Sarah's Baby (18 page)

Now she was saying, “Yes, Kyall's a young man with the Midas touch, but he has a lot more to offer than the ability to make money.”

“Quite obviously he's in love with Sarah. Indeed, I've
never seen such a couple. The way he looks at her. The way she leans into him. Part of each other.”

“They've been like that since they were very young,” Harriet said. “You could say they bonded from the moment they set eyes on each other. It does happen. The classic love story.”

“How come they broke up?” Morris asked with interest.

“The
R
word again.” Harriet answered right away.

“And what on earth is that?”

“Ruth. It's no secret in this town that Kyall's grandmother had very different plans for Kyall. Sarah, as exceptional as she is, simply wasn't good enough.”

“Good grief! I would've thought who better?” Morris replied in an amazed tone.

“India Claydon for one,” Harriet said with a sympathetic sigh. “India was very highly regarded in the marriage stakes. Two great pioneering families united, and so forth.”

“I see.” Morris bent closer as other guests were approaching. “So neither Mrs. McQueen nor Miss Claydon can be too happy to see Sarah back?”

“You can be sure, my dear Morris, that they loathe it.”

 

O
VER SUPPER
Ruth McQueen made an elegant little speech outlining the history of the town hospital, the McQueen involvement, and then went on to formally welcome Dr. Morris Hughes to the hospital and to the community. Some forty minutes after that, Kyall held up his hand in a gesture for quiet.

What am I afraid of?
Sarah wondered. In finding Kyall again, hadn't she been released from her terrible spell? The woman who'd placed the spell on her was only a few feet away, her face masklike as she lifted her head, eyes glittering with subterranean life.

Sarah's heart was pounding hard, but Kyall put a strong arm around her, drawing her close.

“With my family and our friends here, I'd like to make an announcement,” he began, his pride and happiness making him look wonderfully vibrant, his blue eyes afire.

 

H
ERE IT COMES
,
thought Ruth, conscious of a terrible tightness in her chest.
The very thing I've fought for years and years—the intolerable thing.
She, the fighter, forever triumphant in her dealings, trounced by a mere girl. It was not to be borne. From a distance she heard Kyall continue, his voice solemn but exultant.

“…Sarah and I would like to announce our engagement.”

A terrible anger flooded the autocrat's veins.
This can't happen.
She wanted to climb to the very top of a tall desert dune and howl like a dingo.

“We can't bear to keep it a secret any longer,” Kyall concluded to a cascade of clapping and gasps of genuine pleasure. “Most of you know I fell in love with Sarah when I was about eight years old.”

“I think it was before that,” Mitch Claydon teased, torn between joy for his old friends and pity and discomfort for his sister, who had refused to listen to a single word of advice he had given her.

“I believe it was.” Sarah turned up her face to Kyall. “You turned eight two weeks later.”
Oh, yes, and I wasn't invited to your party.

Kyall simply gazed back at her with love, withdrawing his ring from the inside pocket of his cream silk jacket and fitting it on her finger to another outbreak of applause.

Kyall's mother and father reached them first. “Oh, my goodness, look at that ring!” Enid cried, taking Sarah by the arms and lightly kissing both cheeks. “I'm sorry your
mother isn't alive to share in your happiness, Sarah,” she said softly. “Welcome to the family, my dear, welcome.”

Max took Sarah's face in his hands, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “My son is a very lucky man,” he said gently, smiling down at her, his expression one of understanding and an undeniable hint of sadness. “Be happy, both of you. It's my greatest wish.”

“Thank you, Max.” Sarah knew it would be easy to grow fond of Kyall's father.

“My turn.” Mitch Claydon presented himself with a rakish grin. “About time, too, Sarah. As we're old friends, I don't think Kyall will mind if I steal a kiss?”

In fact, it was a graceful salute that landed between her cheek and mouth. “Kyall has always needed you.”

“And I need him.”

Ruth, conscious that all eyes were now on her, drew herself up to go through an elaborate little charade, kissing her grandson and saying in a mock-censorious tone, “You might have told me, darling,” before moving on to Sarah. She took Sarah's hand, staring down at her ring. “You always were amazing, Sarah,” she murmured beneath her breath. “Do you think you can make my grandson happy?” She glanced up for a split second, but Sarah saw the flash of anger in her eyes.

“I'm going to prove to you I can.”

