by L E Pembroke
I looked back, narrowing my eyes and peering through the fading light, to check the progress of the horse and dray. It had stopped just short of the mud; the driver and two passengers were moving forward slowly towards the bridge. I was stunned and began to shake violently. I recognised the outlines of the fellows: the tall one and his squat brother – the men who killed Albert. Dropping the case and water bottle onto the bridge roadway, I climbed into the back of the car and grabbed the rifle. The movement was the last straw. There was first a creak – a shift of weight – followed by a crunch and finally a gradual subsiding. The passenger-side rear wheel had forced its way through the already splintered plank. Immobile and hardly daring to breathe, I waited for the worst to happen. Frantic, I tried to work out how I could get out when the car toppled over or through and into the water. The whole passenger side had tipped low so that the running board settled on to the roadway. For the moment it held the car in place. My heart pumped wildly yet again. Adrenaline poured through my body, giving me added strength. I jumped onto the bridge below. Grabbing the case in one hand, the water bottle and rifle in the other, I struggled towards my helpless babies.
I opened the case, gazed triumphantly at its bounty and removed some of its contents. For the babies, the towelling napkins, my nightgowns, my bedjacket and baby clothes would form a comfortable mattress. For myself, the dressing gown. Thank heaven for it – I was so cold. I lifted the babies into their makeshift bassinet. The worst was over; they would be warm, well fed and safely hidden throughout the night. It was still possible for Andrew to arrive within an hour or two. In the worst case, he will return at the same time tomorrow. We have survived so far and we will go on surviving, I couldn’t have been more determined.
While adjusting my underwear, I heard the grating sound of the car beginning to move again. I watched as, like a sinking ship, the car heeled over. The driver’s side was now high in the air; the wheels spun lazily, and the passenger side was below the roadway of the bridge.
*
Feeling around the sleeping babies, I extracted the box of cartridges from the suitcase. My mind seemed to go blank for a few moments. Where exactly was I and why was I holding a box of cartridges? It was only a momentary sensation and again my brain clicked in. My hands were soon attempting to push, one by one, all the cartridges into the magazine of the rifle. I recall a feeling of confusion. Where were the others? Why had they left me alone with these infants, and with the enemy so close? Had someone gone for help?. I mumbled instructions to myself. ‘Got to escape; mustn’t let them capture us. I’ll kill them all.’ The magazine clicked into its recess. What did I have to do next? Of course, hide the patients. I dragged the suitcase further into the undergrowth, pushed it behind the spindly trunk of a eucalypt away from view, looked around urgently for something with depth – a large rock or a dead tree limb behind which I could lie, on which I could rest my rifle and from which I could accurately sight my intended victims.
Hearing a soldier’s voice, I looked up. A tall fellow was walking towards the bridge; he had reached the muddy section of the roadway. He was calling out to me. I couldn’t make out his words but decided that, if he wanted to live, he’d better not come any closer. He persisted shouting, shouting, shouting. I couldn’t think. There was only one thing on my mind: if he stepped on to the bridge he was a dead man.
I stretched out on the ground. He wouldn’t give up but called out again and stepped on to the bridge. I knew he intended to kill me. He had to; he couldn’t allow me to get away and report that the Huns had arrived. I raised the rifle. My finger tightened on the trigger. I closed my right eye and pressed.
My aim was too low; the bullet slammed into the car and ricocheted off the metal. The impact was enough to make him take a few steps backward. Again I got him in my sights and squeezed the trigger, more accurately this time. The bullet must have struck close to his feet because he did a little dance, turned quickly and dashed in a crouching run to join the driver and the other fellow. Both were already sheltering behind the dray.
