Sleep in the Woods

by Dorothy Eden

  A fortnight later, on their return from their honeymoon spent in a cottage in one of the more sheltered bays, Sophia came to call. She had blossomed into a confident young matron. Already she was house-proud and was planning her first dinner party. Not that she could take too much interest in the very modest house Peter had found for them, for Peter was restless and dissatisfied with his banking career. He wanted to buy land and make money quickly as the more enterprising settlers did. He planned to go north looking for a suitable property, and talked of settling in the Taranaki district where Saul was doing so well.

  “So we may be living near you, Briar,” Sophie said. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Oh, Briar, do come upstairs and help me with my hair. I’ve never been able to do it as cleverly as you did.”

  In the large bedroom occupied now only by Prudence, who missed her sister sadly and grew quiet and peaked, Sophie untied her bonnet, plumped herself on the stool in front of the dressing table, and said, “I really do want you to do my hair, but I wanted to see you alone, too.”

  “Why?” Briar asked, with a beating heart. Had Peter found he didn’t love his wife, after all?

  “Because I thought you ought to be told something about marriage. I mean, you’re to marry Saul in less than a month, aren’t you? And somehow—” she had flushed scarlet and seemed overcome with embarrassment—“I don’t think Saul will have quite the nature to be as thoughtful as Peter. I admit he would terrify me.”

  “You mean in bed?” Briar asked flatly.

  Sophia nodded. “You see, Briar dear, no one had told me anything about what happens, and I must warn you that it is a great shock. Indeed,” she went on, rapidly regaining her confidence and beginning to enjoy her role of experienced woman, “if one were not in love, I don’t think one could endure it. But if one is, of course, it’s an entirely different matter. But I do think a new bride should be prepared a little.”

  “What does happen?” Briar asked bluntly.

  “There, I knew you’d know as little as me. So I really do think it’s my duty to tell you. I should do the same for Prue.”

  Briar had picked up the hair brush and begun to tumble the pins out of Sophia’s hair. It was better to be doing something. All at once her legs were trembling. She wanted to hear, and yet so desperately didn’t want to. For whatever it was, it had been Peter’s gentle face on Sophia’s pillow, and on hers it would be that dark burning one.

  “Then hurry and tell me,” she said crisply.

  “Oh, Briar, you’re so downright. Very well, then. If I can find the words.”

  And Sophia promptly found words, boggled over them a little, and imparted the vital information.

  “Oh, dear, do you think. I’m being very immodest? But it’s nature, isn’t it? And, really, after the first night—I know one isn’t supposed to take pleasure in it—Ouch, Briar, you’re brushing far too hard!”

  “Sorry,” said Briar automatically. She wanted to run away and hide. She couldn’t endure this. For although instinctively she had known, she had never begun to visualize such an act, and now she could not listen to Sophia boasting of her superior experience, much less could she think of Sophia in Peter’s arms. And as for Saul with his iron hard arms pinning her down, a prisoner …

  “And now,” said Sophia smugly, “I expect I shall have a baby.”

  “Oh, stop boasting!” Briar said, between her teeth. “That’s really all you’re doing.”

  Sophia’s round ingenuous face looked deeply hurt. “Am I? Oh, I didn’t mean to do that. It was just that you being a bride so soon—” her eyes swam with tears. “Well, who else can I talk to but you? Only don’t be frightened—”

  “I’m not frightened!”

  “You look so fierce and angry. I know it is a shock. But you’ll be glad I told you. And don’t let it spoil your wedding day. Think of other things.”

  Aunt Charity, with her incurable desire to take command of every situation, said that Katie O’Toole was far too young and irresponsible and ignorant. Whatever had Briar been thinking of to engage a servant without making a great many inquiries as to her ability and honesty. And preferably she should not have been such a child.

  However, said Aunt Charity candidly, Briar was little more than a child herself, and only just graduated from the servant class. So perhaps she had been wise to employ a girl whom she could dominate. But Katie needed intensive training in everything, and there was less than a month in which to do it. Aunt Charity shook her head, flung up her hands despairingly, and proceeded with the greatest zest to deal with the situation.

