One Heartbeat

by Bowes, K T

  “Ok, if you’re sure.” Hana dashed to the mud room at the back of the house, finding Liza’s jodhpur boots and a pair of chaps to protect her calves. She sorted out the old hat of Miriam’s Logan once gave to her and clamped it down over her hair. Then she doubted herself.

  “What’s wrong with you, kōtiro?” Leslie asked with a chuckle as Hana arrived back in the kitchen. “Youse got fleas girl?”

  The other women rolled their eyes at Leslie’s familiarity with her employer’s wife, but Hana didn’t notice. “I’ll feel a total wally dressed as ‘Penelope of Pony Club’ if Bobby turns up out front with a quad bike, or the Jeep,” she whined.

  “Shush woman and get youse arse out the front,” Leslie snorted.

  Hana hovered inside the hotel lobby, tidying up the magazines and straightening the flowers on coffee tables in the lobby. The clattering of hooves on the gravel made her heart quail. She wasn’t confident on horseback and found it a trial with Logan. He always said he wouldn’t go fast and then did as though his understanding of ‘fast’ was different to hers.

  “I’m not riding that!” Hana pointed at the stomping white mare on the driveway, blinking in the brightness outside. Logan’s horse eyed her haughtily and snaked her neck towards Bobby’s hand.

  “Enough!” he snapped at her, pulling his hand free and dropping the rope.

  Hana shook her head and backed away. “Nope, I’m not coming,” she said with determination.

  Jack, the stable manager limped around the corner, waving his arms and causing both horses to act spooky. Hana wished he’d keep his body parts still and signed to him in his language to keep still. The deaf man read her hands and emphatically called her over, making his strange guttural noises and signing her to hurry. Hana shook her head and signed ‘scared,’ but he dismissed it, telling her Sacha would keep her safe.

  Hana felt forty years fall from her life, leaving just six as she stamped her foot and pouted. Jack cackled loudly as Bobby struggled with Sacha and the gelding. “I don’t want to,” she whined, seeing Jack’s eyes narrow as he locked his will against hers.

  “Bloody get on!” Bobby shouted as Sacha aimed a kick at the gelding and Hana clumped reluctantly towards the mare. She tried not to look her in the eye, facing Logan’s expensive tan saddle, her nose an inch away.

  Jack intended to throw her onto Sacha’s back, making Hana bend her left leg at the knee and using the spring in the joint to chuck her into the saddle. “No,” she complained, flapping her hand behind her back. Jack grunted and slapped Hana’s bum, taking her by surprise as he flung her skywards.

  She almost stabbed herself on the horn of the pommel as she went up, saving herself from being flung clean over by the enthusiastic old man. Jack shortened the stirrups but refused to do the dangling girth up tighter, shaking his head and telling her with his hands to ‘ride like a Du Rose.’

  “I’ll end up riding like a freakin’ dead person,” Hana wailed as Jack threw Bobby onto his mount the same way. To Hana’s disgust, she noticed he rode Digger, the horse she often used. She pulled a face at him. “As soon as we get away from here,” she whispered, “we’re swapping!”

  Bobby looked doubtful and set off in a clatter of hooves, going in a different direction from the one Logan favoured. A deep sandy track left the driveway fifty metres beyond the hotel gate, veering off left and making a steep climb up the mountain side. There were deep track marks from lorry wheels but the going was easy, despite the winter’s abuse of the freshly dug earth. “Does this go all the way to the top?” Hana asked in surprise and Bobby turned and nodded.

  “What a pity Logan’s divorcing me,” she muttered, “especially now I don’t have to half kill myself visiting his favourite place on earth.”

  The dappled white mare snorted beneath her as though understanding Hana spoke disrespectful thoughts about her master. Sacha hated following, undoubtedly used to Logan leading any string of horsemen and Hana let her pull alongside Bobby, noticing the wild look in Digger’s eyes at her appearance. “When can we swap?” Hana asked, her tone demanding.

  “I can’t ride her, miss,” Bobby replied, giving her a look of complete sincerity. “She only carries Du Roses; nobody else. She’ll buck me off quick as a flash. I’ve seen her do it.” He patted Digger’s neck with a tanned hand dusted in blonde hairs. “I’ll stick with this old boy here, thanks.”

