by Sarah Lark
She gulped the brandy down.
“And as for Paul…I’m sorry.”
Gerald Warden crossed the wilds as though possessed. His anger at young Ruben O’Keefe raged within him. Until that night, he had never seen Fleurette as a woman. She had always been a child to him, Gwyneira’s little daughter, sweet but of little interest. But the little girl had blossomed; now she threw her head back just as proudly as seventeen-year-old Gwyneira had back then, and she talked back with just as much self-confidence. And Ruben, that little shit, had dared to get close to her. A Warden! His property.
Gerald calmed down somewhat when he arrived at the O’Keefes’ farm and compared their shabby barns, stables, and house with his own. Howard could not possibly think that his granddaughter would ever want to marry into this.
He could see a light burning in the house’s windows. Howard’s horse and mule stood in the paddock in front of the house. So that bastard was at home. And his backsliding son too, for Gerald now saw three silhouettes at the table inside the hut. He carelessly threw his reins around a fence post and took his gun out of its case. A dog started barking as he approached the house, but no one inside reacted.
Gerald flung the door open. As expected, he saw Howard, Helen, and their son at the table where the evening stew had just been served. All three of them stared at the door in shock, too surprised to react. Using the advantage of surprise, Gerald stormed into the house and knocked over the table as he leaped on Ruben.
“Cards on the table, boy! What did you do to my granddaughter?”
Ruben wrenched in his grip. “Mr. Warden…can’t we talk…with each other like reasonable people?”
Gerald saw red. His own unfilial son would have reacted the same way to such a charge. He punched. His left knocked Ruben halfway across the room. Helen screamed. In the same moment, Howard struck Gerald—although to lesser effect. Howard had just returned from the pub in Haldon and was no longer sober either. Gerald shrugged off Howard’s blow without any trouble and turned his attention to Ruben again, who was picking himself up off the ground with a bloody nose.
“Mr. Warden, please…”
Howard put Gerald in a headlock before he could attack his son again.
“All right, fine. Let’s talk like reasonable people,” Howard hissed. “What’s going on to make you barge in here, Warden, laying into my son?”
Gerald tried to turn around to look at him. “Your damned shit of a son seduced my granddaughter. That’s what’s going on!”
“You did what?” Howard released Gerald and turned to Ruben. “Tell me here and now that isn’t true.”
Ruben’s face spoke volumes, just as Fleur’s had.
“Of course I didn’t seduce her,” he said, which was true. “It’s just…”
“Just what? You just took a bit of her virginity?” Gerald thundered.
Ruben was pale as a ghost. “I have to ask you not to talk about Fleur in that manner,” he said evenly but firmly. “Mr. Warden, I love your granddaughter. I’m going to marry her.”
“You’re going to do what?” Howard boomed. “I can just see the little witch turning your head.”
“Under no circumstances will you marry Fleurette, you little fucker!” Gerald raged.
“Mr. Warden! Perhaps we could find a way to express ourselves less crudely,” Helen said in an effort to calm him.
“I will marry Fleurette no matter what, regardless of what either of you has to say about it.” Ruben spoke calmly and full of conviction.
Howard seized his son and held him by his shirt just as Gerald had done. “You’ll shut your mouth, boy! And you, Warden, get out of here. Now. And you keep a grip on that little whore of a granddaughter. I don’t want to see her around here anymore, understand? Make that clear to her or I’ll do it myself, and then she won’t be seducing anyone.”
“Fleurette is not—”
“Mr. Warden!” Helen positioned herself between the two men. “Please go. Howard doesn’t mean it. And as for Ruben…all of us here have the greatest respect for Fleurette. The children have perhaps exchanged a few kisses, but—”
“You’ll never touch Fleurette again!” Gerald moved to strike Ruben again, but the boy hung so helplessly in his father’s viselike grip that he desisted.
“He won’t touch her again; I promise you that. And now out! I’ll sort it out with him, Warden; you can count on it.”
Helen suddenly did not know whether she really wanted Gerald to go. Howard’s voice sounded so threatening that she seriously feared for Ruben’s safety. Howard had already been angry before Gerald appeared. He’d had to herd the young rams together again when he came home because Helen and Ruben’s attempt at restoring the fence had not checked the animals’ desire for freedom. Howard had been able to herd the rams back into the pen before they fled back into the highlands, but this additional task had not improved his mood. Gerald cast a murderous glance at Ruben as he left the hut.
