Dawn Simpson hadn’t cried since the day her grandmother was buried, six years earlier, and she certainly would not cry now.
Have I made a huge mistake?
She clasped the letter firmly in her fingers. Butterflies swirled inside her as she and John approached the dwelling—a weatherboard cottage perched in the middle of an empty paddock, stark and forlorn. The wire netting surrounding it, the shiny new posts glistening in the afternoon sun, reminded her of the ugly mesh that imprisoned her old school grounds.
The green Chrysler Valiant hit a bump and she clutched the dashboard, turning to meet her husband’s grin and her heart skipped a beat. John’s blue eyes crinkled at the corners, the creases fanning into pale lines against his handsome, tanned face while a row of tight curls edged his forehead. She smiled fleetingly and returned her gaze to the building. This can’t be it. We must have to travel farther over the farm yet.
While he negotiated piles of gravel, she recalled the conversation she and her best friend, Ann, had shared a year ago.
“I’m going to marry a farmer.” Ann had been quite adamant, ignoring Dawn’s eye roll. “Farmers are wealthy because the government provides subsidies, and the money that wool and meat are bringing are at an all-time high. Plus, they can please themselves what hours they work.”
Dawn hadn’t argued. She had never visited a farm, or taken any interest in country living, so how would she know if Ann was telling the truth? If Dawn married at all, she’d decided it would be to a man who worked in the city and drove a fine car—someone who would take her on holidays to Australia and cruises to far-off lands. And, of course, be a good father to the horde of children she planned to have.
It’s me who’s married a farmer, and you’re the wife of a builder, so we both got that wrong.
The vehicle slowed and came to a stop, facing the dwelling.
The sturdy timber cottage was exactly like dozens of other New Zealand post-war homes. Its tiny front porch and vacant, staring windows bore no resemblance to what she had envisaged. The relocated dwelling had been moved to its new destination on Fantail Ridge while she spent long hours at the salon basin, shampooing customers’ hair and dreaming about her new life. In addition to the house, her wish for a cat and perhaps a dog would finally be realised, especially as she no longer had to contend with her mother’s dislike of animals.
As she stared in dismay, she fidgeted with the envelope. Where was the low-set building with a veranda along the front and French doors opening onto it from every room?
Her glance dropped to the letter. It had been delivered to the Fantail Ridge homestead where John’s parents, Harry and Alice, had welcomed them with a delicious lunch, a pile of mail, and boxes of wedding presents. Ann’s card was on top and the only one Dawn had opened. It wasn’t a gushy wedding card covered with bows and glitter; this was plain white and featured a pair of pretty fantails on the front. Inside, the script was all Ann’s—short, sweet, and to the point. Dawn could remember every word.
Dear Dawn,
By the time you get this, you will have returned from your honeymoon and be enjoying the beauty and privacy of your very first home. Congratulations!
I can’t wait to hear all about it. Please write soon.
Meanwhile, remember my favourite saying: “There are two types of people in this world. Doers and dreamers. I’m the first and you are the second. So live your dream and share it with me so I can dream with you—or at least, try.
Lots of love to you both,
Ann
PS – Do you like the card? I thought it very appropriate considering you’re now living on “Fantail Ridge”.
Perhaps she was right. John had been enthusiastic about the purchase. “A perfectly well-maintained house,” he’d said. “No longer required —new development on Auckland’s outskirts. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
In the flurry of excitement, an old, stylish home, filled with character, had filled her mind—something similar to the only home she had ever known.
She inhaled deeply as she stared at the disappointing dwelling. Ugh. What was she going to do? But she already knew. She was going to have to consider herself lucky to have a husband and a place to live.
“This is it. Our new home,” John said. He took Dawn’s hand and rested it on the leather seat between them. Not a shrub, a tree, or any sign of life near the building. She swung her gaze from the house to her husband and her dismay grew.
“Oh.” She bit her lip as her mother’s voice resonated in her head. “You said the house was nice—not something the government would provide for the homeless.”
Silence filled the car for a few moments as she faced John’s apologetic smile. He opened the door and got out slowly, quietly. His hand trailed lightly on the bonnet as he made his way to the passenger side, his eyes fastened on hers. Years of arguments and reaction to her mother’s sharp tongue had not served her well, and now she wished she had been taught to look for positives instead of always dwelling on the negatives.
John wrenched the door open and held out his hand. Their love was new and fragile, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset him.
“I’m sorry, darling. You and your parents have done your best. I’m just tired,” Dawn said.
“And a bit grumpy?” He gave a wry grin as she swung her long legs out of the vehicle. A gust of wind caught her fair curls, blowing them across her face. She raised a hand to her brow, grateful for the few seconds to bury her head against his shoulder and hide her disappointment.
