by Sarah Lark
The other women sat together, laughing and talking about dresses and wedding dances, presents, and customs of various tribes.
Haikina didn’t join the women, and Lizzie, for whom the talk was uncomfortable, stayed close to her. She tried to remember more precisely what had happened the night before, and slowly her memory returned. Kahu had spoken of a promise of marriage, but he could not have taken that seriously. She had been completely drunk, after all. Though he had been pressuring her for a long time, and on New Year’s Eve, new things should begin.
Lizzie was prepared to think the matter over. Kahu had been tender, a wonderful lover. But to marry him right away?
She was startled when Haikina suddenly whispered to her. “Lizzie?” She was the only one who still called Lizzie by her pakeha name. “I know it’s none of my business. But I’d like to talk with you.”
Lizzie was surprised Haikina was speaking English, but then she glanced at her and noticed Haikina’s alert, concerned face. Apparently she did not want Hainga or the other women to understand what she had to discuss with Lizzie. The girl even seemed to shy away from Kahu, who was just then coming over to them. She lowered her head and let her long, black hair fall over her face as he sat next to Lizzie. Lizzie thought she saw Haikina blush. Was she in love with Kahu? Perhaps she was hurt because the intended chief of the Ngati Pau wanted a white wife and not a Ngai Tahu princess.
Kahu gave Lizzie a beaming smile. “Elizabeth,” he said with a voice as soft as a caress. “I hope you’ve slept well. You did not freeze in my arms.”
Lizzie nodded. He had kept her warm. She managed to smile back at him.
“And you see that everyone here is happy for us. Tonight there will be a celebration in our honor. To honor you, Elizabeth. My happiness knows no bounds.”
He did not kiss her but instead put his nose and forehead against hers in the Maori way. Lizzie returned the sign of affection. She now recalled his promise. I’ll never leave you alone. Perhaps it was foolish to hesitate.
And yet—Lizzie wanted to ask for postponement. Everything had happened too quickly the night before. She realized that the eyes of the tribe were fixed on Kahu and her. This wasn’t a whispered promise between two people, a secret engagement. It seemed that Kahu had announced their planned engagement to the whole tribe. Lizzie felt dizzy. She could not back out—not without a scandal. She would hurt Kahu Heke, the man, deeply. And she would rob the Ngati Pau chieftain of his dignity. Lizzie bit her lip. She had to marry Kahu or throw herself in the river.
“I, I’m happy too,” she said.
Perhaps she really would be too. At least she would no longer be alone.
Lizzie rubbed her temples. Her head still hurt. Then she heard Haikina’s voice next to her again.
“Please, Lizzie,” said the girl, still hiding behind her curtain of dark hair. “Please come speak with me. Maybe I don’t have anything new to tell you, but . . . Say we’re going to pick flowers. Or something else for the wedding. So the others will let us go alone.”
Whatever she had to tell Lizzie seemed very important to Haikina.
Lizzie nodded at her friend. “We won’t find any flowers in the middle of winter. I’ll say we’re going to weave a bridal garland.”
Indeed, hoarfrost lay on the ferns and beech trees that formed the forest in this part of New Zealand. Surely it would snow soon. Plants for a garland would be hard to find; the excuse could not be very convincing.
Neither Hainga nor Kahu asked questions when Lizzie and Haikina left the village together. Everyone was busy with preparations for the celebration; a new year that began with a wedding would be especially lucky. It seemed normal to the Ngai Tahu that Lizzie would want to attend to a few pakeha customs before the night of nights.
Haikina and Lizzie wandered in silence up the mountain until the walking warmed them. Then they sat on a rock from which they could watch the village. Lizzie was not sure, but Haikina seemed to keep an eye on Kahu and Hainga.
“What’s the matter?” Lizzie finally blurted out. “You, you’re not mad at me, are you? I didn’t encourage Kahu. I didn’t even want to. It would, it would surely be more proper if he married you.”
Haikina looked at Lizzie incredulously. “Me?” she asked. “What gave you that idea?”
