House for All Seasons

by Jenn J. McLeod

  ‘Whatever you reckon. Just a thought. Sleep well?’

  ‘Surprisingly well, thank you,’ she replied, omitting the fact that it had been a long time since she’d slept in a strange bed.

  How pathetic does that sound?

  ‘Well, embrace the day.’

  ‘Yes, right, you too,’ she said, slowly warming to the man who seemed a little less moron this morning.

  *

  Instead of sticking to the road into town, she tried a detour to take in a few old stamping grounds along the way. Barely half an hour into her journey, an ominous thud-flop, thud-flop, thud-flop sounded at the front of the car.

  ‘No, no, no, not that, please!’ She pulled over to inspect the situation, grabbing her mobile phone from the centre console. ‘Flat as, Karma girl, and oh what do you know, not a bar of reception.’ Cait poked at the phone several times, lifted it, lowered it, turned it, walked around with it. ‘Nothing.’

  She flipped the boot, prayed for a jack, any jack. Jack Daniels would be good, Jack Absalom—Aussie legend, outback traveller and survival expert—would be perfect right about now. His book had been her bible when she was young and dreaming of a camping trip around Australia. Unfortunately, right now the only advice she could recall was his tip about not panicking when trouble happens on the road. His suggestion: boil the billy, pour a port, relax and consider your options with a clear head. The problem for Cait was she had no billy, no port …

  ‘And no jolly jack. Bugger!’

  She moved to a higher point in the middle of the road to see if reception was any better and in the distance saw the all-too-familiar dust cloud closing in, the black ute with the annoying blond-haired bloke in the driver’s seat.

  ‘Notice I slowed down this time?’ he yelled, a bronzed, inked and pumped-up arm hanging out the window, fingers drumming against the door in time with the doof-doof of his speakers.

  ‘I did. Yes. Thank you,’ Cait shouted back right as he shut off the music, making her thankyou echo in the sudden silence.

  He squinted up at her, then down at the tyre and said dully, ‘It’s flat.’

  ‘Really? You’re quite perceptive.’

  ‘You need me to change it for you?’

  ‘I don’t need it changed for me, no. I’m not useless. I do know how to change a tyre.’

  ‘So then, what are you waiting for?’ Mischief filled his eyes. ‘Oh, don’t tell me. These sparkly new city cars change themselves. Cool! Can I watch?’

  ‘Ah, observant and funny.’ Planting both hands on her hips Caitlin glared at the man. She gulped, once to clear the croak in her voice and a second time to swallow her pride. ‘The problem is … my jack. It’s … well … there is no jack.’

  ‘No jack? Hmm, tricky.’ He tapped a finger against the tiny cleft in his chin. ‘Suppose I could lend you my jack, only there’s something I have to do first and I don’t want to leave the jack behind, on account of heading out in these parts without one—’

  ‘Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.’ Pride cometh before a fall, Caitlin reminded herself. ‘I guess I’ll have to wait.’

  ‘You could wait. Or you could help me. I’m on my way to see a man about a horse. I may need another set of hands. If you come with me now, I’ll bring you back and get you on your way again. Only if you want to, of course. Up to you.’

  Cait watched him tap out a tune on his steering wheel, his cocky little whistle grating her to the core. She considered two things: one, abandoning her precious car on the side of the road, and two, getting into a stranger’s car. She considered it in that order of importance.

  ‘I’m not so sure about leaving my car here like this.’

  ‘City girl, huh?’ He laughed. ‘Think someone’s waiting round the corner to hotwire your cute-as-a-button Beetle. Don’t worry. Doubt anyone round here would know which end to look for the engine. Let’s go. Rover there can go in the back with my Blue Boy.’

  ‘It’s Karma, not Rover.’

  He looked bemused. ‘What’s that you say?’

  ‘Her name. It’s Karma.’

  ‘That’s right. I remember now. And yours?’

  ‘Caitlin Wynter. Doctor Caitlin Wynter,’ she said, sounding a little too haughty.

  ‘Well Doctor Caitlin Wynter, let’s do it.’ He leaned across, flinging open the passenger door of the ute. ‘Give us a sec. Wasn’t expecting company.’ With the swipe of his hand, he sent the contents of the seat flying to the floor, including his dog, who Alex then ordered into the back as if he was controlling a mob. ‘Goo-on up, git’n-back, Blue. Get’n there. Goo-on. Goo-on.’ The blue heeler bounded onto the rear tray, followed by Karma and an awkward amount of bum sniffing and tail wagging.