“And if you don't?” This was said so quietly only Sarah heard.

“You'll be the reason,” Sarah responded in a matching undertone, so the people around them, most of them busy trying to congratulate Kyall, thought the two women were finally making up.

“Just as long as you know. If you think you're good enough, Dr. Dempsey—” she drew the words out “—you're not.”

Sarah met her look head-on, impressively cool, hoping her act was convincing. “What undermines me undermines you,” she pointed out very gently.

Ruth favored her with a malevolent smile. “And how is the ghost at the house? Been at work? I can promise you, Sarah, I'll destroy you however long it takes.”

Reveling in having the last word, Ruth released Sarah's hand, moving off with her habitual—and slightly exaggerated—regal poise.

J
OE
R
ANDALL
had single-handedly run the hospital for more than thirty years, but Sarah was very grateful to have Morris Hughes on board, especially when the hospital had a run of accident victims. One of them tragically resulted in a death. A stockman herding cattle by motorbike lost control of his machine and was thrown off so violently he broke his neck. There were accidents mending fences, one when the wire snapped back into a man's eye, another a goring by a bull, the amount of bleeding suggesting the injury was a lot worse than it was. Then there were the usual accidents with children. A little boy was admitted unconscious, having been given tablets containing codeine for a cough, the drug suppressing the child's breathing, as well as the cough. As Sarah's former boss had predicted, a tourist was rushed to hospital needing urgent medical attention because of sunstroke. The tourist's car had broken down within the boundaries of Marjimba Station, and he'd set off on foot for help, ignoring all the warnings, posted throughout the outback. The man had taken a canteen of water, but it was not enough. Dehydration had rapidly set in.

Mercifully Mitch had been the one to find him, very near collapse but not far from a water hole. Mitch had driven him there, drenching the man's heated body with buckets of water before having him airlifted into town by the station helicopter. Other frequent procedures involved skin cancer
caused by the sun, the solar system's greatest uncontrolled nuclear reactor. Patients who for most of their lives had exposed themselves carelessly to the radiation of the sun presented with squamous and basal-cell carcinomas for removal by liquid nitrogen or surgical procedure. A bleeding ulcer that had been too long ignored was confirmed as a melanoma by laboratory inspection. Sarah had dreaded giving the patient, a family man in his mid-forties, the news.

One morning about two weeks after the party for Morris, Sarah encountered Vernon Plummer on the street. His vehicle was parked outside the store she and her mother had lived and worked in. He was stocking up on supplies.

“Good morning, Mr. Plummer,” Sarah called when she realized who it was.

He threw a few more bags in the back, then twisted his heavyset frame. “Mornin', Dr. Sarah.” Although he spoke gruffly, he sounded pleased that she'd bothered to greet him. He had been so preoccupied she could easily have walked on by.

Sarah expected the man to continue with his loading; instead, he wiped his hands with a rag and approached her. “I've been wanting to thank you for all you've done for Kathy,” he said, genuine gratitude in his eyes.

Sarah nodded. “That's my job, Mr. Plummer.” She smiled pleasantly.

“You're very good at it. 'Course we all knew you'd amount to something, even when you was a little kid. Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. Kyall is a very lucky man.”

“Well, I guess it took long enough, but we love each other,” Sarah responded, short of time, but not wishing to appear rude. Vernon Plummer seemed to have something on his mind.

“Saved her life, didn't ya. I won't forget that.”

She could feel him studying her with respect. “By the grace of God, yes. Kathy is well on the way to recovery. She and Darren will have their baby, and you and Mrs. Plummer will have another grandchild.”

“I owe you one, Doc.” His voice and eyes held a degree of commitment Sarah didn't think was warranted.

She shook her head. “No, you don't, Mr. Plummer. It gave me the greatest satisfaction to know I was there for Kathy. Frankly, that's what a doctor lives for. To save lives.”

“You know your stuff,” he responded. “That other doctor—Hughes?—didn't seem so sure. You're a good woman.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, studying the pavement, then lifted his head, his demeanor quite changed. “Do ya get a sense Mrs. McQ might mean you harm?” The words came out so hoarsely, so full of anger, Sarah was numbed.

“I—I'm afraid I don't know what you mean?”

“Yes, you do. Wasn't she the one who chucked you out of town?”

