A Change for Clancy

by Amanda Doyle

  “So then brother Mike joined the Navy, and went off to war. He saw a good bit of the world before that was over, but I, being nine years younger, spent some of the war years at a boarding-school in Sydney. I can still remember how I used to envy Mike. He wrote the most vivid letters about his engagements with the enemy, and the tales of those sea-battles fought in foreign waters made me terribly discontented with my public school life. The most exciting battle I was ever engaged in was only on the cricket pitch or the rugger field, except for one night when a Jap pocket-submarine got in and fired a few shells from the harbour. Our school was near the water, so we were fairly close to the noise and excitement, but it all seemed tame to a chap of ten just itching to get to those faraway places.”

  “Oh, I know,” agreed Clancy, a little dreamily. “Sometimes I’ve just longed to travel, to see all the wonderful sights of the world, that I’ve only read about in books—how other people look, how they live, the sort of things they talk about, and even what they eat. I think I was just born curious. I feel I know terribly little about real people and real life. You see, except for two years at that school in Adelaide, I’ve never had much to do with people in the mass. I’ve only ever met the one sort of person, the country sort of person, except for the flying doctor and Mr. Parsins and—and—you.”

  Jed’s smile held a slightly ironic curve as he replied emphatically, “Well, I’m a country sort of person, everyone knows that, Clancy. You couldn’t meet a more country sort than I am, so you should feel quite at home with me, eh?”

  Clancy blushed faintly. He was laughing at her, but beneath the teasing note in his voice, there was a seriousness not to be denied—perhaps a gentle hint at her previous lack of trust and her unfriendly, withdrawn attitude. She felt ashamed of her past behaviour. Now, miserably aware that, as things were, she could never be closer to this man she loved than she was at this moment, Clancy sought hastily to turn the conversation away from herself.

  “And then, afterwards, Jed—you travelled? You must have done. You’re so assured, you know so much about people, how to deal with them, what they think.”

  “Yes, Clancy. I’ve seen my share of the world. I took a degree in engineering at Cambridge, and spent a while in America, and then I came home and took some of the responsibilities from my father’s shoulders. When Mother died, he went to live in Adelaide, and I ran the properties. Occasionally I find myself called upon to investigate the running of a station that isn’t ticking over as it should, but in the main I’ve a full-time job looking after our own interests, and I manage to get down to Adelaide quite often to see my father. I usually combine a business visit with the pleasure of seeing him, too.”

  Yes, thought Clancy, with a sudden bitter pang, and your woman friend, Jed—the one who chose Tamara’s dresses. Don’t forget her, Jed. And I mustn’t forget her existence, either.

  Clancy sighed, lost in thought. Weariness seemed to touch her very soul just then, and Jed possibly sensed her mood, though not the reason for it. He scraped back his stool with a rasping noise, and said brusquely, “Come on, Clancy, time for bed. It’s been quite a day, one way and another, and there’s an early start in the morning, too. I think you and Tammy shouldn’t come out tomorrow. Tuesday will be soon enough to lend a hand, and I’ve made Tamara promise to help you with the washing instead of mustering in the morning. She can either join Snowball and me at the Twelve-mile Bore in the afternoon, or undertake some preliminary training of her new colt, but I’ve already briefed her on that. You girls could lend a hand to Rex and me for the next couple of days then, while we’re working this end of the run, but after that I’m afraid we’ll be off at the outcamps for a week or more.” With which pronouncement, Jed took the cups from Clancy’s hand, placed them in the sink, and guided her firmly to the door.

  “Goodnight, little Clancy,” he whispered softly, then picked up his hat from the canvas chair on the veranda, and vanished down the steps into the darkness. Clancy went obediently to her room, and, oddly soothed by that gentle goodnight, to her own surprise slept dreamlessly.

  Morning saw the men off before dawn. At that hour there was a brisk coolness in the air, and the stillness was broken by the constant expectant yapping of the dogs, excited by the early stirring down in the huts at the creek. They strained at their chains as they listened to the soft snorting and champing of the horses, already saddled and hitched to the railing.

