Wife to Order: An Australian Outback Romance

by Lucy Walker

  ‘Oh, I understand,’ said Carey unexpectedly. ‘At Wybong lots of people get married, and afterwards have babies, if that is what you mean. Besides, the stockmen are always saying the most ribald things without caring that anyone overhears them.’

  ‘Carey!’ said Mrs. Cleaver, scandalised.

  Carey was silent for a moment. She looked at Mrs. Cleaver contritely.

  ‘I know there is a big gap between me and ‒ and Oliver,’ she said with a sudden sad note in her voice. ‘Somehow we have to get over it, don’t we? But nobody else can do it for us, can they? We’ll be so alone. I mean, after we are married …’

  Mrs. Cleaver touched her hand.

  ‘Yes, dear. That is what I mean. If ever I can help, you will ask me, won’t you? Don’t think that when you leave me on Thursday you have left me for ever. You will still belong in part to me. I will always be here.’

  Carey knew if she needed Mrs. Cleaver she would always go to her. It was wonderful to think she had someone else in Melbourne, besides the Reddin family, as friend.

  The following afternoon she had to be taken to tea at Cranston with Mrs. Reddin and Millicent. In the morning she had gone with Mrs. Cleaver to the jeweller’s to have her finger measured for her wedding ring.

  Carey felt a tightening round her heart as the jeweller put a brass measuring ring round her finger. It was getting nearer and nearer … that wedding. Suddenly its approach assumed an inexorable quality. It would come, it would be. It would be over.

  Carey, standing in the jeweller’s shop, closed her eyes and wished she could wake up one month hence. Then it would all be over … an accomplished fact. The difficulties, the embarrassments, the strangeness of being Oliver Reddin’s wife would all be things of the past. She would be back at Two Creeks, running down the creek bed with Tony, walking over the grasslands of her own farm.

  Chapter Six

  Cranston was an awesome house. It was big and intimidating in its dignified seclusion behind a high hedge off the St. Kilda Road.

  Apart from surprise at the size of the house, Carey had a nervous feeling when she realised that in three days’ time she would be present here at her own wedding, and that somewhere or other in it she would sleep as Oliver’s wife. There was also the problem of meeting again Mrs. Reddin and Millicent.

  She tried to anticipate all the problems that might arise from any half-hearted reception that Mrs. Reddin or Millicent might give her.

  The thing for which she was totally unprepared and which thrust her backwards into a silence quite unpremeditated was Jane Newbold’s presence.

  As they entered the drawing-room, and Millicent came forward and Mrs. Reddin straightened herself in her high-backed chair, Carey’s attention was taken by the most striking object in this beautiful room filled with beautiful furniture and works of art. The object was a tall statuesque young woman, about twenty-nine or thirty, standing by the window where the sunlight shining through the glass struck most effectively on her red head and pale magnolia skin.

  She was so striking with her dazzling figure, her clear-cut imperious features, her arched brows and perfect bow of mouth that Carey stared beyond Millicent’s approaching figure with nothing but dismay in her heart.

  But why didn’t he marry her, she thought, bewildered. Why didn’t Oliver marry Jane?

  For she knew it was Jane long before Millicent uttered the not-very-magic-name.

  ‘Oh, here you are at last,’ Millicent said in her quick staccato manner as if Carey and Mrs. Cleaver were late. This they were not for one of Mrs. Cleaver’s axioms had been, ‘Three minutes after the stated time for arrival is the correct time to arrive.’ It had indeed been exactly three minutes after four o’clock when they had pressed the door-bell.

  ‘Come and meet Mother,’ Millicent said. Carey thought it sounded as if they had not met before. This kind of drawing-room approach to social intercourse was all double Dutch to Carey. If Mrs. Cleaver hadn’t been beside her and so making her conscious of all the ‘don’ts’ and ‘dos’ of afternoon tea parties she would have failed to smile and look composed and feel composed.

  Carey bent over Mrs. Reddin’s chair as she shook hands. She would have liked to kiss her future mother-in-law but Mrs. Reddin made no gesture that made it possible.

  All the time the greetings were going on Carey was conscious of that tall glamorous figure standing by the window and watching the new arrivals with a faint smile of amusement on her lips.

