Aloud she said brightly: “All right, dears, but you’ll come and watch, won’t you? You’ll come and watch Jim.”
Dear, dependable little Jim. How often, thought Cary, has he been my raft to cling to.
This was true. Often through the day when she wanted to introduce a new exercise, a fresh manipulation, she would turn to Jim. Almost as though they had pre-arranged it, Jim would agree affably to be the first small guinea pig, and always, thought Cary gratefully, he would come up smiling.
She clung to him now, she clung to the bronze-haired little boy with the paralyzed leg and small pulled-up face. “You’ll show them, won’t you, Jim?”
“Yes, Aunty Cary.”
Matt Wilson mounted Jim on Molly. Taking the reins, he began leading him around the arena that Cary had had Mr. Heard mark on the smooth green turf.
She had got into her own jodhpurs and, taking out White Nose, suggested to Janet that she follow Jim’s example.
Mr. Heard brought out Toby and introduced him to Garry and Robert. Maysie, not to be outdone, brought out Candy and offered to walk any of them the same as Molly with Jim.
Cary did not entirely trust Maysie. She knew that walking a child round an arena would soon become boring and that she would be quite likely to tire of the pastime and hurry the pony back with a slap across his rump.
She need not have worried. Maysie walked no pony. Nobody, except Matt Wilson, circled the arena. No one but Jim agreed to mount a horse.
Cary tried for a long time, but she could see that she was regressing, not progressing. She could see that she was only doing the scheme harm by persisting like this. “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter,” she said casually. “Some other day. We’ll go back and take off your riding-kit now, shall we, and start again on our lessons.”
There were grumbles at this, but Cary was adamant. “No ponies, no riding-suits,” she stipulated. “Mrs. Heard made them only for that.”
Back they went to the house, and it started all over again, that long, tedious business of dealing with unfamiliar clothes. Surgical boots came off, then went on again; spinal braces and harnesses the same. Two hours of the day gone, thought Cary disconsolately, and nothing gained, nothing at all.
... Nothing?
“Oh, it was lovely, Aunty Cary, lovely! Molly is my friend. I think she loves me, too.”
I love you, darling, thought Cary to herself. You are my friend. She unbuttoned him tenderly. Dear little Jim; what would I do without you?
They went all over the same business the next day with a similar result. It was like that the third day, the fourth ...
Cary came back to Clairhill, withdrew boots, put back boots, unzipped surgical braces, put back surgical braces, then on a sudden desperate impulse went outside and stood beneath the tree. Presently Sorrel came after her to stand silently there a moment. “No buds yet,” she commented briefly.
“No.”
Another silence, then: “Oh, look here, Cary, is it that important? The kids and the ponies, I mean. Darling, does it matter so much to you?”
“It does rather, Sorrel.”
“But why? You’ve done a marvellous job already here. You’re still doing it. Mr. Farrell is pleased, so Mr. Beynon in London will be pleased too. Doctor Stormer is pleased. These children’s parents are pleased. Everyone is pleased except you.”
“And Mrs. Marlow.”
“Oh, Cary, Cary, don’t tilt at windmills.”
“I’m not tilting at windmills, I’m trying to make a dream come true.”
“No one makes dreams come true.”
“Jan Bokker did it.”
“Her patients might have been accustomed to horses before they came to the lodge.”
“That makes little difference, Sorrel. It’s the results that count. Results are the only things that matter.”
There was a brief silence, Cary still staring up at the tree. “You’ve let yourself become obsessed with this special therapy,” grumbled Sorrel. “Best to give in now, before you have to, Cary. Those children will never willingly mount a pony, and I can’t honestly say I blame them. Look, darling, forget all about it. We’ll concentrate on more gym work, more ‘little pups.’ They love that.”
“But they’re past that. Oh, Solly, you must see it. It’s like getting out of the first primer into the second. They’re good on the first primer. They know it off by heart. But repeating it will never get them anywhere. It won’t teach them to read.”
“You mean you believe this primer of yours, this horseriding, could teach them—to walk?”
“I think it will go the right way towards it,” said Cary.
Sorrel sighed. “You’re determined to go on with it, I see. Then why not force them on, whether they like it or not, and take the chance?”
Cary shook her head decisively. “No, it must be of their own accord.”
“Then you’ll wait a long time, my girl.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll wait.”
Oddly enough, Cary felt better after the little argument. Tomorrow was another day, she thought. Sorrel’s opposition, far from discouraging, had encouraged her. Linking her arm in the nurse’s, she went back to the house.
Jim was trotting round unaided now. Cary had hoped that the rapture on his little face would be an incentive to the others, but they still only submitted to being climbed into their suits every day, then walked to the stables, where they again refused point-blank to come within yards of each saddled mount.
It was deadlock. Had Jan encountered setbacks like this, or had her children taken to the ponies the same as to candy and lemonade?
Cary thought sadly of the programme she had made out. A few weeks of guided walking, then another week of walking alone. Later a slow trot, then a faster, then dressage routine consisting of different movements depending entirely on heel, knee and shifting position in the saddle, all so stretching and strengthening to little warped muscles and limbs.
