Walk in the Shadows

by Jayne Bauling

  `I'm looking forward to it,' she said happily. 'What I've seen of this area so far has been incredibly beautiful.'

  `Is this your first acquaintance with the Soutpansberg?' asked Barak.

  Nicola nodded. 'Yes. In fact, a great deal of the whole Transvaal is strange country to me. I know the Magaliesberg range well, and I once spent a month painting in and around Pilgrims' Rest, but that's about all.'

  `You've done most of your work in Natal and the Golden Gate area of the Free State, haven't you?'

  She nodded, surprised that he should know this. There was an additional hint of colour in her high-boned cheeks as she said hastily, 'Why is this range called the Soutpansberg?'

  `It was named after the saltpan discovered here by some Voortrekkers,' he told her as Melanie came on to the veranda.

  `Uncle Barak, I'm going to Louis Trichardt this afternoon,' the child soberly informed her uncle as she took her place at the table.

  `You must ask Aunt Ellen about that,' he said, again with that softening of the features Nicola had noticed in him when his attention was focused on his niece. `She might not be able to take you down.'

  `Will you please, Aunt Ellen?' Melanie asked politely as she started on her slice of paw-paw.

  `Very well, dear,' Ellen Sorensen said amicably.

  Barak stood up. 'And don't forget that Mrs Graeme is expecting her this morning,' he reminded Ellen. `Melanie, you're not to go wandering about on your own until I tell you so. Van Zyl rang up earlier-to say we of their farm dogs has gone missing, and there's reason to believe the animal has rabies.'

  `O.K.' Melanie said calmly, continuing to eat. `Promise me.' The grey eyes were compelling.

  `Promise,' Melanie said obediently, looking up at him. Nicola was aware of a brief moment of contact between man and child as their eyes met, one pair light grey and the other pair a shadowy and mysterious grey. There had been an understanding communication in the look they shared.

  `That goes for you too, Miss Prenn,' Barak said 'as he moved away front the table.

  `Very well,' Nicola said meekly.

  He addressed Traugott : 'They're searching for the dog this morning. Excuse me, please.'

  Traugott escorted Nicola round part of the farm that morning. It was, as she had already known, a beautiful farm, with some smooth open slopes on the mountain, other rocky areas, and shady secret places where the great old mountain ashes whispered the secrets of the wind. On the lower slopes of the mountain, Nicola paused, entranced by the layers and layers of blue mountains folding upon each other in the hazy distance ahead of her. There was so much here. The blue vista in front of her, the big ,brown mountain-at her back protectively standing guard over the house below. Here a plantation of gum-trees, shrouding the spaces between them in gloom; there a peaceful dreaming scene,' with smooth-coated sheep grazing on a grassy slope, tended by a solitary small black boy wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts. Their occasional bleats drifted on the wind and came to the ears of Nicola and the elderly man who stood with her on another slope, near a semi-circle of ashes.

  Near them too was the windmill and below it the round dam, Melanie's suggestions for the setting of the

  portrait. Traugott laughed when Nicola told him and they agreed to look elsewhere.

  So now they stood, at a height considerably above the house, having finally made their decision. After telling him something of what she planned, Nicola's eyes wandered again to the scene below them, drawn inexorably to where Barak Sorensen was addressing a group of Venda labourers near one of the avocado plantations. He moved easily among them, pausing now and then, to talk, yet his was a proud bearing. Very much the owner of the land, Nicola thought. Someone not to be humbled, not ever ... and she had incurred his disapproval, she thought with a sigh. If the godhead was angry, the ground would tremble. But ... oh no; she shook her head, her lips moving slightly, in the grip of some emotion so strong that it was almost as if her soul was possessed by an alien spirit.

  Freeing herself from the bonds of imagination, she turned to look up at the mountain, then at the old man beside her. 'Do you ever go up there?' she asked, gesturing towards the topmost heights which were crowded with rocks and bushes, still and sunlit.

  `Quite often,' Traugott told her. 'It's a favourite treat of Melanie's—to be taken up so that she can see what's on the other side.'

  `What is?'

  `Bushveld, rocks, more hills. It's uncultivated on the other side.'

