Dragonfly

Otago Witness, Issue 3860, 6 March 1928, Page 8

Dragonfly

by

Bernard Cronin

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.)

SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I.—The scene is set in Queensland. Luce Cardew, 20 years old, has moved old Carey Cardew’s bed to the window. He is dying, and wishes to- have a last view of the place he loves so well, “ Dragonfly,” as It is called. Luce’s father (Montague) and his wife have been drowned in a flood, and old Carey, Luce, and her brother Charleville are the only survivors of a fierce old race. Chari returns with Marmaduke Cherry, and the three of them watch the old man die. CHAPTER ll.—David Onslowe, tired of the heat and myriad clouds of insects, is resting and smoking. He has had weeks of travel across stony deserts, all for a whim that had made him leave money making and money spending in a town. He has 20 miles further to go to reach Yambatilli, the cattle station of the Barkly Tableland, whose owner is George Nye, whom David has met two years before in Brisbane, being much attracted to young Nell Nye, who is now at Yambatilli. He is roused by a distant shot, and hunted buffaloes crash past, one throwing him down, hurting his leg and charging him. Luce Cardew rescues him, and draws the buffalo away. David is put in the saddle and taken to Dragonfly. CHAPTER 111. —David is tended by Luce. He dislikes Chari, but finds the girl refined and interesting in spite of her male attire. Chari and Luce, discussing David, find that Luce likes him, while the boy does not. Luce thinks David likes women, though perhaps not women such as she. She is right. Onslowe learns about Carey Cardew, how he is buried in the hills under the “ dragonfly's wings ” rocks, which always seemed to the old man from his home, live, quivering like a real dragonfly. He learns Carey is an old Balliol man. He falls asleep and, wakening, finds Luce beating a disobedient puppy find then weeping over it, and is astonished at this new revelation of her character. He sees the " dragonfly ” before he goes to bed, and is amazed at the reality of the mottled quartz. CHAPTER IV.—Next morning David is Introduced to Sergeant Green (a huge, fat man) and Mr Cherry, and while at breakfast cannot help hearing their business conversation. Uncle Marmie Cherry is urging Luce to sell “ Dragonfly,” but she is defiantly refusing. Did old Carey Cardew pay £2OO to Mack M’Murtrie before he died, or did he not? Luce decides to find out. The sergeant talks to Onslowe, and makes arrangements for him to leave next evening for Yambatilli, where the Nyes live. Luce and Chari are going away next day to Birdseye to see M’Murtrie.

CHAPTER V.—M’Murtrie is a moneylender and a hard man. Luce asks him point blank whether or not her grandfather had paid oil the loan made on Dragonfly before he died. M’Murtrie says the debt is still unpaid. Luce has no receipt, has she? Luce, believing him to be lying, finds that she is not allo- cd to buy anything else on credit from his wife at the store. While she is having tea with Sergeant Green's wife, George and Nell Nye run over her pupppy Barney, left in Chari’s care. Chari is attracted to Nell, but utters words of hatred to her father. George Nye descends to strike the boy, but is prevented by his own boundary rider, Jim Birkett, who happens to be in Birdseye at the time.

CHAPTER Vl.—Luce is nearly run over by Noll Nye as she leaves Sergeant Green’s house. She is furious when she hears what has happened, and how Jim Birkett has been ” fired ” for Interfering. When she goes home Onslowe helps her to yard some cattle. Just before he leaves to go with the Nyes he kisses her, to her immense disgust. She finds £lO he has left on the mantelpiece for her, and tears it up. ■ CHAPTER Vll.—Jim Birkett, accompanied by Marmaduke Cherry as chaperon, decides to. go to “ Dragonfly ” to help Luce, seeing Chari has left her to work at George Nye’s. Sergeant Green asks Chari why he is neglecting Luce, but the boy refuses sulkily to say anything. The sergeant and his wife both try to let him know that he is welcome at their home. When he has gone Green sends for Birkett and Cherry.

CHAPTER VIII.—At Yambatilli David, overcome by her attractions, asks Nell Nve to marry him. She pays she will if he will keep the arrangement secret for the present. That night he cannot cease thinking about Luce, and comparing Nell’s idea of love with what hers would be.

