by Lark, Sarah
Now, he thought guiltily of her response.
“You didn’t like my bonnet before.”
That evening, he had wanted to tell her how much he had liked her bonnet. How it had excited him when she hid her hair beneath it, the way it—
“The shawl is there below,” Hemi said.
Kevin felt the words like a knife wound.
“Just the shawl?”
“I can’t tell. But look for yourself. There, where the rock juts out. Do you see? She could—”
Kevin began to tremble. She could be lying beneath the shawl. Or her body could be hidden by the rock.
“Is it possible to climb down here?” he asked quietly.
“It would be tapu,” Hemi said hesitantly, “but we could do it in this case, of course. Only, we’d need rope, hooks. It wouldn’t do any good if we also fell to our deaths, Kevin.” Hemi laid his hand on his friend’s arm.
Kevin wanted to contradict him. He wanted to say that Doortje was worth any risk in the world, that he would rather die than—but he pulled himself together. If she had jumped or fallen from here, she could no longer be alive. Climbing down would only serve to provide certainty and to recover her corpse.
“Then,” Kevin said hoarsely, “let’s fetch ropes. And hooks and whatever else we need.” He was thinking of a stretcher.
Hemi nodded. “The others can go. I’ll stay here with you.”
Kevin slowly sat down on the promontory as the men went. Hemi sat down beside him.
“It’s my fault,” Kevin whispered.
Hemi was silent. Nothing could change Kevin’s mind or comfort him now. He could only stay with him and do what his ancestors had done there since time immemorial—become one with the world and the sky, the mountain and the valley, the past and the future.
Perhaps Kevin’s wife had also succeeded in that, although her maunga must have lain far away, in that strange land with its heat, its giant animals, and its combative people. Hemi tried to sense her soul. Perhaps he would even succeed in drawing Kevin into his connection with the land and the world and the gods behind the sky.
Hours passed, and Kevin could not make peace with their forced inaction. He stood up repeatedly and looked down at the blue shawl. The weather cleared, and a sharp wind picked up, which dried the material and inflated it. Could Doortje still be alive? Was she moving beneath the shawl? Again and again, he asked himself where the rescue expedition could be.
There was no cordage long enough in the Maori village. However, the news of Doortje’s disappearance had made it to Elizabeth Station. Michael and Patrick gathered together what they could find in the barns and stables. Michael also offered horses, which would make the climb much quicker, of course—and both Hainga and the ariki were generous enough not to mention the unavoidable damage to their sacred place. Haikina encouraged them to consider going around the cliff, and Patrick did indeed know a way into the valley.
“It would take at least a day, though,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t reject it out of hand. As sad as it is, if she really did fall down there, then no one can help her anymore. We have all the time in the world.”
“And the animals?” Nandi had been crying despairingly since she’d heard. “By then, the wild animals will eat her. They’ll drag her away. Please, please, Mr. Drury.”
Patrick wanted to reply that there were no wild animals there big enough to drag off a human corpse. But the expression on Nandi’s face touched him.
Patrick did not know what had happened at the meetinghouse—he had only heard about a fight and about Doortje and Juliet’s disappearance. He could clear up Juliet’s location, at least. She had returned to Elizabeth Station and was now barricading herself in their room. Patrick felt vaguely guilty, but he could not worry about her now, and he did not want to either. In the past weeks, Juliet had responded to all of his attempts at intimacy with a fit of rage. Who knew what he would have to listen to this time, what Doortje—or Kevin or Matariki or whoever—had done to vex her.
“I promise we’ll do everything we can for her, Nandi,” he assured her. “But you should head back to the farm and check on Juliet.” Something flashed in Nandi’s eyes. A brand-new spark of anger or defiance. Her face remained unchanged, but Patrick understood. “I know, Nandi. She’s difficult.” He sighed. “But she, some things aren’t easy for her either. With some patience—”
Nandi wanted to scream. “She is—she has . . .” But then she held her tongue. He should not hear it from her.
At this point, half the village could guess what had played out in the meetinghouse. Matariki had not been especially discreet. She had told Haikina and Hainga what she had seen to emphasize the urgency of the rescue and to justify the breaking of the tapu. No one had needed to tell Nandi. She knew Juliet.