  As Mrs. Cleaver shook hands with Mrs. Reddin, Millicent said:

  ‘And now Jane.’ As if this was the special present out of the bon-bon box. ‘Jane … this … this is Carey.’

  ‘How do you do?’ Carey said, shaking hands. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure of your other name.’

  ‘Jane Newbold. But I imagine it is simpler if we use our Christian names, don’t you think? We’re bound to see so much of one another.’

  Carey noticed that Jane’s expression of tolerant amusement had subtly changed. She was looking at Carey closely as if trying to find some fault … some flaw.

  Mrs. Cleaver had seen to it that Carey’s appearance was faultless. She wore a lovely apple green linen suit with a tiny loose jacket, a small hat of the same colour that had crimson rosebuds twined with leaves of a deep green around the crown. Actually Carey made a charming picture. Mrs. Cleaver had seen her natural possibilities at once and had not tried in any way to put a veneer over Carey’s personality. There was a fresh charm about Carey that would have been spoilt if it had been tampered with.

  Carey smiled now at Jane Newbold, and Mrs. Cleaver felt her own heart warming with pride. Carey was indeed a beautiful girl. She had, moreover, all the glow of youth, and all the warmth of friendliness in that smile. If the Reddin family were not happy about this young country girl then they all needed a course in human relations themselves.

  Only Carey knew that for once her smile had been automatic and did not come from the heart. Jane Newbold was not her friend. Those probing eyes were looking for reasons as to why this girl was in the Reddin house at all, let alone as the future bride of the only son.

  ‘Thank you,’ Carey said to Jane’s suggestion about the use of Christian names. ‘I’m called Carey.’

  ‘I’m sure I’d never be able to say it like that …’ Jane said, with a laugh. ‘Car-eey! Goodness … quite a pretty drawl they have outback. Where was it you said you came from?’

  ‘I come from Wybong. I’m sorry I had not mentioned it.’

  Jane snapped her fingers as if trying to remember.

  ‘Wybong? Wybong? Millicent, have you heard of it?’

  ‘Not before Oliver met Carey,’ Millicent said, directing the maid who had just come in with the silver tea service. ‘It’s somewhere over the border.’

  Mrs. Cleaver was already sitting down near Mrs. Reddin and they were discussing the wedding arrangements.

  Since no one had asked Carey to sit down she now crossed to a chair near Mrs. Reddin. She could not go on talking to Jane in this manner. She would like to be friendly but not even in Wybong would she let someone try to make her look silly in front of other people.

  Mrs. Reddin looked from Mrs. Cleaver to Carey.

  ‘Yes … you are a pretty girl, Carey,’ she said. ‘I thought so the first time I saw you … only you had such quaint clothes on. All wrong. A blue silk dress and the oddest shoes …’

  Carey smiled.

  ‘That’s all I had with me except two dresses that were even funnier than the silk one. But I’m the same person whatever dress I have on …’

  She really smiled now for she saw she had broken through Mrs. Reddin’s reserve. The older lady’s eyes brightened. She looked quickly at Millicent and then back to Carey.

  ‘You have quite a sense of humour, dear.’

  She stopped short as Millicent came towards the tray.

  ‘Do pour the tea now, Mother,’ Millicent said. ‘I’m sure Mrs. Cleaver is dying for a cup of tea. And this is the first meal Jan
e has in the day.’

  ‘Oh …’ said Carey, looking across the room to Jane, who had now seated herself in an elegant period chair and crossed her knees. It was quite clear from that attitude alone that Jane Newbold, sophisticated and evidently very well off from the look of her expensive clothes, had never been to Mrs. Cleaver’s Academy. There, knees may not be crossed.

  ‘Oh,’ said Carey. ‘You have not been ill, I hope?’

  ‘No,’ said Jane, faintly bored. ‘I merely look after my figure. At your age, my dear, I’m surprised you don’t have to worry about accumulating puppy fat. I suppose hard farm work has kept your figure under control?’

  Carey knew just how she would have retaliated to that one if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Cleaver’s presence and Mrs. Cleaver’s standards. She was thoughtful a moment. It really wasn’t worth while making wise retorts to Jane. It was much easier not to do so. And she didn’t want to make an enemy of someone who was Millicent’s friend. She supposed she was very much the unwanted stranger in this household and it was up to her to smooth the way to friendships.

