Words drifted over her head like feathers falling in a dream. ‘I remember I love you. I remember I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
It was true. She couldn’t believe this was happening. A tiny voice whispered, Why can’t you believe it? Suddenly, the dream popped like a soap bubble on its way to the sky. She slid her hands from his and sat back. She mentally stepped back as well and stared at him, blowing out a long stream of held breath.
Yes, she wanted to believe him, but … ‘So what dark and dreadful memory stopped you from remembering that before? Why were you so frightened of remembering me?’
His intense gaze captured hers and held it. ‘It wasn’t because I was afraid of us.’ He ran his hand through his hair, tousling it, and she tried not to be diverted by the urge to lean forward and touch him.
‘I remember the crash, the tumbling, the stop, and then I saw you. I thought you’d died. I was conscious the whole time we rolled.’ He leaned forward and very gently touched the pink scar on her forehead, a pale reminder of a close call. ‘The blood,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘The position of the blow in the centre of your forehead. It was so similar to Roslyn. I thought you’d died too. Or worse. That you were comatose, like she was. My brain couldn’t bear it because it was my fault again.’
Okay. She could see it had a form of deja vu horror attached. But … ‘How was it your fault?’ That she didn’t get. She’d been the one driving. The campervan had instigated their involvement.
He threw his hands out, probably aware he had no explanation that would satisfy her. ‘You looked dead. I wasn’t thinking straight. I promised myself I would keep you safe. I failed.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s my job to keep myself safe.’
He squeezed his hair again, took a deep breath and settled. ‘It was my fault that you ended up like Roslyn and I blocked it out. Who knows? Maybe my subconscious decided that if I forgot you then you’d be safe. Safe from dying. Safe from me.’
She could even get that. A little.
‘I don’t care why.’ He cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘But now that I’ve remembered, I can’t do that. Please don’t be safe from me. I want to live my life with you.’
She narrowed her eyes at him, but inside her heart had begun to bounce around, chirping and singing like a desert cricket. ‘I love you, Zac. But I’ve got to be a bit cautious after everything.’
He stopped. Looked at her.
‘The fact that we come from different worlds has been a major factor. What’s the plan? Where will we live? Part-time together, part-time long distance? Do we both travel to work in places like Weipa and have adventures?’
‘I had that prepared in Uluru. We’ll have a long engagement and we’ll try it all. I know you belong here.’
She could see the truth in his words: he had thought about it. Maybe more than she had until this moment. Then it was true. They could and would do this and this would work, because he was her destiny. But he’d put her through hell and she couldn’t help giving a little back.
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good. Think about it.’ He raised his brows and pulled her closer until she leaned across the table towards him. ‘You have ten seconds.’ Then he swooped in and kissed her. He pulled back and touched her cheek with one gentle finger. ‘You have such strength and love and –’ he waggled his brows – ‘and humour, because that’s a joke, right?’ He didn’t look too worried.
She smiled at him and nodded.
‘Thank you.’ His smile back nearly blinded her. ‘You help me appreciate things I forgot to appreciate years ago. But most of all, I need you because I love you.’
Did she love him? This big, beautiful, high-maintenance man of hers? Hell yeah. But she was soaking in this outpouring of declarations. She had almost given up – she actually had given up yesterday – and she did need the reassurance.
The repetition.
The comfort.
‘Marry me,’ he said, and pulled his wallet from his pocket. ‘See what I found and didn’t know why I had it.’
Now we’re talking. ‘You almost asked me once before.’ She smiled and he reached over and took her hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingers. Then he slid the gorgeous pink diamond ring onto her finger.
‘I’m not waiting to do this. Be my wife.’
She stared with blurred eyes at the beautiful engagement ring. Then she leaned over and met him above the middle of the table and kissed his waiting mouth. ‘Yes.’
‘Let me show you how much I love you.’ He looked around at the other diners and smiled. ‘But not here.’
