Toward the Sea of Freedom (76 page)

When Michael stepped out of the cabin the next morning to feed the horses, he recognized the
tohunga
, Hainga, sitting in the clearing in front of the house, where she had made a fire.

“Surely you want to see Lizzie,” he said.

Hainga looked at him attentively. “You came back,” she said. “The spirits lead us down strange paths.”

Michael understood only vaguely what the old woman meant. “I’ll call Lizzie for you. You’re welcome to eat breakfast with us, though we don’t have all that much.”

Hainga shook her head.

“Lizzie! There’s someone here for you.”

Lizzie sat up in their makeshift bed, startled. She had feared Kahu might come down and call her back. He did not know precisely where the cabin was, but someone could have shown him the way. She had hoped she and Michael would be gone before Kahu found it. Now she would have to justify herself—to both of them. She dressed quickly, and she was greatly relieved when she saw the
tohunga
in front of the cabin.

Hainga motioned Lizzie to a place at her fire.

Lizzie was thankful when Michael went off to the stable, uninterested in the women’s conversation.

“I’m sorry I ran away like that,” Lizzie said. “I, I should have said good-bye.”

Hanga waved this away. “Coming and going; what’s gone and what’s coming are one.”

“You say that, but I’m sure Kahu is angry with me. Haikina, Haikina got into trouble, didn’t she?”

Hainga shook her head. “She only told you the truth when Kahu would not. The spirits make us come and go, speak and hold our tongues. It’s all one. The spirits, Erihapeti, do not let themselves be tricked. I told Kahu that, and now I’ve come to tell you.”

Lizzie did not quite know how to respond to that. “That’s friendly,” she said eventually. “So, Kahu isn’t going to come, um, how do you say, demand his rights?”

“What rights? Kahu Heke is on the way back to his homeland. We received a messenger yesterday. There’s unrest there. The war of which Kahu spoke has broken out.”

Lizzie felt guilty about the relief that seized her. Because Kahu was gone—but also because now she had nothing for which to reproach herself. Whether the
ariki
of the Ngati Pau had married a
pakeha
or not, the conflict between the two people could not have been contained by diplomatic means.

“I’m also going away,” said Lizzie, “with Michael.”

The old woman nodded. “I know. The clouds have rolled away. But what the clear sky shows us does not always please us.
Haere ra
, Erihapeti. I’ll see you again, when the time comes.”

Hainga laid her nose and forehead against Lizzie’s face. Lizzie returned the gesture. She sighed with relief when the old woman left. That, too, had been simpler than she had thought. The Ngai Tahu, at least, seemed not to hold it against her that she had rejected Kahu. And the gods seemed to be on Lizzie’s side for once.

Chapter 6

Reverend Burton was grateful to Jimmy Dunloe for everything he had done for Kathleen and Colin. He paid Dunloe a visit to thank him.

“Naturally, I would have done anything to help,” Peter Burton said, almost guiltily. “But it was your connections that got Colin admitted into the academy.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Reverend,” Dunloe said. “I just wish it had helped Kathleen more. She’s just a shadow of herself. Claire is very unhappy about it.”

Indeed, Peter would have done anything to help—including adopting all Kathleen’s children if she had wanted that, and wanted him. But his hopes remained unfulfilled. Kathleen had been keeping him at a distance over the past few months, and she had not found her way back into her former life in Dunedin’s society. She had always been more reserved than vivacious Claire, but since Ian’s death and Colin’s departure, she only left the apartment to go to church. Claire had told Peter that Kathleen was deeply depressed, struggling with her fate and trying to wash herself clean of her supposed guilt with endless requiems for Ian and daily attendance at Mass.

“If I hadn’t left Ian, Colin might not have turned out like that,” Kathleen said over and over when Claire—first sadly but, over time, with growing anger and urgency—spoke to her friend about her increasing dependence on Father Parrish.

“Of course he would have,” Claire retorted angrily. “He was always the image of his father. He stopped listening to you long ago. And Sean might have turned out just like him, just to survive—after all, Ian didn’t give him a leg to stand on. And Heather? Was she supposed to keep watching while her father beat and raped her mother? What would have become of the three of them if he had beaten you to death in the end?”

