Good Intentions

by Marg McAlister

  “Sure am,” she responded cheerfully. She grinned at Georgie. “Especially my new shoes. No way I’m leaving those behind to be burned up in any bushfire.”

  Georgie seconded that sentiment. “Same for me, Shirley. Those shoes are going to do a lot of walking in every state of Australia. They’re packed.”

  “Now that you ladies have decided on your priorities,” Scott said, “I’ll just go back up the LandCruiser and hitch up our van.”

  “Need a hand?” Georgie asked.

  “In a few minutes.” With a wave, Scott walked away to get the Jabiru hitched up and ready to leave.

  Georgie watched him go, and then turned around to look at the smoke haze on the horizon herself. “It doesn’t look to be much of a threat. Have you been caught up in a fire before?”

  “No. The houses I’ve lived in have all been in the suburbs of Melbourne. We’ve all seen it on TV, of course. Every summer there are bushfires raging somewhere in Australia. Some of them burn themselves out in isolated areas. Often they’re in forested regions, but even grass fires can sweep across and destroy homes.” Shirley started to walk towards her motorhome, and Georgie went with her. “What about you? I know you have bushfires in America too. Have you ever been near one?”

  “No. Like you, I’ve only seen TV coverage. But we call them wildfires over there. Or brushfires.” Georgie laughed, a little nervously. “I must say I hope that one keeps heading the other way. I don’t want my magical trip around Australia to be over before it’s even begun.” She looked at Shirley. “And the same goes for you, I guess. You’re only four months into your adventure, too.”

  “Hmmm.” Shirley looked pensive. “You know, until I started listening to you and Scott talking about your travels in America, and your plans here, I was thinking more in terms of running away than having an adventure. Now… You’ve got me thinking.”

  “Oh?” Georgie looked at her encouragingly. “That sounds promising.”

  “There’s a whole world out there, isn’t there?” Shirley said softly. “I’m healthy. I could travel for years before I need to settle down.”

  Georgie slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “You could indeed. It would be such fun if we could meet up with you somewhere on the road.” Then she said in a mock whisper, “Just don’t let Louise know that I’m plotting to take away her caretaker.”

  Shirley stopped and turned to look directly at Georgie. “I’d like to do that. If I could be just free of Jason. I’m so tired of thinking about it. He is always there, in the back of my mind.”

  She looked as though there was more she wanted to say, so Georgie bit her tongue and waited.

  “I’ll be enjoying myself somewhere, and there will be this dark feeling come out of nowhere. I know it’s not going to last, because one day Jason will turn up again.” She was silent for another long moment, and then made an impatient gesture. “But we’ve been through all this today. I’m sorry.”

  Georgie looked over to where Scott was signaling her. “I’ve got to go over and give Scott a hand for a moment. Can I just say one thing?”

  Shirley looked somewhat nervous, but inclined her head.

  “There’s something you’re holding back, and that’s fair enough—you don’t know Louise and me all that well. But why don’t you try us? I promise that even if we can’t help, we certainly won’t make it worse.” She ran her hand down over Shirley’s arm, and gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Just think about it. Sleep on it. We can catch up tomorrow.”

  “I will,” Shirley said, in a voice so low that Georgie almost had to read her lips. “And—thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. You’re a friend.”

  17

  Sleeping on It

  Scott checked his phone one more time, then stretched and yawned. “Everything looks fine. The status of the fire is still advice only, and Dad’s mates in the RFS will call him if there’s anything to worry about.”

  “That’s good to know.” Even though she knew the fire was on the other side of Tamborine Mountain, and heading away from them, Georgie couldn’t help feeling a bit nervous. Ironic, she thought, that they were spending the very first night in their new caravan hitched up ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Even at 10 o’clock at night it was still hot, and their small fan was doing little more than move warm air around.

  “We’ll take a look at the late news, and then turn in.” Scott aimed the remote at the TV, and then took her hand while they waited for the announcer to appear. “You’re on edge, aren’t you?”

  Georgie linked her fingers with his. “It’s just something new, that’s all. Never had to run for my life from a wildfire before. I mean, bushfire.”

  “You’re not likely to have to start running now, either. We’d be out of here well before it threatens.”

  The familiar pre-news music ran through its riff, and then the announcer smiled out at them. “It’s Katrina Morgan, and you’re watching Channel 14’s late news. Headlines today: Heatwave conditions have seen major bushfires erupt on three fronts in Victoria, New South Wales and Queensland, with a total of eleven other fires being monitored. In other news, a nightclub scandal threatens the career of a Rugby League legend, a woman goes on a hunger strike over the right to grow marijuana, and traffic is brought to a standstill on the M1 after two trucks collide head-on. Stay with us for those stories later, but for now, let’s look at the bushfire emergencies caused by extreme weather conditions—and we ask: is this due to El Nino?”

  “Naturally,” Scott said as the screen filled with images of firefighters silhouetted against soaring flames. “Why not blame everything on El Nino?”

  Georgie watched the footage, her heart going out to a couple who stood looking at the remains of their home, now reduced to rubble in a heavily forested area of Victoria. “Poor things. Imagine what it must feel like.”