‘Yeah. Get a room,’ one of the older men said teasingly, and the people around them laughed. Some applauded.
Zac smiled and stood, then went around to pull out her chair. ‘Let’s start again.’
In a room, a different room, Ava wrapped her arms around the man she’d thought would never hold her like this again, and savoured the strength and vitality that she’d thought was out of her reach forever. She held him as if she would never, ever let him go.
She kissed him, putting into that kiss all the love she’d been holding back, all the fear, all the frustration she’d felt at his loss of memory, and to her absolute delight he returned it tenfold. Her hands slid up and over the taut muscles bunched beneath his shirt, and she curved her fingers into his shoulders and neck with a sigh of delicious deja vu as the kiss deepened. Tongues touched, tasted, entwined, and she jammed herself closer.
He slid his hands down her back and cupped her bottom so that he could lift her slightly towards him. He groaned, a deep, growling noise that made her mouth tilt under his. Oh yeah. Her big, strong man was the perfect size. Ava wasn’t sure if it was the loss of the ground beneath her feet or the sudden depth of his kiss that made her feel as though she were flying. Either way, she didn’t want Zac to stop.
She felt like she’d been starved of this. As though she’d waited a lifetime to be back in his arms.
‘You sure you remember? You’re not just tricking me into seduction?’
‘Absolutely.’ He leaned over her and brushed the hair away from her eyes, and the expression she saw on his face and in his eyes stopped the world and the laughter, and brought the sting of tears as well as a swell in her heart. Her hand lifted unconsciously to her chest and pressed. Speaking of hearts. What if the love of your life finally remembered who you were?
He took her face between his fingers and gazed into her eyes. ‘Ava, I’m serious. I want us to be like this always. Talking. Hugging. Loving. Forgiving. Me holding your hand. Wherever we are, till death do us part. I need to marry you. Forever. I can see us being one of those old couples walking along hand in hand. Into a desert sunset.’ He dipped his head and kissed her once more. ‘I promise I’ll renew the vow at Uluru soon. But for now, will this do? Please?’
There was no doubting the searing need and also the slight trepidation she could see in his eyes. Was he that blind not to see how deeply she cared for him? She blinked away the tears that threatened to make this magical moment too misty to see.
She drew a deep breath. ‘I love you, Zac. I loved you from the first morning after our unexpected night together.’
He stared at her, momentarily speechless, then shook his head. ‘You did not.’ He brushed his lips against hers with so much tenderness she shivered.
‘Okay. Maybe not the first day. But the next day when you asked me back for breakfast. Seriously. Breakfast. So many promises of food that I didn’t get.’ She lifted her face and kissed him again.
They didn’t speak for a while. They were too busy. Too enthralled.
Finally, he lifted his head. ‘I couldn’t take my eyes off you on the flight.’
‘I watched your hands.’ She reached down and pulled one up to kiss his fingers, then laughed. ‘I was berating myself for just following you when you waggled your fingers. I do love these fingers.’
‘And they love you.’ He undid the last but
ton on her shirt and he pushed it aside. ‘My wife-to-be.’
Chapter Fifty-two
Stella
Two months later
Stella looked across to where Zac stood in the centre of a red sandy knoll. He’d been positioned directly in line with Uluru’s blessing under a white metal archway that fluttered with ribbons. He’d been instructed where to stand by Ava, with Poddy as best man, as they waited for her to arrive.
The archway, intricately welded together by Mim, would later be returned to stand in the rose garden at Setabilly Station. Stella and Lorenzo had already made good use of it at their own wedding a month ago.
In a few minutes, Ava and Zac would celebrate their nuptials on one of the many ochre-red sandhills between Uluru and Kata Tjuta.
The whole event would be framed by the benevolent ancient mountain range in the distance and the endless plains filled with promise. This was all the Anangu people’s country, stretching away forever. An orange-brown dusted land, with the sage of desert foliage, between two magnificent icons glowing as the afternoon prepared for sunset. A land that Stella, and many other people here today, loved with a passion.
