Lauren's Dilemma

by Margaret Tanner

  “There you are, Blair. Mrs. Ferguson told me you were back.” Helen swept into the room.

  “What’s all this business about a supper dance?”

  “Darling, I asked Mrs. Ferguson to serve us coffee in the sitting room. I’ll tell you everything then, every tiny detail.” She smiled at him. Helen was all sweetness when things went the way she wanted them to. It was only when thwarted that her claws came out.

  “You coming?” Blair invited Laurie, once again offhand.

  “No, thank you. I prefer having tea in the kitchen with the hired help.”

  An angry flush stained his cheeks. Without another word he swung on his heel and followed Helen out of the room, leaving Laurie gnawing at her bottom lip. For a moment they had almost regained some of their old closeness, until Helen flounced in and spoilt it. Beautiful selfish, Helen. He hung on her every word during his waking hours and probably dreamed of her when he slept.

  Laurie’s heart felt like a lead weight in her chest.

  Chapter Nine

  The night of the dance arrived. It had been freezing cold all day, although no rain fell. An enormous fire burned in the reception room fireplace. Fed with large red gum blocks, it sent out plenty of heat.

  The table was set up in one corner with a snowy white cloth and gleaming, highly polished silverware. Laurie helped Fergie with all the preparations, while Helen condescended to do the floral arrangements.

  The only evening gown she possessed was a white satin affair trimmed with lace about the cuffs and throat. The skirt fell in soft folds about her ankles. She fingered the gold cameo locket that had been her mother’s favorite item of jewelry. Several vigorous strokes of the brush untangled her hair. She left it free to float over her shoulders. Pure folly to try and emulate Helen’s sophisticated hair style.

  Blair wore evening dress, the white of his collar a stark contrast to the tan of his throat and face. But Helen drew every eye, magnificent in clouds of blue chiffon. Pearls were entwined through her golden hair. With enormous baby blue eyes, alabaster skin and regal bearing, she reigned supreme. No wonder every man in the room had eyes only for her.

  Helen and Blair welcomed the guests, some of whom had traveled over twenty miles. Without Blair at her side, Laurie hung back, feeling nervous and out of place among so many wealthy strangers.

  She did not know how or when Helen accomplished the feat, but there were two male musicians. One played a fiddle, the other the concertina.

  Blair introduced her to numerous people, including a young couple, Guy and Sophie Webster. She tried not to stare at the empty, neatly folded sleeve of Guy’s evening jacket. He greeted her with boyish enthusiasm while Sophie smiled prettily. Easy to see they were a devoted couple. They had eyes only for each other.

  The men were dressed in formal attire, the women in pretty gowns, and several young men wore uniform.

  The dancing started and Blair led Helen out on to the floor. They made a striking couple. Laurie shared the first few dances between two young soldiers. The young men seemed pleasant enough, yet it was Blair she watched. He doesn’t even want to dance with me, she thought sadly as he mingled with other guests between dances with Helen.

  Halfway through the evening he strode up to her. “May I have this dance?”

  Pride should have made her reject him, but to be in his arms, albeit briefly, was a pleasure Laurie could not deny herself. They did not speak. She wanted to say something to heal the rift between them, but the words stuck in her throat.

  Over her shoulder she caught Helen flirting with a young officer. Blair had introduced him as James McDonald, and while he hung on Helen’s every word, his wife Anne stood nearby looking embarrassed and unhappy. I know how awful you feel, you poor thing. Who would know better than me?

  “There’s someone I‘d like you to meet,” Blair announced as the bracket ended and he escorted her from the dance floor. “Remember me mentioning Dick McKinlay? The poor lad has had a terrible time of it. He’s only nineteen and his parents are worried to distraction. I thought you might talk to him, seeing as you have a way with wounded soldiers.” Was he trying to be sarcastic?

  “There you are, Lauren.” Helen glided up, obviously tired of flirting with James, whose face turned red with anger at having been discarded.

  “Has Blair told you about Dick McKinlay?” Helen tucked her hand through Blair’s arm.

