by Bowes, K T
The kitchen was filthy with plates and cups stacked on the draining board. It was hard to tell if they were clean or dirty, perhaps a mixture of both. Clothes spread over the living room floor and a blanket on the sofa suggested Alfred slept there, instead of his marital bed. Hana walked towards the bedroom Alfred and Miriam shared ever since Logan bought the failing hotel and renovated it, fifteen years ago. Her footsteps grew heavy and slow as she dreaded what she might find. She regretted bringing the baby with her. Level with the last partition wall, Hana peered around it, comforted by the sound of Phoenix sucking her hand. “Alfred?”
The old man stood at the floor to ceiling window in the gable end of the building, looking out with glassy eyes. The window gave a spectacular view of the landscape as it stretched up into the bush, guarding the boundary line and the track to Reuben’s burnt out house. Something about his timeless stance told Hana it was a favourite pass time.
“Alfred?” Hana she said again, not wanting to alarm him.
“They never stopped,” he said, without turning around. “Miriam and him. Forty years and they kept it going. She should’ve married him, not me.” His breath rattled in his lungs.
“We’ve come home to see you, Alfred,” Hana soothed. “Come and sit with us a while.”
Alfred snorted. “You once said you didn’t understand why Reuben denied Tama’s mother access to her baby after she left Kane’s violent fists? Does it all make sense to you now?” Cruelty laced his voice. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a child for a child. Tama was ours and Reuben kept him in exchange for Logan.”
Hana nodded. “It makes sense. Michael once told me Reuben already lost a child and refused to lose another to this side of the fence. With hindsight, I see he meant Logan.”
The old man turned slowly and Hana hid her shock at how cold and lifeless his eyes were. Thin and stooped, he’d lost half his body weight in the few weeks since Logan left. The man who ran the farm in Logan’s absence and filled his days with physical hard labour was gone, receded into himself as an opt out from life. “Hey Grandpa,” she said. “Look who’s here. Somebody came all the way to see you.”
Alfred looked at the baby with a smile before the shutters came down over his heart and he turned away. “I’m not her poppa,” he said, his voice dripping with bitterness. “He’s dead!”
The spiteful slight to Phoenix made Hana react in defence of her daughter. The same anger and indignation she experienced before Kane and Logan rose again and she retorted harshly. “Don’t you dare take it out on her!” Her tone shocked Alfred awake and he ran his hand through his hair and over his bearded face. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Get a shower and shave,” said Hana roughly. “Then get downstairs. Your granddaughter would like a cuddle.”
Clattering down the wooden steps to the floor below, Hana raged within herself, consumed by anger at the selfishness of the Du Rose males. Short-sightedness and pride knocked loudly at the door of their whānau, threatening to destroy it “And what do our men do? Posture and prance like cockerels and fail to defend themselves against the enemy outside,” Hana muttered. She shook her head in annoyance and stomped to Logan’s childhood room, praying for strength and wisdom to deal with him. Hana Du Rose put her God into the situation as she marched along the hallway, whether the men in the household wanted him there or not.
At the bedroom door, Hana halted and tried to remember the number for the keypad. She pressed the first two numbers and the door wrenched open under her hand. Logan held it open wordlessly. His tee shirt was back on his body but not tucked in. Sweat stained his armpits and the centre of his back and the contents of the Honda were spewed over the rug. Ignoring Hana, he continued assembling the travel cot, swearing as the catch on the frame kept snapping shut. “Pissing thing!” In his frustration, Logan threw it across the room. He sucked his bleeding index finger Hana observed him warily, clutching her baby. “You cut yourself?” she asked, watching his Factor 8 deficient blood pool and drip.
Phoenix made sucking noises and put her hands in her mouth, whimpering as Hana failed to take the hint. “Ok, girlie,” Hana crooned, sidestepping her husband and sitting in the chair nearest the ranch slider. She turned the seat so she could drink in the beautiful view outside during the half hour of inactivity and settled her daughter to feed, ignoring the haemophiliac bleeding onto the floorboards.
