Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

  But suddenly, the aeroplane left the road. Instead of simply flying past Richard’s farm, it turned precisely, losing altitude.

  “No!” Atamarie screamed, but of course, Richard couldn’t hear her. And this was no accident either. The machine did not trundle; it didn’t fall. The pilot was steering it directly into the broom hedge. The aeroplane’s left wing shattered on impact.

  Atamarie leaped off her horse and left it to its own devices on the grassy side of the road. She needed—what did she need to do, actually? Something inside her had died, but something else had awakened when she saw Richard fly. Only when she saw him hanging motionless under his flier, apparently unharmed but also unwilling to get up, did it become clear to her what she felt: rage, such wild, burning rage that she had to control herself in order not to tear him from his seat and shake him.

  “So? Feeling better now?” she roared at him. “You broke our flier. Before you can do a demonstration flight now, you’ll have to repair it. That’s going to take even more time. And your stupid neighbors will laugh again—it’s not good press, Richard, when they call you Cranky Dick.”

  Richard looked at her, and she felt her heart definitively go cold.

  “I didn’t fly,” he said.

  Atamarie did not feel pity anymore—and even her love, which had been flaring up again, was extinguished in the face of his vacant gaze. The only thing she still felt was rage.

  “No,” she said cruelly, “you didn’t fly. You don’t have the spunk to fly, Richard Pearse. You’ll stay in your broom hedge and hole up like a blind bird without wings. You’ll never conquer the sky, Richard. At least not until you finally trim or tear out or burn this hedge. You’ll—”

  “I didn’t fly,” Richard repeated.

  “You—” Atamarie sought new words of abuse to fling at him.

  “Leave him—” Shirley suddenly stood behind the crashed flier. “Leave him alone.”

  That only goaded Atamarie on. “I loved you, you coward. I supported you, gave you the motor. But you, I never got anything back from you. You only took and took and took and took. You—”

  “Did you want to be paid for your love?” Shirley asked mockingly.

  Atamarie glared at her. “No. Just respected. I wish I hadn’t listened to Waimarama. I should have flown myself, in front of all the world.”

  Shirley laughed. “Finally, you admit what you really wanted, Atamarie,” she said. “You wanted to fly. You didn’t care about Richard.”

  Atamarie threw her head back. “That’s just not true. He wanted to fly. And I, sure, I wanted to, too, but I also wanted him to love me. I—”

  “You only loved him when he was doing well,” said Shirley. “You left him when he was doing poorly. You only thought of yourself.”

  Atamarie looked over at Richard, who did not seem to be following the confrontation between the two women. He continued staring into nothingness.

  “I didn’t fly.”

  Atamarie rolled her eyes.

  “Then you can both stay here and bury each other on this farm,” she spat at Shirley. “I just wish you a lot of strength. One thing’s for sure: he doesn’t have it.”

  With that, Atamarie climbed into her chaise and rode away with her head held high. She cast a last, sad look at Richard’s flier.

  “Farewell, Tawhaki,” she murmured. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  The wonderful wizard of oz

  Dunedin, Lawrence,

  Christchurch,

  The South Island

  1903–1904

  Chapter 1

  “And how do you see that working?” asked Michael Drury. He was at a livestock auction in the city, and Kevin had met him in a pub. “For your brother, I mean. It was always understood that he would inherit Elizabeth Station. You never wanted it. But suddenly you change your mind because your Boer girl needs country air. So, what, now you want to be a farmer?” Michael took a deep drink from his beer glass.

  Kevin shook his head, sighing. The decision to move to Lawrence had been hard enough for him anyway. All that had been missing was for his parents to oppose it. Still, it was a stroke of luck to be able to speak with his father alone. Lizzie might have expressed herself more drastically.

