Moonlight Plains (8 page)

Moonlight Plains, 1942

After Ed left the homestead, heading off with a lantern to light his way through the pitch-black, rain-lashed night, Kitty had to keep busy. She lit a fi re in the kitchen stove and hung the airmen’s flying jackets over the backs of two wooden chairs to dry. She set their neatly folded helmets and goggles on the dresser, then decided to heat water.

She wasn’t at all sure about the dos and don’ts of caring for injuries like Bobby’s, but she would try to give him a few sips of well-sugared tea. And perhaps a little arrowroot biscuit soaked in water.

She had left a kerosene lamp burning low on the dressing table in the bedroom, and when she returned, she was very surprised to find Bobby awake.

‘Hey there, sleepy head,’ she said.

Bobby stared at her for a long moment and then his mouth twisted in a lopsided grin. ‘I don’t know how I got here, but I guess I should move over, and make room for you.’

‘Don’t you dare move,’ Kitty chided gently. ‘You’ve hurt your chest, and I want you to lie very still while I clean you up.’

Setting a cup of tea and a bowl of warm water on the marble-topped bedside table, she sprinkled a washcloth with drops of lavender, then soaked it and wrung out the excess. Gently, she bathed Bobby’s face and neck, taking great care not to put any pressure on his bruised chest.

‘Thanks, angel,’ he murmured, letting his eyes drift shut again.

‘My name’s Kitty,’ she said, not sure that Bobby should be talking about angels at such a time.

He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I wanna call you Angel.’

Kitty let this slide. ‘I thought you might be thirsty. Would you like a little tea?’ She picked up the cup.

His blue eyes opened to a squint and he frowned at the teacup in her hands.

‘I know you Americans prefer coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t have any. This is nice, hot tea – well, not too hot – with plenty of sugar to give you strength. Let’s give it a try.’

She dipped a spoon into the cup and held it to Bobby’s lips, tilting it carefully, hoping she didn’t make him cough. She was sure it would be agony for him to cough.

Obediently, he swallowed the tea, but after only a few sips, he was exhausted from the effort and sank back against the pillows with his eyes closed. His lips were very pale and faint beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead.

Alarmed, Kitty set the cup back on the bedside table.

‘Are you feeling too hot? Or too cold?’ she asked softly.

Bobby gave a faint shake of his head.

‘Please, tell me if there’s anything I can do for you.’

‘Just stay with me, Angel.’

There was an old bentwood chair in the corner. Until now, Kitty had only ever flung clothes over it, but she drew it close to the bed and sat down. Outside, the rain continued to fall, drumming on the iron roof in a monotonous downpour, and she wondered how far Ed had walked. Had he managed to get across the creek yet?

As if Bobby could read her mind, he said, ‘Where’s Ed?’

‘He’s gone to fetch a doctor.’

‘So you’ve a vehicle?’

‘No, he’s on foot.’

‘But hell, it’s too far. There aren’t any houses for miles around.’ Even though his eyes were still closed, Bobby’s forehead was furrowed in a deep frown. ‘We could see that from the air.’

‘Yes, well . . .’ Kitty knew she wouldn’t help Bobby by casting doubt on Ed’s efforts.

‘S’pose he’s managed to blame himself for the crash,’ Bobby said next. ‘Wasn’t his fault. He can’t take the blame just because he outranks me.’ Now he began to pick at his bedclothes with anxious, stabbing motions. ‘We ran into a storm and it drove us inland and then we ran out of fuel.’

Kitty was alarmed by Bobby’s agitation. It couldn’t be good for him. His voice was getting hoarse and she was terrified he’d make himself cough if he talked too much.

‘Don’t worry. You’re safe now. I’m sure Ed will get help.’

‘Of course – he’s the prince,’ Bobby said next.

‘A prince?’

‘That’s his nickname. The prince. Born to lead.’

She patted his hand. ‘Shh . . . don’t try to talk. You need to rest.’

‘No, but it’s true,’ Bobby insisted. ‘Ed’s a Boston blueblood. Family goes back to the
Mayflower
. Rich as Croesus.’

‘Shh, Bobby. Please, rest now.’

In spite of the rain, it was a warm night, but Bobby’s skin was cold and clammy. Kitty wondered which was more dangerous – being cold or burning up. She collected another blanket from the cupboard in the hall and tucked it around him. He seemed to be asleep, so she sat again, quietly watching and worrying, listening to the rain.

