Simon resolved to stay the night at the village—perhaps, Kitty thought, to make amends for the other missionaries—although at eleven o’clock she and Rian made their way by the light of an oil lamp back to Paihia. They spent the night with Sarah and returned to the village the next morning to find that even more people had arrived for the tangi.
For the rest of that day, between eating from the huge hangi that was opened three times a day and meeting up with people neither of them had seen for a long time, Kitty and Rian sat sweating in the merciless sun, listening to the speakers on the paepae. Sarah had lent Kitty a parasol, but she didn’t want to use it in case she blocked the view of those behind her, which would surely be the height of bad manners.
They also heard the news about the disturbance Hone Heke and his followers had been causing over the past six months, prompting Rian to mutter darkly, ‘I knew he’d regret signing that bloody treaty.’
Or rather, they heard several different versions of it from a range of people. Kitty wished they could talk to Haunui, but he was keeping vigil in the porch with Wai and she didn’t wish to disturb him.
It was Simon, however, who gave them the most sensible account of what had been going on. He started by relating to them developments since the treaty had been signed. Evidently, the first major rumble of Maori discontent had come after Governor Hobson’s decision to move the capital of New Zealand from Kororareka to Auckland, which deprived the Bay of Islands Nga Puhi Maoris of many economic benefits. The government had then introduced customs duties, which forced up prices, and had claimed the revenue from shipping duties that had previously gone to the Maoris. The whalers subsequently moved to other less-policed ports, the felling of kauri was also banned for a time, and land sales slowed when the government took over their management. Hard times followed, and Heke began to complain that his authority, and that of the Maoris in general, was being undermined by British power.
Then Maketu, son of Nga Puhi chief Ruhe, had been hung for the murder of four European settlers and a high-ranking Maori woman. When Heke had discovered that some of his own Nga Puhi relatives had given permission for Maketu to be tried under British law, he, according to Simon, went mad, his party performing a vicious haka and firing loaded muskets into the air. Since then Heke had been gathering around him a group of very loyal and influential warriors and doing everything he could, and not always pleasantly, to ensure his people’s loyalty when the time came. Which it did, in July of 1844, when he sent his men to cut down the flagstaff flying the British flag at Kororareka.
‘He sent a letter to Governor FitzRoy in Auckland, insisting he wouldn’t do it again,’ Simon said. ‘You know FitzRoy took over after Hobson died in 1842?’ Kitty and Rian both nodded. ‘Well, actually, Willoughby Shortland did, but he was a fool. Fortunately, FitzRoy replaced him at the beginning of this year. But I’ll wager he will do it again. Heke, I mean. Things are very tense here at the moment. There’s a lot of talk flying about.’
‘Who’s doing the talking?’ Rian asked.
‘Mostly Heke and his lot. And the government, I suppose. We’ve heard rumours that a blockhouse could soon be built across at Kororareka.’ Simon swept his arm in a wide arc, encompassing the large crowd. ‘And everyone here now is talking, too. In a way it’s a little unfortunate that you brought Wai back when you did. I’m very glad you did, and so is Haunui, but it’s given everyone an excellent excuse to get together.’
Slightly alarmed, Kitty asked, ‘Hone Heke won’t be coming here, will he?’
‘I don’t know. Probably not. The last we heard he was down in Auckland.’
Kitty leaned back on her hands, relieved. Her feet were roasting in her black leather boots, her petticoats were sticking to her legs and sweat was trickling down her sides, but at least she wouldn’t have to worry about encountering Hone Heke as well. She had seen him only once, the day before the treaty was signed at Waitangi. He had frightened her then, and the stories she was hearing of his trouble-making and rabble-rousing made her fear him even more now. She knew, though, that Rian would not see it like that. She could tell by the thoughtful look on his face that he was thinking about what they’d heard, possibly even about what he could do to help the Maoris in their fight against the Crown.
That night was the time set aside for storytelling: stories about Wai, stories about the ancestors, and about the great and wondrous deeds of Nga Puhi in general. Kitty found the tales fascinating, and laughed as heartily as everyone else when people remembered Wai as a little girl and how she had vexed her father, Tupehu. Or, at least, the man everyone had believed was her father. Kitty wondered if the people of Pukera now knew of Haunui’s long-standing love for his brother’s dead wife. Poor Haunui, losing her as well as their precious daughter. But at least he had his grandson, Tahi, now.
