Embracing Change

by Debbie Roome

  “Are you two laughing at me again?” She put on a stern face. “No dessert for men who misbehave.”

  Joel held his hand up. “I repent. I’ll never laugh at you again if it means no apple crumble.”

  “Sure you won’t.”

  Joel relaxed into his seat. He had the best of both worlds with his own home in Christchurch and also the freedom to come out to the farm as often as he wanted. “So how’s church going, Dad?”

  “Pretty good. You know we have a new pastor? He comes to our little church on Saturday evenings and visits the other areas on Sunday mornings and evenings.”

  Joel nodded, remembering similar routines as a young boy. Many of the tiny villages scattered across Canterbury couldn’t support a pastor by themselves, so shared one amongst three or four. “I’ll try and make it out one Saturday evening. I’d like to meet him.”

  “That would be great, Joel.”

  “It would be good to see all the old faces again. The close-knit community stuff is what I really miss, living in town.” He carried his plate to the sink and cleared his parent’s plates as well. “You have to work hard to make the same kind of connection with city folk.”

  Joel’s mom nodded. “You’re right, son. People out here have a greater appreciation of company because we spend so much time in isolation.” She squeezed his arm as he walked past to get the cream from the refrigerator. “That’s why we value your visits so much. Just remember, you’re always welcome to bring friends with you as well. Just call ahead in case we need you to bring extra supplies.”

  The sun cast fiery shadows across the mountains as Joel called Shelley to the car. “Come on, girl. Time to go.” She cast a longing look in the direction of the other dogs before jumping onto the back seat. “You’ve had a fine time and we’ll be back in a few days.” He pulled the protective blanket straight and ruffled her head. “Go to sleep now.”

  His mom handed him a bag of freshly picked carrots. “I’ll have your room ready, Joel.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll call if I have to cancel for any reason but I’m sure we’ll be here.” He gave her a long hug and shook hands with his dad before slipping into the driver’s seat. “I’ll see you soon.”

  On the way home, his thoughts kept turning to the upcoming photo shoot. He often travelled on work assignments, but felt a special expectancy about this trip. I’m open to whatever you’re doing, Lord. Help me to see where you’re working and give me sensitivity to follow your leading.

  He flicked his headlights on as the mountains swallowed the last traces of dusk.

  Chapter Four

  Today, I plan on doing the important stuff. I need a bank account, a car and a plan.

  From the journal of Sarah Johnson

  Friday, 7th March

  Sarah spent the next couple of days resting, exploring the city, and going through the list she’d prepared with her dad. “Don’t make any rash decisions,” he cautioned her. “See what’s available. Check newspaper ads and the internet and ask people what they think.”

  “I can’t ask total strangers, Dad.”

  “They’ll all be strangers at first, honey. If you buy something at a store, ask the cashier which bank is the best to deal with. Go to the tourist information centre and ask where the used car lots are. Most people are only too happy to give advice about that sort of thing.”

  Sarah found he was right, and soon had a dozen opinions on grocery stores, cars, employment, and bank accounts. It was a good way to occupy her mind, for when she was out of the motel she was too busy to dwell on home. It felt like a holiday, a slice of fun that she would capture in photographs and memories and take home to share with family and friends.

  On the sixth day, she started making decisions.

  “I’d like to open a bank account,” she told the smartly dressed woman behind the counter.

  The money she had with her was cash she’d saved with Luke. Money in his bank account when he was killed. His parents had given it all back to her, along with Luke’s savings.

  “He intended it to be used in New Zealand, Sarah. He knew it would be expensive to start a new life over there. Please take it and use it to get established.”

  The nest egg shrunk greatly when converted to New Zealand currency, but was still more than enough to buy a car and other basics and support her for a few months. It was also enough reason to keep her in New Zealand. Luke’s parents would be disappointed if she didn’t give life here a fair chance. She reminded herself of that frequently.

