by Amanda Deed
She handed it to him and went back to wringing her hands. Price placed her hat on the stand, then removed his own—a white Boss of the Plains—and hung it beside hers with pride. He’d acquired it just for his emigration to Australia after hearing of the hot, dry climate. ‘I have two rooms here. This front area is for barbering. Come through to the back, where I have the surgery set up.’
He led her past Patrick to the back room and gestured towards the surgery chair. ‘If you would sit here and lean back, I’ll examine your teeth.’
Miss O’Reilly didn’t move. Again, her eyes shifted around the room, glancing at everything but him. It was clear she was terrified. Was she afraid of him, or just afraid of what she might soon endure? He followed her gaze. Had he left any frightful looking instruments out? No, they were secured inside their chest. Perhaps it was the sample models of teeth that rested on the shelving, or the cylinder and mask which delivered nitrous oxide. It couldn’t be the various jars of tooth powders and toothache remedies.
‘Is something wrong, ma’am?’ Price ducked his head to try and gain eye contact with her, but she kept her gaze averted.
She swallowed. ‘Moses.’ The word came out at a whisper.
‘Moses?’
One hand went up to her shoulder and the huge bird stepped onto her wrist. ‘My cockatoo.’
At the mention of him, Moses bobbed up and down, fluttered his wings and squawked.
‘Oh. Is that what kind of bird he is? Of course. He needs a perch.’ Now it was Price’s turn to search the room. ‘Let’s see now.’ He ducked his head back through the door. ‘Patrick, bring me that spare stool will you?’
He turned back to see Miss O’Reilly sit in the chair while Moses hopped onto one of the armrests beside her. She propped her feet on the footrest and reclined back against the head rest.
Patrick appeared with the requested stool. ‘Where d’ya want it, sir?’
‘In the corner, thanks.’ Price gestured in the direction.
With the temporary perch in place, Miss O’Reilly gave a short command to her cockatoo. With no more than a few flaps of his large wings, Moses flew across to the stool. Price marvelled at the obedient bird and when he looked back to Miss O’Reilly to comment, he saw that she had now closed her eyes.
Apart from the white sheen to her skin, she appeared serene reclining there. Price moved closer, taking in the face, which until now, she had kept lowered toward the ground. A wealth of brown freckles spread over her nose and cheeks, standing out in stark contrast to her pallor. Aside from those sun kisses, there was not a mark on her complexion. Long ginger lashes splayed beneath her eyelids, a shade darker than the redness of her hair. Her face was heart shaped, her chin curving to a gentle point above her slender throat. Her nose had to be one of the most attractive he’d seen. Plain Jane, indeed. Why, she is very pretty. A fresh and innocent kind of beauty, was how he would describe it. His heart did a back flip.
He cleared his throat and tried to push the sudden attraction out of his mind. ‘Open your mouth please, Miss O’Reilly.’
2
‘Which tooth is giving you the problem?’
Miss O’Reilly raised a hand to her mouth and thrust a finger toward the back on her left side.
As he leaned closer, Price squinted at the lower molar she indicated. ‘Hmm.’
Patrick stepped up then with a basin of steaming water, a cloth draped over his forearm.
‘Ah. Thank you, Patrick.’ Price dipped his hands in the water and located a bar of soap. He washed his hands, then dried them on the offered towel.
Patrick shifted back to the bench where he rinsed his own hands.
Price leaned over Miss O’Reilly once again, this time using his fingers to stretch the flesh of her mouth away from the offending tooth. ‘I’m afraid it’s quite decayed. I’ll have to remove it.’
Miss O’Reilly offered no reply save a grunt, or was it a groan?
Pulling teeth was not pleasant for Price, and less for the patient. And this patient was a young lady. Perhaps that was why she passed his shop several times before approaching him. Maybe she suspected the tooth needed to be extracted. He let out a short breath ‘This will hurt some, Miss O’Reilly, I can’t pretend otherwise. But I’ll administer nitrous oxide, that’ll help you relax. Patrick, if you will.’ He gave his assistant a nod.
