The whistle sounded from the train and Pera kicked Doug and said, “On your feet, Douggie boy. Time to say bye-bye!”
Doug got to his feet and with a shove in the back from Pera, walked towards the train. The brothers followed him to the tender. Kahu said, “Up you get Doug and remember no funny business or I’ll barbeque you.” He climbed up followed by Kahu. He made him sit on a pile of coal in the corner as he hung from the doorway and waved goodbye to his brother. Slowly the train inched out of the station, the large metal wheels of the locomotive slipping on the tracks as they fought for a grip; the enormous weight of the wagons trying their best to keep it from moving. Then, as it started to roll, momentum from the wagons provided the forward impetus needed and the traction held. The wheels turned quicker and quicker and pulled the wagons out of the station. One by one they lumbered past, faster and faster; forever it seemed, until finally, Pera watched as the last careered by, the caboose, its twin red lights flashing on and off. Then sight and sound diminished with distance, as the train thundered into the heat of the day. And he stood and stared with his hand above his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun, as the train briefly shimmered in the mirage, and then vanished.
CHAPTER THIRTY - ONE
AUTUMN 1947
T
he tall poplars that lined the track to the Delaney house were losing their leaves as the days got shorter and winter approached. They had gone from a cool green to a warm yellow and were now falling and drifting across the paddocks, like golden snowflakes, in the icy breeze that heralded the first signs of winter. Soon the trees would be stark skeletons and unlike summer, would offer little shelter or comfort to man or beast. On the farm, the dairy cows were being dried off as the feed diminished. The animals greedily consumed the last of the autumn grass in order to prepare their bodies for the hardships of silage and hay and winter grazing. The ewes had been crutched for their mating with the rams and their belly wool removed to keep it from the winter mud. They’d been brought down from the hills and onto lush pasture to nourish themselves, and the lambs that were about to grow inside them. Excess stock, the old, the unproductive had been slaughtered; others sold on or moved to other farms with more pasture, rather than feed and carry them over the colder months. Firewood had been chopped and stacked, the vegetable garden harvested of any summer crops still left; the pumpkins stored, and then the vege patch tilled and sewn with winter seeds. Chooks that had come near to the end of their egg laying abilities; heads lopped and into the pot. And so, with the help of all the neighbours - who immediately offered their assistance when they heard of Ellen and Jack’s recent misfortunes - the Delaney farm was ready, once again, to head into the bleak, winter months.
A mile from his home and sitting astride his horse Rosy, Jack was grateful for her body heat as the day - which had started out bright and sunny and warm - had now turned dull and grey and cold as a southerly wind all the way from Antarctica, invaded the country and overran the land. Jack, who was wearing a short sleeve shirt and short pants, had insisted that he didn’t need his jersey this morning when he left for school. His mother had warned him, several times, that the weather was about to change for the worse and he would regret it if he didn’t take one. She had tried to convince him that he didn’t have to wear it now, just put it in your bag, just in case, she had said. But Jack knew better, or thought he did, and once again his mother was proved right and he was proved wrong. It was happening more and more these days as they slipped back into customary roles - the caring mother, the carefree son. He shivered and hugged Rosy as he tried to share the heat from her neck and looked forward to getting home and warming himself by the coal range. He tried to imagine what his mother would be cooking for tea tonight and he hoped it would be something like Irish stew - all hot and bubbling on the stove. A large pot of mutton neck chops with carrots and onions and potatoes in its own thickened gravy, the meat falling off the bone, the vegetables melting in your mouth. The saliva built up in his mouth and he had to swallow it down, lest it overflowed, as his stomach growled and rumbled like distant thunder. Things had been settling down nicely since Doug had gone. His mother was definitely happier, the shakes and twitches had nearly disappeared, she was eating properly and the colour and fullness had returned to her beautiful face. She had ditched the booze but she still smoked, a pastime Doctor Williams had recommended she stick with for now, as he believed it would do more good than harm considering what she had been through. And they had just