Moonlight Plains

by Barbara Hannay

  His expression remained grim as he opened Bobby’s shirt. Kitty stepped closer, appalled by the sight of a huge purple bruise that covered the entire left side of Bobby’s chest. She couldn’t hold back a horrified gasp.

  ‘I’ve got to get help,’ Ed said, clearly as shocked as she was. ‘I’ll need to use your phone.’

  Kitty winced. ‘I’m sorry. We don’t have a phone.’

  For uncomfortable seconds Ed stared at her in disbelief. ‘Damn,’ he muttered softly.

  She couldn’t blame him for cursing. Their situation was dire.

  Ed looked around him at the simple kitchen with its plain wooden dresser, scrubbed pine table and its old-fashioned wood stove in a ripple-iron alcove. He glanced at the lantern she’d lit and then at the timber ceiling, bare of light bulbs. ‘You don’t even have electricity?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How do you communicate? Is there some kind of radio?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s very isolated here.’

  ‘What about your men?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘When are they coming back?’

  She wished with all her heart that she could offer him more hope. ‘There’s only Uncle Jim. Most of the other men from this district are fighting or they’ve gone to help the war effort, working in the railways or in offices.’

  Then, apologetically, she had to add, ‘I’m afraid my great-uncle won’t be back for another two days.’ As she said this, the rain began to fall more heavily than ever, drumming on the iron roof. ‘He might take even longer if the creeks come up.’ She hated to add to Ed’s troubles, but he needed the full picture. ‘This is still the wet season.’

  It was more like the middle of a nightmare for Ed and Bobby, she suspected.

  ‘Okay,’ Ed said with weary resignation. ‘What about transport, then? Do you have a vehicle?’

  Kitty swallowed nervously. ‘There’s a truck, but no fuel.’

  Now Ed didn’t hold back on a heavy sigh. ‘How can I get gas then?’

  ‘My great-uncle’s hoping to bring petrol back from Charters Towers.’

  ‘He’s hoping? Goddamn. I can’t believe we ended up so far off course.’ Ed looked down at Bobby, lying at his feet, ran a despairing hand through his hair. ‘I have to get a doctor. I have to find a phone. There has to be someone around here who can help. What about your neighbours?’

  The nearest neighbours were twenty miles away. Kitty looked down at her hands, wishing she could offer more help. Then she threw a frantic glance at the papered windows. ‘I guess you could hitch a horse to the sulky, if it’s in working order. Can you handle one? I can’t.’

  Ed smiled and shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’m a city guy. I barely know one end of a horse from the other. I’d be better off on foot.’

  ‘But it’s such a dark night and you don’t know the way.’

  ‘I don’t have any choice,’ Ed said after only the slightest hesitation. ‘Do you know if your neighbours have a telephone?’

  ‘I – I’m really not sure. I’m so sorry. I’d like to be more help, but I’ve only been living out here a few weeks.’

  ‘Where were you before that?’

  ‘Townsville. With my grandparents.’

  To her surprise, the grimness in Ed’s dark eyes softened. As he rose from his post beside Bobby, he actually smiled at her. ‘You’ve been incredibly brave tonight, Kitty. You came out in the rain to search for us. With a shotgun, no less. Heaven knows what you expected to find.’

  She remembered how scared she’d been when she thought the airmen were Japs. But now, with another glance at Bobby, a new fear replaced the old. If Ed left to search for help she’d be alone with Bobby. She’d be responsible for him, and she couldn’t imagine how she could possibly save him. She was an inept city girl, so unprepared for this emergency.

  A suffocating pressure filled her chest. She went to the window to push it further open, peering out, taking deep, necessary breaths of fresh air. ‘There’s no signs out there, Ed. Not even a proper road. Just a dirt track – a couple of wheel ruts in the bush. And it’ll be wet and muddy. I hope you don’t get lost.’

  ‘It’s a risk I’ll have to take. I have to try. It’s what Bobby would do, if our positions were reversed.’

  Kitty nodded. She understood – Ed would never forgive himself if he didn’t try. ‘Will you help me to get Bobby into bed before you leave?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll get the room ready.’

