Deep in the Forest Read online

  "I'm not a fool, Sellie. The man's male, quite aggressively male I'd say, and you're the only eligible female for miles. Not only eligible but lovely, yes, lovely, and" . a pause . . . "promising."

  "Promising ?" she queried.

  "Promising rich rewards. Oh, come, Sellie, your uncle is sitting very pretty, and you've told me he has no one of his own."

  "No, but you're still very wrong, Roger. Unk has his trees, yes, but Tall Tops is on Crown land. All the land up here is Commonwealth-owned, Commonwealth-leased."

  "But able to be altered now to private ownership.

  Yes, Selina, that's true. Under our present government the land can be purchased at a nominal rate after certain requirements have been fulfilled. So you see you could attract our ironbark friend after all."

  Selina was silent for a few moments; she did not like the turn that the conversation had taken. Roger must have sensed her distaste, for at once he crossed to her, sat down beside her and took both her hands in his.

  "Little Sellie," he said softly, "darling little Sellie." And then he wasn't just holding her hands with his hands any mores he was holding her face between his hands instead, soft, very well-tended hands for a forester. He was kissing her. Reaching eagerly up, Selina was kissing him back. It was their initial caress.

  That first kiss was all that it should be, Selina felt, it was dew and wonder and standing on tiptoe. Rainbows. There's a shining, she thought.

  She got to her feet, then turned and left the house, glad when Roger did not stop her. It meant he felt the tallness of the moment, too. She ran across to the homestead, and saw yet didn't really see that the chops had defrosted. She should put them on ... start dinner ... but instead she went into the living room where Unk was still buried in papers.

  She knew if she spoke, she would blurt, so it would be better to keep silent until she could contain herself. Yet she couldn't ... she couldn't. Anyway, why try to keep it from Uncle when the glow must be showing? She felt she would shine in the darkest room, shine even down in the twilight jungle where the sun never reached and it was perpetual elf night.

  "Uncle Claud." Yes, it was a blurt.

  He must have noticed the change in her voice, for he lowered the paper and looked over it. "Yes, Sapling?" he asked.

  "Love," she said breathlessly.

  Then she said : "Roger. Me. Both of us. Uncle Claud, we love each other."

  CHAPTER TWO

  SELINA had not expected excitement or joy from Uncle Claud, after all he was an old man and his first reaction naturally would be surprise, even slight shock, but on the other hand she certainly had not anticipated dismay. Yes, dismay.

  "You what?" Uncle echoed.

  "We—we're in love." Selina felt she sounded a little silly the second time and was mildly embarrassed.

  "That's more like it. There's a big difference in being in love and loving each other."

  "To us," Selina said proudly, recovering her pride, "it's identical."

  "You and the overseer ?"

  "Roger."

  "I know his name. I should—I signed him on." "And have been very satisfied since, Uncle."

  "He's done his work," Unk admitted. "But then so

  did Pat Carmody."

  "In a now superseded way. You have to go with the times, Uncle Claud. It's Roger's turn." A pause. "And mine."

  "But," came in Mr. Whittier, "does it have to be together ?"

  "Yes," answered Selina, getting angry now. "I love Roger, Roger loves me."

  ". . Or what comes with you ?"

  "Oh, not you now ! Anyone would think I was

  going to be an heiress. I'm well aware that this is only leasehold" . . . Selina spread her hands to encompass what lay beyond the window . . . "and that only the trees belong."

  Just as Roger had said, Uncle Claud said : "Not now. Not any longer."

  "Welt, it's unimportant just the same, the important thing is—"

  "That it's past six and no tucker." Uncle put up a barrage of newspaper, a barrage that somehow Selina could not find the courage to storm. She waited uncertainly a moment, then went back to the kitchen —where she promptly burned the chops and boiled the potatoes dry.

  Not . . . later . . . that it mattered. Uncle Claud only picked at the meal. He always had a good appetite, and Selina decided he must be sulking. She put down her own knife and fork and looked sternly at the old man.

