Читать книгу Four Weddings - Fiona Lowe - Страница 8
ОглавлениеBEC LEANED AGAINST the supporting stilts of the thatched hut, which doubled as a clinic. She watched the scrawny bronze-coloured chickens pecking at the sun-baked earth, ever hopeful of finding some seed. Fanning herself with her hat, she was taking a five-minute breather from unpacking the medical supplies Tom had brought with them.
The bone-shaking four-wheel-drive journey to get to this small village, snuggled deep into the valley between towering rugged mountains, had taken five hours. The flight in the tiny plane to Lai Chau yesterday had been luxurious in comparison.
Her hand still ached from gripping the grab-handle above the window of the vehicle, trying to avoid being thrown against Tom or into his lap. Terror lanced her at the secret knowledge that it might not have been an awful experience if she had landed there.
But it would have been bad. Really bad. She couldn’t trust her instincts when it came to men. She got it so wrong every time. First her father and then Nick. Both of them had only given pain, not love. She rubbed the ache in her leg. She carried the legacy of her time spent with both of them every day.
She avoided men as much as she could, both professionally and personally. Keep a safe distance. That had been her mode of operation since she was twenty. Anxiety-generated sweat broke out on her brow as the reality of what she’d done—was doing—hit her.
For the first time in forever she’d broken her own rule.
First she’d travelled alone with an unknown man. Now she was in a village where she didn’t speak the dialect and her only back-up was Tom. A man she knew little about other than that he was a respected doctor.
She’d used all her street smarts to coerce him to bring her here, her need to do something for the children of Vietnam overriding the safety net she always cast about herself.
She hated the fact he’d correctly challenged her. She’d let her enthusiasm cloud her vision. How could she really help unless she truly understood the country? As much as she considered her inheritance ‘tainted’ money, she wanted to put it to good use. By the end of this trip she’d have a much clearer direction.
Since they’d left Hanoi, Tom had been polite, considerate and aloof. He’d arranged a lovely room for her when they’d overnighted in Lai Chau. Granted, it had been as far away from his as possible with a grove of trees between them, but that had suited her perfectly. Even at that distance he’d managed to feature in her dreams.
That morning Tom had introduced her to their interpreter, Hin, and with an appropriate professional manner and much bowing he’d made sure she’d been welcomed by the local health care worker.
She knew Tom really didn’t want her here and merely tolerated her presence. Perhaps she’d allowed for a safety net after all.
‘Drink?’ Tom appeared behind her, offering her a bottle of water.
She turned and smiled, surprise snaking through her at his unexpected thoughtfulness. ‘Thanks.’ She twisted off the blue cap. ‘Now, this sort of heat I can cope with. The humidity of the lowlands is almost too much for a girl from Perth.’
‘At least you grew up in heat. Growing up on a dairy farm in the rainbelt of southern Victoria was no preparation at all.’ He tipped his head back and gulped his drink down.
She tried to look away but her gaze was transfixed on the movement of his Adam’s apple against his corded, muscular neck.
‘That view’s pretty amazing isn’t it?’
She coughed, choking on her water while her cheeks flared with heat. Had he seen her blatant staring?
He swept his arm out at the panorama of green and grey mountains that ringed the village, their lower aspects carved and defined by terraces of emerald-green rice paddies. ‘It looks so stunning and yet it makes life so damn hard for the locals.’
‘Floods?’ She’d seen debris, evidence that the Song Da River had in the past broken its banks.
‘Floods and mudslides are one problem. The narrow valley means the river becomes a raging torrent and there’s little room to escape. Add in the remoteness of the area, not being on a trade route and the government rightly cracking down on the opium-growing and it all means money is tight and so are ways to earn it.’
‘What about tourism?’ A thirst for knowledge gripped her.
‘That’s helped Lai Chau but it’s only the really intrepid tourists that come out here.’ He sighed. ‘We even have trouble attracting local health workers. Sung, who you met when we arrived, could earn a lot more further south.’
‘But she’s here because she loves the place.’
His gaze intensified, as if he was really looking at her for the first time. ‘How did you work that out so quickly?’
She shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable at his scrutiny and yet energised. This was the first sign he’d shown that he didn’t think she was as flaky as his snap judgement had deemed her to be. ‘You don’t have to speak the language to understand. Observation is a telling tool.’
‘True.’ He recapped his water bottle.
‘So what brought you here?’ She’d wanted to ask that question since they’d met, but as he’d spent most of their travelling time listening to his MP3 player or avoiding her at the hotel, the opportunity hadn’t arisen.
