Toward the Sea of Freedom (47 page)

The weather was worse too. After two days, they were caught in a terrible storm. True, the
Hauwhenua
could hardly capsize, but it did not offer any protection from the weather. Waves washed into the canoe; Kahu was busy with the sail, so Lizzie bailed water out of the boat. She was soaked through within the shortest time, and her whole body shook with cold.

“But we’re making good progress,” Kahu declared, pleased, as lightning raged across the night sky. Indeed, the canoe only moved ahead, and the voyage seemed nothing but fun to the sailor.

Lizzie, on the other hand, only felt the need to pray. She asked herself seriously whether it was better to turn to Jesus Christ or Tangaroa, the Maori god of the sea.

Kahu shook with laughter when she inquired to whom he was praying.

“You may find it funny, but I don’t want to blaspheme against God,” she said, annoyed. “Least of all in this storm. If you made someone angry up there . . .”

The tall Maori looked tenderly at the delicate girl who now looked like a wet, frightened cat. Lizzie could not guess how similar to his people she was. Kahu, at least, had never met a European who approached questions of religion so practically. Most
pakeha
had always struck him as bigoted.

“So you’d risk it in good weather?” he teased her, having to yell over the wind. “Pray to whomever you want, Elizabeth. You’re not in danger anyway. The wind will die down soon. We Maori learn that Tane is the god responsible for the wind, Tangaroa for the sea, and Papa for the earth. Yet in the missionary school, we sang songs about Jesus the shepherd, the sailor, the gardener in the Lord’s vineyard.”

“In the vineyard?” Lizzie asked. Her study of the Bible had not gotten as far as the vineyard, but that interested her.

Her question didn’t deter Kahu from his theological considerations. “Sometimes,” he continued, “I ask myself if that doesn’t all get to be too much for him.”

Lizzie had to laugh despite herself. “Look, there’s a star,” she called, pointing to the sky where the first clouds were drifting apart.

Kahu nodded. “There, you see? It’s clearing up. For which you can thank Rangi, the god of the sky.”

As it started to grow light, Kahu steered toward land. They needed supplies and to dry themselves.

“This is the region of the Ngati Maniapoto,” Kahu said as he pulled the canoe onto the beach. “In truth, they’re very warlike, but now that they host our king, they act very diplomatically. We’ll make a fire, you can warm yourself, and I’ll look around for drinking water.”

The area surely had plenty of water. It was defined by green hills and thick forests over which defiant rocks towered like giants. Lizzie was nervous when Kahu left her alone, but she took the opportunity to remove her completely soaked clothing, though all she had to cover herself with was an equally wet blanket.

Kahu smiled tenderly when he returned and saw Lizzie sitting by the fire. She had let down her hair and untangled it. It hung halfway down her back, unruly and stiff from saltwater but dry, at least. Her slender body was wrapped in a blanket held in place somewhat securely by a belt around her hips. She was grilling fish on sticks and sweet potatoes in the embers, and she had built a frame out of fern wood on which their clothes now hung to dry. To him, she was no longer a
pakeha wahine
but a Maori girl he would gladly have taken in his arms.

Kahu brought skin bags of fresh water and a bird he had killed. They would eat royally that day. He plucked the bird, rubbed its meat with sea salt, and then laid it on Lizzie’s improvised grill.

“How did you shoot that thing?” Lizzie asked, amazed. Kahu had set out unarmed; he only carried the small knife he always did. “What kind of bird is that anyway? The feathers looked more like fur.”

Kahu nodded. “Aye, at first glance. And I didn’t shoot him; I dug him out. Don’t look so surprised. Kiwis are nocturnal. During the day, they dig themselves holes in the woods. Once you have a bit of experience, you can find those holes and dig them out and kill them. The English would surely find that dastardly, but we’re hungry.”

Lizzie did not care how Kahu had caught the bird; it was delicious. She was dry and felt better when they finally took the canoe back out to sea.

“How much farther is it now?” asked Lizzie.