  “Of course not, Father. I am and will remain a doctor. I’m sure I can practice in Lawrence. And I’m not disputing Patrick’s inheritance. It’s just, well, maybe for a few years. Until Doortje has gotten used to life here. And Patrick doesn’t even live on Elizabeth Station. He—”

  “He resigned his job at the Ministry of Agriculture,” Michael revealed, ordering another stout. “It’s not working for May to live in Dunedin anymore. She’s getting too big. He can’t keep leaving her with different nannies. He’s going to keep working through the shearing, but then he’s moving in with us at Elizabeth Station. He can take care of the sheep, Lizzie can look after the kid, and I’ll devote myself to viniculture.” He grinned. “Maybe we’ll finally get something really drinkable and make it big.”

  Kevin made a face. Doortje would not appreciate the winemaking on Elizabeth Station. After all, her church forcefully rejected the enjoyment of any alcohol. Yet, even if she made a few comments on it—staying with his parents on the farm could hardly be more of a disaster than their shared life in Dunedin.

  While Michael held forth on the chances that the young woman would ever adapt to New Zealand, Kevin thought about the months since his return from South Africa.

  The voyage had passed largely without incident—if one excluded the handful of passengers who complained about Nandi’s presence on the top deck. There were never problems when she was with Doortje, for whom she acted as a servant. But that headstrong Roberta Fence, driven by the same ironclad convictions as her mother and Matariki, had insisted on strolling the deck, chatting and laughing with the black woman. Kevin did not find anything repellent about it himself, but she could have shown a little consideration. At any rate, Roberta’s provocations had exacerbated the tension between Doortje and Kevin.

  Doortje’s behavior was slowly driving the young doctor mad. He had to sleep next to her—the luxury cabin he had booked offered a shared bed. Doortje, however, showed no signs of embracing him. On the other hand, she left no doubt that she intended to be an “obedient wife.” She would have held still if he had taken her, but certainly not participated. And almost immediately after their arrival in Dunedin, she had given birth—bitter and ashamed because Kevin’s former partner, Dr. Folks, delivered the baby. Kevin would have been happy to grant her wish of a midwife, but her contractions set in on their second day in Dunedin, a bit earlier than expected. Kevin had nearly had to deliver the baby himself, which would no doubt have agitated her even more. Fortunately, Dr. Folks had been available. After a few torturous hours, in which Doortje never let a tear fall, he laid a son in the young woman’s arms.

  “He takes after you,” he said amiably. “Look, what adorable blond hair he has. What’s his name going to be?”

  Kevin was exceedingly embarrassed that neither he nor Doortje had thought of names for the baby. He suggested Adrian, after Doortje’s father, but she rejected that so forcefully that Christian Folks looked frightened. Kevin then saved himself with Abraham, the first and only name from the Old Testament that occurred to him. People could call the boy Abe, after all. Doortje had no objections this time. She also put the child dutifully to her breast, although she held him like a doll and did not give him a single smile. Subsequently, she cared for him commendably—or at least, supervised Nandi in his care. Kevin had not yet been able to tell whether Doortje loved her son.

  For Kevin, the return to Dunedin proceeded without any complications, at first. They could move into an apartment at once, and Dr. Folks welcomed him back into the practice.

  “There’s more than enough work for two here,” he declared cheerfully. “Only the ladies with minor discomforts fell off once you left. Now, you’ll no doubt be drawing them back in.”

  Very soon, invitations
were once again raining down on the young doctor. Dunedin society was dying to hear his war stories and, most of all, to meet his foreign wife. Here, however, the difficulties began. Doortje’s appearance on the streets of Dunedin provoked a minor scandal. Kevin was horrified when he saw her coming back from her first shopping trip in the new city. Laura Folks, Christian’s wife, who had accompanied her out of generosity, seemed mortified.

  “I suggested we go straight to buy her some dresses, but she did not want to,” she said with a mystified look at Doortje, who, in her old-fashioned blue dress, white apron, and starched bonnet, seemed to come from another world. She had bought this outfit in Pretoria, and Kevin had not said anything at the time. On the ship, there were plenty of Cape Boers to whom this traditional style was familiar. And it had been a maternity dress, so Kevin had assumed he would be able to buy his wife new, modern clothing in Dunedin. Now, everything had moved faster than planned. Doortje had quickly taken the dress in and was out and about in it. She paired it with a black shawl, which would have lessened the strange impression except that Nandi followed her in similar style with little Abe in her arms. On her, the outfit would have passed for a maid’s uniform, but her deep-black skin drew attention to them both.