‘Work.’ The single word snapped out quickly. ‘Are you ready for work?’
His abruptness startled her. ‘Absolutely.’
He raised his brows. ‘That’s a favourite word of yours.’
‘Is it? Have I used it before?’
He laughed, a deep, melodious sound that wrapped around her like a blanket on a cold night, comforting and secure.
Scaring her down to her core.
No man had ever meant security in her world—only tyranny and fear. She created her own security. Keeping a distance from people meant keeping safe. She had no intention of changing.
His face became more serious. ‘We’re starting with a mother and baby clinic. You’re on weighing and measuring babies. Then Sung can take you gardening. I hope you’ve got a green thumb. The home garden is one of the keys in battling child malnutrition.’ He grinned, a wide smile, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling around the edges.
For the first time she caught a glimpse of Asia in his face, around his eyes and cheeks. Nah, you’re imagining that. Surely people called him Dr Thông because that name was as close to Tom as the language allowed. A farm boy from Victoria, Dr Tom Bracken was as Aussie as they came.
He walked in front of her, his strong brown legs striding quickly over the short distance to the clinic. She suddenly realised he’d neatly steered the conversation away from himself. He hadn’t answered her question at all.
* * *
A line of women dressed in colourful clothing snaked around the thatched clinic, their heads covered in fabric that looked strikingly similar to Scottish tartan. Long dresses of green, red, blue and black were covered in intricate embroidered patterns—a collage of colour.
Babies almost rigid from being overdressed, sat upright in their papooses, nestled against their mothers’ backs.
The first time Tom had come to this region he’d thought he’d left Vietnam. The hill tribe minorities were very different from the coastal people and not much was familiar.
He glanced over at Bec, observing her reaction. Her tanned oval face was flushed with heat and loose strands of hair clung to her temples, glued there by sweat. But curiosity danced on her face, melding with respect as she bowed to the mothers, cooed to the babies and gently coaxed the toddlers away from their mothers’ legs. And she achieved it all with hand signals and smiles.
She’s done this before. Grudging admiration surfaced, which he quickly tempered. It’s early days. ‘Remember to use Hin.’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Her eyes twinkled for an instant, their animation suddenly fading to match her almost blank expression. As if it was wrong to enjoy some light-hearted banter.
He couldn’t work her out. For a woman who’d been so determined to come with him on this trip she’d been extremely tense around him. She was far more relaxed with the patients.
But he didn’t have time to think about that. They were there to work. ‘Any child who falls into the red zone when you put the mid upper arm circumference bracelet on them is cause for concern.’
She nodded, her face now serious, all traces of teasing gone. ‘Right, I give them a swing in the weigh sling and I measure them on this.’ She rolled out a bamboo mat and placed the measuring stick next to it.
‘Any children needing supplemental feeding I’ll keep here with their mothers. Between Hin, Sung and me, we’ll have it sorted.’ She washed her hands with quick-dry antibacterial solution. ‘You’d better skedaddle and see the men.’
She’d just dismissed him. He tried to suppress the rising indignation sweeping through him. He should be pleased she was competent and he could get on with what he needed to do. Hell, he wasn’t there to hold her hand.
He shook off the mantle of reluctance to leave her and headed over to greet the men.
* * *
Three hours later, drenched in sweat, and fighting visions of sliding into a clear, cool stream and lying under a waterfall, Bec examined her fiftieth child. She knew the stats about child malnutrition in Vietnam, and this village unfortunately skewed the average upwards.
And yet some children thrived. Were the families better off? Or did they just do things differently? She scribbled a note to herself. This was the sort of stuff she had to find out. She planned to question Sung closely when they went on their village vegetable garden tour. She had to maximise every moment of working there.
Her snap decision to come to the village was turning out to be the right thing after all. She hugged the knowledge to herself. It wasn’t like she and Tom were spending any real time together anyway.
Tom had happily left her alone to run this clinic while he did his work. A plan rolled out in her head. They’d spend their days here involved in their own projects. She could work and learn, and still stick to her rule of keeping a safe distance. It was a win-win situation.
She glanced up to the next person in line. A woman stepped forward, her face impassive, carrying a toddler who lay limp and listless in her arms.
Dehydration. Bec’s radar kicked in the moment she saw the sunken eyes in the child’s small face. ‘Hin, I need you. Can you, please, ask this mother how long her child has been sick and what the symptoms are?’
The interpreter, an easygoing young man in his twenties, spoke rapidly to the mother who responded and looked beseechingly at Bec as she sank to the ground, laying the child on the mat.