Kahu shrugged. “We could be there in a day or two. Depends on how the wind blows. And where exactly we want to go.”

“Maybe to Nelson?” Lizzie said.

Kahu furrowed his brow. “That’s the last place I’d go ashore,” he said. “There are hardly any Maori left in the area since the whole thing with Wairau.”

“There was war there, right?” Lizzie looked fearful. “The German settlers talked about it. Are the, the Ngai Tahu very aggressive?”

Kahu shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Quite the contrary. They’re much too peaceable. Not a single uprising against the whites beforehand. The Ngati Toa lived in Wairau—they actually come from the North Island, but they once had a very warlike chief who expanded their domain as far as the South Island. There were a few fights with the Ngai Tahu then too. The Ngati Toa are not especially patient. When the
pakeha
measured their land before there were even negotiations for sale, the Ngati Toa attacked. Twenty-two dead on the whites’ side, four on the Maori’s. I wouldn’t call that a war.”

“You’re not dead, though,” said Lizzie. “No one takes it seriously unless they’re in the middle of it.”

Kahu smirked. “A pronouncement worthy of Tepora. But apart from all the wars, fights, conflicts, or whatever you want to call them, do you really think it smart to go back into hiding where once Busby hired you? They’ll look for you there first.”

Lizzie chewed on her lip. “But are there even other cities? I mean . . .”

Kahu rolled his eyes. “The South Island is considerably bigger than the North Island, although less densely populated. The Ngai Tahu number perhaps two thousand. Thus, they also tolerate more
pakeha
. From where we are, the closest area is the West Coast. However, I don’t like the idea of leaving you there alone with whalers and seal hunters, a savage heap of the vilest sorts your England has to offer. Those towns are still growing too—the only things finished so far are the taverns.”

Lizzie sighed. She could well imagine the options for women to earn money in these towns.

“On the East Coast, there’s Dunedin and Christchurch. Both are rather far; we’d need to sail a few days. But God-fearing people live there.” He winked.

Lizzie waved him away wearily. “I know. The Canterbury Association. And a Scottish organization . . . I can’t remember the name . . . Mr. Busby knows them all. We always had representatives come visit. Kahu, I don’t dare go to Christchurch. I’d probably run right into another man like Smithers.”

Kahu nodded. “Or even the man himself,” he said. “They build roads on the South Island too. Do you intend to work as a housemaid again?”

“What else?” Lizzie let her hand dangle over the edge into the water. “I can’t do anything else. Perhaps in a less important family, though. A smaller house; a farm if I have to.”

“You could stay with the Ngai Tahu,” Kahu suggested.

Lizzie shook her head. “No, no, don’t be mad, Kahu. I, I like you Maori. But I’m a
pakeha
. I liked it at the Busbys. And the Ngai Tahu won’t want me anyway. What would they do with me? No, we . . . Are there other towns?”

Kahu thought. “Kaikoura,” he said reluctantly. “Another whaling station, really. But there are supposed to be more farmers settling there now—though certainly no gentlemen like Mr. Busby. No one will look for you there.” He smiled. “And you’d be closer to me. The legend says the demigod Maui caught the mighty fish that later became the North Island near Kaikoura.”

Lizzie looked at Kahu. This time she succeeded at her soul-warming smile. “Like that, we could easily catch a fish and have an island for just the two of us.”

Kahu shrugged. “Alas, only the gods have that option. People take their canoes and sail the seas until they find land. Like Kupe and Kura-maro-tini once did. So if you want, Elizabeth . . .”

Lizzie lowered her gaze when she saw the love in his eyes.

A few days later, they were just off the shore of Kaikoura. The peninsula on which the town lay fascinated Lizzie even from the sea. The beaches, the hills, the daunting mountain landscape of the southern mountains, which almost reached to the sea—everything seemed even bigger and less civilized than in the north. She was startled when suddenly a whale emerged in front of her.

“It, it, it could gulp us down in one bite,” gasped Lizzie as the giant whale performed coltish leaps.

