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  “We’ll see,” Mini said. “I’ll get you both some tea.”

  She walked off down the ward, bantering with the other patients and switched on her water heater, while Kate turned her attention back to Martin and her choice of sandwich. He seemed to be coping all right and she decided she would risk one of the goat cheese varieties. She took a small mouthful at first; she was surprised by its delicious flavour and texture.

  Nurse Mini returned with the tea and Kate asked her to sit down and keep them company. She pulled a chair over from the empty bed next to Martin’s and as they finished the sandwiches, washed down with a mug of strong tea, Kate probed the young Aboriginal girl about her entry into medicine.

  The more she got into her life, which seemed to parallel Willy’s, and how Dr Fitzpatrick had taken her under his wing and groomed her to take a radio correspondence course to be a registered nurse, the more Kate felt guilty. She had branded the man as a washout who could not face up to the peer pressure doled out to him in a society that had a lot to answer for itself.

  She was too familiar with the same struggle women had with the hierarchy in her own career. But the difference between her and the doctor was she did not choose alcohol to solve her problem. Then again she had to admit there was more than one side to this story. Within her own domain, she had the same difficult task of dealing with an alcoholic; only in her case, with a little digging, it was found she had lost a child, a traumatic event. It did not absolve her from her habit, but it did explain her problem.

  Despite the doctor’s strict line between his level and hers, Mini would be eternally grateful for the opportunity he had offered her. Under normal circumstances her life had already been mapped out for her in the role of an Aboriginal woman.

  “My parents had me bonded with a young man from the tribe on the other side of the river; they were just waiting for me to come of age. I’d never seen him. He didn’t work for the cattle station; he was a traditional Aborigine. I didn’t want that.”

  “So what did you do?” Kate questioned.

  “I was working for the doctor as a clerk…is that what they call someone who looks after the records?” she asked, not certain. Kate and Martin both nodded. “I told him what was wrong when he asked me. I was crying a lot.”

  “That’s my girl,” Martin suddenly uttered, to their surprise.

  “And that’s when he helped you become a nurse?” Kate asked.

  “Not just then. He had a word with Mr Jeff and he spoke to my parents next time he went for water by the river. I don’t know what he said, but they agreed to let me become a nurse. I was looking after the Aborigines after all.”

  “What Aborigines?” Martin spoke again.

  Up till now he had not drawn any distinction with between himself and Mini or those on the ward. Kate thought this could be due to his frequent encounters on the mining sites; maybe the overseers never referred to them as Aborigines.

  “Willy is an Aborigine,” Mini answered him. “You remember Willy; he’s the Aborigine who found you in the plane.”

  Kate shuddered. Mini had entered the taboo area and she waited for Martin to revert back into his imaginary world. If he remembered the plane, he would most certainly remember Joe. He went silent. His eyes rolling this way and that searching through his memory until recognition took over.

  “What happened to Willy?” he asked.

  Kate looked relieved for the moment. Mini had suddenly remembered her instructions and held her breath. Martin waited for an answer.

  “Willy’s back on his job as a stockman,” Mini answered. “He was asking after you; wanting to know if you were doing all right.”

  Martin was still mulling over his experience in the desert. “He saved my life, you know. We’ve got to help him. He doesn’t want to live as his Aboriginal family does all his life. He wants to be an engineer like me,” Martin rambled on. “I said I would help him,” he said, staring into Kate’s eyes. “We can help him…can’t we?”

  “Yes, dear. I’ve already talked to someone about that.”

  “Good,” he said, nodding his head in approval.

  As the two women talked, Martin began to converse alongside. It was a natural process; he was not dragged into the discussion. He was allowed to become interested in what they were talking about, particularly when Mini filled Kate and he in about the small community of the cattle station, about which they knew very little. Kate had barely scratched the surface so far.

  To get away from the plane Kate had turned her questions to the station. “You know what I thought was strange, Mini – when Jeff was driving me past the stockyards, there were no cattle, just horses.”

