Violets in February Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  copyright

  Dedication

  What People are Saying

  Glossary of Australian Slang

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  Thank you

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  Violets in February

  Clare Revell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Violets in February

  COPYRIGHT 2015 by Clare Revell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2016

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-478-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Teddy Matinde, with grateful thanks for the Swahili translations.

  What People are Saying

  Saturday’s Child

  To say I was hooked with this book would be an understatement. You get pulled in right away with Farmer Field and his belief that he could do things without God. I couldn’t put the book down in spite of the heavy demon content. The power of prayer is clear throughout. Right from the beginning it moves you to root for the safety of all the characters. ~ Janny (Amazon)

  Aussie Christmas Angel

  Do you like to visit new places? Do you like Christmas themed stories? Do you enjoy a sweet romance? Then you might want to check out this tale, based on a condensed version of a true story as explained in the author’s note at the end of the book. The major take-home value of this short story is a great one! God can use anything and all circumstances to bring about His purposes. ~JoAnn Carter

  Glossary of Australian Slang

  Ace – excellent

  Ant’s pants – the bee’s knees, think highly of yourself

  Aussie – Australian

  Av-a-go-yer-mug – traditional rallying cry usually at cricket matches

  Back of Bourke – a very long way away

  Bail out – depart angrily

  Beaut – great, fantastic

  Belt up – shut up

  Billy – tin container used to boil water in the bush

  Block – do your block, get angry

  Bloke – man

  Bludger – lazy person

  Bogged – stuck in mud or deep sand

  Bonzer – great, ripper

  Bowl of rice, not my – not my cup of tea, I don’t like it

  Brekkie - breakfast

  Bulldust – rubbish

  Bung on – put on

  Cheers mate - thanks

  Crook – sick

  Cuppa – cup of tea

  Cut lunch – sandwiches

  Digger – a soldier

  Dill – an idiot

  Don’t come the raw prawn – don’t try and fool me

  Drongo – an idiot or fool

  Dunny – outside loo

  Earbash – nagging, nonstop chatter

  Flick – get rid of something

  Galah – foolish, silly person after the bird of the same name

  G’day mate – hello, traditional Aussie greeting

  Hang on a tick – wait a minute

  How ya going – how are you doing?

  Kangaroos loose in the top paddock – crazy

  Klick - kilometer

  Knickers - underwear

  Mongrel – despicable person

  No worries – you’re welcome

  Oldies – parents

  Pom, Pommie, Pommy – English person

  Rack off – get lost

  Ratbag – mild insult, friendly term of abuse

  Sacked – fired from work

  Sanger – sandwich

  Session – long period of heavy drinking

  Sheila – woman, female

  She’ll be apples – everything is going to be OK

  Shonky – unreliable, suspect

  Shoot through – leave in a hurry

  Spit the dummy – get very upset, throw a hissy fit

  Strewth – darn it, for crying out loud

  Strine – conversation with a lot of Aussie slang

  Tracks – make tracks, go home

  Tucker – food

  Useful as an ashtray on a motorbike – unhelpful or incompetent person

  Ute – utility vehicle, pick-up truck

  Wag – skip school or work

  Whinge – complain

  Whoop whoop – the middle of nowhere

  Wobbly – temper tantrum, throw a hissy fit

  Wowser – spoilsport, old fashioned

  Zonked – really tired.

  Carnations in January shake the foundations

  Violets in February are an aid to salvation

  Daffodils in March bring betrayal and loss

  Sweet peas in April consume all the dross

  Lily of the Valley in May brings danger untold

  Roses in June show hope in a heart filled with gold

  Water lilies in July a town will submerge

  Gladioli in August love from the ash will emerge

  Forget-me-nots in September are on the front line of fear

  Marigolds in October will test her career

  Chrysanthemums in November show the burden of choice

  Holly in December lets a broken family rejoice

  The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:2

  1

  Sunshine poured through the open window of the small medical facility in the center of the mission compound deep in the jungle. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, not providing much relief from the heat or oppressive humidity of the day. The walk-in clinic was, as always, packed with everything from sick children to knife wounds to animal bites. Word had spread about the medical health center with its free medicine, and people would walk for days to reach it.

  Dr. Lucy Boyd ignored the sweat trickling down her neck and scrubs sticking to her back, as she examined the tiny baby. She raised her gaze, meeting the worried mother’s eyes with a smile. “It’s not cholera,” she said in the woman’s native tongue, Swahili. “See here?” She pointed to a small mark on the baby’s arm. “He’s been bitten. I have medicine to help. He will be fine.”

