Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

  “Anything but Kathleen,” Lizzie warned him, and lifted up the baby, who was beginning to whine. Beyond the ardent search for a name, Juliet hardly took care of her baby and also declined to breastfeed her.

  “I know she doesn’t exactly look Irish,” Michael continued, “but Mary or Bridget might be good. The main thing is that her name doesn’t embarrass her and isn’t too hard to say.”

  The conflict was finally resolved when Juliet consented to Michael’s choice, but she insisted on a French spelling. As Lizzie predicted, the registrar in Dunedin misspelled “Marie Brigitte” twice when entering it.

  Reverend Burton entered it in the family Bible without a problem, but he furrowed his brow.

  “What do you plan to call her?” he asked the parents, who had come to arrange a baptism.

  Juliet and Patrick spoke at the same time: “Marie,” she answered. “Bridey,” he said, earning a glare from his wife.

  Kathleen, who was just then bending over the baby, saw a dark, smooth little face in the light of the summer sun.

  “Either way, she’s beautiful,” she declared. “In Ireland, we say, ‘lovely as a day in May.’ Come, little May. Let me hold you a bit. My, but she’s big for her age!”

  And the nickname stuck, despite Juliet’s best efforts. For now, little May was passed from one enthusiastic Dunedin matron’s arms to the next. Everyone was charmed by the baby, and Juliet lapped up the attention. May’s baptism would be held in Dunedin, and Juliet felt as if she had finally returned to the world after a year in prison. Patrick and Juliet Drury proudly presented their daughter to the city, and no one questioned the ostensible birth date—not out loud, at least. Juliet finally moved into Patrick’s house on the edge of the city, which made Patrick boundlessly happy. But Juliet’s relief was dampened by Lizzie’s presence. Her mother-in-law insisted on staying with them until the baptism at least.

  “You need help while you get used to motherhood,” Lizzie insisted. “And get to know the little one. You’ve still hardly ever changed her yourself, or fed her. I understand you don’t want to breastfeed, but—”

  In truth, Lizzie did not understand that, but she knew that Juliet’s milk had dried up by now anyway. Since the birth, the young woman had adopted a strict diet. She was hell-bent on getting her old figure back before she presented herself to Dunedin. She had nearly succeeded, too, and the society women, Kathleen and Claire first and foremost, noticed.

  “But it wasn’t necessary to castigate yourself like that,” Claire said when Juliet returned to the boutique, looking for a dress for the baptism. “These days, you can wear looser reform dresses, especially so soon after giving birth. It can’t be healthy to wear such tight corsets either.”

  Juliet twisted her lips disdainfully. “I’m not going to run around like a fat cow,” she said, with a sidelong glance at Lizzie, who fortunately did not hear her.

  Claire and Kathleen, both slender, did often wear corsets. Lizzie, however, had given them up. She preferred reform dresses, which suited her. Lizzie was rather short and, now that she was getting older, slightly stocky. The loose dresses elongated her figure, and they were comfortable. Lizzie felt good in them and radiated that. Besides, the reform dresses in Kathleen’s collection were, of course, works of art. Lizzie did not look at all dowdy in them, at least not to anyone but Juliet.

  “Still, this looks amazing on you.” Claire praised the shining blue silk dress Juliet had picked out. “Do you already have a baptismal dress for the baby? If not, perhaps our apprentice could make one. There’s still some material left, and the girl has artistic ambitions.”

  Juliet accepted, flattered—and beamed when Marie Brigitte Drury was the first baby in Dunedin to be held over the baptismal font in a Gold Mine creation. The dress was stunning, and the young tailor raked in praise. Juliet was highly satisfied—until Patrick received the bill two days later.

  “Juliet, I don’t understand. So much money for a dress? I could have bought a horse for this.”

  Lizzie, who was ready to be home but could not bring herself to leave her granddaughter, laughed. “That’s what nice dresses cost, Patrick. The Gold Mine Boutique is especially exclusive. But don’t worry, it doesn’t have to become a habit. A baptism is a special event, and this is an error, anyway. Juliet’s and May’s dresses belong on my tab. You’ll let me treat you, won’t you, dear? As a little peace offering for having to put up with us this past year?”

