by Mary Moore
Brett did so without speaking one word, while the old man sat on the chopping block watching, 'Sit up straight, Fern. That's right. Take her once more round.'
This time Brett muttered some words under his breath, but he didn't argue.
Back in front of the old man they stopped. 'Thank you, Brett. You can be on your way now. Fern will do very well here on the lawn.'
Brett leaned back against the woodshed. 'I'll wait a minute, just to see if I can believe my eyes. You letting that little hippie actually ride Gypsy, the pride of your heart! She must have cast a spell on you. A few years back and they'd have burnt her as a witch.'
'Take no notice of him, Fern. Now are you comfortable? Just tighten the reins a little, not too much, just a lift, and round you go.'
As Gypsy stepped off daintily she heard Brett say, 'You're going to let her ruin a damn good horse, and probably break her flaming neck into the bargain.'
Fern did not hear what Mr. Alexander answered because she was too busy concentrating on guiding Gypsy around the large lawn. With a feeling of relief she stopped in front of the men.
'Good, grand, you did very well. Don't sit so tense, but keep your knees tight, keep the feel of the horse. Never jerk the reins, even if you're falling, just catch hold of the mane if you want to, or slide off, it's not very far. My word, I can see I'll make a rider out of you in no time! I'll have you riding like a Red Indian. Away you go!'
This time as she started the circuit she heard the parting phrase from Brett,'... like a sack of potatoes.'
Fern liked the horse, but found it hard to ride bareback. She didn't want to learn to ride like an Indian. It was not the sort of accomplishment she'd find much use for in the future. However, Mr. Alexander did not seem to be a man who could be lightly turned from his purpose.
After half a dozen trips he held up his hand, and Fern stopped beside him. 'A very good start. Brett, help her down.'
But Fern wasn't going to have any of that, she grasped the mane and slid off, landing with great care on her good foot. Sack of potatoes indeed!
'Watch me, Fern. I'm taking off Gypsy's bridle. See, it's quite simple. You'll do it tomorrow night. Now, give her a sugar lump. Hold it on the flat of your hand. There.' He turned to Brett. 'Gypsy can stay here on the lawn, we'll be needing her each day.'
He walked with Fern to the house. 'We'll have a grand time. I'll let you help Kirsty in the mornings, just to keep her sweet, then we'll go for a drive after lunch, and a riding lesson each night. How does that sound to you?'
'Sounds like a full programme .' Fern was thankful that she didn't have to say whether she thought she'd survive it or not.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dinner each evening had developed into an amateur debating centre. Brett had given up sitting silently by letting Fern have control of the conversation. Now with careful cunning he probed her views on different controversial subjects: apartheid, the forthcoming tour by the Springboks' Rugby team, the raising of the beautiful Lake Manipouri to supply more power for industry, the New Zealand commitment to Vietnam.
Fern's brown eyes would sparkle with the light of battle as she stated her views, waited for him to demolish them, then they set to, each delighted when scoring a point from the other. Mr. Alexander, his blue eyes alight with mischief, encouraged Fern for all his worth, but it was always Kirsty who scored the final point of any argument. She would listen to each point of view carefully, and as the clash grew more personal, she would suddenly, with a shrewd dry comment, bring laughter and a pleasant atmosphere back to the table.
On Thursday, evening, after Kirsty had dealt her usual coup de grace, there was silence for a few minutes, then Brett caught Fern's eye across the table.
'Tell me, what do you hope to achieve by drifting around the country?' His tone indicated that he wasn't trying to provoke her, but that he was really curious.
'Do I have to achieve anything?'
'But you must have a goal. What are you looking for?'
Fern laughed, 'I don't know.'
'Then how will you know when you find it?' Brett was genuinely puzzled.
'I'll know,' Fern stated firmly.
'What is it. Money?'
'Definitely not. I may not know what I'm after, but I do know what it isn't.'
'A man?' Brett suggested.
'No. Wrong again.'
Mr. Alexander, who had been watching Fern alertly. asked , 'Perhaps it's security. A place where you want to belong?'
Fern said, with a smile, 'You could be right, but if that's it, I obviously haven't found it yet.'
