Mary Brock Jones (35 page)

“And he went south?”

Nessa waited. Finally, the boy shook his head. He managed to whisper the words only. “Was going to. Told us to. But Dick, Tom, Ben—my mates—they said, quicker to come this way. Nobody to the south. People here.”

Nessa could have cried at their stupidity. “And Philip? Did he come with you?”

“Wasn’t going to.” The boy faded again. This time, Nessa seized the spoon and shoved a full mouthful into him, then banged him on the back when he coughed and spluttered.

“Philip. Where is he?” Her fingers dug into the boy’s shoulder.

“Up there. With Dick.”

Nessa’s legs gave way. Ada caught her and steered her into a chair. Nessa couldn’t protest, couldn’t do anything.

“There, lass. Sit down. Now, boy, you wake up and tell us exactly what happened.”

There was something about Ada when she used that tone of voice; it was impossible to do anything but obey. Piece by piece, she got the story out of him. As the supplies had run low with no sign that any more would get through, a committee had been formed to ration out what was left. If Nessa had not been so terrified, she would have been hugely proud of Philip. He had been at the heart of the committee, talking and bullying the miners into doing what was needed. When they could hold out no longer, he told them to go south, just as John had advised. Most did, but not all would listen, not all believed. When it was inevitable, when the hotheads refused to listen, Philip came with them.

“Said he couldn’t let fools go to their deaths for want of a helping hand. Said he remembered the track and had travelled in rough country before.”

Nessa nodded, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Papa started a dig in the mountains above Greece once. It was right in the middle of winter. Mama and I stayed in the village, but Philip went with Papa each day they could get through. He said the guides taught them what to watch for.”

“Yeah, he knows stuff,” said the youth.

“So where is he now?”

“Up there, with Dick. We three got separated from the others, then he fell. Dick fell. Broke his leg, we think. Philip told me to keep going, just keep going downhill, for help. He reckoned we were close enough.”

“Where did you leave him? Do you remember?”

“There was a rock. A big one. And a hollow by it. Couldn’t see much else. You got to help them,” the boy whispered, running out of steam and slipping into exhaustion. His eyes closed. This time, Ada let him be.

“His hands are warm and he’s got enough soup inside him. He’ll be right now.”

But Nessa wasn’t listening. “Where’s John?”

“Up at Chamonix. He went to see if any men wanted work helping to beat a path through to the stock. There’s some up the gully back of here they need to get hay to.”

Nessa was already on her feet and wrapping her shawl and scarf around her.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

“To Chamonix, to get John.”

Before Ada could say anything else, she was out the door and hurrying as fast as she could through the snow, to the track to Chamonix.

John saw her coming through the door of Jacques store, saw the desperation in her eyes, and knew he was lost. He had tried so hard, these past days, to bury this need for her; but one look from her eye, one hint of need from her, was all it took. He rose, as one going to his fate.

“What’s happened?”

“Philip. He’s up on the Old Man Range, at the obelisk you showed us. You have to bring him safe down, please?”

He stopped in mid-stride. Her brother, again. Always her brother. But it made no difference, not with that look in her eyes. He bowed to the inevitable. “Tell me everything,” he said and clamped down on the pain and anger inside him. He could not control his heart, but he could every other part of him.

Words gushed from her in a spasm of terrified anguish. Did she see him, when she looked in his face? Or only her brother? Now he was moving again, lifting his coat off the hook and following her out, but he did not touch her. That was beyond him.

“M’sieur John. You can’t go up there.”

“Someone has to. Can you organise a rescue party, Jacques? Young Ward won’t be the only idiot up there; but wait till the worst of the storm passes. No point in risking your lives needlessly.”

“And you? You will wait?”

“This other boy can’t wait. Not with a broken leg. I know these hills, better even than your packers. Come along, Miss Ward. You can ride back to the Coopers with me. I need to question the boy before I set out.”

He had to touch her at the last, steering her towards the stable. It was as if she was walking in a coma. Her dress was wet through, and she was already numb with cold. “How did you get here?”

“Walked.”

“God, you’ll kill me yet.”