Round tables had been set below the sandy hillock, white chairs and linen tablecloths in the desert, waiting to seat the guests who stood with rounded eyes, awestruck by the venue, turning this way and that at the desert beauty around them.
They’d arrived from Sydney like vivid birds in their colourful shirts, hats and dresses, streaming from the resort bus along the maroon carpet walkways. Others had arrived from the stations around Alice Springs, from the hospitals, big and tiny, and remote health centres. All were waiting for the bride, and Stella enjoyed the excitement of Ava’s friends, the respect she’d earned from her workmates, the warmth of the smiling faces. Most of all, she enjoyed the expectation of the groom.
A whisper of noise heralded the long black car as it slowed and stopped beside the carpet at the base of the hill. Stella clutched Lorenzo’s hand.
Jock stepped out in a dark suit, tall and sturdy, a quirk of a smile on his handsome face as he moved to the rear door. My baby is well again. Whole. He opened the door and Denise, Ava’s best friend, stepped out dressed in a magnificent maroon strapless dress, Australian wildflowers in her hand and her thick dark hair coiled like a crown.
Then Jock reached in to give the bride his arm and Ava stepped out.
Ava’s white dress fell simply from the top of her breasts to the tips of her silver shoes and she drew a gasp from the onlookers as she came to stand behind Denise. Her face radiated a serene, glowing joy that softened the faces of everyone she touched with her emotion.
Stella felt the tears sting her eyes and she heard Mim sniff beside her. ‘Bella Ava,’ Lorenzo’s whisper carried to his wife, as his daughter-in-law stepped onto the carpet and stopped, waiting. ‘Così bella,’ he whispered.
‘Così?’ his wife looked at him. ‘So beautiful?’
‘Sì. Like her mama.’
The crowd hushed and silence fell over the sands until the low, growling sounds of the didgeridoo filled the air with rumbling cadences, drawing emotion with a command that carried to the rear of the assembly. The wedding party began their entrance. Denise’s husband had offered to play the didgeridoo when Ava had asked Denise to be her bridesmaid, and the pulses of sound lifted the hairs on Stella’s arms as her daughter walked up the red carpet to the top of the sandhill.
It’s perfect, Stella thought.
Denise trod the carpet in a stately walk, and on the knoll ahead of her Zac’s gaze fixed on his bride.
Ava seemed to float behind her bridesmaid in a shimmer of white light until, finally, she stopped beside him. The delicate grevilleas in her bouquet didn’t shake as her gaze held his with a wealth of love.
Just before sunset, with the burnished copper of Kata Tjuta glowing like the heart of a fire, they pledged in front of family and friends until husband and wife turned to face the desert and those who loved them.
Zac raised Ava’s hand and the magnificent pink diamond flashed in the light, along with the wedding ring beside it. ‘I introduce you to my wife, Ava May-Logan.’ His voice resonated deep and clear and full of pride, and those who watched applauded and cheered. The sound of the didgeridoo rose strongly, swelling with the joy of the moment above the cacophony, and promised in vibrating throbs the fullness of their life to come.
As they descended into the throng, Zac held firmly onto his wife’s hand. Stella saw Ava pause and dip her head as she pointed to the ground, and Mim and Stella laughed as they both saw the subtle movement in the dirt as a thorny devil lizard wandered away. Ngiyari. Ava’s desert friend had come to watch the ceremony.
Acknowledgements
As you come to the close of my new book, The Desert Midwife, I hope you have enjoyed the time spent in the Red Centre of Australia. I have grown to treasure these people and places in my heart. This story gave me some labour pains – funny how some book babies are more intense than others in creation! – but here we are. The End. And I’m proud of her.