“I will go, Mr. Drury,” Nandi said. “But you bring Mrs. Doortje Drury home.”
Before the men could get all the climbing material set up, twilight filled the sky. Michael and Hemi gently made it clear to Kevin that the rescue would have to be put off until the next day.
“We won’t be able to get down at night, and you wouldn’t see anything down there anyway. What’s more, there are clouds coming in again. We won’t even have moon- or starlight. But we’ll all stay up here, and tomorrow, we’ll climb down at first light.”
“It might suffice to lower a big mirror down there,” Atamarie observed. She had made her way up to the cliff with Rawiri and made camp with him a short distance from the others. “Then we could see under the rock. Maybe lower a hook to move the shawl in case she’s underneath. Climbing down from here seems too dangerous.”
Rawiri smiled. “Would you not be afraid to fly down?”
“Less than climbing. But we’d need a glider. And by the time we’d built one, the men would have climbed down or ridden around. I, for one, don’t think she’s there—at least not under the shawl. Just take a look at the angle. Nothing heavier than a shawl blown by the wind could have that angle of descent. Has no one thought of throwing a rock over to test it?”
Rawiri brushed the hair out of her face. She was lying in his arms for the first time, and despite the tragedy, he felt unendingly happy.
“Atamie, leave it to the gods,” he said softly. “No one here wants to hear about mirrors or angles of descent. Kevin most certainly doesn’t. He has to see with his own eyes. It has to become real to him. Only then can he get on with his life. Which will be hard enough.”
Atamarie snuggled against him. “But if I asked, you’d build a kite for me so I could fly down there? I love you, Rawiri.”
Rawiri kissed her. “Of course I’d do that for you,” he whispered, “but first, let’s go to Christchurch. I’m grateful to the gods that the Canterbury Plains are rather flat.”
Chapter 3
Lizzie passed a hellish night. She would gladly have traded the warmth of her house for a place beside her husband and sons. Lizzie had lived among the Ngai Tahu and been inducted into many of their mysteries. She knew the cliff well, and the thought of climbing down it sent a shudder up her spine. She not only worried about Doortje, but also for Michael, Kevin, and Patrick. She would have ridden up there to keep them from doing anything stupid, but she was still watching the children. She had taken May to bed with her that night. Juliet never cared for the little girl, and Nandi was not only shaken to her core by the loss of Doortje but also had her hands full with Juliet’s vile mood. After a while, Lizzie could take no more of it and intervened.
“Nandi is off-duty now, Juliet. Every workday has its end. Lie down and go to bed, and tomorrow I’ll hear what caused all this mess. I know you well enough to be certain you’re not completely innocent in this. So, think it over and leave Nandi in peace.”
Juliet did keep quiet after that, but Nandi cried until late at night, which confused Lizzie. It must be a strange relationship these Boers had to the natives. Doortje had not seen Nandi’s humanity, yet she had insisted on not leaving her alone in South Africa beca
use she felt responsible. And Nandi had run from Doortje, but now she mourned her like family.
When it was finally quiet in the house, Lizzie drank a glass of wine to help her sleep. She almost felt guilty about not mourning, but she did not really believe that Doortje could be dead. At first, the woman’s stubbornness and bigotry had driven Lizzie into a burning rage—but even then, she had impressed her in a certain way. Lizzie did not like to admit it, but she sometimes thought Doortje resembled her a little. Lizzie would not have made it to where she was if she had not been fiercely determined and true to herself. She had experienced a hard and tumultuous life. Lizzie knew what it meant to go hungry and to be demeaned. Yet she had never thought of giving up, and she could not imagine that of Doortje either.
Lizzie’s imagining of the events in the meetinghouse came quite close to reality. Doortje was used to Juliet’s teasing and meanness. To drive her so far that Kevin was afraid of suicide, something more must have happened than an argument.
