New Du Rose Matriarch

by Bowes, K T

  Hana found a used tissue under her pillow and balled it up to stem the flow, willing herself to stop. She reached up and kissed Logan on the lips, feeling the worried tension abate. “Ignore me,” she hiccoughed. “I’m being silly. It’s your birthday this weekend, I wanted it to be about you, not me.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes and ran his thumb over Hana’s jaw line, searching, searching. Something was wrong, but his wife kept it was closely guarded and wouldn’t let him see. “Can I give you your present now?” she asked, struggling to cheer up.

  Logan smiled, a flash of genuine happiness as he whispered in her ear, “You’ve already given me far more than I ever dreamed. I’ve never been this happy.”

  Hana felt the tears surface again and suppressed them, dangerously close to telling Logan the whole truth about Laval’s visits to intimidate and threaten her. One more rush of emotion and it would tumble into the open, leaving Logan little choice but to follow his former pattern and engage Laval in his sickening battle.

  Hana resisted, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. She wriggled from his grasp and putting her hand into her top drawer, pulled out a floral bag. She returned to the bed, snatching up her shirt and slipping it over her head as she sat down. “You know that makes it worse, don’t you?” Logan asked with a coy look.

  Hana shook her head in confusion. “No, what?”

  He gripped her round the waist and pulled her on top of him. “Partially clad is even sexier than naked,” he breathed, kissing the swell of her breast as it arced over her neckline.

  “Be quiet and open your present,” Hana rebuked him, scrubbing at her eyes with the tissue.

  Logan took the bag, running his hand through his hair and pushing his fringe back. He opened the card first and read it with a gentle smile on his face. “That’s the card you picked up on our first date,” he said, his eyes softening. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You said it was boring,” Hana jibed with an upward tilt of her chin. “You laughed at the rude ones.”

  Logan shook his head. “I believed I’d only ever get the rude ones,” he sighed. “There was nobody in my life likely to buy me something as sweet as this.”

  “Well now you’ve got me and Phoe,” Hana replied, her eyes filling with tears again. “And I don’t like the rude ones.”

  Logan’s fingers worked at the crinkly bag, withdrawing a folded parcel of tissue paper. Logan opened it, his brows knitting as a familiar object slithered onto the bed. The pocket-handkerchief lay on the sheet, and Logan gulped, darting a look of confusion at his wife.

  “You remember it, don’t you?” she asked.

  He nodded, fingering the delicate fabric of his mother’s handkerchief, given away twenty-six years earlier. The tiny kiwi birds around the edge did their familiar quickstep, formed out of navy blue stitches on a pale blue background. Logan’s jaw worked, showing as a stress line through his cheek. “You pulled it out of your pocket the first time you came for dinner. I nearly choked. I was sure you wouldn’t have it anymore.” He turned it over in his hand, feeling the crisp lines where Hana ironed it into a triangle. “I bought it for Mum’s birthday. It was part of a set of three and she said she loved them. Then when she handed the blue one to the girl-on-the-train I was angry she gave my gift away. But as five years stretched into ten and then twenty, it brought me comfort knowing you had it. I convinced myself you’d lost it or thrown it away, but you didn’t.”

  Logan opened the handkerchief out and a gold chain slithered onto the bed. Logan retrieved it, running it through his fingers.

  “It’s so you can wear your St. Christopher again,” Hana said.

  Logan shook his head, looking disappointed. “I lost it, babe. The chain snapped the night of the fire when I got knocked out. All those years of wearing it and I lost it in the dirt at Reuben’s place.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Hana whispered, pulling at the handkerchief. The gold disk fell to the bed, touching the chain with a faint clink. “One of the stockmen found it and knew it was yours. We never found the chain. The jeweller cleaned it and they fit together.”

  “You looked for it?” Logan asked, his voice heavy, letting the gold links run through his fingers. Nobody wanted to go back to the charred site and sift through the remnants of a desperate, cheated, depressed old man’s empty life to find a necklace, least of all him.

  “Yes, I looked for it,” Hana said.

  “Hana, I don’t deserve you,” Logan gasped, clutching her to him, his body trembling. As he bent his head to kiss her, Phoenix squawked from the hallway as the phone trilled into her peace and the moment ended, lost in the busyness of life.

