The mountain that went to the sea

by Walker, Lucy

  Take a visit to the home of your pioneering forefathers, dear. Who knows? You just might fall in love with Andrew the Third. Preferably him, as he holds the greatest number of shares and is the eldest. Of course it’s up to you, Jeckie, to see that he falls in love with you. Well, if not Andrew — then Barton. They didn’t put it into actual words, but she could almost hear her mother and other relatives thinking aloud!

  Moreover, she sensed the family thought it was important she moved in before her distant cousin, Sheila. Sheila too was due, on her mother’s death, to inherit one of the outstanding shares in the company.

  No! Nothing was ever put into words. But Jeckie sensed something of it was in the mind of Great-Aunt Isobel way up at Mallibee housekeeping for the brothers Andrew and Barton Ashenden. The thoughts were there —occasionally put into letters. Nebulous, faintly hopeful. Full of wishful thinking.

  `Jeckie darling, why don’t you take a holiday up to Mallibee Downs?’ her mother, one aunt and an uncle said persuasively in various ways and at different times. ‘It’s a fabulous station. It would be rather nice to meet your distant relatives too. Of course they’re so distant, blood-wise, that being relatives hardly matters. But you ought to take an interest, you know. After all, you will one day have a share …’

  Their powers of suggestion were there all right.

  The dripping of water on stone . .. for Jeckie’s heart had been formerly stone cold on the subject. She had been very much in love with a young naval officer temporarily stationed at the Naval Base. So she hadn’t even listened, let alone taken notice when her parents, or an assortment

  of aunts and cousins, had ladled out advice via the subtle technique of ‘suggestion’.

  Then later — just to put a charge in the blast-box — her naval officer, Edgerton Fyfe Brown, had been transferred. He wrote a sad, apologetic letter. His Commanding Officer had advised him to wait before hastily making marriage plans. Wait awhile, at any rate.

  A career officer with just the right touch of ambition had of necessity to take notice of any advice proffered by such beings as Commanding Officers. That was, alas, a fact of life! Besides, he asked himself, had he, Edgerton, been quite fair to Jeckie? He was likely to be promoted shortly to the Diplomatic Branch of the Service. That meant Naval Attache to the Consular, even Ambassadorial Courts of Europe, Africa and Asia. Such a job made awful demands on a wife. The social life, and all that! Kotowing all over the place to all manner of people! Jeckie, he knew, was a country girl who loved horses, dogs, and other things that made country life habitable. His Commanding Officer had strongly advised consultation with Jeckie about these things. And above all — not to be

  hasty. ‘You must have time to think this over, my darling

  Jeckie,’ wrote Edgerton Fyfe Brown.

  To Jeckie the message was all but a painting on a wall! Love was one thing, and a career was another. Sometimes never the twain did meet — happily.

  Then — dreadful thought! She, Juliet Bennett, country girl was unsuitable? She could almost hear the thoughts of sundry career-minded people in the Diplomatic Branch of the Service.

  Of course, they were right, she knew, and she would hate that kind of life. But all the same she was dreadfully hurt. She couldn’t even bear to tell her parents after she in her turn had sent her own sad apologetic letter by return post.

  ‘It’s all over,’ she said briefly. ‘It was just a funmaking passing affair, wasn’t it? Thank you for a lovely time!’

  Jeckie’s white face had spoken for itself but Mrs Bennett had taken a more practical view if her daughter’s state of health,

  `You’re run down, darling. Why don’t you take a holiday and go and make the acquaintance of your Ashenden cousins? They’d love to have you up there at Mallibee Downs. Aunt Isobel mentioned it again in her last Christmas letter . .

  So all right, Jeckie would take a holiday! She needed one. She wasn’t feeling up to scratch.

  Anything to escape. Anything to run away. She wouldn’t have time to think. She’d go up north and meet the related Ashendens, then everyone would be satisfied. They’d stop pressing her. She couldn’t take any more pressing just now. Up there amongst the cattle barons and sheep kings, deep in a million-acre station, she would have other things to think about. She could weather out time. Besides, there were those huge mining ventures going on up there in the north. Copper, silver, platinum — even diamonds. But mostly iron ore. Her mother, who owned one of the few outside shares in Mallibee Downs, had been very angry about some of that mining going on on land that had once been part of Mallibee. One of the distant cousins had sold off part of the pastoral lease left to him by some daughter-descendant of old pioneering Andrew Ashenden. Dismay all round the family!

