White Feathers (31 page)

They were all surprised to find that Kenmore had a visitor but welcomed Fred, who had accepted Tamar’s invitation to stay a few nights. Despite his stutter, he charmed the women — except for Keely, who couldn’t be charmed by anyone. Andrew thought he was decent enough, although he said to Tamar later he wished the man wasn’t quite so ingratiating, and even Joseph came to the conclusion that Fred was probably a reasonable enough bloke. He had interrogated the younger man — just to make sure, he said to Andrew the next day, he was who he said he was — but Fred had provided so much detail about army life and conditions in France it was clear he’d been there. Joseph did, however, raise his eyebrows when he claimed he’d been awarded the Military Cross but had given it away in a moment of drunken largesse in Wellington shortly after his honourable discharge from the army.

After several days, Andrew offered Fred a temporary job on the station, doing odd jobs and helping to move stock. Although he was accommodated in one of the shearers’ huts, which were much more than just shacks and actually quite comfortable, he’d take his evening meal up at the big house and tell stories of Ian’s popularity and his heroic exploits on the Somme. Everyone soon realised he was offering the same yarns over and over again, just changing the dates and locations now and then, but no one minded: he’d obviously had a tough time of it and the talking seemed to be having a cathartic effect. He still struggled to control his emotions when he spoke about the mates he’d lost in France, but his debilitating stutter had improved markedly.

Surprisingly, it was Andrew who didn’t want Fred to move on, perhaps seeing in him a tenuous, final link to Ian; Tamar was usually the more sentimental of the pair. Andrew had in fact been more than charitable, giving Fred several more items of clothing
and a pair of perfectly good if slightly unfashionable boots to tide him over, and discreetly slipping him money so he could go into town and buy himself a set of decent clothes that fitted him properly.

Once she had heard all of Fred’s stories about Ian, and satisfied herself that her son had not suffered before he died, Tamar seemed to become less interested and even slightly suspicious. There was definitely something not right about the man and she was beginning to think he could in fact be suffering from the same sort of problems as James. She did not begrudge him sitting at the Kenmore dining table every night, but she felt uneasy and suggested privately to Andrew that it might be more prudent if he ate his dinner with the rest of the station hands. Otherwise there would be talk, she said, and perhaps even ill-feeling.

‘I really can’t explain it,’ she said when Andrew pressed her about her increasingly negative attitude one evening.

‘It’s just that this is so unlike you,’ Andrew replied. ‘The chap’s down on his luck, he’s had a difficult time of it, and he seems to be doing so well here. Well, that awful stutter of his has disappeared, anyway. And he was close to Ian, after all.’

Tamar gazed at her husband with a look that somehow managed to combine tenderness with exasperation. ‘He
knew
Ian, darling, but I’m not quite so sure now how
close
he was to him.’

‘What do you mean? Are you saying he’s making it all up?’

‘No, of course not. It’s just that he’s been here a good few weeks now and he’s told us all about Ian and we more or less know what happened. Well, as much as I want to know, any way. And he seems to be feeling better so I just think it’s time he moved on. He can’t live here. And James will be back next week. I’m not sure it would be wise for him to still be here then. I hope you’re not disappointed, but I am starting to feel quite strongly about this.’

Andrew was disappointed. He had come to like Fred. ‘It’s just
a bit of a surprise, that’s all. You’re usually the first to open your arms to waifs and strays.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve opened my arms to this one, and now I’m closing them,’ Tamar replied sharply, and looked away to avoid seeing the hurt expression she knew would be on Andrew’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that Joseph, too, was having doubts about Fred Wilkes.

There was nothing he could put his finger on, Joseph had confided to her several days ago, and there was no way of proving the truth of Fred’s claims unless specific enquiries were made to the army. And Joseph didn’t think that that would be fair. But he had a bad feeling about the whole business now, and was very worried that Andrew had taken such a shine to Fred — mainly, he suspected, because of his alleged association with Ian.

