Deep in the Forest

by Joyce Dingwell

  At once he slipped his arms around her, and what he said was enough to make her love him even more —if she could love him more. It was so wonderful to meet a person so thoughtful, and, as it happened now, honest as Roger.

  For—"Grant was right," Roger said ruefully. "I was wrong—that heap is dangerous. Oh, my Sellie, if you'd been hurt—"

  The concern was too much for Selina. She put her head on his shoulder and suddenly cried. If anyone had told her she was crying because a man had laughed at her, had spanked the seat of her jodhpurs as he pinned them to a line, she would have looked at

  them in horror. She was crying, she would have said, because Roger was so sweet, so worthy. Roger whispered more soft words in her ear, and she took to them like a cake to icing.

  "Roger, I do love you," she said with all her heart. "I love you, Selina. Tell me, my darling, that nothing will ever make any difference."

  "Nothing will ever make any difference," she complied. Then she asked : "But what could ?"

  "Money. You see" ... a little pull to his mouth ... "I haven't any."

  "I don't care."

  "But" ... painfully ... "you have—at least will have money."

  "I still don't care," she insisted.

  "But don't you understand, Sellie, I do. I care."

  "Then, darling, you mustn't. It could make no difference. It won't happen, but even if it did happen, it would make no difference."

  "You know, I think you mean that, Selina." "Mean it ? I mean every breath of it, Roger." "Then I think we can take it that we're engaged."

  He tilted her chin to look into her eyes.

  "Engaged ? Oh, Roger !" For Roger had drawn from his pocket a little velvet box and in the box was a ring.

  "Don't—don't you have to ask Unk or something?" All at once Selina found herself hesitating. She could not have said why.

  "You're of age, and anyway, he's not your guardian. Also, to be quite frank, Sellie, I wouldn't be absolutely sure that Claud Whittier would be on my side."

  "On your side ?" What was this—a battle ?

  "If he would approve of me," Roger explained. "Of course he would. He couldn't help it." Yet still that finger of hesitation touching her.

  "So, my sweet," Roger went on, "it might be a good idea not to wear this openly yet, a good idea to let him get used to the fact of us more gradually."

  "Yes, Roger." There was relief in Selina, and there shouldn't be relief, she thought uneasily, there should be a protest, a denial, a proclamation that she intended to do no such thing as wait, that she was going to shout it from the treetops right now. Shout it from the very top of the ledge.

  Which, and Selina considered it distastefully, was Redgum Ridge. Now why had she thought of that ?

  "I think, Roger, you'd better keep the ring here until we—well—"

  "I think that, too, darling. See, Selina, we are one already."

  "Oh, Roger, I do love you," she said again. "And you know how I feel."

  "Red hair and all ?"

  He did not answer that, instead he said : "I have some special shampoo, Sellie, I'm sure it will work, take out any unwanted colour."

  Shampoo. Soft hands. Manicure. Why were these foolish things running through her mind? It was the man who mattered, and Roger was the man. Unk might have his doubts, but she knew. She accepted Roger's bottle of shampoo, listened to his instructions on how to use it, returned his goodbye kiss, then left.

  The expensive Grant car was still on the drive when she got back, but as she approached the house the owner came out and got in.

  "I'm taking your uncle down to Tallow Wood tomorrow," he told Selina.

  "I could have done that," she retorted.

  "As a matter of fact, you couldn't, you're barred." "Barred ?" she queried.

  "I'm not, I'm what they call a disinterested person, a bystander."

  "What on earth are you talking about ?"

  "Come for a ride with me and I won't tell you." "You're mad !" Selina said crossly.

  "Well, I can't tell, it's not my affair, but come anyway, Red."

  "Red ?" she queried.

  "Or Ginger ?" He was looking impertinently at her. "It's hard, actually, to tell."

  "Yet you should be able to, being Red Indian." "Your own peculiar way, I think, of saying that I'm a savage."

  "Primitive," she agreed coolly, "barbarian, uncouth."

