“Jemimah?”

Michael spun around as the ambulance drove away from the culvert.

She was no longer standing by the fence where he’d left her only minutes ago when Sgt Beavan had called him over, and now he couldn’t see her anywhere.

The SES vehicle’s lights lit up the area where the crew were packing away their gear, but outside that semi-circle was only impenetrable darkness.

“Jemimah!” he called again, apprehension sharpening his voice.

“Hey, mate -- you looking for the young lady?” one of the SES crew called out to him. “Try in the cop car.”

Michael raised his hand in thanks and jogged over to the white vehicle. The back passenger door was slightly open, and to his relief, he saw that Jemimah was curled up on the back seat. He stood watching over her, waiting until he finally saw the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest to confirm she was deeply asleep.

He gently closed the door again and walked back toward the SES vehicle, glad to see they were closing up the back of the vehicle, and seemed ready to depart. After shaking hands all round, the crew climbed into their vehicle, leaving Michael and Sgt Beavan standing beside the culvert.

“So what do you reckon will be the best way of retrieving that livestock?” asked Sgt Beavan.

Michael stared at him for a moment, his thoughts far more on the young lady asleep in the back of the police vehicle than on the cattle. “How about we chat on the way? It’s been a long night.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Where’s the young teacher?”

Has he only just thought of her now? “Asleep on the back seat.”

“Is she now?” Sgt Beavan shook his head slowly. “Fancy her yowie being old Bob Gates? Who’d have thought it!”

Michael clenched his jaw at the policeman’s casual dismissal of all Jemimah had been through, and didn’t answer. Instead he opened the back passenger door and carefully strapped the seat belt around Jemimah, careful not to awaken her. It would not take long to drive back to town, but the extra few minutes rest could only benefit her.

He quietly closed the car door again and took his seat in the front beside the policeman. Still thinking of Jemimah, he asked if the sergeant would mind turning on the heater.

“City life must be making you soft,” Sgt Beavan replied as he put the heater on high.

“Yeah, must be,” Michael agreed in kind and settled back into his seat. The vehicle was almost uncomfortably warm by the time they arrived back at the school, and Sgt Beavan seemed relieved to open his door to the fresh night air when they had parked.

Michael cringed as the sergeant slammed his door shut as he got out. The sound echoed loudly in the silence of the empty school yard, and Michael was sure it must have woken Jemimah with a sudden start.

He moved quickly to open her door, surprised to find her undisturbed.

“Wake up, Jem, we’re back at the school,” he said softly, but there was no response. He reached in and unbuckled her seat belt, repeating her name more loudly.

Beginning to feel concerned, he shook her shoulder gently. She lifted her head slightly, and he breathed out with relief.

“You had me worried there, Jemimah,” he said, smiling, but she stared at him blankly.

“We’re back at the school,” he explained, his apprehension returning when she still gave no sign of understanding.

“Jemimah!” He lifted her up by her shoulders, so she was now sitting upright in the back seat.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, but seemed anything other than okay to Michael.

He reached across to take her hands to help her to her feet, stunned to find them icy. He reached up to her pale face, it was as cold as her hands. It seemed impossible with the car having been so warm.

“Sergeant!” he shouted, his mind slowly pulling the different pieces together. She’d been drowsy while they waited in the bush, and stumbled constantly while they’d walked out -- but he’d put that down to exhaustion. But this was something more than just exhaustion.

They’d all been watching over Beau for signs of shock or hypothermia, how could he have not watched out for Jemimah?

“Jemimah’s not well,” Michael told Sgt Beavan as he came round to her door. “And she’s very cold. Could it be hypothermia?”

“But it’s not that cold,” the sergeant shrugged, indicating his short sleeved shirt.

Michael reached out a hand to Jemimah’s waist feeling sick as he felt the cold, damp fabric. “She’s wet through -- and has been for hours.”

Jemimah looked down at his hand in puzzlement and then seemed to panic. “Where’s Beau? Don’t know where Beau is --” Her words were slurred and indistinct.

