the homestead’s walls and windows rattled.
Hands clamped over her ears, Kitty braced for the final explosion. The end of her world.
She tried to remember the rest of the psalm.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
Not daring to breathe, she waited.
And waited.
Eventually she had to breathe and when she took her hands from her ears, she heard . . .
nothing
. . .
Not a sound. Not even a distant thrum of additional planes. The bush had returned to its everyday, comforting silence.
Cautiously incredulous, Kitty uncurled. She’d been in a tight ball for so long that her stomach muscles and her knees complained as she eased out from beneath the table and tiptoed to the window, pushing it open to peer into the purple-grey dusk.
She half-expected to see flames, but the paddocks and the bush looked much as they always had. She pushed the casement as wide open as she could and leaned out. A fine mist of rain drizzled onto her face. It had been raining on and off for days and she smelled wet earth, wet grass, wet eucalyptus leaves. She smelled the sweet scent of the mock orange bushes growing in tubs on either side of the stairs and the lilies that had grown from bulbs sent out from Scotland by Aunty Lil’s family. Right until she’d died, Aunty Lil had kept them alive with water from the washing copper.
There was no sign of a plane. But Kitty knew that a plane had crashed out there, somewhere on Moonlight Plains land . . . which meant . . .
Oh, help
. It meant the enemy was out there. A pilot, at least, and probably crew. Japanese airmen, who might be dead, or injured, or worse –
alive
.
Enemy invaders, living and breathing or mildly injured, could, at this very moment, be creeping towards the homestead.
Night was closing in.
And Kitty was alone.
At the thought of those menacing, evil shadows creeping towards her, she threw a hasty glance at her great-uncle’s shotgun hanging on the wall. Her stomach lurched at the thought of using it, but she might not have a choice.
Then, with something of a shock, a new thought struck.
Could they be our planes?
Could an Australian pilot have crashed?
It was such a comforting idea that she felt a burst of courage and she pictured herself rushing out into the rainy evening and rescuing brave Australian airmen.
But her bravado vanished almost as quickly as it flared. It was much more likely that the airmen were Japs, and she’d heard shocking, terrifying stories about what they did, especially to women.
Now, fear – real, scalding fear – exploded in her chest. A moan burst from her, and she gulped it down as she struggled with her conscience.
The appalling thing was, she had no choice but to go out there. She would never forgive herself if good Aussie men died, or lay in the rain in agony, simply because she was a coward. If there was a tiny chance that the airmen were Australian, she really should go.
Oh, help
. She wasn’t brave enough, was she? Her instinct was to dive back under the table and stay there. But cowering in the house and letting the Japs find her was possibly even more dangerous. She would have a better chance of hiding in the bush.
With that thought, Kitty felt a new sense of purpose, a realisation that this was her chance to show her mettle, to prove to herself and to her grandfather that she wasn’t the weak, spineless girl he believed her to be. After all, there was no hiding from this war, and when the time came, everyone had to be brave. Now it was her turn. She had to find out who she was dealing with, and if it was Japs she’d have to head for the bush and just keep going, even if it took days. That was what her great-uncle would do.
She would take a lantern, but she wouldn’t light it yet. She didn’t want to give herself away.
I’ll have to take the shotgun, too.
Nervously, she lifted the weapon from the wall. Just the feel of the gun’s smooth timber stock and cold metal barrel brought back the fiasco of two weeks
Hands clamped over her ears, Kitty braced for the final explosion. The end of her world.
She tried to remember the rest of the psalm.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
Not daring to breathe, she waited.
And waited.
Eventually she had to breathe and when she took her hands from her ears, she heard . . .
nothing
. . .
Not a sound. Not even a distant thrum of additional planes. The bush had returned to its everyday, comforting silence.
Cautiously incredulous, Kitty uncurled. She’d been in a tight ball for so long that her stomach muscles and her knees complained as she eased out from beneath the table and tiptoed to the window, pushing it open to peer into the purple-grey dusk.
She half-expected to see flames, but the paddocks and the bush looked much as they always had. She pushed the casement as wide open as she could and leaned out. A fine mist of rain drizzled onto her face. It had been raining on and off for days and she smelled wet earth, wet grass, wet eucalyptus leaves. She smelled the sweet scent of the mock orange bushes growing in tubs on either side of the stairs and the lilies that had grown from bulbs sent out from Scotland by Aunty Lil’s family. Right until she’d died, Aunty Lil had kept them alive with water from the washing copper.
There was no sign of a plane. But Kitty knew that a plane had crashed out there, somewhere on Moonlight Plains land . . . which meant . . .
Oh, help
. It meant the enemy was out there. A pilot, at least, and probably crew. Japanese airmen, who might be dead, or injured, or worse –
alive
.
Enemy invaders, living and breathing or mildly injured, could, at this very moment, be creeping towards the homestead.
Night was closing in.
And Kitty was alone.
At the thought of those menacing, evil shadows creeping towards her, she threw a hasty glance at her great-uncle’s shotgun hanging on the wall. Her stomach lurched at the thought of using it, but she might not have a choice.
Then, with something of a shock, a new thought struck.
Could they be our planes?
Could an Australian pilot have crashed?
It was such a comforting idea that she felt a burst of courage and she pictured herself rushing out into the rainy evening and rescuing brave Australian airmen.
But her bravado vanished almost as quickly as it flared. It was much more likely that the airmen were Japs, and she’d heard shocking, terrifying stories about what they did, especially to women.
Now, fear – real, scalding fear – exploded in her chest. A moan burst from her, and she gulped it down as she struggled with her conscience.
The appalling thing was, she had no choice but to go out there. She would never forgive herself if good Aussie men died, or lay in the rain in agony, simply because she was a coward. If there was a tiny chance that the airmen were Australian, she really should go.
Oh, help
. She wasn’t brave enough, was she? Her instinct was to dive back under the table and stay there. But cowering in the house and letting the Japs find her was possibly even more dangerous. She would have a better chance of hiding in the bush.
With that thought, Kitty felt a new sense of purpose, a realisation that this was her chance to show her mettle, to prove to herself and to her grandfather that she wasn’t the weak, spineless girl he believed her to be. After all, there was no hiding from this war, and when the time came, everyone had to be brave. Now it was her turn. She had to find out who she was dealing with, and if it was Japs she’d have to head for the bush and just keep going, even if it took days. That was what her great-uncle would do.
She would take a lantern, but she wouldn’t light it yet. She didn’t want to give herself away.
I’ll have to take the shotgun, too.
Nervously, she lifted the weapon from the wall. Just the feel of the gun’s smooth timber stock and cold metal barrel brought back the fiasco of two weeks
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