‘Lizzie, Mama said you were to help me with William,’ said Mary Ann.
‘Only if he was difficult. But you’re not difficult are you, William?’
Awed by this vote of confidence from his big sister, William just said, ‘No,’ and got out of bed.
Henry started taking his clothes out of the drawers and heaping them on his bed, but after a while he leaned on the window sill and gazed out over the inlet. Elizabeth joined him.
The mangroves on the other side of the inlet loomed grey-green through the lifting fog. Some Maoris were pushing a sleek, black canoe into the leaden water. Their muted voices carried across the river.
‘They’ll be going up the creek to inspect the eel traps. It’s fun,’ Henry said, ‘but I may never go with them again.’
‘They’ll still be doing it when you return.’
‘You might all be moved from here when I get back.’
‘Papa says he’s not going,’ said Elizabeth.
‘He says that, Lizzie, but he hasn’t got much choice, has he? I think he is just trying to keep Mother’s spirits up. She is terrified by the thought of moving. How could he make a living? If he wanted to stay here when they close it down, how could he pay rent? I doubt if he has much money saved, if any. Te Karere belongs to the mission; they’ll send it down south and how would he get on without a boat?’ He turned to look at Mary Ann and William, their five-year-old brother, who was standing quietly as she did up the buttons that attached his trousers to his jacket.
‘William will be eight when I come back. Mary Ann will be twelve, same as you are now.’
‘And Richard and William will probably have to go to England too, later on, if Father can afford it. So you’d better try not to sound afraid,’ said Lizzie
Henry nodded and addressed his younger sister. ‘You’re probably right, Mary Ann, it will be exciting.’
‘I know,’ she snapped.
‘What’ll be exciting?’ asked William.
‘I’ve got to go to school — to England.’
‘Oh, that place.’ William dismissed it. ‘But you haven’t finished making our boat, Henry.’
‘I’ll ask James to finish it.’
Henry started folding up his clothes.
‘There you are then,’ said Mary Ann, patting William’s chest. ‘You go down with Henry and I’ll dress Sarah.’
In the next room Sarah was already out of bed and washing her face and hands in the china bowl on the washstand. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sisters. Mary Ann gathered clothes for Sarah: a clean petticoat from the drawers and her dress from the chair where she had left it the night before.
‘Found it!’ she cried, waving her lost stocking. ‘Sorry, Lizzie,’ she had the grace to say. ‘It was muddled with Sarah’s things.’
‘I’ll dress Sarah if you like, while you tidy the beds,’ Elizabeth offered.
‘Sarah can almost dress herself now, can’t you, love? You go to Lizzie and she’ll help you. Dry your hands properly. And take your hairbrush and ribbon.’
Four-year-old Sarah had soon dressed herself with minimal help. She handed the hairbrush and ribbon to Elizabeth and turned her back. For such a small girl she had an abundance of hair and Elizabeth started to brush each long brown lock.
‘Why does Henry have to go away?’ asked Sarah. ‘He goes to school here.’
‘Because boys have all the luck; you’ll soon learn that. We just sit at home and hem handkerchiefs,’ said Mary Ann.
‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that — not in front of Mama anyway.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because she has so much work to do: looking after us and organizing all the workers, teaching the school and seeing to the meals. Especially with Father away so often.’
Lizzie brushed Sarah’s hair back from the temples and stroked it together into her hand. She put the brush down and picked up the ribbon.
‘I don’t see what that has to do with it. She doesn’t complain.’
‘No,’ said Elizabeth quietly. ‘So why do you?’
She wrapped the ribbon deftly around the lock of hair and tied the knot, then the bow.
‘Oh, Lizzie, I can’t be like you, so content. I want to get away and see new places and do exciting things.’
‘I expect there are hundreds of girls in England saying exactly the same thing, and envying us. And probably hemming handkerchiefs too,’ Elizabeth grinned. ‘There, Sarah, off you go for your breakfast.’
