Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

  Kevin grabbed a scalpel. “But we’ll win in the end?”

  Barrister nodded. “There’s no question. The Boers really should give up. But they won’t. And besides, they’re to our rear as well. Most of the young men here”—he gestured around the tent—“weren’t hit while attacking the town, but rather by marauding commandos that came out of nowhere. There are now whole sections of the army assigned to securing the surrounding hills. Many of your countrymen, as it happens. It’s said they ride as madly as the Boers. I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a compliment, but they’re already calling them the Rough Riders. And they seem to be successful. I’ve had hardly any of them on my table.”

  In spite of their efforts, the three difficult cases they had put off died on Kevin and Barrister that night—and Kevin began to understand the haunted look he’d seen in Tracy’s eyes. If the whole day had passed that way . . . well, he would see the next morning. Kevin’s ten official hours of service at the front would begin at sunrise. Two hours before that, he collapsed on a straw bed next to his last patients.

  Chapter 4

  Lizzie and Michael wanted to hold Patrick and Juliet’s wedding at Elizabeth Station, and Patrick was all for it. He loved the farm—after all, he would inherit it one day—and he was also close to the Maori tribe living nearby. This additional “family” could take part in the wedding, and lodging could be found in Lawrence for friends and family from Dunedin.

  Juliet, however, vehemently rejected a wedding “in the middle of nowhere.” Instead, she wanted a ceremony in Saint Paul’s Cathedral and a celebration in a grand Dunedin hotel. She did not get the former. Patrick insisted on Reverend Burton officiating. Juliet pulled out all the stops, including crying and claiming that she felt ashamed in front of the pastor and his wife. After all, the two of them had known her as Kevin’s girlfriend and might guess about the baby. Patrick merely shook his head.

  “Dear, they’ll learn about it one way or another. The Burtons and the Drurys are very close. Sean is Kathleen’s son and my half brother. And no doubt you intend to have your bridal gown made at the Gold Mine? What were you going to tell Kathleen? No, dear, we’re getting married in Caversham, and Reverend Burton will do the honors.”

  Regarding the hotel, however, Patrick let himself be convinced, and even defended Juliet’s position to his parents. “She’s the bride. She has a right to celebrate in Dunedin with her friends.”

  “I keep hearing about these friends,” Lizzie said. “Well, a year ago no one here even knew Juliet LaBree, and I still haven’t seen these supposed well-wishers and bridesmaids.”

  “Mother, come. It’s supposed to be the loveliest day of her life. She’s earned it.”

  “Earned it?” Lizzie asked more heatedly. “How? By letting herself get pregnant without asking if your careless brother even loved her? Possibly doing it just to get her claws in him? Really, she’s earned a beating. She should be grateful that you’re giving the child your name at all.”

  “I understand why you don’t like her,” Patrick said with resignation.

  Lizzie sighed. “I wanted a nicer girl for you, Patrick, someone sincere and loving. But I’ll get used to her. And she’ll get used to me. If the world is supposed to believe the baby’s yours, she’ll have to spend the next few months with us in Tuapeka. She does understand that, doesn’t she?”

  Patrick nodded. “And precisely for that reason—”

  “We ought to grant her a reception in Dunedin,” Michael finished. “Come on, Lizzie, have a heart. We’ll celebrate with the Maori a few days later. But let Miss LaBree be the belle of the ball one last time. Especially since—”

  He stopped himself with a quick side-glance at Patrick. His son nodded eagerly, not noticing that Michael hadn’t finished his thought. But Lizzie understood. Michael had held his tongue out of consideration for Patrick. For Juliet, this wedding was a terrible disappointment. She was not getting anything she’d wanted. Only a husband she didn’t like and a baby no one knew if she would love.

  And so, the Drurys rented the ballroom of the Leviathan Hotel in Queen’s Gardens. Patrick engaged musicians according to Juliet’s wishes—“Your mother would probably have hired a chamber music group and your father a fiddler from an Irish pub”—and Kathleen designed the snow-white wedding dress, as well as pastel-green creations for the bridesmaids, Roberta and Atamarie.

