Matai Valley Magic

by Mary Moore

  But what puzzled Fern most was the question, why had Kirsty told her? Her instinct told her that Kirsty was not a great talker, and certainly not someone who would normally share family confidences at the drop of a hat.

  Finally she gave up the problem and went through to the bathroom. It was more difficult trying to have a bath with-out the help of Nurse Bronson, but eventually she managed and dressed once more in her faded flares and tan skivvy . She parted her hair in the middle and caught it above each ear in leather thongs. She gazed in the mirror with dissat­isfaction; no wonder Brett took her for seventeen or eigh­teen. She caught her hair and held it behind her head; would she look older if she had it cut short? She shrugged her slim shoulders. Who cared what Brett Alexander thought?

  She put her pack in the wardrobe and made her bed, and went out to the kitchen.

  'Good morning, everyone. Is there anything I can do to help?'

  'Yes, Fern, put out the cups and saucers, I've just brewed the tea. Then get some shortbread out of the blue tin in the pantry while I butter this date loaf.'

  Fern's eyes danced wickedly as she saw the astonishment on Brett's face. So Kirsty wouldn't let anyone help her in the kitchen, wouldn't she? A fat lot he knew!

  'You're looking a lot better this morning, Fern,'Mr . Alex­ander pronounced. 'A few days of this good country air, and you'll be as fit as a fiddle. You tell Doctor Walters that he needn't think he's going to have me confined to barracks much longer. As soon as you can get about, I'm going to show you the farm. Can you ride?'

  'I've been on a horse once or twice, although I doubt if you would call it riding. But if you've got some quiet old horse I'd love to have a go.'

  'Right, Brett, you get one for her. And while you're in town call at the garage and see how long they'll be getting my car back on the road.'

  Brett looked at him. 'Does it matter how long it takes? You're not allowed to drive any more. The doctor said he should have put his foot down long ago. If he'd done so you wouldn't have had this last smash.'

  ' Och , old Walters doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm as good a driver as I ever was.'

  Brett grinned, 'And that's not saying much! You're a proper menace on the road. If it wasn't that everyone knows you, and makes allowances for the fact that you never use road signals, you'd have come to grief long ago. And I mean it - you're not allowed to drive again.'

  'Who said anything about me driving? Young Fern here will take me around, won't you, my dear?'

  'I'd love to, Mr. Alexander,' Fern said with relish, es­pecially happy to be doing something to help the old man, and at the same time annoy Brett.

  Brett stood up. 'Are you ready for town?'

  'I'll just get my bag.'

  Fern went to the passage door and heard Brett call after her, ' And your shoes.'

  She came back in a few minutes with her shoulder bag on, and carrying her sandals. Brett was already in the car, and she joined him.

  As he drove off, he asked, 'Is it against your principles to wear shoes?'

  'No.'

  'I guess that was a silly question. Your sort don't have principles, do they? They think the world owes them a living, that rules were made to be broken. I suppose you're one of those placard-waving clots we see trotting around the city, in protest marches. Pity you couldn't find a job and do a decent day's work.'

  'You know, that's an idea.' Fern hesitated, then grinned, A bad one, but still an idea.'

  'What's wrong with working for a living?'

  'Nothing, if you like it. But why should I work? I've got everything I want. You know the old song "I've got the sun in the morning and the moon at night". Well, everyone can have that whether they work or not.'

  'You mean you're quite content to get around the country, cadging rides, living on anyone who's silly enough to ask you in?'

  'Whatever you say.'

  'You're a parasite, living off the people who do work,' he said savagely. 'I'm disgusted.'

  Fern laughed happily. 'And I bet it makes you feel like a million dollars.'

  'Why do you say that?'

  'Because it's true. There's nothing so ego-building for your sort as making snide remarks about people who have different values from yours.'

  She saw him stiffen. The rest of the journey was made in angry silence. He parked the Holden in front of a big two-storied house.

