Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  His laughter was sharper than her own. “The house you’ve seen. As for the ‘grounds,’ there are none.”

  She tried but failed to hide her disappointment. “You mean this single plot of land is all we own?”

  “In Kororareka, aye. I’ve also purchased some land in the interior where some day I hope to run cattle, but it’s too far from town for me to give any attention to it just now. Coffin House absorbs all my daylight hours and I’m not ready to give that up for the life of a shepherd, my dear.”

  “I could not envision you as such.” She took his arm and led him toward the couch. “So be it, then. At least you can enlighten me as to the disposition of our immediate neighbors, and the location of the shops where I will have to go to supply the household.”

  It had been a long time since Coffin had spent an hour just conversing with a woman, a subtle pleasure he’d all but forgotten. In addition to her beauty his wife was industrious and intelligent. Her interests ranged beyond sewing and cooking and the arts of housewifery. Nor was she reluctant to dispute with him on matters she felt strongly about, arguing her points calmly yet forcefully. While they talked the boy was in and about underfoot, having already adapted to his new surroundings with the ease of the young.

  Samuel was particularly taken with the child, though he agonized over Christopher’s thinness. Maori children were much like their parents; healthy, large-boned, and tending to plumpness.

  Supper was another minor miracle. The candles, which had come all the way from Boston, were used for the first time since Coffin had purchased them. Holly had somehow fashioned napkins out of rags, substituting imagination for linen. As he sat down to table Coffin was certain he must have stumbled by mistake into the house of a baronet.

  “Holly, you are a veritable wizard.”

  “Thank you, husband.” A violent boom from the vicinity of town made her to look up sharply. “What was that?”

  Coffin reached for his wine glass. “Most likely someone being murdered.”

  “Please, Robert, not in front of the boy.”

  “Best he learn where he lives.” Christopher was ignoring both of them, intent only on his food. “Better he learn of it here first than on the street.”

  “You did say that someday we might have a home away from this awful place.”

  “Did I say that?” He forked meat into his mouth, chewed hungrily. Had she been listening to the discussion earlier? No matter. “All things are possible, in the future. But I will not hide truths which the day will bring anyway. The boy must know.”

  “Very well.” She conceded the point without further comment. “If that is how it has to be. As to this meal you find so extraordinary, it’s only chicken.”

  Coffin gaped at her. “Chicken? I have chicken all the time. This is like none I’ve tasted before.”

  “You’ve forgotten, husband, what the hand of an experienced woman can accomplish.” More gunfire from the vicinity of The Beach. This time she didn’t look towards it.

  “And now,” she said, rising, “if you’ll help me we’ll see our son to bed.” She picked up one of the candlesticks.

  “There are other things that need my attention first. I have to check on the horses.”

  She accepted the rejection gracefully. “I realize we each have our duties, husband, but you must get to know your son. You’re no more than a cipher to him.”

  “That time will come.” He turned and headed for the door.

  Have to see to a proper bed for the boy, he mused as he headed outside. In his mind he was already refashioning one of the empty upstairs rooms. Toys would be needed, too. Strange to think of a child running free through a house more accustomed to the shouts of drunken men and loose women.

  The stable was peaceful, alive only with contented snuffling and the smell of new-mown hay. He returned to the house, his thoughts full of business more pressing than how to deal with an unexpectedly arrived wife and son.

  It was a problem forgotten the instant he strode through the bedroom door. Holly stood waiting for him. Her hair cascaded across her shoulders and back, framing her upper body. The silk nightdress she wore clung to her like rain, while the candle on the dressing table threw delicate shadows into sharp relief.

  He set his own candlestick aside, snuffing out the flame with damp fingers, wishing the other problem which tormented him could so easily be extinguished. No time to worry about that now. Time now for nothing save the heat of her in his arms as he lifted her and carried her toward the bed. She neither blinked nor looked away from his eyes.