She thought about what he’d said about Ed. A Boston blueblood. It fitted with his handsome, film-star looks. She thought about the strange turn her life had taken, bringing her out here to Moonlight Plains, which was such a different world from the suburbs of Townsville. Arriving here, she’d found the house a mess and her Aunt Lil’s beautiful garden flattened by the February rains, even heavier than the rain falling now. Vegetables had been rotten on their stems, their leaves yellowed and blotched with mould.

She thought about Andy Mathieson and their fumbling farewell on the verandah. Back in Townsville, giving in to Andy on that final night had felt so grown up. But now, just a matter of weeks later, she felt years older.

This evening, she felt as if she’d had to mature by decades in just a matter of hours. And when she looked at Bobby’s almost colourless face, she feared her most difficult challenge lay ahead.

She hoped Andy was okay. She imagined he was probably embarrassed about his rushed and unromantic farwell and she knew he’d be worried about her. Now, with six weeks’ distance from that alarming night, she could think about Andy more calmly.

She found herself remembering snippets of their past, like the time Andy first invited her over to his house to see the bantam chicks he’d raised. Such tiny, fluffy little balls they’d been, and he’d handled them so gently as he’d offered her one to hold. She’d been entranced, just as her grandmother had been a few years later when Andy had volunteered to mend the heirloom rocking chair.

‘It’s English oak,’ Andy had said. ‘That’s hard to come by, Mrs M, but I think I know where I can get hold of a piece.’

He’d fixed the chair as good as new and her grandmother had been overjoyed. Recalling those happier times now, Kitty hated to think he might be somewhere in Malaya . . . dangerously wounded like Bobby . . . lying among strangers.

‘Angel?’

Bobby’s soft voice broke into her thoughts.

‘You ever go to church?’ he asked without opening his eyes.

‘Yes,’ Kitty told him. ‘Before I came to live here, I went to church all the time with my grandparents.’

‘You like to sing?’

‘Um . . . I do, yes.’

‘I knew it. You got such a sweet voice. I bet you sing like Deanna Durbin.’

Bobby seemed to fall asleep again then, and after a bit Kitty got up and tiptoed across the bare floorboards. Carefully, she opened the wardrobe and took out clean clothes, went to the kitchen and bathed in a dish at the sink and changed her clothes. She felt much better once she was clean and had changed into a dress. She thought about making a sandwich, but she would check on Bobby first.

As she entered the bedroom, a floorboard creaked.

Bobby stirred. ‘Angel,’ he murmured.

‘How are you?’

Instead of answering, he asked a question. ‘You know any nice hymns?’

Kitty gulped. ‘I – I guess.’ She came up beside the bed again.

‘Can you sing something now?’

Although Kitty loved to sing – in fact, she was actually a little vain about her voice – she didn’t like the track of Bobby’s thoughts. First angels and now hymns. Had he decided he was dying?

‘You’re going to be all right, Bobby. Are you sure you want a hymn?’

There was no response at first, but then he gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Just something . . . nice . . . reminds me of home.’

Home. Where was his home? Kitty didn’t want to ask him. He’d been talking too much already.

‘What about “Summertime”?’ She hummed the opening bars of the popular song from
Porgy and Bess
. ‘It’s not a hymn. I suppose it’s more of a lullaby, but I’ve always thought it was very soothing.’

Eyes closed, Bobby smiled. ‘Yeah, sing that. That’s real nice.’

So Kitty sang. She was sure Bobby slept through most of it, but if her songs worked like lullabies, all the better. She sang ‘Summertime’ and ‘Spring in My Heart’ and ‘Home, Sweet Home’.

She was holding Bobby’s hand and singing ‘Danny Boy’, crooning the words as softly and sweetly as she could, when she heard a noise that sounded very much like the squeak of the back door. And then footsteps.

A moment later, Ed appeared in the doorway. He’d taken off his boots, but he was still wearing the army greatcoat, which was dark with rain. His hair was plastered to his skull. He stood for a moment staring at Kitty, his expression a disturbing mix of delight and sorrow.

‘What happened?’ she called softly. ‘Was the creek up?’

‘Yeah, practically breaking its banks.’ Ed ruffled his hand through his damp hair as if trying to dry it. ‘I didn’t have a hope of getting across. Nearly drowned myself trying. Just as you predicted.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, so am I.’ He cocked his head, gesturing for Kitty to come out into the hallway. He was obviously agitated, so she quickly joined him. ‘How long will this damn rain last?’