  With her bank accounts set up, the next thing on her list was a car. She’d visited a dozen dealerships and a couple of vehicle auctions over the previous days and had come away with a list of potential cars. She e-mailed this to her father and asked him to go through it and give her some advice. He e-mailed back the next morning.

  Dear Sarah,

  I did some research on the cars I’m not familiar with and this is my conclusion. The Toyota Starlet is the best deal, followed by the Nissan Pulsar. Don’t forget to bargain them down. Dealers always build a discount into their price.

  I was interested to hear about the compulsory warrant of fitness. It sounds like a good system and the vehicles in NZ must be in good shape. Send us a photo of the car once you’ve got it.

  Mom sends loads of love and says she will e-mail this evening.

  Love, Dad

  The Starlet was at a dealership in town and a salesman with big teeth and small glasses assisted Sarah. “Excellent choice, young lady. You won’t be disappointed.” He agreed to a $500 discount and ushered Sarah into his office to do the paperwork. While he was busy filling in forms, Sarah let her eyes rove across the yard and noticed a Volkswagen for sale. It hadn’t been there a couple of days ago and the sight of it lowered her spirits. Luke’s car had been a Volkswagen and every time she saw one it reminded her of that terrible night.

  Don’t think about it, she chided herself. Look at the Starlet. It’s far better than the car you drove in South Africa.

  “Right, Miss Johnson. I need your signature here and here.” The salesman pointed out the spaces on the forms. “And then initial here and here.” Flashing his teeth at her, he handed the keys over with a flourish. “You’ve got the deal of the month with this car.”

  Five minutes later, Sarah slid behind the wheel and slowly reversed the Starlet onto the road. It was seven years old and the paint work a shimmery blue, like that of sundrenched skies. The interior was in good condition and the seats were contoured comfortably and padded with dark grey velvet.

  Right, Sarah, concentrate. The inner voice took over as she drove slowly down the street looking for the roads she’d memorised. She was almost out of town when she realised she hadn’t factored in a one way street that took her in the wrong direction. After trying in vain to get back to a familiar spot, she admitted defeat. Totally and completely lost.

  She pulled into a small strip mall. I may as well have a coffee break and another good look at the map.

  “Take a seat outside,” the lady behind the counter suggested. “It’s lovely and warm out there. I’ll bring your coffee out in a minute.”

  Sarah followed her advice and chose a padded seat beneath the awning. The sun was warm on her face and a light autumn breeze ruffled her hair. Across the street, trees were tinged with gold and amber and hints of crimson and orange. A couple of mothers strolled past with toddlers in three-wheeler prams and their chatter drifted across to Sarah.

  “Here you are, love.”

  “That looks wonderful, thank you.” She took a sip of the cappuccino, reminding herself it was an indulgence. She must be careful with the money, especially until she found some form of employment.

  Coffee in one hand and map in the other, she relaxed, revelling in the freedom of the open air and lack of commitments. The day was hers and she had full charge of what she was doing and where she was going. She just wished the good moments would last and not alternate with periods of crushing self-doubt and fear, and
moments when life didn’t seem worth living without Luke.

  After a twenty minute rest, Sarah decided on a change of plan. Instead of driving back to the motel, she would go into town and visit the tourist information centre in the square. Now that she had a car, she was eager to carry out the mission that had brought her this far, the journey that would fulfill Luke’s final wishes.

  The information centre was an old red-brick building with white trims and vaulted ceilings. Sarah had wandered through it on her first trip to town, but hadn’t thought to pick up any brochures. She mounted the steps now and turned to the left, where banks of brochures filled a dozen shelf units. “Canterbury, Southland, Otago, Queenstown,” she murmured the names as she searched

  “Anything I can help you with?” An assistant came up next to Sarah.

  “Oh, yes please. I’m planning a day trip to Arthur’s Pass and need some information about the area.”

