Finally, she applied for and was accepted to work at the local hospital, but her joy was short-lived. Early on the morning of the day she was supposed to report for work, the hospital burned to the ground.
Thinking her job had gone up in smoke too, she didn’t report for work. And since she was the only unemployed family member, she became the official lunch-maker. Sitting in the kitchen, mulling over her misfortune, Pearl hadn’t started the lunch for the day yet. It was too hot for soup, and the bread wouldn’t arrive at the grocer’s for another hour. Their only chunk of cheese had turned hard and unappetizing in the midsummer heat. The last of the mutton roast had been used yesterday for sandwiches. There was nothing left—just like her life: it added up to zero.
Suddenly Enid came bursting through the back door. She was almost sixteen now, but the years hadn’t done a thing for her hair. It was still straight, still that same color of brown. She drew it up and back in a fashionable bun, as did most women, but little ends and wisps constantly fell down around her ears, neck, and in her eyes. Enid would never be as elegant as her sister.
She frowned at Pearl. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Because my place of employment is a heap of smoldering ashes.”
Enid put on that maddening air of false patience. “Pearl! People do not instantly become well and walk out of a hospital simply because the building burned down. Dr. Symes is angry because you have not appeared, but he’s agreed to reconsider firing you if you get there before noon. I explained to him it must be a misunderstanding and that you are very reliable.”
Pearl stood up and retrieved her hat from the rack in the corner. “But what about lunch? And why were you in such earnest conversation with the town doctor?”
“Lunch can wait. And I talked to the doctor because I work there, too.” Enid led the way out the door, into the searing heat. She hurried along as though she did not find the scorching sun the least bit oppressive. “Because of the emergency, Papa and I decided I could do more good at a place like the hospital than accompanying him on his visitations—except for visitations to widows and other unattached ladies, of course. I’ll go with him then. But mostly, I’m going to work at the hospital now. I applied this morning and was accepted immediately.” Not catching Pearl’s scowl, she went on.
“Papa and I agree that one can serve the Lord in many ways—and the ministry proper is only one of them.” She fell in beside Pearl. “Pearl, it’s so exciting, isn’t it?”
“Very. So tell me, how does the good doctor propose to treat patients now that he’s sitting in an ash heap?”
“The fire started in a separate summer kitchen, so the volunteers were able to get all the patients and some of the equipment out. We’re setting up in the old brewery.” She smiled. “Ironic, isn’t it? The brewery, which once produced the grog that has ruined so many lives, is now the site for saving them.”
“Yair—yes.” Pearl hated that local affirmative, yet here she was picking it up unconsciously, so she quickly changed it.
They passed the tree beside the railway station where shearers and other sympathetic strikers had first met to plan strategy six years ago. There were the acacia trees—they had grown some, she noted. She’d seen Marty only once since the riot—a couple months after the strike fell apart.
Why that should bother her, she didn’t know. Skinny little runt. And his cousin Jason was even skinnier. What a pair they were! Rich, though. Money counts for something, she guessed.
Four stories high, the abandoned brewery cut quite an imposing figure. Knowing how the locals loved their beer, Pearl had asked once why the brewery had closed. “‘Cuz its beer tasted like a scorched bandicoot,” she was told. “Ain’t easy to ruin beer, but they done it.” As far as Pearl was concerned, all beer tasted like that. She had no idea why so many men liked it.
Enid led the way through the front doors and down the dusty halls. “Dr. Symes sees patients in the engine room now,” Enid explained. “The floors below and above are being turned into wards.”
The engine room. This whole scene brought new dimensions to the word “primitive.” Examination tables had been set up on either side of a huge flywheel. Bandages and bottles lined the top of a gauge box, and a stethoscope hung over a big painted cast-iron pipe. At the far end, two huge industrial doors stood wide open, letting in a slow, torrid summer breeze.
Dr. Symes bent over his current patient—a coarse-looking fellow in sweaty, stained work clothes. Obediently he held up his arm as the doctor wrapped it in a massive bandage. Probably one of the workmen putting this miserable hole into some kind of order.
