Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  ‘I don’t think Mrs Gross would appreciate that,’ Brooke said as she rubbed her expanding girth, and at the same time fought back a wave of nausea. At six and a half months she should have been over morning sickness, but it still plagued her any time, day or night. ‘That woman’s lived on her property since she married. She had her children there, grew old there with her husband. It’s the only place she knows. We know she can’t cope, but I think you’ll find that her children have decided the best thing is to leave her until she simply can’t do the most basic chores or…’ She didn’t add the rest, but it was obvious…until she dies.

  Jason made a low, growling sound in his throat; it was meant to be a sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right. It is what she’s familiar with. She can’t afford to hire anyone, that’s for sure, and I know her family helps out when they can. It’s just that it seems wrong, to be sick and all alone.’

  He really was a softy, someone who cared about his patients, Brooke thought. She pressed the start button on the microwave to heat up his serving of the casserole she and the twins had enjoyed several hours ago. ‘You can’t win every battle, you know,’ she said in her commonsense way. ‘All you can do is try to make a difference whenever it’s possible to.’

  ‘Ahh, more pearls of wisdom from my wife. I’ll have to start writing them down in a notebook.’ He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her, taking care to be gentle because of her condition. ‘Go back to bed, you need your rest.’

  ‘My back and left leg’s aching; the baby must be pressing on a nerve or something. I can’t sleep. That’s why I got up.’ She smiled up at him. ‘I didn’t feel crash-hot this evening and the twins were wonderful. Adam said I had to lie on the sofa and got a pillow for my head, and Luke put a rug over me. They were so sweet.’

  ‘They’re good kids,’ Jason said with a smile as he sat at the table with his dinner. He’d thought he was almost too tired to eat, but the delicious aroma of the casserole wafting through his nostrils stimulated his flagging appetite. ‘Go and lie down, love. When I’ve eaten I’ll come and massage your back. That always helps.’

  She gave him a pleased smile. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

  As luck would have it, a week later Jason and Brooke learned that Amelia Gross’s problems were to lessen when Jean informed them that Amelia’s grandson, Craig Marcioni, was going to stay with her and help out with the chores. The teenager’s help was expected to lighten the old woman’s load.

  ‘I know the Marcionis,’ said Jean. ‘I helped nurse Craig’s mother when she had a heart attack two years ago. I saw a lot of Craig back then and, if you’ll pardon my French, at sixteen he was a shit of a kid.’

  ‘In what way?’ Brooke asked as they three of them stood in the waiting room of Jason’s surgery.

  ‘He’d just been expelled from the local high school for cheating in exams and the police had arrested him in Cowra for being drunk and disorderly. Not for the first time, either.’ Her expression reflected her disapproval. ‘The boy is trouble and he’s too good-looking. His parents have indulged him, given him too much freedom. Craig used to be known as the local bad boy and he loved having the reputation. His peer group respected him and the girls, silly little things, were all over him.’

  ‘Then how’s he going to be of help to Amelia?’ Brooke asked.

  ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt he loves his grandmother,’ Jean said. ‘Actually, she’s the only one who’s ever had any influence over him, so if anyone can straighten Craig out, she can.’

  Jean sighed and shook her head despairingly. ‘His latest escapade—it happened before you moved in—was to get caught for speeding. The police found a supply of amphetamines on him.’ She rolled her eyes expressively. ‘Naturally he said he was minding them for a friend, but it’s pretty clear that the boy is in with a bad crowd. The magistrate put him on a twelve months good behaviour bond and the police, so I’ve heard, are keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘Can’t his parents exercise any control over him?’ Jason asked, wondering whether his patient was going to be better or worse off with her grandson.

  ‘His dad, Luigi, has a bad temper. It’s been rumoured that he tried to beat the boy into behaving well. Obviously that didn’t work. Helga, his wife—well, I saw with my own eyes how she indulged the boy. He’s their only son. Craig has got away with blue murder since he was little and now the whole family is paying for it.’

  ‘Poor Amelia,’ Brooke murmured with a shake of her head.

  ‘Let’s try to look on the bright side,’ said Jason. ‘Maybe having to help his grandmother will change him for the better.’ His words were optimistic but his feelings were less so.