CHAPTER IX.—Mack M’Murtrie and Addie, his wife, go to George Nye’s for dinner. Mack and George ask Onslowe what he knows about •’Dragonfly,” and Onslowe says that he believes there is something there which protects those people that Dragonfly ” loves, and destroys those it hates. Addie expresses a shy interest, and tells Onslowe that she loves Luce. Later Onslowe sees Nell deliberately tease Chari, who is in love with her. He goes to bed feeling faintly disgusted. CHAPTER X. - For so young a woman Luce Cardew had a remarkably contained philosophy, in certain directions. Chari’s defection from Dragonfly, for example, whilst wounding her deeply, did so in a grave, mature kind of -way. It left her nothing of the acute mental discomfort which had followed Onslowe’s cheap leavetaking. The difference between these two experiences was that, where as Onslowe’s actions had affronted her sense of self-values, Chari’s desertion had heightened them. Her indignation against the former was somehow offset, balanced, by her brother’s irrational and unjust appeal to her pride. The entire .burden of Dragonfly had been thrust on her, almost without warning. She accepted it without murmur. It was she had told herself, a duty she owed not merely to the memory of’ her grandfather, or to herself and Chari, but to the conception of Dragonfly, which had been the primary courage of Carey Cardew’s latter years. Luce never once questioned the sanity of the old man's visionary ideal. He had believed absolutely in th e apotheosis of the dragonfly as a sign and a witness to the guiding gods of the Cardew destinies, as the blood of their race dwindled, and the Cardew name approached extinction.

Tha extraordinary fervour of l.i s belief had never been wholly justified in

the girl’s mind until the old man’s death. The Cardew history in general was known to her, for Carey Cardew was unwearied in recital of his forebears’ achievements, either for good or ill. It remained for Luce, gravely going through the contents of his desk on the night of Chari’s departure for Yambatilli, to discover family papers hitherto carefully treasured to her grandfather’s sole understanding. Possibly he had meant, at some later period, to inform the last of th e Cardew’s —in the persons of Luce and Chari—of the altogether significance of certain details of these records, when applied to his cardinal belief in an over-watching and jealously protecting mythology. For the Cardew crest. Luce was queerlv amazed to find, had been nothing less than a dragonfly, bearing the Latin words: “ Per fas et nefas.”

It was, Luce admitted, a motto typically Cardewsian. “ Through right and wrong.” She could imagine the first Cardew thus arrogantly, founding for his line the doctrine which had taken hold on the blood to its own undoing. Through right and wrong the Ca.rdews had served their swash-buckling selves down the centuries of time, going to and fro upon the face of the earth with a rattling of steel and a spitting of fire, vet some” how always gallant and dignified v in death. Yet the meaning, Luce thought, was perhaps but half told at that. She sensed an underlying promise in both symbol and phrase, a persue/i’.on of ghostly comradeship, a manifestation to come.’. . Small wonder the security of her grandfather's emotions when he turned astonished eyes upon the dragonfly brooding upon the summit of darkened earth. Right and had faded into history, was present and to come . . But the Cardew name knew no promise of the future. The line wa s all but dead. Aud, 10, vibrant and sentient, the dragonfly spreading its wings of gossamer like a shield ... as God might place a hand upon the shreds of a man’s righteousness, jealous lest it vanish amid the dross. And so Carey Cardew had pitched his dwelling-place . . Luce’s adherence to Dragonfly was, therefore, something as unescapable as hep awe. She had a premonition of things yet to be fulfilled ... an immense discharge, as it might be, of hidden obligation, before her own obligation was ended. She was content to believe that life could harm her not at all in essentials, so long as this courage remained to her’ And with her, of cutuse, Chari. They two . . . the living Cardews upheld by the hands th e Cardews dead. The loneliness of things as they were was Luce s most irksome reminder. It was now a week since she had beon left to her own devices. In the daytime a hundred and one tasks helped to pass the hours; but at night her thoughts pressed heavily. It was also becoming uncomfortably plain that she was likely to fare badly unless she managed to replenish her small store of flour, tea, and other domestic stuffs. That wa s the spur which had sent her to Birdseye on an impulse to make one more appeal to the M'Murtries to carry Dragonfly’s account a little longer. Luce had hoped to speak to Addie, but was confronted by Mack himself. Loathing him as she did, she yet made shift to be pleasant. Afterwards she reflected annoyance that the politeness was utterly wasted. The storekeeper had professed to great regret that his arrangement with his wife placed the< store bills entirely in her hands.