  Clancy and Tammy, still sleepy-eyed in spite of having provided, and shared, a substantial breakfast, had cut sandwiches, packed them into saddle-bags together with tea and sugar, filled water-bags and searched for extra pint-pots with automatic, if silent, efficiency. Now, in the red hush of dawn, with its blanket of heat about to descend in a yellowing cloak, they sat facing each other across a mountain of crusts, a denuded leg of mutton, pickle jars and other sandwich-making accessories, drinking a last scalding cup of tea before clearing up. The companionable twosome somehow reminded Clancy of old times, before Jed Seaforth came into their lives to cause that unaccountable rift between herself and her little sister; before Johnny Raustmann became the problem that he was at present; before her own innocent heart became aware of a constant ache of longing for one particular man. So much had changed, so much had happened in the short space of a few weeks, that Clancy felt, for herself at least, a numb acceptance of things as they must be. For the freckle-faced, irresponsible Tamara, she was glad, of course. The change had certainly been one for the better in so far as Tamara was concerned. Jed’s unfailing discipline provided a background of security and a yard-stick of behaviour hitherto lacking in her harum-scarum existence, and she attempted to adhere to his standards with a devotion and loyalty quite touching to see. Even this morning, she set to work with cheerful willingness, “because Jed said to,” and washed-up alone, whistling with tomboy skill, while Clancy went to split some kindling wood, and presently lit a roaring fire under the old-fashioned copper in the stone-floored outhouse that served as a laundry. Having started her chores so much earlier than usual, and having the unaccustomed benefit of Tam’s assistance, she was finished well before ten o’clock, and looked with satisfaction at the lines of sheets, brightly coloured towels, innumerable khaki shirts and moleskin trousers sagging in the morning heat outside.

  On a sudden impulse, she turned to her little sister, and said warmly, “Thanks for all the help, poppet. You go now if you like. Jed said you could ride out and join them at the Twelve Mile, or start handling Flashpoint if you like. We’ve got through everything so quickly this morning, so you’ve heaps of the day left. I think I’ll get all the ironing done too, in the afternoon, and that will leave me free to come out tomorrow then.”

  Tamara wrinkled her nose in considering thought.

  “Clancy, I don’t think I ought to start on that colt until I can keep it up every day without a break. Jed says you’ve got to be constant in your love and care for animals—that you mustn’t blow hot one day and cold the next. Jed says it’s just the same as with humans, that a love once given, should be a never-changing kind of thing, something you can depend on without fear of its ever being withdrawn. That’s what Jed says, anyway, so I reckon I better not start on Flashpoint today, in case he thinks I don’t love him when I don’t come tomorrow. I think I’ll take a ride out to the Peacock, seeing Jed’s let me off lessons. I know a rock where there’s terribly wriggly worms underneath—real long ones, Clancy, when you lift it up. Maybe I’ll catch more fish with them than with the witchety grubs I’ve been using,” she mused hopefully.

  Clancy had to smile at that.

  “All right, Tam,” she agreed indulgently. “Off you go then. Fix yourself some tucker to take, and fill your water-bag,” she added automatically. Tamara picked up her hat and disappeared gleefully.

  Clancy went out to test her washing for dryness. Too damp yet. Back on the shady side of the veranda, she sank down a moment in one of the cane chairs. She somehow couldn’t keep her mind from pondering over Tamara’s
recent remarks. Jed said. Jed says. Jed thinks. Jed says that love, once given, should never be withdrawn. An unchanging thing. A wonderful thing. Oh, what a wonderful thing Jed’s love would be! Lucky, lucky girl in Adelaide, to be the recipient of his unchanging, constant, dependable, wonderful love! Clancy only hoped she knew the value of the thing she had been offered.

