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Meg sat quietly as Dr Newton took his seat behind the desk, opened an envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. His face gave away nothing, no hint of the answer she craved. But then, she wasn’t sure if she wanted her results to prove she was carrying Seamus’s child. Her work as sister-in-charge at Currajong was fulfilling in ways she hadn’t expected. Responsibility for her small staff of nurses, now grown to eight, and for the soldier patients who had begun arriving several weeks earlier challenged her—as did Eva, who had settled only a little—but still, Meg’s satisfaction with what they were achieving was high.
Don Newton set the paper on the desk and sat forward, his hands loosely clasped. ‘What result are you hoping for, Margaret?’
How she wished she could get a read of the result from his expression, but Dr Newton had perfected the professional give-nothing-away look. She admired it, except for now when she teetered on the edge of a great unknown. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure. I don’t want to have to leave my work, but if I’m to have Seamus’s child, I can’t be unhappy about that either.’ Her gut tightened and her hands, hidden beneath the desk, curled into fists on her lap, but his expression remained neutral. ‘Well, what’s the news?’
‘The rabbit died. You’re with child, Margaret. About eight weeks I would guess. If you can remember dates when you last had relations with your fiancé that would give me a better idea, but you’ll have your baby around Christmas.’
She sat silently, waiting to feel something. Was she happy or sad? In her heart she’d known the truth, suspected it as the time for her monthly passed again without needing to take out her issue of sanitary products. But to hear her pregnancy confirmed felt—strange. ‘Thank you, Dr Newton.’ Even her voice sounded unfamiliar in her ears as she stood.
I’m carrying Seamus’s baby.
‘Are you okay with this news? Can I do anything to help?’
Meg looked around. What was she meant to be doing? Abruptly, she sat back on her chair and gripped the edges. ‘Do you have to report this to anyone?’
‘No, Margaret. You consulted me on a private matter. Besides, you’re part of a different army to me. It’s up to you when you decide to let your lot know. First babies often don’t show for quite a while. You’re fit and healthy—there’s no reason you can’t keep working for now.’ He walked around and perched on the desk in front of her. ‘I would advise you not to drink alcohol and, in spite of all the advertising to the contrary, my personal belief is that smoking is not in the best interests of your baby. Everything you ingest and imbibe will affect him or her. If you like, I’d be happy to remain your consultant for as long as you choose to continue working.’
At last Meg looked up into eyes full of sympathy. Now he’d delivered the news, he looked more like the man she’d danced with. A man willing to keep confidential the secret she carried. ‘Thank you. I must write to Seamus now I know for certain. Dr Newton, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your willingness to care for me.’ She touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth and drew in an audible breath. ‘Our doctor back home in Sydney wouldn’t be so accepting of my condition since Seamus and I are not yet married. In fact, I think he might have tossed me out of his consulting room.’
She wished that were a joke, but her family and their circle of friends were pillars of the church, staunch believers in the sanctity of marriage. Unmarried mothers barely existed in their world, except as charity cases. Hidden away, they were fallen women with no hope for salvation and their children, poor little ones, were taken away to be adopted by married couples who had not been blessed with their own family.
She pressed her knuckles against her mouth. Her free hand covered her stomach, still flat although, now she knew she was pregnant, the hint of a baby bump was obvious to Meg. Until Seamus returned and they were married, she couldn’t say anything about her baby.
I’ll have to fudge our wedding date if my family is to accept my baby.
‘Margaret, making a baby takes two people, and if they have made a promise to each other to wed, I can understand pre-empting the wedding night, especially in wartime. When we don’t know when—or if—we’ll see each other again, the instinct to create new life can be powerful.’
‘Most people of my acquaintance don’t see it that way.’
‘Being judgemental helps no one, especially when—’ Dr Newton’s gaze slid away. When he looked at her again, his neutral expression surprised her. ‘Now, do you have any questions for me at this stage?’
Meg shook her head. ‘I need time to get used to the idea I’m going to be a mother.’
‘In that case, I’ll see you in a month, if not on the dance floor next week.’ He offered his hand.
