Toward the Sea of Freedom (43 page)

“I would argue for Nelson, Mother.” Sean spoke up in his sometimes-stilted formal mode of expression. “Or even for the North Island. That’s where all the big cities are—Wellington, Auckland—and Father would never find us there.”

Sean was the only one of the children who did not seemed surprised by Kathleen’s plan to flee. On the contrary, it was as if he had already considered it.

“But I don’t want to leave Da!” Colin shouted. It seemed he had only just then realized what was happening. “We’re not really going, are we, Ma? We, we belong . . .”

“We don’t belong to your father at all, Colin.” Kathleen informed him, more harshly than she intended. “He’s kept me locked up for years, and I’ve had enough. We’re going to—”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Colin got agitated. “I’m staying with Da.”

Kathleen shook her head. “It’s not your decision to make, Colin. You’ve already picked up too many bad habits for my taste. From now on there’ll be no more cheating. You’ll go to school and learn a proper trade. My God, ever since I married your father, people have complained to me of his swindling. I couldn’t look at myself in a mirror if I heard such things about my own son.”

Colin leaped up. “You’ve lived quite well from that swindling, you and your, your . . .”

He did not pick up words as well as his brother, but Kathleen could feel her face flush as Colin tried to repeat the recrimination Ian had thrown at her so often. It was long past time she got the children away from Ian. It did not bear thinking about what would happen once they understood what “bastard” meant. Claire immediately sensed what the boy wanted to say. She, too, reddened and looked down.

Kathleen slapped Colin. “That’s enough from you, Colin! Sean, take your brother in your room and help him pack. A change of shirt and pants for both of you, a few little things if there’s anything you want to take. Yes, Sean, for God’s sake, the dictionary too.”

“You still have it here?” Claire’s face brightened.

Kathleen turned her eyes to heaven, but Colin was not defeated yet. “Didn’t you hear me, woman?” he asked in the same tone and in the same words as his father. Cold shivers ran up Kathleen’s spine. “I’m staying right here. I’m not about to run away behind Da’s back. And you can’t take the carriage. It’s new. Da bought it and—”

“Your da,” said Kathleen calmly, “bought everything here with my money. So if I take a carriage and mule, he’s still been well paid for his costly name.” She spat these words. “Now get to it, children.”

“So? And what are you going to do?” asked Colin provocatively. “Are you going to tie me up in the carriage? Tie up my hands and legs? Then you better do it well, Ma—’cause when I get out, I’m going to ride to Da. I know where to find him, Ma. Then he’ll come to Nelson and get you, or to this North Island or wherever you hide.”

Claire looked at her friend. Kathleen could tell from her expression, which was half sympathy and half fright, that she believed Colin. And Claire’s face was reflected in Sean’s. He did not trust his brother either.

“You’ll have to let me go sometime,” said Colin. “Then I’ll go to the police and report you. And they’ll find Da if we’re too far for me to.”

“Colin.” Kathleen felt her heart breaking. “Colin, I’m sorry about the slap. But we can’t go without you. We’re all going together.”

“I belong with Da!” yelled Colin. He was now almost to the door. “And I’m going to find him now.”

Colin fled out of the kitchen. Sean did not wait a moment. He ran right after him.

“We can’t leave him behind,” Kathleen said helplessly.

Claire poured tea. Now she was the one thinking with a clear head. “We can’t take him either,” she said, determinedly. “We could never be sure of him. We never have been. Think of our visit to Christchurch.”

“But he’s just a little boy,” whispered Kathleen. “He’s not bad.”

Claire shrugged. “There’s not a big difference between good and bad with little boys,” she said. “Colin’s influenced by his father. He loves him and admires him, and he should, of course. For Colin, Ian can do no wrong. But you, Kathleen, you do all kinds of wrong in his eyes. For years he’s been listening to Ian’s accusations. You’ll have to tell me sometime what exactly happened. Sean . . .”

Kathleen nodded, putting her finger to her lips. “Not in front of the girls,” she said. “But if I leave him behind now, that means . . . it would mean giving him up.”

Claire looked her in the eyes. “You can give up Colin or yourself,” she said firmly. “Or should I say ‘give up Sean’? Because once he understands whatever it was you did for him, if you leave today, he may love you for it. If you stay, he’ll hate you.”

