Guardian Nurse

by Joyce Dingwell

  ‘But you’re right, of course. Just as well you did begin or Burn would have wanted to know why I hadn’t.’

  ‘You still won’t tell me your reason?’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell, really. It’s just that the pool looked so pretty and—and—well, so permanent. You see I intended ... I meant to ...’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Time’s up, Jason!’ called Frances when it was obvious that Jenny was not going to explain any more, and she got the protesting little boy on to land again.

  Now that he had tasted the pool there was no stopping him, not even his beloved Jenny. Anyway, Jenny was too commonsense a person to try to stop as important an achievement as swimming. When Frances came at the end of a therapy session with Jason’s little trunks ready to slip into Jenny raised no objection.

  ‘I’m not entirely pigheaded,’ she said once, ‘and I intend to try pool exercises in time. But just now you have the right idea, Frances, swimming is the first essential.’

  —How much so neither of them then could know.

  Jason learned very quickly. Frances, recalling his eagerness to ride, decided he had a definite athletic slant. He surprised her one day by actually dog-paddling the entire length of the pool. She was so pleased she looked around for someone else to join in Jason s thrill, but Burn was still away on the wheat harvest that was almost complete now, and ever since Frances had taken over Jason for swimming lessons, Jenny had gone out, while he was taught, in her small car. Frances sometimes wondered where Jenny went so busily each day.

  Now was the time, she decided, to initiate Jason into the skill of the crawl. He was delighted with it because it was quicker than the dog paddle.

  ‘But don’t forget the paddle either,’ Frances advised. ‘If you get tired it can help you a lot if you pretend you’re Rough again.’

  The first day of the rain that had threatened brought rain to Jason, but only until Frances pointed out that they could still swim; once they were wet what could more wet matter? They had fun in the warm pool, the cool drops splashing down on them.

  But the next day the rain was sharper, the pool less inviting. Jason did not have to be persuaded to give up his swim. Jenny at once took over with some occupational therapy, which she told Frances was another part of her trade. Frances left the two of them making an elephant and went out to the verandah to watch the rain, still coming down in fairly steady showers.

  She saw that a car had drawn up at the bottom of the steps, and was pleased to find that the driver was Susan McKinney from Seven Fields. Susan got out, pleased herself as only women on homesteads can be pleased for woman company, and for a while they just sat and talked.

  ‘I’ve come to borrow,’ Susan confessed presently. ‘Since Hugh’s been on the wheat I haven’t had a chance to go into town. I’ve completely run out of...’ She took a list from her pocket. ‘I’ll be glad when the Great Rock folk move in officially, it will be nearer to scrounge a pound of tea.’

  ‘Is it leased, then?’

  ‘Old Matt Gibson has moved out at last. He’s wanted to for months. These are young people, I believe. But it’s a wonder you don’t know about all that. Your therapist is over there every day.’

  ‘Jennifer.’

  ‘Is that her name? She must be acquainted with the new lessees. Tell you what, Frances, come back with me now and I’ll drive you home later. Since the wheat’s been on I haven’t seen Hugh for weeks, had any human contact. I’m not counting the kids.’

  There was nothing for her to do at West, so Frances accepted the invitation gladly. She enjoyed the few hours at Seven Fields, drinking tea, talking with Susan. Reluctantly at last Susan agreed with Frances that it was time she drove her home.

  Coming out of the Seven Fields’ gate, Susan said casually, ‘There’s our new neighbour now,’ and Frances glanced around.

  The car had almost passed, so the glimpse she had of the man behind the wheel was a quick one. But it was sufficient.

  ‘I haven’t met him officially yet, but I know he got the lease,’ Susan was saying. ‘I only hope his wife is nice. So much depends on a pleasant next-door neighbour. It’s not like town when you can try another street if you’re out of luck.’

  Frances heard yet did not hear her. Her mind was elsewhere. Susan might not have met the man, but she had. He was the charming ... but false ... person who had allowed her to think he was Trevor Trent. T. he man she had seen in Sydney waiting underneath the apartment for Jenny.