  With the surgery emptied of patients Jean picked up her purse and jacket. ‘We’ll see, but I don’t hold out much hope for him,’ she said as she made to leave. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Wes Sinclair rang. He said he’d be down on Sunday to help you clean up the bottom paddock, the one that runs down to the creek. Said something about repairing the fence and clearing the creeper vine off the old stable and shed.’

  ‘Great. Wes said he’d give me a hand when he had a free day.’ Jason grinned boyishly. Without help, getting the back paddock in some kind of order would take him weeks. Now, with his friend’s help, they might get most of it done on the one day.

  Brooke remonstrated with Jason. ‘That’s not fair on Wes. With his large property the man hardly gets a day off. He should be spending his leisure time with Fleece and Drew.’

  ‘They’re coming to help too, I believe,’ Jean said with a wry smile as she walked to the door. ‘See you Monday.’

  After Jean’s departure Jason went into the surgery to tidy up. Brooke could hear the twins running through the house, playing some rowdy game because she wasn’t there to supervise them. She quickly filed the day’s patients’ cards and went to see what they were up to.

  As she walked down the hall a rush of dizziness caught her off guard. She blinked, tried to focus, couldn’t. Her hand reached for the wall to steady herself. She waited until the feeling receded a little before continuing on. As she reached the living room a stronger, more intense wave of dizziness hit her. She clutched the back of the lounge for support, felt her knees begin to buckle and the room start to revolve at an ever-increasing pace. What was happening? She’d felt fine minutes ago.

  ‘Adam! Luke!’ she called the boys to her.

  Adam got there first; he usually did. ‘What, Mummy?’

  ‘I don’t feel well. Get Daddy for me.’ Her head continued to spin faster and faster. A bubble of bile rose in her throat. Something stabbed low in her stomach—or was she imagining it? She grabbed her abdomen protectively with her free hand. Labour pains? No. It was too soon.

  ‘Mummy’s sick,’ Luke said, patting his mother’s arm. ‘Is the baby making you sick, Mummy?’ He shook his dark head and his brown eyes were wide with concern. ‘The baby’s naughty.’

  She tried to smile at his childish rebuke but it took too much effort. ‘Not the baby’s fault, darling. J– Just…’ Oh no, she was going to faint!

  Jason caught her as she began to slip to the floor. He lifted her up and lay her down on the sofa. By the time she came round a couple of minutes later, he had taken her blood pressure, checked her over and tucked her up in bed.

  ‘You’re okay. No bleeding, your water hasn’t broken. I can’t feel any contractions and the head’s not down. Your blood pressure is way up, though.’ He stroked the feather-fine hair off her face and ran his fingers gently down her cheek. ‘You, my dear wife, are going to have to take it easy.’

  ‘But…I can’t. The twins…the surgery. There’s too much to do…’

  ‘It can all be taken care of,’ he assured her as he placed his hand on her distended abdomen. ‘The most important thing is our baby, that he or she has the best chance to be born fit and healthy. I’ll ring Cowra Hospital and check with Eric Lawry. I’m sure he’ll agree about taking it easy.’ He planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Notice how quiet it is
? The boys are worried about you. I told them you needed peace and quiet. I’ll send them in, but you’re not to let them jump or rough-house on the bed.’ His voice took on a rare sternness. ‘You’ve got to rest, Brooke, and that’s an order.’

  As matters would have it the d’Winters muddled through quite well. Jean King took over Brooke’s receptionist duties and they brought in a young married woman who’d been looking for work to act as temporary receptionist for the associated medical centre. Jean also fussed about the d’Winters home, doing odd jobs that Jason couldn’t get to, and organising the twins, who were almost five and would start school next year, to do simple chores. She even came in early to drive the boys to day care in the mornings and arranged for one of the day care mothers to bring them home afterwards.

  Like most small towns, secrets were almost impossible to keep in Bindi Creek. People soon found out about the d’Winters’s situation and, aware that Brooke and Jason had almost singlehandedly helped to rejuvenate the town, they pitched in to help. Grocery deliveries were organised. People took turns to make a series of evening meals so all Jason had to do was heat the food up. Their next-door neighbour, Jan Stewart, insisted on doing the laundry. Jason had detected early signs of breast cancer in her and it had subsequently been successfully treated so she was only too pleased to come to the d’Winters’s aid in their time of need. And Jean’s son, Greg, was taking care of the mowing and the new vegetable garden Brooke had planted.

