Five

Patricia found Andy beside the river, not far from the old landslide and the area where Tim had not wanted to camp.

She heaved a sigh of relief when she first saw her uncle, but her anxiety increased as she raced closer. He made no effort to stand, remaining seated while holding his right arm tightly against his body with his other hand. The face he turned toward her was lined with pain.

“Andy,” she gasped breathlessly as she reached him, “what happened?”

He nodded his head toward the cliff behind him and said through gritted teeth, “Thought I’d go and have a look at that.”

Patricia stared up the sharp pile of dirt and rocks to where the neat cross had been nailed to the white bark of the old gum tree. “So you saw it too,” she said sharply.

He nodded. “Wanted to see what was carved on it.”

She hesitated, but it was for Tim to tell Andy about his father if he wanted to. Crouching down beside her uncle, she studied him anxiously.

“You fell from up there? Are you hurt bad?”

“Stupid horse shied at a snake just as I was getting off him.”

“A snake!”

Andy saw her glance swiftly around and snorted. “A black one and long gone.”

“And Blackie threw you!”

Andy reared his head proudly and glared at her. “He did nothing of the sort! I fell. And no,” he added more forcefully and even less truthfully, “I’m not hurt bad. The reins somehow twisted around my arm. Almost wrenched my arm off when the horse jumped back.”

She gave an exclamation of distress. “You could have landed on the snake. Here, let me help you up.”

Andy groaned and then snapped, “Why do you think I’m still sitting here? Can’t stand on my leg. Landed on the side of my foot.”

Patricia stared at him speechlessly.

“Don’t think anything’s broken,” he added swiftly. “If you give me a shoulder to lean on, reckon I can make it.”

After swiftly examining him, Patricia concluded that while he hadn’t broken any bones, he had certainly given the muscles of his ankle, shoulder, and arm a battering. She helped him up, and the two slowly worked their way back to Tim.

Patricia and Andy were thoroughly exhausted when they at last stumbled into camp. A very worried Tim Hardy managed to limp forward a few steps to meet them, but Patricia noted the perspiration on his face and the brightly flushed cheeks that stood in sharp contrast to the paleness of the rest of his face.

There was no choice but to let him help them. She gasped out how Andy had come to grief, omitting any mention of the memorial cross. Once Andy was lying down, she almost fell down herself. She gratefully accepted the cup of water Tim gave her. Andy already had a cup to his lips, and she hoped his wasn’t mere water. He, too, needed the only painkiller they had.

The thought almost made her panic. Alone in the Australian bush, she was now responsible for two injured men. Even as she stared at Tim, he swayed, then sank down onto the ground beside them, shivering violently.

“Oh, Tim,” she cried, “your leg. . .”

Through chattering teeth he mumbled, “Sorry, Pat. Afraid I’m not going to be much more help to either of you for awhile. I did manage to keep the fire going.”

Once she had persuaded Tim to lie back down in the tent, Patricia attended to Andy, grateful that Tim had placed water on the campfire to heat. She put hot packs on Andy’s shoulder and ankle and was immensely relieved when gradually, with the help of a few more swallows of rum, the gray, pinched look started to fade from his wrinkled face.

Patricia got little sleep that night. She sponged Tim down when the fever swept through him and piled the blankets on when he started to shiver. Andy also spent a painful night despite her attempts to ease the pain with rags soaked in hot water. Both men tried several times to persuade Patricia to seek her own bed. Both men failed.

At last when soft snores came from Andy’s pile of blankets, Tim pretended to be asleep. To his relief, Patricia curled up on her own bedding. He heard her sigh of relief and almost immediately knew she was asleep. After a few moments he raised his head cautiously to make sure she had pulled a blanket over herself, only to see that Andy also had raised his head slightly to peer at Patricia. The two men stared at each other over her sleeping body. Andy’s white teeth gleamed in the faint light from the campfire for a moment. Tim grinned in response and then relaxed.

Sheer exhaustion made Tim doze off and on. When he was awake, he heard Andy tossing with discomfort. But whenever Patricia stirred, only gentle snores came from both men. When the long night was at last over, both men paid for their deceit. Andy’s muscles were stiff and sore, and Tim’s fever was worse. They spent another miserable day.

Patricia cared for them as best she could with the pitiful supplies she had. That night, Tim’s fever was no better, and in the light of the new day, his wound looked even worse. Andy forced himself to move around, trying to loosen his strained muscles despite Patricia’s white-faced protests.

