Over the Blue Mountains

by Mary Burchell

  As the evening wore on, an increasing pall of smoke seemed to hang like a physical menace over the summit of the hill, and the light began to go earlier than usual. But, as the natural evening light faded, the sullen glare in the sky behind the hill seemed to brighten.

  Neither Penelope nor Andrew showed any disposition to go to bed at the usual time. They sat instead on the back veranda watching to see whether the glow of the fire increased or died down. In consequence, they missed the sound of the first ambulance that rushed past the front of the house on the way into Borralung.

  Verity, however, was on her feet immediately.

  “Someone has been hurt!” she exclaimed distractedly. “There was the sound of an ambulance taking a casualty in to the hospital. Oh, why did I let him go?”

  “You couldn’t help it,” Juliet said rather stupidly. Then she felt how comfortless that must have sounded, and she added gently, “Don’t be so frightened, Verity. It’s many chances to one that it wasn’t ... Max.”

  Verity passed her hand over her eyes and then pushed back her hair wearily. She stared at Juliet as though she had not really understood or heard what she said. Then she murmured, “Yes, of course—of course, you’re right.”

  Andrew and Penelope came in from the back at that moment.

  “They’ve got it under control, I should say,” Andrew announced. “The smell of burning is still terrific, but the glow is definitely dying out of the sky. Is there anything to eat, Juliet? Relief always makes me ravenous.”

  “Yes, of course.” Juliet hurried to get something for them all because none of them had felt much like eating anything for hours.

  At the same time, her uncle came out from his room where he had been making his own observations.

  “The worst is over, I think. What about some supper?”

  “The worst isn’t over until we know who has been hurt,” Verity exclaimed bitterly. “There goes another ambulance!”

  And, sure enough, there was the sound of another ambulance passing.

  “We must find out!” Verity ran out into the hall and, dragging open the screen door, hurried down the steps and along the path to the gate.

  “I don’t know what Verity thinks she can do,” said Andrew indulgently. “They won’t stop for her.”

  “One of the returning cars might,” Penelope suggested.

  “They won’t see her in this light.”

  “She’ll stop them somehow. You know how determined Verity can be when she’s set on anything. Listen—there’s a car coming now. I bet you she stops the driver,” Penelope said.

  Instinctively they listened, but there was no slackening of the car’s speed. Instead, suddenly there was a scream of brakes jammed on too late, a confused shouting, and the car ground to a standstill in what seemed like deathly silence.

  “What was that?” exclaimed Aunt Katherine, characteristically holding off an unpleasant certainty that had already made itself abundantly, horribly clear to the others.

  “It sounded like an accident,” Juliet said grimly, and was out of the room and out of the house in a flash.

  An unknown man was already coming up the path toward her, carrying the limp figure of Verity.

  For no explicable reason, the realization of her own, near admitted feelings for Max smote Juliet with full and guilty knowledge in that moment. As she looked at her silent cousin she felt as though her unconfessed passion had, in some strange and terrible way, annihilated her rival. And it was in a flat, hoarse and almost expressionless tone that she jerked out the words, “Is she dead?”

  “No, no!” The strange man repudiated the idea with shocked impatience. “Though it’d be only her own fault if she were. Rushed straight out in front of my car like a mad thing. God! What a day!”

  Juliet saw then that he was utterly weary and grimy with smoke and she was glad that Andrew, coming out behind her, helped to carry Verity into the house.

  Aunt Katherine exclaimed distractedly at the sight of her unconscious daughter, but immediately took charge in an unexpectedly efficient way.

  “I couldn’t help it, ma’am.” The man seemed to feel that he ought to make his excuses afresh to Aunt Katherine. “She rushed out without a word of warning. I don’t know what she thought she was doing.”

  “She wanted to stop you,” Juliet explained. “She was anxious about her fiancé. He was at the fire, and we heard the ambulances go by. Do you know who was hurt from Borralung?”

