New Du Rose Matriarch

by Bowes, K T

  Her words had a devastating effect on Logan and she regretted them. He looked away, struggling with emotions Hana couldn’t read. “Sorry, Loge.” She reached for the long fingers clasping his beer and pulled them towards her, hoping she could rescue her husband from the terrible place he visited in his head. His eyes were dark pits of despair and Hana lifted his fingers to her lips. “How about for tonight, we don’t talk about either of our fathers?” she suggested. “Let’s focus on celebrating your birthday as the proud owner of a wife and daughter, which you didn’t have last year!”

  Logan smiled and wrinkled his nose. “This time last year, I lived in a rented house with a gambler and an idiot, riding my bike at night to fight the boredom and loneliness. Nobody understood why I fled to Hamilton to recover from being jilted at the altar by a psycho. And then I met you, my girl-on-the-train, in the last place on earth I expected you to be.” Logan reached for both Hana’s hands and gave them a squeeze, examining the polished red nails she took such care over earlier. “You were the beautiful redhead grovelling on the car park floor for the contents of your upended bag. Twenty-six years of searching and waiting for you and then, just as I gave up, there you were in front of me.”

  Logan stroked the slender, delicate fingers and smiled at Hana. “Geez though woman, I never expected you to be so bloody clumsy!”

  Hana laughed and slapped his hand, giving him a look of fake disgust. Logan settled then and they enjoyed a jovial evening. Logan ordered for both of them, le cassoulet avec aligot which turned out to be a meat and bean dish with perfectly mashed potatoes and fresh grated cheese. Hana heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of her plate as it arrived. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “I thought you’d ordered alligator!”

  “Thanks!” Logan said, sounding disgruntled.

  “You thought about scaring me, so don’t pretend you didn’t!” Hana chided. “I’m getting better at reading you.”

  Half way through the meal, Alex, the part owner arrived, behaving very un-French-like, drawing them both into a hongi and almost overbalancing Logan with a bear hug. “Bro! This is awesome, you eating here!” he waved his arms expansively. “I’m flattered!”

  Hana cringed at the embarrassment of the public attention, but Logan took it in his stride, clapping his cousin on the back and sharing a joke with him. They were so stuffed after the main course Logan ordered a light berry sorbet for them both, but Hana couldn’t finish hers. “I think I’m going to explode,” Hana whispered and Logan nodded in agreement, rubbing his stomach.

  “I’m gonna let my belt out a notch,” he joked.

  They talked easily and Hana started to believe their marriage could grow into something secure, despite the misery surrounding and touching it. “What do you know of Leslie’s circumstances?” she asked, sipping tonic water. “They seem pretty dire.”

  Logan shook his head. “I dunno. She’s worked for us for over fifty years. Mum would’ve known why she lives that way. It was pretty dismal, aye?”

  Hana nodded. “It’s like the bailiffs have paid her a visit. She owns nothing.”

  Logan smiled and stroked Hana’s fingers. “I’ll ask around. It was certainly odd.” He indicated to their waiter they would like the bill and the man strode off towards the till but didn’t return. Hana’s chest started to feel tight as they waited, knowing she needed to feed her baby.

  “Start the car, babe,” she said as Logan shrugged his muscular shoulders into his jacket. “I’ll get the bill.” Hana stood at the counter while the staff avoided her eye. “Excuse me, I need to pay the bill,” she said politely. “I have to get back to my baby.”

  Confusion reigned as a waitress tallied her order and Hana’s waiter rushed up and stopped her. Hana tried to hand over her visa card, growing annoyed as it was continually refused. “I need to go,” she hissed with urgency. “What’s the problem?” She saw Logan collecting his wallet and car keys and grew irritated.

  Logan’s cousin appeared from the back of the restaurant, pulled away from his cooking. He looked overheated and his black hair stuck up on his large olive head. Hana asked again and he waved his arms and refused her money. “No way! Youse family.”

  Growing irritated as she saw Logan making his way towards the door, Hana said to Alex crossly, “I’ve been saving up to bring him out for his birthday. It’s my treat to my husband. Please take my card, I need to get back to my baby.”

