Doomed Dynasty Pt 03

CHAPTER 7

By the end of May work on reconstruction of the Curtis homestead was underway.

Three weeks earlier, Matt had returned from the farm early on Monday afternoon after he was advised by phone the building permit had come through and work would start immediately. He found building contractor Max Mead already seated inside the house rolling a cigarette after having completed a walk-through. Houses in the country were rarely locked when occupants left the property. Matt had used Max and his men on the conversion of part of his building into the Riverside Café and before that Curtis had Max built the new house on the farm.

"The Rover's a bit flash for you, ain't it Matt?"

"Want to try it out?"

"Nah, some other time. If we are going to rebuild this rundown relic you call home we'd better get into it. You said you wanted it finished and us out of here a full month before the wedding so we'd better not waste time."

"You could build a couple of new houses in that time," laughed Matt.

"That's exactly right, and that's what you are asking us to do here. The renovations and extensions are massive, and being the bugger that you're are you've screwed me down to agreeing no cost over-runs be passed on to you. If you hadn't given me the café job when I was going through a slow patch, really in need of work to keep my men on, I would have told you to go to hell. You're such a nice bloke, all grins and no heart," Max cracked, removing a bit of loose tobacco off his tongue. "I better light this thing up and look busy. Here come the boys."

An old Bedford had turned into the access track and was grinding up the rise to the house. It was loaded with timber, bags of cement, builder's mix, other odds and ends and tarpaulins.

Perched on top of that load were two labourers with another inside the cab driving who was 'Misfit' Jones, a retired shearer.

"Good morning Matt." he called, as he pulled up. "Me and the boys are here to turn this dump of yours into a palace."

Looking at his boss he turned again to Matt and cracked, "I see our tea-maker and bottle washer is already here."

Misfit whistled and a young Border Collie jumped from the floor of the cab and dived over Misfit's knees and out the open cab window.

"I told you not to bring that flea bag on to jobs as it's a bloody nuisance," shouted Max. "In fact I've told you that a hundred times, haven't I?"

Misfit's total deafness had returned.

He turned his back on his boss and called, "Get movin' youse lay-abouts. Let's get this truck unloaded. The boss looks as if he's working up a real paddy."

"You'd better put the kettle on and get the cake out Matt. Sorry your mother's not here. We heard her scones are legendary," said the Max, scratching his butt.

"I'll try to get an hour's work out of them before smoko. Bloody Misfit he's so insolent but if it weren't for his humour we'd die of boredom. He's also my bloody wife's older brother, so sacking him would be the end of my you know what."

Hands on hips, the builder looked at the house. "Misfit," he yelled. "Where should we start?"

"Wait your turn, Max. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Matt headed to the kitchen to do what he'd been told, to get morning tea ready.

It was a local tradition on country jobs that the owner's provided lunch and all other refreshments. When they had been negotiating the building contract Max had tabled a list of the perks due to them.

"Bloody hell, Max you can't be serious. We must be the only district in the whole of the country where this queer practice exists."

"Matt," Max had said patiently. "Flood, hail, fork lightening or even an invasion of foreign troops we'll get your job finished on time and to your satisfaction. But we have to draw the line somewhere, if you don't..."

Grinning, Matt had interrupted, saying that he'd only been testing to find out how far Max could be pushed. "With no cost over-runs to pay we'll have enough in kitty to pay for morning and afternoon teas, lunches and a few crates of beer as well. You've got the job, let's shake."

When he arrived back home after closing the deal on a simple handshake, with the builder being responsible for all sub-trades, Patricia was eager to hear all the details.

Matt told her what he thought she should know.

"I don't think you should have agreed to us providing free refreshments Matt," she said sternly.

"Mother negotiating contracts is men's business. Now tell me, will scones freeze well?'

Patricia was horrified. "I'm not making scones for freezing even for those men. My reputation would be ruined." She looked quite upset.

"Only joking. I'll go to town each morning and get fresh tucker."

Three weeks after seeing Patricia off on her flight from Wellington to Auckland to catch her Pam-Am connection to Los Angeles, Courtney caught a flight across Cook Strait, excited about seeing progress on her new house. Already in her mind it was 'her' house.

