Authors: Essie Summers
Simon said, “You’ll go with her in the plane?”
“Yes, and Nurse too. I’ll take Chris over to Lydia.”
“No, Mac, we’ll have him. I’m not staying in bed, I feel a giant refreshed. I think Lexie will be happier. She’ll know that after last night’s stramashing, I’ll keep him under lock and key.”
She went on into the Mallocks’ house. Lexie was calmly packing a bag.
She grinned as Kirsty carpe in. “Don’t look like that, Kirsty. I’d rather have it over early. I hate that waiting about, and this way I’ll actually have Mac with me. He’ll stay down a day or two. Chris, the young devil, is still asleep. Tell him I’m off to get the baby. Then when he’s dressed he can go to Lydia.”
“He’s coming to us. I won’t let him out of my sight. I’m okay. Here, let me do that for you.”
Lexie laughed. “I can. You’re just the same in between pains, you know. I’m going to feel an awful fool if these pains suddenly stop. This could be false labor.”
“No matter,” said Kirsty. “You’re better in competent hands. We’ll feel better then.”
Lexie stopped her packing for a moment, clung to the bedrail, then, the pain over, straightened up.
They heard Chris. Lexie went in, dressed him. Kirsty said to Chris gaily, “How-do, partner. Mummy is out to get the new baby, so you’re coming to stay with me, and you’ll be under lock and key when you have your afternoon nap.”
“Has Mark got any jelly-babies left?”
Kirsty sighed. “Yes ... unfortunately. All stuck together in the pocket of his trews.”
Mac came in looking harried. “Don’t stand there yapping, Lexie, let’s get going.”
Lexie grinned, “Aren’t men cowards when it comes to this! Plain terrified. Nothing’s going to happen as fast as that, I can tell.”
Mac marched her out. Jimsy got into the car, called out a few instructions to Kirsty about the men’s breakfast, and away they went.
What a glorious morning, only the puddles, painted gold by the sun, to remind them of last night’s storm. A sweet and lovely world. The single men vowed they could get their own breakfast if Kirsty would wash the dishes. They didn’t want Jimsy to face dirty ones when she drove Mac’s car back. Taking it all round there was no time to say anything further to Simon. But just once, as he said goodbye, their glances locked, their eyes smiled.
Kirsty felt her spirits rising as the day went on, though she developed several tender places and her feet were very sore. She kept Chris very well wrapped up in case of a chill.
She polished her floors lovingly, delighting in each household task, thrilling to the thought that before long this would be her home and Simon’s. She would, be truly one with these women who so gallantly followed their men from camp to camp, from wilderness to wilderness, taking the rough with the smooth, even when it was mostly rough. She thought she could wear down Simon’s resistance to serious talking tonight. She wanted to get it over and done with. Earlier she had dreaded having to tell him, but now in the security of the knowledge of his love, she felt it was nothing like the bogey she had made it.
The children were tired, ready for an early night. They fell asleep over their books. Simon helped her tuck them in, turn off their lights.
They turned towards the sitting-room and a light tap on the door was followed by sounds of it opening, and in came Jimsy, beaming.
“A baby girl. Doing fine, they said. Not as much premature as they thought, probably, it’s quite sizeable. I expect Lexie got her dates mixed. Mac’s a very relieved man. He’s staying a few days, then he’ll get Lexie’s mother to come up here to look after Christopher and be here to look to Lexie when she comes home. But I’ve come to put you to bed, lass. If there’s anything left to do, I’ll do it.”
Kirsty felt completely dismayed. “Bed? But I feel fine.”
“I noticed you limping badly. I saw you getting wood. Those scratches could fester. You ought to be off your feet. I heard what a time you had with Chris this afternoon and him howling away for his mother. Any road, it’s bed for you right now. I’ve brought my knitting, and if those youngsters want anything I’m here. You can take your book and wallow in idleness. I’ll keep Simon company.
“Am I not right, Simon?”
His eyes, dancing with mischief, met Kirsty’s. “She is, you know. Off you go.”