  Alex reluctantly accepted Hana’s card and put it through the machine. She suspected he still didn’t charge her properly, but was keen to get back to her daughter. Logan came up behind her and placed his arm protectively around her shoulder, kissing the side of her head as she slipped her visa card back into her purse. “Thanks, babe,” he said, smiling at her, “I’m not used to being taken out, I could get fond of it.”

  Hana saw Alex’s face out of the corner of her eye as she turned and hugged her husband. She saw understanding reach his eyes. Anyone who knew Logan possessed money would expect him to pay for everything and Hana never did. She fought his tendency to take over financially, maintaining a fierce independence. It was important to her their relationship stayed level. She never again wanted to feel like an appendage to another person – a drain on their resources. Not in this lifetime.

  Alex gave Hana a small smile and nodded to her in a movement which conveyed respect. He looked at his cousin, envying him the pretty redhead and wished he’d been half so fortunate in life. His own wife sent a waitress out to snare him back into the kitchen and he dragged himself away, wondering why he’d let her talk him into expanding, instead of taking his requests for a divorce seriously.

  Hana drove back to Leslie’s and they arrived after dark. The temperature dropped and they stood on the front porch with the cold air drifting around their legs while Leslie answered the door. Phoenix lay happily in her arms but set up a protest as she sensed her mother in the room. She made her little clicking noises and Hana undid the zip at the side of her dress to sit in the only chair and feed her child. It was awkward as she sat with her dress around her waist and Logan’s jacket over her shoulders. “Couldn’t you have waited a little longer?” she grumbled to the baby as Leslie went to make tea and Logan followed her into the small kitchen.

  He leaned against the bench top while the woman put tea leaves into a battered tea pot and provided chipped mugs. “I’ve no milk,” Leslie said apologetically.

  “That’s fine, we can drink it black,” Logan replied, eyeing the gap under the kitchen units where a fridge should have sat.

  Leslie spent the entire day wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut and not offered to babysit her employer’s small daughter while his wife took him for dinner. It was not because she didn’t want to mind the child, because she did, but she didn’t want the baby’s parents to see the poverty she was forced to live in. She arrived home from work excited at the thought of company for the evening, but as she pulled onto the cracked driveway and saw the state of her home, dismay replaced the joy.

  Leslie worried all evening, polishing and cleaning her meagre belongings and the dilapidated old house until she heard the knock on her door. Yet neither Hana nor Logan mentioned it, accepting her in her own environment as easily as they accepted her in theirs. They spent an hour with Leslie, Hana feeding Phoenix in the chair and Logan sitting on the floor. They seemed so easy with her it made the older woman struggle not to shed tears.

  “How’s your daughter, Isla?” Hana asked, referring to the midwife who helped her after Phoenix’s early birth on the mountainside. Leslie beamed with pride.

  “She just took a job at the Auckland maternity unit.” She didn’t tell them how her faithful daughter sent a large proportion of her wage home to her mother, to help settle the debts left by her husband after his death a year ago. Kiwi had been dreadful with money, scraping a living from sheep shearing and other agricultural work. He loved his gambling and his drink and died suddenly of heart failure, leaving Leslie with a bill for
the ambulance and some nasty creditors who refused to go away. As fast as the family paid the interest, more was added and on and on it went. It was like trying to pick up jelly with her fingers, she concluded, incredibly messy and not likely to end well. If it weren’t for the fact she got her food included on those days she worked at the hotel, she would probably have starved long ago.

  Fed and changed, Phoenix lay sleeping in her car seat by the front door. Logan helped his wife sort out her clothing, letting her keep the jacket against the night chill. They bid Leslie goodbye and Hana hugged her and thanked her for releasing them to enjoy Logan’s birthday dinner. “It’s been a pleasure,” Leslie told them and she meant it. They headed off into the night with Hana driving and the gentle Māori lady returned to her kitchen to wash the only three mugs she owned. Two fifty dollar notes lay on the bench top where Logan left them. Hana didn’t say it would be paid work and Leslie hadn’t dared hope. It was a fortune.