Bec knew why. This little girl was desperately ill. And she’d stake a bet the mother was pretty sick, too.
‘She says the child has water coming from her bottom and she has been vomiting,’ Hin succinctly translated.
‘Has anyone else in the family been sick?’
More rapid-fire dialect spun around Bec. She desperately wished she could understand the words. But she could understand the emotions behind the words.
‘This woman has been sick today. She has been vomiting and has had pains in her legs.’
‘Tell her we can help.’ Diarrhoea and vomiting were pretty common out here but Bec was worried by the complaint about pains in the legs.
Hin relayed Bec’s words and then listened. ‘She says many are sick. Some are here in the line, others are too sick to walk.’
Bec closed her eyes for a moment and breathed out a long, slow breath. She touched the woman’s shoulder reassuringly while her mind raced. ‘Right. Hin, you go with Sung and talk to everyone who’s waiting. Find out who has these symptoms and put those people together in another line.
‘Ask if they have relatives who are sick as well. Draw a mud map of the village and mark on it every household that is sick. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She grabbed her hat and ran out of the hut toward the men’s clinic. So much for working on her own.
‘Tom!’ She stood outside the hut and called, not wanting to barge into the clinic and undo the trust he’d built up.
He appeared almost immediately, smiling when he saw her. ‘Finished already?’
She shook her head, ignoring the feeling in her gut his smile created. ‘No, I think I’m just starting. I need your help.’
He raised his brows. ‘Really? How so?’
She took no notice of the gentle jibe—she knew her independence and distance could sometimes grate in a team situation. ‘I have a woman and child with severe dehydration.’
‘That’s pretty common, Bec. You’ll need to mix up the oral rehydration solution.’ A perplexed look crossed his face. ‘I’m pretty sure I unpacked those boxes and stacked them in the women’s hut when we arrived. Do you want me to look?’
Again, his thoughtfulness surprised her. She wasn’t used to men acting like this. Not toward her, anyway. ‘Thanks, but I know where the sachets are. My real concern is that this woman is complaining of diarrhoea, vomiting and leg cramps.’
His head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting hers. ‘Does anyone else have the symptoms?’
She nodded slowly, knowing exactly where his mind was going. To the same conclusion she’d drawn. ‘I’ve got Hin and Sung questioning the villagers. It sounds like cholera, doesn’t it?’
‘Damn it!’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Cholera’s so contagious. It races through a community like wildfire. We need to set up a separate clinic, isolate all the affected people, start treatment and find the source.’
‘As I have the first few patients in my hut, I guess we make that the isolation ward.’ All thoughts of barrier nursing came pouring back into her head. ‘Do we have chlorine to kill the bacterium?’
Worry lines scored his forehead. ‘We do, but we also need it to wash their clothes. A laundry will have to be set up … I need to speak with the village elders.’
‘Sung and I will get started on the makeshift quarantine area. I need to get the electrolyte solution into that child. I’ll see you the moment you’re back from meeting with the elders.’ Please, don’t be too long.
‘Good plan. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Did he read minds? ‘Great.’ She turned to go.
‘Bec.’ One syllable and yet it held both caution and concern.
She spun back to see his face filled with a mixture of authoritative control and unease.
‘Only drink the bottled water from our supply and only eat the food that Sung has prepared. I don’t need you getting sick.’
A rush of emotion swirled inside her, battering the protective guard she’d erected long ago, frightening her.
Keep a safe distance.
She took in a deep breath and reinforced her guard. His caring tone, the worried look on his face didn’t indicate concern for her. It was concern for the village. He needed all the help he could get to deal with this epidemic.
She tossed her head and flashed him her best ‘don’t boss me’ look, similar to the one she’d used in Hanoi. The one that hid her true feelings. ‘The same goes for you, too, Tom. I don’t want to waste rehydration solution on someone who should have known better.’
She ran back to the clinic, thankful that the huge job in front of her wouldn’t allow any time to think about a broad-shouldered, dark-haired doctor with deep worry lines between his chocolate-brown eyes. Lines she longed to smooth out.
* * *
‘Tom, I’m sorry, but I think we need another IV.’
He glanced up from examining a woman whose eerie calm worried him intensely. She clung to life by a thread. In three days they hadn’t lost a patient and he didn’t want this woman to be their first.
Bec stood next to him, petite and exhausted from days of almost non-stop work. She should have been prostrate with fatigue but her strength and implacable determination kept her going.
She’d organised a remarkable clinic in a short space of time and with limited resources. Everyone who entered the isolation ward washed their hands and feet at the chlorine station beside the door.
