Moonlight Plains

by Barbara Hannay

  A shocked gasp escaped Elsie and she sat down quickly. ‘Oh, Kitty.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Kitty squared her shoulders. ‘If you want me to leave here, I’ll go. I’ll understand.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly. Of course I don’t want you to leave.’

  ‘But people will talk. There’ll be gossip and Geoff might hear it. You know what people are saying about single girls who get themselves pregnant, especially to Yanks.’

  ‘Let them say what they like. I’ll handle Geoff.’ Calmly, Elsie poured tea into a cup and passed it to Kitty. ‘I don’t have time for people who stick their beaks into other people’s business.’ Her expression was quite serious now. ‘Anyway, you’re going to need someone on your side when your grandfather hears about this.’

  ‘I know.’ Kitty winced. All along, her biggest fear had been her grandfather. Oh, dear heaven, how could she ever tell him? She had become the harlot he believed her to be. For him, the shame would be unbearable. She would have to stop going to church.

  ‘Here.’ Elsie pushed the bowl of sugar towards Kitty. ‘Have some. You need it today.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kitty tried to smile as she helped herself to a precious teaspoon of their sugar ration.

  ‘You must have been so worried,’ Elsie said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I – I was hoping it was just stress or an upset tummy or something.’ Kitty knew this sounded lame. ‘But it shouldn’t have happened, you see. We, I mean Ed . . . well, he used, you know . . . protection.’

  ‘Well, unfortunately, those things aren’t a hundred per cent reliable.’ Watching Kitty over the rim of her teacup, Elsie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Geoff’s living proof.’

  ‘Geoff? Is he really?’

  Elsie nodded. ‘John and I had a shotgun wedding, and Geoff was a premmie baby.’

  ‘Gosh.’

  Across the table, the two women shared a conspiratorial smile and Kitty felt some of her panic subside.

  ‘Well, if my baby’s anywhere near as nice as Geoff,’ she said, ‘everything should be fine.’

  Kitty reminded herself later, however, that there probably wouldn’t be any wedding for her. To begin with, she was terribly worried about Ed’s silence, but even if he was fine, she was almost certain that he had no plans to marry her.

  She kept remembering how Bobby had said he was a blueblood and a prince. And then there’d been little things Ed had said.

  I come from a family with very high expectations . . .

  In our circles . . .

  Even on the island he’d voiced concern about how wrong it would be to take her away from all this. It was pretty clear he could not see her fitting into his life in Boston.

  Any way Kitty looked at it, her future was grim, but at least she had a few more weeks before the pregnancy would start to show.

  There was still no word from Ed in late July when Townsville was bombed. The wardens had been around making house-to-house inspections of everyone’s air-raid equipment, but it had all felt like a great deal of fuss about nothing.

  Practice warning sirens had been going off, raising goosebumps on everyone’s skin, but after the Allied victory in the Coral Sea, it was hard to believe that the Japs might still arrive.

  Young Geoff, however, was positive that ‘old Tojo still has big plans for Townsville’. The boy was all eyes and ears these days, part of the network of Townsville boys who’d virtually been adopted as junior mascots by the American units.

  But when the rising and falling wail of the siren came on a cold, clear Saturday night, Geoff was sound asleep.

  ‘I’d better wake him,’ said Elsie, who found Kitty already up and pulling on her dressing-gown. ‘This sounds like the real thing.’

  Sure enough, minutes later, there were cries out in the street. ‘Air raid! Air raid! The sirens are going.’

  From the front verandah, they could see the searchlights reaching upwards from the hill behind them and joining the search beams from the Strand and Kissing Point, the white ladders of light sweeping across the sky.

  At any moment Kitty expected to hear explosions, the whoomp of falling bombs.

  Geoff, shivering in his pyjamas, was agog with excitement. ‘I can hear the planes!’ he said.

  ‘Where?’ demanded Kitty.

  ‘Up high. Listen.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I can hear them.’ Of course, she thought of Ed.

  A moment later she heard the rattle of distant machine guns and her heart leapt to her throat. Wherever you are, Ed, please, please stay safe.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get into the shelter.’ At least Elsie was sensible.

