by Sarah Lark
Mr. Cooper nodded. “Indeed,” he confirmed, “forest fires occur. Or rather, brush fires. When they first catch, the fire spreads with unbelievable speed. Anyone caught in it has no chance. New Zealand is the more pleasant land in every respect. But the convicts in Australia don’t die in droves either. On the contrary, most receive a pardon, and many end up acquiring land of their own and becoming completely normal settlers. Do you have family there? Or you, Kathleen? You’re Irish, right?”
Kathleen blushed deeply, but before she could say anything, Sean, now fourteen, and Rufus, the Coopers’ son, slipped through the entrance to the tent. The two boys had become fast friends and had walked through Dunedin a bit after dinner.
“Ma,” Sean now reported excitedly, “they say ships have arrived in the harbor. Loads of them!”
“More than sixty!” Rufus crowed. “There are hundreds of people there.”
The reverend furrowed his brow. “The Spanish Armada?” he teased the boys. “Or some other fleet come to conquer the British Empire?”
“I don’t know,” said Sean, “but they’re supposed to be from England. Or Australia?”
“People are saying lots of different things,” said Rufus.
Claire nodded, laughing. “Exactly, and it’s not all going to be true. Probably it’s just a ship or two more of Scots.”
But in the morning, when Kathleen and Claire awoke in the Coopers’ house, the two boys announced the next sensation.
“Look, there on the hills.”
The Coopers lived on a street that led steeply upward toward the mountains and offered a good view of the hills all around the city. Until the day before, there had only been trees and bushes to see there, but now the hills seemed sprinkled with white.
“Those are tents,” called Mr. Cooper. He was still wearing his morning robe and looked just as taken aback as the boys at the many new arrivals around the city. “Merciful heavens, the boys were right. Dozens of ships must have arrived to bring all these people here. But what do they want?”
Mr. Cooper’s wife raised her eyebrows. “Well, what else, Jason? Gold. Those there are just the first wave. Tomorrow they’ll be gone toward Gabriel’s Gully, but the day after, new men will arrive.”
“We should go to the church,” suggested Kathleen.
If the boys were right, and the gold seekers had come from England, a crowd would also have come to the reverend.
Indeed, this was the first Anglican service in Dunedin for which Reverend Burton’s church tent was literally bursting at the seams. The reverend had to open the flaps and preach loud enough that even the men outside could hear. The established parish members eyed the new arrivals suspiciously, but in truth, the men made a thoroughly good impression. They looked a little haggard, of course, and weakened by the voyage, and it was clear from their clothes that they were not wealthy. Yet they were polite and reserved, seeming almost fearful in their new country.
The reverend took up the men’s request to thank God for a safe voyage. Most of the men came from England and Wales. A few Irish held themselves off to the side; though they had an urgent desire to pray, they mistrusted the Anglican rites. Reverend Burton saw with pleasure that, after service, Kathleen welcomed her own. The new arrivals looked at her like an angel made flesh. During the voyage, they explained, they had only seen men. As soon as news of the new find had reached Great Britain, ship owners had specifically advertised to gold seekers. Within two days, a ship had been filled and its sails set.
“First come, first served,” said a friendly young man named Chris Timlock who immediately started talking with Claire. “When it happened in Australia, I was too young. But now, I didn’t even give it half a day’s thought. My wife wasn’t so excited, but she’ll see: this is our chance to get out of poverty.”
A large portion of the men had not even paid for their passage. The captain had transported them trusting that they would soon earn the money in the gold mines. The young church attendees doubtlessly wanted to pay their way afterward, but as for the other gold seekers . . .
“Some of them are real bastards,” said Chris Timlock, shaking his head. “Some of the lads on the ship, horrible. And in the camp too—there’s a rough air over there, I’ll tell you that, Mrs. Edmunds.”
The diggers did not all come from the Old World. Some of the men who arrived in Otago Harbor were veteran gold diggers from Australia.
“You’ve got to stick by them,” Chris said with shining eyes. “They know what they’re doing.”
