Calypso’s parents were easier to deal with. They were young and resilient, and giggled helplessly when the bonnet took the usual nose-dive.
“He’s a person,” raid Jessa severely. “You shouldn’t laugh at him.”
“He looks like a grub to me,” commented Calypso’s dad.
“Yes, he does resemble your side,” nodded Calypso’s young mum.
Two Rh-factors were rushed in; an Italian girlie arrived to be popped at once in an isolet; a son was born prematurely coming through the Sydney Heads to English migrants and was raced by launch thence ambulance to Lady Belinda.
“Hi there, Aussie,” Jessa greeted him.
Then one day came the inevitable periodic summons to Matron Martha’s office that Jessa seemed somehow always to achieve.
What have I done...? What have I left undone? she wondered, running down the stairs.
But, just as when she and Margaret had been sent for to be allotted the Ball decorations, this also was not a “chid.”
“Nurse Jess, I suppose you know there is to be an infant convention on the island where your home is situate.”
“Yes, Matron Martha.”
“A foolish and unnecessary expense to my way of thinking. A disciplined mind should be capable of planning anywhere, it should not need a special location.”
“No, Matron Martha.”
“However, that is my opinion, not others’. Tomorrow twenty delegates are travelling to Crescent Island to hold their annual convention. Our Doctors Elizabeth and Mary have been asked, and, of course, the convention could not function without Professor Gink”
“Yes, Matron Martha.”
“At these gatherings it is only natural that notes are taken. Because of their medical trend someone with a little medical knowledge is preferable to a stenographer who is simply and understandably just that. As the island is your home we feel we cannot pass you over, but I would like to add a warning at this juncture, that this is not a pleasure trip, not a journey to see your parents, it is work.”
“Yes, Matron Martha, but—”
Matron was looking at her severely. In another moment Jessa knew she would upbraid her as she always did for not accepting her word as a nurse should accept, that is entirely without demur.
But Jessa had to say something—something for the Professor and Margaret.
Even though it hurt she had to try to let Margaret go instead of her.
She blurted it out awkwardly. “I’m sure Nurse Margaret is more efficient than, I, Matron Martha, I’m sure she would be a far better choice.”
“Since when,” interrupted Matron coldly, “have I consulted you, or any other nurse, or any sister for that matter, as to what I want done? I suppose you had some festivity or other in mind, and this duty I have allotted you will interfere with it. Well, that’s just too bad, Nurse Jess, because I expect you to be ready to leave tomorrow. The plane departs at nine in the morning.”
“Nine-fifteen,” corrected Jessa unthinking, and said immediately, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve done it again.”
Matron advised with the merest flicker of a reluctant twinkle, “If I were you, young woman, I would learn not to speak until I first counted ten.”
Jessa told Meg what had happened. She hated doing it, but she knew if she didn’t inform Margaret, someone else would.
“Going to the island...?” echoed Margaret hollowly.
If Jessa had had any doubt before as to what those shining eyes had portended up at Biggabilla as Meg had stood and dusted the Professor, she could have no doubt now. It showed unmistakably in her expression, in the ring in her voice.
“I’m so sorry, Meggy—” she blurted.
“That you’re going?”
“That you’re not going.”
“Yes,” admitted Margaret wistfully, “I would have liked that.”
But as before there was no flying in the face of what-must-be. At eight a.m. Jessa was packed and ready, and joined Doctor Elizabeth and Doctor Mary in the vestibule to await the airport bus.
But Professor Gink came before it, in his modern, shiny, imported model that looked so unlike him.
In reply to Doctor Elizabeth’s query as to where he would leave the car, he waved the women aboard, and grinned.
“Old customer of mine works at the Rose Bay base. He will keep an eye on the Duchess. Yes, Tom Javes seems to think he’s under some obligation to me because I saved a little human alarm clock for him. Young Pete, he reports quite proudly, wakes them up every morning at four a.m. Frankly, I would not ask for gratitude for that.” He grinned again.
“Who is the Duchess?” asked Doctor Elizabeth, who had got into the front seat with the Professor, leaving Doctor Mary and Jessa to sit behind.
“The car, and why not? You women give the babies names, why can’t I name my car? And she is a duchess, isn’t she? She’s so grand I feel like bowing every time I step in.”
Jessa thought of the time he had driven her and Barry out to Watson’s Bay in the Duchess, and how she had had to diaper the Perfesser under his estimating gaze.
At nine-fifteen the island seaplane with its cargo of delegates—and Jessa—took off down the harbour.
Apart from a nod when he had come to the hospital to collect them and which Jessa assumed had included her, the Professor had not given her a second glance.
Barry was at the controls, but the co-pilot took over at morning tea, and he came down and sat by Jessa’s side.
She was glad to see him, particularly glad because somehow the Professor’s bland unawareness of her had made her feel very small indeed.