“He’s gone in the ambulance with his mum,” Michael reassured her quickly, “He’s doing fine. Jemimah -- you fell asleep in Sgt Beavan’s vehicle. We’re back at the school now.”

“Okay.” She shuffled out of the car, swaying as she climbed to her feet. Michael took a firm hold of her arm.

“This is just what she was like the morning I found her,” Sgt Beavan said, leaning over her to take a closer look. “What was she like earlier on? Like this?”

“No! She was fine -- normal.” A great wave of anger welled up within Michael. “She probably had hypothermia after the night she was lost in the bush -- and you accused her of being on drugs!”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem that cold then, either,” he said, reaching out and taking Jemimah’s other arm. “You are chilly, aren’t you, love? Well, how about we get you warm. I should have a space blanket in my first aid box.”

Sergeant Bevan retrieved the kit from his car, while Michael tried to figure out what they should do, his mind still clouded with anger. Anger at himself for not noticing the signs earlier that were blindingly obvious now, anger at the policeman for making so much trouble for Jemimah, and anger that they’d just waved off the ambulance and the SES squad who’d have known exactly what to do.

So what now?

The ambulance would be well on the way to Narrabri, and taking her somewhere for help would just delay getting her warm. What she needed most of all were dry clothes.

“Jem, have you got spare clothes with you?”

“Yes. In my car. In the boot.”

“Where are your keys?”

“In my handbag,” she said vaguely, and looked down at her empty hands, and then back up at Michael and Sgt Beavan in concern. “I haven’t got it.”

“Where did you last have it?”

“In my classroom.” Her eyes widened in fear. “I didn’t lock it. Is it gone?”

“It’s alright, love,” Sgt Beavan said as he wrapped the foil blanket around her. “I pulled the door locked behind me before we left. It’s safe inside there.”

“Oh, thank you,” she smiled gratefully at him.

“Except now we can’t get your keys out,” snapped Michael, turning to the sergeant in frustration. He had his doubts that the reflective blanket could warm her when there seemed to be so little body heat to begin with. The only survival techniques that were coming to mind were for wilderness settings -- surely they should be able to do much better in the middle of town.

Sgt Beavan said, “I’ve got a set of keys to the staff room. When it looked like we’d be setting up a search party one of the P&C ladies lent me hers in case we needed the facilities.”

“Good, good. Let’s go.”

Both men had an arm around Jemimah as they shepherded her toward the staff room.

Sgt Beavan unlocked the door and flicked on the lights, then put on all the heaters. Already it was warmer inside the staffroom than outside, Jemimah seemed to be more a little more herself in the familiar surroundings. She was shivering now, which Michael hoped was a good sign.

“I’m really cold,” she said. “Can I -- is it alright if I go and have a hot shower?”

“Good idea. We’ve just got to get some dry clothes for you to change into in.” Michael felt like there just wasn’t time to think through all the options. Should he go to someone’s house here in town for clothes ... should they break into the classroom for her keys or force open her car boot? Any of those options would take too long.

“I’ll get the kettle boiling,” said Sgt Beavan, going over to the kitchenette on the far side of the room.

Suddenly Michael remembered his own bag of clothes in the back of his car. They’d be ridiculously big, but it would be better than nothing. He was about to go out to get them when Sgt Beavan said, “Don’t you have a clothing pool? You know, lost and second hand uniforms? You’re really not much bigger than your sixth class kids.”

“Clothing pool?” Jemimah seemed to think for a moment. “Oh, yes. In that cupboard.”

The cupboard was also locked, but Sgt Beavan pulled out the set of keys he’d been given and soon had it open. Then both men rummaged through the piles until they had assembled an outfit of sorts. Michael carried the assortment of clothing through to the bathroom, and set it down for Jemimah.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

She nodded, smiling despite her chattering teeth.

Michael closed the door behind her and walked back to the table in the centre of the staffroom.

“Tea or coffee?” Sgt Beavan asked, busy with the boiling kettle.

“Tea, thank you very much,” Michael replied absently. “Look, I’ll just go and grab my bag of clothes, too.”

