Matai Valley Magic

by Mary Moore

  'The worst girl in school?'

  'No, that was my best friend. The principal once said to her, "If you were twins we'd be forced to close down the boarding establishment!"'

  Brett put his hands on her shoulders. 'You seem no more than a child during the day, running around barefoot in those scruffy pants, then in the evening, like now, you suddenly grow up.'

  He took one hand from her shoulder and gently smoothed her hair back from her face. He stroked the length of her hair, and Fern stood quiet under his ministrations. They couldn't be called a caress.

  He spoke again. 'I've watched Uncle do that; your hair has a fascination for him, it's so thick and luxuriant. I've never admired dark hair before!'

  His hand tightened on her shoulder until it hurt. 'That old devil is going to lie down and die on me. What can I do?' He suddenly released her. 'Sorry, did I hurt you?'

  'No,' Fern lied. Her heart really ached for him. It was stupid, she wasn't involved with these people. She could walk out of here tomorrow if she wanted to ... couldn't she?

  He cupped her face in his hand and kissed her lightly. 'Go to bed, Fern.'

  She hurried inside, and it wasn't until she was tucked up in bed that she let the tears fall. Was he going to go along with his uncle's wish?

  Mr. Alexander had challenged Brett to make her fall in love with him. At the time she had thought it was not worth bothering about... but now she wondered if he really set his mind to it, would she be able to resist him?

  On Sunday morning at breakfast, Kirsty had given up all pretence of hiding her feelings. 'Brett, I'm worried. He just lies there and refuses to eat. You've tried, I've tried, and Fern has tried, and still he won't eat. I think we'll have to call Doctor Walters. You know what that means, he'll have to go to hospital. I can't go to church. I can't leave him.' Her voice shook.

  Brett, his face stern and his chin set at a stubborn angle, said flatly, 'He knows what he's doing. Leave him one more day, Kirsty. We'll call the doctor in the morning. And you have to go to church. I can't remember you ever missing church.'

  'I'll stay with him,' Fern offered. 'Don't worry, I've had a bit of work in hospitals; I'll know how to handle him. Don't be surprised if he's sitting up dressed and waiting for his Sunday dinner when you come home.'

  Kirsty glanced at her doubtfully. 'Honestly, I've never seen him like this before. He seems to be shrinking away before my eyes ... I'm thinking he wants to die. I never, thought I'd see the day that Mr. Hamish would give in.'

  'He hasn't given in, Kirsty.' Brett's voice was grim.

  When they all left for church. Fern tidied up the kitchen, and prepared the vegetables, after she had put the roast of beef in the oven. On Sunday only they had dinner at midday, the rest of the week the main meal was in the even­ing. Then she went down to Mr. Alexander's room.

  'Are you going to get dressed ready for dinner?' Fern asked cheerfully. 'It's a lovely day, and I've put a chair out in the sun for you.'

  'I'm not getting up. I wish you would leave me alone.' His voice was still very strong.

  Fern moved around the other side of the bed so that he could not avoid seeing her. 'That's exactly what I'm going to do. If you don't come out with me now -I mean, get dressed and sit and talk to me, and have dinner with me - I'm going to get my pack on my back, and I'll leave as soon as the others get home from church.'

  Mr. Alexander glared at her. 'You said you would stay another two weeks.'

  'Yes, but only because Brett convinced me that I was good company for you, and a big help to Kirsty. So if you won't have anything to do with me, I'm off.'

  'You mean that?' The old man was incredulous.

  'I surely do.' Fern felt mean. She did not like indulging in emotional blackmail, but the thought of Kirsty and Brett at the breakfast table strengthened her resolve. She would play the old man at his own game.

  For some minutes it was touch and go. Then, 'Get out of here, girl, while I get my clothes on.'

  When she got back out to the kitchen, Fern let out a sigh of relief. She felt as if she had just finished a hard shift on duty. That old man was indomitable, a real tiger. But even he could see he would have lost the game if she left.

