by Lucy Walker
He would be his true self now, not holding his fire, but blaming her, not Andrew, because painting pictures was going on instead of hard work out in the stable yard or workshop. Up till now he’d been playing a waiting role.
‘So Tom has been riding over to Malin’s Outpost,’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘Has he come courting, Katie?’
Katie was so angry she flushed. She poured her own tea and did not answer him.
Bern Malin watched the curve of her lips and where her lashes lay on her cheek. He saw the delicate colour rise and suffuse her face.
Anger settled in the lines of his face; but Katie did not notice.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I made the scones, Bern. I hope they pass muster,’ Katie said at last. ‘What did you mean when you said you might take Andrew to Calajira? What could he do for my brother?’
Bern took a scone and broke it in half on his plate.
‘He could give Andrew ideas of what he might become,’ he said quietly. ‘He could give Andrew an incentive to go to school and learn necessary things ‒ in addition to what he wants to learn. So far Andrew exerts himself only where he wants. You know that, Katie.’
It sounded like a short lecture delivered tactfully. Katie could see Bern’s point, but regretfully.
Something had happened inside her when he had looked at her as she had come into the room earlier. It was something indefinable, and had touched both her heart and her imagination.
It was all gone now. As from the mention of Tom Ryde, she was different. Bern was different. The whole atmosphere was different.
Katie sipped her tea and bit into a scone thoughtfully.
‘But why Calajira? Why not ‒’
‘Because Calajira is an artist,’ Bern interrupted her. ‘And Andrew has an artist’s feelings, intuitions and curiosity. But no technical skill. It’s as simple as that.’
Katie was astonished. She stared into Bern’s face.
‘An artist’s feelings? Andrew? Why do you say that?’
‘Secretary knew. Observation told me. If you are thinking of going as far as Pandanning you had better think of coming on to Perth with me. I am going there in any case. You can visit the art school for yourself. You’ll be given a more informed opinion than mine as to Andrew’s capabilities. Think about it, will you, Katie? Meantime ‒’ His voice suddenly held again that resolute authority which had occasionally intimidated her from their first meeting. ‘I’ll take him to Calajira, while I have time. I may not have time later.’
‘While you have time. Are you going away again? Soon?’
‘No. But you might do just that. If Tom Ryde came over here more than once, he came to see you, Katie. Tom has not been interested enough in Malin’s Outpost to come once in two years. If you married someone like Tom, for instance, you realise that that person would be responsible for Andrew? The law will allow him guardianship. There are reasons why I think he would demand it. Any reasonable man would do that, you know. Not only Tom, but any other man in the same position.’
Katie’s scone and tea were both forgotten. The only thing in the world was a pair of eyes, now quite cold, looking into hers.
Not only was Tom Ryde on her ‘likely-to-be-married’ list; but ‘any-other-man-too’.
She didn’t know whether it was anger or dismay that made her feel so rebellious. Something had changed Bern from the man he had been when she came into the room first. It couldn’t possibly be Tom Ryde. He was a neighbour and a friend. He had done no more than bring a box of paints ‒ Bern’s own present ‒ and suggest a trip to Pandanning.
Or wasn’t it Mrs. Potts who had suggested this last?
Because of this Bern had married her off to Tom, or any other man, without a whit of thought except now, for Andrew.
Without a whit of thought, or care.
Katie felt bitterly hurt, and bitterly surprised at herself too. All the pride that had been in her, since the day she was born, had gone out of her ‒ as easily as that.
Back home people used to say she tipped back that head of hers as if she owned a cattle station instead of a timbered house with a paddock of oats, some fowls, a goat, two horses and a sheep or two.
Now, here in this room, she was a girl who had folded up like a damp rag because this man was about to marry her off to anyone who cared to come asking and the only bother about that ‒ to Bern ‒ was the guardianship of Andrew.
The afternoon tea was over. It had died away more in fits of silence than starts of conversation.
Bern went off to his office.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, Katie,’ he said. ‘I’ve a backlog of book work waiting for me. Some file-searching too. I’ve to get my papers in order before I go to Perth.’
He said nothing to Andrew. In any case Andrew wasn’t paying attention to anything except his painting.
