The mountain that went to the sea (17 page)

At home she rode the hacks who no longer served an

active purpose on the farm. She had always longed for a really good horse.

'Blood stock, of course!' she told Barton, laughing.

'Our lot come from blood stock. Needless to tell you that, Jeckie,' Barton said. 'There's good Arab blood there. They're good stock horses too. Tough in the tough country. What with much of the sheep mustering done by motor cycle and aeroplane, we don't need so many horses these days. It's different up in the hills with the cattle. There we use the real bronchos. Sixteen handers, some of them. They're paddocked out at the outcamps.'

'I'd like to go out to the cattle camp. May I come
sometime
, Barton?'

'If Andrew says so — why not?'

'If Andrew says so! Does everyone have to ask Andrew for everything?' Jeckie asked, half puzzled, half exasperated. 'You have an equal share in Mallibee with Andrew, Bart. Why can't you make a very unimportant decision like that?'

'Andrew's the manager. That's why.'

'You're brothers and he's the elder. I suppose that's the reason why.'

'Partly. When it comes to appointing a manager it's a case of votes from the family, Jeckie. Andrew has Aunt Isobel's vote. That puts him one ahead of me in any case.' He glanced sideways at Jeckie. She might be used to riding well-behaved hacks but she had a nice seat. Someone must have known what he was doing when he taught her to ride. Still, managing a stock horse was something different. He might ask Andrew about it, but he guessed in advance Andrew would say 'No'. A stock horse trained for cattle in the outback had its own laws. And generally a mouth of iron.

'You know what, Jeckie?' he said with a mischievous grin. His handsome dark eyes had their teasing light in them again.

'No. You tell me what,' she said looking straight ahead.

'Your mother's share carries a vote. If she voted for me instead of Andrew, that would play bobsy-die with the management, wouldn't it?'

'You mean you would be co-manager with Andrew, since he has Aunt Isobel's vote as well as his own two votes?'

`Exactly.'

'I don't think my mother worries about her vote. From the little I know, she is quite happy with the management. One thing I am certain about — she likes her annual cheque when it comes in. She thinks Andrew's management is good.'

'In that case, we can't break up the family muster, can we? Not till you do a spot of inheriting, anyway.'

'You're not wishing my mother dead, by any chance?'

'Certainly not. But she could always give her share to you as a wedding present. You should begin educating her as from now.'

The mischievous light in Barton's eyes had brightened. Jeckie found it a trouble to know when Barton was teasing and when he was not. She gave him a dignified but scornful glance, just to let him know that, if he was teasing, she herself could think of better subjects about which to use his particular brand of non-wit.

Barton laughed. 'Put your prickles back in place, Jeckie. How about marrying me? That might even up the votes. Better still, it could be fun — for you and me, hey?'

'Which do you think is most important?' Jeckie asked coldly. 'Evening up the votes or having fun?'

'Marrying you — whatever the benefits, chick I See that towering ant hill over to the right? I'll give you a stopwatch start of one second. Ready? GO!'

Jeckie was all smiles that night at dinner. Even Andrew looked at her a shade longer than usual.

'Oh, Jeckie! You do have a pretty dress on tonight,' Jane said. 'You look all sunshine and happiness! Has something special happened today?'

'Perhaps she's had an extra happy time today!' Aunt Isobel remarked as she served the vegetables on to Jeckie's plate. 'Was it a specially good day, dear?'

'Yes, in one way,' Jeckie admitted smiling. 'I beat Barton to the king ant hill. You know the one that towers over the other ant hills in the top paddock.'

Barton pretended to look crushed. Jane, who was sitting next to him, patted his hand.

'Dear Bart! ' she said. 'I do hope you didn't mind.'

'I would have minded like hell except for the fact it

was Jeckie who beat me.' The wicked look was in his eyes again. 'How come it makes you such a glad-girl, Jeckie. Haven't you ever won a race before?'

