Blue Smoke

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Ssshh.’ Owen placed his fingers gently on his wife’s lips. ‘Don’t say it. I expect all the returned men and women are feeling the same way. But this isn’t a war, it’s a natural disaster. There will be an end to this.’

  ‘But I want to help!’ Keely blurted childishly, her normal confidence and sense of equilibrium apparently deserting her.

  ‘Look, love, you don’t even have any shoes,’ Owen said sensibly. ‘At least go home, get cleaned up and see to the children. Then you can come back.’ He stared at her thoughtfully. ‘In fact, before you do come back in, why don’t you call on a few of the neighbours and see if they have anything they can contribute? People will have to be fed and they’ll need bedding and probably clothes and all that sort of thing. I heard food depots are being set up, I think the navy’s helping with that, and they’re bound to want meat and vegetables.’

  Keely’s face lit up. ‘Yes, I could do that, couldn’t I?’ Then she had a rather dismal thought of her own. ‘Oh, but the car, we parked it in Emerson Street. The fires … what if it’s been destroyed?’

  Owen had seen for himself the crushed and burnt-out wrecks of automobiles on his way through town, but the fact that Lachie’s cherished Imperial Roadster might be one of them hadn’t occurred to him.

  He considered for a moment. ‘Take the truck. Joseph and I are going back into town to see if we can lend a hand, but I’m sure someone will give us a lift. We’ll look for the car later.’

  Keely got to her feet, which were rather sore now.

  She was filthy and stiff, and covered in bruises and grazes, and the idea of a decent bath at home was very appealing. But something still niggled at her.

  ‘But what if there aren’t enough nurses?’

  ‘I think there will be,’ Owen replied. ‘The girl doling out the tea said she’d heard that civilian medical teams are coming from Gisborne and Taupo, and even Wellington. Apparently the navy’s been onto everyone with their wireless link.’ He didn’t mention, however, that the state of the roads into Napier could seriously hamper many vehicles trying to get in or out of the area. ‘The navy’s here, the army’s on its way and so is the Red Cross, so everything will be all right. Go home, Keely, please. We’ll keep an eye on your mam. I’ll see if we can track down James and Lucy and they can help as well. The bank’s now a great heap of rubble so I doubt even James will be at work today.’

  Keely drove home to Kenmore, Erin went to work at the Nelson Park emergency dressing station and Owen and Joseph thumbed a lift into the town centre where they joined the volunteers fighting to contain the fires.

  At Greenmeadows, Tamar lay on her cot, dozing and trying to ignore the gnawing pain in her leg and all the other bits of her ageing body which were protesting mightily over their recent trauma. The surgeon had returned briefly and explained that although the break in her leg had been set, the limb had not yet been encased in plaster to allow the wound to heal, hence the heavy brace to prevent movement. She would not be able to go home to Kenmore until the plaster had been applied, so she could either stay at the temporary hospital at Greenmeadows, which would be fine with him as he wanted her kept under observation any way, or stay somewhere else suitable in town, if she absolutely must go. Did she have somewhere where she would be appropriately cared for?

  Tamar thought; there was the little house on Marine Parade she had bought years ago when she had first come to Napier, and which she still used often when she was in town — providing it was still standing, of course. Or, failing that, she could stay with James and his wife Lucy at their house in town. She preferred the former plan, but then she would have to look out for herself. She hated being fussed over but really didn’t think she would be able to cope alone, at least not while she couldn’t even get out of bed. She could ask Erin to stay with her, she supposed — and no doubt her niece would offer any way — but as a trained nurse she was very much needed by others, and Keely had the children to attend to.

  No, it would probably have to be James and Lucy’s admittedly very comfortable and well-appointed home. They would welcome her, she knew that; it was just that she sometimes found it almost impossible to refrain from saying what she really thought to her second eldest son.

  First, there was the matter of how James and his own son Duncan got along, or rather, did not get along — a problem that had dogged the family ever since James had come from the Great War, and worried Tamar constantly.