  Hana tutted like a small child, planning to ambush Digger when they stopped at the top. Sacha blew through her nostrils again, telling her off. “I’m not a Du Rose anyway,” Hana complained under her breath. “I’m a...”

  And there lay the root of the problem; Hana couldn’t decide who she was. In the tennis courts under the stars she was momentarily Hana Johal, doubles tennis star. With her father and brother she was Hana McIntyre. But who was she really; Phoenix’s mother, Logan’s wife? Even her older children were Johals. Hana huffed and Sacha puffed and Bobby observed the females with alarm, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He chatted to Hana, distracting her with facts about the build.

  “Why are you managing the project?” Hana asked. “Is it something you enjoy?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Kinda. I worked as a carpenter in a previous life, well, before things went wrong and I ended up as a fugitive.” His brow furrowed and he fell silent.

  “Are you happy here?” Hana asked.

  Bobby nodded with enthusiasm, his cheeks colouring at the reason for his happiness, hoping Hana didn’t guess. She didn’t.

  “But isn’t it hard, being trapped up here, unable to go anywhere in case the cops spot you and arrest you? You must miss your family sometimes; my son said your stepbrother and his wife are lovely people.”

  Bobby shook his head long after Hana finished speaking. “The cops will find me one day, miss. When I need hospital treatment, or I have to leave for one of my boys; it’s inevitable. I’m all right in the township. Mr Du Rose’s word is law and if I’m ok by him, the townsfolk don’t have a problem with me.” He smiled sideways, his blue eyes glittering with passion. “I had my freedom and look what I did with it, miss. I burned myself and other people. Up here, I’m just me and I like who that is. I’m the man my step ma loved and had faith in. These people let me be him. Bobby.” He grinned at Hana. “And I ain’t riding that horse!”

  Her face dropped and she looked grumpy. The horse snorted again as though laughing. “You horrid nag!” Hana exclaimed and Bobby threw his head back and laughed.

  “Jack said it had to be this way - and he knows his horses,” Bobby said sagely and Hana glared at him, determined to get her own way as soon as his backside left the gelding’s saddle. “How’s things with you nowadays, miss? Now Laval Senior’s locked up and the other evil bastard’s hanged himself.”

  Hana shook her head, surprising herself with her answer, “Coming apart at the seams.”

  Bobby held her gaze for a long moment and Hana felt conflicted. Despite her need for a confidante, gossip from the hotel went round the township like a bushfire. She looked at the hotel roof hundreds of metres below them and sighed. “Miss,” Bobby said, his voice low, “I ain’t no gossip. I don’t speak about others in the hope they won’t speak about me; I can stay here longer then. If nobody don’t talk about me, the cops can’t find me.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” Hana replied.

  “Try the beginning.”

  Half an hour later, the riders had skirted native bush and mountains until finally they rode through a gap in the fence at the top of the mountain. The breeze was harder at altitude and the air colder. Hana had talked until she was hoarse and Bobby listened, giving her eye contact and the occasional nod of acknowledgement. She talked about her first marriage and the baggage she inadvertently dragged into her relationship with Logan. Hana told him about her father and brother and their recent meeting. She even confessed to her time on the tennis court with the man who knew she could play. Bobby’s brow knitted at Hana’s recount of arriving home to find Amanda d
raping herself over Logan on the sofa. He shook his head. “Man’s an idiot if he’s messing around behind your back,” he said and Hana stared at the latent anger flashing in his blue eyes. His loyalty made her feel gratified. “I’d kill him myself!” he spat and Hana saw a flash of Flick, the other dangerous persona. Bobby shook his head seeing her fear and kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, making the effort to uncurl his fists.

  At the top of the mountain, he dismounted, producing two halter ropes from the pockets of the saddle blanket and attaching them to the fence. He stripped off the tack and slipped rope halters over the beasts’ faces, making sure they could graze but not roam. “It’s no longer a paddock, miss,” he said. “It’s a building site.”

  Hana wandered around the site as Bobby checked items off a long handwritten list. “Where is everyone?” she asked. “Why’s nobody working?”

