The Quilt (19 page)

The telephone ringing
startled Jess from the deep slumber of an old dog.

“Paul,
it’s your father.  We are in Florence and I have just seen a report that there is some nasty weather coming in.  It must be serious if they are mentioning it on the news here.”

“
We moved all of the stock on to high ground earlier today.  We will be fine.”

“You need to be vigilant if it is as bad as they are predicting
.  They are saying there could be 200 millimetres of rain in the next twenty four hours.”

Paul co
ntinued to put the postcards into order.  Sean continued.

“Now that isn’t the only thing I’m ringing about.  We are considering staying a little longer than first planned.  Ho
w are you situated?  We are planning to be home for Christmas, of course.”

“
We are fine here, stay as long as you want.”

The next morning the clouds hung like lead in the sky.  There was an ominous still and the air was dense and foreboding.  Paul had given the staff the day off, there was little more they could do except hope the stock losses would be low.

By the middle of the day torrential rain had limited visibility to only a few feet, it ran in
horizontal lines whipped up by cyclone force winds. Part of the corrugated iron roof of the kennel complex had peeled off and was thrown like paper across the yards.  The driveway was littered with branches and the leaves stripped from the trees by the relentless winds.  With a crackle the power went out plunging the room into a darkness which was illuminated in short bursts by forks of lightning.

Jess jumped up scrambling to gain footing on the slippery floor.

The lanky
figure of David, Twin Pines most senior worker, appeared in the doorway.  He was holding a torch and the light sent a ghostly glow over his serious face.

“I tried to ring but your phone lines are down.  Have you heard about Cliff Kean
from next door?”

“No
, I haven’t seen the old boy for years.   What has he done now?”

“He decided he would go and move stock to higher ground this morning.  You would think with the warnings out he would have
done it well before the storm.  Anyway, he hasn’t been seen since and with the thaw and flooding predicted from the storm, Dorothy Kean has called him in as missing.”

“
He isn’t stupid, he would know to stay away from the rivers and waterways.” 

Paul was already pulling
on his boots and wet weather gear as he spoke. 

“I know the land as well as anyone
, so we had better go and see if we can help.”

A small sober crowd huddled outside the Kean’s house.  Dorothy Kean stood to one side wringing her hands; her face was stained and tense.  The local policeman had taken over the roll as search coordinator and approached Paul guiding him away from the anxious woman.

“The stupid old fool has gone out the back to
move bulls.  His wife seems to think he was going to ford the river somewhere near your boundary.  You may have a better idea of where to start than anyone else.”

“Is
he in a vehicle or on a bike?”

“On a quad.
He has plenty of warm, weatherproof clothing on.  But he must be pushing seventy years of age, so if he’s gone down he won’t last long in this weather.”

Paul glanced up at the mass of undulating black clouds. 

“There are about ten people ready to help.  If we break them into parties of two can you get an orderly search set up?”

“T
here will be no tracks left visible in this rain.  But even if he has not gone towards the boundary fence directly, perhaps veered off to check his ewes, I think five groups should be enough to cover the logical tracks and road ways he might have used.”

David and Paul
followed the slippery mud tracks left by flocks of sheep.  They ran along the top of a ridge with steep sidling’s falling away to either side.  Rivers of water flowed down the paddocks, joining together and forming an angry turbulent torrent in the gully below.  They dropped down onto a rough roadway that had been used as vehicular access when this part of the Kean farm had been owned by the Clarke’s.  Pot holes filled with brown water and streams ran in lacework across the roads surface.  Felled tree’s hampered their progress and the men stopped to clear a pathway. 

The mobile was only just audible above the noise of the wind whipping through the bush.

“They have found the bike, Paul.  Can you head down towards the river where it flows into Twin Pines?”

Under normal conditions they would have reached the other searchers
within five minutes, but tonight it took a full twenty minutes.

The normally slow running and crystal clear stream now raged
, forming rapids and tossing foam into the foliage.  Cliff’s quad had been parked on the bank; it was cool to the touch and appeared undamaged.

The other volunteers had joined them and the group stood
in an anxious group, numb with cold.

