Epilogue

Perth, 1952

‘Push, Meg.’ Geoffrey held her hand tightly as she pushed and pushed then breathed.

Dimly she was aware he’d slipped into calling her ‘Meg’. She liked the sound of it on his lips. When the next contraction subsided, her gaze landed on the clock. Two in the morning. Which meant she’d been in labour for nine hours. Through the window, a silver wash of moonlight picked out the creamy white of the grevillea spikes, and she focused on them.

Another contraction gripped her. Sweat ran into her eyes before she scrunched them shut.

‘The baby’s head is crowning. Not long now, Meg.’ Narelle, Meg’s midwife who operated out of Geoffrey’s new hospital in Perth, gave her an encouraging smile. ‘You’re nearly there. Next one, I want you to give the biggest push yet, okay?’

Meg nodded, breathed in and—

‘Now! Push hard.’

Meg pushed, screamed, and then – a lusty cry brought her eyes open.

‘Congratulations. You have a gorgeous little girl.’ Narelle lifted the baby to show Meg. Geoffrey cut the umbilical cord. As soon as her baby was clean and wrapped warmly against the cool early morning air, the midwife set their daughter in Meg’s arms. ‘I’ll give you some time together while we wait for the placenta to birth.’

Geoffrey put his arm around her shoulders as she held the baby and looked into her eyes. Blue, of course, although they were just as likely to be hazel if she took after her father.

‘Well done, my darling.’ He kissed her cheek and stroked the baby’s. ‘Any thoughts on what you’d like to call her?’

Elated but tired, Meg leaned her head against his shoulder. ‘I liked all of your suggestions. Here, hold her while I get more comfortable, will you.’

Geoffrey took his daughter – the baby they’d almost given up on having – and cradled her tenderly. ‘She’s beautiful, Meg. Like her mother and her big sister.’

Meg lay back on the pillows and watched Geoffrey with their child. He’d been a wonderful father to Jennifer, who adored him, and once again, Meg gave thanks that he’d persevered all those years ago, waiting for her to realise she loved him. ‘What does she look like? Is she an Amy, a Susan, or a Marie?’

Geoffrey’s expression was tender and full of love. ‘There were times when I didn’t think we’d have a child together, and that was okay, because we have Jennifer. But I’m very happy this little one’s here.’ He gazed at their daughter and touched her tiny nose with a gentle finger. ‘How about Grace?’

Meg leaned over and took hold of one tiny hand. The baby held onto her finger and lay quiet in her father’s arms.

‘Grace. That’s perfect.’

The End

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Thank you for reading Meg’s story. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads and/or the retailer from whom you purchased this book, your library, Bookbub, and share the pleasure of reading books you enjoy with others.

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Grace’s story is coming!

Under the Same Stars (pre-order available)

It’s mid-July 1969 in Perth, Australia. Man has landed on the moon, and Grace Ransom is reaching for the stars. Like her mother, she pushes boundaries, wanting to do more than marry and have babies like her friends.

The chance to work at Jandakot Airport brings her into the world of Robyn Miller, the Flying Nurse, and mechanic, Mike Maguire, who teaches her to ride his Triumph and believes she can be whatever she wants to be. As Grace studies medicine and waits for her boyfriend to return from Vietnam, she challenges the male-dominated establishment as she seeks a path to change her world.

(Read the first chapter below)

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Acknowledgements:

Many thanks to Dr Peter Burrows for checking my medical details and researching historical usage. Any errors are mine.

For Meg’s impressions of Townsville, my thanks to Diane Hillyard, whose recollections of an earlier time colour these scenes.

And as always, many thanks to my wonderful friend and editor, Annie Seaton, and to bestselling author, Darry Fraser for happily reading this story prior to publication and providing a wonderful cover quote.

Read Chapter 1 of Grace’s story now.

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Chapter 1

21 July 1969, Perth Australia

‘It’s one small step for man, one giant leap for Mankind.’

Neil Armstrong’s voice, tinny, distorted, and so unbelievably far away, sent a thrill through Gracie. Beyond the windows of the school assembly hall, a south-westerly wind rattled the panes of glass. Beyond the coastline, the Indian Ocean rolled in long blue swells that had travelled halfway around the world towards the beaches of Perth.

But the astronaut’s voice had travelled much further. Three hundred and eighty-four thousand, four hundred kilometres and almost seventy-six hours in a tiny tin-can spaceship. It was enthralling, exciting and Gracie rather thought she’d like to see the little blue spot that was Earth from the lunar surface one day. Were there Australian astronauts? The only ones mentioned had been Americans . . . And all were men.

The teachers were as focused as the students on the two black and white televisions set up at the front of the assembly hall. Risking a whisper, Gracie leaned towards her best friend, Nora. ‘Why are all the astronauts men?’

Nora, her short blonde hair immaculate even after walking to the new assembly hall through the wind, spared a glance for Gracie and shrugged. ‘That’s just how it is. Men get to go on adventures.’ She turned back to the screen and the televised images from the Moon. Neil Armstrong moved in slow motion bounds across the lunar surface.

‘It isn’t fair. Why should men get to have all the fun? I’m not going to settle for watching adventures happen to others.’

There was a sharp-nailed tap on her shoulder. ‘Girls, stop talking. You’re watching history in the making.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ Gracie clamped her mouth shut and turned her attention back to the small screen.

Mr Paxton, Gracie’s science teacher and a veteran of World War Two, completed the diagram of the Apollo 11 trajectory then limped with a sailor-like roll from the blackboard and leaned against his desk. ‘So, ladies, courtesy of the Australian tracking station at Parkes in New South Wales, you’ve watched the moon landing. Any questions about the landing itself or shall we move onto the physics of how it all happens?’