  Nurse Mini laughed. “They’re not here, Kate; they’re out on the range. They only come in during branding and before they go to market.”

  “Funny, that’s what Chris said, but I thought I’d misunderstood, and I haven’t had a chance to find out since,” Kate said. “But how can they feed in the desert?”

  “The desert is only a small part of the station. Most of it is south-west, bordering on the Oakover River. It’s not rolling grasslands, but they fatten up good and when they’re really thirsty they head for the river; there’s always plenty of green stuff there. One really hot summer he found them all the way over by Lake Waukarlycarly. Mr Jeff was really mad.”

  “Why do you keep talking about a cattle station?” Martin interrupted again.

  “Sorry, dear,” Kate answered him. “That’s where you are now.”

  Martin’s world was no more than a bed in a small ward and one amenable nurse as a companion. There was no mention of Joe at this point and they did their best to occupy his attention enough to avoid that. He had no idea he was on a cattle station or what it looked like, and most likely would leave this place tomorrow without ever finding out.

  The door opened at the top of the ward and they both turned around.

  It was Dr Fitzpatrick. Nurse Mini glanced at her watch. “Oh dear,” she said, standing up. “It’s time for Martin’s antibiotics.”

  As she rushed back up the ward, the doctor sauntered down to have a word with Kate. He stood at the bottom of Martin’s bed and checked his chart.

  “Has everything been all right, Kate?” he asked, walking round to her side to check Martin’s pulse. She moved her chair back.

  “Yes, Doctor, he’s been very good this afternoon. Is he still on antibiotics?”

  “He should be on this course for two weeks, but that won’t be possible if he leaves tomorrow. I’ll give him an injection now and one tomorrow morning. Chris said he’ll give the hospital his chart and then it’s up to them.”

  The nurse returned with the injection in an enamel bowl. “Here you are, Doctor. I’m sorry I was a little late.”

  “That’s all right, Nurse,” he said, taking hold of the syringe, flicking it a few times as he adjusted the dose while the nurse rubbed alcohol on Martin’s arm. He injected him as Martin looked at Kate affectionately. “Martin usually has a nap afterwards. I have no idea why; it’s not a sedative. So maybe you’d like to come back later. Mind you, he seems to sleep through most of the evening.”

  “He’s had a long day and tomorrow is going to be an even longer one. Thank you, Doctor. If it hadn’t been for you saving Martin’s life, I don’t think that we would be having this discussion. You have my eternal gratitude. I think I’ll let him rest; I’m looking forward to some of that myself.” Kate stood up, bent across Martin’s bed and kissed him on the cheek. He opened his eyes and smiled at her; then closed them again.

  CHAPTER 22

  Once again Kate stepped out of the clinic to find Jeff’s Land Rover still standing by the boardwalk, empty. She remembered what the little girl had said about him being in the shed – obviously she’d meant the Maintenance Shed he’d pointed out to Kate earlier. She stepped onto the dirt road and walked diagonally across to the large building. It was her second experience of how hot it was away from the shade.

  It had t
o be the biggest she had seen so far, or at least a close second to the clinic, and as she neared the huge open doors she could hear the sound of metal hitting metal. It was the sound she would have expected from a metal worker, although she had never seen or heard one before. Just as she’d never come across a smell like the one that seemed to pervade the very ground she was walking on.

  The closer she got, the stronger it became; it seemed a mixture of all things. Her senses were assaulted by an overall smell of oil, the type you get around cars, with a hint of something burning, and above all that, a familiar aroma of nail polish. Of course it would not be nail polish, but one of its ingredients, acetone.

  As she entered the noxious building and stood just inside the doorway, she heard Jeff talking to someone out of view. She spotted him standing in front of an old vehicle; the other person must have been behind it. Jeff looked up.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Kate. I got carried away. Have you been waiting for me?”

  “Not at all, Jeff,” she said, stepping a little closer out of the heat. “Your community kept me informed as to where I might find you.”

  “My community?” he asked, a little puzzled.

