Reaching for the Stars

by Lucy Walker

  ‘Found at last,’ he said. He looked across the two girls at the driver. ‘Thank you for rescuing my party. May I come aboard? I came down through the bush to the track. I picked up the signal on my two-way.’

  ‘You can come aboard, mate, but just where you’re going to sit I don’t know. What with two girls ‒’

  ‘We’ll put one of them out on the roof,’ Lang said easily. ‘How about it, Ann?’

  He had looked once at Claire, seen the sun in her hair, and thereafter looked at the driver, then at Ann.

  ‘We deserve to be put on the roof,’ Ann said. ‘I’m terribly sorry we were lost, Lang. I wish I could tell you how sorry.’

  ‘It was Ann’s fault,’ Claire put in quickly. ‘She was so certain she knew the way.’

  Ann said nothing to this. It was true that she had led Claire one way instead of the other, looking for the creek and the picnic party. It would never have happened if Claire had not wandered off in her attempt to be interesting and very much sought-after ‒ by Lang. Ann could not bring herself to do any more confessing. She was suddenly tired of being Claire’s whipping-girl. It was something to do with the race of her pulse, the nearness of Lang’s face as he leaned in the cabin.

  His arrival was an anticlimax. Her ankle, which had fallen into a state of numbed stiffness, now began to ache intolerably. In a way it had been aching dully all the time but Ann had too much anxiety on her mind to let it master her. Now the worrying was over. Not only was Lang here, he didn’t appear to be angry. Her relief was tremendous ‒ so her ankle thought it was about time more notice was taken of it. It talked loudly, in its own particular way. It hurt.

  ‘Tell you what, mate,’ the driver said. ‘You take one of those girls on your knee, and we’ll manage it. You’d better have the little one next to me. She kind of fits. She’s that sort ‒’

  ‘Right,’ Lang said. ‘Will you stand up and lean forward while I slip in behind you, Ann?’

  Ann did as he asked, standing without thought, on her wounded ankle. She nearly fainted but did not utter a sound. Lang, easing into the place beside the driver, looked up into the rear-vision mirror and caught the expression in her eyes.

  ‘Ease back, Ann,’ he said quite gently. Her ankle was hurting so badly she did not notice the kind note in his voice. Claire did.

  ‘Ann ought to be spanked instead of carried,’ Claire said frankly. ‘She led me miles and miles through the most unspeakable bush. If it hadn’t been for this road, and the truck drivers, I expect we would have been lost for ever.’

  ‘Not likely,’ Lang said easily. ‘I was on your trail.’ He glanced down at Claire. ‘Not hard to follow you both,’ he said. ‘You fairly tore that bush apart as you went.’

  While he was speaking he put his hand round Ann’s waist and drew her down so that she was sitting sideways across his knees. His arm now cradled her loosely yet somehow with a hint of a great firmness not far off.

  ‘Okay, Ann? Right!’

  He did not pay her any more attention as the driver let go the series of monstrous brakes and began the long noisy business of changing from one gear to another. Lang talked to Claire, asking her how they came to be so far away from Patty’s Point, showing an amused and almost scientific interest in the bushland they had covered.

  ‘The damp area with the sapling jarrahs was the reafforestation part of the watershed,’ he explained. ‘You weren’t far from habitation there.’

  He went on, telling her a little about the bush, something of the great granite outcrops that broke the hills here and there, the different kinds of trees and plants that grew on this flank of the range. He was putting on a wonderful front of kindness and patience, Ann thought, for the benefit of the truck-driver. He was suddenly Franklin’s Pty. Ltd. ‒ keeping face because of the idiocy of two of his guests getting themselves lost.

  Claire was placated. Now, as the truck battled uphill with its load, Lang took no further notice of Ann but only of herself. He was pleased to be talking to her. It was almost as if he had cut out the rest of that little cabined world of the truck-driver, the sleeping mate behind, and Ann.

  Ann felt the pressure of his hand as she rested against his shoulder. His arm round her was not so loose now. It held her. Held her truly. She didn’t mind her ankle hurting any more. She didn’t mind anything except that he held her like this. He could talk to Claire for ever ‒ and tomorrow she would rue it all. For now, she could feel she was home ‒ secure, safe and harboured ‒ the way, deep in her heart, she had always longed to be.

