Deep Disappointment

As usual, Francis had been up and about his property very early. The sun rose early and set late, giving him a long day for work. He walked around on inspection, seeing his horse, cow, and garden, and knowing there had been no intruders to cause damage. He intended tidying the house before meeting Koro at the river for a trip across to town.

It was mid-morning before all was ready, and he set off in the wagon with Danny, eager to go. The wagon had become an absolute necessity on these town trips because of chaff for the horse, meal for the cow, and other bulky or heavy goods. Koro was already there at the river. This morning, even crossing the river was a pleasurable experience. His family were in his mind continually, and what he did was always with them in mind.

As Koro used his paddles, Francis had time to look about. On the home side were tree-covered hills, while across the river and beyond the large tussocky flat—which was Wanganui—were more hills rising gently, forming a sort of basin with an outlet seawards.

The shops in town were crammed full of necessities, even some of the more fashionable apparel for the ladies. Francis found it a most pleasant break to talk with many people that day. It was late afternoon when he and Koro carried the numerous purchases down to the river and the canoe. The greatest treasure Francis had that day was a bulky parcel from home. He held onto this after loading all the other items onto the canoe. Excitement and impatience grew, but he resisted undoing the package until he reached home. He was certain he would get news for which he had long planned—the date of their sailing from England, the ship, and the expected arrival.

Koro spoke to him, but he did not at first hear. He then explained to Koro about his thoughts, and Koro, very understanding, left Francis as soon as the wagon was loaded. For this, Francis was pleased.

With the wagon trip over at last, he unloaded his purchases and hurried into the kitchen with the mail bundle. Sitting down, he clumsily opened it and tipped all the contents onto the table. He could see by the writing that some were from aunts, some from friends, and some from his brothers. Ah! There were at last two—one from his father and one from his mother. These he must read first; all the others would have to wait.

Papa’s letter was first. He eagerly read down page after page. Papa acknowledged Francis’s last letter and went on to tell of the doings on the farm. It was with mounting impatience he skipped much of it to find that for which he was searching. Then that one tantalising sentence at the end of the letter brought a lump to his throat: “Sorry son about the postponement, but Mama’s letter will explain that.”

He sat in silence for no more than a few seconds, and then grabbed Mama’s letter. He read it and then reread it. Folding his hands under his chin, he sat there, his mind by now blank. He had no track of time, but finally got up and, dragging slowly but quietly about, lit the fire and the kerosene lamp. Still in a daze, he prepared something for his evening meal.

The Williamsons were deeply religious, and Francis had his Bible always near. In times of loneliness or unhappiness, he would take it up and read. It was well-read, and he knew just where to open it for appropriate consultation. That night, he opened it and read for a long time before solace came to him.

This was the deepest disappointment he could remember. Everything he had done had been with the coming of his family in mind. Even when he purchased the cow, he had thought of James, whom he knew would love the dairy work—just as he had chosen it at home. Francis had built the extra bedroom to accommodate the three boys, and he was very proud of his work. He had even made the bunks for this room and had the fourth almost completed by means of crossed timbers from the white pine, with sacking that had come out as packing attached for the hammock part.

Now his mother had broken the news to him that there would be at least a year’s delay, perhaps more. She had found the words with difficulty to tell him she was to have another child in November. She had been unwell for a long time and could not possibly travel such a journey until after the baby arrived. Even then, she added, it would depend on both her health and that of the little one. She went on to say that William was improving in health but still suffered from chest troubles and was still backwards in many ways.

Francis's thoughts went directly to his mother, whom he loved dearly. He thought of the sadness that had filled the years when four little brothers had lived for only a few months or years, and what it must have meant for her. Surely she must dread the thought of another baby in case it be as delicate as those she lost.

He stood by his newly lit fire, deep in thought. This was something he had never dreamed of. Surely she was past the age when women have babies. A flash of shock passed through his mind when he realised that if his mother could have another child soon, what was to stop her having several more children in the next few years?

No more mail or parcels were opened that night. They lay in an untidy heap on one side of his homemade table. Francis went to bed, putting out the light of his kerosene lamp, but lay there hour after hour with all the happenings over the past two years running through his mind—including the weeks before he sailed, and the promises that they would join him within the year.

It was not that he was homesick, nor that he could not live by himself, but this land he had found was all that had been promised and could open such a wide new life in a climate of everlasting sunshine for all of them. It was almost daylight when he was awakened by the pleasant bush noises. He got up and went straight out amid the songs of the birds, the rippling water nearby, and the noise of the wind in the trees.

Francis was a happy-natured person, loving everything about him, and although still feeling tired, he was no longer in any way depressed. He loved his land and would from then on continue to develop and work as though he would always be alone—but deep down, still hoping that by some miracle, it would come that one day his family would live here too.

He entered the small nearby paddock and Danny, his horse, began nudging him for a bag of chaff. This act really brought his mind into perspective, and looking about, he made plans for a further area to be cleared and grassed, where he could graze his first flock of sheep.

After breakfast, he had no desire to sit down and enjoy the lengthy letters and newspapers from his mail, so went out and set to work harder than he had ever done before. One thing after another seemed to fill his mind. The very next project was a paddock of wheat. A small flour mill had been started at the township and more and more wheat was required for a fast-growing population. This, he knew, would give him some of the satisfaction for which he still craved—mainly planting and bringing to fruition trees, flowers, crops, and the important subsidiary of animals, which brought food and income so necessary to the development of this country.