The mountain that went to the sea (14 page)

Andrew slowed the car to a stop. He leaned his arms on the steering wheel.

`Look at that!' he said. The first words in half an hour. `It's wonderful,' Jeckie said. Her voice wavered a little and she prayed he hadn't noticed that.

A wild burning crimson slash lit the western arc of sky. The sparse mulga clumps stood fixed still, black sticks silhouetted against this backdrop. Nothing moved. Silence waited. No insects crept and no birds winged away anywhere. The kangaroos and emus bided their time. Somewhere in their dozens the desert birds and animals and insects hid camouflaged in the low scrub and spinifex. Another track before them stretched singly and straight—down the long way to the edge of the tableland, then straight, mile upon mile upon mile, to the sea.

It was all a dream of furious splendour there before her, Jeckie thought. It was something far distant, fading and unattainable. Like a love affair — it faded. It was so brilliant for a time, then all at once going, going, gone.

Just gone. She knew all about that now. All that heartbreak had gone too! How could that be? And so soon! There should be some remnant of what had seemed so wonderful at the time.

That had been the catch of course. It had only seemed.

Now she had come into another world and another life. And everything — even her heart — had changed. It was sad — that such a thing could happen. A torn envelope, a trip in a plane — and phut I It was gone. She was a little ashamed of it.

A lift of wind stirred the leaves on the mulga brush beside them. It rustled a dead leaf on the red bull-dust by the track.

Finished, Jeckie thought. A red sky and a rustling

leaf. Goodbye to all that!

Her eyes were suddenly wet.

She hadn't cried once. She hadn't even cried when she'd said to her mother : All right! I'll go to this Mallibee place. I'll meet my cousins. I'll do and say all the right things. Then when I come home, don't — please don't reproach me any more. I will have done the right thing by the family.

She had come. Here she was, and, strange — sitting in a car looking through a dusty windscreen at a strange and terribly wounded, but wonderful sky — she wanted to cry. Why now?

'There aren't any words to describe that sky, are there?' Andrew said. After a moment's silence he added quietly, `Take a few days to settle down in the homestead, Jeckie. After that we can show you some more of Mallibee.'

She turned her head quickly and met his eyes. His voice had been almost gentle.

`Now we finish the U turn and head east again,' he added. 'That's towards the new day. Did you know that "new day" is what Mallibee means in the Aboriginal language? Rather good, I've always thought.'

'I didn't know that,' Jeckie said, eager to get rid of her sad thoughts.

`You had a bad moment there looking at the sunset, didn't you? No, don't answer. A private life is always very private. But while you're here just think about Mallibee, will you? It's not only a "new day" but it's home to someone with a touch of Ashenden in them. I hope you'll feel at home here.'

Jeckie said nothing. She was afraid to speak for fear her voice would give her away.

Why, she thought blinking her eyes. Andrew is human after all. Kind too.

'I'm glad you came,' Andrew went on, out of another silence.

'Thank you. I wasn't sure, when we met last night, that you were all that pleased, Andrew. I felt as if I were some kind of an invasion.'

His eyes lit up w
i
th his momentary smile. It touched Jeckie somewhere deep inside her.

'You need to be a lot taller, Jeckie, to pass off as

an "invasion",' he said. He glanced down, and caught her eyes. `I'm a frantically busy man when we're mustering, I'm afraid. Specially at the finishing end, which is now as far as the sheep are concerned. When I come in late, I'm tired. Very tired. I'm sorry if — that is, I apologize if I was remiss in welcoming you.'

'Of course you weren't remiss;' Jeckie said quickly. She had forgiven him for last night — mostly on account of that elusive smile, of course.

Another silence fell. He started up. Once again, as they rolled forward, the track — a red raddled ribbon — slid under them mile upon mile. They were facing east again, and pointing to a 'new day'. To Mallibee!

Andrew broke the silence. 'So Barton took you out to the Westerly-Ann Mine?'

