by Sarah Lark
“Best is to marry a good, morally firm man who is prepared to live abstinently,” one of the women said as she lectured on the subject of contraception.
“Like from whiskey?” Violet blurted out. “Can’t we just push for abstinence right along with prohibition?”
Then she laughed with her new friends. After all, if that sort of abstinence had stood on the Temperance Union’s program, no man would have been won over to membership.
On race days, Violet made the pilgrimage to the meetinghouse and listened to the speeches from the supporters of prohibition, or when she was lucky, from women like Kate Sheppard. She listened to Ada Wells, Harriet Morison, and Helen Nicol—and once even to John Hall, one of the few men who engaged in women’s right to vote. And then her heart almost stopped when Carrie Delaney showed her the announcement flyer for the next event.
The keynote speaker was Sean Coltrane, attorney from Dunedin and Liberal candidate for a seat in Parliament.
Chapter 8
“No,” said Michael Drury. “The answer is no, Matariki. No ifs. No buts.”
“That’s unfair. There’s no reason whatsoever to say no. The gold’s there. And it’s my inheritance anyway,” said Matariki, her amber eyes flashing.
Lizzie Drury turned her eyes to heaven. “Maybe you could just wait until you receive it?” she replied.
“Sorry. I meant that it’s my dowry. I have a right to my dowry. I—”
“You don’t have a right to a damned thing,” Michael said sternly. “You’re eighteen years old. You can marry without our permission, but you won’t get a dowry. We won’t finance a horse-trading business for this shady Colin of yours.”
“It’s not a horse-trading business. It’s a stud farm,” Matariki yelled. She was asserting that for the umpteenth time. She had expected enthusiastic agreement when she laid out Colin’s plans to her parents. After all, who would not think it was a good idea to open a racetrack and horse-breeding business in Otago? “We want to breed horses—from Thoroughbreds and cobs—for harness racing. We’ve thought it through, and it’ll be a good business.”
Michael frowned. “With that sort of crossbreeding, I have seen too many horses with big, strong bodies and short, thin legs. I’d at least ask Gwyneira Warden on Kiward Station before I started something like that. She’d lop off your heads if you bought horses from her and then attempted dubious breeds.”
“Michael, this isn’t about the horses,” Lizzie said.
Lizzie intervened before the conversation degenerated into a discussion of trotting versus galloping breeds. It did not matter from what stock Colin wanted to breed trotting horses. She did not intend to deliver her daughter to a dowry hunter. In her opinion, that was what this amounted to. Unfortunately, neither Michael nor Matariki really listened to her.
“We don’t even need to tell her,” Matariki said. “We’ll pay her for two or three mares, and once we buy them, it’s not Mrs. Warden’s business what we do with them.”
“And so it begins,” Michael replied. “The fellow doesn’t even have a single horse in his stables, but he’s ready to lie and cheat, and even the most important people to start with. He’ll get off to a great start.”
“Fine, then we’ll ask her,” Matariki said, backing down. “Probably she wouldn’t have anything against it. Colin knows loads about horses. He—”
“That’s all well and good,” Lizzie said, trying anew to launch an objection, “but it’s still no reason to put a fortune in his hands to gamble with.”
“You’re not giving it to him. I’m the one getting it,” Matariki yelled. “Without me, nothing would happen. We’re running the stud farm together. We’re making decisions together, picking out the horses—”
“But the whole thing will bear his name,” said Lizzie. “Watch out, Matariki. The moment you marry him, he has control over your money. And you hardly know him.”
“I hardly know him?” Matariki exploded. “I’ve been with him almost, almost half a year. And we”—she blushed slightly but defiantly continued—“we’ve long since been man and wife.”
Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You mean to say you know how the lad looks naked. But he doesn’t reveal his thinking to you by dropping his trousers.”
“Lizzie,” Michael yelled, horrified.
Lizzie shrugged. “That’s how it is,” she responded. “I’m sorry, Michael, but sometimes respectability gets in the way of the truth. A bed, Matariki, is not a confessional. And I’ve heard tell you can even lie in the latter without God smiting you with a lightning bolt on the spot. I don’t trust Colin enough to invest money in him.”