  She wished there was time to make up the bed with good sheets, but her great-uncle had never been well off, and ever since Aunty Lil had died last year, he’d lapsed into living rough, with little pride or care.

  She’d done everything she could to make the place clean and welcoming, but there was no way she could disguise the rustic mattresses made from wool bags cut down to size and filled with corn husks that rustled every time anyone rolled over.

  She’d seen the fine quality of the Americans’ uniforms and by comparison, these beds were embarrassingly rough, but the good linen and quilts were still packed away in the linen cupboard, wrapped in brown paper and kept ‘for guests’.

  At least the pillows were soft. Aunty Lil had made them from white flour bags filled with chicken feathers, using only the breast feathers and the soft down from beneath the wings.

  Quickly now, Kitty smoothed out the old patched and darned sheets. She tucked the bottom sheet firmly beneath the mattress, spread out the top sheet and a blanket and folded them down, then plumped up the pillows.

  ‘Bobby will be more comfortable in a bed,’ she said when she returned to Ed.

  He nodded wearily, and once again ran long, tanned fingers through his hair as the muscles in his throat worked. ‘Thanks.’

  His voice was rough and Kitty knew he was dreadfully upset about Bobby. It was more than possible that Bobby was dying, and there was so little they could do to help him. It was terrible to feel useless.

  She’d never seen anyone close to death before and her stomach knotted at the thought of being left alone with Bobby for long, lonely hours. What if Ed couldn’t get help? What if he couldn’t get back?

  It didn’t help to dwell on such things. After all, this was another chance to prove to her grandfather that she was not simply a wicked girl with deplorable morals.

  Ed removed Bobby’s boots, scarf and jacket and unbuckled his belt and slipped it free from his trousers.

  ‘Should we change him into pyjamas?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘Later maybe. For the time being, I don’t want to move him any more than we have to.’

  Mindful of Bobby’s dangerously bruised chest, they lifted him extra-gently, with Ed supporting his head and shoulders while Kitty supported his knees.

  Very, very carefully they made their way down the hall, through the narrow bedroom doorway, then lowered him onto the bed.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of his breathing,’ Ed said.

  ‘Perhaps we should prop him up a little. I’ll get another pillow.’

  Without waiting for his reply, Kitty dashed to her great-uncle’s bedroom, and returned with the extra pillow. She found Ed sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Bobby’s still face with a look of bleak despair.

  ‘I can’t get to him to speak to me,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to shake him.’

  Fear eddied through her and her throat filled with an aching lump.

  Pasting on a brave smile and holding up the extra pillow, she tried to sound cheery. ‘Let’s see if this helps. You lift Bobby’s shoulders and I’ll rearrange the pillows.’

  As they did this, Ed’s arms brushed hers. More than once. And she was dismayed by the flashes that zapped her skin. To make things worse, a bright blush flamed in her cheeks.

  How ridiculous to react this way to the first American she met. Perhaps her grandfather was right.

  When Bobby was settled, Kitty spoke rather brusquely, not daring to make eye contact. ‘I’ll get you something to keep
the rain off.’

  The rain was fairly thundering on the iron roof now. In the hallway, she stopped at the coat rack. ‘Here, take this,’ she said, lifting down a heavy khaki greatcoat with brass buttons.

  ‘It looks like military issue.’

  ‘Yes. It’s Uncle Jim’s. He wore it in the last war. In France.’

  Ed frowned. ‘You sure he won’t mind my using it?’

  ‘Course he won’t. If he was here, he’d insist.’

  On their way through the kitchen Kitty stopped. ‘You should take some food.’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I need to get going.’

  ‘Just a few Anzacs,’ she insisted, overriding his protests and reaching for the biscuit tin. ‘You don’t know how long you’ll be.’

  Quickly, she put the biscuits in a brown paper bag along with a banana, and filled a canvas water bag. ‘This isn’t very flash but it should keep you going.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  She went with him to the back door. The rain was sheeting down.

