The doctors choice

by Wilde, Hilary

  She was in the state when it would be so terribly easy to turn to someone else, just as an escape from her thoughts, as a chance to prove herself— to recover from the shock of having been rejected!

  . She had seen it happen so often to other girls. It was tempting, for the loneliness inside her was very, great and now there seemed a sort of desolate emptiness. She had accepted the fact that she had lost Peter — that, indeed, she had never had him, and this was the start of a new life for her, but she must be careful. Very careful never to read something in what a man said casually and might not really mean.

  She closed her eyes as she leant against her door. She could not bear to be hurt like this again.

  In the morning, Val remarked on her rapid recovery.

  Later, Barry clung to her, his eyes afraid. “I thought you were going to be sick like I was,” he said. “I was afraid.”

  She smoothed his dark untidy hair. “I just felt unhappy,” she explained.

  His face changed. “I know.” He looked up at her.

  “Don’t forget our secret, Clare.”

  She dropped a kiss on his head. “No, darling, I won’t, and it’s a great help. Don’t forget, though, we might change our minds. You may feel differently when you’re grown up.”

  He nodded. “I won’t, but we can discuss it.”

  She gave him a quick hug. “Yes, we can discuss it.”

  “Let’s listen to the medical session, Clare. I want to listen every day now.”

  “We usually do,” Clare reminded him.

  “I know, but now I mustn’t ever miss it,” Barry told her solemnly. “You see, Uncle David and I talked, and I’m going to be a doctor. Uncle David says what I’ve been through would help me. Would you like a doctor for a husband?”

  She smiled, ignoring the sharp pain that stabbed her..

  Peter was a doctor and had been going to be, so she had thought, her husband!

  “I couldn’t like anything better,” she said gaily.

  They walked down the corridor and she added, “I think doctors make the nicest husbands of all.”

  “Oh, you do?’.’ Mike said, materializing from a doorway. “What a sweeping statement!”

  He looked at her. He was as lean and lanky as she remembered, his red hair bright, his hazel eyes teasing as he surveyed her. She was wearing a cool-looking green cotton dress, had dampened her hair and ,brushed it back from her forehead in a vain effort to ease the heat of the day.

  She smiled at him. “Don’t we all make sweeping statements sometimes?” She added over her shoulder.

  “We’re going to listen to the doctor. Want to?”

  Mike grinned. “No, thanks. His deep voice does not cause my heart-strings to flutter!”

  Startled, Clare paused. “It doesn’t cause mine,” she said quickly.

  Mike lifted his eyebrows and his eyes were dancing.

  “It doesn’t? The lady doth protest too much, me-thinks.”

  “Hurry, Clare,” Barry called. “I don’t want to miss any.”

  Later, sitting back in the wicker chair, as David’s deep voice came over the air, Clare watched Barry’s absorbed little face as he concentrated on a notebook and pencil, his small tongue protruding from his mouth as he frowned and wrote:

  Sore throte. Number . Won every hours.

  He looked at her. “I’m making notes, Clare, then one day I’ll prescribe and see if I agree with Uncle David.

  Good?” His eyes were bright and eager.

  “Very good,” Clare said warmly.

  David’s voice came, clear and reassuring.

  “Now, Mrs. Peters, there’s no need to worry. Betty has had these attacks before. I know it’s alarming, but I also know you can be strong enough to hide your fears from her. She’s reacting well to treatment and I’m certain everything will be all right. If you’re still not happy, I’ll look in next time I take the clinic at Barbedee.”

  What a strong, comforting voice David had. How frightened mothers must cling to it, gaining strength from his calm words, knowing that he would, if neces-sary, fly hundreds of miles to be by their side.

  Barry looked at her. “I’m going to be a Flying Doctor like Uncle David,” he said stoutly.

  Clare smiled. “I’m glad, darling. I don’t think there could be a finer job in the world.”

  Val came hurrying. “Is David still on? Rachel’s mother is sick.” She paused and looked at Clare.

