Amy's Touch (5 page)

A
my Carmichael sat in the garden of her father’s home, staring into the ornamental fishpond when she should have been trying to complete the watercolour of the garden that she had started over a week ago. A late-afternoon sun shone on the broad leaves of the hydrangea bush, giving it a beautiful, almost iridescent sheen. Unfortunately, her concentration was lacking. She should have felt relieved at what she’d just done, and in a way she was, but a sense of guilt remained at having decided not to see Miles Fairfax any more.

When she’d arrived in Adelaide on the train from Sydney and he had met her at the station, she had been instantly aware of a major shift in her emotions towards him. The years apart, her experiences, her spell of independence, and time to think about her life and what she wanted most in the world, had changed her irrevocably. Miles was a good, solid, hard-working man, but he wasn’t the man for Amy, though she was sure that many Adelaide women would consider him a catch. After all, he was reasonably attractive, dressed well, his family was ‘old money’ and he had a well-paid, responsible job at the Bank of Adelaide.

Still, all of that was not enough. She didn’t love him, and never would. She couldn’t make it happen, and it wasn’t fair to him to pretend that one day she might, when she knew deep in her heart that she wouldn’t. Not even to please Miles, or her father, who would love to see her settle down. Which she would do, when
she
was ready.

Telling Miles her decision on Friday night had caused Amy much concern and sadness—and anger, because he hadn’t taken the news well. He had been spiteful and sarcastic, even threatening, implying that he would tell all and sundry in their social circle that she had admitted to having an affair with a married British soldier, and because of that he no longer wanted to court her.

The love affair was nonsense, of course, but in churchy, straightlaced Adelaide some would believe him.

Her expression sober, Amy watched a goldfish swim to the pond’s surface, catch a small beetle that had fallen in and gulp the insect down. The next instant the fish was gone. Her gaze stayed trained on the ripples in the pond made by the goldfish, as they slowly expanded out to the pond’s edge.

Now she was free. Well, an eyebrow rose querulously, as free as a young unmarried woman who lived with her widowed father after the Great War could be.

She sensed that her father didn’t want her to return to nursing because he considered it unsuitable work for a young woman, and, occasionally, when she recalled some of the more harrowing nursing work she’d done during the war and then the Spanish Flu epidemic, she secretly agreed with him. However, if she were honest with herself, nothing else held any great appeal to her. It would be boring to sit around and ‘play the lady’, though she was sufficiently educated and knew the social graces well enough to do so. She wanted to be useful, and what better way than to use the skills she had acquired to nurse patients back to health? Her decision made, she was about to pack up her painting gear and go inside, for the afternoon breeze had turned unseasonably chilly, when she saw her father come down the flagstone path towards her.

‘Amy, you should come inside, dear, before you take a chill,’ David Carmichael said in his gentle baritone voice.

‘I was about to,’ Amy responded as she swished her paintbrush in a jar of clean water then wiped it with a cloth before putting it with her other brushes. She covered the half-finished painting with a piece of linen, then closed the portable easel and the box that held her tubes of paint, chalk and charcoal. Normally, immersing herself in painting relaxed her, but not today. Ever since her discussion with Miles she had felt oddly discomforted.

‘Meg has put afternoon tea in the study for us.’ Her father
watched her rise gracefully from the wicker chair and smiled. ‘There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.’

A burst of curiosity made Amy give her father a closer look.
A matter he’d like to discuss
. What? she wondered. Nothing in his lined facial features, the kindly eyes, the neatly trimmed grey beard that made up for his thinning head of hair, gave her any clue. ‘Of course, Father.’

In gentlemanly fashion he held the French door open for her to pass through into the drawing room and on to his orderly study. Amy’s eyebrow lifted again when she saw the silver tray. The Royal Albert china and a selection of shortbread biscuits and delicate sandwiches, in the British tradition of high tea, were laid out on the occasional table. She knew that the Royal Albert tea set, her mother’s favourite, was only brought out for special occasions.

Her father sat in the leather chair next to the open fireplace as Amy began to pour the tea. ‘So, Amy dear, how are you feeling after, umm, Friday’s debacle?’

‘I’m fine, really. Actually, I’m relieved.’ She smiled to reinforce her words. ‘I should have ended it with Miles a year ago, but I didn’t want to do so via a letter. That seemed too hard-hearted.’