The old man fingered his beard thoughtfully, then said, You like this farm. You show every indication of enjoying the Valley when we're out driving, and get on well with all the neighbours you've met. Would you like to live your life in this district?' He leaned towards her as if to emphasize the next point. 'What would you do if I left you my share of the Matai Valley Farm?'
Fern chuckled, then in mock reproof scolded, 'Hey! I thought you were my friend. That would be a really dirty trick, to lumber me with a great hunk of property. I'd never forgive you, you'd ruin my whole way of life. I like moving on. I want to know what's over the next hill, what's round the next corner. If I was tied in one spot, no matter how lovely, I'd just wither and die. You wouldn't like that on your conscience, would you? Turning a happy carefree girl into a wise and prudent property owner, overcome by responsibilities.'
As she got to her feet to help Kirsty clear the table, she became aware of the peculiar expression in Brett's eyes. She caught her breath. Surely Brett didn't take the old man seriously. Why, that was completely ridiculous.
Next morning as she joined Kirsty in the kitchen, there was a strange car parked in the drive.
'Doctor Walters,' Kirsty answered her unspoken question. 'He often comes out to try for a trout, especially after heavy rain such as we had last night ... the river will be rising. He'll be along to have breakfast with us, I'm thinking.'
She had scarcely finished speaking when the doctor knocked on the door and opened it. 'Good morning, Kirsty. Here's a fine trout for you - eight pounds if it's an ounce. I've got a smaller one to take home with me.' Then catching sight of Fern he asked cheerfully, 'Well, my little anarchist, thrown any bombs lately?'
Fern greeted him happily. 'Not a one. I have to wait for my foot to heal - you've got to be able to run pretty fast, after throwing a Molotov Cocktail !'
Doctor Walters put his fish on the bench. 'I'll have a chat with Hamish while you're preparing my breakfast.'
There was no doubt that he was a frequent and welcome visitor to this house, Fern decided, as she saw him make his way down the passage to Mr. Alexander's room.
When Fern carried in Mr. Alexander's breakfast they were both deep in conversation, but broke off abruptly when she entered the room. When Fern offered to bring his meal in the doctor stood up. 'No, I'll come along with you now. We've finished our discussion. See you again, Hamish, and remember Robbie Burns', "The best-laid plans of mice and men ..." '
At the breakfast table the doctor chatted away, and Fern enjoyed his visit, even though he could not resist teasing her.
'You disappoint me, Fern. I came out to see a real revolutionary at work, and you've been very slack. I thought the least I'd find would be you marching round with placards, and Ross Smith and Robbie out on strike. Very disappointing!'
After breakfast, he offered to take the stitches out, and thereby save her a trip into town. He was very pleased with the progress of the healing. 'When are you planning on leaving, Fern? I'd like to see it again, say next Friday?'
'Yes, make it Friday. I could see you in town and then head off down to the Glaciers,' Fern agreed.
When he had rebandaged her foot he asked her to accompany him out to the car.
It was a beautiful morning following the rain, a freshness in the air and the warmth of the sun made it pleasant just leaning on the doctor's car. The doctor seemed in no hurry to leav
e, but Fern felt he had brought her out here to say something, and was taking his time leading up to it.
She picked out the hill she knew now, Mount Graeme, Mount Doughboy, and Mount Camel Back.
'Have you enjoyed your visit here, Fern?' The doctor's voice brought her back.
'Very much. They've been marvellous to me.'
'You won't have any regrets when you leave here?'
'Oh, no. It's been fun. I've learned to ride - not like an Indian, but adequately. I can make Gypsy stop and start, when I want her to, and I can stick on when she walks, trots, or canters. That's not too bad.'
'It hasn't been dull, then?'
'No, really, I've had a wonderful time. Mr. Alexander's a darling.'
The doctor's expression was quizzical. 'He might be, but a very devious one. Do you know why he asked you here, Fern?'
Fern looked at him in surprise. 'Because I got hurt in his car, and he was sorry about it.'
'Oh, the old beggar is a bit deeper than that. Brett tells me you've been getting a crash course on this district, and Matai Valley Farm in particular. Didn't it occur to you that Hamish was laying it on a bit thick?'