Meg took it, rose, and stepped towards the privacy screen but stopped short. ‘Is it safe for me to continue working?’
‘It should be, but no heavy lifting. Let the other nurses do that. Should be easy enough since you’re in charge.’ He winked, a friendly, conspiratorial wink that reassured her of his support before he left her in complete privacy to change.
##
Meg’s driver set her down on the footpath in front of Currajong. As she walked along the now smooth driveway, one of the new nurses exited the tent closest to Fulham Road. The venereal disease tent ward on what had once been grassy front lawn was busier than she had expected, and she frowned at the activity. After her consultation with Dr Newton and his compassion for her situation, she viewed it differently.
Don’t be judgemental. It’s wartime and people need love wherever they can find it. She had certainly embraced Seamus.
Her mind spun with her news and the decisions she would have to make alone. If only she had a close friend she could talk to. Gerry might one day become that—their connection and like-mindedness was a bulwark against Eva’s antipathy—but Meg didn’t know her well enough to be certain yet, despite how well they dealt together. Keeping her secret locked away was safer, at least for now.
Cigarette smoke alerted her to the presence of another person before she rounded the corner of the hut where she’d met Lt Breek on her first day at Currajong. Eva was sitting in front of the hut, a cigarette held between two fingers.
Eva tipped her face up and blew out a stream of smoke before she caught sight of Meg. ‘I’m on my break, Sister.’
Meg just nodded and walked past Eva and into her cabin. She changed out of her RAAF uniform into her nursing uniform and tidied her hair before locking her door behind her. For several reasons, locking her door had become the sensible routine since the arrival of Sister Smith, and now, with delicate news to impart, she couldn’t risk the woman snooping through her things and discovering the letter she had started to Seamus.
‘Anything to report, Sister Smith?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary while you were—out, Sister.’ Eva pushed to her feet, her rotund shape making the move ungainly. She took a final drag of her cigarette before dropping it and toeing it out. Her glare at Meg bordered on insolent, but, after a pause of several seconds during which she seemed to be waiting for Meg to chew her out over the dropped butt, she picked it up and pushed it into the metal bin that sat outside the hut.
‘I’m pleased to hear that.’ Keeping her tone deliberately mild, Meg added, ‘In that case, I’m going to have a quick cuppa before I go back on duty.’
Dr Ransom appeared from his hut and raised his hand in a brief welcome wave. ‘Sister Dorset, might I have a word before you go back to the ward?’
Eva strolled towards the hospital, not so fast that Meg might think she was keen to get back to work, but fast enough that Dr Ransom didn’t tell her to hurry up.
Dr Ransom watched Eva depart until she was well out of hearing range then met Meg’s curious gaze. ‘I’m sensing some hostility from Sister Smith. Is everything okay with her?’
‘She’s doing her work, but I wouldn’t rate her skills, personal or professional, very high, unless she’s talking to a good-looking patient above the rank of corporal.’
‘Hmm, I’m not happy with her performance in the operating theatre. See if you can make her pull her boots up or, shortage or not, I’ll be requesting her transfer out.’
‘Certainly, Doctor.’
‘Thank you, Sister.’ He headed towards the hospital leaving Meg to make her much-needed cup of tea.
For a moment, Meg imagined leaving Eva to flail and fail. How much nicer the ward would be without Eva’s sniping and monopolising certain patients at the expense of the lower ranks. But with barely enough nurses to care for their patients until the next round of transfers increased their staff, Meg had to find a way to reach Eva and draw out her better nature.
If she has one.
And she had to ensure a smooth transition for whomever followed her as Dr Ransom’s head nurse, because she doubted she could continue in the role once he—and therefore HQ—knew she was with child. Her hand slipped over her stomach before she realised the action would be a dead giveaway. How long did she have before she could no longer disguise her condition? July? Maybe August or, if she were very lucky, September?
Sipping her tea and gazing across the croquet lawn through blurring steam, her mind wandered back to the few precious times Seamus had made love to her. Mid- to late March, and on one of those occasions their love had created new life. So now, nearing the end of autumn, she must be about six or eight weeks along, as Dr Newton had guessed.
