Moonlight Plains (23 page)

‘Hello there? Anyone home?’

Kitty was in the dirt-floored laundry under the house when a lilting American voice brought her spinning around.

A young man in an American uniform and dark sunglasses appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I was hoping to find Kitty Martin.’

He was a typical Yank with blonde hair cut very short and a round, cheery face, and when he took off his sunglasses his eyes were a surprisingly vivid blue. Kitty had never met him before, but she was sure he had come with news about Ed. Her heart began a fretful pounding.

Somehow, she managed to nod. ‘I’m Kitty.’

‘That’s great. Pleased to meet you.’

She didn’t offer her hand – it smelled of the kerosene rag she was using to polish the washing copper.

The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and he was smiling as he took a step closer. Surely the news couldn’t be too bad if he was smiling?

‘My name’s Frank Harvey,’ he said. ‘I have a message from Captain Ed Langley.’

Kitty clutched the rim of the copper for support. ‘How – how is Ed?’ she managed. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s safely back here in Townsville, ma’am. We had him flown back from Port Moresby in a C-47.’ Frank Harvey’s smile reduced to a look that was closer to sympathy. ‘But I’m afraid he’s been injured.’

Injured
. Kitty couldn’t stop her imagination from flashing to horrible images of missing limbs, masses of blood, agonising pain. Her stomach was almost constantly on the edge of nausea these days and now it gave a fearful lurch. She prayed she wouldn’t be sick in front of this stranger.

She forced herself to ask, ‘How bad is it?’

Frank Harvey made a seesawing action with his hand and then he glanced quickly behind him, apparently fascinated by the line of sheets and towels she’d just pegged out. His gaze took in the rows of beans, newly planted in the veggie plot, the huge mango tree hanging over the fence from the neighbour’s.

‘Ed has a serious head injury,’ he said gently. ‘His sight has been affected.’

His sight?

So many times Kitty had worried about Ed, picturing numerous terrible scenarios, but she’d never allowed herself to imagine
this
. She took a deep, very necessary breath. ‘Would I be able to see him? Could I visit?’

‘Yes, ma’am, you certainly can, and I’d be happy to take you.’ Frank Harvey’s voice was warm and lilting, his accent quite different from Ed’s. ‘Are you free to go now?’ he asked with a smile. ‘I have a jeep handy.’

‘Of course.’ The ironing could wait, as could all the other questions Kitty was dying to ask. She glanced down at the smelly kerosene rag in her hand, at her patched, hand-knitted cardigan and old, faded dress. ‘I just need to get cleaned up and changed. I can be quick. Five minutes?’

‘That would be fine. Perfect.’

Perfect? How could anything be perfect if Ed was injured? ‘Come upstairs then,’ Kitty said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No, no, I’m fine, thanks.’

Frank followed her up the steep back stairs, ducking his head beneath the dangling leaves of the pawpaw tree that shaded the back porch, then through the kitchen to the lounge room.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ Kitty said. ‘I’ll be back in a flash.’

Flying to the bathroom, she washed her hands and face and under her arms, hastily patted herself dry with a towel, and sprinkled a little talcum powder. In her bedroom, she slipped a green linen dress with a scalloped neckline from its hanger. Ed had particularly liked this dress and her lined tartan jacket went well with it.

But she was dragging a comb through her hair when she remembered – if Ed’s sight was affected, it didn’t really matter what she wore.

The realisation caught her mid-chest, knocking the air from her. Why hadn’t she asked Frank for more details? Was Ed actually
blind
? Might he never see again?

Her mind spun in panic as she pictured his lovely dark eyes . . . sightless. He would never be able to fly again. There were so many things he wouldn’t see . . .

She remembered the delight he’d taken in the beauty of the island, but now he might never see the sky or the sea . . . sunsets or gardens . . .

He might never see their baby.

Stay calm.

She couldn’t give in to fear now or she would dissolve into a sobbing, useless heap. It wasn’t just a matter of pride – she had to stay calm for Ed’s sake.

After another deep breath, she picked up her handbag and gloves, straightened her shoulders and went back to the lounge room, where she found Frank Harvey reading one of Geoff’s comics. He gave a sheepish smile and dropped the comic book quickly onto the couch before leaping to his feet.