At the airport she saw the Land Rover and walked around it, pleased that there were yet no dents or missing bits on the new vehicle. But it was dreadfully dirty and the outside of it was grey with coated dust. When last she'd been driven back to the ferry terminal it was pristine green.

Where was Matt? A lanky youth walked up to her and said curtly, "Are you Miss Sterling?"

"And if I were?" she replied stiffly, thinking that he needed a bath, some decent clothes and his hair combed. Perhaps a doctor should look at his watery eyes.

That response made the 20-year-old straighten up. He'd been born and bred in the area and knew that even the Curtis women were tough. Here this one was not even married to Matt yet and she was talking to him bossy-like.

"I'm Art and that's short for Arthur. I do odd jobs for Matt and work on the farm when he doesn't need me in town. He's asked me to be here to meet you and to take you back to the house. I was told to be very sure that I warned you to expect a big mess, a very big mess."

"Well thank you Art. Please put my bag in the back and let's go."

"Yes ma'am," said Art, bounding to her side to pick up the bag. "A nice trip over?"

Courtney smiled. Already she had one of them to heel. The toughest one, of course, would be Matt. He acted as if he had wolf in him.

"Matt is taking you out to the farm on Sunday."

Good gracious. Do even the worker's know one's personal business? "Thank you for that information Art. Now, what else do you know?"

As it turned out, Art knew quite a lot. One surprising disclosure was that while she learned about Matt's friends, all appeared to be men with two exceptions, Elsie at the bakery and Vikki at the café. She'd better look into that.

"Matt seems to have a lot of men friends. Why's that?"

"Men run this world Miss Sterling and Matt is a great sort of guy. Guess who catches the biggest fish and rides the fastest horse and who's never been knocked down to stay down? Matt, of course. Other farmers around here live on their farm and work their guts out, but not Matt. He's one of the few to treat farming like a business and pays someone else to do the non-brainy stuff. Matt told me that."

"But there must be women around him as well?"

"Not really, except for his mum. Oh, sorry. And you."

"How strange. But you did mention earlier that woman at the baker and the one at the café?"

"Oh, them. Well Elsie Thomas's my mum and Vikki was the girl that Matt slugged at school and got drummed out for it."

"So she's Matt's age"

"Nah a year younger I believe."

"Why is he friendly with her if she was the person who got him expelled at school?"

"He saved her life, but you'll have to ask Matt for details. Because of the way he did that he was called a hero."

They drove up to the house. The corrugated iron roof had been removed, replaced with tarpaulins ready to be rolled over the bared trusses each evening. Mess was everywhere.

A black and white dog bounded out of the old green truck on the lawn and circled them as they got out of the Land Rover. It looked cautious and friendly, with intense eyes. Courtney moved up to pat it. It headed away from her at blinding speed and circled her again. Just like Matt, she thought, surprised that she could think such a thing. And where was Patricia's cat with a dog around? She guessed that the Spaniel would be inside dripping saliva into its basket. She was later told that that Matt had "taken the Spaniel for a walk across the paddock and only one of them came back," whatever that meant.

Patricia's Samantha had taken refuge in the Whitehead's home. She was told when phoning them they were happy to have her stay there until the builders departed.

The cat came visiting some evenings, only to smell dog everywhere. These appeared not happy days for Samantha who probably was forced to be last in line at the Whitehead's who had two neutered tabbies, whose method of accepting her intrusion would be to totally ignore her, Courtney speculated; she knew cats.

Matt ran up to Courtney quite excited. He wore only boots, socks and brief khaki shorts and was wearing an awful old hat. He was carrying a hammer, was brown and his arm muscles rippled.

What a specimen, she breathed.

Earlier that morning Misfit had said to Max as Matt approached carrying some dressed timber on his shoulder, "Matt's lost some of that flab since he's be working with us. Bet his girlfriend will be licking her lips when she sees him strutting his stuff like this."

"Right, but you watch your tongue when she's around. They say in town she's a high-class dame, who's never worked and lived the life of Reilly with her parents circling the world. Her dad's a diplomat."

"Struth what does a diplomat do?"

Max pretended he didn't hear the question because he didn't really know the answer.