By the time she finished her tea and was returning to the hospital, a flurry of activity around the operating theatre hastened her steps.
Catherine turned out of the supply room in front of her. ‘Sorry, Sister Dorset.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘An appendectomy, urgent. The ambulance is on its way.’
‘I’ll scrub up. Have you begun the sponge count?’
‘Eva’s doing that now.’
Meg slipped into a surgical gown and pulled on a cap as she was brought up to speed. Why hadn’t Dr Ransom mentioned the case when they’d spoken? ‘When did the call come in?’
‘Five minutes ago. Apparently, the drill sergeant keeled over on the parade ground. Shall I do up your ties?’
Meg turned and Catherine, calm, unflappable Catherine, did up her gown then picked up her bundle of small cloths and continued on her way to theatre. She would make a very good head nurse once Meg left.
Better than Gerry?
Meg scrubbed and then, as her fellow nurses went about their tasks while she checked the instrument tray was complete and in the correct order, she kept track of their progress. Early on, just after the first five nurses arrived, Dr Ransom had requested she keep notes on the progress of each nurse. She had, with dates and new skills listed, but more than that would be necessary in the next three months, four at most. Tonight, she would stay back in her cubbyhole of an office and add to them; things like ability to take on increased responsibility, deal with pressure, organisational skills. At least then, her suggestion as to her replacement to Dr Ransom would be based on facts and not personal loyalty.
Catherine or Gerry? Or is one of the newcomers still to show her mettle?
Maybe she should also make a note of their personality aptitude for the position, although . . . She hadn’t seen herself as ready to be a head nurse before she arrived. Some things you simply learned as you went along because you had to.
Like motherhood.
Would she learn to be a good mother to Seamus’s baby?
Dr Ransom poked his head around the door of the scrub room. His surgical gown flapped loose and he held his hands up and away from his body as water dripped down them. ‘Sister Dorset, is the theatre prepped?’
She handed him a sterile cloth. ‘Yes, Doctor. We’re ready.’
‘Good. Sounds like we have a severe case of appendicitis. I hope they get him here before the appendix ruptures.’
##
They’d only just got the appendix out in time and the atmosphere in the theatre had been tense as Dr Ransom carefully lifted it into a specimen tray. ‘Another hour and the sergeant might not have made it.’ He’d directed her to administer penicillin and keep a check on the patient’s reaction. ‘I’ve been called to HQ for a meeting. Dam—dashed inconvenient.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’
‘I’m glad you came here, Margaret. You’re an excellent head nurse.’ She wasn’t certain what the look he’d given her was about, but his compliment made her feel less tired as she stripped off her surgical gown and tossed it into the laundry hamper then pulled off the cap.
Eva appeared at the door with a clipboard. She was on duty until midnight and Meg needed to eat. Now! It was past three o’clock. She’d had no breakfast and was almost shaking with the need to eat.
‘Sister Smith, I’m going to get a late lunch. I need you to do hourly checks on Sgt Draper. Look out for a rash forming, or nausea, diarrhea, vomiting . . .’
‘Allergic reactions. I get it, Sister.’
‘It’s vital you check regularly, Sister. There can be reactions to penicillin ranging from mild to severe. After saving his life with an appendectomy, we don’t want to lose him to anaphylactoid shock.’
Eva pressed her lips together and wrote on her clipboard. ‘Yes, Sister.’
After Meg finished giving Eva instructions to cover the period while she ate, she hesitated then added, ‘I trust you, Sister. I know you’ll do your best by all your patients.’
Eva blinked, drew in an audible breath and nodded. ‘Thank you, Sister Dorset.’ As she turned to head into the ward, Meg thought she caught the edge of a smile.
Maybe that was what Eva had been missing—what Meg hadn’t given enough of as she felt her way in her new role as head nurse.
Trust and acknowledgement. Everyone needed to be seen, and perhaps Eva hadn’t received much of either.
