by Walker, Lucy
‘Manage a stock horse?’ Andrew lifted his head and looked directly at Jeckie. His eyes had that ‘watch how you cross my path’ expression in them.
‘Yes,’ she said innocently. ‘You see, it seems that on Mallibee everyone has to have your permission for me to ride out to the cattle camp. I do realize, of course, that an elderly mare would not be adequate for the goings-on at a cut-out. Do you think I could have a loan of a stock horse, Andrew? That is — if I have your permission even to go out to the camp?’
Jane thought Jeckie’s dulcet tones and innocent expression were alarming. Nobody round the table knew what Aunt Isobel thought, but everyone pretended not to be startled. People did not usually challenge Andrew that way. No one looked at him, not even Jeckie, who went on quietly and unconcernedly eating her meal.
‘Barton has been tutoring you,’ Andrew said very slowly. ‘Not only in riding, Jeckie. But in how to have your own way at Mallibee. Have you been twisting Bart’s arm?’
‘Whack!’ said Barton, making a grimace. ‘How long have you been here, Jeckie? A matter of weeks? You’re with us already. What Andrew wants to know is — how you learned to curl me round your little finger in so short a time. I guess it’s the way you roll those bright blue eyes of yours. Beginning to fall in love with me already?’
Aunt Isobel’s back straightened poker-wise again.
‘Barton!’ she said coldly. ‘That is a very personal suggestion to make in front of other people. My mother would never have allowed it in her day. She taught us that good manners and standard English were necessary for table conversation! ‘
‘Of course she was right, Aunt Isobel. How come I keep forgetting that Generation Gap!’
‘The generation what?’ asked Jane wrinkling her brow. ‘Dearest Jane doesn’t read the papers,’ Barton said,
shaking his head with mock sadness.
Andrew’s eyes, enquiring in a thoughtful way, were fixed on Jeckie. She felt the betraying colour rise. She had better back down, she thought, before she said something foolish. Every pair of eyes round the table were on her. Barton’s, of course, had a laugh in them.
`I’m sorry,’ she said to Aunt Isobel. ‘I’ve only been having a little fun-contest with Barton. I won the race but now he’s won the conversation round, hasn’t he? He’s taken the conceit out of me.’
`That’s all right, my dear. We all have our little defeats.’
`It’s not me who’s made her feel defeated,’ Barton looked aggrieved. ‘It’s Andrew at the top of the table. Strange, Aunt Isobel, but Andrew doesn’t have to do anything but turn on a cold look. Then everyone starts blushing or making apologies. Tell us, Jeckie— you being a female — how does he manage to do it?’
Jeckie’s eyes met Andrew’s straight on. He was waiting for her answer to Barton, and he was not amused. Yet his eyes weren’t such steely eyes now. They too asked a question … she was sure. And funny — they sort-of looked tired. Which was strange. Why?
`Didn’t you say at dinner last night there was to be a barbecue and open-air cinema at Morilla Station, Andrew?’ she asked awkwardly. Anything to change the subject. Her manner was a slice of Jane’s manner when Jane sometimes tried to change the topic of conversation for peace sake. ‘It should be fun — the barbecue, I mean. If they only had a gymkhana before the barbecue, Barton and I could really show our mettle as horsemen, couldn’t we?’
Darn it! She’d said the wrong thing again!
For one moment Andrew looked surprised at Jeckie’s switch in the conversation. Then somewhere near the corners of his mouth a smile crept in.
It was the smile that did it.
Jeckie felt so relieved, all her mock defences came down like sapling trees in a desert wind. She looked at her plate and began the intricate business of putting peas on her fork.
No one ought to be allowed to smile like that, she
thought. There should be a law against it. Her heart had leapt, then seemed almost to die into silence. She didn’t want to be hurt — in that particular way — again. One futile love affair in a life was enough.
It really isn’t fair, she thought to herself again sadly. They’ve got him all sewn up for Sheila anyway! Besides, I’m not being sweet and gay and charming — like Sheila. I’m being stubborn and forthright. All things unfeminine. I don’t know why —except something inside me still hurts. Pride—I suppose! I’ve grown ‘prickles’.
