by Sarah Lark
“But this is a disaster,” Matariki said. “For him and his family, but also for us. What’s going to happen now? Who’s going to replace him?”
“Richard Seddon probably. Ballance already appointed him his deputy. In that respect, he’s been formally presiding over the upper house for almost a year,” Kupe noted, forgetting that he was thereby also addressing his words to Matariki. “But he—”
“He’s no real Liberal,” Matariki completed the thought. “It’s not about political goals with him, just influence. And the Liberals are simply the party with the most supporters.”
“He’s a populist,” Kupe added.
In her head, Violet thanked Caleb Biller for the hundredth time for his dictionary.
“You mean to say he doesn’t have time for women and the Maori,” she said timidly.
The others nodded gloomily.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Sean sighed. “The man is, well, one of the conservatives once described him as ‘partly civilized.’ However, it seems rather disrespectful to me to be talking about his successor now. John Ballance was a good man. We should say a prayer.”
Violet lowered her head and joined Sean in saying an Our Father. Kupe and Matariki politely murmured the words to the Christian prayer but then looked at each other. As before in Parihaka, they did not need to say anything. At once and in harmony, they began singing a haka. Both had lovely voices, and the Maori lamentations for the dead sounded out onto the streets of Wellington. John Ballance had labored for understanding between the races. He had brought along many laws that benefited both the Maori and pakeha equally.
Whether Richard Seddon would continue down this path was written in the stars.
In the small office of the Te Kotahitanga and the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, at least, John Ballance posthumously provided for reconciliation and peace: on the day of his death, Matariki and Kupe began speaking to each other. Not much, not often, and not over anything personal, but the ice was broken.
As Sean and Kupe had expected, the day after Ballance’s death, the governor named Richard Seddon the new premier, a bitter setback for women, Maori, and other people struggling for recognition. Sean suddenly found himself confronted with the Chinese Protestant immigrants whom Seddon had described as monkeys. Sean had to wrestle with new ministers whose only qualifications for their posts were their friendships with Seddon, and he reported to Matariki and Violet on the heated debates on women’s suffrage. Seddon rejected it forcefully and pleaded just as passionately against any bills regarding the sale of alcohol.
“He’s being paid by every brewery and distillery in the country,” Sean speculated, “and they’re also torpedoing any push in the direction of women’s suffrage.”
“It’s just a question of what he has against the Maori,” Kupe sighed. “You really can’t accuse us of lacking a taste for alcohol.”
Matariki smirked. “My dad even taught the Ngai Tahu how to distill the stuff themselves,” she remarked. “His friend Tane still delivers to half the South Island.”
“I just think it’s disgraceful,” Violet ranted. She still could not laugh at whiskey-related jokes. “Equality of the races and sexes counts among the foundations of Liberal politics. This Seddon can’t play the party leader and premier if he denies them.”
“Robert Stout told him that to his face too.” Sean grinned. “In just about as many words. You’ll be giving speeches soon, Violet. Mark my words.”
“We’ll all be giving speeches,” Matariki said. “We all have to redouble our efforts. From now on, it’ll be one rally after another. We’ll demonstrate so loudly that Mr. Seddon won’t be able to hear himself think.”
The Women’s Christian Temperance Union, the Women’s Franchise League, their Maori equivalents, and the Tailoresses’ Union all made good on Matariki’s threat. The women’s organizations outdid one another in the writing of petitions and calls to rally. Women protested in front of Parliament practically every day and collected signatures. As a sign of their vocation, they decorated their clothes and hats with white camellias.
Atamarie and Roberta participated ardently. The girls painted banners together, helped carry them through the streets at the protest marches, and asked their mothers to let them gather votes together.
“If there are two of us, no one’ll try anything. We’ll be able to run around and gather signatures.”
Matariki and Violet allowed them, at least at their own rally, and the girls almost burst with pride when first Matariki and then Violet as well took the podium and pled passionately for women’s suffrage.
Violet began her speech with the words, “I’d like to tell you a story today,” just as Sean had begun his address in Christchurch. Clearly and passionately, she described her marriage and how she had joined the fight through the Temperance Union for the right of women to vote. “I don’t know if I would be standing here if this were a rally for a strict alcohol ban,” she concluded. “There are arguments for and against that, and every woman and every man will have to weigh them when we really do hold a debate over whether the devil gets into our husbands through the whiskey, or whether there are also other reasons they mistreat us. But I know one thing for sure: men and women are equally capable of considering, weighing, and deciding. They must be equal under the law. So, give us the right to vote!”
Atamarie and Roberta hollered their excitement and yelled along when the women chanted, “Suffrage now.”
“You little gals surely won’t be voting any time soon. Is that any way to behave in public?” a curmudgeonly man said to them.
Roberta blushed, but Atamarie would not be cowed. She laughed in the man’s face. Then she pointed to the women on the podium. “No, sir, we’re too young. But we won’t always be. Those women up there, our mothers, they want to vote. When we’re old enough, we want to be elected. Sir, allow me to introduce Roberta Fence, premier 1920.”
