The Du Rose Prophecy

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Hana wept bitter tears in her room for half an hour after her father; Robert McIntyre left for the airport and his arduous flight back to England. She cried over the twenty- six wasted years, having truly believed he hated her for her accidental teenage pregnancy. The Scotsman found her in McDonald’s in Hamilton, of all places on the earth and the reunion was eventually healing. But the parting was bittersweet, her heart attack robbing them of further precious hours in his short visit. The sight of her strong father in tears at their good-bye was something Hana knew would haunt her until her dying day.

The melodramatic side of her nature told her she would never get over it, while the rational, sensible side wrestled and argued and urged her not to be silly. It was enough to set her off crying again, conjuring up that image in her mind of his steady blue eyes fighting the terrible inner pain of leaving his daughter. Especially now. She recalled his trembling hand waving up at her on the balcony as Logan stuffed his belongings into the boot of the Honda. What if I never see him again?

Robert had been so brave, holding it all in until the last minute, but that final look up at her had done it for them both. Tears coursed down his crinkled face like a burst dam and he struggled for control, knowing he was upsetting her further. Even from the distance between them, Hana saw the glassiness of his eyes and the emotions there. His soul seemed to cry out to her, I don’t want to leave and hers answered painfully, then don’t.

Elaine, his second wife, belted him into the back seat like a child as Tama climbed into the front. Robert wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and waved in the general direction of the balcony, but he couldn’t look at Hana again. Another glance at her agony on display would break him open for sure. Even Logan didn’t look at his wife as he backed the car out and drove towards the gates and Hana felt unacknowledged and invisible.

She stood watching for a long time after the sound of the wheels on the driveway dulled to nothing and the Honda treacherously bore her parent away from her. The wind got up and caused Hana’s red hair to stream out behind her, buffeting her thin frame relentlessly and making her feel even more of a victim. Her life felt like a bad movie; one where everything went wrong for the heroine and while the innocent cinema goers waited patiently for a happy ending, the credits rolled and the heroine stayed dead or alone. A sick feeling rose up in her chest and she struggled to name it so she could send it away, but it refused to be called by any label that might help. So she stayed feeling sick, unsettled and lost.

“I want to come with you,” Hana wept to Logan the night before. “I need to say goodbye.”

Logan shook his head and denied her. “No way, Hana. The journey here was too much for you. I’m not taking you to the airport. Stay here and rest.”

Hana was inconsolable, crying before daybreak at the injustice of it all. Surely at the very least, they could have let her squish in the back between her father and his wife and not denied her that last hour of comfort. “Why’s Tama going?” she had sobbed.

“He’s signing his contract at the Fire Department headquarters in Auckland.” Logan was resolute and immovable and Hana pouted at the memory of his strong jaw and the determined set of his shoulders. He held her while she cried and protested, unmoved by the enormous tears that ran down his shirt and speckled his arms.

“I hate you,” she wailed and he had laughed at her then.

“No you don’t.”

Hana regretted all the wasted hours when she could have sought her father out and made the most of his presence on her side of the world. She should have hugged him, kissed him and told him she loved him until he knew for sure she meant it. She should have stopped him going sightseeing, made him stay in her company the whole time and not told him he deserved a holiday. She should have been selfish and kept him all to herself.

Even as she worked through those feelings, Hana knew they were irrational and childish. Robert McIntyre knew his daughter loved him. The greatest resentment in Hana’s muddled emotional shopping list was that the heart attack and subsequent surgery robbed her of precious time with her dad. It forced her to sleep often and seem tired and unenthusiastic in these last days. She hated her body for subjecting her to that. And therein lay a huge part of the problem. She no longer trusted her body. She was forty-six years old, not ninety-six and yet it hobbled her as thoroughly as if she was. The cuts on her chest and the invasive pacemaker were a constant reminder of her own mortality, her inability to predict anything about her life, not even the next heartbeat.

Anger bubbled up inside the woman like an ugly thing. Hana daren’t even go to the family dining room, where she knew Leslie looked after her baby. Even Phoenix doesn’t need you or your milk anymore, a spiteful voice whispered in her head and she finally named the thing that ate at her soul. It was a spirit of abandonment.

Hana ran from the bedroom and down the spiral staircase to the ground floor. The rush of adrenaline caused her to grab at her chest, terrified she might cause the object next to her collarbone to administer the promised shock the consultant described for her. She didn’t want to be jabbed like a kick to the chest and felt an overwhelming urge to rip the hideous thing out herself. Nobody asked if I wanted it, no-one consulted me! The dreadful sadness morphed into something terrible inside, reeking with the stench of self-pity and powerlessness. Hana caught the reflection of ingratitude in a hallway mirror and it was not attractive.

She needed to get away, to be high up out of reach and look down on her situation from a different vantage point. Hana craved the wind in her face and the sense of freedom which illness robbed her of. The isolation of Logan’s new house in the mountains called to her with a recognisable voice, shouting to her on the wind to come, feel its enfolding grace and find herself again. The doctors told her not to drive, not until her condition was settled and her local specialist signed the documentation. Nobody banned her from horse riding.