  ‘Yes, I have worked hard,’ Carey said simply.

  Mrs. Reddin handed a cup of tea to Millicent who carried it in one hand to Mrs. Cleaver; in the other she held a lovely little silver bracket holding the silver milk jug and sugar bowl.

  ‘That’s what I said to Oliver,’ Mrs. Reddin said brightly. ‘So useful to have someone on a station who can work hard. In my day the women weren’t just decorations. We had to …’

  ‘That was in the past, Mother,’ Millicent said so sharply Carey felt sorry for Mrs. Reddin. She could see Oliver’s point about Millicent. She was too bossy and even Mrs. Reddin bowed to her daughter’s strong personality.

  ‘Yes, dear, I’m sorry. Of course times have changed. And Oliver is so much wealthier than your father.’

  ‘Mother, is this Jane’s tea? You have poured it too strong. I’ll ring for Bessie to bring another cup.’

  ‘Yes, dear, and you might ask Bessie to take Carey to see the suite of rooms we’ve set aside for her and Oliver …’

  ‘There’s time enough on Thursday for that.’ Millicent had pressed the wall bell with a vigour that must have informed Bessie in some nether regions that all was not well with the tea-tray in the drawing-room. Millicent came towards her mother again. ‘You might as well pour Carey’s tea while we are waiting.’

  With great self-control Carey prevented herself from flushing or looking towards Mrs. Cleaver. In those simple disdainful words Millicent had disposed of Carey as the least important of the guests.

  Millicent, Carey could see, would take quite as much tactful management as Uncle Tam.

  But Jane Newbold …

  She glanced across the room at Jane, who was looking at her with a barely concealed expression of curiosity. Jane in a groomed and polished way was very beautiful. Somehow that beauty defeated Carey more than Millicent’s authoritative manner did.

  When they rose to leave, Mrs. Reddin held Carey’s hand warmly. She looked as if she might have kissed her except that when she glanced quickly at Millicent her daughter gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  ‘Well dear … we’ll see you on Thursday. It will be so lovely to have Oliver. Usually we have to go to Two Creeks to see him. There’s one nice thing about having a daughter-in-law … we can have a wedding, and perhaps see Oliver more often.’

  ‘Mother … Mrs. Cleaver is waiting to shake hands with you.’

  ‘I’ll say good-bye now, too, Mrs. Reddin,’ said Jane. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to go, darling,’ she added to Millicent. ‘It’s Lady Carson’s do to-night. I’ll see you there, won’t I? Everybody’s going, of course.’

  ‘I’d better put in an appearance,’ said Millicent.

  ‘May we give you a lift?’ Mrs. Cleaver asked Jane pleasantly. ‘We have ordered a taxi.’

  ‘No thank you,’ Jane said. ‘I have my own car. Do you mind if I leave ahead of you? I haven’t been watching the time. I was so very interested in seeing Car-eey.’ She laughed lightly and mockingly as if the way Carey said her name was a joke. As if Carey herself was a joke.

  Carey smiled. For the sake of the Reddin family, and Mrs. Cleaver’s standards, she would offer the other cheek. But she firmly hoped that in future years she wouldn’t see too much of Millicent’s friends.

  Thursday was, in one sense, the day of days. After it, Carey thought, the wedding could almost be an anti-climax.

  For fourteen days she had been wondering, day and night, what Oliver really looked like. Somehow his picture had faded in her mind. Each time she thought of him for a fragmentary moment she could see him standing by the window in his study, his tall figure giving an immense impression of strength; his grey eyes expressive of authority, inflexible will … and coldness. Then the image would fade.

  She remembered his well-cut riding clothes and the shape of his hand as he put it out to take a cigarette from the box on his desk. It was a hard strong brown hand.

  The recollection of it made Carey’s heart beat rapidly. It was almost like a physical touch. She could remember how strong his hand felt when he had shaken hands with her.

  She knew, as she got up, bathed and dressed on Thursday morning, that she wanted to see Oliver very much. She wanted to see whom she was marrying.

