‘Jason, wake up!’ The man’s voice was crisp, almost sharp and peremptory, and, incensed, Frances stepped forward.
‘Mr. West, he’s had enough today.’
‘I want him to look round.’
‘Some other time,’ she protested.
‘Now.’
‘The child is tired. Why is it so important?’
‘Because—’ Sudden awareness of the unreasonable attitude he was taking silenced Burn West. He looked at the little boy, though not with impatience any more but—disappointment?
Disappointment? Why was it so important for the child to enthuse now when he hadn’t been expected to enthuse before?
‘Take him back to the jeep. I’ll see Gibson and then we’ll hit home.’ West turned abruptly and went out of the house.
‘Do you think you can walk back, Jason?’ Frances asked. The little boy had been sitting all afternoon and might feel cramped.
Yes.’ Jason was already on his feet and moving off. As he proceeded slowly he did take an interest in the house, and Frances wished that West could have seen it. He drew Frances’ attention to several things about it, looked back at it as they emerged. She decided she would tell Burn this, but Burn West when he came brought Matt Gibson with him, and after the introductions ‘hit home’ as he had said he would. And one look at his face told Frances this was no time to assure him that his son had found interest in the property after all, an interest that apparently was very much desired by West.
Jason, too, must have been discouraged by his father’s expression. He leaned closer to Frances and presently slept, not even waking when she got out to open the West gate then shut it again.
When they came to the homestead Frances asked Burn to carry the boy straight to bed.
Frances started lessons the next morning. She set them out formally on the little desk, pretended not to hear Jason’s muttered ‘Nothing’, that, in his nervous tension, he had decided to adopt again, and even rang a little bell indicating that class had begun.—What, she thought, secretly as nervous as Jason was, if Jason ignored it, which was quite likely with Jason, and she had to call in Burn? For a few moments she thought it was going to happen like that, for Jason remained stubbornly where he was as though he had not seen any arranged desk, heard any bell, then ... compulsively she knew, and her heart went out to the hungry little boy ... he shuffled laboriously over.
She started at once on the manual, not giving him time for any second thoughts, and from then on she knew there would be no stopping Jason West any more; he almost starved for information. They were both a little breathless by the time Mrs. Campbell brought in sandwiches and milk at eleven o’clock. Jason openly resented the interruption, but Frances wisely insisted on the break, then ten minutes of rest.
The hour and a half to lunch went on wings. The child positively devoured everything he was offered. He was a natural scholar, and the years that had been deprived him had only whetted his appetite for when the miracle could begin. But wisely Frances still determined to go slowly. For all that she felt certain that the desire to learn would persist in Jason she had no intention of risking a diminution through offering too much too soon. Also, the child was not strong yet. When his face dropped as she not only closed the books but put them away as the lunch bell rang, she forestalled any argument with: ‘That’s how it is at proper school, Jason, only morning lessons until you get to a higher grade.’
‘I can do that very soon, that higher grade. I can do it today.’
‘Of course you can’t.’—Frances secretly felt he could. —‘No, Jason, nothing till tomorrow morning.’
‘What’ll I do till tomorrow morning, France?’ He sounded desolate.
Oh, darling, she wanted to cry out in delight, for enthusiasm was what every teacher yearned for. She thought a while. He really deserved something more than a painting session after what he had experienced this morning.
‘It’s a lovely day. We’ll ask Burn can we go down to the river,’ she said.
‘Why do we have to ask him?’
Frances had asked Burn West this herself, she recalled, and been as unsatisfied with his answer as Jason was unsatisfied now... That is until Burn had said: ‘Jason could be taken away.’
She looked at the little boy wondering what to reply to him, and was glad when there was no need to. Burn West came into the room, sized up the position in that intuitive way of his, then drawled, ‘I have a feeling you’ve done well this morning, sonno, so we’ll have the afternoon off. What do you say to a row in the boat?’
‘The little red boat?’ Jason’s eyes shone with delight.
