Maori

by Alan Dean Foster

  “There are many roads to salvation, Robert. In order for the church to succeed in its mission here we must see to it that commerce and trade succeed as well.” Suddenly he frowned. “Are you feeling well?”

  Coffin was swaying slightly and blinking. Now he forced himself to straighten. “It’s nothing. Fatigue. I haven’t been to sleep yet.”

  “Yes, I imagine Auckland is full of exhausted men this day. You’d best get yourself home and to bed. This is a bad business.”

  “You should read your history, Father. It’ll be the same here in New Zealand as it’s been elsewhere. The natives will be subdued and will learn their place. I’ve hopes it can be done more peacefully than in the other colonies.”

  “I don’t know that the Maoris will take to the place most of the colonists have reserved for them. Good day to you, Robert Coffin.”

  “And to you, Father.”

  “And take care,” Methune added as Coffin swung himself back onto his mount. “You truly do not look well.”

  Just tired, Coffin thought as he waved once before turning up the street that would take him into the finest residential section of the city. Too much responsibility. Too much to do in too short a time. But the dream weighed upon him, as the strange warning letter had months before.

  9

  The long, covered porch encircled most of the house like a wide belt. Holly and Robert Coffin sat in opposing chairs, he reading, she finishing a complex piece of tatting. Christopher played with his friends in the big yard!

  As Gray had hoped, the initial flush of outrage at the destruction of Kororareka had been soothed. No more such attacks had been forthcoming. Except for the occasional isolated raid on an outlying farm or outpost, the Maoris had been quiet. Hone Heke’s warrior band proved unable to assault communities that had been forewarned and his power faded as fast as it had ascended. Evaporating with it was the threat he’d posed in the minds of the colonists.

  Somewhat to Coffin’s surprise but to Gray’s considerable satisfaction, the Maoris had readily agreed to the Crown monopoly regulating land sales. With government agents overseeing the business instead of unscrupulous speculators, peace and stability had returned to the country. The Maoris were not getting rich quite as rapidly as they’d been in the days of unregulation, but neither were they being cheated. It followed that such cheaters were not being hung in the middle of Maori stockades. Gray had been right all along.

  Coffin and his wife were not alone on the porch. An older man was peering over the tops of his spectacles at the children playing in the garden. Holly put her tatting aside, let her own gaze travel across the yard.

  “He seems much improved.” There was no question Christopher was starting to hold his own among boys his own age, she decided.

  Bainbridge nodded somberly. Coffin said nothing. He had yet to meet a trustworthy physician. At best Bainbridge was less of a quack than his colleagues. He had the virtue of admitting ignorance when he had no answers, unlike his associates who would cling to any lie rather than tell the truth. By now they knew him well. Bainbridge was a frequent visitor to the Coffin manse.

  Christopher and another boy collided. In an instant the other child was up and laughing as he ran to rejoin the game. Christopher got up more slowly.

  As Holly started to rise from her chair Coffin leaned across to grab her wrist. “Leave the boy be, woman.”

  “But he’s hurt, Robert. Can’t you see?”

  “He’ll be fine. Just leave him alone.” He stared at her and maintained his grip until she sat back down.

  In truth Christopher looked reluctant to participate in the continuing horseplay, but eventually he returned to the rough-housing. Bainbridge was disapproving.

  “Such contact is not good for the child.”

  “He’s a boy,” Coffin growled as he resolutely returned to his reading. “I’ll not dress him in pinafore and pigtails. So long as he can survive among boys his own age I’ll let him do so.”

  At this Bainbridge exchanged a look with Holly. Coffin wasn’t supposed to see it, but see it he did.

  “What have you two been hatching behind my back?”

  “I don’t follow your inference, sir.” The doctor did a poor job of masking his unease.

  “Come on, out with it.”

  “Not when you’re in a mood like this, Robert.”

  He eyed her irritably. “I’m not in a ‘mood.’”

