Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  Curiously, now that she was alone in the surgery, a strange lethargy overtook her. Sometimes she felt just a little jealous of Brooke because of her family, even though Brooke had major problems with Jason. Their closeness, the family atmosphere of being part of a unit, was something she hadn’t been able to give her son. Not that he’d complained, but it would have been nice to have more kids, and she was sure she would have done so if Royce had come back into her life…She reprimanded herself. Oh, stop moping about, woman. You don’t know when you’ve got it good.

  Putting herself into work mode, her first task was to straighten a pile of medical brochures on the effects of diabetes. She put a rubber band around them and placed them on the top shelf. As she worked, her mind drifted to thinking about her friend. The scene the other day with Hugh was simply another episode which fuelled her ongoing curiosity about Brooke. Hugh had been lucky. From Cowra District Hospital he had been taken by ambulance to Sydney’s St George Hospital and, after a cardiac catheterisation test in which three blocked arteries had been found, he had undergone cardiac bypass surgery. He was convalescing at Minta Downs now, with Sharon and Bethany alternately caring for him.

  Brooke remained a conundrum to Jean, and she was both fascinated and frustrated by the mystery surrounding her medical accomplishments. She must have done a couple of years of medicine at university then stopped. But if she had, why hadn’t she told anyone? Why did she keep it a secret? She knew that Brooke was a private person who rarely talked about herself and her past unless she was in the mood to, but even so, such secretiveness made no sense.

  Jean wiped the sweat off her brow as she finished tidying up the top shelf of the cupboard, then she decided to put all the medical brochures there because they weren’t needed as often as other items were. As she started to move half the pharmaceutical samples from the second shelf to the surgery desk, a fat business-sized envelope fell out. She picked it up off the floor and turned it over to read what was on the other side. In Jason’s bold scrawl was written: Dr B. Hastings.

  ‘Dr B. Hastings.’ She said the name out loud, because somewhere in her subconscious she knew that name. Hastings…Hastings…Then she remembered: Hastings had been Brooke’s maiden name. Her jaw dropped open with shock and she collapsed into the doctor’s chair. She took a deep breath and then another. Doctor Brooke Hastings! What? She frowned as she studied the envelope more closely. It didn’t make sense. Brooke was a doctor? Her gaze narrowed. She had suspected it all along and it solved the mystery of Brooke’s extraordinary medical knowledge. A certain satisfaction rushed through her, but then she frowned again, utterly confounded. Why wasn’t she practising? And why had she never acknowledged her qualifications? Both hands fingered the envelope, turning it over and over, looking for…what? Clues. Answers. She didn’t know, wasn’t sure, but she was burning with curiosity to find out what was inside.

  There were obviously a lot of papers inside the envelope; it was so tightly stuffed that the sides had split. Her lips twitched in tempo with her hands as she continued to finger the envelope. She held it up high in the air, upside down, and shook it, hoping some of the papers might work loose and fall out. Nothing moved; everything was too tightly wedged. Hell! She groaned with frustration. Maybe she should just give it to Brooke and let her explain?

  It didn’t take much mental effort for Jean to convince herself that she should check the papers inside just to make sure…Make sure of what? That Jason hadn’t made a mistake and put the wrong name on the envelope, of course. She sighed and clucked her tongue. There was no point in asking him now, poor love, he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. Week by week his decline became more noticeable, and her admiration for Brooke’s forebearance rose. Checking the contents was the right thing to do, she assured herself. She began to ease the papers out, then unfold and spread them over the desktop.

  Five minutes later, after perusing the papers, she sat back in the chair, her expression a mixture of wonderment and…satisfaction. She had divided the papers into three piles. There were letters from the AMA and medical licence board renewals in the name of a Dr Brodie Haskins, showing her licence was current until next spring. There was also a photocopy of a statutory declaration made in Hobart, declaring that the name Brodie Marie Haskins had been changed by deed poll to Brooke Marie Hastings. That was something she hadn’t expected to find and it certainly deepened the mystery.