The three of them walked down later to the river, and after seating Jason Burn nodded for Frances to get in as well.
‘Won’t I make it too much?’ she asked.
‘We’ll only drift around our small bend. As a matter of fact’ ... he helped her down ... ‘I wouldn’t dare go further. You wouldn’t credit from the slack here that the Murrumbidgee can be quite a mover. No Niagara, I admit, but it can get a rustle on. If you ever swim it, France, allow for the current. Even a strong stroke won’t finish up on the other side opposite to where he pushed off.’
A tiny island separated the river proper from Burn West’s protected section, and making the boat secure to a willow, the three of them watched fascinated as the stream flowed by. Burn was right, there was quite a current. Frances thought of Jason hiding in the little boat that day and could not conceal a shiver. What if the child—
Burn saw the flinch, misunderstood and laughed. ‘It’s quite all right. I’m not going any further.’
They amused themselves throwing in leaves and seeing whose leaf could reach the current first, then Burn rowed back again. As Jason walked in front of them to the house, Burn said, ‘I rather think it was a complete success this morning.’
‘Oh, it was!’ Her eyes shone.
‘I also think,’ he read, ‘you want to make haste slowly. Right again?’
‘I want him to retain his eagerness. I feel he will, but I want to ensure it by not giving him too much at once.’
‘Then I’ll help you there. More or less until the harvest I haven’t much to do ... if a farmer ever hasn’t much to do,’ he laughed. ‘Tomorrow afternoon we’ll go and see the rice.’
‘Your rice?’
‘No, that, so far, is not in my basket of eggs. Though I admit I could be interested. A friend of mine is doing well with rice, though, and I’m sure the sonno, and you, would be interested.’
Frances assured him she would.
She was grateful for Burn’s offer the next morning, for Jason was even more reluctant to put down his books. It would only be a matter of weeks, Frances thought, when an outing, however attractive it might sound, would take second place to lessons.
At first the rice project did not appeal to Jason.
‘I don’t like that kind of pudding,’ he frowned.
They plant it in water, Jason.’ Frances decided to take no notice of the boy’s grumbling. ‘Imagine that! You wouldn’t think things would grow in water.’
‘An onion does,’ said Jason, ‘you put it in a bottle of water and it grows each end.’
‘The fields are called paddy fields. In most countries rice is planted by hand, in the water, then the feet firm it down, but in Australia there’s some wonderful machinery and—’
The machinery won Jason. He said, ‘I don’t like the pudding, but I’d like to see that machinery. When do we go?’
‘After lunch.’
As they drove in the jeep again to the special section of the irrigation area earmarked for rice, Burn West said quietly that he thought Jason would be ready soon for meals with the rest of the homestead.
‘It might be better if you wait until the plaster is off,’ suggested Frances as quietly.
‘I thought that, too, but I’ve had a ring from Doctor Muir, and he seemed to think we can get around to that very soon.’
‘That’s wonderful!’
<
br /> ‘I hope it will be,’ Burn said gravely.
They reached the Mitchisons’ mid-afternoon, had tea, then on Ben Mitchison’s suggestion towed a mount behind the jeep so that Burn could take Jason a little closer to the crop than four wheels might allow.
‘Burner’s a real rice baby,’ Mitchison said, ‘thinks nothing of wet feet and has never been known to tramp on a plant.’
They passed Ben Mitchison’s Dethridge meter measuring out his supply of irrigation water, then all at once were in rice territory. Frances called aloud in delight, and even Jason, though he added, Jason-like, that he still didn’t like the pudding, was interested.
The grass-like plants were now almost to waist-deep growth. Some of the heads were actually heavy with grain.
Burn let Jason feel the heads, marvel at them, and the little boy said, ‘Perhaps I might like it next time—that pudding, I mean,’ which was reward enough, smiled Burn’s eyes at Frances.
Encouraged, Burn stopped the jeep and came round to lift Jason out to put him on Bunter and lead him right into the crop. Frances, watching a little nervously, was relieved to see that Jason was quite eager to go.