  Relief crossed the woman’s face, color returning to her dark cheeks. “Thank you, dakt
ari.”

  Lucy smiled. She’d been in the mission field here in the Congo for two years now. Despite being the only doctor for the last six months, she loved it. This was far more varied than anything she’d seen as an ED doctor back home. Most importantly this was where God wanted her and where she could serve Him the best. If they tried sending her home, she’d refuse.

  She dreaded her upcoming furlough later this year. Maybe she could defer it again. There was nothing and no one in England she particularly wanted to see. Here she’d be of some use.

  Just as the last patient for the morning left, the all too familiar roaring engine of the supply truck filled the compound, accompanied by the usual heavy metal music blasting at full volume. She sighed. It could only be one person.

  Jed Gorman. The most irritating and intimidating heathen man the Good Lord had seen fit to put on the face of the planet.

  He was the type of man she’d avoid like the plague given half the chance. And she definitely wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley. The only blessing was the fact she merely had to see him for a few minutes every two weeks when he brought the supplies. And even better, she was never alone with him. Just the thought of that turned her stomach in dread.

  She peeked through the window as the usual gaggle of children surrounded the truck, laughing and calling.

  The driver turned off the engine, opened the door and unfolded his tall frame from the truck. His long dust-filled brown hair needed washing, never mind cutting, and his white shirt and khaki trousers, which had seen better days, could do with the same treatment. The sun glinted off the metal stud in his left ear, and his beard looked even more unkempt than it had two weeks ago.

  “G’day! How ya going?” His familiar, over cheery greeting made her shudder.

  “Angels and ministers of grace defend us,” she whispered as she shook her head.

  He handed out sweets to the waiting kids. He’d be better off giving them toothpaste. She tugged the top of her scrubs down, praying he’d remembered the vaccines this time. And the other things she needed.

  The kids scattered, and as Tim Lawrence, mission director, made his way across the dusty compound to the truck, Lucy turned away from the window. She headed back to the exam table to start clearing up.

  The less time she spent in Jed Gorman’s presence, or thinking about him, the better. Picking up a cloth, she began to wipe down the surfaces with antibacterial spray. She liked to keep her surgery spotless—far safer for all concerned, that way.

  Heavy booted footsteps clomped up the wooden steps outside and across the verandah. The door swung open, and he crossed the room, no doubt bringing in dust and sand to cover her newly swept floor. She could smell him from here. The intoxicating mix of pine and woods and mint that almost conflicted with the tough guy image Jed Gorman held out around him like a shield.

  “Dr. Boyd.” His Australian accent rang through the clinic. “What’s a good looking sheila like you doing in back o’Bourke hole like this?”

  “Working, Mr. Gorman. The same thing that you are.” Her answer, just like his greeting, never changed. She turned and ran her gaze over him. His sleeves were rolled up to just above his elbows, exposing well-tanned, muscular arms wrapped around a crate. There was something about the man’s arms and the way the long vein from elbow to wrist stood out, that set her heart pounding.

  But enough of that. Her mind shouldn’t go in such directions. Besides, Jed Gorman didn’t count as a man or eye candy or anything other than a menace.

  He grinned at her. “Where do you want me?”

  Lucy jerked her head at a surface she hadn’t scrubbed down yet. “Over there. Did you bring the vaccines this time?”

  Jed hefted the wooden crate onto the counter and brushed his hands on his trousers, sending a further shower of sand everywhere. “I sure did. Along with every other item on your list. Oh, and a personal package as well.”

  Lucy smiled and pulled out the brown parcel. She ripped the paper, exposing the packaged gift wrapped in pink paper and well-padded to protect it. She opened it, ripples of pleasure making her smile widen. Dried violets, pressed into a glass frame. Along with a birthday card. She’d have to hide that or everyone would know.

  “So, who’s sending ya flowers? Boyfriend?”

  She slid the card into her scrubs pocket. “My mother. I love violets, but they don’t travel well.” She set the frame down and continued to unpack the box.

  Jed leaned against the doorframe, his eyes following her every move. “Don’t you get bored out here, Dr. Boyd?”

  She glanced up at him. “I don’t have time to get bored. There’s always plenty to do.”

  “Makes sense.” His eyes glinted wickedly, and he ran his tongue over his lips. “I mean, with you being the only woman in a camp full of men.”

  She scowled. “That is not what I meant. There are far too many sick people who need my help.”

  His grin turned into a smirk, and he shot her a comment that had her reeling back a step or two, wondering if she actually heard him correctly.

  “I should slap you for even suggesting that,” she managed.