  Chapter 13

  The Honda pulled up in the fine gravel outside the hotel as the sun set on a glorious day and nature put on her best show for the returning master. The air reverberated with the chatter of tui and wax-eyed birds and the native bush glowed with myriad shades of green. Even the sunset welcomed Logan home with a vibrancy of citrus orange and yellow.

  Hana noticed her husband grow tense as they covered the last kilometres of bush and undulating New Zealand countryside, his slender fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “I know it hurts, babe,” she said resting her hand on Logan’s knee. “It’s like having your tent pegs ripped up and tossed away in a gale force wind.”

  Logan shrugged as though not caring, but his eyes sparkled with intensity. Hana watched the view whipping past her face. “I remember when my brother wrote and said he and Dad didn’t want me at Mum’s funeral. I was devastated.” Logan’s jaw clenched and Hana’s foolishly ignored the warning signs. “I read about Dad’s death in a church magazine a few years ago. The article lauded his work as a vicar among the poor in inner city Birmingham. It made me feel I never knew him at all.”

  “Please, stop.” Logan’s voice sounded wooden and Hana realised she’d made it about herself, not sure how to undo the damage. His silence forbade further discussion and she sat in disgrace, her mind torturing her with memories of Logan’s mother.

  The house fire killed Reuben long before Miriam sacrificed herself to it and Hana knew the sound of the flames haunted Logan at night. He woke in a panic, sweating and grabbing at her but if he remembered in the morning, he never mentioned it. Hana rubbed her palm across his taut thigh and tried to infuse her husband with strength. “I love you Mr Du Rose,” she whispered and his full lips turned up at the corners.

  They lived at the hotel all summer, trying to cope with the aftermath, but the few weeks away had dulled the memory to a quiet throb. As the hotel came into view in the valley basin, Hana convinced herself she could smell smoke on the gentle breeze and forced her imagination into shut down. “Who was on the phone?” she asked, seeking a distraction. “Before we left; somebody rang.”

  “Oh that. Nobody important,” Logan lied. Anger flitted across his features as he put the handbrake on and turned off the engine. “Can we sit here for a second?” he asked and Hana saw his hands shaking on the steering wheel. She put her fingers over his and it seemed to galvanize him enough to get out and unload their belongings from the car. “We’re losing the light,” he said, assembling the pram on the gravel.

  “I’m hurrying!” Hana muttered, pulling out the travel cot and laying it against the rear bumper. “Loge, can you help me with this, please?” She looked up at her husband, seeing his body tense as he stared at a fixed point in the distance.

  “What’s wrong?” Hana followed his gaze to the long row of motel suites, just visible from the parking area. They were low-slung buildings; one and two bedroom units sharing a wraparound deck which ran the entire length of them and Hana spent the summer redecorating them. “They look good, don’t they?” she remarked, misunderstanding. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you copied my colour scheme with the staff units.” She grimaced, wrestling with the cot as the suitcase fell over in the gravel. “Logan!” she chided, glancing up to see him striding along the lane towards the motel.

  Hana stood up and use
d her hand to shade her eyes, blanching as she recognised Logan’s destination. An olive skinned male leaned on the deck rail with a lighted cigarette in his hand, taking long drags and blowing out smoke. The no-smoking sign reflected the sunset off its shiny surface above his head. “No, no, no!” Hana groaned as she recognised Kane Du Rose. “Not again!”

  Logan grew up hating his maniac cousin, not least for the long, jagged scar which ran the length of his torso. Hana saw the way her husband stalked towards Kane, the similarities between them powerful. Kane’s status increased with the revelation of Logan’s parentage, from cousin to half-brother, but Hana marvelled with their distinctive features that her husband never guessed. Tension rigidified Logan’s square shoulders and Hana panicked as forty-one years of misery bubbled beneath the surface.

  She gathered the sleeping baby from her car seat and followed as quickly as she dared without upsetting her precious cargo. Please not another fight, she begged.

  Hana arrived to hear Logan shout at Kane. “Put the bloody cigarette out! You know you don’t smoke this near the bush!”

  “Piss off,” replied the other man, pushing his Jackaroo hat back on his dark head. The same grey eyes glared from his face and the features were their father’s as the men postured, locked in an old hatred neither of them understood.

