by Bowes, K T
“I could hear him talking to her as we came up the mountain. Chattin’ like nothing was wrong. Geez, Hana, I knew then I couldn’t do it and I’d make a mess of everything my mother built.”
Alfred stood up and walked around the room with Phoenix, stopping to look out of the floor to ceiling window. He sounded far away when he spoke again. “I always knew Miriam still loved him. Oh, she tried hard with me but I never possessed her heart. There was no aroha. She got more and more depressed and when Barry died, she thought it was her punishment. When her brother died in England after she travelled all that way to see him and was a few minutes late, it hit her hard. From the day I brought her and the boys back from the airport; she never left this place again. The boys did well at boarding school and they were best off there. Miriam couldn’t look after herself some days, let alone children. Michael won every science prize going and they were both good at sport, but she never saw an award ceremony or sports game. She couldn’t leave. When Logan went to England, a light went out for us and she tried to kill herself twice. I was ashamed of the mess Logan found here when he came back. He had money and he bailed me out. He bought it all and took over running it. Can you see the irony?”
Alfred’s face formed a picture of misery and regret, “It should have belonged to his father in the first place, but there was Logan, buying it back with his own money and rescuing his heritage from my incompetence. Miriam tried to kill herself every time Logan left for England. He never knew. It wasn’t a cry for help, she meant to die. The doctors came here to treat her; she wouldn’t leave. They put her on medication but whether she took it was a lottery. She was always convinced she din’t need it.”
Alfred smiled at the soft bundle in his arms. Phoenix looked up at him through big grey eyes, gnawing on her fist and making sucking noises. “She’s so like Logan,” he whispered. “Before last Christmas, Miriam behaved differently around the time Logan started comin’ back most weekends with you. She was excited about this baby.” He held onto Phoenix as she dropped to sleep, looking down on her with affection. “I knew she’d told Reuben about the baby and they were excited. She would be theirs, not mine. When she started going missing and walking in the bush again, I knew she sneaked to see him and they’d restarted their affair.”
He rocked the baby in his arms, staring through the window at the dense bush which was once his whole life. “That business with the land and Reuben tryin’ to take it from his own son, I’m afraid I enjoyed the irony. Logan was so adamant about fighting it through the courts and that was exactly what Reuben didn’t want. He wanted Logan to meet him so he could drop his bombshell, but Logan was so certain he should take the legal route. I stood back and watched that boy destroy his own father and it was funny at first. But the effect on my wife was terrible.”
Alfred turned back to Hana and handed her daughter over. “I can’t live here anymore, Hana. This apartment, this house – it has too many memories of my inadequacy as a husband, son and owner.”
“Where will you go?” asked Hana, devastated. “This is your home.”
“I don’t know,” Alfred replied, his shoulders slumping and his stoop more pronounced. “Might stay with Michael in Takapuna for a while, then see what I feel like. I don’t know any other work than this.”
“Please don’t go?” Tears ran down Hana’s face. She was with Alfred in the first few hours after his wife’s death, staggering down the mountain together like lost souls clinging to each other. “Logan loves you,” she sniffed, tears rolling off her chin and onto her baby’s head. “You’re the only father he’s ever known.” Hana looked up at Alfred, playing the guilt card, “You’re not the only one struggling with this situation. He lost his mother and Reuben. If you run out on him, he loses everything.”
Hana stood up, feeling angry with the old man, “I’m telling you, Alfred, Logan hates it when people run out on him. I did it once and got away with it, but he made it clear, I can’t repeat it. Alfred think hard about this. Don’t slam a door you might never be able to open again.” Hana moved towards the stairs, cuddling her baby close to her chest. Grappling with the handle with her wrecked hand whilst supporting Phoenix with the other, she turned to meet her father-in-law’s tortured grey eyes. “Don’t you dare leave this property without speaking to me and your son! Both of us, Alfred, not just one of us.” Hana’s voice was cold and he rightly detected the warning in it. He quailed under the disappointment of this beautiful woman. She didn’t realise she’d stepped into his mother’s worn shoes, holding the broken Du Roses together with a fine, gossamer thread.
Hana went downstairs, her heart laden. She loved Alfred but her loyalty to Logan came first. She refused to allow the old man to inflict yet another wound on her husband, not if she could prevent it. Hana sought out Jack in the stable yard. He’d been with the Du Rose family for so long, nobody remembered where he’d come from or when.
Jack’s elderly body was gnarled and bent, but the horses responded to him with care and respect. Hana found him in a stall, sifting through the straw and throwing soiled bedding into a wheelbarrow outside the door. His deafness masked Hana’s approach and she waited until he sensed her there, obscuring the shafts of sunlight and throwing the stable into darkness. The yellow glow shone from behind her, turning her into a fiery, beautiful silhouette.
