The Tartan Touch

by Isobel Chace

  “I think you’ll find it crisp and juicy,” he said gently. “Our Australian apples are getting quite famous.”

  I was very aware of him as I ate the apple. It was as if I had never seen a man before, and whether the apple was good or bad, I couldn’t have told a soul!

  My first night at Mirrabooka was rudely shattered by the arrival of Mary in my room.

  “Come on! Wake up!” she commanded me. “It’ll be dawn shortly and I want to ride out to see them bring the sheep in before it gets too hot ”

  “Ride?” I muttered sleepily.

  “On a horse!” she laughed at me.

  I sat up quickly. “I don’t ride,” I said. “You’d best go without me.”

  “It isn’t difficult,” she assured me, “Oh, come on, Kirsty! You’ll have to learn sooner or later.”

  “Then it’ll be later!” I said dourly.

  But I argued in vain. I had no suitable clothes, I told her, and absolutely no inclination to leave the soft comfort of my bed.

  “I’ll lend you a pair of jeans,” she promised.

  “But I’ve never worn trews in my life!” I exclaimed.

  “Then it’s time you did!” she laughed at me, imitating my own downright manner. Her mimicry set me laughing.

  “And me a daughter of the manse!” I said, shaking my head.

  “I know!” she retorted. “It’ll be lipstick next!”

  “It’s been lipstick for a few years now,” I said, put out.

  She was not at all repentant, “I thought I saw a faint pink film over your lips,” she teased me, “Naturally, I thought that Andrew had kissed most of it off!” Her bright eyes took in my agitated face. “Everyone wears jeans around here,” she said very gently. “You’ll look very nice in them, so you don’t have to worry!”

  I did look well in them, though they were a bit full for me in places. I could see that for myself when I stared at myself in the long looking-glass that hung on the wall of my room. But I still felt shy and peculiarly exposed when I went through the kitchen to join Mary in the yard out at the back. A long, low whistle of approval assailed my ears as I stepped outside. I very nearly turned and ran back inside, but pride would not permit such a course. I met Andrew’s eyes, the glow of temper in my own.

  “You’re mighty free this morning!” I told him.

  He looked away from me, much to my relief. “I’ll whistle at my wife whenever I want to!” he drawled.

  “Oh, will you just?” I said grimly.

  “Too right I win.”

  I glared at him, wondering at the little tickle of pleasure at the back of my mind that any man should whistle in my direction.

  “’I’ll have my own trews made,” I informed him belligerently. “I’ll have them made of the MacTaggart tartan!” I added for good measure.

  He pushed his hat forward over his eyes, “Mustn’t frighten the sheep!” he said. He whistled a tune softly under his breath and then began to sing the words, so softly that I might not have heard them.

  O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:

  O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad:

  Tho’ father and mither and a’ should gae mad,

  O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad.

  I tried not to listen to him, but the words, familiar to me all my life, were not so easily ignored. Besides, his Scottish accent made me want to laugh.

  “I’ll not listen to you!” I said with decision.

  To my surprise he chuckled at my discomfiture. I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could read my mind like a book. Did he truly think he had only to whistle for me to come? Perhaps it was true and I would, but it wasn’t something that I wished to dwell on. I stood there, my face as grave as a judge’s, and wished I had the strength of mind to tell him where I wished him.

  Mary looked as discomfited as I felt. “I’ll fetch the horses,” she offered quickly.

  “Do that,” Andrew agreed. “What are you putting Kirsty up on?”

  “Birrahlee.”

  “He’s a goer,” Andrew said doubtfully.

  “But he’s as smooth as silk!” Mary said admiringly, “She couldn’t fall off him. He has such beautiful manners.”

  “Okay,” Andrew allowed. “Have Jim bring him out here and I’ll mount her myself.”

  The horse looked alarmingly large, Standing as tall as I could, I could only barely see across his back. I licked my lips, longing to refuse to have anything to do with this animal, with his wide, flaring nostrils and his wild eyes.