  Three years is a long time. Memories fade. More than food and politics and social life is forgotten. Holly brought the important things back to him in an overwhelming rush of passion.…

  7

  “Can you not stay a little longer, husband?”

  She was lying on the bed, her head supported by one hand. Daylight outlined her body, giving her the look of fine sculpture. The silk nightdress was a small crumpled pile on the floor.

  “Now Holly, we’ve had little enough rest this night and I’ve work that won’t wait.”

  “Do you regret the loss of sleep?” she asked coquettishly.

  He turned and walked back to the bed, bending to kiss her. He did it quickly, before she could wrap her arms around him. He’d forgotten how much strength that small body contained.

  “Did I say that? But I can’t linger. Already Captains and pursers will be fighting over the cargo I brought back from my last journey.”

  “What cargo is that?”

  “Kauri pine, for replacing lost masts and broken spars. Much of my—of our business here is based on providing such supplies to the ships that call.”

  “This pine is good hardwood? Straight and true?”

  “Yes, it …,” he broke off, smiling down at her. “Woman, I know that tone, and it has nothing to do with commerce. I heard it often enough this past night. It goes with a certain look.”

  “You saw that as well? In the dark?”

  “Yes, in the dark. By the light that glowed from your face.”

  “If I glow, it’s you who sets the wick afire.”

  “And I will do so again, but not this morning. There are nights to come.”

  “A lifetime’s worth, Robert.”

  “But the day must be for work. You’re a practical woman, Holly. You must understand.”

  “I understand, yes.” She sat up in the middle of the rumpled bed and stretched languorously. Watching her he nearly forgot his resolve. “But I don’t have to like it. Will you be able to come home for lunch?”

  “No. The morning is already lost. I’ll be back for supper.”

  “For supper, and for dessert. Perhaps an English trifle?”

  He all but fled from the bedroom, though it was a most reluctant flight. Memories of the previous night flooded through him. However, he’d spoken the truth. He was needed down on the docks.

  Those Captains most in need of wood for their ships were all but attacking Elias Goldman by the time Coffin arrived. Rain clouds mottled the sky above the Bay of Islands but the occasional sprinkle did nothing to dampen the ardor of the potential buyers. They pushed and shoved—decorously, as befitted their status—for the best vantage point.

  The Kauri had been removed from the schooner and stacked neatly near the end of the pier. Ship’s carpenters clambered over it like termites, checking each log for grain, insects, knots, wood rot and splits. Each log had already been graded by Goldman, but each carpenter had to repeat the process to his individual satisfaction.

  The factotum’s relief was palpable when he spotted Coffin forcing his way through the jostling, arguing crowd. They’d been told the sale would begin hours ago and they were impatient to the point of violence. Goldman had already sacrificed his hat to the mob. He was sweating profusely.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, sir.” He ran a handkerchief across his forehead. “I’ve had a time of it keeping them under control.” Coffin noted the pre
sence of armed seamen from the Resolute stationed around the logs and pitch barrels. He clapped his assistant on the shoulder.

  “I won’t be late again, Elias. Come, let’s make ourselves rich.”

  A podium had been set up on the sloping land just beyond the pier. Goldman stepped up behind it and rapped on the wood with a hammer.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen! I apologize for the delay. The sale will now commence.”

  “About bloody time, too!” yelled one of the Captains. A roar of approval mixed with laughter seconded his opinion.

  “I know you’ve all been waiting a long time.” Obscenities greeted this observation by Goldman. Without further ado he stepped aside. “I introduce to you the master of the schooner Resolute and her cargo, the honorable Mr. Robert Coffin.”

  A few cheers and not a few hoots greeted Coffin. Goldman picked up his heavy ledger and stood ready nearby as his boss surveyed the mob.