“So you’ve been doing it with the little Warden girl,” Howard established. “And you’ve got big plans, is that right? Just met Greenwood’s Maori boy at the pub, and he congratulated me that the university in Dunedin wants to take you on. For law school! Oh, you hadn’t heard? Letters like that you have sent to your dear Uncle George! But I’ll beat that out of you now, my boy! Be sure to count along, Ruben O’Keefe; you’ve certainly learned that much. And law, that’s the study of justice, right? Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. That’s the justice we’ll be studying now. This here is for the sheep!”
He struck Ruben a blow. “And this here is for the girl!” A hard right. “This is for Uncle George!” A hard left. Ruben fell to the floor.
“For law school!” Howard kicked him in the ribs. Ruben let out a moan.
“And for thinking you’re better than me!” Another brutal kick, this time in the kidneys. Ruben curled up. Helen tried to pull Howard away.
“And this here is for you because you always take the little shit’s side!” Howard landed his next blow on Helen’s upper lip. She fell, but still tried to protect her son.
Howard seemed to be coming to his senses. The blood on Helen’s face sobered him up.
“You two aren’t worth it…you…” he stammered and teetered over to the cupboard in the kitchen where Helen kept the whiskey. The good kind, not the cheap stuff. She liked to keep it on hand for guests; George Greenwood often needed a drink when he was done with Howard. Howard took several long gulps before putting it back. Yet when he moved to close the cupboard, he changed his mind and took it with him.
“I’m sleeping in the stables,” he announced. “I can’t look at you anymore.”
Helen sighed with relief when he disappeared outside.
“Ruben…is it bad? Are you…”
“Everything’s OK, Mother,” Ruben whispered, but his appearance indicated otherwise. He bled from cuts above his eye and lip; his nosebleed had worsened, and it was difficult for him to sit up. His left eye was swollen shut. Helen helped him up.
“Come, lie down in bed. I’ll fix you up,” she offered. But Ruben shook his head.
“I won’t lie in his bed,” he said firmly, dragging himself to the narrow pallet next to the fireplace where he liked to sleep in winter. In the summer he had taken to sleeping in the stables so as not to bother his parents.
He was shaking when Helen came to him with a bowl of water and a rag to wash his face. “It’s nothing, Mother…my God, I hope nothing happens to Fleur.”
Helen dabbed the blood carefully from his lip. “Nothing will happen to Fleur. But how did he find out about it? I should have kept an eye on that Paul.”
“They would have figured it out eventually,” Ruben said. “And then…I’m leaving here tomorrow. Prepare yourself for that. I won’t stay in this house another day.” He gestured in Howard’s direction.
“You’ll still be recovering tomorrow,” Helen said. “And we shouldn’t upset things. George…”
“Uncle George can’t hel
p us anymore, Mother. I’m not going to Dunedin. I’m going to Otago. There’s gold there. I…I’ll find some, and then I’ll come back for Fleur. And you too. He…he can’t be allowed to hit you anymore!”
Helen said nothing more. She rubbed her son’s wounds with a cooling salve and sat by him until he fell asleep. As she sat there, she thought of all the nights she had spent by his side, when he was sick or had been frightened by a nightmare and wanted to have her nearby. Ruben had always brought her joy. But now Howard had destroyed even that. Helen did not sleep that night.
She wept.
3
Fleurette too wept that night in her sleep. She, Gwyneira, and Paul all had heard Gerald return late that evening, but no one had the courage to ask the old man what had happened. In the morning Gwyneira was the only one who came down to breakfast as usual. Gerald was sleeping off his hangover, and Paul did not dare show himself unless there was a chance of getting his grandfather on his side for the purpose of lifting his house arrest. Fleurette cowered, terrified and listless, in a corner of her bed, holding Grace tightly to her as her mother had once held Cleo, plagued by the most horrible thoughts. Gwyneira found her there after Andy McAran had informed her of an unannounced visitor in the stables. Gwyneira made certain that nothing was brewing with Gerald or Paul before she slipped into her daughter’s room.