  Lizzie smiled at her daughter-in-law, ready to make amends.

  Patrick smiled gratefully. “That’s very kind, Mother. Thank you. But we’ll have to rein in our costs pretty dramatically. I’ve paid off the wedding, but not the christening party. I don’t make very much, Juliet. We can’t afford the Gold Mine Boutique.”

  Juliet fixed her husband with a look of confusion but also rising anger.

  “But where else . . . ?”

  “Dear, there are a half-dozen department stores in town. And you’d look lovely in every single dress they sell.”

  “But I—but—Kevin—”

  Lizzie gasped. This harlot really dared to mention Kevin?

  Patrick looked like he’d been struck, and his eyes flashed angrily. Then, however, he dropped his chin to his chest.

  “Kevin—” he began.

  But Lizzie interrupted him. “Kevin would not have been able to afford it for long either. And now, stop harping on it, Juliet. You just got a new dress. You look gorgeous in it, and Kathleen’s dresses are timeless. You’ll be able to wear it for years. And you won’t have much use for it for a while, anyway. You have a baby, Juliet. You can’t come and go as you please anymore, especially not late at night. The season’s art openings and concerts will take place without you. It’s time you got used to it.”

  She placed May, whom she had been rocking, in Juliet’s arms. The baby woke up and began to scream indignantly.

  “We could, of course, live on the farm,” Patrick said, “and help out with the sheep. We could expand, make more money. The farm is doing well.”

  In truth, the Drurys made good money with their livestock breeding, but a portion of their income came from the gold in the river. It was far from exhausted because both the Drurys and the Maori drew from it sparingly. Over the past year, there had been a tacit agreement that no one would pan for the gold—the risk of Juliet discovering the secret seemed too great to both Lizzie and the tribe. Lizzie hoped her son would likewise keep it from the woman. If Juliet found out and ran her mouth, it could set off another gold rush—and with it, the destruction of the Drurys’ pastures and the Ngai Tahu’s village.

  Juliet shook her head in horror while Lizzie suppressed a smile. Patrick was so guileless that he’d made the suggestion in earnest. Fortunately, with that, the brakes were applied to Juliet’s spending for now. She would accept anything in order not to have to live in the country again. How that would work out in time—after all, Patrick was supposed to inherit the farm—Lizzie did not want to contemplate for the moment.

  Patrick had hoped living with Juliet would be paradise. He had dreamed of seeing her every evening, talking with her, holding her in his arms at night, and making her happy. He had also looked forward to the baby and was excited do his part in caring for the little one. He enjoyed giving May her bottle, and her little smiles made his heart sing.

  Now, however, he had to admit that nothing was as he’d hoped. Juliet was neither willing nor able to do housework. The first evening he came home, he was greeted by the inviting smell of food and a clean house—but also by Mrs. O’Grady, the mother of his stableboy, Randy. The resolute Irish woman held a happy and full May in her arms, and eyed Patrick with an expression between apology and indignation.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Drury. Your mother told me not to come anymore.”

  Mrs. O’Grady had been Patrick’s occasional housekeeper. Sometimes, she also surprised him with a stew on the stove when he came home late, a mixture of working relations and good neighborliness. Now that he
had a family to support, Patrick needed to save the money he paid Mrs. O’Grady, and he’d let her go. Mrs. O’Grady understood. Interfering with the new wife’s household was far from her intention.

  “But Randy said he heard the baby crying all the time, and I stopped by to see if I could help.”

  Juliet had then immediately rehired the woman, this time with much more far-reaching duties. Mrs. O’Grady had cooked, changed and fed the baby, cleaned the house, and set the table. Meanwhile, Juliet had perused a book of music she had ordered by mail.

  When Patrick came into the living room, she smiled at him.

  “Dear, we absolutely need a piano. I can read scores, but it would be so much lovelier to play them. I could hold concerts for you in the evening.” Her eyes flashed seductively.

  And Patrick’s anger flew away. He could not stay mad at Juliet. On the other hand, though, she had to be made to understand.

  That evening, Patrick explained his financial situation to Juliet in the most minute detail, and he did it again the next night, after Mrs. O’Grady had opened the door for him again with the baby in her arms. The resolute Irish woman proved considerably less friendly than the evening before and made it clear that she was happy to see to his household but not without pay.

