by Gloria Bevan
It seemed only a few minutes before she was awakened abruptly, conscious of a strange sensation. Something was rocking the van from side to side. Half confused with sleep, she leaped to the floor and reached for the light switch. The next moment the vehicle lurched violently and above her head plates and dishes came tumbling around her from a high shelf above. She made to reach the door, but before she could reach it something heavy struck her forehead and the world splintered into rippling ribbons of light, then dissolved into black nothingness as she felt herself falling down ... down... down...
CHAPTER TWO
At first when she opened her eyes Maggie couldn’t seem to focus her gaze properly on her surroundings. Gradually, however, it came to her that she was lying in a single bed in a big high-ceilinged room where the furnishings consisted of the bare essentials—dressing chest, wardrobe, a fluffy cream sheepskin rug lying on the polished floorboards.
She raised her head from the pillow and her own face stared back at her from a hanging wall mirror, eyes dazed and dark-rimmed, face pale. Bewilderedly she put a hand to the wide band of adhesive plaster running across her forehead. Where? How?
All at once memory came flooding back, bringing with it the thought of the van. She had been asleep, then the earthquake— that was it! She had been struck by something falling in the van during the ’quake. But how had she got here? Memory supplied an answer to that query too, not very satisfactorily. If that ‘Danger’ man had brought her in here ... worse, if she were stuck here in his home ... The thought made her throw back the checked woollen rug, but before she could leap to the floor the room spun dizzily around her and she sank back on the pillow. She’d get over this silly weakness in a moment or two, and then...
A tap on the door interrupted her musing and as if conjured up from her apprehensive imaginings, he stood in the opening, his expression concerned, almost anxious, although why her stupid accident should concern him she couldn’t imagine!
‘Hello! You’re awake!’ He came to stand at the bedside, looking down at her. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘I’m all right, Mr...’ she floundered. ‘Mr.—’
‘Danger’s near enough.’
‘It was—an earthquake, wasn’t it?’ she inquired shakily.
‘That’s right. Wasn’t much of a jolt, actually.’ He dropped down to seat himself at the end of the bed. ‘Just too bad that you happened to cop that stuff falling from a shelf in the van.’
Gingerly she put a hand to her forehead. ‘It’s cut, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Doc happened to be over this way, so I got him to come over and stitch it up. Too bad that crockery landed on you.’
‘What was it?’
He grinned. ‘Big black stewpan, actually.’
Maggie stifled an insane desire to giggle. To think that it had been her heavy old saucepan, a legacy from her old home in the country, that had laid her low. She brought her mind back to the deep tones.
‘Caught you on the forehead and laid you out cold. Not to worry, though. Doc says you’ll be okay in a couple of days—with rest, that is.’
‘With rest!’ Maggie’s brown eyes flew wide open. ‘But I can’t stay here!’
‘Why not?’ He grinned across at her. ‘Seems to me you haven’t much choice. Doc’s orders. He said to tell you that otherwise he won’t be responsible for the consequences.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! I’m quite all right now. There’s not a thing the matter with me!’ She glanced wildly around her. Then, meeting his formidable stare, her voice faltered. ‘At least I can get up—’
‘Can you?’
‘But of course! Look, if you don’t believe me—’ Impulsively she made a swift movement towards the edge of the bed and immediately a wave of a dark sea rose to surge around her. As from a distance she was aware of his voice.
‘Right! You showed me.’ His look was merciless. ‘Two days’ rest and a go at getting up tomorrow ... maybe. Depends how you’re feeling. You know something,’ he observed unfeelingly, ‘you’re lucky, could have collected a bad dope of concussion out of that knock, but it turned out to be only slight—’
‘How—do you know?’
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Doc said to make sure how you were getting along, got me to shine a torch in your eyes every hour just to check. You’re in luck, though. Pupils weren’t enlarged at all. Doc said to tell you he’d be back this way in a day or two and he’ll look in on you, see how you’re getting along.’
‘I see.’ Maggie leaned back, black hair spilling over the pillow, her thoughts in wild confusion.
