Call of the Mountain

by Macgregor, Miriam

  Brett looked at her intently. 'Has Paul been to see you? He knows where you are.'

  Mary sent him a baleful glare. 'Just don't mention that man's name to me. I know more about him now, and I don't want to talk about him. Nor do I want to see him again—ever. Do you understand?'

  `Wise girl!' Brett applauded. 'Things are going smoothly at the motel?'

  `They're fine. We've sent Aunt Laura to Auckland for a holiday and I've taken over the reception desk. I answer the phone, attend to the bookings and handle the cash. I go to the bank and—and do all sorts of things. I had no idea that meeting people could be such fun. I'm sure it's much more interesting than being stuck in an office all day.' The glance she sent Lisa was full of pity.

  `I suppose Sally and Susan are kept busy,' Catherine murmured.

  `Busy? They're flat out!' Mary told her. 'Guests who are leaving have to be out of their motels by ten in the morning, and then the rooms have to be prepared for the next people who'll occupy them. Susan attends to the changing of linen while Sally vacuums the carpets. Maggie cleans the basins, the

  shower floors and the cooking equipment in the self-contained units.'

  `Who's Maggie?' Brett asked patiently.

  Lisa drew a sharp breath as she guessed this person's identity.

  `Maggie Simpson? She's an unmarried mother with a small boy,' Mary told him. 'She's been with them for a couple of years now. The little boy is dropped off at infants school while she does part-time work in the motel.' She fell silent as she buttered a bread roil, then added casually, 'If you must know, Paul Mason is the father of that same small boy. Maggie calls him Paul, and he's growing very like his father—the same light blue eyes and fair hair.'

  `Maggie told you that?' Catherine asked sharply. Mary laughed. 'Maggie tells everyone!'

  Brett turned to Lisa. 'You knew about this girl Maggie—and the boy?'

  She sent him a brief smile. 'Yes, I knew. It was this fact that knocked me for six and sent me running home to Auckland. It was something I—I just couldn't cope with.'

  Brett's face turned stony. 'Why didn't you tell me about this girl and—Paul's son?'

  She looked at him steadily. 'In the beginning it was because you wouldn't have believed me. You had your opinion concerning my reason for being here, and that was that. Later it became part of a bargain. He promised he wouldn't pester me if I promised I wouldn't mention it. He was trying to keep it a secret in this district.'

  `Was he, indeed?' Brett's tone was grim.

  Mary stood up to leave the table. 'Look, forget it, you two. It really doesn't matter now because—because ' She paused as a sudden flush deepened the colour of her cheeks. 'I might as well tell you, I've met somebody else. We dance every night.'

  Catherine took notice at once. 'Who is he?' she

  demanded, her face alert with interest as she regarded Mary.

  `You'll learn when you meet him,' Mary told her teasingly. Now then, I need another suitcase and lots more clothes.' She disappeared towards the boxroom.

  Lisa felt as though a weight had been removed from her shoulders. The situation between Mary and Paul had been resolved, and now there was only her own personal problem to combat. And the only way to do this, she realised, was to complete Mountain Memory, then pack her own bags.

  During the next few days she worked with feverish haste, being only vaguely aware of what went on around her. She knew when the large shining steel milk tanker passed along the road to call at the milking shed, because she could almost set her watch by its punctuality. And she knew that Dreaming Sam had been put in a nearby field, because there were times when she heard his bellowing roars that challenged every other bull in the district. There was also the occasional barking of dogs, but apart from these sounds that were an integral echo of farm life, her concentration remained unbroken.

  And then came the day when she removed the cover from Catherine's typewriter. Clean sheets of white paper divided by a carbon paper were rolled in and her fingers began tapping the keys. She heard Brett's footsteps in the hall and she knew he had paused to listen to the click-click, nor was she surprised when the door was pushed open and he came into the room.

  `So you've begun typing,' he remarked as he eyed the machine.

  `Yes. This is the beginning of the end.' She paused to send him a mirthless smile.