Fern smiled. 'No. He loves this place, he knew I was interested and wasn't staying long, so he's been very kind, showing me around.'
The doctor shifted his position. 'How do you get on with Brett?'
'Brett? Well, I guess we don't get on too well.'
'Why not?'
Fern shrugged her slim shoulders. 'You know. He thinks I'm a drifter, a bludger , in fact, I'm the sort of person he disapproves of most.'
'And what do you think of him?' the doctor probed.
'Oh, I can take him or leave him.' She giggled, ‘I would prefer to leave him. Still, that's not fair, I suppose he's not bad. If we'd met under different circumstances, perhaps I might have even liked him.'
'And he might even have liked you, isn't that so? You've ] been so clever putting on an act that you've never let Brett see you as you really are?'
Fern tossed her long hair back so that she could get a clearer look at the doctor. He continued, 'Did you know that Hamish has a very short time left to live? ... it could be a matter of weeks, certainly not more than a few months.'
Fern gasped in dismay. 'Oh, I am sorry! No, no one told me.'
'Don't be sorry. He's an old man, and has lived a good life. He's had it hard and he's had it rough, but all in all, I think you could say he's enjoyed it, and achieved all that he wanted, bar one thing.'
'What is that one thing? You don't have to tell if it's personal.'
The doctor looked down at her small heart-shaped face and sighed. 'I think I'd better tell you, so that you'll know what to expect. He and his brother worked very hard, and went without a lot to get this farm, then after the war they took on the next farm when Brett was born. His - Hamish's, I mean - whole life is wrapped up in this farm. He has trained Brett to take over when he dies, but what is occupying his mind to the exclusion of everything else at the moment is who will inherit it from Brett. He wants Brett married.'
Fern wondered why the doctor was telling her all this, as it really didn't concern her in any way, but she said, 'I guess that's a very natural wish.'
The doctor snorted. 'You told me that day at the surgery that you weren't thick, but I'm beginning to doubt your word. Can't you put two and two together? Can't you see the connection between his wish to see Brett married, and your invitation to stay here?'
Fern gaped, then whooped with laughter. 'Oh, no, I won't buy that! I'm not the one who's thick. Brett and me? You've got to be joking. Why, Mr. Alexander knows we're poles apart, and what's more he enjoys seeing us fighting.'
'Of course he does,' the doctor said grimly. 'That's part of the plan. He wants Brett to notice you. If Brett were completely indifferent to your being here, the old devil wouldn't be half as smug as he is. I think you're going to come up against some pretty strong opposition if you try to leave next week.'
Fern was still laughing. 'I'm not taking you seriously, How did you dream this up?'
'Mr. Alexander as good as told me so.'
Fern stopped laughing abruptly. 'Look, I can't believe it, I really can't.'
'You'd better believe it.' The doctor rubbed his hand over his face. 'I'll tell you a bit about Brett, then maybe you'll follow the old chap's thinking. Brett lost his parents when he was very young, he grew up in a house with much older people, he was a lonely little chap, and although Kirsty and Hamish loved him, they were not demonstrative people. Hamish trained and groomed him from a small fellow to take the responsibility of these farms. He was sent to an agricultural college, then spent a year in Britain studying farming methods, then a few months each in Canada and the United States. Brett has never been in doubt about his destiny.'
Fern waited.
'To go back a bit. When he was still in primary school, Mr. and Mrs. Hargreaves bought the farm over the road.' Fern followed his pointing finger, and saw the house further up the road.
'Well, they had a small daughter, Lisa. She was a beautiful child, and grew more lovely as time went on. From the first time Brett and Lisa met, they were inseparable. It was uncanny. I suppose he'd have been eleven or twelve, and Lisa about two years younger. She was blonde, with big blue eyes, and a gentle sweet nature. I guess you could say they were going steady from then on. Lisa went to the local high school, while Brett went away to boarding school, but it made no difference to their friendship. To my knowledge Lisa never went out with any other boy, not that they didn't try to date her ... she was a real charmer. Then Brett went to college, and she had a job in Hokitika in a lawyer's office. You know, I'm an old fool, but there was something special about those two young people, Brett - tall, slim and dark, and Lisa - blonde and cuddlesome - well, I guess you'd call her sexy or whatever, but it was something to see them together. The old man was pleased as Punch, he liked Lisa; I don't know anyone who didn't. Well, to cut a long story short, Brett went overseas. Mr. Hargreaves had a heart attack, and had to sell the farm, and the family moved to Christchurch. There was no official engagement between the two kids, but it was understood they'd marry when Brett came home from his year in England.'