  Well, it would all add another interest, Jeckie thought.

  She was hurt and sad and tired, so she did not realize her thoughts were only brittle barriers, defined in brittle words, to cover up her wounded feelings. She had made a mistake. So what? She would bury it and start again.

  Quite suddenly — because of her need — Jeckie’s Ashenden relatives weren’t hateful any more. Great-Aunt Isobel had written that they needed her — to help close the family ranks. Right now she needed them. Mallibee would be her refuge.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Now unexpectedly—sitting in a Land-Rover this late afternoon — Jeckie was heartsick again, and very, very tired. It

  was something to do with being wrapped in all these part—

  sad, part-aggressive thoughts. She must think about something else.

  She curled up in her corner, put her bristles away, and wished she was very small and young again, so that she could have a little cry.

  Barton Ashenden put his hand up roofwards and switched on the overhead light. He looked curiously at the girl who suddenly seemed so small, and who was so silent.

  ‘You sick or something, Jeckie?’ he asked. He sounded quite solicitous — which cheered Jeckie. Here was someone who seemed to care, even if it were only temporarily.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t sick on the plane. Do you think I could be having “delayed reaction”?’

  ‘Could be,’ he said judiciously. ‘I’ve known strong men blanch when those bit-piece planes duck and dance up and down the air pressures once they’re north of Twenty-six.’

  ‘Well, it’s nice of you to say so,’ Jeckie said, sitting up again. ‘Very chivalrous of you, Barton. I’m sure none of the nor’westers I’ve heard of would really blanch at anything. They’re supposed to be strong and enduring. Neither cyclones, droughts nor floods can daunt them.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic, pet,’ Barton admonished, stepping up his speed but still wearing his grin. ‘Not around Andrew anyway. Incidentally — now you’ve come, and the news has got around, which of us do you intend to marry? Made up your mind yet?’ His grin was more than just a little wicked.

  Jeckie went still-all-over again. She felt outraged. First her mother and those distant relatives! Now this!

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ she said coldly.

  ‘How dare I? Is that the next thing you’re going to say? Listen, Cousin, what you ought to ask is, how did I know? About this cousin-marry-second-cousin thing. Well, I’ll tell you anyway. Everyone knows in every nook and cranny of our contentious, far-flung family. It’s this year’s guessing game.’ His voice changed to one of mimicry. ‘Have you heard the latest? The Bennetts have packed “Juliet” off to meet the Mallibee mob. They’re hoping something will come of it. Of course Great-Aunt Isobel has always thought the family name ought to marry the

  rest of the shares.’

  ‘Stop this Land-Rover and let me get out,’ Jeckie demanded with icy dignity. She was actually gripping the door handle.

  `Nuts!’ Barton said with a laugh. ‘That handle’s on a double-lock, Juliet — Jeckie — so don’t waste your time. Besides, we’re all but up on the tableland now, and there’s not a tree in sight, let alone a homestead. You haven’t even a sun hat for tomorrow.
So if you’re wandering out there round about midday you’ll find it up to a hundred and thirty in the sun. You’d be better off sticking around with beastly me. By the way, are we third cousins or fourth cousins?’

  ‘Not having any interest in the matter I have not counted up,’ Jeckie said with great but chilly dignity. ‘I am not likely to have any interest in the matter. Now or ever.’

  `Nor in me?’

  `Now or ever.’

  ‘Ho ho! That leaves Andrew. Petto, I have to warn you Andrew is a hard nut to crack. If he has a heart, it will take some finding. Other females have tried —’

  `I still want to get out of this Land-Rover.’

  ‘But you can’t. The door is double-locked.’ Barton patted Jeckie’s arm with his free hand. ‘I’m only teasing, petto,’ he said. ‘Forget and forgive, huh?’

  `Neither,’ said Jeckie flatly. ‘I’d like you to turn this car round and take me back to the airport.’