  “Maybe it isn’t such a good idea,” he mused. “I don’t want Laurie saddled with him all night. He’s got a severe case of shell shock. Silly boy put his age up and was barely eighteen when he went through hell on Gallipoli.”

  “I’d like to meet him. Where is he?”

  “Well…” Blair, all of a sudden, seemed dubious, but Laurie’s sympathy had been aroused. “George managed to get him to come, but he headed for the sitting room and won’t budge.”

  She was beginning to look forward to meeting Dick. Apart from anything else, it would save her making an exhibition of herself by saying something extremely rude, or worse still, slapping Helen’s beautiful face.

  In the sitting room, the lamp had been turned down but the fire gave out a warm, comforting glow. “Hello, Dick, old chap.” Blair crossed the room and Laurie followed a couple of steps behind. “I’d like you to meet, Laurie Cunningham. Laurie, this is Dick McKinlay.”

  A tall, slim youth rose unsteadily to his feet. He was fair skinned, with a thick, floppy thatch of corn-colored hair. He had sad, little-boy-lost blue eyes.

  “Hello, Dick.” Her soft heart went out to this poor, haunted-looking boy.

  As he put his hand out to grasp hers it trembled. “H… H… Hello, L…L… Laurie.” His grip on her hand nearly crushed her fingers, yet she made no effort to pull away.

  “Now there you are, Lauren. I knew you and Dick would be friends.” Helen sashayed up to them, and Dick flinched away. “Come on, Blair, we must see to our other guests.”

  “Off you both go. Dick and I can get acquainted.” Laurie rescued her hand and, after the other two left, sat down in one of the armchairs. Once she was seated Dick sat also.

  “Did you train Bolinda Vale?”

  He nodded his head.

  “She’s the best horse I’ve ever owned.”

  He was a kindred spirit regarding horses. His stammer disappeared as they spoke on a topic close to both their hearts.

  “Would you care to have some supper?” she offered after an hour or so had elapsed. He shook his head, the haunted look returned to his eyes and Laurie realized that people frightened him.

  She smiled. “I know how you feel, I’ve never been able to stand crowds, either.” The lies slipped off her tongue like melted honey. “I could get us supper later on and we could eat it in here.”

  He nodded his head. Nineteen years old, and he had seen sights even a grown man should never have to see.

  “I was at Lone Pine,” he spoke slowly, his voice soft, poignant.

  “Was it terrible like they said in the papers?” The sixth of August 1915, would stick in the minds of every Australian for years to come. At the place of the lonely pine, or Lone Pine as it was later named, seven Victoria Crosses were awarded over a couple of days. By the ninth of August, two thousand young Australians lay dead.

  “If it upsets you, Dick, perhaps we shouldn’t speak about it.”

  “No, no.” He grabbed convulsively at her hand. “I haven’t told anyone else about it, I just couldn’t.” He spoke haltingly at first, but soon the words came, tumbling on top of each other. His face turned chalk-white, his upper lip was beaded with perspiration, so she reached out and squeezed his hand.

  “The shells kept lobbing amongst us. They wouldn’t stop. We went over the top to attack the Turkish lines. After dashing across no-man’s land, we discovered their trenches were roofed over with pine logs, so we couldn’t get in.” His breath came out in harsh, labored pants. “We were dropping like flies. All my mates got killed. We didn’t stand a chance.

  He shook like
jelly on a plate.

  “I must have been blown up and got buried.” He started sobbing. “Other men ran all over me. I could feel their boots pressing into me. Fresh blood kept dripping on to my face. It took two days for the stretcher bearers to find me.”

  She could not suppress a shudder. How dreadful for a boy to endure such horror. It must have been so unbearable that his mind snapped under the strain. Time passed, and she dared not move in case it stopped the flow of words that might give him peace.

  Blair, accompanied by a stout man who must have been George McKinlay, glanced in on them. Both men gave her a grateful smile as they quietly left the room. Except for crackling flames in the grate and the spitting fizz of sparks every now and again, all was silent.