  “Well gentlemen, I recognize some familiar faces among you, scattered in among the strangers. For benefit of the latter I’ll explain the procedures of this sale. Each log will be sold individually, the smaller trimmed branches in bound lots. What is not sold will be available for later inspection in my warehouse, for those of you who might entertain second thoughts about putting to sea undersupplied.” He gestured to his left.

  “This is my assistant, Mr. Goldman. He will record the name of each buyer and vessel. Each log is marked clearly on both ends. Make certain of those you choose to bid upon, for once the sale is concluded there will be no exchanges, nor will I accept claims of mistaken identity. Those of you who wish to make your own arrangements for conveyance of your purchases back to your respective vessels can pay Mr. Goldman and remove your property thereafter. I can provide transportaion for those of you without facilities. I realize some of you have been standing at anchor waiting for just such a sale as this, and I’ll not delay a man among you any longer than is necessary to relieve you of your gold or sterling.”

  Good-natured laughter rippled through the crowd. One reason Coffin did as much business as he did with these men was that he was a seaman himself and understood their problems.

  “I might also take this opportunity to remind you all that Coffin House stocks a large supply of ships’ stores as well as such ephemera as brass spittoons and fine American and Turkish tobaccos. We’d be pleased to share a cup of tea with any of you, whether you make a purchase now or not.

  “For those of you who’ve no inclination to depart these fair shores immediately I can provide storage at no charge for your purchases should an insufficient number of your crew be presently disposed to such labor.” This was Coffin’s polite way of saying he would hang onto any Captain’s goods if his crew happened to be too drunk to walk.

  “As you can all see, this pine is not your usual English or American variety. More than that, this particular shipment has been dried and cured prior to delivery. You’ll find no green wood here, gentlemen. Those of you who’ve used the Kauri before know that it grows straight, tall, and branchless to great heights. This is the seaman’s tree, sirs.” He leaned toward his assistant. “Announce the first number, Elias, and the minimum price.”

  A few outraged cries attended the figure Goldman cited, but these were soon overwhelmed in the excitement of the bidding. It took all the rest of the morning and into late afternoon before the sale was concluded. There was little left to be warehoused.

  The total realized exceeded Coffin’s wildest hopes. Now the services of the Resolute’s sailors were required not to watch the cargo but to guard the heavy iron and brass strongbox which held the day’s receipts. In addition to the coin and paper there were a few signed IOU’s. These last came from men short of ready cash but heavy-laden with whale oil. Coffin accepted the liquid readily. In Kororareka it was as valuable a medium of exchange as gold or silver.

  Coupled with the unexpected windfall Holly had gifted him with, Coffin House would now be able to greatly expand its presence and inventory. There would be enough left over to begin buying property from the inland Maoris. The dream of a vast estate roamed by herds of sheep and cattle might at last become a reality.

  Of course, as Abelmare and the rest had pointed out, such land was valueless without a comprehensive peace treaty that included all the relevant tribes. He mulled that problem over in his mind as he studied the small cluster of natives who had waited silently to one side of the pier. There were two low chiefs, no ranking arikis.

  They’d been there for the duration of the sale, listening and watching, occasionally murmuring among themselves. Now that the sale was at an end they turned and marched away. Coffin knew what they’d been about. These “ignorant primitives,” as Halworthy and others preferred to call them, had been noting the prices being paid for the Kauri with an eye toward raising the prices of their own supplies.

  He wondered what they must be thinking of his journey to South Island. It showed they had no monopoly on the Kauri trade. Perhaps prices for local wood might even come down as a result. Keeping ahead of the Maori kept Coffin and his fellow merchants on their fiscal toes. No tougher financial wars were waged on distant Fleet Street.

  The last bundle of spars was winched clear. Kauri-laden longboats scattered like waterbugs into the Bay. Coffin paused long enough to examine the contents of the strongbox a last time before securing the heavy padlock. For an exact total he relied, as always, on his factotum.

  “How exactly did we do, Mr. Goldman?”