  ‘Please be careful,’ she told Ed. ‘We had floods back in February, and the creek can come up again without much warning. There’s no bridge, just a ford over the shallowest part. Just remember, follow the track to where it meets a formed road and then turn left. You’ll see the entrance to the neighbours’ about five miles down that road.’

  She didn’t like to add to Ed’s troubles, but she knew that he might get across the creek and then find he wasn’t able to get back, leaving her alone with Bobby.

  But she also knew that if he stayed, Bobby would almost certainly die. It was an agonising dilemma, but there was only one possible response.

  9

  Townsville, 2013

  Kitty was overjoyed when the firm footsteps in the nursing home corridor proved to be her grandson’s. Luke came striding into her room, greeting her with a broad grin, and as he leaned down to kiss her he brought a hint of the fresh and sun-drenched outdoors, a scent that she’d missed terribly since she’d moved to the home.

  ‘How wonderful to see you, Luke.’

  What a handsome fellow he was, so tall and strapping and golden. Such a nice style of young man, with his blue and white–striped shirt tucked into surprisingly respectable blue jeans.

  Kitty knew she wasn’t supposed to have a favourite grandchild – of course, she loved all eleven of them, and she didn’t have a favourite, really. But from an early age this sunny-natured boy had stolen a good-sized chunk of her heart.

  ‘How are you, Gran?’ he asked as he pulled a chair closer to her bed.

  Feeble was the word that first sprang to Kitty’s mind. She felt especially frail now beside Luke’s athletic and vibrant youthfulness, but she was sure he didn’t need to hear the dreary truth.

  ‘I’m not bad for an old girl.’ She smiled at him. ‘And what brings you to Townsville?’

  ‘I came to collect some gear – some trusses I ordered and cyclone bolts.’

  ‘For the homestead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t they have what you need in the Charters Towers hardware store?’

  Luke shrugged and looked momentarily caught out. ‘There’s more choice in the stores here.’

  Kitty was too pleased to see him to quibble. ‘So how’s everything coming along? Are you happy with your progress?’

  His smile tilted. ‘It’s steady, steady, I guess. But it’s a big job.’ A fleeting shadow flickered in his clear green eyes.

  ‘It’s certainly a big job to tackle on your own,’ Kitty agreed.

  She felt a measure of responsibility regarding this project, as she’d been the prime mover in starting the restoration. Some folk might suggest she’d been manipulative, but Luke had been between building jobs and was looking for a venture that would hone his newly acquired skills, and she’d discovered a strong desire to see the homestead renovated before it ended up as part of her estate.

  Luke had been dubious, though, when she’d first raised the subject.

  ‘Do you reckon it’s worth doing up?’ he’d asked. ‘If you’re planning to sell, most cattlemen are more interested in the land. They’d live in a tin shed if the land was good.’

  ‘Their wives might have something to say about that,’ Kitty had promptly responded. ‘And I just don’t like the idea of passing on a house in such a dilapidated state. I know your grandfather would have hated to see the place like it is now. He took such pride in it.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Luke had admitted solemnly.

  Kitty had known the mention of her husband would do the trick. Luke had always been especially close to his grandfather. As a little boy he’d loved to follow him around his workshop. But she’d felt a little guilty, too.

  ‘You’ll make sure you get help if you need it, won’t you, Luke?’ she said now.

  ‘Yes, Gran, don’t fret. I’ll get there.’ His big brown hand covered hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘By the way, I brought you something.’ Undoing the button-down flap, he reached into his shirt pocket. ‘I found this when I was lifting a few floorboards.’

  In the centre of his palm lay a silver coin. ‘It’s American. A dollar.’

  ‘Oh, my heavens.’ Kitty’s heart took a fearful leap that sent her sinking dizzily against her pillows. She had to close her eyes and take a steadying breath.

  ‘Gran, are you okay?’

  The dizziness passed, thank goodness, and she managed to smile again to allay Luke’s fears. ‘Sorry, darling. Just one of my silly little flutters.’ She shot a nervous glance at the coin he held.

  It couldn’t be, surely . . .