  "You've always been one for nature, Unk, and this

  . this lovely happening between Roger and me . . . is nature. It's the greening, darling, it's the first stirring in the earth, it's—"

  "It's kibosh," Uncle snapped.

  "You're being unfair, terribly unfair to poor Roger. You've nothing against him."

  "He plants too close."

  "More profitable."

  "Profit ! Profit! Have I brought you up to count profit ?"

  "He—Roger was only thinking of you when he planted closer, and he does have academic backing."

  "Academic hoo-ha ! Another thing, or things. Two of them. His hands are soft—manicured."

  "And why not ?" Selina's temper was right up again. "Does he have to be Red Indian and cut his nails square to rate anything in your opinion ?"

  "Never wielded a saw, I'd hazard," continued Uncle Claud, ignoring Selina, "mechanical or manual. As for axes, he wouldn't know a spotted gum handle from a hickory."

  "Of course he would, you have to admit he knows his timbers."

  Grumpily Uncle conceded this, but he still could not bring himself to bless Selina ... well, not bless perhaps, she wasn't expecting that, but at least not dash her down so completely. She took up her knife and fork again, but it was no good, she had no appetite. Neither had Unk. Anyway, looking at the burnt offering, it was a very poor meal. She took the remains to the Brents' piggery along the track, then came slowly back. It seemed impossible that one hour ago she had been walking on air.

  She stood a long time by the window that night. Birdsong had ceased, but somewhere in the far bush she could hear the howl of a dingo. It would be safe for the dog to cry out to his mate now, for the mountains would lie as dark as the bloom on black grapes. Is my mate calling for me? she thought fancifully, and was annoyed at a slightly hysterical giggle somewhere in her. For dear Roger, she knew, simply wasn't that howling type. But he's the type I want, she told herself. He's the one I love. She became aware that unconsciously she had turned the direction of her glance to Redgum Ridge, only discernible now by one steady light. She was irritated that she was declaring silent things to Iron Grant, and not, as she had intended,

  to Uncle Claud.

  Morning made everything different, for you could not wake up to a timber morning and not inherit the earth. The coachwhip birds made the first ringing sound, but they were promptly followed by the bellbirds' tink-tink. Soon afterwards the machine music of the sawmill joined the dawn orchestra, but not raspy at this distance, the rawness changed instead to rhythm. Through her window Selina could see Roger coming up to Tall Tops to discuss the day's doings with Uncle Claud as he always did. As ever he was wonderfully co-ordinated clothes-wise. Today it was rust corduroy pants, chamois-coloured shirt and desert boots. He looked faultless, and she knew his report on yesterday, which he would also give, would be faultless, too. After Pat's garble, Uncle simply had to be impressed. She had shocked Uncle yesterday, but he would be reconciled now. Everything would be different.

  She dressed hurriedly after wasting a few precious minutes choosing between jeans and shift. She wished she could be co-ordinated like Roger, but perhaps it would rub off him. By the time she reached the verandah Uncle and Roger were in deep discussion, and she saw that everything was all right, Uncle a little paler than usual, but quite composed again. He smiled at Selina, then asked Roger to stop for a bite. Roger looked at his watch and dutifully declined. Always the perfect employee, Selina glowed.

  Over breakfast for two later, Uncle told Selina that today Roger and Joel Grant were going to ma
ke an initial survey for the extension of Grant's own small railway system into Tall Tops' forest.

  "Joel has very generously offered to let us hook up on his line," Uncle said.

  Selina already knew about this proposal through Roger. The train was one of the few things the overseer approved about Redgum Ridge.

  "A bullock team in this year of grace," he had despaired of Tall Tops . . . there was only one team and it was kept for the hardest spots and out of sentiment the rest of the haulage was mechanised . . . "it has to be semi-trailers at least, or better still what he has fixed for himself. A train."

  "Yes," said Selina unenthusiastically to Uncle now. Anything that man does, anything Iron Grant offers, must have a catch somewhere, she was thinking.