On the morning of the third day, Haunui carried his daughter’s remains from the village to the urupa a short distance away, Tahi walking beside him, his head up but his dark eyes struggling to blink back tears. What a brave little boy, Kitty thought, and knew in her heart that his mother would have been so very proud of him.
At the graveside, Reverend Dow spoke first as Wai was lowered into her grave, next to that of her mother, Hareta, his words urging Wai’s soul to enter the Anglican kingdom of heaven. The tohunga who followed him, however, spoke of how Wai’s spirit would now finally be free to travel to the ancient pohutukawa at Cape Reinga at the northernmost tip of the North Island, climb down the long, twisted roots, and from there journey on to Hawaiki, spiritual home of the ancestors.
‘I suppose we should bring Royce ashore,’ Rian said as they walked back through the bush to Paihia. ‘He’s been out on the schooner by himself for three days, and it is Christmas Day tomorrow.’
‘Mmm, but he’s had Bodie for company,’ Kitty replied.
They looked at each other.
‘Yes, perhaps we’d better bring him in,’ Rian muttered.
So Gideon and Mick were sent out to the Katipo to collect Daniel and Bodie, and everyone’s luggage, as Rian had declared that they would stay at Paihia for at least a week while he investigated the possibility of taking a load of kauri spars back to Sydney—if there was any kauri to be had.
When Kitty reached Aunt Sarah’s house there were ginger gems waiting, baked by one of Sarah’s housegirls, named Ngahuia. She was small, as Wai had been, and seeing her in the kitchen gave Kitty a poignant stab of grief. However, Ngahuia was darker-skinned than Wai and had a club-foot. Sarah had sent to Auckland for a special pair of boots to help her to walk more comfortably, but so far they hadn’t arrived.
Kitty greeted Ngahuia and told her that Sarah would be home shortly. Then she flopped down on the chaise in the parlour and unbuttoned her boots and kicked them off, relishing the touch of the slight breeze from the open windows on her toes. The parlour was quite different now. There was more furniture, some pretty watercolours on the walls that Sarah had said she’d painted herself, and several vases of bright summer flowers. The pieces of furniture, Sarah had explained, were gifts from her ‘suitor’, Caleb Jenkins, a lay missionary out at Waimate and a skilled cabinetmaker.
To date, he had made for Sarah a large sideboard from solid mottled kauri with rewarewa drawers and door panels, two beautifully turned and upholstered kauri armchairs to replace the old pair in the parlour, and a chiffonier cabinet, which Sarah had displayed in the hall under the mirror Amy had spent so much time looking into. The chiffonier was a particularly fine piece. Smaller than the sideboard, it had ornate rimu, kauri, totora and miro intarsia in the two door panels and knobs of imported rosewood and mother-of-pearl. Kitty doubted that you would find much finer furniture in the home of a well-to-do gentleman in England. But as beautiful as Mr Jenkins’s cabinetry was, she didn’t think any of it demonstrated quite as much flair as the armoire Haunui had once made for her and which she had been pleased to note was still upstairs in her old bedroom.
Sarah appeared at the parlour door, her fa
ce pink from the energetic walk back from Pukera and her fingers plucking at the ribbons of her bonnet.
‘Well, that went quite nicely, didn’t it?’ she remarked as she laid her bonnet on the sofa. ‘Well, as nice as a funeral can ever be.’ She sat down, fanning herself with her handkerchief. ‘And I’m so pleased I could be present when she was finally laid to rest. I still feel terribly…well, I’m still not entirely at peace with myself about how I treated the poor little thing.’
‘She forgave you, you know,’ Kitty said. ‘She knew you were very upset. And really, Aunt Sarah, who wouldn’t have been?’
‘But I am a servant of God, Kitty. I should have been able to find it in my heart to see past my own distress and extend to her the hand of Christian charity.’
‘I’m not sure many women could have done that,’ Kitty said wryly, ‘no matter what their vocation.’
‘Yes, well, at least I was able to pray for her today.’