Michael looked at his wife in amazement. Until then, she had always been the one speaking up for Colin while Kathleen, Peter, and Michael himself had looked at Colin’s relationship with Matariki skeptically. He wondered about her sudden change of mind.
“Then we can’t get married,” Matariki said, crestfallen, “not now that he’s resigned from railroad construction.”
Michael sighed. “Matariki, no one forced Colin to resign. If his intention to marry you hinges on how much money you’re bringing to the marriage, you’re better off letting him go.”
Matariki fled to Hainga, one of the Ngai Tahu elders and something like a grandmother to her.
“If your man doesn’t have any money, bring him with you and live with him among the tribe,” the Maori said.
Matariki shook her head in horror. “Colin would never want to spend the night in the sleeping lodge with all the others. He—”
Hainga nodded understandingly. “Of course not. He’s pakeha. Then build yourselves a cabin. Or move into Michael and Lizzie’s old cabin. You can breed a few horses there if you want. The land belongs to us, and since there’s no gold on it, no pakeha will care if someone else lives there. We can also give you a few sheep and vegetable seeds.”
For a Maori tribe, this offer was exceedingly generous. Most communities couldn’t afford to give anything away, and even this iwi, which was rich from the gold find, did not generally make presents to individual members.
“He doesn’t have a cabin in mind, Hainga, but a farm breeding first-class horses. Even a single Thoroughbred stallion will cost a fortune.”
Hainga shrugged. “Does he want you, or does he want horses?” she asked, eyeing Matariki. Until then she had only half listened to the girl while she wove flax.
Matariki sighed. “He wants me, but, but if he doesn’t make a proper living, then, then he can’t marry me. He’s very proud, you see. He—”
“You mean his mana depends on his possessions,” she said. “Yes, I’ve heard of such things. That’s how it often seems to be among the pakeha. But then he should acquire those possessions himself, shouldn’t he?”
Matariki became indignant. “It doesn’t matter, Hainga,” she said, “whether it’s my money or his, as long as we get married.”
Hainga now gave Matariki her full attention. “You want to pay him to marry you?” she asked, alarmed. The thought of a dowry was foreign to the Maori. “That doesn’t seem smart to me. Just leave it. You’re young. Maybe you’ll find someone better.”
Matariki turned her gaze to heaven. “But I love him, Hainga,” she yelled.
Hainga furrowed her brow. She took her time formulating her words. “You give him your love,” she finally said, “but you have to buy his?”
Matariki returned, pouting as she considered what options she still had available. One was to pan for gold secretly, like back when she wanted to secure Dingo a place to live in the stables. However, for the dog she had only needed a few ounces. To finance a whole stud farm, she would probably have to pan for weeks. That was hardly doable in secret. So, her second option . . .
Matariki smiled to herself. She liked the alternative better anyway. It would be lovely to have a baby. She mounted her horse and spontaneously pointed Grainie in the direction of Dunedin. Let her parents worry a bit about her when they came home. She wanted to spend this night with
Colin. And then as many nights as possible for the foreseeable future.
“Where else would she be? Probably with the Maori.”
Michael and Lizzie’s concern about their daughter stayed within reason, especially since, after their argument, they had watched Matariki ride in the direction of the mountains. “She’ll get a little sympathy and come back tomorrow.”
Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t think so. Particularly since no one in the village is going to sympathize with her. Haikina and Hemi can’t stand Colin, and that’s just the beginning. The elders won’t give her money no matter how much she begs. The Maori want to be sure the public doesn’t know about the gold find on their land. If there was even a rumor there was any gold left, another rush would start right away. The same goes for us. There’d probably be talk if we gave our daughter such a royal dowry now.”
Michael grimaced. “Well, she didn’t ask for a royal dowry. We could raise what she wants from the farm’s profits. After all, the lovebirds also mean to milk Kathleen and Peter. Kathleen and I already financed one Coltrane farm. We certainly won’t do that again.”