She sighed and went, muttering something about not being an invalid. She bent down, picked up the clothing the two wee ones had discarded. I’ll just put these with the washing.”
As she went into the wash-house she found Simon at the back of her. He quietly shut the door, didn’t put the light on. He put his hands on her shoulders. She could just distinguish him through the light of the one tiny window that framed the moon.
“Listen, Kirsty, I think it’s just as well. You’ve got great shadows under your eyes. I know darned well we would start talking of our future ... explaining, going over old sorrows. Tomorrow night we’ll talk. I’ll let Jimsy bring your supper in—better her than me. Just goodnight and God bless ...” He caught her to him, kissed her fiercely, went back to the kitchen.
Next morning as he left for work Kirsten said in a whisper, “I just hope we have tonight to ourselves. This is a terrible place for people dropping in. They live so close.”
He grinned. “I’ll drop a hint through the day. Say I’m getting out a new map, and must work on it tonight. If any of the women come, well—we’ll have our talk after they go, supposing we finish by candlelight in the wee sma’s. There is a limit to my patience.” He pulled a face. “What a courting you’re having! No theatres, no soft music, glamorous ballrooms. I can’t even go and order you flowers. I’ll buy you orchids in Dunedin, Kirsten. We’re surrounded by children or neighbors from morning till night.” He went out whistling, “I love a lassie ...”
He dashed back in the middle of the morning for some instrument he had forgotten, but had to hurry, leaving the engine of the jeep running.
“But I stopped by the side of the road for these,” he said, and dropped some sprigs of pale briar-roses in front of her. “Most of them have gone to hips by now, but these were sheltered.” He dashed out again.
Kirsty thought of the poem her mother had loved ... “To where the briar-roses grow, all scented by the way,” and her eyes misted over. She’d rather have them than all the rare orchids of the world.
At half-past ten Jimsy came over to say there was a message from Simon to say he was bringing some visitors over for lunch. One of the men had brought the message. About one o’clock. Kirsty wanted to giggle. Heaven send they didn’t want to be put up for the night. Though at least if they did she could put them up over at Lexie’s and she and Simon might have their talk late at night.
But the men he brought in would be leaving at three-thirty to go back to Wanaka. He brought three of them, the others went to the quarters. Kirsten was delighted to see Edward Campbell.
“We were down at the crib and ran into this crowd and I couldn’t resist coming over to see my old job.” He handed Kirsten a box of chocolates. “Fiona sent them with her love. She was only sorry not to come herself, but the youngsters are having their yearly visit with the primary school as a change from their correspondence lessons and she likes to be home when they get in. Besides,” he looked sideways at Kirstie and grinned, “I don’t like her on these terrifically rough roads just now ... things turned out exactly as Elizabeth and Victoria planned!”
It had been a frightful rush cooking dinner, but Kirsty knew Simon would be pleased she had managed it instead of just a lunch. Lexie had told her to use up some venison. That was sheer luck. It was deliciously tender done, in the casserole, and Jimsy had sent over some fresh vegetables. There was enough left-over soup to need only reheating and she made an apple crunch and served it with tinned cream. No doubt they would have indigestion eating the cheese scones so hot, with their coffee, but they did more than justice to them, and Simon gave Kirsty an appreciative look.
Edward groaned as he finished his last scone. “I shan’t be able to keep going in top gear this afternoon,” he vowed. “Simon, you old son-of-a-gun, you were lucky like me, you picked a good cook as well as a good-looker.”
It was said so naturally that none of them realized the implications of it for a moment, then Kirsty, to hide her rising color, began clearing.
When the other men had gone out, Simon went with them with just a casual word of goodbye flung back over his shoulder, but came back again when they were at the gate.
He put his hands about her slim waist. “Edward almost jumped the gun, didn’t he? I think the absent-minded beggar almost thought of you as my wife at this stage. And didn’t you blush!”
He paused, went on, “As a matter of fact, I nearly gave myself away, told him we were going to be married, I see him so rarely, and they aren’t even on the phone, but I managed to hold myself in.”
