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Darkness was drawing in, and still the camp-fire was not in sight. It had been a long ride home thus far, and the boys were getting worried.
Wally’s anxiety increased when they finally got down on to the small plain where the camp was, seeing the fire burning low and neither of the girls in sight. Bob and Bill did not respond to calls, either.
Dismounting, Jim strode towards the low makeshift benches made out of logs, which ringed the fire, looked down and started. He bent down and picked up a piece of paper which had been wedged underneath a rock, and read it out to the others, the worry line in his forehead deepening with every word.
“Bill gone missing. Gone out to look for him; will be back by nightfall - Norah.”
Wally’s hand tightened on the rein as he warred with himself. His wife was out in that rough scrub, had most likely been searching all day and would be worn out by the time she got back to camp. Part of Wally wanted to go out there, to crash through the scrub until he found Norah, and to keep her as safe as he could, but the rational side of him reasoned that he would be of more use to her back in camp and able to be her strength when she was too tired.
“We need to make tea.” David Linton had swung off his horse and was rapidly unsaddling. “The girls and Bob will need hot drinks when they get back in, and the fire will have to be built back up so they can see it.” He glanced up at Wally, and what he saw in the younger man’s eyes made him still for a moment. In the brown eyes he saw fear - not for himself, David knew, but for Norah - and worry.
“She’ll be all right, Wally. Jim and I taught her early on how to look after herself if she were bushed.”
Wally gave him a brisk nod, dismounting and leading his horse to the far end of the plain. All his thoughts were on Norah as he unsaddled, of the dangers she must be facing in the rough bush. They would find Bill; on that score he was certain, but for that they would need all the hands they could get, and that meant bringing the girls home first. Just the thought of Norah suffering made Wally stop for a moment, resting his forehead against Butterfly’s back.
He turned toward the campfire, which Jim was stoking with a large stick. David had gone to make up beds in the two wurleys for the girls, in the event that when they came back they would be exhausted. Finding nothing to do, Wally could only stroll to the edge of the camp and stand looking out into the night, hands in his pockets, feeling helpless. Jim came to join him presently, when the fire was blazing high, shooting sparks into the night sky.
Above them, the Southern Cross was blinking, the constellation that had guided both Jim and Wally on, their whole lives. As if voicing Wally’s thoughts, Jim whispered, “She’ll be right, old chap. Norah’s got sense.”
“I know that.” Wally turned towards his brother-in-law. “I can’t help being worried, though. You - you know how much she means to me. If something were to go wrong -”
Jim could only nod. Both he and Wally had a sixth sense where Norah was concerned, and he could empathise with the younger man’s concern about her. Suddenly, a sound behind them made them turn, and Wally caught at Jim’s arm. Coming through the trees, on horseback, were Norah and Tommy, both appearing to be exhausted.
Looking at each other briefly, the boys began to run. Jim lifted Tommy out of the saddle, turning towards the campfire as David went for the tea. Wally’s hand on Captain’s rein steadied the big grey, and Norah dismounted. Captain was unsaddled and let go, the saddle laid with the others, and they turned to each other. Their eyes met at length, and then Wally’s hand went to her shoulder, tugging her into his arms. They stood together for some time, Wally pressing his lips against the top of her head.
When they broke apart, he took one hand, leading her towards the campfire. He helped her to sit down against a log, her father’s hand resting on her shoulder, and threw himself to the grass beside her. Her hands, he had already noted, were torn and bleeding, and he told himself to get them cleaned up and bandaged as soon as the girls had told their story.
Jim was speaking. “I’ll swear Bill hasn’t gone far from the creek. He gave me his word he would not. You’ve kept to the creek, Norah?”
“As far as we could,” Norah answered. “It is blocked by scrub so often. We’ve tried not to cover the same ground twice. But it is so bewildering, Jim - one gully is so like another, in the timber. And there are stony ravines one can’t climb down.”
Jim’s eyes were tender as they looked at his sister. “Yes - I know, old girl. It’s cruel country to hunt in - and for you two! We’ll get him, Nor, dear - don’t lose heart.”