  “Both the Merediths—father and son, but not badly. Then a new chap called Elian or Eland or something—rather more seriously.”

  “Martin!” Until that moment she had not given a thought to Martin. She had not visualized him at the fire or even inquired in her own mind where he might be. And now ... “Was he badly hurt?” she asked shakily.

  “I don’t really know. But more seriously than the other two. She’s coming around, ma’am,” he said as Verity stirred and uttered a moan.

  “Yes. I think her arm is broken and there’s a nasty bruise on her forehead. But I doubt if it’s more. Penelope, find some doctor in the directory and call him up,” Aunt Katherine directed sharply.

  “Martin—” Penelope began. But there was a peremptory gesture from her mother and she went out into the hall to the telephone.

  At the same time, Verity opened her eyes and looked around rather wildly.

  “It’s all right.” Juliet bent over her and spoke distinctly. “Max is perfectly safe.”

  “Max?” Verity stared uncomprehendingly at her for a moment. Then her gaze focused full on Juliet. “Both of them—are they both all right?”

  “Yes. The casualties were two people called Meredith and poor Martin. But we hope it isn’t too serious with any of them.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Juliet looked at the man, who nodded briefly and said, “Quite sure.”

  “Thank you,” Verity said unexpectedly, and then the tears poured down her cheeks and refused to be stemmed.

  “Now Verity!” her mother said admonishingly, but there was little to be done with her until the doctor came.

  Fortunately Penelope had managed to get hold of a doctor who lived reasonably near and he promised to be with them in ten minutes. Meanwhile, Juliet gave coffee and sandwiches to the exhausted man who had brought Verity in, and from him they learned that the fire had indeed been brought under control.

  “Nearly beat us once,” he declared, as he thankfully wolfed Juliet’s sandwiches. “But the danger’s over now. Until the next one,” he added, with grim cheerfulness.

  He seemed to want to stay until the doctor could reassure him about Verity, though all of them were satisfied in their own minds that he was not at all to blame for the accident. Verity herself even confirmed this, with a faint smile through her tears.

  And presently, when the doctor came, he was able to assure them that Aunt Katherine’s estimate of the damage had been more or less correct, and that except for a broken arm and a considerable amount of shock, Verity was not in very serious condition.

  “She’ll be all right as soon as she sees her young man safe and sound,” he told Juliet, as she accompanied him to the front door after he had set Verity’s arm and ordered her off to bed.

  “I’m sure she will.”

  Even now, Juliet could not suppress a feeling of uneasy wonder at the realization that her cousin was so deeply, almost painfully fond of Max when, all the time, she herself had supposed Verity to be regarding him merely as an acceptable “catch.”

  It only shows how utterly mistaken one can be, she told herself severely. But that did little to ease the dull ache at her heart when she thought that it would be for Verity to welcome back Max with relief and rapture, and for the others—like herself, for instance—simply to express decent friendliness and pleasure over the return of both Max and the pleasant but relatively unimportant Elmer Lawson.

  Half an hour later, both men returned—tired and dirty, it was true, but in excellent spirits over the
ir successful firefighting. Both of them were rather sobered by the account of Verity’s accident, and Max went immediately to see her.

  She wept afresh, it seemed, at the sight of him and, as he told Juliet afterward, showed all the signs of being in an almost alarmingly low nervous state.

  “It’s just the shock,” Juliet said doubtfully.

  “I suppose so.” Max looked unusually troubled. “She’s had a lot to upset her in the past few weeks, of course. It may be that the change in the family fortunes really went much deeper with her than I had supposed.” He looked vaguely remorseful. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have persuaded her to work for the time being in Bathurst.”

  “But I think she was enjoying that, Max. She seemed happier in Bathurst than at any other time since I’ve known her.” “That’s true. But for her to cry like this now—it’s so unlike her,” he exclaimed helplessly.

  Curiously enough, it was the cheerful, matter-of-fact Elmer Lawson who stopped her. He went and stood in the doorway of her room and grinned at her.