scraped through, Jack had reckoned, had just got away in time, he believed, before Doug really lost the plot and seriously harmed or killed either him or his mother. Especially his mother. Funny, Jack thought, that his mother, Doug’s greatest supporter, was the one he targeted, the one he went out of his way to hurt, to destroy, to make her life a misery, and a living hell. Yet Jack, who couldn’t stand the man, and had made his feelings known right from the start, had treated him not with respect as a son should a father (albeit a step father), had shown him nothing but contempt with an overt display of mistrust and hatred, was not hurt at all. Doug did nothing to him, apart from throw around the odd empty threats. Nothing physical to him, but if Jack had been older and a little bit wiser he would’ve realised that everything Doug had done, was in fact his covert way of harming and torturing Jack without seemingly appearing to do so. The killing of his dog Tess, the beatings of his mother and even the murder of Konosu were all aimed at hurting Jack, at screwing up his mind and poisoning his soul. Doug’s actions were nurturing Jacks hate. And he was systematically destroying everything that Jack loved and cared for and doing it in such a way that if Jack was to challenge any of it, he would’ve been seen as the whiner, the spoilt little brat who couldn’t accept his new father; the over protective jealous son who wanted his mother all to himself...
And now he did have her to himself. And not before time, because even Pera Kotare agreed that Douglas Brown (Douggie boy, as he called him) was a very, very, dangerous man. A mad man. And they were both lucky to come out of their situation alive.
Jack and Ellen had stayed with the Kotare’s for more than a couple of days and had enjoyed their hospitality immensely. They had also taken comfort in the security that a large family provided, knowing they could rest and recover in peace, without worrying about whether he would turn up on the doorstep. But they couldn’t stay forever and after many thankyous and promises to see each other more often, they came back to their own home. Wiremu came back with them and stayed for two weeks, helping around the farm and taking their minds off the past, as he told his tall stories about his uncle and his adventures. The other reason he stayed there was so that if Doug did turn up, he could run and seek help from his father Pera. But Doug never showed in those two weeks and Wiremu went home and Jack and Ellen carried on as they had before; before the days of Doug. However at night it was somewhat different and they slept in the same room, the spare room, with loaded rifles close at hand. They chose the spare room because they thought, should Doug come back in the middle of the night, and try and catch them unawares, he would probably target Jacks room or Ellen’s room. They thought if he was to come, they would be able to turn the tables on him and perhaps surprise him by being in his old room. Not only did they sleep in the spare room together, but they also set up a run for Jess so that she could be their early alarm. They fixed a wire close to the ground and circling the house. Jess’ chain was attached to the wire so that she could run right around the house and either bark to warn them, or indeed attack Doug should he try to break into their home. And they continued to live like this for days and weeks and months until Ellen said, ‘Enough!’ one day, and they put away the guns, stowed them behind the backdoor in the kitchen, went back to their own rooms and the dog went back in the pen. “He isn’t going to come back,” said Ellen. “He’s been scared off good and proper and he’s obviously got enough sense to stay away, forever I hope. He’s probably set himself up somewhere else now.” And she shuddered and thought, and tormenting ano
ther poor soul, most probably. And so, after a time of over two months of living in siege like conditions, they finally welcomed their old lives back and looked forward to living together, just the two of them, in relative peace.
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Jess bounded down the track with unadulterated joy as she came to greet Jack home from school. He slipped off his horse and met her with a great amount of patting and ruffling of fur and scratching behind the ears. She ran off in front of him, barking excitedly as she announced, to all that would listen, Hallelujah and praise be! Master Jack is home! Jack quickly groomed his horse and set her out to graze and giving Jess a final pat, gratefully made his way into the warm kitchen of his home. The warmth and cooking smells enveloped him and as he greeted his mother with, “Hi mum, what’s for tea?” Ellen was standing at the sink peeling potatoes and she answered, “Hello Jack, and it’ll be nothing if you don’t get a basket of wood in for the fire.”
