Lizzie, Love

by Brenda Delamain

  She hesitated. ‘Not Henry?’

  ‘Who else?’ He spread his hands.

  ‘Oh! How you’ve grown.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Lizzie, what a greeting. You sound like an aged aunt. Of course I’ve grown in two years. You don’t look to have shrunk, either.’

  ‘Henry, it’s really you!’ She took a couple of hops forward and threw her arms round him, letting her crutches fall to the ground. ‘When did you come? Why didn’t you let us know? Why are you home so soon?’

  ‘Steady on; I arrived yesterday. Aunt Ann wrote, but the boat I was on caught up to the one she sent the letter on. So we both arrived together, practically.’ He bent and retrieved her crutches.

  Elizabeth was completely overcome. It was all more than she had hoped for. Henry was back. Her mother, pale, and looking calmer than the last time she had seen her, now descended from the dray. Though she lacked her former confident air, Elizabeth could see that she had improved considerably. The tears welled up in her eyes as she hopped forward to greet her. Without saying a word, her mother hugged her tight and, feeling the strength and firmness of her touch, Elizabeth knew that she was getting better.

  Her mother kept hold of her hand as Elizabeth lead her into the house. They were met by Mrs Clarke coming out to see the new arrivals, closely followed by Hopkins.

  ‘Charlotte,’ she clasped her friend’s other hand, ‘how wonderful to see you looking so much better. Come, sit down; you too, Elizabeth. I’ll go and make a pot of tea. James, the men have gone to the market following a committee meeting. They should be back any moment.’

  To Elizabeth, drying her tears, it seemed as though the world was pulling itself together from a scattering of fragments. Helping to endorse this feeling, people began to converge. Mrs Davis and Mr Williams, having seen the arrivals, came from the direction of the market. Several children appeared in the doorway carrying bunches of leaves. They were told to await Mr Darwin on the verandah.

  Hopkins came and attached himself to Elizabeth’s skirt, looking at her with dog-like devotion. She lifted him onto her knee. Mr Williams came across to the Kemps.

  ‘James, Charlotte, the best of news for you. The committee has just decided. You are not to go!’

  ‘Go? Where?’ asked Mr Kemp.

  ‘Anywhere!’ said Mr Williams, ‘You are to stay at Kerikeri.’

  ‘Then you will let us keep the house. I’m pleased about that.’

  ‘No, James, don’t you understand? We have not accepted your resignation. You are to carry on at Kerikeri as before — well, almost.’

  ‘You mean …’ A shadow of disbelief crossed Mr Kemp’s face. ‘I can continue with my work?’

  ‘Yes, aren’t you pleased?’ said Mr Williams. ‘But there will have to be some changes. Mr Shepherd will be going to Whangaroa. And you will have to work alone. But we will talk about it later. Lovely to see you, Charlotte. It’s good that you are looking so well.’

  More and more people seemed to congregate in the house, children and adults. Greetings were called, cheeks were kissed, everybody talked. Mrs Clarke organised. She soon had everyone sorted into groups for lunch. Mr Williams and Mr Darwin were placed in the first relay, so that they could inspect the kauri trees before the Christmas service.

  ‘And not too late back,’ she instructed. ‘The Paihia and Kerikeri people have to get home before dark. William, put into water the plants Mr Darwin wishes to keep, and Martha, sweep the leaves away.’

  To Elizabeth, sitting in the corner with Hopkins on her knee, she nodded and said, ‘That’s right, dear,’ as she swept past.

  Elizabeth caught her mother’s eye across the room. They both smiled. She looked about and felt at peace. Hopkins lay back and sucked his thumb. Her father and Mr Davis stood before the window, discussing something. The sun threw a fringe of light about their heads. She could tell, by the way her father kept looking at his fingers, that he was asking for something. He always did that, as though the examination of his hands was a way of being non-committal about his request. She noticed James hovering near, as though anxious about the outcome. Yes, it was definitely about James. Mr Davis grasped him by the shoulder and drew him closer. She could not hear a word they were saying, but she could see from the look of happiness on James’ face, and the benign expressions of the two men, that something had been agreed upon.

  Good, James was settled. Her mother was well. Henry was back. Her father looked happier than he had for months and she was happy, too! Elizabeth gave Hopkins a squeeze. He gurgled, thumb in mouth, and dribbled down his chin.

  Mrs Clarke paused as she passed and took out her handkerchief. ‘Oh, Hopkins,’ she said, removing his thumb and wiping it dry. ‘I’ll take him for lunch now, Lizzie. Come and have some yourself.’ Elizabeth followed her through to the kitchen.

  Mr Nisbet appeared to be the only person there. He was finishing his lunch. Elizabeth sat beside him.

  ‘Hello, lassie,’ he said. ‘Did you know I’m going?’

  ‘Going? Where?’

  ‘I’ve finished at Kerikeri now. I’ve done my jobs for the mission. I’m going back to Horeke where I was before. Some of my friends have started a mill there.’

  ‘A flour mill?’

  ‘No lass, a timber mill. There’ll be a demand for timber soon. There’s a few settlers starting to come. And boats are always needing timber, for repairs and spars and the like.’

  ‘I’m sorry you’re going.’

  ‘Well, so am I, in a way. We’ve had some good times and some bad, but we muddled through, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s how it is — some goes well and some not so well. People come, and people go.’

  ‘Did you finish my splint?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes, it’s there waiting for you. Your father and I finished it. It’s lighter, much lighter, with a neat little shoe on it to put your foot in.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s very kind of you to go to all that bother for me.’

  Mr Nisbet stood up and pushed his chair back. ‘Aye, bless you. Well, I must be off. It’s a long way to Horeke before dark. ‘’Bye, lass!’ He patted her head.