As always, there are so many people and places I drew inspiration from, who supported me, whom I want to thank with sincere gratitude for their role in the birth and nurturing of this book. As for places, of course, there is Australia’s glorious Uluru and the evocative desert lands that surround this most magnificent natural wonder. As I rested my awed hand on the rough walls, walked the base and sat at the waterhole, I could almost feel its heartbeat. I hope this book encourages everyone to seek the chance sometime in their life to spend a while at this mystical power centre on earth and perhaps learn from the wisdom of the Anangu people.
In this book, I offer my view as a non-Indigenous midwife, and so I want to thank those who helped me write about Indigenous women and communities. My thanks to Suzie Dean, a real desert midwife, who read the early version and shared insight into situations and people she came across while working in remote communities in central Australia. You are a champion, Suze. To Rachel Scoltock, a friend and mentor, who referred me to Jennifer Cowley, author of the book I Am Uluru. Jen kindly referred me to the incredible Linda Rive, who coordinates a digital archive of all things Anangu called ‘Ara Irititja’. Linda’s insight and generous offer to share my relevant chapters with women elders was such a bonus, and together with Penguin Random House I send a huge thank you to Linda and to elder, Yanyi Bandicha, for their guidance and kindness in relation to my story.
Thanks to the wonderful staff at the Desert Gardens Hotel, who really are as fabulous as Zac said, and the ‘rock view room’, which really is special. When you go to stay, please don’t miss the Sounds of Silence dinner. Soak in that night sky.
To Kym Cramps, way back in Broken Hill, for the second use in my writing of her mailbox, a tiny metal homestead complete with miniature working windmill, which Granny Mim creates in this book. It really does stand outside Mount Gipps Station for mail, and if you want to see it there’s a small video of it turning in the wind on the Facebook page for my book The Homestead Girls. Kym, I hope I have captured some of the angst of station owners waiting for rain while the land dries out and your animals suffer. You are all such heroes, those who live on the far-flung stations of the outback and greet each day with hope for the land and livestock you love.
At Penguin Random House, I’d like to thank my publisher, Ali Watts, and my editor, Amanda Martin, for their faith in my writing and for their fab input all through this book journey. Thank you also to the insightful Alex Nahlous for her lovely compliments and work on the manuscript, and Penelope Goodes. And not forgetting the wonderful cover designer and the huge team of wonderful people who launch a book from my computer into the world!
Thank you to my agent, Clare Forster, and Ben Stevenson from Curtis Brown for your support and advice as always.
Thank you to my writing friends – there’s nothing like having your own tribe to feel nurtured – especially my dear writing pal Trish Morey, way over in South Australia but just her
e beside me via email. You pushed me towards the finish line as we leapfrogged our word counts, a new game we both draw strength and story progression from as life gets busy at inconvenient moments like deadlines. To Annie Seaton and the Wicked Writers of Words in my local writers group, you guys rock. The Desert Midwife is in fact the longest book I’ve ever written, and the first I’ve ever had to cut scenes from. I can hear my writing friends laughing – especially Rachael Johns, who very kindly provided the lovely quote on my cover. You really are a wonderful woman, Rachael. Thank you.
To you, dear readers, who buy and borrow my books, and send me fab messages on my Facebook, and share photos of my book babies when you see them on the shelves, I am so blessed to have you in my life and will always be grateful for your support and kindness. Thank you.
And lastly, and always, to my own dear hero Ian, who has suffered along the sometimes torturous, zigzag trail this book has taken, the book he called the never-ending story, with each new version not quite the last. It’s done. I’m yours. Until the next one, dear Ian. xx
About the Author
Drawing from her life as a rural midwife, Fiona McArthur shares her love of working with women, families and health professionals in her books. In her compassionate, pacey fiction, her love of the Australian landscape meshes beautifully with warm, funny, multigenerational characters as she highlights challenges for rural and remote families, and the strength shared between women. Happy endings are a must.
Fiona is the author of non-fiction book Aussie Midwives, and lives on a farm with her husband in northern New South Wales. She was awarded the NSW Excellence in Midwifery Award in 2015. Find her at FionaMcArthurAuthor.com.
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