“Fleurette? Fleurette, it’s nine in the morning! What are you still doing in bed?” Gwyneira shook her head in admonishment, as though it were a normal day and Fleur had merely slept past the time she needed to leave for school. “Get dressed now, and fast. There’s someone waiting for you in the horse stables. And he can’t wait forever.”
She smiled conspiratorially at her daughter.
“Someone’s there.” Fleurette leaped up. “Who? Is it Ruben, Mummy? Oh if it’s Ruben, if he’s alive…”
“Of course he’s alive, Fleurette. Your grandfather is a man quick to make wild threats and use his fists. But he’s not a killer. At least not at first—if he bumps into the boy here in our barn, though, I can’t make any promises.” Gwyneira helped Fleur slip into a riding dress.
“And you’ll make sure he doesn’t come out, right? And Paul.” Fleurette seemed to be almost as afraid of her little brother as her grandfather. “He’s such a brat! You don’t really think that we…”
“I think the boy is far too intelligent to take the risk of getting you pregnant,” Gwyneira said drily. “And you are just as smart as he is, Fleurette. Ruben wants to study in Dunedin, and you must be a few years older before you can even think of a wedding. The opportunities for a young lawyer who is quite possibly going to work for George Greenwood are a lot better than for a farm boy whose father lives hand to mouth. Keep that in mind when you meet with him this morning. Although…from what Andy McAran says, he’s hardly in any condition to get anyone pregnant.”
Gwyneira’s last comment came close to Fleur’s darkest fears. Instead of looking for her waxed coat—it was pouring outside—she hastily threw a shawl over her shoulders and then hurried downstairs. She had not brushed her hair, as untangling it probably would have taken hours. Generally she liked to comb it every evening and braid it before bed, but she had not had the energy for it the night before. Now it fluttered wildly around her narrow face, but to Ruben O’Keefe, she was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Fleurette, on the other hand, was horrified by the sight of her beau. The boy reclined on a bale of hay. Every movement still caused him pain. His face was swollen, one eye was shut, and the cuts still wept.
“Oh God, Ruben! Did my grandfather do that?” Fleurette wanted to embrace him, but Ruben pushed her away.
“Careful,” he groaned. “My ribs…I don’t know if they’re broken or just bruised…either way, it hurts like hell.”
Fleurette embraced him more gently. She lowered herself down beside him and laid his beaten face on her shoulder.
“The devil take him!” she cursed. “I thought he didn’t kill anyone, but he almost succeeded with you.”
Ruben shook his head. “It wasn’t Mr. Warden. It was my father. Although they almost went at it in perfect harmony. The two of them may be archenemies, but with regard to the two of us, they couldn’t agree more. I’m going away, Fleur. I can’t take it anymore.”
Fleurette looked at him, stunned. “You’re going? You’re leaving me?”
“Should I wait here for them to kill us both? We can’t keep meeting in secret forever—especially not with that little snitch you have in your house. It was Paul who sold us out, wasn’t it?”
Fleur nodded. “And he’d do it again too. But you…you can’t leave without me. I’m coming!” She squared herself decisively and already seemed to be packing her bags in her mind. “You, wait here; I don’t need much. We can be off within the hour.”
“Oh, Fleur, that won’t work. But I’m not leaving you either. I’ll think of you every minute, every second. I love you. But there’s no way I can take you with me to Otago.” Ruben stroked her awkwardly while Fleur thought feverishly. If she fled with him, they would have to ride at top speed, as Gerald would no doubt send a search party after them as soon as he noticed her absence. But there was no way Ruben could ride quickly in his current state…and what was he talking about Otago for?
“I think you mean Dunedin?” she inquired, kissing his forehead.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Ruben explained. “We always thought your grandfather would permit us to marry after I was an attorney. But after last night, it’s clear to me that he’ll never give us permission. If something is to come of us, I need to earn money. Not a little, but a fortune. And in Otago they’ve found gold.”
“You want to try panning for gold?” Fleur asked, surprised. “But…who’s to say whether you’ll find any?”
Deep down Ruben knew that was a good question since he didn’t have the slightest idea how to begin his quest. But, what the hell, others had managed it.
