Field Hospital, New Guinea
Theresa shook her head, trying to stay awake as she bathed his face. This one had lost a lot of blood and it was still touch and go. He and the other fellow were the only survivors of the ambush though both of them had been shot. She couldn’t say for sure at this point whether either would make it. Looking over at the one who wore spectacles she noticed his colour was at least good. He had been shot in the chest but Dr Kindred had managed to get the shrapnel out and, as long as he didn’t get a post-operative infection, his chances weren’t too bad.
He stirred and she went over to him as he opened his eyes briefly, disoriented.
‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly, feeling that she recognised him for a moment, then realised it was just that his eyes were the same colour as hers, a very dark brown. He closed them again and she waited until he slept, then moved back to the fair-haired man.
The gunshot had been removed from his back but he had a perforated lung and was weak from lying so long and bleeding out. The natives had found him in a dark pool and she feared he wouldn’t make the night. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his handsome face pale against the sheets. She sighed, realising she was admiring a possibly dying soldier and thinking how pathetic it was that this was the only way she got to meet men these days. There weren’t too many pool parties going on around here.
Theresa settled herself between their beds and prepared herself for a long vigil, praying they would both make it.
It was sunrise when the blond man finally stirred and to her enormous relief opened his eyes.
‘Welcome back.’ She smiled. His eyes were as blue as the midday sky.
He seemed to try to focus but closed them again and Theresa smoothed his forehead, continuing to wait. Willing them back open.
‘Am…I…dead?’ Pete asked, looking at the woman’s beautiful face bathed in morning light and wondering if she was an apparition.
‘No, Lieutenant Murphy, you are alive. Someone must be looking after you up there though.’ She took his wrist and checked his pulse as he continued to stare at her.
‘You’ll…do.’
She patted his arm and asked him if he was hungry.
‘Thirsty.’
She poured him some water and lifted his head slightly to drink as he watched her every move, trying to force his eyes to stay open, but failing. As he fell into the black again his last thought was that she looked vaguely familiar.
When he awoke again she was gone, but someone else was mumbling from the next bed and it was a voice he’d feared he’d never hear again.
‘What’s a man got to do to get some bloody rubber leaves around here?’ Pete heard slapping as the man searched for the offending mosquito.
‘Like moths…to the flame.’
Simon swung his gaze. ‘You’re awake.’
‘Seem…to be.’
‘Last time I saw you, you were busy getting shot. How’d you learn to run like that with a bullet in your back?’
‘Cricket. Strict…coach.’
Simon laughed, his eyes filling as he looked at his closest friend, soon to be brother, and almost lost to them forever. ‘I think we might have to retire hurt.’
Pete smiled. ‘Wait…for drinks.’
‘My shout, Turps.’
‘Turps is it? And here I was thinking you looked like a gentleman.’ Theresa had appeared carrying her medicine tray and Pete’s head turned slightly at the sound of her voice. ‘How are you feeling?’ She felt his forehead as his eyes shut for a moment.
‘Good,’ he lied, trying to force as much clarity and strength into the word as possible.
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Take these.’ He swallowed his pills dutifully as she held up a needle before injecting it into his arm. He took in every detail of her figure as she straightened his bed and pulled at the blinds in the large bamboo structure that made up the hospital. She was taller than average and willowy with long arms and legs that moved gracefully with every exertion, but she also had curves and his eyes were drawn to those areas in particular as she reached high for the rods.
‘Careful you don’t strain yourself,’ Simon said under his breath and Pete saw his friend watched him with amusement.
‘Oh it isn’t very difficult, just a bit awkward,’ she grunted, pushing the last blind free and tucking a fallen white-blonde curl back into her cap. Pete found himself wishing he could see her without it.
‘Now, let’s take a look at your dressings.’ She was gentle as she did so, and he found himself focused on the scent of her, deciding she carried a mix of honey and lime about her. His mind felt fuddled as he tried to think of something to say and he wondered how much time had passed since he’d been shot.
‘Have I…been here…long?’ he asked, flinching as she removed a bandage.
‘Two days,’ she replied. ‘Hold still.’
‘My mind…feels foggy…’
‘I just gave you some morphine to ease the pain. We’ll start weaning you off, don’t worry. There,’ she finished, easing him back down and straightening his sheets. ‘Can I get you anything?’
He shook his head, happily drinking in the sight of her again and deciding she was surely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but something else was nagging at him.
‘Have we met…before?’
Simon gave a cough in the background that she thankfully didn’t consider suspicious as she answered him.
‘Not that I recall. Now get some more sleep and try not to talk too much.’ She patted his chest lightly as she turned away and he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of her touch before slipping off again.
