Amy's Touch (28 page)

A
my’s blue eyes widened with amazement, while internally she felt something else, and for no logical reason: alarm. Her heartbeat raced and the pulse at her throat beat madly as Randall’s dark eyes locked with hers. She wasn’t ready for his question; neither was she ready to give an answer, even though she had mentally gone over the possibility of marrying Randall many times since they’d declared their feelings for each other by the creek. However…so much had happened since then—Danny’s departure, the Walpoles’ enmity, the way some townspeople had turned against her. Still, surely it wasn’t a hard decision to make?

‘I—I don’t know. I didn’t think, I mean—you asking, it’s, uummm, a surprise.’ The more she spoke, the more confused she became. She needed time to think, to assess what marrying Randall would mean to her and to the community. Would they judge them harshly, as they had over Beth and Danny? She became acutely aware of the pressure of his hand on hers.

‘It’s come as a shock,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. It’s just that we’ve been patient and waited for attitudes to change—and they have. I don’t want to wait any longer to make you my wife. If,’ he smiled boyishly, ‘you’ll have me as your husband.’

Amy listened to the throbbing of her heart and longed to say
yes, yes, yes
. But something—she wasn’t sure what—stopped her. She had made a mistake in agreeing to marry Danny, and she didn’t want to make a second error of judgment. Would it be, though? She was sure that she loved Randall with all her heart; she ached to make the
dream of being with him a reality, so what more was there to think about? Why was she hesitating? She didn’t know, but the fact that she was worried her immensely, because she was well and truly old enough to know her own mind.

Acute disappointment etched Randall’s features as he withdrew his hand from hers. ‘I understand.’ His tone changed, became withdrawn. ‘You need time to think.’ He finished his tea, and the cup clattered noisily as he banged it back on the saucer. ‘I must go; work to do at Drovers.’ The chair scraped on the polished timber floor as he got to his feet.

‘Randall, please understand…’ She could sense his frustration with her indecisiveness, but as her inner confusion grew she was at a loss as to how to alleviate it. Whatever she said could be misunderstood. Better, she thought suddenly, to just allow some thinking time to get everything into perspective.

Without saying goodbye, Randall turned on his heel, paid the bill and walked out of the tea shoppe. Amy’s gaze followed his departure in astonishment and with no small degree of sadness. Oohhh! You silly woman.
What had she done?
She’d ruined everything! Would he take her inability to commit as a rejection of his proposal?

She desperately needed to talk to someone, to air her thoughts, her concerns. But who? Not her father; he was too busy, and besides, being a man, she couldn’t expect him to understand a woman’s emotions, her logic. Meg? She had been like a second mother to Amy for many years, but she was frighteningly forthright, and while she adored Amy’s father, Meg had little respect for men, having been disappointed by one or another several times in her youth.

What about Winnie Cohen? They had become fast friends over the last eighteen months, drawn together by their desire to get the women’s league up and running, and because Winnie’s daughter Rebekkah was training to be a nurse at the hospital. Winnie was a mature woman, in her early forties, and while she was practical, she was also understanding and compassionate.

Making up her mind, on leaving the tea shoppe Amy turned right and began walking towards the Royal Hotel, where Winnie worked.

An hour later, after a frank and enlightening discussion with Winnie, Amy felt better. It was mid-afternoon when she returned to Primrose Cottage, changed into her riding clothes and went and saddled the Duchess, who was still agisted in a paddock at the rear of Fred Smith’s
blacksmith shop. A ride in the country was always beneficial, Amy told herself as she mounted her horse and left the paddock. The countryside, the rugged hills and summer colours of the Flinders, their stark and compelling rocky texture, coupled with a faint breeze to offset the heat, never failed to lift her spirits.

The Duchess hadn’t been ridden for several weeks and was, understandably, frisky. Amy let the thoroughbred have her head as she trotted then cantered along the grass verge beside the road, out of town and in a south-easterly direction. It was early summer and there was still a good trickle of water in Boolcunda Creek, a waterway that twisted and turned and crossed itself more than once as it traversed the countryside. The horse stepped easily through the shallow water to the other side and up the rise. Amy flicked the reins and urged it to a gallop, and with a joyous whinny the Duchess obliged.

As horse and rider galloped as one, Amy reviewed the conversation she had had with Winnie. Her friend had suggested she focus on what was important to her, and be guided by her heart and the common sense she had in abundance. What did she want out of life? To be happy, to be fulfilled, to serve and, if she could, to make a difference. So how was she to accomplish this? Marrying Randall would make her happy and contented and Amy believed he would encourage rather than stifle her desire to do community work. If she chose not to marry him and to concentrate on her career in nursing, together with that and the women’s league she might gain a sense of fulfilment, but there wouldn’t be the same joy in it, of that she was sure.

