Amy's Touch

by Lynne Wilding

  Beth played her favourite Debussy piece, ‘Clair de Lune’, then several lively Gilbert and Sullivan tunes from The Pirates of Penzance.

  ‘How are things at Drovers Way, Randall?’ Bill, not known for subtlety, asked straight out between sips of port.

  ‘Very good, Bill. We’ve doubled our flock, we’re planting more wheat and an acre of lupins and clover.’

  ‘You’re in the black then?’

  ‘Most definitely.’

  Bill gave an approving nod. ‘Good, good. You’ve done well, turning things around in a few short years. Your father would be proud.’

  Really! The word hypocrite came into Randall’s mind. Walpole didn’t want him to do well. He’d love Drovers Way to be in dire straits so he could walk in and buy it at a bargain price. But Randall had no intention of letting Bill know that he knew Bill’s real, longterm ambitions. He watched the older man settle more deeply into his padded wing-backed chair and fold his hands across his expanded stomach. Slowly, Bill’s eyelids drooped as Beth continued to play, and after a few minutes his chin dropped forward onto his chest.

  When Beth stopped playing, Margaret Walpole gave a contented sigh. ‘That was delightful, Beth. You know, Randall, she could have gone to the conservatorium in Adelaide and studied to be a concert pianist, but,’ she glanced at her sleeping husband, ‘Bill wouldn’t hear of it. Said it was a waste of time and money.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mother. It was never my dream to be a concert pianist; it was more a piano-teaching goal for me,’ Beth said. She got up from the piano, walked over to Randall and sat beside him on the sofa.

  ‘You are very good, Beth. I always enjoy your playing,’ Randall complimented her, not because he had to but because it was the truth. The music she chose to play always soothed him.

  ‘I might get your father to bed,’ Margaret said. She went over to where her husband sat slumped in his chair and shook his shoulder. ‘Bill, wake up. Time to retire, dear.’

  ‘What! Wh-at? Did I nod off?’

  ‘You did, Daddy,’ Beth told him with a tight smile.

  ‘Sorry, my dear, a bit tired, I think.’ Bill struggled up and out of the chair and said his goodnights. Margaret followed him out of the room.

  ‘Alone at last…’ Beth’s tone was teasing as she turned on the sofa to smile at Randall. Her gaze followed his as he studied the room, taking note of the various pieces of furniture, the thick woollen rug over polished floorboards, the drapes, the marble fireplace and the chandelier. When he didn’t respond she added, as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  Randall came out of his reverie. ‘You have a lovely home here at Ingleside. I…I…’ He stopped, frowned momentarily, then continued, ‘I wish I could offer you similar comfort at Drovers.’

  ‘Are you offering me a job of some sort?’ She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t need a cook. I’ve heard that Jim is excellent in that area, and when Danny and Amy marry you’ll have a housekeeper. I’m not above helping out in a muster, you know, but I don’t think…’

  His hand moved to place a finger across her lips. ‘That wasn’t what I had in mind.’ His smile was tentative. ‘I’m not doing this very well, Beth.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I’m—I want you to marry me and be mistress of Drovers Way.’ Stunned into silence by his proposal, Beth stared at him open-mouthed while he went on. ‘We’ve known each other forever, I believe we deal well with each other. You understand what being a grazier’s wife—the duties, the need to be self-reliant—is all about.’ He tilted his head to one side and looked into her eyes. ‘Well?’

  ‘Randall.’ Her heart was beating so fast inside her chest cavity she thought it would burst, and she had a ringing sensation in her ears. Randall wanted to marry her! The dream she had been keeping to herself for months, that his sudden interest in her would lead to a proposal, was about to come true. Oh, every single woman in Gindaroo and half those on the Flinders Ranges, even some of the married ones, would envy her. And Mrs Randall McLean had such a nice ring to it. ‘I…don’t know what to say,’ she told him. In reality she did, but all at once she thought it wise not to appear too eager. ‘It

  —your proposal—is unexpected.’

