Bride in Flight (11 page)

Becky giggled. “She thinks that will keep us out of the water.”

Kirsty said sternly, “If either of you get wet and delay us I’ll spank you. It’s fair warning. So keep right away from the edge. I’ll put Mark in his harness, and you can hold it, Rebecca. Simon, I’ll give you a hand.”

“Good. I’ll have to mend it. It could be dark now when we travel the last bit, and I wouldn’t like to risk another puncture with a flat spare.”

He worked incredibly quickly, but found he had three holes to cope with and didn’t much like the look of the tube.

While he was washing his hands Kirsty got them all settled.

Just as Simon got in a terrific volley of wind swept up the valley, swirling dust in great clouds. Kirsty followed the direction of Simon’s quick glance towards the mountain far ahead of them with its ribbon of glacier narrowing down the ravine. A cloud that hadn’t been there five minutes before now wreathed the peak.

“We’re going to get a splash. A real bluster. Now you’ll see what the rain forest can turn on. Never mind, we’re well on our way.”

It was unbelievable the speed of the change, the drop in the temperature. The wind swooped down, the clouds blotted out the heights, the sky blackened to ink.

The rain didn’t come gradually, it was torrential from the start.

It happened with a crack of rifle-shot suddenness. In fact Kirsty instinctively ducked, thinking some stray shot from a deerstalker must have hit the car, but as Simon punched a hole in the windscreen in front of him with a clenched fist, a windscreen that had suddenly spidered into opaque milkiness, she realized a stone, upflung from a passing car, had punctured the glass. It was a miracle on that narrow road—they were on a torturous cliff face—that he hadn’t swerved off.

He brought the car to a stop, stuck his head out and gazed ruefully after the disappearing car, whose driver was unaware of the mishap.

“What did I say?” demanded Geordie. “They happen in threes!”

To Kirsty’s great relief Simon laughed. “All right, have it your own way, Geordie. I’m not kicking up a fuss unless they happen in fours or fives. I’ve had this trip. It
would
have to happen when it’s raining. Kirsty, shake that glass off your lap.” He began brushing it from the seat. “Makes you realize what a tragedy it could have been years ago before they had this unbreakable glass. Even so some of these fragments are sharp, so be careful. I’ll break out these crumbling pieces and you’d better get in the back with the children.”

“No, I’ll stay here. I don’t see why you should be the only one to get wet, and I may be able to remove bits from blowing in on you. With this wind it could be dangerous to the driver, deflect your vision temporarily.”

“All right. For a time. But when I say you must get back, you must. By that time there’ll be no glass in a wind like this.”

Kirsty ordered Geordie and Becky to reach into the back and pull a couple of blankets over themselves. “And fish up that groundsheet and pull it over the three of you, one each side of Mark. It’s going to be very cold on your faces.”

The children thought it was fun, a real adventure. They soon wouldn’t.

It was a nightmare. Kirsty was kept busy removing splinters of glass as the wind tore at them.

“How can that wind get like winter so quickly?” she demanded.

“It’s coming off the tops, the perpetual snows. It’s hard to believe we were cooling drinks and bathing in the burn so short a time ago. But that’s the Haast for you.”

Mark, his little face blue, began to cry.

Becky, instantly maternal, fished up a woollen cap from the back, put it on him, took a cot blanket and put it over his head, leaving only his nose and eyes visible. She turned him round in his car seat a little, “There you are, darling, you’re Becky’s little Baby Bunting ... Becky’ll tell you a story.”

Kirsty’s eyes softened. “Aren’t children great in an emergency—no matter how trying at other times. Oh, thank you, Geordie,” as he draped a huge woollen sweater of Simon’s around her bib-fashion, tying the sleeves at the back.

But five miles on they were soaked to the skin and chattering with the cold.

“We’d be mad to go on,” said Simon. “We’ll all get chills. I’m going to make for one of the roadside huts. We’ve got our bedding and plenty of provisions, and there are always tins of stuff in the huts for emergencies. I’d rather risk an uncomfortable night than being stuck without a windscreen between two watercourses.”

“You mean there could be floods?”

“I mean they might not be fordable much longer. Actually this couldn’t have happened at a better place. There are some good huts further on.”

Kirsty was glad when the two intervening creek-beds were negotiated. Simon took them very slowly, and they could feel the drag of water against the wheels. They found it hard to keep their eyes open against the force of the driving rain. Their clothes were plastered to them.

