Placed in Short Story Competition A HOME IS MADE by RORA I Know it is always best and wisest for a couple contemplating marriage, to make preparation, and have a home and most of the furniture and linen, etc., all ready, and a nice tidy little sum of money put by for all the little extras, while one or even both parties should have a good job; but that isn't the way it was when we got married. I had never actually met the man who was to be my husband, for he was born and reared down in the South Island, while I was born and reared up in the North Island. Yet, ever since I was about eleven years old, I had known all about him and his family since his mother was my mother's second cousin and my mother had often said as I grew into my ‘teens, “Now dear, how nice it would be when you grow up, for you to marry Hakopa, it would please your aunt and me.” How full of indignation I was, but mother didn't take much notice, except to remind me that he was of my own kin. As I grew older, the subject was gently re-opened, just to get me used to it perhaps, and mother took a holiday once, and visited my aunt, Hakopa's mother. Not long after her return, she and my father decided it was time I had a holiday, and without any more ado I was despatched, as it were, to my aunt's place, away down South. How mixed my feelings were, as I journeyed for days. How I missed my mother and father to tell me what to do, and how to do it, and how I longed for my own home and surroundings, and my own familiar friends they were all hundreds of miles away while I was, oh so alone in the great wide world. Deep down inside me there burned a resentment; to think that my parents could so calmly send me off to an unknown place, to unknown people; of course they were my kin, but I had never seen them, and the longing for those whom I had left behind, almost overcame me; yet never a thought of disobeying occurred to me. I went on my long journey, a pitiful, lonely little person, blind to all As the train wound its tortuous way up into the Southern Alps, I looked down hundreds of feet to the waters below wildly rushing down over great boulders, the scene touched an answering chord in my heart. Up and up we crawled until we reached Arthur's Pass on a comparative flat, and what a sight met my eyes! Hundreds of people were standing around, and as our train drew in, hundreds more it seemed alighted and throngèd towards the place of refreshment, while I sat looking on. At last I was jarred out of thoughts of self, by the scene before me. As we had rushed across the plains below, I had relived my childhood days, and my schooldays, and as the train had gradually slowed down as it approached the mountains, I had lived again those happy days when with my brother and father and many friends, we had rode off, in the pride of the morning, to attend those little sports meetings, perhaps at some nearby town, or perhaps away out in some sleepy hollow, where nestled a tiny village. I had played again that exhilarating game of hide-and-go-seek on horseback, galloping wildly round five or six huge pointed stacks of fresh oats, over gates and round the plantations. Oh! How far away that all seemed now, as I sat and gazed at this surprisingly huge crowd away up here in the mountains, with the sharp, biting, yet somewhat exhilarating mountain air, and clear sunshine. I was in a new world, all alone! Ours was a long train, well crowded, and on the other side of the platform was another, equally long and crowded. It had not long emerged from the Otira tunnel, which we were about to enter, one of the great tunnels of our New Zealand railways. My mind went back to the time of the opening, and I remembered my mother telling us all about this wonderful tunnel, a feat by the engineers of that time—and here was I, about to enter into this great opening under the Southern Alps—approximately six miles of darkness, to emerge on the other side—and what? A thrill of excitement ran through the crowd as the electric engine was brought along and connected to our train. Soon we were all set and slowly we approached the tunnel. The trair gathered speed and most of the travellers chatted loudly as we sped along. How nice it was to come out into the friendly sunshine again. I for one was sick of tunnels and darkness. I took notice now of my surroundings, and I began to think of my destination; and about how long I'd stay at my aunt's and—yes—what would Hakopa look like?