  ‘Woo-hoo!’ Alex whooped. ‘Look at your girl go. She’s hot to trot.’

  ‘Karma, that’s not very polite.’ There was so much heat behind the whoosh of humiliation she felt that Cait could picture her ears as two bright red pulsating beacons on the side of crimson-coloured cheeks.

  ‘Hey, Blue, I’ve told you before to watch out for city girls, or you’ll have yourself a sweetheart quicker than a fly in a beer.’

  Caitlin shuddered, never so delighted she’d had her dog de-sexed.

  ‘A bit of a crazy mix then,’ he said.

  The comment made Cait’s hackles rise. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The dog.’ Alex laughed and shifted the car into gear. ‘I was talking about the dog. She’s got a bit of everything in her by the looks.’

  ‘Oh, yes—yes, she does.’

  Cait did love that Karma was different. Somehow, a border collie had got together with a dalmatian to make the brown-spotted, short-haired slobber-guts who had stolen Cait’s heart the minute the damn dog smiled at her from behind the razor wire at the dog shelter.

  Okay, so not quite razor wire, but it might as well have been.

  Cait buckled her seatbelt, prepared for a wild ride, but when they set off, Alex’s driving remained unremarkable.

  ‘How far are we going?’

  ‘Turn-off’s not far.’

  A few kilometres further along, he steered the vehicle into a side road and stopped. ‘Would you mind getting the gates? There’s a few of them.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He was right, six in all by the time they reached their destination—a simple mud hut with a tin roof and a chimney puffing grey smoke into an otherwise glorious blue and cloudless winter sky.

  ‘Hey, Bert, how goes it?’ Alex called out the ute window.

  The pipe-smoking man on the veranda of the hut wandered over, one lazy step after the other, as if they had all day.

  ‘Not doin’ too good last time I looked, Alex, and there’s no budgin’ ’er in the state she’s in. You’ll find her under them old wilga trees in the east paddock.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Bert, we’ll take care of her.’

  Bert dipped his head to look through the window at Cait and she offered a nervous smile.

  ‘Bert, this is Caitlin Wynter. Doctor Caitlin Wynter, from the city.’

  ‘City doctor?’ Bert’s turn to look nervous.

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry, though. I have her bill all covered. Call it a promise.’ Alex grinned. ‘You go on in and look after Joan. I’ll see you soon.’

  *

  ‘Something’s definitely not right.’

  All joking was gone from Alex’s voice as they pulled up some distance from a horse under the shadow of wilga trees, just as Bert had predicted. Within seconds, the vet was at the back of the vehicle gathering equipment while Cait discarded her bulky leather coat.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Hold on, girl.’

  Assuming his distracted comment had been directed at the horse, she asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Alex grabbed several bags, including a duffle of some kind, and several nylon ropes. ‘Can you manage this lot?’

  Without waiting for her answer, he lobbed the three different coloured
nylon ropes at her, which she caught. Then he ordered the two dogs into the front of the ute, leaving the windows down for air. Following him, almost running to keep up with his long strides, Cait saw the horse lift her head off the ground briefly to eye the approaching humans. The horse was pregnant and in distress. Even Caitlin couldn’t miss that.

  ‘She looks terrified, poor thing.’

  ‘I wonder how long she’s been down?’ Alex said, as they closed in on the restless and very pregnant animal with big brown eyes watching their approach guardedly. ‘Can’t be good. If a mare takes too long to foal they can give up trying.’

  Cait felt for the beast, the fear and confusion in her eyes cutting into the doctor’s heart. ‘Tell me what I can do to help.’

  ‘Mostly we need to wait. And I need your help to keep her calm. I’d rather not have to sedate her.’ Alex took towels from the duffle bag and proceeded to bind the mare’s tail, moving it clear of the horse’s rear just as a sack of liquid gushed out. ‘Do you know about horses?’

  ‘Enough to know which end is best at this particular point in time,’ Caitlin mumbled, observing the gush of what she assumed was the amniotic fluid of the placental sac. ‘She sounds in pain.’