  He roared with laughter. “Like it rough then, darl’?” He turned on his heel and clomped back across the verandah to his truck.

  Lucy waited until he was out of earshot before shutting the clinic door—firmly. She screamed with frustration. How could he do that to her, every single time?

  Kinta, her assistant, appeared from a side room. “You shouldn’t let him get to you so, daktari.”

  “I wish he didn’t. Let’s get this lot put away, then go grab lunch before the afternoon clinic starts.” She tucked the errant strand of hair behind her ear and picked up the box of vaccine. There wasn’t nearly enough, but perhaps if she ordered more now, it would come in two weeks on the next supply truck.

  She could hear Jed from here, yelling and cursing at something. She shook her head. Couldn’t he do anything without turning the air blue? His shouts got louder, ending in a cry that could be rage or pain or sheer frustration.

  Running footsteps crossed the wooden verandah. Tim stuck his head around the door. “Luce, bring your med kit. Jed’s hurt himself.”

  She grabbed the bag from the side and ran outside.

  Jed stood by the truck, wrapping a filthy rag around his hand, using every expletive she’d ever heard and a few that she hadn’t.

  “Mr. Gorman!” she yelled, crossing over to him. “That is no example to set the kids! Perhaps I should find you a toothbrush and some soap?”

  ~*~

  Jed glared at her. All he wanted was to get out of here. Now. Preferably ten minutes ago, but his blasted Ute had other ideas. If he ever found out which mongrel had let the tire down they’d be sorry. He finished tying the rag around his hand. All it needed was to hold until he reached civilization tomorrow.

  “Well, pardon my French,” he growled. “They don’t speak English anyway.”

  “That is beside the point.” Lucy set the bag on the edge of the bonnet. “Tim said you were hurt. Is your hand all right?”

  He muttered another expletive. “Does it look all right?”

  “That rag is filthy. If you’ve cut or burned your hand, it’ll get infected.”

  “It’ll be apples.” He bent and picked up the tire iron. “I don’t need your help. I need this tire changed.”

  “Are you afraid of doctors, Mr. Gorman?”

  He scowled and turned his back on her, fitting the tire iron. He needed to finish changing this wheel and he could bail. “No, I just don’t want you fussing.” He hissed in pain.

  He could feel her eyes on him and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t drop it. He glared at her reflection in the Ute window.

  “You’re shaking,” she said in that annoying matter-of-fact voice of hers. “Does it hurt?”

  “Of course it blasted well hurts!” he snarled. “I just have no intentions of letting a sheila touch me.” Talking and flirting was one thing, part of th
e game. Actual physical contact was something else altogether.

  She frowned. “Then we have a problem, because I’m the only doctor for miles. The question is, Mr. Gorman, are you going to look like a coward in front of the kids?”

  Pain and anger tore at him. He detested being called a coward even more than he hated having a sheila touch him. But he had to concede, albeit reluctantly, that she did have a point.

  He needed to get out of here, and he couldn’t do that with a duff hand.

  Sucking in a deep breath, he reluctantly held out his hand. “Fine. You may look.”

  Lucy snapped on a pair of medical gloves and unwrapped the cloth. Her brows furrowed and her cold fingers probed the cut. “It looks deep. What did you do?”

  He rolled his eyes, swearing under his breath. Was the sheila blind? Couldn’t she see what he was doing? “Flat tire.” He hissed as she examined the wound. “Do you have to be so rough?”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you liked it rough,” she muttered, straight-faced.

  He glowered at her, but before he had time to shoot back an even ruder reply, the kids giggled and chattered. “What are they saying?” he demanded.

  She glanced up. “They think you’re a baby making a fuss over nothing.”

  He scowled, growled low and deep, and took a step towards the group of kids. “I’ll give them baby!”

  Lucy kept hold of his arm as the kids scattered. “You’ll do no such thing. And you can’t drive like this either. This needs stiches. Now hold still, and let me work.”

  He glowered at her and swore, the full force of his anger and pain focused on her. “What are you talking about, woman?”

  “Do you mind not swearing? Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

  “Don’t you bring my mother into this! I’ll darn well swear if I want to.”

  “You need stiches,” she repeated slowly, her ice blue eyes staring into him. “Now, sit down, shut up, and let me work.”

  He slumped into the driver’s seat on his Ute and fell silent as the blonde doctor began to clean and stich his hand. There was only one thing in this forsaken world he hated more than being shown up, and that was Christians. He hated this part of his job more than anything. Being forced to have close contact with them. This doctor in particular. There was something about her that set his teeth on edge. And not just his teeth either. Every nerve he possessed went into full blown alert mode. She was dangerous.