Bride in Flight (7 page)

Nan’s face lost its look of strain. “No, except something which you have only forgotten, I suppose ... to run the cold in the bottom of the bath first. Kirsty, I hope I don’t sound preachy, but I hope you find healing in looking after the children. It should be busy enough to take your mind off—things. I’m sorry Simon’s in such a rough place, so far away, but the novelty may compensate you for that. And its beauty. I’ve told Simon to take our station wagon. Better for it to be running, anyway. He sold his car before his trip. Take all the linen you’ll want, crockery, pans, blankets, etc. Look round the house and decide what you want. You could put in some floor rugs—there’ll be very little in the house. You can ask me anything else you think of, when Simon brings you up here tonight. He’s going to try to get over to Haast as soon as possible, mainly because it’s so near the beginning of the school year. It’ll be good for the youngsters to start right at the beginning. It’s an ordeal for them.”

“Poor mites!”

Simon said as they got into the taxi, “Nan is miles better just by seeing you. I knew she would feel that way.”

“I’ve told her I’ll write her screeds about their daily doings, and in that way she can use the information in Morris’s letters so that he doesn’t suspect anything has happened. She wants him to have a quiet mind while finishing these studies. Now, don’t worry if the children are reserved with me at first, or play up. We’ll settle down.”

The blue eyes met hers, smiled down into them. “They won’t stay that way for long with you, I guarantee.”

Faint warmth stirred in Kirsty’s heart. Even if from now on your entire world would be composed of strangers, it was good to be needed, appreciated.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT was lunch-time when the taxi deposited them in front of the Bryn-Morgans’ home on Maori Hill. Kirsty said nervously, “Oh dear, I feel we ought to have lunched in town. She’ll feel she must ask us to share their meal.”

Simon chuckled. “Wait till you meet Mrs. Bryn-Morgan! You’d have no chance of getting away from her. She’d be what she calls ‘black-affrontit’ if we’d done that. She loves having a family about her. She’s so fond of children she adopted three. Oh, there’s Anthony’s car—the son. I suppose he comes here for lunch, from the shop. He’s a draper, but lives down the Peninsula, where he runs a model farm at Tangaroa, with a manager. I wonder if Dinah will be here. You’ll like her. They got married just before I went overseas.”

There was the sound of quick footsteps. From the elegance of the house Kirsty had experienced formality, but Mrs. Bryn-Morga
n
, bright-eyed, tiny, was wearing an apron and furry slippers.

“Simon, my dear, dear boy!” She held up her face, received his kiss, sparkled at Kirsty, said in delighted tones, “Well, how nice, you’ve brought her to see me!”

It was only too evident what she thought.

Simon and Kirsty tried to speak at once, stopped, then Simon took over.

“Bless your romantic heart, Mrs. Bryn-Morgan, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you. I’m still a bachelor. This is Mrs. Brown from Australia, and she’s going to keep house for me at the camp and look after the children till Nan’s on her feet. We’ve just come from the hospital. Nan’s thrilled. She was terrified you’d say you’d postpone your trip to Raratonga.”

Mrs. Bryn-Morgan said, “Well, my husband knew I was worried about the children and offered to go later, but he hasn’t been well, and the doctor advised the trip round the islands to set him up for the winter. But come away in. I can just imagine the children’s faces. Anthony will be delighted too. Just a moment—let’s have fun about it.”

She whisked ahead of them, opened the door into the dining-room, said, “Children, big surprise in the hall! Guess who?”

“Fawer Trissmus,” said a baby voice, apparently recalling recent memories.

“Not ... Daddy?” asked a serious, longing, little girl’s voice.

“No, pet, but the next best thing.”

There was a crash as two chairs went over and a rush for the door. They hurtled into Simon’s arms, hugged him. He chuckled, caught up the two of them, a straight-haired, dark little girl with surprisingly blue eyes and a chestnut-haired, angelic-faced boy in spectacles; Rebecca and Geordie.

Mark couldn’t remember his uncle, so went on stolidly eating his boiled egg. A girl in a loose artist’s smock, with hair as bright as a newly-minted penny, was sitting beside him, assisting him, but her attention too was on the newco
m
ers and Mark took advantage of it, picked up the empty shell and crammed it into his mouth.

Anthony Bryn-Morgan said, “Di, look out, he’ll swallow it! The shell ... quick!”

She swooped, but small Mark clamped his jaws together, worked them madly for a few seconds, his eyes gleaming.

Dinah lifted his feeder, said, “Spit it out, love ... nasty ... prickly! Out it comes?”

Mark had other ideas. A few hasty swallowings and he opened his lips to say triumphantly; “All gone. Mark a clever boy!”