  “I don’t think he cares to have a novice up on him,” I hazarded hopefully.

  “What? Birrahlee?” Marv said scornfully. “He’s as quiet as a rocking horse!”

  Andrew merely stood beside the horse, patiently waiting. “Take time to get to know him,” he advised me. “Talk to him. Let him get wind of your smell. Never hurry over getting to know a horse. Your life may depend on him, so you’d better make friends with him.”

  I took it all very seriously. Timidly, I patted the strong neck and allowed his flaring nostrils to nuzzle against my shoulder. Nor was he the only one to take in my scent, for his own was strong enough to hit the back of my throat when he came up close to me.

  Andrew put the reins in my hand and showed me how to hold them. He made me grasp the saddle with both hands and, taking my foot in his hands, he flung me up on to the great animal’s back.

  It was a long way down to the ground! I reeled away from the quick look I had taken and concentrated fiercely on hooking my feet into the stirrups. The saddle fitted me closely, rising into a ridge behind me that would hold me on no matter what I did.

  “You’d best walk him round the paddock first,” Andrew said, casting a critical eye over the way I was sitting.

  I urged the horse forward. He poked his legs down hard on to the ground, jerking me at every step. I thought maybe it was because he was going so slowly and eased the reins against his neck, as I had once seen someone do in the films. Birrahlee’s reaction was totally unexpected. His ears went back flat against his neck, and he shot forward, tearing past Andrew and Mary, who was just at that moment getting on to her own horse. He stretched himself out, his hooves thundering against the hard, dry ground. I shut my eyes, praying that I would remain on his back and would not disgrace myself before Andrew’s critical eyes.

  I need not have worried, for I soon found I was enjoying myself. The lurching ground settled into an understandable pattern of trees and scrub. It was the most exciting sensation I had ever known and I was quite put out when I realised that the others were following in hot pursuit. I touched my heels to Birrahlee’s flanks and was delighted as he responded by galloping even faster.

  “Scots, wha hae!” I yelled into the wind.

  “Pull him up!” Andrew shouted behind me. Reluctantly, I did as he said. We faltered back into a canter and circled round to meet Andrew as he came up to us.

  “Oh, Andrew!” I exclaimed exultantly.

  “I’ll Scots, wha hae you!” he threatened. “I thought you said you couldn’t ride?”

  “Did you see me?” I laughed at him. “Did you see him fly over the ground?”

  He relaxed a trifle in his saddle. “If you think you can do it again, I’ll time you with a stop-watch,” he promised.

  “You mean, have a race?” I demanded happily.

  “If you think you can hold him,” he said seriously.

  “He drives himself!” I assured him blithely.

  He blenched, but he said nothing. It was left to Mary, who came panting up to join us to say:

  “Did you see it, Andy? Don’t you dare say a word to anyone, either of you! Mirrabooka’s secret weapon at the next races has been found!”

  “I don’t know,” Andrew said slowly. “It’s a pretty rough event.”

  “Please,” begged Mary.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said.

  Reaction had begun to set in and I felt weak at the knees and was shaking as I clung to
the reins as if my life depended on it. But I didn’t think I could dismount, so there was nothing to do but to stretch my legs in front of me and hope that the weakness would pass over quickly.

  Andrew gave me a sharp look. “Do you want to go back?” he asked me.

  I shook my head, straightening my back. “I thought we were going to see the sheep,” I rallied him.

  He took off his hat and blew into it. “You’re going to be stiff tonight,” he told me. “Oh, my word you are!”

  “I can bear it,” I said.

  “Pluck to the backbone?” he said in exactly the same tone of voice.

  “No, it isn’t that,” I confided, “but I don’t think I can get down.”

  His laugh ran out across the paddock, joined by Mary’s softer note.

  And Mary wants to turn you into a jockey!” he smiled.

  My hands trembled and I allowed them to drop on to the pommel on the front of my saddle. “If you don’t want me to—” I began.