“I’ll run the car right up to the hut doorway. That will leave its back to the weather. We’ll try to get the bedding in without getting it too wet. I’ll have to try to attach that groundsheet to cover the windscreen, or else the car will be swamped, even with its back to the gale. Now, Kirsty and I will lift you kids in quickly, so you don’t get soaked too.”

He took Rebecca, Kirsty took Mark. The hut was dark with the height of the trees and the hills that crowded it in and it smelt musty and damp, but at least it was refuge from the wind. Simon had Geordie in swiftly, said to Kirsty, “I’ll bring the rest of the stuff. I don’t want you any wetter.”

Her laugh was merry. “Simon, there’s no greater degree of wetness. It will halve the time if I help, and we can get the door shut.”

Becky was hopping with excitement, enjoying every moment.

“Four bunks, who’s got to double up?”

Kirsty shook her head. “We’re bringing in Mark’s cot. He’ll sleep better than if I top and tail you.”

Simon knelt to the great open stone fireplace with a tin chimney piled high with dry
manuka.
There was a huge pile of cut wood beside it plus filthy-looking rotted pieces from the forest floor. They wouldn’t be cold.

Simon said regretfully, “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask your help fixing the groundsheet to the windscreen, Kirsty. I’ve realized I can’t do it single-handed, the wind whips it away. Becky, get some towels and drape them over those old chairs and boxes near the fire so Kirsty and I can rub down and change when we’ve got this fixed. If you can open Kirsty’s case and find her something warm, dry underwear and so on, it will be a great help.”

They didn’t make a good job of tying the groundsheet on, but it would save the seat and dashboard if not the floor. The water was running off them in rivulets, squelching in their shoes. It was hard to know what to do first.

Kirsty said, “Perhaps I should dry my hair ... start at the top.”

Simon picked up one of the towels and rubbed it vigorously.

He chuckled at the effect. “Now, get out of your clothes. No trying to comb it. Everybody face the wall.”

Kirsty, giggling as she looked at their modestly-turned backs, the children’s laughter floating above theirs, ripped off her soaked clothes, letting them fall with sodden plops as she peeled. “Don’t hurry too much because of me,” warned Simon. “I’m used to this. We’re always getting soaked on the job. I got caught in several grade one Canadian storms, much colder than this ... after all, this is high summer.”

“Who’d think it?” demanded Kirsty, through chattering teeth, rubbing furiously. She noted thankfully that Becky had found slacks, slid into them, pulled a bright red sweater over her head, thrust her feet into a pair of Simon’s woollen socks, then into slippers.

“Your turn,” she said thankfully, “and waste no time, however tough you may think yourself.”

Becky had laid out his things too, a plaid shirt, a chunky pullover, some lambswool-lined boots.

“I’ll hand it to you, Becky, you’re a great kid in an emergency. You too, Geordie. Now you can go and examine that stick insect on the
manuka
.”

Geordie stowed the twig with the insect under the bunk where it would be safe. Suddenly it was fun, glorious fun, a real adventure. Kirsty smiled at Simon, and he smiled back.

“What a blessing we bought all these provisions,” said Kirsty. “I’d put in a lot of tinned stuff from Nan’s pantry, then Mrs. Bryn-Morgan came dashing in with everything she could think of to make my first cooking attempts a success. I just about died when Mr. Bryn-Morgan staggered-in with that huge c
a
se of preserved fruit and tomatoes. What a lot of work it must represent.”

They certainly had everything needed to bivouac in comfort, even to cutlery. The big iron kettle was swung on a swee over the fire, Kirsty mixed up some packet soup in a pan and put it on one hob, she found a basin that looked as if it had been used on an open fire before, scoured it, tipped in a jar of tomatoes.

Geordie whittled a couple of sticks into what he thought was a good shape and he and Rebecca tried to toast some bread. “It won’t matter if it’s burned in spots, will it?” he asked anxiously.

Kirsty shook her head, “No, there’s nothing nicer than fire toast, even scorched.” From the look that passed between Becky and her uncle, Geordie didn’t normally eat burned toast.

After their meal Simon rigged up a blanket across Mark’s cot so he would settle. The light of one kerosene lamp wasn’t bright, but he was used to darkness.

