Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘It’s going to be all right, love,’ he had tried to soothe her. ‘The ambulance is on the way and Wes will take the twins back with him to Sindalee. Relax. Don’t worry.’

  Don’t worry!

  Between the haze of back and lower abdominal pain, and no small amount of fear, worrying was exactly what Brooke was doing. Worrying herself into a blind panic. She was going into labour and it was too soon. There were still eight weeks to term. If born, the baby might be underdeveloped. It might not survive.

  She remembered the trip in the ambulance. Bumpy, fast, the paraphernalia, the rush of it all. The sound of the siren being switched on as they reached the town limits of Cowra. And Jason holding her hand, whispering to her, trying to placate the growing fear.

  Throughout the trip the contractions were constant and getting stronger. She remembered Dr Eric Lawry meeting them in emergency.

  After a quick examination Eric said, ‘Brooke, you’re already three and a half centimetres dilated, but I’m going to try to stop the contractions with a Ventolin infusion. If after an hour or so there’s no further dilation, then I think we’ll have the situation under control.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t?’ she asked. She had to know.

  He patted her arm reassuringly. ‘We’ll worry about that if and when we need to. Your blood pressure’s up so it’s important that you try to relax. You’re going to maternity and when you’ve been made comfortable I want you to use the nitrous oxide, the mask, to help slow the contractions. Understand?’

  She nodded and gave him a wobbly smile as a wardsman began to wheel the trolley down the corridor.

  ‘Are you awake, Mrs d’Winters?’ The disembodied voice of the sister sounded a long way off.

  No. She didn’t want to be awake. It was better to stay in this floating state, neither awake nor asleep. Here she felt cocooned, safe. Here, the nightmare of what had happened in the maternity ward was like a bad dream. She had begun to haemorrhage and been rushed to theatre. Eric had been there, telling her he had to do an emergency Caesar because of the bleeding, that he was concerned she’d have a seizure. Duly anaesthetised, she had not heard her baby’s first cry, but she didn’t expect to. It was too soon, and she didn’t need much experience in obstetrics to know that.

  Her baby…She had hoped for a girl but she would have been equally happy with another boy. The names were already picked out. Sheridan Anne or Jordan Marc. But what did it matter now? Her baby, Jason’s baby too, was dead. Yet, somehow it didn’t seem too bad if she could stay like this, in this suspended state. For a little while longer.

  ‘Come on, Brooke, wake up now.’

  Jason’s voice! She fought against the rising surge towards consciousness, a place she didn’t want to go.

  He would not be denied. ‘Come on, love, open your eyes. We have a lovely baby daughter.’

  She didn’t believe him, he was just saying that to elicit a reaction. He sounded tired, practically out on his feet. Hazily she remembered that he had been in the theatre observing. Well, she wasn’t going to fall for his ruse.

  ‘You’re lying. Go away,’ she mumbled drowsily. ‘I know our baby’s dead. You’re cruel to pretend otherwise.’

  ‘Brooke…come on, wake up. On the lives of our boys, it’s true,’ his voice broke with emotion. ‘A little girl, and she is very little. Less than two kilos, but Eric says she’s strong, her vital organs are well developed. She’s in a ventilated humidicrib and doing well. Come on, darling, you can’t do this Rip Van Winkle forever.’ His tone became sterner. ‘Wake up, now. The baby’s going to be airlifted to an intensive care ward in Sydney. She’ll probably be there just a couple of days. Don’t you want to see her before she goes?’

  Brooke’s eyes opened wide and she stared up at him. She was certain she would know from his expression whether he was lying to her. Lines of fatigue fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and the corners of his mouth were tucked in, too tired to arch upwards in a smile. Staring deeply into his eyes she held her breath, praying that what she divined in them was true. His eyes were telling her that their baby was alive.

  He nodded and managed a smile as he reached for the hand free of the drip. ‘She’s bald as a badger and skinny as all get out, but she’s got blue eyes and she’s the most beautiful little girl in the world,’ he said softly, awed by the miracle of a successful birth under touch-and-go circumstances. He put an arm around her shoulders to help her into a sitting position. ‘Come on, love, I want you to see her before the air ambulance comes to get her.’