He walked over to the closed bathroom door, knocking lightly. He really didn’t know whether a hot shower was the right thing or not -- what if Jemimah passed out or something? Weren’t you meant to re-warm a hypothermic person only slowly?

“Are you doing okay?”

“Fine,” her answer came back.

“Good. Call if you need any help,” he shouted through the door, only realising what a stupid thing it was to say after the words had left his mouth. Why didn’t he think of calling some female in to help? It was too late now, anyway.

He dashed out to his car, praying for God’s help for Jemimah all the way. He grabbed his bag and ran back, closing the staffroom door behind him. Sgt Beavan was fossicking in the fridge but Michael walked straight past him and stood outside the bathroom door again. He could still hear the water running.

“Still doing okay?”

“Yes!” she replied with what sounded like embarrassment. He smiled, glad that she sounded a little more like herself. He hoped he hadn’t made her feel she had to hurry. “Take as long as you need.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Michael returned to the table, surprised to see several plates of cakes spread across the surface.

“Here you go,” Sgt Beavan said handing Michael a steaming cup. “Thought we’d best keep our strength up.”

Michael smiled despite his tension, and thanked the sergeant for his hot drink. He was starting to feel a bit guilty for venting his anger on the policeman earlier. He still reckoned the sergeant deserved it, but it didn’t mean he shouldn’t have acted better. Thankfully, the other man showed no rancour and was quite cheerfully tucking into a lamington.

“Now, about those cows,” Sgt Bevan began. “You were suggesting a stockman you know who--”

Michael groaned inwardly, deciding the man actually did deserve far worse than his snappishness earlier. How could he be thinking about cattle when they still didn’t know if Jemimah was going to be alright?”

“Hold on a minute,” Michael said and went back to the bathroom door. “Still okay in there?”

“Yes! I am FINE!”

“Good. Just checking.”

Michael returned to the table and selected a generous serve of vanilla slice. “Okay, about those cows.” He sat down opposite the sergeant and, with one ear still listening to the running shower, he outlined his suggestion of contacting a local stockman who’d helped out mustering the Turnbulls’ cattle in the past, and having him drive the mob out along the creek to the road with his horse and dogs and load them up into a small cattle truck there.

“That’s probably what Bob Gates had been planning himself for some moonlit night -- except he wouldn’t have been delivering the cattle back to the owners.”

“Nice racket,” mused Sgt Beavan. “Pick off the cattle in ones or twos from various properties so no-one makes too big a fuss, and keep them all together until you’ve got a nice truckload to sell through the black market.”

The sergeant got up to re-boil the kettle.

Michael heard the shower stop, and sat listening. Several long minutes passed and then a white-noise sound he couldn’t immediately place came from the bathroom.

He sat frowning until he recognised it. ‘Ah, hairdryer.”

“What?” Sgt Beavan turned around to him.

“Oh, just that Jemimah must have a hairdryer in there.”

“Hmph. Hope she’s not going to do the whole beauty routine or something,” the policeman looked at his watch. “I’m thinking I ought to be getting back to the station.”

Michael stared at the man. Was the sergeant that insensitive -- or was he overreacting himself?

He was about to acidly suggest he at least waited until they knew Jemimah was okay, but when he saw the sergeant was pouring himself another cup of coffee Michael released his pent up breath.

Suddenly feeling weary himself, he got up and chose a clean cup for Jemimah and began making a cup of tea for her. Just let the sergeant try to boot them out of there before he’d made sure Jemimah had a chance to get something warm into her.

The sound of the dryer stopped and bathroom door opened. Michael strode over to the doorway as Jemimah emerged. She looked ridiculously young in the mismatched pieces of uniform, but there was now a touch of pink in her complexion.

Without thinking he held his hand to her cheek, smiling as he felt the hint of warmth. “That’s much better. How are you feeling?”

Her eyes widened and Michael saw the first spots of a blush begin on her cheek beneath his fingers. Suddenly embarrassed he dropped his hand.

“Yes. Better,” she answered after a moment. “Just a bit shaky, though.”

“Come and sit down. I’ve got your cuppa ready.”