“Yeah, yeah, but what’s for tea, mum?”
“Chicken casserole.”
“Aw yeah, I s’pose that’s alright.”
Ellen turned and stopped peeling. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing mum, I had just imagined we were going to have Irish stew instead.”
“What’s wrong with chicken casserole?”
“Nah, nothing. It’s all good,” he grinned.
Ellen turned back to her task and smiled. “Just as well. Now get some wood otherwise we’ll be eating it raw.”
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As they enjoyed a cup of tea to finish off the meal, Ellen said, “We’ll have Irish stew tomorrow if you like?”
“Yeah, that’ll be neat. Thanks mum.”
It started raining, squally showers were passing over with regular occurrence and the rain tapped at the windows and the wind rattled the roofing iron. The radio was on, turned down low, an old episode of ‘Dad and Dave’ playing softly in the background. They weren’t listening; lost in their own thoughts as they looked up at the same time, caught each other’s eyes and shared a smile. Ellen said, “I love to hear the rain on the roof. There’s a comforting feeling I get when I’m tucked up in bed at night, all warm and cosy, knowing that it’s cold and wet outside. It make you feel all good inside, relaxed and at peace.”
Jack just grinned and then stifled a yawn. “Don’t mum you’re making me sleepy,” he said.
“Well that’s good isn’t it? It’ll be nice to curl up in bed with a good book tonight and listen to the storm outside. Can’t beat it,” she said as she picked up the teapot and refilled their cups. She continued. “Jack I don’t want to drag all this up again but I never really said thanks to you for helping me.” She paused and then added, “I think if you hadn’t have said anything that day we left, we still would’ve been stuck with him... Or worse.”
“Or worse I reckon,” agreed Jack.
“You could be right.” She frowned and shook her head as she thought of what might’ve been. Her face brightened and she smiled again. “We’re so lucky to have neighbours like the Kotare’s. Without Mister Kotare’s help he would still be here.” Ellen had trouble saying Doug’s name now, and preferred to refer to him as, he or him or that man whenever she found herself talking about him. “And Mrs Kotare welcoming us into their home.” She shook her head, in wonderment this time, astounded at their generosity. “Well I don’t know what we would’ve done without them... You couldn’t really hope for better neighbours,” she concluded in a murmur.
Jack nodded in agreement. “And I s’pose Wiremu’s not a bad bloke, too.”
“Only you’re best friend boyo!” And she reached across and ruffled his hair. She sat back and looked down at the table, her smile straightened out. Picking at a loose thread in the stitching on the tablecloth she gathered her thoughts. She wanted to get this just right, wanted to lay this matter to rest once and for all, and show her son that she loved him, with all her being, to tell him how she regretted exposing him to the torment that was, Doug Brown. She said, “Jack, I also want to say how terribly sorry I am for putting you through all of this... I was stupid and I got too caught up in what I wanted, so much so I never saw what you wanted, what you needed. I was blind to the fact that this man was manipulating me and turning me against you. I believed things he said, over what you said, and I let myself be used by him... I became weak and was overpowered by him.” She looked up, and looked not at his eyes but gazed at a point just above his head, as if it was all written on the wall, everything she wanted to say. She continued. “And I guess I was hoping he could take the place of your father. That he would be somehow, just like your Dad, a kind, caring man. A good father to you Jack and a good husband to me. But he was neither of these things. He was nothing like a father or husband. He was an evil person. A cold, calculating creature that would even kill to get what he wanted.” A month ago Jack had told her everything. The killing of Konosu. The dismembering of his body. She breathed in deeply and shuddered as she pictured what Jack must have seen. “You have been exposed to, and witnessed things a boy your age should never have to see. And I sat through all of it. With my head in the sand, refusing to see what was plainly in front of my face. Blind to the fact that something was horribly wrong. I had shut down all my senses, completely ignorant to the murder and mayhem that was occurring all around me. That was being perpetrated by him. I was absolutely foolish. A dumb, half-witted baboon. I was grossly negligent in my duties as a mother and I sincerely apologise Jack... And I ask, that in time, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Jack jumped from the table and went to his mother throwing his arms around her. He held her tightly, hugged her with such force that it almost hurt her. And the tears they shared washed away the past and Jack said, “Of course I forgive you.” And Ellen hugged him back, just as hard, so that he could barely breathe and whispered, “I love you so, so, much, Jack Delaney.”