  Duncan, now a big, handsome, confident sixteen-year-old, boarded at Napier Boys’ High School. The school was only a couple of miles from his home, but everyone, not least Duncan himself, had agreed he’d be better off boarding, given that he and his father appeared to be so incompatible. And there were the other children too — Andrew, aged eleven and named for his grandfather (although he was known to all as Drew), and Kathleen, aged ten. In Tamar’s opinion neither was always at ease with the atmosphere in the Murdoch home — the angry exchanges between Duncan and their father, the shouting, the subsequent frosty silences that sometimes went on for days — and although they loved their older brother, they were relieved when he became a boarder and relative peace descended on the house. Lucy clearly mourned her son’s absence, but he came home most weekends and, providing James wasn’t in one of his moods, those two days could be relatively calm and pleasant.

  Poor James. As a young man he had lived for his career as a professional soldier, but he had been terribly traumatised by his war experiences and had been discharged, although honourably, from the army after an appalling incident involving the death of another officer. The family never referred to it, even after all these years, but they all knew that James still lived under the shadow of what had happened that day on the battle field. He had never quite recovered — although he was better these days than he had been when he had first come home — and was still prone to mood swings and not infrequent irrational and aggressive behaviour. Unfortunately, he took much of it out on long-suffering Lucy who, although essentially a generous and empathetic soul, had begun to compensate for her husband’s behaviour by focusing on less emotionally hurtful things, such as what wear to social events and the colour of the curtains in their living room. The naive and gentle young girl, already pregnant when a very different James had proudly introduced her to his family in 1914, had grown into a wary and slightly embittered woman. Their marriage had been characterised by disagreements, silences and sometimes even fear on Lucy’s part. Privately, however, Tamar was convinced that they loved each other quite fiercely and that James depended on his wife far more than he would ever admit.

  The disharmony between Duncan and James had always been present. Certainly, Duncan had never really overcome his anger at James for coming home halfway through the war and taking his mother off him. It hadn’t been like that at all, of course, but James had been extremely unwell and Lucy had been forced to attend to her husband rather than their small son, who had been the centre of attention until then. James had resented the demands Duncan had made on Lucy, seeing in the whining, frightened and unhappy child the same traits he believed himself to have displayed under the stress of combat. It had all been too much for the little boy to comprehend, and now that boy was almost a man himself and all too ready and willing to stand up to a father who was still moody and unreasonable and, if everyone were completely honest, occasionally a bully.

  So here they were, James and Duncan, lacking the humility and understanding to set aside their differences. In truth, they were very similar characters, both in looks and personality, and Tamar wondered if they would ever make their peace. She loved them both, her son and grandson, but sometimes it was all she could to stop herself from banging their stubborn heads together. And she knew that should she stay with James and Lucy for any length of time, she would be unable to refrain from lecturing James yet again on his inability to get along with his son.

  But at least Duncan had the company of his cousin Liam, who was also attending Napier Boys’. Liam’s father Ian
, Tamar and Andrew’s youngest son, had died on the Somme in 1916, never knowing he had fathered a child. At the age of three months, Liam had been deposited in Kenmore’s kitchen garden following Ian’s memorial service, presumably by his mother, a woman who had chosen to remain anonymous. Tamar had raised Liam as her own, grateful to have such an unexpected and precious reincarnation of her youngest son. The boy was fifteen now, uncannily like his father, and had been delighted to go to school with Duncan, whom he had always idolised, even if it did mean having to spend much of his time away from Kenmore Station, which he loved. Tamar would have liked to have kept him at home, but he was a bright boy, and she couldn’t bring herself to deprive him of a good education just because she would miss him. And Kenmore was just too far from town for the children to travel in daily for school.

