‘Why?’ he groaned as he settled her curves into the folds of his body. ‘I’m bushed, in more ways than one. All I’m good for is a shower and a good night’s sleep.’
Her fingers moved, sliding beneath his T-shirt to stroke his chest, relishing the feel of muscles tensing at her touch. Her nostrils inhaled the musky scent of him, accentuated by the day’s heavy workload as he’d helped the removalists unload, position furniture, unpack boxes and hang curtains.
‘We could test out the shower together…’ she whispered suggestively with an accompanying smile, ‘then we’ll see whether all you’re good for is a good night’s rest.’
He grinned as he pulled her close. ‘Hmm, Mrs d’Winters, you are a wicked woman. What am I going to do with you?’
The fingers of her right hand came up to caress his features and when she spoke her tone was husky. ‘Anything your heart desires, my love.’
Three patients braved the ferocity of a summer thunderstorm on Monday morning to attend Jason’s first surgery, and each brought a little something to welcome the new doctor and his receptionist wife: a bunch of flowers, a bag of apples, a bottle of pickled cucumbers. In the afternoon he saw two patients and did one house call.
By Friday the necessary office and waiting room furniture arrived. Daily surgery numbers had doubled and Brooke now had ten bottles of pickled cucumbers, five jars of marmalade and several indoor plants for the house.
‘We’re going to have to look at getting a second car.’ Jason said as they sat at the dinner table that evening. ‘Something small and economical for house calls. Looks like some of them will be as far as thirty minutes away by car.’
‘That will stretch the budget.’
‘Or,’ he said, pretending to think it over, ‘Frank Galea at the service station is rebuilding a motorbike, an old ’85 Triumph. I said I’d help him with it on Saturday afternoons for an hour or two since I know a bit about bikes from my jackerooing days. I think I could get it for a reasonable price when he’s finished it.’
‘I’m not a fan of motorbikes.’ Brooke’s tone was serious despite Jason’s enthusiastic expression. ‘Maybe we could borrow a bit more from the bank—enough for a small car.’ In the end Jason and Brooke had not been able to get enough from selling Jason’s share in the medical practice to cover the purchase of the cottage, so they’d had to take out a loan for the remainder of the price and the associated legal fees. As well, both were aware that until the practice built up and the retirement village, which also had nursing-home facilities, was built and filled, finances were going to be tight.
‘I don’t want to get into more debt.’ There was a stubborn set to Jason’s jaw as he spoke. ‘I’m sure Frank’d let me pay the bike off, and it’d be less than two thousand dollars.’
‘Wanna motorbike, Daddy. Vroom, vroom,’ Luke encouraged, twisting his hands as if he were holding a bike’s handlebars and opening the throttle.
‘Later on I could have a sidecar put on to take the twins on rides,’ Jason added.
‘Yeah, sidecar! That’d be great, Daddy.’ Adam was all for it.
Brooke looked at the three male family members and realised she was being subtlely outmanoeuvred. ‘Okay,’ she gave in grudgingly, ‘but it has to be roadworthy before you buy it.’
‘I’ll wait and see how well Frank spruces it up,’ Jason said as he helped Brooke stack plates on the kitchen sink.
‘By the way, Wes and the kids are coming over for a brief visit later tonight. They haven’t seen the place yet. You don’t mind, do you, love?’ he added with a kiss on her forehead.
She quickly stifled the sense of irritation that arose within her. She’d looked forward to just the two of them talking about the week’s events and planning future things for the house once the boys were asleep. ‘Of course not, they’re always welcome.’
‘I think Fleece wants to apologise to us for what happened with Luke. Wes said she felt so guilty that she’s made little gifts for everyone.’
‘There’s no need…’
‘I know.’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t his idea. She wanted to, Wes said.’
Brooke smiled. She really did like Fleece, and Drew, even though the boy was almost impossible to get a response out of. She laughed and raised her eyebrows as she said, ‘That’s very sweet of her; I just hope the “gifts” don’t include another bottle of pickled cucumbers!’