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And the storm raged outside. The wind had increased and things banged in the night. Loose roofing iron rapped against the fascia board in time with the ferocity of the wind. Faster and louder, frenetic smacking against the board as the wind gusts increased and then, as the wind briefly died, slowing to single defined taps, to sound like a constant knocking at the door. Shrubs scraped against the weatherboards, squeaking and screeching like a small animal caught in a trap. Somewhere in the distance a large branch tore from the trunk of a tree with a loud crack, like a gunshot, and fell to the ground. The house shook with some of the bigger gusts and rain came and went in violent squalls, hitting the house with such force that it would surely smash the windows and punch through the roof like bullets, thought Jack, as he crawled beneath the covers of his bed and tried to block out the terrifying and raucous noise of the night. Through all of this Jess was howling. A forlorn and somewhat creepy sound, that grated on Jack’s nerves and sent a shiver down his spine, and he wondered if any sleep at all would come tonight. Certainly not while this was going on and then as if that wasn’t enough, his room lit up for an instant. A blinding light, even through the covers Jack saw it, as lightening struck and the thunder crashed and rumbled close behind it. Jack had had enough and he threw the covers back and sprang from the bed and ran into his mother’s room. He slipped under the bed sheets and snuggled up to his mother as she welcomed him in and held him close. Feeling safe now, he listened more in fascination than fear as the war raged on in the atmosphere. Jack had learnt about the battles of The Great War and the war just gone. And he wondered if they sounded something like this. The battles that our fathers fought. The artillery, the bombs, raining down on our men and our enemies. On the beaches of Gallipoli, the trenches of the Somme, the sands of El Alamein and in the rubble of Monte Cassino. And he wondered if our soldiers were scared of the noise of the explosions that
burst around them like he was afraid of the thunder. And did they cry for their mothers in the middle of the night? When all around them madness ensued and the ground shook and the night turned to day. Or were they all brave? Welcoming the danger, looking forward to the fighting and the killing. Laughing in the face of death as they did when they lined up at the recruiting office... Jack didn’t know, but he thought if war sounded anything like this then he knew that he would’ve been absolutely terrified.
And the house vibrated and the panes of glass in the window frames shook, as the storm raged directly above, neither of these weather fronts giving way to the other. And then, a particularly loud crash exploded around them, like cannon fire, and turned the darkness into daylight at the same time. And it felt like the electrical storm was in the room with them so loud was the noise, and Jack, who thought he was old enough and past all of this carry on, shrieked and buried his face in his mother’s breasts as she cooed and stroked his head and back and held on tight. Then he tried to kid himself that he was actually here for her. That she would be scared without him, not the other way round. That he was the man of the house now and men don’t get scared, do they? He couldn’t imagine his father scared. Jack was there because his mother would need comfort and reassurance and he was just the man for the job. And if the truth be known, she was pleased to have him in her bed and she did find the storm a little frightening. So they held each other, revelling in the comfort and security of their warm bodies, until eventually, the gods took their fight elsewhere and the flashes of light and the rumble of thunder occurred further apart and with less ferocity.
And the storm passed into the night. The wind eased and it no longer rained, and even Jess had ceased howling as Jack and his mother, still holding one another, fell into a deep peaceful sleep.
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