Scarlet Runner

by Lily Ennis

  ‘She is persistent,’ Mary agreed.

  ‘Is she bothering you, coming around here all the time? I can have a word.’

  Mary laughed. ‘As if one word from you would stop her.’ She tucked Thomas’ blanket into the sides of the cot. ‘She thinks I don’t notice but she checks the side board for dust. Once when I was outside hanging washing I looked up to see her opening a kitchen cupboard.’

  Archie gasped. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  Mary shrugged. ‘Believe what you will.’

  ‘No no,’ Archie rushed to reassure her. ‘I believe you. What I mean is, how preposterous!’

  ‘It’s insulting,’ Mary continued. ‘I mean, I’ve been teaching her Darcy piano for three years now and she’s trusted me to do a good job.’ She paused. ‘Better than good actually, for if I was only average she would have replaced me straight away.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘Thank you for the offer but any complaint is better coming from me. I don’t believe in third party negotiations.’

  Archie’s eyebrows shot up. Was that a barb at him? Or had her tongue just innocently slipped?

  ‘Miss Bell,’ said Archie. ‘I would like to go to the pictures this Saturday night.’

  Mary was surprised.

  ‘I could ask Sybil and Joe to take the children for an hour or two...’

  Mary cut him off. ‘But seeing Sybil any more than the obligatory Sunday dinner is a bit much.’

  Archie smiled coyly. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Would you like me to?’ asked Mary. ‘In fact, I could take them home with me for their tea. Give you a bit of quiet. My mother would love to have them at home for a while.’

  ‘Oh. Miss Bell! I couldn’t ask you,’ replied Archie. ‘You have plenty to do. I take up enough of your time.’

  ‘You’d pay me,’ Mary said bluntly.

  ‘In that case I accept.’

  Chapter Six

  In the days that followed Archie read the Maoriland Worker from cover to cover. Ian’s article was written in verse and his nom de plume wasn’t lost on Archie. It was powerful writing. Ian displayed a depth of understanding in socialist philosophy that was rare in the trades, and Archie became excited at the prospect of working with Ian more closely.

  He was inspired to pick up his pen and on more than one occasion when the children were tucked up in bed for the night he sat at the big table and wrote. It was a pleasant distraction. Ann had been gone six months now and the days didn’t seem as long as they did, or as lonely.

  That wasn’t to say that he didn’t miss Ann every minute of every day, for he did. He missed the way they laughed together, he missed her scent on the pillow next to him, he missed the special hold she had over him and her soft round warm body that she would envelop him with.

  He wasn’t really mad with Sybil anymore. It had become a game. Perhaps one of these days he’d find another Ann and make Sybil a happy woman. But not yet. Not while Ann still had a hold over him.

  At last Saturday arrived and as promised Mary took the children away on the understanding that Archie would collect them from Mary’s after the pictures. Fanny was an immediate hit with Mary’s mother Emily, who saw in the girl her little Emmy, who died at the same age that Fanny was now.

  ‘This is my brother,’ Fanny announced proudly. ‘He’s called Thomas.’

  Emily set Thomas on the table in his basket.

  ‘Mary isn’t my mother,’ Fanny continued. ‘My mother died. Daddy says he doesn’t want a new mother but I think he does.’

  Mary flushed. ‘Would you like some hot milk, Fanny? Then we can explore the garden and meet Geraldine the cow.’

  The little girl nodded and sat at the table expectantly while Emily and Mary waited on her. Fanny carefully clutched the cup with both hands and sipped her milk, wiping the moustache with the back of her hand after each sip.

  Emily indulged her. ‘Why do you think Daddy wants a new mother Fanny?’

  ‘Because sometimes he looks sad,’ Fanny replied. She took another drink. ‘Mary could be my new mother.’

  ‘Oh Fanny,’ Mary gushed. ‘I could not!’

  Fanny protested. ‘But you are just like a mother,’ she said. ‘My mother had long hair. But yours is nice.’

  She smiled at Mary.

  ‘Now, Miss,’ Mary announced. ‘That’s enough fanciful talk. Let’s have an adventure before tea time.’

  Mary ushered the girl outside saying over her shoulder to Emily, ‘I’ll try to tire her out.’