‘Wow, that was a mighty quick transformation. All set to go?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

With the typical politeness she’d learned to expect from an American, he gave a slight bow of his head as he gestured for her to go ahead of him. His jeep was parked at the end of the street, beyond the barbed-wire entanglements, and as they walked down the footpath together, Kitty knew some of the neighbours were watching from their shuttered verandahs. She ignored them and kept her chin high.

The jeep took off, roaring around the base of Castle Hill, and she had to raise her voice to be heard. ‘Can you tell me about Ed’s accident? Did you say it happened in New Guinea? Was – was he shot down?’

‘More like shot up,’ Frank shouted back. ‘Ed was about to take off from a forward airstrip when the Nips pulled a surprise attack on the airfield. He was still on the ground when they strafed him.’ Frank’s customary smile shrank to a grimace now. ‘A piece of shrapnel lodged in his head.’

Kitty closed her eyes, too horrified to speak.

When they stopped at an intersection, Frank spoke again. ‘Apart from the head wound, Ed’s actually not too bad, but I must admit we’re worried about the problem with his sight.’

‘He – he’s not completely blind, is he?’

‘I’m afraid he is, ma’am, for the time being, at least. It’s hard to know how it’ll turn out. He’s going home. We know that much.’

Going home.

Kitty went cold. She was pregnant with Ed’s baby and he was going home.

Of course, he needed the best medical treatment. But going home . . . home to Boston . . . to the other side of the world? Home to his rich and highly cultured, strict and snobbish family. Kitty had to bite down hard on her lip to stop herself from weeping.

Despite Elsie’s kindness, she’d felt lost and alone ever since her pregnancy was confirmed, but she’d clung to the hope that some day, somehow, she would be able to share her news with Ed. In her fantasy, Ed was delighted and sweet about the baby, vowing that he would move heaven and earth to make sure his future was with her and their child.

But that might not be possible now. Could she tell Ed about the pregnancy when he’d been dealt such a terrible blow?

‘We’re heading over to Fulham Road,’ Frank said as they took off again and he steered the jeep around a machine gun rising from an island of camouflage netting. ‘There’s a house over thereabouts that’s been commandeered as the central sick quarters for all the squadrons based at Garbutt.’

‘I think I know the place. It’s probably the Fergusons’ house.’

‘Curra-something House?’

‘Currajong House.’

‘Yeah, that sounds right.’

Kitty nodded. Mr and Mrs Ferguson, who owned Currajong House, were friends of her grandparents. She’d been incredibly impressed when they offered the use of their beautiful historic home to the parish of St Matthew almost as soon as the war began. Originally, they’d planned to house refugee children, but then, tragically, the ship bringing the children out from London to Australia had been torpedoed by the Germans.

Kitty’s grandmother had wept when that news came through.

And now, Ed was being treated there.

She longed to see him, but she was scared. She only hoped she was strong enough. The last thing Ed needed was a hysterical girl sobbing all over him.

She hated this war, hated, hated,
hated
it. It had been going on for such a long time already, claiming and maiming millions of lives in Europe and Asia, and now it was here in the Pacific, casting its poison on people she knew and loved. Andy Mathieson was still missing, poor Bobby had died and now Ed was
blind
.

She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, not with the baby as well. It was all too sad and too overwhelming.

However, as Frank pulled up outside the Fergusons’ low-set, colonial-style home, now converted to a hospital, she had no choice. She had to be super-strong.

‘Last time I was here, Ed was on the verandah,’ Frank said as he opened the jeep’s door for her. ‘The dangerously ill patients are inside the house.’

Then he leaned back against the jeep, and casually lit a cigarette.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Kitty had been depending on Frank’s polite support to at least help her to find Ed.

But he simply smiled at her. ‘I figured Captain Langley would like as much privacy as possible.’

‘Oh?’ Kitty could feel her cheeks heating. She supposed she should be grateful for Frank’s discretion, but she couldn’t believe how nervous she felt about seeing Ed injured amid a sea of strangers. ‘Well, thank you for the lift.’

Frank gave a smiling nod. ‘I’ll be waiting here, ready to transport you home.’