The doctor stood erect and shouted at no one in particular, “So where are my scissors? Don’t tell me they all burnt up, too!”
Enid leaped into action. “Scissors!” She pawed through a crate filled haphazardly with salvaged hospital paraphernalia. “Here!” She hurried to him with a pair of stubby little scissors.
Dr. Symes stopped long enough to study Pearl for a moment. “Oversleep?”
“No, sir. I was up before dawn watching the fire, along with most of the town.”
He snorted. “Eh? Well, I didn’t see you helping.” He turned his attentions back to his work. “Enid, empty that crate out and line everything up somewhere so we can find what we need without a shovel.”
Pearl was surprised when Enid turned and left the room. She had expected her little sister to dive right into the job—she was that sort of ingratiating person. Should Pearl do it? And if so, how? She was still standing there, uncertainly, when Enid returned with a dusty little knee-high table. Enid set it in front of the flywheel between the two examination tables, then dumped the contents of the crate onto a blanket. Turning the crate on its side, she set it on the table. Presto. A perfect instrument table. She draped a large towel to serve both as a mat on top and curtain over the open side. The patient, having received the necessary care, left, and Dr. Symes disappeared down a side hall.
Still uncertain as to what to do, Pearl picked at the pile of unfamiliar objects. Here were scissors that weren’t scissors and a vicious-looking stainless steel object. “How are you arranging them?” she asked. How could Enid look as though she knew what she was doing? She was as new at this as Pearl.
“By size,” Enid answered. “When Dr. Symes asks for something by name, unless it’s scissors, I’m not likely to know what it is at first. And most of these strange things are hard to describe. But he can easily say how big.”
Disgustingly logical.
Out by the big open double doors a bell clanged so loudly Pearl jumped in fright.
Enid’s eyes bulged. “An emergency!”
An emergency? Pearl followed Enid at a jog toward the doors. She could hear running feet behind her; Dr. Symes was coming.
At the loading ramp outside the double doors, a small, wiry, dark-haired young man had just pulled up in a station cart. The cart horse, blowing and lathered, looked ready to drop. In the back of the cart a tall, lithe fellow was bent over, trying to scoop an aborigine up in his arms.
“Leave him there.” Dr. Symes jumped off the ramp and down beside the wagon. He’s remarkably agile for his age, Pearl thought. “We don’t have the time for charity work.”
“This one’s paid for.” That voice! It was a deep baritone or perhaps bass, smooth and easy on the ear. “Horse stomped him.” Pearl’s heart leaped when she realized who he was.
“I believe it.” Dr. Symes stepped back from his cursory examination and waved an arm. “Right, then. Drive it right on up and in, lad. Enid, show these gentlemen to the examination table.” The doctor hopped back up onto the loading ramp, and paused beside Pearl. With a finger he tipped her chin up to close her gaping mouth, then disappeared into the gloom as the cart made a tight circle and came rattling up the ramp behind him.
Suddenly Pearl felt very foolish that the doctor had noticed her reaction. Of course those boys would have grown. For all practical purposes they were men now. She gathered up
her skirts and ran inside, most unsophisticated. She paused only long enough to arrange herself and pat any stray strands of hair up into place. She straightened her back, lifted her head and joined the group, a lady again.
The lathered horse and its cart were parked not four feet from the examination tables. The lads had transferred the patient to the table and Dr. Symes was cutting off the torn clothing. The patient, a young black man, lay curled on his side, groaning when anyone attempted to straighten him out. Already Enid had tucked a pillow under the aborigine’s head and had begun wiping off the dried blood, a basin of water at her elbow. The flies had found the mess already. They buzzed in clouds.
Two sisters in white aprons came running in from a side door labeled “stairs.” Deftly they stepped in beside the boys and took over. Sisters. Englishmen called them nurses. Americans called them nurses. Why did the locals call them sisters?
Pearl’s cheeks flushed hot. Here they were in the company of two young men their own age. And Dr. Symes was cutting off all the injured man’s clothes. Pearl grabbed a towel from the linen pile and stood ready to restore modesty as soon as possible.