  “Happens every year,” Scott said. “It’s impossible to predict where fires will strike next, but people generally are getting better at keeping a clear zone between their homes and the scrub. Local councils are becoming more aware, too.”

  They watched while the TV station summarized the situation both nationwide and in Queensland. The Mount Tamborine fire rated only a brief mention, and then there was a ninety-second opinion piece by a weather expert before the anchor moved on to other news.

  “Love these experts that they trot out at a moment’s notice,” Scott said. “You watch, they’ll talk about this Rugby League guy scandal, and there’ll be another ‘expert’ talking about damage control and the pressures on famous athletes. And then there’ll be someone else with an opinion on legalized drugs.”

  Georgie laughed. “And the truck accident? What about that?”

  “Take your pick. One, we need better roads or two, we need more stringent checks on truck driver’s logbooks. They might trot out a politician for that one…grill him on what they’re doing about improving the roads.”

  They watched the news through to the end, and just as Scott had predicted, a couple of smooth-talking politicians appeared on the screen to snipe at each other about the federal budget for road works. He cut the last ‘expert’ off halfway.

  “That’s enough.” He put the remote control aside and turned to smile at Georgie. “Think you’ll be able to rest easy now you know there’s no fire licking at the caravan door?”

  Georgie smoothed her hand over her new quilt, feeling the texture of the fabric and ribbon that Louise had used. “Under this divine quilt? I’ll sleep like a top.”

  “If you try to sleep under that, you’ll be breaking out in a sweat in seconds. Just a sheet tonight.” Scott slid off the bed to help her fold the quilt. “Bit different from when we left Elkhart, eh?”

  “Snow versus bushfires? You could say that.”

  Through the window behind the bed, Georgie could see the lights on in Shirley’s motorhome. Outside it stood a lone camp chair and table. Like the rest of them, Shirley
had packed up everything else, ready to evacuate in minutes.

  An odd feeling swept through her, and Georgie stopped what she was doing to stare at the motorhome.

  Something had just come through to her, tickling at the back of her mind. That annoying kind of ‘something’, that teased at the very edge of awareness.

  Intuition, she thought. There was something she should be paying attention to. Something she was missing.

  She peered into the darkness outside, trying to relax, let whatever it was filter through to where she could seize it and look at it.

  He wouldn’t be out there, would he? Jason. Chook, as Shirley called him.

  No, if he were there, waiting outside ready to pounce, she would know it. She would be hearing alarm bells, not this insistent, dull prodding.

  Scott, alerted by her inactivity, followed her gaze. “You’re still worried about her.”

  “Yes.” She looked at him, and then at the faint shadows of the trees against the moonlit sky. Earlier, she’d told him what she and Louise had managed to extract from Shirley. “I don’t think he’s out there. I’m sure I’d feel it. But—you know how it feels when pieces of the puzzle start to come together? You look at a jumble of…stuff, and you know the piece you’re looking for is there, but you’re not looking at it the right way?”

  Scott nodded, folding the quilt into a square and putting it on the table. “You think it’s something here, where we are, or related to what Shirley told you today?”

  She couldn’t answer that. “I don’t know. Either. Or both.”

  “You want to do a reading? I can do the cards, while you try the crystal ball.”

  “I tried that earlier, while you and your Dad were checking the gutters on the house. I got nothing new.”

  “How about we sleep on it, then. See if anything’s clearer in the morning.”

  It was, she decided, as good an approach as any. Many times, the answer had come to her after she relaxed and let her subconscious do the work.

  Fifty yards away, Shirley’s light went out.

  “Let’s try to get some sleep,” she said. “Everything might look different tomorrow.”

  18

  Dawn

  In the early hours of the morning, the weather changed. Scott felt the wind rise, until by sunup it was buffeting the caravan.

  Just what the Rural Fire Service didn’t want. Hot weather and windy conditions usually brought disaster. Bushfires could roar out of control in a frighteningly short time, racing cross-country and leaping from treetop to treetop.

  Or house to house.

  He checked the app on his phone, and then found the remote and clicked on the weather channel.

  Beside him, Georgie woke up and plumped up a pillow behind her head, watching with him. “What’s happening?”

  “Wind’s come up. We’ll get an update here.”

  On the screen, a map of the east coast appeared, with little icons shaped like flames pinpointing the areas where fires had broken out.

  “The fires down south are the worst,” Scott said as he watched. “The Blue Mountains in New South Wales has volunteers coming in from other states.”

  “What about here?”

  “No change so far, but with this wind, anything could happen. Right now we’re okay.” Scott turned to look at her. “Have you figured out what it was that was nagging at you about Shirley?”

  Georgie made a face. “No. I think I need to talk with her again. She’s had time to mull over things after our outing yesterday.”

  “You can update her on the bushfire status, that’ll give you an excuse to talk.”

  “I’ll do that. None of us will be going anywhere today anyway, while we wait to see what happens with the fire.” Georgie threw back the sheet and swung her feet onto the floor. “I’m going to do a reading.”

  “I’ll join you.” Scott hadn’t read the cards for more than a week, leaving it up to his mother and Georgie while he and his father had focused on preparing the new rig for travel and just catching up generally, after his years overseas.

