The Tender Winds of Spring (13 page)

‘Well, what about him?’ demanded Sister Grant.

‘Mightn’t he feel—well, mightn’t he—’

‘He’s sick and he has to be attended to,’ said Amanda flatly.

‘But is a bath so essential in sickness, I mean the thorough kind of bath I think you were intending?’

‘Of course I intended a thorough bath. The action of water aided by soap and vigorous scrubbing helps sweat glands to function actively.’

‘But couldn’t Abel do it himself, Amanda? Oh’... hurriedly ... ‘I know he’s just a patient in your eyes, but what about from his eyes?’ ‘Are they worrying him?’ asked Amanda, immediately diverted. ‘Perhaps I should draw the blind. Weak boracic solution is good. Have you any boracic?’

She went fussing off into the bathroom, and Jo took the opportunity to race into the sick bay.

‘Well,’ grinned Abel from his bed, ‘am I to be scoured or not?’

‘You could have put it in a kinder way than shouting,’ Jo reproved.

‘Oh, come off it, Josephine, what do you think I am?’

‘Male. Something I suspect Sister Grant believes would have been better not included in creation.’

‘A Women’s Libber, eh?’ Abel looked down at the sponge. ‘What about you, Josephine?’ he asked. ‘Feel like taking over Amanda’s job for her?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Too few years in Amanda yet for Baths, Giving of, I mean when the about-to-be-bathed is beyond babyhood. But you, my good woman—’ As he was speaking he was taking the sponge from the bowl of water and throwing it at Jo.

She promptly hurled it back, only it landed in the bowl of water and splashed everywhere.

Amanda, her veil straightened now, came in with the boracic lotion and stood and stared.

‘Just what’s going on?’ she said, aghast. ‘Really, Abel, you are a bad patient! My assistant comes to help you and you behave like this. For that you can bath yourself. Come on’... to Jo ... ‘and we’ll roll bandages.’

The last Jo saw of Abel was a rather nonplussed man holding gingerly to a sponge. He had won the fight, but the laurels, his expression clearly said, were not his.

They were not Amanda’s, either. ‘I do hope,’ she fretted, ‘he cleans in the creases. Germs lurk in corners.’

‘Yes,’ said Jo faintly, and she grabbed at a tea-towel, but the laughter tears from her eyes made it more damp than the dishes would have. Then in the middle of her surreptitious mirth something happened.

Sister Grant looked up from her bandages, stared—then grinned, too. The walls between them were not down yet, perhaps they never would be fully down, but this, thought Jo, almost hysterically happy, was the biggest break so far.

She put down the tea-towel and Amanda put down the bandage. They stared solemnly at each other for a moment, then Amanda, too, laughed out loud.

It was a wonderful progress from a few weeks ago, Jo thought gratefully, remembering the tight little girl who had come up the Tender Winds stairs. A tight young brother and a tight small sister, too, but they were still tight, not like Amanda at this unguarded moment. Dicky had been different during the crash, different at the lumber camp afterwards, he had been relaxed then, so it must be this valley that caused the tension in him. Probably it would do it to Amanda, too, once away from the house, but a nurse’s place was by the side of her patient, and Amanda was holding anxiously to that. Anxious for another reason? Jo shivered a little when she thought of Abel out of bed again and the children in that huddle in the garden once more, shut up with each other, shutting everyone else out. It was something to do with the valley ... something away from the safety of Tender Winds. But what?

She thought of cornering Sukey; small children were reputedly the easiest to pump (Abel’s word). But whoever had said that had not met a Sukey. Sukey, Jo thought, would be the last hurdle of all to fall.

It seemed incredible that so many days had passed since the tragedy. It all seemed such a long way off. Jo supposed that that was because of the many things that had happened, because of her absorption with the children and her necessity to come to some final decision, not only for them, for herself, for Gavin, but for the welfare authorities who should be around again any time now to give their approval.

Approval. Approval as to the fate of three minors. One out of three to herself and Gavin or all three to the Government.

‘Whom have you chosen, Jo?’ Jo asked herself solemnly. ‘Which one is your choice?’

She went out of the house by the back door to escape the trio and to avoid Abel’s sick-bed window. This time, she thought desperately, you
must
help me, Gee. You did once, you laughed with me, but I haven’t heard from you since.

It looks like Amanda, she continued to Gee. Amanda and I have been getting on really well, and Gavin did say she was attractive. Yes, Gavin would be flattered to have a pretty daughter, especially if later I provided him with a son.

On the other hand Dicky is a fine boy and men like boys, and girl twins being in our family I might run only to daughters.

Finally Sukey.

But Jo did not get up to Sukey. She had just discovered a sole mark in a squelchy patch, and it was the same rubber pattern she had seen that day she had walked to the flying fox with Gavin.

