Matai Valley Magic

by Mary Moore

  Brett swung the car into an angle parking area right in-front of a shoe store-.

  ' That suit you?' Brett looked at her a bit diffidently. 'Do you need help to get in there?'

  'No, thank you,' was the icy response.

  As Fern opened the door he spoke again. 'Do you have any money?'

  Fern held on to the door, and pulled her wallet from her hip pocket, extracted her ten-dollar note and offered it de­murely. 'Sure, do you want a loan?'

  'Oh, get on with it. I haven't got all day.'

  Fern limped into the store and, taking her own sweet time, she chose a pair of strap sandals so that she could open the right one quite wide and fit it on over the bandage.

  Back in the van she strapped herself in before inquiring pleasantly, 'I do hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?' knowing full well that he was fuming impatiently.

  He reversed back into the street, and this time drove inland towards the mountains. Fern suddenly realized that she had no idea where the farm was situated - not that it mattered. All she hoped was that Brett Alexander lived a long, long way from Matai Valley.

  Brett asked suddenly, 'Why wouldn't your parents worry if you had an accident? Are they the casual modern-type parents who've opted out of responsibility for the kids?'

  'Surprising as it may seem to you, my parents are emi­nently respectable. Real squares, if you prefer it that way.'

  'Poor bods ! What a disappointment you must be to them.'

  Fern gurgled, ' Don't be too sorry for them, they're bear­ing up magnificently. Of course having three other children in the family helps. You would approve of my sister and my brothers, all working away busily at their careers.'

  'Then why don't they stop you drifting around?'

  'How? By chaining me to the bedpost?'

  'But you're so young. Surely they could have done some­thing,' he persisted. 'It's not safe for a child of your age to be hitch-hiking around on your own.'

  Fern smiled, 'How old do you think I am?'

  'About seventeen or eighteen,' he guessed.

  Fern's smile widened. At twenty-four, she was well used to being taken for a teenager, and usually was very indignant, but today she thought it was a hilarious joke. As Brett was so sure of himself , it delighted her to see him jump from one wrong conclusion to the next.

  He darted a glance at her, then said severely, 'I see by that happy smirk on your face that you're probably even younger than I thought. Well, get one thing straight, you're not going to make a fool out of my uncle. He's a bit... shall we say eccentric. He has a heart condition and mustn't become over-excited or worried. I'm very fond of him, and I promise you that if you hurt him in any way, I'll make you very, very sorry. He seems to have taken quite a fancy to you, and rather than upset him I've let him have his way, but remember, I'll be watching you. One false move and out you go.'

  Fern's smile disappeared ... smirk indeed! she thought angrily... and warning her not to hurt Mr. Alexander... as if she would!

  'There's no use looking sulky. I live with him, and when I'm not there Kirsty will be, and you'd better not start any nonsense with her around. She'll soon sort you out.'

  'Sounds like a game of Happy Families.' Fern was utterly dismayed. This exceedingly stuffy young man actually lived in the house! No wonder Mr. Alexander needed a bit of light relief in his life. Fern would see he got it if it was the last thing she did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AS they turned at the crossroad which had an attractive tavern as a centrepiece Brett spoke again. 'We'll soon be home. I hope you've been giving some thought to what I said.'

  Fern, who had simply been enjoying the drive and ad­miring the well-cared-for farms along the rich fertile valley, the large herds of sleek dairy cows and the modern farm­houses, said quite honestly, 'No.'

  They crossed a long narrow concrete bridge spanning the Kokatahi River and drove some distance before Brett swung into a driveway lined with macrocarpa trees, and swept round in a circle to park in front of a large comfortable house.

  He came quickly round the ute and opened her door. 'You needn't think you can put me off with that "little girl lost" look - I'll bet you're as hard as nails. If I hear of you wheedl­ing money or presents out of Uncle Hamish I'll see you leave even faster than I brought you here.'

  Fern ignored him until she was standing upright on the cement path. She felt stiff and sore even though the utility's seat had been comfortable. The long drive had served to remind her that she had several large bruises on her hips and back as well as her cut foot to contend with.

  'Sorry, I didn't realize that your main concern was that your uncle might spend money on me. Well, you can forget it. I came here because your uncle invited me, and because the doctor said I must. I'll leave as soon as I can walk. Now get your notebook out and I'll give you a list of all the things I've taken from Mr. Alexander. One basket of flowers, one box of fruit which I shared with the other patients at the hospital, and two nightdresses.' Fern angrily pulled them out of the brown paper bag and flung them at him.