‘He’ll get over the disappointment.’ David took a sip of tea. ‘The war has brought about a lot of changes, in many ways,’ he began in a contemplative tone. ‘Adelaide, for instance. The city has grown, and one sees women working in jobs once held exclusively by men. The automobile is replacing the sulky, the horse and carts. Even the style of women’s clothing has changed: skirts are getting shorter, styles are less formal. And my practice has kept pace to reflect those changes.’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘However, while you’ve been away I’ve had time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I’ve decided that it’s time for a change.’

Startled to hear her father speaking this way, Amy stared at him in amazement. ‘Change? What kind of change?’

‘A quieter practice, where I’d have some time to myself to relax. I don’t get much relaxation at the moment.’

Amy nodded understandingly. Her father was rarely home other than on Sundays. Every second day he was at his surgery, or doing home visits, and on the other days he was operating at the Royal. As well as this he was a member of the hospital’s medical board. ‘I thought you liked to be busy, Father.’

‘When your mother died, keeping busy and looking after you and your brother kept me sane. But she’s been gone almost ten years, and
with Anthony…’ he paused, shook his head, and the expression in his eyes behind his glasses was sad, ‘…not coming home, there isn’t a lot to keep me in Adelaide. I’ve been debating the possibilities of buying a country practice.’

She blinked twice. ‘Where?’

‘Somewhere in the Flinders Ranges. There are two practices for sale, one at Gindaroo and one at Hawker.’ He took another sip of tea and looked across at her. ‘I see that my proposal has caught you offguard, but considering the break-up with Miles, I thought that moving elsewhere might hold some appeal. We’d both be starting afresh, so to speak.’

‘We’ve never lived in the country, Father, and I don’t want to give up nursing. It’s important to me.’

He sighed, almost as if he had expected her to say something like that. ‘I understand, my dear. I’d hoped you would assist me in the surgery and in the performance of small operations. I’m leaning more towards the Gindaroo practice because there’s talk in the shire that a cottage hospital to accommodate war-wounded and those convalescing from other illnesses is planned for the outskirts of that town.’

And Gindaroo, or close by, was where young Danny McLean and his brother lived, wasn’t it? What had made that surface in her mind? But the next instant her concentration returned to the topic of moving to the country. It would be a big change from the bustle of her father’s practice near Glenelg Beach to the peace and quiet of a country town. Were either of them capable of adjusting to such a different environment?

‘I talked it over with Meg. She’s willing to come with us, and she’s of the opinion that it’s a good idea.’

That was good. Meg Barnaby had been their housekeeper for nearly fifteen years. She was well acquainted with their wants and needs, and tolerated their idiosyncrasies. The middle-aged, loyal Meg had been a tower of strength when Amy’s mother had sunk into a state of depression over two miscarriages and had begun to drink and neglect herself and her children. Meg had stepped in, done her best to control their mother’s embarrassing behaviour, and, as Amelia Carmichael’s condition worsened, become a surrogate mother to Amy and her brother.

And what was the alternative if Amy decided not to accompany her father? She could continue nursing in town, but she would have
to find suitable accommodation, be by herself, and because her father was the only close relative she had—her mother’s family were in Melbourne and scattered around regional Victoria—there would be no family close by.

Amy’s father finished his tea and put the cup back on its saucer. ‘I know it’s a bit of a surprise, and you most likely want to think about your options. Why don’t you sleep on it?’ He stood and picked up the tray to take it to the kitchen. ‘We’ll talk about it again in the morning.’

Still having difficulty digesting his proposal, Amy gave him a thoughtful smile. ‘That’s a good idea, Father.’

The study door opened and a round-faced Meg, her hair pulled back in a tight, common-sense bun, bustled into the room. ‘I’ll take that, Doctor,’ she said, and promptly took charge of the tea tray.

‘Right. Meg, I won’t be in for dinner. I’ve a board meeting at the hospital at six o’clock.’

Meg acknowledged his words with a nod of her head and the doctor slipped out the doorway into the hall. ‘Well,’ she looked at Amy. ‘He told you, I suppose, about his plan to move?’

‘Mmm, something quite unexpected. I thought, had assumed, that Father was content with his life here.’

‘Too many memories, Amy. Sad ones…and now Master Anthony. You know, he hasn’t let me go through your brother’s room and dispose of clothing and other things. It’s the way it was the day he went off to war. And this is where your parents lived from the time they were married. There are strong memories in that. Of course, they had many happy years here, but later on there were also too many sad ones.’

‘I often thought that the sadness over Mother was why he spent so much time away from the house.’