  `It's a fascinating farm,' Nicola commented, still looking about her. She pushed back her auburn hair. `And the sheep? Are they just for mutton?'

  `Yes, it's a very small flock,' said Traugott.

  The man who was employed to care for the gardens and terraced lawns below the house brought her easel and the canvas she had decided to use up to them after they had decided on a spot. She didn't start painting that day, however. She and Traugott discussed what he ought to be wearing for the portrait—everyday working clothes because it would be a portrait of a farmer—and Nicola studied him in various poses from different angles, trying out first one, then the other, until she was satisfied. She made a few marks on her canvas and took a few sketches which she would study at her leisure, and they agreed that the mornings should be devoted to the work.

  Nicola hoped Traugott wouldn't tire too quickly when she required him to pose for her. He was elderly, and the weather was of the draining, midsummer kind which sapped the strength.

  `What's that building over there?' Nicola asked as they returned to the farmhouse a little later. She pointed to a long, new-looking building. 'It doesn't look as if it's used.'

  `It's not,' Traugott confirmed. 'Barak wants to have his own herd of cows, just for our own supply of dairy products, just in the same way that nearly all our meat comes from his sheep, and that building is in anticipation of them. But he won't purchase his herd while this family down in the valley continues to need what we pay them ... and they need every cent that's coming in at present, and then they only just manage. At first, Barak intended to go ahead and get his herd, continuing to pay them for the milk we get, but in the end he

  decided against it—they'd recognise charity and probably be embarrassed by it.'

  Nicola was silent, annoyed to be hearing this. She disliked the strange Barak Sorensen, so she didn't want to hear any good of him. It made her feel resentful, because she was impressed, not simply by his kindness to some struggling family, but by his sensitivity in perceiving what their feelings might be if he had purchased his cows and continued to get the farm's milk from theirs. It spoke of an awareness of others, and Nicola found that she didn't want any good qualities attributed to Barak, and for her, kindness was golden and above any great virtue or lofty ideal.

  When they returned to the house, Ellen provided them with coffee. 'Have you agreed on where it's to be?' she asked.

  Traugott nodded. `Up near the semi-circle of ashes, overlooking the plantation. You know where I mean, don't you?'

  `Yes. I must come up and watch you at work some time.' Ellen turned to Nicola. 'Or are you one of those artists who objects to being watched?'

  Nicola laughed. 'Not at all. Once I'm absorbed in something, I wouldn't notice if I had all Africa looking over my shoulder ... although I expect I'll probably be self-conscious about attempting a portrait. Oh, Mr Sorensen, I do hope it turns out to be a success.'

  `Just give it a good try, that's all I ask,' he said, smiling at her. His blue eyes twinkled. `If it's your payment you're worried about, you can rest assured that you'll receive it whatever the portrait looks like. After all, you'll have given your time to it, if nothing else. I don't

  know if Barak discussed terms with your father in Johannesburg?'

  Nicola shook her head absently. 'Oh, it's not the money I'm worried about. It's just that in the event of its being a failure, I'll feel so ashamed ... I'll feel I ought not to have accepted the assignment.'

  `There has to be a first attempt for everything you do
,' Ellen recited comfortingly. 'Nicola, I expect you'd like to see more of Soutpansberg while you're here? I was wondering if you'd help me out by taking Melanie over to the Graeme farm for a short while this morning? You have a car, and it's an interesting drive, not too far. Melanie never stays long as Mrs Graeme tires very easily. It's a shame, really—she's still a young woman, younger than me. Of course, Vanessa's death and now the problems concerning Denise have taken their toll. Anyway, Melanie can direct you if you'll do it.'

  `All right,' Nicola agreed. She was glad of the opportunity to see more of the surrounding countryside.

  Shortly afterwards she set off in the Volkswagen with Melanie beside her. The child had accepted the news that Nicola would be taking her to see her grandparents with her customary calmness. Nothing seemed to her, just as nothing, during Nicola's

  brief acquaintance with her, had made her smile.

  Nicola wondered if she would encounter Denise Graeme this morning.