  “You’re being difficult. You tell him, Dr. Bainbridge.”

  Coffin glared sharply up at the physician. “Aye, tell me, Doctor.”

  Bainbridge was starting to sweat under that cold stare. Then he remembered who he was. He had a reputation to maintain.

  “Very well. Mrs. Coffin and I have discussed it more than once. I don’t believe the climate here is the best for the child.”

  “That’s odd,” replied Coffin without pause. “It seems to me I once heard you say that damp air was beneficial to his constitution.”

  “Damp air, yes, but not the damp sea air of winter, with its burdensome impurities and chill. Warm moisture would be much better for Christopher’s weak lungs. He has shown much improvement recently, but when winter comes his body seems to revert to its previous feeble condition.”

  That didn’t sound like quackery. It almost sounded like it made sense. “What do you expect me to do? Move my entire enterprise to the tip of the North Cape where we can wave at passing ships?”

  “Such extreme measures should not be necessary. Besides, moving to the Cape would continue exposing him to salt air.”

  “Salt air’s good for a man,” Coffin protested. “The boy likes the sea.” Holly was glaring at him now but he ignored her, concentrating on Bainbridge instead.

  “Perhaps he does, Mr. Coffin, but I do not think the sea likes him.” The doctor removed his glasses and made a show of cleaning them. “I believe you must give some thought to what the boy can be, not what you want him to be.”

  It took Coffin aback. The last thing he expected from a crate of lugubrious lard like Bainbridge was penetrating observation.

  “By God, sir, I believe you are overstepping the bounds of your profession.”

  “I am only interested in what is best for my patient, Christopher. I do not think you will disagree when I say that what is best for him is best also for his family.”

  Coffin took a deep breath. Holly looked gratified. “Right then. What do you think is best for the boy—and for his family.”

  Having gained the forensic high ground, Bainbridge was able to relax a little. “It is of course unreasonable to expect you to move your business out of Auckland since it has become the colony’s center of commerce.”

  “Glad you recognize the fact.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic, husband.” Holly primly picked up her tatting. “Dr. Bainbridge is only doing his job.”

  “I’m listening to him. What more do you want? I’m not saying I know more than him in matters medicinal. I’m not one of those people who thinks he knows everything. Continue, sir.”

  Bainbridge pressed the tips of his fingers against each other as he spoke, tensing and then relaxing them. To Coffin they suggested a pair of mating crabs.

  “I think the boy’s lungs would benefit from warmer moisture. I know that you have followed my instructions to provide steam to his room, particularly in the wintertime.”

  Coffin nodded. Under Holly’s supervision the servants often placed several kettles of boiling water in Christopher’s room. The hot air and steam seemed to break up the phlegm that tended to collect in his lungs. By the time the steam stopped the boy’s breathing was usually easier.

  “Perhaps you know the Rotorua District? The area is alive with hot springs and mud pools. I am told it is beautiful country, as well as the sort of steamy, misty terrain that might well benefit your son.”

  Coffin shrugged. “Fine. So we don’t move to North Cape. Instead we plunge into the interior to live in the mist.”

  “No,
no, Robert! You’re being obtuse.” Holly sounded more than hopeful. She was excited. “We keep our home here but we build another in the interior. A winter place we can use as a refuge from Auckland’s cold storms.”

  “I’ve never been to this Rotorua country.” Coffin’s mind was working. “I know it’s a goodly distance from any town.”

  Holly had abandoned her chair to stand beside him. Her hands rested on his shoulders. “We could manage. These past years have been kind to us, Robert. You could take some time off. It would do you good. I don’t ask that you do it here because I know how you feel about society life.”

  That much was true. Wealthy families now staged elaborate dinners and dances. Coffin could dance a fine hornpipe, but he was useless when it came to the fancy steps currently in vogue among his peers. He had no ear for the new music either, nor did he enjoy conversation for its own sake, believing that talk should be used for communication, not for amusement. If they were living hundreds of miles away during the social season it would be much harder to badger him with invitations.

