Embracing Change (3 page)

“Good choice.” The young girl behind the counter smiled as she processed the payment. “The pizza’s fresh out the oven and tastes really good. Take a seat wherever you prefer and I’ll bring your order in a couple of minutes.”

Sarah chose a table for two by the window. Outside, an old wooden tram rumbled past and geraniums in pink, red and white overflowed squat flower boxes. In the distance she heard snatches of a busker playing jaunty tunes on a penny whistle.

“Here you are, ma’am. Enjoy.”

Sarah thanked the waitress and took a long sip of creamy coffee, enjoying the rich aroma. It cost a fortune when converted back to South African currency and she knew she’d have to be careful with her money. For now, though, she was content to sit and eat and watch Christchurch from her window seat.

She bit into tender vegetables smothered with a crispy cheese topping. The pizza was delicious, as promised. If only her moods would stabilise! She felt like she was seesawing from desperation to hope and despondency to determination. For a while she was confident she could cope on her own, and then her emotions crashed and she wanted nothing more than to catch a taxi to the airport
. It’ll get better,
she comforted herself, swallowing the last forkful of pizza.
Give yourself a chance
.

The waitress, seeing she was finished, came across to clear the table. “Did you enjoy that?”

“It was excellent, thank you.” Sarah hesitated before continuing the conversation. “Could you tell me where to find a supermarket in town?”

The young girl thought for a moment. “The closest one would be in the South City Mall. Do you know where that is?”

Sarah shook her head. “It’s my first day here.”

“Are you staying in the centre of town?”

“No, I’m in a motel near the airport.” She dug in her bag for the map the lobby receptionist had given her. “See that circle? That’s where I’m staying.”

The waitress placed the dirty plate back on the table and pulled out a pen. “There’s a large shopping mall just here.” She drew a circle about halfway between the motel and town. “All the buses stop there. If you jump off on your way home, you can do some shopping and catch the next bus that comes along.”

“Wonderful. That sounds easy enough—it’s so confusing not knowing where anything is.”

“I know. I’m from a small town in the south but I’m studying at uni here. It took me ages to learn my way round.” She gave Sarah a warm smile as she picked up the dirty plate again. “It’s a great city to live in. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Back at the motel, Sarah tapped out another e-mail.

I successfully caught the bus into town this afternoon and discovered the city is incredibly beautiful—see attached pics. I spent a few hours exploring and then had a snack at a coffee shop. I won’t shock you by converting the price to Rands but will say it was probably three times what it would have cost in Johannesburg. I also went to a supermarket and bought a few things to keep me going. Some of the brands were familiar but most weren’t. My motel room has a microwave, kettle, toaster and fridge which will be enough for now.

I’m feeling very tired so will probably have a nap before making dinner. I felt fine when I woke up but jet lag has attacked again. I suppose I’ve been walking round town while everyone in South Africa is fast asleep. It’s 6pm here which means it’s 7 a.m. back home. I almost passed out on the bus back to the motel but was too scared I’d miss the stop!

I look forward to hearing from you both.

Love, Sarah

She clicked the computer off and pulled her suitcase onto the bed, digging under clothes until she found Luke’s photos. Opening the large manila envelope, she laid the enlargements across the duvet. His face was so familiar, the laughing eyes and cheeky grin framed by short dark hair. Each photo brought back a multitude of memories: parties, picnics, family birthdays, work functions, Christmas. She lingered over each one, examining Luke’s expressions before pulling out her favourite. It was one she’d taken of him, dressed in jeans and a casual striped shirt, leaning against a towering pine tree.
This will go well in the frame.

She pulled it from her hand luggage and carefully inserted the photograph. That done, she stood it up on her bedside shelf where he could watch over her. The yearning to feel his arms around her again was overwhelming, as it always was when she looked at the pictures.

“It’s just not fair,” she whispered. “I hate you, Dlamini.”

Chapter Three

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

—Jeremiah 29:11

The farm was on the edge of the Canterbury plains, where the land rose steeply to form the foothills of the Southern Alps. Joel’s parents had lived there forever, his dad inheriting the land from his father. That morning, the dogs came hurtling down the dusty track to meet him. “You want to go play, Shelley?” The golden Labrador in the back seat barked exhuberantly as he stopped the car and opened the door for her. For a moment, he was surrounded by a wash of hairy bodies, eyes gleaming, tongues panting, before they took off, racing across the fields to the homestead.

Joel’s mother was waiting at the door, a tall lean figure with cropped blonde hair and a wide smile. “I heard the dogs, saw Shelley was with them.” She reached out and hugged Joel tightly. “It’s so good to see you, Joel.”

“You too, Mom. I’m longing for some really good cooking.”

She swatted him playfully. “Go say hello to Dad. He’s in the shed, servicing the tractor.”

“I’ll give him a hand after I bring in the groceries.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a slip from the supermarket. “I got everything on the list.”

“Marvellous. It’s a real help, doing that for me.” She followed him to the car and they transferred a dozen plastic bags to the scarred kitchen table. “Go find your dad and I’ll unpack these.”

The shed lay behind the house, a weathered structure of wooden slats, topped with a rusty iron roof. The interior hadn’t changed in Joel’s lifetime. Rough shelves lined the back wall and supported jars brimming with screws, bolts, wire, and various engine spares. A naked globe illuminated the space, highlighting cobwebs that hung in wispy sheets from the roof. Joel stepped inside, inhaling the familiar tang of metal and engine oil, mixed with dust. His dad was wiping his hands on a greasy rag, gazing intently at a vintage red tractor that filled the shed.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Joel!” His eyes lit up with pleasure. “Good to see you, son.”