And, of course, she was small. Not just physically, though that was bad enough, she had always envied tall girls if only because they looked to much better in that jealously-coveted sister’s cape. But it was not physically she was thinking now, but mentally. A nurse was insignificant in this company of doctors, specialists and professors, particularly a very average nurse like Nurse Jess. Now if Margaret had been chosen instead
She came out of her thoughts to hear Barry say almost the same words.
“I thought Margaret might come.”
Only that Jessa knew it could not be so, she would have said there was an almost disappointed note in Ba’s voice. But Ba, as everyone knew, as she knew, had only one love beside his precious Matthew Flinders, and that was the unrequited love of Jessa herself.
Poor Ba. Her heart went out to him in new sympathy. I know now how it feels, she thought.
But Barry after that first faint disappointment seemed inordinately cheerful.
“I’ve put Matthew Flinders into dock,” he said happily. “She’s being overhauled and prettied up with blue seats and a blue carpet down the gangway.”
“But, Ba, isn’t that terribly expensive?”
“I’ve been saving madly since I’ve been working on this run, and, of course, finding and selling that opal was a piece of luck.”
“Yes, the opal—” echoed Jessa.
After a moment she asked, “Aren’t you afraid you’re being a little reckless, Barry? I mean, you just can’t do things like that simply because of a hunch.”
“I’ve done them, kid,” announced Barry with assurance, “and I feel on top of the world about it. Do you remember what Meg’s Dad said up at Billaroo when I told him how I felt, that he, too, had known that queer, priceless, subconscious urge whispering at his shoulder? Well, I tell you, Jessa, I still feel it I simply know everything’s going to be all right.”
“I certainly hope so,” Jessa said.
The plane put down on the bay just inside the reef and in front of the Jessamine Hotel. By the time the delegates had collected their luggage the power boats were out from the jetty to collect the passengers.
This time Jessa found herself seated beside Professor Gink.
“So this is Crescent Island,” he said, looking at the white inn, the seaward reef, the little mission, the long beach, and behind it all Lopi sending lazy smoke-puffs into the air. He said
, more softly this time, “This is your home.”
Jessa trailed her fingers in the cool water and said nothing at all.
Barry was on her other side. The Professor asked him how long he stopped on the island.
“We return to the mainland tomorrow, then come back a few days later to fetch you delegates home, bringing along some vacationers for the usual mapped tour.” Barry grimaced.
Jessa’s mother and father were out on the patio to greet the travellers. Jessa noticed that the hotel wings were still not completed, and wished they could remain that way. Dear little island, dear Benjamin and Keefi, the old easy days seemed now a long way off.
The delegates were established in their rooms, and since the convention would not begin till tomorrow, Jessa, putting aside Matron Martha’s warning that this was not a pleasure trip but work, ran down to visit Vanda and Roger.
Vanda was happy, because delegates meant an easy time for her. She admitted quite openly that she had wearied of tourists. She eyed Roger as she said it, and he eyed her back.
Jessa, returning by way of the sands, smiled over that exchange of looks. They had been made for each other, those two, but it had taken a trial like the tourist invasion of Crescent Island to prove it to them.
Even now it was not entirely proven. Something more was to happen before the stubborn pair would admit how they felt.
She paused to pick up a starfish. This was what the Jessamine would look like when it was completed, she thought idly, five points, five wings—
“I love your island,” a voice said.
He must have been coming behind her, otherwise she would have seen him, but, of course, her thoughts were in other places, and feet made no sound on this soft sand.
He had changed into casual clothes. He looked different, almost young and debonair. He did not wear his glasses.
She opened her mouth to tell him that it was not wise, in a place where a sun shone warmly like at Crescent, to discard one’s glasses. The glare could be intense.
—And then she realized with something of a start that the sun had gone down ... that it was later than she thought ...that a big yellow moon was already pushing up.
She remembered Oleander the Pacific Oracle bending over a magic sand-tray and what she had seen and told to this man.
“... Longer sands than this, sir... wide sands, white sands, and beyond them a reef, a moon coming up, a big yellow moon, you are walking the sands, and there is a girl—”
She remembered that it had not been Margaret she had seen, that it had been herself, Jessa... and now it was, it was.
But of course it brought no excitement, no delirious rapture. How could you permit rapture when the one you walked beside walked in his heart with somebody else?
* * *
That night the delegates proved themselves not quite the ancient, stuffy, white-haired scholars that Vanda had once called them.
They danced on the patio, then, hearing of the lantern expedition to the lagoon, insisted that Vanda conduct them down while they launched their lanterns and made their wish.
One by one the coloured paper baubles skimmed over the moonlit water, but Roger still had not perfected the process and the lanterns sank.
“This is a good lurk for the manufacturers of paper lanterns,” said Barry with boredom. He seemed restless, and several times had observed that he would be glad to get back to the mainland.
There were two more wishes to be wished and sent skimming over the water, Jessa’s and Professor Gink’s.
The Professor lit his first and launched it. It remained steady and everyone clapped.
“It won’t stop that way long,” prophesied Ba.
Now it was Jessa’s turn, and she was wishing something, wishing it with all her heart. She bent over the lapping water and sent out her wish.
