Rescue at Cradle Lake

by Marion Lennox

  ‘You need me?’ he asked, not understanding, and she shook her head.

  ‘Not just you. Though you’re definitely in there if you want to be in.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  She smiled but her smile was troubled. ‘Don’t thank me, Fergus, because I don’t think you want what I’m offering.’

  ‘What are you offering?’

  ‘I’m keeping the dogs,’ she whispered.

  He stared out at the canine pack. ‘Why?’

  ‘They’ll be great when I’ve trained them.’

  ‘You can’t keep them in your Sydney apartment.’

  ‘No.’ Flat. Definite. Resolute.

  ‘You’re not seriously thinking about staying here.’

  ‘No.’ Her chin jutted a little and he thought he could see a trace of fear. She might be determined but this determination was very new and very…scary. ‘I’m not thinking about staying here. I’ve decided to stay here.’

  ‘After Richard…’ He hesitated and glanced toward the bed.

  ‘After Richard dies,’ she said, and her voice steadied. ‘I talked it through with Richard this morning and I have his blessing.’

  ‘To do what?

  ‘To make this house a home again,’ she said. ‘If I can. To give Madison a place to live.’

  ‘You’ll stay at Cradle Lake with Madison?’ He forgot to whisper. If he sounded astounded, he couldn’t help it. This was a woman whom he’d thought was running from commitment as fiercely as he was.

  ‘I thought I hated it,’ she whispered. ‘Cradle Lake was claustrophobic. I knew everyone and everyone knew me. You know how many times I’ve had to cook since people found out Richard was back?’

  ‘I don’t-’

  ‘I haven’t had to,’ she continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘I’ve been away for almost fifteen years yet I’m still one of them. I have a community.’

  He flinched.

  A community.

  ‘I have that where I work,’ he said. ‘It’s not so rare. People care. It’s why I’m here. To get away from it.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’ve only been running for months. I’ve been running for fifteen years,’ she whispered. ‘I thought last night…I can stop.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what you’re saying?’

  ‘I have,’ she said, and again her chin jutted forward. He could see fear behind her eyes, he thought, and he knew she wasn’t as determined as she made out. ‘I’m jumping into the human race again. I thought…after I lost Richard that that’d be the end. It’s not. It can’t be and for some reason last night made me see that I don’t want it to be. I don’t want to hand Madison over to adoptive parents. Madison’s my last link with my family and I want to teach her to use a canoe on the lake.’

  ‘I could be your family,’ he said, suddenly urgent, and she gazed down at their linked hands and her smile became almost wistful.

  ‘You felt it, too, then. Last night.’

  ‘I surely did.’

  ‘More than mind-blowing sex.’

  ‘Ginny, we fit together.’

  ‘You and your wife,’ she said cautiously. ‘Did you fit?’

  ‘It’s different. We were professional, and our sole mutual interest was our work.’

  ‘So you and me…what would our sole mutual interest be?’

  ‘Ourselves,’ he said, but it sounded lame even to him.

  ‘I bet that’s what you and your wife thought at the start. Fergus, I want something more from a relationship than a mutual involvement in medicine.’

  He paused. Out in the pen one of the dogs, the collie, rolled over on her belly and started to scratch in an entirely undignified manner.

  ‘This isn’t what you were saying last night,’ he said cautiously and she nodded.

  ‘No. It’s not. But I made you no promises last night, Fergus. I went into last night thinking it was a one-night stand and I can’t help that it changed things.’

  ‘What changed things?’

  ‘You see, I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I’m still trying to figure it out. I only know that I woke up different. I don’t even know what’s different.’

  ‘Ginny, I want you.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ she said. ‘I want you, too, Fergus. But I come with strings.’

  ‘Dogs.’

  ‘And a daughter.’

  ‘You’re not serious about Madison?’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious.’

  ‘She’s damaged. She needs specialist care.’

  ‘You think I can’t give her that?’