Patients lay on bamboo mats with one member of their family to care for them. Bec had organised the healthy men into a team to dig a new latrine and the area around the clinic had been quarantined with a fence. Fires burned continuously outside, boiling water to make it potable. Further away, women boiled the clothes of the sick.
‘We’ve got plenty of oral solution but intravenous packs are getting low.’ She worried at her bottom lip with her top teeth.
His blood surged.
Fury at himself immediately followed. What the hell was wrong with him? Vomiting patients surrounded him, he was cloaked in heat, operating in the most basic of medical facilities, and now his body was reacting like a hormone-fuelled teenager’s.
Bec was a nurse, a much-needed colleague, nothing more.
Make that your mantra. ‘If we have a patient who needs an IV, we insert it. And we hope the new supplies arrive before we run out.’ He rose slowly, weariness vibrating through him.
‘Can you insert the IV now, please? Then you need to take a break.’ Clear, violet-blue eyes bored through him.
Indignation bristled. ‘You should talk. You’ve been going for longer than me. I get to sit down when I do my daily briefings with the elders. So I’ll insert the IV, you do another oral rehydration round and then we’ll both take a break.’
She held his gaze, her mouth firm. Suddenly, the corners twitched upwards and she smiled. ‘Fair enough. But only because the local health worker from the next village has arrived to help.’
Her smile took away the tension that seemed to dog her.
He couldn’t help grinning back. ‘Deal.’
Hin explained to the mother of the child about inserting the IV and Bec held both the mother’s and the child’s hands. Tom continued to be amazed at how she seemed to channel supportive care and understanding to these women and children.
Somehow he managed to slide the cannula into the almost collapsed veins of the dehydrated child. As he reached to release the tourniquet, Bec moved forward to tape the needle securely to the skin.
Their hands collided, his palm gently skating over her fingers.
She flinched, her hand suddenly rigid, hovering over the child’s arm. Tension vibrated up her arm and through her body. A moment stretched out, her hand suspended, fingers taut.
He glanced at her as he released the tourniquet. Her colour, usually tanned and healthy, had faded to ivory. Her skin stretched tightly across her high cheekbones.
She moved jerkily, her fingers flexing before she quickly taped the drip in place. ‘I can’t believe how effective the oral rehydration solution is. I would have thought antibiotics would have been required.’ The words had rushed out, tumbling over each other.
Her reaction to an accidental touch mystified him completely. But an inexplicable need to protect her surged inside him. He matched her conversation, hoping to put her at ease. ‘It’s amazing what some salt water, sugar, potassium, magnesium and other electrolytes can do.’
He ran his hand through his hair. ‘Although it’s the glucose that does the trick. It means the sodium moves into the gut, taking the electrolytes and fluid with it, and that’s the key to rehydration. Simple yet so effective and life saving.’
‘Talking simple but effective, I can smell the rice soup Sung’s made for us.’ Bec stood up, her usual ‘in-control’ demeanour back in place. ‘Let’s go.’ She waited for him to start walking, as if she didn’t trust he would follow her.
‘We need a complete break so how about we eat outside?’ He led the way, hearing her gentle, uneven footsteps behind him, her slight limp more audible than noticeable.
They sat under the shade of a tree, clutching their bowls of rice soup as reverently as if they were highly coveted and rare French truffles.
Bec had chosen a position that left a good metre between them. He noticed she did that a lot. In the truck coming up she’d sat so close to the door that if she’d been any closer she would have been outside the vehicle. And the flinching thing when they’d inserted the drip. What had that been about?
If she feared him, why had she insisted on coming here with him? A guarded reserve and general aloofness toward him seemed to clash at times with real care and concern. But with the women and children she lost that tenseness. He couldn’t work her out.
She put her bowl down. ‘So we’re winning, right? Today we’ve only had five new cases?’
‘We have. This time. But until we can find out a way to truly make a change in a tradition, this sort of outbreak will continue.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes sparked with genuine interest. He could almost see her brain ticking over.
‘Human excreta fertiliser.’
‘Really?’
He smiled at her dumbfounded look. ‘The government is making headway by using the local area health workers, but it’s a long, slow haul, especially in remote communities like this. This practice dates back centuries and the beliefs about it bringing good crops are well entrenched.’
‘And they only get one crop a year …’ Her voice trailed away.
She understood. A warm glow burned inside him. ‘That’s right. Plus we’re close to the border with China here and sometimes cholera comes in that way. But no outbreaks have been reported up there so I think this outbreak must have been started with unwashed vegetables and then it was propelled and promoted by a lack of handwashing and food-preparation skills.’
