It Began in Te Rangi

by Gloria Bevan

  Philippa nodded, then the two children hurried away in the direction of the various side-shows.

  ‘Come on,’ he looked towards Maggie with a smile that made her heart flip, ‘you haven’t seen anything yet!’

  Together they strolled over the grassy paddock towards a crowded area where a giant ferris wheel traced a moving pattern against the blue. Showmen waiting at the entrance of their tents were calling attention to the various sideshows. Here was all the fun of the fair, Maggie thought, and something else besides, for suddenly her heart was spinning as crazily as the bobbing, painted horses of the merry-go-round. If only it could always be like this, just she and Danger alone together, everything else forgotten.

  She realized they had paused beside a shooting gallery where a line of contestants, with fierce concentration and narrowed eyes, took careful aim with their rifles at the endlessly moving belt of cardboard hares.

  ‘Why don’t you have a go?’ Maggie urged. Laughing, she looked up at him and something in his deep brilliant gaze, something she couldn’t define leaped between them.

  ‘Want me to?’

  For Maggie the sunlit scene was all at once touched with a new lustre. She was pierced with a brittle happiness that was half pleasure, half pain. ‘Why not?’ she heard herself say. ‘You might—win something.’

  ‘What I want,’ his voice was curiously low, ‘happens to be way out of reach. Still—’ a smile touched the lips that today had forgotten to be stern, his gaze moved to the shelves above the shooting gallery, crowded with an assortment of cheap novelties. ‘Would you want one of those if I won it for you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Try me and see.’

  But in her heart she knew quite well that she would prize any trophy he chose to give to her. She wouldn’t care what it was, even one of the garish plaster figures of a red Indian, so long as it was from him. That was how silly she was today.

  ‘You’ve asked for it,’ Danger said, and took her hand in his. It was something to do with the day, she told herself as he drew her towards the open tent. A blue day, wild, free, cloud-fretted. A day of enchantment where flags fluttered their colours in the breeze and the creaking tune from the merry-go-round touched her with a poignancy she could scarcely bear.

  ‘Stay with me,’ Danger was saying. ‘You could bring me luck!’

  He tucked her arm through his, and in her bemused state of heady excitement she was oblivious of the openly admiring stare of the young male attendant at the tent opening.

  ‘Going to win a present for your girl?’

  ‘That's the idea,’ Danger agreed, and Maggie’s heart gave a wild leap, then settled again.

  ‘Six shots for a dollar, sir! Here’s your rifle!’

  As Danger leaned over the counter, Maggie felt that at last she was free to gaze at him without the risk of being caught out, without his guessing. As she watched he took careful aim, then bang! bang! bang! Three shots rang out in swift succession, puncturing the cardboard hares. The attendant was the only one of the party who failed to look pleased.

  ‘You’re taking all his profits,’ Maggie whispered.

  ‘Your fault! I told you you’d bring me luck! Here we go again!’

  Maggie held her breath as three further shots rang out, flattening two out of the three moving cardboard shapes at which Danger had taken aim.

  ‘Good for you! Give these to your girl, sir!’ The young man in charge of the shooting gallery reached towards a shelf, selecting from amongst the jumble of tawdry ornaments and luridly coloured pictures an ornate gilt alarm clock. ‘Just what you need for setting up house!’

  ‘There you are, Maggie! One thing,’ Danger added in a low tone, ‘it’s not half as ghastly as the yellow glass vase! Or how about that lurid-looking plaster tiger on the top shelf!’

  ‘For me?’ She glanced up in mock reproach as he handed her the alarm clock. ‘And I thought I was always so punctual in the mornings.’

  ‘No arguing, Maggie! You heard what the man said? I have to hand you over the spoils!’

  Such a tide of happiness swept her that for a moment she could scarcely see the gilt clock with its fat cupids for the stupid tears that trembled on her lashes. ‘Thanks, Danger.’

  ‘That’s nothing! There’s more to come, lots more! Wait for it! There! Interested?’ He was placing in her arms a massive chocolate box decorated with a picture of garish red roses. ‘You can’t say you don’t want that!’

