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‘Hey, Sis, what about you and that gorgeous hunk of masculinity?’

Frances made light of it, saying Ian wasn’t her type, but from the look on her sister’s face she felt sure Kathy didn’t agree. Quickly she changed the subject so that Kathy forgot her earlier interest.

Martin arrived then, with Aunt Fay and Uncle William. They moved into the lounge and had a round of drinks while greeting each other. It was Uncle William who was a horse fanatic and he had taught all the Elaman children to ride. Now he too wanted to hear all about life on the farm. Shortly afterwards another group of cousins arrived and Frances and Martin were kept as busy as the Christmas tree lights. The pile of presents sprawled farther into the room, their bright wrappings and bows hinting of joys to come.

The dinner of traditional turkey and roast lamb was magnificent. The table was laden and the silver and crystal sparkled in the light. The cousins had brought along several bottles of champagne and this added to the merriment. Afterwards the men washed up while the women rested and the children waited fretfully for the grown-ups to hurry up. At last the whole party was gathered ready in the lounge and the youngest one selected a parcel and handed it to the right recipient. Then the youngsters handed the other gifts around and the contents were revealed. Soon bright colourful wrappings festooned their way from one end of the lounge to the other.

Frances was delighted with her gifts, some of her favourite French perfume from her parents, a cookbook from Kathy, and Martin had selected an unusual pottery vase. Her uncle and aunt had given her some exquisite silk material in blues and greens and the cousins had given her a box of chocolates. As well there were parcels from Jenny and Rupe which Ian must have put in last night. The boys had picked one of the latest top pop cassettes and Gam, Jenny and Rupe had given her an exquisite petticoat and pantie set.

There was another package and the card said Ian, so she slipped it into her pocket. It burnt a hole against her hand as she sat through afternoon tea and the Christmas cake being cut and eaten. This year Kathy had helped her mother with the cake. It had been one of Frances’ special jobs as a youngster and this was the first time she had missed. However, Kathy had been made to feel special. She had kept it simple with white icing peaked to look like snow and a miniature tree made from cutting a few inches from the end of the branches of the cedar tree in the garden. Kathy had dabbed spots of the white icing to look like snow on the tree and highlighted it by sprinkling it with shiny cashews. Frances was most impressed and complimented Kathy sincerely. The neighbours arrived and more chatter and small gifts were exchanged, then despite protestations that they couldn’t eat anything a cold buffet was served of salads, ham, cold turkey, surrounded by fruit and Pavlova.

Frances gave her mother a quick glance. As usual she was busy looking after others, but there was no sign of tiredness. Mrs Elaman loved entertaining and cooking was one of her delights. Frances and Martin and Kathy cleaned up afterwards. The rest had drifted back to the lounge and when Martin and Kathy joined them, Frances slipped out into the garden.

Frances
felt in her pocket for Ian’s present and with fingers shaking opened it carefully. Inside lay a small silver brooch with a design of a tree. One branch of the tree sparkled greenly with tiny leaves of jade. The card was plain but neatly printed: ‘Keep a green bough in your heart and one day the singing bird will come.’ It was an old proverb, but not one Frances knew. The message seemed to bring hope. She looked at the brooch carefully, admiring its delicate charm. It was beautiful and she knew it had been selected with considerable thought. Yet it seemed paradoxical. Ian had turned away from her, yet he had given her this present. Without him how could the singing bird come?

Carefully Frances pinned the brooch on to her dress knowing it would look exquisite against the jade colours. Then reluctantly she faced the family again, slipped in unnoticed except for Martin, whose eyes raised in a slight question. She smiled back at him and, satisfied, he turned back to listen to his uncle. Soon afterwards the fun of Christmas charades began. Frances had prepared hers before, ‘Is a bang-up time a Christmas cracker?’ and to her delight young Kathy worked it out very quickly.

At last the guests departed and Frances could go to bed. She unpinned the brooch carefully and put it back into its box, with the card. Slightly grimly she wished she could dispose of the ache in her heart so neatly.

Weariness of body and spirit seemed to engulf her as she lay in bed. It had been a memorable Christmas, she thought ruefully. Her leg ached, throbbing painfully, and it was echoed by the pain in her heart. The one thought to cheer her was the message, ‘Keep a green bough in your heart and one day the singing bird will come’.