Kathleen could say nothing to that, but she did not accept it either. Instead, she merely wept silently to herself.

Kathleen’s state was a great burden to Sean and Heather. For the first time in his life, Sean, who was happy to be free of Colin, had no patience for his mother. He refused to attend even one more requiem for Ian Coltrane. He did not care for Father Parrish’s gloomy visions of hell and the draconic penance he assigned whenever anyone committed even the slightest sin. Sean refrained from attending church whenever he possibly could. Father Parrish could not accept Sean either. The boy had grown up with Peter Burton’s tolerant religiosity, which had welcomed in even the scoundrels and prostitutes of Gabriel’s Gully. Father Parrish upbraided Kathleen for that and for the boy’s absence from church.

Heather, now almost fourteen and an extraordinarily pretty and vivacious girl, feared what her mother had become. She visited friends whenever she could and stuck even closer to Claire and Chloe. Most of all, she loved horses. Thanks to Claire, the girls were excellent riders, and Heather wanted her own horse to ride. When Kathleen denied her this desire, Heather quarreled the way her brother had with the Irish Catholic church. In Father Parrish’s opinion, girls belonged at the stove, not in the saddle.

“Why don’t you try to revive your womanly virtues?” Claire suggested, somewhat sarcastically, to Kathleen. “I’m thinking here of working with needle and thread. It’s about time for the new spring designs, Kathleen. Now! The fashion magazines from England and France have been there for weeks, but you’ve yet to even glance at them.”

“Pride is a sin,” Kathleen said apathetically.

Claire rolled her eyes. She wanted to shake her friend. What had become of the woman who had nursed an escape plan for years? Who, through good and bad years, had mastered their shared profession with courage and determination? All the strength seemed to have drained from Kathleen. She was putty in the hands of the bigoted Father Parrish.

“What if you talked to the man yourself?” Claire asked Peter Burton desperately when Kathleen still made no move to work again. “Priest to priest. He certainly ought to take an interest in Kathleen earning money. After all, it goes into his cash box. And it’s starting to get serious, Peter. We need the new designs. Otherwise the clothes won’t be ready by spring.”

Claire and Kathleen had made a habit of finishing one of each of the dress designs to display in the store ahead of the next season. This way, the customers had the opportunity to see the designs and could place their orders with the style and fabric tailored to suit them.

Peter Burton laughed bitterly. “How do you see that happening, Claire? Should I ask Father Parrish for her hand, so to speak? He’ll notice, I’m sure, what she means to me as soon as I start. Then, of course, I’ll be Lucifer himself.”

“But something has to change,” said Claire.

“If you ask me, you have the best cards here. Make her see that she soon won’t be able to pay for her children’s education anymore. Extort her with this secret she still hasn’t revealed to anyone.”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “What secret?”

Peter shrugged. Then he smirked. “If I knew that, I could extort her myself,” he said. “But don’t take me for a fool, Claire. There’s still something. Something between Kathleen and Ian, even though he’s dead. Why did she even marry that rat, Claire? Don’t tell me he only became a swindler after the wedding. He would never have been able to pay for passage to New Zealand with honest work.”

“Kathleen paid for their passage,” Claire blurted out.

Peter looked at her with surprise. “I’m not asking where she got the money, but there’s something there. If you see even the slightest chance to put pressure on her or to pull her out of her despair, then seize it. And I’ll do the same.”

Claire nodded. She knew that Peter was right.

“I’d also like to invite all of you, Claire. You, Mr. Dunloe, and Kathleen and the children, to my inaugural service in the new church. They’re finally letting me come back to Dunedin. Apparently, word has gotten around that in the last few years I haven’t once mentioned Darwin. At least not from the pulpit.”

“Have you lost your nerve, Reverend?” asked Claire playfully.