  She put it into her bra, determined the men due to collect would not get their hands on it. There was very little left in the house for them to take. Her pride and self-respect were collected a long time ago. She went to her mattress on the bedroom floor with a lighter heart, keeping the money on her person in case. She didn’t put it past the two thugs to pay her a visit in the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Chapter 17

  Hana drove home, struggling with the breakneck drive through the mountains to the hotel. It was pitch black by the time they pulled up in the car park and crunched across the gravel to the front doors.

  Logan used his key and they ran up the back spiral staircase to their room. Once inside, Logan turned on the wall heater while Hana settled the sleeping baby in her drawer on the dressing table. Phoenix snuggled down after stretching her tiny body backwards and raising her arms above her head. Hana watched, stroking her cheek. “She’s so perfect. We’re so lucky,” she whispered.

  Logan turned the main lights off and Hana climbed into bed fully dressed. “Far out, the temperature drops so suddenly in the mountains, doesn’t it?” she muttered.

  “Sure does.” Logan stripped to his boxers and crawled in next to her. “It can be miserable in the winter even though we’re two degrees warmer than Hamilton,” he said, kissing her neck and undoing her zip slowly. “You looked beautiful tonight.” He slipped searching fingers inside Hana’s dress, seeking and probing and enjoying what he found. “At the risk of sounding cheesy, I know a great way of warming up.”

  Hana giggled and shushed him, but didn’t refuse as he tugged at her clothes and undid her bra one-handed, moaning in pleasure at the silky breasts it disgorged. Logan’s touch on her body was light but insistent and they huddled under the sheets and warmed each other.

  Phoenix woke early the next day, so inevitably Hana did also. She fed the baby and took her downstairs to make Logan breakfast in bed. It was difficult one handed. Carrying the tray upstairs whilst holding a baby who still couldn’t control her own body, was a mission. Hana used the spiral staircase but regretted it halfway up, forced to lay the tray down to hitch the baby further up her shoulder. She had to repeat the process on the floor as she got to the bedroom to unlock the door and by the time she handed it over to her husband, it was cold and inedible looking. “Sorry,” Hana said embarrassed, handing a tousled Logan the tray as though it was radioactive. The toast had slipped to one side of the plate and the butter congealed so the fried egg sported a violent yellow fringe. “It wasn’t meant to look like that but I’m out of practice with the one-handed thing.”

  Hana produced cutlery from her jeans pocket and sat on the bed apologising. Logan reached for her hand, his olive chest smooth and inviting with its dusting of dark hair poking from the shirt he hadn’t taken off. “It looks great,” he reassured her. “I’ve never had breakfast in bed before.”

  Hana’s jaw dropped and her face crumpled with sorrow. “That’s so sad. Not ever?”

  Logan shook his head and tucked into the abomination on his plate, separating the bacon from the splat of tomato ketchup swilling around it. Hana fed the dozing baby, perched sideways next to him. “But you brought me food in bed heaps of times,” she said. “I’m ashamed now.” There were so many times during their short marriage he’d done it, especially during her difficult pregnancy. Hana watched, gratified as Logan tucked into his breakfast. The coffee had cooled and slopped in the tray during a particularly difficult moment, when Hana needed to decide whether to drop the baby or the breakfast.

  Logan finished and laid his tray on the wooden floorboards, holding his arms out for Hana to get back into bed. “Happy birthday,” she said smiling at him. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

  A stab of fear at the odd comment passed across Logan’s face and he pulled her into him. Phoenix lay in the middle, flapping her arms and legs and making cute happy noises. Her parents cuddled up either side of her, allowing her to be the centre of attention and watched while their precious little daughter entertained them.

  Hana wished she could bottle the moment, savouring the closeness of her family unit and the security of having her husband so near. She chased away thoughts of Laval and what Monday morning would bring, choosing instead to soak in the experience of lying in bed with her husband and baby, two things she never expected to have again; not in a million years.

  Logan surprised Hana later on with a request to ride up to the section of land at the top of the mountain. She made a face and pointed to the suckling baby. “Leslie’s here,” Logan said. “I asked her and she doesn’t mind.”

  Hana squirmed. “We can’t keep abusing her goodwill, Logan, it’s not fair.”