He smiled back at her, amused. ‘Agreed. We’re going to be eating them for months as it is. That’s one of the problems in the country: when there’s a glut of produce people try to preserve as much as possible so nothing gets wasted.’
In the end, the evening with the Sinclairs was more pleasant than Brooke had anticipated. Wes praised their efforts with the house and Fleece gave the twins a decorative wastepaper basket she had made for their bedroom. There was a patchwork cushion for Brooke and Jason, and the Sinclair’s housekeeper, Nina, had baked a huge apple pie for dessert.
They sat on the side verandah until an unseasonal chill drove them inside and Jason lit the fire in the lounge room. The three boys played on the back verandah, which had been designated as a play area. Wes and Jason talked about ‘country matters’: the price of wool, harvesting, soil degradation, the difficulty in getting experienced jackaroos, and Brooke and Fleece escaped to tidy the kitchen.
‘So you went to your mum’s wedding after all?’
‘Yeah.’ Fleece shrugged her shoulders. ‘It wasn’t too bad. Her new husband is kind of okay. He’s a top Queensland barrister, according to Mum. Like she plans to be one day. They live in this beaut penthouse apartment overlooking the Brisbane River, with its own swimming pool and a huge patio and everything.
Real cool. I call him Ken, you know, not Dad. I said I wouldn’t call him Dad and he was okay with that.’
Brooke limited her smile, careful not to jeopardise the tenuous friendship between them. She sensed that young Fleece needed a woman to talk to and had designated her as a worthy listening ear. ‘Good. And what’s the situation with boarding school?’
‘I think I’ve got Dad on my side now, and he’s the one who pays the bills. Mum’s still pushing for it, of course, but we’ll see…’
Brooke stacked the dishes in the cabinet and gave the benchtops another wipe down. She couldn’t imagine this strong-willed girl doing anything she didn’t want to, and wondered what punishment Wes had prescribed over the incident with Luke and the cow.
As if tuning into her thoughts, Fleece suddenly admitted, ‘Dad grounded me for two weeks over that Biddy thing, you know. I couldn’t ride my horse, Sunny, or go to friends’ places after school or on weekends. It was such a drag. But,’ and she grinned repentantly, ‘I spent the time making those gifts for you and the boys, so it wasn’t too bad.’
‘Disciplining children isn’t easy for parents. I find it hard with the twins. If they’ve been naughty I can’t just send them to their room ’cause they end up playing together and that’s no punishment. I have to separate them, then deny them something they individually like.’
‘Such as?’ Fleece wanted to know.
‘Adam loves that show on television—“The Power Rangers”. If he’s naughty I don’t let him watch it. And with Luke, if I take away a couple of the toys he loves to play with, that’s punishment enough for him.’ She smiled at her young friend. ‘Come on, we’ll make coffee for the guys and milkshakes for the boys to go with Nina’s apple pie.’
Within a month the d’Winters household had settled amazingly well into country life. Jason’s practice forged ahead once the grapevine had confirmed to those interested that he was a capable doctor. Brooke acted as surgery receptionist during the day while the twins were at day care, but it soon became apparent that more medical facilities were needed in Bindi Creek over and above the medical practice.
This got Brooke thinking. Most nights, after the twins had settled down, she and Jason would mull over how they could attract further medical facilities to the small town on a
part-time basis. They settled on the need for a physiotherapist, an early childhood clinic, pathology—mainly oncology collecting—podiatry and, possibly later on, optometry services. First they had to establish that the community supported such a project, so a town meeting was held in the meeting hall of St John’s Anglican Church. Over sixty people attended. After some debate, most agreed on the need for extra facilities. Jean King was vocal in this regard, and a four-person committee consisting of the d’Winters, Jean and Frank Galea was selected to approach the medically aligned facilities in Cowra, which was the closest sizeable town to Bindi Creek. If they weren’t successful there, then Goulburn would be next on the list.
Brooke did most of the work approaching the various people. Although she was a stranger in the community, she was chosen because she had some medical knowledge, was articulate, enthusiastic and, together with Jason, had formulated a medically based community business plan, one that would not see any of the facilities used out of pocket.