She gave no sign of hearing him. When his horse was ready, he lifted her up by the waist. He felt again the curves and hollows that enthralled him. Always would, it seemed.

The ride back was as tough as he feared. She was shivering hard by now, and he pulled her close into his arms. It was near impossible to release her when he arrived at Bob and Ada’s house, but he had to. Had to get her inside before she froze. He allowed himself one last boon, carrying her bodily to the porch and slowly letting her slide to the ground, feeling her along every inch of his body. She clung to his arms, as if to a life line, but he was no longer a fool. It meant nothing.

He had to shake the boy to rouse him sufficient to get the details he needed. Ada was pouring him tea, soup and bread. He grabbed the bread only, wrapping it in the napkin beside it and putting it in his pocket.

She stared in shock. “You’re not… You can’t go up there.”

“I can and I will.” He wrapped his scarf twice round his head and throat and buttoned fully his big oilskin coat.

“Nessa, Miss Ward. Stop him. You can’t let him go to the tops in this weather.”

“Yes, Miss Ward, stop me.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness dammed up, couldn’t stem the words. “Stop me, and let your brother perish.”

A flicker of something in her eyes, a sharp blade piercing the dull glaze, and she sat up.

So now he could add guilt to the cauldron inside him. “Forgive me. That was stupid. Ada, I’ll be fine. I’ve been walking these hills in weather this bad for days now. I know what I’m doing.” Unable to bear more, he wrenched open the door and strode out before anyone … no … before Nessa could stop him. She would not forgive herself, nor would he, if he did not go.

“Nessa, you can’t let him go up there. It’s death on the tops in weather like this, even for a man like Mr John.”

But Nessa stood, frozen, hearing his words echoing again and again. John or Philip. Philip would die up there. John knew these hills.

She could not hear him anymore, no matter how hard she strained her ears. The snow outside muffled everything. A jingle of reins still? No, he was gone. Philip would die if John did not find him.

“He knows these hills,” she whispered.

Ada threw up her hands in disgust. “Maybe. But snow makes it different. Up there, a body doesna know up or down, sideways from straight ahead. So Bob says.”

What had she done? She strained to listen for the sounds of a horse, but she couldn’t hear him. He was gone.

He knew these hills. He had told her so, had proved it again and again. Her feet were moving, and she was out the door.

Outside, everything had changed. A damp, grey fog had descended, hiding the world from her. She didn’t know this place well enough. To go blundering into the mist was foolish, could lead to her own death, and all to no purpose.

Her feet were moving, regardless. Down the steps, to find John. Ada caught her by the waist.

“Stop, lass, it’s no use. Ye canna find your way in this. He’s gone and it’s too late to fetch him back.”

The words were true. Nessa had to listen. But it was the pressure of the older woman’s hands that pushed her back in, back against her desire.

Ada refused to talk to her after that. A cold fear in Nessa stopped her confronting Ada. John knew what he was doing. He knew the hills.

She flitted from task to task, unable to settle.

There was a sound outside. It was an hour since John had left. She rushed to the door. Bob was climbing the steps.

“Is he with you?”

He looked at her as is she had lost her mind. He was probably right. “Who, lassie?”

“John.”

Bob shook his head, and nodded toward the near ridges. “He’s up at Chamonix.”

Ada came out then. “No, he’s not. He’s gone up the hill, to rescue Miss Ward’s brother from the glacier.”

“In this?”

For once, Ada said nothing. Her lips pursed and she nodded confirmation.

“He’ll no find him in that.” His work-hardened hands pointed to the hilltop with its grey cone topping. “Not till that snow stops falling. There’s no knowing where you be in that stuff.”

A single stroke thudded hard in Nessa’s chest. What had she done?

“I’ve got to go. He’ll come back to Chamonix. I must be there.”

Ada moved in front of her, blocking her escape. “You’ll not stir a step from this house, lass. If Mr John comes back, it’s here he’ll be expecting to find you, and here you’ll be.”

There was no moving the woman. “Chamonix is on the track over,” Nessa argued.

“No, he’ll come down by the back gully here,” said Bob. “Leastways, he will if here’s where he wants to be.”

“That decides it,” said Ada. “It’s here he’ll come.”