  ‘Lovely. The children—’

  ‘The heck with the children! It’s yours—and this! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’ The plaster tiger with its orange spots and ferocious expression joined the clock. A moment later it was followed by a yellow glass vase, so tall that Maggie just managed to peer over its rim. She balanced the motley collection of articles in her arms. ‘What’ll I do with it all?’

  ‘Hand ’em all to me and we’ll go and stow them away in the car,’ Danger suggested promptly. She passed him the trophies and they strolled away in the direction of the parking lot. Presently they moved past the pens where pedigree cattle and sheep stood in stalls in the long covered enclosure. Then once again they were out among the casually dressed crowd, watching the giant ferris-wheel high overhead. In a moment two small familiar faces flashed by. Philippa was shrieking with excitement, Mark subdued and rigid, wide-eyed in terrified fascination. The giant wheel spun around and Maggie, turning away, found herself looking into a fun mirror nearby, where Danger’s lean height was distorted beyond all recognition. ‘My,’ she teased him laughingly, ‘how you’ve grown!’

  ‘Look who’s talking!’ He drew her towards a twin mirror where her own reflection was widened out of all belief They strolled on among the throng, pausing to glance towards a stall displaying tanned fleeces in vivid shades together with various articles made from the sheep’s wool. ‘Around here they use lichens and vegetable dyes to get the colours,’ Danger told her. ‘Hey, here’s someone you know!’

  ‘But I couldn’t possibly know anyone away up here—’

  ‘You do, you know!’

  He took her arm and at his touch of his fingers once again that frail fleeting happiness pierced her. Such little things ... a kiss on a night of white brilliance ... an hour among the crowd at a country show ... but they would be all she would ever have. The colourful scene around her shimmered in a haze of unshed tears.

  ‘Maggie!’ She was aware of a familiar voice, rich and musical. Then she caught sight of Mrs. Wahonga. Just at first she found it hard to believe the sight before her eyes, for a man was busy shearing a sheep and the Maori woman was picking up a fragment of wool that littered the platform and knitting it into a garment. She glanced up from the work to wave a plump hand towards Maggie. At her side two European women were engaged in the same task, but it was clear that they had only just begun their knitted garments while the Maori woman’s sweater was growing every moment.

  ‘Do you see what I see?’ Maggie murmured wonderingly. ‘Mrs. Wahonga! She’s actually using fencing wire to knit that garment.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Danger said. ‘Number Eight. Used to be a common sight, I believe, a hundred years ago, and seems Mrs. Wahonga’s carrying on the tradition. Successfully, too, by the look of things! I’d put my money on her every time!’

  Maggie watched the shearer as with bulging muscles and sweating features the sheep held motionless in his grip, he continued to toss the shorn fleece down on the platform for the knitting contestants to pick up. ‘She’s knitting a sweater straight from the fleece!’

  Danger nodded. ‘Haven’t you ever come across Maori knitting? Kiwi Craft, they call it around here. It’s quite something, making a garment from the actual fleece. She’s way ahead of the others too. Trust Mrs. Wahonga! The secret’s in the attitude of her race, I guess. She’s kept her cool. It would take more than a Kiwi Craft contest to throw her! Just take a look at the other two, will you?’

  It was clear to Maggie that the European women had allowed their nerves to ge
t the better of them, for their faces were flushed and beaded with perspiration, their hands visibly trembling. How different was the comfortably relaxed air of the big Maori woman. Raising lustrous dark eyes from her flying needles, she tossed back her flowing pony-tail, sent Maggie a beaming smile and nodded in the direction of a tall, powerfully-built young Maori man who stood watching the contestants from the forefront of the group gathered around the platform. ‘Hey, Maggie,’ she called proudly, ‘that my boy Hone!’

  As the good-looking young man shyly took her hand, Maggie gazed up at him in amazement. For some absurd reason she had imagined ‘my boy Hone’, who seemed to need so much care from his mother, as a twelve-year-old boy, not this pleasant-faced young man with his mother’s wide and friendly smile.