Perhaps it was that eagerness that did the damage, perhaps it was the jerk forward that the boy made to Burn that set the jeep slanting slightly on the wet soft earth. No harm was done, Burn West was too careful a driver not to pick a standing position that was not absolutely safe. The car simply slanted over and stopped there, but the sudden movement made Burn miss Jason and the next moment the boy was sprawled on the ground.
He didn’t cry out and he didn’t seem in pain, but his injured leg was spread out quite grotesquely. With a little cry Frances went to climb out, but Burn called sharply, ‘Stop there, the movement might send the jeep right over, and I don’t want to move Jason until I’m sure it’s being done in the right way.’
Frances stopped where she was, then Burn called, ‘You can get out now, but do it carefully. I think the jeep’s secure enough, but I don’t want to take any risk.’
Frances fairly crawled from her side of the jeep and came round to where Burn knelt by the little boy.
‘He’s all right, I think, but I have to be very sure how I load him back again.’
‘I can help,’ she offered.
‘I’ll need more than your help, France, I’ll need a brace of men. The sonno will have to be scooped up as he is, not as we would like to place him. Arrange his leg wrongly and you could be back to taws. Crack that plaster and you could crack his leg for another period.’
‘Then I’ll drive back to the homestead for help.’
‘No.’ Burn West shook his head. ‘The ground is wet. Probably it’s firm, but I wouldn’t take that risk. You might start off, find yourself slipping, then even land on the boy ... because I don’t intend moving him, not without aid. No, France, get back to Mitchison and tell him to bring the track, some sort of stretcher or mattress and a couple of his men.’
‘But—but how?’ It was a fair distance back to the house. She didn’t mind the walk, but it would take a lot of time, and Jason...
‘The horse, of course,’ Burn flung. He was kneeling now by Jason, tenting him, sheltering him. If the jeep did move, he would take the impact first.
Frances stared at him incredulously. Then, as he didn’t turn, didn’t look up, just took it for granted that she had heard and was going to comply, she moved off. It came bitterly to her how only yesterday she had retorted to this man how she was not entirely a townie. Now she would have refuted that eagerly. For never in her life, though she knew that to a countryman like Burn West this would sound unbelievable, had she ridden a horse.
She walked warily to where Bunter waited, glad it was out of sight of the man, glad that any mistakes she made would only be known to herself and the horse.
Fortunately Bunter was an amiable mount, and though she was completely inexperienced, not even a week-end pony club girl, Frances was no fool. She mounted on the right side, grateful to Bunter for being patient about it, then started off.
It didn’t take her long to get used to riding the horse. Except that she was on an urgent errand she could have found a pride in her new achievement.
She rounded the narrow channels between the rice until she came to the road that led up to the homestead. As it was a private road she was a little surprised to see a car on it. Close on her surprise came an immense relief. The car could get her quicker to the Mitchisons than Bunter could.
She urged Bunter forward, calling out to the car as she did so. Then a curious thing happened. The car suddenly sprang to life and left Frances and Bunter standing. Frances had a quick impression of a young woman, fair, she thought, but it was only an impression. Probably she didn’t hear me calling, didn’t see me, she regretted, urging Bunter on again, but it still seemed odd that the driver had started the engine just as she had emerged from the ricefield.
She was accustomed to Bunter’s gait now; probably she was riding the wrong way, but at least she was getting there. When she saw the homestead she even found the nerve to slap Bunter’s broad rump. He rewarded her by cantering and though the increased speed took her by surprise she managed to hang on. She also felt she dismounted not too badly, though it was really more of a slither down. Towing Bunter behind her, she shouted out to Ben Mitchison, and soon he had rounded up several of his men, put a mattress on top of his utility and started off to the paddy.
Frances realised she would be no help down there, so she tethered Bunter and made for the house to have tea ready by the time the men got back. But before she did so she went curiously across to where the private road opened out to the public thoroughfare. Everything had happened so quickly when she had emerged from the rice she felt almost as though she had dreamed that car.