“Not after I sent him up there. How could I?”

“Tell you what, lassie,” said Bob. “I’ll go up to Chamonix and get a party together. We can’t venture up on the glacier, but we can be on both tracks, ready to fetch them down if they make it.”

Nessa gasped.

“Yes, lassie, they might not make it. That’s always there, and the sooner you learn that in this land, the better,” he said sternly, then started on his preparations. She watched Ada, back rigid, help her husband ready himself to brave the snow, with not a word against it. He stomped to the door.

“Keep my dinner for me. We’ll head back from the hills when the dark comes on.”

“Righto,” said Ada.

Nessa saw how she watched her husband and how she stood listening after the door was closed, turning back to her work only when all sound of his leaving had vanished into the winter quiet. She could not apologise, not again. There were no words for what she was expecting from this woman.

“Bob knows the hills, and he’ll be sensible,” was all she could say.

“Aye,” said Ada, then briskly turned to her children, listening wide-eyed in the doorway of the second room. “Right, you lot, the sun’s out again and there’s work to be done. Boys, your father already gave you chores to do. Girls, these rugs could do with a beating.”

Nessa had only respect for Ada’s courage and set to with the young girls, rolling up the big floor rugs that were Ada’s pride and carrying them outside to beat out the muddy footprints from the days of poor weather. It was good work, exactly what she needed. Her arms swung hard as her body and mind sought to banish unwelcome images: John lost in the snow, Philip lying injured, John and Philip both sprawled in the snow like discarded corpses of war, still and unresponsive.
Dead
, was the whisper. She beat the rug hard, smashing into oblivion the dark pictures, only to have them replaced by others: a man’s hard body, rough fingers tracing the lines of her breast and belly, heat rising in her as a man rose and fell above her, strong and beautiful and, inside her the thick, hard and rigid stroke after stroke bringing the fires in her to raging completion.

What had she done?

There were others too: John coming to her rescue at the Arrow; John, self-righteous and angry at Queenstown; John, riding away from her at the Shotover diggings; John, always there, always keeping her safe. A dam of need burst in her, and it was only the training of a lifetime that kept her arm swinging, kept the tears back. Keeping her safe. No one had ever done that for her. Not ever, not in her whole life. And she had sent him to his death.

No, he knew the hills. He knew them. He had told her so.

There was a clock on Ada’s wall. Another treasured gem that made this house a home. The loud tocking hammered into Nessa’s skull. At first she had avoided looking at it but, finally, it won. Now, she counted every minute, every hour, since he had gone. The tocking measured her footsteps, her heartbeat, the moments of the rest of her life. Her hands scrubbed busily at the table, measured out a skein of wool, darned sock after sock. Still the pictures came.

They were of John only now. Lost in the snow. Calling her name, over and over. Philip was gone. A part of her grieved, hoped for him. She loved her brother. But John was the other half of her, admitted too late, discovered only when it seemed she must say goodbye forever. Night was near and they had been gone so long.

Then Bob was back. His head shook its nay before she could open her mouth.

“They’ve probably taken shelter in the hut up there. There’s an outriders’ bothy just below the Old Man Rock.”

Nessa blushed. She remembered that hut, with every muscle, every bone, every beat of her heart.

Eventually, she agreed to lie on her cot and make a pretence of sleep. All night she lay still, listening to the clock tocking away the minutes, the hours, its mournful toll echoing in the lonely stretches after midnight.

She was outside at daybreak. The sky had cleared and … was it her imagination? Did the shackling clouds on the hill tops appear to be loosening their grip?

There were animals to be fed, a stoop to be brushed free of snow, troughs to be freed from their icy cap.

“Come in for breakfast,” Ada ordered.

No, that was beyond her: to talk, eat, pretend to the children that all was well.

The sun was rising fully over the hill that marked the far end of the valley, finger streaks of warmth tentatively reaching down the paddocks and lighting up the shadows beneath each clump of tussock, but the warmth could not reach her heart.

Mid-morning found her at the back door again, looking to the hills. Bob had gone out again. “Just in case.”

“Come away, lass. You’ll do no one any good pining away out here.”