Amy's Touch

by Lynne Wilding

  Then how come knowing all that failed to make him feel any happier?

  The man standing next to him at the bar knocked his elbow, making him spill his beer onto the bar’s counter. ‘Watch it, mate,’ Danny complained. He’d drunk enough to be uncharacteristically belligerent, especially so when he recognised the man elbowing him as Frank Smith, Gindaroo’s mechanic-blacksmith, who’d been keen on Amy.

  Frank wasn’t the type to back down. ‘You watch it, Danny McLean,’ he said, and deliberately nudged Danny again.

  At any other time Danny would have laughed Frank’s aggression off and walked away. Not today, after seeing what he had at Drovers Way and drinking half a dozen pints of beer, when normally he was a two-pints man. He turned to face Frank, who was a couple of inches taller and, because of the heavy work he did, more huskily built. ‘Move down the bar, mate. There’s plenty of room at the other end.’

  ‘I like it here, even if the company isn’t so great.’

  In an instant Danny’s hand came up and pushed Frank’s chest. ‘Shove off, Frank. I’m in no mood for your humour.’

  ‘And I’m in no mood to be pushed around by a McLean,’ Frank responded, and pushed Danny back. This time three-quarters of the beer in Danny’s glass slopped over the counter.

  ‘You owe me a beer.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to buy you one,’ Frank growled back.

  That was when Danny threw a punch. It landed on the side of Frank’s neck, throwing him off balance. After that the fight was on in earnest. Danny gave a pretty good account of himself, except that the beer he’d consumed slowed his responses enough for Frank to eventually get the upper hand. The fight spilled out of the saloon bar onto the hotel’s verandah and steps. Frank shoulder-charged and knocked Danny to the ground, where he lay, winded. Frank kicked Danny in the guts and tried to stomp on his hand. Danny rolled away and got to his knees before Frank could pound him to the ground again.

  ‘Had enough, McLean?’

  Joe Walpole, leaning against the front fender of his automobile, pushed himself upright and came towards Danny and Frank. ‘He’s had enough, Frank. You’ve made your point,’ Joe said calmly, and, surprisingly, placed himself between the two men. ‘Compensation for not winning Amy’s fair hand, hey!’ he taunted Frank sarcastically, after which he gave Danny a searching once-over. One eye was bruised and swollen, blood streamed from his nose, his shirt was torn and speckled with blood and the knuckles on both hands were grazed.

  Joe shook his head. ‘You’re a bloody mess, mate. Come on, I’ll take you home.’

  ‘Don’t want to go home. Take me to your place, Joe,’ Danny said, his voice slurred.

  If Joe considered Danny’s request odd he didn’t say so. ‘All right, if that’s what you want. You can sleep it off in the stockmen’s quarters.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Danny took a ragged handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and held it to his bleeding nose. He couldn’t let Randall or Jim see him like this—bloodied and beaten. Staying overnight at Ingleside would give him time to think and plan what to do next…

  Bad news travelled fast in the country, and titbits of gossip travelled faster. By Monday morning Randall knew that Danny had been in a fight in Gindaroo and was staying at Ingleside. Fighting and staying away from Drovers Way was definitely odd behaviour for his brother, but Randall refused to be overly concerned. Danny would come home when he was good and ready, get whatever was bothering him off his chest, and then he’d be the same old Danny.

  Early-morning shadows lay on the ground as Randall and Jim finished a hearty breakfast of mutton chops, eggs and fried bread, washed down with two mugs of tea. In between mouthfuls, Randall outlined the schedule for the day.

  ‘We can’t count on Danny being available today, so we’ll have to herd the sheep ourselves, east of the valley to the west, closer to the creek. And if there’s time I’d like to check that irrigation pipe I put in—it’s been clogging up. We got very little winter rain and we’re going to need extra water from the creek or the wheat crop might fail.’

  ‘I’ve heard that Ingleside, having seen your success with the irrigation pipe, is going to drill and set up a series of windmills for underground water so they can plant more wheat,’ Jim informed Randall as he cleaned up and put the dishes in the sink.