  “Maybe it isn’t serious. I don’t want to bother David if I can help it. Would you look at her?”

  Clare stood up. “Of course I will, Val. What seems to be the trouble?”

  Barry was on his feet. “Can I come, too?”

  Val looked at him. “Barry, it’s just a sick old woman.

  That wouldn’t interest you.”

  Barry looked at her. “But it would, Auntie Val,” he said reproachfully. “I’m going to be a doctor like Uncle David.”

  “You are?” Val looked startled and then turned to stare at Clare, her eyes distressed. “Somehow I hoped you’d be like Uncle Ian.”

  “Oh, no,” Barry said firmly. “I’m going to be a Flying Doctor.”

  “Where’s your patient, Val?” Clare asked.

  Val led the way. “There’s an outbuilding at the back where I see any who are sick. I don’t do much. Tooth-aches, colds, lumbago.” She looked at Clare suddenly.

  “I’ve an idea. I’ve always worried about the small children who live at the Aborigine camp. Couldn’t we start a kind of clinic and teach them hygiene and other things?”

  “Can I be the medical orderly, Auntie Val?” Barry asked, slipping his hand into that of the tall lovely woman, who looked down at him, her eyes suddenly bright.

  “Of course, Barry. We’ll need your help.”

  Clare heard ‘David’s voice again as he closed the session.

  “I’ll be with you all again tomorrow. Over.”

  She switched off, and as she caught up with the others, she watched Barry talking eagerly to Val and caught a glimpse of Val’s transformed face as she looked down at him.. How wonderful if this should prove to be the link to draw Barry closer to Val.

  It was odd how ideas grew, like starting with a small flake of snow and turning it into a snowball. The plans for a “clinic” grew apace. An outbuilding was cleared, painted and furnished, Barry installed in the dorway at a table, clad in an old white shirt converted by Val into a “medical jacket”, and writing the names and details of patients in the recording book. Such odd names, too, some of them – such as Willi-Woodi, Eli, Magarini. And part of the but was screened off with a couch for the patient and a chair for Clare. There was a bath for the babies, and weighing scales. As the Aborigine women came with their. children, Clare learned something that shocked her.

  “I suppose it’s always living in a city,” she confessed to Val, “but stupidly I imagined all children had to go to school. I sound horribly naive, but somehow I just had not realized how many children in the world are denied education.”

  Val hesitated. “There are no schools round here and—”

  It was then the second idea was born. “Couldn’t we start a small school?” Clare said. “It would be an interest for Marge and Barry. Help Barry, too, when he realizes he does know something. We could make it an hour a day.”

  “You’re a positive glutton for work,” Mike teased.

  “Just to hear you exhausts me.”

  then realized it was just the way Mike fooled around: “I think it would be fun,”’ she said.

  Marge and Barry thought so, too. The Aborigine children, with their pipestem legs and often comical Clare looked at him, temporarily exasperated, and little faces, thought it a great joke, but there were a few who took it seriously and learned fast.

  Ian congratulated Clare one evening. “You’re doing a fine job, Clare,” he said, watching the pretty pink colour her cheeks. “You’ve given the children a whole new concept of living — a desire to help others, to share their
benefits.”

  “They’re darlings, both of them,” Clare said, embarrassed.

  Ian chuckled. “You’re another David! Seeing good in everyone. Even Mike.”

  “Mike’s all right. He only pretends to be lazy.”

  “I know. He’s a nonconformist at heart, Clare, in a world that demands conformists. I know how hard he really works because of how much I miss him when he’s not here. He’s a good lad. One day, he’ll be a good husband, if only the girl can accept him as he is.”

  Clare glanced at him quickly, but Ian was wearing an innocent look. She tried to imagine Mike as a husband. Surely the girl would have to be very tolerant and understanding. Most of the day he could be found stretched out in one of the long chairs on the verandah, sound asleep, but as soon as darkness fell he would be awake and bounding with energy, teasing everyone.