“Well, because he, because he is going to be a chief, and you’re the daughter of a tohunga. You make sense together.”
Haikina laughed, but it did not sound very happy. “You think it’s like one of the pakeha fairy tales, do you?” she asked. It could have been teasing, but it sounded bitter. “The prince rides out to find a princess somewhere in the distance?”
Lizzie nodded.
Haikina rolled her eyes and pulled her scarf tighter around her. “I thought as much,” she continued, “but that’s not how it is, Lizzie. The Maori rarely marry outside the tribe. That is especially true for the children of chieftains. In Maori fairy tales, the prince marries his sister.”
“But that—”
“That’s tikanga, Lizzie, since the time in Hawaiki. It’s not just fairy tale. Depending on the tribe, it happens more or less often. Among the Ngai Tahu it rarely does anymore. Your missionaries saw to that. But throughout the North Island, it’s still common.”
Haikini waited for Lizzie to say something, but she was silent.
“If Kahu did not tell you that, I take it he did not mention all the other tapu,” Haikini said.
Lizzie rubbed her forehead. “Kahu didn’t tell me anything,” she said bitterly. “Naturally, every tribe has this or that tapu, but—”
“There are special tapu that affect the life of the chieftain,” Haikina said. “Strictly speaking, the whole person of the chief is tapu.”
Lizzie frowned. “Tapu does mean untouchable, right?” she asked.
Haikina nodded. “For that reason the chieftain cannot live with his wife like, like the pakeha husband and wife, if that makes sense.”
Lizzie shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. What is this, Haikina? Are you trying to warn me about something? Please just tell me what you know. I, I don’t feel good, and tonight . . .”
“Very well,” Haikina said. “I don’t feel good about this, myself, you see. I feel I’m betraying my people, but you must know what you are agreeing to if you marry a chieftain of the Ngati Pau. It begins with him not being able to live with you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Lizzie, her mouth dry. She still heard Kahu’s voice. I’ll never leave you alone.
“The chieftain lives separated from all others, Lizzie. No one is allowed to enter his house. No one may touch the things he has touched. Once, even brushing past him was punishable by death. A cleansing ceremony is necessary should his shadow fall on another person.”
“But, but how does he have children?” Lizzie asked nervously.
“His wife is allowed to visit him at certain times, but only after a special ceremony we call the karakia. You may also cook for him, but you cannot eat of it yourself, for his food is tapu. He cannot touch any eating or drinking vessel because afterward someone else might use it, and that would bring misfortune. So he is fed using special utensils, a calabash from which water is poured into his mouth without him touching it, and a feeding horn.”
“A what?” Lizzie could not believe all this.
Haikina described the utensil to her. “And that’s not all, Lizzie. His children, too, are tapu. You cannot wash them or comb their hair because to do that, you would need to touch them, and they are sacred. Chieftains’ children are often rather unkempt until they learn to keep themselves halfway clean. And they will be taken from you as soon as possible.”
“But, but how do the others handle it, the other chieftains’ wives?” Lizzie felt as if she had been hit. Kahu should have told her all of this. Or did he plan to break from tradition?
“Like I said, most of them marry their sisters. They’re used to it—and, naturally, of such high rank from birth that they are permitted to
touch a tapu child. But not comb! The god Rauru lives in the chieftain’s hair.”
Kahu had told her that at least—but more as an anecdote. Lizzie hadn’t thought he took it seriously.
Lizzie breathed deeply. “That may all be true, of course, Haikina,” she said. “But don’t you think Kahu will change it? He was in a pakeha school. He’s Christian. At least—”
Haikina shook her head. “Lizzie, wake up. Is he asking you for a Christian wedding, or does he want to lie with you in the meeting house?”
“Both, both would work,” cried Lizzie desperately. She felt exhausted and sad. The second man, the second betrayal.
Haikina laid her arm around Lizzie’s shoulder. “Both would work, huh?” she asked harshly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Kahu also married you in a church. So that both pakeha and Maori would recognize the marriage.”