  Even Dr Eric Lawry, the supervisor at Cowra Hospital’s antenatal clinic, paid an unprecedented visit to the d’Winters home to check Brooke’s condition.

  Afterwards, in Jason’s surgery, he and Jason discussed her situation.

  ‘This hasn’t been an easy pregnancy for Brooke,’ Eric said, reiterating what they both knew. ‘I’d suggest this be the last. She’s a healthy woman but not what I’d call robust enough for continued childbearing.’

  Jason nodded in agreement. ‘What about the blood pressure?’

  ‘I won’t kid you, it is a matter of concern. Oedema is building up and already there is a level of toxaemia.’ He studied Jason for a moment then said frankly, ‘I don’t want that developing into pre-eclampsia. I hope that bed rest will control the situation. If not, I may have to take the baby early, by C-section, to avoid the possibility of Brooke having a seizure.’

  ‘Should she be in hospital?’

  ‘She should, but I doubt you’ll get her there at this stage,’ Eric said with a grim smile. He knew his patient well. ‘Brooke’s into the third trimester and if she behaves and the symptoms stabilise, she should make it to term. You, Jason, will have to monitor her constantly.’

  ‘I know. I have a strong ally in our receptionist, Jean King. She’s rather fond of Brooke. Sometimes she comes over as a bit of an ex-army sergeant, but Brooke seems to take notice of what she says.’

  ‘Good,’ Eric said with an accompanying nod of his head. ‘Then between the four of us I hope we’ll see this pregnancy through to a happy conclusion.’ His gaze roamed about the surgery, noting at a glance that it was up-to-date and well-kept.

  ‘So, how’s the practice going?’ He gave Jason an amused look. ‘Frankly, some medicos in Cowra were taking odds that you wouldn’t last the year.’

  Jason grinned with satisfaction, having heard the story himself through the country grapevine. ‘We’ve been here over thirteen months now. And as far as the practice goes, it’s enough for one man to handle, I can tell you.’

  ‘How many hours a week?”

  ‘Some weeks it’s forty to fifty, but that doesn’t include home visits.’

  Eric shook his head and grimaced. ‘You’re a glutton for punishment.’ His gaze roved over Jason, saw how fit he appeared to be, and he added, ‘But it doesn’t seem to be doing you any harm.’

  ‘I love it here, and so does Brooke. I take Wednesday afternoons off so the boys and I can spend the afternoon together. We go fishing or bushwalking or fossicking. Did you see the Triumph bike under the carport? I use it to do house calls now. It’s more economical and,’ he winked at Eric, ‘a bit of fun. I’m hunting around for a sidecar so I can take the twins on joyrides.’

  Jason knew that Eric Lawry had a reputation around the corridors of Cowra Hospital for being serious, and so the man’s sudden chuckle surprised him.

  ‘Sounds like you have it made. Good luck to you, Jason, and to Brooke too.’ Eric stood up, preparatory to leaving. ‘I’d better head off. You’ll keep me posted, won’t you? Any change in Brooke, even if it’s minor, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Jason watched as the doctor drove off in his four-wheel drive and noted without a twinge of jealousy that it was the latest model. Then, knowing he’d get no peace until he told Brooke what had been discussed, he made his way to the bedroom before her blood pressure rose a notch or two from sheer impatience.

  Promptly at 7.30 a.m. on Sunday morning, Wes Sinclair knocked on the d’Winters’s front door.

  Brooke, who was sitting up in bed idly thumbing through the Sunday paper, listened to their conversation as he and Jason meandered down the hall.

  ‘You didn’t have to come for breakfast, mate,’ Jason teased good-naturedly.

  ‘I didn’t. Knowing that you’d be making it I ate before I left,’ Wes quipped.

  ‘So where are the kids? Did Fleece and Drew decide not to come?’

  ‘They’re riding over. Drew has a new horse he wants to show to the twins. They should be here in the next hour.’