It could be one of Abel’s plantation men. It could also be a fruit thief, though no one up here worried much over that. If cases from the honesty sheds disappeared, yes, but not a hand of bananas here and there.

She walked slowly on, listening again for Gee, hearing nothing from her. It can’t go on for ever like this, she told herself, I have to make up my mind some time. These days institutions are homes, and families are kept together, so in a way it would be kinder to let the three of them go. Yet if one of them can have a personal future, shouldn’t I—shouldn’t Gavin and I—

Strange that Gavin had not rung, she thought. Surely he had heard about the crash. But then it was a busy time now at the office; they had always tried to fit in all the necessary advance work before Gavin’s firm took its annual holidays. Because of the extra hours entailed, she and Gavin had booked for a cruise to recuperate from the rush.

A cruise would have been a change, Jo sighed. She almost felt herself in a deck chair beside Gavin, sun-soaked, sea-soothed, perfectly relaxed, an explosion of blue all around them instead of green ... then suddenly Jo wasn’t thinking of cruises or Gavin or anything.

She had reached a particularly deep channel of trees, and in it she found that it was hard to separate light from shade, fantasy from reality ... something, or someone, from that mass of matted vines directly ahead.

A pheasant, she thought sensibly, though it would have to be a large one. A kangaroo. But it hadn’t bounded. Then—what?

Deciding that she was being ridiculous, Jo turned and started up the hill.

On an impulse she turned off first to the old banana storehouse, the Noah’s Ark that Uncle-Mitchell had built.

She reached it and looked inside. Everything as usual. She was leaving again when she saw the footprint on the earth floor. Abel’s? Abel had been here on the day of Amanda’s fright. No, the print was not from Abel’s boot. Why, it was the same as the one she had seen on the valley track, the same as the one on the path to the fox.

Meaning exactly nothing. Just some passer-through helping himself to a banana, when if he only came to the house he would get a large hand of them. Sheltering here if it rained suddenly, as it often did in this banana country.

No one would refuse shelter. Yes, the footprint meant exactly nothing, but...

But all at once Jo was racing through the trees, rushing madly up to the house again. Running desperately as Amanda had run.

She saw Dicky and Sukey looking up at her sharply from their huddle in the garden. She saw Amanda looking down at her sharply from the top of the verandah steps.

Looking, but none of them saying anything.

Jo said nothing herself.

CHAPTER TWELVE

An
uneasiness had crept into Jo. She tried to push it away, but it still persisted. It would not leave her alone. There had been nothing in the valley, nothing in the banana storehouse. She told herself this a dozen times but still knew a disquiet and a foreboding. It made her guarded, so that instead of spilling things out to Amanda, which might have started a confidence in return, she avoided the little girl. She also kept away from the other two. When Abel called out from his sick-room that he would like to have a word with her, and when she went along and was asked outright why she had come up from the valley like a scared rabbit, Jo looked blankly back at Abel and said she had come like any sane adult.

‘Not when you flashed past this window, Josephine.’

‘You’re imagining things,’ she insisted. ‘Sick people do.’

‘I am not imagining things. Also I’m not sick. Not any longer. As a matter of fact I’m getting up tomorrow.’

‘Did the doctor say so?’

‘Sister Grant said so.’

‘How did you bribe her to do that?’

‘Strange though it may seem, the child actually grudgingly likes me, male though I am.’

‘In which case I would have thought she would have wanted to keep you invalided,’ retorted Jo.

‘To preserve my life or to stop me from escaping?’ Abel drawled. ‘Amanda’s a shrewd button, I believe she has caught on that I’m not a case of life and death. Also, I think she knows I’ll never escape.’

‘Never is a long word.’

‘I’m hoping it’s going to be a long, long sentence,’ he said quietly.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ demanded Jo.

‘I’m never leaving this plantation. That’s the answer. I’m shackled here.’

‘I see. Well, I’m glad for you. It’s very lovely.’ A pause. ‘I shall be leaving, of course, as will the children.’

‘You first,’ he tabulated. ‘When?’

‘When? Well, when I marry Gavin.’

‘Of course. And the wonderful day has been put forward, hasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘To what date?’

‘I don’t know. How can I know? First of all I’ve got to make my decision.’

‘One out of three,’ he nodded. ‘Has Gavin been on the phone about that lately?’

‘No.’

‘Has Gavin been on the phone about
anything
? I mean, Josephine, you’ve just had a lucky escape.’

‘Escape?’ She said it a little breathily.

‘On the Cessna,’ Abel reminded her a little sharply. He looked at Jo closely. ‘Where else?’

‘Nowhere else. But Gavin wouldn’t know about the Cessna.’ She knew Gavin would, the news was bound to get about, but she felt obliged to defend her fiancé.

‘Of course he would know,’ dismissed Abel. ‘The tender winds of spring, summer, autumn, whatever season is blowing, would see to that.’

