Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that!’ Frances’ colour had risen still further so that her whole face and neck was now puce. ‘I’m still your mother, remember.’

  ‘How can I forget?’ Alys asked bitterly. ‘You still want to run my life, Mummy, just as you did then. Well, I’m sorry. It won’t work. I make my own decisions now.’

  ‘The trouble with you, Alys, is you’re so stubborn! You won’t admit that someone of my age and experience knows best. Just take this Race business for a moment. We’ve never talked about it – you wouldn’t see sense at the time and then you were in Darwin.’ Frances’voice was rising. ‘The point is you were so obsessed you couldn’t see he was using you.’

  ‘He wasn’t.’

  ‘Wasn’t using you? Oh Alys, how can you continue to deceive yourself?’

  ‘Will you please stop this? I don’t want to hear any more. I shouldn’t have listened to you then, either. I allowed you to spoil the loveliest thing that every happened to me. Oh, I don’t blame you for Race’s death – I blame myself. But you had a hand in it, Mummy, and for that I shall never forgive either of us.’

  ‘My God,’ Frances said.

  For a long moment they stood quite still staring at each other. Then Alys turned away pressing her hands over her eyes as the pain inside doubled her up. Race, Race – how could it still hurt this much after so long? Oh Race, I loved you so. You did love me, didn’t you? You did – I know you did …

  Above the roaring in her ears she was aware of a dull thud but she remained bent double with her hands still covering her eyes as the painful memories unrolled as raw and fresh as ever. It was only as the dry sobs subsided that she realized something was wrong. She turned then gasped in shocked horror.

  Frances was on the floor slumped into a half-sitting position against the tallboy. Her legs were folded awkwardly beneath her, her head lolled forward onto her chest like a broken puppet.

  ‘Mummy!’ Alys screamed. ‘What’s the matter? What are you doing?’

  Frances made no reply. Alys took three quick steps towards her, then her trembling knees gave way and she half-fell to a crouching position beside Frances.

  ‘Mummy, for goodness’ sake …!’ she took hold of her mother’s shoulders lifting her up and as she did so the uncontrolled head rolled to one side. ‘Oh God!’ Alys cried. Her mother’s eyes were open and staring, but one appeared to be wider and more staring than the other and one corner of her mouth was drawn. A thin stream of dribble had escaped from it and was trickling slowly down her chin towards the collar of the immaculate dress. Worst of all, her face seemed to have been frozen into a parody of that last accusing expression. Somehow, Alys staggered to her feet again and ran to the door.

  ‘Norma!’ she screamed. ‘ Morrie! for God’s sake, somebody help me!’

  And in the long moments before their footsteps came running Alys felt she aged a hundred years.

  ‘Your mother has suffered a very severe stroke. No doubt you already realize that.’ Donald Whitehorn, positioned in front of the marbled fireplace in the drawing room, rocked lightly back on his heels and looked from one sister to the other.

  ‘Yes,’ Beverley said. She was hunched in a nervous heap on the edge of the ruby velvet chaise while Alys slumped, head in hands, at the small escritoire. ‘What we want to know is – will she get over it?’

  ‘I’m afraid at the moment it is impossible to say.’ Donald Whitehorn’s tone was grave. ‘The next hours and days will be crucial. The sooner there are any signs of a recovery, the better her chances. But I think I should warn you that at this stage there is no way of knowing how complete that recovery, if any, is going to be.’

  Alys raised her head a fraction, looking at Dr Whitehorn over her splayed fingers. ‘You mean she might be paralysed.’

  Donald Whitehorn met her eyes levelly. ‘To some degree, yes. She could have difficulty with speech – that is very common. And clearly the use of her left arm and leg – everything on the left side of her body, in fact – is going to be impaired. But let us not cross our bridges before we come to them. She has not even regained consciousness yet. And then there is the danger that she may suffer a second stroke following on the heels of the first. If that were to happen …’

  Beverley sobbed softly and Alys sunk her head into her hands, once more.

