by Isobel Chace
He leaned forward and his lips met mine in a kiss as light as thistledown.
‘You’re entitled to wear it,” he reminded me. “You’re a Fraser by marriage, or have you forgotten?”
“But there is no marriage!” I protested sharply.
“Not yet!” he admitted with a touch of menace.
I stood up very straight, my heart hammering. “Never!” I said bravely.
CHAPTER NINE
“NEVER is a very long time,” Andrew remarked. He was smiling again. “Even longer than four years.”
“Perhaps it is,” I agreed. “But it wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
“Wouldn’t it?” His voice was very gentle.
“It would spoil everything!” I insisted. “Absolutely everything!”
His smile died. He took a step away from me, letting me go past him to the stores in the ute. “A man’s a man for a’ that,” he said.
I bit my lip. “I know,” I said.
“Well? Don’t you think you could be my wife in fact?”
“For four years? I could not!” I exclaimed.
“Why not?” he countered.
I turned my face away from him in case he should see my own longing reflected there. “You know why not!” I said in stifled tones.
“But I don’t,” he said. “I find it natural for a man and woman to live together.”
“And what about Mary?”
He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me round to face him. “Mary will find her own happiness,” he said. “I’m talking about you and me.”
“I couldn’t!” I said on a sob.
His grey eyes looked deep into mine. “Are you going to say that you couldn’t grow to like me?” he asked me, almost humbly.
I shook my head. That was a lie I couldn’t bring myself to utter. “I think you can’t understand how I feel,” I said instead. “What marriage would it be, destined to be terminated in a matter of years? And supposing there were bairns to be considered? What would we do then?”
“What do most married people do?”
“And another thing!” I went on, my indignation now well and truly stirred up. “I don’t consider it a proper proposition at all! Do you think I’m shameless to listen to such a thing!”
Andrew pushed his hat back to the back of his head and whistled slowly. “Ouch!” he said.
“I should have thought you’d have had more sense!” I said crossly. “My, it’s immoral! That’s what it is!”
It was a final irritation when Andrew laughed.
“Oh, my word!” he exclaimed.
“I’ll not listen to another word!” I informed him in high dudgeon. “And if you want to eat this meal you’d best step aside so that I can get to it!”
“Oh no, Mrs. Fraser,” he said quietly.
I glared at him. To tell the truth I was very near to tears. “But I’m not Mrs. Fraser! And saying it doesn’t make me so!”
“Don’t tempt me, Kirsty!”
I swallowed. “I’m not!” I exclaimed, my voice breaking dangerously. “Andrew, please don’t say any more!”
He stared at me for a long moment. “All right,” he said at last, then laughed harshly. “I reckon my timing is as crooked as a boomerang!” He swore vividly until I was pink to the ears. “Kirsty, it may not look it now, but it’ll turn out okay!”
“Will it?” I said pathetically. I didn’t see how I could be happy ever again.
“I give you my word,” he answered.
I shook my head, trying to smile but failing dismally.
“As long as Mary is happy. I couldn’t bear it if she were hurt in any way!”
Andrew made a gesture of impatience and I pulled myself free of his hands and struggled to get the stores out of the back of the ute. I managed to get the apples under one arm, determined not to let them out of my sight, and reached inside again for the ice-box, knowing that it would be full of beer.
Andrew took the apples from me, despite my protest.
“Be careful, Kirsty,” he said. “I’m still not convinced that a strong right arm isn’t the answer!”
I nearly dropped the ice-box, shocked to the roots of my being.
“You—you wouldn’t?” I said.
“No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed. He looked suddenly more cheerful and very much more sure of himself. “Not tonight anyway,” he added.
My hands were still trembling when I put the huge red steaks into the pan and waited for them to cook. Darkness came with a suddenness that took me by surprise. It was then that I understood the true beauty of this vast, empty land, The black bowl of the sky above was lit by stars as big as lamps. I could make out the Southern Cross shining bright above us, long before the moon rose over the granite, eroded hills, bringing a blue-white light to the land.
“Andrew, will you drink your beer now?” I asked him, a little afraid of calling his attention to myself at all.
“Are you going to drink your wine?”
“D-did you really bring some?” I questioned him.
“Reckon I took the quotation more seriously than you did,” he observed thoughtfully. “You didn’t mean it, did you?”
“I didn’t think you knew it,” I answered unhappily.
“No,” he agreed.
“It isn’t the sort of thing one would say to a man—”
“My darling puritan,” he interrupted me. “Most women say anything they want to their husbands!”
I swallowed. “And how would you know that?” I said crossly.
“How does one know anything, mo ghaoil?”
I turned the steaks over with fierce concentration. It was as well that he didn’t know much more Gaelic, I thought, for such endearments undermined my defences in the most uncomfortable way.
“Don’t!” I said sharply.
Andrew opened the ice-box and took out a can of beer. It opened with a rushing noise when he pulled on the ring and he drank with an air of deep satisfaction. “You’d better drink your wine,” he advised me coolly.