  Dr Brodie Haskins, originally licensed to practise in Tasmania, was Brooke Hastings. That fact was irrefutable. The fingers of Jean’s right hand tapped on the desktop as she tried to work out why Brodie/Brooke had stopped practising medicine and why she had kept her profession a secret. If she wasn’t practising, why had Jason continued to have her licence renewed in her given name? And why had she changed her name? She looked at the papers again and shook her head. There were more questions than answers.

  She returned to her examination of the papers, this time studying the dates to establish a time frame. The name change from Haskins to Hastings had happened almost fourteen years ago, before Brooke knew Jason. Therefore, it was possible that Brooke hadn’t practised medicine since her name had been changed. Changed her name. Why? The question tantalised her. What made a person change their name? It was such an extreme thing to do. Something serious must have happened to make Brodie become Brooke.

  Still pondering her new discovery, she moved some papers and saw something she hadn’t noticed before. A fragment of a newspaper article had worked loose from a staple holding two letters together. She took a magnifying glass from the second desk drawer and held it over the torn piece of newspaper. Pieces of the text were missing.

  ‘Coroner B. J. Hallam ruled there was insufficient…negligence in the death of Thomas…AMA found that Dr Brodie Haskins had no case to…reprimand to the doctor in question.’

  Jean blinked. Criminal negligence in the death of a patient? That had to be it. It had been serious, all right. Serious and sufficiently public to make Brodie change her name. But was it serious enough for her to stop practising medicine? Jean’s mouth creased in a half-satisfied smile. She had solved one mystery only to have another present itself. If Brooke hadn’t been found guilty of criminal negligence, why had she stopped wanting to be a doctor? How could she find out? Who could she ask?

  She used Jason’s fax machine to make copies of the papers, including the fragmented newspaper article, then she put everything back in the envelope. She went to put it back where she had founded it but paused. What if John or one of the children happened upon this information before she had the chance to put all the pieces together? She thought that perhaps Brooke might not know anything about the papers and that Jason might have been re-registering her with the AMA under her old name on his own initiative. Then another memory clicked into place: the occasions when Jason had vetted the mail and kept one or two letters. Now she knew why. They had been the medical licence renewal papers from the AMA. That could be why the licence hadn’t been changed to her married name. No, it wouldn’t do for someone else to ferret out Brooke’s secret. She went out to the waiting room and put the envelope and the faxed copies into her purse for safekeeping.

  And then the biggest question of all popped into her head. Why hadn’t Brooke taken over Jason’s practice after the accident? She was qualified and registered. She shook her head in bewilderment and her level of curiosity skyrocketed to new heights. What had happened to the patient in Hobart that was so bad that, fourteen years later, her friend still wasn’t doing what she was meant to do: practise as a doctor?

  Jean sat at the reception desk for another twenty minutes, all thought of tidying up the cupboard gone from her mind as she mulled over the possible answers. Finally, after a frustrated sigh, she gave up. She would have to make her own investigations. Only when she had as many answers as could be found would she raise the matter with Brooke.

  Wes Sinclair breathed in the smell of steak and sausages as they sizzled on a metal grille over an open
fire. The aroma of meat cooking and the smell of burning eucalyptus leaves was very satisfying. He could hear the kids squealing and shouting with excitement as they found the minutest flake of gold in the creek which, for the middle of summer, was flowing well. There had been showers on and off for weeks, so there was enough ground water to swell the stream to almost thirty centimetres deep in places.

  He looked at Jason. He was sitting on a plaid rug, a short distance from the barbecue pit, watching his friend turn the meat, patiently waiting for the food to be ready. Jason had also paddled and splashed in the water and panned for a while, but now he only had one thing on his mind: food. Wes observed that his old friend had certainly bulked up since the accident. But one thing he still enjoyed was riding, which was partly why Wes had suggested this type of outing. Something twisted in his chest, a melancholy kind of pain, as he glanced at Jason again.

  They didn’t talk much these days. Jason didn’t have much to say and, when Wes tried to talk about the bush or stock matters, all he got was two- and three-word replies that often didn’t make a lot of sense. It was clear as crystal that, mentally, Jason was going downhill fast. Faster than anyone—even the medical experts—had anticipated. The cruel irony of it struck him anew and, with a momentary viciousness, he jabbed the steaks and watched the fire smoke and sizzle as juices fell into the flames. Christ almighty, what had happened to his buddy wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair on anyone.