Jack tipped his cowboy hat and straightened his back, leaning on a pitchfork and cocking his head. Hana resorted to her rusty sign language, resurrected from the fondest of memories of speaking to her profoundly deaf mother. Jack ventured squinting into the light, pushing his hat back on his head with his gnarly forearm. He beckoned to Hana to follow him to his untidy office at the end of the stable block and she turned, noting how Jack moved silently, neither hearing nor generating sound with his quiet steps. Inside the office, he pulled out a seat and shifted papers off it, waving to her to sit down.
Hana’s left wrist felt painful and carting her baby around caused it to leak more through the bandage. Jack held out his arms and demanded the baby, using a series of grunts. Hana relinquished the child, supporting her poor wrist with her other hand in her lap. Jack flopped the sleeping girl over his shoulder, smiling at the obvious surprise in Hana’s face. “Mokopuna,” she thought he mouthed. Grandchild. Hana felt chastised, but he was amused.
Haltingly, Hana explained what Alfred planned to do. “He’s leaving,” she mouthed at the same time as signing. She got a few hand signals wrong, between the British and New Zealand, but Jack was considerate and worked hard to understand her. She finished her tale and held her hands open in front of her, asking him, “What should I do?”
He thought for a moment as Phoenix slept over the shoulder of his aged farm shirt, staring darkly at the faded rug on the concrete office floor. Then his eyes lit up and he motioned with his head for Hana to follow. She trotted behind as he strode across the stable yard and turned the corner to the shed where the farm vehicles lived. He handed Phoenix back and motioned her to get into the old red Jeep parked outside, keys still dangling from the ignition.
The vehicle started roughly and Jack pushed it into gear and revved hard. Then he let out the clutch and it lurched forward. Hana gripped the side rail and the child with shaking fingers, feeling the stitches tug in her wrist. But Jack was a good driver, considerate and gentle, taking care of his precious cargo - one nervous and one soundly asleep.
He drove up to the bunkhouse, a low cedar building where the farm workers lived. It was a strictly male environment and the only women to venture there were the maids who cleaned up after them once a week and then allegedly spent the intervening days recovering from the trauma. To Hana’s surprise, Jack drove past the bunkhouse and continued along a hidden driveway to the right. Confused, Hana peered around her at the thick native bush, interspersed with an incongruous array of brightly coloured hollyhocks.
Jack pulled up outside another low building. It too was constructed from brown cedar and blue metal frames but smaller. Jack relieved H
ana of the baby and helped her out, smiling as she slithered down from the foot bar. “Mon, mon,” he grunted, indicating she should follow him and reaching into his worn jeans to retrieve a door key. Hana followed him into the house, pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness.
Photographs on the wall showed a much younger Jack, standing next to a bride and groom in black and white wedding photos and then holding a series of small babies and children in ascending order. Hana peered at the photographs, recognising the same child in each and turned to ask a question. Jack shooed her away, a curious look on his face as though he didn’t want her to see.
The house was in good order and Jack led her around, showing her the rooms. Hana didn’t understand why, but gave into her English curiosity for nosing around other people’s properties. The house had three decent sized bedrooms, one clearly in use but the other two neatly made up for guests, cold as though unlived in. Jack waved his arms in the doorway of the larger of the two and beamed. “Oh!” It dawned on Hana what the old man meant and her face broke into a wide smile.
“Here,” Jack signed. “Alfred can stay here.”
Chapter 27
Jack and Hana conspired over a cup of tea at the kitchen table at the hotel. Leslie sat with them, understanding nothing of Hana’s signing. The old woman held the baby and watched in amazement as Hana revived her dormant skill. “How’d youse learn that?” she asked.
“My mother was deaf,” Hana replied, between hand gestures.
“Well! I never knowed that!” Leslie said.
The sound of vehicles outside, accompanied by slamming doors and loud male voices drove Leslie to the window, hauling her voluminous frame to stand on tiptoe and peer out. “Them boys is back,” she commented, curiosity lacing her voice. She shot a sly look back at Hana, seeing Logan wiping bloody knuckles on his jeans.
The men disgorged from the vehicles and headed into the large hallway of the hotel, talking amongst themselves. “Did you see that left hook?” someone asked, followed by a peel of laughter.
“Is that what you call it? Loser!”
Tama was first into the kitchen, heading straight back out as Leslie pointed at his work boots. “Youse don’t clump around in here in them dirty boots!” she ordered. He obviously passed the message on to those behind him, as there was a delay before eleven men in socks padded into the kitchen. Hana looked for Logan, filled with relief when he came in last, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. She smiled at him and he winked in return.
The men were flushed and excited, tucking into juice and platters of fruit and muffins which Leslie produced from the counter one-handed. Tama washed his hands and took Phoenix. “Hey, sis,” he whispered to the baby. “Ya miss me?”
The child sought his eyes and beamed, her lips moving in response as she cooed and kicked her legs.
Jack nodded conspiratorially at Hana and stood to join the men, snatching up fruit with enthusiasm. Logan saw the exchange and narrowed his grey eyes, sitting himself next to his wife and biting into an apple. Hana checked his face with obvious concern and he gave her a warning look. “I’m fine,” he said, leaning so he could whisper in her ear. It tickled and Hana squeaked, the smile leaving her lips as she noticed the knuckles of his left hand. She made a grab for it and Tama pointed in their direction.