Kirsty, bubbling up with laughter, said to Simon,, “Uncomplicated, I think you said.”

Simon introduced Kirsty. “Mrs. Brown is going to look after us all over the camp. What do you think of that, kids? You’ll be with me till your mother gets better, and by that time your father will be home too.”

Geordie’s face was suddenly bemused. “Live over there ... right in the bush! Oh boy, oh boy! Think of it ...
huhu
grubs,
wetas, taipo
spiders, moths by the million ... and miles and miles of swamps for tadpoles!”

They all burst out laughing. Simon said, “Geordie, don’t, you’ll put Mrs. Brown off.” He turned, laughing, to her. “It isn’t as bad as that, believe me, at Kairuri-mata.”

Dinah looked up from wiping Mark’s mouth. “What is the meaning of that name, Simon?”

He looked at her reproachfully. “You know darned well what it means. You asked me once before.”

She giggled, said to Kirsty, “It means surveyor’s swamp, so look what you’ve let yourself in for!” She held up a hand to Simon. “Pax ... pax! I’ll admit that it’s one of the most beautiful places on earth ... virgin bush, a coastline without a road, rivers, waterfalls, mountains.”

“That’s better. I put all the disadvantages to Kirsty before we left for here and she came notwithstanding.” Mrs. Bryn-Morgan had been busy at the stove in the kitchenette off the dining-room and her husband had put some bread in the toaster. Two plates with omelettes with chopped ham and tomatoes in them, and garnished with a savoury sauce and parsley, appeared on the table.

“Sit down and have them before they flop,” Mrs. Bryn-Morgan said anxiously.

Simon said affectionately, “Isn’t she the giddy wonder? Take more than three extra kids and two unexpected visitors to put Brynnie off her stride.”

Kirsty sat by Rebecca, who had said very little till now, her big blue eyes apprehensive.

She swallowed, tried to smile, said uncertainly, “What have we got to call you?”

Kirsty smiled down on her. “What about just Kirsty?” She was going to hate being Mrs. Brown, reminding her all the time of the fact that she sailed under false colors. She ought to have been Brownfield now, wearing the name of the man she loved, proudly. But there was a Mrs. Brownfield with a prior claim to it, the mysterious wife from the past, who had erupted into Kirsty’s life as a voice then had—seemingly—disappeared.

“Thank you,” said Rebecca on a thin thread of sound. Better not rush her.

Dinah said, “Isn’t it the most delightful, old-fashioned name? Is it short for Christine?”

Kirsty, bent over her omelette, said carelessly, “No, Kirsten, a Norwegian name.”

The conversation became general. Anthony departed for the shop after uselessly trying to persuade his wife to come with him.

Kirsty still felt that she moved in a dream. Simon took her into his sister’s home, leaving the children next door, to see what they would take to the Haast with them.

He showed her into a spare room, opened the wardrobe, flung some hangers on the bed. “Some of your things might be better hung up for just now?”

“Yes, I’ve some pleated things.” She took out a couple of frocks, unfolded a coat, said, “Oh, that bulge in the pocket probably indicates that I must have stuffed some missing gloves in there. I hunted everywhere when I was packing.”

She tugged them out and a shower of confetti fell on to the bed.

Patsy and Nicola, she supposed dumbly.

She had a moment of nausea. She was going to be exposed as an imposter, as the heartless bride instead of the brave young widow. She braced herself. Simon’s voice, when it came, sounded a long way off.

He was appalled, embarrassed, gruff with emotion. “Oh, damn, what a thing to happen! Kirsty—” he caught her against him in wordless, masculine sympathy, much as he might have Rebecca.

She stayed there, numbed, flummoxed.

Then he said gently, “How devilish life can be at times, how unnecessarily cruel. I hadn’t realized how brief your happiness had been. Recent enough for
that
! No wonder you can’t talk about it yet.”

Relief flooded through her. Sooner or later, though, he might add two and two. And the more sympathy now, the more foolish he would feel, the more despising.

She managed to say, “Simon, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got to learn to live with this situation. I’ll take the coat outside and shake it over the incinerator. I don’t want the children asking questions.”

As she finished shaking it he came out with a small shovel with the confetti he had brushed up. She watched him set light to it.

Simon MacNeill did some phoning, came back to her. “We’re in luck. A Ministry of Works truck is going through practically empty tomorrow morning. He’ll come and load up the children’s beds and tallboys for us, and a bed for you. I’ll get a stretcher out of the single quarters up there. We’ll take a few luxuries, a couple of easy chairs, some cushions and so on. Perhaps you could pack a box of Nan’s books to give you something to read during the evenings.

