Long Valley Road

by Ross Richdale

  "Can we have a chat?" Fiona asked and pulled up a chair.

  Kylena frowned. "Of course," she replied. "I was about to stop, anyhow. Come through to the staff room and have a cuppa."

  "It's about your pregnancy," Fiona began.

  "I thought it might be but I assure you ..."

  "No, I'm not about to give you a lecture on what I would do if I was your age. This is a different time and a different country and I'm sure John and yourself can decide what you want to do without any suggestions from myself. It's something else." She stared up at Kylena.

  "I'm curious," the teacher replied.

  "You are the best thing that happened to John, Kylena," Fiona said. "Our district back home was very conservative, every bit as bad as the one we're in now. When Anne became pregnant with Julie I was the one instrumental in forcing the pair into marriage." She stopped and gazed, deep in thought, out the window. "It never really worked. I supported my daughter but, even before Helen came along, I could see a deep rift in the marriage and, with the power of hindsight, I'd say John was the victim, rather than vice versa."

  Kylena nodded. "From what I've been told, I assumed that," she said. “But does it really matter now?"

  "No, but John deserves the best. He really raised his two daughters to what they are in spite of Anne." She coughed. "Please don't tell John what I am about to divulge."

  "It depends on what the information is," Kylena replied. "In all fairness, I can promise nothing."

  Fiona smiled. "You are direct, Kylena but I'll take the risk and tell you anyway. Anne was sleeping around, in fact for years she had a series of men friends."

  "I know, " Kylena replied, "John told me about that mechanic and Julie told me quite a bit, too."

  "Yes, sordid little episodes," Fiona retorted. "She was a wild teenager but settled down after she married John, for a few years anyhow." Fiona shrugged. "There is one point I'd like to make, John was never unfaithful to her, even when she was so ill and cantankerous."

  Kylena nodded. "That sounds like John but what's the big secret?" she asked.

  "I thought when she became pregnant, Helen wasn't John's child so I faked Anne's signature on a hospital record so the baby would be blood tested straight after the birth." She sighed. "I've never told anybody."

  "I see, so Helen is not his biological child?"

  "On the contrary, her blood type fitted in perfectly and she is, beyond doubt, John's daughter."

  "...But after six years you still feel guilty?" Kylena found she'd been doodling on a piece of paper and placed her pen down on the table.

  "Sort of," Fiona replied. "I just had to tell you, that's all. John could not have been a better husband to Anne but he got a raw deal. That's why I'm thrilled he's having this new chance but want to continue to be a part of his life. After all, we are only in-laws." Fiona sounded apprehensive, almost scared.

  "You are the girls' grandmother, Fiona," Kylena replied and reached out for her companion's hands. "Nobody can change that and there is no way I want to come between you, the girls and John."

  "Thank you," whispered the older woman.

  "And that blood test business. I won't say a word, though I doubt if John would condemn you for doing it. Tell me, though, if it had been negative what would you have done?"

  "Confronted my daughter," Fiona replied. "That was when I began to see John's perspective of the marriage. I guess that's why we became so close throughout her illness. He's a fine man, Kylena."

  "I know. That's why I love him and feel proud to be carrying his child." She laughed and slapped her friend's arm. "God, we're getting sentimental, aren't we?"

  "Yes," whispered Fiona. "But I'm glad we had our little chat."

  *

  After Easter a moving van arrived at the schoolhouse and everyone helped Vicky Taylor move in. While the schoolhouse was empty, the board refurbished three rooms so the place looked crisp and smelt of fresh paint and polish.

  "It's so different," Kylena commented that evening after they arrived home to relaxed in their lounge. "It's amazing how one's personality is reflected in the furnishings and personal items. I've never seen so many books and all those CDs..."

  "I agree," John grinned and glanced around the room where they were sitting. Kylena's sofa, armchairs, wall cabinet and television had replaced his own that had been relegated to the smaller adjacent room. Also, two modern abstract paintings were now hanging on the wall.