  ‘She needs two parents.’ He spoke more roughly than he’d intended and both of them turned to look at Richard’s bed. But Richard wasn’t moving.

  ‘I can’t help that,’ Ginny said apologetically. ‘I only know that when I woke up this morning she was mine. I went to sleep in your arms last night thinking I had no family at all and when I woke up I did have family and I’ll fight to the death to defend it.’

  He stared at her, baffled. How could things have changed so fast? He’d driven out here thinking that his world was starting to make sense again-just a bit. That he could find a little joy.

  But Ginny wasn’t content with a little joy. She wanted the whole catastrophe.

  He stared out at the disreputable dogs and thought, Could he? Could he?

  The screen door swung wide and out came Tony, who was carrying Madison, who was carrying a plate of cookies with exorbitant care.

  ‘I didn’t spill any of them,’ Madison said, and Ginny beamed and bounced up and took the biscuits.

  ‘That’s brilliant, poppet,’ she said, and Madison frowned.

  ‘My name’s Madison.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re also a poppet,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s because you look very, very cute. I had a little brother like you once and my mum used to call him poppet.’

  ‘Ginny,’ Fergus said, almost explosively.

  ‘Would you like a cookie, Dr Reynard?’

  ‘No.’ He took a grip-almost. The sight of Madison smiling was suddenly almost overwhelming. The pain…

  Ginny saw it. Her face softened and she took a step toward him. ‘Fergus, I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I know it’s much too soon.’

  ‘It’s never going to be any better,’ he muttered, backing off. ‘Is there anything else you need-medically?’

  She saw it and responded immediately, as if she’d expected no less. ‘We need orders for an increase in morphine. Richard was unsettled last night and I promised him he needn’t be tonight.’

  ‘I’ll write it up now.’ He turned to Tony. ‘Tony…’

  ‘I’ll take Madison down to talk to the dogs while you sort out medical needs,’ Ginny told him, setting down the cookies and gathering her niece into her arms. ‘You look after the medicine. I’m looking after my family.

  ‘Ginny…’

  ‘That’s the way it has to be, Fergus,’ she said softly. ‘I knew when I figured it out last night that it wasn’t going to be easy. I don’t want to hurt you. But I know what I have to do.’

  He couldn’t do it.

  Fergus drove away from the farmhouse feeling sick. He’d driven out here with his heart full of Ginny, feeling like he was waking from some sick, grey trance.

  But now…

  Dogs maybe. But Madison?

  A little girl.

  Like Molly.

  She wasn’t in the least like Molly, he thought savagely. She had all her chromosomes. She had a healthy heart. She could be a vibrant, happy little girl.

  Ginny had no right to keep her. She needed two parents.

  Molly had been OK with one parent. And the hospital community.

  Madison was no Molly.

  Molly.

  The pain around his heart tightened, burned, threatened suddenly to almost overwhelm him. The thought of her small arms around his neck, the way she had of burrowing her nose into his shoulder and saying Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, like it was a mantra.

  Madison
wasn’t burrowing her face into anyone’s neck yet, he thought, but if she had proper parents she would be. She should be.

  But it wouldn’t be his.

  No.

  How could he lift a child and cuddle her and give her the love she deserved? He couldn’t. Hell, it was hard enough caring for patients. It had been hard enough last night caring for Stephanie Horace. Stephanie was eight years old. She’d had to be admitted, and her father had a bad back. Fergus had carried her out to the car and even that had hurt. Having a child’s body limp and warm against his chest.

  What Ginny was asking was too much.

  She wasn’t asking it of him.

  ‘Hell,’ he said into the silence, and then he thumped the steering-wheel so hard that he hurt the back of his hand. ‘Hell, hell, hell.’

  Where were the answers?

  There weren’t any.

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’

  Fergus had been gone for ten minutes. Ginny and Tony and Madison had consumed milk and cookies-or coffee and cookies for the grown-ups-and then Tony and Madison had gone inside to wash up. Soon Miriam would be there for handover.