Though particular about her appearance, Courtney dashed into the arms of Matt, knowing that his sweat would soak in to her white cotton dress printed with big red poppies. The workmen stood by, grinning, Max looked at them sternly, putting an upright index finger over his lips to forestall any inclination for an outburst of cheering. Max's message was clear, because his next movement was to pull the same finger, now vertical, across his throat.

Standing dutifully behind Courtney, who had one lower leg raised off the ground, was Art, with her sunhat that had fallen into the dust when she rushed at Matt... "Just like a cat on heat" he told other workers all agog at the farm the next day. "Initially I though she's was a cold bossy bitch, but she showed none of that when she rushed up to Matt."

At mid morning on Sunday Matt and Courtney walked hand-in-hand from the Land Rover to where the farm manager stood with two saddled horses.

Matt had already asked Courtney could she ride, and the reply was "a bit." That modest reply should have alerted him.

"I'm not riding that," Courtney said, when the manager Dick Rogers went to hand her the reins of a solid farm hack, standing quietly, with its head down. It was dealing with flies with a lazy rhythmic flick of its tail.

The farm manager looked at Matt, who shrugged.

"Perhaps you should take your own pick Miss Sterling."

"Thank you, Dick. Please call me Courtney. You have a position of authority."

Matt grinned, knowing that Dick would now treat Courtney with utmost respect.

Dick beamed, probably thinking that little Miss Wellington seemed to be a rather nice lass. The stories about her must be just that, stories.

Courtney stood at the fence, squinting against the sun, looking at the horses in the home paddock. "You said any one of them?"

"Not the roan and not the little black over there; it's a bit lame."

"What's wrong with the roan?"

"Nothing, but it's a bit of a jumper Miss ... I mean Courtney. "It can catch an unwary rider out by going over the fence when he's expecting to go through the gate."

"Then I'll have that one."

That little exchange made Matt smile. It brought back memories of his introduction to a horse in Wyoming that became his Chinook.

The manager glanced at him, waiting for support. But Matt simply said, "Get the roan, Dick. She's ridden a bit and I'll keep an eye on the horse. Sorry about this."

"No trouble, boss," said Dick, glad that Matt had assumed responsibility. He was confident that Matt wouldn't sit by and let Courtney be turned into dog tucker. He grabbed a halter and rode off on the hack to bring in the roan.

The horse turned out to be a hand higher than Courtney had estimated from the distance. As Dick was saddling it up she walked to its flank and ran a hand down its rump. The flesh rippled but the horse made no attempt to lash out its leg. "Seems quiet, what's its name?"

"Boris."

"Unusual name for a horse?"

"Yep name of a villain in a paperback I was reading at the time we named him when he was gelded. He was a playful cuss and almost kneecapped me when he was freed. It was a malicious act of revenge, so Boris seemed a perfect name."

"Oh, I like that story.

"Matt, Dick... if Boris and I get on well today, can he be my horse?"

The two men looked at each other, Dick shaking his head slightly to signal no.

"Of course, darling," replied Matt. "If it kills or mains you, I'll know that it was your choice."

"Matt! Don't be so awful."

"Dick, I haven't ridden for a while so could be please hold Boris steady. It seems a long way up there." But in an instant she was in the saddle, bending forward to catch the reins.

The men watched he as she walked then trotted then broke into a canter down the farm track.

"She can ride, rather well in fact," Dick said approvingly.

Matt didn't answered. If Courtney said she could ride he hadn't expected that she wouldn't do anything less than ride quite well.

She returned towards the men at a fast lope, horse and rider looking as one. Courtney than dug her heels in and leaned forward in the saddle, raising herself slightly.

"Struth she's going for the fence!" cried Dick.

"Stay still, you might spook the horse," Matt said calmly.

Boris cleared the fence with ease and within yards was being ridden into a full gallop.

Dick looked at Matt, ready to apologise for being too edgy. But knew he needn't bother. The look on Matt's face was if Christmas had arrived.

On Monday morning Courtney returned to Wellington on the first ferry, pleased that the house reconstruction was reportedly on schedule, though it certainly didn't look like it to her. She was also pleased that Matt had been so lovely to her and that she now had a horse called Boris.