  'Is this the doctor's surgery?'

  'Yes, just go along the drive, and you'll see a notice on the door. This is our family doctor. If you prefer it I'll take you down to the centre of town to a younger doctor. In fact you can have the choice of two others if you so wish. Actually it's a bit of a favour for Doc Walters to see you. He doesn't take new patients: he's semi-retired.'

  'He'll suit me fine,' Fern answered. 'Are you going to wait?'

  'I've got Hobson's choice, I guess.'

  Fern walked along the drive feeling the cement warm under her feet. She saw a notice, 'Ring and Enter' and fol­lowed the instructions.

  The waiting room was empty, and she had barely time to sit down when the surgery door opened.

  'Come along in.' Doctor Walters was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered with a shock of snow-white hair. 'You're the young lady who led old Alexander astray?'

  'Fern Fraser.'

  'Yes, Miss Fraser, take a seat and tell me what's worrying you.'

  'The hospital doctor said I should get this dressed each day.' She lifted her foot.

  'Right, first things first. Hop up on the couch.' He took the bandage off. 'Hmm, you were lucky. Seems to be healing nicely.' He dressed the wound, then bandaged the foot care­fully. 'Feeling okay?'

  'Yes, thank you.'

  ‘Well, what's next? Your head giving you ant bother?'

  'No, not really, a sort of dull headache occasionally, nothing to worry about.'

  He looked at her keenly. 'Well, what are you worrying about? Come on, spit it out. No use pussy-footing around with me.'

  Fern sighed. 'If I tell you something about myself, will you treat it as confidential, or will you feel you have to tell the Alexanders ?'

  Doctor Walters sat regarding her seriously for a few seconds. 'Will it hurt them or worry them not to know what I'm to be told?'

  Fern answered honestly, 'No. In fact I think it would upset them if they did know.'

  'I'll take your word for that, but I'll reserve my decision until I've heard what you've got to say.'

  After taking a deep breath, Fern started, 'Well, it's like this. They think I'm a hippie or drop-out or whatever. It gives Mr. Alexander a great deal of pleasure to think he's dropped a cat amongst the pigeons, so to speak. I think he'd be dreadfully disappointed if he found out I was sailing under false colours . He's a darling, but enjoys teasing Kirsty and Brett.'

  'And how do they react?'

  'Kirsty surprisingly well, except that I have to change out of this gear for dinner. I thought at first she saw me as a brand ripe for plucking from the fire, but on second thoughts I think I've misjudged her.'

  'And Brett?'

  'Total disgust. I'm a parasite, a bludger , a cadger, and I'm sure he'll come up with some others given time.'

  Doctor Walters smiled, 'And his bad opinion of you doesn't trouble you?'

  'Not a bit.'

  'Why are you confessing to me? I mean, if it is a con­fession.'

  Fern swung her feet down over the couch, fished into her bag and pulled out a certificate. Still holding it, she ex­plained, 'Having to bring me in here each day is an im­position on Brett, and he has let me know how inconvenient it is.' She handed the certificate to the doctor. 'You see, I'm a registered nurse. I could do this dressing myself, if you'll let me.'

  'Hmm! Trained in Wellington. If I agree don't you think they'll smell a rat?'

  Fern gave him an appealing smile. 'Not at all. I'll say I worked in a hospital once and picked up a bit of knowledge. They think I've been bumming around the countryside, so haven't a clue where I've worked.'

 
'I'll go along with you, if you promise to come in immedi­ately if you see any change for the worse in that wound, although it seems a good clean cut.'

  'Thanks a million.' Fern's small, heart-shaped face was bright with relief. She prepared to slide down to the floor.

  'Hold it!' Doc Walters barked. 'I'm not letting you get away with half a story. Why are you wandering around the country aimlessly?'

  Fern settled back on the couch while she watched help­lessly as the doctor sat down, and leisurely filled his pipe and lit it.