  Tomorrow she would repent and remember Luie ‒ if not Claire. She had already committed one fault by leading Claire astray, so she would settle for the punishment meted out to a sheep as well as a lamb: and live for this moment only.

  She would have her daydream all over again; the one in which she had said ‘yes’ instead of ‘no’ to that strange question ‒ and the ‘yes’ had led on and on to stranger, more wonderful things ‒ things like Lang holding her in his arm because he liked it ‒ not because it was opportune. Leastways, that was how her daydream went.

  It was so comfortable in spite of the jolting of the truck and Claire’s voice beguiling Lang over the top of Ann’s head, that Ann dozed a little. It was all part of the dream of resting her head against him and living, temporarily, in another world.

  When the driver screamed the brakes to a halt she came to with a jerk and at the same time let out a sharp cry. Her ankle was really painful now. The slamming on of the brakes had jarred it.

  Lang held her firmly. It was almost as if he knew she was in real pain, and was giving her silent support.

  The sun had gone down behind the tall jarrahs. There was only a twilight world, except for the brush of flamingo pink across the western sky, a backdrop to the dark silent trees. A car was pulled up in a track leading on to the road at right angles.

  ‘This is it,’ Lang said to the truck-driver. ‘I’ll take the girls over from here. That’s my car. Many thanks for bringing them in.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. Thank Bill Watts four trailers up the line. He gave me the order,’ the driver said cheerfully. ‘It isn’t the first time I’ve brought someone in, either. Not by a long chalk. Last time it was a shearer’s cook rolled his car over braking against a kangaroo. He was on a station track eighty miles from the nearest homestead. He was there for good if we hadn’t come through. We were the last wool-truck of the season. Feller, was he lucky!’

  ‘We’re very grateful all the same,’ Lang said.

  ‘Stay right where you are, Mr. Franklin. I’ll open the door from the outside. You’re all too packed up there to reach across.’

  The driver swung down on to the road and a minute later had the passenger door open.

  ‘Help you down, miss?’ he said to Claire.

  He had to lift her down, for Claire too was stiff and the drop was a big one.

  ‘Next bundle of charm,’ the driver said with a chuckle as he held up his arms to take Ann. ‘You know what? Some fellers can be unlucky. My mate back there is missing all this. Wouldn’t you think he’d wake up when there was a couple of good-lookers like this flying about between the cabin-seat and the ground?’

  He was a cheerful, kindly man, and Ann, standing now on one foot, thanked him gratefully.

  ‘I will look out for you at the wool-stores,’ she said. ‘I sometimes walk across to Elder’s ‒ just to see their river of wool. I do hope we meet again.’

  ‘Ask for One-four-one. Everyone’ll know who you mean.’

  Ross had brought down Lang’s big car from several miles back in the range where there had been an access track to the valley’s road. He came across now as Lang, in his turn, was speaking to the driver.

  ‘A fine pair you are,’ Ross said cheerfully. ‘The ladies back there have been taking aspirin, smelling-salts and beef-tea in rotation ever since you were missed.’

  ‘I feel dreadful doing this to them,’ Ann said. ‘Poor Aunt Cassie! Is Mrs. Franklin very cros
s with us?’

  ‘Nobody’s cross and everyone was relieved when Lang collected that message on his two-way. They knew you were okay then. What’s the matter, Ann? You hobbling, or have you lost your shoe?’

  ‘I did something silly to my ankle. It will be all right in a minute.’

  ‘It was quite all right until now,’ Claire said. ‘Ann dear, don’t be tiresome with injuries, will you? I’m scratched and battered too, but I’d rather look all right than feel all right ‒ if necessary.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Ross said gallantly.

  Lang was still talking to the truck-driver so Ross took the girls’ arms and started to walk them up the few yards of track to the car. Claire shook her arm free with a laugh.

  ‘You look after Ann,’ she said. ‘She needs it. She really does seem to be having trouble with her foot. Put her in the back seat where she’ll be more comfortable. I’ll wait for Lang.’

  She turned round and went back to the truck.

  ‘I’ll ride in the front seat with you, Lang,’ she said. ‘Ann wants the back seat with Ross because her foot is hurting. More room, and all that.’