She stood up and tucked her crutches under her arms. ‘Right! To the handkerchiefs. Follow me!’
Mary Ann followed her, laughing.
CHAPTER 3
It was well past midday before Te Karere returned from The Elizabeth which was anchored in deeper water out in the Bay of Islands. A triangle of white sail hovered over the mangroves then the small cutter appeared round the bend of the inlet.
Elizabeth, Mary Ann and several of the Maori girls from the school, sat on the front lawn in the sunshine, hemming handkerchiefs. Mrs Kemp sat with them, trying to finish the shirts that she was making for Henry.
Mary Ann was the first to see the sail. ‘Look, the boat!’ she cried, jumping up. ‘Hooray! The boxes! Mama, we can open them before tea, can’t we, Mama?’
‘For once I’ll agree. I want to find the new clothes that should be coming for Henry. He’ll need to pack them.’
Seeing the boat lower its sail and glide up to the jetty, Mr Nesbit, the carpenter employed on the building of the stone store, pushed his hammer into his belt and strolled down to the wharf. The two Maori men who worked for the mission, John Taua, Mere’s husband, and Thomas Reo, came round from the gardens. They soon had the boat tied up and the cases unloaded.
All the children were excited. This only happened three or four times a year. It meant new clothes, letters, new school books, even presents if they had had a birthday since the last boat.
Mary Ann found it impossible to keep still and darted about, getting in everyone’s way, until her father barked at her and sent her off to help with lunch for the men.
Elizabeth finished the handkerchief she was hemming and went into the kitchen. She could hear Mary Ann the minute she opened the door.
‘Honestly, Mama, I don’t know how you can wait to see what is in them.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘You did put coloured shoes, didn’t you? In the order?’
‘I did.’
‘What colour do you think they’ll be?’
‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘Wouldn’t red be beautiful — or blue. What do you think, Elizabeth? I think blue; it would go with my blue sash.’
Elizabeth could see her mother was getting exasperated and put in a quick suggestion. ‘Perhaps you could go and make a clear space for the boxes in the schoolroom. I can help Mama with the lunch.’
‘See Papa eats his lunch quickly,’ was Mary Ann’s parting shot.
Her mother shook her head and took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Elizabeth, a very timely suggestion. Perhaps you could butter this.’ She pushed a platter of sliced bread across the table to Elizabeth.
‘She does go on a bit,’ said Elizabeth, reaching for the plate of butter.
Within half an hour lunch was over and Mary Ann came to inform them that the boxes were waiting to be unpacked. She then dashed away to notify Mrs Shepherd and Mrs Edmonds, in their nearby houses.
By the time they had all gathered in the schoolroom Henry was busy levering the lid off the first case; it came apart with creaks as the nails bent. The moment had arrived. The women stood at hand to check their lists.
Mary Ann was allowed first pick. She took a large box from the first layer and opened it. The box contained a man’s top hat. She lifted it out and stroked the furry surface.
‘Ah! One man’s black beaver hat,’ said Mrs Kemp, ticking her list.
‘Papa’s new hat. Try it on, Papa,’ squealed Sarah.
Mr Kemp placed it on his head with all solemnity.
‘My turn next,’ claimed William. He reached in with his eyes shut and pulled out a small box which he opened. ‘Reels of sewing cotton,’ he said in disgust.
‘Yes, that’s half for me and half for you,’ said Mrs Shepherd marking her list.
And so they went on, crossing off each item as it appeared: socks; shoe ribbon; one dozen men’s shirts, large size; fine calico; one dozen black silk men’s handkerchiefs; bed ticking; six print dresses.
‘For me, for me?’ called Mary Ann.
‘Two each, of course,’ said her mother pulling one out of the bundle and giving it a shake. ‘I hope they made them large enough. I asked that they be large, with plenty of tucks.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t, Mama,’ Mary Ann complained. ‘When they are new they look like a bunch of tucks and when they get to being the right size they’re old and covered in stripes where the tucks have been let out. And look how old-fashioned they are. The latest thing is to have natural waists and full skirts — Mrs Busby told me — and she is the Governor’s wife so she should know. It’s quite out to have high-waisted dresses now. I expect they sent us old stock.’