  "That's enough." He smiled implacably. "I have the general trend. But give me time and I'll improve. You see, while your Roger has been at finishing school—"

  "Forestry Academy."

  "I've been cutting sleepers."

  "But many years before," she corrected pertly. "Roger isn't thirty yet."

  "How old am I ?" He asked it idly, yet his eyes were narrowed on her almost as though her answer mattered.

  "As old as Redgum Ridge," she shrugged back. "That's as old as creation. itself. We're so old in

  Australia we're up to the process of being worn down to the beginning again."

  "Well ?" she asked coldly.

  "Well, I can tell you, Selina" . . . Selina, indeed ! .. . "I'm not being worn down, not yet. Savage, primitive, barbarian, I may be—"

  "You forgot uncouth."

  "Also" . . . ignoring her .. "a one-time cutter of sleepers, but even though I'm no real Red Indian, there's still red blood."

  "Cut yourself and show me," she begged impertinently.

  He secured the door of the car, evidently convinced she would not accept his invitation.

  "Any cutting I do," he told her, "will be to you." He paused. "Down to size, young woman."

  He released the brake and was accelerating along his private road before she could think of an indignant reply.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SELINA supervised the children's lessons from nine till noon. It was done on one of Tall Tops' large verandahs to afford the pupils a feeling of school by having to leave their homes. Selina knew from her own learning days that arranging one's books on the kitchen table in one's own house wasn't quite the same as a classroom, even an improvised classroom on a verandah. However, her mother had been a good supervisor, and she hoped she was the same.

  All the children had smaller brothers or sisters, which made it an excellent arrangement all round, since a supervising mother with a baby to watch as well cannot hope to concentrate on her child as an unburdened, unmarried young woman can.

  Selina loved the chore she had taken upon herself. As Iron Grant had remarked, she liked children. He had remarked more than that, she remembered with a flush, he had said : "We two should think over that mutual liking one day—do something about it." The nerve of that man !

  None of the pupils were at the same standard, but it did not matter that the impetus of competition was missing, since correspondence depended entirely on individual effort.

  The smallest children were not up to correspondence, but Selina had accepted them to take them off their mothers' hands. They were very easy, anyway,

  all they required was a sand tray and some building blocks. She often said ruefully to Uncle that at least she was equal to their intelligence.

  "Don't sell yourself cheaply," Uncle had returned. "As far as I could tell from the little I saw of your sister Madeleine, you would run rings round her, flash boarding school and all."

  "I don't know," Selina had doubted. The few times in the earlier years when Maddie had come home had marked Madeleine clearly as someone who certainly knew her way about . . . and who also knew what two and two make, Selina half-smiled now.

  She had not heard from her sister for years. Madeleine had married at eighteen after she had enrolled in a university in the States, another whim that Uncle had financed rather than have a discontented girl back at Tall Tops. Selina had only learned about the marriage after she had cabled Madeleine about their mother. Maddie had since moved on, and it had taken a while for the news to catch up. By then Madeleine had finished that marriage, then married someone else. Maddie's commen
t on this in her answering letter had been 'More fool me'. It seemed to indicate that this marriage, too, was foundering.

  "Poor Mummy," Maddie had finally written, "too young to die, even though her years sound dismaying at our stage of life. Will you stay on, Selina? Though I expect you will. Besides your being a bird and mountain lover, it should be to your advantage. The old fellow, I remember, had no one at all of his own. Well, all I can say is you jolly well deserve it."

  "Miss Lockwood," called Janet, "how do I spell spectacular ?"

  "You have your dictionary, Janet."

  "But how can I look it up if I can't spell it ?" "You'll still find it. Michael, stop putting blue crayon on Phyllida's hair."

  "But she likes it. She said so. Blue is the latest hair colour. Why don't you use blue, Miss Lockwood ?"

  "Because I don't use any—" Selina stopped. The beautiful eyesight of children would have caught her red gleams at once, for she still had not got round to using Roger's special shampoo. She would try it as soon as lessons were over. Uncle had left very early with Iron Grant for Tallow Wood, and Tallow Wood was a longish journey, which would leave her plenty of time to work on her hair with the added advantage of no one round to comment.

