Dolan of Sugar Hills (13 page)

“But I’m not moved, I’m untouched, I’m only stirred in one direction, and that is in a determination to get you away from here, away from anyone here, as fast and as irrevocably as I can.

“You’ve said several times you wanted to go. Now I want you to go, I want you to be off here within the hour. Get in and pack your bag at once. I’ll round up Tress and have him run you over to the mainland. Prosperine will be the nearest town. The southbound Sunlander goes through there some time after midnight. You can camp at the station or at a pub, I don’t care which. That’ll be up to you. There’ll be plenty of money. There’s a bonus coming besides your back wages, and I’ll pay you a penalty for being put off without notice.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You’ll take it,” he said.

“I ... I have some things still at Sugar Hills.”

“Molly will send them.”

He could not control himself any longer. He wheeled on her, and his face was as white hot with fury as the white-hot ashes after a fire.

“Get out,” he shouted. “Get out and don’t come back. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

When Sheila emerged from her room after packing her things she found that Tress was awaiting her. So Cane had found him, she thought dully. The man still looked extraordinarily shocked and pale.

Tress barely spoke on the trip to Prosperine. Anything that was said by him was only in reply to Sheila.

At the coast he contacted a car to take her into the town, then, touching his cap and mumbling thanks that Sheila imagined were on behalf of Fleur, he started the launch and pushed off through the Reef islands again.

It was dark by the time the car reached Prosperine. Sheila became aware of a great weariness. It had been a long day. A lot of things had happened. This morning she had sat with Fleur on Silverwake beach. Tonight she stood on a North Queensland street wondering how to fill in the time before the departure of the southbound express.

Inquiry at the railway station revealed that the Sunlander left at three in the morning. Sheila decided to book in at a hotel.

She stretched out on the hotel bed, too tired and dispirited to go down and eat, too worried, or so she thought, to snatch a sleep.

She had no idea of where she would go, what she would do. She forced herself to shut her eyes, to try to go blank for just a little while...

When she opened them again it was because of a quiet but persistent knock.

“You’re for the Sunlander, aren’t you, miss?” said a voice. “You’ve half an hour before it leaves.”

Sheila looked incredulously at her watch as she thanked the man. It was half-past two. So she had slept after all, she thought.

She washed quickly and changed out of her crumpled clothes. Then she went up to the railway and found time for tea and toast. A few minutes later the big white train panted into the station.

The guard found Sheila her berth. It was a twin roomette and she was sharing it with another passenger from this town. The little elderly lady looked dismayed at her upper berth, at the ladder to climb to it, and when Sheila offered to change beamed her thanks.

Sheila did not undress. She sat on the top berth and stared into the night, stared at the moon shadows on the dark secret bush, at the starlight on the tall fields of sugar cane.

Love is never lost,
she
was
remembering once saying to Cane,
it follows and finds you, but even if it did find me could I accept it, feeling like I do, knowing what I do, remembering what I remember, remembering always “Mark says ... Mark says ... Mark says.”

The Sunlander gained speed. The only noise was the sound of its wheels. There were no guitars strumming this time from farther down the train, no accordions; the cane cutters had taken root in the north until the end of the season, and there were only the usual train travelers now.

The little old lady sighed herself into a more comfortable position.

The guard going softly along the corridor called, “Mackay in three hours.”

Mackay ... Sugaropolis ... Cane and the children and herself going to see the bulk loading. Only a short time and yet an eternity ago, Sheila thought.

The train screamed over a bridge. In spite of the darkness Sheila could see a bend of water and a little bitten-in beach. She remembered that beach, that creek. It was Cane Dolan’s. This was his place.

She bent eagerly to the window, trying to penetrate the night. She saw the tall cane grasses that extended until the slopes rose above them, slopes silvered now by the thin moon.

A minute, less than that, and they had left Sugar Hills.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The night gradually faded. Dark dewy grass emerged from a lace of shadows; on one of the rivers a swallow had already come out to hunt and its flight was as curved and bright as a necklace.

