Jeff’s chagrin was ludicrous. “Of all the things ... measles! To bring a girl to a dance and develop measles!”
Sarah tried not to laugh and failed.
“I’m sorry, Jeff, you’ll just have to see the funny side of it. I heard of one case much worse. Heat brings out measles rapidly, and in this case it was a bridegroom. The poor boy got very hot and bothered during the ceremony, but the rash only became apparent when they went into the vestry to sign the register. That was much worse, you’ll agree.”
“I’ll say,” said Jeff, starting to laugh himself. “But, say, Sarah, make this up to me later, won’t you? Let me take you out again.”
“Yes, of course. Now let’s go. You’ll have to get to bed right away. I only hope you’ve not taken a chill, being out with a temperature. I’ll get Grant.”
“What for? I’ll just go home. He can take you home—unless someone else cashes in on my misfortune.”
“Oh, you’re not driving home, Jeff. I’ll drive you, but Grant can follow with his car and bring me back. You might easily begin to feel really ill.” She rather dreaded Grant’s laughter about the plight of her escort, but he proved quite sympathetic, said, “Oh, bad show,” and came right away with them.
Ayr Hills was only five miles from Cheviot, so they were there in no time. Jeff’s parents looked up in amazement.
“I thought it was first-footers ahead of time,” said his father, then, looking sharply at his son, “What ails you, lad?”
“Measles,” said Jeff, and laughed.
His mother gave an exasperated sound. “Oh, Jeff, you were always one for getting things at ridiculous times.”
“You mean you’re busy getting in the small seeds?’ asked Grant. “I’ll come over and lend a hand.”
“Indeed, I meant nothing of the kind,” said Jeff’s mother. “I mean it was tough luck, partnering a girl like Sarah to the Ball, only to come out in spots ... but don’t let’s stand here talking. Come on, Jeff, off to bed.”
Grant suddenly realized that what Mrs. Mac had said was true: Sarah Isbister would find a warm welcome here if ever she came as Jeff’s bride.
Sarah said, “Well, goodnight, Jeff, and thanks for the beginning of the evening, anyway. Sorry it had to end like this. I’m afraid I’d better not come over till the infectious period is over ... you know why ... but I’ll send you some books.”
Jeff looked rueful. “Be sure to put a note in with them.”
As Grant and Sarah came to the lighted Hall again, an item was being given. Someone was singing “Westering Home.”
Sarah stopped, caught her breath. In that suspended moment she saw the manse perched on the lonely cliffs of Orkney, salt spray dashing against the windows, and herself and her mother watching the fishing fleet beating home. Down below at the quay, Father, in his rough tweeds and black stock, welcoming the men home. She blinked back sudden tears.
Grant looked at her swiftly. “Would you rather go home now?”
She shook her head. “No, one must fight homesickness.”
He said, quite gently, “Good girl. There’ll be quite a few nostalgic for Scotland tonight, Sarah. This isn’t a Scots community in the way it is in Otago ... down south over the Waitaki ... but there are quite a number of Scots families scattered about.” He took her arm.
The pipe band had now arrived, and broke into a Scots reel as they came in. The rest of the night was hilarious, and finished up with the singing of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Then they were motoring silently home through the perfect summer night. Stars studded the sky above the rolling hills, drifts of fleecy clouds like filmy stoles floated between them and the moon, the air was rich with a thousand perfumes, blended as no chemist other than nature could do it, and peace came into Sarah’s heart. Here, tonight, she could believe that, sometime, the fundamental kinship she and Grant shared would triumph over the unhappy circumstances that had brought them together.
The car splashed through the shallow waters of the ford and breasted the hill towards the homestead.
“What did you mean, Sarah, when you said you’d not go near Jeff for fear of infection? I didn’t think nurses cared.”
Sarah didn’t answer till they had dipped down the last hollow of the white road patterned with a shifting mosaic of leaf shadow and moonlight. She’d meant to broach this herself.
She said in a carefully careless tone, “Oh, Jeff knew. Just that I’m going to a part-time position at the nursing home as soon as the youngsters get back to school. I daren’t risk carrying infection there.”