  “We won’t need to advertise this year’s bridal fashion,” Claire said contentedly when she saw Juliet in her gown for the first time. “Every single girl in Dunedin will dream of looking so beautiful walking down the aisle.”

  “A little slimmer around the stomach would be ideal,” Kathleen observed drily. “No one’ll notice, though. She corsets herself mercilessly. The poor baby’ll probably be gasping for breath.”

  “Baby?” squealed Claire. “You think she’s pregnant?”

  Kathleen nodded. “And a ways along too. I don’t mean to gossip, but do you think it has something to do with Kevin’s sudden rush to the imperial banner?”

  Claire giggled. “You don’t mean to gossip. Right. Of course not, Kate. That really wouldn’t suit a pastor’s wife. Come on, whom should we tell?”

  Naturally, Kathleen and Claire did not tell anyone, and aside from the perceptive seamstress, only a few wedding guests noticed that Juliet looked plumper than before. Her dress hid it brilliantly. It was a truly glamorous creation: the headdress, skirt, and sleeves were modeled on the feathery form of rata blossoms, while the top was tight, emphasizing Juliet’s lifted breasts. Kathleen took her inspiration more and more from the country’s rich flora. Last year, her white camellia wedding dress had caused a sensation. The delicate flower shape had emphasized the bride’s sensuality—and moreover, the white camellia was a symbol of women’s suffrage.

  “I want one like that when I get married,” Atamarie had declared.

  Now there were cheers as Patrick led Juliet in her rata-blossom dress up the middle of the little church in Caversham. The reverend gave the congregants a reproving look. He was well aware that the small church’s pews were packed in part because the women of Dunedin wanted a preview of his wife’s designs before the fall fashion shows.

  “Doesn’t rata first grow as a parasite?” Lizzie asked her husband under her breath.

  But Patrick was beaming from ear to ear. He wore a light-gray suit, which made him look dapper.

  “Not quite as dashing as Kevin,” Claire whispered to her husband. “I hope Mrs. Drury isn’t disappointed.”

  Jimmy Dunloe repressed a smirk.

  Both bridesmaids looked unreservedly enthusiastic about their role. Atamarie could guess why Roberta was beaming so. Kevin’s enlistment had hit her hard, even with Atamarie’s reassurance. Look, she had said, he’s guaranteed not to see a woman there for months. Then, when he comes back, he’ll see you with new eyes. This wedding, at least, gave Roberta hope again. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t have to follow Kevin and Juliet down the aisle.

  Atamarie, for her part, had not yet had a moment to tell Roberta about the romantic developments in her own life. She had just come from Taranaki, arriving in the nick of time to dress and do her hair. The friends would have to exchange stories later.

  Now they listened attentively as Juliet and Patrick said their vows, he in an emotional but firm voice, she almost uninterested.

  “It’s amazing she can even speak,” Violet whispered to her husband, “as tight as that corset is. I wonder—”

  Sean Coltrane smiled. “Perhaps Kevin’s following in a certain family tradition,” he replied. Everyone knew that Michael had left a pregnant Kathleen years before, though for very different reasons. “At least Patrick’s getting what he wants. I hope she makes him happy.”

  That day, at any rate, Patrick was the happiest man in the world. He enjoyed the party at the Leviathan and swung Juliet first to waltzes, then to more-modern music. The bride, however, soon became dizzy, which was no wonder. Juliet’s corset was so ti
ght that she could hardly partake of the excellent food.

  “And hardly any champagne,” Chloe whispered to her beloved. “I guess she’s not going to sing tonight.”

  “It’s a shame, really,” replied Heather. “She does it very well. If all she sings in the future are lullabies, it’ll be a waste of her talent.”

  Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think she’ll have children soon? If you ask me, a woman like her knows precisely how to prevent that. After all, it ruins the figure.”

  Heather furrowed her brow and observed Juliet with the probing eye of a painter. “If she doesn’t want any children—why then is she giving up her art and marrying Patrick? Besides, am I mistaken, or is she already a bit swollen?”