Initially she met with lukewarm interest from most, other than the State department responsible for early child development. Surprisingly, the department agreed with the need and, if suitable facilities in Bindi Creek could be found, then they would organise a sister to be available one afternoon every fortnight.
Reverend Laurie Dupayne of St John’s Anglican Church came to the party with the offer of a venue. Part of the meeting hall could be partitioned off into two rooms, and storage facilities would be provided as needed.
It took three months of persistent negotiating to get the various parties together and on board for the community medical centre. Brooke could see that, where there was a will, similar schemes could be adopted in other small towns throughout New South Wales. Graziers Hugh Thurtell and Wes Sinclair had been vocal and enthusiastic in their support for the scheme, and that had gone a long way towards convincing the various medicos to participate. The two men had initiated a team of builders to make the necessary additions to the church building and had done a whip round to fund it, though Brooke suspected that both Wes and Hugh had made up any shortfall.
The plan was that every other week, over four working afternoons, between 1.30 and 5.00 p.m., the residents in and around Bindi Creek would have access to the services of a physiotherapist, a podiatrist, pathology and the early-childhood development centre. Jason or Brooke would liaise with Jean King, the centre’s coordinator, on patient appointments, and the various services would pay Jean an hourly rate for her time.
Jean, of the old school, where one didn’t give way to emotions, was secretly very pleased. The extra money would come in handy, there was no doubt about that, and at forty-eight she was glad to do something to keep the mental juices flowing. She gave a little smile as she thought about how it had all came about. When Frank Galea had first encouraged the doctor’s family to stay in Bindi Creek the day the d’Winters had first arrived, she was sure that even he had had no conception of just how well the newcomers would work out and what they would achieve.
One winter afternoon, as the twins played in the backyard, kicking a soccer ball from one side to the other, Jean and Brooke enjoyed an afternoon cup of tea and discussed the next step.
‘We’ll do a mail around the district, as we did before we started surgery here,’ Brooke said. ‘Hopefully within a few weeks the appointment books will be full.’
‘There’s a great need for these facilities,’ pronounced Jean as she sipped her tea. ‘Some folks on properties can’t spare the time to go into Cowra or further afield. Some aren’t well enough to travel the distances. So, coming in for podiatry and the other services will be a wonderful boon for the community, In fact, it’ll help Bindi Creek as a whole, bringing more people to town more often. That has to be good for local business.’
Brooke sighed. ‘I just hope it succeeds. I’d hate to think after all the work we’ve put in that people didn’t respond.’
Jean frowned, surprised by the uncertainty in Brooke’s voice. Jason’s wife had spearheaded this plan, gone at it like the proverbial dog who wouldn’t give up a bone and, in the doing, had impressed everybody, even those who were lukewarm about the idea. Now she seemed to have doubts. Why? ‘You seem gloomy, Brooke. It isn’t like you.’
Brooke shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I…I…Everything has gone so well, really. I expected the organising to take six months or longer. Sometimes, when things fall into place this easily, a major hurdle develops.’
‘My goodness, you remind me of my son. Greg’s always looking for the—what does he call it?—the downside, rather than the up.’ Jean shook her head at the woman who had become her closest friend without either of them being overly aware of the fact. ‘They’ve put a few staff off at Target, so he’s convinced he’s going to be next.’
Brooke knew that Greg, at eighteen, was his mother’s pride and joy. Over several months she had learnt a good deal about Jean and her son. Jean had told her that Greg’s father had died when she was seven months pregnant. In her days as a district nurse Jean had worked in such faraway places as Groot Eylandt, Katherine, Mataranka, Halls Creek and Derby, to name a few. And she’d taken her son with her to every hospital or place she had worked. Then, about eight years ago, she had resigned from formal nursing to settle in one place so Greg could complete his secondary school education and both of them could put down some roots. They’d been ensconced in Bindi Creek ever since.
‘He’s a good worker, isn’t he?’ Brooke asked.