Jason and Marty were falling all over themselves explaining to the doctor how the accident had occurred. This fellow—Gimpy Jack, they called him—had tried to hold a renegade brumbie, getting kicked and stomped in the process. They described how pale he had become…Pure foolishness. A black man, pale? The doctor nodded as if he understood. He said something about bleeding inside and operating right now. He used the words “carbolic” and “chloral something.” He instructed Enid on what to look for as she cleaned the man’s scalp. Then he told the boys they could leave.
With three women doing his bidding, it didn’t seem as if the doctor needed her help anymore, Pearl thought. She followed Marty and Jason as they walked outside, leading the horse behind them.
Marty removed his battered hat, grinning. “Almost didn’t recognize you there, Miss Fowkes. G’day!” His shoulders had filled out. He seemed so different, so…so…manly. He towered more than a head taller than Pearl. She had to look up to see his deep-set brown eyes. They were even more remarkable than she had remembered.
She curtsied. “I didn’t know you at first, either.” She turned. “And Jason. You’ve certainly grown.”
He grinned impishly. “Not as much as Marty. That’s ’cuz he eats more. You’re looking, uh, grown-up. And Enid. I sure wouldn’t have recognized her being your little sister if the doc hadn’t called her by name. She’s really grown! She, uh, she got a gentleman?”
“No. Neither of us does.” Time to change the subject. “So why did you come to Barcaldine after all these years?”
The broad shoulders shrugged. For all his growth, Marty still reminded her of a little boy in some ways. “We were helping out a neighbor, northeast of Ilfracombe there. Some temporary pens above Saltern Creek. When this happened we decided here was closest, and it’s a good hospital.” He grinned. “Well, it was till this morning, I guess.”
“You’ll have to see the remains. Quite a mess, and still smoking.”
“Saw it. Stopped there first.” Jase nodded. “We smelt it coming in; ’course, we didn’t know what we were smelling till we got there.”
After chatting for some time, Marty glanced at the sun. “Just about noon,” he said. “Soon as they can spare Enid, let’s all four go over to the Commercial for lunch. Haven’t eaten there for years. They still good?”
“As good as any, yes. That would be delightful.” Pearl had suffered a lot of heckling about not being courted, mostly from elderly women who chided her for being too choosy. Wait until the biddies saw her walk through the door with this pair!
The boys wandered out under a tree to wait and Pearl went back inside. If they had operated at all they must have done it in a hurry. Enid was cleaning up equipment, one of the sisters had disappeared, and Dr. Symes was washing his hands. The other sister rolled a bed in, and Pearl took the feet, the sister the middle, and Enid the head as they shifted Gimpy Jack onto the wheeled cot. Pearl felt a bit miffed that the doctor, the strongest one among them, didn’t bother to help.
Pearl cleared her throat. “Doctor? The two young men out there—Gimpy Jack’s companions—are old and valued friends of ours. They asked that Enid and I accompany them to lunch. By your leave, sir.”
Enid caught her breath. “I may not be able…I mean…”
Dr. Symes’s voice rolled smooth as glass. “Enid, you did a splendid job there. You made yourself useful, anticipating ways that you could help, and you follow orders well. This was a difficult case and you deserve the break. Of course, go to lunch with the young men, and I’ll see you back here this afternoon.” He turned to Pearl. “And you, young lady, are fired.” Giving her no chance to respond, he marched briskly out of the room.
Pearl stared after him. “Of all the…”
Enid bit her lip as she pulled her soiled apron off. “He needed you, Pearl. You should have—” She stopped. “Well, it’s over. Let’s go to lunch.”
The waiter at the Commercial Hotel did not recognize the boys. The bartender did. Enid seemed not quite herself. Probably she was just a bit nervous, being in the company of men and women a little older than she. They talked and laughed as they waited for their order. When their food arrived—beef stew all around—they wasted no time.
Marty ate the potatoes out of his stew. “Jase, after lunch let’s go down to the dry goods store and buy some cloth for a shirt for Jack. Something really loud.”