‘Nitrous oxide?’ Miss O’Reilly opened her eyes with alarm written in their depths.
‘Nothing to worry about, ma’am. Most folks call it laughing gas.’ He smiled at her to try and reassure her.
Patrick held the cylinder and placed the mask over her mouth and nose.
‘Just breathe in and out,’ Price instructed his patient. ‘In a moment you’ll start to feel a little fuzzy.’
Miss O’Reilly closed her eyes once again and followed his advice, although Price noted her hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles where white.
He glanced across at Moses, who at present sat preening his feathers. Price hoped cockatoos weren’t protective of their owners. Otherwise, he might soon be under attack. He turned back to his patient. ‘You have an interesting pet there, Miss O’Reilly.’
Her eyes flicked open again for a moment and she nodded beneath the mask. In the brief glimpses he’d had of those eyes, he saw that they were pale green in colour—an unnerving shade if ever he saw one. He’d always considered green eyes as almost transparent, as if the person saw straight through you. Had that fact worsened her reputation for being odd in this town?
As he waited for the gas to begin its work, he allowed his gaze to study this intriguing girl. Not only was her face captivating, but her figure curved with exquisite feminine shape. It was a wonder she didn’t have men queuing up for a moment of her attention. Did no one care to see past the sorry state of her clothes? It was obvious to Price she must be poverty stricken. A person would not dress poorly if they had the means to buy better garments. Clark did say she’d had a sorry life.
Her skirt appeared to have been patched and mended several times, while her shoes had holes in the toe. Not that he saw much of them. She kept them withdrawn beneath her dress, hidden from view. A frown creased his brow as a new observation struck him. Were they men’s shoes? From the glimpse he got, there was nothing feminine in their design. Poor girl. Her family must be destitute.
Price noticed Miss O’Reilly’s grip on the arm rests loosen, a good sign she was beginning to relax. ‘How do you feel now, ma’am?’
‘I’m all right.’ A giggle erupted after these muffled words from behind the mask.
Price smiled to himself. The nitrous was taking its effect. He gave a nod to Patrick who removed the gas mask, closing the valve and placing it on the bench.
‘I’ll need the tooth key, Patrick.’
Another gurgle of laughter bubbled from his patient. Everything would be funny for a moment. Until he pulled that tooth, at least.
Moses must have liked the sound of her laughter, for he bobbed up and down, and laughed himself, a perfect mimic of her. He flapped his wings and his crest fanned out from his brow. Price’s lips twitched, although he tried to keep his demeanour professional.
He sat on the stool next to his patient. ‘Now, Miss O’Reilly, just so you know what’s happening, Mr Sullivan must put his hands on your shoulders to hold you still while I get that tooth out.’
For the first time, she looked him in the eye. She giggled from the back of her throat and nodded her understanding. The cockatoo’s raucous laughter filled the air again.
‘Moses. Shh.’ Miss O’Reilly laughed.
‘Moses!’ The bird repeated and squawked again, flapping about on the stool.
Miss O’Reilly laughed louder and Moses copied her.
Price creased his brows into a perturbed frown. Although it was amusing to watch these two set each other off into great guffaws,
it made his work impossible. Even Patrick was finding it hard to contain his mirth. If Price didn’t act at once, he would succumb to the hilarity as well. Stifling a chuckle, he moved toward the cockatoo. ‘Do you mind if I move Moses into the other room for a few minutes?’
Miss O’Reilly shook her head, still cackling like a mother hen, and waved her hand as if to dismiss the bird. ‘Take him away.’
Coughing to suppress his own laughter, Price picked up the stool with the screeching cockatoo atop it, and stowed them in the front room. He pulled the door behind him before the bird followed. He went to the basin and re-washed his hands while Patrick and Miss O’Reilly’s laughter began to subside.
‘Now, take a few deep breaths, ma’am, and let’s see if we can get this tooth out.’
Miss O’Reilly obeyed, although a few titters still escaped her.
‘The tooth key, Patrick?’