The fact that they had not yet achieved great wealth didn’t unsettle them. Each of the men believed firmly in his own luck.
In those days, the merchants in and around Dunedin were assured wealth. Shovels and bowls with which to pan for gold were sold out first thing Monday morning. The diggers fought each other for the last tools. And the city certainly wasn’t prepared for the need for food and other supplies. Within the shortest time, the farmers of Waikouaiti had sold all their grain. All around Dunedin, the number of animals plummeted. The gold miners shot at anything that moved and promised a meal—as well as at freely roaming sheep, cats, and dogs. The sanitary conditions of the improvised camps were horrendous. Otago’s fresh air gave way to a pervasive stench of excrement as soon as one approached the city of tents. Nevertheless, as Mrs. Cooper had predicted, the gold miners moved on over the next few days toward Gabriel’s Gully, the name given to the first gold mine on the Tuapeka. The Scots sighed with relief and hoped to be done with them. But Reverend Burton shook his head.
“It would be better to steel oneself for the next wave,” he told Kathleen and Claire.
They had stayed a few days with the Coopers, helping the other women in the parish arrange tea and soup kitchens to serve the hungry men. In the camps, rule had already fallen to the strong. The poor and optimistic churchgoers from the country or working families could not prevail against the old adventurers from Australia or the West Coast. It was not all dreamers who filled the hills around Dunedin—the scum from the whaling and seal hunting camps; luckless gold seekers from Collingwood in the northwest; and released convicts from Australia, who surely had not made the money for their passage by honest means, all came too.
These men poured through the city; it was almost impossible to make it to the Tuapeka River without passing Dunedin. In Dunedin, the gold seekers got their bearings and acquired tents, digging implements, and provisions—and if someone really did find gold, he would turn it into money there. The small Scottish community was wholly overwhelmed by this onrush of men without much in the way of Calvinistic sensibility. The merchants disdained the men but still did their best to satisfy their customers. It was not long before they began ordering groceries from the Canterbury Plains and importing whole ships’ worth of tools from England.
In Dunedin, construction boomed. After all, not only were gold seekers pouring into the city but also people who wanted to stay. Craftsmen’s workshops, businesses, and banks opened swiftly, as did taverns and brothels. Just six months after the arrival of the first gold seekers, the population of the city had doubled—and more men were arriving, many with their wives and children.
“I have good news and bad news for you,” the reverend said.
Kathleen and Claire had just made another trip into the city, their wagon fully laden with wool goods from the farms. Recently, people in Dunedin had been ripping the woven blankets, sheepskin, and knit goods from their hands. It was cold in the gold miners’ camps—and even if the hardened diggers could bear it, the women and children needed warm clothes.
“Though you might not even take the bad news as such. You might not even miss me.”
Reverend Burton smiled, but he looked at them searchingly, particularly at Kathleen. He knew he should not think of her as lovingly as he did. For a pastor’s wife, he needed an upright Anglican, as courageous and unproblematic as possible. Kathleen was Irish, Catholic, and burdened with a dark secret to boot. Yet Reverend Peter Burton could not he
lp himself—his heart always danced at the sight of the beautiful blonde woman with deep-green eyes.
Kathleen raised her brows. “You’re leaving, Reverend?” she asked quietly.
Peter nodded, feeling hope. Was there disappointment in her eyes?
“Off to the cannibals?” Claire said, teasing him. “Is it far? Have you overdone it with your preaching?”
“Not quite,” he answered. “They’re going to begin construction on St. Paul’s in earnest next year, so they want to install a pastor a little firmer in his faith than I, or one who at least knows something about carpentry—or both. However it works out. In any case, I’m to serve the gold miners in the camps.”
“Do they require spiritual comfort?” asked Claire. “From what I hear, they reach for girls more than Bibles.” The first provisional brothels had opened in the mountains already.
Peter Burton smiled. “All the more reason to offer them spiritual guidance, says the bishop. And who better to turn to than me?”