It had been he then who had checked on her progress. Who else was there here to keep the vigil through the long broken night except that disturbing Danger himself? The awful part of it all was that her obligations towards him were increasing at an alarming rate. To him, of all men! She supposed she should be grateful for his care. She would be too, had it been anyone else. But to be forced to stay on here, an extra burden on him, knowing his definite views on the subject of having her here at all. ... Close on the thought camp another, even more disquieting. He must have carried her in here from the van. Before she could stop to think the words slipped out. ‘Then it was you who brought me in here?’
‘That’s right,’ he returned coolly. ‘No trouble.’ He waved aside her thanks with a lean brown hand. ‘Kids weren’t one bit put out about the ’quake—took it all as a big joke—but I thought I’d better go out and check on you.’
‘And that was—’ Puzzled, she consulted the gold watch on her slim wrist, but it had stopped. Her gaze moved towards the uncurtained window touched with a sheet of flame. ‘Is that really the sunset?’
She stared up at him, eyes enormous in a wan face. ‘It couldn’t be!’
He nodded. ‘You’ve been out to it ever since last night.’ Another disturbing thought crossed her mind. The van, her only means of escape from this intolerable situation. ‘The ’quake didn’t do any damage to the van?’ she inquired anxiously.
He shook a dark head. ‘Not a thing. She’s okay, bar the flat tyre, and I’ll get one of the boys to change that today.’
‘Flat tyre?’ Maggie’s mobile face, that mirrored every passing thought, now registered unmistakable dismay.
‘Would have happened anyway,’ he was saying, ‘slow puncture, I’d say. You were lucky to make it this far.’
Lucky! To be stuck here for days, a trespasser on the reluctant hospitality of a man who hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, and had told her so in no uncertain terms. There was something else that she should know, something that niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t seem to pin it down.
‘Well, I’ll be all right soon anyway,’ she murmured inadequately. Her gaze roved the room in search of her suitcase. She wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t deliberately left it in the van, out of her reach.
‘No, you don’t!’ The amused twinkle in his eyes confirmed her suspicion. ‘You stay right where you are until tomorrow. Doc’s orders. Remember?’
‘He didn’t know how I’d feel about staying here!’ The words were out before she could check them.
A little ashamed of her outburst, she avoided meeting his gaze, afraid of his steely merciless stare. When she did look up he appeared not to mind in the least, and in some odd fashion she found his amused indifference even more annoying.
‘Forget it,’ he was saying, ‘just concentrate on getting better.’
So that you can get rid of me quicker! But this time she bit back the quick retort that rose to her lips.
‘Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,’ he was saying, ‘your horse turned up in the transporter an hour ago. Ugly brute, isn’t he?’
Ugly! Pete! Indignation made her voice emerge in a squeak. ‘I think he’s perfect!’ Immediately she belied the loyal statement by adding, ‘Anyway, you can’t tell how good a horse is just by looking at him! You’d never believe what a marvellous jumper Pete is. He can take just about an
y hurdle, he never ever refuses, and he’s a perfect build for a hunter! You just wait,’ she cried warmly, ‘until—’
‘I’ll do that.’ His tone was that of one soothing a fractious invalid. ‘Meantime, I’ve put him up in the hill paddock with the others.’
‘Thank you.’ Maggie was getting awfully weary, she thought, of having to be indebted to him. Thank you, thank you ... it seemed that her obligations towards this stranger were endless. And just what did he mean by ‘meantime’? The minute she could get on her feet she’d be away from here. He needn’t think that he had to put up with her a moment longer than she could help!
Rising to his long length, he stood looking down at her.
‘Anyone you’d like me to get in touch with? I could ring through from here.’
She shook her head.
‘I’ll be getting along, then. Send the kids packing if they come in here and worry you. I’ll send Phil in with a bit to eat, might make you feel a whole lot better. Take it easy and don’t worry. See you!’
That smile again! It did things to her, making her forget all the edged remarks that she should be hurling back at him. Before she could gather her wits together he had gone.