A hostess brought tea and Sheila’s elderly companion sat up and yawned contentedly. “I’ve had a few hours’ sleep, thanks to you, dear.” She eyed the upper berth with distaste.

Sheila laughed away her gratitude and went to shower.

When she returned, the elderly lady was washed and dressed, and suggested that the two of them go together to the diner.

Sheila began with pineapple, but her companion ordered oats.

“It should be the other way around,” she laughed. “I thought the English couldn’t do without porridge.”

“I thought an Australian would certainly choose pineapple,” smiled Sheila. She forked up a golden segment, aware of the lady’s curious but friendly eyes.

They wandered back to their compartments together, took out books and magazines. They had twenty-two hours of each other’s company before them: all this day; tonight.

By Rockhampton they had pushed aside the reading matter to pursue the more absorbing pastime of chatting. Sheila found the lady an interesting talker, a keen listener. She strove as far as possible to be herself the listener
... I talked too much going up,
she thought,
it would have been far better if I had kept to myself
...
but courtesy, and two kind if inquisitive eyes, demanded that she do her share.

“So you’re leaving Queensland, dear. Just as well with a complexion like that. May I ask where you’re bound?”

Sheila thought quickly, but not quickly enough.

“Why not come to Sydney?” said the old lady. “I presume you have to earn your living?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Then Sydney is big and full of opportunities. I’m sure you’d find no trouble in getting employment there.”

“I believe I shall find trouble. You see—” Sheila looked rueful “—in these enlightened days of preparedness and expertness I’m unprepared and inexpert. I’m totally untrained.”

“Untrained in what?”

“In clerical work, nursing, teaching, in fact everything needed to bring in a steady wage.”

“But you have been employed previously?”

“Yes.”

“In what capacity?”

Falteringly Sheila told her. She did not give details, she just gave a general idea of what she had done first for Miss Whittaker, then for Fleur. She thought how inadequate it all sounded—but the old lady regarded her with bright eyes.

“You know, I’m sure you’d suit Gerald.”

“Gerald?”

“My nephew. He’s a doctor.”

“I told you I’m not trained. Not in any way.”

“Gerald has his own nurse and secretary, so don’t worry about that. No, dear, our need is for someone exactly like what you’ve just described, a companion, a helper, a ... a—” The old lady sounded just as inadequate as she had herself, Sheila thought.

“You said ‘our need’?” she asked presently.

“My nephew and I live together. Rose Bay is a charming place, you’ll adore it.”

“I—” Sheila laughed and shrugged. “This is quite absurd,” she said.

“It’s more absurd your not considering my proposition. Look, my dear, on your own statement you’re untrained. That means that you will have to accept whatever is going wherever you go, and that means again that you probably will be quite hard pushed, what with the lower wage you will naturally receive because of your lack of training and the high boarding rates that are the standard rule in any of our cities.”

“I anticipated that,” accepted Sheila.

“Perhaps, but how much nicer to have a home to go to, not a little box, to begin to earn right away.”

“Really,” Sheila protested, “you go too fast.” Was it the influence of the big white train, she thought, eating up the miles, or did Australians always arrange things this quickly?

“There would be nothing binding,” persisted her companion. “Just come and see if you like us. No harm done if you don’t.”

“You mightn’t like me.”

“I do.”

“You know nothing about me except—” Sheila smiled “—that I don’t mind sleeping in an upper berth.”

“I feel I do know you. My name is Grace Lucian. My nephew is Gerald Lucian. He is a specialist in neurology. He needs someone to fill a void between receptionist and nurse, if you can understand what I mean and I need a woman’s face sometimes.” The old lady laughed. “And yours is a very nice face,” she said.

“Your nephew might not agree, he might not like me at all.”

“In that case you can go and still no harm done.”

The old lady looked across at Sheila.

“Why not?” she asked.

Why not?
Sheila thought,
why not?