The week-end of the barbecue on Morilla Station drew nearer. It was to last the whole week-end, including the Monday, when the men would attend the annual cut-out of the clean-skins where the boundaries of three stations met.
Even Aunt Isobel and Jane were excited. Sheila had arrived at Nana Bindi and everyone expected the Nana Bindi family to be at the Morilla barbecue — specially as the two stations shared a common corner boundary with that of Mallibee Downs.
Jeckie had been flat out helping in the homestead. Like Aunt Isobel, she had come to speak of Jane as ‘Jane-dear’. She ran the two words together, and this had sent Cassie and the house girls into fits of laughter. But Jane-dear herself had decided she liked her name combination. Even Aunt Isobel had come to approve.
`There’s such an affectionate note in Jeckie’s voice,’ Aunt Isobel said over their tea drinking duet the morning before they left for Morilla. ‘It’s really a kind and friendly way to speak of you, isn’t it, Jane?’
Jeckie at that moment was down at the long paddock’s fence watching Barton round up his change horses ready for them to be sent over to Morilla.
`When somebody asks you your name again, Jane dear,’ Miss Isobel went on, passing the scones, ‘don’t ever let me hear you say “It’s just plain Jane”. You are not plain and it is not a plain name. It’s a very attractive one.’
`Well — Jeckie has turned it into something attractive now, hasn’t she? She is such a dear. I think I like her quite as much as Sheila, don’t you, Miss Isobel?’
The older lady sipped her tea and was thoughtful.
`Well yes —’ she conceded. ‘Of course we must remember we knew Sheila first. And longer. Sheila did come to Mallibee because she was interested and wanted to come. Jeckie’s mother used to apologize in her Christmas letters because Jeckie showed no real interest in the family at all, then. In the Ashenden family, I mean. It’s only natural she should be more interested in her father’s family — the Bennetts. Then there was that disastrous love affair! Most unsuitable! A sailor, of all people! What would a country girl know about ships? My cousin — Sheila’s mother — was really disturbed about such a match. Quite a godsend that it fell through. A sailor is so often away from home, you know.’
`I hope Jeckie didn’t have a broken heart, or anything wretched like that.’
‘Oh no. I believe she was quite sensible about the whole thing,’ Aunt Isobel went on. ‘The young man had something to do with the diplomatic side of the Navy. That’s much worse than always being at sea, of course. Poor man! He’d be for ever worrying along Government corridors; and likely to be attached to the overseas services any minute.’
`Imagine Jeckie— with all her spirit — having to do and say the right thing every time ambassadors and those sort of people were around,’ said Jane.
Miss Isobel paused. Jeckie belongs to the country,’ she said with finality. ‘This country.’ She took another sip of tea. `Jeckie’s mother did the right thing in packing her off up here.’
`Oh — but —’ Jane was surprised. ‘Surely Jeckie came, rather than was sent?’
`Well, something of both,’ Aunt Isobel conceded. ‘It took a little persuasion, I understand. Actually I’m sure the girl is pleased she came now. She seems to laugh a lot, specially when she is with Barton. Such a good thing they get on so well together!’
Jane sat looking thoughtfully across the gravel square.
deckle had seemed to her such a serious girl at first —even a little sad — when one accidentally caught her off-guard. Now she was a real little smiler. Her lovely blue eye
s shone with good spirits. It was only when Andrew spoke to her — or even just looked at her — that she became serious again. Such a pity, because Andrew was really, under that austere manner, quite a dear!
‘What are you thinking about, Jane?’ Aunt Isobel asked, a little sharply. always have misgivings when you frown.’
‘Frown? Oh dear. People who look cross are not often very nice people, are they?’
`No, they’re not. But, Jane dear — as far as I know, you are never cross. So what were you thinking about?’
‘Like you — that it is so nice to see Jeckie and Bart getting on so well. I do have one little worry, Miss Isobel — ‘
‘Then speak up, my dear. Worry will give you indiges-tion. So bad for one!’
