A Change for Clancy

by Amanda Doyle

  “Why are you bringing your own horses? Why not just use ours?”

  “Well, there you have me, Tamara,” he smiled. “I suppose it’s just that a man likes his own outfit. Rex, the stockman who’s coming, is as much a part of my outfit as my horses. I’d miss him if he wasn’t there, same as I would my horses or my own saddle. You get used to things. I’ve a couple of dogs, too, back at the homestead. I’ll show you when we get home. They’re called Blue and Queen, and there again, they go where I go.”

  He rose to his feet. Goodness, he was tall, and so broad and strong. Sort of solid and safe, without that kind of shifty, mean look that Johnny Raustmann had when he looked at you. This was the sort of man you could lean on, and confide in. Tammy was suddenly very taken with the idea, especially when his big hard hand grasped hers and pulled her easily to her feet. They grinned at each other again.

  “We’d better get home now, don’t you reckon?” Jed Seaforth said. “Come on, we’ll ride together.”

  The man and the girl led their horses out from the scrubby trees at the creek’s edge and mounted. Tamara had never seen anyone swing into the saddle with a more quicksilver, fluid movement than Jed did just then, and his horsemanship was a joy to behold. Her respect increased with every moment. He seemed quite oblivious of the impression he was making, just as Tammy herself was unconscious of the careless slap of her legs against her own mount’s sides, or the arch of her thin little back as she slouched in the saddle. She never cared how she looked—she didn’t have to. Her reputation for being able to “stay on” practically any horse was assured among the men on Bunda Downs, and further than that, she didn’t bother.

  They rode home in a companionable silence, with the sunset glowing orange behind them at the western end of the ridges. The Peacock Range was at its most awe-inspiring, vividly splashed with red-gold light, its gorges plunged in purple gloom, its russet cliffs molten in the setting sun. The surrounding plains were bathed in a soft haze of pink light, and the green of the scrub and sparse vegetation was muted to sage, while the corrugated roof of the homestead shone as white against its tawny backdrop as Jed Seaforth’s white shirt against his bare brown throat.

  It wasn’t until they had unsaddled, watered and turned out their horses at the stockyards that Tamara asked, a little guiltily, “You’ve met Clancy, haven’t you? Was she awful angry that I wasn’t there today?”

  He looked at her steadily. “She wasn’t, Tamara. But I will be, if you desert-her again in a needy moment.”

  Tammy began to pout. Jed took her arm and turned her in the direction of the house. He added insinuatingly, “You know some of those girls that crop up in your books now and then, the helpless, decorative kind that are no use to anyone? You don’t want to be like that, do you, Tammy?” Tamara warmed at his use of her pet name.

  “Oh, no!” she replied, shocked at the idea. In The Passionate End, that she was reading just now, Pamela was all right, but there was a really dreadful one called Sonia, who had absolutely nothing in her at all. “Oh, no! Some of them are awful, aren’t they?”

  “They are indeed,” he agreed gravely, although his mouth twitched just a little. “You aren’t going to be like that, though. You are going to be useful and decorative. In fact, I can’t wait to see what you look like in a pretty dress at tea-time tonight. See you later, Tammy.” He waved casually as he turned off where the track forked towards the bungalow. Goodness! Surely he wasn’t staying there, of all places?

  Whatever would Johnny Raustmann say? Johnny Raustmann hated anyone going near his house, but—the new manager—phew! Tamara wished she could see what was going on inside!

  Turning in front of the mirror later, Tamara was, for the first time, acutely conscious of the blue floral dress’s shortcomings. It had a hand-me-down air that was depressing to say the least, but it was clean and neat. She had never had this overwhelming longing to appear feminine for anyone in her life before, and she stared with pouting dissatisfaction at her reflection. On a sudden impulse, she unplaited her hair, flipped it loose, and brushed it vigorously until it swung below her shoulders in a pale, tawny curtain. Yes, that was better, but there was a peeling bit on the end of her nose where the sun had burnt it, that spoilt the whole effect. She moved the jars on Clancy’s table, found the one she wanted, smoothed on some cream and a dab of powder. She studied her face again—it wasn’t too bad really, and it would have to do. One couldn’t wave a wand and turn from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan in a matter of moments, alas!

