Amy's Touch (35 page)

B
y mid-afternoon, after a thorough search of the homestead, surrounding buildings and nearby paddocks, neither Kate nor Tinga had been found, so Amy, Jim and Mike saddled their horses. Each took a canteen of water and a rifle, with Amy’s instructions that firing two shots would denote that someone had located the youngster.

As Amy rode north she couldn’t get the image of her daughter’s face out of her mind. She was sick with worry because she knew from stories Randall and Danny had told her how easy it was to get lost in the Flinders, and how unforgiving the drought-stricken bush would be to a small child. One such instance of becoming lost involved Randall’s older brother, Edward. He had become disorientated in the bush when he was ten years old, and spent the night curled up in a drift of dead gum leaves. Back then they’d had an Aboriginal tracker-cum-jackeroo named Percy working on the property. Randall said that Percy had picked up Edward’s trail and brought him back to the homestead, cold and hungry but none the worse for wear.

Amy didn’t want to think how or if her little Kate could survive a night in the bush. She had to find her before Randall got back from Gindaroo and before the sun set. Besides, how far could a four-year-old child get, sturdy though she was? She didn’t have to worry about Kate drowning in a dam or the creek—they were devoid of water—but there were plenty of other places where she might wander and get into difficulties. Amy pulled on the Duchess’s reins, then stopped and got off the horse. Her blue eyes scanned the ground, hoping to pick
up Kate’s or Tinga’s trail, signs her husband had taught her to recognise.

In between patches of dead grass the earth was bare and hardpacked, with little evidence of any animal or child having travelled over it. She walked for roughly fifty yards, leading her horse, and was ready to give up when she saw what she thought was the heelprint of a small boot in the bone-dry soil. Around it were animal tracks: dog paws. Tinga’s? Her gaze narrowed as she concentrated; she’d seen similar tracks before and could tell that there was more than one dog: several, by the look of it.

Amy’s mouth tightened and her heart missed a beat.
That
sign was easy to read. Feral dogs! Oh no! Squinting, and half-turning away from the lowering sun, she stared into the distance at a clump of rugged rocks that jutted out and ran up a steep hill, part of the Flinders Ranges. The heelprints were headed in that direction and so were the dog prints. Remounting, she rammed her hat down hard on her head, encouraged the Duchess into a gallop and covered the distance as quickly as she could. When she got close to the rocks, a small voice called, ‘
Mummy, Mummy…
’

A wave of relief rushed through Amy. It was a while before she saw her daughter. She didn’t know how Kate had managed it but she and Tinga had climbed up onto a tall rock that was sheer on three sides, and Kate was swatting at something beyond Amy’s view with a tree branch. Then Amy heard a series of frustrated snarls. Pulling on the reins she changed direction to come round the rocks from the other side. Three feral dogs, mangy, skinny animals, no doubt halfstarving because of the drought, were jumping and snapping and snarling at Kate and Tinga. For a second or two Amy marvelled at her daughter’s courage, because she kept on swinging the branch at the dogs to keep them at bay.

Amy didn’t waste another second. She withdrew Randall’s Winchester from its holster and put it to her shoulder. One shot rang out, then another, and two dogs fell and were still. The rifle’s recoil almost knocked her out of the saddle. The third dog, whimpering in fear, turned tail and began to run, with Tinga, now that the stakes were even, giving chase.

‘Mummy, oh, Mummy, I knew you or Daddy would come.’

Amy’s throat muscles tightened so much she couldn’t speak. Instead, sliding out of the saddle, she picked Kate up—the child had clambered down from the rock—and hugged her tightly. They were three or four
miles from the homestead’s perimeter and she marvelled at how far Kate had walked, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that Kate was safe. Later, when they reached home and Amy had tended to Kate’s cuts and grazes, and given her lots of hugs and kisses, there would be questions and, she hoped, answers that made sense.

‘You’re not hurt, darling?’

‘A little. I fell over a couple of times when those dogs started to chase me and Tinga. And I skinned my knees climbing the rocks,’ Kate said in her childish matter-of-fact way. ‘Those bad dogs scared me, Mummy. A lot. Tinga tried to chase them off but there were too many, and they were too angry.’