  "Okay," Kylena retorted and slapped his leg. "You said you didn't mind how I set the room out."

  "Oh I don't," laughed John. "This room is you, my dear. That's why I love it so much."

  "And if you get sick of it you can walk next door," Kylena grinned, tucked her legs up on the sofa and buried her head in her partner's chest. "You know, I have never lived in such a huge place. It's like a palace."

  "And you're the princess," John whispered. He bent down, moved a strand of hair out of the way and kissed her ear.

  "Yuk," cried Julie who had just walked in with supper on a tray. "I know you're meant to be in love but this is ridiculous." She glared at the pair. " Kylena, you're getting fat. Don't you think you should buy a maternity smock?"

  *

  Even though Harold spent a great deal of time by himself, drawing, writing or just walking over the farm, he did spend more time at the main house and much of this time was with Fiona. Early the following afternoon he strolled into the kitchen to find her cooking.

  "Have you got a spare hour?" he said in a hesitant voice.

  "Sure," Fiona replied.

  "There's something in the top gully I'd like to show you," he said. "Do you reckon you can make it down a steep track if we go to the top plateau."

  "If you can, I can," Fiona retorted. "Give me ten minutes to get my boots and old clothes and I'll be with you."

  When Harold drove the old jeep up the plateau track Fiona clung on to the seat, pretended she wasn't scared and gazed at Sissy who had her head stuck out the opened rear window. However, there were no problems and they were soon on the top plateau behind the cabin. The garden had gone now with the roses transferred down to the bottom cottage and the gate left open so sheep could graze the small yard.

  "How long were you there, Harold?" Fiona asked.

  "Close on four years," he muttered with a shrug. "I guess that was a phase of my life I had to work through."

  "And would you go back?"

  Harold glanced sideways at his passenger. "It was in many ways a dream world, Fiona. I had Sissy and lived on memories that turned into fantasies, things that might have been rather than things that are." He changed gears. “But to answer your question, no I would not like to go back."

  "Why?" Fiona asked in a blunt voice.

  "You," the man replied and coloured slightly. "I mean your family. John, the girls and you have made me appreciate people again." He grinned. "I guess I should include our young school teacher in your family now. She is one dynamic lass."

  "She is, isn't she?" Fiona replied and smiled at the rugged exterior of the man beside her.

  Two hundred metres beyond the cabin, Harold turned the jeep around beside a deep ravine that seemed to appear out of nowhere. "My own little area," he muttered.

  An excited Sissy jumped straight out and disappeared, yelping, down the far slope. A moment later she returned with tail wagging in anticipation. Fiona, rubbed the little dog's ears, followed her to the edge of the plateau and glanced around. The ravine was a couple of hundred metres long by a hundred wide and was completely hidden from the plateau. To their left, a row of small steps disappeared down the steep valley side beneath a thick foliage of trees and ferns. Wind rustled the branches and birds twittered everywhere.

  "A stream comes in the top end from the valley beyond the Top Oasis boundary," Harold said and pointed to the northern end. "It flows through this valley, goes underground there and reappears down in Kelvin Newson's property just beyond the school."

  "It's beautiful," Fiona
whispered. "Can we go down?"

  "It's steep," Harold warned. "That's why I cut the steps. As far as I know, I'm the only person who comes here."

  "And now there's me.”

  "It's more than just a piece of virgin bush," Harold continued. "Come down and I'll show you."

  While Sissy dashed ahead the two humans made a more cautious descent. The sunny slope turned to a shady cover of overhanging bows, moisture dripped off the foliage and cicadas cackled everywhere. The steepest section had a wooden ladder fastened to the bank and a thick steel rope. Fiona turned climbed down backwards and grinned as Harold hoisted Sissy onto his shoulders before he followed. They were now under the trees and in a grotto of vegetation with only a patch of blue sky above. Bird and insect noises were complemented by the faint gurgle of moving water. A damp but not unpleasant smell impregnated the area.

  "Oh Harold," Fiona sighed. “It’s a wonderland."

