Toward the Sea of Freedom (73 page)

The tribe accepted Lizzie more all the time. The women showed her traditional crafts, and they tried to teach her singing and dancing, though Lizzie didn’t much enjoy performing. Perhaps she did have
mana
, but she took no joy in showing it off. She preferred to let Hainga introduce her to native healing, though she looked skeptically at the many prayers and
tapu
bound up with it. Naturally, she would ask the spirits for permission to cut a plant if Hainga insisted. But why the petals of certain plants were to be harvested only after a very particular ritual and only by the
tohunga
was not clear to her.

While Lizzie had always wanted to lead a righteous life, she was not a spiritual person. Immersing herself in prayer and meditation was foreign to her. Lizzie did not like to look for the meaning of the stories her native friends told around the fire. She liked exciting adventure stories that ended with the heroine sinking into the arms of her hero. The circuitous and often somewhat monotonously presented fairy tales of the Maori still did not quite make sense to Lizzie. She even preferred the biblical parables, which were at least short and easy to follow.

Lizzie missed the reverend’s company. He had only visited her once in the Maori village and seemed not to feel especially comfortable there. Lizzie suspected that ever since he had witnessed Ian Coltrane’s death, the spirits had made him a little anxious. On top of that, Peter Burton seemed sad, though Lizzie had no idea why. It seemed that for the time being at least, he had given up the battle for her soul.

With all of this, Kahu’s company was more welcome. He was one of few people with whom she was able to speak English, and they had plenty to talk about, including viniculture, James Busby’s politics, and even the Maori and
pakeha
coexisting.

Lizzie and Kahu spent many hours together every day, and she began to find the young Maori more and more attractive. Kahu was tall and wide-shouldered. His hair was thick and dark like Michael’s but straight instead of curly. When he undid the warrior knots into which he usually tied his hair, it fell long over his shoulders, and Lizzie noticed that his tension seemed to fall away too. She liked when he sang for her—not the martial
haka
but deep ballads his people seemed to have brought with them from Hawaiki, where palms rustled and where nights were warm, even in winter.

In Otago, it was now beginning to freeze. Lizzie shivered at night in her tent no matter how many blankets she piled on herself.

“I should go to Dunedin,” she said one morning as she warmed herself on the fire. “To some inn with a fireplace and a bathhouse; that would be heaven.”

“You can sleep in the sleeping lodge,” said Haikina.

Over the last few weeks, Lizzie had become friends with her. Haikina also spoke English, and she confessed to Lizzie that, despite the strict oversight at school, she had taken several
pakeha
lovers. Like most of the frank Maori girls, she was always happy to exchange stories about the qualities of the various men and never got tired of discussing Lizzie’s peculiar relationship with Michael.

“You could let me warm you,” said Kahu Heke. He used increasingly clear words, even in front of other members of the tribe.

Lizzie blushed. Kahu’s wooing increased her
mana
, and it flattered her, of course, that a chieftain obviously wanted her for his wife. She had also heard of Kahu’s ambition to have himself chosen
kingi
of all Maori, and she sometimes dreamed of life as his queen. Naturally, she had no real sense of what that would be like, but she imagined it as rather luxurious. At least on the North Island, the life of the chief’s family seemed to take place outside the tribe. She had never seen Kuti Haoka’s house; it could be a gorgeous palace. Kahu gave her no clear answers when she cautiously posed questions. But she did not want to show too clear an interest and was careful not to broach the subject too often.

The first real month of winter was coming to an end, and the New Year’s festival approached. The Maori celebrated their New Year—Tou Hou—on the first new moon after the appearance of the Matariki, the Pleiades, in the night sky. Tou Hou would take place in the last days of June. The Ngai Tahu expected more guests: their brothers from Kaikoura were coming back from their time in the mountains and would stay a while with them.

Lizzie thought sorrowfully of Chris Timlock when Kahu showed her the constellation. She had given Aputa the gold pendant, and the girl had been ecstatic, but the Pleiades would always remind Lizzie of Chris Timlock’s senseless death, for which she blamed herself—at least in part. She should have been able to foresee how less fortunate men would react to Chris and Michael’s sudden luck with their prospecting.

“The stars can’t help it.” Kahu comforted Lizzie when she told him the story. “Just look at how beautiful they are. Hopefully they’ll shine as brightly on New Year’s Eve as now.”

Lizzie nodded. She had long since learned that for the Maori a clear New Year’s Eve promised a warm year and good harvest. For now, though, it was cold. Kahu wrapped her in a blanket, and she even let his arm rest around her shoulder. Encouraged, he pulled her a little closer.

“We celebrate New Year’s Eve with music and dancing, like you,” he whispered to her. “But this time, I wish our dances were like yours. Then I could pull you to me, and we would be one.”

Lizzie did not respond, but she did not reject him. It was nice to feel warmth—anyone’s warmth. Beneath the starry sky, she yearned for Michael more than usual. She still nursed the vague hope of hearing from him one day soon. She was sure that Tane, Michael’s old friend, would come to the festival to celebrate with his family. Afterward, he would return with his
iwi
to the sea.

Just as the first fires were burning and the
tohunga
was waiting for the moon to renew its light in the Pleiades, Lizzie joined the men with whom Michael’s friend was sharing his whiskey.

Tane was already tipsy and in good spirits. He was happy to show off what he knew.

“Michael? Was briefly in Kaikoura. He talk with Fyffe, very great Michael. Now, he’s rich. Gave away whiskey. We celebrate all night. Claudia from Green Arrow wants to marry him—right away.”