Feeling lighter in spirit, Meg made her way to the mess hut, hoping to scrounge up a sandwich. And another cup of tea if she were lucky, given how her stomach reacted to the smell of coffee. Her supply of ginger from the River had long since been used up, but Dr Newton had connections and he’d procured some for her since she couldn’t very well ask Dr Ransom without raising suspicion as to why she wanted it.
Food—and another night of dancing. She was looking forward to both.
And soon, her baby would be another exciting event to focus on—once she adjusted to the idea of impending motherhood. So what if she had to fudge the year of her wedding? In the midst of a war, her baby was a promise of new life.
––––––––
‘Meg, what did Dr Ransom say about wearing civvies to the dance with the Americans? Please tell me you asked him?’ Gerry held her red dress against her waist, dancing from foot to foot and making the skirt swish. The dress was a triumph of a skilled dressmaker’s art, and although the silhouette was slim, thanks to restrictions on material, the fluted edge flicked up as she moved.
Meg turned from the mirror, a precious new tube of lipstick in her hand thanks to her mother’s care package. Not that Mum approved of bright red lipstick—or any make up for that matter—but Victory Red was patriotic, if only by name. Enough to assuage Mum’s scruples. ‘I did ask him, but the answer is still no.’ She turned back and carefully added colour to her bottom lip.
‘Blast. Why not, did he say?’ Gerry seemed disappointed but resigned as she set the hanger back on a hook.
Meg rolled her lips together and leaned close to the mirror. ‘For the same reason he gave me when we attended the first dance.’ Satisfied with the look of her lips, she met Gerry’s disappointed gaze. ‘If we are in uniform, it reminds everyone we are serving members of the Australian defence forces and deserving of their respect for our service.’
‘But we’re deserving of respect as attractive women too, so why not brighten everyone’s night and let us doll up? I’d love to see more than beige, navy, and drab greens for once.’ Gerry sighed and ran her hand over the beading on her red dress. ‘Sorry, little bird. Not this time.’
‘I’m sorry, Gerry. I know you were hoping to take your dress out for a spin. You know, when Doc first said that, I thought it was because I had nothing but a uniform to wear and he was trying to make me feel better. Now, I think he believes it. Doc is nothing if not honest.’
‘It’s fine, Maggie darling. I kind of like how protective Doc is of all of us. I sometimes think he likes you. Turn around.’
‘What? Wherever did you get that idea?’ She turned at the insistent push of a hand and faced the mirror.
Gerry adjusted a hairpin in Meg’s hair then set both hands on Meg’s shoulders and spoke over her shoulder to their reflections. ‘If you weren’t engaged, I think he’d be asking you out on a date. He watches you when you aren’t looking, you know.’
Meg spun around, needing to see more than Gerry’s reflection. Her friend wasn’t joking. She sank onto the bunk, clutching her lipstick. ‘You’re wrong, Gerry. You have to be. We work together. And I’m engaged.’
‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m pretty sure he’s too honourable to act on his feelings, but he does like you. Just saying . . .’ Gerry’s voice trailed off and she gripped Meg’s shoulder. ‘Hey, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. You know me, Gerry Bigmouth. Forget I said anything . . . Please?’
Meg’s heart thudded as though she’d run the whole way from the beach to the hospital, a feat she would never achieve. Had she really been blind to signs Gerry had seen? Was it possible that Geoff’s interest in her—an interest she’d noticed, but put down to his pleasure in her developing professional skills—was something more personal? The shock of Gerry’s revelation prickled across her skin like a spring allergy. ‘I—I’ve got reports to finish writing. I won’t go tonight.’
‘Margaret Olivia Dorset! Is this the same nurse who faced the bombing of Darwin then tended a truckload of wounded men on a track in the Territory? Don’t turn coward, Maggie.’
Meg shook her head. ‘I need time to think about what you said.’
‘What’s there to think about? Are you going to act on it now you know? I seriously doubt it.’ Gerry took both her hands and pulled her to her feet.
‘Even if you were right—and I’m not saying you are—we’ve got a job to do. And again, I’m engaged. Of course I’m not going to act on it.’
