Landings

by Jenny Pattrick

  Taumarunui to Wanganui is 150 miles

  FARES

  Do not at any time exceed 3d. per mile. Return Tickets are issued at a large reduction. Fares are subject to alteration; it would therefore be misleading to quote a fixed rate between any two points, but the above will be a sufficient guide.

  Note. A telegram from any telegraph station to HATRICK & CO., Wanganui will receive prompt attention. Tourists can arrange for transit of horses and carriages on the steamers

  Advertisement in a tourist booklet, c.1906

  STELLA CAN’T KEEP her eyes off Danny; can’t stop smiling. They sit side by side on the grass in the early morning sun. In front of them the river flows, green and placid, curving past houses and wharves, in no hurry to lose itself in the sea beyond. Close by, on Hatrick’s landing, men are loading sacks of flour and sugar, tins of kerosene, a pair of cart-wheels, a long piece of shining metal that could be a blade for a ploughshare, the mail sack emblazoned with official stamps, wooden boxes — the heavy ones would be nails; those that are tossed from shore to boat are tea — and finally, lifted aboard with great care, a beautiful carved harmonium, bound for one of the missions upriver. Already smoke is pouring out of the paddle-steamer’s funnel, but it is a good hour before the passengers will embark. Stella and Danny still have time to talk.

  At first light Danny was released from jail. He found Stella waiting. Now they sit hand in hand. Stella wants to talk about safe things first — the farm, news from upriver — but Danny places a gentle finger on her mouth.

  ‘Stell, I have to tell you something. If I wait I might lose the courage.’

  Stella watches him. He’s breathing fast. His face is pale from his weeks in jail, thinner, but she senses something different there. A determination. But the words won’t come.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she murmurs, stroking his dear, bony hand. ‘Say it, Danny.’

  He looks at her clearly then. ‘Stella, I killed your brother. I didn’t mean to, but I was angry. I hit him — hard — and he drowned in the river.’

  Stella nods. ‘Yes.’ She sighs. It’s out now. They can start again.

  Danny’s eyes are still on her. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have said something straight away but I was frightened …’

  ‘… that they would take you away from me. The farm.’ She smiles at him.

  Danny nods helplessly. ‘You knew?’

  ‘Only a few weeks ago. Someone told me.’

  Danny growls. ‘Douglas?’

  ‘Yes, Douglas. He’s a silly mixed-up boy, don’t worry about him. At first I didn’t believe him — no one does, the fool. But then I thought about it all, back at the farm, and suddenly it all made sense.’ She holds both his hands. This is important. ‘Danny?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You didn’t sleep with that poor girl, did you?’

  Danny shifts uncomfortably. Looks away. ‘No.’ He laughs shortly. ‘There were times I could have … she would rub up so close …’

  ‘All this … this carry-on about Bridie. You were trying to make up, weren’t you? For Pita.’

  Danny shifts impatiently, but Stella is with him, holding on to him, heedless of who might be watching.

  ‘No, Danny, listen. Please! Oh, Dannyboy, I want you back home. I need you. We have to sort it out!’ She won’t tell him her news until Bridie is out of the way.

  Danny twists in her arms. He pulls away from her, walks off down the riverbank, but she comes after him. Holds on to an arm. He stops then, hanging his head hopelessly. She sees the tears in his eyes, knows he’s in pain but will not give in.

  ‘Danny? You’re not in love with her? With Bridie? You’re just mixed up about Pita. Guilty. Isn’t that it?’

  ‘Leave it, Stell,’ he mumbles, shaking his head as if to rid it of her words. ‘You’re making it all wrong.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbles. ‘Maybe you see it more clearly than I do, Stell. Or maybe too black and white. We’re different. With me it’s all mixed up. Bridie is important. A good thing, not some explanation. I wanted to save her! I still do.’

  He looks at her now, steadier, though the tears still drip off his chin. She catches one on her finger. Licks it and smiles at him. ‘Sweetheart.’

  Danny groans. ‘I’m not clever like you, Stell. I can’t explain what goes on in my head. Maybe you’re right. After the accident I helped Bridie when I should have gone to save Pita.’ He looks at her defensively. ‘At least I did help her. It’s a sort of promise, I suppose. If I go on taking care of her, that makes … makes leaving Pita better.’ He rubs at the tears impatiently. ‘Don’t ask me to explain. I can’t be fitted into any neat box, Stell. Don’t try. I wish I’d saved Pita but I didn’t and now this is something …’ His words dry up.

  Stella kisses his wet cheek. ‘I can understand that. It makes sense.’

  ‘I thought you would hate me. For Pita.’

  She smiles at him. ‘Maybe I should.’