Ian Coltrane had built his first horse-trading business with Kathleen’s dowry, a stash of money that stemmed from Michael’s whiskey bootlegging.
“I am, however, interested in why Sergeant Coltrane has suddenly fallen out of Mrs. Drury’s favor.” Michael grinned at his wife conspiratorially. “What happened, Lizzie? Until now you really did like him.”
While Lizzie was still thinking about her answer, he went to the cupboard in the living room and brought out a bottle of red wine. That evening both Drurys could use something reviving, and though Michael preferred whiskey, wine would cheer Lizzie up. She smiled as soon as he uncorked the bottle.
“So, nothing stood out to you at the parish festival?” she asked mischievously. “Or to Peter? Kathleen and I saw it at once. And so did Claire Dunloe.”
Michael frowned. “What am I supposed to have seen?”
“The looks our future son-in-law was giving Chloe.”
Colin’s strict Scottish landlady would not allow Matariki to wait in the tiny apartment Colin had taken in the back of a building in Dunedin. She reacted indignantly to women visitors. When Matariki spent the night with Colin, she had to slip in under cover of darkness. Since Colin was not home, the landlady sent Matariki away, and she did not even tolerate her waiting on the street in front of the house.
“We’re engaged,” Matariki said, giving the landlady a crushing look.
“A young lady meets a young gentleman in one of their parents’ homes for tea. Perhaps her parents will allow them a short walk or boat ride in public. A visit to a bachelor’s apartment is improper, miss, and this is a respectable house.”
Matariki sighed and finally backed down. She went to the parsonage, where she found his horse hitched in front of the stables. Heather’s Thoroughbred was also waiting for its owner. Matariki tied Grainie next to them, pausing when she heard angry voices from inside.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t go in,” Heather said from the garden, where she was pulling weeds. “Help me instead. When the seas have calmed, we’ll both go in and hope there’s tea.”
Matariki gladly joined her. “What’s going on?”
Heather shrugged. “Peter and Mom are fighting with Colin,” she said. “Just don’t ask me what about. I have my suspicions, but—”
“Colin wanted to ask your mother to invest some money in our horse-breeding business,” Matariki said. “However, that seems to be a red flag to everyone involved. My parents’ reaction was extreme. And yet I have a right to my dowry. I want—”
Before Matariki could make her complaint yet again, the front door opened, and Colin stormed out. He looked more enraged than Matariki had ever seen him, and when she addressed him, he gave her a wild look.
“Riki, what, what are you doing here? Dearest, I’m not in the mood for flirting. I need to get to Mr. Dunloe’s. My mother has just rejected our finance plan. Perhaps the bank will give us the money for the stud farm. Or have you managed to speak with your parents?”
“They don’t want to give me my dowry,” Matariki said sadly. “But, Colin, we can get married anyway. The Maori will give us land and sheep. If we manage that well for a few years—”
“The Maori.” Colin spat out the word. “Do you think I’ll let them support me? No, Matariki, we won’t do anything halfway, and we can’t wait a few years. It’s just a matter of time before someone else takes the matter in hand. It’s now or never, Matariki. Think about it.”
Colin’s words almost sounded threatening, although Matariki did not know what she could do to further Colin’s plan. Unless she became pregnant. Then she would have to marry Colin quickly, and her parents would not deny her the dowry.
Matariki went to Colin and snuggled against him. “Colin,” she said softly. “The bank can wait. Why don’t we go for a little ride? To the beach perhaps. We could swim, and then we could indulge ourselves a little.”
At first Colin seemed as if he wanted to rebuff her, but then he changed his mind. His smile seemed somewhat forced, but he nodded.
“Very well, sweetheart, we really ought to treat ourselves to something. Come, then.”