‘Mmm, thirsty?’ When Kate nodded that she was, Amy uncorked and handed the canteen to her. ‘Hasn’t Daddy told you how dangerous it can be in the bush?’

Kate looked at her mother, and her blue eyes, so much like Amy’s, held a hint of tears. ‘Yes. I understand now.’ She gave a little shudder, which was followed by a childish sigh. ‘I’ll never do it again, Mummy, I promise.’

Amy smiled at Kate’s promise. Perhaps today’s fright would be enough to curb her youthful adventurousness. ‘Come on, up on the Duchess.’ Grunting at the effort it took, she lifted her daughter into the saddle and, in spite of her advanced pregnant state, managed to climb up behind her. ‘Let’s go home.’

As they rode, Amy reviewed the drama that had just unfolded. Kate had learned a valuable lesson about the hardship of the Flinders and everyone at Drovers was going to be happy about that! And, steering her horse towards the homestead, her daughter safe in her arms, without conscious volition her thoughts turned to Danny. It was good that they’d re-established contact—getting that first letter a few months ago had been wonderful for Randall and a relief for her. They were both pleased to know he was doing well. She must write soon, and tell him of his niece’s latest adventure. Kate was a true McLean, there was no doubting that. She chuckled as she saw Tinga bound ahead to herald their arrival with several barks. Randall and the others would be relieved to know Kate was safe.

Sharp, take-your-breath-away pains began in the middle of the night, two nights after Kate’s experience in the bush. Amy knew straight away that the baby was coming, but she was only seven months pregnant and it was too soon! This time it felt very different from
when she’d gone into labour with Kate—that had been almost textbook-perfect.

She shook Randall’s shoulder till he stirred. ‘The baby’s coming.’

Still groggy with sleep, Randall took a moment or two to grasp the situation. ‘Now? You’re sure?’

‘Yes, but things don’t feel right. The pains are excruciating.’ She gasped as another pain struck low in her stomach. Kate had been a big baby, and usually the second child was bigger than the first—though at seven months it shouldn’t be. Babies usually put most of their weight on in the last month of pregnancy. Oh, stop worrying, she scolded herself. Everything will be all right. ‘Call Winnie and call Gavin,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be a normal birth.’

Intuitively, as he climbed out of bed, Randall homed in on the undertone of anxiety in Amy’s voice. She didn’t panic easily, and with her nursing experience he had complete trust in her judgment. What if…? Women could die in childbirth, the gloomy thought attacked him. No, he banished the possibility from his mind:
other
women might, but not his Amy. She was too strong, too courageous, and he loved her too much…

‘What else, love?’ He stroked strands of damp brown hair off her forehead.

Amy said between gritted teeth, ‘Tell them to hurry.’

Winnie Cohen and Dr Pearce arrived together, within the hour. Amy’s labour dragged on through the early hours of the morning, past breakfast and lunch. Nora kept Kate amused in Amy’s studio, which had been turned into a nursery and playroom, while Randall paced about the house like a man possessed. As every hour passed without a result his fears multiplied, especially when he heard an occasional scream come from the bedroom.

It shouldn’t be taking this long, not for her second child. Something was wrong. Why wouldn’t they tell him what was going on? Why wouldn’t they let him see her? Thoughts tumbled around in his brain.

He cornered the doctor when he came out of the bedroom for a moment. ‘What’s the problem, Gavin? Amy should have had the baby by now.’

‘There are…difficulties,’ Gavin began. His expression showed that he knew Randall couldn’t be fobbed off with platitudes. ‘It’s a big baby and Amy’s birth canal is small. She’s having difficulty
dilating to accommodate the baby’s size.’ He paused for a moment then added, ‘I am concerned because her heart’s weakening due to the severity and length of the labour. I may have to do a Caesarean. It’s a dangerous procedure and would be a last resort. It would be much better for mother and child if the birth is a normal one.’

‘Dear God. I had no idea…’

‘Winnie and I are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable and calm, although the baby seems extraordinarily large,’ Gavin said, ‘but, Randall, I have to ask, if it comes to a decision as to which one can be saved…?’ He looked Randall straight in the eyes. ‘As her husband, you have the right to choose. Your wife or the baby.’