  It gave her the utmost satisfaction to see him fumbling with the froth of lace and nylon, a look of shocked embar­rassment on his face. She limped to the open door of the kitchen and walked in.

  'You'll be Miss Fern Fraser?' A tall, elderly woman was standing by the window, and as she turned, Fern guessed by the barely concealed laughter in her grey eyes that she must have witnessed the whole incident. 'I do think you'd better keep those pretty nighties , somehow I don't think they would look half so well on Brett.' She walked forward and shook Fern's hand. 'You're very welcome, my dear. My name is Kirsty. Now, come along through to the lounge; Mr. Alexander is there and very impatient to meet you.'

  Fern followed Kirsty into the next room, admiring the elder woman's erect posture and stately bearing. So this was Kirsty, who would be also keeping an eye on her. Somehow the prospect didn't daunt her much; even though Kirsty had a stern face and wore her grey hair pulled back severely in a bun, there had been that gleam of humour in her eye. Fern felt that given time, she would be able to get along very nicely with Kirsty.

  'Ah, there you are, Fern. Brett took a devil of a time collecting you, I must say. Kirsty, do we get a cup of tea? Come here, girl, sit down and tell me how you feel.'

  Kirsty stood in front of them. 'You well know, Mr. Alex­ander, that the kettle's on the boil. You'll have your tea and scones as always, and after that Miss Fraser will be going to her room for a rest until dinner-time. Anyone with half an eye can see she's exhausted and in considerable pain.'

  When Kirsty left the room Mr. Alexander pulled a face. 'I'm supposed to be the boss here, and I get ordered around by that woman, not to mention Brett always interfering. A man can't call his soul his own. But you and I are going to get on famously. I'm relying on you to help me escape their restrictions. They work hand-in-glove with old Doc Walters. He was out here last night, pretending he was worried about my heart, when everyone knows he just came out for an evening's fishing. Says I've got to rest for a week, just so he can have first go at the fish!'

  'What's wrong with your heart?' Fern asked.

  'Not a damned thing. They just use it for an excuse to keep me under.'

  Fern chuckled, 'They don't seem to be doing a very good job.' She went on to thank him for his gifts.

  Kirsty came in with the tea tray and placed it on the occasional table. 'Milk, Miss Fraser?'

  'Please call me Fern, and yes, I do like milk in my tea. Can I do anything to help?'

  Kirsty glanced up. 'No, you sit where you are and keep Mr. Hamish quiet and happy, and you'll be doing us all a favour .'

  The old man winked at Fern as she settled back on the carpet beside his chair. She eased her new sandals off, and felt much more comfortable.

  'Ah, here you are, Brett,' Kirsty said, handing him a cup of tea. 'Scone?'

  'Thanks, Kirsty. I won't sit down. I'll just have mine and run. 'I'm late now.'

  'You'll sit down, Brett. I
t takes just as long to drink a cup of tea either way.'

  Fern accepted her cup from Kirsty and bent forward so that her long dark hair swung forward, hiding the smile on her face, as Brett sat down ... apparently she wasn't the only one Kirsty could sort out!

  Mr. Alexander asked, 'Did Brett take good care of you on the way home, Fern? I'm sorry I couldn't go for you myself.'

  'I'm sorry, too, Mr. Alexander, but Brett... well, Brett behaved exactly as I would have expected.' She smiled up at him, her brown eyes beguilingly innocent.

  'Good, good.' The old man was satisfied. He leaned foward and stroked Fern's hair. 'What do you think of my find, Kirsty? I like the way young girls wear their hair long just as they did when I was a young fellow.'

  Kirsty was quiet for a moment, then: 'Yes, I think long hair is most attractive. A woman's crowning glory.'

  Brett stood up and put his cup on the tray. 'And do you find bare feet also attractive, Kirsty, not to mention girls wearing men's pants?'

  'I don't find them any more objectionable than a young man being rude to a guest of the house,' said Kirsty sharply, 'I'm sure Fern will change into something more suitable for dinner. Now come with me, young lady, I have your bed nicely warmed and I'm sure you need a rest.'

  As Fern followed meekly behind Kirsty, she flicked a glance at Brett and then smiled directly at him for the first time. To Fern it was perfectly obvious that neither of them had won that round. Kirsty had clobbered both of them. Brett did not smile.

  The first thing Fern's eyes alighted on when she reached her bedroom was her pack. 'Oh, I am glad, I thought I might ; have lost it.' She unbuckled it happily, while Kirsty turned down the bed.