“Mom said you were servicing Betty.”

“Yep. That’s why she’s lasted all these years. Treat a machine right and it’ll serve you well.”

Joel ran a hand across the smooth metal seat. “She’s still looking good.”

“Surely is.”

They were silent for a moment before Joel laughed. “Do you remember the first time I drove her? The way I couldn’t plough a straight line because I kept looking back?”

“Do I ever? And your sisters were even worse. We planted potatoes that year and the rows curved all over the place. Didn’t matter, though. We still got a good crop.” He tossed the rag onto the work bench. “I’m done here. Just need to scrub up and then check on a ewe. Coming?”

The dogs came running as the two men walked toward the ute. Joel scratched Shelley behind the ears. “Coming for a ride, girl?” She whined expectantly and as soon as Joel’s dad dropped the tailgate, she bounded into the back with the farm dogs. They drove round the house, past the vegetable garden, past a field of grass, to the wool shed.

“What’s wrong with the sheep?” Joel enquired.

“Silly critter caught her leg in some wire. I patched her up and kept her in a holding pen overnight. Just want to check her temp and see how she’s doing.”

After commanding the dogs to stay, he walked through the rusty wool shed to the pens on the other side. Joel lingered for a moment, memories of a dozen shearing seasons coming back to him; the warm air laced with lanolin and sweat, the odours of dust and old timber, shearers stripped to the waist, deftly clipping the wool from sheep while others skirted and graded the fleeces. He’d mastered the art of shearing at fifteen and still came back most years to help.

Out in the pen his dad crouched on one knee, examining the damaged leg. “Looks good.” He rubbed a little salve into the affected area. Joel watched, admiring his easy manner with the sheep. His hands were calloused and tough from years of hard physical work, yet he could be so tender and gentle. Standing now, he gave the sheep a reassuring pat. “Reckon I’ll leave her here one more night.”

Back at the ute, he whistled for the dogs to jump off. “Let them have a run, eh?” He put the ute in gear and drove off towards the perimeter fence, dogs chasing behind, barking with excitement.

At the farmhouse a while later, the aroma of fried steak and onions filled the air. “Smells good,” Joel said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Here you are, dear.” His mother placed tall glasses of iced water on the table, condensation beading and running down the outside.

“Thanks, Mom.” He took a deep swallow. “So what’s for lunch?”

“Steak and onions, roast kumara, peas and carrots, and apple crumble and cream for dessert.”

Dad scrubbed his hands in the sink before joining them at the table. “Is the food ready, Izzy?”

“I just need to get the kumara out the oven.”

“Do that, and then we’ll pray.”

A minute later, the three of them joined hands around the table. “Lord, we thank you for this food and for your provision and ask for your blessing on it today. Thank you also for bringing Joel to visit and keep him safe as he travels back this evening.”

The aroma of cinnamon and onion filled the air as Joel heaped food onto his plate. “There’s nothing like your cooking, Mom.”

They were silent for a while, working on their food before Joel’s mother turned to him. “Any news on the girl front?”

He’d been expecting this. It had become routine, this digging to see if he had found a girlfriend. He didn’t mind, and winked at his dad as he answered.

“No changes, Mom.”

She cut a thin strip from her steak and dipped it in a pool of gravy. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“I’m only 27. There’s plenty of time.”

“So what happened with Mandy? She seemed to be a nice girl.”

“She is nice, Mom, but she’s not right for me.”

“That’s why I worry. I think you may be setting your standards too high. Why don’t you bring Mandy out to the farm again? Give her a chance.”

Joel sighed inwardly, his list of what he was looking for in a wife running through his mind.
Blond, tall, passionate about God, likes the outdoors. “
I don’t want to encourage her, Mom. It wouldn’t be fair because I don’t like her in that sort of way. I’ll know when I meet the right woman.”

“I’ll keep praying then.”

“Got much work on?” Dad changed the subject.

“I have a job in Greymouth next week. A photo shoot by the Grey River.” He turned to his mother. “If it’s okay with you, I thought I might drop Shelley off on the way and spend the night with you.”

“Of course. You know I love having you around.”

Joel swallowed a forkful of kumara. The New Zealand sweet potato was sweet and cinnamony as it dissolved in his mouth. “Have you heard from Becky and Susan recently?”

“Becky called last night and said they’re planning a barbecue together this weekend. It still amazes me how those two ended up marrying brothers and living so close to each other … and in Auckland at that … ”

Joel grinned at his dad. They’d heard the same story a hundred times or more and it had become something of a joke between them.

“Are you two laughing at me again?” She put on a stern face. “No dessert for men who misbehave.”

Joel held his hand up. “I repent. I’ll never laugh at you again if it means no apple crumble.”

“Sure you won’t.”

Joel relaxed into his seat. He had the best of both worlds with his own home in Christchurch and also the freedom to come out to the farm as often as he wanted. “So how’s church going, Dad?”

“Pretty good. You know we have a new pastor? He comes to our little church on Saturday evenings and visits the other areas on Sunday mornings and evenings.”

Joel nodded, remembering similar routines as a young boy. Many of the tiny villages scattered across Canterbury couldn’t support a pastor by themselves, so shared one amongst three or four. “I’ll try and make it out one Saturday evening. I’d like to meet him.”

“That would be great, Joel.”

“It would be good to see all the old faces again. The close-knit community stuff is what I really miss, living in town.” He carried his plate to the sink and cleared his parent’s plates as well. “You have to work hard to make the same kind of connection with city folk.”