  "Sissy likes it," the man replied in a soft voice. "I did most of my drawings down here. I'd pack a few sandwiches, bring my sketch pad and Sissy down and we would spend a day here."

  Fiona glanced at him and that feeling of affinity flushed through her. It was such a peaceful spot sealed off from the world but she would not like to be here by herself. Her thoughts of the solitary figure sitting down sketching with only his little dog for company brought a lump to her throat. She reached back and brushed his arm.

  "Careful," he said. "It can get slippery." His hand touched her shoulder and she turned to smile back at him.

  "Didn't you wish you had someone to share all this with?" she asked.

  "At times, but I became used to just Sissy's company. Dogs take you for what you are..." His voice trailed off so for a moment the crunch of their footsteps through the spiky grass replaced their speech.

  At the bottom, the track turned parallel to the tiny stream. Fiona stepped in beside her companion and watched, fascinated, as a monstrous dragonfly darted by. Frogs added their monotonous croaks to the other sounds. Fiona smiled again at Harold and reached out for his hand. They touched and clasped. Nothing was said but her tiny hand remained in his and she felt at peace.

  "Do you know much about flora?" Harold asked and squeezed her hand just a fraction.

  "Next to nothing about New Zealand plants and trees," Fiona admitted. “At home, though, I knew most of the trees. We mainly had evergreens, you know firs and so forth but there were also maples and introduced European trees."

  Harold grinned and proceeded to point out all the various native trees around them. Finally he stopped and pushed his way though a small patch of quite heavy foliage. "I purposely kept this away from the track," he said and pointed to three different looking trees. They were about five metres high and covered in leaves and the remains of tiny flowers.

  "They are called the tree daisy, a native deciduous tree. In early summer they're a mass of those sweet scented flowers," Harold explained.

  Fiona noted the enthusiasm in her friend's voice as he described the tree. “I’ve never seen one before," she said.

  Harold grinned. "Neither have most New Zealanders. They're one of the most rare native trees in the country and only grow in this part of the country. There are less than sixty of them in existence."

  "Oh I see," Fiona replied with interest in her voice. “But why are there so few?"

  "They can't compete with open pastoral land, and introduced pests such as the opossum and so forth have contributed to killing them out. I discovered these three by purest chance and have been looking after them ever since." He reached and plucked off a small clump of flowers and handed it to Fiona."

  "That bunch would probably be worth a fortune in New York or London," he said.

  "Oh Harold," Fiona smiled as she took the small posy. “How sweet."

  Harold shrugged and placed a hand in his pocket. "Sissy," he called.

  The little dog came running out from the undergrowth and looked expectantly up. Harold smiled and held out a dog biscuit. "Tradition," he chuckled. "Sissy always has to have her biscuit here."

  Fiona's eyes found his and she smiled again. The more she found out about the man in front of her, the more she liked.

  'Well, we'd better be heading back," Harold said a few moments later. "It can be quite a slog back up those steps."

  "Thanks for bringing me here," Fiona said. She smiled as the little dog clumped down the last of her biscuits and stared up for more.

  "Back at the jeep," Harold laughed. "You know the rules."

  Sissy swished her tail and trotted along the path.

  *

  CHAPTER 11

  "There's someone out there watching us," Harold grunted from the side seat in the cab of John's tractor. With the two dogs and Harold inside it was a tight squeeze but the mid-winter storm did not encourage anyone to be out in the elements.

  The mighty New Holland tractor was John's first large purchase since his arrival at Top Oasis and was equipped with a completely enclosed cab and facilities to attach most farm equipment. It had a huge round bale of hay suspended on a hydraulic bar behind and already; the cattle on the plateau were waiting to be fed.

  "How do you know?" John shouted above the roar of the engine. He leaned forward to wipe the inside of the windshield. "I can't see more than ten yards in this downpour." The wipers were on full speed but could only just cope with the hail and sleet pinging on the glass.

  "Sissy knows," Harold grunted.

