by Walker, Lucy
‘No. We have fifty miles of creek along the out-paddock boundary. They have only thirty. That much of the difference is obvious. The real winner — when it comes to good pastoral country up here — is the underground water.
Parts of Mallibee could be described as huge land slabs lying on vast underground artesian lakes. That’s why everyone reveres old Grandfather Andrew Ashenden. He was the first of the first men in the north to survey underground water. And, of course, he snaffled the best strip of country for himself. But we don’t rub it in to the Singletons, or to the Nana Bindi crowd. We just admire their lawns and their windmills and water troughs. We draw in our collective breath and shake our several heads and tell them how lucky they are. We just don’t tell ‘em how many bores we have on Mallibee. That way everybody is happy.’
‘That way,’ Jeckie said, ‘is a way of never telling the exact truth. I don’t think it is strictly straight, but it is tactful, I suppose.’
‘Strictly peace-making, that’s what it is.’
‘True . . Jeckie nodded, giving these ethics some deep thought. ‘Peace-making is a good way of life. But why don’t you carry out those principles with Jason? I mean Jason Bassett.’
Barton looked down at Jeckie. He pulled in the corners of his mouth and manufactured a hefty scowl.
‘There you go again!’ he said. ‘That Jason Bassett has really got you in, hasn’t he? You’ve seen him twice only, so what’s happened to you, Jeckie? You can’t be like the rest of the Shire. They’re all flat on their noses — kotowing ! ‘
‘Nothing’s happened to me, Barton. Except I liked him Lots and lots. Now I’ve told you the truth, the whole truth and only the truth. If the rest of the Shire feels that way, too, then we can’t all be wrong, can we?’
‘All depends which side of the mountain you own,’ Barton said succinctly. He started up the Rover again and it rolled forward, down the tracks towards the colourful homestead.
Half-way down the slope he braked suddenly.
‘Timed it dead right,’ he said. ‘Here comes Andrew. Must have made it at more than your “mile a minute”, Jeckie. He had to go to the outcamp first to get old Bill Snowden, the hutter out there.’
Jeckie’s feet stopped fishing for her shoes and she sat bolt upright. ‘Where?’
‘Over your left shoulder. He’s coming in from the west track.’
Jeckie put her head out of the window. Half a mile to her left she saw a cloud of red dust streaming out — the signal of a fast-moving car in the distance.
`All that dust!’ she said, a touch of wonder in her voice. ‘Nobody could ever sneak up on a station in daylight, could they? You can see something coming for miles.’
‘Look through the rear vision mirror. You’ll see the first of the men following our dust from Mallibee.’
‘And way off behind them another dust cloud. The next lot. What fun they must be having down at the homestead watching the cars coming in across the plain. A sort-of
cloud-invasion.’
‘Like you said, Jeckie. No one can sneak up except at the dead of night. Everyone leaves his dust behind him.’
‘Let’s race Andrew in.’
‘No can do. With my usual skill and dexterity at the wheel we might just make the station square at the same time. Collision course! Hold tight. We’re about to go!’
Barton let out the clutch, went straight into second gear and started down the hill. He missed out the third gear and went into top, all with a quick flick of his fingers. Jeckie hung on to the window frame with one hand, but kept her eyes on Andrew’s gathering dust trail as his car sped on towards Morilla homestead.
They pulled into the station square almost dead on. Andrew opened the drive door and eased himself out. He walked over to the Land-Rover.
‘You gone mad, or something, Bart?’ he asked coldly. ‘That’s a pretty hot slope you came down.’
‘Ask Jeckie all about it. She goaded me on,’ Barton said with a grin. ‘She wanted to beat you in. But don’t ask me why.’
Jeckie slid out of the door and dropped to the ground. Then she remembered her shoes, which had slipped off again in the excitement. She disappeared, head and shoulders, back into the Rover’s cabin. When she came out her hair was ruffled, she had bumped her cheek on the
car seat, but she held her shoes aloft triumphantly.
nearly forgot my most vital appendages!’ she said. `Hallo, Andrew, how are you? Did you come far — fast?’
That’s beaten him, she thought. He’s come twenty-five miles further than we did. We only came really fast down that slope.
He pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked at her. There was something thoughtful — like a shadow — in his eyes. For what seemed a long stretch of time he said nothing. Jeckie bent down and slipped on first one shoe, then the other. Barton had gone to Andrew’s car and was opening the rear door for Aunt Isobel.
Jeckie’s blood was racing.
It’s insane, but we’ve one precious minute together, she thought madly. What shall I say that is memorable … Oh! If only Andrew would say it .. .
Her smile struggled to be ready and she was working hard at lighting a natural light in her eyes. Then she lifted her head and met Andrew’s eyes. It was almost as if he meant to say something —
A voice called across the lawn. A clear, gay, young, compelling voice. `Hallo, hallo, darling Andrew! Oh, hallo, Bart beastie!’
He might have said something, Jeckie thought sadly. He nearly did. But he heard that other voice and had turned round.
It was Sheila — over there across the lawn.
Jeckie could not see Andrew’s face, but she saw Sheila’s smile. It was a beautiful smile in its own right, and one that somehow acknowledged whatever kind of smile it was that Andrew had returned. Something special passed between them. Some message.
Jeckie looked down at her feet, vaguely remembering her shoes were in their right place — one on each foot. She blinked her eyes as if she couldn’t — for one sad moment —see properly.
She felt as if she was one person too many. She turned to Barton on her far side. He, too, was looking across the square at Sheila. Strange, but his scowl was hefty and black.
`What goes with you, Bart?’ Jeckie asked. ‘Aren’t you
pleased to see Sheila?’
He shook his head. ‘Bonkers!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m busy thinking. When I thinthinktakes effort. Hard work. When I’m working hard I have to look like it, don’t I?’ Then he grinned and took her arm. ‘Never mind Aunt Isobel, Jane, luggage and Co. Andrew will look after them. Come on down. Let’s brush past Sheila with our best disdainful expressions, and I’ll introduce you to Mrs Singleton. She’s just coming out on the veranda.’
Barton held Jeckie’s arm firmly so she had no alternative but to head on towards their hostess.
‘Look who’s hooked to my arm!’ Jeckie said as they swept past Sheila veranda-wards. She hoped she sounded as cheerful as Sheila looked bright, as if about to take Andrew by storm.
‘Hallo, Bart. The Prince of Charm himself!’ Sheila retorted, ignoring Jeckie by way of disdain. ‘How’s Mallibee without you this morning, darling?’
‘Doing fine, thank you, Sheila. I left it my blessing. You’d better go say “Hallo” to Aunt Isobel or you’ll be out of favour. That is— with Aunt Isobel, Jane, luggage and all. Never me, of course.’
‘You didn’t mention Andrew the Great,’ Sheila answered, tossing a very pretty head.
Mrs Singleton had crossed the wide veranda and was coming down the steps, her hand outstretched.
‘Welcome to Morilla, Juliet, or may I call you “Jeckie”? So much more friendly, isn’t it?’ She had a delightful smile as she took Jeckie’s hand in hers. ‘I ought to say “Welcome to the whole north west!” It’s quite a day when yet another Ashenden comes home to the old place.’
‘Thank you. That’s just the way I feel. I’d much rather you called me “Jeckie”. Everyone does.’
Barton dug his hands in his belt and surveyed first one, then the other.
‘Make that welcome warm enough, Mrs Singleton,’ he advised ‘and Jeckie’ll be changing her name back to Ashenden faster than you’ll catch up with the cut-out.’
Mrs Singleton, slim, grey-haired, sunburned, but very eager to please and be pleased, turned her welcoming smile on Barton.
‘Hallo, Bart dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you telling me
r—
we’re to expect some very nice news soon? This bit about changing names?’
Barton touched Mrs Singleton’s arm affectionately. ‘Well, not yet.’ He shook his head in mock seriousness. ‘It’s a wait-and-see world up here north of Twenty-six. But please keep the welcome warm. If we sit down to dinner in the homestead I bags being next to Jeckie. Sheila opposite, of course. That way I can look at one and hold hands with the other.’
Mrs Singleton turned to Jeckie. ‘Isn’t he outrageous?’ she asked with a laugh. ‘But we all adore him over here, you know. Of course we love all the Ashendens always.’
