Free Heartland by Jenny Pattrick Page B

Andrew, ‘as you are aware. We need to move with care. They have presented a very competent petition.’
    â€˜A petition? I don’t believe it. Who, in Manawa, would think of getting up a petition?’
    â€˜Bull Howie for one. Vera Whatshername, the Kingis, Fitz.’
    Di waves a hand as if brushing away flies.
    â€˜No, but Di, they must have their say. There are forty signatures. Several townies with properties in Manawa have signed — one of them an Auckland lawyer. He helped them draw it up in the proper language. They’re organised, Di.’
    Di looks at Andrew in stunned silence. Then rallies. ‘What on earth are their grounds?’
    Andrew flicks through the pages of argument. ‘They say bringing in sewage will ruin the rural quality of Manawa. A sewage system will lead to the possibility of subdivision. Subdivision will lead to Manawa becoming a satellite village of Ohakune. Ski-chalet development. They want to preserve their different semi-rural lifestyle. It’s well argued, Di.’
    â€˜Oh, good God, they’re Luddites, Andrew. You don’t go for that backward sort of thinking, do you?’
    â€˜The council may. They’re rural people too.’
    Di slams her hand on the table. ‘Amalgamation is theanswer. The Government wants it. Ohakune wants it. Taumarunui wants it. Amalgamation is coming — a single Ruapehu District Council — and Waimarino County bloody Council can’t hold out against it much longer. Then we’ll see about sewage for Manawa.’
    â€˜The petition also makes a big thing about rates. If sewage comes in, rates will go up and many of the locals won’t be able to afford to stay.’
    â€˜Yes. Well.’ Di smiles at Andrew. ‘We can’t hold back progress for the sake of a few old folk whose time is over.’ She stands. ‘I’ll have a word with Tom Peddie in Taumarunui. See how the amalgamation plans are progressing. All these small councils — it’s ridiculous. Nice to talk.’
    And she’s out the door, new plans forming as she roars back down towards Ohakune.
    The rain has passed over, swept by a fierce wind. Ahead the mountain stands, massive and clear against a blue sky, a small mushroom-shaped cloud hovering above the peaks the only remnant of the spent storm. There’s been a light dusting of snow, Di notices with approval. She’s hoping for a good ski season.

Donny thinks of shooting through
    Delia Goodyear stands in the long grass at the back of the section, listening. Every part of her great slabby body points towards the cottage over the fence. Her legs, thick as trunks under ancient brown tweed, could be growing roots they have been planted so long, so still. The screams inside the cottage rise to a new crescendo. Delia leans forward slightly, her horsy old face creased in pain as if a blow has caught her in the stomach. She straightens again. The direction of her attention never wavers.
    ‘Come in, come in!’ sings Aureole from the back porch. ‘Come in, Delia, you can do no good.’
    But Delia keeps her vigil. There’s no sign that she even hears her sister.
    The back door of the cottage over the fence bursts open and Nightshade hurtles down the steps, yelling back over her shoulder. Wild words fly out of her mouth, rising and fallingas she paces up and down between rows of silverbeet. Delia doesn’t watch her. The old woman’s eyes are fixed on the empty rectangle of the open door, where no one appears.
    ‘And what are you staring at, you silly old bat?’ yells Nightshade, noticing Delia and striding down to the fence. ‘Piss off, it’s none of your business!’ She reaches down, wrenches a handful of young carrots out of the ground and flings them at Delia. The orange roots, the clods, spatter against the shapeless grey cardigan but could have hit a stone wall for all the impression they make.
    Goodness knows what Nightshade might have flung next.