  “Tell your wife that she needs to take care of her baby,” she’d snapped at him. “If you don’t care that your house goes to ruin, that’s not my business, but I can’t listen to this little one wail.”

  “Don’t all babies cry now and again?” Patrick replied helplessly, whereat Mrs. O’Grady glared at him angrily.

  “Surely, but not for five hours at a go. And when I picked her up, the diaper was soaked, and she was hungry too.”

  “I need a nanny, at least,” Juliet said when Patrick confronted her. “And a pram. I need to get out of here sometimes. I go crazy when I’m always alone; you know that.”

  Patrick once again explained his finances to her, yet bought the pram the very next day. That assuaged Mrs. O’Grady at least; she no longer heard May crying all day, because Juliet took her out.

  The young woman strolled the city streets, and as soon as May began to cry, she would pay someone a visit. This functioned marvelously, at least at first. Kathleen and Claire, Heather and Chloe, Violet and Laura—everyone loved May. They were happy when Juliet allowed them to change or feed the little one, or they asked their servants to care for the child.

  “We seem to have stayed too long in town,” Juliet would excuse herself as she stood at the door with the screaming baby. Then she made conversation until it was time to go home. Nothing got cooked for dinner, of course, but at least the house wasn’t a terrible mess. Juliet had put her foot down that Mrs. O’Grady must come at least twice a week to clean.

  No one was really happy with this arrangement. Juliet was bored. After all, she had already established that she had little in common with the ladies of Dunedin. She most liked to visit Claire Dunloe, who owned a piano and had nothing against Juliet playing it, and also knew and liked to talk about music and art. Claire had grown up as a doctor’s daughter in Liverpool and had enjoyed a commensurate education. However, she was soon trying to diplomatically convey to Juliet that she was keeping her hostess from her work. Claire and Kathleen managed the Gold Mine together; Claire was responsible for sales, while Kathleen designed the clothing and oversaw the seamstresses in the back room. When Claire received a visitor, Kathleen had to mind the shop. Neither Claire nor Kathleen liked such interruptions to their usual routine to happen too often.

  “I get the impression she’s using us as nannies,” Kathleen observed one afternoon when Juliet had finally gone. “She just can’t wait for Paika to take the baby.”

  Paika was Claire’s maid. The young Maori woman loved children.

  “Not just you two,” said Heather, modeling a new canary-yellow dress in front of the mirror. “She drops in on us at least once a week. Not that I mind, exactly. May is adorable, and at the moment, she mostly sleeps after someone has changed her. But before you know it, she’ll be walking. Then she’ll have her hands all over the clothes here and will be knocking over my easels. Not to mention, Rosie isn’t as keen about caring for her as Paika. Rosie likes horses; she only takes care of children when she has to. And well, I don’t know about you, but we don’t find Juliet such stimulating company that we want to open a kindergarten.”

  Soon, Juliet found the women of Dunedin closing their doors to her. She sat at home again for hours and took out her bad moods on Patrick when he came home. Yet he tried with all his heart to make her happy. On one of the few weekends Juliet and Patrick spent in Lawrence, Michael caught his son panning for gold.

  “It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Patrick asked with a crooked smile.

  Michael sighed. “Yes, Patrick,” he finally replied, “it does. Since you asked, I’ll answer honestly. You’re unhappy, and you’re living beyond your means. And you’re putting us all at risk. Where do you mean to sell the gold, Patrick? Dunloe Private Bank? A gold trader? Either one will ask questions. I mostly sell it in small amounts in far-off towns I pass through selling or exhibiting sheep. Then you can get away with nonsense like, ‘Oh, we were panning a bit for fun, and last week we got lucky. Where? Oh, somewhere by Lake This-or-That. I didn’t think to mark the place.’ And the tribe sends different people out. No gold trader remembers a random Maori selling tiny amounts. But the farmers and bankers know you. After all, you advise them on advances and loans. If you suddenly appear with gold, and then do it repeatedly—”

  “It’s just this once. I, well, Juliet wants a piano.”