  ‘That’s fine with me. Bill can do whatever he likes so long as he doesn’t take more than his share of water from the creek.’

  ‘I’ll check the pipe. I could do it now, then meet you and help you move the flock.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Randall nodded in agreement. When he took the time to think about it, which he did occasionally, he marvelled at how well Jim had fitted in with Drovers. Having only one good hand didn’t stop him from cooking excellent meals, and he was a conscientious worker who never complained about the tasks he was asked to do. A real gem. It was going to be interesting seeing how he and Beth shared kitchen duties when she came to live here. Thinking that, a bubble of bile rose in Randall’s throat as he contemplated his forthcoming marriage. He’d racked his brain but couldn’t find an honourable way out without hurting Beth and earning Bill Walpole’s everlasting enmity. Admitting it didn’t help, but he knew now that it had been stupid to ask her to marry him. He had backed himself into a corner from which there was no satisfactory retreat.

  Randall scraped the chair on the linoleum as he stood. ‘See you on the range.’

  ‘What do you mean he isn’t here?’ Randall queried Jim as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink after they’d come in from moving the flock of sheep.

  ‘I checked his room a minute ago,’ Jim explained. ‘He wasn’t there. I peeped in his wardrobe and it looks like he’s packed a suitcase full of clothes—his personal things are missing—and taken off.’

  ‘Taken off!’ Randall’s tone rose several notches, though he didn’t doubt that Jim spoke the truth. ‘Are you crazy? Why would Danny take off? Makes no bloody sense.’

  Jim hesitated a moment, then said quietly, ‘There’s an envelope on the kitchen table. It’s addressed to you.’ Randall’s confusion was palpable. Jim took the clean metal bucket from under the sink. ‘I’ll go and milk Crystal before it gets dark.’

  Randall knew Jim was giving him space to read what Danny had written. Instinctively, he sat down before doing so. Danny’s behaviour over the last twenty-four hours made no sense, but hopefully the letter would explain everything. He tore the envelope open and took out Danny’s handwritten two-page letter. It didn’t take long to read.

  Randall held his breath as he read the letter, and when he finished he expelled a loud sigh. His gaze became fixed on Danny’s last few sentences: I want you and Amy to be happy together. If you are, I’ll be happy. Your loving brother, Danny.

  Damn it all to hell and back! Randall thumped his fist on the kitchen table. Danny knew about his feelings for Amy, and that she reciprocated. How…? Somehow his brother had worked it out. He’d come home, written the letter, packed a bag and left. Don’t try to find me, ’cause I’m not coming back. I’ll be fine, he’d written. His going was for the best. He didn’t blame Randall or Amy for feeling the way they did. He understood! Racked with guilt, Randall ran a hand through his hair. The expression in his eyes was bleak.

  When and how had Danny found out? Hadn’t Randall been careful to hide how he felt about Danny’s fiancée? Obviously not careful enough. And…God almighty, Danny said he understood. How bloody amazing. Randall didn’t understand why or how he’d fallen in love with Amy himself, so how could his brother?

  A wave of sadness rose within him, stifling all other thoughts for several minutes. He hadn’t meant it to happen, but he had betrayed his brother, his closest living relative, and driven him away from their home.

  A little later, when he became more rational, Randall’s thoughts turned to Amy. Had Danny left her a similar letter? Or had he called at Primrose Cottage to officially break their engagement? That was something he had to know. He g
ot up from the table, grabbed his hat and headed for the back door and the shed, where the Ford was parked.

  Amy wouldn’t see Randall, but Dr Carmichael agreed to. The older man’s features were grimly disapproving as he led Randall through the house and into the small study off the kitchen passageway.

  After Randall closed the door, the doctor got straight down to the matter. ‘This is a…distressing business, Randall. I must say that I’m shocked.’

  ‘Has Danny been here?’

  ‘He called, left a letter for Amy, but wouldn’t see her. He appeared to be very upset.’

  ‘He left a letter for me too. I take it you know the contents of Amy’s letter, sir?’