When James came home the following week he seemed much improved, although still somewhat on edge. He’d put on weight, didn’t head straight for the brandy the minute he was in the door, smiled easily and even laughed once or twice. He seemed genuinely pleased to be reunited with Lucy and Duncan, and the little boy no longer hung back and hid in fear behind his mother’s skirts.

But Tamar had been right — James didn’t appreciate Fred Wilkes’ presence at all. From the moment they met, James was ill at ease.

One evening, in the study with Andrew, James declared, ‘He gives me the willies, Da. Don’t know why, he just does.’

Andrew admonished him gently. ‘He was one of the last people to see your brother alive, James, we can’t forget that.’

James leant forward in his chair, two bright spots of colour on his cheeks. ‘We can actually, you know, if we try hard enough. You can’t go on living Ian’s life through someone else. He was killed
in France, a year and a half ago. He’s dead, we all know it, and nothing — no one’s stories, no one’s memories, and certainly not any pointless bloody
wishing
— will bring him back, all right?’

He sat back and watched as his father’s face went grey. ‘I’m sorry, Da. Keeping Wilkes on isn’t going to change anything — Ian will still be gone, and you’ll still have to come to terms with that. That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it? The fact that Ian really has gone?’

Andrew nodded jerkily, unable to speak.

‘Oh, Da,’ said James with weary compassion. He moved over to put his arms around his father, the young man comforting the old. ‘I know it’s hard,’ he sighed. ‘I know.’

It was decided by general consensus that Fred should be asked, as gently as possible, to move on within the next week or so.

He was very understanding about it, and at dinner that night expressed his gratitude to them all for the time he had spent Kenmore and the generosity and support he had been shown during his stay. He declared that he’d already decided it was time for him to be going: he planned to leave on the afternoon of the welcome home social. When Andrew suggested he postpone his departure until after the event, because it might be good for him to meet some of the men he’d served with, he demurred politely. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see any of the lads yet.

‘They’re the heroes, not me,’ he said. ‘I don’t really deserve to be there.’

‘What about your Military Cross?’ James asked, and immediately received an extremely withering glare from Andrew.

James gazed fixedly back at his father, but not before he’d glimpsed a hint of something close to fear in Fred’s eyes.

The social was held on a fine March Saturday. Mrs Heath had loaded up the seat of the station truck with plates of food made
especially for the event — cakes and sandwiches and cold meat, and coloured jelly for the children — while Tamar, Andrew, Jeannie and Keely arranged themselves in the car. Everyone else was to go in the truck, which Lachie would drive.

Tamar, Jeannie and Lucy had been at the school since lunchtime, helping the local ladies to decorate the big classroom with ponga fronds cut from the bush and an enormous hand-painted banner that read ‘Welcome Home, Sons, Brothers and Husbands of the Tutaekuri District’. It was suspended above the makeshift stage, where the band would set up and the dignitaries would sit during the speeches and the presentation.

The women had returned home at four to get themselves ready and were now in their finery. Keely insisted on wearing her burgundy suit and, according to Tamar, too much make-up for someone who wasn’t working in a brothel, but she refused to change into anything lighter or more festive. Tamar herself wore a dress in pale rose silk — nothing too grand as there would be all sorts of people at the event, including those who couldn’t afford lovely clothes — with gloves and a small matching hat. Lucy wore a new mauve outfit Tamar had made for her the week before, and Jeannie was in a rust-coloured skirt and cream blouse. James and Joseph wore their service uniforms, and Lachie and Andrew had put on their second-best suits. Liam and Duncan were in their best clothes, although Tamar knew they would both be coated with jelly and a wide range of other foods before the evening was even halfway through. Blankets had been packed in the hope that they might be coerced into going to sleep in the car at their customary bedtime, but no one had high hopes of that.

Fred had packed his rucksack and was standing on the front steps at Kenmore waiting to wave them all goodbye before he left. He looked a forlorn little figure in clothes that were too big for him and with the dark smudges under his eyes that had never gone
away, despite plenty of restful sleep and good food over the past weeks. Andrew looked very uncomfortable, but neither Keely nor Lucy even looked in Fred’s direction. Lucy was too excited at the prospect of a night out with her handsome husband, and Keely, as usual, was too absorbed in herself to notice anyone else.