  Then she said tentatively, 'Brett is in a hurry, and I don't like to keep him waiting.'

  'Are you on holiday?'

  'No ... well, yes.'

  'That's what I like, clear decisive answers.' The doctor puffed away on his pipe. 'Had a quarrel with your boy­friend?'

  'Not really.'

  'There is a boy somewhere, then?'

  'There was a few months ago. Not now. Can I go now?' Fern pleaded.

  'Nope. Fair's fair. You asked me a favour , now I want to know why. And don't worry about Brett, he can wait. After all, you're going to save him driving in here every day for the next week.'

  Fern came to the conclusion that she wasn't going to get out of this surgery until she had given this exasperatingly persistent old man the full story. 'I'm twenty-four.'

  'You don't look it... but carry on.'

  'Oh, it sounds so silly. "Won't you leave it until another time?'

  'The longer you dither, the longer you'll be here,' Doctor Walters remarked relentlessly.

  After several false starts Fern finally got going. 'I was watching T.V. with my mother and father one night... oh, several months ago. It was about two young people traveling around the world, they even had a baby with them, and they seemed so happy and carefree even though they didn't know where they'd sleep the next night or if they would eat ... you know sort of "take no care for the morrow" kind of thing, and I suddenly got fed up with my life, in fact I felt I was getting older, and life was passing me by. So I said to my parents, that's what I wanted to do ...'

  Doc Walters prodded, 'And how did they take it?'

  'Oh, they were marvellous . They just said "Get going".' Fern stopped, then went on with a rush, 'That's half the trouble. Other kids, friends of mine, went through hell when they were teenagers, fighting with their parents - you know, the generation gap, and all that junk ... while my parents are super. I've never had to struggle for anything, not even for understanding. Then I seem to have spent my life in institutions, every move regulated. Five years at boarding school, the four training at the hospital -I was suddenly fed up to the back teeth. Half the girls in my class at school were married with a couple of kids ... the same with my nursing class ... either married when they were training or when they finished, and the others gone abroad. I kept getting letters from them, from London, Canada, or Timbuctoo . And my life was dull, dull, dull !'

  'Have you any brothers or sisters?'

  Fern sighed. 'Yes, I guess that just added to the whole thing. Duncan and Tony, my brothers, and Rata, my sister ... well, they're brilliant. I'm not kidding, they really are. They call me "Mouse" - I guess I was behind the door when they handed out the brains and good looks, or else someone reckoned our family had its quota already. I'm the one that got "reliable, responsible, a good pupil" on my reports. Oh, I told you this would sound crazy.'

  'No, I'm really interested. Carry on.'

  Fern laughed, 'Well, you've got the worst of it. My father said to give my notice in at the hospital, take ten dollars and only what I could carry in my pack, and take off for a year. When I left, they said they didn't want to hear from me, unless it was an emergency. I was to work when I wanted and needed to... I mean if I wanted to eat.'

  'And how has it worked out?'

  'It's been fun. I spent last autumn in Nelson picking apples, then went on the tobacco work. I've been a waitress -oh, all sorts of jobs, but it really hasn't changed me. I'm still me. That's what makes it so funny to have the Alexanders take me for a hippie. I guess I just haven't got the right mentality ... I don't smoke grass, I don't sleep around, I work till I've got a bit ahead, instead of trusting to luck ... so you see my father was right. He said go and find yourself, and I have. I'm conservative, mediocre and downright dull.'

  The doctor's bushy eyebrows raised . 'I wouldn't agree. But tell me something, did you envy your family their brains or good looks? Did you envy your friends their married status?'

  Fern slid to the floor. 'No. That's what makes it so stupid. I could have been married by now if I wanted to. I had a steady boy-friend, but honestly, by the time I went with him for over a year, it was just like going out with one of my brothers. I liked him, but marriage? Heck, no! As for brains, I'm not thick ... I've got enough to get me through exams, not with honours , mind you, but a pass, which is all I wanted, and I don't envy Rata her beauty, she always seems to be getting into scrapes. Can I go now?'