She thought of the results she had dreamed about—Robert’s short leg gaining a fraction of an inch because of the unconscious exercise of trying to pull down the afflicted limb to a deliberately lengthened stirrup. Janet’s curved spine a little straighter because she wanted to sit as well in the saddle as Pauline. Garry, William, every afflicted one of them showing some improvement—and perhaps one, just one, like Else, being really able to walk.
But the bubble was burst. You could not perform a miracle when a miracle would not even begin.
As she dressed them that morning, Cary felt it was the last time she could face the disappointment. They were not taking so long getting ready now. They were becoming more, accustomed to their kit.
Faithful old Matt was waiting at the stables to seat Jim on Molly. The Heards and Sorrel had long given up.
Jim was now able to manage a moderate canter on Molly. In a few weeks Cary was determined to start him on the dressage routine. She was happy about Jim, but one promise of success was insufficient to dispel the let-down of a dozen failures. Defeated today even before she began, Cary led the children across the lawn. They watched Jim avidly, but the pleasure, Cary knew, was because they were on safe ground and Jimmy Leslie was up on a horse.
Then all at once she knew she had another supporter besides Matt and young Jim. It was not the Heards, who believed they would be better employed working elsewhere around the house, it was not Sorrel, who had only come at any time under pressure, it was Richard. She had not known he had flown up. She had not seen him for weeks—not since she had started trying to introduce the children to this new therapy. The realization that he was here to aid, not deride her, for those days of derision seemed now a long way back, sent a wave of gratitude surging through her.
Richard did not pause to greet her. He simply passed her where she stood with the children and grabbed hold of Candy’s neck.
“You silly little pony,” he reprimanded in a clear voice; “these children won’t hurt you.” He turned and addressed the boys and girls. “Horses are shy and
nervous,” he told them, “they’re not like you. Do you know what? They’re scared of you; isn’t that foolish? Fancy being so stupid as to be scared of a child.”
Garry was the first to move. He did it nervously, but he did it. He made a slight step forward. It was a step towards the horse.
“I wouldn’t hurt you, pony,” he assured kindly. He half put out his small hand.
“I think,” warned Richard, “that you had better not touch him. He’s frightened of you, as you can see.”
But now Garry wanted to touch Candy. “I’ll do it gently, pony,” he promised lovingly. “I’ll stroke you like a feather. See, like this.”
Janet had advanced, her eager eye on White Nose. White Nose was a pretty horse. Beside her were Pauline and Marilyn and Robert. Behind them came the rest.
It was William who broke the hoodoo, and he did it in typical William manner.
He said: “Up put me.” He said it firmly.
The battle of the pony drill was won.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BY THE END of the week every one of the children was submitting to being led around the arena. Some of them were even managing to go slowly alone. Janet promised to be capable of controlling a trot within a very short time.
Cary went to bed every night absolutely exhausted. It was difficult work. One had to watch continually, keep an eye on every small rider. Then before the therapy, and after, was the lengthy dressing and undressing. Little limbs, too, had to be examined for signs of irritation or chafe, cramped muscles massaged, sore spots promptly treated.
“You’ll wear yourself out,” warned Sorrel, but Cary knew this was not true. She might have worn herself out when her efforts were achieving nothing, but now that the hurdle was past, she felt somehow tireless even when she was desperately tired.
It was too early yet to look for any improvement in the children, yet Cary could have vowed that Pauline was more agile, Marilyn straighter, that there was a new firmness about Robert’s thin legs. And Jim—Jim definitely was progressing. The pulled-up face corner was plumper and less noticeable, he moved quicker than before.
Yet although the general health standard was all that Nurse Sorrel could ask, the children were still children, and prone, like all children, to the usual childish infections.
Probably Maysie first brought home the germ. She spent all her spare time in Sunset, managing to get there in every possible way. Sometimes she went in with the minister, returning with either Mr. O’Flynn or Mr. Mallarkey if they were coming out; sometimes, and not telling her parents, she would hitch a ride.
“You shouldn’t do it, Maysie,” said Cary. “Your mother wouldn’t like it.”
“Mum needn’t know unless you tell her.”
“I don’t want to tell tales.”
“Then don’t.”
Cary felt she was in the middle of a triangle and not knowing which corner to go to.
She did not want to deceive the Heards, but on the other hand she did not want, as she had told Maysie, to tell tales. Most of all she wanted to retain Maysie’s parents, even though retaining them meant putting up with Maysie, for if Mrs. Heard knew in what manner her young daughter often got to town, she might have given notice and returned to the cottage nearer the village to keep a maternal eye on the girl.
So Cary remained silent, not quite happy in her conscience for doing so. There was so much to attend to, however, that Maysie did not enter her thoughts very much—or anyone’s thoughts for that matter, until William began to cough.
“That’s that wretched girl,” said Sorrel. “She’s fetched back a germ from the village. I believe it’s rampant in Sunset. The children here would have missed it but for her. Now it will go through them like a bushfire.”
“What will?” To the inexperienced Cary, William was only suffering with a troublesome cold.