‘Then why not come to the dance tonight? Have some fun, relax, flirt a little. It’s harmless. Surely you can have one dance with Doc and not make a goose of yourself?’ Genuinely upset, Gerry pleaded both with words and with her eyes. ‘Come on, Maggie. Please?’
Dr Ransom would also expect to claim a dance, and he’d invited her outside before he learned of her engagement. What was going on? Were there too few women amongst so many men geed up for war? Or was it the doctor-nurse thing she’d heard about when she was training in Sydney, common because they spent hours working together? Suddenly the whole evening just felt too hard.
If she stayed, she could write up personnel reports in peace. And there was another benefit, one she wouldn’t share with Gerry. Maybe she could do something unexpected and nice for Eva that would help the nurse settle down. Unbuttoning her jacket, she turned her back on Gerry. ‘Eva can go. I’m staying.’
‘No, you can’t. You deserve an evening out. I won’t let you, Maggie.’
‘Sue me.’
‘What?’ Gerry tipped her head and frowned.
Deflated yet sure staying home was the safe move, Meg shrugged. ‘It’s an American expression I heard. Sort of means, what can you do about it?’
Folding her arms across her chest, Gerry tapped her toes and pinned Meg with the look of a woman on a mission. ‘I wonder if Doc Ransom will allow his head nurse to work late while the rest of us go out and have fun?’
‘You wouldn’t dare tell him.’
‘Why should you cover Eva’s shift? It’s her bad luck it just happened to fall on the night the Yanks decided to have another dance. Besides, what about the other nurses on night duty? How are you going to make it fair to them? And why can’t Cate and I have a night away from Eva?’
Meg recognised the last-ditch attempt to guilt her into going. Gerry hadn’t warmed to Eva, and Cate put up with her at work and off duty, although if Doc’s information was correct, more nurses would arrive on the next train and dilute the “Eva-effect”, as Meg privately called it. ‘I’ve already been to one, so if I swap with her this time, I can stay and write my reports in peace and keep an eye on our appendicitis case.’
‘Maggie—’
‘My mind is made up.’ She began changing uniforms and shooed Gerry out the door. ‘Go tell them to wait a few minutes while Eva gets changed. My bet is she’ll be there in record time.’
‘You’re mad. Or a saint. I can’t decide which.’ Gerry blew her a kiss. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Luck. Now go.’ She finished changing and went straight to the ward, hoping to avoid encounters and explanations with Doc.
Not Doc—Dr Ransom. Think formal, act normal.
When Meg stepped into the ward, Eva’s mouth turned down in a look Meg’s mother would have warned her against. ‘Don’t pull that face or it will stay like that when the wind changes.’
‘Sister Smith, I’m here to relieve you. Go and get changed for the dance. The others will wait five minutes for you.’
Eva’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth opened and no words came out, but she sprang to her feet.
‘You’d better get going.’ Hoping she’d made the right choice, Meg jerked her head towards the door. ‘Be quick, Sister.’
‘Really? You mean . . . Yes, Sister—thanks.’ One hand holding her cap in place, Eva took off leaving Meg in her dust.
‘Thanks, Sister Dorset.’ The voice came from Sgt Draper who had been placed in the bed closest to the nurse’s station. He sounded tired, and his voice was weak, not like she imagined a drill sergeant’s to be. Probably the after-effects of the anaesthetic.
‘Would you like a few sips of water?’
He shook his head.
Meg walked over and straightened the bedsheet across his chest. ‘I’m not sure why you’re thanking me, Sergeant.’
‘Now I’ve got the prettiest nurse here looking after me.’
‘Sergeant, are you flirting with the nurse in charge of your wellbeing?’ Meg looked at his chart then her watch. His next vitals check was due in a few minutes.
‘You can’t blame a man for speaking the truth when he’s coming out of anaesthetics.’
Attaching the cuff, she checked his blood pressure. It was a little low and when she checked his pulse, it was elevated. The sergeant was suffering from shock.