Everyone slept late the next day until Kathy pulled the rest out of bed, declaring they were all turning into Christmas bedbugs. There was a flurry of activity to straighten the family home after the festivities of the day before. During lunch Martin suggested they go to the beach for the afternoon and everyone seemed to agree on this idea. Frances was glad she had slipped in her bikini when packing for the week at home.

It took only fifteen minutes to drive to Sumner Beach. The younger people were ecstatic to see the enormous rollers breaking in white foam to leave lacy frills upon the sand. Mr Elaman decided to drive to the Scarborough end of the beach. It was very rocky, having only a small sandy strip, but because of that it was less crowded.

Mrs Elaman, Kathy and Frances had worn their swimsuits out, so it was not long before they were tiptoeing into the water. Kathy screamed with mock terror when a large wave reached her knees and Mrs Elaman won the race to get wet with a remarkable dive through the following wave. Kathy wasn’t going to be beaten by Frances and the two glanced at each other before diving together through the next wave. Martin had disappeared with his surfboard earlier and Mr Elaman joined them in the waves. He had bought a large soccer ball 'and the whole family had enormous fun leaping and diving after it through the waves. Frances kept thinking about Ian and wondering how he would enjoy the scene. The force of the water surged over her suddenly and she spluttered and coughed, tasting the salt in her mouth. Kathy grinned and said something cheeky to an incoming board rider and it made Frances realise how far they had drifted in the currents. Kathy rejoined her parents on the sand, but Frances struck out through the waves, wanting to release the pent-up feeling of anguish. She should not have been surprised to reach the surfboard riders’ playground and one of them, a friend of Martin’s, recognised her. He signalled for her to join him on his board and Frances scrambled up willingly. Last year she had spent quite a lot of time in the surf at weekends and if conditions were right, after work too. Now she was faced with picking the wave, and seeing the gleam in her partner’s eye and his quick nod she leaned against him as they stood on the tip of the wave. The wave carried them shorewards in crashing splendour, the swift movement demanding instant responses of their bodies. It was a thrill to feel the wind and the wave rushing past, and Frances exultantly turned to her partner, seeing the look of delight echoed in his eyes, before she was crashing through the water. She came up laughing at herself for forgetting the original laws of gravity and waved an apologetic farewell to Martin’s young friend before striking out to the shore. She was surprised how much strength it took to make the shore and realised she had been rather stupid in venturing so far. Her mother was pouring hot coffee and she drank the liquid thirstily. Martin rejoined them too and they sat in easy companionship, content to lie in the sun.

About four o’clock Mr Elaman declared that he felt like a barbecue. The rest of the family cheered because he was acknowledged as an expert. It didn’t take long to shrug the sand off themselves and return home. Mr Elaman had built his own brick barbecue some years before and over the years had collected some impressive hardware. Martin and Kathy piled wood from the garage ready for the expert’s touch. He was happy to explain that he found wood a good base to build up a pile of ash, using only a very little charcoal. The neighbours joined in too and the aroma of wood smoke soon drifted in the evening air. Frances grinned at the sight of her father demonstrating the art of cooking chops, steaks and sausages, pointing out the places to sear and where to cook. She filled a glass of beer for him and stood watching as he expertly turned the meat, being careful not to allow the juices to disappear into the flames. Martin hooked up the loudspeaker and played some of the latest pop tunes. Frances ate a chop; the flavour was deliciously tangy and the side salad and beetroot and cucumber went with it well. She sat on one of the outdoor chairs under the walnut tree, letting its green leaves give her privacy as she watched the party.

