse and Sarah. Tears gathered in her eyes but she sniffed them back, grabbed the coats and ran outside.
Robert and Ben had joined the party. Liz had mounted Echo, her posture English-riding-school perfect. Meg handed her Sarah's oilskin and pulled on the smaller one. Chris took his own and shrugged easily into the coat, pulling the battered Akubra hat down on his forehead.
"You look just like The Man from Snowy River," Liz laughed. "Now where are we going?"
Chris turned to Robert. "Keep an eye on Ben for me?"
Robert nodded. "Of course."
Chris laid his hand on Echo’s mane and looked up at Liz. "The countryside around here was gold-mining-central in the nineteenth century,” Chris said. "Stick to the paths or you may find yourself disappearing down a hole."
As they set off, Meg dropped back several paces, affording Chris and Liz the opportunity to chat as the bush closed in around them, the smell of gum mingling with the warm smell of horse and leather. Whip birds and magpies filled the silence with their familiar cries. Meg took a deep breath, letting the soft mountain air fill her lungs.
They encountered a small, grey wallaby on the path. Liz squealed with delight. The animal gave her a scathing look before lolloping slowly into the undergrowth. Liz was still talking about it when they reached the lookout, which offered a splendid view down the valley towards the high country, the mountains rising blue and serene from the plains below.
Liz had her phone out, snapping furiously and trying to include Chris in her images. Meg couldn’t fail to notice that she was not included in any invitations for ‘selfies’.
Chris sat on one of the boulders and pushed his hat back. Meg caught the quick tightening of the mouth and the grimace of pain as he stretched his leg. You don't break a leg in six places and expect to go bushwalking without paying a price. She looped Misty’s reins around her arm and sat beside him.
"You all right?" she whispered.
He took a swig from his water bottle. "Fine," he said between gritted teeth.
“If you want to take Misty, I can walk back,” she ventured.
But before he could answer, Liz perched beside him, her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around her knees. The epitome of the English rose, as fragile, beautiful and foreign to her bush surroundings as any hot-house flower.
They sat in silence, taking in the vista and breathing in the cool, fresh eucalyptus-laden air. Across the horizon the dark clouds were beginning to roll in . A distant flash of lightning in the darkening clouds was followed by a rumble of thunder.
Chris stood up, momentarily favouring his bad leg with a grimace.
"I don't like the look of that weather," he said. "Sorry, ladies, but I suggest we return to base. The bush is not a great place to get caught in a thunderstorm.
They returned at a faster pace, a few spots of rain catching them. Chris limped beside them, his face pale and drawn.
"Liz and I will see to the horses," Meg said as the shack came in sight.
Chris did not argue and left them to lead the horses around into the yard. They unsaddled them, wiped them down and watched as they had a good drink.
"They are lovely," Liz said. She looked at Meg. "Sarah was someone quite special, wasn't she? Did you know her long?"
Meg nodded. "Since primary school."
"Chris told me you used compete in Events."
Meg nodded. "Horse mad, both of us and we were quite competitive, but Sarah was the better rider. She was selected for the Olympics one year but couldn't compete because she broke her arm. She was furious." She smiled at the memory.
Heavy drops of rain spotted the dust of the yard and Meg looked up at the lowering sky. "Time to go in."
She left Liz and walked around to the front of the house where she found Robert asleep on the old couch, his glasses askew and a book resting across his chest. Meg smiled and lifted the glasses off his nose. He stirred but did not wake and she felt a flash of great affection for this man who would be her husband in two short weeks. She saw in the sleeping man, the man she had fallen in love with, young and hopeful, not the world-weary international corporate lawyer he had become.
She sat down beside him and bent to kiss him.
His eyes flickered open, groggy with sleep. Seeing her, he smiled. "I thought a fly had landed on me. What time is it?"
"Is Ben around here?" Chris stood in the doorway, a worried frown creasing his brows.
Meg shook her head.
Robert sat up. "Ben? Last time I saw him, he and that dog were puddling around in the creek."
"The creek?" Chris's eyes widened. Ignoring the rain and his bad leg, he ran down the narrow path to the creek. Meg followed, leaving Liz and Robert staring after them. Chris pulled up by the narrow waterway.
"He's been here," Chris said.
Meg could see evidence of the boy's industry. A dam of small stones had been constructed across the water and assorted twigs and leaves floated in the harbour he’d made. Some of Ben's die-cast cars and trucks were scattered around the bank.
"Damn Robert." Anger flared into Chris' eyes. "I told him to mind Ben!"
"He fell asleep," Meg said, defensive of her fiancé.
Chris put his hands on his hips and scanned the bush. He took a deep shuddering breath.
"Ben!" he called.
The name echoed through the suddenly silent bush.
Robert and Liz joined them. Robert ran a hand through his hair, his brow wrinkled with concern. "God, Chris, I feel terrible. I swear I just closed my eyes for a moment."
