Call of the Kiwi (45 page)

After all that time away they were finally almost home. Jack knew he should be thankful. But he only felt cold as she stared out at the breathtaking view of the fog-enshrouded land. The ship would anchor in Dunedin. Jack wondered whether Roly had informed Tim Lambert of their arrival and, if so, whether the Lamberts had informed his mother. If they had, his family would surely be waiting for him at the quay. Jack dreaded that. But there was a good chance that was not the case. Because of the war, mail was even slower than usual.

During his last days in Alexandria, Jack had learned that in light of his bravery at the Battle of Lone Pine he had been promoted again and granted a medal. He had not even looked at it.

“Do you want it?” he asked when Roly chided him about it. “Here, take it. You’ve earned it more than I have. Show it to Mary; put it on when you get married. Nobody is going to ask you for the certificate.”

“You don’t mean that, Sergeant McKenzie,” Roly said with a covetous look at the velvet jewel case. “I couldn’t.”

“Of course you can. I hereby grant it to you,” Jack said, opening the case. “Kneel, or whatever it is you’re supposed to do in these situations, and I’ll consign it to you.”

Roly proudly stuck the medal to his lapel as the ship entered Dunedin’s harbor. Many other men likewise decorated themselves with their trophies. They might be missing arms or legs, but they were heroes.

The crowd who greeted them at the docks was considerably smaller than the one at their departure. It primarily consisted of doctors, nurses, and family and friends, who cried at the sight of the wounded men. The sanatorium in Dunedin—a repurposed girl’s school, they said—had sent three vehicles and a few attendants.

“Is it all right with you if I leave you here, Sergeant McKenzie?” Roly asked. He hoped to catch the night train to Christchurch, and then continue on to Greymouth. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? After all, Christchurch i
s . . .
”

“I still haven’t even officially been demobilized, Roly,” he said, dodging the question.

“Bah, who’s going to look into it, Sergeant McKenzie? We’ll deregister you, and they’ll send you the demobilization forms later. That’s what I’m doing.”

“I’m tired, Roly,” Jack said.

“You can sleep in the train. I’d feel much better if I could drop you off with your family.”

“I’m not a package.”

Roly finally gave up and left Jack so he could gather their things. Jack watched the nurses help the men on crutches and in wheelchairs onto land. Eventually a young woman in a dark dress and apron approached him. She was not wearing blue like the professional nurses, so she was probably a volunteer.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Jack found himself looking into clever, pale-green eyes hidden behind thick glasses in a narrow face framed by austerely combed-back hair. The woman blushed at his probing gaze. But then a vague recognition sparked in her eyes as well.

“Miss Bleachum?” Jack asked tentatively.

She smiled but could not completely hide her shock at the sight of him. The strong, perennially cheerful foreman of Kiward Station rested on a reclining chair, pale and thin, covered by a blanket even though it was not cold, too exhausted to set foot on his homeland without help. Suddenly embarrassed at his weakness, he sat up and forced himself to smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

2

W
hen Roly came back with his and Jack’s bags, he found Jack chatting with a young woman.

“Sergeant McKenzie, I would not have thought it possible,” he laughed. “We’ve hardly reached the dock, and you already have a woman at your side. Miss.” Smoothing his frizzy hair, Roly bowed formally.

Sarah Bleachum smiled shyly as Jack introduced her.

Roly looked relieved when he heard she worked at the Princess Alice Sanatorium.

“Then I can rest easy leaving Sergeant McKenzie to your care. Do you happen to know if there’s still a train to Christchurch tonight?”

Sarah nodded. “I can arrange a seat for you as well, Mr. McKenzie,” she offered, “in the sleeping car even. If I call your mother, she’ll send someone from Kiward Station to meet the train. You really should be examined first, but the Princess Alice Sanatorium is only a transition facility for this transport. All the men are slated to return home.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bleachum, but I’d like, I’m just tired, you see.” Jack blushed on account of the lie. He did not feel any weaker than before, but the thought of returning to Kiward Station filled him with fear. He could not face the empty bed in the room he had shared with Charlotte. Gloria’s empty room. His father’s empty seat—and his mother’s sad eyes, in which he might only see pity. He would have to face it all eventually. But not yet.