  She wondered what it was that had made her think on the first day she had met him that he was ‘terrific’. Now she only knew theoretically that he was a lot older than herself, very striking and handsome but she couldn’t remember why or how.

  Thursday morning went quickly because, after packing, Carey had to have a session first with the hairdresser and manicurist and then a final fitting for her wedding dress.

  After lunch Mrs. Cleaver insisted she lie down and have a rest for an hour.

  ‘You will be called at three o’clock, Carey,’ she said. ‘That will give you time to dress and do your last minute packing. You are wearing the new biscuit-coloured linen suit … and the blue bag and shoes? The little biscuit-coloured hat is a honey with it, my dear, and I’m sure you will look charming.’

  Carey nodded.

  ‘Yes … everything is laid out on the spare bed in my room, Mrs. Cleaver. But I’m sure I’ll never sleep …’

  ‘Well, try. And promise me you will rest as much as possible to-morrow at Cranston. Early to bed both to-night and to-morrow. I’ll tell Mr. Reddin myself. A bride should always look lovely and refreshed.’

  Carey’s mind couldn’t leap that far. It was halted at the thought of herself in the biscuit-coloured hat and dress, with the blue shoes and handbag … meeting Oliver again.

  Her heart beat so fast she was sure she would never rest.

  Oddly enough she did sleep. The morning had been tiring … especially the standing when her wedding dress had been fitted. She lay on her bed and watched the tracery of leaves patterned by the sun on her window-pane. The next minute Myrna was touching her.

  ‘Wake up, Miss Carey. I’ve brought you a cup of tea. It is just after three o’clock, and Mr. Reddin will be here at four.’

  For a moment Carey couldn’t think where she was. Then recollection came flooding back.

  The time was nearly here. And he was nearly here.

  Where was he? she wondered as first she sipped her tea and then getting up began the business of bathing, making up her face and dressing again. Was he speeding in that huge car of his along the great highway that led down from the mountains and past Two Creeks station? Or was he already in Melbourne … fixing his business? His own part of the wedding?

  When she had finished dressing she stood in front of the long mirror and looked at herself.

  The porter came in and took her cases away. The maid came in and took away the tea-tray but paused to look at Carey and smile.

  ‘You do look lovely, miss …’ she said. ‘I do hope you’ll be happy. And come back and see us sometime.’

  ‘Thank you, Myrna. Yes … yes, of course. I will come back.’<
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  Then quite suddenly she didn’t want to see Oliver at all. She wanted to stay here, safe and cared for, away from his cold executor-like manner. He wasn’t the man she was going to marry at all. He was the executor who was giving her a home.

  She looked in the mirror and saw that the colour had flown from her cheeks.

  What if she slipped out the side door and went back to Wybong?

  How?

  The astonishing fact was, she still had no money in her purse. She had all those beautiful clothes and not a penny in the world.

  Oh, Uncle Tam! How could you do this to me?

  If she did slip out the side door where would she go in this biscuit-coloured suit with the pretty hat and shoes that had cost the earth? Where would this sort of clothes take her in the world of Melbourne’s wide busy business thoroughfares?

  There was a light tap at the door and Mrs. Cleaver came in.

  ‘Well, my dear,’ she said, surveying Carey, ‘you look quite beautiful. I think Mr. Reddin is going to be very proud of you.’

  She noticed Carey’s pallor but she did not mention it. Instead she sat on the bed and touched the girl’s hand.

  ‘It is rather a nervous ordeal … after fourteen days without seeing one another, isn’t it? But you’ll find it worth it. There is so much fresh and new to see in one another. Although I do not allow ‘partings’ in private, I certainly allow reunions in private. In fact they are essential, aren’t they?’ She looked at her wrist-watch. ‘Five minutes to go,’ she said. ‘If I know Mr. Reddin’s reputation he will be punctual. Shall we stand at the window together and watch for his arrival?’

  They crossed over to the wide bow window. Carey knelt on the window-seat and looked out over the garden and drive. Mrs. Cleaver stood beside her but a little behind. Her hand rested gently, and warm with understanding, on the girl’s shoulder.

  The big car swept round the curve of the drive and came to a stop below the veranda steps. All that Carey saw was the car with the sun shining between the trees on it, a man with a broad-brimmed Stetson hat at the wheel.