Sarah didn't deny it, although she was astonished the man had spoken out. He was, after all, in Mrs. McQueen's employ. “Should you be saying this?” she questioned.

“You need to know. Yeah, I still work for her. I've been workin' for her, lemme see, damn near forty years. Started as a kid of twelve. Let's say I'm one person who knows Mrs. McQ.”

“Am I to understand you're warning me?” Sarah managed, leveling her gaze on him.

“I'm sure you don't need no warning, Dr. Sarah. She really hates you.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“Let's just say I do.”

“And why is that?” Sarah felt deeply troubled.

He shook his head almost regretfully. “Nothing I can say.”

“I have Kyall to protect me.”

“What if Kyall ain't around? He has to take a lot of trips. Go places for business.”

In fact, Kyall was in Sydney on McQueen business right now, due back at the end of the week. “I have absolutely no idea why you're telling me this, Mr. Plummer,” Sarah said, apprehensive and trying not to let it show.

“You do something for me and mine,” he said. “I do something for you. I got things on Mrs. McQ.”

Wasn't that Sarah's gut feeling? “Well, then, shouldn't you keep them quiet? What if she found out? You say you know what she's capable of.”

“I do. You don't.” He shot her a strange look. “You're too innocent, Doc.”

The deepening heat of the morning gave Sarah an excuse to move off. She picked up the briefcase she had rested at her feet. “What do we do now, Mr. Plummer?” she asked.

“We watch and wait,” he said. “This is one time Mrs. McQ isn't gonna win. I'm your friend, Dr. Sarah. You can count on it.”

 

W
ASN'T LIFE FULL
of odd turns, Sarah thought as her encounter with Vernon Plummer plagued her throughout the day. Would the man even have approached her had she not been instrumental in saving his daughter-in-law's life? Fate worked in mysterious ways.

Plummer had confessed he had a lot on Ruth McQueen. Didn't that place
him
in danger if Ruth ever found out he'd involved himself with Sarah's safety? What could Ruth do? Sack him? Put his whole family out of a job when working on Wunnamurra was all they'd ever known? Engineer an accident?

Preposterous! She couldn't believe that Ruth McQueen, dangerous as she was, would resort to murder. One would have to be beyond all civilized behavior for that. Prepared to risk exposure, arrest, jail. It was unthinkable. The man she loved was the woman's grandson!
She might detest me,
Sarah reminded herself,
but she loves him.

“Sarah, have you got a minute?” Morris Hughes appeared at her door.

“Yes, of course, Morris.” Shaking off her disturbing thoughts, Sarah stood up, coming round her desk.

Morris shut the door. “I have a patient with me at the moment. A Mrs. Costello.”

“She hasn't brought her little girl in again?” Sarah asked in what was almost a groan.

“Then you know her?”

“I know she's had her child in fairly frequently. Joe saw her. I've seen her twice. Now you. Is something bothering you?”

“Something I can't answer easily.”

“You suspect the mother might be making her child ill,” she said bluntly. “What's wrong with the little girl, anyway?”

“On the face of it, the perfectly innocent diagnosis of diarrhea. Could be a virus. Mrs. Costello, I understand, is a widow. A nervous little thing. She needs treatment herself.” He shook his head. “I'd be grateful if you'd take a look at the child.”

Fifteen minutes later Sarah had made the decision to keep the little girl overnight for observation. Although the child's tongue was dry and her urine output had fallen off, oral salt and fluid replacement could have been done at home, but Sarah's instincts were working overtime. She had concerns about Mrs. Costello, given that the woman appeared overeager for attention. With any of her other
mothers, Sarah would've left the medical management to them. With Mrs. Costello, warning bells were starting to ring. The child always presented with acute diarrhea. So what, then, was inflaming the bowel? Something the mother was administering? Laboratory tests might be helpful.

“Strange—so strange,” Morris remarked later. “You're thinking Munchausen by proxy?”

“I'd be pleased to be proved wrong,” Sarah said, “but I think we might privately monitor the mother's visits. If she
is
giving the child something, the task then becomes psychiatric treatment for Mrs. Costello. The loss of her husband was a stunning blow. She's alone in the world with a child to rear. Her reaction to such emptiness and grief could be seeking attention through that child. She appears bright and desperately concerned for the little one, but underneath I sense intense dysphoria.”