  ‘I still want to look after Bridie. It’s a good thing I can do.’

  Stella sighs. ‘If it is so important to you. But not at the farm. We can’t.’

  He frowns at her, that same set determination that she noticed earlier. But says nothing. They stand side by side, watching the water.

  The steam whistle makes them both jump and they laugh together.

  ‘Oh, Stell, Stella,’ he says. ‘My beauty.’

  WHEN THEY ARE well upriver, the bend before Pipiriki, back in the country they both love, he tells her his plans, his mouth close to her ear so she can hear above the chuffing engine. He has talked to someone while he was in prison. A place has been found for him on a road-building gang. He will work for six months. Earn enough to buy good seed and stock for the farm. Spend one more year getting it into good enough shape to sell.

  ‘Then we’ll move downriver a bit, start up a business. You’re clever enough for anything and I’m not really a farmer. We could start up a shop. Take over the post office at Pipiriki! We could be the entertainment at the House! Old Arthur is past it — I’ve heard your mother say it often enough!’

  Stella laughs. It’s so good to see him like this again. ‘Yes! Yes!’ she says. Her own news must be spoken in a quieter place.

  ‘But first,’ says Danny, suddenly serious, ‘I have to tell your Ma and Pa about Pita.’

  Stella is proud to hear him say this. Her parents need to know. It will be a terrible blow to Ma. She has been so sure he will turn up. Danny obviously thinks they will not turn him back to the law. But is he right on that count? Suddenly she’s afraid for him.

  Danny is still planning. ‘And I’ll ask Bert to send one of his nephews from the kainga up to help on the farm while I’m gone. And to protect you. We’re going to be all right, Stell.’

  It’s as if he knows.

  LATER, SHOUTS AND cries from the Morrows’ cottage travel on the still evening air. Several inhabitants of Pipiriki happen to be about, curious to watch as the subdued young couple creep down the hill to the crew’s quarters. They beg a cabin and escape inside before questions are asked.

  Both are trembling as they lie squeezed together on the single bed. Breaking the news to Stella’s parents has shaken them both badly. Bert came close to striking Danny. ‘Get out of my house,’ he said, his eyes popping with anger. ‘You can’t be here. How can you think it? Killing my son.’ He stood, unbending, by the kitchen door, waiting for Danny to go.

  Ma wept and scolded. But for her secret hope that Pita still lived, she might well have gone to the police. ‘All these months,’ she cried. ‘All these months and you said no word! Shame on you, Dannyboy O’Dowd!’

  ‘He’s sorry,’ wept Stella. ‘Can’t you see how racked he is?’

  Danny’s head hung lower and lower. He had no words in the face of their anger and scorn. Finally Stella led him away.

  Beyond the tiny window, somewhere in the hills above the little settlement, the comforting whoo-whoo of a ruru sounds.
A dog barks. The dark river makes no sound but they can smell its fresh closeness. Stella strokes the curly hair on Danny’s chest. ‘They will accept it in time. It’s the shock.’

  Danny holds her tight. His body is slick with a cold sweat. ‘I killed their son.’ It’s as if he has only now fully realised it.

  Stella’s breath catches in her throat. She had imagined it would all be easier. ‘We will give them a grandson,’ she says, ‘or grand-daughter. We have a child growing, Danny.’

  For several minutes he says nothing. She can sense the change in him, though. He stops shaking. Her fingers find his face, trace the smile. She smiles with him and then feels the silent chuckle — or is he crying again?

  ‘Not some Chinese baby?’

  ‘Danny!’

  ‘Or red-head Scot?’

  She laughs with him, outraged and delighted. ‘Get away with you! He … she … will be pure-blooded Dannyboy. Remember the time in the river, when we swam?’

  Danny laughs out loud now. ‘Oho! A water-baby! Oh, Stella.’

  Later he asks, ‘But will they want a grandson with my blood?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Yesterday she would have been sure. ‘But I will, my darling.’

  IN THE MORNING, before Danny heads downriver to his road gang and Stella goes back up to the farm, Danny tells her of the great world-champion rowing race due to take place on the river later in the year.

  ‘Everyone down in Wanganui is full of it. In jail they were taking bets already! Our own Billy Webb beat the Australian last year and now will be defending his title. It’ll be a grand day, Stell. Every boat on the river will be crammed. We’ll go too, eh? We’ll meet there. Let’s make that the start of our new life.’

  There is something hectic about his high spirits. Stella worries about the time they will spend apart. She wants to hold him, steady him, but also feels that it is somehow right for him to go. He needs to find his own way. She smiles and agrees that they will meet at the great race.