Am I like my mother? Suppressing the moan that threatened to escape, she stepped back and met John’s eyes, willing her own to fill again with hope and fervour. Her chest tightened as something warm unfurled within it. She had promised to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer … She plastered a smile on her face and reached out. I must not dampen his infectious enthusiasm. “Are you going to carry me across the threshold?”
“Of course,” he rasped.
For a split second, her legs remained glued to the ground, her eyes resting on the solid, tightly closed door of the cottage. She leaned forward as John swept her into his arms, one work-roughened hand around her back and a strong arm under her knees. After kicking open the ornate wrought-iron gate, he carried her up the path and fumbled with the handle, almost dropping her in the process. Dawn tightened her grip around his neck as they fell through the open doorway. They giggled like school children, her outburst seemingly forgiven, and he set her back on her feet.
“Welcome to your home on Fantail Ridge,” John said.
She took a deep breath, tentatively looking around as the last frayed threads of excitement faded to apprehension. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she folded her arms over her chest and rubbed her shoulders.
“It’s very cold,” she said softly.
“It won’t be for long. We’ll light the fire, and once we’ve unpacked, it’ll be perfect. The windows let plenty of sun in, and it’s small enough to keep cosy and warm.” John wrapped her in a tender hug and she leaned against him for a moment, her face pressing against the pulse in his neck. Life. Live. Love, his beating heart reminded her.
“That’s true.” She raised her eyebrows. His excitement was contagious, and she wrestled with her feelings, determined to keep her bluntness under control. It had severely narrowed her field of friends in the past.
“Plenty big enough for us.” John released one arm, flinging it in a sweeping gesture and tangling a lock of her shoulder-length hair in his fingers.
“Ouch!” Her hand flew to her head, and his eyes widened in horror.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m such a clumsy twit.” He squeezed her against him. “Are you alright?”
She nodded briefly and gazed around the room—if you could call it that. It was more of an enclosed porch. A row of coat hooks adorned the inside wall and a brand new wringer washing machine stood in the corner, nestled against the double concrete laundry tub.
“The laundry?” she asked.
Why hadn’t they come through the front door? She hadn’t even noticed a front entrance. Consumed with disappointment, she had barely registered the garage and gate that led them to where they now stood.
“Yes, sort of. I suppose it’s the room for everything that doesn’t have its own space. We’ll have the wood box in here over winter, and this cupboard is where the hot water cylinder is.” John opened a door to reveal a slim, silver tank surrounded by shelves, and she allowed herself to relax a smidgeon as the warmth emanating from the cupboard wafted around her.
“Plenty of space because it doubles as a linen cupboard.” He closed the door again and flung open the one next to it, a little less enthusiastically this time. “Bathroom and toilet.”
She nodded, a shadow of a smile hovering around her lips. John grasped her hand again and towed her into the small hallway.
Peering into each room as they passed, she tried hard to be optimistic. In the first, a fixed bench against the inside wall provided seating while a small wooden table squeezed between it and the kitchen sink. Not a good start. Her heart sank even further. It certainly wasn’t the large country kitchen where she dreamed they would spend most of their indoor time, with newspapers and magazines spread over the table and room for her to bake while their children scattered toys across the floor.
“New electric stove, just for you,” John said, enthused, as he pointed to the appliance at the end of the Formica bench, and then to the window. “A great view, don’t you think? Plenty of warning if visitors are coming.” He laughed and grasped Dawn’s hand again, gently guiding her out of the room and back into the hallway.
She glanced into the two small rooms on either side of the hall. Bedrooms? Four strides led them to the end of the passage, opening into a cosy lounge with a fireplace on the southern wall. Facing east, a large window provided a multi-layered view across the paddock to the Kaipara Harbour. Beyond its sparkling waters, the mainland spread across the horizon, shadowy and distant.
Dawn fixed her gaze on the panorama. All her life she had been a city girl, and now, in spite of the beauty in front of her, a shiver ran down her spine. Exposed and helpless, she reached out and clutched the heavy maroon curtains hanging on either side of the window, the urge to close them so strong she had to steel herself. Taking a slow, deep breath, she studied the fabric as she forced her hands to drop to her sides. Shabby, but serviceable. They’ll do until I can find something better.
John touched her arm and turned her to face a small, enclosed front porch leading off the lounge. “I should have brought you through here. You would have got a better first impression. Sorry, love.”
She shot him a brief grin and followed his gaze through the second doorway into what was clearly the main bedroom.
“Ours. Doesn’t the furniture we chose look good? It was only delivered the day before our wedding, so I left Mum to get it ready and make it welcoming for you,” he said.
Dawn nodded, annoyance preventing her smile from reaching her eyes. Studying the plain white cotton bedspread and green eiderdown lying diagonally across the bed, the words stuck in her throat. One thing was certain—no matter how much she and John loved each other, she would be redecorating the house to suit her own tastes. How she would achieve this without offending her mother-in-law would be something she’d worry about later.