  “You know,” Ian broke the silence, “I think Zoe could help Barry a lot. She’s clever and amazingly patient. She should have been a boy.” He smiled apologetically at Clare. “Not that I wanted a son particularly, though I would like one. I just wanted a child.

  Zoe, though, has the brains and the drive a man needs.

  Not that I mean girls don’t need and have brains, but there is something powerful about Zoe — some driving force. I don’t know what she’ll decide to be. She’s only eleven.” His voice was tender, his face relaxed as he spoke. “She’s at a difficult age. Prickly. Defiant. Maybe we did wrong in sending her away to boarding school. I think you’ll like her– but as I said, Clare, I don’t think you could hate anyone – except one person.”

  Startled, Clare looked at him. She had accused David of hating Zoe. Now who did Ian think she hated?

  He smiled. “Gillian. Am I right, Clare? You love Barry and I know that Gillian’s behaviour must seem quite alien and impossible to understand. But you would have to know Gillian. She had a hard life—”

  “David said the same,” Clare told him. “Yes, I find it hardy to forgive, Ian.” She looked at the quiet, heavily-built man who was watching her face. “David also told me that once he was going to marry Gillian.”

  “I’m glad he didn’t,” Ian remarked. “He would have been a very unhappy man.”

  “Yet you like Gillian and can forgive her,” Clare said.

  Ian smiled. “Let him cast the first stone …”

  Clare’s face burned painfully. “You’re right, Ian,”

  she said slowly. “Quite right.”

  The plane flew in that day with supplies and mail.

  There was a letter from Clare’s mother. They were in Paris, loving it. They were so glad she was happy.

  In bed that night, she thought about it. Yes, she was happy. Or perhaps it would be more truthful to say that she was “happier”. The day now was so filled with tasks that had become routine – the medical session, the clinic, the Aborigine school for an hour, the radio lesson, the supervision of the children’s correspondence lessons, the daily swim. There was little time to sit around and remember things, that might have been.

  Yes, she was happier, but there was still that aching void – the loneliness, the longing to have someone to love and to be loved by someone.

  It worried her, for she was too vulnerable. It would be so easy to fall in love with — with someone like Mike, who was such a darling, such fun, and so genuine. But his flowery compliments really meant nothing. He paid them to Ma Astor as well. She must not let herself think Mike was falling in love with her — not let herself imagine anything. Next time she must be sure the man did all the talking, all the asking.

  One day, Marge and Barry were singing with the other children on the air during the radio session, when Barry suddenly stopped and rushed to the window that opened on to the verandah.

  “A plane!” He looked round, his dark blue eyes shining. “He’s flying round and round, and it means we’ve got to go out to the airstrip. Can we go, Clare?”

  “It’s Uncle David’s own plane,” Marge said excitedly. “I know the sound.” Before Clare could speak, the children were out of the room, on the verandah and racing down the steps as Mike, driving the big truck, drew up.

  “Come on, plenty of room,” he called, waving at Clare.

  She nodded, turned and grabbed the hats the children had forgotten, and one for herself, and followed Marge and Barry.

  As usual she gasped as the heat of the sun hit her. She scrambled into the cab of the truck, tossing the hats back to the children, who had been hauled up into the back by several Aborigines, then Mike was slamming the gears in and the truck was rushing along the gravel road and Clare was slapping at the flies who swarmed around her.

  “I guessed you’d come when it was David,” Mike said, narrowing his eyes against the bright glare, swerv-ing to avoid one of the cattle dogs who rushed out to bark.

  “It was the children—” she began.

  “Oh, yeah?” Mike teased.

  “Oh, yeah!” she echoed, suddenly cross. “Look, Mike, please stop teasing me about David. It’s not funny, and it’s bad taste.”

  “In other words, it’s lousy.”

  “Yes, it is. Look, Mike, David was a doctor and I was a nurse – that’s how we met. We’ve become friends, but—”

  “Okay, I get it,” Mike said cheerfully. “I’ll lay off.”