“I felt it would be all right if you were only here,” she said, and as she caught at Wally’s hand, he saw the tears in her eyes which she refused to allow to fall. He held her hand gently, being mindful of the scratches and blood which criss-crossed her palm.
Moments later, Jim had made his decision to ride for home, and Wally released Norah’s hand and stood to get Monarch. Jim was away in the next minute; Wally and his father-in-law’s attention turned to the girls. Tommy was better off than Norah, having been ordered by the other girl to keep back in places which were too rough, at the cost of Norah’s own hands.
While the girls changed out of their torn clothes into clean ones, Norah - as she was out of clean shirts - wearing one of Wally’s, belted at the waist, Wally went to the creek to get a bowl of water. He ducked into Norah’s wurley carrying the bowl and a rag, and found her sitting on the bunk, leaning forward with her forearms resting on her thighs, wringing her hands. She looked up when he put the bowl on the ground at her feet, the rag over the side.
Gently, tenderly, he prised her hands apart and, holding one with his own, dipped the rag into the bowl and began to clean out the cuts. Every so often, she would hiss and draw in her breath, and Wally’s heart would clench. Even the thought of pain touching his wife struck him deep. “Nor, you shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard.”
“If I hadn’t, I would always have been thinking what I could have done more,” she whispered. “I had to, Wally.” In her grey eyes he saw exhaustion, and fatigue. “Thank God you’re here now.”
Wally finished cleaning out her hand, switching to the other, where the gold wedding ring gleamed. His finger ghosted over it for a moment, remembering the day he had put it there. Presently he replaced the rag over the side of the bowl, the water murky with blood and dirt, and took both her hands in his own. “I swear to you,” he told her, his voice steady, “that we will find him. Whatever it takes.”
Hope sprang anew in her eyes, and she leaned forward to hug him, Wally shifting backward so his back was against the wall, Norah moving into his lap. His hands came up to unravel her hair, spreading the brown waves across her back, knowing she took comfort in the soft movements. Norah looked up at him, and he kissed her. She returned his kiss, and he could feel her love for him, and his heart swelled.
When they broke apart, she smiled at him for the first time that night, and not for the first time, he was struck by how beautiful his wife was. “Thank you for looking after me,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his own.
“I did swear to, a year ago,” was all he could say, and she laughed.
“I know that’s not just why you do it,” she told him, catching his lips again in a quick kiss. “I love you, Wally.”
Those words were rarely spoken between the two of them, not being sentimental people: they preferred instead to show each other through courteous, loving gestures how deep their feelings went. When they did say it, however, it meant the world to them, and right now, those words went to Wally’s very heart. “I love you too,” he whispered, and took his reward in seeing how her eyes danced.
Not long after, they moved. Wally went out of the wurley to empty the bowl and wash the rag, and he saw David sitting at the campfire with Bob. He returned the bowl and rag to the storage wurley, returning to Norah’s to find her curled up on her bed, wrapped in her blankets. As he stood in the doorway looking down at her, she whispered, “Come here,” and stretched out her hands.
He went, squatting beside her bed and taking her hands in his own. “We’ll find him,” she breathed. “I won’t lose hope.” When he glanced away for a second, overcome with emotion, the gentle pressure of her hands on his own brought him back to look at her. “When you were nearly dead in Brisbane -” she broke off and swallowed; that time was not easy for her to speak of, “- I can remember nothing except praying to God that you would come back. I felt as though I could demand you back from God: my whole being was a living prayer for you.”
“And you think you can do the same for Bill,” he answered simply, and saw her nod. “Well, I won’t pray as a doubter, Nor. I’ll play the game with you, because it’s easier than the alternative.” Her face, which had been white when she rode into camp earlier, had regained its colour, and he raised one hand to cup her cheek, lifting himself up and leaning forward so he could press a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll find him, old girl. Keep faith.”
She nodded again, and he kissed her. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch for Jim.”
Wally stayed with his wife until her deep, even breathing told him she was asleep, then he went out to join his father-in-law and Bob at the campfire. All through the night they stoked it, time and again, until finally at first light Jim rode back into camp on Struan, acknowledging them with a nod as he dismounted and unsaddled Struan. He crossed the grass to the men.
“The men have been told. Brownie’s raising the district. The hunt’s on.”