  “After tonight, could I see you again? He asked with such earnestness she could not refuse. “We could go riding, I mean, if Blair doesn’t mind,”

  “Sounds fun. Blair won’t mind.” He hadn’t cared what she did once Helen arrived on the scene. “We could meet halfway between Coolibah and your place. How about the bridge?”

  He nodded in agreement, so they made their arrangements to meet about twelve o’clock. Shortly afterwards, Fergie came in to say supper was being served.

  “Come on, Dick, why don’t we get something to eat?” He hesitated a moment before getting up.

  They entered the reception room together, making their way slowly towards the buffet, but they were intercepted by Blair, who held a glass of wine in his hand.

  “I see you managed to persuade Dick to join us.” He flashed a smile, but his eyes seemed dark, brooding.

  “You didn’t need much persuading did you, Dick? We both felt hungry.”

  He nodded his head, but glued himself to her side, only answering the greetings of other guests with a nod.

  “Mm, looks nice.” She picked up a plate and placed some pieces of cold chicken on it. There were vegetables, salad, and freshly baked rolls.

  “We’ll come back for some trifle later,” she said.

  He positioned himself beside her even while they ate supper. He did not speak, but every now and again she gave him reassuring smiles and his gratitude bordered on pathetic.

  The McKinlays left first. Laurie went out with Blair to see them off. She could not remember having been introduced to Mrs. McKinlay, a plump, old-fashioned woman. Her continual thanks for befriending Dick embarrassed her.

  “You seem to have worked wonders with young Dick,” Blair said.

  “It was terrible. He told me about Lone Pine. Did you know he got buried and the other soldiers kept running on top of him? It must have been frightful. He was awake most of the time, poor thing.”

  “George’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when the two of you walked in for supper. Dick has shunned people since he returned.”

  “I arranged to meet him tomorrow for a ride.”

  “You agreed to go out riding without my approval?”

  She tossed her auburn curls. “I don’t need your approval.”

  “You’re my responsibility. You do happen to be a guest in my home.” His tones were acid.

  “What’s wrong with Dick and me going for a ride? After all, you go away all day. I’m tired of sitting around the homestead on my own.”

  “You have Helen.”

  “I’m meeting Dick tomorrow for lunch. I happen to like him.” She shook off his restraining hand and walked away, leaving him standing in open-mouthed fury. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was jealous.

  The remainder of the evening was ruined. Blair pointedly ignored her, only speaking when courtesy demanded it in front of the others. She watched as he kept topping up his wine glass.

  Helen, of course, was the life and soul of the party. An enchanting hostess, the perfect wife for the wealthy owner of a large cattle station. As for herself, she must have seemed like a shy, dull little field mouse in comparison.

  As soon as decently possible, she excused herself and retired to bed. If I have to watch Helen and Blair making cow eyes at each other for even another second, I’ll go into a fit of screaming hysterics. Once in bed, she lay wide awake, listening to the music and the murmured voices penetrating the walls of her room.

  *

  Laurie awoke next morning feeling tired and drained. By the time she washed and dressed, it was nine o’clock. Making her way down to the kitchen, she found Fergie looking as fresh as a daisy.

  “Good morning, Miss Laurie.”

  “Hello, Fergie.”

  “Bacon and eggs?”

  “No thanks, I couldn’t. Just tea and toast. Anyone else up yet?”

  “Mr. Blair had breakfast about an hour ago, then left. Wasn’t in the best of moods, either. Miss Cunningham is still asleep.” The housekeeper did not like Helen. Nothing in particular was said, but Laurie noticed a few little things. The way Fergie pursed her lips behind Helen’s back, the dismissive sniffs every now and again when she thought herself unobserved.

  As usual, she helped with the dishes and tidied up her room prior to heading off to the stables. Passing a bowl of fruit on the way out, she grabbed up a couple of apples. Bolinda Vale liked little treats, and she brought her something every day.

  The sky hung black with murky, threatening clouds, although it wasn’t raining, so she would still be able to go out with Dick. After leaving the stables, she ran into Mr. Chong and stopped for a chat with him. The strange little man had become her devoted slave. Nothing he would not do for Missie Laurie. As for Helen, his feelings were similar to hers. They detested each other.