Kirsten turned her face sideways so her cheek could rest against his. “Well, if the effort is too much for you, I don’t suppose it will matter at this stage, Simon. Or do you think it best to keep it mum in case we get talked about, the situation being as it is? Better to wait till I’m not living under your roof, perhaps?”
“I think so. Though I might, provided I get the opportunity, tell Edward and swear him to secrecy meanwhile. He would just tell Fiona. She’s a girl who can keep her own counsel.”
Kirsten knew. She had reason to be grateful to Fiona for just that.
“Don’t linger, Simon, they might wonder.”
He turned her chin round, kissed her thoroughly. “Goodbye for now, sweetheart. Thank heaven Nan sets off tomorrow on her journey to Auckland and leaves next week. I want things cut and dried. We’ll talk tonight, though, and make plans. Don’t get worked up about it, Kirsten. I’ll just accept the thought that you loved someone else dearly once. We’ve got to take life as it comes. And I love you as you are ... I fell in love with a widow. I didn’t know you when you were Kirsty MacFie ... heart-whole and fancy-free.”
He went out quickly.
Kirsty stared after him. There had been a throb of pain in his voice, a hint of suppressed jealousy. She smiled. Tonight he would know there was no need for that, that she had never been a wife, that she wasn’t Mrs. Brown
or
Kirsty MacFie ... only Kirsten Macpherson. She had an idea he would find it compensation for the deception she had been forced to practise upon him.
She saw Edward had left some papers. She rushed after them. They were just piling into the Ministry of Works vehicles. There were seven altogether. Two were from Australia. She didn’t see one of them cast a puzzled look at her, turn round in his seat and stare at her as they drove off.
She went back inside, singing. A few short hours and all would be explained. Simon would be in at half-past six if they were up to time. She’d cook the children an early dinner, bath them and get, them down. Becky and Geordie loved an early night if it was presented to them as a special treat. Fiona had sent up some children’s books. Dear Fiona!
The men had brought fruit up with them, so she made the children a bowl of fruit salad and a green jelly with mushroom meringues on top and jelly babies walking across it.
Becky’s eyes were like saucers, “Oh, I love no-reason parties, don’t you, Kirsty, and you’ve dressed up for us!”
They had a game of hunt-the-thimble after they washed up, Kirsty told the little ones a story, and got them all into bed.
She looked happily at the table she had prepared for Simon and herself. In the city they might have had a polished mahogany table with lace mats on its chestnut surface, perhaps candles in silver candlesticks, low lights, Crimson Glory roses or early violets.
Here they were dining off a blue-checked tablecloth in a kitchen where one white-shaded electric light bulb gleamed and gloomed according to the vagaries of the generators, the china was quite old and rather mis-matched, because Kirsty hadn’t wanted to risk Nan’s good stuff on these roads.
At least the napkins were snowy white, they dried that way in this glorious mountain and sea air, and the food looked really delectable. Kirsty had whipped up a batch of pikelets, spooned out raspberry and strawberry jam, put some of the meringues together with the tinned cream, made an open bacon-and-egg pie, and golden-brown chips. The pride of place went to Simon’s briar-roses, sitting squatly in an old ginger-jar.
The waiting seemed endless. Surely Simon was late! She’d heard the trucks come in some time ago. She popped the pie in and out of the oven. Pity if it got tough and tasteless. It was so delicately browned. Last one she had burned the top.
There was a tap on the door. Was this just a trick of Simon’s, so he could greet her alone without the children? He wouldn’t know she had put them to bed. It was Anne Merrill.
“Mr. MacNeill told me to tell you he won’t be in for tea tonight. He’s having it at the quarters with the men. They’ve some work to do over there. He told me to tell you they’ll be late, not to wait up.”
Kirsten swallowed. “Oh, thanks, Anne. I’ll Just have my own, then. Cheerio.”
She shut the door and stood there, her hand still on the handle, disappointment rising in her throat, tears smarting her eyes. All day she had planned. Whatever could have cropped up so that they must discuss it at the meal? There seemed to be some hoodoo on ever getting this wretched explanation over and done with.