Lying back on the pillows, she reviewed the situation. It was humiliating to find herself in his debt on so many counts; her van, her horse, even herself, and until tomorrow there didn’t seem anything that she could do about it.
A loud rapping on the door brought her back to the present and a moment later a child stood in the opening, a thin little girl whom Maggie had a confused recollection of glimpsing briefly in the lounge room on the night of her arrival here.
‘Danger said you had to eat this.’ As the small arms lifted a tray precariously towards her, Maggie leaned forward to take it, surprised to find that once again the blackness hovered before her eyes. Swiftly this time she recovered herself.
‘That’s nice of you, Phil.’ She smiled down into the childish face with its clear grey eyes and wispy brown hair. Maggie found herself making a mental vow that the first thing she’d do on getting out of bed would be to comb those tangled strands and arrange them in neat plaits. ‘Phyllis? Is that it?’
‘I wish it was!’ The grey eyes clouded and the small girl’s lips set in a mutinous line. With an angry gesture she tossed the tangle of brown hair back over her shoulders. ‘Instead of silly old Philippa!’
Maggie took a spoonful of steaming soup from the pottery bowl. Evidently blended from a variety of nourishing ingredients, it was rich and satisfying, and she wondered who had prepared it.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said easily, ‘I rather like it. Philippa, I mean. Doesn’t it mean something about being fond of horses?’
‘That’s what Mum’s always telling me!’ The childish face puckered. ‘That’s why I hate it!’
Hurriedly Maggie sought to retrieve her mistake. ‘Oh well,’ she offered placatingly, ‘Phil’s good enough for me. This is wonderful soup you’ve brought me—’
‘Ann always makes super soup,’ the child said indifferently. As she swung herself up on to the bed, Maggie couldn’t help but notice that the outgrown red cotton frock was crumpled and unironed, with buttons missing at the neckline.
‘She brought it over yesterday,’ Phil said. ‘She told us there’d be enough left for tonight. There was too, until you woke up. But Danger said you could have his share.’
‘Oh, he did?’ All Maggie’s enjoyment in the nourishing liquid died away. The child would tell her that after she had consumed his tea!
‘I won’t let on to Ann that you had it instead,’ Phil confided. ‘She’d be mad! She’s always bringing things for Danger to eat. Before us kids came to stay here he was all by himself. Only sometimes Mrs. Wahonga used to come up and cook dinner for him. She’s come back to cook for us tonight. She wouldn’t stay while old Barry was here,’ adding in a low intense tone, ‘she didn’t like her either!’
Maggie thought it wise to change the subject. ‘Do you like the meals Mrs. Wahonga makes for you?’
The child considered. ‘Mmm, only I don’t like fish all the time—look out, here comes Mark! He always jumps on beds!’ The warning, however, came a little late, for the small boy was already rushing across the room and with the help of the bedcovers, pulled himself up and threw himself down beside Maggie. From beneath a mop of curly golden hair ingenuous blue eyes regarded her curiously.
‘You got a sore head? Does it hurt?’ And in the same breath: ‘Do you want to see Poss?’
Maggie smiled down into the sunburned little face that was smudged with earth stains. ‘Love to. Where is he?’
‘I’ll show you!’ In a second he had lowered himself backwards, dropped down to the sheepskin rug below and was running out of the room on plump tanned legs. He was back in a few moments, followed by a small furry animal who came bounding after him. Maggie couldn’t help smiling as she took in the pointed little face, thick dark fur, bushy tail and alert black eyes. Evidently the baby opossum was part of the family. She stroked the thick dark fur of the animal the small boy had thrust up into her arms. ‘I had one of these for a pet once.’
‘Really?’ Phil gazed up at her with interest. ‘What did you call him?’
‘Just what you call this one. Poss—Oh, he’s gone!’ For the tiny animal had wriggled free of her grasp and fled through the open doorway. ‘Hello, who’s this?’
A boy stood shyly just within the opening, a thin freckled lad with a hesitant smile and unruly brown hair.
‘Oh, that’s just Ian,’ his sister said carelessly. ‘He wants to show you his model plane.’
Maggie leaned forward. ‘May I see it?’