‘Should have sold this house after your mother’s passing,’ Meg gave her opinion with an accompanying shake of her head. ‘’Tis easier to grieve some place where the memories aren’t so strong.’ She gave the younger woman a long, considering look. ‘I hope you’ll come with us, Amy. He’ll be awfully lonely if you decide to stay in Adelaide.’

‘I know. I’ll be lonely too.’ And that was the truth. Thinking about home, being with her father—his quiet strength, his pleasantness—enjoying Meg’s cooking and efficiency, were some of the things she had focused on to help her through those dark days of nursing in
London. ‘Rest assured, Meg, I’ll give Father’s proposal a great deal of thought, and be making a mental list of the good things about moving and the not-so-good things.’

And long into the night, till the early hours of the morning, that was what Amy did…

I
t wasn’t until the early summer of 1921 that negotiations between the two doctors regarding an agreeable sale price were completed, and Amy’s father bought the Gindaroo practice. This would mean moving into a small cottage with a surgery attached, on the main street of the town. The cottage came with a small stable for David’s sulky and horse—Amy’s father having steadfastly refused to give in to twentieth-century progress and buy an automobile.

The move was made easier for Amy and David Carmichael by the presence of Meg. Quietly efficient and full of common sense, the housekeeper seemed to know instinctively what should be taken and what should be left behind. And because of her father’s regular, busy schedule in Adelaide, it fell to Amy to help Meg with the sorting, the packing and writing letters to various people and organisations, advising them of their change of address.

‘This has to be the last box, surely?’ Amy’s voice held a definite wistfulness as she put the three-ply timber top on the tea chest and reached for the small claw hammer. When not on duty at the hospital, for the last several days she had helped Meg pack one tea chest after another, sealing the contents inside with nails.

‘Almost.’ Meg’s reply was matter-of-fact. ‘Except for your father’s study. He has such a lot of medical and scientific books. I thought you might help me pare them down.’

Amy gave Meg a look and pulled a face. ‘Father will want to take every one.’

‘Well, he can’t. There won’t be enough room,’ Meg said frankly as she manhandled the closed chest into a corner of the living room beside the other boxes. ‘We have to have everything ready before we go to bed,’ Meg reminded her, ‘because Ryan’s Moving Services are coming at six a.m. to start loading the furniture.’

In spite of her tiredness, Amy felt a thrill of anticipation go through her body. A new beginning. She had thought—expected—to experience a sense of loss at leaving the home she had grown up in, the memories of her mother, of Anthony. She did, but there also came a sense of embarking on an adventure. Those feelings overrode the sadness and made her hope that she would finally overcome the memories of the Great War, the horrors of the Spanish Flu epidemic and the unpleasantness with Miles, and would start a new life.

Being the new doctor’s daughter as well as a nurse, Amy Carmichael was made to feel very welcome in the close-knit country community in and around Gindaroo. Within a week or two she was on a first-name basis with Stan Jarvis, the local butcher, and Ben and Dot Quinton, who ran the town’s general store. The store was a place of fascination for Amy. She had never seen so many different items for sale in one shop: toothbrushes and kitchen needs, bolts of cloth, small farming implements and dry and tinned goods, as well as magazines and a shelf or two where one could exchange second-hand books.

Gindaroo was, by South Australian standards, a small rural town that had begun to develop in the early 1860s to accommodate the needs of new land-owners and their families as properties were settled and developed. The town consisted of one main street, Queen Street, which ran parallel to the creek and contained a sprinkling of commercial endeavours: the general store, a butcher’s shop, a Catholic church and a Methodist church, a barber’s shop, a blacksmith’s forge, a saddlery, the Royal Hotel and the newly built Criterion Hotel. There was also a livery stable, which had recently brought in gasoline in barrels for the increasing automobile traffic, and an elementary school where Amy had been told that one teacher taught up to twenty-eight children of varying ages. A stock and station agency, as well as several other businesses, including Byron Ellis’s solicitor’s office, built close to the police station, and Amy’s new home, completed the town centre.

One aspect that had charmed Amy on her first reconnoitre of the town was a park that fronted Queen Street and ran down to the edge of the narrow creek. She was surprised and delighted to see that
British willows as well as peppercorn trees had been planted by the water’s edge, and several varieties of conifer, which would have been more at home and certainly more comfortable in a European countryside than in the Flinders Ranges. There was also a sprinkling of tall eucalypts, including paperbarks and stringy-barks, and several painted wooden benches positioned in shady areas, where one could sit and contemplate, or, in summer, watch cricket being played on the local cricket pitch. All in all the park had quite a British feel, except for the patchy yellow grass.