  Clancy, in the kitchen, drew a pile of plates into her arms from the rack where they’d been warming, ran through with them, returned and rang the cow-bell loudly to summon everyone! before she took through the casserole and vegetable dishes. Her hair clung in tiny tendrils round her moist forehead and her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the big oven-range. She heard footsteps converging from all directions on the dining-room, pushed back a limp golden lock and picked up her laden tray.

  It was removed from her grasp in the doorway, and Jed Seaforth placed it carefully on the sideboard for her. Johnny Raustmann was already sitting dourly in his place, and Tamara had just come in from the hall. Tamara! Clancy stood with the casserole-lid in her hand, and stared. There was a moment’s silence, broken by Jed, who approved smoothly, “Very nice, Tamara—very, very nice! Where do you sit, now?” Tamara was blushing with pride. This time there was no swaying walk, no extravagant gesture, as she meekly indicated her chair. Jed walked round, drew it out for her, saw her seated. Then, and only then, did he really look at Clancy, who was still standing there, open-mouthed, with the lid clutched to her. His cool blue eyes roved over her damp forehead and pink cheeks (there was a dab of flour high on one cheekbone), her tangled hair, and shirt with its offending rent.

  “We’ll wait for you, Clancy,” he announced meaningly, taking the lid from her and placing it on top of the steaming casserole once more. Clancy turned red with humiliation, irritation, and a sudden uncurbed flow of acute anger. Their eyes locked and held—the compelling blue and the gently furious brown. She found herself snapping, almost querulous with rage.

  “I never change at night. I don’t have time. I never had, and I’ve even less now.” Now that you are here, she almost said, but she’d made her meaning plain enough.

  Jed Seaforth’s eyes never wavered. Neither did his voice. It was calm and imperturbable as ever, as he replied reasonably, “I realise you have far too much to do here, Clancy. That’s why I’ve said we’ll wait.” And wait he would! Clancy could see that! He looked as if he was prepared to wait all night. Oh, he was a beast—immovable, domineering, interfering, the way he was trying to manage everyone already—and however had he got round Tamara to come in all dressed up, anyway? she wondered resentfully. The iron hand in the velvet glove, that was it. Velvet, velvet glove. She swallowed the bitter lump rising in her throat, and left the room.

  CHAPTER 5

  CLANCY wasn’t long. She wasn’t going to have her carefully prepared dinner ruined just for him, she excused herself acidly. She wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that her heart bounded uncomfortably at the inexorable way he was getting them all into line. And she herself was responding with dithering obedience like a raw recruit to the bellowed command of an irascible sergeant-major! She was in a rebellious mood about it, but she couldn’t take a stand back there just now, because of Johnny Raustmann. She didn’t want him to get angry, and from the way his gimlet eyes had watched the little scene, she knew he wasn’t pleased.

  Returning to the dining-room, she served out the meal. Jed stood beside her and passed the plates, but as he gave Tamara hers, he told her, “I’m not much of a hand at this, I’m afraid, Tammy. I’m sure you’ll be much better—maybe you’ll do it for Clancy next time—hmm?” and Tamara replied adultly that she would.

  Johnny ate in his usual noisy haste, eyes slipping from one person to another in turn, but resting more often on Clancy than anyone. She tried to hide the blank misery s
he was feeling, but she knew she wasn’t altogether successful. At the end of dinner, as Johnny prepared to take his departure, as was his habit, Jed said casually, “Oh, by the way, Raustmann, I’d like to discuss a few things with you afterwards. Where will you be?”

  Johnny stood quite still. There was an immediate air of tension in the room, as the two men looked each other over. Clancy held her breath, then released it as she heard Johnny say truculently, “I’ll be down at the cottage same as I always am. Where else would you think?”

  Jed ignored the other’s insolent manner. He went on easily, “That’s fine, then. There are just one or two things I want to get straightened out. A lot can wait till my chap arrives with my own outfit. I’ll need him to give a hand with the mustering.”

  “Mustering?” There was no mistaking the coldness of Johnny Raustmann’s question.

  “Yes, I’d like to have a check-up on everything, just to see how it’s standing,” was the imperturbable reply.

  A slow flush was creeping up Johnny’s neck. Clancy, who knew him well, quailed inside herself.