  He turned a wary eye on the complacent Bainbridge. “You really think the change would be good for Christopher?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “You think it might help him improve to the point where he could go to sea some day?”

  Bainbridge hesitated at that. “It’s far too early to make such predictions. The child is still young. But if his constitution continues to strengthen, who is to say what might or might not become possible?”

  “Good enough, sir. Next week I’ll travel to this country and have a look at it for myself.”

  The doctor was smiling now. “You may not find it as isolated or uncivilized as you think. When you get there, ask for the parson with the umbrella.”

  Coffin half laughed. “What?”

  “That is what I understand the local natives call him. His name is Seymour Spencer. An American missionary. Has a small church at a place he calls Galilee. The Maoris there call it Kariri, that being the nearest they can come to the English pronunciation. I’m told it stands on a small peninsula that juts out into the largest of the local lakes, which is named Tarawera after the most prominent mountain in the area. It should be easy for you to find.”

  “Thanks for the information. I’ll make it a point to look this Spencer up.” At least, he thought, he wasn’t going to have to sleep on the ground or on a flax mat in a Maori pa.

  Holly threw her arms around him from behind. “I knew you’d understand Robert, once Dr. Bainbridge explained it all to you.”

  He twisted in her grasp. “I haven’t said I’ve agreed to anything. I’m just going to ride out for a look, that’s all.”

  Bainbridge blushed and turned away as she began kissing her husband effusively. The affectionate assault weakened Coffin’s lingering reserve.

  It would be good to have another place, a refuge from the winter storms that lashed the coast. Not to mention a refuge from his wife’s society friends. Nor would it hurt to have a base of operations nearer the center of the island. The move could be a practical one irrespective of how it might benefit Christopher.

  10

  If anything, Bainbridge had understated the extraordinary character of the country. It was alive with the most alien and unique formations, an exotic geology that delighted Coffin even as it amazed him. Spencer was pleased to show him everything in detail. In addition to the countless hot springs and pools there were the Blue and Green Lakes and expansive Tarawera, a veritable inland ocean. Not the sea, but beautiful and comforting in its own fashion.

  The local Maoris might not be able to pronounce Galilee, but they had advanced to the point of growing their own tobacco so they would not have to depend on visiting traders to fill their pipes. They were civilized, friendly, and peaceable. No prospective Hone Hekes in Kariri. Mrs. Spencer was an industrious woman who was glad to watch over Christopher while her husband showed the tall visitor the wonders of the region. When Coffin and the Reverend Spencer returned from their day-long ride Christopher was already playing like a member of the junior community with the Spencers’ daughters and their young Maori friends. Although it was hard to believe, the local climate seemed to have had a salutary effect on the boy already.

  “Wait and see.” Mrs. Spencer watched the children at play along with her husband and guest. “It’s not just the air here. There are mineral pools of every size and description. Bathing in them has been said to restore the sickly to health. The Maoris have known it for years.”

  “Understand, sir,” Spencer added, “this is not a place of miracles. But such results are claimed for the famous spas of Europe. I believe these pools have similar curative qualities the nature of which we are only just beginning to explore. There is no reason to assume they cannot be of help to your son.” He smiled warmly. “As you travel through this country you cannot help but believe God has both cursed and blessed it.”

  “The ground itself is lively, I’ll grant you that.” Coffin felt wonderful as he watched the children at play. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Christopher run so much without stopping several times to bend over in one of his familiar hacking fits. For the prospect of restoring the boy to complete health Coffin would have sacrificed anything. To think that a mere change of air and water for part of the year might accomplish what legions of doctors had failed to do lifted his spirits higher than they’d been in years.

  He turned to draw Spencer aside. The two men, one of commerce, the other of God, gazed out across the broad blue sheet of water that was Lake Tarawera. The gray bluffs of the same-named mountain formed a wall against the sky, rising from the far side of the lake.