  Katie was installed in the house, sharing cook’s room, and started on a nerve-racking course of cleaning silver, waiting at table, washing and laundering, and the elements of cooking. Her little untidy red head spun, and her eyes got a wild look, and she was inclined to burst into tears every time Aunt Charity came into the room.

  But for Briar’s sake she would endure this purgatory, and even learn a little, if so be the baker’s boy did not catch her eye too often and distract her from her work.

  Aunt Charity, with one wedding just accomplished and another on her hands, was a whirlwind of energy. She caused more disturbance in the house than had all the windows been flung open to the battering nor’wester. She was enjoying her very unlikely role of fairy godmother to the full, and each day came home with bolts of linen for Briar and Prudence to hem into sheets and pillowcases, and with fine lawn for Briar’s nightgowns and cambric for her petticoats.

  Miss Matthews, that dried-up philosophical little dressmaker, who had come to rest so unexpectedly in this far off country, like a storm-battered swallow blown on to an unfamiliar roof, was busily engaged in making the wedding dress, to be sure not as grand as Sophia’s, but very fine nevertheless, and real silk.

  With her mouth full of pins she hissed her pungent comments. “I knew as soon as I saw you that you’d never be wielding a needle all your life. That young lady’s got sauce, I said to myself. She’ll get what she wants.”

  “You’ve made the waist too tight,” Briar said coldly.

  Her haughty attitude was not lost on the perceptive Miss Matthews. But that lady was not going to be intimidated by someone of her own class, though she did speak with a good accent, and gave herself all the airs of a lady.

  “Sorry, love. We can’t have you fainting on the important day, can we? I’ll just ease it there. After all, your waist is small enough not to need pinching. Yes, I said, she’ll get what she wants, that one. And you did, too, didn’t you, dear?”

  “I’d be obliged, Miss Matthews, if you’d just attend to your task, and not talk.”

  Miss Matthews took an unperturbed look at the averted face of her customer. “Sorry, dear. My tongue runs away with me. I can’t help it. You mustn’t mind. I’m just so pleased that instead of ruining your eyes sewing for me you’re getting such a fine husband. I’ve always said what opportunities there are in the colonies, and you see how true it is. I’ve lost one seamstress after another. Even Molly Perkins who had a squint. She married a young man almost as homely in looks, and they went off to the gold diggings in the South Island. Most likely they’ve made their fortune by now. Yes, it’s an exciting country. You’ll never regret coming here. Now, turn around slowly, please. Walk to the door and back. Slowly. Ah, yes. Ah, yes.” The little yellowish dried-up face with its imperturbable cheerfulness was rapt. “You’ll make a beautiful bride, my dear. Much more beautiful, if I may say so, than the new Mrs. Peter Fanshawe. What she lacked was poise. Oh, yes, just a hoyden. But you—my, one would think you’d been born to the part.”

  But more than beauty was required. Mrs. Whitmore made that very plain to Briar, who was summoned to the draughty, small-roomed cottage high on the hillside, and put through another intensive examination, this time not about her antecedents but about her practical ability as a housewife.

  “My son, I am sure, hasn’t even begun to tell you what’s expected of you,” she said in her harsh voice, her e
yes full of their dark contempt fixed on Briar unnervingly. “You will require to be able to cook not only for yourselves but for the hired men, shearers in the shearing season and harvesters in the summer.”

  “But Saul said there was a cook,” Briar pointed out.

  “That Maori woman? Well—that remains to be seen.” Mrs. Whitmore dismissed Mabel Kingi, and went on, “You will also have to make soap and candles from muttonfat, preserve fruit, make butter and bread, attend to all emergencies such as babies being born without medical help, and other illnesses or accidents. You will be virtually the lady of the manor, you understand?” Her eyes flicked over the slight erect figure opposite her. “You may even like to teach children to read and write. There’ll be no school within miles, and I believe you read and write competently.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But what happens if I’m ill myself, if I—” the steady regard faltered for the merest second—“have a baby?”