‘Then they would also see to it,’ said Jo testily, ‘that he knew that all was well again.’

‘But surely all the same—’

‘It’s our busiest time at present at the office. You would have no idea how busy.’

‘Then tell me.’

‘Too busy for things unconnected with the firm.’

‘As you are unconnected just now?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Erica is connected.’

Jo agreed.

‘And this satisfies you?’ asked Abel.

‘Of course I’m satisfied.’

‘I see.’ His eyes were directed speculatively on Jo. ‘Then shall we come instead to the children and when they leave, because while you were racing up from the valley just now “like any sane adult” the welfare people rang to say that their representative will be out again tomorrow to review the situation.’

‘Oh,’ said Jo.

‘You still don’t want to tell me why you ran up the valley, Josephine?’ Abel asked.

‘I didn’t.’

‘You still don’t want to tell me?’

‘Would it make any difference?’ she flung.

There was another pause. It grew to be quite a long one.

‘You know,’ Abel said thoughtfully, and he looked narrowly at Jo, ‘I think it might.’

‘And I think you’re being quite ridiculous.’ Jo went out. She tidied up the house. That at least she could do to help with tomorrow’s interview, but she knew that the authorities chose their women wisely, and that not nearly so much emphasis was put on tidy rooms as on a sense of love.

Was
there love here? Jo recalled Abel once saying that Jo’s concern over the children was really only a determination to honour Gee’s memory. She had denied it then, but somewhere deep in her she had known that Abel had spoken the truth. She
had
wanted to take upon herself the legacy of those three because of Gee, but—love? No, she had not loved them. They had not been lovable children. Mostly they were still unlovable. But, like the tatters of sky between the banana leaves, patches did steal through. Blue patches. Like Dicky standing to scout’s attention before he set out to rescue them. Like Amanda looking up suddenly after the bath incident and giggling with Jo. We were girls together, Jo treasured. Like Sukey—

But no, she had never reached Sukey.

‘Abel is getting up tomorrow.’ Amanda came into the kitchen. She had taken off her veil and with it her busy air. She looked as listless again as the pair in the garden.

‘Yes, he’s better, he says,’ Jo agreed. ‘Just as well, because the welfare lady comes in the morning.’

‘What for?’

‘To see if I’m treating you properly. To make future arrangements.’

There was a silence for a few moments.

‘I’d like to go back to school,’ Amanda announced. ‘We all would. We’d be safe there.’

‘Safe?’ queried Jo.

‘It’s not very safe here,’ Amanda muttered. ‘It’s surrounded by bush.’

‘There’s nothing in the bush to hurt anyone,’ Jo said sharply. She knew she was saying it for herself as much as she was saying it to Amanda. She knew she was as much on edge as Amanda. ‘Of course you’re safe.’

‘Would there be enough money to send us back to school?’ Amanda asked.

‘I don’t know. If the mine was a good one it would be all right.’ Jo looked directly at Amanda and waited.
And waited.

When it was obvious that nothing was forthcoming, she said reproachfully: ‘You can’t expect Abel to pay for you, Amanda, and I haven’t any money.’

‘I think,’ gulped Amanda, ‘we’ll go to that welfare home after all. At least it would be safe.’

‘Amanda, what is this about being safe? Amanda, stop!’ Amanda, about to leave, reluctantly turned back.

‘What is this “safe”, Amanda?’ repeated Jo.

‘Nothing.’

‘Tell me, Amanda.’

‘Nothing. Will you please tell the welfare lady we’ll be going with her tomorrow?’

‘She’s only coming to review the case. Whether you go or stay is out of her jurisdiction, she. merely reports.’

‘But if we tell her we don’t like it here—’

‘But you’d be telling a lie, wouldn’t you? You do like it. You like Abel. I—I think you like me.’

‘No,’ said Amanda, but Jo had seen her little face in a quick unguarded moment, and she knew that Amanda was not telling the truth. A great joy rushed through Jo. She likes me, she thought, and I—why, I
love
her. I love Dicky. I love Sukey, even forbidding, withdrawn little Sukey. And it’s not love because of Gee, it’s love because of them.

‘Oh, Amanda!’ she said.

Amanda gave her an agonised look. ‘We have to go away,’ she cried in a strangled, quite unchildish voice. ‘He’s out there!’

Before Jo could say a word, Amanda was out herself.

But not out far, only as far as the other two. I must go and tell Abel, Jo decided. Abel will help.

But when she went to Abel’s room and tapped on the door, then opened the door when he did not answer a second knock, the room was empty. He must have dressed and gone out through the window, gone up to the campsite, Jo thought. She decided to tell him tonight.

But Abel did not come back that night. Jo waited up long after the children had been put to bed, then when she knew he wouldn’t be coming, she double-checked all the doors, a thing she had never done before on the plantation.