Bec pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and smoothed it on her knee. ‘This is a copy of the mud map of the village. Most of the cases came from this area.’ She pointed with her finger.
His gaze fixed on her fine, tapered fingers as he moved toward her to study the diagram.
A line of tension ran through her but she didn’t move away. ‘Why did this section of the village get sick and the other areas didn’t?’
‘We could surmise that they used the fertiliser.’
‘True, but this is also the area where there is the most malnutrition.’ She turned toward him, almost vibrating with excitement. ‘Families all live together or very close to each other so we could conclude that what some extended families do in their daily life can seem to guard them against illness, whereas the practices of other families lead to illness and malnutrition for their children.’
Her energy encased him. ‘So what are you saying?’
Enthusiasm glowed on her face. ‘What if we get the women in the village to identify which women and children are not malnourished? If they can make the connection that some families are eating well and are not often sick then surely they will want to find out how.’
Exhilaration swept through him at her insight. ‘So instead of us teaching a new way of doing things, the villagers discover it and change the way they have been doing things, based on a positive role model.’
She tilted her head. ‘Yes and no. We foster the change by setting up opportunities like your gardens. We use positive role models and the health care workers.’ She wrinkled her nose in thought. ‘Perhaps cooking classes but they gather the food first … I don’t know, I’m making it up as I go along.’
He gazed at her, stunned at what she’d just come up with.
‘I think I owe you an apology.’
Lines scored her brow. ‘Why?’
‘When I met you in Hanoi and you seemed so vague about what you wanted to do, how you wanted to help, I thought …’
‘You thought I was flaky.’
Her matter-of-fact tone slugged him. ‘Sorry.’
She shrugged. ‘You had a valid point. I was vague. I do want to fix it all. You’ve forced me to focus. I wanted to rush in and now I see that I need to take my time and work out what I want to do, how I can best help.’
He shot her a glance. ‘Or how you’re going to generate funds to do it.’
She sipped her tea. ‘Oh, I’ve got the money, that isn’t the problem.’
Her naïvety both entranced and frustrated him. ‘It’s going to take more than a few thousand dollars to start up a clinic.’
‘Will two hundred and fifty thousand dollars do it?’
He choked on his tea. ‘You have a quarter of a million dollars at your disposal?’
She grimaced, her expression unexpectedly hard. ‘I do.’
Her expression worried him. ‘Are you certain you want to use all of it in aid? I mean, I assume you’ve allowed enough for your own needs.’
‘I won’t have anything to do with that money.’ The words, almost menacing, rolled out on a low growl. ‘It needs to work off its origins and do some good in the world. Every child deserves a childhood so they can grow up to be a productive adult. This money will help them achieve that.’
She stood up abruptly. ‘We need to get back.’
Before he could start to ask even one of the numerous questions that had slammed into his mind, she’d turned and marched off toward the clinic, her hair tumbling out of its restrictive band, softening the rigid line of her shoulders.
Part of him wanted to go to her and let his fingers caress the tension from her shoulders, entwine with the softness of her hair …
Stop it. It was official—sleep deprivation had finally got to him. Massaging her shoulders—it was an insane thought. Besides, she’d hate it. Hell, she’d shuddered when his hand had accidentally touched hers.
Getting involved with a woman wasn’t an option. He’d made that decision after two failed relationships. Both women had demanded his full attention. He couldn’t offer anyone that until he’d sorted out his own life. Filled in the missing gaps. So why was he wasting time, thinking like this?
Because she intrigues you like no one else ever has.
He tried to push the voice away, empty his thoughts but Bec’s voice whooshed in. I won’t have anything to do with that money.
That statement generated more questions than answers.
He sighed. He hadn’t wanted her to come on this trip but instead of carrying her, as he’d expected he’d have to, she’d proved her worth in a thousand ways.
But the more time he spent with her the more he needed to know about her. She was a bundle of contradictions. What lay behind her determination to work here? He’d stake his life it wasn’t just a philanthropic desire.
Tom understood that well. For years he’d ignored the call of Vietnam. He was Australian. And yet he was Vietnamese. He had Australian parents who loved him. But their DNA wasn’t part of him. And Vietnam continued to call to that empty space inside him that craved answers.
He pushed himself to his feet. He was working with the best nurse he’d ever met. That was all he needed to know about her. Nothing else mattered. Everyone had their own journey and he needed to focus on his. He didn’t need to get involved in hers.
They were colleagues—pure and simple.