  “Put it out, or get off my land!” Logan said, and the set of his body showed he wasn’t backing down. His splayed legs and balled fists set the challenge.

  Hana cringed. It couldn’t end well. Kane threw the lighted cigarette onto the deck and it lay smouldering on the wood, puffing out wasted nicotine. Logan glanced at it, resisting the urge to stamp it out against the overwhelming fire risk in the tinder dry surroundings. Hana observed Kane’s smirk, understanding his desire to watch Logan’s life swallowed up in the same misery as his own.

  “It’s all your fault,” Kane snorted and withdrew a pouch of tobacco from his jeans. He felt in his back pocket for papers and pulled out a lighter instead, throwing it up in the air.

  “What is?” Logan asked through gritted teeth. Hana swallowed.

  “Everything!” Kane hissed. “You think we don’t remember losing our home because of you? We lived in a tent for a year while you played happy families in our dad’s house. I hated you!” He flicked the lighter with a skilled thumb and the orange flamed flared. Hana’s eyes widened in alarm as she saw raw hatred in Kane’s face; over four decades of undimmed bile.

  Kane moved towards the edge of the deck, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “Come on then, te hākoro makau. Let’s settle this, tēina, to the death.” Kane yanked his shirt out of his jeans revealing a tanned, muscular body adorned with tattoos. “Shame,” he smirked, pointing to the genealogy snaking around his upper arm. “Mine’s legitimate.”

  To Hana’s horror, Logan tugged his tee shirt over his head and stood with his fists clenched waiting for his brother to come down to his level. “You’ll lose this pissing contest,” Logan warned, his anger barely controlled.

  The stockmen gathered behind Hana, filtering in as word of the fight ripped around the farm. Hana turned to the man behind her, her voice wavering. “What did Kane say?” she demanded. “What were those Māori words?”

  The man swallowed and looked at the others around him for help. They looked away as one. “Tell her!” The voice was sharp and Hana turned to see Flick standing at a distance. The stockman looked back at him and then faced Hana. “He called him, father’s favourite and brother,” the man gulped, looking apologetic.

  “Oh no!” Hana gasped.

  Kane sneered and walked down the steps as though savouring a moment he dreamed of his entire life. Every fight with Logan brought anger from Reuben, who protected the boy from the other side of the fence. The father watched Logan grow and ached for the woman he loved and the son he could never have. “His obsession with youse killed my father inside years ago, long before the fire licked away the flesh from his bones,” Kane spat. He approached Logan, oozing satisfaction as he saw the result of another battle, the long scar on his side. His eyes yearned to reopen the wound and pull out all the stuff the doctors put back in.

  Hana heard footsteps crunch on the gravel behind her. She whipped round, relieved when she saw Tama’s lean body running towards her. “Tama, stop them!” she shrieked.

  Logan’s nephew looked at the two men squaring up to each other and shook his head. “No way! They’re gonna kill each other! This is long overdue.”

  On the deck, a crowd gathered. Another tall, olive skinned man held a small boy and a woman hid behind him. He looked like Logan and Hana figured he was Nev, the eldest of Reuben’s boys. She looked around at the amassed Du Roses and realised with sinking horror that nobody intended to intervene. The old feud took hold again, threatening another generation with its violence. Hana turned to Tama, tears in her eyes. “Logan stood on that mountain as we named our baby and promised it would be different now!”

  Tama’s shrug highlighted the futility of the situation and a strange anger born of disappointment seized Hana, including her husband in its view. She hoisted Phoenix and dumped her on Tama. “Hold her!” she spat. His face showed surprise, but he took his cousin in his strong arms and jiggled her up and down. Phoenix made no sound, watching her mother with an astounding sense of understanding in her grey eyes.

  With an involuntarily shudder, Hana stepped into the middle of the problem, a tiny dot of female amongst the raging testosterone. “Stop this!” she shouted at both men, turning to eyeball each of them without prejudice. “Enough!”