No, she had not dreamed it. The gate had not been closed again. Whoever had passed through had been in a hurry, too much of a hurry to pause to do what every countryman instinctively does, and what Mr. Mitchison would certainly have done—close the gate again.
She had the kettle boiling by the time the utility returned. To her query about Burn’s jeep Burn said, ‘It doesn’t matter, one of the men will return it later on. We’ll take Jason straight into Mirramunna just as he’s lying now.’
‘Mirramunna?’ she queried.
‘For Muir’s attention. He’ll probably want to X-ray the leg, see if any harm has been done.’
They did not wait for the tea Frances had brewed, but set off at once. Frances sat at the back of the utility ready to steady Jason, though so carefully did Burn drive that she did not have to extend one protective finger. She did not call out to Burn about the car she had seen on Mitchison’s private road. Burn had other things, urgent things, on his mind, and ... shrugging ... the car had been of no importance.
Ben must have rung the hospital that they were coming, for Scott was out of his surgery almost as soon as they pulled up. The X-rays were taken at once.
‘Absolutely no harm done.’ Scott came out soon afterwards with a wide smile. ‘You were wise, though, to keep the boy spread-eagled in the manner he fell.’
‘No jar? Nothing to set him back?’
‘Nothing at all. In fact—’
‘Yes, Doctor?’
‘I feel very optimistic that Jason will be walking sooner than we thought. That’s only my opinion, of course. Perhaps you could take him to Wagga Wagga.
‘To Sydney,’ said Burn West. ‘How long more would you like Jason to wait?’
‘Ten days ... a fortnight...’
‘Good. You’ll come, too, when we go, Doctor Muir?’
‘Well, I—’
‘Miss Peters, of course, must come.’
Scott looked across at Frances, but he did not say anything.
A little impatiently Burn came in, ‘You will advise me when?’
‘Yes, Mr. West.’
‘And we can take the boy home now?’
“Yes, and he can sit up, not lie down.’ Scott smiled as Jason
walked out of the surgery to join them.
‘You were a good boy, darling,’ Frances said warmly as they drove back to West of the River, to stay still like you did when Burn told you.’
‘Yes, sonno,’ came in Burn West, ‘even though it turned out to be all right it helped a lot you not spoiling things by trying to sit up.’
Jason said nothing, but Frances, who felt she knew the little boy better now, saw he was pleased with the praise.
Then ... to her complete surprise... came praise for Frances Peters.
‘Also, thank you,’ said Burn West, taking his eyes off the road a moment to look directly at her. ‘It’s not many girls who would have turned round like you did and ridden a horse for the first time.’
‘You—you knew? Was I that bad?’
‘I couldn’t see, but I doubt if I would have found you anything but good.’ A brief pause. ‘As you always are.’ He made the compliment directly, sincerely.
‘Then how did you know?’ Frances asked.
‘I felt your horror,’ he half-smiled, ‘it fairly hung in the air. I knew I was asking something of you that you’d never done before.’
‘But you still didn’t retract it.’
“You were gone by then. Besides—’
‘Besides?’—They were passing Uplands now and instinctively Frances’ eyes swept the gates again, beyond the gates, for Trev’s car, for Trev, but there was nothing and nobody there.
‘Besides, I knew you’d do it. And I wanted you to do it. A countrywoman must certainly be able to ride.’
‘But I’m not a countrywoman, I’m a townie.’
‘Not that much of a townie.’ He answered her with her own yesterday’s words.
Jason said with interest, ‘Did France ride a horse? When can I ride a horse?’
‘As soon as the plaster comes off, which will be quite soon. Perhaps we might even have a try-out before that, sonno. You were quite ready to try Bunter today, weren’t you? Then I’m sure you’ll try Candy tomorrow.’
‘France, too?’
‘There’s Miss Cloud for France.’
‘For being a good girl like I was a good boy?’
‘Something else for a good girl, too. I am opening the gate.’ Burn was out before Frances could protest, back again to drive through, then out to shut up again.
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