  ‘’Bye,’ said Elizabeth as she watched him walk to the door. ‘I’ll keep on muddling,’ she called after him.

  ‘Not much else we can do.’ He smiled, and was gone.

  After lunch they all squeezed into the chapel for a short Christmas service, taken by Reverend Williams. The church was decked in white for the festival. Bowls of white flowers stood by the altar. The building was filled with the scent of roses and lilies from the garden. The Kemps sat together, squashed up on the front bench. Their father sat at the end, as he had to read the first lesson. Elizabeth was so elated she found it hard to concentrate on anything, but she caught the last few words of her father’s reading: ‘“… and the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.”’

  The insistence of the well-known phrase brought to mind the months of darkness that had just passed, and the dark scudding clouds of night that had distorted her mother’s mind. But there had been light, too. The light of the boat bringing her father up the river, and the light of the fire that night, as he comforted her. She recalled, farther back, the darkness and the wet grass by the hen-house on the night that Sam died; and the deep thunderous sky as she and the Clarkes rode up to Waimate, then the bright new potato shoots growing up through the black ground. New life growing from the darkness.

  By the time she directed her mind back to the service, it was nearly over and she was just in time to join in the last hymn, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ before the congregation was dismissed. They filed out and stood chatting, and calling, ‘Happy Christmas,’ as they parted.

  Mr Kemp soon had the horse harnessed to the dray again and the Kerikeri people gathered around. He looked in alarm at all the children. Fifteen of them: a mixture of Edmonds, Kemps and Shepherds. ‘I’m sorry, some of you will have to walk. Consider the po
or old horse.’

  There were groans of dismay and laughter, but the bigger children set off down the track.

  Mrs Kemp, Elizabeth and the smallest children clambered aboard. Even then there were six children and Mr Kemp warned them that on the uphill stretch, they too would have to get out and walk.

  On the downward run to the Waitangi river they soon overtook the walkers but, once over the bridge, the children had to dismount for the slow, uphill trudge. Elizabeth got off too, to encourage the little ones. They soon heard the cheery shouts of the boys as they came striding up behind them. Two of the bigger boys picked up Sarah and little Henry Edmonds and carried them to the summit. Having seen them aboard the dray again, they waved goodbye. And, with a derisive shout of, ‘We’ll be home before you!’ they jogged ahead.

  Mr Kemp gave the horse a rest as the other children caught up and clambered aboard.

  The sun was just starting to disappear behind the western horizon as they crested the hill. The Bay of Islands lay ahead, the islands seeming to float like ships between sea and sky as the dusk deepened. Looking back, they could see the faint lights of Waimate across the valley. Above, the moon was a glowing hemisphere. A few stars shone. The horse knew the way home and plodded forward.

  William sat, crouched at Elizabeth’s feet, his head tilted back against her knee. ‘If I were a night bird,’ he murmured, ‘I’d be dark blue. And I’d get darker and darker, until it was night.’

  The dray rumbled on, occasionally jolting over a stone or rut. Up on the front seat, Sarah dropped off to sleep. Her mother put a protective arm around her and turned back to Elizabeth.

  ‘Is William asleep?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said William. ‘I’m looking at the sky.’

  Mrs Kemp looked up. ‘It’s a perfect night,’ she said.

  ‘If I were God, and I lived in the sky, I would make myself dark, dark blue and sprinkle myself with shiny stars.’

  ‘Then nobody would know whether you were there or not,’ said Elizabeth.

  The dray jerked down the last steep hill towards their house.

  The boys must have got there first. The lights shone from the kitchen.

  They were all home again, together.

  POSTSCRIPT

  Shortly after the period written about in this book, the staff at the mission were reduced to one family — the Kemps. They continued with their work, teaching and looking after the trading store. It was not until 1860 that they were able to buy the house.

  As the children grew up they were able to take over and farm their share of the ‘children’s land’. Elizabeth continued teaching at the girls’ and women’s school that her mother had set up. With her fluency in both languages Elizabeth was able to teach English to many of the Maori girls.

  Several years later, as soon as Hopkins Clarke reached the age of twenty-one, he married Elizabeth despite their age difference. They seem to have lived a long and happy life with their two children, farming their share of the family land near Kerikeri.

  The Kemps’ house, which is pictured on the cover of this book, was lived in by four more generations of the family until Ernest Kemp gave it to the nation in 1976.

  It is now maintained by the Historic Places Trust and can be visited by the public. The stone store building exchanged hands several times until it too, was acquired by the trust.

  Though they are often criticised, I think the missionaries were very brave people to leave their homes and families in England, in many cases never to see them again, and travel to the opposite side of the world to help people who lived very differently.

  The children of missionaries, however, were born in New Zealand and they knew little else. This is my imagined version of their lives, but based on as many facts and true incidents as I have been able to discover.

  Brenda Delamain

  24th January, 2006

  About the Author

  BRENDA DELAMAIN was born in England. She’s been a nurse, a farmer, a student and the mother of three children. Her fascination with local history led to the research that produced Lizzie, love. She has lived in Kerikeri for thirty-five years.

  Copyright

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the written permission of Longacre Press and the author.

  Brenda Delamain asserts her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  © Brenda Delamain

  ISBN 978–1–77553–083–1

  First published by Longacre Press, 2006

  30 Moray Place, Dunedin, New Zealand

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

  Cover and book design by Christine Buess

  Cover background lithograph by Antoine Chazal and Louis François Lejeune/

  Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa (I.028415)

  Book illustrations by Brenda Delamain

  Printed by McPherson’s Printing Group, Australia