It went unerringly to the other lantern, touched it gently, and then rode the lagoon gracefully by its side, two brave lights on the wine-dark ripples... two wishes come true.
Which proved, thought Jessa wryly, returning to the hotel, that it was all a fable, because what the Professor had wished and what she had wished were antagonistic to each other. One, but never both, could come true.
The next morning the convention began in the music hall. Doctors spoke, specialists lectured, the Professor summarized, and all the time Jessa took notes.
They resumed in the afternoon, and, because the subject had come to a point that was considered vital, they went on into the night.
The next few days the pace was easier, and the last evening before their departure Vanda came to Jessa, wearing a long face.
“They would,” she grimaced. “Scholars would.”
“What, Vanda?”
Want to see Lopi. I thought when they had gone this long they’d leave out the old crater. Usually the tourists avoid it like poison, but a scholar’s a different cup of tea. Darling, Jessamine darling, do it for me, won’t you? Conduct them up to the volcano. You know how I despise that wretched place.”
“But, Vanda, it’s your job.”
Vanda put a persuasive hand on Jessa’s shoulder. “If you take my place I’ll type out your notes on Roger’s bank typewriter. I’m sure your Matron would be pleased over that.”
Jessa was sure she would, too, and because any excuse was a good one to visit her beloved Lopi she said, “Very well, it’s a deal.”
They went the next morning in the station wagon and two landrovers, but of course there was no Benjamin to drive. Benjy was still “gone beach.”
Jessa managed one of the land-rovers, two of the tourist employees the other vehicles.
Professor Gink was in her load. He raised his brows as Jessa stopped by the wayside to gather the red berries, the others remaining on their upward climb.
“What is this for, Miss Barlow?”
“A gesture to Lopi; one must always make it.”
“And you believe this myth?”
Jessa’s cheeks went as red as the berries. “I don’t know, but I do it all the same.”
“There is another legend, isn’t there?” called a second passenger. “The legend of the Goddess Lopi’s wrath if love has been passed over.”
“Really?” said the Professor with intrigue, and, to Jessa, “Tell me about it, please.”
“There is nothing to tell really, it’s just as Doctor Semester said, a myth that Lopi will erupt if love does not run according to love’s rule.”
“Interesting,” the Professor said.
They came to the end of the track and started their climb to the crater. Jessa explained to them all that Lopi was a benign volcano.
“Unless crossed by love,” reminded the Professor’s voice.
The berries were thrown into the internal fire, some of the delegates stood looking at the gentle rising and subsiding, some took shots of the lava fields.
“I think,” said Professor Gink, observing the lazy spirals of steam, “that Lopi is not at all displeased, don’t you, Nurse Jess?”
* * *
It happened late that afternoon, just as the delegates were out on the patio, their bags beside them, waiting for the Catalina to fly them home, the new tourists skimming shore-wards to Crescent in the power boats, the sea-plane dipping impatiently on the waves.
There was an unmistakable explosion, and all eyes turned at once to Lopi.
A fountain of fire was rising skyward; it subsided, then rose again; then came rockets of red spray.
Panic broke instantly. The tourists, whose view of the crater must have been much more extensive—and frightening—from the sea, refused flatly on arrival at the jetty to leave the boats.
There was pandemonium for a long while, but it was finally quietened when Barry agreed to land the vacationers on Haven Island, a mile north and much better situated for a tourist resort, as Mr. Barlow often admitted wistfully himself.
Until Barry returned to Crescent Island to carry them to the plane, the delegates sat calmly back.
Vand
a, however, was not calm. She had taken to her heels down to Roger as soon as she had seen the explosion. Jessa, in all her confusion of thought, remembered that first evening on the sand and how she had decided that just one more thing was needed to bring that pair to their senses.
Well, it had come. She had no doubt that right now Vanda was in Roger’s protecting arms.
She could not feel afraid herself, though, only puzzled. Lopi was her friend, everyone’s friend. She was gentle, benign, innocuous. She knew it. Lopi would never behave like that. Unless, of course—and that errant pagan streak in Jessa’s island heart made her admit it—unless Lopi had been angry, not pleased, today, as the Professor had remarked.
She was not aware she was talking aloud when she said, “The Goddess is wrathful, someone has passed over love,” but she must have been, for the Professor answered her in a low, amused voice. But it was a firm voice as well, there were no two opinions about it.
“Rubbish,” he said impatiently. “Lopi has never been more contented.”
Then he finished with the ghost of a twinkle, “If one lets off fireworks anywhere, Nurse Jess, I believe they will explode.”
CHAPTER XIX
AND fireworks, indeed, they were.
Barry agreed with this when he returned from delivering the Jessamine tourists to the Palm Hotel on neighboring Haven Island and picked up his delegate passengers for the coast.
He was extremely cheerful, so much so that Jessa caught suspiciously at his arm.
“Ba, you wretch, you manoeuvred all this. You and that queer, priceless, subconscious urge of yours whispering at your shoulder that all would be well.”
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