She smiled recalling the look on the faces of Dick and Matt when she had commenced her run at the fence. She knew it had been a bit risky taking a strange horse in a jump that high, but she had been told it liked jumping fences. As for experience, she'd ridden in hunts in Britain and had played social polo in Buenos Aires so she was not exactly a novice horsewoman. In fact she'd be riding since she was seven.

CHAPTER 8

Friends and neighbours were invited to Milly's ranch to meet her sister-in-law Mrs Curtis, the woman whom had come from afar, being the wife of Collier and mother of Matt, two New Zealanders who seemed to adapt very quickly to life in Wyoming and were remembered fondly.

Some of the women heaped compliments on her, saying they couldn't believe that someone as feminine and slight could have been Collier's wife or was old enough to be Matt's mother.

Patricia enjoyed these folk dropping in, recognising some of the names that her own menfolk had told her about, and whom Milly sometimes referred to in letters.

Cody was back at his own place during Patricia's visit and Ponto now had his own kitchen/sitting room and bedroom attached to the stables. Builders had completed the frame and roof and Ponto and Cody finished off construction, becoming good friends in the process.

Patricia spent hours talking to Ponto. He told her what his own father and grandfather had told him about life in the old days.

Ponto also recounted the times he experienced with Curtis when they chased after haymaking jobs and then taking any work they could find when Milly had run out of jobs for them. He drove Patricia about in Milly's pickup, a new Chevrolet financed from her brother's large bequest. They visited some of the places Ponto had spoken about.

His memory for detail was so good that Patricia began to feel that it was almost as if she had been there during those times. Never did Ponto mention anything about Martha, so Patricia resisted the temptation to ask about Martha and Collier. She was itching to meet the woman.

Milly had already met Martha in town and one afternoon said she was going over visit her. Patricia jumped at the offer to accompany her. As they drove off Patricia said: "Milly, after all these years I still regret you stayed on here like you did. At times I have felt so terrible, thinking that I failed you as a sister-in-law, knowing I should have come and fetched you home. It was a shocking way for your marriage to end and you were just a young girl. But when I learned how determined you were at rebuilding your life and how happy you had become I felt nothing but admiration for you. Tell me dear, how do you feel; do you feel that I failed you?"

"Just a moment, Patricia," Milly answered. She drove carefully beside a small number of approaching cattle being driven on the side of the road, her mind reeling at what Patricia had just said. Patricia and indeed everyone back home apart from Collier had only heard the 'cock and bull' story of her so-called failed marriage.

Milly's mind went back to 1946 when a Department of Agriculture external relations officer had written to the Miranda Valley Business and Professional Association seeking a sponsor for a farm study exchange student arriving from near Arrowhead, Wyoming. Her aged parents, Charles and Sarah, had jumped at the opportunity to host a foreign student, and Amos Durham arrived at the Curtis' home two months later.

The three-month programme was a great success, and Amos went home praising the hospitality of the Curtis family. Shortly afterwards Charles receive an invitation from Amos' father Dean for Milly to stay with the Durham family during that New Zealand summer. Milly, who'd been Amos' constant companion during his stay, begged to be allowed to go, and finally her parents consented, virtually pushed into it by Milly's big brother Curtis.

She had just celebrated her eighteenth birthday when she left for America for twelve weeks, at least that was the plan.

It was a typical winter in Wyoming, with successive heavy dumps of snow. One afternoon when Amos had taken his mother to a medical centre, his father Dean went into the bathroom where Milly was in the bath. He asked if he could join her and for some reason she could never fathom in later bouts of self-incrimination, Milly said just two words, "Jump in."

Dean stripped and joined her in the bath. He later carried her to her bedroom and seduced her, Milly happily consenting. It was as if she was rewarding herself for the fact that never had Amos shown any physical interest in her, although he clearly regarded her as a close friend.

The liaison between Dean and Milly continued. Her thoughts about that experience were interrupted with the need to converse with her sister-in-law.

"No, Patricia, you and Collier were far away, my parents were not up to long journeys. What I did was of my own making and I went into it with my eyes open. Of course I had no idea of the terrible events that were to follow."

Milly had said that deliberately, deciding it was time to tell the truth.

"Thank you for saying that Milly," Patricia said, still unaware that she was about to be told everything, nothing withheld. "I tried to express my feelings in my letters. I should have come with Collier to give you support."