`Specially Aunt Isobel and Andrew,’ Barton said. He pretended dolefulness now.
`All the Ashendens?’ Jeckie echoed. ‘Then Jason Bassett too?’ Her expression said Jason was not to be left out of this heart-warming circle. He, too, was an Ashenden.
The older lady glanced first at Barton then back to Jeckie. Her smile had a touch of seriousness in it.
`Well … sparing Bart’s feelings … we all adore Jason,’ she said briefly. ‘However, sometimes we keep that to ourselves.’
I deserved that, Jeckie thought. She’s telling me it’s not tactful to talk about the Shire’s pastime of adoring Jason. Not in front of a real Ashenden with a real right to the Ashenden name, anyway. But I meant to say it. I wanted Jason to be included.
`Bart will take you inside, Jeckie, my dear,’ Mrs Singleton went on quickly. ‘Drinks in the sun room, Bart. You know the muster drill. Please explain everything to Jeckie. I must go and meet Miss Isobel. And Jane, of course. Dear, dear Jane! I must make her specially welcome.’
She hurried forward, leaving behind the aura of a kind and warm-hearted hostess. This touched Jeckie where —she was afraid — she did not now perhaps deserve it.
She glanced up sideways at Barton, expecting to be scolded. To her surprise he was smiling down at her quite kindly. He patted her shoulder affectionately.
‘Dear old Jeckie!’ he said. ‘Dropping dangers about
Jason before you’ve crossed the doorstep! Never mind,
chick. You’ll get over it. You’ll grow up any day now.’
‘Do you think so?’ she asked ruefully. She took his arm
as they went up the steps and crossed the veranda. She meant, of course — Will I get over dropping dangers? Barton’s raised eyebrows told her that he interpreted the half-sad question as an admission of having — painfully — what he called a ‘thing’ about Jason.
‘Oh well!’ she said aloud. ‘What’s the odds! Let’s go and find that sun room and those drinks, Bart. I think I’m going to love this place. It’s getting me in already.’
‘All in anticipation that Jason will come, I suppose?’
‘You go right on supposing, Bart darling. Sometimes you’re right, and sometimes you’re wrong — ‘
‘One day you’ll tell me which I am?’ She squeezed his arm affectionately. ‘Right ! One day I’ll tell you — just that!’ She laughed, her spirits back on top form again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All that day the sounds of vehicles and horsemen could be heard coming in over the plains — from all directions. The excitement was mounting. The air was filled with calls of welcome as stockmen galloped in, enveloped in their own dust. One after another they disappeared in a great flurry of dust and barking dogs — down to the saddling paddocks on the far side of the stables.
The doors of the men’s quarters further afield were flung open, as late-comers arrived to the tune of — ‘How you goin’, mate! “All right, how’s yourself, old fella?’
Saddles, gear, stock boots and dusty top clothes were flung across the veranda rails and the air was filled with catcalls as friends greeted even more friends coming in.
On the homestead veranda Mrs Singleton and one or two
of the celebrity visitors were holding court. Small tables,
cane chairs, arm-chairs and a long trestle table covered
with a snowy cloth, were set about. The long table was
crowded with dishes of every kind of salad, sandwich and
snack food. There were long narrow dishes of sliced cold
meats, chicken and ham. There was an array of lettuce,
cucumber, radish, tomato, capsicum and cheeses. Here and
there was a lovely bowl of brilliant bougainvillwa to add colour to what was already colourful.
At either end of the table stood huge dishes of the heavenly sun-dew melons, all halved and sliced waiting to be eaten by the gathering host of visitors.
Children raced around the lawn and their older brothers and sisters were already making for the horse paddocks.
Morilla Station had a long guest house built on the south side of the homestead and here many of the visitors were already deploying their luggage, their happy gossip, and themselves. Some of the nearest and closest neighbours of the Singletons were installed in the veranda rooms of the main homestead itself.
Along the north and east tracks into Morilla came caravans hauled behind big, dust-covered overlanding cars. These came to a stop and dispersed under the larger shade-giving trees. With calls of welcome and answering cries of greeting, the air was a proper din. Wide-brimmed outback hats were waved and slapped on knees with delight as their owners met up with friends they probably had not seen since the last barbecue on Morilla a year ago.