  “There’s not the slightest need to have a muster on Bunda Downs just now, Mister Seaforth. It’s not three weeks since we were marking and branding, and the figures are all in the tally-book.”

  Jed Seaforth hadn’t liked that cheeky “Mister,” Clancy was sure, but he gave no outward sign of any displeasure. He proceeded calmly, apparently quite unruffled, “That’s fine, Raustmann. I’d like a look at the tally-book, but we’ll have a muster all the same. It’s a purely routine matter, and how I always start off when I’m called in to handle affaire of this kind.”

  Johnny Raustmann’s face was now the colour of a darkly purple plum. His voice was low, almost threatening, as he asked, “And just what do you mean by that remark? What kind of affair is it you’re called in to handle?”

  There was a moment of complete and utter silence.

  Clancy felt her nerves give a twang, and even the irresponsible Tamara was gazing wide-eyed from one man to the other, her bony fingers whitening as they clasped the back of her chair. Jed Seaforth’s blue eyes narrowed as he weighed up the other man. When he spoke, his words fell into the silence as separately and precisely as pebbles into an ice-cold pool.

  “That’s what I don’t exactly know,” he said with steely emphasis “—but I mean to find out.”

  He turned abruptly towards Tamara, put a large brown hand on her shoulder.

  “Come on, Tammy, you and I are going to wash up together, seeing Clancy got that excellent dinner all by herself when you were lazing down there at the creek.”

  “You needn’t bother, thank you. I shall do them just as I always do,” Clancy assured him frozenly.

  Jed Seaforth shook his head.

  “No go,” he said evenly. “The rest of the evening is yours, Clancy—you’ve earned it. Come on then, offsider.” He winked at Tamara, swept the stacked crockery deftly on to the tray, and bade his helper bring the rest. Together they disappeared.

  Johnny Raustmann looked over to where Clancy still stood, rebellion and a certain amount of puzzlement written plainly on her face.

  Johnny’s voice was hoarse with rage, his face now had turned an ugly grey, and small beads of moisture stood out on his brow.

  “You see what I mean now, don’t you, Clancy? The nerve of him, the rotten nerve, coming here like that, interfering in everything. Lord above! It’s bad enough him trying to poke his nose into everything on the property, but you can see what he’s doing, can’t you, Clancy?” He gave her a slanting look of cunning. “Already he’s just about got the kid over to his side, hasn’t he? He’s working on her, and he’s winning, after only one day. He’s going to get her away from you, Clancy—if we let him stay long enough to do it.”

  Two unbidden tears overflowed and rolled in a hot path down Clancy’s pinched cheeks. More followed, silently. She couldn’t look at Johnny Raustmann. He had come nearer again, but she stared straight ahead. Desolately she had to acknowledge that he was right. Apparently the new manager had only had to crook his lean, brown, square-tipped finger, and Tamara had come running. How he had done it, Clancy couldn’t guess, but he had done it—and in hardly a day, as Johnny so truly said. Jealousy shot in hot flames through her wretched heart. Why, why was Tammy responding to him like that? It was Clancy who had lavished all her love and time on the child, it was Clancy who had struggled and battled to bring her up properly, to educate her, to do all those small things that bring pleasure to a little girl’s heart. It was to Clancy that Tammy should be turning now, not to a tall, broad rock of a man who had been forced into their lives by a lot of interfering city trustees who wouldn’t know a sheep from a goat, a paper-bark from a ghost-gum. She felt shut out and rejected and terribly, terribly resentful. She just couldn’t ignore the tears any longer. One ran right off the tip of her nose. She fumbled for her handkerchief, blew defiantly, and gave a surreptitious wipe to each eye.

  At that, Johnny took two swift steps right to her side. His voice was soft and wheedling. “I’ll get my way yet, Clancy, eh,” he cajoled her. “You and me have to get together on this thing, and you know what the quickest way would be, don’t you? If you and me got together, no other man would have the right to come barging in here to run your place and win your little sister away from you. Another day or two like this, and Tamara won’t listen to one word you say. See if I’m not right. You’ll see it my way soon. You’ll be glad to turn to Johnny Raustmann then, to get rid of that—” He spat out the coarse epithet, put his hands roughly on her shoulders. Clancy stiffened. He gave a harsh laugh. “You’ll change yet,” he murmured, then strode from the room.