  He glanced across to where Brooke sat on her haunches near the edge of the creek, watching and enjoying what the kids were doing. A rueful grin widened his mouth as he studied her. He could take his fill and stare at her because she was otherwise occupied. The woman’s fortitude and good humour amazed him. He didn’t know how she managed—with Jason, who could be as difficult as a child, the kids, and her naturopathy business. Running Sindalee was a piece of cake compared to what she did on a daily basis.

  He remembered that his housekeeper, Nina, had sought Brooke’s professional help on a health matter and had been impressed. So she was good at what she did. He grunted to himself as he cut up several tomatoes, and opened the container of sliced onions and slid them onto the barbecue plate. He couldn’t imagine Brooke being mediocre at anything she chose to do.

  ‘Need some help?’ Brooke asked as she came over. She sat on a fallen tree to dry her feet with a hand towel and put her socks and boots back on.

  Wes gave her a mock pained look. ‘Now she asks, when the work’s practically done.’

  ‘As usual I have perfect timing,’ she joked. ‘What about the bread?’

  ‘You could butter it, I guess,’ he conceded with a grin. Just having her near, doing commonplace things, did the most extraordinary things to him. His heart rate became elevated, he began to sweat, he became tongue-tied and couldn’t think straight. Damn and double damn. It was magnificent and frustrating to feel this way, but he wouldn’t change a second of it.

  ‘Fleece was telling me about your great-grandparents, David and Leonora—that they lived here while David worked the claim,’ she said conversationally as she took out several slices of home-baked bread and spread margarine on them. Then she sorted out the tin plates and cutlery ready for Wes to dish up the steaks.

  ‘Yes, you can still see part of the bark hut they lived in. There it is,’ he said, pointing to the south, ‘between the trees. Just the uprights and part of the roof have withstood the elements. David brought his bride out from England, as Fleece probably told you. They came from a poor area near Manchester. They lived pretty rough here for a couple of years,’ he continued, ‘just surviving. David had a mate named Slim; they’d met on the voyage across. They worked the mine together, shored it up, dug out the earth.

  ‘The mine’s on the other side of their hut. It’s all locked up now because the inside is unstable. Years ago a couple of kids got trapped in an old mine and one of them didn’t make it out alive, so afterwards the council ordered all the old mines sealed.’ He paused for reflection then went on. ‘Leonora helped sort and wash the earth in a cradle by the creek. They worked the claim for over a year, finding just enough to keep on going. Then Slim discovered a vein in the mine. They worked it till it petered out.

  ‘Then, over there,’ he pointed to a bricked area covered by a locked heavy metal grate, ‘Leonora accidentally kicked up a good-sized nugget with her boot. They sank a vertical shaft and found more gold.’

  Brooke looked across at her husband, who had been listening to Wes’s story. ‘I remember Jason saying once that there are a few gold and copper mines scattered around this area. He said,’ she looked again at Jason and smiled at him, ‘when you were kids, that you both used to check them out periodically in the hope that the elements had washed some nuggets up to the surface.’

  Wes nodded and joined her in her smile. ‘We never found much. It was more like something to do, to pretend we were explorers or adventurers.’

  ‘Your great-grandparents must have been hardy, pioneering stock. I can’t imagine living like they did.’

  ‘It was pretty rough,’ he agreed. ‘They did it for nearly five years. Leonora lost two babies, but by then they had enough to buy what became the original holding of Sindalee.’

  ‘What happened to Slim?’

  ‘Oh, he went off searching somewhere else for gold. He was really bitten by the mining bug, according to the diary Leonora left.’ Sensing Brooke’s interest, he added, ‘Maybe you’d like to read her diary one day? It’s in pretty good condition.’

  ‘I’d love to.’ And then she thought of something. ‘What made them call the property Sindalee? Is it an English name?’

