It Began in Te Rangi

by Gloria Bevan

  Pausing at the table a little later, Maggie was surprised at the vividness of the simple scene. The sketch possessed a quality of life and movement that even the garish colours couldn’t hide. Elbows resting on the table, she studied it carefully. ‘It’s the hill outside the window, the nearest one, isn’t it?’

  Philippa looked up at her in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Easy. Anyone would recognize it. Have you any other sketches around that you’ve done?’

  ‘Lots and lots! Come on, I’ll show you!’ Sliding down from the chair, Philippa led the way to her bedroom. Oblivious of the chaotic surroundings where clothing and half eaten apples littered floor and dressing chest, she ran to open a drawer. A sheaf of papers fluttered to the mat beneath and as she stooped to gather them up Maggie caught glimpses of a variety of sketches. A fashion model standing, legs akimbo, in a modern stance; sheepdogs chained by their long chains and peering from a line of kennels, 'an unmistakable portrait of Poss. There was no doubt in Maggie’s mind that the child possessed considerable talent. Placing a sheaf of sketches on the bed, she riffled through them. ‘No horses?’ she inquired smilingly.

  She was unprepared for the small girl’s reaction. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘I’ll never draw them or ride them, and I won’t exercise that hateful Saint either! I don’t care what Mummy says when she comes back! I hate him and he knows I do and he hates me too! I know he does! I can tell by the way he looks at me! Look at this!’ She flicked up the hem of her frock, exposing a discoloured bruise on her thigh. ‘That’s what he did to me the day when Barry made me go and try to brush him down! He nipped me, just because of that! I’ll never, never go near him again,’ she vowed. ‘You wouldn’t either if—’ Suddenly she stopped short, gazing up at Maggie with anxious eyes; ‘You don’t go for horses, do you?’

  Maggie hesitated. ‘Never mind about horses ... show me some more of your pictures. Do you know,’ she smiled, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t turn into one of those lucky folk who are born being able to do something really well, something they love doing.’

  Philippa’s thin face flushed with pleasure. ‘You’re not just saying it?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘I bet your mother would say just the same—’

  ‘Oh, Mum—’ all the excitement in Philippa’s face died away, ‘she just wants me to paint horses.’

  To draw the child’s thoughts from the direction in which they were drifting, Maggie said with a smile: ‘Where’s your hairbrush? If you bring it to me,’ she said winningly, aware all the time of Philippa’s suspicious glance, ‘I’ll plait your hair for you. I know what long hair’s like.’

  ‘All right, then.’ Slowly Philippa turned away and moving towards the littered dressing chest, picked up a brush and comb. ‘I’m glad old Barry’s gone,’ she confided as she perched herself on the bed, hands clasped around her knees, while Maggie ran a brush down the tangled strands. ‘Always going on about the Saint, wanting me to ride him or groom him, or something!’

  ‘The Saint?’ Something niggled at the back of Maggie’s mind. She carefully withdrew a grass seed that was embedded in the brown hair. ‘You don’t mean that big white thoroughbred who wins all the trophies at shows and gymkhanas all over the country?’

  The small girl nodded carelessly. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Then your mother,’ Maggie said incredulously, ‘must be Chris Erickson, the famous show-jumper! I’m always reading about her and the Saint in the newspapers and pony club magazines. He must be a wonder horse!’

  ‘He’s not,’ Philippa retorted, ‘he’s horrid! He knows I’m scared stiff of him!’

  ‘Why bother, then?’ Maggie said lightly, drawing the wispy thin hair back from the child’s face. ‘You don’t have to like riding horses, do you?’

  ‘You do when you have Chris Erickson for your mother,’ Philippa said sullenly. ‘Mummy says that after a while I’ll get used to him and I’ll like him!’ All at once the childish lower lip quivered. ‘She sold my little pony, my Dandy, just because she thought that he was getting too fat, and he wasn’t! Ponies are always fat! She thinks I’m going to get fond of the Saint instead, but I won’t. I don’t care what they say!’

  ‘Who are they?’ Maggie queried gently, trying to stem the wild flow of words.

  ‘Barry! Mummy told her that she had to make me ride her horse while she was away, and I wouldn’t, and that’s why she left! I’m glad she did too!’