  Logan’s face registered shock, followed by embarrassment and then anger. His eyes turned the colour of grey stone and he glared at his wife, his demeanour terrifying. Hana turned back to face Kane, just in time to see his fist retract as though to hit her. She understood what he was capable of and her femininity was no stop sign for him. Redeeming herself after the bungled fight with Laval, Hana recalled Bodie’s teaching and shin stomped Kane, dragging the sole of her boot down the front of his leg. Her flimsy dress shimmied around her trim thighs as she landed a neat uppercut on his nose with her left hand, the dull thud echoing in the canopy surrounding them. Her new ring left a bloody line on his nostril and his hands went instantly to his face. “Bloody hell!” came his muffled shout.

  Hana ran up the steps to the deck and stamped on the burning cigarette, giving Nev and his wife a withering glare. “It was only metres in front of you,” she fumed. “Haven’t you seen enough fire for one lifetime?”

  She whirled around, red hair and white dress twirling with the movement as she skipped back down the steps. Passing Kane, Hana leaned dangerously close as he wiped blood and snot onto his bare arm. “My husband told you to leave,” she hissed. “So go!”

  Satisfied but shaking, she snatched her child from Tama and stalked up the driveway without looking back. At the entrance to the car park, Hana heard the group stir behind her in a cacophony of instantaneous chatter. Kane swore viciously and spat on the gravel. “Bloody bitch.”

  Hana stifled a nervous giggle as Tama confessed to the man who raised him, “She hit me with her handbag once.”

  Fearing her actions must have created a rift in her marriage, Hana heard the sound of Logan’s laughter behind her and relief coursed through her veins. But she strode from the scene of her crime anyway, dreading his private admonition for shaming him in public. She left their belongings on the ground next to the Honda, figuring it was Logan’s problem.

  “Anyone home?” she called, carrying Phoenix up the wide front steps and in through the open wooden doors to the lobby. The reception desk was unattended and the place looked deserted. Hana’s mind played tricks on her, convincing her that Miriam would rise from the seating area and seize hold of the grandchild she was so desperate for. But the old lady died hours before Phoenix’s birth, burning to cinders with the ultrasound photograph still in her pocket. “This is too hard,” Hana sighed and covered her eyes with her hand.

  The front
doors activated an alarm in the kitchen and Leslie, the hotel manager greeted Hana with warmth. “Youse are back!” she exclaimed, hugging Hana in a crushing embrace which included the baby. “I swear she’s grown!”

  Leslie was a capable woman from the township who stepped into the breach when Logan’s mother suffered from her debilitating Bi-polar disorder. A large lady of local Māori origins she ruled the Du Rose empire with a rod of iron. Leslie poured herself into the needs of the hotel without reserve and had been around the Du Rose family for enough years to understand their complicated dynamic. She chucked Phoenix under the chin, beaming as the baby moved her head to follow the woman’s movements. “Hello my moko, how are youse doin’?”

  “How’s Alfred?” Hana hedged and Leslie raised her apron up to her eyes and mopped them as tears sprang without warning.

  “Ah, it’s so sad, Miss,” she whispered, “he’s given up.”

  Hana nodded. “He hasn’t contacted Logan at all.”

  “He hasn’t left the apartment.” Leslie nodded. “Of course, he always knew, but he tried in his own way. Miriam cheated on him with his brother and it fractured this family down its core. Then she gave birth to he taitamaiti who resembled Reuben in every way. Alfred raised Logan and what did he get for his pains? His wahine deliberately walks into the fire which took her lover.”

  “I know.” Hana raised her hand to ward off Leslie’s tirade. “I’ll go and see him now.”

  “You’re a good girl.” Leslie patted Hana’s shoulder. “Come see me after.”

  Hana walked up the wide staircase to the upper level, smoothing her palm down the baby’s back. “Come on, let’s go find Grandpa,” she sighed. She wandered along the west wing until she reached a door marked ‘Private’ and pressed down on the handle. It opened, meaning Alfred was home. The heavy fire door clicked shut behind her, and Hana climbed the staircase to a dogleg and then another short flight of steps to the attic level. At the top of the steps the apartment opened out before her, built into the slanted roof, old fashioned and full of character. Partitions denoted the kitchen, a living room and bedroom, jutting out from the wall opposite the windows but not reaching the top of the high ceiling. Hana walked down the long space, traversing the rooms one at a time. She didn’t call out, almost afraid to break the foreboding silence which enveloped the apartment. The baby’s breathing sounded loud in the deafening silence.