“Obviously if he has gone in
to the water we need to start the search downstream.” 

The words were only just spoken when the youngest search
er stumbled up to them.  His face was ashen and the normally tough defiant stare of a teenager had slipped into a mask of horror.

“He’s down ther
e.  He has been washed up in a tree on the bank.”

The youth leaned forward and vomited on to the sodden earth.

David and Paul huddled around the pot belly.  It belched warmth on to their chilled bodies.  Neither man had spoken since returning to the Shearers Quarters.

“Dorothy knew didn’t she, Cliff’s wife, she knew?”

“Yes
, I guess she did.  Doesn’t seem fair at their age.”

“Are you going to tell your folks?  Sean and Cli
ff were pretty close at one stage.  From memory he helped your father change Twin Pines from dry stock to sheep and wool.”

“H
e did.  But dragging them home from Europe isn’t going to bring Cliff back.”

Paul
had stared into the eyes of death when they removed Cliff’s body from the raging torrent and gnarled branches.  He cradled a tumbler full of brandy. 

“I will go over to Kean f
arm in the morning and see what needs to be done.  We will send staff over there to help.”

A postcard arrived from Florence.  Jean had written it a few days after their telephone call to New Zealand.   Sean had been dragged through galleries complaining bitterly and both had lost money to pick pockets.

They had stopped to photograph and look at
the Leaning Tower of Pisa before continuing to the seaside town of Portofino.  Jean wrote about a short ferry trip to an isolated bay where a tiny café accessed by narrow, slippery, concrete stairs had served large garlic covered prawns.  The water was the colour of sapphires and tepid warm. 

Two cards arrived showing colourful houses
clinging to the side of steep cliffs on the Italian Riviera.  They had spent a week walking the five villages that formed the famous Cinque Terre.  They talked about the characters they had met and the families that occupied the hillside houses perched on the side of the cliff.

Slowly the days lengthened at Twin Pines.  There was still a chill in the air but the weak sun seemed to be winning its battle to fight off winter’s ice.  The lambing percentages were disappointing throughout the area.  The harsh storms had taken their toll on both the stock and the people that farmed in the high country.

A
s soon as the fields had dried enough to support play
, r
rugby started for the season.  Even Jess seemed to be moving easier without the cold and damp of winter.

Relatives a
nd the community rallied to assist Dorothy Kean after the death of her husband.  Visibly, she appeared to have shrunk in stature, resembling nothing more than a shell wrapped in folds of thin wrinkled skin.  

Paul organized help with the stock and maintenance while she wrestled with the inevitable decision to p
lace the farm on the market.  Before the for sale signs were placed at the entrance of the Kean’s farm, Paul, the staff of Twin Pines and an impressive group of volunteers from the local community, converged to prepare the property for sale. 

T
he once picture perfect farm had fallen into disrepair over the years as the aged Cliff had struggled to cope and stubbornly refused to employ labour or ask for help.

Jean and Sean had driven towards Lake Garda taking the winding road around the water’s edge before finding a small hotel in the historical town of Sirmione. Their postcard showed a thirteenth century castle, surrounded by a narrow moat that appeared to be home to numerous swans and ducks. They had continued on to Verona a few days later and stopped to visit the famous balcony and statue of Romeo and Juliet. 

The ringing of the telephone woke Paul from a deep sleep.  He glanced at the illuminated face sitting next to his bed.

“You sound tired.”

“Its three o’clock in the morning
, Dad, what do you expect?”

“Sorry
, I keep forgetting about the time difference.  Your mother has just posted another card from Venice.  We are staying here for three more days then catching a train to Innsbruck.  She wants to take the cable car into the mountains and see the golden roof.  We are booked to fly out of Frankfurt in a week.  Are you awake?” 

Sean continued not waiting for Paul to reply
.

“Get a pen and p
aper, I’ll give you our flight details.”

The final postcard arrived on the day Paul was due to drive to Auckland and pick them up.  People and luggage spewed through the doors, every traveller hesitated looking bewildered as they scanned the crowd for a familiar face.  Paul watched the tired strangers file out falling into the arms of loved ones or walking briskly to waiting transport. 

