stayed trained on the ripples in the pond made by the goldfish, as they slowly expanded out to the pond’s edge.
Now she was free. Well, an eyebrow rose querulously, as free as a young unmarried woman who lived with her widowed father after the Great War could be.
She sensed that her father didn’t want her to return to nursing because he considered it unsuitable work for a young woman, and, occasionally, when she recalled some of the more harrowing nursing work she’d done during the war and then the Spanish Flu epidemic, she secretly agreed with him. However, if she were honest with herself, nothing else held any great appeal to her. It would be boring to sit around and ‘play the lady’, though she was sufficiently educated and knew the social graces well enough to do so. She wanted to be useful, and what better way than to use the skills she had acquired to nurse patients back to health? Her decision made, she was about to pack up her painting gear and go inside, for the afternoon breeze had turned unseasonably chilly, when she saw her father come down the flagstone path towards her.
‘Amy, you should come inside, dear, before you take a chill,’ David Carmichael said in his gentle baritone voice.
‘I was about to,’ Amy responded as she swished her paintbrush in a jar of clean water then wiped it with a cloth before putting it with her other brushes. She covered the half-finished painting with a piece of linen, then closed the portable easel and the box that held her tubes of paint, chalk and charcoal. Normally, immersing herself in painting relaxed her, but not today. Ever since her discussion with Miles she had felt oddly discomforted.
‘Meg has put afternoon tea in the study for us.’ Her fatherwatched her rise gracefully from the wicker chair and smiled. ‘There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.’
A burst of curiosity made Amy give her father a closer look. A matter he’d like to discuss . What? she wondered. Nothing in his lined facial features, the kindly eyes, the neatly trimmed grey beard that made up for his thinning head of hair, gave her any clue. ‘Of course, Father.’
In gentlemanly fashion he held the French door open for her to pass through into the drawing room and on to his orderly study. Amy’s eyebrow lifted again when she saw the silver tray. The Royal Albert china and a selection of shortbread biscuits and delicate sandwiches, in the British tradition of high tea, were laid out on the occasional table. She knew that the Royal Albert tea set, her mother’s favourite, was only brought out for special occasions.
Her father sat in the leather chair next to the open fireplace as Amy began to pour the tea. ‘So, Amy dear, how are you feeling after, umm, Friday’s debacle?’
‘I’m fine, really. Actually, I’m relieved.’ She smiled to reinforce her words. ‘I should have ended it with Miles a year ago, but I didn’t want to do so via a letter. That seemed too hard-hearted.’
‘He’ll get over the disappointment.’ David took a sip of tea. ‘The war has brought about a lot of changes, in many ways,’ he began in a contemplative tone. ‘Adelaide, for instance. The city has grown, and one sees women working in jobs once held exclusively by men. The automobile is replacing the sulky, the horse and carts. Even the style of women’s clothing has changed: skirts are getting shorter, styles are less formal. And my practice has kept pace to reflect those changes.’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘However, while you’ve been away I’ve had time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I’ve decided that it’s time for a change.’
Startled to hear her father speaking this way, Amy stared at him in amazement. ‘Change? What kind of change?’
‘A quieter practice, where I’d have some time to myself to relax. I don’t get much relaxation at the moment.’
Amy nodded understandingly. Her father was rarely home other than on
Now she was free. Well, an eyebrow rose querulously, as free as a young unmarried woman who lived with her widowed father after the Great War could be.
She sensed that her father didn’t want her to return to nursing because he considered it unsuitable work for a young woman, and, occasionally, when she recalled some of the more harrowing nursing work she’d done during the war and then the Spanish Flu epidemic, she secretly agreed with him. However, if she were honest with herself, nothing else held any great appeal to her. It would be boring to sit around and ‘play the lady’, though she was sufficiently educated and knew the social graces well enough to do so. She wanted to be useful, and what better way than to use the skills she had acquired to nurse patients back to health? Her decision made, she was about to pack up her painting gear and go inside, for the afternoon breeze had turned unseasonably chilly, when she saw her father come down the flagstone path towards her.
‘Amy, you should come inside, dear, before you take a chill,’ David Carmichael said in his gentle baritone voice.
‘I was about to,’ Amy responded as she swished her paintbrush in a jar of clean water then wiped it with a cloth before putting it with her other brushes. She covered the half-finished painting with a piece of linen, then closed the portable easel and the box that held her tubes of paint, chalk and charcoal. Normally, immersing herself in painting relaxed her, but not today. Ever since her discussion with Miles she had felt oddly discomforted.
‘Meg has put afternoon tea in the study for us.’ Her fatherwatched her rise gracefully from the wicker chair and smiled. ‘There’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.’
A burst of curiosity made Amy give her father a closer look. A matter he’d like to discuss . What? she wondered. Nothing in his lined facial features, the kindly eyes, the neatly trimmed grey beard that made up for his thinning head of hair, gave her any clue. ‘Of course, Father.’
In gentlemanly fashion he held the French door open for her to pass through into the drawing room and on to his orderly study. Amy’s eyebrow lifted again when she saw the silver tray. The Royal Albert china and a selection of shortbread biscuits and delicate sandwiches, in the British tradition of high tea, were laid out on the occasional table. She knew that the Royal Albert tea set, her mother’s favourite, was only brought out for special occasions.
Her father sat in the leather chair next to the open fireplace as Amy began to pour the tea. ‘So, Amy dear, how are you feeling after, umm, Friday’s debacle?’
‘I’m fine, really. Actually, I’m relieved.’ She smiled to reinforce her words. ‘I should have ended it with Miles a year ago, but I didn’t want to do so via a letter. That seemed too hard-hearted.’
‘He’ll get over the disappointment.’ David took a sip of tea. ‘The war has brought about a lot of changes, in many ways,’ he began in a contemplative tone. ‘Adelaide, for instance. The city has grown, and one sees women working in jobs once held exclusively by men. The automobile is replacing the sulky, the horse and carts. Even the style of women’s clothing has changed: skirts are getting shorter, styles are less formal. And my practice has kept pace to reflect those changes.’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘However, while you’ve been away I’ve had time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life, and I’ve decided that it’s time for a change.’
Startled to hear her father speaking this way, Amy stared at him in amazement. ‘Change? What kind of change?’
‘A quieter practice, where I’d have some time to myself to relax. I don’t get much relaxation at the moment.’
Amy nodded understandingly. Her father was rarely home other than on
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