  He frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  `I mean that the time has come when my days at Lynton are now numbered.' She hated to admit it, even to herself.

  `And that'll be a damned big relief, I suppose?' he snapped.

  `Not at all. I'll miss the sight of that peak out there, and—and the country way of life.'

  `Country life? Huh! You've seen very little of that. You've been stuck in here all day and almost every day.'

  `At least I can hear some of it,' Lisa defended. 'At times there's the bleat of a sheep or a bellow from Dreaming Sam. Has he settled down in his new home?'

  `Sam settle down? That'll be the day! That bull's incorrigible. I now know why George Jones was so pleased to sell him. He's the best fence-destroyer in the district. He attacks posts and battens. He lunges and leans, pushes and shoves, and as the fence goes down he tramples over the wires. I'm waiting for the day when he meets Hercules at a fence-line.'

  `Who, for heaven's sake, is Hercules?' queried Lisa.

  `He's Mason's bull. Bulls are devils to fight.'

  `Oh.' She fell silent, having no wish to continue a topic that included Paul. Then, feeling that something was expected of her, she said, 'Well, so long as it's Hercules he meets. Personally I've no wish to find myself face to face with him.'

  `I don't think he'd hurt you. Sam's an intelligent animal. I'm sure he'd appreciate meeting a pretty girl.'

  `Very funny! Obviously you must have your little joke.'

  Brett looked at her curiously. 'Are you so very unaware of your own appearance?' he asked. 'To me you're quite beautiful.'

  The words came as a shock. 'You're laughing at me!' she accused, turning her face away from him.

  `I'm not, I promise you. I'm deadly serious. Can't you accept an olive branch when it's offered?' His fingers beneath her chin drew her face firmly back towards him.

  She met his gaze wonderingly. Did he really consider her to be beautiful? His expression was sincere enough to cause a sudden radiant smile. Her eyes shone and her spirits began to float upwards as her former depression evaporated. At the same time she chided herself for being a pathetic idiot because he had only to look upon her kindly and she was ready to be moulded like clay in his hands.

  In the silence during her thoughts an echo from Dreaming Sam floated into the room.

  Brett frowned. 'He sounds as if he's rather close to the house. I must see John about more fencing wire.' Then, regarding her thoughtfully, 'You may be able to hear the sounds of the country, but as I said before, you haven't seen much of it. I doubt that you've even seen the milking shed.'

  `Only from a distance. I caught a quick glimpse of it when we passed the Yates' house on the motorbike. It was the day you took me to examine the track—or perhaps you've forgotten.'

  `Forgotten? Indeed I've a very clear recollection of that particular day.' He looked at her broodingly. `In that case it's time you had a closer look at the heart of the farm. You can give yourself a break and come with me right now. Put on your rubber boots.'

  `You're not slow to give orders,' Lisa remarked, standing up without haste and making a supreme effort to disguise her eagerness.

  He shrugged. 'Okay, if you don't want to come—' She capitulated at once. 'Yes, please, I'd like to see it.'

  Moments later she had put on her warm jacket and rubber boots and had joined him outside in the cool fresh air. They crossed the yard and walked past the kennels where two Border Collies began leaping and barking with raucous agitation until they were silenced by a word of command.

  to

  `Quiet, Don—quiet, Dan!' Then to Lisa, 'They always tell me about it when I
go past without letting them off the chain.'

  He led her through gates and across the fields towards what appeared to be a round building surrounded by railed yards. Near it stood a large haybarn, and beyond it the Yates' house could be seen through the trees.

  `It's a circular revolving shed,' Brett explained. 'It moves round slowly and smoothly on ball-bearings, very quietly, of course, otherwise it would upset the cows. It's a labour-saving device that makes it easy for one man to attend to many milking cups.'

  Lisa looked at the steel pipes dividing the numerous compartments, then asked, 'How does he know when each cow is finished?'

  `By the milk passing through a glass tube which enables him to see when each udder is empty. There's an overhead system of tubes to carry the milk away, but to understand the working of it you'd have to see it in action—that's if you're interested.'