  David Carmichael nodded. ‘Amy let me read it.’ He shook his head in silent contemplation for a moment or two. ‘A very bad business.’

  ‘Might I see her letter?’

  ‘I don’t think Amy would agree to that.’ The doctor subjected the younger man to a hard look. ‘It’s between Danny and herself. Suffice it to say, the general gist was that he knew you and Amy were in love with each other so he freed her from her engagement to him.’

  A muscle flexed in Randall’s jaw. ‘Uummm, how did she take it?’

  David peered at Randall over his gold-rimmed glasses. It was clear that he didn’t know Randall McLean as well as he’d come to know Danny. ‘How do you think she took it? Badly.’ He made a tut-tutting sound with his tongue. ‘You and Amy and Danny, it’s all very unfortunate. In my opinion your brother has shown great courage and compassion doing what he’s done.’

  ‘I agree. He—we never talked about it. He just wrote those letters and left.’ Randall’s tone was confused, but it also held a note of determination. ‘Respectfully, sir, Amy and I, we need to talk.’

  Still staring stolidly, David considered Randall’s request. ‘That’s up to her. What I think you both need is distance and time to put matters into perspective. Your marriage to Beth Walpole is imminent and you have decisions to make in that regard. Amy needs time to sort out her feelings too. I’ve suggested she visit relatives for a month or two, she has an aunt and family in Melbourne…’

  Randall tried to ignore the doctor’s mention of his forthcoming marriage. He knew only too well it was a matter he had to tackle, but that would come later. ‘Will she go?’

  The doctor’s shoulders shrugged meaningfully. ‘I don’t know. She’s not the kind of person who runs away from problems.’

  ‘I assure you, sir, neither do I.’

  Dr Carmichael was making it abundantly clear that he didn’t think much of Randall, and who could blame him? They didn’t know one another well, even though the doctor had operated on Randall and saved his life early in the year. No doubt, in the doctor’s books, Randall, more than Amy, had committed a sin that was socially unacceptable, and only the passage of time would make David Carmichael’s opinion of him mellow.

  Randall realised there was little point in further debate. He muttered a stilted goodbye and the doctor saw him out. Then, for several minutes he sat behind the driver’s wheel of the Ford, staring at the side windows of Primrose Cottage. He knew which window was Amy’s bedroom, the third one down the side passage. The light was on, the curtains drawn. He wanted so much to see her, to comfort her, to…what? Tell her that everything would come right between them? But perhaps, as the doctor had intimated, it was too soon for that. They both needed time to clear their heads, to work out their feelings and what they wanted to do. And as the doctor had also suggested, he had some deep thinking to do about his upcoming marriage. First thing tomorrow he’d talk to Byron Ellis about trying to find Danny. He had to know where he was, that he was safe; then he would deal with what to do about Beth Walpole.

  Randall had read somewhere that confession was good for the soul, but as he approached the Ingleside homestead myriad doubts invaded him. Not surprisingly, he had slept poorly. The wartime nightmare had surfaced in the early hours of the morning and left him soaked in sweat. Then there’d been dreams about Danny in which his brother had become so down-and-out that he was living on the streets of Adelaide, begging for pennies. And this morning, Byron’s sage advice—that if Danny didn’t want to be found there were plenty of places in and beyond Australia where a man could remain incognito forever—hadn’t cheered Randall one iota.

  Reading Danny’s letter had been hard; speaking to Amy’s father had been hard and embarrassing; but talking face-to-face to Beth, trying to make her understand and begging her forgiveness, would be the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. She would be hurt and angry and rightly so, and if she had inherited some of her father’s nature she might also become vindictive.

  Accepting that possibility, he squared his shoulders as he left the automobile and walked up to Ingleside’s front door, which opened before he had time to strike the brass doorknocker.

  ‘I heard a vehicle drive up,’ Beth said, smiling. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘This is a nice surprise, you visiting so early in the morning. Come inside.’

  Randall tilted his chin to look up at a clear blue sky. The sunshine was pleasantly warm but not stiflingly hot. ‘It’s a lovely day,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we take a turn around the garden?’