  As they drove along the quiet mountain road, she asked Melanie, 'Do you visit your grandmother often?' `Every week,' Melanie replied. 'Uncle Barak says I must. Sometimes it's nice there, other times I just want

  to go home. Not like when I go to my friends' farms— then I want to stay.'

  `Have you a lot of friends?'

  `Some. Uncle Barak is my best friend. But sometimes I don't want any of them ... and then there aren't any people for me; I'm all empty inside.'

  Lonely? Nicola wondered. 'But you need people, don't you?'

  `Sometimes,' Melanie said guardedly, giving her a sidelong glance. 'When you've been empty for too long.'

  How solitary, how—as the child herself had said— empty. Did it stem from the tragedy that had touched her young life in the loss of her parents? Or was she that way inclined anyway? A naturally self-sufficient little person who found solitude no great hardship provided it wasn't endured for too long a period and there was the assurance of relief?

  `What sort of farm does your grandfather have? Also avocados?' Nicola asked.

  `No, bananas mainly,' Melanie told her. 'Do you like it here?' she asked abruptly.

  `So far I think this is very beautiful country,' Nicola said.

  `But what about us? The people? I didn't think they'd want you, but they do.'

  Traugott and Ellen, yes, but there was somebody else who certainly did not, Nicola thought. Barak certainly didn't want her here. She said, 'I hardly know you, but I think I shall like you as a family. You're all such interesting people.' She liked Traugott and his wife already, Melanie intrigued her ... But Barak ...

  `D'you think we're lucky to live here?'

  `Oh yes,' Nicola assured her young inquisitor with a smile.

  `So do I,' said Melanie. 'I used to live in Pietersburg when I was small, but this is nice except that my mother and father aren't here.'

  It was very calmly said, and Nicola wondered at it.

  `You live in Johannesburg, don't you?' Melanie continued, and Nicola nodded her affirmation. 'We go there sometimes. Last time Uncle Barak took me to a place called the Skyrink, way up high, and I skated. That was at the beginning of the Christmas holidays. He went back on New Year's Eve. He wasn't supposed to. We were all going to have a party at the farm, and everybody was coming—and so we did, only Uncle Barak wasn't there, and neither were Auntie Denise and Mr Baxter.'

  `I expect you had a nice enough time, even without them,' Nicola said cheerfully.

  `It wasn't the same,' Melanie argued stolidly. 'You see, Granny rang up Uncle Barak in the day and told him Auntie Denise was gone—and he was very cross and he said something very rude about Mr Baxter, and the next thing we knew he was getting out his car and driving off. Shall I tell you what it was he said about Mr Baxter?'

  `No, you'd better not,' Nicola warned her hastily. `Your uncle might be cross if he thought you'd told me. I go past these crossroads, do I?'

  Melanie assured her that she did. Nicola's mind was on what the child had told her. Barak had said something rude about Todd Baxter : had he merely sus-

  pected the man of giving his fun-seeking fiancé a lift to the party in the city, or of something more than that?

  `Mrs Baxter came to our party on her own. She's a funny lady,' Melanie resumed. 'And when Uncle Barak came back from Jo'burg, he was still angry.'

  Perhaps the scene she and Todd had enacted for the benefit of his engagement hadn't served to fully erase Barak's suspicions, Nicola thought. Or he might just have been annoyed at having his New Year plans disrupted by Denise's flight and the need to go after her. . `I think Uncle Barak might marry Auntie Denise,' Melanie announced gravely. 'If nothing better turns up.'

  Nicola laughed. It sounded so funny; as if it was a job Barak was thinking of taking, instead of a wife. `Will you like that?'

  `Don't know,' Melanie shrugged. 'Then she'd come and live with us, wouldn't she? She'd love that— Auntie Denise likes our house and farm. That's why I think it's silly when people say she's just like my mother, because Mummy hated farms. Auntie Denise likes ours, even though she doesn't like Granny and Grandpa's one.'

  Nicola wondered where Melanie had learned all this Was it talk she had overheard, or had she drawn these conclusions herself? It sounded as if she didn't want to believe Denise was like her mother.

  `We turn through the next gate on the right,' Melanie directed her just then.