‘Good morning,’ she said the next time he opened his eyes, feeling it was almost worth being in hospital if she was the first thing he got to see each day.
‘Have you been here…all night?’ he asked, noting the blanket draped over her shoulders.
‘Favouritism,’ Simon said, smiling at her over his spectacles from behind a book before making his blushing way back behind it.
‘You should…be getting…your own rest,’ he protested. He seemed to be able to manage only a few words at a time before needing to take a shallow breath.
‘Oh no, no, I’m fine. You’ve a letter from home,’ she said, looking excited as she placed it in front of him. ‘Somebody managed to find you even in the jungle.’
‘Probably my…mother…bit witchy…like that,’ he said, lifting his hand and holding it weakly, every part of him hurting if he moved. ‘You sat up…all night…to tell me that?’
‘How about I give you some breakfast then read it to you?’ she suggested, ignoring his question and taking the letter from him gently.
‘First things first…do you have…a name?’
‘Theresa,’ she answered as she prepared to feed him. Catholic too, Pete observed, noticing the saint’s holy medal about her neck. Perfect.
Pete managed to swallow some banana and porridge, after which Theresa opened the letter.
‘It’s from your mother,’ she confirmed, looking at the bottom.
‘Told you,’ he said. She gave him a little amused glance then began.
Dear Pete,
I’m writing this to you from down at the creek. Kelly and I decided we needed a bit of air and there’s nothing quite like a good ride to clear the senses.
‘You have horses?’ she asked, pausing in surprise.
‘Just for…racing…mostly.’ She looked a bit taken aback so he added, ‘Not country hicks…we have…cars too.’ That didn’t seem to reassure her.
I’m dipping my toes as I write and you won’t believe it but a crayfish just swam by. I wonder if I should try to catch him and make him Pete the Crayfish number seven?
Theresa raised her eyes. ‘Your mother names crayfish after you?’
‘Brother.’
‘Oh,’ she said, continuing, wearing a twitching smile.
Your sister has been checking the post for days and driving me slightly mad until finally this morning the good news arrived, and she burst into the dining room announcing she is marrying Simon. What miracle occurred to make him realise how she felt at last we can only imagine, although I suspect you might have had a hand in this. Matchmaking from the jungles in New Guinea…is there any end to your talents?
‘Simon is marrying your sister?’ Theresa asked, looking over at the same, who was blushing again.
‘I’m as shocked as you are,’ Simon confessed.
‘Close neighbourhood,’ Pete offered.
‘I see.’ Theresa smiled at Simon before continuing.
Please bring him home safe and yourself included. Your father and Iggy can’t wait for the wedding.
Theresa looked up, waiting for an explanation.
‘Our dads are best friends. Served in…the Great War together.’
‘Close neighbourhood.’ She nodded.
‘Typical Catholics,’ he grinned. ‘You…should know,’ he added, nodding at her medal. ‘Wasn’t your…neighbourhood…like that?’
Theresa held it in her fingers. ‘I didn’t actually have one really,’ she said. ‘I was raised in an orphanage.’
Pete stared at her in surprise. ‘That must… have been…lonely.’
He said it with such kindness that she couldn’t deny it. ‘Yes, it was really.’
Pete held her eyes with his. ‘Whoever your parents were…would have been…very proud…of you.’
Theresa looked suddenly vulnerable, something she immediately hid. ‘I have Missy, my best friend. She’s my family,’ she replied, pulling her shoulders back and reading on.
Dad wants to have it at their place and it promises to be quite a party. Pattie said you’d better get practising for some dance-floor numbers.
‘Who’s Pattie?’ Her head snapped up.
‘Aunt,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Pete watched her face. She sounded jealous, which pleased him enormously. ‘Did you think…she was…a stage dancer?’
Theresa blushed and Pete wondered what he’d said wrong. ‘I…don’t have…any of those…waiting for me…promise.’
‘I was a dancer at one stage,’ she confessed.
Pete’s eyebrows raised and he grinned a little wickedly. ‘Looking at those pins…I can…believe that.’
‘When have you been looking at my pins?’
Pete glanced down at them then back at her face, stating quite clearly, ‘Whenever I can.’ Theresa said nothing but there was a look in her eyes that made his mouth go dry.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Two-Bob who nodded and smiled as they carried in the fresh linen to make up the beds. Theresa folded the letter and handed it to Simon, who promised to finish it for her when they were done.
As she walked away it wasn’t hard for Pete to choose what to focus on.
It was mid-morning by the time Simon finished reading the letter to Pete and they each lay, thinking about the contents. The rest of it was mostly about May, who had just returned from Queensland and a visit to Larry Naismith, their old cricket mate and May’s now fiancé. Apparently Pattie hadn’t been too keen to hand back her daughter’s motorcycle upon her return. Pete and Simon had been laughing at the image of her flying along in her old fur hat, scandalising the town.