  The shirts wouldn’t be dry enough to iron for half an hour yet, Clancy decided. Meantime, she really should write a letter to Tamara’s godmother in reply to the last well-meaning one she had received soon after their mother’s death. It was only Monday, and the letter would not go until Saturday, but she could write it now, especially as she might be away from the homestead during the next few days, and would have to do some dusting and other housework when she came home at nights. Clancy went inside for pen and pad, and returning to the veranda, bit thoughtfully on the end of her biro while she assembled her thoughts. She really liked Aunt Elizabeth, even though Tamara called her a “duchess.” That was just because Tammy wasn’t accustomed to anyone with a little polish and culture, reflected Clancy ruefully, thinking of Aunt Elizabeth’s erect, graceful poise, beautifully kept silver coiffure, elegantly clever hands, and enquiring mind. There was no doubt she was an interesting sort of person—endearing, too, even though her very knowledge, intellect and tolerance were apt to fill Clancy with a pervading sense of shame at her own abysmal ignorance. Anyway, she had been a wonderful friend to Mummy all her life, and even though they had lived so far apart in those last years, she had written frequently—amusing, descriptive letters that had brought colour to Helen Minnow’s pale cheeks and a sparkle of humour to her clouded eyes.

  Now, Clancy wrote:

  Dear Aunt Elizabeth,

  It was kind of you to write again after Mummy’s death. As you said, it was a relief to her when the end came, because she suffered for such a long time with such uncomplaining patience. I still find it hard to believe, even so. Please do not worry about Tamara and me. We are very well, and the solicitor has sent a manager to take care of the property. Johnny Raustmann is, I suppose, still the overseer, but I know he doesn’t like the new manager coming in over his head, so to speak. It was awful at first, because he hated this happening, and was very difficult about it, but I think things are better now. Jed Seaforth—that is the new manager’s name—is doing Tamara a lot of good. He is very strict, but very just too, and Tamara loves him. I think anyone would love him, because even though he is so ‘stern and a bit frightening, he gives you the impression that he really minds when you don’t feel too happy about something. Even though he probably doesn’t really care at all, he gives you the feeling that he does, if you know what I mean.

  There is a girl down in Adelaide that he loves. I suppose he will marry her one day because he knows her awfully well, and he got her to choose two lovely dresses for Tammy, and he told Tammy that love, once given, should never be withdrawn, so I suppose that means he will marry her. I think Jed is right about that—love, I mean—because if you really love someone, you can’t just withdraw it anyway, can you, even if the person doesn’t love you.

  I am so glad to hear that you are getting married yourself, Aunt, and I hope you will be very happy indeed. Perhaps you will already be married by the time you receive this, but I will address it to your flat, and trust it reaches you safely. Tamara and I send our love and best wishes to you in your new life, and please don’t worry about us, Aunt Elizabeth, as we are managing quite well.

  With love from Clancy.

  PS. When I get your new name and permanent address, perhaps I could order a money transfer from the bank, if you would oblige me by sending me a dress to wear in the evening. Not blue, as the one I have already is blue. I would be very grateful, Aunt, if you would be so kind as to do this.

  Clancy folded the sheet of paper, and slid it into the envelope, which she carefully licked and sealed. Then she wrote upon it, in her most legible hand, “Miss E. Stuart, 4 Grade Gardens, Westham, Sydney,” and took it in to put it on the table in the hall, one corner tucked under the edge of a large brass bowl, to secure it against an improbable draught, there to await the mailplane on Saturday. This achieved, she took in a basket full of ironing, and put the heavy irons on top of the ancient black cooking range.

  Every now and then she had to wipe a trickle of perspiration from her throat. It was terribly hot in the kitchen, and she often wished she could take the ironing to a corner of the veranda to catch what little circulation of air there was, only of course she had to be near the stove because of the irons. Although there was an electric light plant to supply the homestead, it had somehow never occurred to her mother to have an electric iron, or even a petrol one, as Clancy knew some of her neighbours had, from exchanging talk on the galah session. She often thought it would be nice to have things like that, but whenever she made tentative suggestions in that direction to Johnny Raustmann, he always said they couldn’t afford them, and where in tarnation did she think the money was going to come from for fancy things of that sort? Clancy, subdued, had long ago ceased to ask at all.

  It was late afternoon by the time the ironing was finished, and then there were buttons to be sewn on, the odd tear to mend, before the neat, smooth piles of freshly laundered clothing were put on the dresser for the men to take down to their rooms. The evening meal prepared, Clancy went to freshen up, then screwed up her eyes from the veranda’s edge to survey the distances for any sign of Tamara’s return. She knew the men would be late, but really, Tammy should be back by now. What a little minx she was! As soon as she was out of sight, she forgot everything but her own absorption in the ploy of the moment, and it would often take the sudden fall of night to bring her attention to the passing of time at all.