Jean and Sean appeared from behind a trolley laden with suitcases.

“Wh
at the hell is going on?  There is a for sale sign on the gate of Kean farm.”

Sean sounded
irritated as the car pulled into the driveway of Twin Pines.

“
Cliff Kean died over a month ago.”

Paul
’s mother looked up from the back seat and met Paul’s eyes in the mirror.

“Why didn’t you tell us? Was it a heart attack?”

“No, he went out to check stock during the storm. Why? I don’t know.  We were given plenty of notice that the front was on the way and everyone else had moved animals to higher ground in advance.  He must have lost his footing and slipped into the river.  He got washed down steam and his body was caught in a fallen tree.”

“Stupid old fool.  He should have known better than to be around waterways when there is a risk of flash flooding.  Why didn’t you tell us?”

“What good would that have done?  You couldn’t have returned in time for the funeral.  So all I would have achieved is upsetting you both.”

Sean looked visibly shaken. 

“Dorothy and Cliff helped me in the early years get established.  They brought around three thousand acres of the original Twin Pines land off me when I converted.  Without them I don’t know...” 

Sean trailed off
.

“How is Dorothy
coping?”

“Sh
e’s moved out already.  I visited her after the funeral at her new home unit. It’s not going to be easy for her and I think the circumstances haven’t helped.  The farm is a mess. I was surprized to see how much it has deteriorated.  Fences need replacing, gorse and ragwort everywhere and I don’t think its seen fertiliser for years.  We are running it as part of Twin Pines until it is sold. The sale signs went up yesterday.   Whoever buys it will have some work ahead of them. ”

“No
, Sean!”

Paul glanced nervously in the mirror Jean’s eyes had narrowed to slits.

“Don’t even think about it!”

Chapter 17

“Decisions”

“Why would you bring home rags?”

Paul was fingering the squares of fabric that Jean had piled on the kitchen table.  He understood the fragile, Italian, blown glass ornaments and the Venetian masks, the bottles of Chianti and Limoncillo but not the little squares of bright fabric.

“Your m
other is not content to knit like the other ladies; she wants to make a quilt.  How long it will take to sew together the bits and pieces of our lives I have no idea!” 

He rolled his eyes at Paul.

“You haven’t
had a barbeque yet.  I thought you would be in a rush to catch up with the local news.”

Jean continued scrubbing potatoes in the kitchen
.

“I’ll get around to it.  I haven’t even unpacked everything yet.  I visited Dorothy yesterday and she seems to be managing
.”

Jean wiped her hands on the apron and indicated to the sideboard. 

“She asked me to give you that.  She knitted it and wanted me to say thank you for your help and support after Cliff died.”

Paul walked over and unfolded the powder blue jersey
.

“
It’s merino wool.”

“That was nice of her but she needn’t have gone to
any trouble.  I’m glad she is starting to feel better.”

“I bumped in
to Debbie on the way back.  She was interested to hear about our trip.”

Sean looked over and winked knowingly at Paul
.

“She also said you went to the movies with her while we were away
.”

“That was months ago
.  It was nothing more than two friends going to the movies on one occasion.  I didn’t even initiate it; she called here just after you left.”

Jean smiled
.

“Of course
she did, but she is a lovely young woman.”

Paul shook his head
.  I wonder if she also mentioned reaching for his fingers during the movie and how he had removed his hand.  They had not spoken since.

S
ean changed the subject before the light hearted discussion escalated into a family argument.

“The album
was a great idea.  Another way Jean can make sure those silly little bits of material end up in the right order.”

“I would appreciate
you not making fun of me.  The quilt will be a family heirloom.  Assuming, of course, there is a future generation of Clarkes.”

Jean turned her back on the men and started to scrub furiously at another potato.

“Don’t worry son.  If Jean had her way she would marry you off to that Debbie girl and make you buy Kean farm”.

Paul was lying on the couch mindlessly watching television when Jess raised her head and looked towards the door.  She wagged her tail twice and barked without enthusiasm.

