The mountain that went to the sea

by Walker, Lucy

  All remembrance of her resolutions about doing the `correct thing’ by Aunt Isobel flew out into the warm, dry air.

  She jumped up from her chair, fished for her shoes with one foot, and managed to get one shoe on. She was fearful Jason would turn about and disappear. She ran down the veranda towards him, waving the left-over shoe in her hand.

  `Jason!’ she cried. ‘Please don’t go away. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Hallo, Jeckie.’ He smiled as he looked down at her with something warm, even tender, in his eyes. Jeckie felt her heart respond as if that same vital organ could be made of quicksilver.

  `How’s Jeckie going these days?’ Jason asked. ‘I see

  you’ve lost a shoe again. What you really need is a pot of glue as a regular stand-by. Which one is it this time? The right or the left?’

  ‘The left,’ Jeckie said. ‘I’m always losing the darn things. One or other of them, anyway.’

  With her free hand she took Jason’s arm to steady herself, then bent over to push the shoe on to its rightful foot.

  Jason looked at the top of her shining head. His smile was almost indulgent. Almost tender.

  Barton, twenty feet away in the middle of a circle of friends, watched the two of them. He pulled in the corners of his mouth and looked sombre.

  Further along the veranda, Andrew had finished presenting the newly-arrived cattleman to Aunt Isobel and Jane. He turned and looked across the space to where Jeckie stood, one hand on Jason’s arm as she completed the rite of seeing that two shoes were once again on two feet. She was looking up and smiling at Jason. He was looking down and returning the smile.

  Andrew frowned. He turned back to Jane, who was sitting like a piece of sculpture looking strangely lost, as if this meeting with the newcomer had had a disturbing effect on her. Andrew took her arm and helped her to her feet. Then, slipping his hand under her elbow, he walked with her to the veranda railing. He said a few words to her, then began to point out something about the children playing on the lawn below. After a minute or two, his hand still under her elbow, he walked away with her towards the far end of the veranda.

  ‘How are you, Jeckie?’ Jason asked. ‘I mean, how are you all those times when you have both shoes on your feet?’ His grin was infectious.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you very much. With or without both shoes on my feet. Jason dear, do let’s go for a walk, please. I want to have you to myself for just five minutes. You will, won’t you? I want to see what’s going on everywhere else. Have the Mallibee men arrived with their horses?’

  Jason looked surprised. For a moment he hesitated. Then he said, ‘Let’s go for a walk by all means, Jeckie. But we’ll have to make it short. I’ve people to meet and

  people not to meet. Are you worldly wise enough to understand that?’

  They were heading towards the front veranda steps.

  ‘Yes, if by the “not to meet” ones you mean Andrew and Barton,’ Jeckie said.

  It could be. It’s wiser not to rub shoulders with people who don’t want their shoulders rubbed. We’re an over-ticklish mob up here — north of Twenty-six.’

  They were walking towards the horse paddock alongside the homestead stables.

  ‘Well, I do know exactly what you mean.’ Jeckie nodded her head. ‘It’s the family quarrel, isn’t it? Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about it. I mean — I am just barely an Ashenden. And I am staying at Mallibee. But they all think of me as one of them.’

  Jason’s smile broadened. ‘Don’t be too serious about it, Jeckie,’ he advised. ‘There are other people in the world beside the Ashendens. It’s true there has been what you call a quarrel. I call it a difference of opinion. I’m hoping that one day, in the not-too-far-distant future, it will get itself resolved. Who knows? Let’s keep our fingers crossed, hey?’

  ‘Right Said and done!’ Jeckie smiled as she held up her crossed fingers pledging her word. They both laughed.

  She dropped her hand again, and with great restraint did not take Jason’s arm as they walked along.

  All those people on the veranda watching! she thought.

  She glanced up at Jason’s profile.

  ‘Who was the man Andrew brought round the veranda to meet Aunt Isobel?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s Neil Cameron. He’s a cattle expert. His speciality is the Santa Gertrudis breed. Brahmins too. Breeds not tried out up here before.’

