Tell Me of Love
By Rosa Lee Lloyd
Chapter 2
Synopsis: Julie Ridgehaven, of Sydney, Australia, while attending college in California, receives a cablegram from her Aunt Isabelle asking her to fly home at once due to an emergency in the family. Her friend Betz Condon goes with her. While traveling, they meet Carolyn Bridges, matron at a hospital in Perth.
The heat was stifling and heavy, even at five o’clock in the morning, as they edged through the crowd at the airport on Fiji.
“Oh, look at my feet!” Betz moaned. “They are swollen twice the size of my shoes.”
“You can expect that,” Miss Bridges explained. “We have dropped down to a low altitude. But it is extra warm here for September. This is the beginning of our springtime.”
“But Julie’s feet aren’t swollen,” Betz said. “Neither are yours. Why mine?”
“Sometimes mine swell,” Miss Bridges told her. “There’s no rule. Maybe we can buy some straw sandals somewhere.”
“I’ll need a size twelve!” Betz laughed. “Look, the big bus is crowded.”
“There’s an old jeep with a ‘for hire’ sign on it,” Julie pointed out.
“The driver looks real elegant, with his white trousers and red sash.”
“Would you rather ride a bicycle?” Julie suggested, pointing to a rack of them nearby.
“Let’s do it!” Betz agreed. Then they both looked at Miss Bridges.
“I’ll take my chances in the old jeep,” she said, smiling. “We’ll go ahead up the trail. Follow closely so you won’t get lost. I want you to meet someone I know at a fruit stand.”
The trail was a dirt road leading upward through lush tropical plants six feet high on either side. The sun beat down mercilessly on their heads. Flies and insects buzzed around them.
Julie pedaled in a slow, steady rhythm, but Betz raced off ahead of her. When Julie finally caught up with her she had thrown herself on the side of the path in an exhausted heap.
“Oh, Julie!” she wailed. “I can’t go on. I’ll wait here for you.”
“Not here!” Julie said. “You’re in an ant bed.”
She pulled her up and brushed her off, but she was already burning with bites.
“Let’s go back to the plane,” Betz demanded. “This heat is ghastly.”
“Would you like a nice cool drink of pineapple juice?” Julie asked, gently.
“Sure, I would. You get it for me, Julie. You haven’t been in an ant bed.”
“Righto,” Julie agreed. “You look like a painted clown. But now, you look at me. My head is ready to pop. My eyes hurt with the glare, but I know we’ve got to go on if we get that pineapple juice. So — let’s get on with it.”
“I can’t make it up there, Julie,” Betz said.
Julie gave her a push. Little glints were in her eyes.
“You can make it,” she said. “If you’re going around the world you better start right now to prove you can take it.”
Betz bit her lip. “I didn’t know you could be so — so utterly. …”
“So utterly what?” Julie laughed. “You know I love you, Betz, but quit acting like a baby. We’re just wasting time. Maybe they’ll have some eucalyptus oil for those bites.”
Reluctantly, Betz got on her bicycle again. Five minutes later they saw the old jeep parked beside a thatched hut. There was a wide counter holding huge containers of pineapple juice.
Dozens of people were quenching their thirst with the luscious drink.
Miss Bridges was talking to a sweet-faced woman her own age and an older man, very tall, with a sandy-colored beard.
“Well, hello!” Miss Bridges greeted them. The tall man handed them gay mugs of the fruit juice.
“Drink well, girls,” he said with a true Australian accent. Julie was sure she had seen him somewhere before.
“This is my friend, Lucile Clark,” Miss Bridges explained, “and her uncle, Dan Fargo.”
“They call me Big Dan,” he said with a grin that showed his fine white teeth. “That is what you both shall call me.”
“He is a real character,” Betz whispered back. “I’ll bet he knew Captain Kid and Long John Silver.”
“Did you ever taste such juice?” Miss Bridges asked them.
“Umm!” Betz smacked her lips. “Now, if I can buy some eucalyptus oil I’ll be okay. Look at these bites!”
“You are a sight.”
“We might have a drop or two left,” Big Dan said. “We’ve nearly hit the bottom of the barrel I sent over from Australia. Those are just little ant bites. They come and go like ripples on the sea. Shall we tip the barrel?”
Big Dan said to Lucile as they disappeared inside the hut.