`Well, they say that when a young girl has a broken love affair she sometimes falls into the arms of the first nice man who happens along and is kind to her. Of course I’m sure Jeckie wouldn’t — ‘
‘You’re sure Jeckie wouldn’t make that error? It’s a state of mind commonly called the “rebound”. In this case, Jane dear, it could all turn out to be for the good. Were you thinking that Jeckie might be attracted to Barton — in a special way?’
‘Well — no. Not exactly. I just wish it were so. They seem such good friends. They really like one another’s company, don’t they?’
Miss Isobel straightened her back.
‘Then of whom are you thinking, Jane?’ she demanded. ‘Out with it! Loyalty to Jeckie is not the only kind of loyalty, if that’s what is making you hesitate. You and I have lived together on this station all our lives. You have a loyalty to the family. We all want to do our best to protect Jeckie.’
‘Yes, Miss Isobel. Well, when Jeckie first arrived Barton was late getting to the airport and Jeckie had to wait in that pokey little lounge. Oh, for quite a long time! There were three other people in the lounge. Men.’
‘Really, Jane! What is wrong with three men in a public airport, even such a small outback one? No one, not even anyone as spirited as Jeckie, could fall in love with three men all at the same time.’
‘Strange things happen,’ Jane said, showing a little spirit of her own. ‘Two of the men were from that dreadful
Westerly-Ann Mine. Jeckie wouldn’t know at that stage how we feel about the mine — ‘
‘Why don’t you come to the point, Jane? You are not suggesting that Jeckie is interested in two men from Westerly-Ann Mine?’
‘No. It is the third man I’m thinking about. He came into the airport to meet the Westerly-Ann people. Doing business with them again. It was Jason Bassett.’
`Jason Bassett?’
‘You do know what he’s like when he’s being nice to people, Miss Isobel. He has people eating out of his hand. He was very nice to Jeckie apparently. And she likes him. I know about it, Miss Isobel, because Jeckie told me herself. She asked me all about him. Then — she met him again the very next day. That was when Barton took her to the Turn-Off. She liked him even more the second time. She said so —’
‘Just pause and catch your breath,’ Miss Isobel said flatly. ‘I’ll pour you another cup of tea. There. Now tell me slowly and calmly why you’re rushing out this information at such a pace. It has nothing to do with us at Mallibee.’
‘Thank you, Miss Isobel,’ Jane said as she took the refilled cup of tea. She sipped nervously. ‘I didn’t like telling you,’ she went on, ‘because I didn’t want to worry you. And — well — it’s not being very loyal to Jeckie — I mean — for me to repeat things.’
‘And as Barton is your favourite, you fear for his prospects?’ Miss Isobel said with dignity, but bluntly. ‘You are in a pickle with your loyalties, aren’t you, Jane? But I’m glad you’ve told me. Jason Bassett is quite undesirable. We must be careful when we go to Morilla for the barbecue week-end. He’s bound to be there.’ She paused a moment. ‘People make such an absurd fuss of him,’ she went on, a little testily. ‘As for Barton, when he sees the main chance in anything, he sets to work and takes it. I don’t think I would worry about Barton failing to get his own way. He may surprise you, my dear Jane, Barton doesn’t always mean what he says.’
‘Well — ‘ Jane gathered up her dignity. ‘You favour Andrew, you know,’ she said.
Miss Isobel stared at Jane coldly. Then suddenly she
unbent. She put out her hand and touched Jane’s arm.
`I think we’re both a scheming pair where our affections lie. What a good thing it is for Mallibee that we don’t favour the same person. It would be so unfair to the one left out, wouldn’t it?’
The eyes of the two ladies met. Then they smiled.
`After that, I think we’ll have a fresh pot of tea altogether,’ said Miss Isobel. ‘You have had two cups, Jane, but I have had only one.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The utility trucks were filled with exotic foods, clothes, sleeping bags, portable coolers, and — most important of all — sun-dew melons that had ripened in abundance on the far side of the windmill.
Everything was being made ready for the week-end at Morilla.
To Jeckie it looked like a total evacuation of all souls. The strangest array of vehicles appeared from under the lean-to galvanized iron sheds behind the staff quarters, and from down by the creek. These vehicles belonged mostly to the stockmen. They were their own possessions. All had been spring-cleaned and polished up the day before, and now were filling up with petrol from the station pump.