  “I’ve decided, Reverend. But where shall I build?” He gestured with a wide sweep of one arm. “Most of the land here is occupied by Maori farms.”

  “We both have the same thing on our minds.”

  Coffin eyed him in surprise.

  “I’ve been thinking of moving the mission, establishing a real community here. It won’t be long before the Maoris have used up the land they currently farm. They’ll have to move on. When they resettle here I want to start them growing not just tobacco but maize and wheat. Several of them have discussed the possibility of constructing a flour mill.”

  “A flour mill?”

  “It’s becoming a matter of prestige among the Maoris for each village to have its own mill. You must know how quickly these people take to European invention, Mr. Coffin.”

  “Indeed, Reverend, I think I know better than most men what the Maori are capable of achieving. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  Spencer acknowledged with a nod, turned to his right. “There’s good land down the shore that way, enough for a large modern village. I’m going to call it Te Wairoa. With the cooperation of the local rangitira we can make a model community. In addition to the good soil there’s a narrow bay extending inland. A fine place for fishermen to tie their boats.” As Coffin opened his mouth to protest again Spencer hastened to quiet him.

  “Patience, sir: I’ve not forgotten your query. Not far from this bay but with privacy of its own is a place where the land rises gradually from the lakeshore. A lovely location for a nice house, with a commanding view of the surrounding country yet close to the water’s edge. A fine place to build. I would be pleased to help you with the negotiations for the land.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Reverend. I’m used to dealing with the Maori but I don’t know anyone locally, and that’s always a help.” He stood breathing in the fine, fresh air. This was a place a man could come to love, not to mention what it might do for his son’s well-being. “We’ll start on the house as soon as possible.”

  “Excellent! Let’s tell Mrs. Spencer. She’ll be delighted at the prospect of having company, if only for part of the year.”

  Holly’s reaction upon learning of his enthusiasm when he returned home was as joyful as Coffin had anticipated. Christopher was equally pleased. During the brief v
isit he and his father had made, the boy had quickly made friends among the locals. Already he was looking forward to returning to the land of steam and lakes. Perhaps the boy never would make a seaman, but when it came to dealing with people, whether pakeha or Maori, he demonstrated an ability to make people like him. That would be a valuable asset when he reached manhood and began to assume some of the responsibilities of running Coffin House.

  It was more than a month before Coffin was able to take the time to return to the district: Spencer helped him to hire only the best available Maori labor and the two men saw to the laying out of the great house’s foundation. The building would dominate the small hillside overlooking the lake and the dark mountain beyond.

  By now the local Maoris knew him and it was easier to bargain with their chiefs. Coffin brought Samuel along to supervise and intercede for him. The old man was not well, but his mind was sound. He thrived on the responsibility Coffin gave him. With Samuel in charge Coffin knew the locals wouldn’t be able to cheat him, which of course they would do given the slightest opportunity. That was business.

  Purchasing the land itself proved less of a problem than he’d anticipated. With so few pakehas in this part of North Island the local Maoris had plenty of land to sell. The hillside Coffin desired was not good for large-scale farming. The tribe it belonged to all but gave it to him.

  They sealed the bargain over pipes made of highly polished wood, smoking local tobacco as fine as anything imported from America.

  11

  Rose Hull came to a halt halfway down the hall. Her father was drunk again. She knew even though she couldn’t see him. She didn’t have to. It was enough to hear the sounds of things breaking, the way he was slurring his speech, the certain words he used only when he’d lost control of himself.

  If she wasn’t careful he’d see her and then she’d never slip out of the house. Mrs. Pertwee, her governess, slept too near the second floor balcony, so Rose couldn’t use that exit. The ground floor windows were always kept locked to discourage burglars. The only door that could easily be opened from the inside by a young girl was the front door. In order to reach it she had to go down the main hall. The main hall opened onto the parlor. That’s where her father was now, breaking things and using the words.