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‘From when I was a kid,’ he said. ‘I remember going out there the first time with Pop. You could only drive to within about six miles of his hut, then walked in the rest of the way. He had a horse and cart, would you believe, and would drive you back to the car in that. He’d once felled huge cedars in the forest, but now he pulls out old fallen timber and cuts it for firewood. Nowadays, the track gets you to within about two miles of the hut, but he still has the horse and cart to haul the cut wood to your car.’
‘How does he exist?’ Emma asked. ‘What does he do for food? Does he take the horse and cart to town?’
‘Until recently he did, although I’ve a feeling he’s stopped coming—maybe his horse died. One of the home care people goes out from time to time to check on him, and he’s had a phone connected so he can order anything he needs and someone in town will always take it out. I’ve sometimes taken my little chopper in there—actually took it in with a couple of friends a year or two ago to clear a space big enough for the rescue helicopter—but on the whole, he’d far rather people stayed away.’
They’d pulled up at the base, where Dave was waiting for them.
‘As far as I can make out, they don’t know what happened but he’ll probably need to be brought back to town for checking,’ Dave said. ‘He should be kept in town now. He’s far too old to be out there on his own.’
Dave looked from Marty to Emma.
‘If you’ve got Emma, do you need me?’ he asked. ‘It’s only that I’ve left my eldest looking after the younger kids and the baby’s not that well.’
Emma looked at Marty—he was the boss in these situations.
‘It’s fine with me,’ she said, and he shrugged.
‘Me, too,’ he said, but Emma guessed it wasn’t all that fine.
Was he wanting to spend as little time with her as she was with him?
Dave had brought her bag from the hospital so she climbed in, settling in Mark’s seat, and wondering if Marty would suggest she move up front.
He didn’t, which really didn’t bother her, although as they flew through the night she realised she wouldn’t have minded seeing the forest at night, looking for animals the searchlight might pick out.
It was a short flight, and they landed not far from a small shack, where a light flickered uncertainly.
An old kerosene lantern, Emma realised when she followed Marty into the shack.
Ken had managed to crawl to where the phone stood on a small table, but once there had obviously collapsed. She knelt beside the old man’s body while Marty held the lamp a little closer for her.
‘This light won’t do,’ he said, setting the lamp down on the table where the phone must have been. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’
But Emma knew it wasn’t necessary to have more light. Ken was barely conscious, his pulse thready and his breathing raspy and shallow.
Yet he had the strength to grasp her wrist.
‘Don’ take me from me home,’ he whispered. ‘Le’ me die in me own bed.’
‘Marty,’ she called softly. ‘Can you help me lift him onto his bed?’
He appeared beside her.
‘Surely we should be lifting him onto a stretcher?’ he asked, and she shook her head.
‘He called for help,’ Marty persisted.
‘I’ll take his legs,’ Emma said, ignoring his protest.
She leant down towards Ken.
‘We’ll lift you onto the bed, it shouldn’t hurt.’
For a moment, she thought Marty would argue, but in the end he knelt and gently lifted the man into his arms, dispensing with Emma’s services and carrying him to the old bed in a corner of the room, wrapping a faded quilt around him to keep him warm.
Emma followed, bending to examine him, seeing the distortion of his face that told of a stroke, the blue colour of his lips, and the old man’s struggle to breathe.
She took Ken’s hand in both of hers, and held it tightly.
‘This is a beautiful, peaceful place,’ she said quietly.
Ken smiled.
‘Built it all meself,’ he told her, and she could still hear pride in the weak, quavery voice.
‘Found the clearing when I was cutting big stuff, saw the creek nearby, and knew it was for me.’
The words took a long time to come out, and were indistinct at best, yet Emma knew the old man wanted her—or them—to understand.
‘Been a good home,’ he said. ‘Good life.’
His eyes closed and it seemed as if he dozed, then the hand Emma still held squeezed her fingers.
‘You won’t leave me?’
Emma gently returned the pressure.
‘No way, Ken. Marty and I will be right here.’