  “Doortje, you can’t walk around like that here,” Kevin declared. “In Dunedin, people don’t wear aprons and bonnets unless they work as housemaids. A married woman in better society wears a dress or an outfit like, well, like Mrs. Folks.” He indicated Laura’s gown.

  Doortje looked indignantly at the train of her skirt, the complicated button border of her long jacket, and most of all, her tightly corseted waist.

  “You can’t work in something like that,” she objected. “And—and that hat!”

  Laura wore a fashionable creation with a gauze veil cut to look like a turban.

  “You don’t need to work, you know,” Kevin said gently. “You need only look pretty. So, please, Doortje.”

  “Vanity is a sin,” Doortje announced. “My dress is still in very good shape. There’s no reason to replace it.”

  Laura looked at her, astonished. “You only have the one, my dear?”

  Kevin sighed. Worlds lay between these two women. There was no helping it; he would have to deliver Doortje to the only boutique in town where, with a little luck, spiritual guidance would be included: the Gold Mine.

  “Doortje, we’ll go out this evening,” he said. “To the Burtons. They’re old friends of our family. Kathleen runs a bou—a dress shop. And her husband is a pastor.”

  What was more, Kathleen Burton was the mother of Colin Coltrane, but that had not been mentioned in Dunedin for years. Thus, Kevin felt relatively safe when he brought his wife and her exotic attendant into the parsonage in Caversham. Safe, that was, until Kathleen caught sight of little Abe’s face. She turned pale and pulled Kevin aside.

  “What’s going on here? This baby is the spitting image of Colin. My God, he looked just like that as a baby.”

  Kevin blanched and looked around for Doortje, but luckily, she was speaking to Reverend Burton already. Though she took a more than critical stance toward Anglicanism, the friendly, obliging pastor had quickly managed to draw her in.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not surprised,” Kevin whispered to Kathleen. “But for heaven’s sake, don’t let Doortje hear that. I’ll come by tomorrow. We can talk about it then.”

  Kathleen did not broach the topic again, but she was stiff and occasionally cast scrutinizing looks at the young Boer woman, who acted similarly. Reverend Burton, who had not met Colin until he was more than ten years old, did not notice anything. He knew the Old Testament as well as the New and found plenty of evidence that God had not banned music, good food, or wine. One could infer God felt the same about beautiful clothing, he claimed, and ultimately, Doortje permitted Kathleen to outfit her fashionably.

  Kevin would not let himself think of his bank account. In the end, the overly modest Doortje would be just as expensive for him as fashionable Juliet. Which brought his brother back to mind, but that problem had been pushed off for the time being. Patrick was traveling through the sheep farms of Otago, and Kevin had not yet seen his daughter, May.

  The next day, he sought out Kathleen at the Gold Mine and explained the matter with Colin Coltrane—in a highly understated form. Kathleen was horrified by the report of the rape, but accepted the declaration of “missing in action” with composure. She had not heard anything from Colin for years, and “missing” did not necessarily mean “dead.” No doubt he had his reasons for going to ground.

  “I truly regret what happened to the young woman,” Kathleen said finally. “I’m ashamed of my son. And I have a great deal of respect for you for wanting to raise the child as your own. But do you really want to leave your wife in ignorance? How are you going to explain the child’s resemblance to Atamarie? She is Colin’s daughter, after all. Or the fact that Heather and Chloe share his family name? Are you going to lie to her?”

  “I mean, I don’t know. Atamarie is studying in Christchurch, isn’t she?”