  They really didn’t need a nurse here any more, Ginny thought as she sat on her veranda step and stared down over the lake. She’d agreed to a nurse being here because she hadn’t wanted to get close to Madison, but now…

  ‘He’ll run a mile,’ her brother whispered, and she turned to find Richard wide-eyed and watchful.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  He managed a smile. ‘Sometimes I can be.’

  ‘How long have you been awake?’ she asked cautiously, and he shrugged.

  ‘Long enough to hear you scaring the good doctor into the middle of next week. He wants you, Ginny.’

  ‘Maybe he does. But…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He doesn’t want what comes with me.’

  ‘Yesterday you had nothing,’ Richard whispered. It was almost beyond him to speak now, and Ginny walked over and sat on his bed, taking his hand in hers, bending close so he didn’t have to strain to speak. ‘Yesterday you were running as fast as I have been.’

  ‘Maybe we’ve both come to the end of our running.’

  ‘I surely have,’ he whispered. ‘Hell, Ginny, you know it’s OK with me if you have Madison adopted. We’ve asked so much of you. Big sister to a family of tragedy.’

  ‘I loved you all,’ she whispered back, speaking almost to herself. ‘I loved Chris and Toby to bits. I loved Mum even when I knew she was drinking herself to death. I understood why you ran…’

  ‘I behaved so unfairly. I wasn’t so sick that I couldn’t have helped.’

  ‘No, but to watch what you’d have to go through yourself eventually…I understood.’

  ‘Everyone has to die some time. I was just a coward. Like Dad was a coward. But not you. You were always the bravest, Ginny, and I’ll not let you be taken advantage of. I’ll organise Madison into foster-care myself.’

  ‘You do so over my dead body,’ she said, and her sudden flash of anger startled them both. ‘She’s my family.’

  ‘We don’t do family,’ he whispered, but her fury was still there.

  ‘Like hell we don’t. Who did you come back to when you were ill?’

  ‘That’s different?’

  ‘Why is it different? You know I slept with Fergus last night?’

  ‘I guessed,’ he said, and managed a wry smile. ‘Was it good?’

  She smiled back, aware that her face was flushed but also knowing that there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

  ‘It was excellent. The thing is…’

  ‘The thing is, what?’ he asked, closing his eyes and she withdrew her hand from his.

  ‘You’re so tired. I shouldn’t-’

  ‘I have all the time in the world for sleeping,’ he said, and the anger was in his voice now. He left his eyes closed but his hand still held hers. ‘The thing is, what?’

  ‘I fell in love,’ she said softly, and his eyes flew open again.

  ‘You fell in love.’

  ‘Just like that,’ she whispered. ‘And he left-he had a house call-and I lay there and I thought I’ve been trying to seal up the jagged edges. Every time there’s a death… Chris, Toby, Mum and now you… It hurts so much and I’ve been trying to shrink my heart, make it less and less exposed. And it’s been grey and horrid and I didn’t know what to do about it except to keep on shrinking. Only then, this morning, suddenly all those jagged edges opened up again and it was like my heart was suddenly…beating again.’

  ‘Oh, Ginny…’

  ‘It feels better,’ she said, almost defiantly. ‘Sure, it’s crazy-it’s terrifying if you like, but the alternative’s worse. You’ve had fun since you’ve been diagnosed. You’ve had lovers. The result of one of them is in our kitchen eating cookies right now. But you always knew you were going to die. It didn’t stop you learning to surf, seeing every part of Australia you could, having fun…’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘But that’s what I’m saying,’ she whispered. ‘It’s the same thing. I figured it last night. Yeah, I might get hurt again but if I don’t take those risks then I might as well wither right now. So I’m taking on the dogs and I’m taking on Madison.’

  ‘And Fergus?’

  She hesitated. ‘He has his own figuring out to do,’ she whispered.

  ‘He’s been hurt?’

  ‘He’s lost a child. Recently.’

  ‘A little girl.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Then it’s not fair to ask him to take on Madison.’