“Really loud!” Jason laughed. “Jack, he does like colors. You seen the shirt we cut off him. White with big red roses all over it. The cook made it for him out of curtain chintz. If they ever make a color that glows in the dark, he’ll be first cab off the stand to get a shirt from it.”
Soberly, Marty looked at Enid. “Something is bothering you.”
She forced a smile. “Shame on me for spoiling this happy luncheon.”
“You’re not. Just a feeling I got.”
She laid down her fork. “Your friend is very close to death. Dr. Symes went in—surgically, I mean—and repaired some damage inside, but he had to get in and out quickly because the young man is so weak. That’s how he phrased it. No anstha—no anesthetic. And that’s the first time I…I mean, I’m just new there. And…it was unsettling.” Her eyes glistened.
For a moment, Pearl was concerned for her sister. Concern turned into embarrassment. What a fool she’s making of herself. Pearl couldn’t bear to look around and see who might be watching.
Marty put down his own fork. “Gimpy Jack’s been working off and on for Pop for six years, ever since that business with Turk Moran. He’s the same age as me. He started with Mr. Sheldon and then came to our place. He’s…well…a friend. A real friend. This morning…”
His eyes flitted from the ceiling to the walls. “I was sure we lost him. Couple times, I was so sure. Tried to pray and couldn’t. Finally get here and there’s the hospital burnt down. I was so scared. Until we drove the buggy up into the brewery there and you started working on his head. All of a sudden I knew he was safe. I don’t know how I knew, but I felt it.” Marty spread his hands. “I know it’s rough on you, but I hope you realize how much it meant when…ah, gum. I don’t know how to say it.”
“You sure don’t.” Jason hadn’t slowed down eating a bit. “What he’s trying to say is, soon as you and the doc and the sisters jumped in there, we knew you could save him. And he’s worth saving. Don’t matter that he’s black.”
Despite the tears, a broad, bright smile spread across Enid’s face. “My father and I both felt God wanted me to work there. What you’ve just said confirms it. Working in the hospital will give me an opportunity to help people…and that makes the horrible side of it worthwhile. Thank you!” With that, she got back to work on her stew.
Jason studied her. “You really wanna work there, huh?”
“Yes, I do.”
He looked at Pearl. “You work there, too?�
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“Now and then.”
Enid didn’t even glance at her.
Jason jabbed Marty’s arm. “You see? That’s how I don’t feel. I really don’t wanna be there. The station’s real nice if you like to sit around and watch grass grow. Everything’s always the same. We muster in October. Why? Because you always muster in October, that’s why. Move this mob from here to there. Now move that mob from there to here. Build this fence, tear that one down. As exciting as canned peaches.”
Marty started eating the onions in his dish. “Since I already heard this here litany of woe, he must be reciting it for your benefit. So listen up.”
Enid giggled.
With grand gestures, Jason waxed eloquent. “Life is meant to be savored—its nuances, its thrills and surprises. Like a delicious stew. Now if you have to work the whole time, you might as well be working at something you can enjoy. Like you, Enid. You seem to have found your place. It’s rewarding for you. I’m still hunting mine.”
“Jase?” All Marty had left now was the meat. “What’s a nuance?”
“Aha! So you were listening! It’s a word I found in one of Henry Lawson’s newspaper columns. I plan to work ‘egregious’ into the conversation, too, somewhere.”
Pearl tried to limit her laughter to a ladylike titter. Impossible. “What line of work do you suppose might provide the nuances you crave?”
“Mining.”
The way Marty started, Pearl could tell this was new to him. She frowned. “Isn’t that terribly dirty work? What sort of mining?”
“Gemstones. I’ve been thinking of packing up and going to Anakie down the line there. Dig sapphires, diamonds. Crikey. There’s a nice living to be made in the semiprecious stones, like smoky quartz. I don’t want a lot of money—though I won’t refuse it if it comes my way, of course. But I want excitement. I want to live!”
Pearl looked at Marty. “But you like it right where you are. You’re a pastoralist—a squatter.”
Power of Pinjarra Page 6