  'Have you a dress there which you would like me to iron?'

  Fern replied, 'No, thank you. Most of my things are in non-crushable material.'

  When Kirsty left the room, Fern stood looking out the window for a few minutes. The bush-clad hills beyond the river were purple in the afternoon sun, and still further back were the snow-covered mountains. Even though it was early summer the sun had not yet succeeded in melting the last heavy.snows of the late spring. She turned back to the bed and was surprised at how tired she felt.

  It seemed only a few moments later that a knock on her door woke her, and Brett said loudly, 'Kirsty says it's time you dressed for dinner. I hope you get the emphasis on the word "dress".'

  Fern sat up, rubbing her eyes, then muttered, 'Drop dead!'

  'I'm glad you heard me.'

  She heard Brett's footsteps receding and thought grumpily that they could probably hear him in Australia. She felt much better after washing her face and hands, and then had difficulty in deciding what to wear. If she had thought she could annoy Brett by wearing her jeans she would have had no hesitation in wearing them; but then again she did not want to upset Kirsty. Finally she decided on culottes in brown and green.

  She wound her long hair into a soft chignon, applied eye shadow with a subtle hand, and then outlined her mouth with a frosted lipstick. She stood away from the full length mirror trying to assess the effect.

  Yes, the soft, filmy material of the culottes swung and floated with her every move, the long batwing sleeves and the high mandarin collar and line of tiny covered buttons from neck to waist made it extremely feminine gear.

  Brett and Mr. Alexander stood as she entered the room and Kirsty paused in her work and eyed her up and down. 'Now, that is neat and tidy.'

  Mr. Alexander gallantly offered her his arm to escort her to the table. 'You'll never become conceited while Kirsty is around. Neat and tidy, my foot. You look as glamorous and elegant as any film star.' Then his wicked mischievous eyes swung to Brett. 'Aren't you going to compliment our charm­ing guest on her attractive appearance?'

  Brett replied, 'I'm quite sure she has no need of my ap­proval.'

  Fern's brown eyes challenged him across the table. 'That's extremely fortunate, because I'm sure it would be a long time coming.'

  Brett's blue eyes narrowed. ‘I must say you seem reason­ably intelligent,' he said scathingly.

  Fern giggled, and deliberately misunderstanding him, said gaily, 'Oh, you do know how to flatter me. I would much prefer to appeal to you because I'm clever rather than because I'm beautiful.'

  Kirsty joined them at the table and Fern saw Brett visibly force himself to refrain from the biting retort which leapt to his lips. He wasn't laying himself open to Kirsty's repri­mand again.

  Mr. Alexander laughed, giving every evidence of enjoy­ing the thrust and parry between them.

  Throughout the meal the conversation was mainly between Mr. Alexander and Fern, although Kirsty joined in from time to time. Her remarks were short, and direct, and were given with a certain dry humour which Fern found delightful.

  As- they moved away from the table after the meal Mr. Alexander remarked, 'Your mother showed remarkable sag­acity when she named you Fern when you were a tiny baby.'

  'Why do you say that?' Fern asked, with a smile.

  'Well, I'm not usually given to a poetic turn of phrase, but I have no difficulty in seeing you, especially in that long greeny -brown gown, as someone who would blend into the forest ... your long dark hair and big brown eyes; your slender young neck ... you have the same fragile look of the fern, yet they also have surprising strength and hardiness, as I suspect you have. What do you think, Kirsty?'

  'If you mean she's as thin as a rail, I'll agree - all this dieting and modern food fad nonsense.'

  Brett laughed, 'I agree with you, Uncle, she wouldn't be out of place in the bush. You find all sorts of strange things there - stinging nettles, bush lawyers, vines, not to mention deadly nightshade.'

  Kirsty ignored Brett. 'Fern, if you would take Mr. Hamish into the lounge and settle him?'

  Mr. Alexander bristled. 'I'm not a baby, woman, and if you don't stop treating me as such, I'll be giving you your notice!'

  'And if you don't follow the doctor's orders I'll be taking it,' Kirsty said crisply. Fern gathered that both threats were empty ones. She followed Mr. Alexander into the lounge, gave him the evening paper, then his glasses, and switched on the television set for the news. 'Is there anything else before I go and help with the dishes?'

  'Yes, put another stick on the fire. I like a black pine fire. Although it's October, there's still a bite in the evening air.'