  When the car drove in from church, Mr. Alexander was sitting in his chair in the sun, dressed in his navy blue Sunday suit. Fern was kneeling at his feet, reading a book aloud to him. She saw the look of relief on Kirsty's face as she came towards them, and felt like warning her not to be too pleased. Fern had doubts that because she had out­manoeuvred Mr. Alexander this time, she had won. She was sure that his brain was busy working out another form of attack.

  She was right. Mr. Alexander sat with them at lunch but refused to eat. If anything it was worse than when he stayed in his room. He was keeping to the letter of the agreement, but not the spirit. So she had accomplished very little indeed.

  After lunch Brett surprised Fern by asking, 'You got any­thing on for this afternoon? I thought you might enjoy a drive somewhere?'

  Fern hesitated, looking towards Mr. Alexander, who shook his head, and said, 'Not me. I'll stay here and keep Kirsty company . You two get along.'

  Fern was already dressed in a dark green pleated mini­skirt and yellow top, and she hurried to her room to pull on her calf-length boots. Now that she did not need such a width of bandage on her wound. The boots were very comfortable. She let her hair swing free, knowing that if the occasion arose it would make an effective screen to hide her thoughts behind. What made her think she would want to hide her thoughts?

  Once in the car she tried to relax and pretend it was an ordinary outing, but all the time she knew it wasn't. She knew that Brett had come to some decision ... there was a sureness in his manner that had been missing last night. Not that it made her feel any easier. If he tried to pretend he had fallen in love with her, she would never forgive him. That kiss last night, had it been the start of his campaign?

  He must have felt her gaze, because he looked directly at her. 'Enjoying the drive?'

  ' Er ... yes.' Fern blushed as if he had been reading her mind. She had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she had not even taken note of the direction in which they were travelling . Only now she noticed that they had left the tarsealed road and were travelling along a gravel track, through native forest.

  Soon Brett pulled the car off the track and parked. They got out and Fern followed him along the edge of a swift mountain stream. After a short walk they came to a natural clearing in the bush, and Brett sat down by the creek. 'Well, here we are, in the sun and out of the wind, and more im­portant, no one is likely to disturb us here.'

  'Where are we?' Fern asked. She could not recognize any of the mountains she had become familiar with, although that was not strange, because when she had been out driving with Mr. Alexander she had noticed that even Mount Camel Back became unrecognizable from certain angles.

  'Does it matter?' Brett inquired, his blue eyes watching her intently.

  Fern shrugged her shoulders. 'No, I guess not. It's nice here. There's a good bushy smell, sort of cool and dank, but not unpleasant. I can see a lancewood, a rimu , some bush lawyers, and what's that bird calling? A tui ?'

  'This isn't a field trip to identify the natural fauna and flora. I brought you here so that I can talk to you. Sit down somewhere, you're giving me a crick in my neck.'

  Fern chose a smooth flat rock a little distance away, and folding her hands in her lap, said, 'I'm listening.'

  'What did you say to Uncle to get him out of bed? It must have been something pretty drastic'

  'It wasn't,' Fern protested. 'I just said that if he didn't want me around I'd leave.'

  'No wonder the old devil made such a remarkable recov­ery.' Brett was silent for a time, then suddenly, 'Have you ever been in love?'

  Fern jumped. 'Yes, half a dozen times .. . well , I thought it was love, but it wore off in a few weeks or months, so I guess it was infatuation. It seemed real enough at the time ... sounds a bit weak re
ally. They say love is a chemical reaction. I think someone must have left out the essential ingredients ... my romances all start with a bang, and then go out like a damp squib.'

  'So you haven't got a steady boy-friend at the moment?'

  'No, I've no one really special.'

  'That makes two of us. There hasn't been anyone special for me for a long time. Once long ago I was very much in love with a girl, but she married someone else.'

  Fern thought she couldn't bear to hear that story again, so she said, 'I know, her name was Lisa.'

  Brett glanced at her, his expression unreadable. 'I should have known someone would tell you ... Smithy, I sup­pose?'

  Fern did not correct him. There seemed no reason to bring Doctor Walters into this.

  The sun had moved and now Brett's face was in the shadow. She was about to ask him what he was leading up to, when he started speaking again.