  Atamarie and Roberta took no notice of the bride’s figure. They let themselves be asked to dance a few times, but in truth, they wanted to be alone to talk. Finally, Atamarie snagged a bottle of champagne, and the girls withdrew to the balcony. It was cold out there, but no one bothered them. Only the cheerful music—the band was now playing Sousa marches—drifted out and colored their conversation.

  “And then he just left?” asked Roberta.

  Atamarie had been telling her about Rawiri’s rescue and the magical evening when she strolled the hills with Richard Pearse and told him of her dream of flying.

  “He thinks just like I do. He feels what I do. And then, he kissed me.”

  “But he left the next day?” Roberta repeated.

  “Well, it wasn’t his choice,” Atamarie said, frowning. “Professor Dobbins thought we couldn’t finish. We weren’t progressing as quickly as planned—no wonder, with those clueless snobs like Porter. Anyway, Dobbins split us into two groups. My group continued surveying from Parihaka, but the other group had to go to the other side of Taranaki. Under Richard’s guidance.” She made a face.

  “And it absolutely had to be Richard?” Roberta asked. “Couldn’t someone else do it? I mean, this Richard of yours isn’t even a proper student, right? Could it be that Professor Dobbins—that he wanted to separate you?”

  Atamarie shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. Actually, I got the impression he thought we were cute together.”

  “Cute?” Roberta echoed. She could not imagine a university professor using that word.

  “Well, not ‘cute’ maybe, but, um, well suited. Whatever, I got the feeling he was supportive. He was less pleased about Porter and the others disappearing into the bushes with the local girls. And about me and Richard, he did notice that my mother saw, so—”

  “Your mother saw?” squealed Roberta. “You, with Richard, in the bushes—”

  “I wasn’t in the bushes with him,” Atamarie said with a regretful sigh. “He’s too much of a gentleman. We just went for a walk. In the hills, like I said. Because of the updraft. And the angle of approach. I thought it would work for a flight attempt, but Richard said you wouldn’t reach the necessary speed for a pure glider flight. At most with a double-decker. Lilienthal—”

  “Atamie. I don’t want an engineering seminar. Tell me more about Richard. Did he at least hold your hand?”

  “He did. And we kissed.” She neglected to mention that she was the one who’d kissed him.

  “And then he left the very next day,” repeated Roberta. “Couldn’t you go along to the other side of the mountain?”

  “No, the professor wouldn’t allow it. I was the youngest in the group, after all, and the only girl.”

  “But he asked?” inquired Roberta. “Richard, I mean.”

  “Yeaaah.” In truth, Atamarie had asked. Richard seemed not to have even thought of it. He was much too excited about his appointment as the leader of the expedition. It was an honor, of course, especially since he had hardly taken more classes than Atamarie. “But, anyway, he had to go,” Atamarie insisted. “The professor knows he has a great future ahead of him.”

  Roberta frowned. She looked charming that evening. She had been thrilled when Kathleen helped her into the green bridesmaid’s dress. She knew she’d been dressing too morosely of late. But without Atamarie around, she fell under the influence of the teaching academy. The girls there dressed dourly, already prepared for their future positions. None of them planned to marry any time soon, as a teacher who did so was still pressured to retire. In fact, many of them already seemed like spinsters. They took part in the harmless student gatherings, but they never flirted with the male students. Granted, those men held no attraction for Roberta either. Of the three in her year, one was already married, one seemed unmanly, and the third was all skin and bones, and as awkward as if he had just turned fifteen. Besides, if Roberta dressed too nicely, the whole school stared. And Roberta hated drawing attention.

  “And when did you see him again? You did ride back to Dunedin, didn’t you?”

  Atamarie tugged at a strand of her gold-blonde hair. “Well, yes, we rode back together, of course. It was so nice. We talked the entire time.”

  “Talked?” asked Roberta. “Nothing else? After he’d already kissed you?”

  “Well, not with everyone there.” Atamarie turned away in embarrassment.

  Roberta raised her eyebrows in alarm. That didn’t sound like Atamarie. Shyness was alien to her, and she always found a way to get things she truly wanted. Sneaking off for a little time alone with Richard Pearse could hardly have been beyond her.