The bluntness of Gavin’s words left Randall speechless for almost half a minute. ‘No.’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘I can’t make that decision. It’s not fair. You have to save both of them.’ His voice held a note of desperation. ‘I want to see her. Now.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ the doctor began.

Suddenly, Randall could take no more. He pushed aside the doctor, who was a more slightly built man, opened the bedroom door and went inside.

‘Get the doctor,’ Winnie screamed at him. ‘The baby’s head’s through, it’s coming out, but Amy’s starting to haemorrhage.’

As Randall studied Amy he saw that she was deathly pale and distressed. With all the blood and the drama of the birth unfolding before his eyes, Randall knew it was a sight he would never forget. Just as he knew that in the future he’d have to deal with it, another nightmare to join the nightmare he had from the war. He stood near the door and watched, admiring Winnie and the doctor’s expertise. They knew exactly what to do, and within minutes, with Amy giving a weak, final scream of pain, their baby entered the world—and, as exhausted as the mother, could only manage a weak, mewling cry.

‘It’s a boy, a whopper too, almost ten pounds, I reckon. A healthy baby boy.’ Winnie beamed first at Amy then at Randall.

In mute fascination Randall watched Winnie bathe away the blood and afterbirth and wrap his son up tightly in a blanket, after which she placed him in a bassinet close to the bed. Amy’s eyes were closed and even when he moved beside the bed, bent down and kissed her forehead, she did not stir.

‘She’s worn out, Randall.’ Winnie stated the obvious. ‘We all are. Why don’t you go and ask Nora to make a pot of tea while we attend to Amy.’

Randall was loath to leave but common sense told him there was little he could do for his wife at the moment. Deep down, and though he didn’t want to dwell on it, he knew he had almost lost her today. And, as the enormity of that set in, shock made him start to tremble. Winnie, seeing his reaction, came over and led him to the bedroom door.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Winnie said soothingly, ‘but not for a while. Now, off you go and get that tea made.’ After which she gave his back a push to encourage him to move.

Randall stumbled towards the kitchen, still dazed by events in the bedroom, and as he walked along the hall he heard a sound not heard in the Flinders for almost four years: a low, rolling clap of thunder. Amazed, he looked out the window. The sky was a dark greyishgreen and a bolt of forked lightning struck the distant hills. Within minutes raindrops as large as two-shilling pieces began to leave spots on the dry earth, and a short time later the drops became a deluge.

A weak smile lightened his serious features. The drought was breaking. He had a son who would be named Ian Daniel McLean, and when he got the chance he’d write to Danny and tell him he had a nephew. But, best of all, Amy was going to be all right.

Amy, however, did not recover quickly. For several months she was an invalid who rarely ventured out of their bedroom. Ian’s harsh, long labour had weakened her heart and constitution and Gavin insisted she rest as much as possible in the hope that with rest, a good diet and the passage of time, her condition would improve. Amy’s ongoing invalid state had a momentous effect on those at Drovers Way, because where Randall was the physical strength of the property, Amy was its strong, beating heart.

Nora was charged with the care of Kate and infant Ian, and with the drought having broken Jim and Mike were working flat out, moving what little stock had survived to pastures where the grass had been revitalised, and with Hercules back in his paddock and one ram still alive, starting a breeding program to rebuild the herd and flock was the property’s most important task.

Randall was most affected by Amy’s continuing ill-health. He couldn’t handle the fact that ‘his rock’ had become vulnerable, and as a consequence, the bouts of depression that had plagued him since the war deepened. The dark moods took longer to get over, and when he should have been working side by side with Jim and Mike he found
excuses not to, and paid little attention to rebuilding the property’s assets. Confused and frustrated by a condition he didn’t know how to control, he began to drink heavily and often, until many of his days and nights were spent in an alcoholic haze. The liquor gave him temporary respite from the fear that Amy would forever be an invalid, and from the moods and nightmares that haunted him daily.

Not only did he dream about what he’d been exposed to during the war; now the memories of Amy’s horrific labour had somehow become enmeshed in the nightmares and he’d wake in a lather of sweat, disorientated, with his heart pounding. Curiously, though, the logical part of his brain knew, when he was sober, that he was slipping into a state of semi-permanent depression, but he also believed he was strong enough to conquer his problems, and that would happen when Amy was well again.