  The assistant led her to another shelf. “These brochures are about the Southern Alps and Arthur’s Pass.” She selected a few and handed them to Sarah. “Feel free to take any others that catch your eye. It’s incredibly beautiful up there.”

  “It looks amazing, from the photos I’ve seen.”

  “Are you driving up?”

  “Yes. My first visit there.”

  “You’ll need a good map, then.” The assistant walked to a stand in the corner. “This is the best one for that area. It has the whole of South Island on one side and the Canterbury Plains and Arthur’s Pass on the other.”

  Sarah thanked her and gathered everything into a neat pile. The car was parked several blocks away and she walked back slowly, pausing for a few minutes on the bridge that spanned the River Avon. The water was shallow and Sarah spotted grey pebbles beneath the sparkling water. Ducks paddled along, straining the water for bugs and gobbling down bread thrown by some children on the far bank. It was all so peaceful, so calm.

  Why? Why was Luke denied the chance of seeing all this?

  Back at the motel, Sarah laid the glossy brochures out on the bed like a mosaic of rivers, waterfalls, and mountains. Then she unlocked her hand luggage and gently lifted out the honey-grained urn. “We’re almost there, Luke.” She sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped the casket in her arms. “Tomorrow we’ll go on our last journey together.”

  Tears came then, slowly at first, then in torrents as she realised another separation was imminent, another step that would move her away from her beloved. How would she feel when he was really and truly gone; when there was no physical connection to remember him by?

  Chapter Five

  Luke will soon be at peace, his ashes cascading across the mountains, merging with the land he so desired to come to.

  From the journal of Sarah Johnson,

  Tuesday, 11th March

  Luke’s ashes were cocooned in Oregon pine, the casket a warm honey colour with a fine dark grain. Before she left her motel room, Sarah wrapped it in a towel and placed it carefully in her back pack. Feeling a little foolish, she placed the bag carefully on the front passenger seat and secured it with the seat belt. “This is it, Luke. I’m taking you to your final home.” Her stomach churned, a mixture of nerves, excitement and pain.

  This was her first trip out of Christchurch and she couldn’t help thinking of South Africa and the way people were attacked on roadsides. How criminals roamed the highways, preying on those with punctures and breakdowns. She thought, too, of hijackers, lurking at traffic lights and waiting behind gates.

  The Toyota handled well and once on the open road she accelerated, green fields, leafy windbreaks, and thousands of sheep flashing past on both sides. It was a perfect day for travelling, with the sun-warmed air and a light breeze. She ticked off the towns as she passed through them: Darfield, Sheffield, Springfield. She noticed a giant doughnut in Springfield and remembered reading that it had been erected as a monument to The Simpson’s movie. How unusual. She slowed for a better look at the pink icing and rainbow sprinkles.

  Kilometres passed and the mountains seemed to grow as she neared them, the purple haze giving way to soaring peaks brushed with gold and chocolate. They stretched in both directions, forming a massive spine across the central South Island.

  “I wish you could see this, Luke.” She laid a hand across the back pack. “We’re leaving the Canterbury Plains now and climbing into the mountains. The pictures we saw could never show how majestic they are, how incredibly big.” As she followed the twists and turns early autumn colours blazed out at her, mixed with patches of green and still blue lakes. The tops of the mountains were bare and brown, waiting for snowy winter caps to come and transform them.

  There wasn’t much traffic and Sarah drove slowly, wanting to savour this time and create good memories. She stopped several times, pulling the Toyota onto gravelly shoulders, checking each direction for other vehicles and the possibility of danger. Then she would lift her camera and freeze moments in time; a bird soaring across craggy peaks, power lines stretching across the valley, grey rocks balanced precariously one upon another. As she got deeper into the mountains the road began to intersect rivers, running parallel for a while, then crossing and crossing again. Pulling into a viewing point, she dug around for the brochures she’d brought with her.

