The Flyer by Marjorie Jones Page B

hounds of hell were chasing him. As far as he was concerned, they were. “I’m Dr. Stanwood. Helen. This is your mother?”
    Nanara nodded. “One of them. I’ve been meaning to come by and see you. I’d hoped you could give me something for her eyes.”
    “Come and see me? You live in Port Hedland?”
    “Not quite that far, but my employer was going to bring me with him on his next trip. I’m a Jillaroo on the Castle-Winters Station outside of Marble Bar. So, is there something you can do for her?”
    Helen taught Nanara how to wash her mother’s eye with clean water, apply an ointment, and wrap the gauze snugly around her mother’s head.
    “You have a nice touch for this sort of thing, Nanara,” Helen commented.
    “Thanks, ma’am. I suppose I’ve had a fair bit of practice. When the jacks need tending, they all seem to come to me.” She shrugged, her long hair brushing her shoulders.
    “Have you ever considered nursing?” When Nanara pulled the wrap too tightly, Helen added, “Not quite like that. Loosen it just a little … that’s right.”
    “Nursing? Do you think I could? Being a blackfella and all? I don’t know of many whitefellas who would want me to do anything like that.”
    “I suppose you have a point. But in a settlement out here in the bush, I can’t imagine anyone caring too much. I could really use the help.”
    “I’ll have to give it some thought.”
    “Please, do. And I could definitely use your help for the rest of the day here, in any case.”
    “I’d be happy to.”
    When they finished wrapping Nanara’s mother’s infected eye, Helen and her lovely new assistant moved on to a little boy with an infected gash on his leg, and several others with minor injuries. At some point, a line had formed, and her patients came to her, more out of curiosity than injury, she surmised. As the hours passed, she met more people than she could ever hope to remember. Finally, the line dwindled, and all that remained was a girl, no more than fourteen years old, who stood with a tiny baby in her arms. Not nearly as dark as her mother, the infant had been covered in some kind of substance Helen couldn’t identify. “Do you need my help?”
    The young mother nodded. “She cries. All the bleed in’ time.”
    “Well, she’s a baby.”
    “She cries
a lot”
    Nanara stood quietly, placing a few items into Helen’s medical bag and picking up the sack of waste. “I’ll just burn this for you, Helen.”
    “Thank you so much, Nanara. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
    The native girl smiled and hurried to take care of her self-assigned chore.
    Something rustled to Helen’s left. Almost at the same time, she caught a glimpse of Paul from the corner of her eye. He paused, then leaned against a tree, obviously affording her patient a measure of privacy. He had such a knack for knowing what to do and when to do it. It was instinctual for him, she realized. Too bad she’d been born with such poor instincts herself. There was no helping it, however, so she turned her gaze back to the young girl and her child. Helen patted the ground beside her and waited for the girl to sit.
    “Being a mother is a hard job,” she offered.
    “I had a baby last year, but she died.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” Helen swallowed the sudden rise of tears. She must learn to control her emotions. She couldn’t be a good doctor if every time she heard a sad story, she failed to function logically.
    “The others are good mothers.”
    “I’m sure you’re a good mother, too.”
    “What makes a good mother?” She shifted the baby to her breast, and the infant latched on with vigorous suckling.
    “Are you worried you won’t be a good mother?”
    “I told you. She cries so much. I don’t think she loves me.”
    “How old is she?” Helen leaned over the feasting babe and ran the tip of her finger over its bare foot. The newborn immediately curled her knee upward in positive