His free hand scratched his chest through the sheet and light blanket. ‘You’re wearing lipstick on the ward too. Is that to cheer me up?’
‘Does it cheer you up, Sergeant?’ Telling herself his flirty comments meant nothing, Meg set his arm down gently and picked up his chart to record his pulse. Patients often imagined themselves smitten with their nurses. Nodding at the hand scratching his chest with increasing urgency she asked, ‘Are you feeling itchy anywhere else, Sergeant?’
He glanced down at his chest and frowned. ‘Now you mention it, yes.’
‘Do you mind if I have a look?’
Awkwardly, he pushed the blanket down. Light as it was, its weight over his surgical dressing drew a grimace.
Meg folded it down to his hips, easing that discomfort, unbuttoned his pyjama shirt and moved so the night light from the desk fell onto his chest. Angry red welts rose in two patches. ‘Where else feels itchy?’
‘My right leg, my scalp, and my gut hurts, more than just where the doc took out my appendix. It’s been getting worse since I came around.’
Meg checked both his leg and scalp then gently palpated his stomach. His indrawn breath hissed as he bit back a groan and she was certain.
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ She walked smartly to the front door, hoping against hope Doc and the nurses hadn’t left yet, but Eva must have changed super-fast. There was no sign of the group. Slowly she returned to her patient.
‘I believe you’re having a reaction to the penicillin. A small number of patients have an allergic reaction to the drug. Looks like you’re one of them.’ Her voice remained calm and she smiled as she spoke. ‘I’m going to phone the doctor and ask if he’ll allow me to administer something called anti-histamine. It will ease the pain and the itching should go away soon after. Don’t go away.’
‘Not if you promise to come back soon, Sister.’ His smile was a gritted-teeth, not-going-to-show-how-bad-I’m-feeling, quick pull back of his lips.
Meg touched his shoulder in acknowledgement then picked up the extension on the nurse’s desk and asked to be put through to the American recreation hall.
The phone rang so long she feared no one could hear it above the music, but just as she began to despair and considered taking action without the doctor’s permission, it was picked up. The background noise was loud as the soldier on the other end asked what she wanted.
‘Dr Ransom—Ransom—Australian doctor. I need to speak with him now. It’s urgent.’
After several loud repetitions, the listener understood and, moments later, the music stopped. Meg heard a call for Dr Ransom over the stage microphone. Shortly after, a door banged and the doctor himself picked up the phone. With the music muted she explained the sergeant’s reaction. ‘Do you need to see for yourself, or are you happy for me to give him the anti-histamine now, Doctor?’
Some would consider she’d overstepped her boundary as a nurse, but, watching the sergeant’s increasingly frantic scratching, and a worrying, high-pitched wheezing, his condition was rapidly getting worse.
‘Go ahead and give him one standard dose for now and monitor him closely. I’ll find a ride and get there as soon as I can. Oh, and Margaret, have a bucket ready. He may throw up before the anti-histamine begins to work.’ There was a click as he ended the call.
Meg fetched a large specimen tray and set it within reach. ‘I’m going to prepare the injection, Sergeant. The tray is just in case you need to—’
‘Chuck up?’
‘Yes.’
This time he barely managed a nod and as Meg prepared a small tray with the anti-histamine, she heard sounds of retching. Glad that she had sent Eva off to the dance and taken her place, she grabbed a small cloth to cover the tray. Sgt Draper’s face was pale as she moved the tray of vomit out of the way and gave him the injection. Rubbing the spot where the needle had gone in, she spoke in a brisk tone, knowing the sound of her voice telling him he would be okay was as much a part of settling him as the injection.
‘There you are, Sergeant Draper. You’ll feel much better very soon. The doctor is on his way back from the dance and he’ll check you over. Not many people get a reaction like you did.’
‘Lucky me.’ His eyes had been closed, but now he opened them.
‘Well, I’m not sure I’d call an allergic reaction lucky, although I guess it is good luck that we have an antidote close by.’