  ‘Here.’ Luke pressed the dollar into her thin, withered palm. ‘You take it, so you can see it properly.’

  The coin was still warm from his touch, but Kitty felt a distinct chill as she saw the American eagle on one side and then turned it over to find the shining head of Liberty on the other.

  After all this time . . .

  ‘It says In God We Trust,’ Luke told her, his eyes flashing with enthusiasm. ‘And the year’s 1923. That makes it ninety years old. Same age as you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kitty said softly.

  There could be no doubt then . . .

  Against her will, she was remembering . . .

  She was back in the past . . . at Bobby Kowalski’s bedside . . . seeing Bobby’s face on the day he showed her this very coin, his eyes vivid blue against the deathly pallor of his skin.

  ‘I suppose it must have come from one of those American airmen,’ Luke said, oblivious to her distress. ‘From during the war.’

  ‘Yes, I think it must have.’ Kitty’s voice was faint, while her heart took off again at a dangerous gallop. ‘How – how on earth did you find it?’

  ‘It was the weirdest thing. I just saw it perched on a support beam under the floor. It was covered in dust and I almost knocked it flying with my jemmy. At first I wasn’t even going to pick it up, but then curiosity got the better of me.’

  ‘I wonder how it ended up on a beam.’

  ‘Must have fallen through a crack in the floorboards, I guess.’

  Yes, it’s the only explanation.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s been there all this time.’ Kitty was pleased her voice was steadier now. ‘More than seventy years.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. It blows my mind.’ Luke was grinning happily, proud of his discovery. ‘You met those American pilots, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did, yes.’ The memories were rushing back, roaring towards Kitty like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. ‘I – I knew them briefly.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, so I wanted you to have the dollar.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful, dear.’

  Unfortunately, Kitty wasn’t sure she wanted the coin. For decades, she’d worked hard to keep the memories of that tumultuous time buried. For the sake of her sanity . . . and for the sake of her marriage . . . .

  Now she had an uncanny presentiment that this was just the start, the pulled thread
that might dangerously unravel everything . . .

  Her past might catch up with her after all.

  Of course, there’d always been a risk when she asked Luke to restore the homestead that questions about the war might be raised, but she’d been confident that her grandson’s eyes were on the future, not the past. Now Kitty was extremely grateful that Luke showed no inclination to ply her with questions about the Americans.

  ‘So, tell me,’ she said briskly, as she set the dollar on the dresser beside her, ‘I want to hear all about that commemorative ball you went to in Charters Towers.’

  Luke’s cheerful face was pulled into a dismissive scowl. ‘Not much to tell.’

  ‘Does that mean you didn’t enjoy it?’

  ‘It was okay,’ he said, without enthusiasm.

  How very disappointing. Kitty had been pinning foolish hopes . . . and yet Luke was as unforthcoming as Sally Piper had been.

  When Sally had returned the pink dress, Kitty had asked her about the ball, but while Sally had been politely complimentary about the band music and the efforts of the ball’s committee, she apparently couldn’t remember whether she’d met Luke.

  It was all very frustrating. Kitty knew she was probably pouting, but that was too bad.

  ‘I was hoping you’d have a lovely time,’ she told Luke sadly. ‘Actually, it was silly of me, I suppose, but I was nursing a hope that you might meet a young friend of mine. A lovely young woman who comes here to visit her grandmother.’

  Luke’s eyes narrowed warily. ‘Someone from Townsville?’

  ‘Yes. I even lent her a dress. I know that sounds hard to believe, but it was a genuine relic from the 1940s.Your mother dug it out for me and washed it and ironed it beautifully. It was in surprisingly good condition.’

  ‘What’s the girl’s name?’ Luke asked, so cautiously he might have been a detective interviewing a murder suspect.

  ‘Sally. Sally Piper.’

  Kitty had never thought of her grandson as mulish, so she was surprised to see the sudden hardness in his face and the way his jaw jutted with deliberate obstinacy. He was still scowling as he sat straighter in his chair and looked away to a corner of the room. ‘I think I might have met her. Briefly.’