“Are you going straight on to Sydney now?” she inquired presently.

“Yes, I’m going by the Tablelands Express, which leaves a few hours after we reach Brisbane. Booking is not so heavy as on the coast route, you would be sure of a berth. My dear, it really is quite stupid not to agree. If you linger in Brisbane it’s only extra expense, though, of course—” the old eyes clouded anxiously “—you might not want to go so far south.”

“I want to go,” Sheila said slowly, surely, remembering her desire to put as many miles as she could between herself and Cane, “as far as I can.”

“Sydney will be far enough,” decided the old lady promptly, presuming everything already settled, “and Gerald will be very pleased.”

During the night, in pajamas this time, lying relaxed, not sitting up, on the comfortable berth, Sheila asked herself humorously,
Now what have I done? I seem to have a penchant for having my future decided on trains. Oh, well, it’s a long way from North Queensland to Sydney, and distance was what I wanted, what he wanted, so why not?

Exactly at six, which Sheila considered very good reckoning for a forty-hour journey, the Sunlander pulled in to Roma Street, a different Roma Street from the night of Sheila’s departure; no groups of men carrying kits and blankets and narrow boxes with cane knives in them, no soft strumming of guitars ... no tall, broad, charcoal-eyed man.

Mrs. Lucian insisted first on seeing to a berth for Sheila. As she had anticipated, one was found. They breakfasted in the station, collected more magazines, and by that time the Tablelands Express was filling up.

The train slipped quietly out; it left the suburbs behind and swung into the beautiful Darling Downs.

Now the country became entirely different, you could see the influence of the south. They went through apple country, cherry country, timber country with feathers of blue smoke here and there where men rested beside their timber trucks for billy tea.

Dusk was at Wallangarra, bed at Glen Innes, and then the rest of the journey was lost to Sheila, for she slept exhaustedly right through to Newcastle. Three hours later they steamed into Sydney, three nights and three days of train traveling over, journey’s end at last.

Gerald Lucian was on the platform to meet them. He was a tall man with smiling eyes. Sheila liked him at once.

“Are you exhausted? My aunt adores trains. That—” he laughed “—must be obvious by this time.”

“I adore trains myself.” Sheila smiled back.

They collected their luggage and climbed into the car. Gerald maneuvered his way between heavy traffic ... here, realized Sheila, nostalgic for all her brave resolve, life would not be slow, it would take full count of hours, not like ... up there.

But instantly she liked Sydney, liked its “feel”—as with London, as with all big cities—of a place that absorbs every sort of person and every sort of taste, like its complicated skyline, its yesterday’s exuberant Victorian edifices cheek by jowl to today’s glass towers.

“And,” beamed Grace Lucian, watching her delightedly, “you’ll like Rose Bay.”

Sheila did like Rose Bay. She liked the house, her room, her view from her window of harbor wall and blue water and little fleets of boats. More than this she knew she very much liked her two employers, smiling Doctor Gerry, as she already called him, dear Aunt Grace.

I’m extremely fortunate, she told herself a hundred times in the weeks that followed, I’m a very lucky girl—but last thing every night she would look beyond the harbor wall that Doctor Gerry had told her was due north and feel a sting of tears.

In the mornings, during the days, it was different, she had found herself many tasks to fill the hours. Too many tasks, Grace Lucian often scolded, we don’t want you to work so hard.

But Sheila loved the work, particularly her self-imposed duties in the doctor’s office. His own work fascinated her, and seeing her interest Lucian often talked with her about it.

One evening after Aunt Grace had gone to bed, Sheila found the courage to question him on something that she knew by this time would never stop hurting her heart.

“Doctor Gerry,” she began uncertainly ... and then she told him of Fleur, of Cane, no names, no backgrounds, but of the things, the frightening things, that Fleur had repeatedly said.

“Do you think,” she finished, “she would dream them, Doctor Gerry?”

Lucian filled his pipe and lit up.