  ‘It’s more original than that, it’s a mixture of my great-grandparents’ names. “Sin” for Sinclair, “da” for David and “lee” for Leonora makes Sindalee.’

  She smiled at him. ‘That’s clever.’

  ‘Lunch ready yet? I’m starving,’ Jason reminded them, his tone slightly impatient. He had his plate and cutlery in his hand and was staring at the meat on the barbecue as if he hadn’t eaten for a week.

  ‘Soon, Jason. Everything’s almost done,’ Wes answered. ‘Why don’t you tell the kids to get out of the creek and put their boots on?’

  Jason sighed. ‘Okay.’ Not bothering to mask his disappointment that the food wasn’t ready, he got to his feet and lumbered off towards the creek.

  Brooke went too. She was standing beside Jason when Sheridan, who was closest, suddenly sprayed her father with water.

  ‘Now you’re cool, Dad,’ she said with a giggle.

  Jason laughed spontaneously as he looked down at his wet jeans, and then he turned to Brooke to show her.

  The breath caught in her throat as she looked into Jason’s eyes. On rare occasions the dull veil across his eyes would lift and she would glimpse the old Jason, the real Jason—the fun-loving, attentive, caring man. But then, as quickly as the veil would lift, it dropped down again and his eyes would glaze over. His smile evaporated too, telling her that the man she’d loved had gone once more to a place where he couldn’t be reached. A wave of sadness and disappointment rushed through her. It was so sad, for her, for the kids and for everyone who’d known what he was like before the accident. She turned away to compose herself and blink back the tears before anyone saw them.

  When Jason returned to the barbecue with his jeans wet, he said simply to Wes, ‘Sheridan splashed me, on purpose.’ He grinned. ‘I’m cool now.’

  ‘He’s good today,’ Brooke said quietly to Wes. ‘I think being in the bush, looking at the trees and listening to the sounds, makes him peaceful.’

  ‘Maybe you should consider buying acreage.’

  She shrugged the suggestion off. ‘I’d like to. The kids would love more space, but we can’t afford it. At the moment we’re debt-free and managing most of the time. In a few more years, if my practice continues to grow, it might be affordable.’ She stopped for a moment and thought to herself that by then all the children would be in high school so there would
be even more expense.

  There were endless costs with Jason, too—his medications and outings. And Craig Marcioni couldn’t remain his minder forever. Craig was amazingly good with Jason, and had the knack of being able to keep him occupied and interested in things the family couldn’t. But when his community service ended, and that would be soon, she would have to look at employing another part-time companion for him.

  ‘Look what I found!’ Sheridan called out in excitement and came running up to Wes and her mother. She opened her hand and showed them a gold nugget. It was about the size of a five-cent piece. She looked at Wes. ‘Is it worth much?’

  Wes fingered the nugget, testing the weight in the palm of his hand. ‘Oh, I should think about three hundred bucks, round about.’

  Sheridan squealed with delight and clapped her hands. ‘Mind it for me, Mum. Put it somewhere safe.’

  Brooke looked at Sheridan, then at Wes. ‘This is Sindalee land, so really the nugget belongs to Wes.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Wes’s tone was firm as he saw Sheridan’s crestfallen expression. ‘Whatever the kids pick up today they can keep.’

  Satisfied, Brooke took the tiny nugget from Wes and put it in her shirt pocket, then she closed and buttoned the flap. ‘If you find half a dozen more like that, Sheridan, we might be able to take a short break somewhere, or put it towards a new car,’ she joked.

  ‘I will, Mum, I know I will.’

  ‘Lunch ready yet?’ Jason asked pointedly.

  Brooke and Wes looked at each other and laughed. Their expressions said it all. Jason d’Winters certainly had a one-track mind.

  ‘Sure is, mate. Give me your plate.’

  After lunch things quietened down. Fleece, Drew, Brooke and Sheridan went back to panning in the creek. The twins, who’d had no luck in the gold stakes and had become bored, opted for a bushwalk to the top of the hill, which would take half an hour there and back. Jason was snoozing in the shade, his hat over his face. He had eaten two huge steaks, half a dozen sausages and finished off the bread, so it was little wonder he was now sluggish.