New Zealand Brides Box Set

by Diana Fraser

  Zane glanced at the half-open door and could hear the murmur of Rachel’s and her father’s voices. After tonight, the national news would be full of the changes his tribe had made to their policies, changes Zane had instigated. He followed Gabe out into the hall. “Are you coming?”

  “No way. Rachel only invited me to stave off a scene and”—he glanced at the closed door behind which they could hear Jim comforting his daughter—“I reckon I’m too late for that. You go in there and deal with it.”

  Gabe walked to the door. “Best of luck, mate,” he called over his shoulder. “I think you’re going to need it!” The door closed with a thunk, leaving Zane alone for a few moments, half-wishing he could leave with Gabe, leave all the drama and the difficulty behind, but he knew, deep down, he couldn’t move forward without facing it.

  Zane opened the kitchen door. Rachel was stirring the contents of a pot which sizzled on the stovetop, the steam curling the tendrils of hair which had escaped her ponytail. She glanced at him as he entered, her eyes red and watery.

  “Rachel,” Zane exclaimed, immediately walking over to her. “I’m so sorry to upset you.”

  “I should think so,” said Jim, standing watching them both. “Now, I’m going to leave you two to sort this out, once and for all.”

  “Dad! Where are you going?” asked Rachel anxiously, making Zane’s heart sink at her obvious unwillingness to be alone with him.

  “None of your business. I’m nearly seventy years old and I think I can go out on my own without your permission.” With that, he grabbed his jacket from the hook and left. Silence fell over them, broken only by the backfiring of Jim’s old Daimler. Rachel poured the contents of the pot into a bowl, leaving Zane standing, wondering how the hell he was going to break this impasse.

  Then he heard a sound and he saw Rachel was crying again. He couldn’t hold back any longer and went to her. “Rachel, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I thought it would be good news for you.”

  She flicked the taps on and squirted detergent into the sink, then turned around and put her hands on her hips and he was rewarded with the blackest look he’d seen in a long time. But, even so, he couldn’t help thinking she looked hotter than ever.

  “You thought that, did you? You thought you could block me from seeing my daughter, and then, at a whim, unblock it, and I’d come crawling to you on my knees to give thanks? Is that what you though? Hey?”

  “Of course not. There was no whim—”

  “What do you call it when you overturn a decision simply because you discovered it was me? Seems like your principles fly out the window when you want something.”

  “It’s not like that. For Christ’s sake, hear me out. There’s one reason and one reason only why I’ve overturned the decision and that’s because you made me realize I was wrong.” He held up his hand to stop her from interrupting. “You’re right, it did involve you, but only because you made me see I hadn’t taken everything into consideration.”

  “You don’t say,” she said with heavy sarcasm. “The great Zane forgot to tick a box. And what exactly does this box cover?”

  “Compassion. People. Individual circumstances. I judged too soon. I was too swayed by my own history. And I’m sorry about that, Rachel. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

  He waited for her to say something but for once her mouth formed no words, only a soft opening ‘oh’. She swallowed and bit her lip, suddenly aware of the implications. “You’re sorry.” She gave a wan smile. “And you think that’s enough?”

  “I simply mean—”

  “I know what you mean!” He suspected that she didn’t, but before he could remonstrate, she continued. “And there’s nothing simple about it. Anyway, why don’t you leave? The party’s over before it’s begun.” She grabbed some saucepans and dropped them into the hot soapy water, gave them a cursory wash before placing them on the drainer.

  He glanced around. “Let me help you clear up, at least.” That way, he reckoned he might be able to stay and make things feel normal again. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll do this?” He grabbed the pot she’d washed from the drying rack, checked it over, and placed it back in the water.

  Rachel looked from the pot to Zane. “I’ve already washed that.”

  Zane twisted it to show Rachel the smear of food still on it. “It’s not clean.”

  It had seemed a reasonable response from Zane when he uttered the words, but seeing Rachel’s face grow angry again, he suddenly realized he’d made a mistake.

  “It’s not clean? I’ve washed it and you’re going to re-wash it because it’s not clean? That’s how you carry on, isn’t it, Zane? Picking at other people’s imperfections, passing judgement on other people’s behavior. Nothing ever matches up to your supremely high ideals, does it?”

  Zane looked at the pot, complete with the smeared remains of a béchamel sauce, and then back at Rachel, wondering what he’d missed.

  “And nothing ever will, because you’re too damn rigid,” she continued. “You have your rules and if something or someone doesn’t fit into them, all nice and neat, then you either change them or get rid of them. Well”—she poked him in the chest—“I’ve got news for you. I’m not going to change, so you may as well leave now.”

  “Rachel, I don’t want you to change. That’s what I came here to tell you.” He paused as he reconsidered his words. “Kind of.”

  “Kind of? You mean you’d like to not want me to change, but you still want me to change, hey?”

  “I…” He hesitated, re-running her words in her head, his confusion increasing and his understanding slipping farther out of reach with each re-run. Seemed Etta and Rachel had another thing in common—the ability to confuse him with words.

  She stepped closer and folded her arms, her head cocked to one side. “What are you really doing here, Zane? What did you expect my reaction would be to your news?”