  ‘Is he just one more visitor to Morilla? Or is Andrew thinking of taking up the Santa Gertrudis again? Or maybe it’s the Brahmins this time. You have to grow seed sorghum for them, don’t you, and that needs damp soil and warm temperatures.’ Jeckie puckered her brow in a thoughtful way. know they’re rearing them in some places further south,’ she said. ‘But that’s very different country — ‘

  ‘There speaks the farmer’s daughter,’ Jason said with a

  smile. ‘However, you are right to some extent, Jeckie. It would be an experiment only - except for the fact that Mallibee Downs has a pocket of country on the north west side that is heavily grassed most of the year round. That’s because of the underground water, and also because of continual seepage down the higher slopes after the Wet. The real beauty of that water is that it keeps trickling along between the cracks in the mesas in the Dry when it’s most needed. It covers quite a fair area of grazing ground, and it’s constant. I believe Neil Cameron knows of new and more favourable grasses that could be sown.’

  `You sound as if you, too, have quite a feeling for the experiment.’

  He nodded his head. ‘I know Neil Cameron’s reputation. I respect and like him. I was sorry when he went away before. Now he’s back I’m hoping for the best.’

  ‘I think you’re a very kind man, Jason. You are hoping for the best for Andrew and Barton when all the time-‘

  ‘Not just Andrew and Barton,’ Jason said quietly. ‘There is one other person who matters too, Jeckie. Matters very much, as a matter of fact.’

  He looked down at Jeckie’s upturned face. ‘If I please that one person,’ he went on, this time smiling impishly, ‘who knows? I might score one more vote in the Shire elections. How would that be, Jeckie? Two for the Ashendens and one up for me?’

  ‘You are making fun of me,’ Jeckie said. ‘I don’t believe you are always thinking of yourself - ‘

  ‘As some people say?’ he asked, eyebrows raised.

  Jeckie stood still. The pucker was between her brows again.

  ‘Nobody says anything,’ she said flatly. ‘I mean - not anything that means anything. That stupid family quarrel is all shrouded in some kind of murky silence that almost spells mystery. Something to do with selling the mountain. Jason … please. Why did you sell it?’

  ‘To make money, of course,’ he said, flicking aside a strand of hair from Jeckie’s eyes. ‘We all like money, don’t we? And need it. It cost you money for an aeroplane ride up here to Mallibee, didn’t it? It will cost Andrew money to hire Neil Cameron and put in his new breed of cattle. It costs the Westerly-Ann Mine

  money to take that iron ore out of the Range. Mostly it costs the merchants and the Government money to build that railway to the Port — and build that Port on the Indian Ocean. And bring in the ships. It costs money to pay men to man the Port; and man the railways, and man the mine.’

  `Please stop, Jason,’ Jeckie begged. ‘I’m not very good at arithmetic but I know all that iron ore business costs millions and millions of dollars. I read about it in the papers. But about you .. . ?’

  `About me, my dear, pretty Jeckie? Let sleeping dogs lie. That way they won’t harm you.’

  `Harm me? Darling Jason, I know you would never harm me … if you’re referring to yourself …’ She broke off. Jason wasn’t smiling any more. And he wasn’t joking either. His eyes were very serious.

  `Are you so very sure, my dear child?’

  ‘Of course …’ she hesitated. Someone was running lightly towards them from a belt of trees at the side of the homestead.

  `Jecki
e! Jeckie! Oh, hallo, Jason! What are you and Jeckie walking and talking about? My, my! So serious too?’

  It was Sheila. Her voice was light and gay, yet there was a lift of curiosity in it too.

  `Oh, hallo, Sheila!’ Jeckie said. ‘What a gorgeous riding kit! Have you been down to the paddocks?’

  `Of course! You don’t think I’m going to tie myself to a tea tray and all those silver-haired ladies on the veranda, do you? There’s too much going on outside. Have you seen Andrew, Jeckie? He promised to come down to the saddling paddock.’

  ‘He was on the veranda talking to Aunt Isobel and Jane.’

  Sheila pretended to pout. It was a very engaging pout as she glanced up at Jason to measure its effect.

  ‘Wouldn’t you think he sees enough of Aunt Isobel and Jane at Mallibee all the year round!’ she demanded. `Jason pet, how about you strapping up your trousers and coming for a ride?’

  `Not now, I’m afraid, Sheila.’ Jason’s smile was easy. ‘But here comes someone else who might oblige.’ He

  glanced over Sheila’s shoulder. Both girls turned at the same time.