‘He is.’ Jean then gave Brooke a stern look, her thoughts returning to the medical centre, and waggled a finger at her. ‘With the centre, you’ve crossed the t’s and dotted all the i’s, talked to the providers till you’re blue in the face. They’re happy to come in, the community as a whole is behind it too. I’m sure your worries are unfounded.’
Brooke smiled. ‘Probably. I get like this—nervous, apprehensive. Always have, when something big is about to happen. When I was studying I’d be an emotional mess before and after exams.’ She sighed. ‘It’s important for it to succeed—for Jason and the town.’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Jean pronounced confidently, her pleasant features set in an expression of confidence.
Suddenly Brooke gagged on a mouthful of tea and, excusing herself, raced off to the bathroom. When she returned, Jean had a knowing smirk on her face.
‘How long?’ Jean asked.
‘How long what?’
‘You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’
A rosiness rushed into Brooke’s cheeks. She shook her head as she looked at her friend. Over the months an easy camaraderie had developed between them. Besides, how could she expect to keep such a secret from someone with her experience as a nurse. ‘Seven weeks, but I want to keep it quiet until I’m three months. Only Jason knows,’ she smiled. ‘And now you.’
Jean nodded and said matter-of-factly, ‘I guess you’re not hoping for twins again.’
Brooke laughed. ‘No, one will be more than enough this time around.’
CHAPTER TEN
Jason brought the station wagon to a stop under the carport, turned off the ignition and rested his head back against the seat. It had been a long day. Apart from the porch light left on to illuminate his way to the front door, everything was pitch black.
His last home visit had been a doozey. Mrs Gross was a widow in her seventies. Amelia, as she insisted he call her, was trying to keep her one-hundred-and-twenty-hectare property on the high slopes above Bindi Creek viable, with no help and failing health—namely, chronic emphysema and an ulcer on her right leg that refused to heal. Her two sons and daughter had moved off the farm years before and, after her husband’s death two years ago, the old lady had insisted she could soldier on alone.
He had told her, again, that looking after one hundred and fifty sheep, a few head of cattle, two hectares of canola and a small peach orchard was too much for her. But Amelia was nothing if not stubborn. She wouldn’t hear of it and, in lieu of paying cash for the visit,
had rewarded his frankness with a box of vegetables fresh from her garden, a leg of lamb and two plucked chickens ready for roasting, all of which Jason had accepted without demur.
The d’Winters family never went hungry. Every week one or two patients would pay for their doctor’s visit in produce instead of cash, because often there wasn’t a spare dollar in the house. After six months in Bindi Creek it had become increasingly apparent to Jason and Brooke that for many people the struggle to stay on the land was immense. Some owners were holding on by a thread, living on overdrafts until the harvest or wool cheque arrived. Others lived from week to week, just scraping by. It was all very different to how it had been when Jason had left Carcoar years ago. Back then, some fifteen or sixteen years ago, there had been a general air of wellbeing and prosperity in the countryside.
After a couple of minutes, Jason heaved himself up and out of the car, picked up the produce from Mrs Gross and went into the dark house. He was putting the food away when Brooke padded into the kitchen in her dressing gown and slippers. He noted that she looked pale and there were circles under her eyes, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well. He knew she wasn’t: this pregnancy was taking its toll, whereas when she’d carried the twins, apart from the mishap with the knee and some blood pressure problems, the pregnancy had been perfectly normal.
‘Sorry I woke you, love.’ He pointed to the box. ‘Compliments of Amelia.’
‘You’re late, I was beginning to worry.’ She glanced up at the kitchen clock. It was 9.25 p.m. ‘Problems with Mrs Gross?’
‘Problems, yes. The woman’s as stubborn as…’ He grimaced, leaving the sentence unfinished. ‘That place has become too much for her. She should sell or put someone in to manage the property. The woman’s seventy-five and pretending that she can do what she did at forty-five.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Should I talk to one of the sons? The eldest, Felix, lives in Canowindra, doesn’t he?’
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