by Isobel Chace
“Mrs. Fraser, come in!” a warm Australian voice bade her. “And you, Mrs. O’Dell! What can we do for you?”
“You can find some jeans for Mrs. Fraser,” Bridget told him. “Good, strong ones, mind, because she’ll want to ride in them.”
“Right,” the proprietor grunted.
He kept all sizes of jeans in piles at the back of the shop. There was some doubt as to whether he had a pair to fit me, but he eventually produced a pair of drill trousers that someone had ordered long before and had never called back for.
“Reckon they’ll fit you, Mrs. Fraser. Want to try them?”
We repaired to the room at the back, behind the store, where the man lived. It had a bed in one corner, a table and chair, and a shelf-full of tinned foods which he cooked for himself whenever he was hungry.
“I hadn’t realised you were so small,” Bridget said.
“As thin as a stick!” I agreed cheerfully.
I pulled the trousers up over my hips and stared at myself in the cracked looking-glass that hung on the wall opposite me. They could have been made for me. They fitted closely, the starched drill immaculately stitched and creased.
“What do you think?” Bridget asked me.
“I think they’re fine!”
Bridget half-closed her eyes and looked at me. “Did I hear something of your riding for Mirrabooka at the spring races?”
“On Birrahlee,” I nodded. “Mary says they’re not as big as the autumn races, but I can’t help being a wee bit nervous.”
“Big or not, a lot of money changes hands,” Bridget warned me.
“It’s daft!” I retorted.
“Nonsense! It’s a bit of fun, that’s all. Can I come out to Mirrabooka some time and see you run?”
“If you like,” I said indifferently. I refused to take my practice rides on Birrahlee at all seriously. Andrew and Mary would make a great do about marking out an appropriate course and they would sit about with stop-watches in their hands, conferring together about every step of the way. To me, I didn’t care how fast we went. It was the feel of the wind against my face and that great, straining body beneath me, that I loved! Speed was a thrill in itself. I had no interest in the financial transactions that grew steadily more complicated as everyone else on the station exchanged massive bets on my progress.
“You see,” Bridget confided, “I always lose at the races and Dick wasn’t at all pleased last year. I’d love to put some money on you and just show him that I’m as good a judge of horseflesh as he pretends to be!”
I took the trousers off again, folding them neatly on the bed. “Wouldn’t he mind you winning money on a triviality like that?” I asked her.
She stared at me. “What do you mean?”
I was embarrassed. “I mean,” I went on even more hesitantly, “if you win, doesn’t he disapprove? And if you lose, doesn’t he have to cover your losses?”
“I’ll say he does! Well, not exactly,” she amended, “because I suppose I own as much of the business as he does, so in a way it’s my money—”
“It wouldn’t be my money at all,” I said gruffly.
She was silent. Then she said: “You are happy with Andrew, aren’t you, Kirsty?”
“Oh yes!” I exclaimed.
I thought so,” she said, the worried crease in her forehead disappearing. But she gave me a very odd look all the same. “I’ve never known Andrew be mean?”
“Oh no!”
“Then I don’t quite see the trouble?” she hazarded gently.
“I couldn’t lose Andrew’s money gambling!” I tried to explain.
She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, I see.” she said. She laughed again. “No, Andrew would be rather quelling under the circumstances! Dick, on the other hand, couldn’t frighten a fly! You’ll see what I mean when you meet him!”
I was quite prepared to believe her. I was also relieved that she thought it was only that I was a bit afraid of Andrew that made me hesitate before wagering his money. She wasn’t to know that I had no right to his money at all, and it wasn’t my place to tell her, though I longed to do so, for I hated acting a part with anyone who was so prepared to be my friend.
We went back into the store and paid the man for my trousers.
“Shall I get another pair made up for you, Mrs. Fraser?” he asked me.
“If you would,” I answered him.
“I can find you some shirts out of stock,” he told me, a sly grin creasing his features. “I have some here for young boys that might fit you.”