  She got out and opened the homestead gate automatically, shut it automatically again.

  ‘You said, didn’t you,’ she asked casually, getting into Susan’s car once more, ‘that Jennifer seems to know him?’

  ‘Your therapist?’ Susan curved around the pine drive. ‘Yes.’

  Well, she would have to speak to Burn now. Frances realised this as she entered the house. But when Burn was still absent on the wheat, absent again the following morning, she was aware of an immense relief. He had given her a very grave ... if to her a rather incomprehensible ... responsibility in the care of his young son, and she had failed him, she had failed him in not reporting what obviously she should have reported as soon as it had occurred. Later, like the tangled web that one lie can begin, her failure again to speak out when the real Trevor Trent had been presented to her had built up a situation that would now, and rightly, bring Burn’s wrath descending down on her. She gave a little grimace of distaste.

  And yet, she thought reasonably, put in bare words the whole thing sounded so innocuous. For instance she might say: ‘There was a man I assumed to be your old friend, only, as it happened, he wasn’t.’ Then: ‘He is now leasing your late brother’s estate, Great Rock, or so Susan McKinney has told me. She has also told me that Jennifer, Jason’s therapist, is a regular visitor there.’

  She glanced at Jennifer at this, Jennifer as absorbed as Jason was in the felt elephant that was nearing triumphant completion, thus taking precedence over morning lessons. She saw the soft curve of the pretty face, the nimble fingers guiding Jason’s clumsy little ones, guiding them tenderly.

  She’s sweet. Frances almost said it aloud. I can’t couple Jenny with anything that isn’t absolutely right and good. She remembered she had not finished all her mental admission to Burn, and added the third silent: ‘There is also a fair young woman I’ve seen several times in the district but never reported to you.’—No. That made no sense. Unless she explained that the young woman had always seemed to be watching

  somehow, waiting ...

  Oh, what is all this? Frances asked herself desperately. I know I have to go to Burn with something, but actually with what? There’s nothing else for it but to probe, she realised, in spite of the way Burn taunted me, in spite of what I vowed. But unless I know, how can I tell?

  Yet who to ask? Susan? No, Susan is comparatively a newcomer, she said so yesterday. Bill, the jackeroos, Jim, the girls ... mentally Frances ticked off the members of the household, but knowing all the time that only one could tell her what she wanted to know. The personal things. The pertinent things. Like: What had happened to Jason to make Burn so cautious as he was? Like: Where was Jason’s mother—and Burn West’s wife?

  Mrs. Campbell, of course. Only where to begin? How to ask her?

  Frances sat wondering, and then it came to her. She was recalling how the old housekeeper had once remarked that Burn’s brother Gareth had liked the sweet things compared to Burn’s preference for the savoury. Perhaps she could make her opening gambit: ‘Mrs. Campbell, I’ve been studying Jason’s dietary likes and dislikes and wondering how it fits in with family preferences. Could you tell me...’

  ‘Oh yes, dear. For instance Gareth was one for the sweets,’ Mrs. Campbell answered her. She gave a short remembering sigh. ‘For all the sweets of life, one could say. For—What do they call it?’

  ‘Dolce vita,’ said Frances.—Then, in a rush: ‘Mrs. Campbell, I know nothing ... just nothing at all. I must if I’m ever to help, if I’m to
—to—’

  Mrs. Campbell had turned to Frances. ‘But didn’t Burn ever tell you?’ Then, after a long pause, ‘No, I can see he didn’t and that would be like Burn.’

  ‘I suppose he expected I would ask.’

  ‘And that,’ said Mrs. Campbell warmly of Frances, ‘would be like you.’ As the Scotswoman never gave much praise Frances felt a glow.

  ‘I’m asking now,’ she admitted.

  ‘And though I never talk, I’m going to talk now, too. It’s high time you were told.’ Mrs. Campbell’s lips firmed.