  He shrugged, turning over the options carefully in his mind before speaking. “I thought you might be pleased.”

  Her beautiful dark eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. “Pleased?” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t help his eyes descending to her chest which rose and fell with hypnotic power. He managed to lift his gaze before she opened her eyes. “Pleased? Yes, sure, I’m pleased. But what I’m not sure about is whether it changes anything. Does it, Zane?”

  The sudden switch from anger to doubt, caught him off-guard. “Maybe.” He decided to hedge his bets. “Maybe not.”

  She rolled her eyes. He’d chosen the wrong response. “Just go,” she said.

  “No.” That was one thing he was certain about.

  “Then I am.” She looked down at the pot, irritated. “And put that saucepan down.”

  He looked down at the pan which he was still holding, scared to move the damn thing anywhere.

  “Where?”

  Rachel grunted with annoyance, took it from him and, after a moment’s hesitation sploshed it into the soapy sink.

  “You’ve put it in the water,” he noted with surprise.

  “Of course.” She looked at him as if he were a dolt. “I don’t want to cook using dirty pots.”

  Baffled, he watched as she vigorously scrubbed the pots and placed them on the drainer. Without glancing at him, she pulled on an oversized cardigan which was hanging on the peg, pulled it around her and went outside.

  He followed her down the steps, across the short stretch of lawn until the grass grew patchy and the sand took over. Zane had no idea if she expected him to follow her but, at the risk of another confusing conversation, there was no way he could leave. It was lighter away from the trees and the starlight glanced off the harbor, magnifying the light, lending her silhouette a glow which for a brief moment, he imagined emanated from her.

  She walked up to the end of the short jetty where a couple of chairs still remained from summer. She stopped suddenly and looked up to the sky. By the time he caught up with
her he could see the anger had gone, leaving behind only confusion and sadness. His heart broke a little.

  “Rachel, are you okay?”

  He almost wished for the angry glower to appear on her face again. But it didn’t. There was only hurt now. She clutched the chunky cardigan around her. It made her appear more fragile, younger, like a teenager again. Like Etta.

  “I don’t know what I am anymore.” She looked up at him and it took him all his control not to put his arm around her and scoop her into his arms and keep her safe. But he knew that wouldn’t fix anything. Not yet.

  “You’re still you.”

  She sat in the chair. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “What? Why should you be afraid of being you?”

  She tilted her head until her gaze caught his. “Because I’m not enough, Zane. I’m not enough for you, I’m not enough for me, and I’m sure as hell not enough for Etta.”

  She rolled her head back so she was looking straight out to the silver sheen of the harbor.

  “Yes, you are. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I came to tell you.”

  “You told me. You overturned the decision. The way is clear for me to have a relationship with Etta, providing she wants one. And I think we’ve established she doesn’t.”

  “Rachel. You only let me tell you part of the story. There’s more. Etta has worked hard with her counselor, she’s made progress and she’s told her, and me, that she wants to meet with you. She’s ready.” He reached for her hands which he took in his, willing her to understand with the pressure he applied. “She didn’t mean any of those things she said before. She’s probably forgotten half of them. It was shock talking. But now… she’s ready. All I need to know is whether you are.”

  She turned slowly back to face him. “Ready? To meet Etta?”

  “Are you?”

  “You mean to say you’ll let me and Etta get to know each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure she wants to? Are you really sure? Because I don’t want to force the situation.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Right. Right.”

  The strain in her voice broke down the last shreds of his reserve and he knelt on the jetty and put his arm around her. “Good. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you.” She sniffed and looked away. “I shouldn’t have let it happen. At the time I knew it but somehow I got swept along by all these adults ‘knowing’ better. I simply went along with it. And I’ve regretted it every moment of my life since. I shouldn’t have been away so long. I shouldn’t—”

  “Hey, stop beating yourself up.” He turned her in his arms, and saw the tears pool in her eyes and slide down her cheeks.

  She stood up and brushed away her tears. “Look at me, crying! Ridiculous!”

  “No, it’s not. You lost a baby and now you’ve found her. That’s pretty momentous. I reckon you’re allowed a few tears.”

  “I’ve found her,” she repeated, looking away. “She’ll be able to come and visit me…”

  “I’ll go and get her.”

  “What?” She reached out for his hand.

  “She wants to see you; she knew I was coming here and she’s waiting back at the marae.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “One step at a time.”

  “I need to change, I need to—”

  “Stay here. Don’t move, don’t change. We’ll come to you in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Rachel watched Zane walk quickly away. She paced one way and then another. She began walking up to the house… to get what? She didn’t know, but a lifetime of resorting to the kitchen in moments of grief and happiness, had her entering the kitchen and heating up some milk for hot chocolate. She poured it into a flask and then walked back to the jetty, as Zane had suggested.

  She placed the flask and mugs onto the table and sat down, but immediately jumped up again. There was no way she could remain seated, not with Etta about to arrive. Instead, she was pacing when she heard the sound of the car turn into the drive, and park outside. The car lights dimmed and then two car doors slammed and there was silence.