  ‘I see,’ Maggie said, but she didn’t quite. There was no reason, she mused, why Philippa should be forced to follow in the footsteps of her famous mother. Surely it was courting disaster to insist on a small highly-strung girl riding such a horse as the Saint. Maggie remembered seeing him once, pictured fleetingly on the television screen featuring a country show. The Saint was being decorated with the wide violet satin ribbon of Champion Hack. Nervous and high-spirited, with flaring nostrils and a wild eye, he appeared no mount for a beginner or a nervous rider.

  ‘Does your brother Ian like riding?’ Maggie inquired thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh yes, but it’s all right for him,’ the light childish tones quivered, ‘he’s still got his pony. He’s got Pancho. Lucky pig!’

  ‘Did you have an accident some time or other, when you were riding?’ Maggie wondered if that might explain the child’s terror or the big white show jumper.

  Philippa shook her head. ‘No, but I will. I know I will, if aver I get up on him! He’d just love to buck me over his head and then jump on me! I know he would! Sometimes I have this nightmare—’

  The question Maggie wanted to ask would no longer be denied.

  ‘How about your uncle? Does he insist too that you do what your mother wanted about the Saint?’

  ‘Danger?’ Philippa’s expression cleared. ‘Oh, he doesn’t worry. He just says to please myself. I wish my dad—’As the childish tones lapsed into silence Maggie guessed that the girl’s parents were in agreement on the subject of her riding prowess.

  Philippa swung around to face Maggie. ‘I bet you wouldn’t make me ride him!’

  Taken by surprise by the remark, Maggie hesitated, turning over in her mind whether or not to confess that she too happened to be an enthusiastic horsewoman. After having been given Philippa’s confidence it didn’t seem quite the time to make the truth known. Anyway, she was leaving here so soon. She said at last, ‘Not if you don’t want to.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Philippa said with satisfaction, ‘ ’cause Danger said you might be staying here to look after us kids, he isn’t sure yet, but—’

  ‘He said that?’ Maggie stood motionless, the brush suspended in her hand. Well, if he wasn’t sure, she was! She’d never, never stay on his station now, not for any money! Not even if he implored her to change her mind.

  She began brushing the brown hair so vigorously that Philippa put a hand to her head. ‘Ow! You hurt!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Maggie said, ‘but I was thinking of something else!’ Gathering together the wispy strands, she tied them back with a ribbon. ‘There! Now I can see your face!’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Miss Sullivan!’

  As Philippa left the room to resume her painting, Maggie stood lost in thought. It was absurd of her to allow herself to get so het up about that Danger man. She forced herself to concentrate on the matter in hand. Presently, with bed neatly made up and covered with a primrose candlewick spread, books stacked in a bookcase, paintbrushes and pencils thrust in a jar and floor cleared and swept, order was at least partially restored to the dishevelled room.

  In the boys’ room things were almost as chaotic, although here the endless models of aeroplanes, together with others in the course of construction and assembling, were mounted on high shelves well out of the reach of seeking predatory fingers.

  The two boys followed her from room to room, Mark sucking his thumb and clutching a reluctant Poss in his arms.

  Maggie was turning down the cover of Mark’s bed when a thought struck her and she turn
ed to the older boy. ‘Does Danger usually come home for lunch?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Ian said carelessly. On an afterthought he added: ‘That’s right, he is coming back today. He doesn’t work far from the house ever since Barry went away and today he said he’d be back ’cause he wanted to check on you.’

  Whatever that meant, Maggie thought irritably. She gave the pillow a vindictive shake. Well, he needn’t bother. There was no reason for him to worry about her any longer. She could look after herself. A thought struck her and she felt a surge of pride. And the family too, if need be!

  To Maggie the morning flew by on wings and a frenzied glance towards the cuckoo clock on the wall made her hurry into the kitchen. For all she knew to the contrary, Danger might make an appearance at any moment, and she was determined to have everything in readiness-on his arrival at the house, if only so as to prove to him what a treasure of a housekeeper he had lost through his own stupid prejudices.