Meg jumped across the creek. In the muddy bank, she could clearly see small sneaker and paw prints leading on to a narrow path made by animals that twisted away from the creek into the depths of the bush.
"He crossed the creek,” she said.
Chris turned to Robert and Liz. "You two go back to the house in case he shows up." When Robert opened his mouth to protest, Chris shook his head. "Meg and I know the bush around here and the last thing I need is you getting lost. We'll search. If we're not back in an hour call the police."
Robert nodded and looked up at the sky, which rumbled ominously. In the gathering gloom, the bush lost the serenity and now closed in on them, dark and menacing. The trees still, the birds silent.
Chris plunged into the undergrowth, following the narrow track. Following close behind him, Meg could see the tension in his back and neck as she fought to control her own sense of rising panic.
They took it in turns to call the boy's name, pausing to a
llow for an answering cry.
The few drops of rain had become a downpour. Meg did up the oilskin she still wore and pulled her Akubra down low, grateful for the practical nature of the bush clothes.
"Benjamin!"
If he heard them, he’d know they were serious, using his full name.
The fresh animal track had washed out now, but there were other paths, the conduits of the old mine workings.
"Which way?" Meg asked.
Chris shook his head. They may as well toss a coin. Meg's sharp eye caught something, a broken frond of a fern. "Chris. Look!"
He touched the broken fern, as if his fingertips could glean some vital information from the broken plant. He said nothing but turned to follow where the fern indicated.
"Ben!"
They walked on blindly through the rain, calling his name, their voices swallowed up by the bush. There were no more clues and the now damp, dead fall of leaves from the gums concealed any footprints.
Chris stopped in the lee of a large gum tree and leaned his back against it, rubbing his leg, his face tight with pain.
"Are you all right?" Meg ventured.
"Fine. Don't fuss Meg. I just need a moment."
Meg sank to her haunches to catch her breath.
She stiffened. In the stillness, she thought she heard a dog barking. Chris had heard it too. He looked up, his weary eyes suddenly alert.
"Rufus!" Chris called.
The answering bark made Meg's heart leap. Heedless of the rain and the growing dark, their own pain and exhaustion forgotten, they hurried toward the sound of the barking. Picking their way through the brambles and uneven mine workings and slithering in mud. The light was fading fast but at least the rain had eased off.
"There!" Meg grabbed Chris' arm pointing through the murk to a flash of yellow dog.
Rufus greeted them enthusiastically, running in circles, beating his wet and muddy tail against their equally wet and muddy legs. Meg steadied her beating heart. Where Rufus was, Ben would not be far.
Chris crouched down and took the dog's head in his hands, looking him in the eye. "Where's Ben?"
The dog responded with a wet tongue on Chris's nose. Chris leaned back away from the slobbering dog. Rufus ambled across to a clump of tangled blackberries and stood there barking furiously. As Chris approached, the tangle began to give way under his feet and he jumped back, swearing.
“It’s another of those damned mine workings,” he said as he circled the blackberries, testing each footstep. On the far side, he gave a sharp cry. "Meg! I've found him."
Picking her way carefully through the spiky blackberry runners, Meg joined him. On this side, the entrance to what was no more than a hole in the ground became obvious. In the fading light, they could make out a red tee-shirt and blue shorts some eight or so feet below them.
"Ben!" Meg's voice barely concealed the threatening tears.
Chris hunkered down. "I'm here, Ben."
The little figure did not move and Chris and Meg looked at each other.
"Can you wait here Meg? I'll go back to the house and fetch a rope and some light."
"Chris. I can't just sit here and watch him. I'm small, help me down into the mine and I can check if he's all right and try and keep him warm while you're gone."
For a moment, she thought he would argue but he nodded. "It's dangerous Meg, but if you're willing to take the risk, I would feel better, knowing he was," he swallowed, "still alive."
Meg peered down the hole. The dirt walls were sheer and unstable. Going after him was a huge risk but she didn't see a choice. With Chris gripping her hands, she lowered herself over the side. She released her grip on him, landing clumsily only inches from the child.
Chris's anxious voice came from above. "Meg?"
"I'm fine," she called up.
In the gathering dark, the entrance to the mine was no more than a lighter shade of black. She knelt down beside the child, feeling for a pulse. It was there, a distinct regular beat.
Relief washed over her and she looked up. "He's alive."
Chris let his breath out in an audible sigh. "Thank, God. I'll be back shortly. Rufus, stay!"
She heard him crashing through the bush and then there was silence, made oppressive by the darkness. Above her, the dog whined. At least she was not completely alone.
She shivered, trying not to think about snakes and spiders. Her priority was Ben. She gently turned the child over, trying to make out his injuries, if any. From the warm, stickiness on his face, she guessed he had a cut to his head. She gently felt down his limbs. She was no nurse, but she suspected from the angle of the bones, that his left arm was probably broken and there was nothing she could do about it.