  "Play-lunch," she called, and went out to the garden for a breath of mountain air ... and the sight, perhaps, of Roger.

  At twelve o'clock the children wandered home, but it took Selina the best part of an hour to pack away the little ones' blocks and sand tray, and to fold and encase in their official envelopes the older children's lessons to be sent to Sydney for correction. After that she made straight to the bathroom, put out a supply of towels, filled the basin with hot water, then uncorked Roger's shampoo. She poured more than she should need, for she wanted to make a really good job of it this time, and was soon wearing a thick halo of bubbles. The perfumed soap dribbled into her ears and cut out all sound, so that she heard no steps coming down the hall. As for seeing, does anyone see through shampoo ?

  But feel, Selina did. She felt fingers taking over her

  job for her, and after her first surprise she thoroughly enjoyed the service. Going to a hairdresser's was something that only happened when she went down to Tallow Wood, and, very appreciative now, not one of the girls had ever given her a scalp-tingling clean-up like this. Roots finished to Roger's satisfaction, every strand of hair was brought individually forward, rubbed, scrubbed, tweaked, rinsed, then the process repeated all over again. Finally came the towelling, and Roger . . . trust Roger . . . had placed the towels over the hot rails so that the impact of the absorbent cotton was comforting as well as drying.

  Then what a towelling ! Up and down, side to side, round and round. Finally head right over so that the under tendrils that usually dripped uncomfortably long after the rest of the head was finished would be as dry as the top.

  Dear Roger. Dear thorough Roger. Dear... The sting of soap had left Selina's eyes now and instead those eyes were wide open. She was looking at the hand assiduously rubbing her. Square-cut nails. Blunt workmanlike hands, rather ruddy brown in colour. An axeman's hands. Definitely . . . definitely no fastidious care here. No manicure. She struggled free of the towel and looked up.

  "You," she said blankly.

  "Who. did you think ?" asked Iron Grant. "Oh, of course. I should have guessed when you stood so docile."

  "I wouldn't have had I known."

  "But why not ? I've given you your money's worth. If I'd been an attendant in a saloon, Miss Lockwood, and have charged you for the time I have taken on

  you, you wouldn't have enough left over to add a tip." "I would never add a tip—to you."

  "And yet I've made an excellent job of it. See for yourself." He pushed her to the bathroom mirror and forced her to look at her drenched reflection.

  "See, not a whisper of red," he indicated, "not a hint of ginger. Tell me, did any of your pupils notice this morning ?"

  "No, of course not . . . I mean, Michael did suggest blue."

  "Then they noticed." He nodded. "But not tomorrow, for again you'll be peeled twigs."

  "That's Uncle's description," she said tightly. She felt a fool talking to the mirror but a bigger fool still thinking it had been Roger all the time. If she had only known she would not have stood quiet like she had.

  "Yes, Claud has a nice turn of phrase," Iron was saying. "But not just now. The old boy's tuckered out from Tallow Wood, and told me to tell you he's going to snatch a kip. And that, if you require an explanation, is why I'm now in your bathroom. I came to deliver the message, Miss Lockwood."

  "What's wrong with Unk ?" she asked anxiously.

  "Nothing. Good lord, the man is well over eighty, and it's a twisty road to Tallow Wood. He's entitled to a rest."

  "Yes," she agreed, "but I still think Unk—"

  "If it's lunch, then don't think. We ate down there. He doesn't want any more, he wants a rest. If you come with me for that drive I offered you and you refused yesterday, you'd make it a better rest. You're not exactly silent around the house, are you ? I tracked

  you here at once."

  "Because the tap was on."

  "I've heard you at other times. You sing."

  "Because I'm happy," said Selina deliberately and ... she hoped . . . significantly, and had the pleasure of scoring from a definitely unpleased look on his face.

  "What's wrong ?" she asked too innocently. "Can't I be happy ?"