  She was awed by the efficiency of the plant. 'Of course I'm interested,' she exclaimed, delighting in the quiet companionship which now lay between them; nor did she find it difficult to understand Brett's pride in this modern milking shed. And then she was unable to resist a question. 'Is Paul's plant as up-to-date as this one?'

  His brow darkened as he sent her a sharp glance. `Not at present, but some day it might be,' he replied quietly.

  `Do you mean he's thinking of installing one?'

  `No. I've heard he's considering selling the place—no doubt in view of his plans to work in Auckland. If he decides to stay there it's unlikely he'd spend the money entailed in one of these costly sheds; however, the new owner might consider putting one in.'

  His tone was abrupt, and she regretted her own

  stupid curiosity which had probably given him the idea that Paul was never far from her thoughts—even if he no longer believed she had come to this district to find him.

  But the suggestion that Paul might sell his farm had come as an unpleasant surprise. It meant he would be working near her home on a more permanent basis, which in turn meant she might have to cope with his unwelcome attentions towards herself. She gave a small inward sigh and decided to cross that particular bridge when she came to it, nor would she allow the fear of it to cloud these few precious moments with Brett.

  During the days that followed this state of easy comradeship continued, although it was kept on a strictly platonic basis. Brett came to the library more frequently. He eyed the steadily growing number of completed pages, and as the pile grew higher, Lisa's hopes sank to a lower ebb.

  It was an effort to keep her depression hidden, and each day found her forcing herself to put on a bright front while she worked her normal hours and took her usual walks out in the garden or along the drive. However, these outdoor breaks for exercise were now curtailed to fine days as winter was upon them.

  The May of her arrival had slid into June, which in turn had glided into July. Taranaki's rainfall showed what it could do to swamp the countryside, and the mountain was almost continually shrouded in mist.

  Even so the garden was not without colour. The bare branches of the japonica had broken out into a mass of brilliant red flowers, the red-hot pokers had sent up spikes of flaming torches, and early bulbs were making a splash of yellow beneath the kowhai tree in the corner of the garden. But Catherine's greatest joy at this particular time was a large round bed massed with anemones.

  And then came a Tuesday which was to remain in

  Lisa's mind as a black Tuesday, because it seemed to establish the fact that Brett would never feel more than brotherly affection towards herself. Later she was also to recall it as being the day of the bull.

  The incident occurred after lunch when Catherine had left for her Country Women's Institute meeting. A reluctant sun had pierced the gloom of the winter day, making the opportunity for a short period outside too good to be missed. The golden rays called, so Lisa put on her jacket and rubber boots and left the house.

  She walked down the drive and then tramped along the road. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the pure air until at last she turned to retrace her steps, hurrying now because she had walked further than she had intended. Nevertheless she felt refreshed, her mind cleared from the constant pressure of concentration.

  But when she reached the drive a shock awaited her. As she turned from the road to cross the cattlestop the sight of Dreaming Sam brought her to an abrupt halt, her heart contracting with fear.

  The bull stood in the centre of the driveway and appeared to be agitated, perhaps because he had found himself in a grassless area that was strange and not to his liking. Head down, he emitted low rumbling noises while he pawed the ground sufficiently to send up light clouds of dust.

  Lisa stood petrified, staring at the dark head with its sharp horns, the large dark shoulders and fawn hindquarters. What should she do? There was no nearby fence for her to climb over, and if she turned back and ran along the road she felt sure the bull would follow her, jumping across the cattlestop without any trouble at all.

  She looked about her frantically for a sign of Brett or John Yates, but neither of them could be seen. Nor would they know that Dreaming Sam had jumped

  over one of the garden fences and was now in the homestead enclosure.

  But the main problem of the moment was her own course of action. She dared not walk past the animal, and she was still wondering what to do when he turned and faced her, his lowered head moving from side to side as he snorted with more rumbling sounds. She also knew that his dark eyes were watching her, and after further scrapings at the ground with a sharp hoof the bull took a few steps towards her.

