NO WOMAN'S LAND

Wairarapa Times-Age, 19 July 1938, Page 10

NO WOMAN'S LAND

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT

BY

JANE ENGLAND

(Author of “Sjambok,” “Trader’s License,” &c.)

CHAPTER XXII After all they did not go to the Marshalls, because on Friday night Dolly fell ill, and on Saturday morning it was plain that she had malaria. She lay on her’uncomfortable bed and alternately sweated and shivered, while Nella looked after her, and David took the Nyassas up to the mine and started them getting down the gallows-like platforms. Young Fingall began to whitewash the house, and in the intervals of looking after Dolly, Nella helped him. Nc word of explanation had come from Archie, and nobody mentioned him. David had some idea at the back of his mind of going over to see him, but he was more interested in starting work on the place; and in any case he felt that it was unnecessary to give him the impression that Nella was brokenhearted. Besides, thought David, with a faint amusement, there was young Fingall about the place, and he might manage to get • the girl’s mind • off things. It would, in any case, be a sound thing for her to meet other young men in a normal way. Fingall was working on the stoep, which was now almost finished. The walls looked a gleaming white, and Fingall had a boy from the gaol doing the work. A Black Watch squatted in the shadow nearby,' waiting to take him back to" the prison at sundown. “It’s going to look pretty good,” said Fingall. . “It looks pretty good already,” said David. He’s a nice lad, thought David, and went into see Dolly, who opened languid eyes and stared at hint’, and then gave a faint giggle. “My dear, the brow is wet with honest sweat,” she murmured. “My gosh, I feel foul.” “Poor lamb!” he said, and went over io the bedside. “No, don’t come near me. I can’t bear anyone near me. All I want to do is lie here and think about death . . to cease upon the midnight with no pain.” She grinned faintly and closed her eyes. “I wish I could do something,” said David. “Well, you can’t. Go away, my pet.” He took Nella round with him to the old sheds that were in a state of utter disrepair, and they pulled open doors that came away from , their hinges. Inside were dusted and rusted oddments of all kinds, from small ploughs to trek chains. It would be a week’s work to sort them out, thought David, and even ‘ then it probably wouldn’t be worth it. But Nella, long-legged, and seemingly impervious to the heat, was enchanted. “If only,” she said, ■ we had a decent shed, a big one, we could put all the good stuff in there. We’ll find lots of stuff. It’ll save a lot of money. I’ll do it, if you like.” “Build the shed?” said David, and raised one eyebrow.

She looked refused, and he regretted taking her up; she was not yet, he thought, in the frame of mind when she could take things simply. Still on the defensive. But who wouldn’t be, in the circumstances? “No,” he added quickly, “but it’ll take time to build a big shed.” She frowned and hesitated, and then said shyly: “If you could afford to take on quite a lot of boys for a short time, then we could get a big shed built. And you’ll want a lot of mealies, you know —mealie meal for their rations. If you liked, I could trade them for you in the reserve, I could get them much cheaper. You musn’t trade without a hawker’s licence.”

“The trouble is transport,” she went on, pursuing her one train of thought; “if you could buy some oxen, I’ve got a wagon of my own on the farm. It’s very old, but it will work. And if Mr Drew gets some trek oxen, then he could inspan his to our wagon and take them across to that farm, and then the natives could bring some oxen down, and transfer . . .”

“Hi,” said David, “you’re making me dizzy. Wouldn’t it be simpler to pull the wagon all the way with our own oxen?”

“But you can’t,” said Nella patiently. “You must not move oxen off your own farm. You’ll have to get a pass for taking your wagon to the railway. That’s permanent, but you musn’t take them anywhere else.” “It’s plain to me,” said David, “that you’ll have to take on a job and help me run this place. “Oh,” said Nella earnestly, “if only I could! I wouldn’t want to be paid. But if I could sort of —sort of act as assistant, I’d feel —well, I’d feel that I was really some good to someone.” “My child,” said David firmly, “nothing on earth would induce me to part with you at the present moment. You are an essential. Quite apart from the fact that, strange as it may seem, both Dolly and I like having you about the place.”

“Do you really mean that?” she asked on a husky note.

“Why should I bother to say it if I didn’t mean it?”

He threw a casual, brotherly arm round her shoulder, and walked on to the next hut.

She had evidently, and at last, accepted herself as a real person, for her face was absorbed and almost contented. “I shall need a boy to help me sort out that stuff,” said Nella suddenly. “Would you mind?” » “I expect you to do it all yourself,” said David sternly. She stared at him in dismay, and then as she saw his face, she broke into a relieved laugh. “You’ll have to learn to be ragged . . have your leg pulled,” said David. “It’s been left out of your education.”

He began to plan in his head a garden round Bloots homestead. For a mo-

ment he dallied with the idea of pulling down the old house and building another, but an ineradicable dislike of destroying places, where people had lived, and which, thereby, had acquired a life of their own, stopped him. Bloots should be improved, improved out of all recognition. It should be the nucleus of a new life.

While they had lunch he enlarged to Nella and Fingall on the subject of gum trees, the planting thereof, on growing tall hedges, on lawns and rose trees, on making drives, and orchards. Nella listened with an air of dismay.