The reverend was answering Claire, but his eyes never left Kathleen. She had lowered her gaze once again. Peter hoped his feelings did not deceive him, but she seemed concerned.
“Now, I won’t be falling off the edge of the world,” he said. “We needn’t fall out of touch. I, I may visit you, may I not? Kathleen?” Peter now looked plainly at her.
“In Waikouaiti?” she asked with lowered eyelids.
The reverend shook his head, beaming. “No, in Dunedin. This is the good news. Kathleen, Claire, I’ve rented a storefront for you. A new parishioner, Jimmy Dunloe, has purchased a building in the center of town.”
“A gold miner?” asked Claire, excited.
“No, miners rarely settle in one place, but the Dunloes have always had money. Jimmy runs a private bank that buys gold—he’s an adventurer of the more dapper sort. He means to establish his bank here in Dunedin but also to open up a branch in the new settlement on the Tuapeka. It’s rather well planned. And for the bank, he needs a representative building with business rooms and apartments. A salesroom in the building is empty right now, and an apartment belongs to it. When he told me about it, I thought at once about your fashion and tailoring business.”
Claire beamed, but Kathleen looked shocked.
“But, but we agreed that there was no market in Dunedin for it,” she said evasively.
Claire laughed and nudged her coltishly. “Was, Kathleen, was. Look around you. Do you see many Scots dressed like crows? Dunedin is growing into quite a wonderful modern city with beautiful women and rich men.” She spun Kathleen around and bumped into Peter Burton.
“I could hug you, Reverend,” she cheered, grabbing his shoulders. “We’re finally getting away from the bores in Waikouaiti. Kathleen! Say something. You’re happy, aren’t you?”
Kathleen’s face was flushed red. She did not know if she was happy. True, she would not cry over leaving Waikouaiti, especially not Mrs. Ashley and those like her. But a business in the middle of town? If Ian came looking for her . . . and if the reverend . . . if Peter was no longer there to protect her? She had to stop being so afraid. She had escaped. Ian was not looking for her. And no one had named Peter her protector.
“I’m thinking of Sean too, Kathleen. Mrs. Coltrane. He’s wasting away in Reverend Watgin’s schoolroom. He’ll find better teachers here in Dunedin.”
Kathleen nodded. Then she raised her eyes to him.
“Kathleen,” she whispered. “Please just call me Kathleen. Always, not just by accident, Peter.”
Peter Burton would have liked to hold her in his arms and offer her comfort. But he contented himself with taking her hand in his and pressing it lightly between his own. “Someday, you really must tell me what weighs on your heart, Kathleen,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll show you two your new business. There’s an apartment over the shop—and someday it will offer an enchanting view of the jewel of Dunedin: St. Paul’s Cathedral.”
The reverend was not exaggerating. Dunloe’s bank was in a new three-story building of Oamaru stone, a white limestone, and it was as centrally located as the church would someday be.
“The rent must be unaffordable.” Kathleen worried, but Claire would not be deterred.
“London fashion is also unaffordable here,” she laughed, managing to win over Mr. Dunloe at the same time.
The tall blond man seemed quite taken with the two women. He greeted each of them with a kiss on the hand, which made Kathleen blush. She only knew of such things from her landlords in Ireland; it was not common in her circles. Claire, on the other hand, blossomed when the banker invited them, and the reverend, too, to tea right after they met. The drink did not meet the standard of a fine house, however; the Maori maid had let it steep far too long, and she did not serve it correctly. The dark-haired, somewhat plump girl did not seem at all comfortable. She looked out the window incessantly—apparently she found the prospect of working on the second floor frightening.
“You can’t find any servants here,” Mr. Dunloe said apologetically.
At that Claire seized the teapot. “If you’ll allow me,” she said amiably. “Come along, girl. What’s your name? I’ll show you how to do it right.”
