‘Exactly.’ She turned around in his arms to face him. ‘I’m going to ask Father and Meg out for Sunday lunch, so while I’m in town I’ll get some of that Barossa wine, the one we liked from the Bethany Winery. Clem keeps a few bottles in stock.’
‘You’ll be coming home after dark. Be careful on the road, won’t you?’ He spread his fingers over her rounded stomach. ‘Don’t want anything happening to you or the baby.’
Her smile was reassuring. ‘We’ll be fine.’ She grabbed her valise, hat and gloves. ‘Got to go. Jim’s going to cook dinner tonight.’
All the way into town Amy alternated between smiling and trying to be serene. Life was good. Randall was a wonderful husband and she was happier than any mortal ought to be.
Halfway through Amy’s shift, while Sarah and Rebekkah were on a lunch break, Ben Quinton rushed into the hospital ward.
‘Amy!’ Overweight, Ben was more than a little breathless from running. ‘There’s been an accident at the Royal. Young Jonathon. He was tapping in the tap and the beer keg exploded. It’s pretty rare for that kind of thing to happen, I’ve only heard of it happening once before. Clem reckons the bottom metal band surrounding the keg was fractured, and when Jonathon tapped the plug it somehow made the keg explode.’
‘Was he hurt?’ Amy asked, trying to get Ben’s thoughts back on track.
‘Yes. I rang your father’s surgery, asking for him, but Meg said he’s on his way back from a home visit and won’t be in town for another half-hour. Jonathon’s bleeding all over the place and Winnie’s beside herself. Can you come?’
‘Of course. Give me a minute to tell Sarah I’m going with you.’
Amy raced down the aisle of the ward to the cupboard-sized room where, if they were lucky, they took a meal break or had time for a cup of tea while on their shift. When she told Sarah and Rebekkah, Jonathon’s sister insisted on coming with her. Amy threw gauze bandages, antiseptic and wads of cotton wool into a paper bag before she and Rebekkah hurried out to follow Ben to the Royal Hotel.
The heavy smell of brewed beer spattered around the saloon bar was almost overpowering. The women found Clem and Winnie beside Jonathon, who was lying on bare boards behind the counter. His clothes were soaked in blood and beer. He had a wound on his forehead that was bleeding profusely, in spite of Winnie’s efforts to staunch the flow. A sliver from the beer barrel had sheared off and penetrated the youth’s chest, just below the shoulder, and another shard had pierced his upper thigh.
‘Thank God you’ve come,’ Winnie cried as soon as she saw Amy and Rebekkah. ‘He’s in so much pain. He’s dropping in and out of consciousness.’
Amy hadn’t seen so much blood since tending soldiers during the Great War, and decided in an instant: ‘We have to get him to the hospital.’ She turned to Clem. ‘Find something, a wide plank, six feet long, or an old door that can be used as a stretcher to take him over.’
Clem and two of his customers went out the back to find suitable transportation for Jonathon, while Amy, with Rebekkah’s help, got to work on the boy’s wounds. They packed the head wound with a wad of cotton wool and wrapped a bandage securely around it. Blood seeped from the slivers of timber in Jonathon’s chest and leg, and the best that could be done till they got him into the hospital was a compression bandage around the wounds to slow the flow. As they worked on him, Jonathon moaned and twitched with pain.
It took about ten minutes to get Jonathon to the hospital, and Amy directed the men carrying him to take him straight to the operating room and transfer him to the table.
Andy Cummings, who’d never taken to Amy and had tried to get her sacked after she’d saved his wife and their twins’ lives, had been one of the carriers. Giving her a sour look, he said, ‘I suppose you’re going to play doctor again and operate on him, seeing as your father’s not available.’
Amy looked directly into his hard grey eyes. ‘I am not. Jonathon is not in a critical condition, as Christine and the twins were. We’re going to clean him up and prepare him for surgery, so that Dr Carmichael can operate as soon as he arrives.’
‘Oh shut up, Andy,’ Clem, his clothes spattered with Jonathon’s blood, retorted. ‘You wouldn’t have a family if it wasn’t for what Amy did last year. Where’s your gratitude?’