  `No can do. We’ve just enough petrol to make Mallibee. And I’ve one cracked gasket. That means oil loss. Besides there’s no plane south for two days. Look, over to your left, Jeckie. That rim of gold edging above Red Top Hill is the moon coming up. In a minute you’ll see this place at the only time in twenty-four hours it looks beautiful. That’ll cheer you up.’

  `And forget what you said?’

  `Can’t think what came over me. Call it nor’west humour — at its worst. I’m sorry. Believe me?’

  `Yes. Let’s call it even. I’m tired so I suppose I’m cross — which is very bad-mannered considering —’ `Considering what?’

  `Well, I am Mallibee’s guest, aren’t I? Whose guest?

  Andrew’s or Great-Aunt Isobel’s? I know it was she who has been writing to my mother.’

  ‘Andrew’s the manager and has the biggest whack of shares in the station. I guess you know all about that. Aunt Isobel runs the homestead. Don’t be scared of her, Jeckie. She has a reserved manner sometimes, but somewhere deep down — like the mineral wealth under Mallibee Mountain — is hidden a heart of gold.’

  Jeckie was doubtful from Barton’s wicked grin whether he meant this last about Aunt Isobel, but her own heart was almost at base level, anyway, so it couldn’t sink much lower.

  Why had she been mad enough to come?

  Like Barton, Jeckie too had known what the families were up to. So had her cousin Sheila Bowen who, report said, had actually evinced some interest in this ridiculous business of marketing brides. She’d been up to Mallibee some months earlier and had said she adored it. Meaning Mallibee? Or the prospect of marrying one of the Mallibee men?

  Jeckie had only come herself because of her wounded pride. That futile love affair! Too stupid for words. She’d brought herself with her, alas! And couldn’t run away from that.

  ‘Trouble with me — ‘ she said aloud, a little subdued, ‘I’m too impetuous. At least that’s what my parents always say.’

  ‘Impetuous about what?’ Barton swung the Land-Rover round a great ironstone rock.

  The moon had come up, an apricot ball hanging in the eastern sky like a Japanese lantern. The land, no longer so red and angry, was washed with light. Here and there away to the north, a scattering of mesa-topped mountains stood up like some mighty throw-up across the skyline; silent and still. The ghost gums were white; silent and still too.

  It’s beautiful,’ Jeckie said slowly, lifting her heart a little out of her mixed anger and sadness. ‘But terribly lonely …’

  ‘I’m glad you like the look of it,’ Barton said affably. ‘The moon’s a help, isn’t it! That great big kid’s balloon!

  All we need is a party.’

  They drove on and on, the Land-Rover throwing up its cloud of dust behind. Groups of kangaroos loped through the undergrowth, and twice Barton swerved to avoid crashing into one. Attracted by the lights, it had raced towards them.

  ‘You should have seen them when I was coming in,’ he said. ‘Hundreds of them. It was me or them for half the raking distance.’

  ‘Is that why you were late?’

  ‘Partly.’

  `What was the other part?’

  ‘Andrew had the last small mob of sheep to muster in. I gave a hand. First things first at Mallibee, Jeckie. Always.’

  `You mean Andrew puts sheep before people?’

  ‘You have to get your priorities right at Mallibee, Jeckie!’ His grin was rather wicked but, as she wasn’t looking, she did not see this.

  Back in her corner she thought about it. Already she was beginning to feel the name ‘Andrew’ had the sound of a call-to-arms. Was Barton joking?

  Hard to tell with these northwest types, she thought. So different.

  Yet … odd because, back there at the airport, that man Jason — one of the three men having a sundowner —had been one nor’wester you could be sure of. He wouldn’t be all those things like Shire President and Warden etcetera, if he hadn’t been a reliable, likeable sort of person. And kind too! Now, would he?

  She had been half asleep when her shoe fell off, but the half that wasn’t asleep had known when he put the shoe back on her foot.

  She’d taken a peek between half closed lids, and she had seen his smile. A good sort of smile.

  It was midnight when Barton rattled the Land-Rover into the square in front of Mallibee homestead.

  Jeckie was stiff and her clothes were on the crushed side as she slid out of the passenger seat and dropped to the grass verge.