I accepted this with aplomb, which slipped a little when he brought out a whole pile of cotton shirts, all of them checked, or in would-be tartans, bright enough to knock your eye out I spotted the Fraser tartan amongst them and pulled it out eagerly.
“I’ll take this one!” I said eagerly.
The man sniffed. “Reckon some of these are prettier, Mrs. Fraser,” he objected. “What d’you think, Mrs. O’Dell?”
Bridget shrugged her shoulders. “They all look much the same to me!”
“Not this one!” I insisted doggedly. I found another one with the same pattern and pulled that one out too. “I’ll take these two,” I said.
When I had paid for them and he had wrapped them up with the trousers, I was not so sure that I had done the right thing. Andrew would be bound to recognise his own tartan and he might not like my wearing it. If I had had the courage, I think I would have changed them, but there was no opportunity to do so, for at that moment the men came pouring out into the street, full of talk of sheep and horses and the costs of keeping both.
“His wool-cheques are bound to be down on last year,” one of them said wisely. “The world market is falling off. Everyone says so.”
“Reckon so.”
I searched for Andrew amongst them and found him by walking slap into him. “Oh, Andrew,” I said apologetically.
“We’re not bankrupt yet!” he said slowly, his eyes looking deep into mine.
The men laughed. “Would you care?” they asked. “Seems to me you’ve got yourself another interest! Eh, Andy?”
“The Frasers look like surviving for a few more years yet,” he grunted.
“Is that so?” a small, laughing man drawled. “You haven’t lost much time, mate!”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Bridget reproved him. “Not everybody wants to have children as quickly as we did, Dick.”
I turned quickly, to escape the look in Andrew’s eyes. “Oh, have you got children, Bridget?” I asked her. “I wish I could meet them!”
“So you will,” she assured me, “We’ll all be there to see you up on Birrahlee, screaming our support!”
“Screaming is about right,” her husband agreed. “They’re in fine voice at the moment. The youngest is teething.”
Andrew took my hand and tucked it into his arm. “What do you think of Cue?” he asked me.
I didn't have time to answer, “What should she think?” Bridget put in crossly. “We all know what it’s like! If you want a decent hair-do you have to go to Perth! It’s time we did something about it!”
“You don’t live here,” Dick O’Dell reminded her.
“She’s right though,” Andrew said. “It’s a crook town and we ought to do something to liven it up. Perhaps we will one day.”
“One day it’ll be as dead as Guddingwarra,” I said quietly.
“And Big Bell,” Bridget concurred. “And I, for one, won’t be sorry!”
Andrew smiled at me. That was twice, I thought, and there had been no reason for him to smile either time. “Meanwhile I’m hungry,” he said. “How about you?” I nodded shyly, clutching my paper parcel closer to me. He took it from me. “Did you buy everything you wanted?”
“I think so,” I said.
“We still have to buy a hat for you,” he reminded me.
I licked my lips, “One like yours?” I said hopefully.
“Right,” he agreed.
We s
aid goodbye to the others. I watched them exchange glances with each other, reminding themselves that we were little better than a honeymooning couple who would want to be alone. It was nice of them, I thought.
“I could eat a mountain!” Andrew exclaimed as we walked off down the street.
“I thought maybe the beer would have blunted your appetite,” I told him, smiling at him to take the edge off my words.
“Did you mind my leaving you?” he half-apologised.
“No,” I said simply.
“Bridget is right!” he exclaimed. “There’s nowhere here to take one’s wife! I’ll have to see about it.”
“I don’t mind,” I assured him.
“But I do!” He sounded surprised at his own sentiments. “There’s going to be some changes round here, Kirsty, I promise you that! One of these days we’ll have a town we can be proud of, and that our children can be proud of, instead of having to go down to Perth all the time.”
“But we won’t have any children,” I reminded him primly.
“No?”