  “Waiting for supplies,” Bobby replied. He waved his hand towards the structure. “The framing is metal. It’s usually wood but the house will get a battering from the elements and needed tough, durable materials.”

  Hana nodded and clattered over the sturdy concrete base, using the doorways to give her an idea of the finished house. The tiled roof protected her from the cold breeze but subjected her to an unnerving whistle as the forceful air pressed around the structure. The back of the house had external plasterboard installed and the builders had begun fitting split brick over the top. It was a pretty material resembling Cotswold stone and Hana imagined the rooms enclosed by walls.

  Port Waikato was a cluster of tiny dots in the distance far below, with the estuary and sea beyond it. “It will be a beautiful house,” Hana said with sadness. “Logan’s spared no expense.”

  Bobby smiled wistfully. “He’s built it for you, miss.”

  Hana shook her head. “I don’t think so, Bobby.” She sighed. “You shouldn’t tell him you brought me here; I think he’ll be angry.” She jerked her head towards the grazing white horse. “Maybe don’t mention I rode his horse either. If he doesn’t already hate me, he will then.”

  “You’re wrong, miss. He adores you.” Bobby looked up, checking dangling cables with interest. He nodded with approval at the veritable spaghetti covering the joists and running down walls. “All looks good,” he said.

  “Where will the power come from?” Hana asked, sure Logan had already told her a million times.

  “Generator,” Bobby replied. “That’s what the tradies have been using. It works fine and there’s a backup in case something goes wrong.” He saw her swivel her head around and anticipated her next question. “There’s a water tank and UV filter for rainwater. But there’s also a natural spring a hundred metres north so you have a pump on that too.” He smiled. “Should be more than enough for when your girl’s a teenager and using up all your hot water.”

  Bobby laughed, expecting her to join in but Hana didn’t. She felt maudlin again. “I’ll probably be dead by then or too old to get out of bed. She can use my share.”

  Hana turned away but found Bobby’s strong hand on her upper arm. She saw his eyes flick to her wounded wrist, avoiding causing her pain. His face was close to hers. “Seems to me, miss, you spend too much time thinking.” His breath caressed Hana’s face, smelling of chewing gum. Bobby lowered his voice and stroked hair away from her cheeks with the back of his hand. “You’ve got to grab each day with both hands and wring out everything life has for you. Who cares if you feel too old to be a mother again or if some other woman’s trying to seduce your husband? You have to put your head down and keep going because sometimes, answers are just around the next corner. Maybe you should play tennis again or take up Spanish or line dancing, but the important things are people, Hana. You just spent the last half hour telling me about the people who weren’t in your life but now are. That’s not a problem, miss, that’s a blessing. Decide who you are and then align yourself with those people who let you be her. Stop trying to be a superwoman who’s all things to all people. We get one go round and we’re a long time dead!”

  Bobby let go, his eyes flashing with fear as he saw his fingers clasped firmly around Hana’s arm. Mutual trust passed between them and she nodded her acceptance. “Seen enough?” Bobby asked, his voice low and confidential and Hana nodded.

  “I can’t see myself living here,” she replied, casting her eyes over the structure worth more money than she’d ever owned. Her green eyes met Bobby’s concerned face and he cocked his head and looked sad for her.

  “Come on, let’s see if those bloody horses are still there,” he whispered.

  His laugh split the air as under her breath Hana replied, “I hope mine’s not!”

  Chapter 13

  “But I don’t want to.” Hana complained like a child after they tacked the horses. “You ride her; you promised.”

  “I did not!” Bobby retorted.

  “I bet you can mount her fine,” Hana said. “You’re lying because you don’t want her either.” Sacha turned her furry, dappled face towards Hana and her eyes looked sad. Hana ignored her. “Go on, try,” she begged the stock man.

  Bobby took the reins in his left hand and readied himself to mount the dappled-white mare. Sacha tossed her mane and stepped sideways as he lifted his foot towards the stirrup. He exhaled crossly and repeated the movement with the same result. Bobby tried again and again, looking like he was in a hopping competition and going nowhere fast. “See!” he spat crossly, giving up.