“But you know,” she said, “you ought not to think of that sort of thing until you’ve got the farm going. It costs an awful lot, and it isn’t necessary.” “Young woman,” said David, “it is necessary to me. In the course of the next few months this place is going to blossom like the rose . . ‘the desert and the solitary place,’ you know. And in the course of the next few months, you are going to learn that man does not live by bread alone. I’ll quote some more. ‘lf thou of fortune be bereft, and of thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole buy hyacinths to soothe thy soul.’ ” She looked at him, as if she thought him a little mad, and both men laughed. She laughed herself, but uncertainly. She didn’t really see what was funny about it. But at least, she was feeling Secure, she was feeling that she was necessary to someone. The pain and the humiliation of the last few weeks she felt less acutely; they had receded a little. And she would not allow herself to think about Archie during the day. At night, when everything was different, when the darkness was heavy and deadening, then she was frightened Jf and lost. But now, there was something worth while to do during the day. But she was worried about Dolly. She knew very little about nursing, and she had an inward feeling that she was very bad at it. However, that problem was solved in the evening, for Mrs Marshall, on receipt of a note telling her that they could not accept her invitation for the week-end,- came rattling over in a buckboard, with a camp bed lashed drunkenly on the back, and a case full of remedies. And she took charge of the household and commissariat with the utmost determination. “I’m eternally grateful to her,” murmured Dolly to David, “but for heaven’s sake don’t let her hit Jacob with a frying pan. I value him.” But Mrs Marshall showed no signs of wishing to hit Jacob with a frying pan. She was a woman of infinite understanding, and she recognised in Jacob a good servant. But then, her own servants were good, and she had never approved of the women who would not trouble to train boys. She made use of Jacob, and also brought her undoubted genius for home-making into full play. She turned David out of his wife’s room, and made up her camp bed for him in the new hut with young Fingall. In some miraculous way she made the uncomfortable bed comparatively cool and comfortable; and she sent Fingall out with a shot gun and strict instructions to bring back birds for the larder. David, who had been uneasy about her precipitate descent upon them (he distrusted all managing women) was completely conquered. He relapsed into a blissful confidence, and in the evening paid her disgraceful and unblushing compliments. Even Nella, who had been nervy and on edge, lost her uneasiness, Mrs Marshall treated her with' a frank and pleasant friendliness. “You’re Nella Howard,” she said. “I’ve often heard about you, but we’ve never met. Well, my dear, better late than never. I’ve got a girl your age, and three boys who are younger than you. When you’ve helped these people to start, you must come over and stay with us.” If a faint flicker of doubt came into the minds of Fingall and Hastings, a feeling that she might have done something earlier, it was dispelled by a further remark.

“I wish I’d known you sooner! But you’re over twenty miles away from us, and I’m a busy woman.” There was no doubt about it: she was a kindly and practical woman, and a very busy one. She did what good came to hand, but she did not go out into the highways and byways to look for opportunities. She had her own family. It was eminently reasonable; and Nella seemed contented. CHAPTER XXIII.

On Sunday morning a native brought Nella a note from Archie Fellowes. It was short. “Dearest Nella” (it ran), “I’m very sorry about the other afternoon. Until all this rotten business is settled, I think perhaps it’s best that we don’t see each other. I’ve been thinking things over, and perhaps we both don’t quite know our real feelings; and it all started from the time when your father died. Please don’t think me unkind, but you can see how impossible it all is. With love, Archie Fellowes.”

She read it with a queer, very grown-up feeling of pain. She wondered whether she was supposed to be engaged to him or not, and she wished that he had been quite definite on that point. She wondered whether she was supposed to be engaged to him or not, and she wished that he had been quite definite on that point. She wondered whether she should ride over to see him, and ask him about that. She still could not quite imagine such a sharp cut as not having Archie at all. She was quite sure that the really right thing to do would be to see him, but somehow she couldn't bear to do that.

She supposed she ought to answer the letter, but she didn’t, because she

couldn’t think of anything to say; and she supposed also that if she had any pride she would write back and say that she never wanted to see him again; but she wasn’t sure that that would be quite fair. Perhaps, after all, he was right! perhaps it was really best for them not to see each other. “I musn’t let him down again,” she thought, “I’ve got to. wait. I’ve got to trust him. It was because I didn’t trust him before that all this happened.” So she said nothing to anyone about . the letter.

So Sunday passed quietly enough at Bloots, with David still absorbed in plans about gardening. He told a few of them to Mrs Marshall, who said bluntly: “You know your own business best. I’d like that sort of thing myself. But are you going to farm for a living, or can you live without farming?” “We’ve got an income,” said David, “if that’s what you mean, and a little capital. I’d like to spend the capital, or at least some of it, on that sort of thing, and then carry on.” “You’d better go into figures with my husband,” said Mrs Marshall. “He’ll be able to tell you what you can do.” She added thoughtfully, “It’ll cost a bit to clear all that slag away, but it ’ud be worth it. Do you know, I’d like to see the last tract of Bloots mine gone. You may think me a superstitious old fool, but I would.” “I don't. And I’m going to clear it,” said David. (To be Continued).