Matai Valley Magic

by Mary Moore

  'Perfectly satisfied. Very professional,' Brett answered with exaggerated politeness. He stood up, looking down at her angry face. ‘I hope that the accident has been a lesson to you. You could have been crippled or killed, but you have to expect things like that if you take rides with every Tom, Dick or Harry.'

  'Oh, belt up! You're so smug and self-righteous! I don't suppose you've ever hitched a ride in your life. And why not? Because you've always had your own car. And I'm par­ticular who I take rides from. For example, I would never accept a lift from you.'

  'No danger. You wouldn't get asked.' Brett left the room, not quite slamming the door after him, but it was certainly shut very firmly.

  Fern laughed at Kirsty, 'That sorted him out!'

  Kirsty tried to stop smiling, but was unable to resist Fern's merry brown eyes. 'You should take heed of what Brett says. It isn't safe for a young girl to be getting around on her own . One poor lass was murdered down on the Haast Pass only a year or so ago. She was hitch-hiking.'

  'Yes, I heard about that. I'll be careful not to ride in any murderer's car either.'

  'Off with you! There's no use talking sense to a fool.' But the words lacked antagonism.

  After Fern had put her things away in her room she washed her hands and joined Kirsty at the sink. They shared the mornings work amicably and when lunch time came Mr. Alexander complained bitterly that he hadn't invited Fern here just to become a household slave.

  ‘I want to show Fern the farm. I want to show her the whole district, in fact. Did you find out how long they'll be with my car, Brett?'

  'A fortnight or three weeks.'

  'That's not good enough. If you're too niggardly to lend us yours, you can ring up and get me a rental one.'

  ‘I didn't say you couldn't have my car. When do you want ; it?'

  'Tomorrow.'

  'Okay,' Brett said soothingly. 'I'll drive you wherever you want to go.'

  The old man said furiously, ‘I don't want you driving me, I want Fern. Then we can stop and I can tell her about places and people. You act as if an hour off the farm is an hour wasted. I'll not have you breathing down my neck!'

  'Right, don't get upset. Fern can drive you if that's what you want.'

  Mr. Alexander glared at Brett, reminding Fern of a small, indignant terrier attacking a dog three times its own size. 'I'm not upset. And I'm not begging for your, blasted car. If I can't have it tomorrow and every afternoon Fern's here, you can get me a rental. I know what I want.'

  Brett laughed, 'And you always get your own way. I th ought old age was supposed to mellow a person, but you get more mean-tempered every day.'

  To Fern's amazement Mr. Alexander looked pleased, and was soon settling into a farm discussion with Brett. They became so engrossed that they did not notice Kirsty and Fern clear the table and wash the dishes. As Fern hung up the tea-towel, she said, 'Brett certainly knows how to handle his uncle.'

  Kirsty nodded. 'And that's no easy job either. If you argue, he gets into a temper, but if he thinks you're soft-soaping him he gets worse.'

  Mr. Alexander looked up. 'What are you two whispering about over there? Have you got Fern working again? I'll soon put a stop to that.' He got slowly to his feet. 'You come with me, girl. I'm going to show you round the farm buildings, and introduce you to Ross Smith and his wife.'

  Kirsty gave Mr. Alexander his gumboots, and then handed a lighter pair to Fern. 'You'd better wear these if you're going to be traipsing over the countryside.'

  Fern saw her watching Mr. Alexander anxiously, and saw the look of relief come into her eyes when Fern said, 'I'm not going too far. I don't want to hurt my foot.'

  No. No, we must be careful.' He took Fern's arm. 'We'll have a look-see at the cowshed first. As soon as Ross sees us heading that way, he'll be over to skite it off. We built it last year so that we could go on the tanker run, for the milk power factory. Ross is in charge of the dairy herd and Brett manages the sheep and cattle. Of course, they work in together a lot.'

  ‘And Robbie?'

  'He hinders them both.' As soon as they entered the shed two men appeared.

  'Ha! Told you, Fern, didn't I? Ross is more proud of this shed than his ownkids .'

  'And why shouldn't I be? This shed helps me with my work, a damn sight better than my kids ever did.'

  'This is Fern Fraser. Fern, meet Ross Smith and Robbie Sinclair.'