Sarah exchanged a look with Roly, who shrugged.

“Well, I’ll be going then. I’ll be seeing you, Sergeant McKenzie.” Roly waved and turned to go.

Jack felt he owed Roly at least a hug, but he could not bring himself to do it. “Roly, could you just call me Jack?”

Roly laughed. Then he dropped his duffel bag, approached Jack, and, leaning over, drew him into a bear hug. “Take care, Jack!”

Jack smiled as Roly left.

“A good friend?” Miss Bleachum asked, taking Jack’s duffel bag.

“A very good friend. But you don’t need to take my things. I can manage.”

“No, let me. I have to make myself useful.”

Jack followed her, walking slowly down the gangplank. A doctor was moving from one veteran to another, greeting the newcomers before they were helped into the vehicles. Jack thought he recognized the man. He noticed Sarah’s face light up as the man approached them.

“This is Dr. Pinter,” she said, introducing the man with a radiant smile on her face. The doctor smiled, but turned serious when he looked at Jack.

“Dr. Pinter, this i
s . . .
”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Dr. Pinter asked. “Wait a moment, I remember, Sergeant McKenzie, right? Gallipoli, the man who was shot through the lung who was saved by Beeston’s dog.” He smiled bitterly. “You were the subject of much conversation in the field hospital for a few days. I’m happy you survived it.”

Jack nodded. “And you were a captain?”

Dr. Pinter shrugged. “Major. But who cares about that now? We all waded through the same blood. God, it’s rare for us to still be getting veterans of Gallipoli. Most of them are coming from France now. You weren’t sent back to the front, were you?”

“No, Mr. McKenzie was treated in England,” Sarah interjected, having already pulled Jack’s charts out of a stack of papers to give to Dr. Pinter.

“How about you?” Jack asked. He was not really interested in the doctor’s story, but felt he should make conversation. “I mean, you were a staff doctor, and we’re still at war.”

Dr. Pinter bit his lip. Jack recognized the traces Gallipoli had left there. He, too, was thin and pale, his still-young face lined with wrinkles. The doctor raised his hands and held them in front of him. They shook uncontrollably.

“I could no longer operate,” Dr. Pinter said quietly. “It’s yet to be diagnosed, perhaps a nervous palsy. It began in Gallipoli, on the last day. They had already evacuated almost all the troops. Only the last patrols were still in the trenches. It was supposed to appear as if they were still fully manned. Well, a few of the boys took it too far. They wanted to give the Turks a show battle, but the Turks had heavy artillery behind them. The men were torn to bits. What was left of them was placed on my table. I saved a seventeen-year-old, if you can call what I did saving him. Both arms, both legs. All gone. But I’d rather not say more. After that this trembling began.”

“Perhaps you just need to rest,” Sarah said. Though she spoke quietly, she finally said aloud what she’d thought before.

Dr. Pinter lowered his gaze. “I need a few new memories. I’d like to not see blood anymore when I close my eyes. I’d like to not hear shots when it’s quiet around me.”

Jack nodded. “I see the water. The beach, my first view of the beach before we landed. It was a beautiful beach.”

Then both men fell silent. Sarah wanted to say something, but this was not a moment for small talk. She looked over, almost enviously, at the other nurses chatting and joking with their patients.

Jack shared a room with a grumpy older man who clutched a whiskey bottle. Where he got it was unclear, but he was not prepared to give up a single sip.

“Medicine against headaches,” he grumbled, pointing to a nasty scar on left side of his face.

“Bullet’s still in there,” the man said. Then he drank in silence. That was fine with Jack, who sat staring at the garden outside their window. It was raining. Jack thought vaguely of the haying on Kiward Station, but it was all very far away. Gallipoli was close.

Jack woke feeling his usual leaden exhaustion and cold. Sensing that Sarah would not leave him in peace, he had slowly dressed himself and was sitting at the window watching the rain when she appeared.

“The next train to Christchurch leaves at eleven. Shall I have you taken to the station?”

Jack bit his lip. “Miss Bleachum, I’d rather, I’d like to recover a little first.”

Sarah Bleachum pulled the other chair up to the window.

“What’s wrong, Mr. McKenzie? Why don’t you want to go home? Did you have a fight with your mother? Bad memories?”