  Brooke was still smiling at their masculine camaraderie when Wes poked his head around the bedroom door.

  ‘Thought I’d pay my respects. How are you feeling?’

  She shrugged. Over the months she had become more used to Wes’s offhand ways, his straight country talk. And, while there was still a certain reserve between them, she had accepted him as a family friend. ‘Bored but getting used to it,’ she said with endearing honesty.

  ‘Bored! What a joke. Don’t believe it, mate, she’s lapping up the attention. People are coming in and out all the time, making her cups of tea, spoiling her rotten, doing stuff for all of us. I tell you, she won’t want to lift a finger by the time she has the baby.’

  ‘Liar,’ Brooke responded by throwing a scatter cushion which had been lying on the bed at him.

  Wes caught it and in turn threw it to Jason. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be nice to her, to keep her blood pressure under control?’ he asked Jason.

  ‘Who do you think is spoiling her rotten?’ he said with some pride. ‘Me.’

  ‘Oh, please, you’re breaking my heart,’ she countered with a laugh. And then, ‘Speaking of tea, I wouldn’t mind a cup. And where are the twins?’

  ‘Until a few minutes ago, still asleep, bless their little hearts.’ Jason cocked his head to one side. ‘However, I think I hear them stirring.’

  ‘Catch you later, Brooke,’ Wes said. ‘Nina’s organised lunch. I’ve got the makings for a barbecue and she included a huge bowl of fruit salad.’

  Brooke made herself smile and hoped the men didn’t notice that it was forced. She had woken at 6.00 a.m. and had felt queasy ever since. The tea, she hoped, would settle her stomach. ‘Perhaps I could get used to this after all,’ she said as a parting shot as the two of them left.

  It was quiet in the house once the twins, Jason and Wes had gone outside to work. So quiet that if she strained to listen she could hear her heart beating. She was also increasingly aware of small, nuisance contractions in her groin. The baby seemed to be sitting low, as if its head was engaged, and the contractions had been coming and going for a week. She had spoken to Eric Lawry, who insisted they were within normal bounds and she shouldn’t worry, but she was worrying. The situation was difficult to describe to Jason and she had tried several times, but she wasn’t sure he understood that she just didn’t feel right. The baby—normally active and inclined to do internal summersaults—had been suspiciously sluggish for the last two days. As w
ell, the heavy, dragging sensation in the pit of her stomach just wouldn’t go away.

  Should she call Jean? She was an experienced midwife and had delivered dozens of babies. No, she shouldn’t worry Jean unnecessarily, especially not on a Sunday, her only free day. She would close her eyes and rest for a while, she decided.

  An hour or so later Brooke didn’t hear Fleece tiptoe into the bedroom to see her, nor did she see her stand there for several moments with a thoughtful expression on her face before, seemingly satisfied, she soundlessly picked up the empty mug and returned to the kitchen.

  Dreams cascaded one into another as Brooke slumbered. Pleasant dreams, weird dreams, but even at a subconscious level she was aware that her body was reacting to a strange, old-as-time stimulus—one that nature had ordained. She tossed and turned, began to feel hot and threw off all but the sheet and, as the ache low in her groin intensified, finally woke.

  Frowning as she opened her eyes, she blinked several times to focus on the bedroom furniture. God, she felt awful—exhausted, yet all she’d been doing was resting. She felt pain. At first it was dull but then it built to a crescendo and knifed low in her belly. She gasped with shock. A few minutes later it was followed by another, equally strong pain. She kicked the sheet off and half-sat up. She was wet and so was the bed. Liquid stains were slowly spreading over the sheet through to the mattress. Her water had broken!

  Another shaft of pain made her cry out and she could deny the symptoms no longer. The baby was coming.

  Not now. It’s too soon! Oh, please, God. Not now!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Brooke struggled, determined to stay in the cosy netherworld of being not quite awake yet not asleep. Mentally, as wakefulness stirred her, she relived the panic that had erupted as she had staggered, clutching the bed sheet to her body, to the back door and called Jason. Fleece saw her first and gave the alarm. Within minutes she was in Jason’s surgery, lying on the examination table, watching and listening as he telephoned Eric Lawry.