‘He’s out there.’ What had Amanda been talking about? What made Dicky and Sukey go so far into the garden but never one step further? Never down to the creek as children do? Why had the perfectly harmless print of a rubber sole sent Jo’s heart bumping? Why had she raced back to Tender Winds as though she had been pursued there?

She put out the lights and went to bed. She could not sleep, which would not be good for tomorrow. She would look strained, and welfare officers were trained to look for signs like that.

But what did it matter, anyway? The children were going. She was going. She was going back to the coast to marry Gavin. Why hadn’t Gavin rung?

At that moment the telephone whirred. Jo was out in the hall in a moment to kill the sound before it wakened the children, though, like all children, once sleep took them it needed a million telephone bells to rouse them.

So Gavin had rung after all! She wished Abel Passant was around to be witness to this. Only when she took up the receiver did it occur to Jo that it was not at all like Gavin to ring so late. But, she thought triumphantly, he
had.

‘Tender Winds,’ she said. ‘I mean hullo, Gavin.’

There was no answer.

‘Can you hear me?’

No answer.

‘Gavin—’

Still nothing ... except the slightest of breaths at the other end.

‘Gavin?’

Then Jo heard the phone being put down.

She was right, she did look strained the next day, she looked drawn, hollow-eyed, tensed up. And the welfare lady noticed it.

Mrs. Featherstone arrived in the commission car with three bags of candy for the wards and an answer for one of them before the question could be asked. She said to Sukey: ‘There’s no reflection from the sky today, so my hair is not blue.’ It wasn’t, it was a pleasing pale lilac.

Sukey bulged out her cheeks with the butter balls and regarded Mrs. Featherstone’s rinse with deep fascination.

‘Children are the end, bless them,’ Mrs. Featherstone said. ‘No wonder you look a little distraught. They can get you down. Will you be relieved, physically I mean, because I can see you’re genuinely fond of them, when it’s all over? Let me see’ ... she took out her book ... ‘it’s a little over a fortnight now since the sad event. We do like to leave children settled for at least a month. Do you think you could last out that long, dear?’

Jo wondered what Mrs. Featherstone would say if she answered ‘For ever,’ if she told her she looked pale only because she had not slept last night, that someone had rung and when she had answered there had been nothing, only the slight sound of a drawn breath. But it was all too silly, too fanciful, so she said nothing.

‘It says here,’ said Mrs. Featherstone, ‘that you and Mr. Gavin Martin will be applying for one child.’

‘Yes, we’re getting married.’

‘It’s nice of your fiancé to agree to such a thing, but a pity that—’ Mrs. Featherstone sighed.

‘Please,’ Jo asked directly, ‘would it be wrong in your eyes for us to separate these children?’

‘It’s not a question of my eyes, dear, it’s the board’s.’

‘But I’m asking you. Should they be separated?’

‘They will be separated, anyway, in a few years,’ pointed out Mrs. Featherstone practically. ‘Twelve is almost up to teenage-ship, and my goodness, how girls grow then! And the boy isn’t so far behind, is he?’

‘Only Sukey is. She’s very young, Mrs. Featherstone—’

‘No, my dear, in my experience it’s right, not wrong, that is if it has to be. Your Mr. Martin, he wouldn’t agree, would he, to taking all three?’

‘No, he wouldn’t.’

‘Well, perhaps it would be too much asking him to accept so many.’

‘It’s one out of three,’ Jo said mechanically.

‘In my opinion,’ advised Mrs. Featherstone, ‘excellent as our small family homes are now, if one, yes, even one, can have a real home, it’s a far preferable thing to none of them at all. You poor dear, you’ve been fretting about this, haven’t you? Never mind, at least for another few weeks. I’m advising the board that everything is well but that a longer period is needed for adjustment.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jo.

She called the children in to say goodbye to Mrs. Featherstone, and they all watched the car turn the corner of the track that led to the coast. Then the children went back to the garden and Jo went and sat at the kitchen table and tried to think.

But through all her tumbling thoughts only one thing emerged clearly. It was the certain knowledge that she must break up that spell, that evil spell that seemed to reach up to the three children from the valley. Until she did so she would get nowhere. She considered Abel and his hair-of-the-dog treatment, and determined to try the system for herself. She and the children would go down the valley. They would go now. She rose.

‘Amanda, Dicky, Sukey,’ she called firmly from the verandah, ‘come at once! We’re going down the valley to the creek.’

They looked up. They got up. For a moment she thought they were obeying her and she congratulated herself. Then they turned and they began to run. They ran down the track to the fox, and by the time she had descended the steps into the garden and started after them they were a good hundred yards ahead.

She saw them climb into the flying fox—operating it was easy stuff to Dicky—and at once begin to soar up the cliff. Jo still ran on, but she knew it was futile. Those little wretches would fasten the fox at the top end so it couldn’t come down to take her up after them. She would have done the same herself at their age.