Fern turned, her eyes following the outline of the mountains. She didn't want to hear what was coming, she felt as if a lump was blocking her throat.
'A month after the family moved to-Christchurch, Lisa married her new boss. I still find it incredible, so I don't know how it felt to Brett.'
Fern said thickly, 'How could she have done that to him. What a stupid girl!'
The doctor said sharply, 'Why do you think she was stupid? Because she lost a great chap like Brett? You must like him more than you think!'
Fern faced him, not caring about the tears that rolled down her cheeks. 'Don't you dare try analysing me! '
'Certainly not. That's the whole bit anyway. Brett stayed away a year longer, came home and took up the running of the farm. He attends all the local social occasions, but never with the same girl twice. I don't think he'll ever marry - he's twenty-nine now. And Lisa, poor Lisa. Her marriage was a failure, they were divorced last year, but she's a widow now; he died in a climbing accident in July. She has two children.
So it's a pretty miserable story all round. You were brought here by Hamish, to try and stir Brett out of his general apathy towards girls. You couldn't be more different from Lisa if you tried - dark hair, brown eyes, slim as a whip, and there's nothing gentle or sweet in your treatment of Brett. At first Hamish hoped Brett would react against having a girl in the house, sort of shock tactics, but I gather the old devil has fallen for you and you're the one he wants for Brett's wife.'
Doc Walters patted Fern kindly on the shoulder. 'Cheer up, if they get too much for you come into town and see me.'
Fern watched him get into the car. 'I will. Next Friday when I leave here.'
'Cheerio. I wouldn't put my money on that!'
Fern went about her work very thoughtfully that
morning. Did Brett and Kirsty know what was in the old man's mind? Somehow she thought not. Kirsty might have guessed, but Brett's manner had not changed since she had arrived here, and she had a fair idea that he would have reacted violently if he had a clue what was going on. Then there was Mr. Alexander himself; he might be crafty, but Fern liked him very, very much. And he did not have long to live. Round and round went her thoughts, dwelling for some time on the picture of the dark lanky boy and the soft cud- dlesome blonde. She imagined them riding together, working together, dancing together. Angrily she tried to push the thought of them from her mind. How could a girl who had such a wonderful relationship with a boy hardly wait till he was clear of the country to marry a complete stranger? And now that she was widowed why hadn't they come together again?
She wished that the doctor had not told her anything. She kept reading meanings into words that were probably completely harmless. But Brett had been upset with his uncle when he started teaching her to ride his horse .. .and there was that enigmatic look in his eyes when his uncle had offered to leave her the farm. Oh, she was glad she hadn't known this then, or she wouldn't have been able to act naturally or laugh spontaneously. Now she would be aware of the undercurrents and be watching warily, and she was sorry.
'Where are we going today?' she asked Mr. Alexander at lunch. 'We've just about covered most of the territory: Lake Kaniere , and the Kokatahi Valley, and all the newly brought-in farmland beside Mount Camel Back, and we've been to Shantytown. I do wish I'd been there the day it opened, to see the wedding in the church with the bride and groom and attendants and guests all done up in old-fashioned gear. That must have been fantastic. It's a wonderful idea for a tourist drawcard , the gallows and prison, but of the whole working model of an old-time town. I thought the old printing press was the most interesting.'
She flushed, feeling that she was gabbling, trying to forget what she knew, and talking too much.
'We're off up the Hokitika Gorge today. I'll show you a farm where the chap ploughed up a whole heap of Maori artefacts . Strange how that farm has changed hands several times, but they didn't turn up till now. We passed it the other day, but I forgot to point it out. I don't know if he has them still, we may call and see.'