  Randall’s smile hid his confusion. ‘Perhaps I’ve been wrong in assuming that you and I were…like-minded, that we cared for each other. Surely marriage is a natural progression of that caring?’

  Beth couldn’t contain her excitement, or her response, any longer. It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, but what did that matter? She was going to be Mrs Randall McLean! And wouldn’t Daddy be pleased. Her hand came up to caress his cheek. ‘Dear Randall, I do want to be your wife, very much.’ And, to reinforce her avowal, she leaned towards him and kissed him on the lips, then she snuggled in beside him. ‘Oh, we’re going to have a very special life together.’

  Knowing that he was expected to respond, Randall’s arm went around her shoulders to draw her more tightly against him, but his expression—Beth couldn’t see it—was bleak. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and wished it was Amy cuddling comfortably against him. His eyes opened wide at first, then narrowed, as he came to terms with what he had done. He was committed now to this course of action, and by God he vowed that Beth would never know his true feelings—and that he would make the best of their marriage, for her sake.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  How wonderful it was for Beth to be able to show off the modest engagement ring Randall had given her, driving all the way to Port Augusta to buy it. There had been an official announcement in the Chronicle, Hawker’s newspaper, and because the Walpole family was so well known in Gindaroo and the surrounding district, just about everyone she passed as she walked down Queen Street to Quinton’s general store stopped her to wish her well.

  Her parents had been excited when she’d told them the morning after Randall proposed, at breakfast. Especially her mother. Margaret had thought her one and only daughter, who was past the usual marrying age, would forever be a spinster. They had already discussed wedding dates and where the ceremony would be held, and what kind of gown she would wear. Oh, there was so much to organise, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Even Joe appeared pleased for her, and also happy to be gaining a future brother-in-law of Randall’s calibre.

  Dot Quinton was serving a customer in the general store. Both women exclaimed and oohed and aahed over the engagement ring and asked several questions, until Beth grew bored and said she wanted to look at some dress materials. Towards the back of the store, where the ready-made clothes and bolts of material were kept, Amy Carmichael was checking out several finely patterned materials suitable for blouses.

  ‘Amy! It’s good to see you. You know, I’ve been meaning to call on you.’ Beth noted Amy’s puzzled look. ‘Now that we’re going to be sisters-in-law and live in the same house, I thought it would be good to get to know each other better.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Congratulations on your engagement, Beth. Randall must be a very happy man.’ Curiously, Amy almost choked as she forced the words out. What was the matter with her? Why wasn’t she happy for him? Because…No! She stopped the thought from taking hold.

  ‘We’re both very happy,’ Beth answered, her tone firm in that regard. ‘It’s an exciting time, isn’t it? Have you and Danny set a date yet?’

  ‘No. Gindaroo’s hospital is open now and I’m quite busy. I, we, haven’t had time to organise a date. Have you?’ Amy pushed aside the guilty feeling about not having settled on a wedding date with Danny. Even Meg was pressing her to make up her mind and to get moving on it.

  ‘Tentatively, next spring. I’ve always wanted to be a spring bride, and it gives Mother and me plenty of time to see to the little things.’ Beth picked up one of the lengths Amy had been studying. ‘I like this one. I think it would look good on you with your fair colouring.’

  ‘Mmmm, I can’t decide.’ Which wasn’t true, really. Amy had already made up her mind to buy the l
emon candy-striped material. Purposely, she glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Goodness, the time! I’m due at the hospital. My father’s started a clinic there for ladies who are expecting to come in and have a check-up.’

  Beth smiled. ‘Well, I hope in the not-too-distant future, after we’ve been married for a while, that I’ll be attending the clinic myself. With Randall’s good looks we should have beautiful children.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Amy replied in a half-strangled whisper. ‘Must go, Beth.’

  ‘Of course. I’d love you and your father to come out for afternoon tea one day. I’ll be in touch.’