  Though her hands on the thick needles never wavered, Mrs. Wahonga’s plump shoulders shook with silent laughter. ‘You think he just little, eh? Not any more!’ She bent her attention once more to the bulky garment so swiftly taking shape beneath her skilful fingers.

  ‘Keep it up, Mrs. Wahonga,’ Danger called, and turned away. To Maggie he said teasingly: ‘A bit bigger than you thought, eh, ehoa?’

  ‘A bit.’ She smiled up into his face. As they strolled along the winding path it seemed to Maggie that it was an exciting, exhilarating day, full of life and movement and colour. She wished it could go on for ever. As it happened though her feeling of elation lasted for exactly five minutes longer. They had paused to watch a tug o’ war contest where with straining muscles and encouraged by the roar of the crowd, each team pulled for two minutes on a huge rope. As one team pulled the other across the centre-line, Danger, glancing at her wrist watch, said suddenly: ‘Just got time to see Ann. She’s due to go on in a minute or so in the F.E.I. Competition. Come on, let’s see what’s happening up on the hill!’

  As she turned to go with him, Maggie’s new-found happiness died away. He had merely been filling in time with her until Ann was riding in her event To Danger that would of course be the main attraction of the day! She swallowed and tried to hide her sense of hurt as together they climbed the grassy rise, watching the riders in their dark green hunting jackets urging their mounts over the combination of jumps.

  ‘This is the final round—’ the loudspeaker blared in the still air. ‘Ann Macklow on Redwood. Here she comes now!’

  Over to the left on the long timber stands, the crowd was leaning forward expectantly. There was a sudden hush as the bay cantered towards the first hurdle, then gathered himself for the jump. Maggie, stealing a sideways glance, realized that Danger was watching horse and rider attentively. At a fast pace the hunter took each jump perfectly, sailing over with no apparent effort. As horse and rider came nearer Maggie caught a glimpse of Ann’s face, set in concentration, and couldn’t help but admire the other girl’s perfect seat. It was as if she were moulded into one with her mount. ‘No faults so far,’ Danger was saying, ‘fast too! Now for the last jump!’ Then Ann was up and over, the crowd was applauding, the announcer calling the winning time. Ann, saluting the judge, left the ring. The next moment she came cantering over the grass towards them.

  ‘Congratulations! That was great!’ Danger’s face was alight with interest. Watching him, Maggie thought: He never looked at me that way, and now I know he never will! But she crushed down the ache in her heart and made herself say smilingly: ‘Congratulations, Ann!’

  ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ The other girl was flushed, excited with her success. ‘Oh, Maggie, Tony’s here. He’s been looking all over for you. I’ll go back and tell him where you are. See you soon!’ With a wide smile and a flash of white teeth she cantered away, leaving Maggie staring disconsolately after her.

  That’s done it, she thought dispiritedly, and wasn’t surprised to see that Danger’s face was set and stern again, all the warmth and teasing and laughter of the morning wiped away.

  ‘Time we got back to the kids,’ he said. ‘How about if you collect them while I bring the lunch up here? We can have it under the trees. That is,’ icicles crackled in his tone, ‘if you don’t want to have yours with Tony?’

  ‘No.’ She turned despondently away. Why was it that things never worked out the way you wanted them to? Why did it have to be Tony who was anxious to be with her, but never, never Danger? Except of course when it happened to suit him.

  One thing, she comforted herself bleakly a little later as she spread a tablecloth on the grass and began unpacking the picnic hamper, with the children all talking at once and Ann giving a blow-by-blow description of her victory, Tony could scarcely become too personal. She couldn’t, however, prevent him from staring across at her in that absurd manner, following her every movement with his pale eyes; a fact that she sensed was not lost on Danger. Quiet and withdrawn, he sat a little apart. Anyone would think, Maggie thought with a flash of spirit, that it was he who was the disappointed one about Tony claiming her company!