Andy’s only reply was to shrug his shoulders, then he turned on his heel and strode out of the operating theatre.
‘Amy, what can I do?’ Winnie wrung her hands as she stared wideeyed at her unconscious son.
Amy knew that it was important to keep Winnie occupied. ‘Help Rebekkah get him ready for surgery. We’ll have to cut his clothes off him, put antiseptic around the wounds and continue to slow the blood flow. I’ll prepare instruments and get the anaesthetic ready.’
David Carmichael had been flagged down at the edge of town by Ben Quinton, who’d acquainted him with the medical emergency, so the doctor went straight to the hospital’s operating theatre. Pushing back his tiredness after the long drive from Wilpena Pound, one eyebrow lifted over his glasses in appreciation when he saw that the staff had the operating room ready. He smiled briefly at his pregnant daughter—Amy and her staff were their usual efficient selves—then removed his coat and donned a white smock—a hygiene measure Amy had introduced to the operating room.
‘I see everything’s ready,’ he said superfluously. He washed his hands thoroughly in the enamel sink and, after drying them on a clean towel, moved to the operating table.
‘The doctor says he should be fine, though he’ll be sore and sorry for himself for quite a few days,’ Amy reassured Winnie as they looked down on the sleeping Jonathon. ‘The surgery went well, but he’s lost a considerable amount of blood and will need strengthening broths and red meat, when he is well enough, to stimulate blood regeneration.’
‘I’d like to thank Dr Carmichael,’ Winnie said, placing her hand on Amy’s forearm. ‘The doctor and you have done so much for the Cohen family.’
Amy stretched; her back was aching from having had to bend over while assisting her father during the operation. She had noticed that her father’s hands had trembled several times, and once he had delayed clamping off a blood vessel longer than he should have. And no, she hadn’t imagined those things, all of which reminded her that her father was allowing himself to become exhausted. And he was no longer a young man. She had to do something about the situation. If necessary, she would talk to the hospital’s board of governors about bringing in another doctor to relieve her father’s burden. David Carmichael was a proud man, and he would never admit to needing help, so she knew it was up to her to see that he got it.
‘The doctor’s still in the operating theatre. I’ll pass your thanks on to him.’
‘Thank you. Is it all right if I sit by Jonathon’s bed for a while and watch over him?’
Amy understood Winnie’s anxiety. She wouldn’t be able to rest until her son regained consciousness, which could take another hour or so. ‘Of course.’
Sarah caught Amy’s attention—she needed help with a patient—so Amy left Winnie to her own devices. Another half-hour went by before Amy realised that her father hadn’t come out of the operating room. Odd. He didn’t usually hang around at the hospital unless he was needed. At the first opportunity she went into the theatre to see what he was doing.
David Carmichael lay on his side on the floor, unconscious.
‘Father!’ Amy rushed to him, knelt, felt for the carotid artery at the side of his neck: the beat of his pulse barely registered. She grabbed a stethoscope from the instrument table and rolled him onto his back. His skin tone was greyish-white, a similar colour to his neatly trimmed beard. She checked his pupils: they lolled back, reacting sliggishly to light, and his breathing was laboured. As she moved the stethoscope over his chest, she scarcely dared to breathe. The beat was erratic. Biting her lip, her own heart beating an odd, staccato tempo from shock, she got up. She had observed these symptoms many times in her nursing career, so she knew what they mea
nt. Her father had had a heart attack, and the nearest doctor to attend him was…
Oh God, the nearest doctor was in Hawker—and, in the fastest car, that was a three and a half hour round trip from Gindaroo!
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The first thing to do was not to panic, Amy told herself, though her hands were shaking and she could feel the muscles around her throat tightening with the desire to give way to tears. Get help. Years of training came to the fore and she galvanised herself into action, calling for Sarah, Rebekkah and Rosemary to lend a hand. In minutes they had David on a canvas stretcher; fortunately there was an empty bed in the ward.
‘Sarah, phone Dr Franks in Hawker. Tell him what’s happened and get some instructions on what to do until he arrives.’ But she already knew the most they could do for her father was make him comfortable, and pray that the damage done to his heart wasn’t too serious and that it would repair itself. Sarah nodded and rushed off to the telephone in the hospital’s foyer.