  It was such a cold night they took extra blankets, along with a torch, a thermos of tea and the emergency biscuit tin. But the moon was so full and bright they didn’t really need the torch as they scurried down the back steps and across the yard, past the banana clump and Elsie’s veggie patch, to the shelter her Yanks had built.

  ‘We won’t see anything from in there,’ complained Geoff.

  ‘Too bad.’ Elsie pushed him in ahead of her.

  They spent quite some time cramped and uncomfortable and in the dark, before they heard the sound of an explosion over near the wharves.

  ‘It was all a bit of a fizzer,’ Geoff complained between yawns the next day. ‘You might as well let me sleep through it next time.’

  People at the Red Cross were all abuzz, however. The enemy planes had flown from Rabaul. Someone had heard bombs drop.

  ‘It was like swish, swoosh, thump, thump and then a shattering blast and the ground shook.’

  A couple of girls had been out dancing at the Flying Squadron Hall and they’d had to dive into slit trenches along with American airmen.

  ‘We were all singing songs.’ They made it sound like a great lark.

  ‘There’s a crater the size of a truck over in Oonoonba,’ said someone else. ‘The top was blown off a palm tree. Lucky the Japs were off target.’

  At home that night, Geoff reported there was a big row brewing, because the commander of the American anti-aircraft guns had apparently ordered the crews not to fire at the planes for fear of exposing their positions to a bigger, second flight of bombers.

  ‘There was no second wave and the Yanks are copping it for not firing a shot,’ Geoff added importantly.

  Two nights later there was another raid and the defensive fire from Townsville was deafening. Silver shafts from dozens of searchlights probed the sky.

  Again, Geoff was full of knowledge the next day. ‘There was so much ack-ack going up last night that the air force couldn’t get a crack at the Japs.’

  That night, a third attack was finally met by more determined and organised resistance.

  They were all a little blasé by now and Kitty watched with Elsie and Geoff from the front verandah, where they saw the searchlight beams catch the outline of a plane’s wing or a tail.

  ‘The Yanks are up there in Airocobras,’ Geoff told them self-importantly.

  ‘Shh,’ warned Elsie, who must have seen the fear in Kitty’s face.

  32

  ‘Hello there? Anyone home?’

  Kitty was in the dirt-floored laundry under the house when a lilting American voice brought her spinning around.

  A young man in an American uniform and dark sunglasses appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I was hoping to find Kitty Martin.’

  He was a typical Yank with blonde hair cut very short and a round, cheery face, and when he took off his sunglasses his eyes were a surprisingly vivid blue. Kitty had never met him before, but she was sure he had come with news about Ed. Her heart began a fretful pounding.

  Somehow, she managed to nod. ‘I’m Kitty.’

  ‘That’s great. Pleased to meet you.’

  She didn’t offer her hand – it smelled of the kerosene rag she was using to polish the washing copper.

  The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and he was smiling as he took a step closer. Surely the news couldn’t
be too bad if he was smiling?

  ‘My name’s Frank Harvey,’ he said. ‘I have a message from Captain Ed Langley.’

  Kitty clutched the rim of the copper for support. ‘How – how is Ed?’ she managed. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s safely back here in Townsville, ma’am. We had him flown back from Port Moresby in a C-47.’ Frank Harvey’s smile reduced to a look that was closer to sympathy. ‘But I’m afraid he’s been injured.’

  Injured. Kitty couldn’t stop her imagination from flashing to horrible images of missing limbs, masses of blood, agonising pain. Her stomach was almost constantly on the edge of nausea these days and now it gave a fearful lurch. She prayed she wouldn’t be sick in front of this stranger.

  She forced herself to ask, ‘How bad is it?’

  Frank Harvey made a seesawing action with his hand and then he glanced quickly behind him, apparently fascinated by the line of sheets and towels she’d just pegged out. His gaze took in the rows of beans, newly planted in the veggie plot, the huge mango tree hanging over the fence from the neighbour’s.