“He’ll be whooping within a few days,” said Sorrel gravely. “He’s very young, and the younger they are the more serious it is. I don’t like whooping cough, Cary. I never regard it lightly at all.”
“What can we do?”
“Isolate him, of course, though I doubt if that will do any good. It’s horribly infectious, and the onset is gradual. I’ll be very surprised if within the next week we have not thirteen cases on our hands.”
“Isn’t there an injection?”
“There is, and I intend ringing Doctor Dick at once. Probably it will be too late to stop it, but at least it will lessen the severity of the attacks.”
Richard Stormer flew up that evening and injected all thirteen children. He returned as soon as it was done. Cary, who had been looking forward since he had come to her rescue in the pony drill to telling him of her subsequent success, felt disappointed.
He must have sensed this, for he said briefly as he packed his medical kit: “This is a setback, but don’t let it set you back.”
“Will it set the children back? Will I have to start the breaking-in all over again?”
“Frankly, I don’t believe they are going to be so sick as to have to forgo their riding. There will be a few coughs, but not serious. William may need to be deprived; Marilyn looks under the weather, but apart from those two...”
He did not linger any longer than he had to. Sorrel later reported to Cary that he had told her he was very busy in town. Cary did not mind that he had not told her. During this last month she had been aware of a curious bond between them that needed no words, no declaration. She accepted Sorrel’s information serenely and asked what she could do now to help.
“Watch the children for loss of appetite and cold in the head. Keep William and Marilyn by themselves.”
“Will we dispense with the rest of the gymnastic routine, Sorrel?”
“Relaxing it will be sufficient, I think. No heat-ray, though; it might raise an already raised temperature. Robert and Garry will be pleased about that. No tears down their legs.”
With each day another child began to whoop, though, as Richard had promised, not severely.
“Doctor Dick wasn’t quite in time, but he has helped a lot,” said Sorrel in satisfaction. “There’s only William and Marilyn to cause us alarm.”
Although the two were never in danger, their infection took a distressing course. Cary hated to hear their dreadful coughing; it upset her to see the little racked bodies. Sorrel took it in her stride. “They’ll live,” she said.
Apart from prescribed medical treatment she left the patients alone, so it was Cary whom Richard Stormer surprised that afternoon supporting an exhausted William as yet another paroxysm racked his small chest.
“He’ll do equally well without that,” he said, but his eyes as they rested on her were gentle.
“I thought the severity of it might frighten him,” she excused. “I hate to see him distressed.”
“You’ll find it will gradually diminish, the attacks lessen. There’s nothing more we can do for it—” He stopped a moment as a thought struck him.
“Yes,” he corrected, “there is.”
“Then will you do it?”
“You, William and Marilyn will do it.”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“And I shall drive, of course.”
“Drive?”
“I should have said fly. Will you fix up the children in coats and mufflers? I want them to be really warm.”
“You mean you’re going to take them up in Paul?”
“Yes. It’s a well-established fact that the rarer, clearer air is of great benefit in whooping cough. They won’t be cured, but I can promise you they will know relief.”
William and Marilyn were packed into layers of sweaters and topcoats. To the envy of the others, they were borne past the stables to the Currabong paddock where the Skyfarer waited, still warm from the up trip.
“I must take them all up one day,” said Richard, glancing back at the wistful faces. He lifted Marilyn over the bordering wire. He lifted William next—then he lifted Cary, holding her an infinitesimal
moment before he put her down.
The children were deposited in the back seat. Cary got in beside the doctor. The craft moved forward along the paddock runway. It gained speed, trembled, then the little ones were experiencing that same exultation that Cary always experienced with the first sensation of wings.
She peered round at the little rapt faces.
“Toadstools,” Marilyn was proclaiming of the scattered houses beneath.
“Grubs,” said William of the children left behind.
Presently they were too high for either of them to identify toadstools or grubs. Doctor Dick took them through a world of cottonwool clouds, he slid them through a rainbow. Cary listened and heard their eased and even breathing and she breathed more easily herself. Then her heart was racing again, for Richard was indicating something far below, and she peered out of the window. Even so high she could not fail to recognize it—the green field, the knotting of trees, the little stream, the air of infinite peace. It was Pan’s Meadow, of course.
She did not turn to look at him. She had no need. The bond she had sensed between them seemed to grow closer until they were one together. She felt an acceptance within her, a fulfilment, that she had never known before in her life...
Sorrel was waiting when Paul landed.
“How was it, chickadees? Come along now, no wasting time, back to the house.” As she bundled them off, anxious to prevent any .fresh chills, she called: “Someone waiting for you, Cary. William, I said come.”
The two stood watching them, laughing a little at the children’s reluctance. Who could blame them? They had just returned to earth from a fairy-tale world.
Then the laughter was going out of them and something strong and warm coming in instead.
Cary felt it as she felt Richard pulling her quietly into the shelter of the plane, into the shelter of his arms.
She felt it as his lips met hers.
It was a tender kiss, that first kiss of theirs, its quality unaffected by any desire of possession, but it was deep and long and fulfilling, and it needed no words.
The Coral Tree Page 13