  'You seem to be very fond of Uncle Hamish. According to Doctor Walters he hasn't got a lot of time left; he has cancer, and as if that wasn't enough he has a clot travelling round his body. If it reaches his heart or brain death will be instantaneous.'

  'Embolism.' Fern spoke involuntarily.

  'Yes, that's the correct medical term. How did you know?'

  'I told you I worked in a hospital for a time,' Fern re­plied defensively.

  'Ah, yes, I forgot. Anyhow, his chances of seeing this summer out are mighty slim. Naturally if he has to go I hope the clot takes him off. At least that will be quick, with no prolonged suffering.'

  There was a long silence, then Fern sighed, 'Why are you telling me this?'

  Brett sat up, but his face was still hidden from her. 'Fern Fraser, will you marry me?'

  It took Fern's breath away. How dared he ask that, with no more emotion in his voice than if he was asking for a second cup of tea? Why was she shaking when she had been half expecting something like this ever since they left home? At least he was honest. She had to admit that. He had not pretended warmth or affection which he did not feel. She stood up. 'Thanks, but no, thanks. Why me?'

  'Why not? Uncle Hamish thinks you'll make me a good wife, Kirsty says you haven't a lazy bone in your body, and Robbie thinks you're a smashing bird.'

  'And what do you - think?' Fern demanded. 'Do you think I'd make a good wife?'

  'I don't trust my own judgment on the subject of women and matrimony. I was very wrong once ... this time I prefer to leave the choosing to others.' The pain and bitterness were naked in his voice.

  'Fern moved to the edge of the stream, watching the water rushing downhill, bubbling and chattering on its way to the river. 'You say I'm strange; I haven't got that all on my own. No man would let someone else choose his wife ... no man could be completely indifferent to a decision that would place a woman by his side for the rest of his life, the most intimate of all relationships. Well, I've never met one yet.'

  'You have now. I only care deeply for two people, Uncle Hamish and Kirsty. You can take it or leave it; the offer is there.'

  The bleakness in his voice caught at Fern, making it im­possible for her to speak.

  She sensed he was close to her, then his hand rested on her shoulder. 'Don't let it worry you. It was worth a try, even if it was only to make Uncle's life more pleasant for a couple of months. Oh, well, I did my best. Come on, let's go home.' He turned towards her, and looked at her closely. 'Why, you're crying. Who for? You? Me? ... or maybe Uncle Hamish?'

  His arms went round her, holding her not tightly, but comfortingly. 'Just forget all about it. I was stupid to mention it. I knew there wasn't a hope in hell of you accepting me.'

  Fern brushed away her tears, leaning back in his arms so that she could see him, she said, 'Sorry about the crying, I've only been doing it since the accident. I do like your uncle. I would like to make him happy. Couldn't we have a pretend engagement? he wouldn't know the difference. I'd like to do that much for him. And I would be a help to Kirsty.' Fern was thinking that being a nurse, she might be able to take care of Mr. Alexander at home, keep him in his own beloved surroundings a little longer.

  'But you won't marry me?'

  'No, I don't mind a pretend engagement, but I couldn't have a pretend marriage. I just couldn't.'

  'What big eyes you have, grandma!' Brett smiled down at her. 'Then it's settled, we're engaged, and we'll buy the ring tomorrow. But remember, to me an engagement is a binding contract leading to marriage. You can pretend all you want, and pull out when you're ready, but for me it's for real.'

  Abruptly he pulled her close and held her, then his lips came down on hers, not lightly this time, but in a hard, com­pelling, demanding kiss.

  Fern pulled away from him, angrily rubbing her mouth. 'What did you want to do that for?'

  He laughed, mockingly. 'I hope I didn't offend you, thought it was quite in order to kiss you now that we're engaged. After all, we can't continue sniping each other across the table. You'll have to agree with me now and be sweetly charming and loving.'

  Fern backed away from him. 'Drop dead! If you think I'm going to drip honey all over the place just because I'm wearing your ring, you're in for a horrible shock. And don't kiss me again. We only have to pretend when there's some­one round, not when we're alone. Is that clear?' She was desperately trying to regain control of the situation which, in her opinion, was getting badly out of hand.

  'I'll go along with anything you say, dear!'