In some incongruous way, the park—named Braddon Park after the town’s founder, Robert Braddon—made her feel less alien in her new surroundings, reminding her of Britain and also of Adelaide. Her father settled into his new practice with ease, obviously pleased with the change of pace, and Meg was revelling in putting the fourbedroom cottage and study to rights, organising and reorganising the furniture, unpacking and closeting away the numerous tea-chests that had been transported during the move.

Grasping her wicker shopping basket and resisting the urge to linger at the park, Amy made her way to the general store to fill the order Meg had written out for her this morning. On entering Quinton’s store, something about the various items on display stirred memories of going shopping in Adelaide as a small child with her mother. Her nostrils inhaled the mixed aroma of spices, the sugary contents of the lolly jars, the bales of hay in one corner towards the back, and the earthy smell of a crate of potatoes, all of which combined to create a pleasant odour in the air.

‘Good morning, Amy Carmichael. What might you be wanting today?’ came Ben Quinton’s question from the back of the store, where he’d been showing a customer several pairs of work trousers. A short, rotund man, Ben exuded geniality and honesty, worthwhile traits for a country retailer.

‘Morning, Ben. Meg’s given me a list,’ Amy said with a smile as she put the handwritten list onto the scrubbed countertop.

At the back of the store, where daylight penetrated poorly because there were no skylights in the roof, Danny McLean’s frame shot to attention as he recognised the woman’s voice. Amy? Amy Carmichael! What in God’s name was she doing in Gindaroo, of all places? His hearing had to be playing tricks on him, surely? Doing a smart turnaround, he peered towards the front of the store. No, by God, it was her! In an instant his heart began to race, not only from
shock but with emotion—he had never expected to see her again, even though he continued to correspond infrequently with her.

And what was he wearing? Rough work clothes, and holding his battered, sweat-stained Akubra in his hand. In spite of that, and as if influenced by an irresistible internal magnet, he had to satisfy his curiosity and learn what Sister Carmichael was doing in Gindaroo.

With the wound in his thigh long healed, and swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, he made his way towards her. She was side-on to him, facing Ben Quinton, so as he drew close his rapt gaze remained on her unnoticed. God, she was even more lovely than he remembered. She wore a fine-patterned grey dress with white cuffs at the sleeves and a lace-edged collar around the neck, the style of which emphasised her slim but nicely proportioned figure. Her hair was drawn up in a chignon and her feet were encased in polished, highheeled lace-up boots that, when she turned his way, would make her tall enough for her eyes to be almost level with his.

‘Sister Carmichael.’

Amy turned towards Danny. Her eyes grew large with surprise, and something else: delight. ‘Private McLean! My, how well you look.’

‘It’s just McLean now, or Danny. You look well too,’ Danny replied with a grin, but then, as curiosity burned a hole in his manners, he had to ask, ‘What are you doing here in Gindaroo?’

‘I moved here with my father last week. He’s taken over Dr Samuel’s practice and I’m going to assist him in surgery, and later at the hospital, after it’s been built.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?’ There was a mild rebuke in his tone as he continued to stare into her blue eyes.

‘I—I—we were so busy, packing and settling things, and,’ her smile was charmingly apologetic, ‘you know what a poor letter writer I am.’

‘Well, it’s great that you’re here, and now that you are I’ll definitely try to get sick more often,’ he teased.

‘Don’t you dare,’ came a deeper masculine voice from near the store’s entrance. Randall McLean stepped into the store and came up to the counter. ‘Sister Carmichael, isn’t it? I heard what you said to Danny. Welcome to Gindaroo.’

Slightly flustered by having a McLean brother on each side of her, she stammered, ‘Th-thanks, I—I’m—my father and I are looking forward to participating in the community.’

‘Yes, well, it’s the kind of place where everyone knows what everyone else is doing, sometimes before it’s done.’ Randall’s
comment was faintly cynical and made Ben Quinton chuckle as, silently efficient, he filled Amy’s order. Randall looked at his brother. ‘Did you get what you came in for, Danny?’

‘The trousers? Not yet. I’ll go get them off the rack.’

As Danny moved out of earshot, Randall’s tone lowered to a touch above a whisper. ‘How strange that your father should choose Gindaroo to practise medicine in. And even more unusual that you would want to leave Adelaide society to be with him.’