  He answered carelessly, quite without intention ... yet there was no mistaking an intention there.

  "Only with me," he said.

  "Mr. Grant—"

  "Joel. Iron if you must."

  "Mr. Grant, you're being quite impossible !"

  "Just because I ask you to come in the car to ensure a quiet house while your uncle sleeps ?"

  "You know that's not what I meant."

  "But it's what I'm meaning now. That other can wait. Will you ?"

  What other could wait ? She looked at him irritably.

  "No," she said of the drive. "My hair is wet." "After any towelling of mine, no hair is wet." "I want to set it," she insisted.

  "The mountain wind will set it. The sun will shine it. If we return at dusk you can fasten in the evening star for a clip." Now she looked at him incredulously, and he nodded back. "Oh, yes, it's me. You don't have to be a graduate to string fancy words, even

  sleeper cutters can do it."

  "Very clever of you, but I still won't be coming." "A pity. Your overseer is."

  "Roger ?"

  "Yes. I'm taking him up on my railway to show

  him where I intend to tip his sawdust spoil. He will have to see to the loading of it, of course, he -can't have it all his way all the time. But in spite of that disenchantment he's quite keen. Your young friend has a modern outlook, Miss Lockwood. He approves of mechanism. He has no time for bullock teams."

  "With a train you would be modern, too," Selina snapped. She always had regretted Roger's dislike of the old jinker.

  "But still with a lot of time left for such nostalgic things. You see" . . . a pause... "I grew up on them."

  "One of a large struggling family," Selina suggested pertly, "living in a little bush shack. Very poor."

  "Why don't you provide music to it ?" he asked sharply, and she could see he -was angry with her.

  A little ashamed, for after all it was not in good taste, she said : "I would like to come, please."

  "Because of the overseer ?"

  "I'd like to go on the railway."

  Abruptly he tossed : "All right, then. The car's in front."

  They took the private road, but they did not go as far as Iron Grant's house. They turned off before then and drove' to a clearing, where another car already waited. As they pulled up, Roger got out of the car and greeted them.

  This, Selina saw, was the basal point of Iron Grant's mountain railway, the point to which Tall Tops, further down the valley, would have to build their line. The actual junction must already have been agreed
upon between the two men, for Roger took out a graph he had done, and Grant perused it and nodded. Meanwhile Selina looked around her; she had

  been once to the Redgum Ridge house but never on the property.

  There were blackbutts as well as the redgums that had evidently given the place its name, and they were so tall they seemed to vanish into the sky like Jack's beanstalk. There seemed to be no shortage of trees, yet Iron. Grant dealt commercially with many more than did Tall Tops, any of the surrounding lumber camps. Evidently Grant believed, like Uncle did, in planting a new tree every time a tree was felled.

  She heard a grunt and a puff and saw Billy... mountain trains just had to be Billy ... descending to a small platform a few yards away.

  "First class or second, madam ?" asked Iron Grant, and bowed Selina aboard.

  She sat in the front with the driver, who was Jock, Joel Grant introduced, and the iron man and Roger sat at the back and talked about loads and gradients and running costs.

  From where they boarded Billy it was a hundred and thirty feet to the top, and every inch was vertical. Billy, as was only to be expected with such a gigantic effort, panted and puffed out every fraction of every inch. It was a little scarey travelling vertically, Selina found, but so beautiful you soon forgot. She had thought it was wonderful down in her tree world, but up here it was pure enchantment. You became a close neighbour of the peaks around you; where the peaks cut at the sky you could almost reach out and feel the serrated edges. You were in a blue world.

  When Billy reached the top there was another platform, but Iron Grant shook his head and indicated shining lines that had been newly set.

  "We'll continue on, Jock," he called, "and show Tall Tops why we'll take their sawdust."

  About a quarter of a mile on, the line stopped . . . and the beauty as well. There had been a landslide at some time, and though the rawness had worn off there was still a gaping and unlovely hole.

  "I aim to fill it up," said Iron Grant, "then leave it to nature and the trees to do the rest."