  He was laughing at her. Infuriated, she turned and hur­ried back to the car. As she sat waiting for him to come her hand went to her mouth again. It was quite ridiculous to be upset about the kiss. She had been kissed before, hadn't she? Well, this had been different.

  Brett did not keep her waiting long. As he got into the car he asked pleasantly, 'Do we break the news when we get home or save it until we get the ring tomorrow?'

  'Tomorrow.'

  Brett laughed again. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof! or something. Tell me, what did Doctor Walters say about your foot on Friday? I should have asked before, but things have been kinda hectic'

  'It's all right,' muttered Fern, and was furious when her face flushed crimson as she remembered Doctor Walters' parting sally. 'See you in church!'

  CHAPTER SIX

  Monday morning began badly and became worse as time passed. There was nothing dramatically wrong, just a hun­dred and one things joined together to frustrate and annoy everyone.

  Fern decided against going over to the cowshed, so that she could get a good start on the washing. She stripped down the beds and changed the bed linen, then put out all her clothes on the bed ready to sort out those she wanted to wash. Before she could do so, Kirsty called her.

  'Fern, Robbie's just been over with a message from Ross, he wants you to give a hand, apparently they're running late or something.'

  'Blow! I wanted to do the washing, I've quite a lot of my own stuff to put through.' Nevertheless she hurried to put on her gumboots and went over to the cowshed.

  Joining Robbie in the pit, she asked, 'What's up? Anyway, I've been waiting to have a word with you about Saturday night...'

  Robbie rolled his eyes. 'Just leave it. By the time Ross has finished with me, even you wouldn't be so rotten as to have a piece of me. Well, that's if I'm still alive when he's finished.'

  'Where is he?' asked Fern, as she worked alongside Robbie.

  'If you look at the yard you'll see there's only half the herd here. I put the dog around them as usual, but someone, a fisherman probably, had left all the gates open after we put them away last night. So when I herded them, half headed for home, and the other half took off for parts unknown. I tried to get them back for half an hour, but the dog decided he'd had enough and cleared for home. I could hear Ross roaring from the far gate and so brought these on down. His language was so lurid that the grass around me started to smoulder . Thank God his batteries had run flat by the time he got to me, and he just had the strength to whisper, "Get Fern to help you," and sta
lked off towards the river.'

  Fern looked towards the back of the farm. 'Here he comes now, so shouldn't you open a gate or something?'

  Robbie scowled, 'The old buzzard can open his own gates. I'm not going to stick my neck out after the way he ex­plicitly described my ancestors this morning.'

  Fern hurried out and followed Ross's signals. The errant cows entered the concrete yard with a shamefaced air, some­what similar to children who have been caught playing truant.

  Ross, his face a pale shade of puce, muttered, 'Glad we've got someone with a few brains.' It didn't help his temper to find that six of the cows had mastitis, which meant they had to be milked separately and treated with penicillin, making the milking process even longer.

  As Fern finished feeding the calves she saw Brett riding behind a mob of Hereford steers which he penned in the cattleyards . She knew he was sending a truck of fat steers to Addington to be sold next day. Then she noticed he was bringing a black and white cow and calf towards the shed.

  When Ross came out of the shed Brett called cheerfully, 'Didn't know you had any cows calving this late, Ross? Something gone wrong with your family planning programme ?'

  Robbie, who had been helping Fern with the calf buckets, put them down hastily. 'I'm splitting this scene ... you will too if you've got any sense. You can tell Ross I've gone to put the cows away. When he explodes the fall-out can be more damaging than that from a hydrogen bomb.'

  By the time breakfast was over the truck driver had ar­rived and Fern had to make a fresh cup of tea. She had only finished clearing that one away and washed the breakfast dishes, when a local farmer arrived to ask help of Brett, who was president of the Federated Farmers, so another cup of tea was made, and another half an hour later when a stock and station agent called. Mr. Alexander demanded her at­tention until it was time to put lunch on.

  As they finished lunch, Kirsty was angry to hear rain pounding on the roof. 'Fancy, I'm thinking that I had no need to rush through the washing. But it's only a spring shower, and will clear away soon.'