When Patricia finally left for the creek to get more water, Tim discovered why Andy had not been content to rest. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Andy told him abruptly as soon as she was out of sight. “Pat’s exhausted, our food supplies are running low, and you need that leg seen to in better surroundings. It’s going bad.”

Tim regarded him. He knew Andy had started to respect him for the way he tried to spare Patricia as much as possible. “Why have you dragged a young woman like Pat out into this wilderness, Andy?” Tim asked abruptly. “And without adequate supplies?”

Anger flashed across the older man’s face. “None of your business. We had enough supplies for two people,” he snapped, “and it would have lasted much longer if I’d been able to get out these last few days and go hunting.”

“Hunting?” Tim’s eyes narrowed. “And what would you have been hunting out here?”

At Tim’s sharp tones, Andy stiffened. “Well, it wouldn’t have been your precious cattle, that’s for sure,” he snapped, “and for your information she has dragged me here, not the other way around.”

“To look for someone called Danny?”

Andy glared at him. “As I said, that’s none of your business!” He swallowed, glanced toward the creek, and added hurriedly, “Look, we’ve got to persuade her we are well enough to tackle the trip to that place you come from unless there’s somewhere closer.”

“Waverley is the only place for many miles. And I’m well enough.” Tim’s brave words were belied by the perspiration dripping from his flushed face.

Andy’s grin flashed. “Neither of us are, but we’ve got to get her to a place where she has help and can rest.” Worry creased his brow. “Will there be others at your place who could take over your care? She’s been living on nerves for too long as it is, and if I’m not careful, she’s going to collapse.”

Tim thought of the beautiful stone homestead that Elizabeth Waverley’s father had built his wife and only daughter. Since they had bought it, Adam and Kate had made it even more comfortable, extending the gardens and orchards, employing more staff. It was indeed a home, a place to relax. Patricia would be able to rest there.

His lips tightened as he remembered the only drawback to the place. Mrs. Wadding. From the start he had not been sure if his new housekeeper and cook would fit in at Waverley. There had been little choice but to employ the woman temporarily after dear, comfortable old Mrs. Cook had been forced to leave abruptly to care for her seriously ill daughter back in Sydney. Since the transportation of convicts had ceased, servants were becoming harder and harder to find, especially so far from Sydney.

Tim had tried to convince himself how fortunate he had been that Mrs. Wadding was in Bathurst looking for work the very day he had driven Kate’s old housekeeper there to help her on her way. Certainly, the woman had been all eagerness to please at first and obviously surprised and even awed by the grandeur of Waverley. She seemed capable enough, but a few times Tim suspected she was far too hard on the girls who helped in the house. They had so quickly lost their smiling faces and cheerful greetings, and the stockmen began to avoid going to the homestead.

When Mrs. Wadding had discovered Tim was not the son of the owner, that his father had been merely a convict, her attitude toward him had changed, often bordering on insolence. The pleasant atmosphere he had always taken for granted at Waverley rapidly deteriorated. He had been only too glad to join the other men in looking for the cattle, but he knew that if Mrs. Cook did not return soon, he would be forced to go to Bathurst and find a replacement for Mrs. Wadding. Kate and Adam would be coming home soon, and the last thing he wanted was for them to return to such an unhappy household.

“Right,” Tim said decisively, “we’ll go this morning. Between us we should cope.”

Relief lit up Andy’s face. “Sure we’ll cope. We’re excellent actors, although I think you need to work on your snoring,” he noted, his eyes twinkling. “Besides, between the two of us, don’t we have three good hands and two good legs? Although yours might be a bit feeble awhile yet.”

Tim grinned. “I’d better work on getting stronger then.”

Andy chuckled in appreciation, and soon both men were laughing out loud. Tim found himself liking Andy immensely.

“Right then,” Andy said cheerfully. “Let’s start breaking camp before she gets back.”

Between them, they managed to roll up the bedding and get some of the tent ropes untied.

“Stop! What are you doing?” Panic laced Patricia’s voice. She dropped the water container and rushed toward Andy, who was trying to undo the last rope.

“It’s time we moved on,” Andy said briefly, but he glanced at Tim before scowling at her. “Tim needs more help than we can get him here, and we are fast running out of food.”

Patricia put her hands on her hips and glanced from Andy to Tim, who had just managed to finish tying up a bundle Andy had dragged to him. He straightened and swayed. Abruptly, he fell back down. There was no need to act. The little he had attempted had exhausted him.

“Tim’s still too sick,” she cried out. “And what happened to all that ‘live off the land’ talk of yours?”