'Yes — only as far as the rise overlooking those giant scoops eating into the cliff side. The train came by.'

'Taking Mallibee Mountain to the sea?'

'Yes. It was sad in a way. Huge scoops eating away at a whole mountain as if they were mice and it was cheese. That part of it was rather wonderful. Almost like the men going to the moon. All that technology!'

'You mean the "bucket wheel reclaimers". Did Barton explain all the hardware?'

'Not that bit. But about the train, yes. Nearly a mile of it came past just after we arrived. It sort-of took our minds off the mountain itself. Those diesel engines! Those loaded waggons! A mile of it going past .

'Well, don't forget the mountain, Jeckie. Or where it once stood. Your great-great-grandfather was the first white man to see it. And stand on it. His Aboriginal trackers told him its name. As a sort-of rite they watched the sunrise from the top — a "new day" coming. It took my great-grandfather — your great-great one — nine months to get into this area, and nine months to get back out of it again. Horses and camels helped. The Government of the day gave him the freehold south of and including the mountain. That was in lieu of extra reward payment for his detailed surveying of what was, till then, unknown territory. For him and his party it must have been like going to the moon. It was a place where no white man had ever been.'

'Yes. I knew that. Mother told me ages ago. Most stations are leasehold, aren't they?'

'Yes. There are only one or two freeholds in the whole State. They went to the first white men to cross the spinifex and the desert country to the east. Those explorers never knew from night stop to night stop whether they would find water to carry them on next day. Or bring them back for that matter. Nor whether the Aborigines would be friendly.'

'That's why you mind so much that Mallibee Mountain was sold to the mine? And that they're taking it away?'

'Anyone would mind seeing a living landmark being taken away. But there were other matters too. Human affairs that cut pretty deep. Aunt Isobel — or Jane — might possibly tell you about them later. But don't press them, Jeckie. The wounds haven't healed yet.'

Jeckie had known from what her mother had told her that a certain part of the station freehold had been sold by the family company to one of the older generation cousins, and that cousin's son had subsequently sold it out of the family. It had caused a fearful rumpus at the time. Since today, Jeckie knew this was why the family turned their backs on Jason. What a revelation that was! He was the wicked son of the cousin! Her mother had said she couldn't understand what all the song and dance had been about! After all, you couldn't graze sheep on the iron-topped mesa mountain, though there had been talk of experimenting with a new breed of cattle in the valley south of the holding. But this experimenting business had gone no further than talk — except for some cattle expert who'd been at Mallibee advising. He'd had to go, of course, when the mountain and its southern environs had been sold. There'd been nothing left for him to do!

Jeckie, scratching at her memory, was beginning to recall some of the things her mother had told her, but which she'd almost forgotten.

The closed-in, tight look that had come back to Andrew's face warned her that it would not be tactful to ask him too many special sorts of questions just now. Maybe, out of the blue, he might start talking to her again some time — and explain more things to her. But she must

be guarded — she could see that. Andrew had 'deep feelings' and every now and again he closed up like a book.

'How many cousins do we have, Andrew?' she asked lightly. 'Has anyone ever worked it out?'

'I don't think so. We're so far spread, and the girls in each generation have married off into other families. There are too many different surnames now even to remember them. My headmaster at school once told my father I was the twentieth descendant of Andrew Ashenden to be enrolled at the school. Not bad for three generations!'

`But Andrew the First had seven children, didn't he? They must have been very busy people at night time, don't you think?' Jeckie was so busy being surprised at herself using that archaic expression — Andrew the First — she didn't at first realize what she had actually said.

Andrew turned his head and looked at her. Jeckie laughed back, right into his eyes. She had dropped a real clanger, she realized, but thought it was more funny than wicked.

`Well, weren't they?' she demanded. 'Facts are facts. Actually, what I was really thinking of was all those laden dinner tables in all those different homes when Ashendens —male and distaff — scattered all over the country, came in from schools or work. But just now I see the point of what went on afterwards too.'