She nodded and he led her over to the table, pulling out a chair for her. She sat stiffly, making Michael suspect she was not feeling quite as good as she’d let on.

“You all right now, love?” Sgt Beavan smiled benignly down on her, as Michael walked over to fetch her cup. “So that’s all sorted now -- and no more yowies to worry about, hey?”

Michael’s hand clenched around the cup, and for a moment he thought the china might crack under the pressure. He forced his fingers to relax and turned back around to the table, glad to see at least that Jemimah seemed not to be taking any offence at the officer’s flippant remark. He held his peace - it would not help her any for him to make a scene at this point.

“Any news about Beau?” she asked, her voice quiet and wispy.

“No -- but he’ll be fine,” the sergeant assured her. “They’ll get him in to x-ray up at Narrabri, and probably have him in a cast and home again by the morning. If you like I’ll give them a call when I get back to the station. I’ve got your number, Michael -- I’ll let you know.”

He picked up his hat from the table and put it on his head. “So, you two will be right from here?”

“Yes.” Michael said briskly. A few minutes ago he’d been concerned about the sergeant leaving, but after his comments to Jemimah about the yowie he felt like he couldn’t be gone soon enough.

Jemimah looked up in panic. “But ... my bag ... my keys. Did you say they were locked in my classroom?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jem,” Michael put his hand firmly on hers. “I’ll take you home.”

“But ... my door is locked ...”

“I’ll take you home to our place for tonight. Nan will look after you. We’ll sort out about your keys and things tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Sgt Beavan said, moving towards the door. He paused, and tossed the bunch of keys to Michael. “You can lock up with these. Jemimah can give them back to Mrs Clarke when she next sees her.”

Michael caught the keys and rose as Sgt Beavan opened the door.

“Thanks again for your help, Michael. I’ll ring you in the morning when I find out what’s going on with the cattle.”

My help? Michael thought indignantly, What about what Jemimah did? But he glanced at Jemimah, drooping at the table and knew she wouldn’t thank him for drawing any more attention to her. Aloud he said simply, “Sure -- talk to you tomorrow.”

The door shut behind the sergeant and Michael turned his attention back to Jemimah, pleased to see that while she still looked quite unwell she had at least started on her tea.

“What do you fancy to eat?” he asked, indicating the plates spread on the table.

“Oh.” She looked at them in concern. “Those were for the Anzac day cake stall. Fundraising. I can’t just help myself.”

Michael opened his mouth to explain that it hardly mattered now but, remembering how tender her conscience was and how upset she’d been earlier, he realised his reasoning wouldn’t be much help to her at his point. Instead he pulled a note from his wallet and set it on the table.

“Consider that my contribution to the fundraising -- now we’ve bought the lot we can eat to our heart’s content.”

Jemimah’s mouth opened as though she was going to reject the offer, but after a moment she merely smiled weakly. “Thank you, Michael.”

He handed her a caramel slice and she took it and began to eat without any further demurral. Grinning he got up to make them both another cup of tea.

They didn’t talk much as they ate and drank several more cups of hot sweet tea, but there was no awkwardness in the silence. Both the companionable quietness and the sweet food gave Michael an energy boost, and by the time he gathered up their cups his earlier weariness was gone. Jemimah, however, despite looking much more like her normal self was trying hard to hide her yawns.

“Time for home, I think,” he said, after a glance at his watch told him it was much later than he’d realised.

Jemimah stood and looked around the room in concern. “But ... the washing up. And my wet clothes ...”

“That can all wait for tomorrow. All I care about is getting you home safe and sound, okay?”

Jemimah nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ve been such a lot of trouble--”

“Not at all,” he said, pulling out a jumper from his travel bag. He held it out to Jemimah and helped her put it on over the top of everything else. It came down to her thighs and her hands were lost somewhere in the sleeves, but he was satisfied it would add a little more insulation for the walk from the staff room to the car. Remembering that his own warm jacket was somewhere up in Narrabri with Beau, he pulled out his Sunday shirt and shrugged into it.

They would be quite a sight in their strange outfits, he mused, smiling to himself as he switched off the heaters and the lights, and locked the door behind them.