“Can’t hold a rifle well enough,” Andy muttered, “and with this bad leg, I couldn’t get near enough to get a kangaroo in the sights anyway.”

Tim tried to smile at her as he gasped breathlessly, “Just. . . bit weak. Been in bed. . .too long.”

“And you should still be in bed,” she cried out, rushing over to him. “Andy, look at him!”

Tim started to push himself up from the ground but fell back with a disgusted groan. “Sorry, Mate,” he mumbled to Andy. “More lessons will have to wait. Done all. . .can for a bit.”

Andy used the piece of wood he had selected from the pile of firewood as a crutch and limped painfully over to them. “Then we’ll make a bed in the dray for us to share.”

Patricia looked from one to the other.

“We have to get out of here, Patty dear,” Andy said quietly, “or we’ll all get weaker without enough to eat. We can take it slowly, but we have to start moving.”

Patricia stared at her uncle. “You only call me that when. . . You’re very serious aren’t you?”

Andy nodded silently.

“I–I could try and trap or shoot something myself,” she faltered.

Tim shook his head. “Isn’t much wildlife in the immediate area,” he said. “I agree with your uncle. It would be much better to go to Waverley. On the way we might even meet some of the stockmen. They should have arrived home already with the cattle and discovered I hadn’t made it back. They. . .they wouldn’t look for me here.”

Because I never come to this place where the memory of Father’s death still haunts me.

Patricia stared at Tim and then back at Andy. “Right,” she said reluctantly. Andy started to bend down to pick up the bedding, and she added hastily, “Only as long as you let me do the heavy bits and you men rest when you should.”

She grabbed the bundle from Andy and hefted it into the cart. Swiftly she spread the bedding out to form a rough bed. When she turned around, she thought she caught Andy winking at Tim, but their smiles quickly disappeared and Andy started slowly back to the tent. She stared after him suspiciously, but she felt too pleased that the men were getting along to pursue the matter.

“I’m packing my own gear,” she called out rapidly, “as well as the cooking things. That way I’ll know where everything is when we stop next.”

Only when she picked up the pan that she usually cooked on but that she had used to pan the riverbed did she remember the gold dust. She had hidden it carefully in the battered old bag that held her few pieces of clothing.

Patricia hesitated, wondering if she should show it to Andy. A small amount, it was probably only what the miners called “fool’s gold” anyway. She shrugged. Getting help for Tim and Andy was far more important. But she looked around, taking careful note of the hills that rose a little way back from the creek, looking for landmarks to help them find this creek again. Perhaps when they found Danny, they might be able to come back and explore this region. And they could use that cross on the tree to make sure they were in the right place.

Despite her protests, both men helped her more than she considered wise. Tim had to rest frequently, but it took all three to harness the horse to the cart and tie the chestnut and Blackie to the back of it.

Two Irish tempers exploded when Patricia refused to let Andy drive the cart. At first Tim was alarmed by their fiery words, but at last he shrugged and closed his eyes, glad to rest on his makeshift bed in the cart until the battle was over. When Patricia won the day by jumping up and sitting in the driver’s seat, completely ignoring her spluttering uncle, Tim chuckled softly at them.

At last they were on their way. As the dray jolted slowly over the rough ground, Tim grabbed his leg, his teeth clenched from pain. He had tried to give them directions to Waverley, and he fervently hoped they found the road before he succumbed to the pain and his worsening fever.

Three excruciating days passed as they made their way to Tim’s home. His infection had refused to go away, and he knew Patricia was desperately worried about the state of his leg by the time the Waverley homestead came into view, nestled in its setting of pine trees and tall gums.

Through a haze of pain and weakness, Tim heard Patricia’s sharp exclamation. “Is. . .is that really Waverley?” she gasped. “Why, it’s beautiful!” Astonishment and something like awe sounded in her voice.

“Yes,” Tim managed weakly, “but it’s still not Stevens Downs.”

He saw Patricia glance at him sharply. Had he told her about his old home, about the horizon that stretched for miles without a hill in sight? As much as he loved Waverley, those never-ending plains had always called to something deep inside him, something he wasn’t even sure he understood.

The last stretch to the house was not as rough as the bush track, but not far from the house, a wheel hit a rut in the side of the road. Pain slashed through Tim’s leg. He could not stop the groan that slipped past his lips.

“Careful, Girl. You went off the road there,” Andy admonished sharply. “Here, let me take over this last bit or you’ll land us in that ditch. You’re exhausted.”