'Not against such an experienced rider, Bart. Actually, I was excited because now we won't have any more talk about my not being able to manage a stock horse, will we?'

'Manage a stock horse?' Andrew lifted his head and looked directly at Jeckie. His eyes had that 'watch how you cross my path' expression in them.

'Yes,' she said innocently. 'You see, it seems that on Mallibee everyone has to have your permission for me to ride out to the cattle camp. I do realize, of course, that an elderly mare would not be adequate for the goings-on at a cut-out. Do you think I could have a loan of a stock horse, Andrew? That is — if I have your permission even to go out to the camp?'

Jane thought Jeckie's dulcet tones and innocent expression were alarming. Nobody round the table knew what Aunt Isobel thought, but everyone pretended not to be startled. People did not usually challenge Andrew that way. No one looked at him, not even Jeckie, who went on quietly and unconcernedly eating her meal.

'Barton has been tutoring you,' Andrew said very slowly. 'Not only in riding, Jeckie. But in how to have your own way at Mallibee. Have you been twisting Bart's arm?'

'Whack!' said Barton, making a grimace. 'How long have you been here, Jeckie? A matter of weeks? You're with us already. What Andrew wants to know is — how you learned to curl me round your little finger in so short a time. I guess it's the way you roll those bright blue eyes of yours. Beginning to fall in love with me already?'

Aunt Isobel's back straightened poker-wise again.

'Barton!' she said coldly. 'That is a very personal suggestion to make in front of other people. My mother would never have allowed it in her day. She taught us that good manners and standard English were necessary for table conversation! '

'Of course she was right, Aunt Isobel. How come I keep forgetting that Generation Gap!'

'The generation what?' asked Jane wrinkling her brow. 'Dearest Jane doesn't read the papers,' Barton said,

shaking his head with mock sadness.

Andrew's eyes, enquiring in a thoughtful way, were fixed on Jeckie. She felt the betraying colour rise. She had better back down, she thought, before she said something foolish. Every pair of eyes round the table were on her. Barton's, of course, had a laugh in them.

`I'm sorry,' she said to Aunt Isobel. 'I've only been having a little fun-contest with Barton. I won the race but now he's won the conversation round, hasn't he? He's taken the conceit out of me.'

`That's all right, my dear. We all have our little defeats.'

`It's not me who's made her feel defeated,' Barton looked aggrieved. 'It's Andrew at the top of the table. Strange, Aunt Isobel, but Andrew doesn't have to do anything but turn on a cold look. Then everyone starts blushing or making apologies. Tell us, Jeckie— you being a female — how does he manage to do it?'

Jeckie's eyes met Andrew's straight on. He was waiting for her answer to Barton, and he was not amused. Yet his eyes weren't such steely eyes now. They too asked a question . . . she was sure. And funny — they sort-of looked tired. Which was strange. Why?

`Didn't you say at dinner last night there was to be a barbecue and open-air cinema at Morilla Station, Andrew?' she asked awkwardly. Anything to change the subject. Her manner was a slice of Jane's manner when Jane sometimes tried to change the topic of conversation for peace sake. 'It should be fun — the barbecue, I mean. If they only had a gymkhana before the barbecue, Barton and I could really show our mettle as horsemen, couldn't we?'

Darn it! She'd said the wrong thing again!

For one moment Andrew looked surprised at Jeckie's switch in the conversation. Then somewhere near the corners of his mouth a smile crept in.

It was the smile that did it.

Jeckie felt so relieved, all her mock defences came down like sapling trees in a desert wind. She looked at her plate and began the intricate business of putting peas on her fork.

No one ought to be allowed to smile like that, she

thought. There should be a law against it. Her heart had leapt, then seemed almost to die into silence. She didn't want to be hurt — in that particular way — again. One futile love affair in a life was enough.

It really isn't fair, she thought to herself again sadly. They've got him all sewn up for Sheila anyway! Besides, I'm not being sweet and gay and charming — like Sheila. I'm being stubborn and forthright. All things unfeminine. I don't know why —except something inside me still hurts. Pride—I suppose! I've grown 'prickles'.