Kathleen tapped her fingers against her teacup. At that moment, the door opened, and Sean entered.

“He’s gone,” he said, out of breath. “I’m sorry, Ma, but he was faster than me. He went toward the woods. I’m going to the stables to watch the animals. If he gets to the horse, it’s all over.”

“You mean you want to take the horse with us too?” Kathleen asked weakly.

Sean nodded. “There’s no other choice. We’re lucky it’s the only one we have now. But if we leave a horse for him . . .”

“He’ll come back,” Kathleen whispered, “if we just wait a while.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course, when he gets hungry. But then? Do you want to tie him up?”

“Go to the stables, Sean,” said Claire, “and hitch the mules. We’ll leave in half an hour.”

Sean shifted from one foot to the other. “Ma?” he asked.

Kathleen bit her lip. “Do as your Aunt Claire says, Sean.”

Kathleen packed her patterns and designs, and clothing for herself and Claire. Fortunately, she was the taller of the women, so she would be able to alter the items for Claire. Finally, she retrieved the money from her secret compartment in the fireplace. Not a fortune, but enough, along with Claire’s savings, for a small business. She considered whether she should take some of Colin’s expensive clothes for Sean but recoiled from the thought. Doubtless, Sean would grow up with the idea that his mother was a thief and a whore, but she didn’t want to steal from her son. Sean wouldn’t want any of Colin’s things anyway. So she only packed Sean’s own suits and the dictionary.

Sean was driving the carriage around as she came out of the house with her few possessions. Claire and the girls were already waiting outside.

Claire had helped Heather pack, and she took a few things for Chloe as well. “Is that all right?” she asked, looking embarrassed.

Kathleen waved away her concern.

The black carriage was a four-wheeled vehicle, relatively new and almost a bit stately. Ian rode in it when he sold horses to townspeople. Sean had hitched Kathleen’s and Claire’s mules to it. The donkey was tied to the rear, and the horse walked alongside. It was still wearing the saddle and bridle from Colin’s ride. Kathleen realized that Colin had made it into the kitchen so quickly after Claire’s arrival because he had not bothered to take off the animal’s saddle. Or perhaps he’d left it on purposely, the idea of fleeing to his father already on his mind.

Sean cleared the box for Kathleen and went over to the small black horse. “I thought I’d ride, so you’ll have more space,” he said, securing his things in the saddlebags.

The women nodded; the girls took their bundles and climbed into the backseat of the carriage. Kathleen stowed her things beneath the box.

Then they were under way.

“Nelson, how far is that anyway?” asked Claire as Kathleen took the reins.

“Around two hundred miles, maybe more,” Kathleen said.

“What about Colin? He’s really not coming?” Heather asked.

Kathleen glanced at her daughter in the backseat. Heather looked back unhappily. The farm on the Avon disappeared behind a bend in the road.

“Sweetheart, Colin threatened to betray us if we force him to come.” Claire sounded as if she were telling a story of something that happened long ago, perhaps at King Arthur’s court. “So we had to leave him to do as he wanted.”

“That rat will betray us anyway!” said Sean, trotting alongside the carriage. “We shouldn’t take the highways, Ma. Maybe we should even make a detour.”

Kathleen shook her head. “I know,” she said with pressed lips. “But Nelson is too far, Sean. The road over the mountains is a challenge. We wouldn’t make it with the carriage. We could only do it on foot or mounted. And then Kaikoura, the whalers, two women and two girls—it’s simply too risky, Sean, though you’re surely right about the North Island.”

“Where are we going then?” asked Claire.

Kathleen made her final decision. She turned south.

“To the Scots. To Dunedin.”

Chapter 6

Lizzie’s righteous life among the Busbys lasted seven years.

For New Zealand’s North Island, they were exciting years, and James Busby’s household often stood at the center of events. Following the initial sluggish immigration of people from England, Ireland, and other corners of Europe, new settlers came in droves after the Treaty of Waitangi was signed. The settlers founded cities and established agriculture and coal-mining regions. As a councillor of the Bay of Islands, James Busby organized land measurements and road construction, received the more important immigrants, and served these visitors his own wine—although, to his dismay, the results of his efforts never approached those of France or Germany’s winemakers.

