After twenty minutes driving through a deserted countryside where each corner and each turn offers another stunning view of mountains, forests, and the always present coastline, I come to the turnoff to Wright’s Homestead. I’m saying deserted countryside because we came across six cars in total on this stretch of the road. The secludedness suits us. Too many people make us nervous.
Some people get all gushy about nature. I think it’s okay as long as you don’t lose sight of your goal. Don’t think for a moment that a beautiful landscape means you are surrounded by good people. When we grew up, Elizabeth’s parents lived in a valley that looked like paradise; and still, they inflicted horrendous abuse on us. I’ll wait a while with my final judgment about our new home, thank you very much.
Our new home. It has a heavenly ring to it. I heard Elise worry whether it’s ours. She shouldn’t have. But then, she doesn’t know Sky, who is so meticulous in everything she does. Sky could be German as well, but she isn’t. I don’t even know if Sky is anything. Maybe she’s like Switzerland. Neutral.
Sky made me ring Land Information New Zealand in Wellington and check on the title. All we have to do is provide documents that we are Amanda Wright’s niece. The title hasn’t been touched for over fifty years.
“In your own time,” the guy on the phone said, which translates into, no worries, no hurry. I won’t even comment on how slack that is, but for once it works in our favor. So, I shut up, no matter how hard shutting up is for me.
I focus on the road that turns after a while from asphalt to gravel until it’s nothing but a narrow dirt road lined with moss-covered tree colossi. I’ve never seen giant trees like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if this piece of wilderness is still like it was when the dinosaurs roamed these woods.
At the sight of the dense forest, a rush of excitement sends heat to my face. I love the wilderness. I couldn’t say why, but I know for certain, this forest will become my best friend.
Luke’s instructions on the clipboard say take the third turn-off on the right. I almost miss it and slam on the brakes so hard the van is skidding sideways. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, not helped by the fact that it’s dark under the canopy of trees and a bit creepy. The track is uneven with old tire marks carved deep into the dirt. I slow down to avoid an accident.
After four hundred yards the trees make space for a large clearing in front of me. I can see the house—our house—standing there, waiting for us. Just like the gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel. Without the witch and without the gingerbread cladding. It looks forgotten. Wild ivy is climbing up the sides of the house, covering most of the windows on the second floor.
A broken-down fence with bits of a gate marks the beginning of a forgotten, overgrown track that leads from the road to the house. I slow down and stop. Complete silence, aside from faint birdsong and the rustling of leaves in the breeze, floats into the van through the rolled down window. After a deep sigh, I breathe in the sharp fragrance of woodlands combined with the pungent smell of damp earth and composting leaves.
This is heaven. Our heaven. I could sit here forever and let the serenity of the place soak into my bones. But I don’t have forever. I feel pressure in my head telling me the Tribe on the inside is rather bewildered. All they see is an out-of-control wilderness and the sea of blackberry bushes that re-possessed what once must have been a garden with pathways and vegetable plots.
It’s not always easy with a bunch of little kid parts. They are stuck in the past. Miss Marple is right, they only learn and grow when they come into the body and interact with the outside world. Only then can they see that now is different from then. Otherwise, they live forever in the trauma memory they hold, like Groundhog Day. That’s a horrible existence. My heart goes out to them.
Although how she expects bring the children out to happen is a mystery. They are not puppies you can take for a walk at a dog park or throw balls to fetch. I’ll ask her the next time we speak. I always thought that’s what therapy sessions were for.
I leave the van and make my way to the house. Our new home is built of study weatherboard and is in decent condition by the looks of it. It’s difficult, though, to clear a path to the front door. I end up with scratches from pesky blackberry bushes and leaves and twigs end up stuck all over my person.
Where’s the key? When we found the deed, nobody thought about the house key. I search everywhere for a key, under the wooden doorstep, on top of the door frame, and under bushes. Nothing. This can’t be the end of our successful escape. If need be, I’ll smash one of the downstairs windows.
“Have a look in the watering can.”
Oh my, I’ve totally forgotten little Mikey, our very own Jim Hawkins. He won’t know where you’ve put the car keys you’ve mislaid, but he sure knows where people hide things. I pick up the old watering can that’s lying forgotten on the ground under the window two yards from the door. Mikey was right. There, banging in the tin can is a rusty old key.
“Thanks, Mikey. Well done, you.”
I take the key and chuck the watering can back into the overgrown garden. I sympathize with the kids, the wilderness is a bit too wild, even for me.
“Nothing a little elbow grease can’t fix.” Luke is trying to send a positive message to all of us.
“Really? That’s how you want to spin it?