Peter laughed. “No, I’ve just had other concerns. The fellows in the gold mines were not in the least interested, and Dunedin has other problems, having grown so quickly from all the people pouring into the city because of the gold. In any case, I’ll be closer to you, Claire, and Kathleen—hopefully not only in terms of location. She cannot miss my first service, not after everything we’ve been through together.”

Kathleen really could not say no to attending the reverend’s service, but she went reluctantly and in a black dress and black hat. Despite the sad color, or perhaps because of it, she drew everyone’s attention. The women, especially, whispered about Claire’s business partner, who was obviously dressed in mourning. The men were busy eyeing her undeniable beauty. Peter Burton had to be careful he did not do the same. It required a lot of effort to focus on his preaching—even though Kathleen didn’t once look up at him.

Nor did Kathleen want to take part in the picnic that followed the service in the garden of the small church on the outskirts of Dunedin. This almost led to a serious quarrel between her and Sean. The boy insisted on congratulating his old friend and father figure on his sermon, which had addressed several of Dunedin’s current social problems.

Heather wanted to celebrate as well. She basked in Peter’s compliments about how pretty she had become, and she chatted extensively with Chloe and her friends about which of the girls Rufus Cooper had looked at most often during the service.

Finally, Claire, Jimmy Dunloe, Sean, and Heather had to practically drag Kathleen into the church garden to say hello to Peter.

“A beautiful sermon, Reverend,” she said with lowered eyes as Peter took her hand.

A small, cold hand. Peter thought Kathleen had lost even more weight over the last few weeks. He energetically clasped her fingers in his.

“Kathleen, what’s wrong? Why don’t you want to speak with me? Good Lord, Kathleen, we used to be close. I had hoped . . . Kathleen, just what’s happened to you?”

He lightly put his arm around her shoulders, although she shied away as if he might hurt her. Peter gave Claire and the others a nod as a sign to excuse him for the moment. With gentle pressure, he led the reluctant Kathleen into his tiny, new parsonage.

Kathleen thought it was very nice—a cottage like the ones she had known in Ireland. She was vaguely reminded of the small house, overgrown with ivy and flowers, of Lord Wetherby’s steward. Trevallion—she had hated the man but loved his house.

“A lovely house,” she said, stepping into the living room, where Peter Burton’s English furniture had finally found a place. She glanced out the window. “You need only add a garden. Vegetables and flowers.”

“Don’t change the subject, Kathleen,” he said firmly. “We need to talk, and no one will see or hear us here. So they can’t tell strict Father Parrish that you held hands with the Antichrist. Now, let’s have it. What’s wrong? Why don’t you even look at me anymore? My God, Kathleen, I thought you, that you loved me, a little at least.

Kathleen shook her head violently. “Of course I don’t love you. You, you misunderstood something. I, I’m not permitted. Father Parrish . . .”

“Father Parrish does not determine whom you love,” Peter said firmly. “Whom you love and whom you’re drawn to—only God determines that. And if you don’t love me, Kathleen—if you can honestly tell me you don’t love me, then at least you can tell me that while you look me in the eye.”

“Maybe, maybe the devil determines it too,” whispered Kathleen. Then she did look up at him. He saw how pained she was. “I’m damned, Peter,” she said flatly. “I’m sinful. And I have to do my penance for that. Ian, Ian was my penance, and I did not accept that. And now, now the devil is trying to tempt me again. Please, let go of me, Peter. Leave me in peace.”

“So, I’m a temptation of the devil?” Peter did not know whether he should laugh or cry.

Kathleen did not answer. She fled the house and then, as quickly as she could, the garden.

Had she gone mad? Kathleen did not understand herself anymore. Everything she’d gone through—her sins, the loss of Michael, Ian’s abuse, Colin—was too much. She didn’t know how to move past all of it.

Peter rejoined his guests, but he could not really take joy in his big day. Kathleen still loved him. Her eyes had told him that clearly. But unless a miracle occurred, she would never come to him. She would torture herself until the end of her days—and one of the reasons for that was this story, related to her marriage to Ian, that she still kept hidden from him. Ian was supposed to have been her penance? For what?