“I will,” she said simply. “I love you, John Reid. I will marry you and cherish you and care for you, for our home, for our children, and together we will build a home here.”
He lifted her with a crow of triumph and carried her inside, to his big bed with the embroidered quilt. The sun shone in the window, onto their bodies as he curved over her and gave her his strength, and she welcomed him and gave him back her care, her compassion, her love.
At the end, he lifted his head. One large hand cupped her face and brushed the waves of brown hair from her beautiful eyes. “I will keep you safe.
“And I will care for you.”
Six weeks later, the sun shone on the green grass of a fine spring morning. It was six weeks she would never forget. Long days when the men set out to search for miners lost up on the hills. She doubted they would ever know how many perished trying to cross the Old Man Range in that blizzard. It was the last hurrah of the winter storms that broke the fever gold had laid on this land. Daily now, men passed the Coopers’ home, heading back to the coast.
Some were going home. Others were still caught fast. There was talk of strikes on the west coast of the island, they would say, and she saw the shadow of dreams in their eyes. Ada gave them food and waved them on their way.
Today, though, all that was forgotten. The smile on her face echoed the glow lighting her inside. In front of John’s house, every single packer from Chamonix had lined up in an honour guard, forming a path for Philip to walk her down, to the man who waited for her there. Beside John stood the pastor he had promised to find so many weeks ago.
Before they started, Philip tugged at her arm, the gentle tug of her baby brother of old. His face had never recovered from the gaunt hunger of Campbell’s, all trace of youthful softness obliterated by the hard edge of a man full grown—but the smile was the same, and the warm glow in his eyes.
“Be happy, sister of mine. This is good for you.” He bent and laid a kiss of blessing on her cheek.
Her day was now full.
The rest of it was filled with happiness, with laughter and with joy. At the end of the day, the guests slowly straggled away, one by one, till only Philip remained. He stood at the front of the house with them and then held his hand out to John.
“Look after her.”
“It’s a promise.”
Nessa’s smile began to slip. She did not like his tone. “We’ll see you tomorrow?”
Philip had been staying with Jacques at Chamonix.
“No. I’m leaving early.”
Her smile disappeared completely. “To the new field up the Manuherikia River?”
“No, Ness. I’ve got enough gold. I’m going to do what we always planned. I’m going back to England, to Oxford like Father.”
“But … when will I see you again? Will I ever see you again?” Then she shut her lips, and leaned back into her husband’s arms, into John. Why had it come so soon, this cleaving of her in two?
“Listen to the rest of what he has to say, sweetheart.” John’s arms wrapped round her in support.
“I will be back, Ness. Those last days at Campbell’s got me thinking. This is a good land, but for it to be great it needs order. The rule of law, and a strong force to keep it so. Men like Sergeant Garret, your husband, Jean-Claud and Jacques. I want to be one of those men. I’m going home to study Law, and I’m coming back here to help this colony grow. I will be back, Ness. I promise.”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. She put out a hand, wiped away the touch of moisture at the edge of his eye. “Papa and Mama would have been so proud of you, so proud.” She hugged him, then put him back from her. “You take care of yourself. Write regularly. And make sure you get proper lodgings.”
He chuckled softly. “I promise.” For an instant, she saw the small boy who had caught her heart so many years ago, and held it still. But her husband’s arms were around her and she saw now her heart had grown. It held Philip, but also so much more, and would one day grow even bigger, hold even more.
“Get going before I cry all over that fine suit of yours. Study hard and come back to us. My babies will need an uncle, and I don’t know of a better one than you.”
He laughed properly and loudly now, and hugged her hard before swinging up into the saddle of the horse he had bought himself. Nessa stood watching him disappear up the track and thought back to the day the two of them had walked down that same hill, so many months ago. The day she had first seen this valley, this house, this man beside her. She stood in her husband’s arms and watched as her brother disappeared over the hill. A last burst of the dying sun caught the metal on his horse’s bridle and flashed back to her a burst of light. Then he was gone.
John turned her and hugged her close while the tears poured from her. Then she finally lifted her face, and he had never seen anything so beautiful. “He will be back,” said John.
“I know. I feel so proud, and so sad and happy. It’s as if everything is finally in its proper place.”
She lifted her hands and held her husband’s face, bringing his mouth down to hers.
Then John knew it was all right. He laughed joyously and swung his wife up into his arms.
The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding kick from his boot. The last rays of the sun glanced in the window, then withdrew. Two bodies came together inside and needed no outside glow to heat and warm them. The day was done.
Historical Notes
I have kept to the place names most commonly used at the time. Where they differ from the modern names, they are listed below. Chamonix did exist, but no trace of it now remains and the exact site is not known. It was somewhere above where the modern road from Roxburgh to Alexandra crosses Gorge Creek. On the other side of the road, a monument has been erected to the unknown number of Otago miners who perished in the winter storms of 1863.
Molyneux River
Clutha River
The Dunstan, or the Upper Dunstan
Clyde
Lower Dunstan
Alexandra
Bald Hill Flat
John Reid’s fictional Run is set in the area historically known as Bald Hill Flat or Speargrass Flat, now called the Fruitlands district.
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ISBN: 9780857990389
Title: A HEART DIVIDED
Copyright © 2013 by Mary Brock Jones
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