The Flyer (39 page)

Dry. Sand. Thirst.

It had become a mantra. The sun had set, and the temperature had cooled considerably, but her thirst persisted. So did a hunger she hadn’t known. When had she last eaten? Yesterday? The day before? She couldn’t remember.

Paul hadn’t had anything to drink. Paul hadn’t had anything to eat. Paul lay dying a half day’s walk behind her.

She moved forward, one slow, tired step at a time. For Paul.

The night was dark, and would grow darker. Still, something formed in front of her. She was afraid to believe her eyes, waiting until her hands came into firm, real contact with the trunk of a tree. Then she allowed herself to smile. Trees meant one thing in the bush, she’d come to understand.

Trees meant water.

She listened, straining her ears against the silence of night until she found what she looked for. The trickle of water moving idly along a streambed. To her left. Or was it coming from her right?

She followed the sound, hoping her ears weren’t playing tricks on her. Finally, she stepped into the narrow stream. Falling to her knees, she leaned forward and lapped at the sweet liquid. It soaked her face and her dress, but she didn’t care. She would be colder tonight for it, but she didn’t care about that, either. She drank until she thought her stomach might explode.

And then she rested to catch her breath, and drank more.

Something shuffled behind her. She spun just as the yellow dingo from last night leapt from the shadows. Before it could reach her, something collided with its side, knocking it, whimpering, to the ground.

What seemed like an entire clan of Aboriginal men ran at her from all sides. Their black bodies blended with the night, yet the intricate designs painted on their chests and faces glowed brightly.

“Doc?”

She turned to the voice. Kadin stood only a few feet away. She laughed, the rich, intoxicating sound rumbling from the very bottom of her heart. “Is it you? Kadin?”

“Aye, it’s me, Doc. Where the bloody hell did you come from? You look like you’ve been fighting with a water buffalo.” Kadin helped her to her feet and pulled her out of the stream.

“Paul. Paul’s still out there. He’s hurt. The plane crashed. We have to … help him.”

“You’re in no shape to be helping anyone,” another voice announced. “Take her back to the gathering and see that she’s fed.”

Blue.

He appeared in front of her.

“I had to leave him. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t worry about anything. If he lives, we’ll find him.”

“If? If he lives?” she repeated frantically. “You know if he lives, Blue. You know everything. You have to tell me. Tell me he’s well, and whole, and that you’ll bring him back to me.”

“This I can’t do. It isn’t up to me. We all have a winding path to follow. If we choose the wrong one, things happen that even the Ancestors can’t see.”

“He’s not dead,” she whispered. “If he were dead, I’d feel it.”

The ship’s whistle blew a shrieking warning. It would sail with or without her.

Helen tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and adjusted her cloche. She sat on the edge of a bench, her valise at her feet. In a few minutes, they would begin boarding. She would climb up the long, straight gangplank for the steamer trip to Perth. From there, she would board the ocean liner that would take her to San Francisco.

Home.

But it didn’t feel like home. No matter what had happened, Australia felt like home. She belonged to the land as much as Blue or Djuru or Dale or Emily.

Yet she couldn’t stay. Not after everything she’d lost.

Again.

When would her life no longer be a series of things lost? She’d lost her innocence. She’d lost her child. She’d lost her lover. Paul.

It still burned in the back of her throat. The unshed tears. She couldn’t cry. She didn’t have the right. She’d made too many wrong choices. The choice to take him as her lover had been wrong. At least, it had been made for the wrong reasons. Yes, she’d loved him. She still did. But she had chosen to take him as her lover to eradicate a previous wrong choice. Two mistakes did not equal forgiveness of self, she’d discovered.

She had paid a severe price for her decision.

Paul had paid an even greater price.

Now, she was alone again.

Given her history, did she deserve anything else?

When she’d arrived in Australia, she’d believed she deserved to be loved. Now, she made the conscious choice not to love. No one would be hurt if she didn’t love them. Including herself.

Not that she would ever fall in love again. There was no room in her heart for anyone but Paul.

And she would never see him again.

“They’ve begun boarding, dear,” her father said, reaching for her hand. “Come. Let’s go home.”

Doc had chosen not to come to the docks to see her off. He was disappointed with her decision. She knew it, even though he said nothing of the sort. He wouldn’t. He was too kind. Still, she cast one last look down the main road, focusing on the small building that had been her home. Sending a mental farewell to the man who had brought her to such an amazing place.

Following her parents up the gangplank, she ignored the voice in the back of her mind that told her to run. Run back to her flat and her job. The people here needed her. They liked her, and she liked them.

She could make a home in Port Hedland. She could be a good bush doctor. She loved the idea and excitement that came from truly helping people.