“Why?” I asked suspiciously, “I’m not sure I’ve a head for it.”
His eyes glinted in the moonlight. “I think I’d prefer you to be sober when I seduce you,” he said.
I jumped. “Andrew!” I reproved him.
He opened another can of beer, toasting me ironically as he raised it to his lips. “How’s the food doing?”
I put his steak on a plate and added the vegetables on the side. “Andrew,” I said at last, “I’m sorry I can’t. If I were another person, I think I might like to, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be right—”
“Say no more!” He held out his hand for his plate and he was laughing. “I can wait until it is right!”
I sighed with relief, refusing to admit the disappointment that flooded over me. In the long run I would be glad, I assured myself, for I couldn’t do anything to hurt Mary.
“Maybe four years is a long time,” I said finally. “I don’t think you should wait as long as that,” I added.
“Don’t you?” he said curiously.
It would break my heart to leave Mirrabooka, but there are some things which are better faced. “A woman finds her happiness in pleasing her man, no matter how young she is,” I told him softly.
“Who told you that?” he asked me.
“I didn’t have to be told,” I answered, wishing I had held my tongue. “It stands to reason!”
Andrew ate his steak with relish, washing it down with yet another can of beer. My, but I had never seen men drink beer as they did in the Outback!
“Then I don’t reckon to wait very long,” he said slyly.
My spirits were so low that I was no longer hungry. I poured myself out some wine and tried a little on my tongue. It tasted good.
“I wonder if Margaret and Mary are having a good crack together,” I said out loud.
“Does the loneliness get you?” Andrew asked, concerned.
“I was just wondering,” I said.
“I
think you’re tired,” he said as I finished my steak. “Get into your sleeping-bag, mo ghaoil. Tomorrow is another day.”
I was glad to do as he suggested. I didn’t care that I had left the plates for him to clean, or even that he had the chore of building up the fire for the night. It was because I was tired, I told myself, that my eyes were wet and the tightness in my throat threatened to break into tears. But then Andrew had offered me heaven and I had turned it down flat. It would be a long time before I would be able to think of Mary without the dormant jealousy with which I was filled springing into life. But how could he help loving Mary, with her bright, shining hair? And how could I reconcile myself to being less than the love of his life? It would be more fitting, I reminded myself fiercely, to remember I was only Kirsty MacTaggart, despite my borrowed name and the borrowed tartan of my shirt.
I felt the evening breeze warm against my face and I pulled the sleeping bag more closely about me. The stars in the heavens seemed closer than ever, close enough to brush against my damp eyelashes. And then I slept.
In the night I heard the dingo howling and I was afraid. I told myself that the yellow dog would be afraid of the fire, and that the only reason that it howled and didn’t bark was because dogs only learn to bark when they five with human beings. It was all very unconvincing in the darkness.
At last, when I could bear it no longer, I wriggled my bag nearer to where Andrew was sleeping, between him and the fire. I thought he was sleeping soundly and perhaps he was, but his arm reached out for me and drew me close.
“Mrs. Fraser,” he murmured sleepily.
“Miss MacTaggart!” I answered him.
I could feel his laughter and then his even breath as he slept, but I stayed awake for a long time. Oh well, as they say, dreams are free!
Andrew prodded me awake.
“How about some tea, mate?”
I turned over and smiled sleepily at him. He seemed very close and I liked the feel of him. “Now?” I said.
His grey eyes laughed at me. “Get up, woman, and make me some tea!”
I wriggled out of my bag and looked down at him still enclosed in his own. It was seldom that I could look down on him. He had his hat over his brow, shading his eyes, but he looked somehow smaller lying down.
“Reckon you’ll know me again?” he asked faintly.
I blushed. “I haven’t thought about it,” I said hastily. He leaned up on his elbow, watching me as I blew frantically on the fading embers that was all that was left of the fire.
“Behold.” he said, “you are beautiful, my love, behold, you are beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats moving down the slopes of Gilead.”
“Is that a compliment?” I demanded, more agitated than I liked him to know.
He lay down flat, putting his hat right over his face. “Your lips are like a scarlet thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate—Did you know that’s why you’re called a pommie out here? My word, but Solomon knew a thing or two! You are all fair, my love! there is no flaw in you—”
“I’ll not listen to another word!” I exclaimed.
“But I like—”
“It’s brazen!” I insisted, very hot and bothered.
“Oh, not yet!” he denied. “The brazen bits are a bit further on. Do you want to hear them?”
“I do not!”
I turned my back on him, filling the billy-can with water from the old ute. They were not the only bits of the Song that I could remember, I thought. There were others that were more fittingly recited for they suited him better than any words of mine could. His eyes are like doves beside springs of water, bathed in milk, fitly set, for example, for his eyes were grey and were not. And seeing that he had not yet shaved, the next line was far from being apt. His cheeks are like beds of spices, yielding fragrance.
I placed the billy-can on the fire, wishing that I had the audacity to use his own weapon against him and embarrass him as he had embarrassed me, but I could not. I was wretchedly tongue-tied because, for me, it was not a joke to be quickly forgotten, but a glimpse of the glory that would belong to the woman that Andrew loved. And that woman could never be me.