'Don't make that kind of ambiguous remark to Aunt Isobel,' Andrew said, very nearly smiling, but not quite. 'She's not only old-fashioned by the standards of your cousin Sheila — and now you — but she's also very proud of the Ashendens. She would not dream of thinking about what went on after dinner.'

'Sheila? Did she accidentally drop dangers too?'

'Not when Aunt Isobel was around. She's very bright company though. We enjoyed her visit. Specially — I must say — Aunt Isobel enjoyed it.'

Jeckie felt slightly dampened at this praise of Sheila. Actually Sheila was bright and gay and cheerful. What Andrew and Aunt Isobel — probably even Barton — didn't know was that Sheila was 'tap'. She could turn charm and gaiety on and off, at will. Jeckie had been to school with Sheila and they'd since met quite often at parties and picnics. Sometimes at gymkhanas. They were two of the

cousins who met often, so they knew quite a lot about one another.

The range, way over to the north, had changed colour again. It was a beautiful hazy blue now. Along the broken hilltops a wash of light from the last of the sun put gold on their flat crowns. Suddenly this tired, ancient, almost grotesque world was magnificent because it was full of sundown colours.

Except for themselves speeding along the track, nothing stirred. The land made no sound.

Presently the light died on the mountain tops, and the blue turned dark and grey and turgid. As they turned into the station yard, a hoop of light came up in the eastern sky.

Andrew glanced down at Jeckie and caught her eyes. The faintest of grins eased the lines of his mouth.

He really is a pet — she thought, something like a gentle finger touching her heart.

'We have come home to moonrise instead of sunrise,' he said. 'It's a softer light.'

'And kinder too,' Jeckie said.

'Do you think we're a little short on kindness at Mallibee, Jeckie?' he asked unexpectedly.

'No, of course not. You have all been kinder than I dreamed. Barton came for me. Then took me for an outing this morning. And — '

'I came for you later?'

'Was it only to make sure I didn't hob-nob with yet another distant cousin, Andrew?' Jeckie asked quietly. 'I've actually, and quite by accident, met him twice in two days.'

'You mean Jason Bassett?' Andrew looked straight ahead at the deserted homestead square. 'I assume Barton warned you about my feelings towards Jason Bassett.'

Jeckie evaded that one. It would be a breach of confidence to involve Barton in everything that had been said or suggested.

'He spells his name with two s's in the middle,' she said with a laugh. 'My name has two n's. We have almost an affinity in our names, haven't we? Both of us have a wee drop of Ashenden blood coursing somewhere

through our veins too. I did find him just a little bit interesting — '

'You're still talking about Jason Bassett?'

'Yes. Why don't you like him, Andrew? Everyone else in the district must like him — else they wouldn't make him Shire President, would they? He seems to have a lot of other official positions too. He seemed so kind. He has a sense of humour. I thought he was good fun ..

'Then you go right on liking him, Jeckie. As you said — liking Jason is a preoccupation of everyone in the district. But don't wish him on me. I choose my own friends.'

'Of course. I'm sorry I spoke about it, Andrew. Barton did .

She broke off and bit her lips. There she was betraying Barton again.

'Barton did . . . what?'

'He didn't seem to like him very much either,' she said slowly, almost dolefully.

'He didn't? Then you be guided by Barton, Jeckie. He has an advantage over me where you are concerned. Several hours' previous acquaintance in fact. That was while he drove you out to Mallibee from the airport, of course.'

Oh dear! Jeckie thought. Alas! More clangers!

A light sprang up on the homestead veranda. A door opened and Jane came out to the top step.

'Is that you, Andrew? Yes, of course it is. It didn't sound like the Land-Rover coming up the track. Have you brought Jeckie? Miss Isobel is so worried. Such a long day for her first day at Mallibee.'