“No,” I said with decision. “Besides, I’m hungry too,” I added.
“Ah, yes,” he said wisely. “You’re longing for apples again! ‘As an apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among young men’—I pulled my hand away from him, blushing, but he went on quoting relentlessly: “ ‘With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.’ ”
I looked down my nose, pretending that his words meant nothing to me. “I certainly wouldn’t compare you to an apple tree!” I said sourly. How dared he quote the Song of Solomon to me, the daughter of a minister? “And anyway, I’ve gone off apples!”
Andrew reached down and blew an insect off the back of my neck. “Liar!” he remarked.
It was a moment of sweet confusion. I took a quick glance at his face, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the effect he had on me. He was smiling! And that was the third time!
Andrew bought me a hat that was exactly like his own, only mine was brand new. It would take time for it to become soaked with sweat and the smell of the Outback, but I was determined that it would in time.
“You look like a grazier’s wife now,” he commented with approval,
“A Boss Cockey’s wife?” I teased him.
“You look a bit young for that!” he tossed back at me.
I sighed. Poor Mary! She was younger still!
It was time to go home then, back to Mirrabooka. I climbed into the old ute and Andrew piled my purchases on to my knees.
“Do you think Mary will approve the belt I bought her?” I asked him contentedly,
‘You shouldn’t spend your money on her,” he reproved me seriously. “She’s a spoilt brat now, without any help from you!”
“But I wanted to,” I insisted. I felt suddenly shy and I had to clear my throat before I could go on. “I—I have something for you too,” I managed.
“For me?” The quizzical expression in his eyes made me look away. “It’s a long time since anyone gave me a present,” he added.
“What about your birthday and Christmas?” I asked thoughtlessly.
“Oh, sometimes then,” he agreed. “It’s not as much fun as a present for no reason in particular, is it?”
“No,” I agreed. I fingered the hat he had given me, reflecting that it was the first present of that sort that I had ever been given. It had not occurred to me that Andrew, too, knew what it was to be lonely. “I bought you the poems of Robbie Burns,” I told him.
He accepted the volume gravely, as I had known he would, turning over the pages with his strong brown fingers.
“Was it a good choice?” I asked him nervously, when I could bear the suspense no longer.
He turned and looked at me. “One day I’ll tell you how good,” he said.
He didn’t thank me. He put the book away in the pocket of the car in front of him and started up the engine, whistling softly under his breath. I recognised the tune at once. O whistle, and I’ll come to you, my lad!
I knew then that I was very much in love with Andrew Fraser. He had no need to whistle; he had only to lift his little finger—if it hadn’t been for Mary, I added sadly to myself. If it hadn’t been for Mary.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Andrew was very busy for the next few days. I hardly saw him at all, and I missed him. With the shearers gone, it seemed to me that I had hardly anything to do and, inevitably, Margaret wanted to have her daughter to herself most of the time and so I didn’t see very much of Mary either.
But Andrew had not forgotten that he had promised to take me further up Mad Man’s Track, all the way to Marble Bar. He came in late to dinner one evening, looking pleased with himself.
“Can you be ready to go tomorrow, Kirsty?” he asked me.
It took me a few seconds to think what he was talking about. Mary gave me a look down the table and winked at me.
“Why don’t we all go?” she pleaded with Andrew.
“Because I want my wife to myself,” he said flatly.
My hands trembled. If it were only true! But it wasn’t. It was just another lie to cover up the mess we were making between us. He didn’t want me, but he recognised the justice of giving Margaret some time alone with Mary.
“I’ll be ready in the morning,” I said quietly.
Andrew nodded, his grey eyes bleak. “Good,” he said.
“I suppose you’ll pay a visit to your own mines?” Margaret asked him, a bitter edge to her voice. “Are they making much money these days?”
“Enough to cover Mary’s expenses,” he told her shortly.
“And some!” added Mary.
