by Mary Moore
'Don't be sorry. We've come a long way in a short time. We started out by despising each other, and now you want to make like we're Hansel and Gretel. That's progress, if you like!'
'Hansel and Gretel were brother and sister,' Fern pointed out.
Brett smiled at her. 'Got it in one. You are quick. Impossible, isn't it - or do you feel sisterly towards me?'
'I'm going to bed. Good night.'
For a week or so after the party, Fern kept a wary eye on Brett, but he gave her no cause for alarm. When they were alone he treated her with the almost casual indifference of an older brother, and in the presence of others he gave a good impression of a happily engaged man without overdoing it. At first she felt very pleased, but as the days passed she was a little piqued that he should have taken her suggestion so literally. She was sorely tempted to try and provoke some response from him, but resisted ... she wasn't that sure of him or of herself.
The lovely long golden days of summer slipped past, and the work on the farm speeded up. Fern found herself becoming more and more involved in the running of the farm. She was interested in every new experience. Mr. Alexander had good days, and others when he was content to stay in bed. He flatly refused to allow Fern to spend too much time with him. 'You get out on the farm, Fern. You be my eyes now that I can't get around so well.'
Between milkings Ross and Robbie spent most of their time on the tractors, topdressing with fertilizers, and planting swedes for the winter. They were always glad of a spare hand to take a broken piece of machinery into town for repairs, or to bring the cows in, and Brett called on her often to help with mustering the sheep for shearing or drafting off the fat lambs. She could ride much better now, and while she preferred the cattle work, she knew the dairy herd must be watched with a vigilant eye to detect first signs of bloat, which could wipe out a whole herd if they broke through an electric fence and consumed more than their share of the rich clover.
Animals had to be drenched for parasites, sprayed for lice, and all the dairy land boom-sprayed to keep the ragwort under control. Of course Fern wasn't out with the men all the time. Kirsty had first call on her time. The best part of the day was when the work was finished, and she went with Brett and Robbie and Maureen down to the river to swim. It meant a short walk across the paddock from the house and then a drop down to a grass bank below the willows where the river ran smooth and deep. Sometimes Jane Hamilton and her cousins would join them, but more often than not it was just the four of them. Refreshed from their swim, they would relax on the bank, sometimes in companionable silence, but mostly discussing or arguing about a subject that interested them. Occasionally Fern would catch Brett watching her with a curious speculative expression and she would suddenly realize that she was giving her own views and not the outrageous radical opinions of her brothers. She would be annoyed at showing him more of herself than she had meant to, and so would jump to her feet and pick up her towelling wrap, calling, 'Who's for home?' As they paired off to walk home in the gathering dusk she would console herself that it was a two-way exchange; now she no longer felt it necessary to challenge his every statement it gave her time to know him and have a reluctant respect for his quick wit and rare perception.
Coming in the middle of the busy farm season, Christmas passed with scarcely a ripple. When Fern opened one of her presents and found a pair of dark glasses, she had no need to look at the note to see who had given them.
'Aren't you going to try them on to see if they fit?' Brett asked with seeming innocence.
Fern felt her face grow warm. 'No. They're very nice, but I think I'll save them for a rainy day.'
It really didn't help when Kirsty looked surprised and said, 'Oh, I thought today would be the very day to wear them, it's so sunny.'
Mr. Alexander was in particularly good health and stayed up all day. In the evening he asked Kirsty to bring him several photograph albums, and as he turned page after page of the faded photographs Fern found a new and deeper understanding of the farm and what it meant to the old man. It was difficult to believe that the smooth green paddocks she knew today had been a large dreary expanse of cutover bush left behind when the trees had been milled originally, and gorse and blackberry everywhere. It must have taken a lot of imagination, determination and hard work to bring it to its present perfection. No wonder Mr. Alexander felt that he was part of the farm and it was part of him; it was his whole life's work.