Logan hung around, alternately sucking his finger and moving the luggage one handed. “Bloody thing!” He kicked the travel cot out of his way, reluctant to go to war against it again and lose. Hana heard the sound of tumbling objects as Logan upended the bottom drawer of the dressing table and inspected it as a suitable bed.
He didn’t speak to Hana as he stepped through the ranch slider and tipped the empty drawer over the balcony, banging his palm against its upturned bottom to remove residual dust and debris. The tall Māori messed around with the drawer before leaning it against the balcony rails and resting his elbows on the balustrade. He was lean and fit and Hana admired his neat backside as he sulked, his weight on his left leg and his his chin on his hands. He raised his arms above his head once and his tee shirt rode up, exposing the scar tissue on his olive midriff. Hana’s heart softened. Logan returned to the bedroom carrying the drawer and fiddled around putting blankets in it to cushion the baby from the hard sides.
Hana changed Phoenix’s nappy while she snoozed and sat back down to feed her more. By the time she finished, the little girl was comatose and her tummy as fat as a well-fed puppy’s. Hana swaddled her up in a thin cloth blanket and laid her in the drawer on top of the dressing table. “Is she staying on here?” she whispered, kissing the tiny cheek.
“Yeah. White tails,” Logan replied grumpily and Hana nodded. Although the hotel was sprayed every six months, white tail spiders gave a nasty bite and web-less, this breed hunted by marching boldly across the floor. Hana propped her daughter on her side and smiled indulgently as she snored on the dressing table.
“She sounds like you,” she joked, darting a glance at her cross husband. Logan sat on the edge of the bed, peering between his knees at a knot in the wooden floorboards and tapping the heels of his cowboy boots on the hard surface. It was vaguely annoying, but Hana ignored it, only reacting when he stood up and strode towards the door.
“Oh no, you don’t!” she hissed, running after him and standing between him and his escape route. “I’m tired of you dealing with family stuff this way. Stay here and talk like a man!” Hana stood her ground, feeling more powerful than she ever had in her marriage. Logan looked at his bleeding finger like a child and Hana took his hand, examining the cut. “Fine!” she said. “I’ll sort this out and then you’ll talk to me!”
She went with him to the bathroom, washing it under the tap. The water made it bleed more at first, slowing as colder water fed through the plumbing and stemmed it to a trickle. Hana found the packet of fabric plasters which she carried in her bag since discovering Logan’s well-kept secret about his haemophilia. She wrapped one of the larger ones tightly around his finger and he looked at it as though it was an alien. “Want me to draw a smiley face on it?” she asked.
Logan smirked despite himself and Hana jabbed him in the ribs, making him grunt. “Where’s your spray?” she demanded and he pointed towards the suitcase. Mothering him, Hana fetched it and waited while he snorted the vile liquid. He looked conflicted and Hana saw distinct similarities between the lonely old man upstairs torturing himself and the handsome man in front of her, doing exactly the same. “I realise getting between you and Kane was silly, Logan, but I won’t stand holding your daughter while her daddy knocks the snot out of his half-brother.”
Logan opened his mouth in protest but Hana held her hand up, her fingers touching his chest. “Loge, you were in the right. You’ve been kind letting them stay on site, but the idiot was deliberately taking advantage and you fell for it. He wanted a fight. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you though, I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”
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Logan’s eyes narrowed and Hana appreciated how intimidating he could appear as he towered over her. He ran his thumbs gently along her jaw and sent his fingers up through the hair at the back of her neck. She shivered as his fingers tightened and he noticed. “You were scary,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.” Another set of soft kisses rained on her cheeks and face, a paradox to the threat in his voice. “And if you ever do anything that stupid again, I’ll be really dirty at you!”
“Logan?” Hana interrupted him, realising something with sudden clarity as he tugged at the buttons at the front of her dress. “Caroline’s here.”
“What?” His head shot up and dismay flashed in his eyes. “She can’t be. I told her no!” His lip curled nastily and his face set in that dreadful hardness.