  Helen’s complaints and slighting remarks about his vegetables had aroused Mr. Chong’s wrath right from the start. Laurie tried to smooth things over for Blair’s sake, but none of the station people liked Helen. She was too arrogant and condescending, always meddling in the way they attended to their various duties.

  *

  At the stables, Jimmy, the aboriginal boy, had Bolinda Vale saddled and ready to go. “Wally told me to saddle your horse, Miss Laurie.”

  “Thank you.” She waved to him as she cantered off.

  “We’re meeting Dick today, girl.” She always spoke to the filly. Wally, who often caught her doing it, teased her about it.

  She came to the bridge, and Dick waited on the other side. Clattering across the logs, she called out to him. He rode a chestnut horse, all of seventeen hands high. Raising his hat he gave a grin, while Bolinda Vale whickered in remembrance.

  “I thought you mightn’t come.” His stammer had disappeared.

  “Why? I’ve been looking forward to our ride.”

  He wore light-colored riding breeches with brown leather leggings and a brown jacket over his white shirt. How young and hesitant he seemed, although he was obviously an accomplished rider.

  “Lead on, Dick.”

  They rode abreast across the paddocks, heading towards the mountains. She had never been this way before. After about an hour the terrain became steeper, the scrub and undergrowth thicker, almost impenetrable in places, but she had no fear. This was the Australian bush in its native state, and she loved it with a passion.

  The smell of the damp eucalypts reminded her of another time and another young companion. She still thought of Danny, not sad thoughts any longer, but happy memories of the youthful love they had shared. As they rode along, she found herself telling Dick about him.

  “Sounds a fine sort of chap. You were lucky to have him, Laurie. My mates are all dead.”

  “You have me, Dick,” she reassured him.

  “Thanks, I hoped we might be friends.”

  “Come on, cheer up.” She couldn’t remember ever having met anyone whose mind was so ravaged and her tender heart went out to him. “Where are you taking me?”

  His sudden smile altered his whole appearance, and she caught a glimpse of the youth he must once have been before the war destroyed him. They had been climbing steadily. She heard the sounds of roaring water, and as they broke out of the bush a waterfall c
ascaded in front of them.

  “How beautiful it is,” she exclaimed with pleasure.

  “This has always been one of my favorite places. Since I came home, I’ve spent a lot of time up here. It’s so peaceful.”

  He dismounted and helped her do likewise then hooked both sets of reins over his arm. . Grasping her hand, he drew her closer to where the water bubbled and boiled over rocks that were worn to a polished smoothness over many centuries.

  A kookaburra laughed somewhere close by. As they waited without speaking, a small brown kangaroo came down to drink. They watched it for a moment as its bright eyes darted everywhere. As if suddenly sensing danger, it turned and bounded away.

  The early wattle had started to bloom in the gullies. The golden balls a stark contrast to the dull green leaves. After the horses had drunk their fill, Dick tethered them to a bush.

  “We should have brought hobbles so they could graze,” she mused as he opened his saddlebag.

  “Lunch, even if it is a bit late.” Grinning, he produced some sandwiches. As they ate, he spoke very little, leaving her to do most of the talking. He was a good listener, putting in a word or a question here and there. The temptation to confide in him about what had happened with Blair proved almost irresistible, but fear he might also think she was contemptible held her back.

  “I think we should return home,” she said. “We’ve ridden much further than I expected.”

  They rode at a leisurely pace, Dick obviously in no hurry to get back. By the time they arrived at the bridge it was late afternoon.

  “I’ll be lucky to make it home by sunset.”

  “Perhaps I should ride back with you. It gets dark here quickly at this time of the year. I was enjoying myself so much I forgot the time,” he apologized. “Will you come for a ride with me again? Blair wouldn’t mind, would he?”

  “Of course not. I’d like to come riding with you again, Dick. I’ve had a wonderful day. Thank you for taking me to your beautiful, special place.”