  The last good-byes were said to the truck-driver and Lang and Claire walked back to the car.

  Ann wasn’t certain how she ever arrived back at The Orchard that night. The track was rough unmade road and the car, no matter how carefully driven, had to ride over half-buried boulders and low-growing bush here and there. Every bump made Ann feel sick.

  ‘I’d rather die than really faint,’ she said to Ross in a whisper.

  ‘You won’t. Here, let me put my arm round you and hold you steady.’ He switched on the back-seat light and looked at Ann’s ankle. ‘By the look of it you’ve damaged something pretty badly. The shoe ought to be cut off.’

  ‘Not now ‒ while the car’s moving. I don’t think I could bear it.’

  Lang, glancing in the rear-vision mirror, saw Ross holding Ann cradled against himself.

  ‘You two all right in the back?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Ross replied. ‘I like making love to Ann this way.’

  Claire turned her head and looked over the back seat.

  ‘I think Ann lost herself on purpose,’ she said with a laugh. ‘She’s getting all the attention. Ross, why didn’t you come hunting for her? You were meant to, you know. Some people have a purpose in getting lost.’

  ‘Trouble with Ann,’ Ross said cheerfully, ‘is that she doesn’t tell me beforehand. I’m the sort of feller who needs the clues painted on a wall, in advance.’

  They laughed and joked about it for the rest of the way back to The Orchard. All except Lang, who was silently preoccupied with the business of driving his car over unmade tracks and then later along the road home.

  Back at The Orchard all was excitement at the return of the lost ones.

  Ann was beyond controlling the pain in her ankle by this time. When it was clear she was helpless about getting out of the car, Lang asked Ross to go into the house and make sure there was a sofa or lounge handy. He would carry Ann up the veranda steps.

  Ann was no longer daydreaming happily. She was in too much pain, and too bitterly ashamed at what Claire called ‘putting on a show’.

  Once in the big room of the homestead Aunt Cassie ceased to be an elderly woman addicted to smelling-salts in a moment of crisis. She was on her feet and full of authority, even though this was someone else’s house. Her beloved Ann was hurt. Something must be done about it.

  ‘Dear Mrs. Franklin, may someone put a cushion under Ann’s foot? That is right. Of course the shoe will have to be cut off. Poor child … what a dreadful size her ankle is. Mr. Franklin, you have by far the most authority here, will you be the surgeon and cut off that shoe? I’ll hold Ann’s hand …’

  ‘You see?’ Claire whispered wearily to Heather. ‘Always the centre of Aunt Cassie’s attention. It’s such a pity. Ann has all but been ruined by that fussing. A young girl should not be brought up by an elderly relative.’

  ‘I suggest you improve the scene your way, Claire,’ Heather said bluntly. ‘Go and have a shower and get beautiful again quickly. By that time the surgery will be over. You will be able to decorate the aftermath.’

  Claire glanced at Heather in search of a deeper meaning in this advice.

  ‘Somebody had better look nice,’ Heather added. ‘Fortunately the programme at the studios is an hour later tonight, but I’ve to be off, so if you will, Claire, just hold the beauty stakes for me till I get back. That won’t be till after midnight.’

  Claire thought there was some point to Heather’s advice, particularly as Luie had taken one look at Ann’s ankle and turned white herself.

  ‘Ugh!’ Luie cried. ‘I’m going to faint ‒ someone ‒’

  ‘Then faint here,’ Ross said and took Luie’s arm and led her out on to the veranda.

  Mrs. Franklin, who knew how to go into action when an emergency had arisen, had said hardly anything beyond the first greetings to the home-comers. She had marshalled Nellie, hot water, bowls and towels.

  ‘Do you think you had better sit on the other side of the room, Mrs. Boyd?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all, dear Mrs. Franklin. I shall hold Ann’s hand. I’ve been through much worse than this when she was a child. And, thank God, I have never fainted in my life; not even in the days when it was fashionable. That was when I was a girl, of course. I never thought it was particularly graceful as a pastime ‒ though many another did.’

  Ann laughed at her aunt, then winced with the pain again.

  Lang had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.

  ‘This is going to hurt, Ann,’ he said quietly, looking down at her. ‘Can you take it?’