Hana faltered, fear budding in her heart. “You’ve seen her?” She steeled herself, upset he didn’t mention it. “Stay here with Phoenix; I’ll sort it.” She stalked from the room before her husband could stop her, knowing he couldn’t leave the child alone.
Hana ran and found Tama. The teenager’s eyes lit up with admiration, having revised his opinion of his uncle’s new wife. He leapt up to congratulate her. “You were...”
Hana batted away his misplaced awe. “Don’t be silly, Tama, We both know what he was smoking. If he hadn’t drugged himself, he would have flattened me. Violence isn’t the answer!” She ignored the young man’s open smirk. “Find Flick. Ask him to evict Kane before he does any more deliberate damage. Wait!” she added, halting Tama as he ran towards the door. “Describe Caroline for him, please. I want her off the property within the next half an hour. She must not come back!”
Hana returned to the bedroom, her brow furrowed and paused outside the door. She waited a moment for her hands to stop shaking and made sure she had her facts straight. As she strode onto the deck to put out the lighted cigarette, she spied a pair of familiar stilettos inside Kane’s unit. Too riled to register what she’d seen, calm brought recollection and Hana knew who they belonged to. Hana questioned her reasons for sending Flick, knowing it was his terrifying lack of conscience which proved the draw card. Yet there was a softer side to him. On the night of Phoenix’s birth, Flick drove the old ute carefully down the mountain, ensuring mother and baby got to safety at speed in the darkness. Hana wondered if he would take orders from a woman he actively pursued without mercy the previous year, but took the risk. She took a quick breath and then knocked on the bedroom door. “It’s Hana.”
Logan opened it with worry etched into his face. He wasn’t used to having someone else taking control, least of all his wife. “What happened?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter; it’s dealt with.” Hana shrugged. “What did you want to tell me about the hotel?” She sat on the bed, hiding her trembling hands underneath her bottom.
“What?” Logan ran a hand through his fringe.
“A couple of nights ago, you wanted to talk about the hotel but we didn’t get to finish the conversation.”
Realisation dawned on Logan’s face. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about the land at the top of the mountain.” He halted, looking suddenly shy, sitting next to Hana on the bed. He took her hand and she panicked. “No, sorry, it’s nothing bad,” he promised. “I’ve got planning permission to build up there but I need to talk to you before I start anything definite.”
“Oh. Wow.” It was the first time Logan sought her input on anything to do with his land or business. Hana wrapped her fingers around his, pleasure making her face flush. “What’s the plan?” she asked.
Logan became animated, his face lighting up. “I want to build a house,” he said and his eyes shone. “You don’t want to live here permanently, but I want something of our own we can live in when we visit. An architect’s drawn up plans and I’d love you to help me design it and change anything you don’t like.” He stopped and hung his head. Hana sensed what it cost this independent man to share with her and smiled.
“How exciting. I’d love to help. Maybe when it’s built, we could get your uncle’s old company in to help us decorate it.”
Logan breathed out with relief and gratitude. Talk of the house brought his earlier behaviour into sharp contrast with his grandmother’s wishes. “Kuia said I was to build a house and I know she meant a family. Sorry about before,” he conceded. Hurting Kane would have played into his half-brother’s stained hands. “Thanks for stopping me. You shamed both of us but also prevented the family curse poisoning our daughter’s generation. Enough harm’s already been done.”
Logan cuddled Hana, feeling her tremble under his hands. “I hate violence,” she muttered into his chest.
Her husband grinned above her head, remembering the swishing white material of her dress and the sexy legs above the long tan boots. “That was a decent hit,” he replied, failing to keep the laughter from his voice. “Just don’t ever use it on me.”
“Behave then!” Hana rebuked and Logan chuckled.
Chapter 14
Logan responded to a knock on the door, finding Alfred bracing himself against the doorframe outside.