  ... But she didn’t tell after all, for almost at once, without warning, without any preliminaries, the skies opened, and though it had been raining before, raining for days, rain now burst down, loud, deafening rain that Frances had never encountered in her life. With the rain there was a driving wind. It billowed the curtains, sent papers flying, knocked down ornaments, scattered flowers in vases, and even after Mrs. Campbell and Frances had hastily rushed to close windows, it came under the doors and continued its wild threshing. Frances saw that the lawns outside already were lakes of water, the pool no longer the sparkling blue toy that she and Jason had found such pleasure in but a mirror that had been shattered into a million sharp pieces by a sudden violent blow.

  To be heard you had to shout ... something that amused Jason who had been brought in from the therapy room by a frankly uneasy Jenny (and Frances did not blame her for that). But very soon Jason’s amusement was disappearing, for, like a cannon discharging, the real deluges began. If they had thought the rain menacing previously now they knew another rain. A violent sheet of water descended instantly, making the roof shudder at its impact while at the same time the flogging wind kept hurling the grey sheets at the windows until three of them broke.

  Now Jason stopped laughing, and Jenny and Frances, looking meaningly at each other, tried to devise means of diverting him. It was not very easy. They were frightened themselves.

  The men came up to the homestead soon afterwards as the stouter building would offer more protection, for it seemed that protection was going to be needed. As the door was opened to let them in the curtains billowed again, the papers flew and everything lifted. But it was not much better when the door was closed once more. A thousand demons seemed to be beating outside to come in, crashing, smashing demons bearing wet violence, drops as hard and sharp as javelins. The mad fury kept on for over an hour, then, blessedly, thought Frances, it began to taper off.

  But no real blessing yet. She soon learned that from the men. They were cornered together, talking gravely, and when they turned their faces showed how they considered the position. It was the overseer who spoke the decision they had come to.

  ‘In Burn’s absence I’m taking over,’ Bill Furness said, ‘and in doing this I know I’ll be doing what the boss would have ordered.’

  ‘Doing what?’ It was Jennifer, her arm protectively around Jason. ‘You look so serious. Isn’t it all over?

  ‘It’s barely begun.’

  As they stared in disbelief, he said, ‘The hard deluges, yes, but as you can see the rain is still keeping on. Even if it stopped I think it would be too late. We examined the river level before we came up, and—’ He spread his hands.

  ‘But we’re on an offshoot,’ put in Frances. ‘Surely—’ She stopped. She was remembering the day she first had come to West of the River and how Burn West had regretted his absence when the homestead had been built. ‘If the river rises...’ he had said. Now it had risen.

  ‘Won’t all the water just flow past? Just go much quicker?’ asked Jenny.

  ‘Yes to both. But’ ... a pause ... ‘it will also spread. And don’t think a river spreading is a leisurely affair because I’ve been in a river flood before and I know. I want all the women, and Jason, on higher ground at once. Seven Fields will do excellently. Take to the cars, ladies, and as quickly as you can. Bring essentials, nothing else, and don’t be long. I don’t want to alarm you, but I think it could come fairly soon and come fast. The weir was never built for an onset like this.’

  Sandra, Dawn and Cook already had scuttled away to throw their possessions in their cases. As they were only employees they had not ‘spread’ themselves and were out again promptly and one of the jackeroos was taking them and their things to the first available car.

  Frances felt sorry for Mrs. Campbell, though. She had been here as one of the family and it was hard for her. But she was not a housekeeper and a Scot for nothing. She came out almost as quickly as the girls, a small bag and a photograph ... a family scene that even from across the room Frances could tell was the West family, father, mother, two boys ... under her arm.

  Jenny, too, was well trained. She chose quickly and efficiently, packing essentials for Jason as well.

  ‘Did you put in my car book?’ asked Jason anxiously. ‘The elephant?’

  Frances came last.

  The usual crisp lawn when they left the house squelched ominously under them almost as though they walked on hollow ground. Occasionally they sank down calf-deep. Frances could scarcely credit that in such a short time rain could have penetrated to such a depth.

  She glanced to the river, but could not define the bank, only a rushing mass of water that spread everywhere, growing deeper and greyer as it progressed. Some of the bordering shrubs were already uprooted and those that still withstood the tide showed only their tops above the bubbling swirl. In certain parts of the lawn they were now wading knee-deep, and Jason was swung up into the jackeroo’s arms. The cars had been driven to the highest ground possible, but even then the water lapped well up the tyres.