  The back garden was a wonderland to explore. There were fruit trees, a big vegetable garden, a huge chicken run and a cow that had a long strip of land fenced off for her that ran the full length of the section.

  ‘Geraldine,’ called Fanny pointing to the cow. She ran towards it laughing.

  ‘Don’t frighten Geraldine,’ called Mary chuckling at the girl’s delight.

  Geraldine swung her great head slowly around at the noise and lowered her chocolate eyes. But she was not in a mood to be petted by such small unpredictable hands.

  Mary crouched alongside Fanny. ‘We need to be gentle around Geraldine. See how she looks at us? We have to show her that she can trust us.’

  Fanny held her hand out for Geraldine to smell. Her great tongue licked it and Fanny shrieked causing Geraldine to bolt. The action excited Fanny and she ran off around the yard ducking behind this tree and that. Mary joined in the chase until not Fanny, but she, was quite exhausted.

  ‘Oh, Fanny,’ said Mary panting. ‘You are too good at playing chase.’ She took the girl’s hand to go inside. ‘Oh my goodness! What a fright you look.’

  It was true. Fanny’s hands were filthy from swinging around tree trunks, her dress grubby and her new ribbon hung unbowed and limp on her dishevelled hair.

  ‘Never mind,’ Mary reassured her. ‘We’ll soon have you ship shape.’

  Gerald met them at the door and Mary knew it must be six o’clock already. He was never home before that on a Saturday even though his shift finished at four. The second shift of course went through until midnight and then the town was quiet for one whole day.

  ‘I heard we had a fairy in the garden,’ he said smiling at Fanny.

  The girl smiled shyly and clung to Mary.

  ‘The fairy’s in a mess,’ said Mary. ‘Fanny, this is Mr. Bell.’

  Mary led Fanny inside. ‘She’s gone shy. I haven’t seen that before.’

  Mary cleaned Fanny up as best she could but it wasn’t very effective. A cat caught Fanny’s eye and the little girl shrieked with glee before giving chase. The cat romped ahead of her then slowed and slunk behind the sofa. Its eyes drew as large as saucers as it looked down at the child. Fanny just couldn’t contain herself any longer and she pounced on the tail but she wasn’t as quick as the cat which struck out with its paw and scratched her across the face.

  Fanny screeched which scared the poor cat into hiding. Clutching her face she stood and cried at the top of her lungs as blood trickled through her fingers.

  ‘Oh lordy!’ cried Emily. ‘What’s going on?’

  Everyone rushed to Fanny and the commotion set Thomas off.

  ‘What’s her father going to say?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t notice,’ Gerald suggested.

  Mary pulled the little girl’s hand away from her face. ‘Oh father!’

  Three scratches, red with bobbles of blood, were strewn across Fanny’s cheek and nose. It mingled with salty tears and snot then dripped onto her dress.

  ‘Come on sweetheart,’ said Mary taking her by the hand once more. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up before daddy comes.’

  Fanny didn’t stop howling but when she came out of the bathroom her face had stopped leaking fresh blood and the front of her dress was wet where Mary had cleaned it.

  Emily rocked Thomas. ‘Stop crying,’ she said firmly to Fanny. ‘You’re upsetting the baby.’

  Fanny stopped as quickly as if Emily had thrown a swi
tch. Soon Thomas quietened and Emily ordered Fanny to soothe him. The girl did as she was told and soon forgot that she was in the wars.

  * * *

  As Archie and William strode up the path to the front door they were met with the sound of piano music. Archie tapped on the door and it was opened by Gerald. It was the first time Archie had come here and he felt a little awkward. Gerald ushered them into the lounge where Mary played the piano and Emily stood alongside singing.

  Upon seeing her father Fanny jumped up and rushed into his arms. The music stopped.

  ‘Hey little pony,’ Archie said. He stroked her blonde hair off her face. ‘What’s happened?’

  Fanny’s face cracked into a cry, disturbing the scratch and causing it to bleed again.

  ‘She got the cat’s tail,’ Mary explained standing to greet the men, ‘and the cat got its revenge.’

  She suddenly remembered her manners. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Wright. You haven’t met my mother.’

  Archie took Emily’s hand. ‘Mrs. Bell.’

