With a smile of contentment, Becky turned away and headed back to the ward. The day might not have started well, but it had not been all bad. There was a new life to celebrate, Sandra had proved to be far more efficient than she’d ever expected, and the Harper sisters had shown some charity for Charley’s poor mongrel by taking him home with them.

No doubt it would be locked in the outhouse, well away from their silly little lapdog, but at least he would be well fed and out of the storm until Charley was able to go home.

Jane was sitting at the desk in the middle of the ward, the light from the small lamp spilling over the paperwork. She looked up and gave Becky a weary smile. ‘As if we didn’t have enough to do, Jake’s asked me to fill this lot in so he can do a full report on the state of the pub and the effects of Bert’s cooking,’ she said with a sigh.

Becky looked around the ward and out through the door to the crowded veranda where the men were talking or reading old newspapers. ‘They all seem fairly settled and on the mend,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you come back with me and have a rest for a couple of hours?’

Jane’s blue eyes widened. ‘And leave this lot to their own devices? Becky, really. You know as well as I that the minute I turn my back someone will be off to fetch enough beer to sink a battleship. Then it’ll be games of two-up, followed by a fight.’ She grinned despite her weariness. ‘That lot are worse than a bunch of troublesome monkeys, and need watching at all times. I’ll stay here until Terence comes back.’

Becky kissed her. ‘I’ll tell him to come over the minute he’s had his tea,’ she promised. ‘See you later.’

As she reached the outer screen door that shielded the front veranda from the worst of the weather, she put her cardigan over her head and battled against the wind to get to the house.

The lightning was flashing, turning the small settlement into a series of sepia snapshots as the hot wind whipped up the stinging dust and bent the trees. The rusting sails on the windmill were clanking and squealing at the onslaught, and anything that wasn’t tied down tightly was caught up in the maelstrom and carried away into the darkness.

Having narrowly missed being hit by wooden crate that had come bowling out of nowhere, she pushed through the screen to the homestead veranda with a sense of utter relief at having made it safely. Removing the cardigan, she took a deep breath. She felt battered and bruised, and every aching part of her seemed to be coated in red grains of abrasive sand.