Aware that I was losing any vestige of calm I once had and that my success would be short-lived, I couldn’t think what to do. Would they wait until total darkness crept across the bridge, then sneak up on me and kill me? What about the patients? What would they do to them? What use would the rifle be in the dark? I wouldn’t see them; those men were ruthless. Better give a couple more warning shots and hope to deter them while I tried to think what to do. If only I was able to think clearly. Frantic, desperate, overcome with physical and mental exhaustion, I aimed vaguely at the dray and wildly fired off three more shots. I could do no more, not for a while. I had to rest. I clutched the rifle, pulled back from the log, lay my head on the ground and gave in to uncontrollable sobs.
CHAPTER 40
ANDREW
Five o’clock in the afternoon; great to be almost home. I sprinted towards the car parked near the station, and saw a note stuck on the windscreen. It was from Mrs Bolton, the postmistress. It said: ‘Mr Osborne, we have had constant heavy rain since you left for Sydney; the telephone lines have been down for three days and the roads impassable. I haven’t been able to contact Mrs Osborne as you asked.’
That was worrying; anything could have happened at home. My thoughts about my mother and worries about my sisters – especially young Imelda – evaporated, to be replaced by serious concern about Jen and the property. How had Jen coped in her isolation? Did Amelia Maxwell turn up as scheduled? How had the bad weather affected the sheep? Had Albert kept a close watch on the pregnant ewes? I threw my bag onto the back seat and leapt into the car. My journey home had been a time of poignant memories, and after ten hours on the train I was, as always, covered with coal dust. I had been feeling irritable; now I was both anxious and irritable, pressured by circumstances. Pressing hard on the accelerator, I had an urgent feeling that I was needed at home. I should never have left my wife.
I was also needed in Sydney; so much to be done regarding my mother’s estate. Barbara had opted to stay with the family of her fiancé. Imelda was my principal concern. I placed her in her school as a boarder, which seemed the best thing to do, to leave her in the environment she was familiar with. But she was only fourteen and shocked by the rapidity of our mother’s death. Should I have brought her home with me, to live with us, then begin life as a boarder next year? I badly needed Jen’s advice. I was certain she would agree with me that Imelda should become part of our family. It was just a matter of timing. I was aware that I’d have to return to Sydney as soon as possible.
On the train journey home, I decided to take Jen with me when I returned to Sydney. I would not leave her alone again. I thought the only solution was for her to live in the family home and have the baby in Sydney. Barbara would return home and Imelda finish the school year as a day girl. I would like Jen to stay in the home in which I was born after she has the baby and until Barbara’s wedding in December. I will travel to and from Cooinda as often as I can. I heaved a sigh of relief. It was so simple really – the only sensible solution in this turbulent time: the Osborne girls together safe in the family home while I live at Cooinda and supervise the shearing while getting to Sydney whenever possible.
With all those thoughts racing through my mind it seemed no time at all before I reached Twenty-Mile Creek. I heard the unmistakable crack of rifle shots near the bridge. Pushing hard on the brake, I leapt out of the car before it had fully stopped and ran the few yards past the curve in the road until I could see the bridge in the gloom.
I saw the grey outline of a car – on its side, it looked like my Sunbeam. Momentarily, my heart leapt into my mouth; no, that wasn’t possible. I tried to remember which cars our neighbours drove – someone down there could be in dire distress. I heard the sound of a woman crying. I crashed through the undergrowth and saw a figure – a woman – sitting on the ground leaning against a large log. She was clutching a rifle tightly in her hand, her upper body was heaving as she sobbed. I cam
e closer, peered in the dim light. It couldn’t be, yet it was –my wife. I called out: ‘Jen.’
Startled, her head jerked around. She pointed the rifle in my direction. I dropped to the ground like a stone – and thank God I did. She pulled the trigger. The bullet flew towards me, almost low enough to take off my head, and buried itself in a tree directly behind me.
I called out, ‘Jen, it’s me, Andrew.’
I heard her gasp, then she whispered shrilly. ‘Who is there?’
‘Andrew, your husband. Don’t shoot.’
She didn’t reply at once, appeared to be deliberating. Had she had an accident, was she concussed? In a piercing whisper, she asked, ‘Andrew, what are you doing here?’
