Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  Pakeha customs and ways, however, were another matter. She was afraid she’d never understand. What was the harm in one man loving two women, or three, or four, or in one woman sharing the same number of men? Truly the pakehas’ ways were strange! It would be so much simpler if Mister Coffin sir were Maori. Normal. She hoped these peculiar customs would not make trouble for the plans she’d made for herself and Mr. Elias sir.

  5

  It wasn’t far from the commercial part of town to the home Coffin had built for himself. It crowned a slight rise overlooking the Bay of Islands and the forests of masts which filled it. It was a simple, unornamented two-story structure of wood and stone, its walls unpainted and unpapered, its furniture purely functional. But it was a veritable mansion compared to most of the local residences.

  As he approached he found his pace slowing. Not ten minutes ago his life had been ordered, settled, assured. He’d known what the day would bring and had a pretty good idea about tomorrow. Now all was in disarray.

  The sale of the Kauri would bring a handsome profit. There was flax and rope to purchase from the inland tribes, minor accounts outstanding to be settled, and a few debts to be collected before ships weighed anchor and slipped into the untraceable reaches of the Pacific. All of which now must be put aside while he coped with something of greater dimensions: the arrival of his family. His real, his legitimate family.

  Nearby was a rocky outcrop that formed a natural chair. He sat down and stared out across the bay, brooding for the better part of an hour. No nearer a solution to his problems when the sun was well up, he rose and purposefully surmounted the rest of the incline. Always the meticulous planner, he was at last going to have to improvise.

  The door was unlocked. Murder, rape, and barbarities unnamed were common as fleas in Kororareka, but vile acts were performed only within that clearly defined part of town known as The Beach. Their perpetrators stayed clear of local citizens. A merchant troubled could count on his colleagues to boycott any ship whose crew caused him difficulty and no Captain could tolerate that. Here at least Holly would be safe.

  What do I say? he wondered worriedly. How should I act? Most important of all, has Holly heard anything yet?

  As he entered, sounds drifted from the rear of the house into the front parlor. It would be like Holly to have already enlisted the Maori cook and houseman, Samuel, in arranging things to her liking. He took a step toward the kitchen—and halted.

  Someone had emerged from a rear hallway to block his path. The new arrival was small and lithe. It stared up at him out of wide, solemn eyes, absently sucking on a finger.

  “Hello, Christopher.” It took Coffin a moment to identify this child with the infant he’d last seen in London. At the mention of his name the boy whirled wordlessly and vanished back down the hall. Coffin heard another new voice querying him.

  “Christopher, what on Earth …?”

  A magical, soothing, miraculous voice. It wiped away all the worries, all the fear which had nagged him during the endless climb from store to home. Long buried, half-remembered emotions suddenly welled up inside him and took complete possession.

  Then she was in his arms, repeating his name endlessly. He was holding her before he had a chance to really look at her. It was some time before they separated long enough to inspect one another.

  “Holly,” he murmured. “Holly.”

  “I finally missed you too much, Robert.” She broke away long enough to reach behind her and drag forward the reluctant stripling Coffin had startled moments earlier. “This is your father, Christopher.”

  Coffin leaned slightly forward. “Hello, boy.”

  The child looked wary, but allowed Coffin to place both hands around his small waist. Suddenly he was high in the air gazing down at a wide, illuminating grin, and everything was all right. He giggled.

  A peculiar sound, new to the recently erected home. Coffin put the boy down gently. The lad promptly ran and hid behind his mother’s skirt.

  “He looks well. Better than I remember him.”

  This time he thought her smile was slightly forced. No matter. It didn’t mar her delicate beauty any more than the full, flowing dress could conceal her petite, perfect figure. She’d let down her chestnut hair and bound it neatly behind her. He was right: she’d already set to work making the house her own. Holly Coffin had ever been as industrious as she was beautiful. Only mention of her son’s health seemed to sap some of that beauty.

  “Today he’s doing well, but the voyage was hard on him.”

  Coffin shrugged it off. “The journey from London to here would challenge the constitution of the healthiest man in England.”

  That brought back the warm smile. “His attacks of the colic are less frequent than when last you saw him, but his general condition is not encouraging. The doctors fear his health will always be at risk, but it is true he has made some gains. They told me the climate here might be good for him.”

  “Certainly he’ll be warmer than he would be in England, but a visit won’t have any lasting effects.”

  “Visit? We’re not here for a visit, Robert.”

  He shook his head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you do. We’re here to stay, Robert.”

  “But you can’t stay here!” He made helpless gestures with his hands. His brain finally took control and directed them to a window overlooking The Beach. “That’s the worst hole in the Pacific right there. Maybe the wildest place on the planet. There are nights when it offers the Devil ten thousand souls to choose from. Ten thousand wild, drunken, mindless men who are not above committing any outrage that suits their rum-sodden lusts. There have been times when permanent settlers have been the object of their attentions. This is no place for a respectable Englishwoman.”