Gracie’s hand shot up. Yesterday’s broadcast had thrown up plenty of questions and one in particular bugged her. ‘Mr Paxton, why aren’t there any female astronauts?’

Mr Paxton’s greying eyebrows rose like a pair of fuzzy caterpillars. ‘The most amazing feat of engineering and application of science in the history of mankind and all you, Miss Westall, want to know is why there are no women on the Moon?’

‘Yes, sir. In this day and age it seems strange that—’

‘It’s not strange at all. Grace, the lunar landing is not a plot by men to keep women out of space. Do you remember reading about the Russian cosmonaut, Valentina Tereshkova? She was just twenty-six when she became the first and youngest woman to have flown in space with a solo mission on the Vostok 6 in 1963.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘She spent three days orbiting the earth, the first woman to go into space.’

‘But she hasn’t been to the Moon.’

‘Small steps, Grace. Perhaps you’ll train as a pilot and become the first Australian woman astronaut. You’ve got the brains for it. Now, moving on, do you have any questions about the physics of yesterday’s momentous achievement . . . science questions, not social commentary.’ He pinned Gracie with a look that told her he’d let her go so far and no further.

Wisely, she held her tongue.

***

‘. . . and so, girls . . .’ Miss Grant, the headmistress of Perth’s prestigious St Margaret’s School for Girls, cast a stern eye across the upturned faces of this year’s senior class. As she turned her head to make eye contact with girls on the far side of the group, her elegant chignon came into view. Like everything else about the headmistress, it was smooth with not a hair out of place, and her dark grey dress with three-quarter length sleeves was the precise length it should be.

A model of social correctness, thought Gracie.

She gripped Nora’s hand and whispered, ‘I’m going to apply, Nora.’

Nora leaned closer, her lips barely moving as she replied. ‘Bet that will go over like a lead balloon with your dad.’

Miss Grant clasped her hands and held them still at waist height, the very image of decorum, of everything a woman should be. ‘I have decided to open the floor to your suggestions for the end of year speaker. Who would you like to speak at the graduation ceremony for the class of 1969?’

A hand shot up somewhere near the front and a voice asked—tentative, hopeful, finishing on a quavering squeak. ‘Can we get the Beatles, Miss?’

Miss Grant’s nostrils flared and her mouth pinched, prune-like. She pinned the questioner with her cold blue gaze. ‘Sandra McKitchie, stand up. Are you really as silly as that question paints you?’

Sandra stood, her cheeks a fiery red and eyes downcast. She was likely to graduate bottom of their class, but Gracie felt a twinge of sympathy for her classmate. Airhead she might be, but she didn’t deserve public humiliation because she was infatuated with the British band. Maybe if Sandra’s father wasn’t one of the wealthiest men in Perth, if he hadn’t flown her to Adelaide to see the group, she wouldn’t now be getting into trouble for her love of their music.

‘No, Miss, sorry, Miss.’ Sandra sank onto the bench, head bowed low.

And that posture will score her another scolding unless . . .

Gracie’s hand rose straight and tall as the poplars along the school driveway. ‘Miss Grant?’

‘Grace, I depend on you for a more sensible suggestion.’

Grace stood, a quiver of excitement at her daring tingling in her fingers, down her spine. The eyes of her classmates turned to her, hoping for a suggestion that excited them. ‘Yes, Miss.’

Anyone would be better than that minister at last year’s graduation. Even Miss Grant’s eyes had held a glazed look as she’d waited for him to end his rambling speech about the need to hold fast to social norms.

‘What about Sister Robin Miller? You’ve encouraged us to aspire to the highest ideals of service. In 1967, Sister Miller began flying her own plane on multiple flights and administered the polio vaccine to remote communities in Western Australia. Over the last two years she’s flown about 69,000 kilometres to groups scattered over an area of half a million square miles, and dispensed 37,000 doses of Oral Sabin polio vaccine and . . .’

The headmistress’ hand rose, as implacable and incapable of being ignored as a stop sign. ‘An interesting suggestion, thank you, Grace. I believe we were thinking more along the lines of one of our fine politicians, but I’ll keep your suggestion in mind.’

Hands clenched in her lap, Gracie sat stiff-backed, her aside to Nora an angry mutter. ‘She’s not going to consider it at all. We’ll be stuck with some old windbag who condescends to come and talk at us and thinks we should be grateful. Times are changing, Nora, but this school is stuck in the Dark Ages.’

‘At least you tried, Gracie.’

A heavy hand descended on Gracie’s shoulder. ‘Listen, don’t chatter, girls.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ Gracie pressed her lips together and stared past the heads of the students seated in front of her. Two telling offs in under a week. She prayed the teachers didn’t share that in her school report. But the world-wide excitement of the Moon landing had fired her imagination. Appearing attentive, she’d turned her head to the headmistress, and glanced with quick, sideways looks around the hall.

Nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes.

But the story of Sugarbird Lady spun in her head like a beacon of hope.

If Sister Miller can fly her own plane thousands of miles, if Valentina Tereshkova can orbit the earth, why not Gracie Westall?

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About the Author

Born and raised in Toowoomba, Susanne is an Australian author of contemporary and rural romances set in Australia and exotic locations. She adores travel with her husband, both at home and overseas.

Her heroes have to be pretty special to live up to her real life hero. He saved her life then married her.

She is published with Harlequin Mira/Escape, and has written several self-published rural series. A popular guest speaker, she has been invited to speak in libraries, book clubs, and to community groups.

BOOKS BY SUSANNE BELLAMY

Rural fiction

Hearts of the Outback (6 book series)

Individual titles – Hearts of the Outback

The Cattleman’s Promise

Home to Lark Creek

A Promise of Home