The next album started with a wedding photograph of Brett's parents. Fern scanned the later snapshots, trying to see what had made Mr. Alexander compare her with Brett's mother, but she looked in vain. There was no resemblance. Brett's mother had been very beautiful, dainty, almost fragile, yet there was real character in her face.There were many photographs of her, mostly laughing, sometimes standing on top of a drayload of hay, or riding with her husband, or at a picnic. There was no doubting that she was very happy in her marriage. Brett was the image of his father, a tall dark sinewy man, and many photos of Kirsty and her husband, a younger softer Kirsty, as bridesmaid at her cousin's wedding, and later sharing work and pleasure with the Alexanders , told Fern how close the families must have been.
Then came the shots of Donald Alexander in a rough, ill-fitting khaki uniform, and one of him and his wife standing beside Kirsty and her husband on their final leave. What had Kirsty said? 'Donald came back; my husband didn't come home.' Fern wished she could ask Mr Alexander not to go on, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. If these people could have survived the cruel blows and come through not crippled in spirit, but somehow made stronger, it was a small thing for her to relive the past through these photographs.
The next series was of Donald coming home, taller, thinner, and with the strain on his face telling of what he had been through more than any words could have. Then scores of snaps of Brett as a baby, and more of the men working on the house, and Brett in each photo. Then another page turned, and without warning she was looking at the headstone erected over the young couple.
Without showing any emotion, Mr. Alexander picked up the last album. These were all of Brett... Brett's first day at school, catching his first fish, shooting his first deer, with his football team. Then each page from then on was conspicuous with missing photographs. Fern knew enough of the family history to realize that someone must have gone through systematically removing every snap of Brett and Lisa. She wondered who had done it - Kirsty or Uncle Hamish before Brett came back from the U.S.A., or perhaps Brett had removed them after his return. She would never know, but in a way their absence made Lisa more important than she would have been if those blank spaces had not jumped out at her. The rest of the photographs were of Brett's tour through Britain, Canada, and the U.S.A. The last one was of the day Brett arrived back. He was standing between Kirsty and his uncle. Had nothing happened since then, to be considered worth recording?
At least she had learned something. She had often thought it a pity that Kirsty and Uncle Hamish had not married; now she knew why they had not. Kirsty would never have entertained the thought of marrying again, and even if she had it would have been no use. From the wedding photograph of Grace and Donald right through the album, Fern had gained the impression that both the Alexander brothers had loved the same woman. Life had been very unfair to Hamish, Fern reflected. Then as she watched Brett helping his uncle to his bed, she knew she was all wrong. The farm and having the care and charge of Brett since he was a baby had filled Hamish's life completely.
She stood and stretched. 'I'll make supper now, Kirsty.'
Kirsty nodded. 'Good idea. I don't want any; I'll be away to my bed. You can make coffee for yourself and Brett.'
She helped Kirsty tidy up the lounge, then went through to make the coffee and cut two generous slices of rich dark Christmas cake.
Brett joined her as she poured the coffee. 'Sorry I was so long. Uncle was a bit wound up tonight. Here, he asked me to give you this. It belonged to his mother.'
Fern held the heavy pendant in her hand. It was a Celtic cross with highly polished stones set in silver, the four brilliant coloured stones set with narrow bases about a tiny silver chased cross, blue and green and gleaming zebra-stripe, and at the base a long misty stone descending through pearl and yellow to a clear red-orange. The stones were framed in clear silver and an engraved silver halo linked them about the centre.
She put it back on the table beside Brett. 'I can't accept this. He thought he was giving it to your future wife.' She rook up her coffee mug and cupped her hands around it, feeling grateful for the warmth even though the night was warm and mild.
'He might have been,' Brett answered with a smile. Then seeing she seriously intended to refuse, he went on, 'What an independent child you are! Take it. Uncle Hamish had the same thought as you, except he put it in a different way. He said there was often a slip 'twixt cup and lip, and whether or no, you were to have this pendant.'
'Then he doesn't believe we're really engaged. All this has been for nothing,' Fern interrupted.
