Moonlight Plains by Barbara Hannay Page B

Townsville, giving in to Andy on that final night had felt so grown up. But now, just a matter of weeks later, she felt years older.
    This evening, she felt as if she’d had to mature by decades in just a matter of hours. And when she looked at Bobby’s almost colourless face, she feared her most difficult challenge lay ahead.
    She hoped Andy was okay. She imagined he was probably embarrassed about his rushed and unromantic farwell and she knew he’d be worried about her. Now, with six weeks’ distance from that alarming night, she could think about Andy more calmly.
    She found herself remembering snippets of their past, like the time Andy first invited her over to his house to see the bantam chicks he’d raised. Such tiny, fluffy little balls they’d been, and he’d handled them so gently as he’d offered her one to hold. She’d been entranced, just as her grandmother had been a few years later when Andy had volunteered to mend the heirloom rocking chair.
    ‘It’s English oak,’ Andy had said. ‘That’s hard to come by, Mrs M, but I think I know where I can get hold of a piece.’
    He’d fixed the chair as good as new and her grandmother had been overjoyed. Recalling those happier times now, Kitty hated to think he might be somewhere in Malaya . . . dangerously wounded like Bobby . . . lying among strangers.
    ‘Angel?’
    Bobby’s soft voice broke into her thoughts.
    ‘You ever go to church?’ he asked without opening his eyes.
    ‘Yes,’ Kitty told him. ‘Before I came to live here, I went to church all the time with my grandparents.’
    ‘You like to sing?’
    ‘Um . . . I do, yes.’
    ‘I knew it. You got such a sweet voice. I bet you sing like Deanna Durbin.’
    Bobby seemed to fall asleep again then, and after a bit Kitty got up and tiptoed across the bare floorboards. Carefully, she opened the wardrobe and took out clean clothes, went to the kitchen and bathed in a dish at the sink and changed her clothes. She felt much better once she was clean and had changed into a dress. She thought about making a sandwich, but she would check on Bobby first.
    As she entered the bedroom, a floorboard creaked.
    Bobby stirred. ‘Angel,’ he murmured.
    ‘How are you?’
    Instead of answering, he asked a question. ‘You know any nice hymns?’
    Kitty gulped. ‘I – I guess.’ She came up beside the bed again.
    ‘Can you sing something now?’
    Although Kitty loved to sing – in fact, she was actually a little vain about her voice – she didn’t like the track of Bobby’s thoughts. First angels and now hymns. Had he decided he was dying?
    ‘You’re going to be all right, Bobby. Are you sure you want a hymn?’
    There was no response at first, but then he gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Just something . . . nice . . . reminds me of home.’
    Home. Where was his home? Kitty didn’t want to ask him. He’d been talking too much already.
    ‘What about “Summertime”?’ She hummed the opening bars of the popular song from
Porgy and Bess
. ‘It’s not a hymn. I suppose it’s more of a lullaby, but I’ve always thought it was very soothing.’
    Eyes closed, Bobby smiled. ‘Yeah, sing that. That’s real nice.’
    So Kitty sang. She was sure Bobby slept through most of it, but if her songs worked like lullabies, all the better. She sang ‘Summertime’ and ‘Spring in My Heart’ and ‘Home, Sweet Home’.
    She was holding Bobby’s hand and singing ‘Danny Boy’, crooning the words as softly and sweetly as she could, when she heard a noise that sounded very much like the squeak of the back door. And then footsteps.
    A moment later, Ed appeared in the doorway. He’d taken off his boots, but he was still wearing the army greatcoat, which was dark with rain. His hair was plastered to his skull. He stood for a moment staring at Kitty, his expression a disturbing mix of delight and sorrow.
    ‘What happened?’ she called softly. ‘Was the creek up?’
    ‘Yeah,