After that, things were confused for Tim. He thought he must have passed out for several minutes. He came to when he heard a woman screaming, “Oh, you wicked, wicked people! What have you done to poor Mr. Hardy? You’ve killed him!”

Tim groaned. “Be quiet, you stupid woman,” he started to mutter, but his voice was drowned out by Andy’s voice saying that very thing.

“Good man,” he whispered approvingly and let the darkness descend.

The next few days were a blur. There were strident tones and rough hands until he heard Andy’s roar once more. Then to his relief, she was there. Her hands were gentle, easing the pain in his leg, her tones soothing him to rest.

And then her voice raised in fury roused him. She was ordering someone to get out. He forced his eyes open and peered curiously at a red-faced, plump man retreating before her. Mrs. Wadding screeched again, but the sound was shut out as the door slammed.

“Pat?” he croaked.

“Yes, Tim, I’m here,” her voice whispered.

“Don’t. . .go. . .”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said in a choked voice and then vehemently added, “And neither are you!”

He wondered vaguely where she thought he might go, but then her face loomed closer. Soft lips touched his forehead. Comforted, he smiled and went to sleep.

❧

Patricia wiped furiously at the tears streaming down her face as she collapsed into the chair beside Tim’s bed. She shuddered as she heard more shouting and screaming from somewhere in the house. Then she identified the thud of the big cedar front door followed by the rattle of horse and carriage.

A few moments later, Andy limped into the room. His face was red with anger, his eyes fiery.

“Has the doctor gone?” she whispered.

“Yes, and good riddance to him,” he said in controlled tones.

Patricia gave a broken laugh. “Poor Tim. He told me housekeepers are very hard to come by out here. I don’t know what he is going to think about us upsetting his so much. She was furious enough when we banned her from Tim’s bedroom after he became so agitated every time she came near him. Now she is utterly scandalized, certain we are letting Tim. . . letting Tim. . .” She choked on a sob, unable to put into words what the woman had screamed as Andy had bundled the pompous, incompetent doctor from the house.

Andy drew her head against his comforting shoulder. “But we know we are doing nothing less than saving that young man from a fool,” he stated vehemently. “When Tim comes to, if he’s anything like the young man I’m thinkin’ he is, he’ll agree with our decision.” His Irish accent had increased, indicating just how upset he was.

“Oh, Andy dear! What if we’re wrong? What if. . . ?”

“We aren’t wrong,” he interrupted her anguished whisper, adding with grim determination, “but we’ve got much work to do to prove it. Let’s get started.”

Two days passed before Patricia knew they had won the battle to keep Tim Hardy alive after refusing to allow the doctor to amputate his leg.

Andy found Patricia in her bedroom, sobbing her heart out with sheer relief.

She raised a beaming face to him. “Oh, Andy, he’s going to be all right. He spoke quite lucidly to me, and now he’s sleeping more soundly than he has since. . .since. . . I’ve been so afraid we made the wrong decision not letting that doctor. . .” She stopped, not able to voice the horrible recommendation the doctor had made.

Andy hugged her and let her cry all over him until her tears dried up at last.

A few more days passed before Tim was well enough to be told about the doctor and to be informed that his housekeeper was not speaking to either Patricia or Andy, refusing even to cook for them or let the maids clean their rooms.

At first Tim was furious. “And you didn’t make her leave with the doctor?” he exclaimed.

Andy chuckled. “Can’t say I wasn’t tempted! She will never know how close she came to being tied up and bundled into that buggy with him.”

Tim looked from Andy’s defiant face to Patricia’s apprehensive one, and his scowl lifted. He grinned at them. “Pity you didn’t. They could have driven each other crazy all the way to Bathurst. What stopped you?”

“We couldn’t look after this place as well as care for you,” Andy said bluntly. Tim looked at Patricia’s exhausted face with concern, and Andy added swiftly, “Afraid I also didn’t have the authority if—”

He stopped abruptly, and Patricia knew that deep down Andy had also been afraid Tim might have died.

“It would have been good riddance,” Tim said weakly.

He reached out and took Patricia’s hand, holding it as tightly as he could. Looking into her tear-filled eyes, he whispered a fervent thank-you. He looked over at Andy and smiled gratefully.

Then he turned back and smiled so tenderly at her that Patricia knew her heart was in grave danger. No matter how often she told herself she did not know Tim well enough, her heart risked giving itself to the thin, pale man she had prayed and wept over until they had won him back from the very gates of death.