“But then we could live together like a Christian couple,” said Lizzie.
Haikina sighed. “And you will. Later. After he’s first realized his will and become kingi. Once they invite you two to England and introduce you to the queen, or whatever else will serve the peace. But you don’t really believe that Kahu will blindside all the tribes of the North Island by breaking the traditions around a chief’s dignity, do you? He’ll send his sons to pakeha schools. But in the early years, he won’t let their mother comb the lice from their hair.”
“That can’t be true,” whispered Lizzie—but she believed every word. Something had always stood between Kahu and her, an instinct that had warned her and saved her from following him straight into the meeting house.
Haikina shrugged. “Then ask him,” she said. “Ask him why he’s in such a hurry to make the marriage official. Ask him if engagement to you might not perhaps be a condition for him becoming ariki. I think I might have heard something about that. Please don’t think that I mean anything bad by you. I’m not speaking from any jealousy. I wouldn’t marry a chieftain of the Ngati Pau even if he was the only man I could ever share a bed with.”
Lizzie pressed her forehead and nose against those of her friend. “Thank you, Haikina,” she whispered. “I won’t ask Kahu. Because I don’t want him to lie anymore. I can’t stand to hear any more excuses. I’m tired of it. Yesterday he swore that I would never be alone.”
Lizzie followed Haikina into the village and retrieved her horse. She took some of her clothes and the gold she had panned over the last few weeks. She’d panned to keep busy after Michael left more than to become rich, but it was still a considerable amount. Once she exchanged it for money, she would be able to live on it for a while.
She tried simply to act and not to brood, but she couldn’t. Despite all her exhaustion and headaches, she struggled with the echo of Haikina’s words in her thoughts and feelings. And she started to register just how often Kahu had suppressed information and answers. He had boasted of wanting a wife with mana, but in truth, he had planned to bury her power under thousands of tapu.
With every memory of his excuses or lies, something in Lizzie seemed to die. Kahu might believe he loved her, but in truth, he only loved the pakeha wahine, a fitting queen for the kingi. And Michael had used her mana and then discarded her. In reality, he had only ever loved Kathleen.
Lizzie did not cry as she led her horse to the river, still unnoticed by the others in the village, who were excitedly preparing her wedding. She left her tent behind. She no longer needed it. Never again would she sleep under the stars. Never again would she think about the spirits. She didn’t want to hear any more talk. No more about mana, no more about Elizabeth or about being a queen. No one told the truth—not the spirits; not even the tohunga, Hainga, had told her the truth. In the end, she remained Lizzie, the whore.
Lizzie hoped that Kahu would not follow her. She did not have any strength left to fight. That night she would sleep in her old cabin, and the next day she would continue on to Tuapeka and Dunedin. Someday, she might live and love again. But for now, she wanted to forget and to sleep. To dream herself out of this world.
Chapter 5
Michael Drury felt wretched when he returned to Otago. He hadn’t enjoyed his journey at all—in fact, he had felt poorly from almost the very beginning, from the moment his anger at Lizzie dissipated. An anger for which there had been no real reason and which did not last long. Sure, Lizzie had thrown her old recriminations regarding Kathleen back at him, and he still reacted sensitively to those, but he had provoked her. Worse yet, he had behaved terribly toward her. He couldn’t drink that away, no matter how he tried. He had spent a wild night with his old companions from Kaikoura, of course, but even that was not quite satisfying without Lizzie.
Michael had no more desire to drink and sleep with Claudia. The blonde whore had been a replacement for Kathleen for a short time. He had been able to bury his face in her light-colored hair and dream of his first love. Claudia was no replacement for Lizzie, and a girl with darker hair and fewer curves would not have made him happier, either. There was simply more to Lizzie—he wanted to talk to her, work with her, and argue with her. He missed her feistiness, her ambition, and her sometimes idiosyncratic understanding of morals and order.