“But he won’t,” Kahu soothed her. “He’ll be happy if we don’t do anything to him. The people here are slowly killing them. There aren’t as many as before.”

It was clear to her where the legend of Maui and his fish came from. One could imagine that such a giant beast really could become an island.

Kahu suggested presenting Lizzie in the local Ngai Tahu settlement, but she preferred to go straight to town.

“I can go myself and say hello to the tribe if it’s necessary,” she said. “But I need to find employment and lodging in Kaikoura, and they can’t help with that.”

More than anything, she did not want to enter the Maori settlement with Kahu. Everyone—at least every woman—would clearly see during his introduction what Kahu felt for her. People would believe she was his wife, or at least his lover. The natives would not imagine a platonic relationship, and Lizzie did not want to begin her new life with misunderstandings.

“You’ll need money,” Kahu said.

Lizzie shrugged. “Will the Ngai Tahu give me some?” she asked.

With a sigh, Kahu drew a money pouch from the bag in which he kept his things. “I’ll give you some. But it’s not much. You won’t be able to live more than a day or two from it.”

Lizzie blushed as she took the small pouch. “This is . . . you don’t need to do this, Kahu.”

He waved her objections away. “You have nothing to give back, at least nothing you’d be willing to give and I could accept. Don’t say it, Elizabeth. It’s fine. If the gods desire it, we’ll meet again. Then you can pay me this amount back, if you’re rich by then.
Haere ra
, Elizabeth.”

He meant to bow slightly, but Lizzie pressed against him and put her nose and forehead on his.
Hongi
—the Maori salutation. “Why, why do you still call me Elizabeth, anyway?” She didn’t want to drag out their good-bye farewell, but she had wanted to ask him that for a long time.

Kahu looked at her seriously. “Because that’s your name. Maybe not Portland. But not Lizzie, either. Lizzie is a name for a servant. Elizabeth is a queen’s name.”

Lizzie bit her lip. Did he really see her that way? As a queen? Michael had only seen the whore in her. She did not know why she thought of Michael just then.

Lizzie raised her hand and gently stroked the tattoos on Kahu’s cheek. The symbol of a chieftain. “
Haere ra
, Kahu Heke,” she said softly. “I hope the gods mean well by you.”

Chapter 8

Lizzie waded onto land—Kahu had not wanted to sail the conspicuous chieftain’s canoe into the small harbor of Kaikoura, so he let her out on a beach near the settlement. Now she put her shoes back on and made her way to town. Or was it better to call it a village? From the sea Kaikoura had looked very attractive in the sunlight. Up close, the sun also shone on dirt and squalor.

Kahu had told her it had originally been a whaling station, and that was exactly what it looked like. Of course Lizzie had never seen a whaling station, but she knew the docks in London, and she knew how a place looked when primarily men—and young, lost, and not very domestic girls—lived there. Kaikoura consisted of cheap, thrown-together wooden houses, many in various states of disrepair. People had not settled here in the same way they had in Nelson. Everything was tailored to providing temporary roofs over the heads of men who whaled and skinned seals. No one stayed long, no one took a woman for longer than a few hours, and no one had anything of his own. Housemaids weren’t likely in demand at the fishermen’s huts. A general store sold all sorts of goods, from food to fishing hooks, but the owner shook his head when Lizzie asked about work.

“I manage with just my wife,” he said, “and—good heavens—a maid, with a bonnet and apron, I’ll bet. Allison’d laugh herself to death if I brought you to her.”

“I’d throw you out,” responded the gruff, squarely built woman who was just coming out of the shop’s backroom. She was a head taller than her rather dwarfish-looking husband and, no doubt, held the reins. “Everyone knows what goes on in grand houses between the masters and the chambermaids.”

Lizzie wondered how everyone was supposed to know that. She blushed again. “I’m an honest girl,” she said. “And I, I have references.”

She did in fact—written by Kahu Heke, whose education in the missionary school ensured he had covered everything. Lizzie had been deeply touched when she discovered the letters in the pouch Kahu had handed her. And she had not even been able to thank him for them.