With a broad grin, the assistant handed him the tool. The tooth key had an end shaped to grip the tooth and lever it out of the jawbone, while the handle resembled a key. Price nodded toward Patrick, their eyes locked in silent communication.
Patrick moved to Miss O’Reilly’s side and placed a firm hand on each shoulder, pinning her back into the chair.
‘Open wide, ma’am.’ Price tried to keep his tone light.
The young woman did so, another giggle sounding in the back of her throat.
Thankfully, the tooth was so rotten it took no more than a few wriggles to pry loose. Even so, the gas induced chortle turned to a deep groan of pain as the tooth pulled free. Price could not help but wince with sympathy as Miss O’Reilly’s humour dissipated like vapour on warm air, and white shock took its place. Her hand flew to her mouth as she cried out in agony.
Patrick released her and turned to collect a piece of gauze from the chest.
‘There now. It’s over, ma’am.’ As he received the gauze, Price rolled it into a wad. ‘Bite down on this, please. It will help with the bleeding.’
Still groaning, Miss O’Reilly allowed him to push the wad of gauze into the space he’d created.
‘Now, you should sit here for a while until the nitrous wears off.’ The pain itself would be enough to make her woozy, let alone the effects of the happy gas.
Price opened the surgery door and before he had even let go of the handle, the cockatoo flew into the room and alighted on Miss O’Reilly’s lap. The strange bird must have sensed her pain, for he leaned in to her chest, as though to embrace her. He watched in wonder as, in return, Miss O’Reilly held Moses to her with one hand and stroked his feathers with the other. What a bond these two shared. She obviously derived great comfort from this intimacy.
Once again, Price questioned why people called this girl plain. In the short time he had been in her presence, though she had not spoken above a handful of words, he had not found her plain or dull in the slightest.
Minutes later, as she paid for his services with a few small coins and bid him good day, Price racked his brain for an excuse to meet her again. ‘Don’t forget to gargle with salt water twice a day for the next few days, to prevent infection. In a week’s time, I’d like to check and make sure it’s healing properly, if you don’t mind.’
With every remnant of laughter gone and her eyes fixed on one of his shirt buttons, she nodded her agreement.
‘It was nice to meet you, Miss O’Reilly.’ How might he get her to converse with him?
She nodded again and turned to leave.
‘Where might I …’
The bell jingled above the door as it opened from the outside and two women stepped in—one matronly in appearance and the other youthful and blushing.
‘Mr Moreland. My daughter has the toothache. If you would be so kind as to take a look.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’ll just …’ It was too late. Miss O’Reilly had slipped out in that brief interruption, Moses riding on her shoulder.
He forced his gaze back to his new patient. Toothache, indeed. He’d seen several unmarried girls with apparent toothaches in the past week. Price raked a hand through his hair. In a short time, he’d become the newest town attraction. Holding back a frustrated sigh, Price waved them towards the surgery. ‘Right this way, ma’am.’
The pain in Jane’s jaw was indescribable. But even worse was the wave of humiliation which had stolen over her since that blasted gas wore off. What a fool she’d made of herself. I should have left Moses in his cage. She glanced up into a nearby tree where the bird waited as she trudged her way home. How cross Mr Moreland had looked with their silliness. Jane let out a low growl and kicked at a stone in her path. She couldn’t leave fast enough when it was over, or escape the town centre for that matter.
But she wasn’t ready to go home. Home meant more work, and she wanted to rest and let this ache wear off for a while. Jane eyed a track that broke off and led toward the river. She veered right and followed it. A rest in the shade by the peaceful waters sounded perfect.
Jane sat against the base of a huge gumtree and leaned back against its trunk. Moses flew to the ground beside her and began to forage for seeds, the occasional crack announcing he’d found one and clamped his beak around it. It never ceased to amaze her how he held a nut up in his talon, almost the way a human held food to their mouth. Jane let out a deep sigh, reaching out to stroke his feathers. He was a great friend. She shouldn’t be angry with him.