  Fern put a small log on the fire and checked the fire­-screen. 'There's a bite in the air all right, and its name is Brett.'

  The old man chuckled happily. 'Yes, you do seem to annoy him. That's good, just what he needs. He's far too serious these days.'

  As Fern returned to the kitchen she heard Brett: ' .. .Yes, it's a damned nuisance, Kirsty, but I suppose I'll have to take her in. It's going to be a bit of a drag taking time off each day to get her to the doctor.'

  Fern interrupted, 'You don't have to take me in. Isn't there a bus service?'

  'No.' Brett wasn't the least bit put out that she had over­heard his remarks.

  'Well, I have my driver's licence . I'm a reasonably com­petent driver. Why can't I drive myself into Hokitika ?'

  'Competent by whose standard? If you think I'll let you have my new Holden you can think again. As you've helped Uncle wreck the Viva, there's only the farm ute left, and we can't afford to be without that. If you wrap it round a tele­phone post, what then? You be ready at ten-thirty tomorrow morning .'

  He picked up his jacket. 'I'd better get moving if I'm to get to the meeting on time. Sorry I can't give you a hand with the dishes, Kirsty.'

  'I can help Kirsty,' Fern said indignantly.

  Brett stood in the doorway. 'You can't, you know. We've often tried to get Kirsty to get help in the house, but she says she'd leave if she has to put up with another woman in the kitchen. So you get back in to Uncle and entertain him. That's what you're here for. Good night, Kirsty.' He went out, closing the door behind him.

  Fern just stood there staring at the door. She felt sick. Brett had shown her what
a nuisance she was coming here ... and if she wasn't even allowed to help Kirsty without upsetting the whole household! She bit her bottom lip, feel­ing the treacherous tears stinging her eyes.

  'There's a clean pinny on the end of the table. No need to soil your pretty clothes.'

  It was a moment before the implication of Kirsty's words sank in. 'But Brett said...'

  'Brett is responsible for the farms, and no light task it is. But in the kitchen ...' Kirsty left the sentence unfinished, but there was no doubting her meaning.

  Happily, Fern tied the large apron around her slim waist, and picked up the tea-towel. 'Hasn't he any help on the farm, Kirsty?'

  'Indeed, yes, he has. Ross Smith and his wife, they live in the house through the trees. See the lights? That's the new house. It was built for Brett's father when he married.' She sighed and was silent for a considerable time. 'Then there's young Robbie, a farm cadet, but I'm thinking it would be wrong to say he's a help on the place.'

  Fern's heart went out to young Robbie; they'd be two of a kind. 'Why couldn't one of them drive me into town, if it causes Brett such inconvenience?'

  'That's for Brett to decide.' Kirsty's tone brooked no further discussion on that subject.

  Fern slept late next morning and woke to find Kirsty by her bed with a breakfast tray.

  'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to have you carrying meals to me. You should have called me.'

  Kirsty waited for her to sit up. 'Fiddlesticks! It's no trouble. You see you eat it all up. You must stay in bed till ten, then you can have a bath, and be ready to go with Brett. You've had a very nasty accident, and it's God's blessing that you're not worse hurt. Have you slept well?'

  'Yes, I had a wonderful sleep. This is a lovely room. You must find this big house a lot of work.'

  'I manage. I suppose it's just routine for me now, I've been here close on twenty years. My man and I had a small farm down where the rivers join. My cousin Grace came to visit us just before the war and she married Donald Alexan­der, Brett's father. The war came and Donald and my hus­band went away to war together. Donald came home and when Brett was born - ah, what plans they made! They bought the next door farm and built the new house. My man didn't come home, but I hung on to the farm. We'd worked so hard to get it, and Donald and Hamish gave me a hand when they could. Then Grace and Donald were killed in a car crash when Brett was about six. Hamish came to me and asked me to come and keep house for him and help him bring up the boy. So I did. In a way I was glad to sell him the farm, it was such a struggle for a woman to keep it going.' She looked at Fern and saw the warm sympathy in her brown eyes. 'Here's me blethering away here and your breakfast going cold. I must away to my work.' 'Thank you for telling me, and thank you for my break-fast.' But Kirsty was gone. Fern was very thoughtful as she ate her more than generous breakfast. She wondered how much heartbreak those few short sentences had covered. Kirsty and her young husband striving to get a farm of their own, and then his going off to war and not returning. Then the struggle for her to keep the farm; and giving in, when her cousin Grace and her husband were killed, to come here and bring up their child.