  “But he did kiss me good-bye,” Atamarie said defiantly. “In Christchurch, before we parted. He was so sweet, a little shy, but completely, totally captivating. He told me how much he enjoyed spending time with me. And that we absolutely must see each other again.”

  In truth, Richard Pearse had mostly spoken of his farm in Temuka where he now had to return. He had hated the mere thought of it, and Atamarie had comforted him. I could come visit you, she’d said hopefully. We could build a kite.

  Richard had then shown her his gentle, shy, now almost desperate smile. You are always welcome, Atamarie, he’d said. And then kissed her very tenderly. On the cheek.

  This time, in front of the uptight university, with no hangi and no whiskey, Atamarie had not dared to repeat her advances. She just stood there, unsatisfied.

  “We’ll write each other,” she insisted.

  Roberta pursed her lips. She lacked experience, true, but this didn’t sound like passion.

  Patrick and Juliet spent that night in the bridal suite of the Leviathan Hotel, and as Juliet had half hoped and half feared, Patrick was very considerate. Juliet had nothing against her new husband; on the contrary, Patrick’s devotion flattered her, and his helpless compliance almost made her feel tenderness for him. Passion or even love, so far, she could not summon, but she tried to remain optimistic. This man was Kevin’s brother. It could hardly be that he was so incapable of his brother’s wildness and imagination. Juliet was hoping to be surprised. True, she found it strange that Patrick did not touch her before their wedding night, but maybe he was saving his energy.

  Tonight, however, it was exactly as she had expected. Patrick lifted her up, laughing, and carried her in his strong arms to their room. He laid her on the bed where he had even thought to have rose petals scattered. Then he began to kiss her tenderly and to undo the fasteners on her dress.

  “You’re not too tired, dearest?” he asked kindly when she at first made no move to help him.

  “Nonsense,” murmured Juliet. “If only you could free me from this corset—I just can’t move.”

  “Why do you need to wear your corsets so tight, anyway?” Patrick struggled with the silk-covered buttons. “You know I would just have gladly married you in one of the reform-style dresses.”

  “Why not a circus tent?” Juliet shot back, and tugged at one of the buttons herself. What was all this caution for? She was not going to wear this dress again. Kevin would long since have ripped it from her body.

  Patrick laughed nervously, then applied himself to undoing the corset’s bands. Juliet let out a great sigh when he finally succeeded. She
lay relaxed and naked before him while the sight seemed to take Patrick’s breath away. Juliet almost giggled hysterically at the thought. One of the two was always out of breath.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Patrick whispered. “I just don’t know. I don’t know—”

  Juliet closed her eyes. It couldn’t be. She had married a virgin.

  But then Patrick did take the initiative. He began to kiss her body and to caress her, moving his fingers in circles. It was thoroughly pleasant. Juliet gave herself to his caresses—and her own fatigue after the stressful day. But then she pulled herself together. She could not, under any circumstances, fall asleep. So, she returned his touches, intensified them, trying to drive Patrick to wilder kisses, to harder, stronger advances. But it was in vain. Patrick was a slow, considerate lover. A shy virgin would have enjoyed this consummation, but Juliet was experienced and spoiled. She liked to play, to switch roles; she wanted to laugh, scream, and arch her back. Patrick’s tenderness did not excite her. When the time came, she feigned climax. She had done it for many men. But how sad to do it on her wedding night.

  “That was quite lovely,” whispered Patrick. “You make me very happy, my beautiful beloved. We shall have a wonderful life together.”

  Juliet did not answer, quarreling instead with her fate and hopes. She had wished for security, and here it was. Security, but also boredom.

  Not passion.

  Chapter 5

  Kevin was awakened by the first grenade blasts of the day. He had slept through the early-morning gunfire, and he wouldn’t have believed there’d been fighting if not for the two Scottish soldiers waiting to have wounds from grazing shots bandaged.

  “We weren’t supposed to wake you, Doctor,” one of them said. “We’re hardly dying.”

  “Not like the bastards who attacked us,” the other declared. “Pure luck that McDuff has such a weak bladder. Otherwise, they would have taken the guards by surprise. But he went out the back of the tent.”