Kitty lightly flapped her skirts to create a bit of a breeze and wished she was in her cabin on the Katipo, where she quite often wore only her shift when the weather was particularly hot.
‘Aunt Sarah?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Why didn’t you go home after Uncle George disappeared? Back to England, I mean.’
Sarah didn’t answer immediately. Eventually she said, ‘At first all I could think about was George’s disappearance. I was so distraught. I thought he must somehow have heard about Wai’s accusations and run off in fear of his life. We searched everywhere for him, Kitty, we really did, but to absolutely no avail. Then I thought Tupehu must have killed him and disposed of his earthly remains somewhere. But the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder whether Wai’s claims weren’t true. I started to recall…well, the way that George was, especially in those last six months. And then I did a terrible thing—and I truly pray that God has forgiven me for it.’
‘What was that?’ Kitty leaned forward, poised for a revelation.
‘I read George’s private diaries.’
‘Oh.’ Vaguely disappointed, Kitty relaxed into the chaise again.
‘And it was all in there, all in dreadful, shocking detail. How God had told him to…’ a red flush appeared on Sarah’s plump neck and spread across her face ‘…to seduce Wai to save her from depravity and sin. But do you know what the worst of it was? It was that in my heart I knew that Wai, and you, Kitty, had been telling the truth. Right from the day you told me. And I had refused to acknowledge it.’ Sarah was silent again for a long moment. ‘And once I had admitted that, well, I felt so ashamed of myself, and of course of George, that I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t even write about it to your mother, even though George was her kin.’
‘Was? So you think Uncle George is dead?’
‘I don’t know, Kitty. Probably.’ Sarah removed her spectacles and polished them on her handkerchief. ‘Either dead or run away to some far-flung corner of the world. Although I very much doubt the latter. I suspect the mania that afflicted him so badly would also have prevented him from travelling any great distance.’
‘And is that the only reason you’ve stayed? Because you were ashamed?’
Sarah brightened. ‘To be honest, not entirely. I’m very much enjoying my work here. I seem to have taken on a new lease of life since George went. And there is Mr Jenkins, of course, whom you will meet tomorrow at our Christmas lunch and of whom I have become very fond over the past two years. And to return home I would have to endure that appalling sea voyage again, and I truly believe I would not survive it a second time.’
Kitty gave her a sympathetic look, recalling the awful time Sarah had had on the journey out from England.
Then Sarah suddenly said, ‘Oh, that’s right, I’ve got something for you’, and hurried out of the parlour, her tread heavy on the hall stairs.
A minute later she was back. ‘I believe this is yours?’ she said, smiling, and handed Kitty a small velvet drawstring bag.
Kitty opened it and withdrew the milky blue coral bangle carved with flowers that Rian had given her one sunny afternoon in Sarah’s garden. Delighted, she exclaimed, ‘Oh, Aunt Sarah, I’m so glad you kept it!’ and slid the bangle over her wrist and admired the colour of it against her lightly tanned skin. ‘It’s the first gift…’
‘Rian ever gave you. I thought so,’ Sarah finished for her, her eyes moist. ‘It was in your work basket. I almost threw it away after…well, after that terrible business. But something made me put it aside, and I’m very glad that I did.’
Ngahuia came in then with a pitcher of lemonade, a pot of tea and half a dozen generously buttered ginger gems; Kitty eyed them speculatively as Ngahuia set them down on the small table between the sofa and the chaise, but decided it was far too hot to eat anything.
‘Oh good, I thought I could smell something nice,’ Rian said from the doorway.
He looked even scruffier than usual: the heat of the day had prompted him to forgo his coat and undo the top three buttons of his shirt.
‘Ah, Captain, please join us,’ Sarah invited. ‘We were just about to take tea.’
Despite the fact that Rian was obviously still as forthright, intolerant and disregarding of social conventions as he had been five years before—qualities that hadn’t always endeared him to the Paihia missionaries—Sarah seemed to have taken quite a shine to him. Perhaps, Kitty thought, it was because George wasn’t around to disapprove of him. Or maybe she had simply capitulated now that he was family by marriage.
‘Thank you,’ Rian replied, sitting down on the chaise so close to Kitty that he was on her skirts.