“In the area around Queenstown, everyone finds gold,” he persisted. “There are nuggets as big as your fingernails.”
“And they just litter the ground?” Fleurette asked skeptically. “Don’t you need a claim? Equipment? Do you have any money, Ruben?”
Ruben nodded. “A little. I saved some. Uncle George paid me last year for helping out in his office and for interpreting with the Maori when Reti wasn’t available. It’s not a lot, of course.”
“I don’t have anything,” Fleurette said, concerned. “Otherwise, I’d give it to you. But what about a horse? How do you intend to make it to Lake Wakatipu?”
“I have my mother’s mule,” Ruben explained.
Fleurette raised her eyes to heaven. “Nepumuk? You want to take Nepumuk over the mountains? How old is he now? Twenty-five? That’s impossible, Ruben. Take one of our horses!”
“So your grandfather has me hunted down as a horse thief?” Ruben asked bitterly.
Fleurette shook her head. “Take Minette. She’s little but strong. And she belongs to me. No one can stop me from lending her to you. But you have to take care of her, do you hear me? And you have to bring her back to me.”
“You know I’ll come back just as soon as I can.” Ruben struggled to his feet and took Fleurette in his arms. She tasted his blood when he kissed her. “I’ll come for you. As…as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow. I’ll find gold, and then I’ll come for you. You do believe me, don’t you, Fleurette?”
Fleurette nodded and returned his embrace as tenderly and carefully as she could. She did not doubt his love. If only she could be as sure of his future fortune.
“I love you, and I’ll wait for you,” she said quietly.
Ruben kissed her again. “I’ll have to be quick. There aren’t many gold seekers in Queenstown yet. It’s still something of a secret. So there should still be some good claims and plenty of gold and—”
“But you will come back, even if you don’t find gold, right?” Fleurette said, wanting to be sure. “Then we’ll think of som
ething else.”
“I’ll find gold!” Ruben insisted. “Because there’s no other way. But now I have to go. I’ve been here much too long already. If your grandfather sees me…”
“My mother’s on the lookout. Stay here, Ruben, I’ll saddle Minette for you. You can hardly stand up, after all. The best thing would be for you to find a place to hide so that you can recover. We could—”
“No, Fleurette. No more risks, no long good-byes. I’ll make it; it’s not half as bad as it looks. Just see that you get the mule back to Mother somehow.” Ruben limped over, as though he were going to lend Fleur a hand with the saddling. Just as she was about to bridle the horse, Kiri appeared in the doorway, two stuffed-full saddlebags in her hands. She smiled at Fleurette.
“Here, this is from your mother. For the boy who isn’t really here.” Kiri pretended not to see Ruben as she’d been instructed. “A little food for the road and some warm clothes left by your father. She thinks he’ll need them.”
Ruben was about to refuse them, but the Maori woman did not even acknowledge he was there as she set the bags down and then turned to go. Fleurette secured the bags on the saddle, then led Minette out.
“Take good care of him,” she whispered to the mare. “And bring him back to me!”
Ruben struggled into the saddle but still managed to lean down to Fleurette to kiss her good-bye.
“How long will you love me?” he asked quietly.
She smiled. “Forever. And a few days beyond that. I’ll see you soon!”
“I’ll see you soon!” Ruben reaffirmed.
Fleurette watched him until he disappeared behind the curtain of rain that obscured her view of the mountains that day. It pained her heart to see Ruben hanging on to the horse, doubled over in pain. Fleeing together would never have succeeded—Ruben could only advance unencumbered.
Paul also watched as the boy rode away. He had taken up his post at his window early and was now considering whether he should wake Gerald. But by the time he managed that Ruben would be miles away—besides, his mother definitely had her eye on him. He could still vividly replay her outburst from the evening before in his mind. It had confirmed what he had always suspected: Gwyneira loved his sister much more than she loved him. He could never expect to get anything from her. But with his grandfather, there was hope. His grandfather was predictable, and if Paul could learn to handle him properly, he would take Paul under his wing. Paul decided that from this point on, there would be two opposing factions in the Warden family: his mother and Fleur, and Gerald and Paul. He just needed to convince Gerald how useful he was.