“Not a bad idea,” Matariki said later when Atamarie told her about the scene. “Roberta in the pakeha Parliament, you in the Maori. Then we’d finally be able to work together.”
“That’ll be the day,” Kupe snorted.
He left open whether he meant women’s leadership overall or Atamarie in the office of Maori premier. She was, after all, anything but a pure-blooded Maori. Whenever Kupe looked at her, he recognized the features of his enemy.
Chapter 2
Two weeks before the upper house’s decision in September, John Hall and a few other representatives brought the last petition of the women around Kate Sheppard to Parliament with more than thirty-two thousand signatures. All in all, a quarter of New Zealand’s female population had spoken out for the right to vote, and Kate insisted on attaching all the signatures together herself and wrapping the list around a broomstick. John Hall presented it with all due theatrics, letting the list unroll from the broomstick down the long aisle in the middle of the legislative house. As he held up the petition before Parliament, the many thousands of names formed a row between the parliamentarians. At the end of the aisle, the bare broomstick stopped with a dull thud.
As expected, the bill passed the lower house with a large majority.
“We’ve managed that often enough before,” Sean said. “It depends on the upper house, on September eighth.”
A few days before that important date, Violet and Matariki could not find Roberta and Atamarie. They had agreed to a late lunch with the girls after school and planned to meet Kate Sheppard and Sean as well. Kate had arrived the day before. She wanted to be there for the decision in Wellington.
Violet grew nervous when Roberta had not arrived ten minutes after the agreed-upon time. “Just where is she? She’s usually so punctual.” Violet had already finished her work and was looking impatiently out the window at the street.
Matariki, who was still sealing letters, was less concerned. “I thought Atamarie was already here,” she remarked distractedly. “Dingo was wagging his tail, anyway.”
The old dog lay under Matariki’s desk and was usually too tired to stand up and greet new arrivals. As a rule, though, he announced his friends by wagging his tail and whining, and he tended to notice their approach before they opened the door.
“Dingo wags his tail for just about anyone,” Violet said, unconvinced.
Matariki sealed the last envelope. “Dingo only does that for us and the girls, Kupe, and Sean,” she specified. “And Kupe went to eat with Hamiora an hour ago. Why would he come back now, walk up and down the street, and then just go again?”
“Why would the girls come and go again?”
She still worried about possible revenge schemes on the part of Colin Coltrane. Joe did not write about him anymore, but Joe rarely took up his pen. Heather, on the other hand, reported that when Chloe’s lawyer had met with Colin, he was in a rather desperate situation. The stud farm was being liquidated. She did not mention anything more, and in truth, there had been nothing that suggested a concrete threat to Violet. However, she had lived in fear so long that she now—from Sean and Matariki’s point of view, in any case—invented dangers.
Matariki shrugged. “How should I know what gets into Atamarie’s head? Maybe they forgot their white camellias.”
Atamarie and Roberta were exceedingly proud of the symbols identifying them as suffragettes. They would not meet with Kate Sheppard without a flower pinned to their clothes.
“Both of them?” Violet expressed doubt. While Matariki tidied up her desk, Violet paced back and forth between the two office rooms. “I’m going to go look for her,” she said when the girls were almost twenty minutes past due. “Will you wait for them here?”
Matariki rolled her eyes. “We could also just go to the restaurant and leave a note for them on the door. I don’t know about you, but I’m dying of hunger.”
Matariki was not a bit worried. Atamarie was self-sufficient.
Violet shook her head. “How can you even think of food now?” she asked accusingly. “The girls are so reliable. Something must have happened to them.” With that she stormed out.
Matariki stayed behind, shaking her head, but she used the time to write another letter. Violet was right when it came to Roberta. A person could set his watch by Violet’s daughter. Atamarie, however, often talked Roberta into foolishness. Violet had to know that too.
Violet tried to think clearly. What could the girls have gotten into?
Violet scanned the broad street lined with tall trees to where it stopped at an angle across from the Parliament Building. The girls’ current favorite game was “premier.” What if they had stumbled on the idea of looking at their future workstations? Maybe a side door had been open, and the girls slipped inside and lost track of time exploring the building.
It was worth a try to look for a way in herself, and she was too nervous just to wait. She crossed the street and discovered a side entrance that was wide open to the gardens behind Parliament. Two Maori gardeners went in and out with watering cans, sacks of manure, and plants. The door must have led to the maintenance area.
The Maori greeted Violet with a friendly kia ora. Unfortunately, they did not understand English, so they couldn’t answer her questions about the girls. Violet was almost sure of her hunch. Atamarie did not speak Maori as fluently as her mother, but she spoke enough to trick the gardeners about her and Roberta’s business in the Parliament Building. Violet would not even put past her a “Kia ora, we’re the future premiers and wanted to take a look around first.”
She wavered between looking for the girls herself and going back to the office to ask Matariki to question the gardeners. She shied away from entering buildings closed to strangers and women, but the door was open. And it was her Parliament, belonging to all New Zealanders, man or woman.