Miss Bridges said quickly: “I wanted you to meet these wonderful people. I didn’t know Big Dan was here so this is a privilege. He is always in demand somewhere as he is an expert on water conditions in Australia. He is a self-taught man, but his opinions and experience are sought after by top engineers. He has just had a message to return to Australia, so he will be on the plane with us.”
“Then he can ride my bicycle back down the hill,” Betz said. “I’ll go in the jeep with you.”
“Shall we wait and see?” Miss Bridges asked. “We can trust Big Dan.”
“I would like to know your friends better,” Julie said, hoping Miss Bridges would overlook Betz’s suggestion.
“Big Dan has been a father to Lucile and her three sons,” Miss Bridges went on. “Her husband was killed in a willie-willie out in Carnarvon twenty years ago. Big Dan brought them here to Fiji. He owned this property and the boys worked hard with the pineapples. Lucile took care of this fruit stand. Now the boys are in the University at Sydney. As soon as they are graduated and earning their own living, Lucile will return home. She is very proud of her three sons.”
“Three sons!” Julie repeated. “How wonderful.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Miss Bridges answered with a lonesomeness in her voice. “It wasn’t easy for any of them way out here. I always stop every trip so I can keep in touch. Lucile and I went to school together in Perth.”
“I’m sure she’s glad to see you,” Betz said. “You’ve traveled all over the world and can keep her up-to-date.”
“Lucile gives me more than I give. her,” Miss Bridges answered quietly. “True, I have been all over the world, but the world has come to Lucile Clark. Her life has been one of fulfillment in spite of hardship. Sometimes . . . I almost envy Lucile.”
Big Dan came out of the hut with a battered old suitcase and his guitar slung over his shoulder.
Lucile hurried to serve the new customers. Big Dan handed Betz a tiny bottle of oil.
Betz dabbed the oil on the swollen bites.
“Oh, it really does help,” she breathed gratefully.
Big Dan put his suitcase and guitar in the back of the jeep and came back to the stand. He wore a colored plaid shirt and a big hat almost like an American cowboy.
“I’ll ride one bicycle and wheel the other,” he said. “The girls can ride back with you, Carolyn. There’s only twenty minutes till take-off.”
Miss Bridges looked at Betz with a significant smile.
“He is a real gentleman,” she murmured.
Betz smiled, too. She’s really a good sport, Julie thought. Then Betz said, “Why don’t we call you Carolyn, Miss Bridges? Let’s not be so stuffy.”
Julie caught her breath. Lucile held a glass of juice in mid-air as she looked at Carolyn Bridges who drew herself up straight and tall and every inch the hospital matron, for a long, silent moment. Big Dan lifted one eyebrow a half inch above the other one, waiting for Carolyn’s answer.
At last a smile edged her lips, and she put her hand on Betz’s shoulders.
“Quite right!” she said. “Let’s not be stuffy. You may call me Carolyn from now on.”
Julie relaxed. The words “quite right” instead of “righto” kept Carolyn up on a pedestal with Grandfather and Aunt Isabelle.
“Time to go!” Big Dan called out. He patted Lucile and pinched her cheek. “Take it easy,” he said. “I’ll be back when the job is finished.”
Then he was off down the hill with the bicycles.
“Goodbye Fiji Islands,” Betz sang out as they crowded into the jeep. “The paradise of the Pacific.”
Carolyn laughed. “They say that about every island we pass. But each one is a little paradise. Goodbye, Lucile,” she waved again. “See you next trip.”
Breakfast was served ten minutes after they took off from Fiji. Julie was hungry and, in spite of her anxiety, she enjoyed a thick slice of ham, sweet rolls, milk, and a banana.
They were flying high now, far above great cotton-puff clouds. Julie took Ron’s last letter from her purse and read it dreamily. Grandfather considered one letter a month enough. This letter was dated August seventeenth, a month ago.
Julie, My Love:
The first year at the University is almost over. I am glad that Grandfather will be pleased when he sees my number in the paper. Being separated from you is beyond measure in loneliness and yearning.
Last week end I went up north into the bush with a group of hydraulic engineers from school. As you know, it has always been my dream to help make this wilderness green and productive, so people like our own parents can live in comfort.
The ride up the coast in Bob Stouffer’s old car was very cold and miserable. We nearly froze at night, although we wore our socks and kept a fire burning. As you know, Western Australia has only two seasons, winter and summer. Our winter came in April, and now it is August, and spring is just breaking through without much success. The scenery was a lonely stretch, mile after mile. I was depressed and lonely and resentful because we are forced to be separated. I can quit school, I thought, and go to the United States where Julie is. I was tired of the bush without you there.