  “But, Andy, it’s a bonza idea!” Mary interrupted me. “Birrahlee has never gone like that for me!”

  “Do women ride in such races?” I asked thoughtfully.

  “Everyone rides in them!” Andrew, answered.

  I hesitated. “I shouldn’t like to make a spectacle of myself,” I said slowly.

  “But you wouldn’t!” Mary cut in crossly.

  I looked shyly at Andrew. “If you say I may—” I coaxed him.

  "We’ll see,” he said. “Birrahlee may not feel like submitting another time. Kirsty is very light to hold him if he runs away with her.”

  “Oh, don’t be so mean, Andy!” Mary said flatly. “Can’t you see that she’s longing to ride him, but is afraid of offending you for some reason?”

  “Do you?” he asked me, his eyes enigmatic.

  I nodded briefly, excited by the thought.

  “Then I’ll enter you myself!” He touched me briefly on the shoulder. “It’s time we had a Fraser in the races,” he added kindly.

  Only it would be a MacTaggart, I thought to myself, and I would wear my own plaid whether he liked it or not.

  Mary clapped her hands together in sheer delight. “Ridden by Mrs. Andrew Fraser!” she exclaimed. “I can hardly wait!”

  I cast her an anxious look, “I can’t promise to win,” I pointed out nervously.

  “You won’t be able to help it,” she retorted. She grinned at the two of us. “It will be one up for the Frasers!” she added with deep satisfaction.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They were bringing the sheep in for the shearing. From all over the Mirrabooka the great wool rivers were converging on the home paddocks where they would wait to be deprived of their valuable fleeces, each one of which was worth quite a few dollars in hard cash.

  This was the sight that Mary had wanted me to see. There was a slight smile on her face as she watched me see this grand spectacle for the first time in my life.

  “The Fraser fortunes were literally built on their backs,” she told me. “The mining, even today, is only a side line.”

  I was speechless. When the great flocks amalgamated on the slopes, flowing over the hard red earth into the valley below, where they would be penned up until they were wanted, it was just one great moving mass of sheep. I thought the noise would ring in my ears until I died. The exciting sound of thousands of sheep bleating in their different keys, some high, some low, a grand movement of sound to match the sheer size of the combined flocks.

  Mary grinned at me. “This is where the hard work begins! I hope Andy warned you that we’ll all be going flat out while the shearers are here? It’s a bit different from your flocks on the Highlands, isn’t it?”

  “In size,” I acknowledged carefully,

  “Bet you’ve never seen a mob of sheep to equal this!’ she insisted.

  “I don’t bet,” I said.

  “My word,” she said, “we’ll have to change that! Andy will never live it down!”

  “It has nothing to do with Andrew,” I answered firmly. “I prefer to do things for the joy they have in themselves. It is sinful to wager money on events!” There spoke the daughter of the manse, I thought wryly, and wished I had kept my prejudices to myself.

  “You’ll never convince an Australian of that!” Mary said flatly. “It’s half the fun of the races. The Cockies are so sentimental about their bets. They all of them back their own entries—they can afford to!—and they seldom even come in for a place. Do you honestly believe that Andy won’t put his shirt on you and Birrahlee at the Cue Races?”

  I was troubled by the thought. “You mean money will change hands over me?” I exclaimed. “When I’ve only ridden this once! That would be daft!”

  “Daft or not, that’s what will happen,” Mary said cheerfully, “so you may as well grow used to the idea. Or are you going to stop Andy betting on you?” she added slyly.

  “I wouldn’t have the impertinence,” I admitted unhappily.

  Mary looked very pleased with herself. “Just as I thought!” she smiled. “Andy has you on a string, hasn’t he?” Her shoulders sagged a little. “I know just what it feels like t” she sighed.

  “Andrew is a fine man,” I agreed.

  “Quite right!” she approved. “You ought to think so. I wonder why men don’t spend more time worrying about our feelings! I’d love to be run after for a change!”

  That made me laugh. “I don’t think you have to worry!” I said dryly.