  “Yes…Miss Gerry and a small Aboriginal girl.”

  He laughed and a mass of unkempt grey hair popped up from behind the vehicle. The rugged-looking workman must have been listening and Jeff’s outburst had been too much for his curiosity. “This must be Martin’s wife,” he said in a distinctly Irish accent.

  “Yes…I’m Kate,” she said, offering her hand across the bonnet.

  “Ah, I won’t shake hands with you just now, dear lady; I’m covered in grease,” he replied with a big smile. “I hope the husband is feeling better for seeing his beautiful wife. Is he improving?”

  “I think so. Enough to take him home tomorrow.”

  He looked surprised. “And we’re not going to have the pleasure of your company after tomorrow?”

  “All right, Sean, I’m sure Kate has better things to do than listen to your overtures,” Jeff spoke out. “You’ll have to forgive Sean; he’s a bit of a romantic.”

  The burly man walked out from behind the vehicle rubbing his hands on a cloth just as dirty and Kate hoped he was not about to shake her hand. In fact he was an awful sight in his long leather apron, tattered shirt and what she could see of his jeans and huge leather boots. But what caught her attention most was the unusual leather leggings he had strapped to his legs.

  He noticed her downward look straightaway. “Do you like them?” he said, sporting them for her benefit with a stunted jig.

  “They look like something I once saw in a documentary about the 1914-1918 War.” She hesitated to recall the instance. “Yes…they called them gaiters.”

  “That’s where I got the idea from. Out of an old magazine I found.”

  “He’s talking about my grandfather’s collection of magazines from that period. He had them piled up in the corner over there. This used to be his old shed where he fiddled with his inventions, like our water truck here,” Jeff said, patting the old vehicle they were leaning against.

  “Do you mind?” Sean interrupted. “I was telling the lady about my gaiters.”

  Kate smiled and refocused her attention on the blackened and burnt-looking objects around his lower legs.

  “Sorry…I’m sure,” Jeff replied. “Carry on.”

  “I should think so,” he bantered. “For that I shall definitely accept your dinner invitation tonight. I’ll put the fear of Almighty God into Marge.”

  “Why would you do that?” Kate said.

  “Is this a conspiracy or something?” he blustered, looking angry. “Here I am trying to tell you about me gaiters and you keep changing the subject. I’ll come to Marge in a minute.” Jeff just shook his head and turned to one side. “Now, dear lady, can you imagine the suffering I had to endure every time I used that old welding equipment over there? I used to burn the bottom of my jeans every time and my ankles into the bargain. Then one day I was looking through this old magazine I’d come across about the First World War and saw the soldiers wearing these strange leggings. Just the thing I thought, and cut myself a pair from some leather, a few old belts and here you are – no more burnt ankles.”

  “That’s all very well, Sean,” Kate jumped in, “but what about Marge?”

  “Oh, very well… When Jeff has an argument with Marge he invites this scruffy fella to dinner, knowing Marge will go crazy worrying about her fine furniture.”

  “Who’s this scruffy old fella?” Kate asked, glancing at Jeff.

  “Why me, of course,” Sean shouted. “I’m the scruffy old fella.”

  They all laughed, including Kate, not sure if she was being joshed.

  Kate turned her attention to the shiny-looking vintage vehicle Jeff seemed particularly proud of. But what drew her attention back to it was him calling it a water truck. It caught her interest as she realised water, especially when there were bushfires, could be an issue in the Sandy Desert.

  “So tell me about this water truck,” Kate asked them.

  “Now you’re talking,” Sean started. “She’s a beauty.”

  “It was something my grandfather started but never finished,” Jeff took over. “Back then he was trying to convert it to a water truck. We’re only nine kilometres from the Oakover River, which is only a short drive; certainly not enough to use up a lot of petrol. It was very scarce back then…still is, really. Anyway that was before I had all the bores put in, so we didn’t really need it.”

  “Not until the fire,” Sean interrupted.