  Rachel held her breath. Had she come? Two car doors, she reminded herself. Two. But no one spoke. Then she heard a rustle of branches being pushed back. She peered into the darkness and saw two shadows—one unmistakably Zane’s, the other, shorter and slight. They walked in silence across the grass. She heard the slight scrunch of sand beneath their feet before they emerged onto the jetty. Zane stepped up first.

  “Rachel,” he said softly. “Etta’s here. She’d like to meet you.” He paused. “Properly, this time.”

  Rachel’s eyes hadn’t left the dark shadow which lurked behind Zane. “Etta?” she asked gently. Etta looked up then and the moonlight caught the whites of her eyes. She looked wide-eyed and nervous. “Etta,” she repeated. “Thank you for coming.”

  Etta nodded, but didn’t speak.

  “Would you like some hot chocolate? I have some in a flask here.” She indicated the table at the end of the jetty, around which wooden chairs were fixed.

  Again, a silence which seemed too vast to bridge. Rachel shot Zane a warning glance. She didn’t want Etta rushed. She didn’t want Zane to prompt her.

  “Yeah,” said Etta at last. “Please,” she added as an afterthought.

  “Zane?” Rachel asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Trying to calm her shaking hands, Rachel sat and poured them all a cup, while she spoke, about anything. “We could go inside, but I’ve always liked to sit outside when I can.”

  “So do I!” said Etta enthusiastically, without prompting. “I guess we are alike, like Uncle Zane says.”

  Rachel smiled at Zane, who looked from one to the other with satisfaction before sipping the hot chocolate which she knew he didn’t like. He managed to hide a grimace.

  “Yep. Both strong-willed, stubborn and…”

  “And?” prompted Rachel and Etta together.

  “Women I would not want to be without.”

  “Just as well we’re family then, isn’t it?” said Etta. She turned to Rachel, the wide-eyed look replaced by her usual jaunty confidence. “Eh, Mom?”

  The night seemed to hold its breath, as Etta’s words lingered in the air, and settled somewhere deep inside of Rachel, warming her like no amount of hot chocolate would.

  “Yes, it is,” Rachel replied.

  “Here’s to family,” Zane said, raising his mug to the others. Rachel and Etta brought theirs to his. “Family,” they repeated, clinking their mugs together. He took a drink of the chocolate and grimaced briefly.

  “Enjoying the drink, Zane?” asked Etta with a cheeky grin. “Because I know how much you like hot chocolate!”

  Rachel burst into laughter as Zane placed his near full cup onto the table. “I don’t know what you two see in it.”

  “Chocolate!” replied Rachel, as Etta nodded in agreement.

  * * *

  Rachel couldn’t have said how long they stayed outside. But the moon had risen high into the sky, when they heard Jim’s car return. He followed the sounds of their voices outside and joined them. Rachel brought blankets and more food and drinks outside and they talked. About everything. Polite stuff at first, skirting around issues, then other things, more meaningful things, things which she and her father regretted from the past, things of the future which they wanted to do to make up for it. But all the while, despite the comfortable and uncomfortable things said, there was an understanding which grew. Etta’s counselor had done a good job. She’d helped Etta to begin to understand and accept what had happened. And now, Rachel knew, it was up to her to continue to build the relationship, and she couldn’t wait.

  12

  Etta screwed up her face in concentration, as she looked first at the goal, then at the ball, pacing back a half-dozen steps until she had the correct angle. Then she half-ran toward the ball, set in a small mound of earth,
and kicked it, her whole body gracefully in tune with the movement, as she twisted into the kick, and the rugby ball went soaring into the air.

  Zane ran forward, his whistle in his mouth as they watched the ball rise into the blue sky and then drop down, perfectly placed between the two uprights.

  Etta jumped up, fist high in the air.

  Zane blew the whistle which signaled the end of the practice.

  “Good one, Etta!” said Zane. “You’ll play for New Zealand yet.”

  “Just like my uncle,” she said with a grin.

  “Yeah, must be. Not from your dad, that’s for sure.”

  “So what’s Dad like then?” asked Etta.

  “Don’t you remember him from his last visit home?”

  Etta shot Zane a withering glance as they walked back to the club rooms. “I was only six. All I remember was he had those babies.” She scowled.

  “Your half-sisters.”

  “They bawled all the time.”

  Zane couldn’t think of anything to say because his brother’s twins had cried a lot. They’d been nothing like Etta, who faced everything squarely and bravely, accommodating changes in circumstances as required. Strong and stoic, that was Etta. “True.” He glanced at his niece who was covered in mud and had the beginnings of a large bruise on her shin. “And you’re more like your mom. She’s a force to be reckoned with, too.”

  “I still don’t really understand why she left me.”

  “No. I don’t suppose she does, either. Sometimes, like rugby, people take a mis-step. No one ever does the right thing all the time. It’s what comes after that matters. And Rachel’s been trying to make up for that mistake, every day of her life, one way or another.”

  “Do you think she’ll stay around here? She says she won’t, but Aunty reckons she’ll be off to the States soon, because they want her over there.”

  Zane made a mental note to have a word with that particular aunty. There was no skirting the issue now. He took her by the shoulders and faced her. “If Rachel says she will, she will. Ignore the gossips.”