Claire disappeared into the kitchen with the completely willing Haki. In Claire’s absence, Kathleen tried to turn the conversation over to the reverend. She felt unsure of herself in the fine salon furnished with English furniture. But Mr. Dunloe was enthusiastic about her designs and would not be distracted from talking about them.
“Very tasteful, if not the latest fashion,” he declared—after all, he had just arrived from London. “You need a few new magazines for inspiration. And material; you’ll need to purchase material. I can give you contacts in London. Without a doubt, the business has a future. You’ll make more money than most of these poor devils mining for gold. In addition to clothes, I would offer a few accessories as well. Think about it: soon a few adventurers who actually find gold will be going in and out of my bank. They’ll be in a spending mood, but of course they won’t know their sweethearts’ measurements well enough to order a dress straight away. But a little hat, a silk handkerchief, a purse . . . Believe me, Mrs. Coltrane, here in the city, this will be the true gold mine.”
Just then Claire came back in with a fresh pot of tea and Haki trailing behind her. “Then we’ll name our store Gold Mine Boutique.” She smiled and turned back to the Maori maid. “Look, Haki, this is how you stand next to the gentlemen when you fill their cups. Then no one will get burned if there’s a splash. Don’t always look out the window, child. The house isn’t going to fall down.” Claire shook her head, indulgently but decisively. “Mr. Dunloe, the girl is handy, but she’s scared to death up here. Why don’t you give us Haki to help with the store, and you can look for a maid without a fear of heights? I’ll show the next one how to make tea properly, first thing.”
Matters with the business were coming along well, but while Claire was bubbling with joy at their new opportunity, Kathleen felt empty when Peter Burton said good-bye before setting out for the Tuapeka River.
“You’ll never get all of that in one go,” Kathleen said unhappily when she saw all the materials he had gathered for his tent mission.
The reverend nodded. “I will, but I’ll have to lead the horse. It’ll be fine; don’t worry. I just need a packsaddle.”
Kathleen looked at the ground. She hated her shyness. She had not been like this before. But the years with Ian—whom she had never liked to look in the eye and who would punish her if she looked, even plainly, in any man’s direction—had done their damage.
“If you . . . if you would do me the kindness, I’d be happy to give you my mule,” she said quietly. “I don’t need it anymore, after all, now that we live in the city.”
Peter Burton’s face brightened—not because of the mule, though it would be a great help, but rather because Kathleen was thinking of him. She was so often detached, but just now it did seem she cared for him after all.
“I’m happy to accept, Kathleen, and I’ll take good care of it,” he said formally. “Kathleen, would it, I mean, would you find it unpleasant? I would like to kiss you good-bye.”
He did not want to admit it, but the path ahead horrified him—the filthy gold miners’ camps and serving the men there. Peter Burton was an affable man. He liked all facets of the priest’s office—from the clever sermons to dancing at weddings, from the sympathetic accompaniment of the dying to the baptizing of new parishioners. But he could see clearly what was awaiting him: Drunks he had to prevent from fighting, desperate men who had left house and home to look for gold and yet did not become rich. The sick, the lonely, the abandoned, idlers and dreamers, petty scoundrels, and hardened criminals. Peter Burton thought his God owed him at least a beautiful dream before sending him into this strange and hostile world.
Kathleen looked up at him timidly. “Why?” she asked.
Peter lifted his hand. He would have gladly stroked her cheek, but her gaze became even more anxious as he neared her face. So he only stroked her hair, so gently and carefully that she hardly could have felt it, though he felt the softness of her locks. That would have to do. God was not very generous.
“We’ll put it off,” he sighed, “until you don’t ask anymore.”
Gold Mine Boutique became a success as soon the first fabrics from London, the latest magazines, and a few selected accessories adorned the displays. The wives of the bankers and businessmen came first, then those of the craftsmen, and finally even the ladies from the grand sheep farms in the interior. Most of the sheep barons were now expanding their businesses to include cattle. The appetite of the gold seekers for steak was insatiable, and even if only a very few really became rich, that sufficed, for the time being, to create a demand for good food and whiskey.