Out on the gravel square Mr Singleton senior and his eldest son were greeting the newcomers. Inside, on the side veranda, Mrs Singleton was deploying the teacups in all the right directions.
Jeckie helped other girls carry tea cakes and sandwiches to the older ladies. She was quite intoxicated with the air of gaiety and anticipation.
We ought to do this kind of thing at home, she thought. Much smaller, of course, because we only have a very small farm. Morilla, like Mallibee, is as big as a township in itself. All it needs is a pub to make it just that!
Half of Jeckie’s attention was engaged in enjoying the scene. The other half was divided between watching for Jason and wondering where Andrew had gone.
And where was Sheila?
Perhaps Andrew and Sheila had gone off somewhere together. Well, fair enough! If they were lovers, or even just nearly lovers, it would be the normal thing to do. She wondered, half shyly like someone prying, what kind of a lover Andrew would be. If it was herself … She could not think past that If’.
Well, suppose Jason came along! Well, maybe she would stop thinking about where Andrew was, and what he was doing. When Jason did come — she, too, would be happy. And at peace too.
But no! She couldn’t be that because Aunt Isobel was seated in a cane arm-chair, facing the station lawn and square, watching people arrive. Her face was indulgent and her occasional smile showed her mild but dignified amusement at all that was going on.
Jeckie knew she herself had to he loyal to Aunt Isobel. She realized she could never affront kindly, stiff-necked Aunt Isobel by publicly running to meet the Black Knight of Mallibee. She smiled to herself at the thought of telling Jason that was what she had decided to call him. Just for fun, of course!
What should she do when Jason did come? Sit tight and be a good girl? How ghastly! And all because of one big family quarrel which she still only half understood.
Jeckie’s line of thought was cut short because round from the front veranda, heading towards Aunt Isobel’s chair, came Andrew.
He was accompanied by a tall, broad-shouldered, sun-browned man; obviously an outbacker.
As Andrew threaded his way betwe
en people, Jeckie noticed again how different he was in his manner from everyone else. He had that certain air spare and simple, yet subtly strong. It distinguished him wherever he was. He had a quiet courtesy, too, in the way he nodded a greeting here or excused himself there, as he passed between groups.
The man following him, carrying a wide-brimmed outbacker’s hat, was quite as tall as Andrew. He was pleasant-looking, but tough too. And rather aloof. He wore a cattleman’s high-heeled boots, so perhaps that was it. Cattlemen were always tough and aloof. He was heavier in build than Andrew, and his mouth was set in a serious way, as if, in anticipating his imminent meeting with Aunt Isobel, he had barriers up but not in a defensive way.
Jeckie turned to see how Aunt Isobel would receive this interesting-looking newcomer. Then her eyes opened wide, startled.
Jane, who was sitting beside Aunt Isobel, had gone pale. She half stood up, then sank down on her chair — again, looking suddenly lost — as if the only place of immediate safety was the solid security of her chair. She bent her head and looked down at her hands in her lap.
Meantime Aunt Isobel and the newcomer were shaking hands.
A second later, yet another man came round the corner from the front veranda. He paused as he saw Jeckie. His expression looked as if he were thoughtfully diagnosing the look on her face. He next glanced at Aunt Isobel. He stood quite still, first watching the minor pantomime of Jeckie looking sad, then of Aunt Isobel graciously shaking hands with the man who had arrived with Andrew. Lastly he watched, almost with concern, as Jane stood up, suddenly looking like some gentle, hunted creature longing for cover, yet not quite daring to make a dash for it. Instead, she made the polite gestures of following Aunt ‘sobers example, and shook hands with the newcomer.
Andrew’s eyes were thoughtful, yet veiled, as he caught sight of Jeckie. She turned and, as she did so, saw the other arrival standing at the corner of the veranda.
Her face lit up. ‘Jason!’ she cried. There was real delight in her voice. She completely forgot — for one long minute —that here, right in their midst, was Mallibee’s enemy. She only saw him as her own very welcome friend.