‘Don’t worry about that. Put the bloody rifle down.’
She lowered the rifle. ‘Thank God you’ve come. Quickly, get over here – they’re trying to kill us.’
What the hell was happening? Why was she here and acting like a deranged person? I leapt the few yards to her side and grabbed the rifle.
‘Careful, they’ll see you. get down.’
I spoke slowly, clearly. I could see she wasn’t listening – not comprehending. ‘Genevieve, who is trying to kill you? What has happened? Why are you here?’
‘Hiding, of course.’ She looked at me as if I was the one who was confused. I could tell that for her, nightmare and reality were hopelessly jumbled. ‘He’s got a bayonet and he’s trying to kill my babies. They do it all the time – they bayonet babies!’ Her voice rose to a screech.
I stared at her, for the first time that night really seeing her. Where was our baby? I took hold of her hand. ‘Where’s the baby, darling?’
A crafty look appeared on her face. ‘Safe.’
‘Genevieve, sweetheart, where is the baby?’
‘I told you, safe and in hiding.’
‘Good, but where, darling?’
‘Safe from those murdering Huns.’
I knew I had to humour her. What the hell happened to induce this state of profound shock? I was so anxious that I felt like shaking the facts out of her. I controlled my anxiety with difficulty.
‘But where, Genevieve? I’d better get hold of it so we can make our escape.’
‘Escape – good idea. Prepare to withdraw.’
‘Genevieve, for God’s sake, where’s the baby?’
‘Over there, I told you, hiding over there, over there.’ Her voice had now risen to screaming pitch; she pointed in the direction of thicker scrub.
Fearful of what I might find, I walked slowly through the shadowy scrub in the direction she indicated. I saw the suitcase. I saw babies, two babies, with red tiny faces screwed up. I heard mewing, demanding cries.
Dumbfounded, I pulled the suitcase into the open. I found it difficult to make sense of the scenario in which I found myself. Unable to fathom the chain of events that had brought my wife to the bridge that day and precipitated the premature birth of not one child but two, I returned to Jen. I fished out my knife, ripped the hinges off the lid of the case and picked up the base in which my children were bawling importunately. ‘Come on, Jen, we have to get away quickly.’
‘What about the wounded? I should be looking after them.’
‘Don’t worry; the doctors are caring for them.’
‘Good, I can leave then. I’ll take the babies; you cover me.’ She snatched the infants into her arms. Leading her through the trees, I played along with a military charade, thinking it dangerous to do otherwise. I carried the case and the rifle, crouched occasionally and peered through the dark until we reached the safety of the car. I helped Genevieve into the front seat. She held our babies tightly. ‘Drive quickly, Andrew.’
I reversed, turned the car in the direction of town and sped away. Within seconds her head lolled forward and she collapsed into a deep sleep, without letting go of the children.
There were so many questions to be answered. I had difficulty curtailing my impatience, and prayed that in the safety of the Cottage Hospital she would regain complete normality and be able to reveal the circumstances that led to the bridge and the manner in which I found her.
Thirty minutes later and Sister had taken over. Genevieve had been put to bed, and the babies, shrieking with hunger, lay in her arms.
‘Don’t you think you should feed them?’ I asked.
She was still distracted. ‘I suppose so.’ She put the babies to the breast – blessed silence. Her eyelids drooped. ‘I’m very tired,’ she muttered, and was once again asleep.
Sitting by the bed, I felt pretty tired myself and tried to get used to the fact that I was the father of two children. Hours later, she woke up. My head was resting on the side of the bed.
‘Andrew, Andrew.’ She was shaking me awake. She sounded more normal, although her story seemed implausible. ‘Albert is dead, and his murderers came after me. And the house, Andrew, our house – they’ve sacked it. I’m sure they’ve sacked it and killed the dogs. I’m a little confused because it was all so terrible. Poor Albert, what a frightful way to die! You’ll have to go and do something, Andrew. Take the police, see if you can find those men.’