  ‘Can we come to practicalities?’ Donald Whitehorn pressed them gently. ‘Daniel – your father – is away on business, you say. How long is it going to be before he can get home?’

  ‘He’s in Perth and we haven’t been able to reach him yet,’ Beverley said. ‘But we have left messages for him at his hotel and everywhere we could think of. He’ll fly back the moment he gets to hear what has happened, but …’

  ‘So you girls are going to have to make the decision. Shall I get your mother into the Cabrini Private Hospital?’

  ‘Oh goodness …’ Beverley hesitated. ‘Do you think that would be best?’

  ‘I do. That way she will be properly supervised when the crisis comes.’

  ‘Well, then, in that case …’

  ‘No!’ Alys said. Her tone was sharp and they both turned to look at her. ‘No, you can’t have her taken off to hospital,’ she said more quietly. ‘You know how she hates hospitals. If she does regain consciousness and comes round to discover she is in one, she’ll raise Cain. And if she doesn’t … well, it doesn’t seem right, going against what you know she would want when she can’t speak for herself. I think she should stay here.’

  Donald Whitehorn nodded. Since Alys had called him to the house she had scarcely spoken – she seemed in a state of shock. This was much more like her – having a firm opinion and expressing it forcibly.

  ‘Are you in agreement with that, Beverley?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so …’

  ‘It will mean getting a nurse in, of course. Two, in fact, at the moment. One for the days and another for the nights.’

  ‘Yes, do that please,’ Alys said. ‘If Daddy wants to change the arrangements when he comes home that’s up to him. I don’t think he will, but at least my conscience will be clear.’

  Dr Whitehorn looked at her quizzically. What a strange turn of phrase to use at a time like this. Just what had been going on when Frances had had her stroke? he wondered. Strange, Frances being, struck down like that. This was one of those cases he would simply never have predicted. Frances had appeared in good health and he would have been prepared to wager half his salary on her having at least another decade of trouble-free years. It just went to show you never could tell.

  ‘Just one other thing,’ he said, looking from one girl to the other. ‘Be very careful what you say when you are in your mother’s room. In spite of all appearances to the contrary she might be able to hear you without being able to respond in any way. So talk normally and don’t make any comments about her condition. Now, if you will excuse me I’ll get the wheels set in motion for the nursing staff you need.’ He paused in the doorway looking back at them. ‘If you need me any time, day or night, call me.’

  He left the room and Alys got up to follow.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Beverley asked accusingly.

  ‘To Mummy. One of us should stay with her until the nurse gets here. It’s not fair to expect Norma to do it.’

  Beverley half rose, then sank back, ‘It’s a bit late now, isn’t it, to start playing the concerned daughter.’

  Alys swung round, her eyes narrowing. ‘ What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You know very well what I mean!’ Beverley was very pale, her trembling hands clenching and unclenching on a small lace handkerchief. ‘You weren’t concerned about upsetting Mummy before – it’s a bit late to have an attack of conscience now!’

  Alys opened her mouth then snapped it shut again. ‘I’m not going to quarrel with you, Bev. Not now.’

  ‘That will make a change as well!’ Beverley retorted. ‘You were ready enough to quarrel with Mummy, weren’t you? And now
see what you’ve done!’

  ‘What I’ve done?’ Alys repeated.

  ‘Don’t deny it!’ Bev wept. ‘Everyone in Toorak must have heard you. I heard you and I was in the nursery giving Robyn her tea.’

  Alys, too, was shaking now. ‘We were arguing, yes, it’s true – but that isn’t the reason she’s …’ she broke off, unable to frame the words. ‘That’s an awful thing to say, Bev.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but it is true!’ Beverley insisted. ‘If you hadn’t caused an upset, Alys, she wouldn’t be lying up there now in a coma. And what is more, you know it’s true. Otherwise you wouldn’t suddenly be acting so concerned. ‘‘ Someone has to stay with Mummy.’’ Oh yes, if you had been willing to stay with Mummy in the first place none of this would have happened!’