“Hey, come in, Grandpa,” Hana called, pleased to note he’d showered, shaved and cleaned himself up. He was alarmingly thin and she wondered if he was sick in a permanent way.
“Hi,” Alfred said, hesitant to touch Logan, uncharacteristic of the father who usually pulled his son into a loving hongi. Logan picked up the old man’s reticence and carried on as though nothing had changed. He embraced Alfred with enthusiasm, pressing his forehead to the old man’s and looking deep into his grey eyes.
“Hi Dad,” Logan said. Hana noticed her husband’s brows knit with worry as Alfred’s bones felt unbearably sharp through his clothing, recovering enough to reward him with a smile when the welcome was over.
The old man smiled at the makeshift cot on the dresser, standing over the child and drinking in her sweet countenance, seeing his wife of over four decades in the sleeping girl’s face. “She’ll be beautiful,” he said longingly. “Like...” He stopped himself in time.
Logan stared, fists bunching and flexing as he sifted through his internal difficulties. Hana stood at the window pretending not to notice, occupying herself with the view and people watching. Guests checked out of the hotel, carrying their bags to the car park and looking back as though not wanting to leave the pretty oasis. Hana sensed danger and then she saw her.
The woman parked her car and strode across the gravel, a look of utter hatred in her attractive face. The high heeled shoes which Hana spotted outside Kane’s unit stamped through the gritty surface, their red heels catching in the stones. But the wearer glided like a swan whose hidden feet negotiated fast currents and debris without affecting its movement above the water.
Hana’s insides did a flip-flop of fear and then she righted herself, squaring her shoulders and giving herself an internal shake. The bible said, ‘For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.’
“I won’t be a minute.” Hana strode across the room and heard the door click behind her as she ran down the corridor, determined to stop Caroline before she did further damage in the tortured household. She ran down the back spiral staircase, almost tripping in her hurried descent.
Caroline entered the lobby and the ting of the bell sounded at reception.
“Madam, you can’t go down there!” The male receptionist set off in pursuit as Caroline’s high heels clicked on the tiles in the hallway. “That’s private!” he exclaimed as her hand settled on the kitchen door.
The man turned towards Hana as she arrived behind him, retreating at the authoritative jerk of her head. Caroline pushed the door. “Caroline!” Hana shouted.
The woman turned towards her with an instant sneer etched onto her face. It made her features distorted and ugly. She dropped her hand and advanced on Hana. “I need to see Logan. Where is he?”
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“Not this again!” Hana took a deep breath and dragged her failing courage out of her stomach. Power, love and a sound mind. She realised Caroline possessed none of those attributes. “You’re not seeing my husband.” Unexpected calm radiated from Hana.
Caroline’s jaw worked beneath her cheeks and the woman advanced, heels clacking and echoing in the hall. “You won’t stop me,” she said with a spiteful laugh, “he wants me.”
Hana shook her head, her calm rattling Caroline as she tapped a nervous stiletto. “He doesn’t Caroline. And you know that inside.”
“He’s my soul mate,” the blonde hissed nastily.
Hana observed the brokenness of the woman; the deep cracks in her soul which leaked out misery and bile. “No,” she said, sane despite the provocation. “He’s always been mine; ever since he was fourteen years old. And God doesn’t make mistakes.”
Caroline jumped as though Hana struck her. She’d expected hysterics and threats from her opponent, not this deadly calm woman who held all the aces in this nasty game. Hana opened her arms, hands palm upwards in placation to the viper spitting venom into the atmosphere, but it was not the action of a frightened woman but a dominant one. “We all want love,” Hana said, “Someone loves even you.”
“Don’t give me your religious crap!” Caroline spat. “It’s not true!”
Hana shrugged. “I wouldn’t waste my time, Caroline. You don’t want to hear it. Can’t you understand, we’re getting too old for this? Life’s ticking by and we can’t afford to waste a single minute. The man who really loves you chews himself up every day, destroying himself because you don’t see. Open your eyes. Real love is not about being powerful, it’s about rendering yourself powerless.”