'He hasn't guessed a thing. He said that if I didn't get you to the altar, it would be my own damned fault, that I was being stupid, that I wasn't showing you enough affection, and finally that every girl liked to be told quite often how much she was loved. Sterling advice. Fern, would you like me to tell you how much I love you - I mean, at decently spaced intervals?'
Fern coloured under her smooth apricot tan. 'I love Uncle, I think he's a marvellous person, and I think you're dead rotten to make fun of him.'
She finished her coffee, and took Brett's mug. 'Hurry and eat that other piece of cake so that I can wash the plate. I put two bits out for you.'
'You'd rather I took his advice seriously?' Brett queried, and Fern could hear the amusement in his voice.
'Drop dead!'
'What a fierce wee thing! You are a strange girl.'
'You've said that before,' Fern said angrily.
'I know. It's just that one moment you're so soft and vulnerable, like when you were going through those photos tonight. You were actually living through the troubles this family has had, and when you saw my parents' memorial stone you were nearly sick as if it was something obscene.'
'To me it was. He had been giving all his life and just when he had time for some living and loving to enjoy - his wife, his son, a new farm, and building a new house ...' She stopped, unable to go on.
'You feel things too deeply, Fern. I haven't missed my parents, I had Kirsty and Uncle Hamish. I was too young to remember my mother and father. You were the only one torn apart this evening. Kirsty and Uncle weren't upset, because they'd lived through it all a long time ago. You saw it all in an hour and felt it all happened at once.'
He walked over and put the plate on the sink beside her. 'See what I mean? - sometimes sensitive and sympathetic, and another time as hard as nails. When I bared my soul pleading for love, you offered me Christmas cake. You really know how to hurt a guy. Do you know that my father wasn't much older than me when he died and he'd really done some living, not merely existing, not to mention loving. In his short married life I bet he received more love than many men get if they live to be a hundred. So get your priorities right.'
When Fern did not answer, he lifted the long curtain of her hair aside and kissed her cheek gently. 'How someone as soft as you survived three years' nursing is a ruddy miracle.'
'Who told you I was a nurse?'
'Your friend Jane Hamilton.'
'With a friend like her who needs enemies?' snapped Fern.
'There you go! Ruffle your fur a little and you come out fighting. I'm going out to enjoy the moon and the stars, it's a beautiful night. When you've finished drying the pattern off those coffee mugs you can join me if you want to, but I really won't expect you.'
As he went out, Fern thought savagely that he was in for a big surprise. When he had kissed her, she felt her bones turn to water. It was then that she knew that she'd been what Robbie would call 'a steaming great twit'. Admittedly their engagement had got off to a pretty shaky start, but if she'd been a little bit loving towards him instead of this brother and sister bit, who knows what might have happened. Perhaps she'd been building Lisa up too big ... well, Lisa wasn't coming till next week, so tonight was hers. She put the dishes away and dried her hands, then went out, closing the door behind her. Brett was right, it was a beautiful night, the moon was on the wane but lost nothing from that, the deep velvet of the night sky was pin-cushioned with stars. Then she became conscious of Brett whistling a lilting melody and walked towards the sounds.
She stood in front of him. 'What's the name of that tune?'
She melted into his arms as he said, 'Don't look now, but your ignorance is showing. That was from Robbie Burns. I cut my teeth on Robbie Burns.'
He sang softly,
'Gin a body meet a body Coming through the rye; Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?'
'I won't cry.'
'Ah, Fern ...' and he drew her closer to him.
Some time later Fern heard the lounge clock chime twelve. 'Brett, it's midnight. We'd better go in.'
'Why? Do I get left with a glass slipper in my hand while you drag off in a pumpkin coach?'
'No.'
'Good. I guess you're still thinking you're back at the nurses' home and have to be in by twelve. Don't worry, I'll give you a late pass.' He kissed her again. 'Abstinence truly does make the heart grow fonder.'