  Fern shook hands with them both. Ross Smith was a big, fair man with a pleasant smile. Robbie was of medium height, slightly built, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. Fern liked them both. Ross showed them through the shed, of which Fern felt he had every right to be proud. It was of concrete and gleaming stainless steel, and was immaculately clean, reminding Fern of an operating theatre.

  'You come back when we're milking, Fern, it'll be easier for you to understand everything if you see them working.' Ross Smith said.

  'I'd love to,' Fern accepted with a smile. 'Can I come any time?'

  'You certainly can, night or morning, and if you come often enough we'll have you in here working.'

  Mr. Alexander growled, 'Oh, no, you don't. I found her. She's mine, and she's not here to work.'

  Ross chuckled, 'Golly, I can't wait to get old! Fancy an old joker like you picking up a pretty young piece like this, and nobody raises an eyebrow. Now, if I turned up with Fern, my old woman would cut me into pieces with a blunt breadknife . Old age certainly has its compensations!'

  After they left, Mr. Alexander conducted Fern on a grand tour of the woolshed, implement shed and sheep and cattle yards, finally walking back through the orchard and ending up at the new house.

  Mrs. Smith gave them a warm welcome. 'Come on in. I've been dying to meet you ever since Robbie came home and said that Mr. Alexander had picked up a real smashing bird.' She led them into a bright comfortable room. 'And you're looking better, Mr. Alexander. This little bird must have been the tonic you needed.'

  'Yes, she has brightened the old place up,' Mr. Alexander replied, as he sat down. 'Well, what's new about the dis­trict?'

  'Take a chair, Fern. What's new, let me see? Pam Free­man has a baby girl. After getting three boys, I believe they've gone properly gaga about this wee one. It must be nice to get a girl - I never had such luck. I'd have loved a girl, they're such fun to dress up - not that I'd swop my two sons, of course.' She turned to Fern to explain, 'Both my boys are over in Australia working on some big project, making fabulous money. Now if I'd had a girl she might have married around here and we'd see something of her.'

  Mrs. Smith was a small, plump woman with once dark hair now turning grey. When she smiled Fern saw a deep dimple in her remarkably unlined face. While Mrs. Smith talked on about the district affairs, Fern looked about her. This house was much more modern than the homestead. It had big floor-to-ceiling windows, which gave a wonderful view of the Alps. The furniture was modern too, and there were pot plants in every available space.

  'Come through to the kitchen, Fern. We'll make a cuppa .' She passed Mr. Alexander a magazine. 'Ross was going to take that over to you, but now you're here you can read it while the kettle boils.'

  Out in the kitchen she chatted to Fern. 'Sorry to hear about your accident. My, it's nice to have a young girl about the place. How's Kirsty taking your arrival? She can be a bit sticky sometimes.'

  Fern smiled. 'She's been very good to me.'

  'I'm glad of that. Well, remember, any time you want a chat drop in for a cuppa with me.'

  'Thank you, Mrs. Smith, I'll remember that.'

  'Call me Smithy! Everyone else does. Now you take the tea and sugar and I'll bring the rest. How long are you going to be with us?'

  'About a week or ten days,'"Fern replied as they returned to the lounge. 'I'll be leaving as soon as my foot is fit to carry me properly.'

  'Why do you want to talk about leaving when you've just arrived?' Mr. Alexander said irritably, and he took his cup.

  'You'll go when I say you can go.'


  Next day Fern helped Kirsty with the work in the morn­ing, and after lunch went out to where Brett had parked the Holden. Mr. Alexander was sitting waiting impatiently.

  Brett opened the driver's door for her. 'I backed it out of the garage. We haven't got a drive-through garage and we don't want one, so see that you park it here when you get back.'

  Fern got in and pulled the door shut. 'Not to worry. I've got every confidence in the driver.'

  'Well, that makes one. You did say you could drive? That car is only a couple of months old. Show me your licence .'

  Fern pulled it from her pocket and handed it to him. 'Sure you wouldn't like me to do a Road Code test for you?' She took the licence back angrily. 'Thanks for nothing!'

  'It never hurts to check,' Brett remarked coldly.