The gardeners did not stop her from entering, and she didn’t encounter anyone as she went through the maintenance area and storerooms. Now, almost more curious than concerned, she climbed the stairs to the main level, admiring the inlay work and columns in the broad corridors, and looking with awe into the large assembly hall. Finding no trace of the girls, Violet decided to continue up to the second floor, where she found archives, libraries, and offices. From one of the offices, behind a large, elaborately worked door, sounded the characteristic giggling of excited girls.
“Go, just have a seat in your chair, Robbie. So you get a feel for it. Roberta Fence, the premier. Or is it mistress premier?”
Violet looked at the sign next to the office door: “Mr. Richard Seddon, Premier.” She flung open the door. Roberta had just settled into the premier’s chair. Atamarie was enjoying the view out the office’s large windows.
“Have you two lost your minds?” Violet yelled. “We’ve been worried sick about you, and you’re in Mr. Seddon’s office. What do you think he’d do with you if he caught you?”
She did not know that herself either, but there was guaranteed to be a heavy punishment for snooping around at the center of power. Roberta sprang up at once, but Atamarie would not be intimidated so easily.
“We just wanted to bring him a white camellia,” she said. “We thought it’d be a good idea. He’d ask himself who put it on his desk, and then—”
“That’s just about the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Violet shouted. “The man would think who knows what, and it’s possible Sean and Sir William Fox and the other supporters of our law would have to answer for it. Now, get going, out. We’ll talk about your punishment later.”
“Shh, Mom.”
Roberta put her finger to her lips and looked fearfully at the door. And now Violet heard it too. Heavy footsteps were approaching in the hallway. The three interlopers froze.
“Come into my office,” a booming voice sounded. “We’ll talk better over whiskey.”
For a moment, Violet hoped the man meant a different office, but she knew better. Atamarie was already looking for a way out.
“In here,” she whispered to the others.
Next to the cabinet on the wall was a narrow door that led to a tiny closet. There was barely enough space for the two girls and petite Violet. The three of them pressed in tightly, and Roberta closed the door just as the men entered. It was pitch-black in the closet. Violet hoped Seddon did not store his whiskey there.
“Hand on your heart, you’re not opposed to a good swig yourself, Bromley. You wouldn’t like it if we soon had to get the stuff under the table.”
Glasses clinked.
“Cheers, my friend.”
“Excellent whiskey, sir,” Seddon’s visitor declared. “And you’re right. None of us wants alcohol prohibition. However, we don’t have to vote on that. It’s about the women’s right to vote, and—”
“One’s the same as the other,” Seddon said. “The moment we let those hysterical women get their hands on the power, Sheppard and company are going to close our pubs.”
“Naturally, that would be a shame, sir,” Bromley said, “but the last word hasn’t been said on that. And New Zealand is a democracy. If the people want to close the pubs—”
“The people absolutely do not want that,” Seddon blustered. “Only a few moralizers want it, fanatics like that Daldy who would even ban wine in church if she could.”
“Then the people will vote accordingly. I’m a Liberal, sir. I entered this party with the conviction that all men are equal before the law. And that means—”
“That next thing, we’ll be letting ourselves be ruled by women and the Maori?” roared Seddon. “Fine then, Bromley, we’re of different opinions here. You represent Liberal principles, which is praiseworthy, but I see our party most of all as the party of the little man. They want their families safe, and they want their pubs. Not feral suffragettes who won’t let them enjoy their time after work. Can we agree on that, Bromley?”
The listeners did not hear anything, but they gathered Bromley nodded assent.
“In that case, I can assume then that you’ll be reconsidering your attitude regarding the vote on t
he pending legislation, can’t I? You know, several posts will soon be vacant. Until now, I’ve hardly changed anything, you see, for reasons of, of def-defer—”
“Deference,” Bromley helped him. Seddon had not had any higher education. Without a doubt, he had never studied a dictionary.
“Precisely. But soon it’ll be time to form a cabinet, Bromley. You can rest assured of that. And I tend not to forget my friends.”
Silence in the office.
“Another glass?” Seddon finally asked.
“I need to go now, sir. But I’ll think it over. Although the post of Minister of the Treasury might be of interest. You do know I come from a family of bankers?”
Violet swallowed. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“We’ll work that out at the appropriate time,” Seddon said. “Wait a moment; I’ll accompany you out.”
Violet prayed the premier would not lock his office. They only heard the heavy door shut, no key in the lock. Atamarie immediately opened the closet door and gasped for air. It was a warm spring day, and the three of them rushed out of their prison.
“Is drinking alcohol allowed here?” Roberta asked.
“They did something much worse,” Violet exclaimed, “and they’re planning something even worse than that. I have to speak to Sean. But we need to get out of here. It doesn’t bear thinking about what would happen if they discovered us. Influencing representatives, bribing them even. There will be consequences.”
Violet had the girls go ahead to see if the coast was clear. Whether the girls were discovered was no longer as concerning to her. Seddon would not be threatened by two guileless children in the Parliament Building. But a representative of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union?
Atamarie returned to get Violet while Roberta watched the stairs. “The premier’s gone,” Atamarie whispered, no doubt savoring the adventure, “but the gardeners might be too. Then we’ll have to climb out the window.”