After breakfast next morning Katie told Bern, as he was leaving the homestead with Secretary, that she would take Andrew to the art school in Perth, as he had advised. She didn’t add she had spent half the night thinking about it.
His eyebrows went up. ‘It didn’t occur to me you would do anything else,’ he said. ‘I thought we had settled all that yesterday.’
Katie was really angry this time. She hadn’t settled anything yesterday. He had asked her to think about it.
This, Mrs. Potts told her later, was Mr. Bern all over. To suggest something was the same thing as commanding it. If he meant Katie to go to Perth, then go she would. No use to rebel. He would find some other way of winning her approval if he couldn’t do it by suggestion.
‘Just put you in the car, and go,’ Mrs. Potts surmised. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past him; not when he’s made up his mind.’
Bern had returned to Malin’s Outpost only two days before the Rydes expected Katie to join them on their ‘jaunt’ to Pandanning. Bern talked to Mrs. Ryde on his radio on his first night home, and finally arrangements were made for them all to go in one party.
‘Yoicks!’ Jill interrupted her mother over the air. ‘What fun and games!’
Katie, emptying the ash-trays in the living-room as the last deed for the day, couldn’t help smiling at Jill’s enthusiasm. It lit some within herself.
‘Tom will have to mark time in Pandanning while I take you to Perth,’ Bern said, standing by the instrument and watching Katie thoughtfully. ‘He’ll need a hefty dose of patience.’
With an effort Katie did not bang the last of the ash-trays on the side of the tin in which tobacco ends and butts were collected.
Tom would not mark time for her; but her pride was up now. She would not explain herself to Bern ‒ or any other man for that matter, either.
She knew she was being illogical, even a little wrong-headed, but she was too hurt by that earlier conversation in the afternoon to do anything about logic right now.
Mr. and Mrs. Potts were delighted by the exodus from Malin’s Outpost and did not attempt to hide it.
Back to the dear diggings for us ‒ was written all over them.
‘I’m sorry to say good-bye, Miss Katie,’ Mrs. Potts said. ‘But it isn’t for good. I’ll be seeing you around from time to time, if you come back from Perth. Ryde’s Place is not such a distance from the diggings: and there’s no one else for hundreds of miles. I mean no one else settled. We’ll be neighbours.’
So Mrs. Potts had married her off to Tom too!
Katie did not protest. She would iron out her life somehow, some day, herself. What did disturb her was the evidence that Mrs. Potts was packing up everything as if indeed she did not intend to return to Malin’s Outpost. Not coming back any more.
What did it mean? Bern parcelling her, Katie, off for good, too?
But there was Gideon Dent! He was somewhere out there in the bush and if he didn’t come for her sooner, then it would be later. She and Andrew must be here waiting for him when he came.
Katie folded up some of her possessions, together with all the important papers she had brought wi
th her from home and put them away in a little-used cupboard in her room.
She placed some paper and empty cardboard boxes over them so they would not be noticed. If the Pottses were leaving, she, Katie James, was coming back ‒ if only to retrieve her possessions. This way, she could come back to where Gideon Dent would find her.
They drove over to Ryde’s Place in the jeep. Mr. and Mrs. Potts were due to leave for the diggings an hour or two later. Secretary was to bring the string of horses from Malin’s Outpost to be grazed over at Ryde’s. They would be cared for by Mr. Ryde and Taciturn while they were all away, and Secretary went walkabout. Later, Secretary would take the horses home again.
‘Just as well you didn’t dig a vegetable garden, Andrew,’ Katie said as they piled into the front seat of the jeep. Andrew was wedged in between Bern and Katie. ‘There’s no one left to look after it.’
‘Jack Bean will come down every day or so to look over the place,’ Andrew remarked casually. ‘He could have watered it.’
‘Andrew!’ Katie said perplexed, as Bern started up the jeep. ‘How did you know about Jack Bean at all? And who told you he was coming to look after Malin’s Outpost? Besides, you didn’t make a vegetable garden anyway.’
Andrew ignored the last remark. ‘I’ve seen Jack Bean, and talked to him. Sometimes he comes down at nights and talks to Secretary. I’ve seen his tracks leading off the north paddock.’