  ‘Contractions. Some ladies are more vocal than others.’ He looked up briefly and smirked. ‘Truth is, no animal—a foaling mare or any prey species for that matter—is as vocal as humans. Horses are pretty stoic but they have to learn to hide their pain. They don’t want to draw the attention of predators or show any weakness. But let’s face it, this gorgeous girl has about thirty to forty kilograms of foal pushing through the birth canal right now. So I’m thinking we should cut her a bit of slack if she wants to have a whimper or two.’

  A laugh bubbled out of Cait. ‘Agreed. What happens now?’

  ‘Right now I’m hoping to see some sign of the foal’s front hooves. And if a nose follows, we’ll all be happier. That’s if she’s doing it by the book. Not sure she is.’ Alex massaged the mare’s heaving side. ‘You can do it, girl. Wish I could know how long she’s been down.’

  ‘Is down a bad thing?’

  ‘Depends. I’d say from the look of her that her problem’s a narrow pelvis. Ever seen a birth?’

  ‘Not one this big with four legs, but I guess I’m about to.’

  Cait wasn’t trying to be funny, which was just as well, because the moronic joker in the black ute was nowhere to be seen anymore. The vet was fixed on one thing—his patient.

  ‘Looks like I have to go in and help her out. Pass me that nylon rope. No, the red one.’ He fossicked around in another bag and then stretched out on the ground next to the mare. ‘I just have to …’ He grunted and Cait saw his arm disappear.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘Almost got it. If I can just … ah … get it a bit …’ The grunting continued. ‘Almost there … around the front foot and … yes!’ His hiss smacked of victory, and a relieved Cait wanted to cheer with him; the man was neck-deep up a horse’s rear-end and he was celebrating.

  ‘It’s not breech,’ he said. ‘That’s good, but …’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Something’s not right.’

  Cait observed the vet’s face; it bore the same intense concentration she was used to seeing on surgeons in theatre.

  ‘We have to help her.’

  ‘We?’ Cait gulped, and yet instinctively shoved the sleeves of her white cashmere cardigan over her elbows and breathed deep.

  ‘Okay, when you see me give this rope a little tug, I need you to keep her as calm as possible. Every time there’s a contraction … like now …’ Alex strained the rope with a firm but gentle pull, then stopped. ‘That’s what we do. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Caitlin settled on the ground by the mare’s head. She started stroking the mare’s nose, whispering calming words and blowing gently in her face. Somewhere she’d read or heard that horses related to a person’s scent more than their touch. She could do little else.

  ‘You okay up there, Beetle girl?’ Alex was still smiling over the horse’s rump, looking surprisingly relaxed, the larrikin sneaking back.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, vet boy. You take care of things at your end and I’ll take care of things up here.’ Cait grimaced. ‘I’m actually feeling pretty good at this point in the proceedings about not having kids.’

  ‘You’re doing fine, just fine. Head’s coming.’

  Alex’s arm, impossibly it seemed to Caitlin, disappeared even further inside the horse, but still she watched—like when she and Willow had huddled in front of the TV watching a scary movie, but only through splayed finger blindfolds so they didn’t miss the big moment.

  Cait wondered if that technique would help now or just make her look like a wuss. The horse was certainly coping, despite having a whole foal and half a human vying for space in her birth canal.

  ‘Hang on tight, Cait,’ the vet said as the horse’s head thrashed. She grabbed hold, whispering and stroking. ‘A couple … more … tugs … and … yes, the shoulders are out. Almost there. The hard part’s over, gorgeous.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Cait breathed, but the smirk on Alex’s face let her know he’d been addressing the horse. ‘For her, I mean.’

  ‘I’ll let her rest, then I might have to help some more. We can only wait and see.’

  Within a couple of minutes, the horse heaved and the miracle of life slipped into the world.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s amazing!’ Cait’s gush accompanied a stream of instant tears and Alex worked quickly to check the foal. ‘Is she okay … the foal, I mean?’

  ‘He is struggling a little.’

  ‘Breathing looks laboured,’ Cait offered, watching the newborn gasping for air.

  ‘That’s not breathing. That’s drowning. Ordinarily a horse breathes through its nostrils, not its mouth.’

  ‘Can you do anything?’