  “Please Hana,” he asked, looking hurt by her reluctance. “If we ride hard, we can be back in three hours. If you feed her asleep now, she’ll be ok for that long.”

  “But if we leave when she finishes, it’ll take ages to tack the horses. It’ll be an hour before we’re mounted and we still have to ride up and back.”

  Logan threw himself on the bed next to her. “Please?” he begged. “I’ll tack up now and have everything waiting. I promise.”

  “Ok,” she agreed, emphasising, “but only if Leslie’s ok with it and you promise we can be back in time. I don’t want to walk in on a hysterical baby!”

  Logan’s face lit up like a child, watching the Christmas tree lights first turned on. He rushed from the bedroom, returning a few minutes later from his sister’s room next door. Liza’s jodhpurs and chaps dangled from his hand, accompanied by a big smile. “Hop into these when you’re done and I’ll be ready,” he grinned.

  “Hop?” Hana snorted. “I just gave birth! I don’t think they’ll fit.”

  “They’ll fit,” he replied with a begging tone to his voice.

  “Don’t hassle me though Loge,” Hana warned as he turned to leave, “This will take as long as it takes.”

  He nodded and left with his familiar swagger and Hana lay on the bed and smiled as her child fed. Half an hour later after a nappy change and another feed, Phoenix lay in her drawer in the middle of the kitchen table. Leslie bustled around her, dealing with the day’s menu and ordering the kitchen workers around. It was calm and orderly in the industrial kitchen, but Hana wondered what the health inspector would say if he spotted the contents of the table.

  Logan sought her. He took her hand and made her run the length of the house to the little private mudroom at the back, where the tack was cleaned and mended and the outdoor clothes kept. He took a Jillaroo hat from a peg and turned shyly, handing it to Hana. It was a brown leather replica of his Jackaroo, only smaller and daintier. “I want you to have this,” he said with ceremony. “It was Mum’s. I bought it for her when I got my first month’s wages mustering. She didn’t ride much so it’s almost new. I saddle soaped it yesterday. Would you like it?”

  It was such a tender offering and Logan’s heart seemed raw and momentarily open. Hana took it with reverence and popped it on her head, making her husband smile. “Do I look
like a McLeod’s Daughter now?”

  Logan put his hands around her waist and kissed her under the brim of the hat. “You look like a Du Rose daughter now,” he said, approving.

  He pushed Jodhpur boots at her, also Liza’s. Hana shoved her feet into them and Logan helped her fit the leather chaps over her lower leg. His fingers moved with sensuous precision against her calves and Hana felt a flush of desire which dilated her pupils and flustered her. Logan winked as he took her hand and dragged her to the stable yard where he threw her into the saddle of a huge Appaloosa gelding. He sorted her girth and stirrups and then mounted his spotted white mare, Sacha.

  “You remember Digger, don’t you?” he reminded her, as his mare wheeled round and took off towards the yard gate. Hana didn’t have time to answer as her horse set off after him at a trot. While Logan opened the gate and closed it behind her, Hana reached into the hat and found a piece of elastic which she yanked under her chin. ‘If we ride hard,’ Logan had said and Hana’s heart quailed in fear, remembering the washed out cliff and the awful bum slide she endured on this horse before. She prayed God would protect her from injury and humiliation, not able to decide which was worse.

  “Shouldn’t we warm the horses up first?” Hana called to Logan and he shook his head.

  “Na. I rounded them up on the quad bike. They’re fine.” He took off at a fast canter uphill.

  The horses climbed the property with Logan negotiating the gates without dismounting, sending Hana on ahead. She let her horse lead the way, suspecting he knew where they were going. On the fluffy green slopes, Digger galloped hard at the prospect of Sacha following as though they were in a race. The mare’s dinner plate hooves pounded behind them after closing another gate and Hana’s mount put his ears flat against his head and ran, stripping the breath from her lungs. Logan cut through the bush on what seemed like a circuitous route, but they reached the top of the hill in half an hour, puffed and exhilarated, a relieved Hana still in the saddle and her hat firmly on her head. She was pink-cheeked and flushed, her breath coming in heaves. Logan laughed at her. “It’s fantastic, aye?”