  “I was getting to that,” Jeff corrected him. “Sean’s right. When we had our first bad fire back in 2000, we found the pressure from the bores was not enough to beat the fire. We lost three buildings. That was two years’ hard work up in smoke.”

  “Can I speak now?” Sean asked. Jeff nodded. “You have to understand this was a 1929 Ford Station Wagon. It had a wooden back on it, and it was stored in one of those buildings. Jeff’s grandfather had done no more to it since he’d found it in some old barn, than get it started again. And the fire destroyed the wooden back. We hauled the burnt-out wreck over here with the intention of rebuilding it. In the process Jeff had the brilliant idea of putting a water tank on the back. I don’t think we could have rebuilt the wooden back-part anyway. We kidded ourselves we could, but we just didn’t have the carpentry experience.”

  “You speak for yourself,” Jeff interrupted. “I’ve done a lot of renovation on the old house. It’s looking good now. Especially all the work I’ve done on the staircase…and what about the veranda? That took a lot of doing.”

  “I’ll grant you that, Jeff,” Sean acknowledged. “But the tanker idea was much better. I know we haven’t had a fire since to test it out, but for keeping all the tanks topped up and watering the vegetable gardens it has proved its worth in gold.”

  “What does it actually do?” Kate asked.

  They both stared at her thinking it was so obvious, but to her it was not.

  Jeff took the lead. “Look, Kate, the bores are holes we have drilled into the underwater aquifers. They’re enough to supply us with drinking water and a low-pressure tap water. We pump it up to large water tanks. That improves the pressure a bit with gravity, but it means we have to keep the tanks topped up. We can’t rely on the meagre rainfall, so we had to cart it from the river. That was very labour intensive and time consuming. Then Sean came up with the idea of using the pump we’d built into the tank on the back of this fire-truck. He fitted a reversal valve to it and now we can drive down to the river, suck up enough water to fill the tank and then hose it back into the water tanks on the station.”

  “A job, I might add, that can be done by two,” Sean boasted.

  “So you’ve found a use for her after all,” Kate pointed out.

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” Sean said, nudging Jeff’s side.

  “Ah…but what about the petrol situation?” Kate questioned. “
You’ll be going back and forth to the river more often now.”

  “That’s no longer a problem since the Cattlemen’s Association agreed to a collective in this region on petrol delivery. Now we have a regular tanker delivery every two months. He sets off from Port Hedland and does the circuit to Newman and back, cutting off on the dirt roads to each cattle station on the way.”

  “And I suppose you have a storage tank for that as well?’ Kate said.

  Jeff’s face broke out in a broad smile. “We sure do,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Good grief…have you seen what time it is?”

  Kate checked hers. “It’s only five-twenty.”

  “I promised Marge I would help her with the roast,” he said, taking Kate’s elbow. “I’ll see you later, you old reprobate,” he remarked to Sean.

  “You will that.”

  Jeff walked Kate back across the road to the clinic and stopped on the boardwalk by the car. “What do you want to do, Kate? Stay here for a while with Martin or come home with me? I can always bring you back later if you want.”

  “No, Jeff, Martin’s exhausted me today. He’s nodding off anyway. So if it’s all right I’d rather come with you. I’m dying to meet Marge.”

  “She’s going to be busy getting this evening’s meal ready, but I’m sure she can speak to you at the same time. She usually does with everyone else,” Jeff replied, as he opened the car door for Kate.

  She decided to sit in the passenger seat this time, “Am I right in thinking Sean is going to be there tonight?”

  Jeff started the car, pulled away from the clinic and left the station’s outbuildings, driving in the opposite direction. “Yes, you heard right,” he answered her when he cleared the last building and headed out into the open country.

  “That must make for an interesting evening,” she said.

  “It’s interesting every night at the homestead. Marge nearly went mad with loneliness when we first arrived on the station, despite my father being around. He had just lost my mother, so he wasn’t much company and I had to spend most of the day doing all the jobs he’d let go. So…being the hardy individual she is, she decided to keep the homestead alive with people all the time. And that includes scruffy layabouts like Sean.”