  “Now Robert,” she told him patiently when he’d finished, “you know me better than that. I won’t stand for any silliness. I’ve made up my mind. If you’ll recall I once told you that I’d follow you to Hell itself. I don’t make such promises lightly.” Her tone softened. Moving close again she put both arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. She was warm and smelled slightly of roses.

  “Two and a half years, Robert. Nearly three counting the voyage over. That’s no life. It’s certainly no marriage.”

  “I’m sorry.” He resisted the urge to bury his face in her hair. “I know I promised to come home once a year, but these past three have been so full of new business, new enterprises.…”

  She looked up and put a finger to his lips. “No matter. Everything will be all right now. I understand. You were right to stay here and build our future, and you’ve done well. You can’t be running back and forth to England just to sate domestic whims. Here, I have something to show you.”

  She slipped free of his grasp and disappeared into a back room, leaving Coffin and Christopher to gaze appraisingly at each other until she returned. She was wearing an elfin grin as she handed him the thin, wrinkled envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “Go on, open it.” She looked like a little girl at Christmastime as she took a step back and gave him room.

  He eyed her a moment longer, then slit the seal with a fingernail, slid the contents out and read. It took some time for the substance of it to register fully.

  It was a bank draft, on the Bank of England, made out in the name of Robert Coffin, for the sum of two thousand six hundred pounds.

  He looked up at her, whispered, “Where—how did you manage this?”

  “I told you we’ve come to stay, Robert. To build a future here together. We’ll have a real marriage again, and I will cope with the worst this bottom corner of the globe places in my path. So long as there is a church and one or two women of my own station to talk with I will be content. As to Christopher’s schooling, I’ve no idea what facilities you have here but I can manage that myself if need be.”

  “You won’t have to.” Coffin was still in shock. The figures
on the bank draft dominated all else. “There are several excellent mission schools. He can attend any of them provided you’ve no objection to him sitting next to a native.”

  “Anyone acceptable to the holy fathers is acceptable to Christopher. It will enhance his education.”

  He shook the bank draft at her. “You still haven’t explained this.” His mind was racing with previously unimagined possibilities. Twenty-six hundred pounds. In this part of the world that was a small fortune. Deposited safely in any sound financial institution, it would give him a line of credit usually available only to the wealthiest men in Australia. Never again need Coffin House worry about paying for goods in cash.

  “I sold the house,” she told him.

  He blinked. “What?”

  “The house; I sold it. It wasn’t a home anymore, Robert. It hasn’t been a home for years. It was simply where we lived in your absence.”

  “But I thought that’s what you always wanted. A fine city manse staffed with servants and.…”

  For the second time she hushed him. “All of that I would like, Robert. I deny it not. But it’s you I want most of all. The rest can come later.”

  “What, here? In Kororareka?” He burst out laughing. “Woman, there are no fine houses in Kororareka. This isn’t Brighton.” Turning a slow circle he indicated the absence of paint and paper, pointed to the cracks between the floorboards. “And this is the finest house in Kororareka.”

  “It could be made whole. Chink the cracks and put up some nice paper with flowers, a good painting here and there to break the monotony of the walls. Someday there will be craftsmen here along with the whalers.”

  “You are an incorrigible person, Holly Coffin.”

  She smiled. “I married an incorrigible man. It will work, Robert. You’ll see. Leave the details to me. And now, if you can, tell me that our presence makes you truly unhappy.”

  He found himself unable to meet her gaze. “You shouldn’t have come here. This isn’t the place for you.”

  Her voice was soft, husky. “Tell me you’re not pleased to see me.”

  “And there are the Maoris to consider,” he rambled on. “They’re not treacherous, but they are unpredictable. One will make himself your friend for life while his brother will cut off your head to sell on the open market when your back is turned.”

  She winced slightly at the image thus presented. “Say that you’re not glad to see me.”

  Unable to look away any longer he turned back to her, and lost himself in those luminous dark eyes. “If I’d known.…”

  Then he was stealing her breath again, locked in her arms, and he knew for a certainty he would never be able to reply to her question. The embrace was long, the kiss infinite.

  “What about your parents?” he was finally able to say.

  “As you might imagine, they objected to my decision far more strenuously than you ever could.”

  “How did you manage it? What did you tell them? I would’ve thought your mother would have locked you up to prevent it.”

  “It was simple. I told them they could have a daughter in New Zealand or no daughter at all.”

  His wife’s family was tight and close. It only made him admire all the more what she’d gone and done. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I did. I had to do it for you, husband. For us. Is there any better reason for doing such a thing?”

  For that he had no answer. “You shouldn’t have burned your bridges this way.”

  “It’s done,” she said with finality. “This is my home now, as it has been your home. You cannot be entirely displeased.” She was teasing him now.

  “I’d always thought to return to England after making our fortune.”

  “You’re not a man for theater and parties, Robert. I know you that well. Make a fortune if you must and we’ll have a grand house here in this new land, but an English country gentleman you’ll never be.” She indicated the child hovering about her skirts. “And there’s Christopher to think of. I would not see the boy grow up fatherless.”

  “Why say such things? I’ve lived with the guilt of that for years.”