Why, Luce,, if it was me I’d suit you in a moment. Well, now, you know that’s true. You wouldn’t think Addie could be hard the way she is. . . . i’ll talk to her, though. You got a friend in me, Luce. . .” Luce,, smiling stiffly, had agreed that his difficulty was clearly to be seen. As always, Mack’s attitude towards her, particularly when they were alone brought her a cold disgust. She hated the hypocritically paternal touch of his clammy fingers. His eyes seemed to slime her. . . . His excuses she knew to be false. He was so obviously false, indeed, in a general way, that it was her constant wonder that Birdseye remained so long deceived. Luce suspected him of potentialities for evil beyond the ordinary. His intent she was unable to fathom, except that it concerned herself equally with Dragonfly. J

Luce’s forehead was prettily furrowed as she lit the big oil lamp against the enveloping dusk. It was strange how even her thoughts recoiled from Mack, as from something uncleanly threatening. Usually she was momentarily obsessed by a sick dread of the Suavely smiling face which rose unbidden to her mind’s eye. It held her thought to the exclusion 'to all else, until she banished it by a supreme effort of defying hatred. But to-night the vision was peculiarly, accompanied by a background, as it were, of Addie. Beyond and behind the Boss of Birdseye, thought of Addie was silhouetted dimly, like a shadow seen through a face photographed upon glass. And it was extraordinary how great comfort Luce was somehow able to derive from this. Not even the dragonfly poising unseen against the curtain of moonless night had brought her so chaste a sense of security.-

Her tiredness, however, remained. She was too tired to eat; almost to think. bl>e sat at the table, pathetically drooped, with moistening eyes. For a moment it seemed that she must give way altogether to the depression which held her. The silence on all sides made her want to scream. Sh e felt that if she once relaxed she must scream for ever. Desperately she sought the comfort of speech, uncaring what thought prompted, so long as her ears might suck in sound that was human.

“ Gran’pa, this is a hell of a life you’ve left us.”

She was on her feet before the echoes of it had died, walking up and down the room making a valiant attempt to whistle. The result was a thin, reedy melody which made her smile dismallv. But her purpose was served. The tears that she dreaded were arrested by slow degiees, and the dull pain at her temples was soothed. Sh e felt her courage flowing back to her. And presently she could breathe calmly again, and even feel contempt for her weakness. It was a poor look-out, she apologised aloud to the emptiness, if she could not serve Carey Cardew’s memory more worthily. er lonliness, her sens e of having been deserted after all, was being shared by heaven knew how many other women, n,’® P °J, nt V lat the fort whicb was Diagonfly still had its single defender, t i’ n } ' ,stoI '.V had the Dragonfly a Ca f dew som e sort to shout dehance against odds. Upon a sudden mX- LllCe the ° !d ’ flamb °yant

‘‘ Per fas et nefas.” The absurdity' of it all restored her still further. She laughed genuinely and an into toe warm darkness of the outLUCe al ' va -?’ s felt tb e night jo be more friendly to perplexity It davli IT r* tbe harsh disa rmament of daylight. It covered one’s hurts and uglinesses, and gave breathing space to thought, and made of itself a Retreat for meanness. Luce stood with her hands pressed upon the railing of the yard fence at I Jim’ r ? g fin c d | tLe ma " ic dark alread y minuTps i a f ' S i e had been there some vokes tT Sl ’ e aware of mea ’s ion fJ 1 7i Can ?- e <h - e iln "’ e of stirrup--nd •/ 1 tle d . lr , ectlon of the stable, and a horse whickered softly. Luce’s J celled delightedly in 'recognition about t madl ’ ’ e I Cherr >’’ s tones. She was ‘ T make ler pres<? nce known when a sep tence . arrested her mischeviouslv n uek?° Uld •,T a "‘ ne t,,n °’ d man’s hand place ’whZ lth h- S V s " al P ei T ,exit .Y at the ' a .® e where bis hair was not nnrl smile curved her lips. ’ Don t call me Marmite . Von can fc spread me on bread, Jim. 'if' Mister be *Un , 1Sn f S°o.d enough for von, Fl] Chart c H ™ ar "^ e ’ Same a s b nce and '-nan C aii me Now get that.” Luce heard a nervous guffaw. I got it. Look here then. Uncle Marmie, you gottor go first. It’s a hundred to on e Luce’ll go crook . .