Martin was flirting lightly with their neighbour’s daughter and Frances could see the pleasure in the young girl’s face. She had been a bit of a pest around the place when she was younger, wanting to tag along with Martin, but now she kept her distance and Martin was the one to do the running. Perhaps in a few years both of them would settle to a permanent relationship—who knew? Frances looked at their fun and sighed deeply. She felt about nine hundred years old tonight, lost and desolate. The memory of Ian’s gift seemed only to taunt her, for how could she keep a green bough in her heart when she felt so alone? She chided herself for her weak selfishness and began to clear up the stack of paper dishes, burning a number of them on the now almost dead barbecue, sending the flames flaring again. The cutlery she rinsed through before putting it into the dishwasher, then carefully she refrigerated the rest of the food. She felt very weak and her leg throbbed, so she decided to go to bed. Perhaps she had overdone the exercise, she thought ruefully as she changed into her nightclothes. She put on the white Grecian gown, remembering when she had worn it last in a small agony of feeling. It was a joy to recall Ian and the look of his dark eyes and the crinkle of laughter lines on his face. She went over again the words he had said at their last meeting, his apology, and his farewell. It had been so unutterably final; she forced herself to face it now and to acknowledge the searing agony that racked her.
¹

In the morning she got up early and began cleaning out the kitchen cupboards. It took her some hours and the rest of the household appeared and disappeared according to their whims. They appeared to be spending a lot of time in bed, thought Frances; life on the farm had become such a habit that early rising seemed natural. In the afternoon she took Kathy to town to buy a pair' of shorts. Kathy had received the money for Christmas and she had made Frances promise her that she would help her find a pair. It took some time to get the right cut and the right colour and they had traipsed through a number of shops before finding exactly what they wanted. Triumph showed m every line at last and they walked back to the car, pleased with the purchase. That night they went to a movie together and afterwards they sat round discussing it. There was an easy camaraderie and Frances knew how lucky she was that her family shared so much joy together.

On New Year’s Eve they gathered in their next door neighbour’s yard for a barbecue and pool party. Their other neighbours were there too, this being a more or less easy traditional gathering. Some brought hot garlic bread, others coleslaw, others wine and beer, some salads and meat. Frances smiled to see her father happily playing chef; he would have felt quite hurt if that chore had been given to some other hand. It was a happy atmosphere, office and shop routines forgotten with the holidays. Frances was the object of the attentions of two overgrown schoolboys, much to young Kathy’s disgust. Despite her lack of interest they scurried round vying for her attention, and even paid Kathy a compliment or two in an attempt to curry favour. Eventually they realised that Frances was not encouraging them and they turned their efforts to swimming. Earlier Frances had decided not to go into the pool. Her leg was healing beautifully, but she didn’t want to risk any infection. In the sea she had felt no qualms about it, but in the pool, despite its filtration system, she hesitated. The night stars were bright and she shivered suddenly as a cloud went over the moon. It reminded her of her nightmare experience and she longed for the comfort of Ian’s presence. Instinctively she closed her fingers round the tiny silver brooch she had clipped on earlier, her fingers feeling automatically for the tiny leaves of greenstone. The cloud shifted and the moonlight shone again. Somewhere a pop record blared out and one of the young men appeared, asking her to dance. She tried, but found the movement worried her ankle, so she guided her partner to Kathy, who willingly jumped at the chance for a ‘proper dance’. At midnight everyone joined in a big circle and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ as the clock struck. There was much kissing and hugging as everyone wished each other a Happy New Year. The party would continue for some time and there was not a chance of sleeping if she went home.

Quietly Frances slipped along the drive and out into the street. She headed towards the river, seeking its quietness and peace. Most of the surrounding houses were quiet now, although here and there a light glowed. Frances felt totally relaxed in these quiet streets. They were familiar and safe, she had jogged along here hundreds of times. She turned a corner and found herself following the course of the river, a mere creek at this stage but made beautiful by the trees beside it. She rested against one of the trees, its trunk forming a backrest. Glancing around, she realised this was the spot where Ian had kissed her on Christmas night. The leaves fluttered briefly above her and the water rippled and sang as it danced its way to the sea. It gleamed black with silver patches glinting suddenly where the street light caught a ripple. It made her smile to remember her last moonlight run to the mighty Rakaia. This she could possibly jump over, but the Rakaia was so wide. Even its name told a lot, for ‘Rakaia’ referred to the way to ford it, and meant ‘where strong men stand in rows’. Strong men of the tribe would stand together holding a line and breaking the force of the current so the women and weaker members could walk in safety. Frances smiled at the comparison of this small river, yet it too could prove treacherous and flooded regularly. As quietly as she had come she stood up and made her way home. It was very early in the morning and the revels had ceased from next door. Faint smells of the giant barbecue still held in the night air and she wrinkled her nose.