  ‘Is she beautiful?’ Brooke whispered the question, wanting, but hardly daring, to believe the truth of what he’d said. All at once a giant weight lifted off her heart. Her eyelids blinked several times; they were holding back a dam of tears. She had tried to prepare herself for the worst, to school her emotions to cope with the disappointment. Now she wouldn’t have to. ‘Oh, Jason,’ she cried as she held out her arms to him.

  Sheridan Anne d’Winters remained in the Prince of Wales Hospital in Sydney for a week and was then transferred back to Cowra District Hospital for another two weeks. When Dr Lawry was satisfied that, at just over two and a half kilos, she was big enough and sufficiently developed, she went home. This pleased all members of the d’Winters family, including the twins, who were now at school and curious about their baby sister. For Brooke, having the baby in her care meant no more commuting to the hospital in Cowra several times a week for all-too-brief visits, and Jason, seeing the change the baby’s presence wrought in his wife, felt he could finally relax.

  Sharon Dimarco brought the Minta Downs station wagon to a halt outside the Bindi Creek chemist shop and turned the motor off. It was Saturday morning and the little town was unusually busy with people from outlying properties coming in to do their fortnightly shopping. Normally she wouldn’t have set foot in Bindi Creek—it was too much of a one-horse town for her liking—but six weeks ago at a party she had conned the local chemist, Vince Gersbach, into getting a supply of her favourite cosmetics. He had phoned Minta Downs twice to let her know her order was in, so she was here to pick it up.

  She moved the rear-vision mirror to study her reflection, and smiled at what she saw. She really was quite beautiful, but her hazel eyes clouded as the doubts set in. As beautiful as she was, why wasn’t Wes Sinclair impressed? Her lips twitched haughtily. With her background and looks she could have her pick of any of the available bachelors in the district, but after several years the person she wanted remained unaware and unappreciative of her assets. A ripple of frustration raced through her as she thought about Wes. She had tried hard to spark the man’s interest but it was as if he was made of stone!

  Those kids of his didn’t help, either. Fleece disliked her, and Drew—well, he was so quiet and inhibited. And time was marching on. In three years she would be—ugh! she hated to think of it—forty. Almost middle-aged. Sharon was a lot like her father, Hugh Thurtell: practical, a forward-planner who liked to be in control, and with Wes, damn it, she had no control at all. Her gaze narrowed as, still looking at herself, she pondered her long-term problem: how to make Wes fall in love with her.

  So far nothing had worked. She had flirted with him, she had played ‘little Miss Nice’, she had mouthed sympathetic words over his occasional rantings about Claudia and how unruly Fleece could be. What more could she do? Maybe, the thought suddenly struck her, she was making herself too available—always there when he called to see Hugh, always available if he wanted a partner as an escort to the occasional party or function. Always willing to listen to his problems.

  Her lips pouted thoughtfully. Was it time for a change of tactics? Perhaps she should not be quite so accessible. And now that her father had loosened the purse strings and she had a reasonable allowance, she had more scope to please herself. Perhaps she should date other men in the hope that this might spark some jealousy within him. She smiled, pleased to have come up with an innovative way to combat Wes’s lack of interest.

&nbs
p; As she came out of the chemist shop after purchasing her cosmetics, she looked up the street and was surprised to see Wes’s Land Rover parked outside the d’Winters home. Her mouth thinned with annoyance. His friendship with Jason was another sore point with her because, busy as he was, Wes always managed to find time to help out his old buddy whenever Jason crooked a finger at him. He had even begun to speak kindly of Brooke, when all and sundry knew he was down on women. ‘Brooke d’Winters is a caring mother and a wonderful wife, a real leader in her community,’ he had said. Oh, it was pathetic stuff and made her want to puke.

  Feeling decidedly liverish she was about to get into the car to leave when she saw a beat-up utility with a horse float attached begin to back down the d’Winters’s drive. Consumed by curiosity, she put the car into gear and moved slowly down Tyrell Road, her hazel eyes locked on the activity around the d’Winters cottage.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Gross, your grandson was right to bring you in for a check-up,’ Jason said soothingly to the grumpy old lady as he escorted her from the surgery. That Craig Marcioni was concerned about Amelia’s level of emphysema and her worsening breathlessness was, to him, a sign that the young man, despite his bad-boy reputation, really cared for his grandmother.