  ‘Maybe. He’s got to stay close to Mum, and Mum has to stay put. If either stand or pull away too early, the umbilical cord can snap prematurely. It’s vital the foal gets all Mum’s blood transferred first. Hey, little buddy. Come on, matey. Breathe for me.’ Alex prised the foal’s gums back, inspecting the colour. ‘Down this end, Cait. Try and sit him up. Don’t frighten them.’

  Cait kissed the mare between her ears before slowly and calmly crawling her way to the back end as instructed.

  ‘I need you to drape the foal’s head over your lap while I get something from the ute.’

  She wiggled her legs as far under the horse as possible, struggling with the weight and the slipperiness of the newborn, while Alex made a dash to the ute and back again.

  How he managed to drape the deadweight of the foal over the hay bales he’d brought from the car, Cait didn’t know. And while she didn’t understand, the strategy seemed to work, fluid draining from the foal’s nostrils.

  ‘It’s working.’ Almost instantly the foal stopped gasping. ‘Now what?’

  ‘Now we wait for the placenta. Don’t want the risk of infection on top of everything else.’

  Alex grabbed Caitlin by the hand to pull her up from the ground. Even with help, she struggled, her feet numb from sitting awkwardly on her haunches. They walked a distance, both collapsing to the ground to watch mother and baby bond.

  ‘That’s what we needed to see,’ Alex said as the mare sat up a little to lick her foal.

  ‘Bloody hell, I’m so exhausted anyone would think I just gave birth. Not that I’d know about that,’ she added.

  Caitlin leaned back on her arms, drew her knees up, feet flat on the ground, tears welling.

  ‘Awesome sight, eh?’ Alex said. He tossed Cait a clean towel before wedging the canvas duffle bag under his shoulders, arms supporting the back of his neck.

  Caitlin couldn’t be sure if the warm glow pumping through her veins was the miracle of life or the studly bloke beside her. In the hospital, she’d witnessed the euphoric expression of new fatherhood, but it seemed strangely out of place here, especially with Ale
x’s rough and tough exterior. He was very male with his day-old stubble and tattoos—the small bit she could see poking out from the neck and short sleeve of his shirt. Being around muscle-bound blokes, even half-naked ones, was all in a day’s work for Caitlin as team physio, but she’d yet to meet a footballer who was both buff and gentle like Alex seemed to be. The vet’s full-bodied blend of sweetness and sweat sure was more enthralling than the after-game smell of liniment and beer. At the other end of Cait’s male scale were the doctors and drug reps she met as director of the family business, all looking pretty sissyish compared to this animal doctor.

  Alex seemed in no hurry to leave the mare. At one point, it even looked like he’d dozed off, his hat lowered over his face, the rise and fall of deep sleep obvious in his chest. Caitlin could sit and watch the miracle of motherhood unfold all day. Add to that the intoxicating blend of sun, fresh air and joy, and suddenly her shopping, and her list of things to do back at the house, paled.

  A fly buzzed over Alex’s mouth and she tried to shoo it with a flick of her hand, only to connect with his face as he sat up with a start, his hat flying through the air.

  ‘Bugger! Sorry. There was a fly and—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, sure there was a fly. You’ve been wanting to give me a good smack across the face since yesterday for being a smart-arse.’

  She jerked upright to face him. ‘That’s not true. I—’

  ‘Relax, I was joking.’ He winked, reclined and returned the hat to his head. ‘You’ll get used to me.’

  ‘I suppose congratulations are in order.’ She spoke to the hat.

  ‘Sure is nice when they work out. Mum should be okay,’ Alex sighed. ‘Shame about old Brodie yesterday, though.’

  ‘Old Brodie is another horse?’

  ‘Was. A pig.’

  ‘Pig? You had to birth a pig?’

  ‘I know. They’ll usually work it all out themselves, popping out one after the other like ping pong balls in a Bangkok nightclub, if you get my drift.’ Alex rolled onto his side. He flicked the brim of his Akubra with a finger, shifting it on his forehead so Cait could see his eyes smiling underneath. ‘Anyway, number thirteen got into trouble on the way out. By the time they found her and called me, well, I knew it would all be a bit late. I attended anyway. Makes the humans feel better. Unlucky number thirteen and poor old Brodie. Both gone. I don’t know who was more upset, little Suzi or me. You’re a doc, Doc. Do you ever get used to losing patients?’