  And then there was the other matter over which Tamar and James were entirely unable to see eye to eye — her relationship with Kepa Te Roroa, her lover for the past twelve years. Tamar knew that James hated the idea of his mother having a liaison with anyone other than his father, and especially with Kepa, who was a respected and very powerful man, but also Joseph’s father. James and Joseph usually got on very well, but Tamar wondered whether James wasn’t sometimes jealous of Joseph’s position in the family. She also suspected that he was ashamed that, at her age, she still had physical and emotional needs that could be satisfied only by a man. But after the death of her beloved Andrew, Tamar had thought very hard about what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She had loved Andrew dearly, and had been absolutely devastated by his unexpected loss but, as her lifelong friend Riria Adams had pointed out at the time, a woman’s life did not end just because her husband’s had. And, as a widow of many years, Riria was certainly in a position to know.

  So when Kepa, a widower himself by then, had asked Tamar if she would consider rekindling the short but intense love affair of their youth — one which had produced Joseph and almost broken Tamar’s heart — she had accepted his offer. She had not expected a resumption of the passion they had once shared — although she had been very pleasantly surprised to discover that their physical attraction for each other had not dimmed — but she did want a companion. Someone with whom she could talk about the station and her family, and on whom she could rely for emotional support. Kepa was certainly that someone, and of course Joseph would always be a very strong bond between them. And, over a decade later, their private and extremely discreet arrangement was still working very satisfactorily, despite her continued refusal to marry him.

  Now, though, all she wanted was another glass of water. It was almost evening, nearly seven hours after the earth quake, and since she had awoken from the anaesthetic she had been desperately thirsty. Her broken ribs were hurting more, and the pain seemed to be wandering all over her chest. It was unbearably hot in the tent, even though the door had been propped open all afternoon, and she was starting to feel nauseous again too.

  She felt a shadow on her face and opened her eyes, hoping it might be a nurse. Kepa stood with his hat in his hands gazing down at her, his dark, lined face a picture of concern and dismay. He was covered in road dust — he must have come in from Maungakakari. ‘Hello, my love. How are you feeling?’ he asked quietly, his rich, deep voice a balm to her already. Tamar reached out a hand and sighed. ‘Kepa, you’re here. I’m so glad.’ She swallowed and willed her increasing nausea to go away. ‘Did you ride all the way in from the village?’

  He stroked her fingers softly and said in his formal, slightly stilted English, ‘Yes, I came as soon as I could. I did not drive — the roads are not in a good state.’

  Tamar shifted uncomfortably as another wave of pain gripped her. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I did not, but this is your usual shopping day. I presumed that if you were not at any of the medical stations, then you would be somewhere else and I could stop worrying. When I arrived here I talked to the person in charge, and he looked you up on his list.’

  It was on the tip of Tamar’s tongue to ask, but what if she’d been one of the fatalities? But Kepa, as he often did, read her mind.

  ‘I did not go to the morgue. I would have known in my heart if you were there.’ He bent down and discreetly kissed her cheek. ‘And I thank God that you were not. I am so relieved that you are safe, Tamar.’

  She blinked hard as tears finally began to break through her rather tattered composure. ‘And everyone at the village, are they safe too?’

  Kepa nodded. ‘A little shaken, but there have been earth quakes before. Although not as big as this one. The horses ran away, including mine, which is why I am late, and so did the pigs and the chickens, but at Maungakakari there is not much to fall down so there is little damage. The artesian well has dried up, so I have evacuated everyone temporarily, but we will be fine. But it is you I came to see.’ He noted the sheen of sweat on Tamar’s brow and the grey pallor of her skin. ‘Are you in pain?’

  Tamar nodded. ‘Could you get a nurse for me?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Please,’ Tamar replied through gritted teeth.

  Kepa was gone for less than three minutes but by the time he had returned, with a nurse hurrying behind him, Tamar’s heart had spasmed violently, just once, and ceased to beat.