  A braided river is a channel that has a network of smaller channels separated by small and often temporary islands called braid bars or eyots. Braided streams occur in rivers with high slope and/or large sediment load. The channels and braid bars are usually highly mobile with the river layout often changing significantly during flood events.

  The reality was breathtaking. A massive bed of grey pebbles stretched across the valley, and shallow streams twisted and intermingled before branching into new formations. The water was the shade of purest turquoise mixed with milk. Sarah watched, captivated, as the streams rushed past, bouncing over rocks and sending a fine mist into the morning air. One of the channels seemed to run from beneath the road and she turned, trying to find its source. Above her, water seeped from sheer rock faces, dripping through vegetation and collecting in silvery rivulets by the road side before rushing through underground channels to swell the rivers.

  She snapped shot after shot, wanting to preserve memories for herself, for her parents, for Luke’s parents.

  According to one of the brochures, Arthur’s Pass was a tiny village that separated east and west. The population was approximately fifty and it was often snowbound in winter. Sarah parked her car on the road side and gazed around, absorbing beauty. The village stretched along one main street, and towering mountains surrounded it on all sides. The buildings were quaint, and the holiday homes tiny. Making sure the car was locked, she made her way down to the Bealey River, which ran parallel to the main street. The water hurried past, flinging drops into the air, glistening and beautiful but icy cold.

  Sarah sat down on a flat grey rock and drew in a deep lungful of fresh mountain air, fragranced lightly with wild flowers. High above her, silent waterfalls poured down the mountainside, flashes of crystal appearing and disappearing, pouring from internal streams, feeding the rivers. Where does all this water come from? How can there be so much water in the mountains that it keeps coming, day after day, night after night?

  She rose eventually, stiff, knowing this wasn’t the right place for Luke. She needed a private place; somewhere she could be alone with him.

  Back in the car, she had another look at the Arthur’s Pass brochure.

  Lake Misery is one kilometre past Arthur’s Pass and marks the divide between east and west. In flood season, the lake is one body of water but is normally seen as two small lakes separated by thick grass.

  Maybe a watershed would be the right place.

  It turned out to be a disappointment. She would have called it a pond rather than a lake, and the water was stagnant and murky, laced with red algae. Its surface reminded her of her aunt’s varicose veins. “That’s no good either, Luke.” On her way back to Arthur’s
Pass, Sarah chatted to her backpack. “But I’ll find the perfect spot. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  In the village, she stopped to pick up a snack.

  “Is that to eat here or take out?”

  “I’ll eat here please.”

  The chicken wrap was moist and fresh and she ate slowly, savouring the taste. It could have been so different, she thought, looking at her back pack. Luke would have had such fun exploring these mountains. He’d talked about them so much, planned to make this our first trip in New Zealand. Memories washed over her as she sipped her juice. Visions of places they’d been together, the strength of his hand in hers, the softness of his lips as he kissed her deeply and passionately.

  Life was so empty without him.

  A half hour later, she was back on the road. “We’ll head back towards Christchurch, Luke. I’m going to look for a secluded spot by one of the rivers.” She drove slowly, pulling over to let a couple of irritated drivers pass. “These mountains are incredible. I’ll find a place that you would have loved.”

  The road twisted to the right and Sarah paused at the end of a one-way bridge. Several cars were crossing towards her and she used the time to gaze at the intertwined mass of silvery streams, trickling in places, surging across boulders in others. Far above the road, water collected in dancing waterfalls, tumbling from sheer cliffs. She followed one with her eyes, a voluminous fall cascading through thick vegetation. “I wonder if that’s accessible from the road?”

  A car honked behind her; she let the clutch out and drove carefully across the narrow bridge before pulling over to let the traffic pass. Then, driving slowly, she kept her eyes on the waterfall while scanning the roadside for a break in the trees. About a kilometre down the road, she spotted an opening and a small sign pointing to Crystal Falls. She indicated right and followed the narrow strip of tar as it led through a leafy tunnel to a circular parking area.