As she rode, her conscience began to chastise her. Why are you shillyshallying? You love him, you want him, go tell him that if his offer still stands you want to marry him.

She pulled on the reins and the Duchess stopped. Amy blinked as she looked at the land around her. Without consciously planning it, her ride had taken her to another part of the creek, onto Drovers land, to the exact place where she and Randall had declared their feelings for each other. Was being here a sign that she was making the right decision? She smiled to herself. Of course it was. She turned the Duchess in the direction of the Drovers homestead and set off at a slow gallop.

Mike Milburn, who smiled readily at Amy because he liked and admired her, was herding a mob of sheep into the home paddock as Amy rode through the homestead’s entrance. ‘Hello, Mike. Is Randall about?’

‘He’s in the big shed hefting bales of hay. I’m sure he’d enjoy the interruption,’ Mike answered her question with a grin.

After tethering her horse, Amy made her way to the shed where much of the property’s machinery and hay for winter feed was kept. On seeing Randall, she stood for a moment at the shed’s entrance and watched him work. The afternoon heat had made him strip down to boots, trousers and singlet. His tanned skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, his black hair damp from his labours. Her artist’s eyes studied him objectively, not only because she loved him, but also because he was a fine physical specimen: broad of shoulder, well muscled, and without an ounce of excess fat on him.

Amy’s stomach muscles tightened into a ball as she visually feasted on Randall, and a thrill ran down her spine at the thought of them making love. Which caused a burst of heat to rush through her body and tint her cheeks a rosy pink. She was very innocent with regard to the intimacies married people engaged in, other than having read clinical texts in some of her father’s medical books. Danny, her exfiancé, had treated her with the utmost respect, insisting they remain chaste till their wedding night. Later she’d realised that remaining so had suited her because she hadn’t had the same degree of feeling for him that she had for Randall. Now there was some trepidation on her part, but she was eager for his touch, for his kisses, for him to make her wholly his.

She cleared her throat, but even so her voice was husky as she spoke his name. ‘Randall.’

He jerked around to face her as if stung by a bee, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘Amy! What are you doing here?’ He walked towards her, then stopped. His gaze raked over her flushed, slightly dishevelled appearance.

‘I—I’ve—come to give you my answer.’ He looked so serious that her smile faltered. ‘If the offer still stands, that is.’

He straightened, drew a rough-edged cloth out of his back pocket and wiped his hands, arms and face. His expression didn’t change. ‘It does.’

Seeming to glide over the hard-packed dirt floor, she moved towards him. ‘I hope you’ve forgiven me for my…earlier reaction. It—your—I mean—’ oh, get it out, girl ‘—it was unexpected, you caught me unawares.’

His mouth tucked in at one corner and he nodded. ‘I realised that, albeit a little too late.’

‘Randall, I love you with all my heart, and if you’ll discount my earlier hesitancy…Yes. The answer is yes. I want very much to be your wife.’

He reached for her and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. ‘Then that’s what you’ll be, my darling. Mrs Randall McLean.’ His lips found hers and sealed the proposal.

‘Come into the house. I need to wash up, and then we can plan what we’re going to do.’

She smiled up at him. ‘It sounds as if you already have a plan.’

He gave her a roguish grin and, with his arm around her waist, propelled her towards the shed doorway. ‘Indeed I have.’

Once in the house he led her to the drawing room and, leaving her there, said he’d be back in a minute. When he returned, his hair was combed and he was wearing a clean shirt. Amy was standing by the fireplace and he joined her there.

‘I’ve been carrying this around with me for months, waiting for the right time to…’ he began, as from his trouser pocket he took out a small velvet cloth and unwrapped it. Sitting in the palm of his hand was a diamond ring.

‘This was my mother’s. It’s the one piece of jewellery I kept when I came back after the war and had to liquidate almost everything to get working capital for Drovers.’ He took her left hand and slid the ring onto her third finger. They both smiled when it fitted perfectly. ‘Now we are officially engaged.’ He noted that she had amazingly slender hands and fingers, and for a moment or two he marvelled at their capabilities. Her touch was sublime, she could paint delightful watercolours, and yet those same hands could hold a scalpel and perform surgical procedures. All the months of agonising were over. They were going to be together, forever. Danny had said they were meant for each other, and as soon as it could be organised they would become man and wife.

‘You didn’t give the ring to Beth?’ Her features radiant with happiness, the question popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

‘I’m not sure why I didn’t.’ He thought about that then corrected himself. ‘No, I am sure. Even when I asked Beth to marry me, subconsciously I had feelings for you. I guess it didn’t seem right to give her the ring when really, deep down, I wanted you to wear it.’ He smiled as he recognised the love in her eyes. From now on there would be no need for either of them to hide their emotions, and that felt good.