  Barton, hat doffed, made a mock bow as he held the door open for her. Before he had finished the flourishing, the veranda lights went up. Jeckie could see the homestead’s open front door. Another powerful light broke out on a tall post at the side of the square.

  She blinked her eyes as she tried to smooth down the creases of her skirt with one hand, and clutched at her carry-bag with the other.

  Through the front door, on to the veranda, came a grey-haired lady. She was tall and very dignified. Handsome, too, but in an elderly way.

  This must be Great-Aunt Isobel, Jeckie thought, feeling the slightest bit nervous.

  ‘Is that you, Barton? Have you brought Juliet with you? They said over the late session that the plane landed at five o’clock.’

  Jeckie made the tiniest grimace at that ‘Juliet’. Nobody — but absolutely nobody — called her by her true name except her mother—and then only when she was cross. Even as a child the given name — Juliet — had called for too much teasing about ‘this Romeo’ or ‘that Romeo’.

  ‘She’s here, safe and sound, Aunt Isobel,’ Barton called as he heaved Jeckie’s travel-bag from the back of the Land-Rover. ‘She says she’s eaten, and we didn’t stop for snacks on the way. Hope you have the kettle on the bubble.’

  Jeckie walked slowly into the light from the veranda. She looked rather small, a little forlorn, yet somehow stubbornly keeping up an air of confidence.

  Aunt Isobel looked down from the veranda’s top step, and Jeckie looked up. There was a momentary silence fraught with conjecture on both sides. ‘Well, come along, child,’ Aunt Isobel said at length, in a clear, authoritative voice. ‘You must be tired. Don’t stand there dallying. It’s time you had a cup of tea. Then off to bed with you.’

  Jeckie did not feel a child. She was nineteen years of age, and had a mind of her own, she hoped. So she was unduly wary.

  She went up the three steps and took Aunt Isobel’s outstretched hand. The older lady looked down into a pair of young, defensive, but very bright blue eyes.

  She unbent, and patted Jeckie’s hand. Then she gathered

  up her managerial graces into dignified height again, and said, ‘Well! So you’re Alice Bennett’s child. She was the daughter of the first Andrew Ashenden’s fourth child, Francis. Of course, you know that already, don’t you, my dear?’

  Jeckie smiled just the littlest bit. This was because of the emphasis on the fourth child — someone way down the line from the Andrews and Bartons who went on succeeding in the first and second places down t
he generations.

  ‘Yes, I did know that,’ Jeckie said gently. ‘Thank you for having me to stay with you, Aunt Isobel.’

  ‘Great-Aunt Isobel, really. But we can leave the “Great” part out, can’t we? Such a mouthful! Now come along inside. I’ve set some supper in the dining-room. The drawing-room is too pretentious for a midnight arrival.’

  Drawing-room! Jeckie thought. Oh dear!

  She wondered if everything about her stay at Mallibee Downs was to be old-fashioned.

  As she followed Aunt Isobel across the entrance hall, then along a passage, she began to be thankful for Barton. Andrew, she felt in advance, was likely to be someone like the original Ashenden. Autocratic, and probably even more stiffly correct and out-of-this-modern-world than Aunt Isobel.

  The dining-room was a big sombre, but beautiful room. It was so richly panelled in dark polished timber. In the centre was a long dining table, old and beautiful. So was the massive sideboard old and beautiful, and the eight hand-carved chairs set around the table. It was all so cared-for.

  A snowy embroidered cloth was set out with tea things at the far end of the table.

  ‘Now, my dear!’ Aunt Isobel said in her clear, indulgent voice. ‘If you go through that door there you’ll find a small wash-room. I’m sure you’ll want a quick brush-up before we have supper. We generally use it for visitors who come in unexpectedly. Sometimes uninvited too, I’m afraid. I’ll make the tea. Barton will probably put the Land-Rover away then use the veranda bathroom for his wash-up.’

  Jeckie, quite awed by now, did as she was told and made her way round the long table in through a panelled

  door to the wash-room. She had indeed come into another world. It was the old old world of the first pioneers. Gracious, solid, and very Victorian.

  Later, when she came back into the dining-room, Aunt Isobel had already seated herself before the massive tea tray at the side of the table.