  “Kevin! She often comes to visit, and she’ll soon have finished her studies. And then? She should tell Doortje everything. Maybe it will even help Doortje to talk with Matariki and Chloe. Colin did all of them wrong. And if she hates me because I’m his mother, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Kevin chewed his lip. If the business with Colin had been the only problem between him and Doortje, he might have taken Kathleen’s advice. However, there was incomparably more that was out of joint, and the last thing he wanted now was to unsettle Doortje further. Even months after the birth, the young woman was closed off, monosyllabic, and rejected physical contact. Kevin, of course, accepted that she needed rest and that their relationship needed time to develop. But he yearned for a kiss now and then, for any sign of feelings—feelings Doortje had certainly nursed for him in South Africa.

  Now, however, no more of that could be seen. Doortje only peered nervously and tensely into the strange new world he had spirited her away to. Nandi seemed to make her way much better—she was already chatting quite contentedly with other housemaids and serving boys.

  “I’ll think about it, Mrs. Burton,” he said politely, “but please, don’t say anything in the meantime. Under no circumstances is she to hate you until you’ve at least taught her how a person dresses in Dunedin.”

  Kathleen and Claire ultimately sold Doortje several modest reform dresses from last year’s collection, which lessened the expense. The wide dresses worn without corsets were going out of style again. The S-bend corset defined the silhouette of the modern woman. The stomach and waist were tied tightly, emphasizing the breast. The skirt was cut in a bell shape and ended in a train. The whole thing was incredibly uncomfortable and would unnecessarily impede Doortje’s entrée into city life. Besides, Doortje looked captivating in the wide-cut empire dresses. Kathleen and Claire also advised her to get her hair cut—just braiding it and wrapping it around her head would not do at all—and they picked out three hats for her. Doortje was torn by the image of herself in the mirror. She had to admit she looked beautiful. But she no longer bore any similarities to the women of her homeland.

  Further problems became obvious when Claire invited Doortje to tea after shopping. Doortje Drury did not have the slightest idea how to balance a teacup between the thumb and index fingers, to nibble on tea cakes, or to make polite conversation. Now, all of that could be learned. Kathleen, too, had been forced to work hard on herself. Still, she had slowly grown into society life, and what was more, Claire, so self-assuredly stylish, had stood by her side. Not to mention, the Dunedin of her youth had little in common with the lively, modern city of the day—Doortje would hardly have stood out among the puritanical city founders. The Church of Scotland had a great deal in common with the Dutch Church. Now, however, the young woman was being thrown into a life for which nothing had prepared her, and she also lacked any of the enthusiasm that would have eased her acclimatio
n. As a consequence, Doortje made various faux pas at official dinners by mixing up the order of silverware, and, at a reception of the Dunloes’, refused champagne and asked for milk instead.

  “Like Ohm Krüger at the German kaiser’s table,” Sean Coltrane joked.

  He did not mean anything by it, but the comment soon got around, and the guests no longer saw an exotic beauty, but a possibly hostile-minded Boer.

  Disgusted and beet red, Doortje left an exhibition in Heather and Chloe’s gallery that featured nude drawings, and she spoke during a chamber concert because she was bored and could not tell the difference between the featured performance and background music at receptions. Ultimately, Kevin no longer dared to take her anywhere, and Doortje covered up her embarrassment with surliness. She preemptively rejected every cultural offering because it was English, dug out her old Boer clothing, and spoke Afrikaans with Abe. She no longer touched English books, which could have helped her orient herself. Kevin wondered what happened to the girl who had once secretly read Shakespeare. Now, Doortje was obdurate and loath to do anything.

  After a few months of this, Kevin no longer knew what else to do. He had to make good on his promise to Doortje of a life on a farm like the one she knew.

  Unfortunately, Michael and Lizzie were proving anything but enthusiastic about the prospect. Moreover, the situation with Patrick was more complicated than Kevin had thought.

  “Doortje just needs a bit longer to acclimate,” he now asserted to his father. “Life in the city is too much for her. My God, can’t you of all people understand? You still moan about how stiff everything is here and how much you hate having to sort your forks at dinner.”

  Like Kathleen, Michael came from humble circumstances and had slogged through New Zealand as a whaler, distiller, and gold miner until he achieved wealth by means of gold and the sheep farm it financed. To that day, he still felt uncomfortable among Dunedin’s dignitaries.