  Presently Jim strolled over to join the luncheon party, a smiling greeting for Maggie in his steady grey eyes. Big and quiet, there was something solid and trustworthy about him. The fleeting thought went through her mind that it was too bad that such an obviously worthwhile man was forced to lead a lonely existence on an outback farm. Of course Danger was unmarried too—She pulled herself up as the tea she was pouring from a flask into plastic cups flowed over on to the cloth. There she went again, thinking of Danger! Anyway, the parallel wasn’t all the same. Danger obviously had a future bride already picked out. Ann and Danger’s marriage would please everyone, she thought drearily. Tony could return to his interrupted studies with no qualms of conscience about the sheep farm he and his sister had inherited. Danger would be perfectly capable of dealing with two farms, she was certain. Oh yes, Ann as mistress of Amberley would please everyone—except her!

  Ann had gone to collect the prize money, leaving her mount tethered in the shade of the trees close by. When she returned she took her tea and went to sit beside Danger, where they immediately became deep in conversation. Maggie, spreading out the food she had prepared so carefully and attractively, found that somehow for her it had no appeal. But the children were doing justice to the picnic lunch, especially Ian, hot and uncomfortable in his unaccustomed riding gear, and Mark, whose chubby face still bore evidence of pink candy floss.

  Afterwards Jim helped her clear away the remains of the picnic lunch and Danger, handing around cigarettes, said with his laconic air, ‘You’re on at one, Ian. Better get going.’

  They all moved towards the pony ring and Maggie watched Ian join the line of small riders on their burnished ponies standing on the flat below. Even from a distance she could see the boy’s pallor and she realized that the event was more of an ordeal to him than he had let anyone know.

  The next moment the starting signal was given and one by one, each rider went over the jumps. Ian was first on the list and as his mount cleared one after another of the hurdles, Maggie found herself hoping that he would at least gain a place. She knew that it would make the boy’s day. It seemed that today at least one of her wishes was granted, for Ian completed the course without a fault and although the remainder of the competitors in the event rode one after another, not one equalled Ian’s record.

  His face was beaming as a little later he was called to the centre of the ring and the judge placed the red ribbon of first place around Pancho’s broad neck.

  Ian’s face was still radiant as he came cantering towards them, to receive a chorus of congratulations, and Maggie knew that for one of the party at least, the day was complete. Even although he could scarcely expect to gain a place in the section of Best Cared For Pony, that didn’t matter now. He had what he wanted.

  Not that she could say the same for herself, she told herself as the afternoon wore on. Danger had taken Ann to the large sheds where against a background of drafting pens and stockyards, the prize-winning stock was on display. ‘You wouldn’t be interested in Hereford cattle?’ He had half offered to include Maggie too, but sh
e could scarcely admit to a knowledgeable interest in stock, and anyway, she was sure he had merely made the offer out of politeness (or a shortage of housekeepers in the country), she thought waspishly. So instead she strolled around the exhibits with the children and Tony, who seemed determined not to let her out of his sight. She sensed that he was impatient of having to put up with the children and wanted to get rid of them, but for herself—Oh, she liked Tony well enough, but today she was in no mood for intimacy. Danger had spoilt her for any other man’s company. Why not admit it? Nevertheless she made an effort to appear interested in the display of farm machinery he was pointing out to her.

  ‘Actually,’ she became aware that he was eyeing her closely, ‘I couldn’t care less about all this! All I wanted was a chance to get you to myself—can’t we do something about these kids?’

  Maggie laughed. ‘It’ll cost you the price of two tickets on the hoop-la and a trip through the Crazy house—’

  ‘Cheap at the price! Philippa! Want to see some sideshows?’

  She stared at him for a moment, then grasped the proffered opportunity. ‘I’d rather go to the children’s art display.’

  ‘Beat it then, and take Mark along too. Here’s some money, might come in handy.’

  Philippa pocketed the coins with alacrity. ‘Mark won’t go unless Maggie comes too.’

  ‘Oh, all right, then—’ With a resigned shrug of his shoulders and an expressive glance towards Maggie, Tony went with them to the long open shed where sketches were pinned to the walls. Not that Tony could really complain of the children here, Maggie thought amusedly, watching Philippa running ahead. The small girl was oblivious of everyone else as she ran from picture to picture, and even Mark appeared to find a measure of entertainment in the bold and colourful designs.