  ‘Get in and keep your fingers crossed we can start,’ Bill called.

  Cook, Sandra and Dawn were already chugging away to safety. Mrs. Campbell, Jenny, Jason and Frances got into the next car.

  ‘What about the men?’ Frances asked.

  ‘They’ll be jake. There’s a few things to be done yet.’

  ‘Sandbagging?’ she supposed.

  ‘We thought of that. Even filled up a supply. But it would take too long and we’d have too few. But the tractors and gear will have to be moved, and, of course, the stock.’

  ‘What about the horses?’ asked Jason anxiously.

  In his concentration Bill did not answer him, and in her own concern ... where was Burn? was he safe? ... Frances did not see Jason’s face. She remembered his question, though, when later, looking for him in their shelter at Seven Fields, she could not find him. The rain had stopped altogether now. It seemed almost ridiculous remaining here, and yet Bill had said it was no longer the wet but the accumulation of wet that was the danger. It was the overworked weir.

  ‘Jason,’ she called, ‘where are you, dear?’

  Jenny had come to her previously and said, looking directly at her, ‘I’m going over to Great Rock to see if he’s—if everything’s all right. I can’t explain now, but I will. I’ve come to a decision about that. But meanwhile, Frances, can you look after Jason?’

  ‘Go along,’ Frances had said.

  She had helped Susan make tea. Susan frankly enjoying the diversion, especially since Hugh was now home so that she knew her little family was safe.

  Then Frances had looked for Jason. She looked everywhere. She asked the children quietly. No, they did not know.

  Then Ian said, ‘He asked me if horses could swim.’

  ‘Did you tell him yes?’ breathed Frances.

  ‘No, I told him no, just for a joke. But he didn’t give me time to tell him properly. He went somewhere else.’

  ‘How long ago, Ian?’

  ‘A long time. Soon after you came here.’

  ‘Went where?’

  But Ian couldn’t say.

  Frances felt she could, though. All at once she was hearing Jason’s anxious question of Bill, a question that Bill had not had time to answer.

  ‘What about the horses?’ he had asked.

  Jason, she knew, had gone back to see Candy.

  She di
d not alert the men. They had not long come in from West of the River; Bill had told her that they had tried the sandbagging once again then finally had had to relinquish the idea. They were dead tired. Besides, a child on foot, thought Frances, could not get very far. She went quietly to the first available car, got in and drove off.

  But it was amazing, she marvelled, as she drove on and on in the direction of the homestead, how far determined small legs, particularly when you considered they were thin, barely-recovered little legs like Jason’s, could get. There was simply no sign of the boy, so he must have sidetracked through the bush; she had heard ... so certainly Jason would have heard ... of the short cut.

  She wondered whether to go on or return, but knowing by now that stubborn small spirit, she decided to keep trying. She passed through the homestead gate, not stopping to shut up again now, then squelched along the pine drive until the ground beneath the wheels told her to drive no further.

  It was all right on foot, though, in fact she considered that if anything the water had receded, which meant that the weir was coping after all. Yet for all her optimism, when she got out of the car Frances still hurried. She could not have explained why she did so, the sky was clear, the violence all gone. But she ran.

  Reaching the house at last, she skirted by it ... Jason would not be there ... and made directly for the stables. Pausing halfway for breath, for it had been an arduous run, she told herself how silly she was being, the men would have removed the horses first.

  That momentary stop probably saved Frances’ life. For one moment the stables stood and the next moment they were a swirling mass. She could hardly believe that in such a short time the river, that had seemed so much calmer, in fact almost normal, suddenly had rushed up to suck the buildings ... leave nothing behind.

  For there were certainly no horses once the structure had been swept off, though she had known there wouldn’t be ... but had there been, could there have been, a boy?

  She peered blindly through the drift that seemed to have settled everywhere. She shouted his name.

  ‘Jason! Jason!’

  No answer.