Gher^ rCd £ f i a ° f a gir1 ’ are vou?” Cherry scoffed But Luce detected an uneasiness in the smothered cough that followed. ‘Knowed he r since she was no bigger than my hand. If it comes to T., 1 h v Ped ,°. Id Carey to rear both Marmfe ” ‘ ‘ nk she ’ H bite her doggedly’: y ° U g ° firSt ” Bh-kett insisted ..’their figures loomed suddenly. Luce, still puzzling over the meaning “of so remarkable a diffidence, resolved upon by<‘Seried al ’™ “ Who’s that? ” The startled exclamation caused her mirth to bubble over. She laughed outjomder deSp ‘ te Cllerr y’ s reproachful reIxird, it’s Luce. My goodness, Chicbpt yo” scared your Uncle Marmie ” Why, Im only a bit of a girl,” she mocked meanly. -Tut-tut ... so you were listening, were you? Well, we don’t care, do we! Jim. . Why, Luce . . . sweetheart • • • anything been hurting you?” Luce had flung herself about his sturdv shoulders holding to him between tears and laughter. “ I’ve been so starved for the sight of, someone . . . you can’t imagine what it s been like . . .” She clung afresh, pattmg the. rough - cloth of his coat Cncle Marmie, it’s been hellish. It mane me afraid I was dead, and didn’t know it.” “ Damn that young . . .” Cherry began. But he checked himself with a snort Lonely, were you! I’ll bet. I should say you were lonely stuck awav here on Dragonfly. . . Think I didn’t know it? used to lie awake at nights thinking about yon. That’s all over Luce.” “ All over? ” lut-tut. . . I don’t mean anything’s happened with Dragonfly. What I mean is .. . the fact is, chicken . , Jim, ain’t you going to tell her what we mean’ ” ‘Who’s scared now?” Birkett jeered timidly.

Luce shook him in dawmn<r apprehension. ”

“Do stop rubbing your head. Uncle ALaimie. \Vhat do you mean by all over? What’s the matter with both of you? ” ‘‘Nothing,” Cherry said. with’a sudden explosion of courage. “ Jim and me have come , to help you at Dragonfly, while Chari’s away. And you can’t chase ns off . , . not if you took a gun to do it with. We’re here to stop . . .” In the little silence, as Luce caught dazedly at the blessed meaning of the words, Birkett’s voice issued hoarsely from the darkness beyond. “ Luce . . . don’t say we can't. You don’t need to take any notice of us., ir you felt that way. We’ll just be around like, keeping an eye on things . , shift for ourselves , . . camp down in the sheds here . ... so long’s we stay. . She was silent, still only because "the happiness of it Overwhelmed her. She caught her breath as Marmaduke Cherry's

hand rested trembling on her arm. His voice was pleading. “Luce, you’re not so very angry? We couldn’t just leave you like this . . getting yourself ill . , She found her voice then. ‘‘ A ° gr y ! y ou dear, Len . , . it’s beautiful of you. Oh, Uncle Marmie, I never realised until just- now how much I wanted you. I couldn’t have gone on ... I think. Not for much longer. Im such a coward. But I couldn’t stand tiie. loneliness ... I couldn’t.” ‘ Anyone that would say you could would be an idiot,” Cherry declared encouragingly. “But you mean to say Cnarl iiasn t been back once? ” ‘‘Chari isn’t his own boss. Of course he 11 come as soon as he can get awav Oh, my goodness, Uncle Marmie . /’ “ Now what? ” ■ ' ‘