  For a moment, Alys stood choking back the angry words then she turned and ran from the room. Bad enough to have quarrelled with her mother, she did not want to quarrel with Beverley too. Up the broad staircase she fled, pausing only for a few seconds on the landing to compose herself before going into her mother’s room.

  As she pushed open the door the first thing that struck her was the quiet. Two people in that room and neither of them making a sound except, yes, when you really listened there was the soft even rattle of indrawn breath. Nervously, Alys took a step towards the bed. The curtains had been drawn to keep out the evening sun and the light coming through the rose pink silk cast a glow over the figure in the bed and disguised the pallor of the skin. From here the drawn side of Frances’ face was hidden; she looked for all the world like a healthy pink sleeping child.

  Alys crossed to the bed and Norma looked up, her eyes were full of tears. How tenderhearted she was, Alys thought in surprise. She had only been with them a month or so and Frances had not exactly treated her with loving kindness – in fact she had been more sharp than anything, tutting about the girl’s incompetence. Alys gave her a small comforting smile which only caused the girl’s tears to overflow.

  ‘No change, is there, Norma?’ she asked, briskly.

  ‘No, Miss Alys, none. She just lies there not moving at all. It’s not natural – I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid she might … well, die … while I was on my own with her …’

  ‘Of course she’s not going to die!’ Alys said, making her tone falsely bright as she remembered the doctor’s warning about loose talk in Frances’ hearing. ‘A day or two and she’ll be fine again, you’ll see.’ But her eyes signalled to the maid that she was only playing a part and Norma pressed her hands to her mouth, choking back the sobs.

  ‘Go on.’ Alys tapped her hand. ‘I expect Mrs Reilly would like you to go and help attend to Robyn. I’ll stay with my mother for the time being.’

  The maid got to her feet, obviously relieved and trying not to show it.

  ‘Are you sure, Miss?’

  ‘Quite. Off you go.’

  In the doorway she paused, looking back. ‘You won’t be going off to Alice Springs tomorrow now then, I suppose.’

  Alys looked down at the motionless form. She could see the twisted mouth now; lifted at the corner as it was it appeared as if Frances was smiling. A shudder ran through Alys and a swift involuntary thought, for which she was instantly and thoroughly ashamed.

  You got your way again, Mummy.

  She tore her eyes away from the face which it seemed had managed to dominate all her life.

  ‘No, Norma,’ she said. ‘I won’t be going now.’

  Twenty-four hours later Frances came out of her coma and the second stroke which Dr Whitehorn had warned of was uncharacteristically slight. Two weeks of dedicated nursing and Frances was able to sit out for short periods in the chair beside her bed, another week and she had graduated to whole days by the window. But although she gained daily in strength, there seemed to be no sign of her faculties returning to normal. Her face remained drawn, her speech slurred and uncertain, her arm and leg were still paralysed and she had trouble in swallowing, or indeed accepting food and drink into her mouth at all. The nurses fed her with devoted efficiency just as they washed and dealt with her every need and Daniel arranged for a lift to be installed on the staircase.

  ‘You see – in no time at all you’ll be downstairs again!’ Alys said.

  Frances merely stared at her. One eye was half-closed but the other, wide and shrewd, saying things that her lips could not, was disconcerting to face.

  You are not going to leave me, are you? said that eye. I may have nurses to attend to my every need but that is not the same as having my daughter here. I want you here. And what Beverley said was true – it is your fault that I am as I am. I would never have had this stroke if you had not been so wilful and worried me into it. The least you can do now is remain here and do your duty …

  Alys swallowed hard.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Mummy,’ she begged. ‘I’ll stay here just as long as you need me, don’t worry.’

  ‘My … good … girl,’ Frances managed, slowly and with great effort. But Alys saw the gleam of triumph in that glassy eye and the way the good side of her mouth curved upwards into a smile and cringed.