Lizzie bit her lip. Michael was celebrating in taverns and sleeping with other women. Claudia of all people! Was she able to satisfy her old regular? Lizzie wished she could rage with anger, but in truth, she only felt limitless sadness. All that time, all that love she had devoted to Michael, and it was supposed to end now, like this?

Then she squared herself. It was New Year’s Eve. She did not want to be sad anymore. What was good enough for Michael would hardly do for her.

Lizzie retrieved her last bottle of wine from her tent. “We’ll drink this afterward,” she said to Kahu, who looked at her with surprise.

Did he notice the tear streaks on her face? Lizzie wiped them away determinedly and smiled. Kahu handed her the whiskey bottle, which Tane had just passed around.

“Here, you look like you need a drink of something stronger than your wine. We’ll drink that when the stars appear.”

When the stars finally appeared in the sky, there were prayers and dancing, but Lizzie had drunk several gulps of whiskey by then and could hardly follow the ceremonies.

“Look how small we are compared with the stars,” said Kahu softly. Lizzie sat, calm and quiet, beside him. So far, he had barely touched her, but now, he gently put his arm around her shoulders. “Can you still feel fear or sadness? Let their light flow into you, Elizabeth. Tonight everything becomes new.”

Kahu opened the wine bottle as most of the tribesmen danced to greet the moon.

“Don’t you also want to start anew, Elizabeth? On the North Island? As my wife?”

Lizzie was drunk on whiskey and wine, but not even that could really alleviate her sorrow. The music rained down on her ears. The rhythm of the
maka
may have enlivened the dancers, but for Lizzie it was only painful. She did not want to answer Kahu’s question. But she did not want to be alone either.

“Let’s go elsewhere,” she said.

Kahu helped her to her feet and took the wine bottle. He led her away from the celebration grounds on the river, which swam in the starlight like a silver ribbon. The night was unbelievably clear. There would be frost. Lizzie’s bed would be cold, would remain cold. Unless she allowed Kahu to kiss her.

Kahu spoke of a kiss like wine on her lips. He knew how to use pretty words, almost as well as Michael. Lizzie closed her eyes and snuggled into Kahu’s arms. If only she could stop her thoughts. Michael and Claudia—the way that blonde whore had boasted about her regular customer. So, Michael was faithful in that way, at least. Lizzie wanted to laugh, but she could not. If she lay in Kahu’s arms now, it would not be because she wanted revenge. She just did not want to be alone, not so mercilessly alone. And she did not want to be a whore. It was mad, she thought, to give herself to someone she did not really love—or did she? Lizzie laughed drily.

“What is it, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth, a queen. That was her, what she wanted to be. Michael would marvel at what had become of little Lizzie: she was not a saint, no; not a Mary Kathleen—but not a Claudia either.

Mana
. Lizzie had
mana
.

Everything spun around Lizzie, the stars, the moon, the forest on the river. But Kahu held her, safe and sound. He wanted her; he had come from the North Island just for her.

“Do you want to go with me, Elizabeth?” he asked.

Lizzie nodded, but she resisted when he led her to the meeting house.

“No, not in front of all the others, not the first night.”

“But Elizabeth! Tonight should be our wedding night.”

Lizzie laughed bitterly. “I haven’t been a virgin in a long time, Kahu. I’ve had many men, more than I liked—as you know. But I’ve never had a man with thirty other people looking. That’s too much. I can’t do that.”

“But you have to, if we—”

“The girls tell me you don’t have to do it in front of everyone,” Lizzie said. “You only need to share a bed. That’s enough.”

Kahu pulled her close. “Then we’ll make it simple, Elizabeth. I can wait. I want—”

Lizzie pushed him away. She suddenly felt angry. “You don’t even really want me, do you?” She knew she sounded shrill, and she hated herself for her hysteria. “You just want . . . what do you want, Kahu Heke?”

Kahu stroked Lizzie’s hair soothingly. “Nothing, nothing. Calm yourself, Elizabeth. Of course I want you. Only you. I just wanted to do it right.”

“Then do it right!” cried Lizzie. She ripped herself away from him. “Over there is my tent. Or take me under the stars like, like . . . Make me forget Michael, Kahu Heke. Make me finally forget him.”

It was not the right reason to love someone, and she knew that. It was not fair to Kahu—and Lizzie marveled that he did not protest. She was drunk; she was taking him as a replacement for another. All of that should hurt him. He should push her away, let her go; he should . . .

Instead Kahu led her to his tent as if she’d never spoken the words. And he would have led her into the
wharenui
.

With her last spark of clear thought, Lizzie again asked herself what intentions the future Maori chieftain had as he carried her like a
pakeha
bride over the threshold of her tent. Then she sank into his touch and his warmth.

“You’ll never leave me alone, right, Kahu?” she asked weakly. “You’ll promise me that?”

Kahu kissed her, drunk on whiskey and wine himself, on excitement and disappointment. He should not have taken her that night. He knew she needed time to think, but when she thought too much, she asked too many questions. It was time to return to his tribe. The men of Kaikoura had reported, the day before, the death of Chief Kuti Haoka. The Ngati Pau would not wait forever before electing another. That night he gave in to Elizabeth’s will, but the next day, their wedding would have to be officially sealed, and then he could be on his way. With the
pakeha wahine
as his wife, just as the priests had foreseen.

“I’ll never leave you alone,” he said. He knew in the same moment he offered her this promise that he had lied.

She would learn to accept it. She was the spirits’ plaything.