‘Oh, you have, have you?’
So much for smoke signals and bush telegraph! It was all Jack Bean ‒ coming and going ‒ to talk to Secretary. There were probably half a dozen other aborigines moving around that circuit between Malin’s Outpost, the diggings and the Never where Gideon Dent worked. They formed a line of communication better than radio. At least no one else but the person they spoke to could hear them.
Bern Malin was very silent driving over to Ryde’s. Now and again he pointed out to Andrew some special shaft or mullock heap they passed. Katie felt she had been sent to Coventry; all because she had questioned the sense of taking Andrew’s pile of paintings to the art school.
As for the subject of visiting Calajira ‒ neither Katie nor Bern had ventured to mention that again. Electricity had been in the air at that suggestion.
At Ryde’s Place all was excitement and welcome. The Rydes had seen the jeep’s dust cloud long before it had turned in at the track round the home paddock. The lovely young horses in the paddock had thrown up their heads and raced away to a far corner, their tails high and their long manes flying.
‘Aren’t they beautiful!’ Katie said wistfully.
Bern glanced at her quickly.
‘There’s comfort and company as well as horses with flying manes at Ryde’s Place,’ he said. His tone was one of a person being logical. Perhaps he was waiting for Katie to say something, but she remained silent.
How much more populated indeed was Ryde’s Place compared with Malin’s Outpost!
Katie had a feeling of anticipation as the jeep swung away from the paddock fence to come up alongside the homestead veranda. This was like a settlement with its outhouses. The engine-house was thrumming to-day. The fences and paddocks stood in the bright hot sun as if they had risen themselves out of the earth as part of the land instead of having been put there by Mr. Ryde, and his son, with tireless hands.
The creeper festooning the veranda, and the bougainvillaeas, brilliant with coral red and apricot flowers, standing at the corners, seemed to fill the immediate world with colour. Down at the stables was a group of aborigines newly come in from walkabout. In the distance, along the dirt track, were the dust clouds of two jeeps disappearing into the bush fringes. Prospectors ‒ they must be; cutting through Ryde’s Place on their way to the Never.
The kelpie dogs raced round the house barking: Mrs. Ryde stood on the veranda wreathed in smiles, waving a welcome. Stella and Jill, who were more contained, sat on the veranda step and looked as if they welcomed visitors to Ryde’s Place once a week instead of perhaps once a year. They had just seen-off the party of prospectors.
Bern brought the jeep to a stop.
‘Hi-ya!’ said Jill getting up from the step lazily and coming towards them. ‘You’re just in time for lunch. We’re to make the first leg of the hop to Pandanning this afternoon. There’s a motel about half-way, in a place called One Gum Hill. Ever heard of it, Bern? Me neither, but Tom has. It’s just come on the map.’
‘Where is Tom?’ Katie asked as she scrambled out of the jeep.
‘My, you look natty,’ Jill commented. ‘New trews?’
‘No. Just different ones.’ Katie laughed. ‘Where do you buy trews in the Never? Is Tom ‒?’
She stopped. She was very aware of Stella sitting on the step, watching Bern disengage himself from the jeep, and wearing what Katie defined as Stella’s very special look. She would also be listening to Katie and perhaps put a wrong construction on that inquiry for Tom.
Bern filled in the silence, helping Katie out.
‘Tom’s the master of ceremonies for this little jaunt, I understand,’ he said. ‘He’s not missing surely?’
He did not address the question to anyone in particular. He was busy inspecting the tyres for wood-spikes.
No one answered the inquiry about Tom, unless a flicker of Stella’s beautifully curved eyebrows in Katie’s direction was an answer of sorts. A glance with meaning in it. Stella was still sitting on the step, her elbows planted on her knees and her chin resting in the cup of her hands.
‘Hallo, Big Boss,’ she said to Bern. ‘Long time no see. What did you find out in the Never? Lots and lots of hidden wealth?’
‘Meaning copper?’ Bern walked with his easy tread towards the veranda, smiling down at Stella as he approached. ‘Room for me on the step?’
