Lochlann held Charlotte’s arm to steady her. She was swaying as if she were still on board either the ship or the steam train. Every now and then the feeling of being in motion came back to disconcert him as well.
“Let’s get you settled first,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea and something to eat?”
“Nothing thanks. Couldn’t face a thing. Still feel ghastly.”
He guided her to the freshly made bed. They could smell the sunlight off the sheets when he turned back the covers. He retrieved her nightgown from the trunk and helped her undress. By the time he found a tap to fill a glass of water for her, she was asleep.
Before attacking the casserole he went outside to have a look around. There were verandahs on three sides of the house. At the back were trees, on the left a water tank on a high wide platform, under which was parked a Buick, on the right the surgery, which was attached to the house but had a separate entrance, and to the front was a street and above it on the hill, the hospital. One of the sheds in the yard was full of chopped wood, and beside it a smaller open structure enclosed in wire netting, which he presumed was a hen house without hens. He couldn’t identify the birdcalls or the shrubs or plants or the trees. Despite his weariness, he felt a stirring of interest in the unfamiliar nature of everything that surrounded him.
He re-entered the kitchen, looking forward to a bowl of lamb, with bread to soak up the juices, and strong sweet tea to finish.
There was a whirring sound in the hall. He identified the telephone on the wall and lifted the earpiece.
“Is that Redmundo 145?” asked a female voice.
“I’m not sure,” he answered, leaning into the mouthpiece. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“Are you the new doctor?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Putting you through. Go ahead, Matron.”
“Thank you, Cheryl.”
The matron was really sorry. She had seen Scottie drop them off and realised they must be feeling dreadful after their long trip but she had an emergency, a young man in excruciating pain with an appendix that might rupture. There wasn’t time to send him on to the next town and there was no one else to call. If there was any way the doctor could see him . . .
“Of course, I’ll come straight up.”
“You know where it is?”
“Yes, Scottie pointed it out. I can see it from here. I’m on my way.”
As he walked with speed up the hill he hoped he would be equal to the task ahead and that he’d paid attention to the demonstrations he’d watched as a student. If he were in a city hospital he wouldn’t be doing unsupervised surgery for years.
He had reason to be grateful to Matron Grainger that day and every day afterwards. She was a stickler for cleanliness and procedure and was expert in the administration of chloroform. Her age (mid-thirties) and cold seriousness were the only impressions he had time to register before he scrubbed up.
“Thank you, Matron,” he said many times during the operation as she anticipated what was needed. “How many times have you assisted at one of these?”
“I’ve lost count. Over thirty at least.”
He didn’t tell her it was his first, and she may not have guessed, as everything worked out with textbook precision. He would have been unnerved by the unfamiliarity of the theatre if she hadn’t been there to guide him and deal with the practicalities.
“Just think,” Matron said, tidying up and collecting all the instruments to be sterilised while Lochlann stitched the wound, “if you hadn’t arrived when you did young Billy Ericsson here wouldn’t have made it.”
“He’s obviously destined for great things. We’ll have to follow his progress from now on to see what he achieves.”
When Lochlann arrived back at his house, replaying the operation in his mind, he looked at the shape in the bed, and for a second couldn’t think for the life of him who the person under the coverlet could possibly be. He stood disorientated, swaying on his feet, trying to concentrate his mind and ignore his exhaustion. It was with a sickening jolt he remembered it was Charlotte.