Lizzie brooded half the night until she fell into an uneasy sleep. She awoke again at dawn. The men would now surely be making themselves ready for the descent, and Lizzie thanked God that it was not raining. She stayed in bed awhile, reflecting. Then, she got up. She could no longer stand it in the house. Lizzie threw on a housedress and a shawl and went up to the waterfall. Her maunga. Even though she was a devout Anglican on the outside and treasured Reverend Burton, she met her gods here.
The curled-up form that had sought protection from the night’s cold in the shadow of a rock, however, had nothing divine about it. In the still-wan light of the new day, Lizzie recognized Doortje’s blonde hair. The young woman was cowering, leaning against the rock, her face pressed against her knee, and her arms wrapped around her. Her thin dress was soaked, dirty, and torn. No wonder—she must have wandered through the woods for hours.
“Doortje.” Lizzie ran to her daughter-in-law. “My God, child, why didn’t you come into the house? Kevin thinks you’re dead. The men are looking for you below the cliff. You were there, weren’t you? Heavens, Doortje, you’re frozen solid.”
At once concerned, angry, and relieved, Lizzie wrapped her own shawl around her. Doortje squinted into the sunlight, and her bereft gaze touched Lizzie.
“I lost your shawl,” she murmured. “At the cliff. I wanted—I’m sorry.”
Not saying any more, she curled up again. Lizzie could only think of a wounded animal. She squatted beside her daughter-in-law and took her gently in her arms.
“What happened, Doortje? What exactly happened?”
At first, Doortje seemed to want to give in to the embrace, but then she jerked back.
“Colin Coltrane,” she blurted out. “You knew it too?”
Lizzie saw despair in Doortje’s eyes and the helpless wish to be able to trust her mother-in-law, at least.
“Knew what, dear? What am I supposed to have known?” The rock on which they were sitting was still damp and cold. It was not comfortable there. “It’d be better if we went inside to talk.”
Doortje shook her head. “Not while she’s there. I never want to see her again. She knew, but she—it was all completely different.”
“Juliet. You don’t want to go into the house while Juliet’s there? I can well understand that. But what did she know, Doortje? And who’s Colin Coltrane to you?”
“So, you do know him?” Doortje whispered. “Then it’s true what she said. About Matariki.”
“I don’t know what secret knowledge we’re talking about here, but yes, I knew Colin Coltrane. He seduced Matariki and then Chloe after her, although Matariki got lucky. He left her a beautiful daughter, but he almost destroyed Chloe’s life. He’s a cheater and a bastard, Doortje—no matter what somebody might have said to you about him. Although, I shouldn’t really presume to pass judgment on him. I—” She stopped, but then something in her told her that she owed this young woman a sign of confidence. She was prepared to share the darkest secret of her life with her. “I destroyed his life,” she said, “by killing his father. No one else knows that, Doortje, just Michael, Reverend Burton, and me. It was self-defense. I don’t have anything to blame myself for. But it’s my fault that Colin grew up without a father. Even though Kathleen did everything she could for him. She was a good mother to all of her children. She—”
“It’s true that Kathleen . . . ?”
Doortje’s voice was flat. She had liked Kathleen, trusted her, but that woman, too, had betrayed her. Kathleen, whom she had taken for a friend, was the mother of her tormentor. And she also had to know about Abraham’s parentage.
Lizzie put her arm around her shivering daughter-in-law. Now, the sun had risen, and Lizzie hoped that it would soon grow a bit warmer. Otherwise, Doortje would catch her death in her wet clothes. But for now, there was nothing she could do about it. Lizzie stroked Doortje’s shoulder gently and began to tell her the story. Of Kathleen and Michael’s youthful love, of their son together, Sean, and their separation. She told of Kathleen’s desperate attempt to give her son an honorable name by marrying the horse trader Ian Coltrane, and how she’d had two more children by him, Colin and Heather.
“But Colin took after his father, and when Kathleen finally fled from Ian, Colin didn’t want to go with her. He remained with Ian and became a scoundrel just like him. And when I killed Ian—”
“You really killed his father?” Doortje asked in disbelief.
Lizzie nodded. “In self-defense,” she repeated. “He wanted—” She had to force herself to keep talking. Ian Coltrane had intended to rape and murder her. It had been because of the gold source beneath the waterfall, over which Elizabeth Station now stood watch. “He wanted to kill me,” she said. “Out of cruelty and avarice. I beat him to death with a Maori war club.”