The billy-can boiled and I made the tea black and strong as Andrew liked it, pouring it into the two mugs. I added sugar to Andrew’s and handed it to him, my fingers trembling only a little.
“Thanks,” he muttered. He climbed out of his sleeping-bag, folding it neatly into a roll. Then he came and squatted down beside me, his mug held between his two hands.
“Is it all right?” I asked him.
He nodded briefly. “What would you say to going back to Mirrabooka?” he said, glancing at me over his mug.
I thought about it for a moment. “Don’t you want to go on to Marble Bar?” I inquired then.
“Is there any point?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. What point had there been in the first place?
“Look, Kirsty,” he said gently, “I reckon I was in too much of a hurry. I thought we were both going the same way and that we’d make a go of this thing. But it hasn’t worked out that way, has it?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t do it without love,” I told him in a shattered voice.
“Right, so we may as well go back.”
I felt as though I had failed him in some way. If there had only been myself to consider, I would have asked him to let me be his wife for as long as he wanted me, and I would be content with that.
“I couldn’t set limits on love,” I said sadly.
He stood up, kicking at the dust. “Don’t grieve about it, Kirsty. I’ll survive, you know.”
I knew so little of the ways of men. “I’d have to be a man’s true love before I was willing,” I tried to explain. “I know it isn’t always so with a man—”
He yelped with laughter. “Oh, Kirsty, don’t ever change!”
I frowned at him. “I don’t see the least thing to laugh at!” I scolded him. “It’s well known that a man has a need to sow his wild oats!”
“Is that what your father told you?” he teased me.
I blushed to the ears at the thought “I’d not have been so bold as to have discussed such a thing with him,” I said in forbidding tones.
“Oh, my word!” he grinned.
“Nor would I be discussing it with you if it weren’t for the circumstances,” I went on, determined to put him in his place.
“What circumstances?” he asked innocently.
“The circumstances of how we are placed today!” I retorted, finally losing my temper.
“Oh, my word!” he said again.
“And you, with your fine quotations!” I roared on, ignoring the interruption. “My head is not so easily turned, let me tell you! I’m not so daft that a few fine sentiments like that—” I broke off, aware that my tongue was running away with me. ‘Tm not so bonny as Mary,” I added miserably, “but I don’t wish to be put in mind of it!”
Andrew stared at me, fascinated, lending new force to my rage.
“Certainly not!” he said with awe.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Your wishes are, of course, my command,” he said dryly.
My anger left me as suddenly as it had come. It came to me forcibly that I was not behaving very well and that Andrew had just cause for complaint.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no right to say what I did. It’s only natural that you think more of Mary’s looks than mine. Anyone would! I do myself! It’s only that I have a terrible temper!”
“Terrible!” he mocked me.
“And anyway,” I added piously, “it’s not for me to be telling you what to do!”
“Never?” he asked me.
“Well,” I said justly, “it’s not for the woman to be telling her man which way he should go.” I glanced at him through my eyelashes. “Do you think?”
“So I am your man!” he taunted me.
�
�That’s not what I meant!” I sighed.
To my surprise, he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I know exactly what you meant, Kirsty Fraser, and that’s why we’re going back to Mirrabooka.”
“Oh?” I said, wishing that I understood what he was talking about.
“I don’t think I shall have to wait very long at all, do you?” he said gently.
I thought of Mary and of the decision in her voice when she had said that she saw no need for waiting until she came of age before claiming her heritage.
“No,” I said in a voice that broke. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait at all!”
Andrew looked puzzled, but he said nothing. He poured some of our precious water on to the fire and heeled the dirt well into the hole to make sure that every ember was smothered and could not spring later into life.
“I’m sorry, mo ghaoil,” he said.
“I’m sorry too!” I wailed.
“It’s not your fault,” he told me. “Never think that. We’ll work something out.” He smiled faintly. “You’re not alone any longer. There’s more to being a Fraser than wearing a Fraser shirt!”
I fingered the cotton material and tried to smile. “You’re not angry that I chose it?” I asked him tearfully.
“No, my love. I think the Frasers can be proud of their newest recruit, even if you won’t admit to being one of us.”
“It isn’t that I think the MacTaggarts are better than the Frasers,” I assured him seriously.
Andrew bundled the sleeping-bags into the back of the old ute. “Too right they’re not!” he cried out.
“Well, not much better anyway,” I amended.
The drive back to Mirrabooka seemed very long. I found the heat peculiarly trying, which was odd in itself, for it wasn’t any hotter than the day before. Andrew drove very fast, which made some wind that blew, like a hot breath, against our faces, drying our skins and leaving our cheeks rough and sore.
I saw a flock of emus strutting through the tough grass at one time and exclaimed in excitement.
“Are there many animals around here?” I asked Andrew.
“Quite a few,” he said. “You’ll see any amount of bustards.”
“Bustards? What are they?”
He pointed to the side of the road, scarcely slowing down at all.