And then, just before we reached Dongarra, and about ten miles from Grandfather’s station, we unexpectedly came upon fields of flowers — pink and blue and yellow. I have never seen such gorgeous color. It was like driving through the rainbow.
Bob and I knew they were the “Everlastings.” The petals were crisp and transparent. It was a feast of beauty. I wished you were there with me. I decided to ride the ten miles to our station. Anyway, I wanted to see my kelpie, Casey Jones. I love that old sheep dog and it’s always a big day for him when I can get up there.
But that’s ahead of my story. As I stood there in that field of flowers, I decided again that I would give up school and hit out for the United States. No one can keep me from Julie, I thought.
Then, as though someone touched my shoulder, I felt the presence of Grannie, and something she had said to me during her last illness came back to me. What courage she had, Julie. What faith in spite of her pain.
I was eighteen again. I had come from the tennis tournament dragging my feet because I had lost. As usual, I went upstairs to say good night to Grannie and to tell her about the game. “I know,” she said. “It is hard to lose when you have worked so hard to win; but the work and the striving are never lost. That effort is always yours, and takes you one step upward on the stairway of life. Learn this, my boy, and remember it always — to live is to know both bitter and sweet. No one, rich or poor, escapes that. The wise ones cherish the sweet, and the
bitter fades away.”“Grannie,” I asked her, “are you reminding me to count my blessings?”
“I am, indeed,” she smiled back. So, right there, in that field of flowers, I thanked our Heavenly Father for beauty and life. I filled my heart with gratitude for all the years of our childhood together with the Ridgehaven family. I asked him for courage and intelligence to carry out Grandfather’s demands.
Peace came to me, Julie, and strength to carry on toward completing my course at the University.
So we must wait patiently for that golden day when we will be together again. Always remember that my love for you is a field of everlasting flowers, brightening the long, lonely road.
Love always,
Ron
P.S. Yes, I saw Casey Jones and had a beaut of a time to make him stay on the ranch. Next month we are going further inland to inspect some sites for possible development of underground water. It should be interesting and instructive.
Julie folded the letter and put it back in her purse. Grannie was right. You had to cherish the sweet in this world.
Big Dan, seated beside Julie, looked down at her and said, “The sea looks as vast and lonely as the Australian bush.”
“Yes,” Julie said, “I remember.”
“You have lived in the bush country?” he asked.
“I lived out there until I was nine years old,” Julie told him. “My mother taught me to sing and play the banjo. She said every girl should carry her own music with her.” Julie pointed to the banjo. “The man I am going to marry plays the guitar, so we will have our own music. He is out in Perth learning to be an hydraulic engineer. Someday we will live in the bush, because Ron’s work will be there.”
The smile faded from Big Dan’s lips. A deep frown puckered his brows together.
“Ron? The boy’s name is Ron?” he questioned.
“Why, yes!” Julie beamed. “Do you know him? His name is Ron McLaren.”
Big Dan looked at Carolyn. Their eyes caught and held, and a message passed between them. Julie’s heart beat up into her throat, almost choking her.
“Oh, no!” she whispered, piteously. “Don’t tell me — anything has happened — to Ron.”
Carolyn moved quickly.
“Let me sit by Julie,” she said.
Julie covered her face with her hands as Big Dan leaned toward her. “Forgive a bungling old man. I am sorry I told you something you did not already know.”
“But Ron . . .” Julie breathed. “Ron— tell me?”
“His grandfather sent for me. He and I have worked together many times in past years. Ron is missing out in the bore country,” he answered with gentle candor.
“Where they are trying to find underground water?” Julie questioned, her voice trembling.
“He was out there with his classmates on a study expedition. When they got back to their car, Ron was not there. It’s been — several days ago.”
Julie turned her face toward the window. The sun was hidden behind clouds like purple bruises in the sky. Julie wanted to sink into their darkness. She wanted the plane to crash and the world to end.
“Come now, Julie,” Big Dan coaxed her. “You must not give up. Show me you are a real bushwoman. They don’t give up. I know that country like the back of my own hand; every hole, every old crater. God willing, I will bring him back to you. But you must help, too. Even now he may be thinking of you, needing your prayers and your faith. Will you help us?”
Julie looked up at Big Dan.
“I will,” she promised. “I will never give up. Big Dan, until we find him.”
(To be continued)