  Archie introduced William then cast a critical eye over Fanny.

  ‘I must explain,’ said Mary picking up Thomas. ‘We had a lovely adventure in the back garden and Fanny got a little dirty. I’m sorry about the dress Mr. Wright. I’ll have it looking as good as new again.’

  Archie clenched his teeth. He had expected more of Miss Bell. It was a terrible shock to see Fanny like this. Why, the child had only been gone from home a few hours. And she supposedly had two supervisors instead of the usual one.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you will,’ Archie replied.

  Mary tucked Thomas into the perambulator and Archie sat Fanny on the little seat he’d built to go across it.

  ‘I’ll see you Monday then Mr. Wright,’ Mary said with the hint of a question in her voice.

  Archie tipped his hat. ‘Goodnight Miss Bell, Gerald, Emily.’

  He barely spoke all the way home. William was still in good spirits after the pictures and didn’t comment on Fanny’s dishevelled and battered appearance at all. Archie wondered if he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  * * *

  Archie was still fuming the next day. He had a good mind to openly court Sybil’s latest introduction. That would show Miss Bell! The girl needs a mother not a housekeeper. How could he expect paid help to care for his children the way a mother would, even a step-mother. Indeed, even a step-mother...

  Archie pondered the possibilities. Sybil had vetted then introduced no less than six girls to Archie since his arrival. This was no mean feat as men outnumbered women by ten percent. She had brought them to Waihi from as far afield as Wellington. For his part he had been charming to every one of them, encouraging to none. Yet he conceded any one of them might have made him a fine wife.

  What had this to do with being annoyed with Mary? Perhaps he expected too much of her. Sybil was quick to criticise her. Every Sunday she had some complaint, but not too serious or it would reflect badly on Sybil.

  Mary was pleasant to have in the house. She was good at keeping house. The children liked her. Yes, the children liked her. That was why he was so disappointed in her. The children liked her and she had let them down.

  * * *

  Mary groaned as she scrambled up off the floor. It was hot work already at seven in the morning clearing out the ashes from the day before and lighting the fire for breakfast. Her sleeves were rolled up exposing lightly freckled skin.

  Archie entered the room and threw the union magazine on the table to read as he ate.

  ‘Good morning Miss Bell,’ he said. ‘Porridge again I see.’

  Mary bristled. She couldn’t tell whether his tone was desultory or mocking. She ignored it and dished up.

  ‘I’ve been offered a box of Christmas plums,’ said Mary. ‘I thought I would bottle some for you today.’

  Archie’s mouth watered at the mention of it. ‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’

  Mary got the children up and dressed then made Archie’s lunch, by which time the mantle clock chimed quarter to.

  Archie jolted snapping his magazine closed. ‘That’s me,’ he announced. ‘I’m off.’

  Mary’s day didn’t stay quiet for long. Sybil arrived, alone, for little Elsie had had a birthday recently and was now at school. Fanny missed her cousin dreadfully.

  Mary was up to her elbows in plums in the small galley kitchen. She cursed. It was clear a man designed it for a man would never design such an ineffective space for himself to work in. The back door was wide open as was the small window above the sink bench but still the temperature was about thirty degrees. Mary constantly mopped her brow to prevent drips of sweat escaping into the stewing plums.

  She heard Sybil call out. ‘Only me.’

  ‘In the kitchen,’ Mary yelled back.

  Sybil stood at the kitchen door, her pregnancy well advanced.

  ‘I’ll be candid, Mary,’ Sybil said as one hand slowly rubbed her bump in a circular motion. ‘I’m worried that Archie is being too particular in choosing a wife.’

  Mary paused her stirring and forced a smile before turning to Sybil. ‘A wife?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh come on, girl,’ Sybil snapped. ‘He needs a wife and you are putting him off.’

  ‘That’s preposterous!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘How could I, the paid help, possibly influence Mr. Wright?’

  Mary hovered the wooden spoon over the floor which splattered purple spots of plum onto it.

  ‘Oh!’ Mary swooped to clean up the mess. ‘You flatter me, Mrs. Wright, if you think I have any influence over Archie. I mean, Mr. Wright.’