  Fern gave him a withering glance, then switched on the car and took off smoothly. Following Mr. Alexander's direc­tions she turned left on to the main road. They crossed over the long Kokatahi River Bridge, but instead of turning towards Hokitika at the tavern they went straight ahead, towards the hills. Mr. Alexander knew every inch of the road, every farm and family. They stopped frequently so that he could point out the attractive school set on the banks of a creek, the store and churches and hotel at Lower Ko­katahi . Not only did he know who owned the farms now, but who had owned them forty or fifty years ago, and he cap­tured Fern's full attention as he told anecdotes of families long left the Valley, not to mention the dramatic expansion in the district since the war.

  He tapped Fern's arm. 'Stop here. Look over in that pad­dock.' Following his pointing finger Fern saw several deer -a large stag, two does, a yearling and a tiny fawn. 'Oh, aren't they beautiful! Are they tame? Can I touch them?'

  'Hop out and go over to the fence, they'll come up to you. They're well used to people rubbernecking. This is a new venture also, deer farms. They've run trials at the Agricultural College and quite a few farmers have small deer herds.'

  Fern found it hard to leave, but when Mr. Alexander beckoned she obeyed ... after all, it was his outing. On towards the hills they followed the road which then turned north and grew narrower as it twisted and turned uphill through some of the most glorious ferns and forest. Now and again Fern caught a glimpse of a lake below them. Once they stopped to admire the exciting beauty of the Dorothy Falls, then on through the bush until they came out suddenly on the edge of a huge lake.

  'Drive on down to those seats and we'll stop and sit a while. I never get tired of the view across Lake Kaniere .'

  Fern did as she was ordered and then sat on the seats beside the lake with Mr. Alexander, happy that he felt no need to extol the delights of this beauty spot.

  After some time they moved once more to the car rather reluctant to leave the scene of unsurpassed beauty, the small islands a short way from the shore and the lake set in, and reflecting, the magnificent bush.

  'Just drive on, Fern, we'll come out on the main road in about ten minutes and will soon be home.'

  Fern was surprised how quickly the tavern came into view, but pleased too because Mr. Alexander looked very tired, and also her foot was beginning to feel a little sore although she did not have to put any pressure on the wound.

  They arrived home in time for afternoon tea. As Mr. Alex­ander settled into his comfortable chair with a sigh, Brett watched him a little anxiously. 'Did you enjoy the drive, Uncle? Where did you go?'

  'We did the round trip to Lake Kaniere and back, and yes, I did enjoy it immensely. There's something very sooth­ing about just sitting by the water. And then I had an at­tentive listener to my tales of the old days, it was very flattering.'

  'The history of this valley could hardly be of much interest to you,' Brett remarked, looking Fern straight in the eye.

  Fern knew very well that he meant she had been only putting on a show of false interest. 'You couldn't be more wrong. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Your uncle has a won­derful gift of making people from the past really come alive, as if the horse and buggy days were only yesterday. You probably have grown up with him and not noticed or just accepted it as ordinary, but it gave me real pleasure. Some of his stories should be written down before they're lost.'

  Brett's blue eyes challenged her. 'Tell me one that caught your fancy particularly.' He was again implying that she was putting on an act.

  Fern flicked her hair over her shoulder, and tilted her small chin. 'I'll tell you two, even though I can't remember the names of the people.

  'One was about a young couple driving home from town in their trap, and some of the harness on the horse snapped, and the horse was rearing and ready to bolt. The husband managed to hold the horse just long enough for his wife to get out of the back and grab the baby, which was wrapped in several shawls and rugs, then as the ribbons cut into his hands he let the horse go and jumped clear. They watched the horse plunging madly, and the trap swung from side to side of the road as the crazy animal galloped for home, and only then did the mother look to the baby she was clutching. But the baby wasn't there. She'd grabbed the shawls, and the baby was rolling loose in that awful trap. It isn't hard to imagine how they walked and ran towards their home in fear and terror expecting to find the trap in a ditch or the baby on the road dead. But when they reached their home, the horse was standing in the yard, with the trap still attached and the baby miraculously unhurt.'

  Kirsty nodded, 'Yes, I remember hearing about that. Oh, that poor young mother!'

  Brett prompted, ' And the other one?'