But she couldn’t do it without Paul. It wouldn’t be the same. And if she couldn’t do it with Paul, she would be better off helping the patients at her father’s clinic. Matronly old women who needed their feet scraped and their eyelids raised. Frivolous young girls who succumbed to the vapors if their hair didn’t curl right in the morning.

She reached the top and stepped into her future. She was the last to board. After her, the ship hands would remove her only means of escape.

She used to be a good doctor.

She used to be a woman.

An hour later, when the ship left port, she stood on the aft quarter-deck. Wind whipped beneath her hat, tossing her curls, and for a brief, fleeting second…

She could feel Paul.

“You’re a bloody fool, mate.” Djuru placed his arm around Nanara and kissed her temple.

Paul scoffed. “What makes you say that?” He already knew, but he could pretend with the best of them.

“Get yourself a ticket for the next ship out. Find her. Bring her back, and if she won’t come back, plant yourself on her doorstep until she takes you in. I’ve always thought you looked like a puppy. All ears and eyes,” Nanara added.

“She’s made her choice. I know when I’m not wanted.” Paul shifted beneath the covers. Doc had refused to let him go home for nearly a week. Since Blue and the others had pulled his sorry ass out of the desert, closer to dead than alive. It had taken them two days to get him safely back to Doc’s place. Helen had tended to him, barely speaking. He’d tried to apologize for nearly killing her. She’d halfheartedly accepted his words.

Then she’d fallen into silence again.

A part of him wanted to tell her the rest, but how could he force her to love him? “She wants her freedom.

Who am I to take it away?” He shrugged.

“Rubbish.” Nanara sat on the edge of his bed. “She loves you, Paul. You’d have to be cracked not to see it. She just wants to know that you love her enough to fight for her. That other bloke didn’t, and she’s feeling a little unworthy. That’s all.”

“She’s made up her mind.”

Djuru shook his head. “Too right. Just like I’d made up mine.”

Nanara and Djuru were going to be married soon. Blue had been right all along. The old bastard usually was, and the realization that the simple act of not taking Blue’s advice had cost him Helen brought a bitter taste to the back of his throat. When would he learn to listen?

“When indeed?” Blue sauntered into the room.

Crikey. More mystic Aussie bulldust.

“Everyone has a path. Remember?”

Paul cast aside the lingering doubts that nudged him to go after her.

Did he love her?

Always.

Did he want her?

Every minute.

Would he go after her?

As soon as he could bloody walk.

Eight months later…

Helen washed her hands for the tenth time in four hours, adjusted her stethoscope around her neck, and left the lab in her clinic. Every day, she did the same thing. She worked in her clinic, having found it impossible not to practice medicine regardless of how horrible she felt otherwise. She might be lonely, and bereft of all other emotions, but she had to heal. She had no other choice.

Perhaps that’s what Blue had meant when he’d told her about life’s pathways. She’d wanted him to be speaking of finding her way to Paul. Wishful thinking, of course. No, he must have been talking about the path that would lead her to the only lover who would never break her heart. Medicine.

In less than a year, she’d managed to build a name for herself. She was earning a decent living, enough to give her the freedom to buy her own house—far, far away from her mother, who still lived in Helen’s childhood home while her father had moved into a townhouse in San Francisco.

It was just as well. They hadn’t loved each other for quite some time.

She no longer cared about appearances. She no longer cared what her mother thought of her, what her former lover thought of her, or what the world thought of her. She lived her life the way she wanted to. Bold. Fast.

And blessedly quiet.

A small smile touched her lips. The days of speakeasies and lounge parties were over, at least for her. She went home after work each day, fixed herself something to eat, and generally curled up on her settee with a good book. She didn’t need any more excitement. The way her life was going, her days would become fuller and richer as time passed.

She’d chosen her specialty not long after she’d returned to medicine, four months ago. Obstetrics. There might be pain, like sharing the loss of Jayla’s baby. But there was so much joy. Emily had written to her three times already with news of the infant twins and the rest of her menagerie. Nanara and Djuru would have their first child next year, according to Emily’s latest note.

Incredible happiness. To be able to share in that with her patients every day…

She could handle the pain of the losses. They made the good times better, didn’t they?

“Maggie? Is my next patient here yet?” she asked, circling behind the tall counter that separated her examination room from the waiting area.

Maggie was her assistant and sometime nurse. She was young, only eighteen years old, but capable and strong-willed. She wore her hair short, and was one of the lucky few who could wear the bob perfectly. Straight.

She and her boyfriend had become pregnant in high school and planned to marry. Unfortunately, he’d been killed in an automobile accident before they could see their plans through, and Maggie had delivered their child alone, terrified, and ostracized by her family. Helen had met her during a visit to a home for unwed mothers two months ago and immediately given her a job and a place to live.