  Mary looked grateful. “Do you really think so? I suppose Andy told you all about it. It’s a terrible thing to be young! Nobody takes one seriously, even when I know what I want!”

  “And you want him?” I asked, knowing that it was the death-knell of my own hopes.

  “Yes, I want him,” she said, with more than a touch of desperation. “That’s why he went to England. Apparently the idea was that I should forget all about him! And my mother’s contribution was to try and take me away from the Murchison altogether!”

  “Perhaps she was afraid of your being hurt,” I suggested, wondering why I suddenly wanted to cry.

  Mary gave me an ironic look. “She wanted to spite Andy. She doesn’t know about—about me! I wouldn’t be likely to tell her and I asked Andy not to, and he always keeps his word. I’m surprised he told you,” she went on, “but then I suppose he had to.”

  “I suppose he did,” I said.

  “Anyway, I don’t mind your knowing,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t laugh at me for falling in love with a man of his age, would you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t laugh,” I said. How could I? There was nothing to laugh about I had comforted myself with her picture gallery of film stars and had thought her heartwhole, but now I knew my mistake.

  “It’s such a waste of time having to wait until I’m twenty-one!”

  “But you see him all the time,” I pointed out.

  She started. “Well, I do, but he’s afraid of making up my mind for me. If he only knew!”

  I found myself saying, as I had said to Andrew before: “Four years isn’t very long. I nursed my father for two years and it seems like a day now.”

  “Was that why Andy married you? Because he felt sorry for you?” she asked carelessly.

  “No,” I answered. At least I could be sure of that. “He never even said he was sorry that my father had died,” I remembered.

  “But he must have done!” she protested.

  “Not he!” I said darkly. “Too bad, he said, and asked if I intended to dig the grave myself!”

  “He didn’t?” Mary asked in an awed voice.

  I remembered my own indignation at the time. “He was busy with his own worries,” I excused him. “He had no time to pity me.”

  “He found the time to marry you,” Mary pointed out practically.

  “Because it suited his own convenience!” I answered sharply. “He had to have a female presence in the house if you were to be allowed to stay here.”

  Mary’s face
looked very white. Her freckles stood out in sharp contrast to the pale fragility of her skin.

  “Is that what he told you?” she said at last. “Oh, Andy,” she added, “you didn’t have to go as far as that!”

  I took a last look at the river of sheep as it spread out, filling the valley beneath us, and turned Birrahlee’s head for home.

  “The blame, if blame there is, is mine,” I said fiercely. “I didn’t have to come. I could have stayed at home in Scotland!”

  Mary’s face softened as she looked at me. “Oh, Kirsty, I’m glad you didn’t! What would the Frasers have done without you?”

  I loved her dearly at that moment. I had no heart to be jealous of her shining beauty. Mary Fraser might take everything I wanted for myself, but I knew then that I would never dislike her for it.

  Andrew had left us when we had had our first glimpse of the sheep, leaving us to watch from the top of the hill, and so he was not there when we rode back to the homestead and the time came for me to dismount. Following Mary’s instructions, I wrenched myself out of the saddle and landed more or less on my feet, the reins still wrapped tightly about my fingers.

  Mary took them from me and led Birrahlee away to his stable. Left alone, I staggered into the house and flung myself, fully dressed, on to my bed. Andrew had said I’d be stiff that night, and here I was like a poker and it was scarcely breakfast time!

  “A hot shower is what you need!” Mary said heartlessly, strolling into my room without a by-your-leave.

  I summoned up a groan, wondering if my hunger was greater than my stiffness, making it worthwhile to struggle to the breakfast table.

  “I’ll give you a rub down if you don’t get up,” Mary threatened. “And I have very hard hands!”

  I believed her, I pulled myself off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The warm water rushed out at me, making my skin tingle with the force of it. I felt distinctly better and some of the stiffness left me.

  “Tell me about the shearing?” I called out to Mary.

  “Tell you what?”

  “I’ve read about it,” I told her, not without pride, “Will they be here long?