Two days earlier several of the men had set off on horseback, each taking along with him a string of change horses. Two of the men took Andrew’s and Barton’s mounts along with their own. They had all departed — like a posse — in a flurry of dust amidst much `wha-hoofing’, and the barking of dogs. The excitement was terrific, and Jeckie felt part of it. She knew now she felt real happiness — if only temporarily. Soon she would have to go home, but right now she wanted to stay at Mallibee for ever. She loved the life.
Immediately after sun-up on D-Day, Andrew helped Aunt Isobel and Jane and their belongings into the overlander. It had been agreed earlier that Jeckie would follow
with Barton in the Land-Rover, and they were to wait half an hour before starting. This was so that they would not have to drive through the brown pall of Andrew’s dust cloud.
It was a glorious morning. The heat had not yet set in. The cool land breeze which blew from the east in the early morning stirred the leaves in the whitetrunked gums around the homestead. Further out where the buffel grass spread upwards to the track from the creek, even those long narrow leaves waved gladly in the moving air.
‘Andrew will be there hours before us,’ Jeckie said as she tucked herself in beside Barton. ‘I’m surprised Aunt Isobel isn’t scared at his speed. Look at his dust, Barton. He’s leaving a trail at about a mile a minute.’
‘Aunt Isobel is not scared of anything Andrew does,’ Barton said as he started up, then went into first gear. `She would feel as safe with him as if he were the Angel Gabriel’. He changed gear again and slewed his eyes round to look at Jeckie. ‘She could be right, you know.’
‘Down in the dark depths of your not very good soul, you think a lot of Andrew, don’t you, Bart?’
I’ll have to give it some thought, since you’ve brought the matter up, sweetie. Come to think of it, most people think a lot of Andrew. That’s excepting you, of course. You ought to take a lesson from the line Sheila takes. Or should I say the line she pursues? My, oh my! She knows how to influence people and win friends the right way. Specially Andrew. “Yes” is his favourite word where Sheila is concerned.’
The Land-Rover was in top gear now. Suddenly they were blazing along the out-track, turning east into the sun. ‘Did Sheila influence you too?’ Jeckie said.
‘Certainly, me too. Why not? I made a point of attend-ing to that.’
Jeckie thought this sounded a little cryptic till Barton answered his own question.
‘With Sheila two men around are always better than one. That way
she can: play one off against the other. Or don’t you know Sheila very well?’
‘Yes, I know her — very well,’ Jeckie said. ‘And I don’t think you’re being exactly gallant talking about her that way.’
Barton threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well — we’ll wait and see, hey? Meantime you’re my girl till we get to Morilla. Agreed?’
Jeckie did not answer. She couldn’t think of anything clever to say at the moment.
Marina homestead stood shielded on three sides in a wide amphitheatre against a background of low hills. Spread around the sides of this curve of high ground were the out-buildings and all other appendages such as the smithy, engine house, store, stables, garages. Further on the south side stood the cottages, the shearing shed, and the shearers’ quarters. It was like a scattered village. Tall trees, planted perhaps fifty or more years ago, shaded most of the out-buildings, and all four sides of the homestead. An avenue of snow white ghost gums led from the homestead to the station entrance. In front of the house stretched a green lawn. Along the cyclone-wire fence flowered a gorgeous array of bougainvillaea, pampas grass and oleanders. Here were brilliant reds, brilliant orange colours, deep glowing purples, and the white plumes of the pampas. The timber work of the homestead was painted white — just as the trunks of the ghost gums looked as if they had been painted white.
Way over in the distance beyond the encircling hills reared a single cone of bare red rock mountain.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ Barton said. He had brought the Rover to a stop so that Jeckie could admire the view.
‘But I’ve never seen anything so beautiful!’ Jeckie said with delight. ‘Such colours! It’s like a painted oasis in a desert, isn’t it?’
Barton gave a mock laugh. ‘Don’t you let any of the Singletons hear you talk about “desert” out here, Jeckie. That is, if you want to leave for home unscathed. Every station owner thinks he has the finest stretch of pastoral country in the north west. It’s neighbourly to let them go on thinking it.’
‘As pastoral country is it better than Mallibee?’