  But after she had tidied the house, very little dusting here since the waste from the mill settled before it reached the top, she changed to jodphurs and boots and went down the track. As it was Sunday, the chalet children were having their Bible Lessons of the Air before they took off for the pool that Iron Grant had built for everyone's use. It was Mrs. Marlow's turn to supervise, nd she waved to Selina. Selina waved back, and continued down the jinker-flattened road, hearing the mill music, the birds and the children singing All Things Bright and Beautiful and thinking fondly, as he had thought the first time she had listened, that timber silence was distinctly but wonderfully loud.

  Within another minute it was even louder. There were voices raised. Selina went a few more steps, then stood behind a tree and listened. Then—cautiouslyshe looked.

  Iron Grant and Roger were some yards from the

  mill and they were facing each other.

  "May I remind you," came Roger's clear concise voice, "that this has nothing at all to do with you. You are not on Ridge property now, Mr. Grant."

  "I would damn well know that without you reminding me, do you think I would allow a hazard of this sort with kids around ?"

  What hazard? Selina wondered.

  "The chalets," defended Roger, "are well away from the mill, and presumably the mothers—"

  "A lot you know about youngsters, Peters ! A mother can lock her child in a dungeon and he'll still get through the keyhole."

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "I'm being wise before an event."

  "It's no business of yours," Roger reminded him again.

  "A young 'un's life is everyone's business. Good lord, to let a heap accumulate like that !"

  Now Selina anew what it was all about. It was the sawdust mountain, which, and she had to be honest about it, had grown much more lofty of late. But then it was difficult to stop it growing. It was hard to dispose of for the simple reason that no one wanted it. Every lumber camp had this problem, every lumber camp knew that if sawdust suddenly became valuable, they would be millionaires.

  "The children are well aware of it," Roger was saying. "They are, after all, foresters' children."

  "If you're using that argument the kids who come to my pool can swim, but I still watch them."

  "I thought that would crop up sooner or later, that subject of your generosity."

  "I'll let that pass ... this time . . . Peters, there's something more important to thrash out now. If you don't do something about that pile, then I will—"

  "Accepted gladly, Grant. Good of you to offer."

  "Let me finish. I will do something to you."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, on to the barbarian stuff, are we ? All right then, what do you suggest ?"

  "When you lay your line to meet mine I don't mind taking the waste away. I'm filling-in on the western side."

  "I thought there was something else to all this." "But until then" ... Iron Grant's voice was iron as well ... "close it in."

  "Close it in ?" Roger echoed angrily.

  "Build a fence. And don't tell me you haven't enough timber."

  "But you said yourself children will get through a keyhole."

  "Then put barbed wire on top."

  "Barbed wire !" Roger's voice was shocked, and Selina didn't wonder. Barbed wire !

  "Affronts you, doesn't it? Well, it doesn't thrill me, either. But if I have to choose between that or a smothered youngster—"

  The voices were dropping, the heat was going out of the argument. Presently Selina heard the steps receding down the valley. She looked at the retreating figures, both tall but one much broader. One perfectly dressed for his work and one— Well, Ironbark Grant would never be known for his taste in clothes.

  Selina came out from behind the tree and went and looked at the sawdust mountain. She was sorry her golden pile was to be enclosed by a fence. She took up

  a stick and poked at it. After all, the children never even glanced at it. Foresters' children, as Roger had said, wouldn't bother. She pushed the stick in. She had done it a score of times before, and never started anything, but today she began an instant avalanche. A landslide of sawdust came rushing down at her... how had she ever admired the red-gold gradations ? . . . and if she had not seen it coming and leapt smartly aside she would have been buried in the smothering waste. As it was, she was tumbled over in the sudden yellow flow, and the mound soared up almost to her hips. A child would have been knocked down. A child would have—choked.