Michael had not stayed long in Kaikoura. There was only one farm for sale in the area, and it was too small to be profitable. The broker in Christchurch knew about two farms in the Canterbury Plains, so Michael made his way there. The landscape was overwhelming: grassland green and lush as in Ireland, but not broken up by fences. The sheep of the grand farmers grazed free in the meadows, overseen only by Maori shepherds and their dogs.
Michael remembered his coup with Fyffe’s dogs. Back then, he had achieved something on his own. The work with the sheep had suited him. He could do that again. Lizzie would not have intervened; she did not know what to do with livestock. But, obviously, she had wanted to choose their house. Michael had gone too far. It had simply been stupid to pick a fight. All their differences would disappear like smoke when Lizzie had her manor and he his sheep.
Michael had had copious time to think—likely too much. He spent most nights on his travels alone at a campfire. His path did not take him to the Maori tribes on the way, and he wouldn’t stop at manors and simply invite himself in. He missed Lizzie’s warmth at night, her company at the fire, her skill at catching fish. Using pakeha methods did not work half so well. Michael often ate only the bread and dried meat he bought in the towns through which he passed.
Finding the towns was no longer difficult. The roads in Canterbury were well paved. He could easily have driven them in a small wagon. The first farm Michael viewed was easy to reach, even though it was in the mountains. It was gorgeous, but its location was not ideal for sheep, and it was far removed from any pakeha settlement. Lizzie would not care for such isolation.
There was no well-paved approach to the second farm. It lay in the middle of the plains and was big and promising, but the house and stables were nothing more than primitive shacks. The owner had gotten ahead of himself with the amount of land and then had no more money for livestock or construction. Michael and Lizzie had the means for both.
Yet Michael had become unsure when he tried to envision Lizzie’s desires. She had always dreamed of a manor, but did she want to build it too? Would she want to live in primitive conditions for years until everything was finally ready? He had promised her a nest. He wanted to lead her into her kingdom as a prince would a princess. He would not bring her to a piece of land on which he could but draw the outlines of her house-to-be.
So Michael rejected the purchase of this farm too, and made his way back to Otago. The broker had notified him of one other farm. It was near Queenstown, one of the new settlements of gold prospectors, on Lake Wakatipu. The farmhouse was supposed to be lovely, so surely the property was expensive. Perhaps, the broker had said with a wink, there might still be gold on the land. Michael could hardly imagine that, but he had decided to return to Tuapeka, retrieve Lizzie from the Maori, and then travel to Queenstown with her so
they could look at it together.
Naturally, he would have to make his apologies first. The closer he got to Tuapeka, the more difficult and less promising the plan seemed to him. What if Lizzie no longer wanted to have anything to do with him? What if she was no longer even in the village? He had left her waiting longer than he had planned. He had written, however. Had the reverend taken the letter up to her? Had she ridden down to check for mail? Damn it. He should have discussed all of that with her before he rode away. He never should have left in anger, and he certainly never should have left without her.
As he rode toward the cabin he had built with Lizzie, his feelings of guilt grew stronger. In his heart, he had hoped she would be there when he arrived, but the house was dark beneath an ice cold, crystal clear night sky. Michael hoped there was still wood in the shed.
At least no one had broken into the cabin and no animals had made their home there. New Zealand’s fauna was limited. There were no rodents, foxes, or hares that would potentially move in. There were a few of the giant weta, and Michael swept the insects outside. Then, he looked for wood and lit the fireplace. Outside, he beat the dirt out of the colorful Maori rug, then he laid it back down in front of the fire before spreading out his sleeping bag on top of it to dry. It was much too quiet in the cabin. Michael hoped he would be able to share it with Lizzie again the next day.
Lizzie thought she was hallucinating when she saw light in the old house. She had hiked a long time. It was dark, and she was freezing. The whole way down from the Maori village, she had looked forward to reaching her little cabin. At least she would have a roof over her head, and with just a little work to get a fire started, the tiny house would quickly be warm and cozy. Now it seemed someone else was there; perhaps other prospectors had occupied it. People coming and going was inherent to prospecting, like whaling and seal hunting before it.