  She could not go now. Her conscience would never allow it. But oh God, how long would she be here, trapped into submission by Frances’ condition? Weeks – months – years – who could say? Only one thing was certain, Frances now had her in a strangle hold and as long as there was life in her body, she would not let her go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tara knew what she had to do. She had known from the moment Richard had said that Alys was coming back. She had pieced it all together with his ideals about commitment and his strictly honourable code and it pointed her in one sure direction.

  Oh yes, Tara knew what she had to do – the difficulty was in finding the opportunity to do it.

  The Wet had returned, hot and steamy – the dusty ground was already turning into a quagmire and the tropical vegetation was rioting all around. Why hadn’t she pressed her advantage and tried to get things moving while the weather had been good? They couldn’t go for walks now without wearing gumboots, and any drives in the ute, unless they remained on the bitumenized Track, were likely to end with their being very firmly stuck in the mud.

  Tara gained a respite when Kate Harris told her she had received a letter from Alys saying that her mother had been taken ill and she would not be able to return to Northern Territory until there was some change in her condition, but Tara had no way of knowing how long that would be.

  Then there was the problem of becoming an AMWAS. As Matron Swift had predicted, its formation was authorized on 1st December, 1942 and Tara knew she would soon be pressed into enlisting. But supposing when she did she was sent off to an army training camp to learn to drill? Worse – supposing she was posted elsewhere than back to 138 AGH – with another group of new AMWAS, perhaps? As an enlisted member of the armed forces she would have no leeway for protest. The thought of leaving a clear field for Alys Peterson was an agonizing one.

  One steaming December day Tara was working in the dispensary. A new consignment of drugs and supplies was expected when the convoy could plough its way up the Track and the half-empty shelves made it an ideal opportunity to dust, clean and wipe away the little pocket of mildew that had already begun to collect in corners and grooves. Tara hated the work. The steam rising from the bowl of hot soapy water was making her uncomfortable and she had to stop every so often to wipe her hands and mop the little trickles of perspiration out of her eyes.

  Never mind. Another half-hour and she was due off duty and she had nearly finished – praise be!

  The door swung open and Kate Harris came in. The sister whose place she had taken on Leaping Lena was fully recovered from her bout of fever and Kate was now back with 138.

  ‘How is it going?’ she asked.

  ‘Almost done.’ Tara straightened, wringing out her cloth and giving the shelf one last sweep.

  ‘I thought so. How do you fancy a trip out into the outback
?’

  ‘A trip?’ Tara glanced out of the window. It was hardly the weather for trips, not actually raining at the moment but the sky looked laden and dark.

  ‘Well, not a trip exactly. We’ve had a call from Bluey Freeman. It seems he is worried about Reg. His breathing is very bad and his temperature is high. Bluey has to go down to Pine Creek on urgent business but he doesn’t want to leave Reg without getting somebody in to have a look at him. To be honest, it sounds to me as if he should have made the call a couple of days ago but Bluey says they’ve been very busy. You know what they are both like when it comes to that station of theirs – everything else takes second place, including their health.’

  Tara flopped the cloth back into the bowl of water. ‘I know.’

  Bluey and Reg Freeman were fruit and vegetable growers who ran a market garden some twenty miles down the Track. They were two of the few civilians who had been allowed to remain in the Territory because they supplied the armed forces with fresh food. And very popular they were too. Besides sending in the extra special treats of bananas and pineapples, mangoes and tomatoes in season, they had opened their station to those on the nursing staff who were keen horsemen and women – Kate, herself raised on a Victorian farm, was amongst those who had been there to ride and take advantage of their easygoing hospitality. But, by the same token, the two men, bachelor brothers, were stubborn as mules about leaving their property – ‘It would take a whole army of Japs to move them’ was often said of them.

  ‘Anyway, Richard Allingham is going,’ Kate went on, automatically rearranging a row of bottles Tara had replaced on a shelf. ‘He wants someone to go with him and suggested you. I know you are off duty in half-an-hour or so, but as Richard said, there is really no need for a fully qualified sister to go when they have so much to be doing here and he didn’t think you would mind.’