  Sybil smirked at Mary’s slip up. ‘Then why does he refuse every girl I have introduced him to? I want him to settle down properly before I have this baby.’

  Mary planted her feet firmly and waved the spoon in front of her. ‘Mrs. Wright, I have endured no end of criticism from you and I have ignored it to keep the peace in this house and also yours. Don’t look surprised. I know it’s Archie you go running to if I forget to scrub under the table or leave the chickens’ scraps for the flies to lay their maggots in. He lets me know my failings and I’m quite sure he wouldn’t notice without them being pointed out by you.’ She punctuated the air with the spoon.

  Sybil floundered like a fish as Mary continued her tirade.

  ‘Save it,’ she said. ‘I haven’t finished. Why don’t you ask Archie what he wants. I’ll warrant it’s not a new wife. Lordy! He hasn’t got over the old one.’

  Mary stepped forward into Sybil so the woman was forced to retreat. ‘It’s one thing to be criticised justly, and I’m not saying I don’t get it wrong sometimes, but it really is quite another to accuse me unjustly. How am I supposed to be putting Mr. Wright off your girls?’

  Sybil retreated to a chair at the table. She fanned herself with her hand. ‘Oh, I’m overcome with the heat,’ she gasped.

  Mary exhaled loudly and returned to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. She set it before Sybil and sat down.

  ‘Mrs. Wright,’ Mary said in her usual gentle voice. ‘Why don’t we blame this silliness on your pregnancy and the heat.’ She smiled at Sybil.

  Sybil wasn’t used to not getting her own way. Likely she had retreated hastily from the confrontation to give her time to formulate a reply. What Mary said made sense. Sybil had taken Archie on as a project. She’d had a lot of freedom planning and effecting introductions to no satisfactory conclusion. In her mind it was unacceptable that she should expend so much energy on an unsuccessful project.

  Mary saw a different woman before her. Sybil was the older and stronger woman and Mary had always respected that. But she sat in front of her now wrung out, perhaps by this latest baby, perhaps by the heat, probably both. Underneath her wide-brimmed hat her face was flushed and her dark hair, where it had escaped, clung limply to her face. Mary noticed a slight tremor as Sybil held the glass to her lips.

  ‘I fear you are right, Miss Bell,’ she said. ‘I made a mistake.’ Sybil smil
ed tightly silently asking Mary’s forgiveness. ‘It must be as you say. This humidity is making things difficult for me.’ She patted her stomach again. ‘Making me say silly things.’

  ‘Then let’s say no more about it,’ said Mary.

  Sybil got up to leave, swishing her skirt around her ankles. She hesitated. ‘He needs a wife.’

  After the woman left and Mary got back to her bottling she idly wondered how much Sybil was play acting and how much was genuine. She had felt genuinely conciliatory toward Sybil until Sybil couldn’t resist that final remark. It stuck in Mary’s craw, firstly for the selfishness behind the words that implied Sybil hadn’t finished working on her project, but also for the words themselves. That was what she found perplexing. It mattered not a jot to her that Archie should find a wife. He should have a wife of course; one of his own choosing. It was not her business. She was paid to keep his house and look after his children. She wasn’t paid to voice her opinion even if she had one.

  She popped a plum into her mouth and stood at the door that overlooked the back yard where Fanny played barefoot in the vegetable garden. Could it be she felt the tiniest bit possessive of Mr. Wright? It was natural surely when he let her into his house, noticed his unique scent on his sheets and his clothes. She was close to him in a way that no other woman was. She liked that. And it did pull her heartstrings ever so slightly when she thought she might be usurped.

  Mary didn’t hear Archie come home and she startled when he surprised her, gagging on a plum stone. She panicked as she gasped for breath, sucking air in and in again but not able to let it out.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Archie exclaimed. He thumped Mary on the back like she’d never been hit in her life and the stone flew out her mouth landing on the floor. She gasped and reeled back unsteadily on her feet. Archie took hold and sat her at the table. For the minute Mary enjoyed the delicious free air. She wasn’t about to waste it on words. It didn’t last however.

  ‘What on earth did you do that for?’ she yelled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Scaring me like that! Sneaking up on me!’

  Archie was taken aback. There was no humour in her voice.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t sneaking.’