“No,” he said definitely, “she would not.”

Unaware of Sheila’s unhappiness at his answer, he went carefully on.

“In my opinion the instances you state would be the echoes of what have been said over and over to the girl, the echoes but never the original, in other words such a patient would be incapable of initiative, only capable of repetition, do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Sheila wretchedly, “I understand.”

She had not yet written to Molly Ferris to ask her to send down the rest of her things. She decided she would wait until the end of the month.

Meanwhile the weeks went on ... spring came ... the first days of summer ... the cane season, Sheila thought, unable to stop herself remembering, must be coming to its end up there.

She saw it all so clearly, the patchworks of cane fields from the hill, the green, damp, shining cane, the thick gray green bush from which the farms had been won. She did not think so often of the Reef, and when she did it was not of Silverwake but of her island of the frigate bird.

It was on an afternoon in November, standing by her window, that she felt her heart leap crazily at a step beyond the surgery doors.

Not Doctor Gerry’s step but—Cane Dolan’s. She sensed that at once. She knew it.

But that was absurd. It must be absurd. Cane Dolan was a thousand miles from here.

Nonetheless the feeling persisted. The knowledge took root. When Aunt Grace tapped and put her head excitedly around the door to say, “Someone to see you, dear, someone from the North,” she went downstairs knowing he would be there.

He rose when she came in, but he did not come across to her. He looked different in town clothes, and he was far too brown, she thought rather vaguely, to wear navy blue.

“Hello, Mr. Dolan,” she managed, then: “How did you know I was here?”

“
I
didn’t know.” He was scowling as he always had scowled. “That is,” he said unwillingly, “until I came into this house.”

“You knew then...?” She looked at him incredulously, incredulous that he should feel as she had felt.

“Yes,” he said, but his eyes did not meet hers. “I knew at once.”

“Why ... why did you come?” she evaded a little wildly.

“I flew down to Lucian for instructions about Fleur.”

“You mean Gerry is Fleur’s doctor.” Sheila was unconscious of his quick glance at her use of Lucian’s name.

“How is Fleur?” she asked.

Cane Dolan had recovered his usual composure. She knew that at once by his sharp retort.

“Why do you think I’m down here?” he flung back.

“She is bad, then,” Sheila whispered.

“Yes.”

“Will Doctor Lucian attend her?”

“Lucian says—” Cane paused “—there’s nothing he can do at this stage.”

“So you’ve come for nothing,” she murmured.

“No.” Cane was looking straight at Sheila, it was a deliberate look.

“But you came particularly for that,” she said, puzzled.

“And for something else,” he added. “To bring you back.”

There was a short silence.

“But you didn’t know where to find me.”

He shrugged impatiently. “I found you at once ... that was luck ... but even if luck had been against me I would still have found you, make no mistake about that.”

“I’m not coming.”

“You’re coming all right, even if I drag you every step of the way. However, we’re not doing anything so time squandering, we’re taking today’s plane.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Don’t waste my time in argument, Guthrie, you’re coming all right. You’d be coming even if I didn’t have Lucian’s final verdict to clinch the matter, and God knows I wish I didn’t have that.”

“What is the verdict?” Sheila’s voice was low.

Cane said without expression: “There isn’t very long.”

Sheila steeled herself. “I’m still not coming,” she said quietly. “Fleur doesn’t need me, there are other women.”

“Yes, there’s Molly. I brought her over from the mainland.”

“Then you’re still on the island. What about the crop?”

“You fool,” he said sharply. “What does it matter at a time like this about a crop?”

“Molly is sufficient,” Sheila stuck out stubbornly.
I must never go back,
she was thinking desperately,
to that barbaric place.

Cane did not answer that at once. She saw him reach down in the old familiar way for his cigarettes, saw him light up and inhale.

Presently he spoke, and at once she knew she was defeated, she knew she would be leaving, as he had told her, on today’s plane. “Fleur is asking for you,” he said.