Page 74 of Just Say Christmas
“Easy,” Sabine said. “We use Jakinda’s kitchen.”
Sabine happened to be staying at Jakinda’s, sleeping on the couch, since Therese, her husband Gordon, and their two boys had Ella’s room there, and that was all the space there was. “At least it’s quieter than Mum and Dad’s place,” Nyree had overheard Sabine telling Marko this morning. “Marginally. And I’m not in a tent.”
“I’d swap,” Marko had said, with some dancing happening in his eyes that said,No, I wouldn’t,“but, you know . . . groom. I’m all good with my wedding night being under the eaves in my childhood bedroom. Teenage fantasies realized. I finally get a girl up there. I don’t much fancy having it on Jakinda’s couch, though.” And Sabine had laughed, so that was better.
“Oh,” Olivia said to Sabine now, and pressed a palm to her chest. Overdoing it a bit, Nyree thought. “You’re right, of course. Jakinda’s kitchen works. Thank goodness. Darling, youarethe most precise of us. All that fiddly separating of eggs, too, and not letting a speck of yolk in. Do you think you could . . .”
Sabine said, “Of course. I’ll take those strawberries, Nyree, and the kiwifruit and cherries, and, let’s see . . . eggs. Cream. I’ll do two rectangles. Much better than circles, for a crowd. You have vanilla and cornflour and sugar, I assume, Jakinda? Normally, I’d say ‘white poison,’ but itisa wedding.”
Of course she’d say “white poison.” What would she say when Hayden and Luke and Kane and Victoria showed up with the bootful of wine and beer they were buying in Christchurch on the way up? They’d had to arrange to hire an oversized SUV just to fit it all, Vic had told her.
Jakinda said, “Of course I have vanilla and sugar.Honestly.”
Sabine started packing up, and Mary smiled. Tiredly. Marko had carried her down this morning, the tenderness in his face nearly destroying Nyree—blame pregnancy, blame her wedding day, blame love—and settled her in a lounge chair beside the dining table. The doors to the deck were open to the mountains, and she lay in the sunshine with the breeze on her face, a blanket tucked around her and her eyes closed, coughing periodically with an effort that wracked her thin frame. There was no doubt, though, that she wanted to be here.
“Good to feel the . . . life,” she’d said, her dark, low voice thready. “Be with the family.” She’d put a hand on Nyree’s belly. “Moving, eh. Swimming.”
“Yeh,” Nyree said, choking up again. “You can feel it? Marko can’t even really feel it yet.”
“Maybe not with my hand,” Mary said, “but I feel it anyway.” Nyree put a hand over the old one, with its tissue-thin skin, felt the blessing there, and knew they’d been right to come.
Now, Olivia asked, “Is Nyree having a girl or a boy, do you reckon, Mary?” Moving the subject away from recipe-following, white poison, and so forth. She told Nyree, “She’s got a record for knowing.”
“Because old women are wise,” Nyree’s own Nan said, with the twinkle in her eye that had skipped a generation, because Nyree’s mum Miriama didn’t have it. “Good for all of you to remember.”
“Three witches here,” Nyree said. “Everybody’s always thought Nan was one, with her Maori remedies and the way she sees. I’ve always thought you were one, too,” she told Olivia, “With the Tarot cards. A good witch. And Amona, too.”
“Oh, darling,” her Nan said, “we all know you’re a witch as well, with your colors. All the best women are witches.” She laughed, went over to Amona and took her hand, comfortable as always with illness, and asked, “If I made you a tea, Mary, would you drink it? I brought some stuff, in case.”
“Yes,” Amona said. “Thank you. That’s . . .” She had to stop to cough. “Kind.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Sabine asked, in the midst of her packing-up. “Tell me what you’d be putting in it, if you don’t mind,” she told Nan, “and I’ll do a check for any possible interactions with her antibiotics, or any other adverse effects.” She’d finished her medical training exactly one week ago, and thought she should be running the World Health Organization. She’d already offered Nyree her opinion about painting while pregnant. Fortunately, Nyree was in an extremely good mood, which was why she’d just said, “Luckily, I use acrylics,” and let it go.
Nan said, “You can look it up, if you like. It’s a decoction of kumarahoe for cough, with a bit of manuka honey added for sweetness and extra healing. Shouldn’t interfere with anything, but go on and check, will you? Let me know what you discover. Always good to learn new things, eh.”
In judo, Nyree had learned, you used your opponent’s energy against them rather than your own. Surely, her Nan had mastered the art, and so had Olivia. Witches indeed.
“Women’s medicine is good medicine,” Amona said, and again, Nyree could see the eye-rolling from Sabine. Nan poured hot water over the decoction and set it before Amona, cupped the other woman’s hands in her own, and said, “I’ll say a karakia first as I offer it to you. A prayer, if that’s all right.” And Sabine didn’t say anything.
“That’s all right,” Amona said.
The Maori words rolled off Nan’s tongue with all the musicality and power of a meeting in the marae, and it was like Nyree was there, because the feeling in this house was exactly the same.
“Whakataka te hau ki te uru
Whakataka te hau ki te tonga
Kia makinakina ki uta
Kia mataratara ki tai
E hi ake ana te atakura
He tio, he huka, he hau hu
Tihei mauri ora!”
She asked Nyree, “Would you translate it for me, my darling?”