She was shaky and trembling as she walked the path to the short flight of front steps. There was no reception area, no sign of a friendly nurse who might help her to locate Ed, just rows of men in beds lined along the verandahs, which had been closed in with blinds and flyscreens.

Some of the men were asleep, but many of them turned to stare at Kitty. A few faces broke into broad grins.

‘Hello, love,’ called a cheeky fellow with a drawling Australian accent. He lifted the sheet that covered him and sent her a wink. ‘Have you come to check out my wound?’

‘Here’s a sight for sore eyes,’ said another.

Kitty knew there was no real offence intended by these Aussies. No doubt they expected some banter in return. But she was in no mood to think of a smart remark. Luckily, she was saved when another of the Aussie patients chimed in.

‘Don’t be fooled by our wounded hero, miss. He probably cut himself opening a tin of bully beef.’

Kitty joined in the laughter, but she had to keep going. She had to find Ed.

After an unsuccessful trip up and down the verandahs, however, she decided that he mustn’t be in this ward after all. Perhaps he was now dangerously ill.
Please, God, no
. She would have to find one of the medical staff and ask if Captain Langley been moved.

Then, as she turned to leave the verandah, she caught sight of a man in the far corner. She’d missed him before, perhaps because he was sitting on the side of his bed with his back to her. There was a thick bandage around his head, but she was sure she recognised his dark and shiny hair.

He had to be Ed, but the sight of him sitting there hunched and alone made her chest ache. Despite her vow to be strong, she was already fighting tears as she made her way back between the rows of beds.

‘Ed?’ she said softly when she reached him.

He tensed instantly and turned to her voice. ‘Kitty?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was trembling. She was trembling all over. It broke her heart to see Ed sitting there in Red Cross pyjamas, looking completely vulnerable with his eyes bandaged and his dark jaw in need of a shave.

He held out his hand. ‘Thanks for coming, Kitty.’

‘Try to keep me away.’

She tried to sound cheerful, but a painful brick had lodged in her throat as she looked down at the hand he held out. His hands were long and beautifully shaped – aesthetically pleasing, aristocratic hands, hands that an artist might want to paint. But her head was full of memories of the way he’d touched and caressed her.

Now, when he touched her hand he smiled. ‘Can we get rid of the gloves?’

‘Of course.’ Tears stung her eyes as she slipped them off and then placed her hand into his. He grasped her firmly, wrapping his fingers around hers, so she could feel his skin, warm against hers.

‘Sit down,’ he said, giving her a slight tug towards the mattress beside him.

‘Is it allowed?’

Ed’s mouth tilted in another smile. ‘Who cares?’

Kitty wanted to smile and cry at once as she sat with her hand still in his. But now, so close, she wanted to curl into his arms, to press her lips to his poor bandaged face. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt, Ed.’

‘Yeah, it’s damned frustrating.’ He sighed. ‘Did Frank tell you there’s damage to the optic nerve?’

‘He did, yes. And he said they’re sending you home.’

His hand tightened around hers. ‘There’s not much they can do for me here. I just need time to rest and to heal, and they seem to think I’ll be better off doing that stateside.’

Kitty clung to the word ‘heal’. ‘But they think you’ll get your sight back?’

‘At this stage, there’s no guarantee.’

‘Oh, Ed.’ She was glad he couldn’t see the way her face contorted with the effort of holding back her tears. ‘Will you be in a hospital over there, or with your family?’

‘I’m not sure. A bit of both, I expect.’

His thumb rode over her knuckles, offering her momentary comfort and reminding her of another time when he’d taken her hand like this . . .

On the island . . . lying in bed in the mauve-tinted shadows of the late afternoon . . . they’d listened to the distant rhythm of the sea and the occasional shriek of a lorikeet, the rustle of palm fronds outside the hut’s walls . . . and Ed had lifted her hand to his lips.

He’d kissed each knuckle slowly one by one, as if each little bony bump was precious.

‘This one’s my favourite,’ he said, re-kissing the knuckle of her index finger. ‘I’m sure it’s the sexiest.’

They’d laughed together at the silliness, and then Ed had paid the same loving attention to her fingertips.

It had been such a simple thing really, the way he’d made love to her hand, and yet Kitty had known in that moment that she would remember it forever.

Do not cry. Whatever he says or does, don’t cry. Just don’t.