She took off her oilskin, shivering in the damp, cold air, and wrapped the boy in it. She sat with her back against the sodden earth wall of the old mine and took the boy in her arms, holding him close to her.
"Hush little baby don't say a word. Papa's gonna buy you a mockin' bird." She sang the old lullaby that she had crooned to this precious child from the day he was born.
Her voice wavered uncertainly in the silence but the sound gave her courage.
Several songs later she was relieved to hear the sound of voices from above.
From above her, Robert said, "Meg did anyone tell you that you can't sing!"
She'd never been so pleased to hear him.
Yellow light illuminated the mouth of the mine and she gave a quick report on Ben's condition.
"I'm throwing down a rope." Chris sounded more business-like. "Slip the loop under Ben's arms and we'll pull him out."
On cue the rope slithered into the hole. Meg gently unwrapped Ben and looped the rope, across his chest and under his arms, conscious of his broken arm, but there was nothing else to be done.
As she steadied the child from below, Chris gave instructions to Robert to pull. Slowly Ben ascended, looking like a broken puppet. His father's arms were waiting for him to come within reach and he was scooped up out of the dark hole.
"Wrap him in the blanket and we'll get Meg out," Chris ordered.
The rope slithered down the hole again. Meg pulled her oilskin back on and, testing that the rope was firm, hauled herself out the hole. A pair of strong arms helped her up the last few feet and just for a moment she was held against a broad chest. Chris smelled of sweat and horses and dampness but it was nice smell and she wanted to close her eyes and be held like this forever.
"Thank you," he whispered into her hair before releasing her.
A lantern had been set on the ground and Liz sat on a tree stump nursing Ben in her arms. The child had been well wrapped in a blanket and Rufus sat at Liz's feet, his head on his paws, two doleful eyes looking up at his small charge.
Robert finished untying the rope from the nearest tree. Chris gathered up his son from Liz and they slowly made their way back to the shack.
6
The nearest town had an old-fashioned bush hospital. Leaving Liz and Robert at the shack, Chris settled Ben into Meg's arms on the back seat and drove down the mountain, fighting the urge to hit the accelerator and drive like the old road was the Bathurst circuit.
There was no casualty department as such, but they were shown into a well-equipped treatment room. Ben was awake now and in considerable pain from his broken arm. More worrying, from Chris' perspective, was the cut above the boy's eye which had swollen into a large, purple egg-sized lump.
The elderly doctor entered the room, looking tousled, as if he had been called out of his bed. He probably had. Chris ceded his place to the doctor and stood with Meg in the corner of the small room. Her fingers found his, the gentle reassuring touch gave him something solid to hold on to. He didn't want to let go.
"Now then what's all this?" The doctor looked down at Ben and clucked his tongue. "Fell down a mine? If I had a dollar for everyone I've treated who's come a cropper of our forefathers’ earthworks I would be a wealthy man." He turned to Chris. "You were lucky
to find him."
Chris nodded. "We were lucky to have a dog who wouldn't leave his side.”
"Don't blame yourself," the doctor said. "You just have to turn your back for a moment and youngsters like Ben here are off finding trouble.”
Chris managed a watery smile, going through the recriminations in his mind. If he had insisted Ben come with him; if he had left Ben with his parents; if he hadn't left Ben with Robert... if... if... if...
"Ok Ben, let's have a look at you." The doctor turned back to his patient.
The examination was thorough and seemed to take forever, an X-ray confirming what seemed obvious to everyone.
"The arm is definitely broken, but nothing that won't mend," the doctor concluded. "We'll set that now." His hand passed over the boy's forehead. "That's a nasty bump but I don't think there is any serious damage. Concussion, shock and a bad headache, but nothing worse." He smiled at Ben. "You, young man, have a hard head." He turned to Chris and Meg taking them both in with a quick glance. "I'd like to keep him in for the night, just to be sure. If you two want to stay as well, that's fine." He looked at Meg, "I must say, Mrs. Kingsley, you look as if you're all done in. In fact, you both do. Don't worry, Ben will be fine."
Meg glanced at Chris and opened her mouth, probably intending to protest that she was not Mrs. Kingsley, but the doctor had turned away and was giving orders to the nurse to fetch plaster and water.
As they were in the way in the small room, Chris and Meg left Ben to the medical staff and stepped out into the hospital corridor.
"I don't know about you, but I could do with some fresh air," Chris said.
The hospital corridors were quiet and their footsteps sounded like thunder on the linoleum. They stepped out on to the verandah that ran around the old building. Chris leaned against one of the posts and took a deep shuddering breath. The rain had passed and the air smelt fresh and clean.
"I hate hospitals, even small ones like this," he said more to himself than to Meg. He had more cause than most to hate hospitals, having spent the better part of this year in one.
Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart Page 25