  ‘Ed has a serious head injury,’ he said gently. ‘His sight has been affected.’

  His sight?

  So many times Kitty had worried about Ed, picturing numerous terrible scenarios, but she’d never allowed herself to imagine this. She took a deep, very necessary breath. ‘Would I be able to see him? Could I visit?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, you certainly can, and I’d be happy to take you.’ Frank Harvey’s voice was warm and lilting, his accent quite different from Ed’s. ‘Are you free to go now?’ he asked with a smile. ‘I have a jeep handy.’

  ‘Of course.’ The ironing could wait, as could all the other questions Kitty was dying to ask. She glanced down at the smelly kerosene rag in her hand, at her patched, hand-knitted cardigan and old, faded dress. ‘I just need to get cleaned up and changed. I can be quick. Five minutes?’

  ‘That would be fine. Perfect.’

  Perfect? How could anything be perfect if Ed was injured? ‘Come upstairs then,’ Kitty said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine, thanks.’

  Frank followed her up the steep back stairs, ducking his head beneath the dangling leaves of the pawpaw tree that shaded the back porch, then through the kitchen to the lounge room.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Kitty said. ‘I’ll be back in a flash.’

  Flying to the bathroom, she washed her hands and face and under her arms, hastily patted herself dry with a towel, and sprinkled a little talcum powder. In her bedroom, she slipped a green linen dress with a scalloped neckline from its hanger. Ed had particularly liked this dress and her lined tartan jacket went well with it.

  But she was dragging a comb through her hair when she remembered – if Ed’s sight was affected, it didn’t really matter what she wore.

  The realisation caught her mid-chest, knocking the air from her. Why hadn’t she asked Frank for more details? Was Ed actually blind? Might he never see again?

  Her mind spun in panic as she pictured his lovely dark eyes . . . sightless. He would never be able to fly again. There were so many things he wouldn’t see . . .

  She remembered the delight he’d taken in the beauty of the island, but now he might never see the sky or the sea . . . sunsets or gardens . . .

  He might never see their baby.

  Stay calm.

  She couldn’t give in to fear now or she would dissolve into a sobbing, useless heap. It wasn’t just a matter of pride – she had to stay calm for Ed’s sake.

  After another deep breath, she picked up her handbag and gloves, straightened her shoulders and went back to the lounge room, where she found Frank Harvey reading one of Geoff’s comics. He gave a sheepish smile and dropped the comic book quickly onto the couch before leaping to his feet.

  ‘Wow, that was a mighty quick transformation. All set to go?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  With the typical politeness she’d learned to expect from an American, he gave a slight bow of his head as he gestured for her to go ahead of him. His jeep was parked at the end of the street, beyond the barbed-wire entanglements, and as they walked down the footpath together, Kitty knew some of the neighbours were watching from their shuttered verandahs. She ignored them and kept her chin high.

  The jeep took off, roaring around the base of Castle Hill, and she had to raise her voice to be heard. ‘Can you tell me about Ed’s accident? Did you say it happened in New Guinea? Was – was he shot down?’

  ‘More like shot up,’ Frank shouted back. ‘Ed was about to take off from a forward airstrip when the Nips pulled a surprise attack on the airfield. He was still on the ground when they strafed him.’ Frank’s customary smile shrank to a grimace now. ‘A piece of shrapnel lodged in his head.’

  Kitty closed her eyes, too horrified to speak.

  When they stopped at an intersection, Frank spoke again. ‘Apart from the head wound, Ed’s actually not too bad, but I must admit we’re worried about the problem with his sight.’

  ‘He – he’s not completely blind, is he?’

  ‘I’m afraid he is, ma’am, for the time being, at least. It’s hard to know how it’ll turn out. He’s going home. We know that much.’

  Going home.

  Kitty went cold. She was pregnant with Ed’s baby and he was going home.

  Of course, he needed the best medical treatment. But going home . . . home to Boston . . . to the other side of the world? Home to his rich and highly cultured, strict and snobbish family. Kitty had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from weeping.