  ‘It’s not,’ she agreed. ‘And I’m not asking him to.’

  ‘But you want her.’

  ‘I’ll fight to the death to keep her.’

  ‘Even if it means losing Fergus.’

  ‘I don’t think I can lose Fergus,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think I have him to lose.’

  ‘He loves you.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s figured what love really is,’ she said. ‘What it can be.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘Take care of my brother for as long as he needs me,’ she whispered, and stooped to kiss him lightly on the forehead. ‘Look after three dogs. Look after one little girl. And…maybe even look after the medical needs of Cradle Lake. For as long as Cradle Lake will have me.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  RICHARD slept.

  Miriam arrived to take over nursing duties from Tony. She didn’t question the fact that there were now three dogs on the place, or that when she arrived Ginny was sitting under the trees with Madison. Heaven knew what Tony told her-probably every single damned thing, including her thoughts, Ginny thought, but she didn’t think it bitterly. Cradle Lake had seemed a prison for years. The community’s intimate knowledge of everyone’s nearest concerns had seemed claustrophobic. Now, suddenly, it seemed like a refuge.

  ‘You know, Madison’s a very long name,’ she told her niece cautiously as they finished the third reading of ‘A Poky Little Puppy’. Did your mummy call you Madison all the time?’

  ‘My mummy says Madison’s a lovely name,’ the child whispered. She was lying on the grass beside Ginny. When they’d first started telling stories Madison had been a good foot away. But then one of the dogs-the whippet-had crawled over to drape herself over Ginny’s stomach and Madison had come a little closer when Ginny had encouraged her to pat the dog, and now the child’s little body was hard against Ginny’s. It was a tiny measure of trust but it made Ginny feel…well, that maybe things could work. That maybe things were working. For her as well as for Madison.

  ‘Did she ever call you Maddy?’

  ‘Only when she was giggly,’ Madison said.

  ‘Was she often giggly?’

  ‘My mummy stopped being giggly,’ Madison whispered. ‘She says the pills took away her giggle. She used to cry.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s right to cry,’ Ginny said, stroking the little girl’s tousled curls
. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way to say goodbye to people. I think your mummy was crying because she knew she was saying goodbye to you.’

  ‘I didn’t want her to go.’

  ‘No, but when something’s so wrong that even the doctors can’t make it right then there’s no choice. Your mummy would have stayed with you if she could, but she was too sick. Instead, she brought you here. To be with your daddy for a little bit, to get to know him until he has to say goodbye. Then to be with me. And Miriam and Tony and all these lazy, lazy dogs…’

  The whippet chose that moment to turn and give Ginny a slurpy kiss. I hope she’s been wormed, Ginny thought, and then decided there was no way Oscar would have wormed his dogs but maybe worms were the least of their problems.

  But she’d worm dogs and everyone associated with dogs right away. A nice uncomplicated piece of medicine.

  ‘Will we stay here for ever?’ Madison asked, and Ginny stroked her hair some more.

  ‘Would you like to?’

  ‘I’d rather stay with my mummy.’

  ‘You know you can’t do that. But me and the dogs might learn to be OK. You might get to like us.’ She stroked the child’s curls some more, fighting for the right words. ‘Your mummy and your daddy have been unlucky,’ she said at last. ‘I think you won’t have to say goodbye to me for a very long time. So far ahead you can’t even imagine.’

  Was it the right thing? ‘Mmm,’ Madison said noncommittally, but her head stayed on Ginny’s lap and she snoozed into sleep. Ginny gazed up and saw that Miriam had been standing on the back step, listening. She wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand, said, ‘Dratted hayfever,’ and disappeared into the house with speed.

  Hayfever was catching. Ginny found herself sniffing and hauled herself together with a fierceness that was almost anger.

  She’d lose Richard.

  Did she have to lose Fergus?

  Slowly the anger faded. She stared out over the sleepy rural landscape and tried to do a bit of crystal-ball gazing. Which was very, very hard.