Hana kicked off her slippers in the mudroom at the back of the hotel where the stockmen kept the riding boots and broken tack. Digging around, she found her sister-in-law’s, boots and chaps and fitted them on over her jeans, clamping Miriam’s hat down over her hair. She felt a flicker of sadness for her dead mother-in-law and buried it, knowing her fragile courage would fail in the face of overthinking. Even the short walk to the stable yard seemed endless. A lot of things did nowadays.

As she neared the sound of clattering buckets, Hana tried to get her story straight for Jack, the ancient stable manager. He might be deaf but he missed absolutely nothing and he wouldn’t let her ride out on her own without talking to Logan first. She felt momentarily relieved at her husband’s absence and then teared up at the thought of the airport run which took him away. Getting her tale ready and fortifying herself for an argument or abject refusal, Hana took deep breaths and forced herself to saunter casually into the yard.

Jack’s old Jeep was noticeably absent from its space at the entrance to the lunge arena gate and Hana experienced instant relief. An urgent neigh came from a row of stalls facing east, the brick work bathed in sunlight. Turning, Hana found herself face to face with Sacha, Logan’s temperamental mare. The beast jerked her regal white face upwards as though in greeting and Hana lifted her hand to wave, feeling suddenly stupid and putting it back by her side. “Hi,” she said instead, feeling a fool.

The yard seemed empty of humans and Hana considered her options. Sacha’s tack rested on a wooden stand outside her stable door and she contemplated struggling to tack the horse up, discounting it instantly. If the effort of lifting the heavy tan stock saddle didn’t kill her, then the angry mare probably would within the confines of her stall. Sacha’s mean reputation preceded her although Hana had ridden her successfully once, much to everyone’s astonishment.

Sacha stretched her neck out for a pat and scraped her shod front foot against the concrete floor of her stall. Hana reached out a nervous hand and stroked the elegant forehead gently. The horse shook her head from side to side and closed her eyes. Hana got closer, convinced at some point the mare would take her revenge for stealing Logan’s affections away and bite, but she didn’t. The woman stood and caressed the white forelock and stroked the rounded Anglo-Arab nose tenderly. “I want to go up to the new house,” Hana whispered, “but I know they won’t let me. My dad left and they wouldn’t let me go. They didn’t want a scene at the airport. Logan said it was for my benefit but it was really for his. And while I’ve been in hospital, they’ve been feeding my baby cow’s milk so she isn’t bothered about me that much anymore. She always preferred her daddy, so that proves it. I guess you know what that’s like; your colt must be getting big now.”

Hana faltered, unable to describe the emotions raging through her mind. She lay her forehead against the mare’s and closed tired green eyes. The horse stayed still and all Hana could hear was the sound of snuffled breathing from the huge lungs.

The clatter of footsteps on the concrete behind made them both jump away guiltily. A young man in his early twenties approached with a bucket and a yard broom. He was dark skinned and black haired with a confident stride. Despite the winter chill, he wore jeans but no tee shirt, his shoulders and ribs swathed in tattoos denoting his whakapapa, lineage. He stopped abruptly, staring at Hana. “Miss, I’d watch that beast. She’s a nasty mare. Real up herself, she is.”

Edging closer, his eyes widened in surprise at Hana’s proximity to the horse, cradling the whiskery chin in her cupped hand. The mare’s eyes were closed in pleasure, but she opened one of them to give the man a wicked, white rimmed eyeball. He pulled a face and stepped back.

“Where’s Jack?” Hana asked, forcing politeness in the hope of assistance.

“He’s gone to the township for some stuff. He’ll be back soon though.”

Hana hissed through her teeth. She needed to get away before Jack returned. Otherwise, she wouldn’t get away at all. She decided to risk it. Leaning close into Sacha, she whispered, “Please help me,” and unlocked the top and bottom bolts on the stable door. The horse put her head up obligingly as Hana took hold of her halter and pulled her forwards through the door, intending to lead her over to the tacking area. The young man stepped in front of her, shaking his head, his face disbelieving.

“No, Miss, that’s Mr Du Rose’s beast, you can’t take her. You wouldn’t want to. Wait till Jack gets back and he’ll sort you out something else. Are you a guest from the hotel? I’ve got other mounts and if you wait, I’ll take you on a ride through the lower slopes.”

Hana continued walking, Sacha following meekly at her side. “Please could you bring her tack?” Hana asked with quiet authority.

The inexperienced young man groaned. He looked increasingly awkward and his strong hands fluttered by his sides. “Miss, I’m new here. I’m apprenticed to the best horseman in the central North Island and it’s all about to come to a skidding halt. You’ll get me fired, Miss.”

He bit at a ragged thumbnail, confusion blemishing his handsome features. Relief coursed across his face as another man entered the yard, head down, his hat covering his eyes. “Toby, can you help me mate?” he begged. “This lady...”

The new comer stopped at the sight of the pretty redhead leading the usually ferocious mare. “Hey Mrs Du Rose,” he said and touched the brim of his cowboy hat lightly. “You feeling better now?”