  Despite Elsie’s kindness, she’d felt lost and alone ever since her pregnancy was confirmed, but she’d clung to the hope that some day, somehow, she would be able to share her news with Ed. In her fantasy, Ed was delighted and sweet about the baby, vowing that he would move heaven and earth to make sure his future was with her and their child.

  But that might not be possible now. Could she tell Ed about the pregnancy when he’d been dealt such a terrible blow?

  ‘We’re heading over to Fulham Road,’ Frank said as they took off again and he steered the jeep around a machine gun rising from an island of camouflage netting. ‘There’s a house over thereabouts that’s been commandeered as the central sick quarters for all the squadrons based at Garbutt.’

  ‘I think I know the place. It’s probably the Fergusons’ house.’

  ‘Curra-something House?’

  ‘Currajong House.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds right.’

  Kitty nodded. Mr and Mrs Ferguson, who owned Currajong House, were friends of her grandparents. She’d been incredibly impressed when they offered the use of their beautiful historic home to the parish of St Matthew almost as soon as the war began. Originally, they’d planned to house refugee children, but then, tragically, the ship bringing the children out from London to Australia had been torpedoed by the Germans.

  Kitty’s grandmother had wept when that news came through.

  And now, Ed was being treated there.

  She longed to see him, but she was scared. She only hoped she was strong enough. The last thing Ed needed was a hysterical girl sobbing all over him.

  She hated this war, hated, hated, hated it. It had been going on for such a long time already, claiming and maiming millions of lives in Europe and Asia, and now it was here in the Pacific, casting its poison on people she knew and loved. Andy Mathieson was still missing, poor Bobby had died and now Ed was blind.

  She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, not with the baby as well. It was all too sad and too overwhelming.

  However, as Frank pulled up outside the Fergusons’ low-set, colonial-style home, now converted to a hospital, she had no choice. She had to be super-strong.

  ‘Last time I was here, Ed was on the verandah,’ Frank said as he opened the jeep’s door for her. ‘The dangerously ill patients are inside the house.’

  Then he leaned back against the je
ep, and casually lit a cigarette.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Kitty had been depending on Frank’s polite support to at least help her to find Ed.

  But he simply smiled at her. ‘I figured Captain Langley would like as much privacy as possible.’

  ‘Oh?’ Kitty could feel her cheeks heating. She supposed she should be grateful for Frank’s discretion, but she couldn’t believe how nervous she felt about seeing Ed injured amid a sea of strangers. ‘Well, thank you for the lift.’

  Frank gave a smiling nod. ‘I’ll be waiting here, ready to transport you home.’

  She was shaky and trembling as she walked the path to the short flight of front steps. There was no reception area, no sign of a friendly nurse who might help her to locate Ed, just rows of men in beds lined along the verandahs, which had been closed in with blinds and flyscreens.

  Some of the men were asleep, but many of them turned to stare at Kitty. A few faces broke into broad grins.

  ‘Hello, love,’ called a cheeky fellow with a drawling Australian accent. He lifted the sheet that covered him and sent her a wink. ‘Have you come to check out my wound?’

  ‘Here’s a sight for sore eyes,’ said another.

  Kitty knew there was no real offence intended by these Aussies. No doubt they expected some banter in return. But she was in no mood to think of a smart remark. Luckily, she was saved when another of the Aussie patients chimed in.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by our wounded hero, miss. He probably cut himself opening a tin of bully beef.’

  Kitty joined in the laughter, but she had to keep going. She had to find Ed.

  After an unsuccessful trip up and down the verandahs, however, she decided that he mustn’t be in this ward after all. Perhaps he was now dangerously ill. Please, God, no. She would have to find one of the medical staff and ask if Captain Langley been moved.

  Then, as she turned to leave the verandah, she caught sight of a man in the far corner. She’d missed him before, perhaps because he was sitting on the side of his bed with his back to her. There was a thick bandage around his head, but she was sure she recognised his dark and shiny hair.

  He had to be Ed, but the sight of him sitting there hunched and alone made her chest ache. Despite her vow to be strong, she was already fighting tears as she made her way back between the rows of beds.