Sean knocked but had already entered and reached the fridge before Paul had a chance to respond.  He
took out two cold beers, throwing one to Paul and pulling back the tab of his own with a hiss. 

“What’s eating you?”

Pa
ul watched as his father settle into a chair on the opposite side of the room. 

Sean took a long drink from his can before speaking.

“That pushy land agent from Country Real Estate, I can’t remember her name.”

“Amanda
Quinn.”

“Yes that
’s her.  She called in today.  She didn’t even telephone beforehand.  Seems she has a client from the Wairarapa wanting to purchase a larger block of land.  They were ready to make an offer on a block on Highway 3 and were apparently driving around the area when they saw the signs outside Kean’s.” 

He took another mouthful from his can before continuing
.

“They have already been over the proper
ty next door and according to the agent would have purchased it if it was larger.

Sean hesitated but put up a hand when Paul started to speak.

“That Amanda Quin
n came in on the off chance we would consider selling Twin Pines.  The combined acreage would be sufficient for her purchaser and the land is definitely higher quality than the other farm they are interested in.” 

Sean was no longer making eye contact with
Paul.

“They are cash buyers
, which is unusual when you are talking about this sort of money.  They have sold a large land holding and some commercial property to overseas investors and are wanting to relocate to the King Country.”

Sean’s voice lacked any expression and he continued to look at the empty can in his hands.

“Son, I don’t know what you are planning to do in the future.  But if you do not see yourself living and working on Twin Pines in a few years’ time, I think the opportunity should be considered.  On the other hand, I would be more than happy to advise Amanda Quinn that we are not interested in selling.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“Paul, I really don’t have any thoughts.  If I was your age we wouldn’t be having this conversation.  I would take over Twin Pines and purchase and develop Kean’s farm even if it meant robbing a bank to fund it.  But I am not your age and I am not you.  I was born a farmer and that is all I ever wanted to be.  I can’t and I won’t try to influence your decision.  You live in another time and there are more options open to you.”  

Sean looked up from the empty can.

“Whatever you decide is entirely up to you and we will stand by that decision. If you want to take over Twin Pines I am happy with that.  If you want to purchase Kean farm I am happy with that.   If you want to sell I will respect your choice.  But none of us will be happy if you make a decision based on a misplaced sense of duty.”

Paul walked over to the fridge and took out two more beers.  He hadn’t finished his own but it gave him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I had always thought if Twin Pines ever went out of Clarke hands I would have already moved on to another life that did not involve farming.”

“Paul
, we don’t have to even allow these people on to the property.  I can pick up the telephone and they will sign on the Highway 3 block tomorrow.”

“How long have we got to
decide?”

“There is another party int
erested in the other farm.  In fairness to the purchaser we should let them know within the next day or so.”

“If we sell Twin Pines I really have no idea what I would like to
do.  You would think in my mid-twenties the answer would be obvious.”

“The only people that think you should h
ave all the answers by your twenties are those in their twenties.  Don’t even try to think too far ahead for the next couple of days.  My advice would be for you to use your time to decide if Twin Pines is what you want, or don’t want, in your future.  That is the only question you need to answer now and thinking about anything longer term will cloud your judgement.”

“How wil
l my decision affect you?  We are also talking about your home.”

“Regar
dless of what happens we will be in a position to purchase something smaller.  We are considering a home unit, something that we can lock up and leave.  Your mother is already planning another trip to Europe later this year.”

Sean looked at Paul steadily.
 

“
It’s time for me to step aside and you can’t live indefinitely in the Shearers Quarters.  If you take over here you will need to move up to the main house.”

Sean got up slowly and held up his hand to stop Paul interrupting.

“You have a lot to consider and not much time to think it through.  If you still feel undecided after a couple of days I would suggest you decline the offer.  Once there is a signed unconditional agreement your decision will be irreversible.”

For a moment Sean stood in the doorway
, his eyes focused through the window towards the large redwood at the end of the drive.

“I’ll take over for the next c
ouple of days to give you a chance to think about the offer. Twin Pines has been a life to many generations of our family but it doesn’t necessarily define everything we can be.”