  `It’s Bart!’ Sheila said, ringing up an ecstatic note in her silvery voice. ‘Excuse me, you two. I’m about to make Andrew good and mad. Bart is supposed to be seeing the stockmen don’t overdo their jollifications! Now I’m going to borrow him. You watch!’

  She ran back towards Barton. ‘Hallo, Bart darling! Goody, goody! You have your riding boots on too! Quick, there are two gorgeous mounts tethered in the paddock corner.’

  Jeckie watched her go.

  `But why make Andrew mad? Does she mean jealous?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Andrew’s not the kind of person you can cross. Well, not too often — ‘ She blushed as she turned and caught Jason’s eyes looking at her curiously.

  `I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Stop looking at me like that, Jason. Nothing Sheila does worries me, you know. We’ve known one another for years. It is just her way —’

  `I had a feeling Barton was coming for you, not Sheila,’ he said watching her face steadily. ‘Actually he was looking for you earlier — before that afternoon tea party got going up on the veranda. He had two mounts tethered under the trees in the paddock.’

  Jeckie tucked her hand in Jason’s arm again. ‘You actually think I’m jealous, don’t you?’ she laughed. ‘No. You’re quite wrong. And don’t be sorry for Bart either. He is very good at getting his own way — in his own way —if he wants it.’

  `But in Sheila’s time, it seems …’ he said, and patted Jeckie’s hand. ‘Sheila’s a pretty girl. And bright.’

  `She has a lovely laugh and lots and lots of charm. And yes, I am envious, but not jealous. There is a difference, isn’t there? Let’s walk over to the railing and lean on it. We can put one foot up on the lower rail and talk about the price of wool, and generally make out we look like a couple of station owners. Land must be our only topic of conversation.’

  `What about my topic … the Mountain? And iron ore on the way to the sea?’ He looked at her quizzically, a teasing smile at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Better still. Let’s talk about the fact that I’d like to see the Mountain again. Will you take me … just the two of us? No one else?’

  He hesitated a moment.

  ‘I think I will do just that,’ he said at last. have a

  light plane anchored down Morilla’s long paddock, on the far side of the muster yards. You won’t be scared of flying with me?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be afraid of doing anything with you, Jason,’ she said, hugging his arm and almost skipping beside him as they went towards the paddock rails. ‘Aren’t we getting on well? We almost know one another as if we’d been friends for ages and ages.’

  ‘You think so? Good. We’ll take a flight when I can arrange it. We can hardly run out on this show just now. Can we? And please, dear child … remember to bring your shoes. And to keep them on your feet. We have to clamber across rough ground from where I’ll land that plane.’

  `Oh, I will! ‘ Jeckie said gaily. mean, bring my shoes on my feet.’

  The following day, amidst much excitement, the Morilla Annual Races were held. After that came polo. The first match was between Morilla Station and Nana Bindi. The winner was yet to play Mallibee with both Andrew a,nd Barton in the team on the last day of the long wek-end.

  In the evening after the first polo match, the barbecue was held.

  Long trestle tables were set out in a line some distance from the fires. Further away, camp ovens, covered in coals, were cooking damper. Tables were laden with all kinds of foods. The lovely, golden, juicy melons took pride of place in the centres of the tables.

  On the spits hung over the great fires, bullocks were being roasted whole. Shadowy figures moved around the tables and in amongst the gum trees nearby. By the home paddock fence were set up kegs of ginger beer for the children. Further along were the kegs of lager beer for the men.

  Children raced here and there, dodging grown-ups and helping themselves unrestrained to nuts, sweets, and sun-dew melon. By the time the sizzling roasted meat was carved up, they had no room left for it.

  Jeckie felt it was diplomatic to avoid Jason in all this kaleidoscope of firelight and shadow. She did have to think about Aunt Isobel’s feelings. In a day or two she would go sky-flying with Jason and see the Mountain again. If the mile-long train was going by, she would see chunks of the Mountain rattling off to the sea. Tonight it would be wiser and kinder to Aunt Isobel, and probably Jane too, not to be seen too obviously in Jason’s company. Some strange little quirk in her made her feel she didn’t want to make Andrew angry either. In fact, that same quirk made her want to avoid him altogether. The one thought that troubled her most was how to manage a sky-flying trip with Jason without offending them all at Mallibee. Though she wanted to do exciting things, she was a little afraid of Andrew’s disapproval. Maybe he had been so busy arranging which stockmen were to go from what station for the cattle cut-out when the week-end came to an end — and perhaps paying court to Sheila — he wouldn’t notice anything she did at all. He’d be much more concerned as to why Sheila was paying so much flirtatious attention to Barton. Would Andrew know how Sheila liked to play one admirer off against the other?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When the feasting was over it was time for the wool-shed doors to be flung open and the dancing to begin.