  Amy rushed out of the store without the material or a word to Dot Quinton, as if she were fleeing from something unpleasant. And…to tell the truth, she was! Oh, how had she managed to get herself into this emotional mess? she thought as she walked to the hospital. Work would give a much-needed respite from the thoughts tumbling around inside her head. She had been refusing to let what was at the back of her mind take over her thoughts, but she couldn’t contain it any longer. She was going to marry the wrong man, and the man she loved—yes, loved—was going to marry another woman. She had absolutely no idea where or how or why she had fallen in love with Randall McLean. That she had made no sense to her, but she didn’t doubt the fact for one minute. And the rub was, there was little she could do about it.

  As the full moon approached, Randall took the precaution of having one of the three of them camp each night near the roughly made corral in the hope that the cattle duffers would come to practise their illegal craft. Several days and nights passed with no sign of activity, a situation that frustrated all of them.

  ‘It’s a waste of time,’ Danny said glumly as he packed a swag for the night. It included a canteen of water, his rifle and two blankets, because even in late summer the temperature could drop markedly in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘Maybe.’ Randall half-agreed with him. He had thought that the duffers would have made their move by now. ‘However, if we don’t keep a watch, and they turn up and steal twenty head of cattle, we’ll feel stupid, won’t we?’

  ‘I guess.’

  Jim handed Danny an old, used biscuit tin, and said with a grin, ‘There’s enough food in there to stop your stomach from rumbling and giving your position away.’ He chuckled when Danny responded with a dirty look.

  ‘All right.’ Randall brought the repartee to an end. ‘It’s dark now. Off you go. If the bastards turn up, don’t take them on by yourself. Ride back home. That’ll take nearly an hour. We’ll have horses in the yard ready for saddling.’ As Danny went off, Randall turned to glance at Jim. ‘Try to get some sleep.’

  In his bedroom, Randall flopped onto the bed, fully clothed, with his boots on, and lay in the dark willing himself to fall sleep. It was bad enough that his periodic nightmares about the Great War gave him restless nights; now he was also besieged by unruly, complicated feelings for Amy, and trying to justify to himself his decision to marry Beth. Was a loveless marriage from his side fair on Beth? No. Was it fair on him? No. He made a growling sound in the darkness. Frankly, he didn’t know what else to do. His hope was that having Beth at his side would prove a reasonable distraction for what he felt for Amy. But…if only she hadn’t decided to marry Danny this situation wouldn’t have evolved. Now he was stuck with it.

  Groaning, he turned on his side, closed his eyes tightly, and prayed for sleep to overtake him.

  A single piercing whistle broke the stillness of the night and stirred Danny from the doze he’d fallen into. He opened his eyes and cocked his head to one side, listening, hoping the sound would be repeated. It wasn’t, but he could hear muffled noises in the undergrowth to the right, the dull sound of cattle hooves scraping the ground. Could be strays moving about, he thought. But if it wasn’t…Getting up, he moved stealthily towards his horse, which was tethered within a few feet of where he’d been lying. His hand went over its muzzle in case it nickered and gave his position away.

  Another quick, sharp whistle convinced him that the cattle duffers were rounding steers up and moving them towards the roughly made corral. Rolling up his blanket and fixing the saddlebags to the horse, Danny mounted. Leaning over against his horse’s neck so that in the semi-darkness the horse would appear riderless, he flicked the reins and headed south towards the homestead.

  Danny riding into the front yard at a full gallop woke Randall from his fitful sleep. Randall shivered in the night air, which meant it was well after midnight. Rubbing his eyes and finger-combing his black hair off his forehead, he leaped from the bed and grabbed a jacket, which he pulled on roughly. His gaze, accustomed to the dark, became fixed on the revolver lying on the highboy. Memories made him hesitate for a moment, but then he picked the firearm up and shoved it into the side of his trouser belt. By the time he opened the front door Danny and Jim were saddling the horses.

  ‘I knew they’d come,’ Randall told them. ‘The bastards know we’ll be mustering a percentage of stock to sell at the Hawker yard next month. But we have to be as quiet as we can,’ he cautioned. ‘Take anything off the tack that might rattle, or put a piece of cloth around it to muffle the noise,’ he ordered. ‘We don’t know how many there are, so surprise is imperative.’ He looked at Danny, then at Jim. ‘Ready?’