  James put his brandy glass down on the polished mahogany sideboard and rubbed both hands wearily over his stubbled face. His eyes were sunken and rimmed with red and he felt utterly wrung out and exhausted. When he looked up again, Lucy was watching him intently.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, James?’ she asked from her seat on the sofa.

  ‘No, I’m not bloody well feeling all right!’ he snapped back. ‘What do you think!’

  Lucy flinched. She hated it when James became upset — it made him almost impossible to deal with. Grief and fear, especially, caused him to lose his temper. But she’d spent the days since the earth quake trying her best to hold everyone and everything together and she was exhausted too. She didn’t have the energy to pander to her temperamental husband.

  ‘I think you should at least try and make an effort to manage your emotions, James, that’s what I think! You’re not the only one who’s grieving and in shock; we’re all feeling it, you know. It’s been terrible, all of it. It’s been hard for everyone!’

  James glared at her, then had the grace to lower his eyes, knowing in his heart that he was being unreasonable but finding it very difficult to stop. He picked up his glass again — one of the very few not broken in the earth quake — drained it, then forced himself to take a good look around his living room. Some of the more solid pieces of furniture had survived unscathed, although anything taller than hip height had fallen over and broken, and ornaments and pictures had been smashed, as had most of the windows. The damage was similar throughout the house — the coal range had come away from the wall and its flue in the kitchen, and in the bathroom the toilet pan had cracked and the bath had travelled from one side of the room to the other. Worst of all, neither the water nor the electricity was back on yet. Fortunately the house was built almost solely of wood and had flexed rather than collapsed when the earth had buckled, but still, a lot of repair work would be needed.

  He contemplated his wife, still very pretty with her ash-blonde hair and bright blue eyes even though she was getting on for forty, and sighed. She was right, as usual; he was finding it difficult to manage his emotions. And damn the repair work on the house — the past few days had reminded him very unpleasantly that there were far more important things to be mourned than the damage to four walls and a roof.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m just …’ He trailed off, thinking I should say I’m just a bad-tempered old bastard, but then Lucy already knows that. Instead he said, ‘God, I’m so damn tired. It’s just all been so bloody awful.’

  Lucy went over to him. More and more these days she was having to be the strong one; they both knew it, although neither would ever acknowledge it openly.

  She said
gently, ‘I know, but we’ll manage somehow. We always have, and we will this time too.’

  ‘I wish I could turn back the clock. Things will never be the same, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but sometimes good can come out of something as terrible as this.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what,’ James replied shortly. ‘We don’t even have the children with us. I miss them, Lucy. Even Duncan.’

  Napier Boys’ High School had been temporarily closed until the earth quake damage to several of the main buildings had been repaired, so the boys had been sent out to Kenmore, together with Drew and Kathleen. So all nine grandchildren were at the station now, with only Lachie and Mrs Heath to look after them. Erin was still acting in her capacity as a temporary nurse, and at the moment Keely was also in town more often than she was at home, keeping herself as busy as possible.

  For the first few days after the earth quake, she had helped co-ordinate the relief effort for the townspeople — and there were hundreds and hundreds of them — whose homes had been destroyed. Refugee camps had sprung up almost immediately. Shocked and dazed survivors spent their first night under army-issue canvas, eating food salvaged by seamen from HMS Veronica and the merchant navy ships Northumberland and Taranaki, and prepared and served by volunteer helpers.

  The beachfront along Marine Parade had been the most popular place to go, despite the rumour that earth quakes were often succeeded by tidal waves. There was no tsunami, fortunately, but the regular and frequent aftershocks that continued for some time had kept everyone in a high state of tension — apart from one group of children Keely had seen sitting on a fence at Nelson Park chanting gaily, ‘Here comes a … nother one!’ at the beginning of every fresh tremor. Other people set up camp outside their ruined homes, sleeping under the stars on mattresses dragged outside, eating whatever they could salvage from their own pantries, cooked over fireplaces made from bricks and rubble. But almost everyone, regardless of whether their homes had been destroyed or not, chose to sleep outdoors.