‘You think so?’ Amy felt her irritation rising at the insinuation of…what? She couldn’t quite define the tone of his voice. Goodness, what was there about Randall McLean that made her want to grind her teeth? ‘Father had his reasons and I have no doubt that the townsfolk of Gindaroo will benefit from him being here. As will I, in helping him with his practice.’

Randall regarded her stolidly for several seconds, then, ‘Your Adelaide banker must be disappointed. Danny said you’d mentioned him in your letters.’ His remark was sharply succinct.

‘I think not too much. And might I point out, Mr McLean, that my friendships with members of the opposite sex are none of your business.’ Her tone was tart, dismissive. That he had the temerity to laugh at her retort only increased her irritation. It was as if he enjoyed baiting her.

‘Aahhh.’ His dark eyes roamed over her features. ‘I see that nursing Spanish Flu victims and those wounded in the war has done nothing to blunt your sharp tongue, Sister Carmichael.’

Amy’s inclination to make a suitable reply was cut short, because Danny returned with a pair of trousers under one arm.

‘Got them.’ Danny flicked a glance towards Ben. ‘Put them on our account, will you, Ben?’

Randall shook his head. ‘We’ll pay for them now.’ He pulled a fivepound note from his back trouser pocket and put it on the counter.

‘Always happy to take a customer’s cash,’ Ben said as he scooped up the money, moved to the cash register and then brought back a few coins of change, which he handed to Randall. ‘Your order’s ready, Amy.’ He pointed at the basket. ‘I’ll put it on your monthly account, will I?’

‘Yes, Ben. Thanks.’

‘That looks a bit heavy,’ Danny said, noticing that the basket was full to the brim with tins, a bag of flour, sugar, and several parcels wrapped in brown paper. ‘Let me carry it home for you.’

‘You don’t have to, Danny, I can manage.’

Looking displeased, and moving about restlessly as if anxious to be somewhere else, Randall reminded his brother, ‘We do have work to do back at Drovers.’

‘Nothing that won’t keep for another hour or so.’ The expression on Danny’s face was determined as he replied. He watched Randall shrug, say a crisp goodbye and turn away. Work. That was all his brother thought about these days. From sun-up to sunset. One chore after another. Some internal need was driving Randall, but, thank the Lord, Danny wasn’t possessed of the same desire, and besides, now he’d seen Amy Carmichael again, he’d be a damned fool not to take advantage of the fact that she might now conceivably be within reach. Danny believed he knew his own nature pretty well: he was a lot of things, some good and some not so good, but he was no fool!

By the time they’d completed the walk to Primrose Cottage, the name given to the home by the British-born Dr Samuel, Danny knew about the Adelaide banker and was buoyed by the impression that Amy wasn’t heartbroken. That she appeared enthusiastic about the move to Gindaroo and was looking forward to ‘fitting in’ had him cherishing the hope that at some time in the future, when he gathered his courage, he might begin to court her.

He deposited the basket of food on the kitchen table and was anticipating enjoying the cup of tea Amy had promised him when an older woman, probably the Carmichaels’ housekeeper, bustled into the kitchen.

‘Amy, you’re home. Good. A patient’s come in with a serious wound to his arm—he got snared in some barbed wire. Your father needs you to assist him in the surgery.’ Her voice dropped. ‘The patient’s making a great song and dance about the bleeding.’ Then, her distraction calming, she noticed Danny. ‘And who’s this?’

‘Danny McLean.’ Amy introduced him to Meg. ‘I helped nurse him in Britain.’

‘Who might the patient be?’ Danny asked, curious.

‘Someone named Walpole. Claims his father is very influential around here,’ Meg said dismissively.

‘Joe Walpole?’

‘Yes, that’s his name,’ Meg confirmed.

‘He’ll be difficult, all right. Joe’s renowned for being hard to handle.’

‘Then perhaps you might lend Dr Carmichael and Amy a hand. See if you can calm him down,’ Meg suggested.

‘Be glad to,’ Danny said with a grin. He looked at Amy. ‘Lead the way, Sister Carmichael.’

A woman and her young daughter sat in the waiting room, which was a screened-off part of the verandah. Amy walked past them into the surgery and Danny followed close behind. One look was enough to assess the situation. Amy’s father’s white cotton jacket was spattered with blood, there was a pool of blood on the linoleum floor, and from the examination bed, where the patient lay, came a series of colourful oaths punctuated by cries of pain.

‘Awww, Doc, you’re killing me…’

David Carmichael tightened the tourniquet around Joe’s arm. He gave his daughter a grateful smile as, after routine handwashing and without needing to be told, she began swabbing the wound.