“Enough, you two!” he chastised, turning away with a smirk as Logan glared at him. The men stared and Hana blushed and bit her lip, fighting the urge to snigger.
“Where have youse lot been?” Leslie asked as the men demolished the food. The room became silent as all eyes turned to Logan. He shook his head imperceptibly and when nobody answered, Leslie shrugged and busied herself with the clearing up.
“Thanks boys,” Logan said, as the last muffin case disappeared into the dustbin. “Good job.”
The men nodded and left the kitchen in single file, retrieving their work boots from the front door step. Jack left too. The farm vehicles moved off the driveway, but the Honda remained at a jaunty angle in front of the steps. Tama eyed the expression on Logan’s face and made an excuse to leave. “I’ll take Phoe outside and show her the roses,” he said, moving towards the door at speed.
Logan stood up and threw his apple core in the dustbin, awkwardness shrouding him as he viewed Leslie’s back. He walked behind his wife, slipping his hands underneath her hair and gathering it into a pony tail. He moved the tresses from hand to hand, feeling its silkiness on his course skin. “Leslie,” he said, “come and sit down.”
Leslie turned from the sink, her movements laboured at the seriousness of his tone. She hadn’t slept for the last few nights, hearing noises outside and fearing the worst. Her mattress on the floor was uncomfortable and hard to get on and off and now she anticipated losing her job. “I know I’m not the missus,” she began. “I’ll try harder, I promise. I really need this job, Mr Logan. Please can you give me another chance?”
“It’s not about your work, Leslie,” Hana said, patting the seat next to her. “It’s about the debt collectors.”
Leslie remained standing, posturing with her arms outstretched. “Please don’t finish me because of them! It’s ok you sayin’ I don’t have to give them any more money, but the fact is I owe it. I don’t have much choice. They’re frightening men, they’re renowned for not letting up on a debt and I’m powerless against them.”
Logan reached into his pocket and threw two fifty dollar notes onto the table between them. Misunderstanding, Leslie’s eyes widened and she flapped her arms in panic. “No! No, please don’t finish me?”
“It’s the money I gave you for babysitting my daughter,” Logan said. “With their apologies.”
“They took it,” Leslie said, her bottom lip trembling. “But the debt still grew.”
“Well now they’ve sent it back,” Logan said, his voice soft. “Just sit down, woman!”
Leslie sat gingerly. “All right,” she said, her brow furrowed with worry.
“The boys and I paid a visit to the debt collectors,” Logan said. “They won’t be bothering you again.”
Leslie’s eyes gaped and her mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. Hana could see she didn’t believe him. “Na,” she said sadly, “their kind don’t go away.”
Logan stopped playing with Hana’s hair and leaned over her on the table. His shirt front touched the top of Hana’s head and she saw the tautness of the muscles in his arms either side of her. His scuffed knuckles bled steadily. The debt collectors must have taken some persuading.
“They won’t be back!” Logan said with certainty. “They’re indisposed.” Leslie’s jaw dropped again and Logan said, “We’ll drive you home after the baby’s next feed. Then Hana can help you pack and move you into one of the motel units. Your landlord’s not expecting you back.”
Hana looked surprised. They didn’t discuss that part, but Logan knew the township and Hana trusted his decision. She tipped her head back, looking into his face and trying to read what happened. His raised eyebrows gave her the answer. There was a fight.
Hana reached out and touched his bruised knuckles, wanting to take care of him and spare him pain. It wasn’t possible. His haemophilia would make the bruising worse and the healing process inadequate.
Leslie didn’t cope well with the news of her imminent move. She put her head in her hands and Hana heard her crying. She slipped from her chair, crouching next to the distraught Māori woman and put her arms around her. “It’s ok, Leslie. This is good, isn’t it?”
Logan bit his lip in confusion, seeing his good deed in a different light and doubt clouding his grey eyes. He ran his hands through his hair looking unnerved, leaving it to Hana to mop up the mess he’d made.
“I’m all good, Miss.” Leslie stood up and settled her uniform dress over her ample hips. She reached into her apron pocket for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes and nose with its frail remains. Logan poked around in his jeans pocket and produced the ever-present-handkerchief, a fond legacy of his mother’s sense of etiquett
e. He held it out and she took it, mopping at her face.
Like many of the whānau’s men, weeping women were viewed by Logan as potentially dangerous. The safest place to witness a woman in tears was from a distance; unless it was Hana, then the rules were different. Hana caught Logan’s nervous glance and her heart softened. He looked so vulnerable and guilty, she held her hand out to him. “It’s all right love,” she said, “you did what you thought was best.”
“And I’ll be forever grateful,” Leslie said. She wrapped her arms around Logan, her body so short she hugged his lower torso and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You’re a good boy,” she said.
Logan peered at the top of her head with a look of discomfort. His arms hung out by his sides and he appealed to Hana with his eyes. Leslie sniffed. “Youse never did like bein’ touched, did you?”