But the last few lines sobered them again:
I have some sad news to finish with I’m sorry to say. We have found out that Larry’s brother Vince has been taken prisoner of war. His poor parents are worried sick and I don’t blame them. We hear such stories.
We know there is heavy fighting up there and I’m praying every day. Please come home safe to us my dear, dear boy. Your father and I think of you always.
‘Do you think they know…we are injured by now?’ Pete asked Simon, hoping they would take the news all right when it came.
‘I’m not sure. What do you think, Nurse Theresa?’ Simon seemed to have finally mastered the effort of not blushing every time he spoke to her. Theresa obviously had that way about her of making people feel comfortable.
Pete turned at the mention of her name and his heart skipped a beat.
‘Yes, they would definitely know. Don’t worry, I’ll get a telegram off when you are discharged from here, which should be soon I think.’
‘You’d better hurry or my nana might turn up and then we’ll all be wrapped in mosquito nets and dosed up with cod liver oil,’ Simon warned her.
Theresa laughed as she moved some supplies onto a chair.
‘Let me help…you,’ Pete said.
‘No, really, I’m fine. The best help you can give me is getting more rest instead of pushing yourself so hard. What’s this I hear about you trying to walk over to the cupboards this morning?’
‘I was looking for an apron…so…I could help you serve lunch.’
Theresa laughed again, the sound echoing in the ward, near empty as it was save for him and Simon, who was now pretending to read again.
Pete attempted to prop himself up to look at her more easily, grunting against the tightness in his chest and back, to be rewarded by an excellent view of those pins as she stood on a chair, sorting equipment into the storage cupboard in the corner.
‘There’s a chessboard…in there. How about…a game later on?’ he suggested. She pushed a large box of netting into a corner, shaking her head with a smile at his invitation. ‘When do…you get…any time off?’
‘What’s that?’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘I can’t seem to recall the concept.’
‘Time off, you…remember. Doing…something enjoyable…for yourself? With someone…charming and…irresistible?’
She glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm, I wonder where I could find someone like that?’
‘Ready, willing and…able.’
Theresa sent him a look. ‘Perhaps willing but hardly ready or able,’ she said briskly, moving over to the empty beds. She stripped the sheets as Pete’s eyes trailed after her. He loved that she was a good Catholic girl and holding him at bay. It made him even more determined to win her over.
‘It’s only…a little game of chess…surely you could…spare enough time for that?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t get time off.’
‘You get time…to sleep…don’t you?’ he pressed.
‘Rarely,’ she replied drily, gathering the sheets into a pile and dumping them in the basket next to a box of fresh limes Two-Bob had gathered for her. He knew now she liked to add lime juice and honey to the sheets, believing it helped ease the men’s breathing in the thick tropical air. She did a lot of little things like that for the patients.
‘You said…I’ll be transferred soon. Just want a little…time…with you.’
She sighed, placing her hands on her hips. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Psst,’ said Simon from across the room. ‘I should have warned you earlier, Theresa: he’s a lawyer.’
‘Is that so?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I suppose that’s where the stubbornness comes from?’
‘No that comes from cricket. Pete is the opening batsman for New South Wales.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. But all the annoying persuasiveness comes courtesy of the law courts,’ Simon continued helpfully. Pete decided he really preferred it when Simon was painfully shy.
‘How’s the book?’ he said to him, pointedly.
Theresa gave them both an amused look then addressed Pete. ‘You’re asking a lot. Time is the most valuable thing I have…’ she began, then gave in, sighing at his expression. ‘I’ll probably finish around nine tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow,’ he repeated, relieved.
‘Now get some sleep before I change my mind,’ she ordered and he obeyed, offering her a weak salute before she went.
Theresa giggled as she walk outside, then shook her head. What on earth was she doing? Flirting with a sick man, a patient in her care. It was breaking all her personal rules, the honour code she adhered to of serving without thought for self.
‘He’s a looker,’ a voice commented from behind.
Theresa turned to see Daphne smoking on the steps, taking a rare break. She sighed, sat down next to her and took one for herself.
‘That he is,’ she said. They stared out at the jungle together, flicking ash in silence.
‘One in a long, long line, love,’ Daphne reminded her.
‘I know, I know. He’ll be gone in a few days. There’s no point,’ Theresa shrugged, frowning.
‘So why play games?’
Theresa stood, brushing off her skirt before picking up her basket. ‘It’s only chess.’
‘Watch out the queen doesn’t lose her head,’ Daphne replied, crushing her cigarette into the ground.