  ‘How is she, Doc?’ said Craig, who’d been studying every stick of furniture as if he wanted to commit it to memory. He put a protective arm around his grandmother’s shoulders as he spoke.

  ‘It’s time Mrs Gross had an oxygen cylinder in the house, Craig, for when she gets particularly breathless. I’ll organise one first thing Monday.’

  Craig nodded in understanding. ‘Do I come back here to get it?’

  Jason noted that Craig wasn’t tall, but was well built, with black curly hair and an all-round tan due to his Italian lineage. ‘I’ll have it delivered here and I’ll bring it out to your place myself so I can show both of you how to use it properly.’

  Craig grinned with relief. He had black, sparkling eyes and a nice smile, with lots of even, white teeth. He didn’t smile often. Most of the time he had a semi-sulky look on his face. ‘Thanks, Doc. Nonna and I appreciate that.’

  ‘Such a fuss,’ Mrs Gross complained, tut-tutting as Craig helped her towards the door. ‘I am old. Some huffing and puffing is to be expected, you know.’

  ‘Sure it is.’ From experience Jason knew it was easier to agree than to argue with her. The woman was the most stubborn patient he had encountered. ‘Just let Craig do the heavy chores, Mrs Gross. Then you won’t huff or puff so much.’

  Amelia Gross patted her grandson’s cheek. ‘He’s a good boy, even if he is a bit wild and drives his car too fast.’

  ‘Nonna!’

  ‘Well, you do,’ she reiterated unrepentantly as she wagged a finger at him.

  Craig flushed with embarrassment, and with a wave to Jason, shepherded her out of the waiting room.

  With the morning surgery complete, Jason heaved a sigh of relief. Brooke had come in earlier and told him that Wes was having a coffee in the kitchen and was waiting for him. This time they were going to build a chook run down the back, even though Brooke had initially objected. She was worried about lice and such. Jason had convinced her that it would be good for the boys to take care of the run. Feeding, watering the chooks and collecting the eggs would be their responsibility—though of course, he chuckled knowingly, most of the work would fall to Luke, who was more responsible than his older twin. Adam was developing into quite a tearaway, always on the go, wanting to explore, never seeing the danger in things. So far in his young life Adam had had concussion twice, a broken arm, a sprained ankle, cuts and bruises too numerous to count, and a serious bout of bronchitis. Luke, on the other hand, was as healthy as a horse and remained relatively unscathed by life’s little adventures.

  Two dark-haired five-year-olds burst into the waiting room.

  ‘Hey, Dad!’ Adam’s voice shook with excitement. ‘Nathan Stephanos and his dad are here to see you. They’ve got a horse float on the back of their ute…’

  ‘…And there’s a horse in it,’ Luke said, finishing the sentence for his brother. He was jumping from one foot to the other with excitement.

  Jason looked suitably surprised. ‘Well, we’d better go take a look, hadn’t we?’

  Shepherding the boys in front of him, he went out onto the front porch and around the side of the house where Ric and Nathan Stephanos, Wes and Brooke were standing in a group.

  ‘So, what’s the story?’ Jason asked as the twins clambered up the side of the horse float to get a glimpse of the horse inside.

  ‘It’s real big, Dad,’ Luke announced.

  ‘Hi, Jason.’ Ric shook the doctor’s hand as he gave him doctor a reproachful look. ‘You never did send me a bill for the work you did on Nathan’s arm over a year ago.’ He looked at his son. ‘Show the doctor how the scar’s healed, Nathan.’

  Nathan dutifully pulled up his sleeve and showed Jason the twelve-centimetre pencil-thin scar.

  ‘So, because you didn’t bill me I thought your boys might like this.’ Ric pointed to the horse float. ‘She’s a Shetland pony, fully grown. Being black and white we’ve called her Domino.’ He winked at the twins, who now stood open-mouthed with delight. ‘Just the right size for you to learn to ride.’

  ‘For us?’ the twins chorused.

  ‘Can we have her, Dad?’ asked Adam, the more forthright of the two.

  ‘It’s very generous of you, Ric too generous. And as for keeping her,’ he glanced at the twins, ‘that depends on your mum,’ said Jason, putting the onus of approval onto Brooke.