  In fact, that’s how it was this particular evening. Jed and Johnny had showered and changed, having only arrived back themselves in comparative darkness. Now they were waiting on the veranda, hungry and not a little impatient, when the clop-clop of Tamara’s horse could be heard approaching in the gloom from the direction of the range. Jed glanced at his watch in the strip of light from the doorway and frowned, while Johnny Raustmann’s face wore a positive scowl of disapproval. Neither spoke as Tamara finally appeared near the veranda steps, but Clancy couldn’t restrain herself from uttering an exasperated rebuke.

  “Tammy! When are you going to learn to keep faith with me? You promised you’d be home by sundown, and look at you, as late as ever, or even worse. Come on quickly—wash, but don’t change, and we’ll get the meal over.”

  Tamara’s purposely jaunty air dropped from her, to be replaced by one of sheepish meekness.

  “Sorry, Clancy, truly I am. I went farther into the range than I’ve ever done before, and I just got so involved in exploring new bits that I clean forgot the time. I won’t be a second.”

  She hurried away, but not before Clancy had noted the genuinely tired droop of her thin shoulders and the weariness in her voice. Poor Tam! She had nearly overdone things today, that was obvious. With the extra early rising into the bargain, it had almost proved too much for her. Oh, well, perhaps it was the very lesson she needed. It took a lot to convince Tamara that her tomboy pose was slightly more of a veneer than she would admit. Clancy would almost welcome some evidence of feminine frailty in her tough, gamine little sister, she thought, somewhat wryly, as she served out the steaming stew.

  Jed must have sensed Tamara’s contrition, for after a careful appraisal of the little girl, he withheld the reproach which was obviously hovering on his lips, and ate his dinner in silence. Afterwards he courteously thanked Clancy for the meal, as he always did, and went through to the sitting-room to read a pastoral journal before going down to the bungalow. Johnny Raustmann had already disappeared. No doubt, he and Jed must be an incompatible pair to share the book-keeper’s cottage, thought Clancy, as she followed Tamara through to the kitchen with an armful of dishes. No wonder Jed preferred to do his reading up here, before going down there to bed.


  Tamara ran hot water into the sink and threw in some soap flakes recklessly. Impulsively, her elder sister came over and put a hand on one drooping shoulder.

  “You go to bed, poppet—I’ll do things here. Yes, truly,” as Tamara opened her mouth to protest. “Go on, Tam. Anyone with half an eye can see you’re just about played out. Have a nice warm bath, then hop into bed. I’ll be over soon after you,” Clancy urged.

  “O.K., Clan, I will then, and—thanks.” Tamara’s snub-nosed face wrinkled in a quick, guilty grin. Then she turned and disappeared slowly through the door. Yes, pondered Clancy to herself, Tamara was completely worn out, but a good night’s sleep would soon put her right.

  It was as she was setting a tray with crockery in readiness for the morning that Clancy heard a sound behind her. Instinctively, without even turning round, she knew it must be Johnny Raustmann, because her skin felt cold with apprehension, and there was that prickly tingling feeling at the base of her neck. Moreover, this was the time he had taken to coming in lately, when he wished to see her—probably he knew he would have a good chance of catching her alone. As calmly as she could, she continued the preparations on the large tin tray in front of her. Salt, pepper, cutlery, all there, marmalade pot, sugar bowl. Clancy checked them over methodically. He was right behind her now. She steeled herself not to flinch away as his hand came down and spun her round to face him. His yellow teeth leered at her, not inches away, but to her astonishment, instead of the usual possessive covetousness in his eyes as he looked at her, tonight there was cold, naked anger.

  “Clancy, I want a word in that pretty little ear of yours. No, no, you can skip looking at me that way, matey. I’m not laying a finger on you, not tonight. I’ve got more important things on my mind than sporting around with little fillies like you. You’ll get your next lesson on loving some other time.”

  Clancy blinked. The overseer, noting her heightened colour and frightened eyes, let his words sink in a moment while he savoured her discomfiture. Then he continued, with deliberate calculation, although his voice was low and quick.