  Terror now gripped her as, hardly knowing where she was going, she shrieked and pushed through the shrubbery growing beneath the tree-ferns, then sped to the other side of the front garden. Her vague intention had been to give the bull a wide berth by circling the lawn to gain access to the house, but this tactic proved to be of little use, because the bull also crashed through the shrubbery. He stamped over the anemones, dug deep hoof-holes in the soft wet lawn, and again placed himself between Lisa and safety.

  With this retreat cut off she did her best to hide from him by moving behind the camellia tree—and then her luck changed as the bright redness of the large japonica bush caught Dreaming Sam's attention. Head down, he charged into it, and there was a snapping and tearing of branches as his horns became entangled in the mass of light wood.

  Lisa snatched at the opportunity to escape. She fled back to the drive and raced along its length to the house. By the time she reached the library she was white and shaking, and even the unexpected presence of Brett browsing over some of her typed pages did little to penetrate her agitated state of mind. She flung herself against him in a frenzy of agitation.

  His arms went about her, supporting and holding her closely. 'Lisa, what the devil's the matter?'

  `The bull—it's the bull!' she gasped breathlessly against his chest.

  `Sam? You've been having words with Dreaming Sam?'

  `I met him in the driveway. He—he gave me a ghastly fright!' She was still panting, nor was she able to stop shaking.

  `Are you saying he's in the house grounds?' Brett's hand stroked her head, which now rested against his shoulder.

  `At this moment he's—he's attending to that lovely japonica bush, and he's trampled over the bed of anemones. Catherine will be furious!' Reaction from her fright brought tears to her eyes and despite her efforts to control them she began to weep quietly.

  Brett tipped her chin and looked down into her face. Her heart quickened a little as she felt sure he was about to kiss her, but such was not his intention. Instead he said, 'You're shedding tears for the flowers? They'll grow again, you know.'

  She felt frustrated. 'I am not shedding tears for the flowers! No doubt you think I'm a fool, but I—I just can't seem to be able to stop them ' The words ended on a definite sob.

  `Then have a good weep and get rid of the tension. Sam appears to have really upset you,' he added mildly.

 
`Upset me? That's an understatement!' Her voice rose in anger. 'You're taking very lightly the act that I could have been gored to death!'

  Brett laughed. 'By Sam? Rubbish! He's too polite.' `That's what you think! He wasn't too polite to the japonica,' she snapped, glaring at him.

  `Ah yes, but red is possibly something that irritates him. Normally he just likes to visit folk—a friendly sort of bloke.'

  `Then let me tell you that even the quietest bull and I are—are--temperamentally incompatible!' she almost shouted.

  `Is that a fact? In that case you'd never make a suitable wife for a dairy farmer, would you?' he teased.

  `That possibility is as remote as—as the stars,' she hissed, trying to control her fury. And then a deeper turmoil began to manifest itself within her mind—an agitation built of frustration and bitter disappointment caused by the fact that Brett could take her ordeal so lightly. He didn't seem to care that she'd been scared almost out of her wits. He was really facetious about it.

  You'd never make a suitable wife for a dairy farmer, he'd said.

  And that statement summed up his whole attitude towards her. He'd looked her over just as he would a prize cow, and she'd been discarded. It was as simple as that. And instead of loving him she would be wiser to hate him—if she could—but which she could not. Well, it had been nice knowing him, and at least she knew for sure where she stood.

  Suddenly she was in full control of her emotions. She dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose, then went to peer through the window. 'Okay, Brett,' she said smoothly. 'I'll now be interested to see you facing up to Dreaming Sam. He'll have to be got back into the paddock before he wrecks the entire garden.'

  `That should be simple enough,' he replied easily. `You'll just walk up to him?' Her eyes widened as she thought of the japonica bush.

  `Not exactly. I'll have a little help,' he admitted. `Help? You're expecting me to help you?' Her voice quavered.

  `Not at all. But are you brave enough to come out and watch?' His amused tone held a challenge.

  `Of course I am.' Pride forced the words from her lips.