  Doctor Walters got to his feet. 'Yes, grilling session over. Here, I'll give you these dressings for your foot. I'll see you Friday to take out the stitches. I'll walk out to the car with you.'

  As they walked out the path Fern asked, 'Could I take the stitches out myself?'

  'I think that the Alexanders would find that hard to credit. In fact, I think you're going to find it difficult to keep the rebel act up, if you stay too long.'

  Fern giggled, 'I'm fairly right there ... my brothers belong to an anarchist group at Varsity, so I've just got to swap sides and use the arguments that they used to use on me.'

  The doctor was still laughing when he arrived at the car. 'Hello, Brett, how's life?'

  Brett watched Fern get in. 'Not so bad, Doc. We have a few problems, but I think I can handle them. Uncle Hamish is pulling on the chain a bit. I don't know how long we'll be able to keep him inactive. Well, I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?'

  'No, not till Friday. This young lady has a bit of first-aid knowledge. She'll do her own dressing till then.*

  Brett called at the garage and then headed for home. 'So you managed to con old Doc Walters as well?'

  Fern laughed, 'I've always preferred older men. Men your age are too cynical.'

  'You mean we're too wide awake to your tricks.'

  'Could be,' Fern answered blandly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Next morning Fern woke as the sun rose over the Big Mountain and streamed directly into her room. She dressed in her brown stretch trews and green skinny-rib top, and tied her hair back in a thick soft braid of green wool.

  'Good morning, Kirsty. Isn't it a lovely day?' she said as she entered the kitchen, and reached for her apron. 'What can I do to help?'

  'Good morning. You should have stayed in bed,' Kirsty replied, but after taking one look at Fern's fresh young face she relented. 'You do seem much improved. Set the table for breakfast, and a tray for Mr. Hamish.'

  By the time she had taken Mr. Alexander's breakfast into him and stayed to chat a few minutes, she returned to the kitchen to find Brett seated at the table.

  Apart from a brief, 'Good morning,' he ignored her, but talked away quite cheerfully to Kirsty. Obviously finding Fern at the breakfast table had not exactly made his day, but she had not ruined it entirely because he managed to enjoy his breakfast with a healthy appetite.

  As Fern moved to help Kirsty clear the table, he asked, 'Have you dressed your foot this morning?'

  Surprised, Fern replied, 'Not yet. I'll do it after I've done the dishes.'

  'I'd like you to do it now. The dishes can wait.'

  'Why should I do it when it suits you? It's my foot.' Fern continued clearing the table.

  'You'll do it now so that I can see if you can dress it competently. If not, then I'll take you into town,' Brett ex­plained patiently as if speaking to a retarded child.

  Fern gave him a look of pure dislike, and went to her room to collect the new bandage and dressing. She put them on a chair near the colonial couch, then sat down and carefu
lly unwound the bandage.

  'Do you want me to boil the kettle for you?' Brett asked a little more pleasantly.

  Fern did not look up from her task. 'No, thank you. Doctor Alexander, this type of wound requires a dry dress­ing.'

  As she removed the previous dressing she noted that there had been a little bleeding, but no more than she had expected.

  'May I see it?' Brett moved closer, then sat down at the end of the couch and took her foot in his hands. 'Look at that, Kirsty! She could have lost her foot.'

  Kirsty, after a sharp intake of breath, said, 'Oh, you poor child! Can I help you in any way? That's a very awkward place to bandage.'

  Fern smiled at her. 'It's all right. It looks much worse than it really is. And if Brett would give me back my foot, I'll get on with it. I wouldn't like Mr. Alexander to see it, he may get upset.'

  Brett released her foot, but did not move away. He watched her clean the wound, powder it and apply the new sterile dressing, then skilfully and neatly put on the crepe bandage.

  She glanced at him, her brown eyes hostile. 'Satisfied?'