She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Oh, Randall, we’ve wasted so much time, and made too many mistakes about our love for each other.’

He kissed her, lightly at first, but then more deeply as the passion they’d held in check for so long escalated. ‘I know, but not any more. From now on there will be no secrets between us. Not ever.’

They talked until sunset, finally deciding to elope and to ask David Carmichael and Meg to come with them to Adelaide for the ceremony. Over the months since Danny’s departure David had, due to Randall’s perseverance, got to know and come to accept Randall as the man his daughter loved. Randall believed a formal wedding in Gindaroo might set tongues wagging again and divide opinion, so it was best to go to Adelaide, get married there, have a brief honeymoon, then come back as a married couple,
fait accompli.
That way the people of Gindaroo and those in the surrounding district would have little opportunity to gossip about their forthcoming nuptials.

And because her father and Meg would be with them, Amy was convinced that eloping was the best way to go. They might be disappointed that there wasn’t going to be a white wedding, but she was sure they’d agree that going to Adelaide was for the best. Randall went into the study and checked the train timetable, after which they decided to suggest driving to Hawker on Thursday with her father and Meg, then they could take the train to Adelaide, find an obliging minister to marry them, and honeymoon somewhere, preferably near the sea, before returning to Gindaroo.

‘…
A
nd I pronounce you man and wife.’ Reverend O’Brien’s voice echoed hollowly around the picturesque interior of the Methodist church. He smiled at Randall and Amy as they sealed their marriage vows with a kiss.

The late-afternoon sun beaming through the stained-glass window above the altar threw prisms of coloured light onto the timber pulpit and the altar itself. Amy tried to take in every detail and commit their special moment to her memory forever. How proud her father had looked as he’d given her away, and how Meg had tried valiantly but failed to suppress a few tears. And the best thing was, she was now Mrs Randall McLean: the dream she’d had for so long had come true.

The reverend ushered them towards a table covered by a lace-edged linen cloth and two candles in brass holders, where they signed the marriage register and marriage certificate in front of David and Meg, who were the official witnesses to the ceremony. Later, a taxi took them to the three-storey South Australian Hotel, a favourite with graziers and pastoralists. Randall had booked the best suite of rooms, whose windows looked out over a verandah, and arranged for a special dinner, complete with a small wedding cake, in a private dining room.

Her father ordered French champagne to toast them, and Meg, a little overwhelmed by the proceedings and the food, sat back like an honorary aunt and beamed. Amy was sure the housekeeper had never dined in such sumptuous surroundings before, and would no doubt tell everyone the details of their wedding when she and Amy’s father returned to Gindaroo on tomorrow’s train.

Later that evening, on retiring to their suite, Amy, who normally had a good appetite, could not touch any of the light supper served on a traymobile by a waiter. Sitting at a small table by the window, her gaze skittered to and then away from the doorway that led to the bedroom and the stained timber double bed. It seemed that every nerve-end in her body was alive with nervous anticipation, and as she stole a glance at Randall, who’d removed his suit coat and waistcoat and loosened his tie, a thrill of pleasure ran down her spine. Her husband wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense—his features were too strong for that—but there was an air of command and self-assurance about him that could not be denied. She sipped the champagne he’d poured for her, hoping it would settle her nerves, but it failed to have the desired effect and the butterflies in her stomach continued to flutter.

As if sensing her nervousness, Randall went over to the phonograph and selected a cylinder, put it in the machine and cranked up the mechanical turning device. ‘It’s not quite the bridal waltz, but it’ll do,’ he said. As the music started he held out his hands for her to rise and join him.

Amy went into his arms and he whirled her around the timber floor, carefully navigating around the pieces of furniture in the sitting room. By the time the tune ended, she was breathless, not from the exertion of the dance but from an aching awareness of being so close to Randall and loving and wanting him as she did. The tension continued to build to an unbearable level, which multiplied further when he led her towards the bedroom doorway.

‘I’ll put the traymobile and plates in the hall, while you, my love, change in the bedroom.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Yes?’

She gave him a shy smile. ‘All right.’

When he returned in pyjamas and dressing gown she had donned her nightgown and sat primly on the edge of the bed, waiting for him, her hands clasped in her lap to disguise her nervousness.

He knelt in front of her and captured her hands in his. ‘You are very beautiful, Amy, and I intend to devote my life to making you happy.’ He kissed the backs of her hands several times then turned them palms up to kiss her wrists. After that his hand reached for the satin ribbon at her throat and tugged at the bow till it loosened. He moved and sat beside her on the bed, twisting his upper body around so he could draw her up against his chest. His free hand roamed over her throat, her shoulders, and descended to one of her breasts. Her
gasp of surprise turned to delight as he rolled the nipple until it peaked and hardened.