‘Well, I like them,’ said Elizabeth, seeing how the complaints upset her mother.
‘So do I,’ Mrs Kemp agreed. ‘High waists are a much daintier style for children.’
‘Yes, but out of date,’ muttered Mary Ann, under her breath.
Mrs Kemp ignored her and continued unpacking. ‘Two pieces of brown holland.’ She felt the material between her fingers, checking it for quality. ‘Two dozen pairs of children’s shoes, two to ten years.’ The shoes kept on coming out and were handed to Richard who placed them against the wall, until they stood in a row right along the side of the room, all of black or brown. Mary Ann peered into the case but there were no more.
Henry levered the lid off a new case and it was William’s turn again. He reached in and lifted out a cardboard box. He raised the lid and peeped in, then slammed it down quickly.
‘Oh, come on, William,’ said Richard, ‘don’t be childish.’
‘I am a child so I’m allowed to be childish,’ retorted William. He peeped under the lid again and giggled. ‘You’ll never guess in a million years.’
‘William, hand it over,’ ordered his mother, reaching for the box. She, too, lifted the lid but put it straight back down.
‘How could they? It’s really too bad of them.’
‘What, Mama?’ they chorused.
‘It’s only because we live so far away and can’t send them back,’ she complained to her husband.
‘What, Mama?’
‘Yes dear, what?’ asked Mr Kemp, smiling.
Slowly, his wife lifted the lid and held out the box. It contained a pair of shoes. They were bright puce-pink, embellished with purple bows.
Mr Kemp’s mouth lifted at the corners and Richard laughed outright. In a moment they had all joined in. All, that is, except Mary Ann and her mother who stood transfixed.
‘You did ask me to put coloured in the order,’ said Mrs Kemp. ‘But I do think it is too bad of them.’
Mary Ann reached into the shoe box and picked one out. Elizabeth could see that she didn’t know whether to laugh with the others or to cry.
‘Perhaps,’ said their mother faintly, ‘we could remove the bows.’
‘They probably made them for someone who changed their mind when they saw them,’ said Elizabeth.
‘And I don’t blame them!’ said young James, setting off fresh peals of laughter.
Mary Ann glared at them. ‘Well, I think,’ she said in a loud voice, using a phrase of Mrs Busby’s, ‘that they look vastly elegant!’
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.
‘How about the next box, Henry?’ said Mr Kemp.
Soon all the cases had been opened and the contents sorted and checked. The last box was from the Church Missionary Society, and contained the mail that had accumulated over several months at the society’s office, awaiting shipment.
It was late afternoon before all the mail had been read, the new school stationery stacked on the shelves, and the new crockery taken into the kitchen to be washed and sorted.
‘Father, can I come and help you with the boxes for the store now?’ asked James.
‘Can I come too?’ pleaded Elizabeth. ‘I can check the lists.’
‘Right, James and Elizabeth can come with me; the rest of you can help here.’
Elizabeth picked up her crutches and followed. They went to the small shed that served as a store until the new one would be finished. Several unopened cases stood outside, containing the goods that were sent from the society as sale items. The men carried one inside and James levered off the top. Elizabeth was lifted onto the bench under the window, with the lists and a crayon for marking them off.
James handed out the first package, saying, ‘One gross fish hooks, large.’
Elizabeth crossed it off the list as Mr Kemp tipped them into a box on the shelf marked FISH HOOKS LARGE, and reached for another package.
‘Papa, now Henry’s going, you won’t have him to be your interpreter, will you?’ said Elizabeth.
‘No, I’ll miss him. He’s always had a better grasp of the language than I have. But then, I’ve improved a lot. James can come with me if I need him. He’s eleven now.’