‘Are you all right?’ Rebekkah asked Amy.
‘No, I’m not, but I’ll manage.’ Amy turned away and blinked furiously several times to push back tears. Her father was desperately ill; he could die. Noooo, she wasn’t going to let that happen. She needed him too much and she wanted her child to have at least one grandparent.
‘I want one of you to take turns in observing him. Check his pulse, heart and breathing every half-hour.’ She glanced at Rosemary. The nurse-in-training was, on occasions, something of a scatterbrain and boy crazy, but she also had a fondness for Amy’s father so she could be trusted to watch over him. ‘Rosemary, you take the first shift. If there’s any change, come and tell me immediately.’
Amy wasn’t sure how she got through the next few hours, waiting on tenterhooks for Dr Franks to arrive, all the while trying to behave normally. It wasn’t until Dot Quinton poked her head around the ward doorway that she remembered the Country Women’s League meeting. It was due to start in an hour’s time. She gave the paperwork and the meeting’s agenda to Dot and asked Dot to chair it on her behalf.
Randall arrived at the hospital before Dr Franks did, and somehow just seeing him calmed Amy’s nerves. Him putting his big, strong arms around her was a comfort too.
‘What can I do to help?’ he asked.
‘Just being here helps,’ she replied, gaining strength from his presence. ‘The patients are due for their evening cups of tea before we dim the lights. We’re a little short-handed. Could you…?’
‘Of course. Point me in the direction of the kitchen and I’ll see to it.’
By the time Dr Franks arrived Amy’s father had regained consciousness, but he was in considerable pain. He was able to talk and describe his symptoms, which helped the examining doctor enormously. Franks proclaimed David a fortunate man: the heart attack was serious but did not appear to be extensive, and only time, as he convalesced, would tell if permanent damage had been done.
‘With rest, relaxation and good food your father should recover nicely,’ Dr Franks told Amy after they’d settled their patient.
‘I told him he was doing too much,’ Amy whispered. ‘You know, Dr Franks, the town and surrounding district have grown a good deal, and we can’t do without a doctor. We need to get someone as soon as possible, to work his practice and attend hospital cases. My father won’t be able to work for weeks, maybe months.’
Dr Franks’s expression showed that he agreed. ‘As luck would have it, I know a good physician I’d be prepared to recommend. He’s young, not much older than you, Amy. His name is Gavin Pearce. He’s single, and as yet has no firm medical commitments in Adelaide. Getting experience in a country practice would be good for him. Would you like me to make the initial contact, sound him out, so to speak?’
Amy realised that she was the one who had to make the decision, even though it concerned her father’s practice, but she was sure the hospital’s governing board would go along with Dr Franks’s recommendation. ‘Please do, and thank you so much for coming. My father’s housekeeper, Meg, has prepared a room for you to stay in at Primrose Cottage overnight.’
‘Very thoughtful of you. I know Primrose Cottage well. Dr Samuel and I used to have reciprocal visits several times a year. I’ll be comfortable there. I’ll call on David again early tomorrow, before I make my way back to Hawker.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You, my girl, should get some rest—you have the baby to think of.’
Amy saw Dr Franks to the hospital’s foyer then went back to the ward to supervise settling the patients down for the night, after which Randall joined her in the barely adequate nurses’ room at the end of the ward.
‘You’re exhausted. Come home and get a good night’s rest,’ he suggested, on seeing her sitting with her elbows on the table and her face supported by her hands. ‘Remember the baby. I don’t want you making yourself ill with worry.’
‘I’m staying here,’ she said. Her tone brooked no discussion. ‘Sarah’s set up a collapsible bed in the operating room. I’ll sleep there, so I’ll be close if I’m needed during the night.’
Randall frowned at her and said in an equally direct manner, ‘You know there’s nothing more you can do for your father. It’s in God’s hands now whether he survives or not.’
‘You don’t need to remind me of that,’ she snapped at him, short-tempered because of her tiredness and concern for her father. ‘I have to be here and that’s all there is to it.’