  First came the children’s turn. They slid up and down the wool-greased floor. They linked hands and made a fantasy of wizzy-turns. Eventually they allowed themselves to be regimented into a more formal barn dance. An hour later they were all served with sliced melon and ice-cream, and mustered off the floor so the grown-ups could have their turn.

  There were enough stockmen adept with traditional bush instruments — mouth organs, concertinas and guitars — to

  make an orchestra. When the first bars of ‘Click go the Shears’ struck up, the teenagers and adults took over the floor. The ‘silver heads’ sat on bentwood chairs ranged along the sides of the wool-shed.

  Sheila was the first to be asked to dance. For quite some minutes she and Frank Carson from Nana Bindi Station held the floor alone. The orchestra changed the time of the old folk song to the modern beat, and Sheila and Frank gave quite an exhibition dance. Delighted onlookers beat time with their hands.

  `How’s that for a free show?’ Barton asked over Jeckie’s shoulder.

  ‘It’s good.’ Jeckie sighed with real admiration. ‘Look at Sheila’s hair streaming behind her. And how quick she is on her feet. She’s a lovely dancer. Frank is good too.’

  `Well — those are fine words from one cousin about another. Let you and me break it up, hey? Just for the heck of it! You can have Frank and I’ll snatch Sheila.’

  Jeckie looked at Barton with pretended scorn. ‘Why do you want to take up so much of Sheila’s time, Bart? It’s been quite noticeable, you know. She might want to finish the dance with Frank. Besides �
� are you trying to make Andrew angry or something?’

  ‘Take a look at brother Andrew over there by the palms,’ Barton said. ‘Does he look angry?’

  ‘He’s much too dignified to show his feelings. All the same, I thought Sheila was his . .. well, his special girl. You sort-of told me that, Bart. Certainly Jane and Aunt Isobel think Sheila has top priority with Andrew.’

  ‘Let’s go and ask him, shall we?’ Barton said with a sudden challenge. He looked sideways at her, his old mischievous grin hard at work.

  Jeckie caught his arm. She was quite shocked. ‘Oh no, Bart! Don’t be so silly. That would be .’ She stopped.

  ‘Would be what?’ His grin was more wicked than ever.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She glanced towards the palms again. Others had joined in the dance and Andrew was no longer watching the dancers. He was looking straight across the floor at herself and Barton. He wore the sort-of inscrutable expression that Jeckie — in her mind — called the ‘closed book’ look. It couldn’t be read. Yet it touched

  something in her. It was almost as if he wanted to say something. Yet perhaps never would. He looked lonely —which he couldn’t possibly be, of course. He was the most important man there. Everyone shook hands and spoke to Andrew. The men monopolized him with their talk of wool sales, and changing times, and the coming of a new breed of cattle. He was a man’s man except that his eyes sometimes watched Sheila dancing with this one, and flirting with that one. Just now he’d been looking in that half-reserved, half-challenging way at her — Jeckie. What had he been thinking? That she was the one who was flirting now — with Barton?

  She dropped Barton’s arm, and turning away from Andrew’s disturbing eyes, she watched the dancers again. Then she saw something that made her open her eyes with surprise.

  `Look, Barton. Look!’ she said joyfully. ‘Jane’s dancing. Actually dancing.’

  `Why not? You wait till they get back to the old-fashioned beat, and start up the Lancers. Or maybe a waltz. These oldies knew how to dance in their day. Besides, Jane’s danced with Neil Cameron before tonight —I can tell you that. He’s no chicken but he’s pretty hot on the swing in square dances. Just wait, Jeckie, till the youngies give over and go for the cigarettes and beer kegs. The floor’ll be clear then for the stockmen and the Neil Camerons in the crowd. You’l see real dancing — the wool-shed way. Fast and furious!’