Jack shook his head. “No, my memories are good. Too good. That’s the problem. Gallipoli hurts, but I know someday it will fade. Happiness, on the other hand, that you never forget, Miss Bleachum. That leaves an emptiness behind that nothing will fill.”

Sarah sighed. “I don’t have many happy memories. I was rarely properly unhappy, though. I like teaching, and I like my students. But nothing that big.”

“Then you’re one to envy, Miss Bleachum,” Jack said curtly and sank back into silence.

“Would you like to talk about it? That’s what I’m here for. I mean, Kiward Station is such a lovely place.” She looked at Jack searchingly. “And yet you shy from it like a horse. Just lik
e . . .
”

“It’s an empty place,” Jack broke in. “I feel Charlotte there. And my father. And Gloria. But it’s like a house after a big party. The smoke of cigars and the scent of candles linger in the rooms. You think you can hear the echo of laughter, but there’s nothing there. Just emptiness and pain. I thought I’d come to terms with Charlotte’s passing. And my father, he was old. His death followed the rules.”

Sarah frowned. “The rules?” she asked.

Jack did not explain.

“But Gloria, ever since Gloria disappeared, I can’t bring myself to do it, Miss Bleachum. I can’t bring myself to look into my mother’s eyes, where I know I’ll see nothing but questions. And the only answer is that God does not stick to any rules.”

Sarah reached for his hand.

“But Gloria is back, Jack! I thought you knew. Didn’t Mrs. McKenzie write you? Well, you were probably already at sea. But Gloria is back. She was here, here with me!”

Jack looked at her in a daze. “Where is she now?”

“Mrs. McKenzie picked her up. As far as I know, she’s at Kiward Station.”

Jack’s hand clenched hers. “Can I still make the train? Will you call my mother for me?”

Gwyneira McKenzie was happy—but she also had an unsettling feeling of déjà vu as she welcomed Jack on the platform. The thin, pale young man who stepped much too slowly and ponderously off the train was a stranger to her. His face had wrinkles that had not been there three and a half years before, and his chestnut-colored hair was sprinkled with strands that were almost white. Too early, much too early for his age. But it was his wooden hug that scared her most of all. It was just as it had been when she had fetched Gloria from the train station at Dunedin—though Jack was polite enough to pretend to return Gwyneira’s embrace.

Jack likewise seemed not to want to talk. He answered questions, even tried a smile, but initiated no conversation. He had locked up the past few years tightly within himself. Just as Gloria had. Gwyneira dreaded the prospect of seeing the two silent, withdrawn figures at the dinner table. Gloria was still traveling with the Maori, and despite all the tension, Gwyneira missed her and worried about her. Not that Gloria was in any danger with the tribe, but worry had been such a constant companion to Gwyneira these last few years that she no longer could fight it. And now Jack too.

As Gwyneira drove them home, she complained about the poor hay harvest and the fact that they had to herd the sheep out of the highlands earlier than usual.

“And we had a cold summer, so the grass down here isn’t as abundant as it usually is. I’ve already thinned the number of cattle—better to have fewer that are nice and round than a big scrawny herd. I’m so happy you’re back, Jack! It’s been difficult doing everything alone.” Gwyneira put her hand on her son’s shoulder. Jack did not respond.

“Are you tired?” Gwyneira asked, trying desperately to draw some reaction from him. “It was a long day, wasn’t it? A long trip.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Sorry, Mother, but I’m very tired.”

“You’ll recover quickly here, Jack,” Gwyneira said optimistically. “We’ll have to put some meat back on your bones. And make sure you get some sun. You’re awfully pale. What you need is a little fresh air, a good horse, and we have puppies, Jack. You should pick one out. What day is today, Jack? Tuesday? Then you should call him Tuesday. Your father always named his dogs after days of the week.”

Jack nodded, exhausted. “Is Nimue still around?”

“Of course. But she’s with Gloria—discovering her roots.” She snorted. “Nimue would have to travel to Wales to find hers, but Gloria is exploring her Maori heritage at the moment. She’s migrating with Marama’s tribe. If you ask me, Tonga is making marriage plans. Before she left, people were gossiping about Gloria and Wiremu.”