Matariki was startled by Colin’s desire and by how assertively his tongue shot into her mouth. He had never before made love to Matariki as hard and with such wildness as on that afternoon on the beach from where Matariki had been abducted years before. She had wanted to tell Colin that story but had never found the time to tell him about her bizarre experiences among the Hauhau. On that day, however, he did not want to talk, and he barely bothered with tenderness before he pushed into her. Matariki willingly accepted the new version of the love game. She preferred it to be tender, but if he wanted to experience the wildcat within her . . .
Laughing, she reared up beneath him and acted as if she wanted to resist, scratching her fingernails into his back and biting his shoulder. Matariki pulled away from him, ran to the sea, and dove into the waves. Colin had to run after her, catch her, pull her back to the shore, and throw her onto the sand. Out of breath, they rolled across the warm beach, their hair almost white with sand. Matariki laughed when Colin made a comment about it.
“Well, now you know how I’ll look when I’m old and gray,” she teased him.
Colin sealed her mouth with a kiss. He wanted to enjoy her beauty and wildness as long as he had her. He did not believe he would be growing old with Matariki Drury.
Chapter 9
Sean Coltrane was campaigning for the Liberal Party in Parliament—surely one reason why on the day of his speech in Christchurch, more than 50 percent of the audience in the Methodist meetinghouse was male. A few of the attendees were protesting against the children’s corner in the back of the hall, which Carrie Delaney was providing as usual.
“This isn’t a playground; it’s a political event,” one of them said. “Where’d we be if everyone brought his brats?”
“Somewhere with more women in the audience,” Carrie informed him calmly. “Where are your children, sir? At home, I imagine, and you let your wife look after them.”
“Our children are under the care of their nanny,” the man said. “My wife is at tea with friends. As a sensitive, good woman by nature, she has no interest in spending time in stuffy halls or pondering objectionable subjects as the idea of women’s right to vote.”
Carrie shrugged. “Well then, she’s lucky she can afford it. The women here don’t have a nanny, and they’d also rather be having tea with their friends. Unfortunately, they can’t even afford bread to serve with it, sir, because their husbands drink away their pay. Yet they see it as their duty, as good women, not to let their children starve. That’s why they’re here, sir, and why they need the right to vote.”
Sean Coltrane was amused by how politely and yet sharply the petite blonde teacher responded. This ought to be an interesting meeting. After all, Sean was on the stomping grounds of the ardent Kat
e Sheppard. Although he acted on behalf of women’s issues, rarely did so many female listeners fill the halls where he spoke. Kate was right: there was a need for the Women’s Christian Temperance Union where women were among themselves and fought for themselves on their own. He did not accord much meaning to the “Christian” in the organization’s name.
Reverend Burton had shaped Sean Coltrane from a young age, but the pastor was more scientifically than spiritually oriented. In truth, Sean had never understood why Peter remained loyal to a church that was always chastising him for speaking the truth. Burton had repeatedly had trouble with the bishop because he acknowledged Darwinism and occasionally preached about it and because sometimes the physical well-being of his flock was more important than the spiritual. With Reverend Burton, there had always been more soup kitchens than prayer circles. Sean thought that made sense and ultimately had decided to study law instead of theology. Surely that had caused Peter some pain, although Sean knew his mother was happy about it. Kathleen Burton had converted before her marriage, but at heart she was still an Irish Catholic. She could not picture her son as an Anglican cleric.
Reverend Matthew Dawson introduced Sean, and the lawyer joined him on the podium. While he did his best to sing along to the hymn “Give to the Winds Thy Fears,” he glanced at the audience. The men stood in the front, the women in the back. Only Kate Sheppard and Ada Wells were in the second row; between them sat a young woman he could not place.
Sean Coltrane was not easily impressed by feminine beauty. He had grown up around the Gold Mine Boutique, after all, and the girls of Dunedin courted the good-looking young lawyer. Among Sean’s clients were beautiful women, often touching in their helplessness, and self-assured Maori girls who represented their tribes in legal matters because they spoke better English than the young warriors. Until then, no woman had touched Sean’s heart, and now he marveled at how much the girl in the second row fascinated him. Was it that she seemed vaguely familiar? Sean asked himself if and where he might have seen the young woman with the chestnut-brown hair.