Nobody seemed to be answering direct questions to-day!
He glanced quickly up at Mrs. Ryde standing, all smiles, above them. ‘It’s good to see you all again, Mrs. Ryde. I hope we’re not too big an invasion. I see you’ve had one lot of visitors.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the departed jeeps.
‘Bern dear, you’re welcome any hour of the day, or day of the week, and well you know it,’ Mrs. Ryde said warmly. ‘That lot’ ‒ It was her turn to look at the departing dust clouds ‒ ‘are the usual party of travellers straining their fortunes trying to find a new track through the desert. I never know whether they’re kangaroo shooters, prospectors or what-not. We get them all through here from time to time. They follow the track down from Pandanning as far as it goes, then strike out on their own. You know how it goes, Bern. The next we hear from them is an S.O.S. because they are lost; or broken down ‒’
Stella was watching Bern, waiting for him to stop listening to her mother and pay her attention. His eyes came back to her face as he sat down on the step beside her.
‘Don’t talk to Mother, talk to me,’ Stella said imperiously.
Bern tossed his hat on to the veranda behind him.
‘Give me a cigarette, darling,’ Stella went on more coaxingly. ‘We ran out three days ago and we’re all berserk with longing. We couldn’t wring one from that beastly through-party. They were conserving against a drought themselves.’
‘I’ll see if all’s going well with lunch,’ Mrs. Ryde said hurriedly. ‘You girls look after Bern now. Oh, and Katie and Andrew too, of course. Katie dear, we’re thrilled to see you again ‒’
She went through the door, still welcoming guests over her shoulder but suddenly conscious of a fine potato pie drying out in the oven.
Bern took out his cigarettes, offered one to Stella and then helped himself. He held his hands over the light as he lit up for Stella; and looked at the tip of her nose as he did so.
Katie, talking eagerly to Jill about her trip to the diggings, and the things she had been doing at Malin’s Outpost, could not help seeing, beyond Jill’s shoulder, that conversation-piece on the veranda step. When Stella’s cigarette had caught its light and she lifted up her head and smi
led at Bern, Katie felt a constriction in her own throat.
It’s Stella’s eyes, she thought. One had to see them to remember how beautiful they were. If she didn’t like Stella, she would still have to go on looking at those eyes with awe and wonder. Bern too must feel that way. Anyone looking at Stella had to feel that way.
‘What goes on out at the diggings?’ Jill was asking Katie as she helped dislodge the overnight bags from the floor of the jeep. ‘Only copper? Nothing more than copper?’
‘What more would you want?’ Katie asked. ‘Mrs. Potts said Bern told her the London Commodity price for copper cathodes was £280, and rising. The highest they’ve ever been.’
‘My, my, Katie! You sound almost an expert. Tom’s the only one round Ryde’s Place who even knows what cathodes are.’
Katie laughed. ‘Something to do with currents of energy and copper plates. Mrs. Potts did explain, but I’m afraid I didn’t really understand. Anyhow, that’s how they value copper when they’re selling it,’ she paused, then added ‒ ‘I thought Tom was a complacent grazier.’
‘So he is, but he knows what goes on,’ Jill said darkly. ‘You ought to see him start at the top left-hand corner of the Financial Review when it comes in with the stores; and keep on reading every line till he comes to the last full-stop.’
Jill suddenly decided to notice Andrew who had not taken off as expected to investigate Ryde’s Place, but was standing watching Jill with a queer small-boy brand of fascination.
‘Heh! Young Andrew,’ Jill said. ‘What are you doing ‒ listening in to grown-ups’ conversation as if it was something you could understand? Hop it, Mr. Snodgrass, and carry your own bag inside. Then come back for Big Sister Katie’s bag. Now you’re at Ryde’s Place you’d better be useful for a change.’
Katie laughed at Jill’s pseudo-wrath.
Andrew had picked up both bags and was quietly walking towards the veranda with them.
‘I think he actually pays more attention to you, Jill, than anyone; except Secretary.’
‘Everyone takes notice of Secretary,’ Jill said flatly. ‘He knows everything. At least, he thinks he does. Ever asked him what a cathode is?’