Grudgingly, Randall accepted her decision, but his expression betrayed the fact that he wasn’t in favour of it. ‘All right. I understand, love. I’ll take a room at the Royal. See you in the morning.’ He kissed the top of her head and left.
It wasn’t until she had settled as comfortably as she could manage on the narrow collapsible bed that Amy gave way to tears. They flowed and flowed, until finally exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep.
Dr Gavin Pearce, an earnest young man with sandy-coloured hair, tall and skinny as a whippet, according to Meg, arrived at Gindaroo within the week to take over the reins of David Carmichael’s practice. Amy’s father’s recovery was slow, due to the fact that he’d become run down physically and mentally before the heart attack, and it wasn’t long before Amy realised that Dr Pearce, while he was brilliant in regard to the theory of medicine, had only been practising for eighteen months and thus lacked experience. It would take diplomacy and skill on her part to ease him into becoming a good all-round country doctor.
Spring came and went, as did Christmas, which, for the first time in many years, was truly celebrated at Drovers Way, with Meg and Jim doing the cooking. Amy, seeing her father’s improvement, his growing friendship with Gavin, felt a sense of relief. Gavin could, for as long as her father needed him to, do the lion’s share of the practice and hospital work, with her father adopting more of an advisory role in the management of both.
Summer was fierce that year in the Flinders, the heat almost unbearable day and night. Creeks virtually dried up, water in the earth dams evaporated to muddy puddles, and recently sown fields of wheat withered in the harsh weather. However, in spite of nature’s vagaries, Randall and Amy’s life at Drovers would have been perfect except for one person—Bill Walpole. His continuing feud against Randall also extended to Amy, with Ingleside’s owner using every means at his disposal—political influence, money, bribery, and strong-arm tactics towards those working on the site—to thwart the completion of the Mabel Ellis Sports Field. The opening date was scheduled for 26 March 1926, a few weeks before the McLean baby was due.
Amy saw that Bill’s ongoing ‘war’ was having a detrimental effect on Randall, frustrating and irritating him to the point that at times he was as cranky as a bull without a herd of young heifers to service. Finding money for the basics, to make improvements to stock and for property maintenance, was a continual problem—and deep down the sadness of being estranged from Danny remained, though through the occasional letter to Joe they knew he was doing remarkably well with his island
trading business. His letters said he had purchased another ship, similar in size to the Geraldine, to increase his business, and renamed it Amy’s Rainbow. She had been touched by him remembering the evening they’d watched the rainbow form and disperse in Braddon Park.
Danny had bought property too: a coconut and pineapple plantation on one of the smaller Fijian islands. Amy smiled and shook her head in amazement as she thought about him. Who would have thought her Danny—she still thought of him as hers, but in a platonic way—would become as successful as he was?
She felt a deep-seated need to establish contact with Danny. She wanted to know if he was happy and if he’d found someone to share his life with, but Randall had been adamant about not doing so. Sometimes a rebellious thought popped into her head as she prepared vegetables for dinner. Her husband could be uncommonly stubborn. What if Danny never chose to make contact with them again? But what if she wrote to Danny secretly? She knew that Joe, lazy man that he was, never bothered to reply to Danny’s letters, and surely Randall’s brother was curious to know how they were faring at Drovers Way. However, if she wrote, and it was a big if, Randall would be angry with her, and would possibly not forgive her for doing so.
As she worked automatically, frying steak and onions and cooking three different vegetables for dinner on the antiquated but efficient fuel stove, her thoughts went to and fro as to whether she should risk annoying Randall to satisfy her own need to re-establish contact with his brother. Teetering from one point of view to the other, she found it impossible to decide, so, for the present, she would do nothing.
Later, standing near the sink to cut wedges of rhubarb and apple pie for Randall, Jim and Mike, a stabbing pain hit low in Amy’s stomach. The pain was so strong it took her breath away and the knife dropped to the floor. Then she felt a trickle of moisture run down between her legs. Her waters had broken! Oh, no! The baby was coming—early.
Gripping the sink in preparation for the next contraction, her voice was remarkably calm as she said to Randall, ‘You’d better call Winnie.’ Her friend had become the unofficial midwife of Gindaroo. ‘And Meg. The baby’s coming!’
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