Sarah stood and offered him the plate of ginger gems.
He took three and bit into one immediately. ‘Very nice. I’ve been talking to Win Purcell,’ he said, crumbs flying out of his mouth. ‘He’s worried that this business about Hone Heke and the flagstaff is going to flare up again. He says he wouldn’t be surprised if Heke had another go at it.’
Kitty picked crumbs from the front of Rian’s shirt. ‘Simon said that, too, didn’t he?’
‘Did he really?’ Sarah said, pouring the tea. ‘Mr Bullock’s not normally one for gossip. It’s high time that young man found himself a good woman.’
Rian and Kitty exchanged a clandestine glance: a wife would be the last thing to interest Simon.
‘It seems to be the general consensus,’ Rian remarked. ‘That Heke will take the flagstaff again, I mean.’
Sarah said, ‘Well, so long as it isn’t tomorrow during our Christmas dinner.’
Kitty frowned at her aunt. ‘Doesn’t it bother you? What if he attacks the mission here?’
‘Oh, he won’t do that, dear,’ Sarah replied serenely. ‘Hone Heke has an abiding respect for us and what we are achieving here with our work.’ Her brow creased briefly. ‘Although I must say he didn’t get on very well with Bishop Selwyn. And the bishop seemed to have no regard for his mana whatsoever. But then none of us got on with the bishop particularly well, I’m sad to say. It was quite a relief when he went back to Auckland and left us to get on with it.’
Rian swallowed his last mouthful of ginger gem. ‘Those were very good, Mrs Kelleher. Did you bake them?’
‘No, Ngahuia did. She has quite a talent in the kitchen. Would you like the recipe?’
‘Pierre might,’ Kitty said. ‘Have you invited anyone from the village to Christmas dinner?’
‘Yes, we have actually. Haunui and his grandson, and Te Rangi and his wife. I hope they enjoy the repast—we really have gone to a lot of trouble this year.’
Clearly bored by talk of Christmas dinners, Rian looked at his watch. ‘I think I’ll go and have a talk to Frederick Tait, see what he thinks about what’s been going on.’ He looked meaningfully at Kitty. ‘And then I believe I might just have an early night.’
‘Do you now?’ Kitty said, her eyebrows arching playfully.
‘Yes, I do. I’m very…tired.’ He extended his hand to caress her thigh, but stopped himself
just in time.
Chapter Five
Paihia, 25 December 1844
Rian and Kitty did have an early night, but Rian fell asleep the minute his head touched the pillow. Some time over the past five years Sarah had replaced the single bed in Kitty’s room with a double bed, so Kitty was able to snuggle behind Rian as he slept, listening to him snoring softly.
She awoke feeling much better for her sleep, but hot and sticky from the humid night air. She hoped it wouldn’t rain that day, as the Christmas feast was to be held outdoors in the Purcells’ garden.
She rolled carefully onto her back so she wouldn’t wake Rian, and pulled the hem of her cotton nightgown up to her hips so the morning air could cool her damp skin.
‘That’s a grand view,’ Rian said, sitting up and gazing down at her long, pale legs and the dark triangle of hair.
Kitty smiled. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
Rian lifted the sheet covering his lower half and peered beneath it. ‘No, definitely not asleep.’
He bent down to kiss her, but she wriggled away from him. ‘Let’s go for a swim, shall we?’
‘In the sea?’
‘No. Have you ever been to the swimming hole here? In the river?’
‘Yes, and I’m sure it will be full of shrieking, splashing children already.’
‘No, not that one. There’s a smaller one where the river branches.’ She climbed out of bed. ‘Come on, let’s go before everyone else wakes up.’
Ten minutes later, quickly dressed and each with a ginger gem pinched from the kitchen, they were walking along the beach towards the track that would take them into the bush. At the formation of rocks at the end of the beach, where Simon Bullock had once not asked Kitty to marry him, they turned left and followed the well-worn path into the base of the hills. There were indeed children in the main pool already, laughing and screaming and making almighty splashes leaping off the bank into the cool, slow water. Kitty and Rian waved and carried on, further into the bush. Soon the sounds of children playing were almost behind them and the songs of birds and cicadas had taken over again.
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