  Fern laughed, 'Oh, it was a horse and a buggy one and very funny. A man who owned a very vicious horse which was a notorious kicker also had another failing - he always had too much to drink when he went to town. One night had leaving town he was just sitting letting his horse meander home as usual, and he drifted off to sleep, and when the horse stopped to graze he slipped from his seat and fell behind the horse. He was terrified that the horse would start to kick and kill him if he tried to duck under the shafts, or hoist himself back up on the buggy. So all night long he walked behind his horse pressed hard back against the buggy, and when a neighbour found him next morning he swore he was stone cold sober, and off beer for life. I think that's hilarious. No need for Alcoholics Anonymous!'

  They all laughed with her, and the old man beamed on her, knowing very well what had been in his nephew's mind. Not only did he have an apt pupil but one who had the feel for an age that was now gone.

  'Brett, fetch Gypsy in when you've had your cuppa . Just put the bridle on for me.'

  Brett's attention was now wholly directed towards his uncle. 'A little flattery must have gone to your head. You are not riding today. As it is I think you've overdoing it.’

  'Who said I was riding? You just do as you're told.' He enjoyed the way Brett stared at him. Do him good to have a few surprises.

  'But you never let anyone ride Gypsy but yourself.'

  'All I'm asking you to do is to catch her, put a bridle on, and bring her to the house. If I choose to show Fern my mare it's certainly none of your business.'

  'That's different. If you want to skite her off, I don't see why you can't wait till tomorrow.'

  'I'm not accustomed to waiting.'

  Brett stood up and placed his cup on the table, and grinned, 'I'll buy that.'

  'Cheeky young whelp!' But Brett had gone. Mr. Alexander relaxed back in the chair and closed his eyes. 'I'll have a catnap, it'll take him half an hour to get Gypsy. Call me when he's back.'

  Fern and Kirsty gathered up the tea things and went out to the kitchen. 'You do the dishes, Fern, while I ready up a steamed pudding. Do you know why Mr. Hamish wants the horse?'

  Fern shook her head. 'Not a clue. Perhaps he does just want to let me see her. That's if he's proud of her.'

  Kirsty sniffed, 'I'm thinking proud isn't the word. He worships that horse. He bred it here on the farm, broke it in himself, and has never let anyone else ride it. I wonder what he's up to.' She busied herself mixing the pudding. 'If you would care
to peel the potatoes?'

  'Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to be en­trusted with such a delicate task.' Then she laughed gaily at Kirsty's disapproving stare.

  Kirsty's smile was slow in coming. 'Your parents must miss having you about them. A young girl's laughter is a happy sound in the house.'

  'Then you don't mind me teasing you?'

  'When I do I'll be letting you know.'

  Fern giggled. 'I have no doubt you will!' Suddenly her heart warmed to this stern old lady, and she touched Kirsty lightly on the arm. 'Thanks for letting me help | you.'

  She left the room quickly, hoping Kirsty hadn't seen those stupid tears brim over, but the old lady missed very little.

  As she dropped the last potato in the pot, she saw Brett leading a black horse on to the lawn. She went to call Mr. Alexander, but found him already on his feet. He stopped in the kitchen to get two lumps of sugar, then hurried out to ! Brett.

  Fern followed slowly.

  'Ah, my little beauty, have you missed me?' the old man crooned to the horse. 'There now, manners, and you shall have your sugar. There, there. Come, Fern, come and meet Gypsy. Now, tell me if you've ever set eyes on a prettier mare.' His hands petted and fondled the small black horse.

  'I don't know much about horses,'Fern admitted honestly, 'but she does seem a darling.'

  'She is indeed. Now, Brett, give Fern a leg up.'

  Brett gasped, 'You don't mean you're going to let Fern ride her?'

  Impatiently Mr. Alexander turned. 'When will you learn to do as I tell you? Toss her up.'

  Before Fern could protest she was sitting astride Gypsy. Mr. Alexander instructed, 'Talk to her, pet her, let her know you. That's right. Feel nervous?'

  Fern shook her head. She was not frightened of the horse, but dead scared she would do something wrong and upset the old man.

  'Now, hold the reins like this, in one hand. See, you've got control, just a touch and she'll turn right or left as you bid her. Remember her mouth is like silk. Don't jerk on the reins ever. Gently, just gently. I want you to learn to ride her bareback, before you get a saddle. Now grip with your knees, get the feel of her. Right, now, Brett, you lead her round the lawn and bring her back.'