  Danny nodded affirmatively and Jim saluted him with his hook. The three mounted and, at a trot, which turned into a full gallop, Danny led the way out of the front yard, through the home paddock and out towards the rolling hills of the property, where the duffers were about to ply their trade.

  Less than an hour’s hard riding brought them to the scrubby bush area of the corral. Randall held up his hand for them to stop and listen. In the night’s silence he could hear the muffled sounds of cattle lowing, and the occasional curse of a man. Then a sharp retort by another. His eyebrows lifted. They’re so damned confident they won’t be disturbed.

  ‘We need to find out how many there are,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll reconnoitre.’

  As quietly as he could, and watching where he put his feet, thanks to the moon’s eerie glow, Randall edged towards the wall of the corral. Cattle milled nervously near the corral’s boundaries. At one end was a fire, and two men were roping, pulling down and branding cattle, one at a time. Another man, just visible in the moonlight, with a rifle resting diagonally across his chest—the barrel pointed skywards—stood guard. Randall waited a while but couldn’t see any other men. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and made his way back to Danny and Jim, motioning for them to dismount.

  ‘There are three. One’s keeping watch. He has a rifle.’ Randall looked at Danny, who pulled his rifle out of the holster attached to his saddle. ‘We need to catch these bastards. If they get away they’ll keep on doing what they’re doing. Capture, that’s our first priority.’

  ‘Well, if there’s three men, that’s one apiece.’

  Randall nodded at Jim’s common-sense remark. ‘When they see us they’ll probably stampede the cattle, hoping to get away in the confusion,’ Randall said. ‘We must get the jump on them before they do that. Understand?’ He watched his companions nod in agreement. ‘All right. Danny, you go around to the right; Jim, you go left. I’ll go straight. Wait till you hear my yell, then charge them.’

  ‘Jesus, this is just like a war manoeuvre,’ Jim muttered.

  ‘Can you handle it?’ Randall asked, mindful of what Jim had been through: the grenade, losing his hand.

  ‘Yeah,’ Jim grinned with anticipation. ‘They won’t know what hit them.’

  Jim’s prediction came true. It took several minutes for the Drovers Way trio to get to their assigned positions, but the duffers were still unaware that they were being stalked, because each man was concentrating on his allotted task. As Randall stood in the shadow of a six-foot-tall scrubby bush, he noted the cattle’s unease. It wouldn’t take much to spook them.

  He waited a couple of minutes to allow Danny and Jim to get close to the two men doing the branding,
while his own gaze became fixed on the solidly built, bearded man holding the rifle. His hand snaked down to the revolver tucked into his belt and he withdrew it. The metal felt cold against the warmth of his hand. He gripped it with familiarity, having handled it—under the supervision of his father—since he was small. It was, in fact, his father’s weapon, but Randall believed Colin McLean had never used it on a human being, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to either. He’d done enough killing to last two lifetimes.

  Pushing the branches aside, Randall stepped into the open area where there were no cattle. He pointed the revolver at the guard and shouted, ‘All right, you bastards, the game’s up. Put your weapons down and your hands in the air.’

  Then, as expected, all hell broke loose.

  The men branding the cattle were set upon by Danny and Jim. Danny charged and knocked one man to the ground and punched him a few times. Jim used his hook to foil an attack with the branding iron and laid his good right fist into the man’s solar plexus. There was a grunt and the man dropped to his knees, but got up almost immediately and, sensing the fight’s outcome, began to run across the clearing to where three horses were tethered.

  The man with the rifle fired at Randall. The bullet whizzed by his temple, too close for comfort! Randall’s jaws clamped together and he pointed the revolver at the man and fired, hitting him in the thigh. With a scream of pain, the man fell to the ground. He dropped his rifle, which discharged accidentally, and then he began to curse volubly.