She tilted her head back against the bark of the giant tree and drank in the view. Jane always enjoyed the calm flowing river, with its reflections of overhanging limbs covering the mysterious depths. The breeze blew cool off the water and the shade added to the relief. The Murrumbidgee was never in a hurry, winding toward its destination, except when it was in flood. Then it became an angry torrent, sweeping everything in its path in the rush. Right now though, it was its usual peaceful self, enough to make one drift to sleep.
Jane was far from sleep, however. She still churned over her encounter with Mr Moreland. Only once or twice had she dared glance at him, then squeezed her eyes shut again. She had heard he was handsome, of course, but now she’d met him in person, he just might be the handsomest man she’d ever seen. Jane imagined his piercing blue eyes had seen right inside her, not that she’d spent much time looking into them. His hair reminded her of the Irish pine furniture scattered through their house, a golden-brown colour.
A twinge of guilt pulled at her conscience. She should not think about Mr Moreland’s looks. Hadn’t she hoped Danny would deepen their friendship and claim her affections? It would be quite duplicitous if she were to consider another man.
Danny. The only man who had ever looked past her ugliness and spent time with her. Of course, he wasn’t a man when it began. He had been a lad of twelve the first time they met, and she only eight. For the last ten years, he had travelled intermittently through Hay with the drovers, his father being in charge of the team. Sometimes they came through town several times in a year, sometimes once or twice, depending on how far they had to drive the stock. They passed via Hay, crossing the Murrumbidgee nearby at Bushy Point, on their way to Deniliquin or even Melbourne, where the stock was sold at market.
As opposed to Mr Moreland’s tall frame, chiselled looks and smooth hands, Danny had grown into a rugged, stocky bushman. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and his weathered hands were rough with calluses. Unlike any other man she’d known, Danny didn’t care that she was ugly, or that her clothes were unfashionable and worn. He’d never looked at her with scorn or disgust. He’d never called her that humiliating name her sisters and many others used. He may not be the handsome prince of her dreams, but he was there. He was constant. Over the years they had talked and laughed together often, and Jane hoped that one day Danny would make a declaration.
Jane closed her eyes and remembered back to the first time they had met. It had been a year since her Mama died, and around t
he time Papa took a new wife, bringing her new stepsisters along with her.
She had thought it would be a wonderful blessing to have sisters. No more stark loneliness. They might play princesses together, and share their dolls. But Jane learnt soon enough that none of that would happen. It was but another dream in her silly head, along with her old dreams of glimmering gowns and perfect hairdos. Harriet and Nancy looked upon her with derision and contempt from the outset.
After an incident where the girls had pulled at her hair and made fun of her, Aunt Ruby sent her to the drovers’ camp. She had handed Jane a basket full of scones, on top of which rested a jar of jam and a pot of whipped cream. With cheeks still wet with tears, Jane hadn’t wanted to go anywhere. But her aunt was just trying to give her a reprieve—time away from her sisters’ spiteful words.
‘Don’t dawdle now, lass, or that cream will spoil in the heat.’ Aunt Ruby sent her off with a frown, while Jane had wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere and cry.
But her dear mama’s plea ever rang in her ears. The words she parted with twelve months before in her lilting Irish brogue, ‘Be a good girl, my creena, do what’s right. Then the Good Lord will look after you, no matter what comes. Promise me, Jane. Promise me you’ll always be good for your pa.’
What else could a seven-year-old girl do, but make that pledge? And in the promising, she’d prayed and hoped above everything that her mother would not die. That hope though, along with every other hope and dream she’d ever held onto, was in vain. She had nothing left, save the oath she’d made to her mama and the desperate belief that the Good Lord would indeed watch over her.
Jane had hurried to the drovers’ camp with the basket, trying to hold back her tears of dejection, when a boy crossed her path, leading a buckskin stock horse.
‘What ya got there?’ He gave no greeting, no how-do-you-do, just showed a keen interest in her basket.
Jane had frozen in her tracks, too shy to reply, except to stammer a few words. ‘It … it’s for the d-drovers.’ The handsome animal behind him arrested her attention, tossing its main as though impatient to leave.