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and she wondered if she needed to get a fresh tray for him, but he swallowed. The sergeant was made of stern stuff. He dragged in a slow breath then exhaled, the latter sound less forced, as though the drug was beginning to have an effect on him. ‘Yeah, that’s lucky too. But I meant I’m lucky to have an angel looking after me. You’ve a kind way with patients, Sister. Not like—’
‘Ssh, enough now. I need you to close your eyes and rest. The doctor will be here soon.’ But she wondered what Eva had done—or not done—to elicit such a negative tone.
‘Did you give up going to the dance to look after me, Sister?’ Sergeant Draper’s eyelids closed as inexorably as the playing of Taps darkened a barracks.
‘How could a dance compare with the pleasure of your company, Sergeant?’
A less than gentle snore was her only response. Meg’s head tipped back and she glanced through the window. The night sky was black beyond the glass, which reflected a soft spill of light from her desk and the indistinct form of her patient. Wanting to believe that Sister Smith would have tended their patient as well as she had, she couldn’t help but believe that her decision to swap places meant some higher being was looking out for the sergeant.
After all she’d seen, questioning the existence of a God who allowed such terrible wars and painful, savage deaths to occur had seemed her only course. But tonight, perhaps He had found a way to bring her back to Him.
Casting a glance at her special patient and seeing him fast asleep, she slipped onto the veranda and checked the two patients there. Sound asleep and snores from both beds. She looked through the flyscreens at the sky. Out here, the night seemed luminous up high, while the horizon was a velvety black. She leaned on the railing, searching for the twin pointer stars. Lying in Seamus’s arms in their secret glade at the River, he’d begun pointing out various constellations, but her favourite was the Southern Cross. And tonight, after stopping what had been shaping up to be a serious allergic reaction, it seemed fitting that she sent a silent thanks to her constellation.
Narrow beams of headlights cut through the darkness followed by the sound of a vehicle pulling up in front of Currajong. Doc must be back from the dance and she had good news for him. But as she stepped back inside the ward Gerry’s comment—the one that had made Meg take Eva’s place instead of attending the dance—drifted back. Now, instead of being amongst a happy, noisy throng, she was about to be alone with him in a darkened ward. At least there were patients, even if sleeping.
And I’ve got tickets on myself if I believe what Gerry said.
Steeling herself to be normal, whatever the heck that was these days, she sat at her desk next to Sergeant Draper’s bed and opened the personnel files she’d planned to work on.
Soft footfalls approached along the hallway and Dr Ransom appeared. ‘Good evening, Sister. How’s your patient doing?’
Meg stood and faced him, all professional competence with no hint of uncertainty in her manner. ‘Sergeant Draper responded well to the anti-histamine injection. He fell asleep soon after.’
‘Keep up the IV fluids.’ Doc ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired but determined and Meg appreciated his dedication more than ever. Catching Meg’s gaze, he smiled ruefully. ‘Heaven knows this war is shocking, but one good thing is the advances in medicine and surgical techniques in response to what we’re encountering day by day. Even non-war related problems like the sergeant’s appendicitis.’
‘I’m sorry you had to leave the dance, but at the time I felt—’
He held up a hand. ‘Never apologise for putting a patient’s needs first, Margaret. But I didn’t manage to get a drink at the dance, so how about a cup of tea?’
‘Certainly. I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘Margaret—’ He touched her arm and shook his head. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. I was the one who suggested it after all. But tell me, do you know where the biscuits are hidden? I think a small treat is in order, don’t you?’
His smile made him look younger, less care-worn perhaps. She wanted to keep it there, despite the reasons she’d earlier convinced herself of for keeping her distance from Geoffrey.
‘Third cupboard on the left, on the top shelf.’ Her smile came naturally. That was the thing about Geoffrey; he made her feel good in spite of her resolution to maintain professional distance.
‘Don’t go away.’
Meg watched until the dark hallway swallowed him then turned back and checked the sergeant’s pulse and blood pressure again, reassuring herself the injection was doing its job. Glancing at the files waiting on her desk, she turned away. Five minutes to relax and watch the stars wouldn’t hurt. Five minutes – time to remind herself she was in love with Seamus, the father of her child.