  He opened the drawer that held his well-worn deck of cards, wrapped in silk, and took a seat opposite Georgie at the table. He cut the deck a few times, holding the image of Shirley in his mind, and then laid out a seven cards in a fan shape.

  While he didn’t have the insights that his mother did—or Georgie, for that matter—Scott could sense trends, danger, difficulty. It was rare for him to see anything specific, but in the past, he’d seen enough to warn someone, or keep a closer eye on things himself. That had paid off, both in forests across the States and in wilderness areas in Australia.

  Aligned with whatever Georgie might see, it could be enough for a breakthrough.

  Georgie folded her arms on the table and watched him, her crystal ball still covered.

  Scott let his eyes move from one card to the next, slowly, while he absorbed what it meant; how one card related to the next or subtly altered the meaning of another. He didn’t force it or try to impose meaning. That never worked. You just considered the situation, or the question in someone’s mind, and waited to see what came.

  Georgie said nothing, her eyes flicking from the cards to him. She’d learned a little from him and his mother about what the cards meant, but for her, it was mostly about the crystal ball.

  As usual, he followed up the first spread with a six-card answer spread and then a quick 3-card confirmation, with his focus being Shirley’s current situation.

  Finishing with a 3-card spread would sometimes add urgency to a warning, and at other times dilute the first impression. He always checked.

  “OK,” he said finally, sweeping the cards back into a pack. “You want my take on this now, or after we see what you get?”

  “After.” Georgie lifted the black velvet cloth off the crystal ball, and it immediately glowed in warm tones of orange and scarlet, reflecting the colors of the sky at sunrise through the window.

  Scott saw her expression change, and the slight tremor in her fingers.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just a thought. The reflection of the sky…it reminded me of the bushfires we saw on TV last night.”

  Georgie cupped both hands around the crystal ball, closing her eyes for a moment as she focused. Scott never tired of watching her when she communed with it like this. It blew his mind, if he allowed himself to think about it—that she could reach into some kind of deep pool of knowledge and understanding, and draw out something that would help someone. Make their life just a little bit better.

  Or a lot better, as she had done so many times in the past.

  Her breathing slowed, and her hands opened so that just her fingertips were touching the sides of the crystal globe. She opened her eyes and stared intently into the depths.

  Scott saw the first wisps of mist appear at the same time she did. Georgie sat forward on her seat slightly, her dark eyes focused.

  The mist swirled, still tinged with the color of flames, and then the image of a bushy plant appeared. Green, leafy, healthy. It was joined by others, clumped together, dozens of them. Then, as they watched, smoke enveloped them. Yes, it was smoke, Scott thought; not just the usual mist in the crystal ball.

  There was fire there. Were they really going to be at risk?

  That fitted with what he had seen in the cards, but he’d seen more than that.

  Had Georgie picked up on it?

  Georgie smoothed her hand over the crystal surface, and looked up at him for a second before returning to a study of what was in front of her.

  Scott held his tongue. If Georgie wanted his input, she’d say something.

  The smoke and leafy green plants slowly faded, and in their place was an image of a man, lying back on a sofa, looking worn and sick.

  Looking as though he had just about finished with the world, Scott thought. He guessed he was looking at Shirley’s husband; the man Georgie had seen before.

  “Norm,” she said softly, confirming it.
“Shirley’s husband.”

  Scott kept his eyes on the crystal ball, fascinated. The image blinked out, and instead he saw an image of Shirley’s face. She seemed to be preparing a meal, standing at the kitchen counter, and then the perspective changed and they could see the back of someone sitting there talking to her.

  Skinny guy, lank shoulder-length hair, t-shirt too small and riding high at the back, exposing a strip of skin between his jeans and the t-shirt.

  Probably Jason, the stepson.

  The two were talking, and then Shirley abruptly stopped what she was doing and yelled at him. At least, that was what Scott assumed she was doing. There was no actual sound.

  Scott glanced at Georgie’s face again. Sometimes, with the Sight, she got audio clues—heard a name, or a fragment of conversation. Sometimes she could see words in her mind.

  Not this time, it seemed. Her forehead was creased, as though she was trying to make sense of it all.

  Then, all at once, the images of Shirley and the man at the kitchen counter faded, and inside the crystal ball there was nothing but flames.

  Georgie’s fingers convulsed, and she shot him a quick, fearful look.

  “Those were flames, weren’t they?” she asked him. “Not just a reflection of the sunrise. Flames, and before that smoke, and that bush burning…you saw it, didn’t you? All of it.”

  “I saw.”

  Georgie put a hand to her heart, clearly trying to remain calm.

  “Was that the bushfire? Do we need to run—warn the others?”

  He had been a little shaken by the flames himself, but he wasn’t going to let Georgie see that. “We’re safe now. Georgie, I promise that we’ll leave here in time, if fire threatens. Nobody here is going to risk people’s lives.”

  She gave a tiny nod. “OK.”

  “Let’s start with what I saw,” he said, tapping the cards. “I did the spread with Shirley in mind, but also thinking about how what’s going on in her life will impact on those around her. You, me, mum and dad.”