Shards of pleasure coiled her stomach muscles into a tight ball, and the core of her womanhood began to throb as never before. He moved again, rearranging her body on the bed, and, discarding his dressing gown, lay on his side next to her. His kisses became more passionate as did his caresses, over her breasts, her stomach, her inner thighs, until she arched, tense with expectation, her nervousness evaporating under his skilful lovemaking. Slender, tentative fingers undid the buttons on his pyjama top so she could feel his muscled chest and the mat of dark, curly chest hair.

Randall was introducing her to a world of rare and overwhelming delights, and when, finally, he entered her and she cried out, the moment of pain soon passed as, with consideration and great caring, he transported her to a plain of pleasure and fulfilment.

Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms in the darkness. Amy could not stop tears of joy from running down her cheeks and onto her husband’s chest. Not in her wildest imaginings had she thought lovemaking between a man and a woman could be so…magnificent.

He felt the moisture and voiced his alarm. ‘Did it hurt that much?’

She kissed his chin and then her fingers reached up to trace his profile. ‘No. They’re tears of happiness, silly.’ Satisfied with her answer she felt his body relax and he snuggled closer. Her eyelids grew heavy, drooped, opened and closed again…

The nightmare began in the early hours of the morning, as Randall slept with Amy in his arms, and it was the same as always. His limbs began to jerk spasmodically as he fought the dream he hated. Yet it was all so real, as if it had happened just yesterday.

Artillery shells exploding, men screaming, rifle fire and blood, always lots of blood, and images of the young soldier who hadn’t survived his first bayonet charge. And the German private. Younger than him, begging Randall to release him from his misery, as one would a wounded animal. A moan of agony tore from Randall’s throat as the nightmare fully claimed him.

Amy woke, startled by the noise and Randall’s movements. She switched the bedside electric lamp on, which threw a subdued glow into the room.

Suddenly Randall sat upright, his eyes open but glazed. His speech was slurred as he muttered, ‘I had to do it, I had to do it. God help
me, I had to.’ Slowly, as he was still dazed from the rigours of the dream, the pain of remembering left his features, then his shoulders slumped down as if he were exhausted. After a few seconds he saw that Amy was staring at him, a perplexed expression in her eyes.

‘Did I wake you? Sorry.’ He pushed strands of dark hair off his forehead. ‘A bad dream, that’s all.’

Wide awake, Amy wasn’t so easily fooled. She hadn’t forgotten the nightmare he’d had while recovering from the wound in his chest at Primrose Cottage. ‘You muttered things in your sleep, Randall. About the war. That’s what the dream was about, wasn’t it? And isn’t it always the same?’ she asked. His behaviour reminded her of soldiers she’d tended to from the Great War, wounded and having to face what some referred to as ‘terrors of the night’, recurring dreams of battles, death and maiming. This time, she decided not to let him fob her off with an excuse. ‘Tell me about it.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not the kind of thing you talk to a woman about, and especially not on our honeymooon.’

She placed her hand on his chest. ‘I may be a woman but I’m also your wife, a wife’s who’s concerned about her husband’s wellbeing. And if you think you can shock me with bloody war stories, you’re mistaken. In Britain I saw and heard more than my fair share of dreadful happenings in and out of the trenches.’

He blinked again on hearing her words and his closed expression changed to one of surprise, then relief. ‘If you really want me to,’ he said hesitantly. When she gave him an encouraging smile he took a deep breath before he began. His hand closed over hers and held on firmly, almost as if he were trying to transfer some of her inner strength to himself.

‘All right. I’ll tell you everything and pray that when you know you won’t think too badly of me.’

Reliving the experience verbally after the nightmare was, Randall discovered, in some way therapeutic. It was good to get the guilt into the open, to share the torment with someone who was precious to him, someone he loved and respected dearly. Finally his tale was done.

‘There you have it, in all its ugliness. Most of the time I think I’ve forgotten it, put what was an awful war behind me, then I’ll have the nightmare and know that the memory will haunt me for as long as I live.’

Amy snuggled into his chest. Her fingers stroked his cheek in a gesture of love and understanding. ‘Medical experts say that talking
about it helps, so whenever you want to I’m happy to listen. And you did the right thing, the humane thing. One day I believe you’ll come to accept that as the truth and the feeling of guilt will go.’

He was quiet for several moments then, sighing, he said, ‘I hope you’re right, my darling. But now, turn the light off so we can get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re going swimming in the Southern Ocean.’

For Amy and Randall the next five days were filled with a mixture of activity and of doing nothing other than talking for hours. They bought bathers and took a tram to Henley Beach to bathe in the Southern Ocean, and the days and nights were interspersed with exquisite moments of making love. All too soon their honeymoon came to an end and it was time to return to their everyday surroundings and begin their life together at Drovers Way…