  “Come on, Verity. Snap out of it,” he urged. “Good heavens, girl, if we’d known you could put on an act like this, we’d have taken you to the fire with us. You’d have put it out in no time.”

  She laughed a little through her tears then. And, although she said fretfully that she never wanted so much as to hear of a bushfire again, she did begin to cheer up slightly.

  “But I’m worried about her,” Max said, as they all sat around the table and ate an incredibly late supper. “I certainly don’t like the idea of leaving her here. It’s the fire that has made her so nervous, and if there were any further scare it might do her a lot of harm.”

  “She is showing off a little, of course,” Aunt Katherine said, in the tone of one who not only understood her elder daughter, but also understood the value of an occasional piece of “showing off.”

  “No. She is genuinely distressed,” Max objected indignantly.

  “Suppose you let me take her into Bathurst with me, Mrs. Burlett,” Elmer suggested. “I know my mother will look after her with pleasure, and she will be right away from anything that might remind her of the fire.”

  “But you’ve done so much for us already,” exclaimed Aunt Katherine. “I think we’re all making rather too much of this. She may be almost all right tomorrow.”

  “No, I don’t think we’re making too much of it.” Max sounded obstinate. “And I agree that Verity needs a complete change of scene. But I don’t think Bathurst is the answer—though thanks, Lawson, for the offer. My suggestion is that I take her with me to Adelaide, and that you come, too, Mrs. Burlett. She couldn’t have a more complete change of scene—and she will have the distraction of seeing her future home and all the interest of deciding how she wants to have things there.”

  “My dear Max!” Aunt Katherine looked astonished and, curiously enough, not particularly enthusiastic. “But that’s a considerable undertaking—and a great deal of unnecessary expense and—anyway, I don’t think I want to leave my home here, just as I’m beginning to settle into it. No, no, you’re just indulging Verity a bit too far.”

  “It’s not a question of indulging her. I—” Max colored faintly and looked more put out than Juliet had ever seen him look “—I feel rather responsible for pushing Verity into a life that may have been too abruptly difficult for her. I want to do whatever is best for her now, and I think this is the answer.”

  “But I don’t want to make the journey to Adelaide,” Aunt Katherine stated simply, as though that finished all argument. Max looked baffled and annoyed.

  “Take Juliet,” Uncle Edmund said suddenly and quite unexpectedly. “She’s earned a little relaxation if anyone has. And it’s a chance for her to see another part of the country. If you want to indulge Verity—and I’m not sure that you aren’t right—take Juliet along, too. They’ll be company for each other.”

  “Well—” Max turned and looked doubtfully at Juliet “—would you like to come?”

  Manlike, he was still seeing events in the light of the trouble there had once been between Juliet and Verity. (Equally manlike, Uncle Edmund did not realize that there had ever been any trouble.)

  To Juliet, who thought that the changed relationship between herself and her cousin must be as obvious to others at it was to herself, Max’s question was, to say the least, superfluous.

  “Like to come? Why, I—I—” She stammered and blushed in her delight and eagerness. “Of course I’d adore to come! If—” she turned to Aunt Katherine “—if you can spare me, that is.”

  Her aunt laughed, half touched by Juliet’s eagerness, half annoyed by the suggestion that she might have become indispensable.

  “My dear Juliet, I have managed without you for most of my life. I daresay I could do so for another couple of weeks, or whatever it is,” she said dryly.

  “Then—” Juliet turned a face full of delight on Max “—then, if Verity says yes—”

  “If Verity says yes, it is settled,” he agreed with an indulgent smile.

  And, as he smiled at her like that, Juliet suddenly saw the danger—the ineffably sweet danger—of going with him on this trip. True, she would only be the necessary companion for her cousin. But she would see him every day—in his own home. The feeling, which she had at last recognized, and against which she must inevitably struggle, would have fresh delight and experience to feed upon.

  I ought never to have said I would go, she thought in dismay. And, even as she thought it, she could hardly contain her delight at the realization that she was going.