  Carefully extricating herself in case she started another landslide and this time completed the job of self-destruction, she edged and slithered and rolled away. Not till she reached the track did she dare stand up. She was filthy. She was absolutely covered in red-gold dust. She knew that her tow hair, a colour in hair that picks up grime like blotting paper picks up ink, would be a brilliant titian. She would have to sneak back to Tall Tops and bath and change at once. As she passed the Sunday School, the children's and Mrs. Marlow's heads reverently bowed, thank goodness, she thought of the earlier All Things Bright and Beautiful. She didn't think she'd ever consider sawdust bright and beautiful any more, and decidedly not in her hair

  As she tiptoed into the house she heard with relief Uncle's voice on the phone. Unk had an odd sense of humour (he called it a keen sense) and he would have laughed till he cried at her ruddy disarray and probably called : "Who's a Red Injun now ?"

  As it was she got safely to the bathroom without his hearing, or so she optimistically thought, but she did hear Uncle say into the phone :

  "That's how I want it, Nossiter." Neil Nossiter of Tallow Wood, their nearest town, was Unk's solicitor. "Ring me back and let me know when it's ready for me to sign." What was there to sign, Selina thought without much interest, what's that old man up to now? She began shampooing madly.

  The directions on the label of the shampoo had mentioned dust, grime, perspiration, dandruff, but, and not surprising, nothing about sawdust. The stuff stuck . . . and stuck. Eventually she felt she could scrub and rinse no longer, and came out of the spray exhausted and waterlogged. More red wiped off again on to the towel, and the rest she decided to leave and hope it did not notice.

  She changed into a dress, put on a fresh face and had just finished when she heard steps on the verandah and Uncle calling genially . . . he would call genially to him . . . for Joel Grant to come in.

  She listened for Roger to be included, since he and Iron Grant had been together, but Roger wasn't mentioned, so he couldn't be there. So, she said mutinously, I needn't have bothered about my face after all. Not for him.

  She stayed inside until Uncle shouted out for cuppas. He must have heard her in the shower, known she was in the house. She came out and put on the kettle. As she was jamming bread and butter she saw someone at the clothesline. She peered out of the window. Of all people it was Ironbark Grant. And of all things he was hanging up her jodhpurs !

  "What on earth—" she began shouting furiously across to the line.

  "I saw them on the bathroom floor—I was washing my hands after the valley. I know sawdust, and I can assure you if you don't get it all off at once you're stuck with it. So—" He waved magnaminously to the trews, pegged out in the uncomplimentary shape that jod
hpurs do have until you are in them to shape them yourself.

  She had so many things to say to him . . . at him . . . that she found she couldn't say any of them. Instead she heard herself inquiring coldly : "Do you make it a practice of looking on bathroom floors for soiled jodhpurs ?"

  "Not at all."

  "Then—"

  "But this time I expected them. You see, you left your exact print in the sawdust." He gave a significant pat to the seat of the wet pants.

  "You—you—" Selina withdrew and angrily finished jamming the bread and butter, brewing the tea. She would have liked to have concluded the operation there, but Uncle would only call out to her if she didn't carry the thing to its bitter end. Bitter at this moment to her.

  When she came out on the verandah the two men were deep in conversation. She distinctly heard

  . . any time you nominate" from Iron Grant to Uncle, and wondered what it was about. It must be about something, for Iron Grant cut it short when he saw her, and you only cut short things when they were important.

  "I like your hair," he drawled. "A new rinse ?"

  Uncle grunted that he didn't know why women messed about with themselves. "The saplings's got hair the colour of peeled twigs, and that's a good shade," he said.

  "Not peeled twigs now," said Iron Grant for Selina alone, "it has red-gold gradations. Almost sawdusty, one might say. Now about the join-up of your line, Claud, your overseer and I think—"

  Selina poured the tea, put the cups beside the men, then escaped to the kitchen. As always she crossed to the window, and, seeing Roger at his window, she slipped out of the house and ran across to the villa.

  Roger smiled a little wanly at her as he let her in.

  "You've had a bad morning," she said sympathetically, seeing his despondency.

  "Not a good one. That man—"

  "Yes, he's a roughrider. Poor Roger." She noticed the direction of Roger's eyes, and put her hand up to her hair. "I fell in the sawdust. I've been washing it, and washing it, but it hasn't all come out."