  Scones? At least she was practised in making them, and if only she could understand the controls of the electric range—The boys followed her into the kitchen, watching as she experimented with the various switches. At length Ian dragged a stool forward. ‘There’s a book about it up on the shelf.’ Thankfully Maggie' took it and began to study the diagrams.

  She found it a simple matter now to heat the oven and while the temperature was rising she mixed the ingredients. As the oven signal flashed, she slid the tray into the oven. Then minutes later she took out the batch of scones, not the feathery golden-topped beauties she had envisaged but scones with hard brown tops, eatable, but only just. Well, there was no time left in which to whip up a second batch.

  ‘Whee!’ Ian cried appreciatively as Maggie set down the plate on a checked yellow seersucker tablecloth, ‘crusty scones! Just the way I like them! Danger likes them hard on top too!’

  Mark, safely imprisoned in his high chair, banged imperiously on the tray. ‘Here he comes! Here’s Danger!’

  Maggie flew to the window. She was just in time to glimpse a rider on a roan horse come cantering down a steep grassy hillside. A few minutes later she was surprised to hear a car engine nearing the house, then the sound of brakes at the front entrance. Presently there was an echo of men’s voices in the hall, then Danger was strolling towards her. He was accompanied by a short stocky man with grizzled grey hair and a lined kindly face. Deeply tanned and wearing cotton shirt and shorts and walk socks, he carried a doctor’s bag in his hand.

  Danger’s glance went immediately to Maggie. ‘Here’s your patient, Doc. Miss Sullivan, this is Doc Smith.’

  While Danger went to wash, Maggie gazed into the weathered face. Guiltily she remembered his orders that she was to rest for two days. ‘I felt so well,’ she said a trifle self-consciously, ‘that I had to get up. It seemed such a waste of time lying there in bed.’ Her incurable habit of truth made her add: ‘With so much to do out here.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘All the same, I’d just like to make sure.’ His brief examination confirmed Maggie’s own diagnosis.

  ‘You see,’ Maggie said triumphantly, ‘I’m quite all right. Well enough to get myself mobile again!’

  ‘Hold on a minute!’ The doctor’s stubby hand was raised in protest. ‘No need to rush things. Give it another couple of days before you hit the trail, just to be on the safe side.’ He grinned teasingly. ‘What’s wrong with staying on here a bit longer? Kids getting too much for you? Danger been neglecting you?’

  ‘Oh no, no!’ Maggie said hastily, ‘nothing like that!’ She was nervously aware that Danger had come into the room in time to catch the doctor’s words. ‘It’s just that I—well, I’m really just a stranger here.’ She avoided Danger’s glance. ‘And I’ve got to get back to town.’

  The doctor, however, refused to be swayed by her plea. ‘Couple of days won’t hurt ... no sense in rushing these things.’ He fixed her with a stern hazel eye. ‘Promise?’

  ‘All right, then,’ Maggie agreed reluctantly, ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Right, that’s settled, then!’ Soon the doctor was chatting with her, recounting some of his experiences in the wide remote area where he was the only available doctor.

  ‘You will stay to lunch?’ Heavens, Maggie thought the next moment, she was acting as though it were her place to invite guests to Amberley station. Involuntarily she glanced towards Danger and of course he was eyeing her at the same moment, a hint of amusement lifting the corners of the firm mouth.

  ‘ ’Course he will,’ Danger answered for the older man. ‘Why d’you think he pulled in here right bang on twelve?’

  The family seated themselves around the table and Maggie, lifting the massive old silver teapot, tried to tell herself that the flush burning in her cheeks was because of the unexpectedness of her housewifely duties and had nothing, but nothing to do with the ironical glint in Danger’s eyes whenever she chanced to meet his glance.

  Immediately following the meal, the doctor made his farewells and the children followed Maggie as she went with him to the verandah, watching as he climbed into his dust-coated old Chevrolet and with a parting salute, take the winding driveway below.

  For a few moments she stood looking out over the vast green solitude, conscious of a feeling of light and space and air.

  ‘Come on,’ she glanced up, surprised to find Danger at her side, ‘and have a look around the place.’