  Brooke stared at Jason with undisguised annoyance. ‘Boys, you’re a bit too young to ride at the moment. When you’re older,’ she began, trying not to feel guilt-ridden when she saw their crestfallen expressions. Riding. She had known that one day, living where they did, it would be open for discussion. But they were only five. There would be plenty of time in the future to learn to ride horses, to shoot rifles, to go hunting, as country people did as a part of normal daily life.

  ‘Nathan got on a horse when he was four,’ Ric pointed out as he tousled his son’s mop of hair. ‘It’s best to start kids when they’re little—gives them confidence and a sense of responsibility to care for an animal.’ He looked at Wes, who at that moment was running a professional eye over the pony. ‘What do you reckon, Wes?’

  Wes glanced at Brooke, saw her pensive expression, then he turned to Jason. By the innocent look on his friend’s face he knew he’d been backed into a corner. Whatever answer he gave, someone was going to be unhappy. Then he saw the twins, their youthful faces beaming expectantly. He knew them pretty well by now. Luke was the sensible one and Adam was, well, he was a rough-and-tumble kid who’d taken to country life like he’d been born to it.

  Moving his gaze away from Brooke, he stroked the pony’s mane. ‘This answer isn’t going to make me popular with a certain person, but I agree with Ric. A pony this size would be good for the boys, providing they’re supervised when they ride.’

  ‘Oh, and who’s going to do that? I don’t know a thing about horses, and most of the time Jason’s too busy.’

  ‘You don’t ride?’ Wes asked Brooke.

  She shook her head. ‘Horses and I don’t get along,’ she answered, her tone definite on that point. Once, as a teenager, she and Janice had gone riding and her horse had bolted. She hadn’t been able to control or stop it, and when it had finally run out of steam she had slithered off, shaking, vowing never to sit astride such an unpredictable animal again. That she’d managed to stay on the horse as it had raced through the bush had shown some semblance of horsemanship, but the thought gave her no satisfaction.

  Still, was it fair to deprive the boys of something they would enjoy? She knew she couldn’t keep them babies forever and they were growing up fast, but were they ready?

  Ric Stephanos was a man not easily swayed from the course of action he’d chosen. ‘Look, here’s the proposal. Keep Domino for the weeke
nd. I’ve brought some feed, a bridle and one of Nathan’s old saddles. See how she fits into your lives. If on Monday you decide it’s a no-go, I’ll come over and pick her up.’

  Jason looked at Brooke and saw that she was weakening marginally as she gazed at Adam and Luke. The twins were almost dancing with excitement at the prospect of having the pony on the property.

  ‘We’ve kind of got a stable down the end of the backyard—the shed Wes and I cleaned up last month. It would be suitable for the pony,’ Jason said, straight-faced.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you blokes are ganging up on me? I’m sorely outnumbered here,’ she said testily. ‘All right. Just for the weekend, and so long as I don’t have to have anything to do with it.’

  ‘You know,’ Wes said slowly, as if he’d given the matter some thought, ‘you could learn to ride yourself. That’s the best way to get over a fear of horses.’

  Her hackles already up, his remark added to Brooke’s irritation. ‘I didn’t say I was afraid.’ She didn’t like the uncanny knack he had of getting to the root of her problem so easily. ‘I meant that I don’t like or trust them.’

  As if offended, Domino nickered and her muzzle jutted forward to spray a column of warm breath on Brooke’s neck, making her start with fright.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum, she just wants to be your friend,’ Adam reassured his mother.

  Ric went down on his haunches and stared solemnly at the twins. ‘Okay, guys, Domino will be your responsibility. It’s your job to make sure she’s fed and watered properly, and you have to muck out the shed too.’

  ‘What does muck out the shed mean?’ Luke wanted to know.

  Adam made a face and whispered the answer into his brother’s ears.

  ‘Oh! Yuk.’ Luke’s small features contorted into such an expression of distaste that Nathan and the adults laughed.

  ‘Your first lesson in horsemanship,’ Wes said with a chuckle. He remembered the first time Fleece and Drew had had to clean up horse shit. They hadn’t been too impressed either. ‘Tell you what, Brooke, why not come out to Sindalee one time and I’ll teach you how to ride? I’ve got several gentle horses which are suitable for learners. You know,’ he went on conversationally, ‘most people just need to get their confidence up and realise that they’re the boss, not the horse, then they’re fine.’