‘A dozen pairs of scissors.’ Before handing them on, James snipped at a piece of packing paper and seemed satisfied that they were sharp.
Elizabeth marked them off, repeating the statement.
‘But Papa, I’m older than James and you’ve always said that I’m better at Maori than he is.’
‘Not much,’ growled James.
‘Aye, and you’re a lass,’ replied her father bluntly.
‘What difference does that make?’
‘Well, it would not be seemly. We travel many miles and very rough ones at that. Even though he is younger, James is stronger than you.’
‘Then it’s because of my leg,’ she snapped.
‘No, love, don’t always be ready to jump. It’s as I have said. Even if you were fit and well, I would not take you.’
James gave his father a small bundle in a waterproof bag. ‘Ten pounds saltpetre. What’s that for?’ he asked.
‘For preserving meat.’
Elizabeth held the list up to the window. ‘I can hardly see the words.’
‘Yes, it’s getting too dark. It’s pointless going on now. Run up and get Thomas if you can find him, James. He can help me lift the other cases in overnight.’
James left on his errand and Elizabeth persisted with her father.
‘Papa, my bad leg would not hinder you. I can go quite fast.’
Her father sighed. ‘Lizzie, love, how can I make you understand? ’Tis not only your leg — though it would be a hindrance, and you’ve got to face up to that. No, the boys can help me and it’s your job to help your mother.’
‘But that’s not …’ she screwed her face into a frown.
‘Not what?’
‘Not God’s work.’
‘Well, I would say it was; but what are you trying to say?’
Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘Because if I were doing God’s work he might make my leg better.’
Mr Kemp sighed. ‘Oh, Lizzie, you can’t barter with God.’
‘Well, what can I do?’ she asked desperately.
‘Just go on praying, as we do.’
‘But I do and nothing happens,’ she protested.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I haven’t got an answer. Perhaps it’s not what we want but what God wants that matters.’ He lifted her down, then said urgently, ‘But Lizzie, if my work is God’s work, then your mother’s is too. I could not do mine without her. When I return to a clean house and clothing and food and happy, well-instructed children, I thank God for her. And it is God’s work for you to be her comfort, just as she is mine. Especially now when there will soon be another baby t
o care for. You can see that, can’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘But, Papa, I do try.’
‘I know you do, love.’
‘It just seems so ordinary.’
‘Most things are.’
CHAPTER 4
September, 1833
Dear Henry,
It is over a month now since you left. There is no boat here to send this letter on but I think it is as well to have it ready for when a boat comes, don’t you? James asks me to say that he is sorry that he forgot to wave when the boat left; it was just that Oka came up to talk to them and when he turned back you had almost disappeared. He says that he did wave but you might not have seen him, or did you? I think it is a bit silly to ask you this because by the time the boat gets this letter to you in England it might be six months. And by the time you write back and get the letter on another boat it will be nearly a year before he gets an answer. But it seems to worry him so I have put it in. He’s sorry anyway! I hope you had a good journey.
What is going on here? Much as usual, with Papa off on his tours, visiting the kainga up and down the coast. Sometimes he walks, sometimes he goes in Te Karere. I am sure he misses you but John Taua often goes with him now. Mere asked me to send you her love. I know that she means that very sincerely, Henry. She seems to think of you almost as her own son. In fact, she told me once that ever since she rescued you from drowning when you were a little boy, she thinks of you as partly hers.
Mama continues to worry about whether the committee is going to move us all. In fact she never stops worrying everyone: Papa, George Clarke, Mr Williams. They just have to make an appearance and she is asking them to write letters to the committee here, or to the Reverend Jowett in England at the C.M.S. office there. Poor Mama, I can understand it. Imagine trying to pack up and move with all us lot. Imagine having to leave this house. And having to live in tents and native huts until they get a new house built. And meeting new natives, all her old friends left behind. I don’t think I would like it either.
Lizzie, Love Page 2