  “I did not say it to make you feel guilty, husband. I said it because it needs be said. Do you find fault in it?”

  “No, I can’t. You’ve spoken nothing more than the truth.” Something made him pause and look past her. “What’s that?”

  She followed his gaze. “What is what, husband?”

  “That aroma.”

  “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “Wrong with it? It’s wonderful! What is it?”

  “Oh, I’ve already made myself known to your cook and houseman, Samuel. From what I saw of his kitchen I don’t think I’d care for Maori cuisine.”

  “He’s a good man,” Coffin protested.

  “A mite old, I should think, for caring for this house as well as doing all the cooking.”

  “There’s little to care for and my wants are simple.”

  “No longer. I will take charge of the kitchen.” It was a statement of fact, not an issue open to debate.

  “Samuel won’t like that.”

  “Samuel and I have already come to a meeting of the minds.”

  The warm smell drifting out of the kitchen was making him salivate. “What is that?”

  “You will find out soon enough, husband. I promise that from this day forward you will dine properly and well, the efforts of your valiant but ill-educated Samuel notwithstanding. Why did you settle on so elderly a housekeeper?”

  “The younger Maoris consider it degrading to work for hire. The attitude is changing slowly, but to take on work still requires the permission of one’s chief and the chiefs are reluctant to grant such permission because they desire to keep all their young men available for fighting.”

  “Fighting? Fighting with us?”

  He chuckled. “Generally no. God’s blood but there never was a people who took such delight in slaughtering each other. They have not even the promise of a life after death, yet they take great pleasure in massacring their neighbors on the slightest pretext. It’s all jolly good fun, you see.” He waited with interest for her reaction.

  “In that case they’ll be too busy to bother the settlers, won’t they? Poor things. Oh, and Robert, there’s no reason to swear in front of the boy.”

  It required an effort to remember this was no insubordinate deckhand standing before him. Besides, she was right. She usually was. Holly Coffin’s rightness was one of the things which caused him to visit England so infrequently. It was infuriating to be married to a woman so consistently correct, so regularly right in her opinions. Though it had to be admitted there were worse faults in a woman—though not many. The rich aroma coming from the kitchen mitigated any anger he felt.

  “I made do,” she told him apologetically, “with what I could scavenge from your larder. Tomorrow I will shop for proper foodstuffs. I will take Samuel with me. It will do him good to be of service. As there are other families in permanent residence here I presume there are reasonably safe places for an Englishwoman to do her provisioning?”

  “There’s one shop and one only that caters to the needs of the permanent inhabitants. Samuel can show you. I must insist you repress your natural curiosity, which I remember so well, and stay away from those businesses whose primary concern is the provisioning of ships. Any woman who strays into such places is regarded as fair game, and not even my name and reputation would be sufficient to protect you. Bear that in mind every time you set foot outside this house.”

  “They are Englishmen,” she argued. “Surely Englishmen, however rough their company on board ship, would not presume to harm a lady.”

  “Madame, you presume too much. Englishmen there be in Kororareka, and Yankees, and Chinamen, Kanaks and Samoans and Fiji-men who still enjoy dining upon their fellows. All have their perception blinded by rum. Keep clear of them, woman. You’re not setting up house in Queen’s Court.”

&nbs
p; She put her hands on his arms. “I will take care, husband, though there’s little after months at sea that I wouldn’t risk for a basket of fresh vegetables. In any event I consider any risks I may take as less than yours. Now come.” She drew him toward the couch, the single decorous piece of furniture in the entire room. “Sit down beside me like you used to. I have much to tell you of England and much to learn of this, my new home.”

  So Coffin sat, reluctantly at first, later with pleasure, and they talked of old friends and new. All this he did with half a mind. The other half was elsewhere, roaming the rooms of another house entirely, even as he wondered if a man could be condemned as guilty for being adulterous in his thoughts. Thoughts of the irrepressible, sensual woman of his recent life, of the woman who was not his wife.

  6

  “Well, husband?”

  Coffin pushed back from the table. Everything edible had been swept from its surface as quickly as a puritan’s vow on The Beach.

  “As you promised true, that was the finest meal I’ve enjoyed since I was last in England.”

  She smiled contentedly. Christopher had long since finished his own dinner and was now exploring the land behind the house under Samuel’s watchful eye. Master and Mistress had been left alone at their table.

  “Especially the pudding.” He still savored the flavor. He’d nearly forgotten what Yorkshire pudding tasted like.

  “Thank you, Robert. I apologize for the setting.”

  “This is not a fancy house. I’ve no need to eat with silver. Simple plates are sufficient for me.”

  “I also, but someday it would be nice to have proper china.”

  “And so you shall one day. I promise you. Silver from Bond Street and the finest china Cathay can provide! Clippers sometimes put in at Kororareka on their return journeys as well as on their way out. I know a few Captains well. I could arrange for a pattern to be designed for you if you wish.”

  Her reply surprised him. “Not yet. House and furniture first,” she said firmly. “China when we’ve a proper place to display it.”