As soon as Sean had left the room Jess sat up and placed her head on Paul’s knee.  Her liquid
, chocolate eyes studied his face.

“What now
, girl?  Do you want to come and visit some ghosts with me in the morning?”

It wasn’t that Paul hadn’t t
hought through his options.  He just hadn’t come up with anything that presented the challenge or created the passion he wanted to make part of his future.  Despite Sean’s advice not to try to formulate a life plan he lay awake while his mind filled with turmoil but no solutions.  The illuminated clock painfully recorded the hours with a blinking light that pulsed away the seconds. 

At some stage Jess
had crawled on to the foot of the bed and nestled against Paul’s feet.  It was four thirty when he finally gave up on either rest or finding an easy answer.  Jess eyed him with concerned, guilt-ridden eyes from the nest she had created out of his blankets.

He washed off the last
vale of sleep under a hot shower and sat down to a cup of strong, nutty coffee. Despite it being summer, the air was crisp and cool in the predawn hours.  The stars above created pin pricks of light against the velvet sky and a tiny crescent of moon smiled above the silhouetted roofline of the buildings.

Paul let the excite
d farm dogs out for a run and then settled them back in the kennels with a handful of biscuits.  He glanced over to the main house and noticed a dim light was illuminating the kitchen. 

Paul started one of the quad bikes and made his way down the gravel drive.  He didn’t turn off on to the wide, established roadway that had been bulldozed through the farm by Allan Clarke, but selected the track that ran around Shearers Cottage.  It clung to the edge of the river as it snaked its way through the low areas of farmland.  The dirt was well worn and compacted to the texture of concrete.  Occasionally, it disappeared and they were forced to pick their way along the flat river stones that formed a rocky beach on either side of the water.  Jess followed happily, her tongue lolling out to the side and her expression bright with the promise of an early morning run.

The soft hint of daybreak sent a milky glow across the water’s surface.  They sto
pped to watch the river turn into a scarlet ribbon and the first shards of light break through the leaves and cast dapples on the damp grass.  Paul poured another cup of rich bitter coffee from his flask and skipped the flat stones across the water’s surface for Jess to chase.

Jess jumped on to the back of the quad
, refreshed by a cool drink from the mountain-fed river.  They picked their way through a stand of untouched native bush protected years ago from stock by a secure fence.  Tiny fantails darted in and out of the canopy above, catching small insects and dancing to a chorus of tuis and woodpigeons.  

They opened a gate
, and turned away from the river that had now doubled in width, after a branch flowing through the Kean property had joined its progression. A rainbow trout erupted from the crystal clear water leaving behind a circle of ripples.

Steep hills
rose in front of them forming a tapestry of large, orderly paddocks divided by neat, wire fencing.  The pasture was covered in a lacework of sheep tracks worn away over the years by thousands of hooves. At the top Paul hesitated to admire the soft folds of countryside that formed creases enveloping the network of rivers below.  Small pockets of stubborn morning fog hung like cotton wool in the deep gullies.

He opened another gate and
they joined the well-formed roadway that ran from the main highway to the rear boundary of Twin Pines.  Jess jumped off the bike and reluctantly followed, this was a journey she had made many times before.

Paul walked over to the edge of the cliff and stood near the jagged bite mark that was still clearly visible.  No foliage had established itself on the rocky scar where James had started his fatal tumble into the ravine.   The path the huge machine had taken was now hidden by a spidery covering of undergrowth and shrubs. 

No one had ever t
ried winching the bulldozer from its resting place and Paul could still make out a small portion of faded yellow paint and rusting frame.  He looked across the gully to where the stark, naked face of rock stared back blankly.  The sun reflected off the grey stone and picked up tiny waterfalls fingering their way through the crevices, small ferns hampered the waters journey their fronds bent under the weight of moisture.

Paul had
never been tempted to believe the intangible, but the flat plate forming James Ridge had a presence he could not explain.  Sean had never developed the land.  It had remained undisturbed, slowly being reclaimed by secondary growth since the time of James’ accident.