  Clancy bathed her face with cold water, patted it dry, and took some steadying breaths and went to the kitchen. Tamara was there alone. She was industriously drying the last of the cutlery, and had the plates, cups and saucers methodically stacked in neat piles. She looked up as Clancy entered, to say cheerfully, “Hi, Clan, I’m nearly finished. Jed washed up and he said he’d let me dry and put away. He said I can do it much better and quicker than he can. He said he used to do it when he was about my age, and he wasn’t nearly so good as me. He has an elder brother—just like I’ve got you—and he says his brother’s much better at washing up than he is, ‘cos he was a naval cad—cad—cad something, and you have to take a turn being ship’s cook, and the kitchen isn’t a kitchen, it’s called a galley. Jed says it’s worse than a kitchen, and you have to keep the galley tidy or you’re in real trouble, because of the ship swaying and everything. Jed says you could break everything if you weren’t tidy in’ the galley. His brother Mike was awful good at all that—about as good as me, he says.”

  Tamara paused for breath. Her freckled face positively glowed with achievement, and Clancy bit back the sarcastic words she had almost uttered. Her own true affection and generous spirit prevented her, in that moment, from saying anything to dim her little sister’s new-found pleasure. She would have felt happier had she known that it sprang from even the briefest association with a normal, straight-talking, standard-setting male. No man had ever bothered about Tamara before. She’d had no father, Johnny Raustmann ignored her except when she got in his way, and the station-hands and “boys” and their gins and piccaninnies treated her as the tough little tomboy she’d proved herself to be. It had become important to live up to their picture of her, and up until Jed’s arrival she had guarded her independent, tomboy reputation with jealous pride.

  Of course, Tamara didn’t know what was happening to herself just then, and so she couldn’t explain it to Clancy. And Clancy was too prejudiced and suspicious and miserable and lonely to think it out clearly herself. Her mind was still fogged by the loss of her mother, the unwelcome shock of Johnny Raustmann’s attentions, and the upheaval of a stranger’s entry into her secure, familiar world. So she simply said now, wearily, “Come to bed, Tam. It’s been a long day. And—thanks for washing up, poppet.”

  “Thank Jed, not me. It
was he who thought of it, so thank him.”

  Never! swore Clancy to herself as she switched off the light.

  Breakfast next morning was eaten in silence. Clancy, acutely aware of each person there, thought about silence as she hadn’t ever done before. Now she was discovering there can be all different sorts of silence. Jed’s was a casually easy silence—there was a masculine aroma of soap and shaving lotion about him, and he appeared to be enjoying his chop, bacon and eggs to the very last mouthful. Johnny’s silence, on the other hand, was definitely a brooding one. Save for the one dark look he’d slid at Jed, Johnny hadn’t taken his eyes from his plate, but Clancy could feel the antagonism flowing out towards the other man, and wondered futilely what had passed between them down at the bungalow last night. To look at Johnny, it couldn’t have been pleasant. To look at Jed, it might have been nothing more than an amiable chat over the tea-cups. Clancy was baffled, and no further forward in her speculations. Tamara was silent too, only hers was obviously a contented silence. Once or twice during the meal, Clancy had intercepted the worshipful looks Tamara frequently bestowed upon Jed. He had caught one, too, and Clancy saw him wink at her little sister, and raise one eyebrow comically. Tamara gave an answering, satisfied grin. Jealousy gave Clancy’s heart a painful squeeze again. There was no doubt. Jed Seaforth had conquered Tamara!

  And what about Clancy’s own silence? She was just plain miserable, and the teeniest bit frightened about the outcome of all this. Her perceptions had become acute over the last twenty-four hours, and she was sensitively aware of the cross-currents of feeling running between three of them at least. Tamara, in her new-found friendship with Jed, wasn’t worrying about anyone else!

  Afterwards, Clancy roped in her unwilling sister to help with the household tasks. Tamara pouted at her. She had been secretly hoping to spend the morning with Jed, and Clancy guessed as much when she turned on her and protested, “Oh, Clan, you are mean, keeping me here. You—you’re always spoiling everything. Sometimes I think I just hate you, honest I do!”