“You’re what?” He almost stopped the car in his surprise. “Whatever for? Haven’t you enough to do? Looking after the cottage and the children, helping Mrs. Mac with the meals and so on when we’ve extra men in?”
“Yes,” said Sarah simply, “but I need some money. For new clothes. Mine won’t last for ever.”
“You need money! But what—what about what the solicitors pay into your account?”
“I only use that for essentials. For food and electricity, and for the children’s needs.”
“Why?” He shot the question at her angrily.
“Because I couldn’t bear to take it from you for anything for myself.”
“You mean because of me—because I resented you?”
“Yes. I don’t feel entitled to it. I have to take some because of the children, but I’ve no intention of allowing the profits from your estate to clothe me.”
“That’s sheer nonsense. Completely illogical. You pull your weight. In fact the children do too. I used to try to get someone to help Mrs. Mac at harvesting and shearing, but domestic help is practically non-existent here, we live too far out. You need have no scruples about allowing yourself something, even if only a percentage.”
She was quietly, maddeningly determined. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t dress myself on the bounty of a man who detests me. Besides, I miss my own work so much, it will be wonderful to be with babies and mothers again. It’s just from nine in the morning till three in the afternoon. As soon as you had the wee Austin done up for me, I realized I could do it. They’re desperate for staff. I’ll be home at three-thirty ... early enough to give Mrs. Mac a hand then, if that’s what you’re anxious about.”
He wasn’t, and she knew it.
“What do you intend doing with the amounts that paid in to your account from Challowsford, Sarah?”
She saw no reason why she shouldn’t tell him. “I hope that—in time—by the time Rory has finished his high school years, I’ll be able to buy a small holding somewhere ... not near here, perhaps the other side of Christchurch. That could satisfy a little of Rory’s love of farming. Pauline and I could run a fair-sized poultry farm to help out. I hope to make enough to send Pauline for veterinary training. And some day to—”
She stopped.
“Go on ... to what?”
“It sounds ambitious, but to anyone as determined as I am on this score, not impossible ... to repay you every penny we’ve taken out of Challowsford.”
Sarah saw his hands tighten on the wheel. She couldn’t understand his reaction. He ought to be pleased.
An unwelcome thought struck her. Surely he didn’t think that in this too she played a part? That she was still trying to disarm him. Trying to win his respect. Sarah felt a great weariness descend upon her. It was going to take so long.
They rattled in over the cattle-stops and came to a halt inside the garage. Sarah put her hand to the door handle. Grant said, “Wait till I come round, Sarah. There’s not much room in this garage, it would be a pity to catch your flounces.” He helped her out carefully, locked the garage, and dropped the keys into his pocket. At the entrance to the home garden there was a poplar ringed about with a seat.
She was surprised to hear him say, “Let’s sit here for a few moments. Tonight has been all go and bustle. Let’s sit here and savour the quietness, realize that the New Year is really here.”
Sarah doubted his reasons. She thought he was rallying his thoughts, marshalling his arguments. Well, she’d give him a chance to bring them all forward, but nothing would shake her determination. If he did want them to stay it would be partly because he automatically opposed anything she attempted, and partly because, despite their relationship, he found Rory a great asset.
Sarah gave a wry inward smile as she realized she too was beginning to doubt people’s motives.
The perfume of the garden rose to them ... mignonette, catmint, lavender, clove-scented pinks, spicy stocks, the tang of balsam and flowering mint, roses and wallflowers.
But for the Southern Cross over them they might have been sitting in a Hampshire village garden.
Grant lit a cigarette, drew on it. In a moment, thought Sarah, he’ll turn the full battery of his arguments upon me. Odd, isn’t it? Some queer facet of character makes him want me dependent on the estate. Perhaps it’s to prove to himself that I really am the type he first took me to be, the type that Elaine probably insisted I was ... Her thoughts halted at another realization. Did that mean he was aware his prejudices were in danger of being lost? Was he trying to bolster up his first impressions? Could it be that living in this closely knit homestead life he was coming to doubt his first judgment? Sarah felt her pulses quicken, hope stir her heart. She subdued it. Sarah Isbister, don’t be so ridiculous!