  “You will be expected to do the best you can in the circumstances.”

  “I believe you’re trying to frighten me!” Briar burst out.

  “No, my dear, not to frighten you. Just to warn you—while there’s still time.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Briar said stiffly.

  “I’m merely pointing out that marriage to a pioneer in this country is not just a light-hearted prank.”

  Briar began to smile, with a twist to her lips. “I never imagined it to be light-hearted, Mrs. Whitmore. But thank you for your advice. It may please you to hear that I can cook and sew, and scrub floors, if necessary, and I’ll soon learn to make candles and even to deliver babies. I’m not afraid.”

  “That we’ll see, my dear. That we’ll see.”

  The horrible old woman who sat tall and proud in her smoky little cottage had not believed that she was not afraid, Briar reflected indignantly.

  And the worst of it was that she was entirely right. Because she was afraid. Of the lonely house on the edge of the forest, of the strange birds calling, and lurking shadows in the bush that might be silent-footed hostile Maoris, of sudden illnesses and emergencies, and most of all, of her unknown husband.…

  But she’d never show that she was afraid.

  At last, by one of the tiny coastal trading ships, a letter arrived from Saul.

  It was the first letter Briar had received in her life. She could not help gazing with fascination at her name written on the envelope, and if anyone wondered at her raptness they must think it was because the letter was from Saul, not that receiving it was so strange a thing.

  She took it to her room to read, for, her first fascination over, she was filled with a curious dread. It seemed as if Saul’s black intent eyes were looking at her, ready to catch her slightest expression.

  Dear Briar,

  At last the Seagull has arrived and we sail on Monday, but I am sending this letter ahead by Captain Browne, as his ship sails today. With fair winds and luck, I should arrive at the promised time.

  We will be forced to re-embark immediately after the wedding, as the Seagull stays in port only two days, and, truth to tell, I do not care to be away from Lucknow any longer than can be helped. Please have everything ready, including what servants you may wish to bring, for our immediate sailing. And advise Jemima Potter also, as Fred remains here awaiting her.

  The last of my wool clip has been safely despatched to London, and everything looks well here, except that I have had three of my horses stolen. I wish you to learn to load and fire a gun when you arrive.

  I am not, as you can see, fluent with a pen, nor indeed with my tongue. But there are other ways to compensate for these deficiencies, as I will prove to you.

  Your intended husband, Saul.

  So that was the first letter she had ever received, that cold business-like communication. Get your bags packed, be ready to sail, learn to fire a gun! Where, in those autocratic commands, did he earn the right to hold her body in his arms?

  Briar tore the letter in shreds. She would not cry. She would not let herself reflect even for a moment how she had longed for one line of tenderness. I long for you … words that would have melted her heart and given her strength. But in what foolish daydream had she ever imagined Saul Whitmore would say words like that to her? Neither of them had any illusions about this marriage. He understood her reasons, and she knew very well that she was merely to become another possession of this black-browed stranger, along with his horses and sheep, his house, his servants. And what were his other ways to compensate? Guessing at them, from her newly-acquired knowledge, Briar wrapped her arms around her slender body to stop her sudden shivering.

  Yet one must be fair. If Saul felt little but physical love for her, she already hated him. Yet she was prepared to stand at his side in church and promise to honor and obey him.

  So what right had she to criticize?

  The small figure of Miss Matthews, struggling indomitably against the wind, was to be perceived coming up the road carrying her long dressmaker’s box, almost at the precise moment that Aunt Charity screamed from upstairs that the Seagull had appeared in the bay.

  So the silk wedding dress, white and virginal, was spread on Briar’s bed and helping to give her courage when Saul’s knock came at the door. She touched the silk swiftly. Once, she reflected, her baby fingers had clung to silk and perhaps at that moment a last prayer had been on her mother’s lips that one day such a thing as this would happen to her little daughter. A fine wedding dress, a church wedding, a respectable husband, all the things denied to her herself. And if her mother had not denied herself that other thing, that secret act between lovers, Briar thought with sudden wonder, then there would be no Briar standing here, feeling the stuff of her wedding gown, listening to the knock on the front door, and conscious of her body alive and beautiful beneath her gray working dress.