“We’ll go up a little later in the day. I’ll book us in for tomorrow night at Lake Hawea Hotel. We’d better take Mark’s cot with us in the station wagon, he’ll sleep better in that.”

They worked hard, tidying up the house ready for it to be left empty a few weeks, Simon mowed the lawns, clipped the edges, arranged with a schoolboy to look after them from now on. Kirsty packed suitcases, sorted out linen and plain china, hoping her numbness of spirit didn’t mean she would forget essentials.

He said, “I wish we had more time here. I’d like to have run you round Dunedin, but I’ll do it when Nan is better and I bring you and the children back here. Nan thought if the children started school the first day, they’d not feel quite so strange as there are bound to be plenty of other new scholars then.”

“Poor pets! It is an ordeal. But I suppose they’ll get home for lunch, it’s such a small place, the camp, I daresay the school is near?”

“I’m afraid they’ll be away all day. The school bus will call for them about .eight and bring them back at four. The school is even further from Kairuri-mata than Haast, ten miles south. It’s at Hannah’s Clearing. The one at Haast was burnt down. But you’ll have Mark all day—a mixed blessing—and the women are very friendly, you won’t be too lonely.”

When Kirsty was bathing Rebecca that night she said to her casually, “What fun it will be tomorrow night sleeping by the lake.”

Rebecca looked up and away and said in a muffled tone, “I’ve never slept in a hotel before. Mark’s taking his cot. I wish I could take my own bed.”

Kirsty, soaping the small brown back vigorously, said, “Well, it won’t matter, I’ll have your rubber and your sheets with us, and we can just bundle them up next morning—your’s and Mark’s—and nobody will know. That’s what I always did when I took the orphans to the seaside for their holidays.”

She noticed the tension go out of the little back. “It’s going to be fun, Becky. I’ll have to rely on you to keep me right on things—after all, you’re the only woman of the house. You’ll have to tell me what Mark likes, what he means. I can’t get some of his words yet. You’ll know what he’s asking for.”

Diverted, Rebecca began on family history, idiosyncrasies, and a few oddly old-fashioned ideas of her own on bringing up the family.

They woke early. Geordie chased Kirsty to the bathroom. “I forgot to ask you last night. Have you got take-out teeth? If so, could I watch you scrub them?”

Kirsty burst into such a peal of genuine mirth that Simon, in the kitchen, smiled broadly, opened the door to see what was going on.

She was giggling madly. “I can think of much more exciting entertainments,” she said. “Sorry, Geordie,” she gave a tug at her top teeth, “they’re very firmly attached.” Simon watched them indulgently through the open door.

“Nobody in our family’s got them,” said Geordie gloomily. “Yet both Brynnie and Mr. Brynnie have got them top and bottom.”

“Never mind. Not all families are ideal.” Her eyes were dancing. “And while you’re here, just do your own and pop the brush in that bag, will you.”

It was a blue and golden January day, cloudless and still. They drove right along Highgate and should have turned south at the Lookout Point fire-station. Instead Simon turned east, towards the sea.

The children began to exclaim. He said: “You said your parents had lived at St. Clair just before your father went to the war, Kirsty. I thought I’d show you that much. You don’t happen to know what street, I suppose?”

“Yes, I do. Why—”

“We’ll let you have a peep at it. It isn’t as if we’re going right through to the Haast in the one day. You can hold hands with your childhood for about five minutes.”

Kirsty looked away to hide the sparkle of tears.

They swung into the suburb of Corstophine and a mile or two on, ran downhill to the street and found the house, an unpretentious bungalow in a small, neat garden. Kirsty could recognize it from old snapshots.

She looked her fill, swept her eyes about to the view of the shore and White Island that her mother must have known so well, said, “Thank you, Simon.”

“Do you want to go in, make contact with whoever lives there now?”

“No, thanks. It’s too early. She might feel she ought to show me round and she might not even have the beds made yet.”

As good an excuse as any. She dared not go in. Simon would accompany her. The woman would want to know her single name. She had told Simon Macfie. The woman would say, “There used to be Macphersons here.”

An instant of almost unbearable nostalgia for her mother swept over her such as she had not known for years. Oh, to have those kind arms to run to, that wise philosophy help her rebuild her shattered world!

It was good to have the three lively children in the car. No chance to brood. Mark was in a car-seat between Kirsty and Simon, the other two and the picnic baskets occupied the back seat. The tray at the back was packed floor to ceiling With their goods and chattels. Kirsty made up her mind to enjoy this adventure. She could do nothing about the situation in Australia. That was over to Gilbert’s wife.

It was glorious country. They headed south through gentle rolling country, skirting the Taieri River and turning west in the Bruce County past Milton, running into closely-folded hills and valleys.