  The other man’s face was shining as he displayed a long sheet of paper covered with figures entered in his precise hand. The ledger book he clamped against his ribs with his other arm. He pointed to the last entry on the paper.

  Coffin noted it, nodded appreciatively. “I’d thought as much. A memorable day’s work, Elias.”

  “Memorable, Mr. Coffin.”

  “Take charge of this. For myself, I think I will pay a visit to Mr. Langston’s shop and see to the arrangements for the enlargement of Coffin House.” Langston’s specialty was construction, though his people spent most of their time working on ships instead of in town. That was going to change, Coffin told himself.

  “As you wish, sir.” Goldman rolled the paper and slipped it under his arm atop the ledger. “Will I be seeing you later today?”

  “I think not, Elias. You handle things.”

  “Very good, sir.” He watched his employer turn and stride toward town.

  Goldman knew it was premature to begin expanding their facilities despite the day’s fine profit. He knew that just as he knew that Coffin had a destination in mind which did not include a meeting with William Langston. Goldman liked Coffin greatly, their business relationship aside. It pained him to see the torment that was raging inside his friend.

  Suddenly he remembered to shout: “Mr. Coffin, Mr. Coffin, sir! This afternoon—remember the flax sale!” If Coffin was so inclined, they now had enough ready cash to purchase the entire Maori stock.

  Coffin waved back without turning and Goldman was satisfied that his employer had heard. Thus assured, he turned to Markham and the sailors and led them back toward Coffin House.

  It troubled Coffin deeply that he couldn’t convince himself everything was going to be all right. It seemed straightforward enough. He would break the news of his family’s arrival to Mary Kinnegad, explain the new order of things, and life would continue as before, slightly altered in appearance but identical in substance. No different from changing parties in Parliament, really. It would be noisy.

  However, what was so neat and clean in mind crumbled the moment he began mounting the steps leading to the front porch of the little house behind Kororareka’s main commercial street. Nor did fate grant him additional time to marshal his thoughts. Before he could touch the handle the door flew open and his arms were full of Irish Mary.

  “Robert! Ah, Robert, I’d wondered if you’d got back. Only this morning I heard that the Resolute had put in.” Her legs went up over his hips and her arms arou
nd his neck so that he staggered and barely kept the both of them from tumbling backward.

  “You’re a damned rogue for not putting into port yourself last night,” she chided him slyly. “Where the Devil were you?”

  “It was an exhausting journey and we docked not an hour before sunrise.” He hoped he didn’t sound as awkward as he was feeling. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” That wasn’t what he’d planned to say, but Mary’s overpowering presence had already made a mockery of his careful mental preparations.

  “Disturb me?” She laughed, throwing her head back, her red hair flying. “Damn me, Robert Coffin, but there are times when you puzzle me!”

  Gently he set her on her feet. She was nearly as tall as he was. Her green eyes flashed and her smile was mirror-bright.

  “There was cargo to unload and grade and only this morning a furious auction on the pier. My presence was necessary,” he mumbled.

  “I heard talk of such, though I wouldn’t think a few logs would put such demands on your time. Did you well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “That’s not how I heard it. From what’s being said about town you’re now rich as Croesus himself. And here be I, a poor honest woman with nothing to tempt a businessman.” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him through the open door, lifting her skirt with the other hand to keep it from dragging on the dusty, raw wood porch.

  “What of the children?” He was unable to turn his eyes from her as she closed the door behind them.

  “Ah, a restless pair, those two. Flynn’s taken his little sister up into the hills to look for birds’ eggs.”

  “You let them run off free like that?”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “Now what strange weather did you run into on your voyage, Robert? Why should I worry about them? The Maoris don’t steal pakeha children and the sailors have no interest in any girl under the age of twelve. They’ll be safe enough, and more satisfied than their mother be at this moment.”

  The brass bed creaked as she pulled him down on top of her.

  “Mary.” He could feel the heat of her through her dress. “We have to talk.”