  She pretended, or course, that it was the idea of seeing so much more of Australia that enchanted her, and she talked to her aunt about this wonderful chance of seeing Adelaide and Max’s home, which lay about forty of fifty miles outside it. She even emphasized that the whole plan depended on Verity’s acceptance of it, and added bravely, “If she specially wants you to go instead, you will, won’t you, Aunt Katherine?”

  But her heart had really accepted the all-important fact that she would be with Max and be, to some small extent, his concern for a few happy weeks longer.

  Next day Verity seemed considerably better and quite able to discuss the scheme as a practical possibility to be put into action during the next few days. She hesitated a moment before she accepted Max’s offer, but over the question of Juliet’s coming, too, she showed no hesitation whatever.

  “Yes. I’d like Juliet to come,” she said briefly and emphatically.

  “Rather than Aunt Katherine?” Juliet felt bound to ask.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Unless mother is panting to come,” Verity replied, with more than her usual degree of regard for other people’s wishes.

  “She would rather stay at home,” Juliet explained thankfully. “She is growing fond of this place—says it is like the house where she used to live as a little girl—and doesn’t apparently want to leave here unless she has to.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have to. I’d rather have you, Juliet.”

  Juliet felt faintly flattered, though still a little mystified to explain her sudden popularity. However, she wisely forbore to ask questions and merely set to work to make all the preparations.

  Because of Max’s previous plans, it was necessary to make their departure as soon as possible and, once the doctor had pronounced Verity well enough to travel—indeed, he approved the whole scheme very heartily—Juliet found herself extremely busy.

  One visit, however, she felt she must allow herself. Although she had ascertained by telephone that Martin was not dangerously ill, she was determined to go and see him at the hospital before she left Borralung. And on the evening before their departure, she walked into the little town as soon as it was cool enough to contemplate so much exertion.

  She could, of course, quite easily have asked Max to drive her in. But she wanted to have no special restrictions of time or circumstance on this visit to Martin. And, in any case, she had an odd feeling that she would rather not use Max in an
y way for the purpose of going to see Martin.

  The small hospital was a bright, rather compact one-story building, to Juliet’s eyes much more like an emergency hospital back home than the many-storied collection of wards that one usually associated with the word hospital.

  However, as soon as she stepped inside the door, she was aware of brisk, quiet efficiency, and the word emergency retreated from her mind.

  Martin was in a light, pleasant little ward with three other patients, all of whom had visitors that evening, and, as she stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene, just a minute before he knew she was there, Juliet was overwhelmingly impressed by the air of quiet, lonely melancholy about him.

  He looked ill, though not shockingly ill. But, far more than that, he looked a man without purpose or expectation.

  Almost, thought Juliet with a terrible pang of pity, as though he has no past and no future.

  Then he saw her, and his face lit up, so that she thought, Why, how handsome Martin is when he smiles like that!

  “Juliet!” he took both her hands, though one of his own was bandaged. “How good of you to come. I ... hoped you would this evening.”

  She wanted to ask, “Why this evening?” But something told her that he hoped each evening. And she sat down by the bed, with one hand still in his, and smiled at him with warm affection.

  Though she questioned his closely, he made light of his injuries, and said it was “just a question of keeping quiet for a week or two.”

  “But you’ll come and see me sometimes, won’t you, Juliet?” he added.

  An unreasonable feeling of guilt seized her. “As a matter of fact, I’m going away, Martin...”

  “Going away?” He looked startled and dismayed.

  “Oh, only for a short while. A week or two—but I’m afraid that is while you will still be here. I have to go tomorrow.” She explained about Verity and the proposed trip to Adelaide, and she knew, though his expression hardly changed, that he wished she were not going with Max. “But I’ll—I’ll get Penelope to come in and see you sometimes,” she promised eagerly.

  “The schoolgirl who is so like you?” He smiled slightly, and she thought he approved the form of consolation offered. “I’ll be glad to see her if she has time.”