“Terribly problematic,” Morris agreed, “but treatable. By the way, I ran an EEG on Les Taylor. You might like to take a look at the results. Not good, I'm afraid. Unilateral slow activity—”

“—which might indicate a structural lesion. Oh, dear.” Sarah sighed. “If only we could save them all.”

“At least we can save them a lot of the pain. Ready if you are, Dr. Dempsey.” Morris smiled in empathy.

 

W
HEN SHE RETURNED
that evening, all the lights were on. The ghost? She didn't think so. Someone was trying to frighten her, especially with Kyall away. She didn't have to look far. She could make the long, long drive to Wunnamurra homestead and tell Ruth McQueen to stop. Not tell.
Demand.
She knew Ruth hadn't turned on these lights herself, but she'd ordered someone to do it. She needed to reduce Ruth McQueen to normal size, not the monster of her memories.

All the years away from Kyall, she had lived with her memories, good ones and bad. Ruth McQueen figured largely in the terrible memories. Sarah felt her jaw tighten as she went around the house switching off unnecessary lights. No way was she allowing Ruth McQueen into her future! No way would Ruth continue to have power over her. One day soon—not tonight—Sarah would confront her.

She had to place her trust in Kyall. She had to tell him all about the most significant event in her life—the birth and death of their child. She'd backed away from it for far too long, diminished by her fears and griefs. The pain never went away. She didn't imagine it was going to be a good experience telling Kyall about those heartbreaking events. Kyall was a man of very strong emotions. A man of passion. He'd be shocked, ill with anger and suddenly realized grief. He might push her away. Physically? Emotionally? Both were possible. No matter. She couldn't hold this in anymore. She couldn't marry Kyall knowing she carried such a secret. Let Ruth McQueen do what she liked.

 

T
HAT NIGHT
Sarah slept with her bedroom door locked, a chair propped up beneath the brass knob. Beside her bed was the rifle Kyall had given her for protection. She knew how to use it. Prayed she'd never have to. She hated guns. Nevertheless, its presence gave her a sense of security. She wasn't worried about the house's resident ghost, even though she'd never seen her except in that strange trance. Estelle Sinclair had been murdered. Incredible as it might seem, she, Sarah, had been at the scene watching with Estelle's murderer as she drowned. The girl had been alive when she hit the water but terribly injured, a little girl raped. Estelle wasn't going to hurt her. Estelle wanted help. Justice. Peace.

As for Nurse Fairweather? Her spirit had moved out. Just as all of Sarah's inquiries regarding her had met a dead end. It made Sarah very uncomfortable to recall Joe Randall's concerns over Molly Fairweather's death. Among other things, hadn't Joe as good as accused Ruth McQueen of involvement? But how? Even if Ruth
had
given someone instructions to release the snake in the house, many things could have gone wrong with that plan. The woman could have spotted the snake first. Locked it in. Called for help. The snake could have found its own way outdoors. Who'd do such a thing, anyway? It was horrible. But what had happened between Ruth and Molly? One might have suspected Ruth was being blackmailed. The big question was why. What had turned a normal, competent nurse into Mad Molly? What had so disturbed the tenor of her mind, what trauma had she suffered, that she'd been reduced to full-fledged ranting monologues in the garden during her last years? Sarah had wanted to speak to some of the children, now older, about the sorts of things Nurse Fairweather had said. But she had to be careful; each of them would probably tell a different story.

Sarah tried to settle herself in the bed, lying on her back, palms upturned as she tried to relax. She concentrated on blue, the color blue. The radiant blue of Kyall's eyes. The glorious blue of the sky. The blue of the ocean. The blue of the Madonna's cloak.

Relax… Relax… Think of nothing but the color blue.

Gradually she drifted off.

 

T
HE OLD HOUSE
was powerfully connected with visions. Tonight they addressed themselves again to the sleeping Sarah.

A child was running. A man was trying to overtake her. The ground they covered was packed with leaves. The track
the child was taking led down to the water. She heard the pinched voice of the man, didn't know what he was saying. The child, a girl barely into her teens, half turned, her long, blond hair skeining across her terrified face.

Estelle.

Sarah's fears rose like bile, but she couldn't open her eyes. Her lashes fluttered wildly, eyeballs twitched, but the lids were heavy, too heavy.

And then things turned far worse. The girl slipped, lost her footing, went hurtling down the slope. Sarah heard the scream even though silence drummed in her ears and her own lips were sealed.