  She hesitated, annoyed with herself at the inexplicable sense of panic his words had sparked in her. All this time at Amberley and she hadn’t even glimpsed a portion of the station, and yet. ... She heard herself murmur: ‘The dishes—’

  ‘Sling ’em in the sink. They’ll keep! Phil and Ian can get stuck in them later. Come on, kids,’ he raised his voice, ‘no lessons today.’ To Maggie he said: ‘Wait here and I’ll go and get the car.’ He was back in a few minutes at the foot of the steps, seated at the wheel of the grey Chrysler. ‘Into the back seat, you kids!’

  The children needed no second bidding and in a moment they were tumbling into the car. Danger held open the passenger door for Maggie, then seated himself once more behind the wheel. As she watched the strong, and sensitive hands shift a gear lever, Maggie had a sudden thought. ‘Able to drive car an advantage.’ She stole a surreptitious glance towards the controls, making a mental vow that during the journey she would familiarize herself with the car. She wouldn’t be caught out, supposing that he did ask her to drive the children somewhere; for after all she was stuck here for two more days.

  They swept past a line of kennels, empty now, and moved on alongside two cabins, where men’s socks were flung over a fence to dry and fleeces were tacked to frames to dry out.

  ‘That’s where Mike and Gavin live,’ Philippa explained. ‘Mike’s going to teach me to play his guitar one of these days.’

  But Maggie’s attention was caught by a rusty old car, the paint flaked off in unsightly patches and the twin curved fins of surfboards rising from the hood. ‘Does it really go?’

  ‘Sure it does!’ Danger flung the decrepit vehicle a careless glance. ‘I’ve got a beach buggy myself. They’re just the thing for going along the beach at low tide and collecting toheroas. Ever given it a go?’

  She shook her head with an odd sense of regret. If she’d been staying on—

  They ran past the stables and garage, the sheep pens, the shearing shed with its mellow red timbers. Then they were passing through a wide gate that was almost concealed by overhanging tree branches, taking a narrow winding path that led over the sheep-dotted hills and down to native bush below.

  But how much more attractive was this leafy green world seen at close quarters rather than viewed from her bedroom window! A cluster of cabbage trees fluttered their stiff green fans in the light breeze and great fronds of black-veined pungas glistened in the gentle spring sunshine. The air, spiced with the clean earthy smell of the bush, was incredibly clear, and as they swept between an avenue of overhanging tree ferns, Maggie could have laughed al
oud in sheer enjoyment. It just went to show what effect a knock on the head could have on you, she told herself, it made you so glad to be well again that nothing else mattered, not even being forced into the company of a man you simply couldn’t stand, and who obviously felt exactly the same way about you!

  They sped up a white curving track threading a high hill and at the summit Danger brought the car to a stop. Immediately the children were scrambling out. The two older ones ran down the steep slopes, laughing and falling and picking themselves up again. Mark threw himself down, exuberantly as he tumbled over and over down the grassy terraces that a hundred years earlier had been dug by Maori warriors as fortifications in tribal battles.

  ‘You can get an idea of the boundaries from up here.’ Danger shaded his eyes against the sun’s glare as it emerged from behind the clouds.

  ‘An idea!’ Maggie leaned forward, taking in the vast scene. On the hilltop the breeze was strong and she pushed away the dark strands veiling her eyes. All around her rose cleared high hills where seven-barred sheep fences swept upwards to meet the horizon. The sheen of water gleamed from scattered dug-outs and directly below was a cleared grassy patch evidently used as an airstrip. In dips of hills where tea-tree and native bush had been left to conserve the land, great boles of forest giants, kauri, totara, feathery rimu, reached for the sky. Beneath, the lighter green of tree-ferns starred the sombre background, their drooping fronds lifting lazily in the breeze.

  Maggie was conscious of a sense of remoteness, of something wild and free that she had once known and lost and never realized how much she’d missed it, until now. She had forgotten what air could be like, far from city boundaries. Clear and fragrant, slightly intoxicating almost, on a day like this. It made her think of all manner of wild things, like being able to stay on here at Amberley. She could have too, if only Danger hadn’t been so—so difficult. Why couldn’t he have treated her with fairness? Her soft lips tightened. That was all she asked, just ordinary fairness. But no, he had to thrust her aside simply because of some personal thing, darn him!