  The Graeme farm was not on such a large scale as the Sorensen one, and there were no avocado plantations, only rows and rows of banana trees. The house

  too was small; it wouldn't have more than four bedrooms, Nicola judged; but it was an attractive little building, set in a neat garden, and its interior was just as tidy as the little lawn outside. Everything spotless and in its place, kept scrupulously free of dust, the woodwork shining softly. It wouldn't take much time to achieve this result, -though, as the rooms were very small.

  But perhaps Mrs Graeme ought to let things go a little, Nicola thought when she met the woman, who welcomed her pleasantly. Melanie's grandmother was a young woman—in her early fifties, Nicola judged— yet the face which would once have been as smooth as Denise's was lined and haggard, while the tawny hair showed streaks of grey. She looked so careworn, and her manner suggested that she had worries constantly nagging at her mind, even while she talked to Melanie, whom she patently adored.

  Nicola felt a pang of compassion for Mrs Graeme. How terrible to lose your daughter! Vanessa's death would make Melanie all the more precious to her; the legacy Vanessa had left, so like her, and the only grandchild so far. But there would probably be more ... If Denise bore Barak's children, they and Melanie would be double cousins, Nicola realised.

  Mr Graeme, a quiet man a few years senior to his wife, came in to greet his grandchild and ask her how she had been spending her time and whether she was looking forward to going into standard two when the schools re-opened the following week, but he soon excused himself, saying he was required at the banana plantations.

  When he had gone, Mrs Graeme sighed and said to Nicola, 'My husband has to work so hard. It's still some years before he's due to retire. We're hoping to live in town after that. I came from Pretoria and although I've become accustomed to rural living, I've always been homesick for the town. Melanie's mother took after me in that respect. In fact, her feelings on the matter were much stronger than mine; she genuinely hated farm life, so I was glad when she married Karl Sorensen as it meant she would be living in Pietersburg.'

  According to Ellen, it was due to her desire to escape the farming life that Vanessa's choice had fallen on Karl, even though she had had an affair with Barak.

  `Of course, Vanessa was very young when she married,' Mrs Graeme was saying dreamily, her eyes fixed on Melanie who was astride a leather pouffe and riding it as if it were a horse. Nicola knew that the woman was seeing her daughter again in the child with her smooth face. 'She was eighteen, Denise's present age. Now Denise is different—she doesn't have such a deeply rooted dislike of fa
rming. It irks her a bit to be so far from the city with its gaiety and exciting pace, and I know she wants to get away from here, but I think she'd be content to live on Barak's farm if she married him. The house is bigger, for one thing, and Barak can better afford to give her treats than we can. The Sorensens have never been cut off from the cities. You must meet Denise, Miss Prenn—she'll be interested in you. She's a great admirer of your father's work.'

  Nicola was silent, wondering if she ought to admit to having already met Denise. Barak had decided to

  keep Ellen and Traugott in ignorance of the events of New Year's Eve. Did he expect the same policy to be applied to others? She would have to play it by ear, , Nicola decided. Denise hadn't known who she was that night. Besides, it was highly unlikely that she would have given her parents the details of the party she had gone to with Todd Baxter, thereby disrupting the New Year party at Barak's farm.

  Denise herself came in, just as Nicola and Melanie were preparing to leave. She looked elegant and sophisticated in a tan dress, her shining mane of tawny hair swinging about her shoulders. At first she didn't recognise Nicola, and her face maintained its impassive expression as Mrs Graeme introduced them.

  It was only when Nicola said, 'Hullo,' very politely, that recollection and recognition flickered briefly in the tawny eyes as Nicola's voice was recalled.

  Denise's lips parted slightly and she looked ready to exclaim over Nicola's presence. An instant later, her face was blandly smooth again as she said, 'How do you do? I suppose Traugott Sorensen thought you were the next best thing to your father!'

  `I hope the opinion proves justified,' Nicola commented drily.

  Someone else entered the room. 'You get around so fast, Denise, that I can't keep up with you,' said Todd Baxter, flicking back a lock of floppy brown hair. His eyes lighted on Nicola, and there was no concealment of his recognition. 'Why, Nicola! What in the world are you doing up here? I was imagining you in Johannesburg, or wandering about the Magaliesberg. You should have let me know you'd be in this area.'