  John glanced left to where the little fox terrier was sitting up with her front paws on the console and back legs on Harold's lap. Her ears were pitched forward on high alert and her tail thumped in excitement. In contrast, Bella was lying relaxed on the ledge under the rear window, seemingly without a care in the world.

  "Right," John retorted. "I'll get the hay rolled out and we'll see if our plan works."

  He stopped the tractor, flipped the hood of his raincoat over his head and jumped down from the cab. Freezing sleet hit his face and icy air buffed him. The black cattle stood back in anticipation with small clouds of vapour puffing from their noses as the farmer walked to the rear of the vehicle. He sliced the plastic covering off the bale and pulled the first section down like a mat.

  "Okay, Harold," he screamed against the wind and watched as the tractor moved slowly forward. As it did, the bale of hay began to unwind like a gigantic toilet paper roll. The dozens of cattle rushed in and began feeding.

  John shouted and the tractor stopped. He ran back to the cab, the operation was repeated twice in different parts of the paddock and they headed off the plateau. On a normal day this would complete their work on this part of the farm. They would go down, pick up the truck and feed out the traditional rectangular bales on the lower paddocks.

  However, today John pulled the New Holland in by the bank and switched off. He zipped his coat up again, grabbed a rifle off a clip behind and tucked a mobile phone in his pocket. Harold glowered at the rifle but made no comment as he pulled his rain gear close. The men and their dogs jumped down onto the track. Dirty water poured by their feet but below the ridge they were sheltered from the full onslaught of the storm.

  John glanced at Bella. "Quiet, girl," he ordered. "Seek!"

  Bella's tail wagged in acknowledgement and her large eyes gazed up at him. The bearded collie knew what was expected and preceded to trot across the hill face without making a sound. Sissy also sensed the urgency of the moment and followed. The four made their way forward for twenty minutes before they arrived at the far boundary of the farm but still below the crest of the plateau itself.

  Above them, the land narrowed like the apex of a triangle into another a steep valley. Ahead was the corner of Kelvin's place and the forested national park. Of more interest though, was the small windy road ahead. Aptly named Top Ridge Road, it wound up from the valley below, followed the edge of Top Oasis for a couple of hundred metres before dipping down Kelvin's boundary into a second valley. From there it wound through hinterland before finally joi
ning Long Valley Road on a ridge about seven kilometres beyond the school. Their destination was a small yard and loading ramp in the corner of John's property.

  "Here, girl," the farmer ordered his dog and the four crouched down, listened a moment and crept forward so they could see over the ridge.

  "Told you," Harold whispered as he wiped rain off his eyebrows.

  "Bastards," muttered John.

  A truck was backed into the loading ramp with three men could be driving cattle up the wooden ramp into it. There was a sense of urgency as two dogs chased cattle through an open gate. The cattle ran in, the gate was shut and another group was ready for loading.

  These were John's animals and the modern day rustlers were stealing them.

  A week earlier, Harold had discovered tire marks and signs of the yards being used and told John of his suspicions. Covert inquiries at a Hunterville pub had found information of out of town cattle trucks driving through the district loaded with cattle. This had raised the local's suspicion as there were no local sales at the moment and freezing works were all closed for the winter. It did not take a lot of counting for John to realize he was down eighty beasts from the top plateau. A few could be missed in a casual count but nothing like that number. He was the one being robbed.

  The local constable had been informed and a plan formed to flush the buggers out, as the locals described it, was formatted.

  John glowered and grabbed the mobile phone. 'Hello Kelvin,” he snapped into it. "They're here. ... Yes a blue truck and trailer unit. I can't read the name from this distance... They've loaded the trailer and the truck is about half full. Give me about ten minutes before you block the road... Right. Thanks, Kelvin. See you soon."

  He punched in another number and spoke again. "Detective Kingsfield? John Berg here. Your informants were right. The truck is half loaded and Kelvin Newson has his end blocked..." He listened to precise instructions, responded, clicked off and grinned at Harold. “Now the theatrics," he whispered.