“I understand. What was the name of that dog Mr MacGregor yelled at?”
“Which one?” Grant straightened – Tea could almost hear his knobby spine creak – and tipped his hat back.
“The black border collie with the white patch bib.”
“They’re nearly all border collies, ma’am. Mr MacGregor breeds them.”
“Please call me Tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It was cleaner, with very dark, long fur. And it had a speckled bib, like …” She didn’t want to say it, to give him that poetry, but he was watching her with what seemed such an open smile. “Stars in the night sky.”
Grant shook a fly off his face. “I don’t know the one you mean.”
She sighed. He had that sour lie smell about him she recognised now her senses were realigning to the country, but she had to let it be. Maybe he was another one who didn’t like her taking a man’s job, though he was being friendly enough as a front.
They turned into a cut in the trees. A field dotted with horses swept up to a large wooden farmhouse, painted white, with leadlight windows like large eyes. Smoke curled from the chimney even on a warm day such as this. Barns topped a rolling ridge carpeted with spring splendour. Cottages – sleeping whares, Grant called them – peeped through the pines. She vowed to enjoy the green as much as possible; already, patches were turning brown in the hard Otago sunshine.
A figure stepped out and claimed the veranda like the Queen consort of the farm. She watched their progress, arms folded across her chest. Mrs MacGregor. Tea shaded her eyes against the mid-afternoon glare to get a better look at the staunch, solid figure, and shivered. For a moment, the silhouette could almost be her own mother’s. She’d only just left, and this was supposed to be a new beginning. What ridiculous rules would she have to endure under this new matriarch?
And where did that strange dog go?
2.
Izzy smelled the new girl before she saw her. As she came up the path to the worker’s cottage, slapping dust out of her overalls and cramp out of her thighs, a scent tickled her face, redolent of fermenting rēwena bread crossed with the warmth of skin fresh out of cool water.
She paused on the path just out of sight of the ramshackle girls’ cottage and grabbed at shadows, weaving to her the parallel lines thrown by the tall pines along the path. Then she shook her head. Auē, pull yourself together, girl.
There had been someone out on the road. She’d been careless, earlier, got too close to the stranger. Only the excitement of the farm dogs at someone new in the territory had shaken her out of her stupidity. They’d called out to her, whipping up the scent.
And now, here the stranger was, already put to work with the others painting the cottage windows. The new girl’s smell twined beautifully with the myriad scents of the farm, like she’d always been there; something on the verge of danger.
Izzy glanced back but, like a gentleman, Grant never ventured near the girls’ cottage. What did he know about the new girl? The letter from the Land Service had been typically vague, and Mr MacGregor even less forthcoming.
The figure atop a small ladder stretched up, slathering the windowpanes with black paint. The bubbly glass would make it hard work to get a finish without gaps.
Frizzy black curls scrambled from the edges of the girl’s headscarf, tumbling over the lacy collar of a ridiculous yellow floral blouse set against the stiff, too-clean lines of new overalls. The absurdity of the view pulled a giggle from her.
At the sound of her laughter, the girl started and peered into the tunnel of trees. “Who’s there?”
“What in God’s good name are you wearing?” Izzy chuckled, revealing herself. She dumped her saddle bags on the veranda and scratched at the sweat in her hair.
The girl frowned. “Hello, pleased to meet you,” she said, paintbrush poised over the can dangling from her other hand. Very level. Very careful. Balanced. “My name is Dorothy Gray. You can call me Tea.”
Izzy blinked, time doing that funny thing where it slowed to a crawl as her senses expanded. The girl’s face! The scent made sense now. She was Robbie’s sister. Robbie, te māhunga wai, hadn’t said anything about her having signed up for the Land Service. Boys!
Time went on its merry way again. “Unfortunately, when I came to unpack I discovered my mother had, unbeknownst to me, repacked my suitcase with what she thought would be more appropriate work attire.” Tea glanced down at her blouse as if to shield herself from the directness of Izzy’s gaze. She frowned at the few black paint flecks that had already marred its sunshine state. “Apparently gumboots and my brother’s hand-me-down work shirts are not the done thing to meet charming young farmers in.”
Tea’s tone sliced up another chunk of amusement from Izzy.
“Oh dear. At least the rest of your gear from the Land Service will be arriving soon.”
“Really? More gear? I hope I have enough rations for it.”
Izzy scrunched her nose up, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges. “You should be getting a hat, sou’wester, wet weather gear, more shirts. That sort of thing. Doesn’t come all at once because supply lines are all over the place. And you don’t need to spend clothing rations. It’s supplied by the government.”
What was the Service telling these girls before they sent them out into the back of beyond?
Tea shook her head, bemused. “Well, if you say so. I’ll write back to Mum quick smart as well, to tell her to put the rest of my other gear on the train. That is, unless there’s a telephone?”
“Mr MacGregor doesn’t let the girls use the party line unless it’s an emergency. And you’ll also have to oil those boots up to help break them in if you don’t want blisters.”
“Too late.” Tea angled her mouth askew.
“Oh, by the way, I’m Izzy. Short for Isabel. Larson. Isabel Larson. Yes. That’s me. One of the other three land girls here.” A blush? Hold it together, girl. She pointed along the edge of the pane. “And make sure you get into the corners. Mr MacGregor is very particular about blacking out.”
Tea gestured a greeting with the brush and can. “Nice to meet you, Izzy. And thank you. I don’t know why the windows need to be blacked out here. We’re, what? Ten miles from the coast?”
“More like twelve.”
“What would the Japs want with us anyway? There’s only sheep and rocks out here!”
With a final flourish of paint, Tea climbed down, cricked her back and groaned. Izzy now found herself looking down at the girl. No, not a girl. Robbie isn’t that much younger than me, which means …