As the car turned down the driveway, Tamar glanced back at the house and saw that the truck hadn’t started after them yet. Instead, James had jumped down from the back and was approaching Fred. He said something that caused Fred to step back, clutching his rucksack to his chest, and shake his head violently. Then James grabbed the other man’s arm and marched him roughly over to the truck. There was another terse exchange of words and James pushed Fred, hard. He turned and, very reluctantly it seemed, put one foot on the tailgate and James gave him an almighty shove so that he shot into the back of the truck.

Tamar was mystified and uneasy. When they arrived at the school, everyone jumped out of the truck. James had a firm hold of Fred’s sleeve, and was half leading, half pushing him up the steps when Tamar stopped him.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed, appalled at her son’s loutish behaviour.

James pulled Fred around to face her. The man looked extremely nervous. Tamar wasn’t surprised; James was almost twice his size.

James said brightly, ‘I thought Fred here really should see some of his old mates before he hits the road again. He might never get another chance, and we all know how strong the bonds are between fighting men, don’t we, Fred old
mate
?’ At this he administered another little shove.

‘James, let him go,’ Tamar snapped.

‘When we’re inside,’ James replied just as tersely, and propelled Fred through the door.

Trestle tables had been arranged around the walls, and many of
them were already full. The social seemed to be well under way — there were bottles of beer aplenty and the air was hazy with cigarette smoke. The band had started but was easing into their repertoire with a medley of rather staid renditions of popular patriotic songs; the real dance music would came later after the speeches and the presentations, and also after the somewhat elderly band members had availed themselves of the free beer that was their fee.

The Kenmore party found themselves two empty tables and pushed them together. Fred was ushered into a seat by James and handed a bottle of beer, which he didn’t open; he was too busy gazing desperately around the rapidly filling room.

Keely lit a cigarette — she had smoked almost constantly since she’d come home — and noted disdainfully, ‘It’s all a bit, well,
rural
, isn’t it? Nothing like London.’

James, half an eye still on Fred, said, ‘Well, we
are
rural people, Keely, and you used to be really proud of that. And thank God this isn’t London, or we’d have been bombed to buggery by now.’

Keely raised one eyebrow, shrugged and looked away. This was all so very different from her experiences over seas, and even in Wellington. There was no excitement here, no sense of urgency and, worst of all, no men. Or, more to the point, not a
specific
man.

The band wound up ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and were moving their instruments back to make room for a row of chairs being carried onto the stage. These were followed by a line of representatives from various local war work and welfare committees who teetered up the narrow steps at one side of the platform and sat down self-importantly. A small folding table was also produced and on it were laid a stack of small black velvet boxes and a pile of official-looking certificates.

The mayor stood, cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands briskly. No one took any notice, so he borrowed a drumstick and struck a cymbal a ringing blow. As the chatter gradually died
down, the mayor began a lengthy speech, praising the hard work that been done by various committees in the area, the fundraising, the personal sacrifices made by all those involved. The expressions on the faces of many of the returned men ranged from sceptical to distinctly sour.

The veterans were called in alphabetical order. The first walked with a very stiff-legged gait and the aid of a stick, and seemed to take ages to get up the low steps. The second was helped by a friend, and it was soon horribly obvious that he was blind. The two who followed seemed physically unharmed, although one had hands which shook so much that he dropped his velvet box. No one in the hall made a sound. The man who came after him had one arm missing above the elbow and the other above the wrist; he smiled apologetically at the mayor when it became mortifyingly clear that he would have nowhere to wear his watch.

The names continued. Tamar felt her throat constrict and she swallowed painfully. This wasn’t at all the joyous homecoming everyone had anticipated, but a sad and tragic line of shuffling, damaged young men who would bear the scars of their military service for the rest of their lives.