“But no actual figures?” Margaret sighed. “I suppose that’s a polite way of telling me that it is none of my business?”
“No, it isn’t,” Mary protested. “You know you’re welcome to anything I have, Mother!”
“But not anything that Donald had!” her mother remarked dryly.
Mary looked embarrassed. “He didn’t happen to leave it that way in his will,” she said apologetically. “It must have been because he knew that I would look after you,”
“But not the other way round?” The pinched look that had almost disappeared recently returned to Margaret’s face,
“I don’t want anything!” Mary exclaimed. “I’d be much better off without it!”
"What makes you think that?” Andrew drawled.
Mary coloured fiercely. ‘"There wouldn’t be all this endless waiting if money wasn’t involved, would there?”
“Oh, Mary, not that again!” Margaret put in helplessly.
Her daughter glared at her. “I shan’t change my mind! I shan’t! I shan’t!”
“We’ll see,” said Andrew.
I thought he looked tired when I found enough courage to take a look at him, sitting opposite me, at the other end of the long table.
“What time do you want to start?” I asked him, hoping to change the subject to something less fraught for us all.
His eyes softened a little. “I’ll give you a call,” he promised.
Margaret looked at us both with interest “That reminds me,” she began, “I think I’ll stay over the races, if nobody minds. Of course, if you’re expecting a lot of people—?”
“What about it?” Andrew asked testily. “There’s plenty of room!”
Margaret raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you two could share?” she said.
I knew that I was blushing, but Andrew was as cool as a cucumber. “Married couples frequently do!” he remarked dryly. “I imagine Kirsty will make whatever arrangements are necessary,” he added, “when she knows exactly who is coming. Is there any point in discussing it before that?”
I longed to tell him that snubbing Margaret wasn’t the way to deal with her. You had to be canny with someone with as much contempt in her as she had. Couldn’t he see how it was with her? She would strike out first because she had been hurt so often. They said in the glen that it ha
d always been the same with all her folk, and I believed it.
“I’d be grateful if you’d help me,” I said to her now. “I’ve had no experience of such an influx.”
Andrew gave me an angry look, but I ignored him. This was something I had to do for myself, and I would much rather have Margaret as my ally than my foe.
“My dear girl,” Margaret exclaimed, “if they know I’m here, they probably won’t come anyway!”
“Nonsense!” I retorted. “You have many friends in Perth and you know how to entertain people. I don’t remember that we ever had anyone to stay at the manse.”
The pinched look left her face and she said with a rush of sympathy: “I suppose not! How I hated that house! With that closed-in, uncomfortable look and that awful feeling of guilt that covered everything! Of course I’ll help—”
“It was my home,” I reminded her with dignity.
Her eyes met mine. “I know. I keep forgetting. I’m sorry, Kirsty, but you must know by now that if I can put my foot in it, I will! But I promise I’ll be as nice as pie while the races are on. And I think you’ll make a lovely hostess, despite the manse, so there!”
After which remarkable speech she relapsed into total silence for the rest of the meal, busy with her own thoughts. I was glad when we had at last finished eating and rose to go into the other room, But one good thing came out of its Andrew went out of his way to be kind to her after that and, although she remained suspicious of his motives, I thought it was a mild victory for Mrs. Andrew Fraser. In fact I was beginning to think that I was rather good in the role. There was not much I could do for Andrew, but I thought I could be content if I could bring peace to his home and between the warring factions of his family. And if I was not content, it still remained my duty to play the role the best way that I could.
Andrew rapped on my door very early the next morning. “Are you awake, Kirsty? I’ll go and pack up the old ute.”
I leapt out of bed, shivering with excitement. I had saved my new clothes for the trip and I got them out of the chest of drawers and nervously considered the Fraser tartan of the shirts.
I had very nearly decided against wearing my own shirt at all, when Mary knocked at the door and came in, almost as excited as I about the trip up Mad Man’s Track. I pushed one of the shirts into her hands.