Shyly Ian withdrew from behind his back a model airplane of light balsa wood. Maggie knew, from experience with her brothers when they were all children, the hours of infinite care and concentration that had gone into the assembling of the tiny airplane. She examined it carefully. ‘Why, it’s a beauty!’
‘Don’t let him get it!’ Ian swooped down to snatch the model a split second before a grimy, chubby hand reached towards it.
‘Mark always breaks up Ian’s planes,’ Phil remarked carelessly. She eyed her brother. ‘Serves you right, letting him see it.’
‘How was I to know the little horror was in here?’
While the two older children continued to argue loudly, the small boy snuggled up beside Maggie. ‘You got hurted in the ’quake, didn’t you? Can I feel your sore where you got hurted?’ Maggie dodged a small exploratory hand stretching towards the plaster on her forehead. ‘I wasn’t scared in the ’quake,’ he boasted.
‘How could you be?’ his sister demanded scathingly. ‘You were asleep all the time. Anyway, it was only a tiny earthquake.’
‘It wasn’t!’ shrieked Mark. ‘It wasn’t so! It knocked down all the jampots on the shelf in the kitchen!’ he cried triumphantly.
‘It would take just a teensie-weensie push to knock them down. Danger said,’ Phil said to Maggie, ‘that it was a big pot that fell on your head.’
Maggie felt herself wishing that she had acquired her injury in some more dramatic fashion. But—a pot! The heavy old stewpan that had served on many a camping trip, to cook generous quantities of food that would last over a weekend.
‘Well, anyway,’ she murmured, ‘I wasn’t much hurt. I’m going to get up soon.’
‘You can’t!’ Ian told her off-handedly. ‘Danger said.’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Maggie felt a surge of annoyance. Danger again! If she stayed here for a few hours longer it would be because she was forced to do so because of this stupid giddiness, not because of anything to do with his orders.
‘He said we had to look after you,’ Phil said with importance. ‘I was going to make pancakes for tea, but I don’t need to now ’cause Mrs. Wahonga’s come back.’
In spite of herself Maggie was curious. ‘Does she live here?’
The children burst into giggles.
‘No, no,’ Phil explained
after a moment, ‘she lives in a tiny hut down the track with her boy Hone. She makes flax baskets and sells them. She used to come up and cook Danger’s tea every night before we came to stay—’
‘But when Mrs. Barrymore came,’ Ian put in, ‘she didn’t come any more.’
‘Oh well,’ Maggie murmured mildly, ‘I suppose there was no need—’
‘Mrs. B. wanted her to come,’ Phil said, ‘but Mrs. Wahonga wouldn’t! She didn’t like her either! Here’s Mrs. Wahonga now.’
A bare brown foot in a green rubber thong was pushing open the door and a moment later Maggie caught sight of a beaming Maori face, smooth copper skin, white teeth. A big woman, Mrs. Wahonga, tall and plump, with a graceful carriage, a relaxed good-natured expression and lustrous dark eyes. Her long waving black hair was tied back in a ponytail.
‘Aue, what’s this?’ She set down a basin of steaming hot water on the bureau and turned towards Maggie with a beaming smile. ‘Too bad you got hurt in the ’quake last night.’ The sympathetic dark eyes rested on the plaster across Maggie’s forehead. ‘Soon be better, though. You just rest, take it easy.’
Everyone expected her to rest, Maggie thought with a prick of irritation, when all she wanted to do was to make her escape from here just as quickly as possible.
Gently but firmly a plump hand propelled Mark from the bed. ‘Scram, you kids! Miss Sullivan wants a bit of peace—’ Reluctantly the children moved towards the door.
The smiling Maori woman waited while Maggie washed her hands and face, then Mrs. Wahonga handed her a fluffy clean towel. ‘That better, eh?’
‘Much better,’ Maggie agreed.
Soon deft hands were making up the bed with freshly laundered sheets. Then, picking up a hairbrush, Mrs. Wahonga began to run it over the long dark strands. Maggie felt like a child again as gentle hands pulled the hair back from her pale face, securing it at the back with a rubber band.