  A thread of excitement ran through her, and with her head held high she answered Aunt Charity’s call and went to greet Saul.

  That was a stiff formal and brief meeting, for Aunt Charity remained in the room, and Briar could only think confusedly that Saul was taller than she had remembered, and his skin was burned an even darker brown with the wind and sun.

  He made a few polite comments about the weather, the passage he had had on the Seagull, the arrangements for the wedding, and then said that since he had just arrived and had a great deal to do he must go. His lips twitched a little, and he said that the next time they met it would be in front of the altar. If Briar had any regrets she must think of them quickly.

  “Regrets!” echoed Aunt Charity unbelievingly. “Why, she’s the luckiest girl in New Zealand.”

  Saul’s eyes, blacker and more intense, bored into her. She repressed a shiver and said gaily, “I have the most beautiful wedding dress. Wait until you see it.” And thought to herself that she might have been Sophie speaking.

  But he gave his sudden grin that might have been of amusement or contempt, and took his leave. And he was still a stranger.

  It was not Briar but Prudence who wept the next morning. She helped Briar to dress, and the tears slipped down her pale forlorn face.

  “It seems so strange, my doing this for you, Briar. But Sophie and I always knew you would get what you wanted. I wish I could be as lucky.”

  “You’ll be lucky, Prue dear.”

  “Do you think so? Do you think Edmund will ever come back? After all, on board ship one can do foolish things, for boredom almost, and I’m not really as gay and attractive as he thought me.”

  Briar looked at the woebegone face and said briskly, “Certainly you’re not when you cry. Please don’t spoil my wedding day by weeping. As soon as I’m settled in the country I’ll write for you to come up and visit. It seems so topsy turvy me being the mistress and inviting guests. I’ll have to make preserves first, and candles, and I don’t know yet how many bedrooms there are.” She was talking too much, partly to cheer up Prudence, and partly to stop herself from thinking.

 
“Will you ask Sophie and Peter, too?”

  “I think the country would bore Sophie.”

  “But she’ll have to learn to like it, for Peter seems determined to buy land. He seems to change his mind a great deal about his profession, but he’s so charming. Sophie’s very happy.”

  This brought back the desolate look to Prudence’s face, and Briar exclaimed quickly, “Don’t cry again, or you’ll be no use to me! Oh, dear, Miss Matthews has made this waist too tight after all. I can’t breathe. I’m quite sure if I faint at the altar Saul will refuse to marry me. He wouldn’t have the patience or understanding for things like that.”

  She had been so calm, but now, all at once, she was in a panic. The dress was painfully tight, she felt suffocated, too hot and a little sick. The color had vanished from her cheeks and her lips were dry. Worse than that, her legs had lost the power to carry her. She couldn’t go to the church. She just couldn’t totter up the aisle like a feeble old woman to meet Saul’s raking gaze.

  But all this turmoil could not have shown in her face, for Prudence said, “How do you know Saul won’t be very understanding and patient when it comes to the test?”

  A fresh wave of sickness passed over her. “I hate him!” she whispered involuntarily.

  “What did you say?”

  “Just-undo that hook. It’s too tight. That’s better. For a moment I couldn’t breathe.”

  Prudence, noticing nothing, had stepped back to look at her.

  “Briar, you look beautiful! Really you do. If only your mother could see you now!”

  Her mother who would have so loved this triumph for her daughter! Suddenly, as if by magic, her legs stopped trembling and her breath fluttering. She felt immensely calm and almost happy.

  “Thank you for saying that, Prue. Thank you.”

  In the church only trivial things caught her attention. A fantail, inquisitively trespassing and flirting about the rafters, the scrubbed wooden floor, and the plain glass in the windows. And the hats of the guests. Miniature flower gardens perched on matronly heads or tied with satin ribbons around young chins. I’ll make an English flower garden at Lucknow, she thought to herself busily, and all the beds of candytuft and thrift and petunias will look like the nodding hats at my wedding.