  ‘I can take anything while Aunt Cassie is saying funny things near me. Please go ahead, Lang. If I scream Aunt Cassie will stuff a handkerchief in my mouth, from family shame.’

  ‘I haven’t one to spare,’ Aunt Cassie said shortly. ‘And you’re not going to scream either. At my age I’m not prepared to put up with it. In fact, I never could bear screaming. It’s an activity without dignity.’

  Aunt Cassie went on talking this way and Ann went on looking at her aunt gratefully while Lang bent over the foot.

  Mrs. Franklin stood beside Lang and watched him. Nellie took smelling-salts outside to Luie, who couldn’t stand the sight of pain at any time. Nellie understood Luie more than a great many other people did.

  With the subtlest use of a razor-sharp knife from his instruments in the first-aid kit Lang stripped the shoe leather piece by piece away from Ann’s foot. It was so surely and gently done that she hardly knew it was being done. When, however, the last heel-part of the shoe was removed she felt a momentary overwhelming pain. The pressure was so suddenly removed from the damaged ankle Ann went very pale. She winced, gripped her aunt’s hand, but said nothing.

  ‘Good!’ Lang said, straightening up. ‘Now we can inspect the damage. You have a badly sprained ankle, Ann. It is too congested and swollen for me to try for broken bones. We’ll get the doctor out from Kalamunda to look at it.’

  ‘It’s Sunday night and is the poor man’s only night off. Couldn’t it possibly wait?’ Mrs. Franklin asked.

  ‘I’d hate to get him out unnecessarily,’ Ann said quickly. She looked with surprise at the blue-black mass on the pillow that was supposed to be her ankle.

  Lang considered Ann thoughtfully.

  ‘Could you stand another car ride?’ he said. ‘I could take you into Kalamunda. Dr. Evans might prefer to treat you in his surgery in any event.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I do have to go home with Aunt Cassie sometime tonight, too.’

  Lang and Mrs. Franklin exchanged glances.

  It was Mrs. Franklin who spoke first. ‘That is out of the question,’ she said. ‘You must stay here, Ann. We could put up Mrs. Boyd too ‒’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Aunt Cassie said firmly. ‘You are very kind to suggest it, Mrs. Franklin. I would feel it was
an imposition. Please … I assure you! I feel I must return to the hotel. I have no clothes other than these that I’m wearing. I shan’t be alone. Claire will come back with me, of course.’

  Claire had just come back into the room ‒ beautified, as Heather had advised.

  ‘You will do that, won’t you, child?’ her aunt said, looking at Claire and beaming at her as if suggesting a treat. ‘You look so lovely, Claire!’ she added. ‘You come through ordeals in a most creditable way. Ann, of course, is a different case altogether and we’ll have to leave her behind. You will come back to the coast with me, won’t you, dear? You see?’ Aunt Cassie turned to Mrs. Franklin. ‘She is only too delighted.’

  Claire was pale with anger and disappointment. She had not meant her stay at The Orchard to end this way. She was fond of Ann, but at the moment she could have seen her in Timbuctoo instead of Kalamunda.

  ‘Ross Dawson will drive you back to the coast,’ Mrs. Franklin suggested. She was sorry about the change in Claire’s plans, but was no match for Mrs. Boyd when the latter had made up her mind.

  ‘Of course he will,’ said Aunt Cassie. ‘And Mr. Franklin will drive Ann to the doctor and back here again. That is a wonderful arrangement. How kind of you to think of it, Mrs. Franklin.’

  Lang had been packing away his first-aid instruments and appeared to pay no attention to what was being said.

  Ross at that moment came into the room. Lang lifted his head from his bag.

  ‘Where is Luie?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘On the veranda ‒ not being faint any more.’

  ‘Good. I will drive her home on the way to taking Ann to Dr. Evans in Kalamunda.’

  Lang was now giving the instructions, and no one cared to intervene.

  ‘Aunt Mary, will you ring the doctor in advance and give him notice that I’m bringing Ann? Mrs. Boyd, I’m most grateful that you are allowing Ross to drive you home. You will be more comfortable with him. Nellie, please bring Ann and Claire some tea or refreshment of some kind. Neither of them has eaten for several hours.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness me!’ Mrs. Franklin cried in dismay. ‘It was that terrible ankle! It put everything out of my mind ‒ even food.’