*
I left the hospital and went straight to the police constable’s residence and that of the local doctor. At first light, the three of us set out, in two cars, on the road to Cooinda. At the bridge we found the Sunbeam now partially hidden by buckled and splintered planks. The driver’s side protruded only slightly above the bridge roadway, the passenger side well below it.
‘Terrible experience for a woman alone and about to have her babies,’ the constable muttered.
At Albert’s cottage, the cause of death was soon apparent to the doctor. ‘Must have died at least two days ago – probably three; I’d guess he had a heart attack. Looks like he fell against the stove. There’s blood stains on the corner there. Perhaps he regained consciousness, managed to get to the door and fell again, must have crashed against the door jamb – poor old bloke.’
At the homestead, all appeared to be in order. I discovered the remnants of the lambs that Genevieve had left on the back veranda; a fox had been at the bodies. I fed the animals and checked the sheep, then drove to my nearest neighbour. I needed neighbours to keep an eye out for the animals and a permanent hand as replacement for Albert. This time I would look for someone younger, someone capable of managing the place in my absence and when we expanded the station.
In the late afternoon I was back in town visiting the hospital. Thank God Genevieve appeared normal. ‘They are so tiny, Andrew. Catherine only weighs four pounds and James not quite that. Doctor Elliott says I can’t take them home until they put on a further two.’
Good. I was pleased; that sort of weight gain would probably take a few weeks. I was going to be busy at Cooinda; had to fit in a trip back to Sydney to arrange for our home to be put on the market and see how Imelda had settled in at school.
‘That’s sensible,’ I said. ‘We can’t take any risks. How are you feeling now, darling?’
‘It all seems like a dream, no, a nightmare. I can’t believe we have two children and they were born only twenty-four hours ago.’
‘Feel up to explaining it all to me, darling? Take it slowly.’
‘I’ll try. You see, I thought the rain would never stop and I was worried about the ewes, I couldn’t understand why Albert hadn’t turned up …’
*
‘… I behaved like a fool, Andrew. Then, when those men appeared out of nowhere, somehow I was back in the war, back in Calais and about to be raped. Then later, at the bridge when they turned up again, I seemed to be at the Casualty Clearing Station in Belgium and the Germans were attacking us. I was terribly tired and terribly frightened. I simply wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Darling, I could kill myself for leaving you behind to go through such unbelievable trauma.’
‘No, it was nothing to do with you. I just went crazy for a few hours, I suppose because I was so desperately worried about hav
ing the baby in those circumstances. My mind just went back to the stress of the war, and it all came back to me.’
I could clearly imagine the level of stress with which Jen suffered. I’d seen it happen and heard about others who since the war were suffering and probably would do so for the rest of their lives. I knew I would never completely forget, and I thought most soldiers in the trenches would never forget the brutal things they were obliged to do in life-threatening situations or the brutal things that were done to them. We try to push those memories down into our subconscious but, in stressful circumstances, they often return.
I bent forward to kiss her. ‘I swear, Jen, I will never leave you in this sort of situation again.’
CHAPTER 41
GENEVIEVE
December; for ten hours each day Helios reigned supreme. Grass shrivelled, dams began to dry up, flies abounded and at night everyone slept protected by nets against the buzz and vicious bites of mosquitoes.
Nevertheless, I had never been happier. The babies were catching up. At six weeks old they came home to Cooinda. At twelve weeks they were plump and placid, and bald except for one or two auburn tufts behind their ears. Concerned, Andrew asked whether they were bald because of being born premature and when could we expect to see fine golden hair. I reassured him, although I thought it more likely that they would have fiery red hair.
Andrew had a stroke of luck when he went looking for a replacement for Albert. Bill Bennett, a widower although younger than forty, and a man who had served for two years in France, came, soon after his wife’s death, to stay in town with his brother. He was a carpenter looking for a new life. Andrew and Bill connected instantly, and Bill was soon established at Cooinda and eagerly learning everything possible about running sheep.