'That's absence, not abstinence,' Fern corrected.
'The difference is too subtle for me ... I like it best my way. Why did you come out tonight? It's not a very Gretel thing to do.'
'I was scared ... not of you but of the moonlight. This valley is glorious during the day, but when the moon comes out it has a special magic'
'So if you were scared why come?'
'Well, it's Christmas night. What better night for a little enchantment?'
'Fern darling. I think I've done a very stupid thing. I think I've fallen in love with you. Do you believe you could come to care for me? We could make this engagement real, very real.'
Fern was silent for a long time. She knew that it would take so little, a nod of her head, a simple 'yes' and he would respond immediately and so set the seal on their engagement and marriage. And she did want that so very much. But it wasn't right to snatch and grab at happiness, she had to be sure. Knowing Brett's character so well by now, she was sure that he would never ask for his ring back, not even if he found it was Lisa he had always wanted. She couldn't risk that; she would wait until she saw how he reacted to Lisa.
At last she said, 'I don't know. I'm sorry, Brett, but I would have to be very sure ...'
'And I would want you to be very sure. Are you scared that your answer may be influenced by the moonlight? Do you want to study my suggestion in the cold light of day?'
'Something like that,' Fern agreed.
'Well, I thought I'd get a resounding "No", so I'm very pleased with your answer. We're really making progress.'
Much later when Fern went to bed, she lay awake wondering if she'd been a fool not to take the chance. She loved him. She wanted him. She had not intended him to react so quickly, she had only been trying to shorten the odds when he made his final decision. And she slept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sun was well up when Fern woke next morning. As she groped for her watch on the dressing table she felt anew that wild heady sensation of admitting to herself that she was in love with Brett. The-thought of facing him this morning was exciting. .. would he go back to the Hansel and Gretel bit? She doubted that ... not after last night. And she didn't want him to, because she only had a few days left before Lisa came. At least it wouldn't be a complete walkover by Lisa, not if Fern had her way. When she finally glanced at her watch she saw it was nearly nine o'clock. She launched herself out of bed and ran through to the shower.
Back in the bedroom she quickly dressed in minute shorts with her yellow shirt, and
, because she was feeling young and happy, she plaited her hair in neat schoolgirl braids.
She hurried out to the kitchen. 'Good morning, Kirsty, and a fine large morning it is!' She had copied this form of greeting from one of the neighbours , and found it fitted her mood particularly well today.
'You're very late up this morning.' Kirsty almost sounded severe.
'Sorry,' Fern apologized. 'If you needed me to help, you should have called me.'
Kirsty still looked grim. 'I'm thinking it's the early bird that catches the worm. Have a look out the window.'
Fern walked across and looked out towards Smith's, and swiftly the morning gladness left her as she fixed her eyes on Brett with his arm around a gorgeous blonde. As she watched the girl put her hands up and pulled him down to kiss her.
'You're dead right, Kirsty, that's a rare bird out there, and boy, is he a worm?' She didn't even attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice.
'There now, girl, don't be after blaming Brett. I'm thinking he won't be pleased with her making such a spectacle of him.'
'He's feeling no pain.'
Kirsty looked at her sharply. 'And you, Fern? Do you feel no pain either?'
Fern turned away, knowing that Kirsty had clearly seen the hurt in her eyes. 'I'll make myself a cup of tea and a slice of toast. I don't feel very hungry.' She filled the electric jug and plugged it in, and put the toast in the toaster. She knew Kirsty was waiting for an answer to her question. Fern waited till she had on her 'professional face.' A nurse soon learned that no matter what was happening in her personal life she must preserve her untroubled face on duty, calm, serene, and confident.
She poured herself a cup of tea, then smiled at Kirsty. 'I wouldn't be honest if I said no. But what sort of a friend would I be to Brett if I stood in his way now that Lisa's come? To me it's quite obvious he does love her.'
'You'll be no friend of his if you let yon girl have him.' Kirsty became more Scottish under stress.