‘I – I’m not sure.’

Ed grimaced. ‘I’ve got to get help for Bobby. I’ve got to get a message to the base at Townsville or the Breddan airstrip at Charters Towers.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any answers, Ed.’

He stared at her for a long moment, his dark eyes tense and troubled, and then he seemed to accept the situation and he cracked a rueful smile. ‘That was very pretty singing, Kitty.’

She couldn’t believe she was blushing. Quickly, she lifted her shoulders in an embarrassed shrug. ‘Bobby asked me to sing.’

‘Good for him.’ Moving into the bedroom now, with Kitty close behind, Ed looked down at Bobby’s sleeping face. ‘How’s my buddy?’

‘Much the same.’ She gave a sad shake of her head. ‘Although I’m scared he might be a bit worse.’

There was a frightening bluish tinge to Bobby’s lips now and when she slipped her hand in his, he gave no sign that he noticed.

Carefully, Ed lifted the sheet back and then Bobby’s shirt. The bruise was darker and meaner looking than before, and Bobby’s breathing was shallow and rapid.

Ed sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Next moment, he grasped at the iron bed-end and swung dizzily as if he was overcome by exhaustion or despair, or both.

‘I think you’d better come through to the kitchen, Ed.’ Kitty was on her feet, watching him with concern. ‘You need to get something in your stomach. I don’t want two crocks on my hands.’

In the kitchen, she went to the stove where the large black kettle was heating.

‘You’ll probably want to wash first.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ed. ‘That’d be great. After the dip in the creek I’m disgustingly muddy.’

‘The bathroom’s off the back landing. I got it ready in case you came back.’

He cracked a wry grin. ‘Oh, ye of little faith. You knew I’d be back, didn’t you?’

‘I hoped you’d get through.’

‘I wonder if I could prevail on you for some spare clothes,’ Ed asked. ‘My uniform’s saturated. I left it hanging out on the verandah.’

‘Oh, so that means –’

‘I’m naked under this greatcoat, yes.’

His smile was handsome, almost devilish, and of course Kitty blushed.

‘I’ll get you some of Uncle Jim’s things,’ she said, already hurrying away, flustered by the thought of his naked body. ‘They’ll be big around the waist, but your belt should pull them in.’

She returned quickly with a flannelette shirt and an old pair of trousers. ‘Will these do? Or – or would you like underwear?’

‘These are fine, thanks, Kitty. Fabulous.’

‘And take this lantern to the bathroom with you,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to fill the basin with warm water from this kettle. I’m afraid there’s no actual bath or shower.’ The only shower was an outdoor affair under the tank stand.

Ed gave a polite dip of his head as he accepted the clothes and the kettle, but weariness seemed to cling to him as he went through to the primitive bathroom. Kitty wondered if he minded the shabbiness of the chipped enamel basin, or the spotty old mirror. If he was as rich as Bobby had said, he must be used to much finer things.

At least the basin had a pretty trim of green leaves and rosebuds, and she’d set a fresh rectangle of bright-yellow soap in the white porcelain dish.
And
she’d given Ed the biggest and fluffiest bath towel. No way was she giving one of Uncle Jim’s threadbare, holey towels to an American pilot who looked like a film star and was the next best thing to a prince.

Supper was the reheated remains of the last of the corned beef with a few boiled potatoes and beans on the side. Thanks to her great-uncle’s dairy cows, there was enough milk and butter to make an onion sauce to add a bit of flavour.

‘Wow, this looks swell,’ Ed said when he came into the kitchen and saw the meal. His dark eyes seemed to shine with genuine appreciation. ‘You’re going to join me, aren’t you, Kitty?’

‘I’ll go back and sit with Bobby while you eat,’ she said.

‘But you need to eat too.’

‘I can have my dinner later.’

Ed pointed to the chair opposite him. ‘Come on, keep me company.’ Once again, he sounded as if he was used to giving orders.

‘Let me just check on him quickly.’

She was back a moment later. ‘No real change,’ she said sadly as she took her seat.

Ed’s face was sombre. ‘If only there was something we could do for him.’

‘It’s awful to feel helpless,’ she agreed as she helped herself to a modest serving. She was too tense to feel very hungry.

They ate in silence for a bit.

‘Thanks for this. Thanks for
everything
you’ve done, Kitty. You’ve been wonderful, you know. Coming out in the rain and finding us, putting us up here. Taking care of Bobby.’