  The mare’s eyes developed a white rim around her dark brown iris, the blue wall eye on her left already threatening. Bobby leapt out of the way as Sacha turned her backside towards him, ripping the reins from his fingers and raising a back leg to kick him. He jumped out of the way and approached the mare’s head, gingerly taking up the reins again as the veins in his neck stood out through his skin. “Get your backside on this mare or I’m leaving you here!” he snapped.

  Bobby threw Hana into the saddle with gusto, getting bitten on the bum for trying to tighten the girth.

  “You think you’re the boss,” Hana grumbled to the horse. “I don’t understand why Logan loves you, you’re a bitch.”

  Sacha tossed her magnificent mane and trotted towards the track home. Hana tried not to look at the kauri tree in the corner of the section where her husband’s and baby’s afterbirth were buried, tying them permanently to the whenua, the land. Her name would never deserve an inscription on the sacred, tapu tree, with a carved picture to denote her lineage. She was a marital interloper, a Du Rose by proxy.

  The downward journey was quicker than the upward, the horses imagining Jack pouring feed into their buckets. They jogged steadily downward and Hana settled on Logan’s horse, feeling safe enough.

  They arrived in the stable yard around midday, making a spectacle for a group of Japanese tourists who captured Hana’s ungainly descent on huge cameras around their tiny necks. Sacha showed off, stomping and whirling for her audience and Hana swore as she lifted the bridle off the large head and the horse winked at her. “Did you see that?” she asked Jack and he peered at her lips while Hana repeated it and then shrugged. Jack made Hana shower and groom the mare, enjoying watching her love-hate-relationship with the beast. “But you let Bobby go!” Hana complained and Jack rolled his eyes and ignored her, jabbing his head towards the hose pipe.

  As she picked up the huge dinner plate hooves, Sacha rubbed her forehead up and down Hana’s bottom, causing her to pitch forwards, grumbling. “Damn horse!” she complained. Jack watched her from the corner of his eye and enjoyed Hana’s display of pique.

  The Japanese tourists went on a short trek of their own, cameras bouncing around their necks and threatening to garrotte them if they got up any serious speed. Jack got Digger’s feed ready in a yellow bucket, pointing out Sacha’s diet on a blackboard in the feed room for Hana to mix. “A scoop of this and a pinch of that. Far out!” Hana whined, “It’s like baking a chuffing cake! She’s better fed than me.”

  Sacha ground her shod front
feet noisily along the concrete until her rider appeared with a pink bucket. Hana had chaffage in her hair and over her fleece top. The huge wooden bin was nearly empty, making the tiny crumbs in the bottom hard to reach for someone small and slender. Hana balanced herself on the wooden edge using her stomach muscles, but overreached and fell in face first. She stood on her hands with her legs in the air considering adding vomit to the bin before managing to crawl her way out backwards. Miriam’s hat remained at the bottom, unreachable.

  Sacha gobbled her grains with greedy enthusiasm and Jack handed Hana’s hat over, tears visible in his rheumy eyes. “You stood and watched me struggle, didn’t you?” she raged and he pretended he didn’t know what she was saying, snorting as he walked away.

  When he released her from her duties, Hana stomped back to the mud room, kicking off Liza’s boots and leaving the hat on its peg. She brushed her clothes outside the back door, coughing at the chaff dust which blew around her face.

  Phoenix slept in her pram in the family dining and Hana stared at it in surprise. “You found my car keys?” she said, relieved. “I realised you might need the pram when I was half way up the mountain.”

  Leslie pushed the pram with her foot and continued reading her women’s magazine, despite the chaos next door. The Japanese visitors who opted not to ride expected a picnic lunch for their coach trip to Rangiriri Pa – an old fortified Māori redoubt on the way back to Hamilton. “I’d quite like to go there,” Hana commented. “I’ve never been.”

  “Youse go and get cleaned up,” Leslie said, eyeing the shroud of dust coating Hana. The old woman seemed nervous as though forcing herself to relax. An odd atmosphere occupied the kitchen and dining room and Hana stared at Leslie without understanding.

  “Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

  Leslie shook her head. “No, miss. Get clean for lunch; everything’s good here.” Hana’s baby looked porked, breathing heavily like her stomach might pop.

  “What do you do to her?” Hana asked, staring at her child. “You realise she’ll break the scales at the next baby weigh-in.”