/‘l’ve just remembered,” Luce said, with a note of dismay. “ I haven’t a thing in the house to eat. How am I goin<T to feed two great men?” ° Marmaduke Cherry chuckled. Is that all? Jim, fell her what Mrs Green-sent along.” A hundred of flour, a side of bacon, and a tin of tea,” said the ex-boundarv-rider, in glib obedience. “ And a note. I it, somewhere in my clothes.” Can t you come on up to the house? ” Luce demanded, almost sharply. She was glad of the darkness to hide her bewilderment at this fresh revelation of her friends’ constancy. “ You stand there like two-dummies . , But in the kitchen lamplight she suddenly seized Cherry and kissed him' fiercely. “ I ought to send it all back • . - and you and Jim too. But I can’t • • • I won t. Ive no pride left now. \Vhy didn’t you come sooner? I might have died. Uncle Marmie, you’ve been a pig.” The men blinked at each other helplessly. Birkett whispered as Luce darted into her bedroom: “ Yairs, I told you vve /d get it in the neck, now, didn’t I? ” “ You go out and get the stuff off the packhorse,” Uncle Marmie said with dignity. “ I’ve known Luce ever since she was so high. _ I helped bring her and Chari up. When a woman’s upset . . .well, she’s upset, ain’t she? ” “ Too right,” Birkett mumbled. He was grinning happily when he returned. The table wa s laid, and Luce hailed him with an impatient wave of the teapot.

“Do hurry. Jim. Uncle Marmie and I have talked it all over. Both of you are to sleep in Chari’s room . . . “for to-night at any rate. You can toss who has to take the stretcher.” “ Anything at all for me,”-Birkett declared. When turning in later, however, Marmaduke Cherry challenged his expression. The older man, having won the toss, wa s seated vaingloriously on the edge ot Chari’s spring mattress. “ What's the matter with you ? Can’t you make out in a bag bunk without looking down your nose? ” “ I’m not.” “ W T ho reckoned that if Luce allowed us to stay on Dragoufly it ’ud be the same as staying in heaven? ” pursueq Uncle Marmie, with contemplative scorn. You did. Well, you’re staying, ain’t ymi • And you’re full of bacon and soda scones and pleasant conversation. What more do. you want?” Birkett flushed. He grumbled sheepishly. Ya-irs, I know. I mean to sav, tnough, I . . . Luce sort of did all her talking at you.” b Who else?” Cherry enquired. “I’ve known that girl since she was so hi"h I helped ...” “I’ve heard all that,” Birkett said testily. He kicked off one boot, and frowned heavily. “ I mean Luce . . I mean to say, you’re not so much older than me . . . and, of course, I know it didn’t mean nothing ...” As he broke off in renewed confusion Cherry’s sleepy eyes widened. “ I’m damned if it isn’t that kiss she gave me.” “ Well, she did kiss you,” Birkett assented violently. Uncle Marmie gently patted his lips. He straightened his shoulders pridefully. an I a beatific smile came on his face. It s not the first time, and it won’t ba the last. You don’t mean to say you expected she was going to kiss you? Not really, Jim? Even allowing for the fact she was not herself? Now with me it’s different. I suppose. . . “ Shut up,” Birkett snapped. Uncle Marmie’s dbrisive laughter came dimly to Luce’s ears as she settled her,seh to sleep. It brought her a feeling of tenderness and rare contentment. It was good—oh, so good—to hear a man’s voice once more at Dragonfly. It seemed incredible that she was no longer wholly at the mercy of the crowding darkness; almost, as she had thought at tiroes, a part of its silence and sightlessness. She could scarcely realise that Chari had left her a matter of days only, so interminable had the hours of her loneliness appeared. In this new haven of thought Luce cried shame upon her cowardice, yet witli a smile at her heart. She was filled with contrition, but was frankly uncaring of it. She sat up in bed, on an impulse, and addressed the velvet blackness defiantly. “ I don’t care a damn. I shan’t be alone any moi*e. You’ve done your very worst. . . .”

As she fell back on her pillow an instantaneous vision of Mack drew her brows together sharply. She wondered uneasily if it were somehow in punishment of her audacity. But as instantaneously also came the super-imposing picture of Addie, blotting out, annihilating all before it. Luce marvelled at the growing clarity of Addie’s sudden entry of, her thought. It had about it something protective, secretly assuring. By almost imperceptible degrees it was possessing itself of her disquietude. Her mind had become like a room which

Mack entered, only to find Addie standing qu.etly at its centre. And this puzzled Luce the more because she was not ? eVer bad been — an intimate of Addie s. She liked and respected Addie, in a vague way she was sorry for her, but she neither loved nor understood her. In the succeeding days Luce was to find a steady growth of this thought of Addie. , In time she came to accept it as something without normal explanation, a sort of obsession of the subconscious whose meaning might conceivably be one day interpreted to her. She spoke of it to no one, having a dim perception of things not altogether of common experience. But the secret places of her happiness were comforted enormously. (To be continued.)