Doortje shivered, but no longer from the cold. “Colin,” she whispered, “he put his hands on me. And my sister. My sister is dead. And I, I survived, but I was pregnant. And Abe, Abe isn’t Kevin’s child, and they think, they think I was unfaithful to Kevin.” She swallowed.
Lizzie pulled Doortje closer to her and rocked her like a child. “Oh God, I should have noticed. Abe has that strange hair color—and he does resemble Atamarie. I must have been blind. But I swear, Doortje, I didn’t know anything.”
“I didn’t either,” Doortje cried. “I would never have come here if I’d known everyone would see this shame.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Well, I didn’t notice until now, and Michael hasn’t either. I suppose people only recognize it if they knew Colin or Atamarie as a baby. Michael and I first saw her when she was a little girl. Riki was living in Wellington back then. So, surely not ‘everyone’ knows. In fact, I’ll bet it’s just Kathleen and Matariki—perhaps Claire Dunloe too. How Juliet figured it out, I can’t imagine. Maybe she’s also guessing more than she knows.” Lizzie considered. Then her face hardened. “Or do you think Kevin—”
“No. No, he can’t be that stupid. He’d be putting himself at her mercy.”
Lizzie laughed. “Because of the paternity? Well, you know—”
Doortje shook her head more violently. “No, because of the—the murder. I took my revenge, Lizzie.” Doortje breathed in sharply. “I killed Colin Coltrane. With a knife.”
Lizzie listened to the story, stunned. Doortje told her about Colin’s death, about Kevin’s involvement, about Roberta’s plan to make the corpse disappear.
“And Kevin offered to marry me. I needed a father for my baby.”
“Kevin must love you very much,” Lizzie said simply when her daughter-in-law had finished. “And no, I don’t think he told Juliet any of that. He—”
“Why was he talking with Juliet at all? If he loves me, why then is he cheating on me with her?”
Lizzie sighed. Sometimes Doortje really did remind her of a clueless girl in the Land of Oz.
“Doortje, my Michael is just like your Kevin; they’re good people at heart. Captivating men, charming, vivacious. But Michael always
needed a woman to watch after him. Kathleen was too young to do so back in Ireland. And it took me half my life to understand that. But without me, Michael would be like a leaf in the wind, and it’s similar with Kevin. In a certain way, Juliet understood that—she has mastery over him, but she’s not good for him. Luckily, he knows that, even if he let himself be seduced again. He’s run away from her before.”
Lizzie took Doortje’s cold, trembling hand between hers. She knew she was further destroying Doortje’s world by telling her about May, but only ruthless honesty would do here. Otherwise, Kevin’s child would just be Juliet’s next weapon against Doortje. To Lizzie’s surprise, Doortje received this revelation almost with amusement.
“Kevin’s not Abe’s father, and Patrick isn’t May’s. And I always thought those strange society novels were too far-fetched. But you are Kevin’s mother, right?”
Lizzie smiled. “I swear,” she said. “And as far as secrets go, Kathleen can keep quiet, and so can Matariki. And I bet both spoke to Kevin as soon as they noted the resemblance between Abe and Atamarie. Kevin won’t have told them about Colin’s death, but no doubt he’ll have told them how Abe was conceived. You’ll have to live with the fact that a few of your friends know about it; accept that there’s no cause for shame. And no one, Doortje, will think you capable of cheating on your husband.”
Doortje wiped her eyes. “I think now I can live with just about anything,” she said, “except Juliet. You think I should forgive Kevin, but that can only happen when she, when she—well, how, how can I get rid of her?”
Lizzie smiled. “We won’t need war clubs or kitchen knives. There are much easier ways to rid oneself of people like Juliet. We can take advantage of the early hour. I’m going to teach you how to pan for gold, Doortje Drury. And by doing so, I’m taking you definitively and irrevocably into our family. Because, this secret, only the real Drurys and Ngai Tahu know.”
Juliet did not get up until Lizzie and Doortje came back into the house. Doortje was hesitant to face Juliet, but Lizzie insisted.