  ‘All right, but the sun’s warm today. Let me get my parasol.’ Like her mother, Beth was obsessed with keeping her fair skin unlined by the sun, something not easy to do given the sometimes harsh conditions of the Flinders Ranges.

  Randall let Beth chatter on about the wedding while they walked around Ingleside’s well-tended garden. The roses were in bud, the shrubs bursting with new growth, and several varieties of bottlebrush had spring flowers. At the end of the garden Bill had built a hexagonal latticework gazebo with a conical shingle roof, with seating so one could sit and admire the various aspects of the garden.

  As they wandered around the garden, Randall was trying to work out the most diplomatic way to broach the subject of their forthcoming marriage. He had decided, after much mental agonising, that he couldn’t go through with it, and that he never should have proposed to Beth in the first place. He now acknowledged that he had done so in a vain attempt to curb the growing feelings he’d had towards Amy. He also knew that there was no easy way to say what he had to say, but he waited until they were seated in the gazebo before he began.

  ‘Beth, what I have to say is going to cause you great distress, and for that I am sincerely sorry. I wish there was a more gentle, kinder way to say it, but…’ he took a deep breath, ‘I can’t marry you.’

  Beth stared at him, and frowned. ‘If that’s a joke, Randall, I don’t think it’s at all funny.’

  ‘I’m serious. I—I—have thought long and hard about our getting married, and because I respect you so much I’ve concluded that it wouldn’t be fair to go ahead with it, because…I’m not in love with you and…I could never make you happy the way you deserve to be.’

  Shock made Beth draw in a noisy breath. She jumped up from the seat and began to pace the timber floor. ‘It’s early November, our wedding is weeks away. The invitations have been posted, the wedding breakfast chosen and other arrangements made too, and you dare to sit there and tell me you can’t marry me?’ She made a strangled squealing sound in her throat, half frustration, half fury. ‘Are you insane?’

  Randall gave her a strange look and wondered if she was referring to his mother’s mental problems. ‘Some people might think so.’ Probably half the people in the district believed he was marrying her for her dowry. ‘The fault isn’t yours, Beth, it’s mine.’ He tried to grab hold of her hand to stop her pacing but she snatched it away from him. ‘It was wrong of me to offer you marriage when…when…there was no emotional bond on my part.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What will Mother and Daddy say? And our intended guests. What do I tell them?’

  He saw unshed tears glistening in her eyes and his guilt rose another notch. ‘Say whatever you like. Blame me. After all, it is my fault.’


  Beth stopped pacing and scrutinised him. Her gaze was intense. After several seconds of consideration, a glimmer of understanding came to her. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there? That’s why you don’t want to marry me.’

  Randall had the grace to look flustered. ‘No, I’ve told you why. You deserve happiness and I can’t give it to you.’

  ‘Because you’re in love with another woman. That’s why.’

  Damn it, this wasn’t going as he’d expected. He had expected tears, recriminations, even a tantrum, but her almost cool acceptance and her incisive questioning was sending him into a mental spin. He had no intention of divulging the name of the woman for whom he had feelings, but he knew Beth well enough to know that—like a dog intent on getting every morsel of meat off a bone—she’d worry and probe at him until she had the answers she wanted. He had to get away from Ingleside before she…

  ‘It’s Amy Carmichael, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s utter nonsense.’ Randall tried to control any expression that would give him away. ‘I’ve given you my reason, and for your own sake, Beth, accept it as such.’

  Beth, however, wouldn’t let the matter go. Anger made her shout, ‘I’m not a fool, so don’t treat me like one. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. The longing.’

  Randall’s mouth tightened; the tension along his spine doubled. ‘This conversation isn’t going anywhere. Would you like me to talk to your father, explain why I’m calling the marriage off?’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘Not a good idea. Daddy is going to be furious. You’ve embarrassed all of us with your…decision.’ She pulled herself upright, her features tight with repressed anger. ‘I’d give him and Ingleside a wide berth from now on…and don’t you worry, I’ll tell everyone who needs to be told.’