The week-end of the barbecue on Morilla Station drew nearer. It was to last the whole week-end, including the Monday, when the men would attend the annual cut-out of the clean-skins where the boundaries of three stations met.

Even Aunt Isobel and Jane were excited. Sheila had arrived at Nana Bindi and everyone expected the Nana Bindi family to be at the Morilla barbecue — specially as the two stations shared a common corner boundary with that of Mallibee Downs.

Jeckie had been flat out helping in the homestead. Like Aunt Isobel, she had come to speak of Jane as 'Jane-dear'. She ran the two words together, and this had sent Cassie and the house girls into fits of laughter. But Jane-dear herself had decided she liked her name combination. Even Aunt Isobel had come to approve.

`There's such an affectionate note in Jeckie's voice,' Aunt Isobel said over their tea drinking duet the morning before they left for Morilla. 'It's really a kind and friendly way to speak of you, isn't it, Jane?'

Jeckie at that moment was down at the long paddock's fence watching Barton round up his change horses ready for them to be sent over to Morilla.

`When somebody asks you your name again, Jane dear,' Miss Isobel went on, passing the scones, 'don't ever let me hear you say "It's just plain Jane". You are not plain and it is not a plain name. It's a very attractive one.'

`Well — Jeckie has turned it into something attractive now, hasn't she? She is such a dear. I think I like her quite as much as Sheila, don't you, Miss Isobel?'

The older lady sipped her tea and was thoughtful.

`Well yes —' she conceded. 'Of course we must remember we knew Sheila first. And longer. Sheila did come to Mallibee because she was interested and wanted to come. Jeckie's mother used to apologize in her Christmas letters because Jeckie showed no real interest in the family at all, then. In the Ashenden family, I mean. It's only natural she should be more interested in her father's family — the Bennetts. Then there was that disastrous love affair! Most unsuitable! A sailor, of all people! What would a country girl know about ships? My cousin — Sheila's mother — was really disturbed about such a match. Quite a godsend that it fell through. A sailor is so often away from home, you know.'

`I hope Jeckie didn't have a broken heart, or anything wretched like that.'

'Oh no. I believe she was quite sensible about the whole thing,' Aunt Isobel went on. 'The young man had something to do with the diplomatic side of the Navy. That's much worse than always being at sea, of course. Poor man! He'd be for ever worrying along Government corridors; and likely to be attached to the overseas services any minute.'

`Imagine Jeckie— with all her spirit — having to do and say the right thing every time ambassadors and those sort of people were around,' said Jane.

Miss Isobel paused. Jeckie belongs to the country,' she said with finality. 'This country.' She took another sip of tea. `Jeckie's mother did the right thing in packing her off up here.'

`Oh — but —' Jane was surprised. 'Surely Jeckie came, rather than was sent?'

`Well, something of both,' Aunt Isobel conceded. 'It took a little persuasion, I understand. Actually I'm sure the girl is pleased she came now. She seems to laugh a lot, specially when she is with Barton. Such a good thing they get on so well together!'

Jane sat looking thoughtfully across the gravel square.

deckle had seemed to her such a serious girl at first —even a little sad — when one accidentally caught her off-guard. Now she was a real little smiler. Her lovely blue eyes shone with good spirits. It was only when Andrew spoke to her — or even just looked at her — that she be-

came serious again. Such a pity, because Andrew was really, under that austere manner, quite a dear!

'What are you thinking about, Jane?' Aunt Isobel asked, a little sharply. always have misgivings when you frown.'

'Frown? Oh dear. People who look cross are not often very nice people, are they?'

`No, they're not. But, Jane dear — as far as I know, you are never cross. So what were you thinking about?'

'Like you — that it is so nice to see Jeckie and Bart getting on so well. I do have one little worry, Miss Isobel — '

'Then speak up, my dear. Worry will give you indiges-tion. So bad for one!'