They made a pact of silence till he dropped off, sitting on boxes and chairs round the fire. Mark talked and sang himself to sleep just as happily as he did at home, then suddenly dropped off.

“Once he’s off you can’t wake him,” said Geordie. “Can we have a story now, please?”

They hung the blankets over the boxes to make sure they were aired, and took it in turns to tell a story. Kirsty still felt that she moved in a dream. A week ago she hadn’t known this family existed. Finally Becky fell asleep on Kirsty’s knee and even Geordie, who hated going to bed, was yawning his head off and offered no objections.

Simon and Kirsty read for a couple of hours, with the lamp on a box between them, keeping the fire bright for extra light. Simon made the supper. As they drank the tea Kirsty said: “I suppose over there you get used to getting stale news? The papers and mail will come in only about twice a week, or less, will they?”

“Oh, no, not these days. We get the morning papers at Haast by air from Christchurch by ten-thirty every morning. You couldn’t do better than that, could you?”

The nauseating sensation of deep unease returned to gnaw at Kirsten’s stomach. She managed to say, “How wonderful. I hadn’t expected that. What about other services? I’d better know what I’m to expect.”

“Well, we have a district nurse at Haast, a doctor from Whataroa flies down one day a month for ordinary clinical work. Urgent serious cases have to be flown to Hokitika Hospital, up the coast. Once you get an aircraft in, it only takes an hour. Or you can go—in the case of less urgent illness—to Cromwell Hospital, one hundred and twenty-seven miles by road. A lot of the wives go there to have their babies, about two weeks beforehand. Occasionally the baby beats the bun and is born in Haast. Some wives go further afield for their deliveries, mainly if they find it better to stay with friends or relations.

“The school dental nurse spends about two weeks in Haast every six months and attends to pre-school children as well.”

“What about bread? Do I have to bake it? I never have, but no doubt I could try.”

“It comes twice weekly from Alex—you remember Alexandra? The town of the trees surrounded by jagged rocky hills like the bare rocks of Aden—on the freight truck. We used to get it by air from Hokitika at one time. Bread-making takes more time than the women cart, find, I think. Jimsy—the cook for the single men—is a dab hand at it. She’s a Yorkshire woman who used to make it at home. She does it for special occasions. But, Kirsty, you mustn’t wear yourself out trying to produce the sort of meals that are so easy in town. It can’t be done. As long as the kids are well and happy and get nourishing food, we won’t look for frills. I’m not used to much. I’m often out on the advance surveying ... we cook on Primuses or camp-fires. Actually not all the camps have cooks. Often the single men just do for themselves.”

“We get meat once a week from Cromwell. Most leave a standing order for a couple of pounds’ worth a week. We’re allowed refrigerators. The M.O.W. has diesel-operated generators going from six in the morning till midnight. It’s jolly good. Not a perfect supply, it fades a bit, sometimes fails, and of course we can’t have electric water heating, or stoves. I hope you don’t find the old fuel range too much of a trial this hot weather.”

They both laughed, it was so far from hot at the moment. Simon continued, “Actually even though we have a terrific rainfall, it’s rarely as cold as Dunedin, it’s often close when raining. We get very mild frosts. But the winds can be cold when they blow off the snow tops. Snow doesn’t often lie around the camps, but they’re kept busy keeping the road clear over the Pass in the winter.

“You’ll have the washing-machine—oh, you saw me load that on the Works van—an iron, and lights. Lights are the biggest boon of all. There are pictures every Saturday night at Haast, except when the plane can’t get in with films, and you can join the Women’s Institute for a bit of social life and chit-chat. There’s the whitebaiters’ ball in November ... pity you missed that, and pity you’ve missed the whitebait season. It runs well here, we get lashings, just for the work of netting it. There’s a monthly church service at Haast. The Anglican Vicar comes six times yearly from Hari-Hari in South Westland, the Presbyterian man from Ross, in the same area, makes it three times, and the same for the Methodist chap in Cromwell. If the Minister’s plane can’t get in, the service is taken by one of us. The Roman Catholics have a monthly service at their church at Okuru. The priest comes from Whataroa. I’ve seen him arrive by air from the Fox, by car via Greymouth, Christchurch, Benmore, Lindis Pass and Haast Pass. The long, long way round! Sometimes he’s come on horseback from Paringa. Magnificent.