  They covered the two miles to the airstrip quickly and then the Aborigines were tumbling out of the truck, racing over the strip to clear away Any fallen branches, driving off a couple of wild donkeys. The children raced to the edge of the strip, shouting and jumping about as the small plane circled above, dipped one wing, then made a big circle, coming lower and lower. Clare held her breath as she watched the plane land.

  The Aborigines were soon unloading the plane, carry-ing sacks and boxes, and David, in khaki shorts and shirt, walked towards the truck, the children hanging on to his arms, both talking at the same time.

  “Hi, Mike!” David said, as he reached the truck.

  Then he saw Clare. “Hi, Clare.” He smiled and turned to the children. “Hop in the back, kids, and tell me the rest when we’re home.”

  He sat silently as Mike started the truck and drove away from the airstrip, and then he looked at Clare.

  “Barry tells me he’s the medical orderly at your new clinic and they’re teaching some of the kids to read and write.”

  “My word, they are!” Mike drawled. “They’re busy all day long. Makes me more exhausted than ever, the energy of the Johnson family and this Pommie of ours.”

  “It’s fun, David,” Clare said. “And it’s really bring-ing Barry and Val together—”

  Soon they were back at the homestead. Val was waiting for them, a wide shady hat on her blonde hair, her long slim body in white slacks with a loose blue shirt.

  “Something wrong, David?” she asked, slapping at the flies round her face.

  He looked at her, kissed her cheek, and said quietly: “I want to borrow Clare.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY were all sitting on the verandah, drinking tea, the children sprawling over David as Val said: “You want to borrow Clare? I don’t understand.”

  David took a deep breath. “Hospital’s in trouble,”

  he said tersely. “Sister Joan has been flown to Darwin with suspected ulcers. Matron fell and injured her hip and is in bed. That leaves Sister Madge and myself.

  Hospital’s full. And everyone’s having babies or broken limbs and I’m away half the time. Sister Madge can’t cope with both day and night work, so I wondered if Clare would lend a hand.”

  Clare leaned forward. “I’d love to, David. That is—” She glanced at Val quickly.

  Barry’s eyes were dismayed. “I don’t—” he began.

  David turned to him. “Look, old man, I only want to borrow her. Sister Madge must sleep sometimes.”

  Barry’s smile was reluctant. “I guess so.”

  “Well, Val?” David asked, turning to his sister-in-law.

  Val smiled. “
Of course Clare must go if you need her, but – but don’t keep her too long.”

  “No longer than I must.” He swallowed his tea hastily and looked at his watch. “Could you pack, Clare? I’ve no time to waste. You’ve got your uniforms?

  Good. Take a couple of light cool dresses for off-duty hours.” He grinned at her. “That is, if you get any!”

  Clare hurried to her bedroom, filled with a sense of excitement. She was looking forward to seeing the hospital, sharing a little of that side of David’s life. She began to pack, Barry helping her.

  “I hate you going,” he said, his voice sulky.

  Clare put her arm round him, her cheek against his.

  “I hate leaving you, darling, but I do know you can cope on your own, and this will prove it. I could always speak to you on the galah session.”

  our secret.”

  He looked at her. “Better not. People might guess “You’re dead right,” Clare said with equal gravity.

  “Better not.”

  The plane was small, she thought, as the children, Val and Mike, escorted them to the airstrip and waved them goodbye. David was in the pilot’s seat, looking very much at ease. The small plane seemed to lurch over the rough ground, and Clare had a bad moment, ‘and then they took off and were airborne. David circled the airstrip and the children waved excitedly, then the plane, soared up into the colourless sky.

  “Okay?” David asked, without turning his head.

  “Okay,” Clare said, uncrossing her fingers with difficulty. Now she felt happier as she looked down and far below saw the way the river curved through the scrub and the red road made a ribbon through the paddocks.

  Then the plane bumped heavily several times.

  “Heat pockets,” David said, turning his head.

  “Sorry.”

  “Not — your — fault!” Clare gasped.