Eucalyptus by Murray Bail

this happen? she wanted to know. And why hadn’t she seen it before? She kept asking, What can I do? None of the suitors had been taken seriously; as far as her father was concerned, they were all idiots. It would be like him to concoct such a test believing there wasn’t a man on earth who could win.
    In the bathroom she turned the taps on full blast, something her father never allowed. Already she saw him being friendly, more than friendly, with Mr Cave. It was mutual respect. Apparently they had a lot in common, the trees for one, and now her. And yet Mr Cave was nothing like her father, not at all.
    There was no one else. Mr Cave was so sure of himself he took it easy. By two o’clock he was usually back at his hotel. And on the first weekend he was proposing to take a rest.
    Ellen began scribbling letters to her father. Most she tore up, or pasted into her journal. Some Ellen posted , even when she could hear him moving about in his room. The first addressed to him she propped against his teacup at breakfast, when all the man wanted to do was read the paper.
    â€˜What’s this then?’ Holland tried holding the pages at arm’s length. ‘You used to have such good handwriting. I can’t read a word of this.’
    â€˜I want you to read it.’
    This way he would have to come to terms with what she was feeling; though as she sat there all she felt was confusion.
    â€˜I feel like moving away,’ she said.
    â€˜What good would that do?’ He was squinting at her writing. ‘Anyway you wouldn’t leave your poor old father alone in this dark old house—just me and the trees? Who would I talk to at night?’
    â€˜I don’t know what to do.’
    After the third or fourth letter he pushed his chair back.
    â€˜You’re saying the same thing, over and over. Now listen to me. All right, so you don’t like the way it’s turning out. It’s not 100 per cent perfect, I know that. But has it been a mistake? I don’t know. I’m apologising. I don’t want a girl moping around as if it’s the end of the world. But what is it you want? I’d say you don’t know yourself. Am I right? This Mr Cave—Roy—you hardly know the man—he’s not so bad. Anyway, I thought you took to him. At least you didn’t screw your nose up. Have you spoken to him? I have been—a lot. I think there’s a lot going on there. For starters, he’s a decent man; I think you would agree. He’s a neat man, not a mess. He certainly knows a hell of a lot about trees.’
    â€˜I’ve noticed.’
    Her father put his hand on her shoulder. ‘All we can do is wait and see.’
    Once outside she headed towards the river. ‘Where are you off to?’—her father’s voice. She didn’t know what was happening to her. As she walked quickly and entered the trees she stopped and in the stillness couldn’t help touching, if only for a moment, the nearest of the evenly spaced trunks. Eucalypts which were the cause of it all also gave a moment’s pause.

• 9 •

Maidenii
    HERE IS the tree Holland had given his daughter for her birthday. She was thirteen.
    She’d come into his room early in undisguised anticipation; Holland couldn’t help admiring her excitement. To extend the moment he did the cruel fatherly thing of frowning in feigned surprise, as if he didn’t know what day it was. Then as doubts troubled Ellen’s face he pointed to the wardrobe.
    No amount of blue ribbon around the terracotta pot or explaining the exactness of the botanical name could disguise her disappointment. Instead of a gift she felt a loss. It was as if he was giving himself a present, and a very ordinary one. What could she do with a tree? Not even the ceremony of planting it together, on the northern slope facing the town, made her happier.
    The years passed ordinarily enough. Gradually she had become less