  Patrick lowered the pan and sat in the grass beside the stream. For a few moments, he found peace gazing at the waterfall, the hills overgrown with green, the forest, the pastures.

  Michael rubbed his forehead and sat down next to his son. “We’ll give her one,” he offered. “We can manage the expense. But I’m afraid that then she’ll just move on to her next demand. You have to set boundaries, Patrick, no matter how much you love her.”

  Michael took the pan from his son’s hand and threw its contents into the stream. The black sand on the streambed flashed with gold.

  Patrick bit his lip. “But I feel sorry for her,” he admitted. “She hasn’t made any real friends in Dunedin, and she’s lonely. It’s all too much for her.”

  Michael raised his hands. “Son, she knew what she was getting into when she married you. Now, she has to accept it. And if she’s bored and refuses to do any housework, then she should earn some money herself.”

  Patrick leaped to his feet and gave his father an outraged look. “But she can’t—”

  “She’s gotten along just fine until now,” Michael said. “She’s educated, has manners. Maybe a hotel needs a reception lady. I could even picture her as a saleswoman at the Gold Mine Boutique. Maybe Kathleen and Claire could use somebody. And with a piano, she’ll be able to give lessons as well. Don’t act as if she has only one talent, Patrick. It’s degrading to her.”

  Patrick reddened. “I’m not going to ask you to elucidate what that ‘one talent’ is, Father,” he said icily, and walked away.

  Michael, whose education had begun and ended with Sunday school, could not have defined the word “elucidate.” However, his son’s situation was beginning to worry him.

  “How will this end happily?” he asked Lizzie, Haikina, and her husband, Hemi, who had come down to Elizabeth Station for dinner.

  The two were good friends of Patrick’s and had been eager to see him—he had, after all, not made an appearance in the Maori village since his wedding. He had really been looking forward to their visit. However, Juliet hardly allowed him any time with his friends. Although all of them worked admirably to include her in the conversation, she gave only short, sullen answers. She wrapped herself in a shawl, even though the evening air on the veranda was warm, sipped at her wine, and took desultory bites of the lamb cutlet Michael had grilled. Before long, she retired with the excus
e that she had a headache. Patrick looked concerned and quickly followed.

  “It will all shake out,” Haikina assured Michael. “He’s just infatuated. Everyone knows how young couples can’t stand to be apart.”

  “Can’t stand to be apart?” Hemi asked. “She said she had a headache. Isn’t that pakeha for ‘You’re definitely not getting it tonight’?”

  Haikina and Michael laughed. But Lizzie stared with an expression between sorrow and rage across the valley in front of her house.

  “Oh, it’ll end soon,” she said finally. “You can read it in her face. She has that shifty look in her eyes. It’ll end very soon. And it’ll break my poor Patrick’s heart.”

  Chapter 9

  Juliet was delighted by her piano, but it didn’t hold her attention long. She was not the kind of artist for whom working through a composition or perfecting a performance could be an end unto itself. Juliet lived for the audience. She needed someone she could flatter, stir, and bewitch with her voice. Patrick alone wasn’t enough, and he was too uncritical. He seemed equally enthusiastic about May hammering on the keyboard and Juliet presenting a polished piece. Mrs. O’Grady proved a true philistine. She found the music annoying. Randy, at least, whistled along out of tune as he tended the horses.

  Heather and Chloe took pity after Patrick begged them for help. They were holding another opening and asked Juliet to provide musical accompaniment.

  “It works too,” Chloe remarked to her mother, Claire. “We’re going out on a limb with this exhibition. Beauty and Love—Female Nudes. If Juliet messes around a bit at the piano, it can hardly make a difference. What do you think? Should I invite the usual folks, or would a smaller circle be better?”

  The exhibition certainly did cause a sensation—half of Dunedin was fascinated, the other shocked, and the press coverage was immense. Newspapers from all over the South Island sent correspondents. Most were regional freelancers, but one paper from Queenstown sent the chief editor of the culture page, who happened to be in Dunedin for family reasons. He was impressed by the exhibition—and even more so, for Juliet did not “mess around” at the piano, instead playing New Orleans blues impeccably. She wore one of her older dresses, which she had to starve herself to fit into, but the sight of her in the red tight piece with its deep, elegant neckline was grand.