While Busby’s family remained uninterested in the wine, Lizzie did her best to put Busby’s vision of proper viniculture into practice, and she never shrank from work among the vines. She worked wonders among the Maori vintners. Since she now spoke their language almost fluently, she could explain how Busby wanted to improve the quality, not the quantity, of the vineyard’s produce.

Lizzie would have grown lonely if she had not spent so much time with the hospitable Maori. The maids and gardeners were happy to take her into their tribe, which welcomed her without prejudice and without asking penetrating questions about her past. This gave Lizzie a feeling of freedom—besides, there was reason to believe that they would not have judged her, even with a better understanding of her previous life. The concept of prostitution was as foreign a notion to the Maori as strict
pakeha
sexual morality. If there was anything about Lizzie that made the Maori wonder, it was her declining to choose a partner. Ruiha once asked her quite plainly about this.

“Do you not like men?” she inquired, playing with a strand of her long black hair, which was always breaking out of the polite braids Mrs. Busby prescribed. “Do you prefer women? I have never seen it, but they say it happens.”

Lizzie blushed. “Perhaps,” she stammered, shyly but honestly, “I’ve already had too many—men that is, not women. I’ve never been with a woman. I did not even know such a thing existed.”

Ruiha nodded. She might not understand Lizzie’s behavior, but she accepted her.

Mrs. Busby was not so accepting—of either the Maori themselves or Lizzie’s relationship with them—especially as the climate between the Maori and
pakeha
worsened with time. The natives were no longer as welcoming to new settlers as they had been at first. Their island was getting more crowded, and disagreements became more frequent. At the missionary schools the Maori learned English and math—and the cleverer among them quickly began to question the treaties and land sales.

James Busby had to wrestle with the complaints of the Maori and the settlers. And Mrs. Busby was aggravated that her native servants still were not perfect despite their years of working in the house. She absolutely couldn’t understand what would drive her otherwise impeccable English maid into the natives’ village.

“You could stay here and read a good book,” Mrs. Busby said to Lizzie. “I’d be happy to lend you one. Or you could sew yourself a dress. Why don’t you just do what the other housemaids do?”

There weren’t any other
pakeha
maids in the area, so Lizzie was never sure where these comparisons came from. She read slowly, and she could not sew particularly well, but she did take pleasure in the activities she performed along with the Maori women. She helped them harvest, braid, and weave flax; learned to play the flute; and roasted meat and vegetables in earthen ovens. Lizzie, the city girl, learned to light fires and catch fish among the tribes. She brought Mrs. Busby honey from the blossoms of the rongoa bush and a powder of koromiko leaves for her headaches. It was all completely harmless, but Mrs. Busby remained distrustful, nevertheless.

“You don’t follow those lads into the bushes, do you, Lizzie?” she asked. “There’s no black lover who’ll leave you to take care of his bastard someday, is there?”

Lizzie could say no to the first question with good conscience, and the second as well—although there was a man who was trying to woo her. Kahu Heke was a tall, strong, but (by Maori measure) slender young man who came from the best of families but preferred to spend his time in the whaling camp of Kororareka instead of perfecting the Maori traditions: storytelling, hunting, and dance. Kahu Heke bore the name of a famous ancestor. Lizzie did not entirely understand whether the great Chief Hone Heke who had caused commotion in the English colony and set off the Flagstaff War was his father or uncle.

In any case, Kahu was a nephew of the current Chief Kuti Haoka, who often reprimanded Kahu when he wandered back to the tribal fire after another adventure. Like his great ancestor, Kahu liked to knock over an English flagstaff or steal a Union Jack. He improved the breeding among tribe’s sheep by occasionally bringing back a few exemplary animals, which had “simply followed him,” from the
pakeha
breeders, and he wrote letters of complaint for any Maori who had been upset by the whites. Kahu had perfectly mastered reading and writing, having enjoyed an excellent education in a missionary school. Although he was officially Christian, he was happy to invoke the rights of the old gods when contesting
pakeha
settlers’ use of a piece of land that was holy to his people.

After years of missionary school, Kahu seemed to have some difficulties with the promiscuous customs in his tribe’s
marae
. He obviously liked Lizzie, and he wooed her in a manner that seemed not to quite fit either culture. Sometimes he made bawdy jokes that made her blush. Then he would give her small presents, or he would even pick flowers in the
pakeha
manner. All this amused the tribe members, and Lizzie imagined they might well make bets about if and when Kahu would have success with her.