  Stella kisses him quickly and runs to board the Wairua. He waves from the landing. She expects him to board the downriver steamer, which is already pluming black smoke into the still morning air. But later she is told — by Douglas — that her husband instead walked down to Jerusalem and asked to see Bridie.

  Jerusalem (Hiruharama)

  The Celebrated Herbalist

  Mother Mary Joseph Aubert Of the Mission at Jerusalem, Wanganui River. Her remedies bear the imprimatur of men like Lord Onslow, ex Governor of New Zealand, Archbishop Redwood, the late C.M. Crombie, Chief Commissioner of Taxes …

  Influenza, whooping cough, Lung Disease, Asthma are cured by MARUPA

  Liver Complaints, Rheumatism, Heart Burn, Indigestion, Pains in the Stomach vanish by the use of PARAMO

  Diarrhoea, Dysentry, General Debility cease by using NATANATA and KARAUA The best tonics and invigorating agents yet known.

  SCROFULA yields to NATANATA

  Distributing Agents

  SHARLAND & CO.,

  LTD, WELLINGTON

  Advertisement (abridged) from a tourist guide, 1893

  DANNY IS STILL waving to Stella as the Wairua disappears around the bend. He stands on the landing for a moment and then walks away towards the narrow bridle track that leads downriver. He swings his arms, enjoying the clear sweet air, the curve of the river, the steady left right of his feet on the soft earth. Enjoying the freedom. He has not set out on foot with the purpose of seeing Bridie, as Douglas later reported, but simply for the pleasure of walking free. Six weeks of clanging doors, cramped spaces and noisy inmates has been more than enough to convince Dannyboy that freedom is too precious to be taken lightly. If the Morrows decide to report him over Pita’s death, then at least he will have walked this day alongside the river, alone. Sooner or later he will find a track, heading north through the bush to the Parapara road, where there is work for him. If it takes him two or three days to walk it, well and good. He raises his hand as the Waimarie rattles downriver, and Bill Henderson, standing at the wheel, waves back. In the deeper silence that always follows the passing of the riverboats, Danny whistles a jaunty tune he learned in jail.

  As he nears the settlement of Jerusalem, a wind rises and drives upriver. The ruffled water appears to be moving upstream against the current. Danny thinks of the log raft, the way it bucked in the rapids. His life was so much simpler then. But Stella and he will work it all out. Dark clouds follow behind the blustering wind. Rain is on the way. Danny stops to pull his jacket from his swag. It’s then that he thinks of Bridie and decides to visit her. To see if she is in need of anything — nothing more, nothing sinister. The first heavy drops fall as he walks past the row of Maori whares. This is the prettiest of the river settlements, according to Father Soulas, rising gently above the river, which curves around it like a protecting arm. Dogs bark as Danny hurries, head down, against the wind. He doesn’t look up to where the beautiful spire of St Joseph’s points a finger to God, but stops at the door of the white-painted convent. Here the Sisters sleep and here, on the ground floor, they conduct their school. Perhaps Bridie will be with them.

  He knocks, hunching his shoulders against the rain which is driving now, and when a Sister beckons him in he enters and stands, dripping, in the tiny entranceway. The Sister is in no hurry, it seems, to greet him.

  She closes the door to the classroom firmly behind her so she and Danny are cramped together in the narrow space. Danny thinks again of the tiny dark lock-up at Raetihi. Sister Carmel frowns. Danny had hoped for Sister Anne, who is young and gentle.

  ‘So, Danny O’Dowd, they have let you out of prison?’

  Danny tries a bright smile and a nod. ‘They have, Sister.’

  His charm seems to have no effect on this tall nun. She keeps her hands firmly tucked into her sleeves, her eyes unsmiling. Danny can hear the starched wimple creak as she moves her head to look through the glass at the quiet children, then back at Danny.

  ‘And so?’

  This has been a bad idea. Danny feels his good intentions slide, like the rainwater, away from him. His smile, also, slips. ‘I wondered,’ he says, looking at the floor, ‘how Bridie is? Does she need anything?’ He looks up for a moment, hopeful, but Sister Carmel remains stony.

  ‘Danny,’ she says, ‘you have done enough harm already. Have you come for confession?’

  ‘Not … not really. I was passing, and thought …’

  ‘You claimed, I believe, to have had carrrr-nal knowledge of our poor Bridie?’

  Danny blushes to hear her French accent relish the words. ‘Not really,’ he stammers. ‘It was just …’

  ‘Lying is also a sin. What malade have you caused your wife? Her parents?’

  ‘I just want to see her!’ shouts Danny suddenly. This is intolerable. ‘Is she all right?’

  Sister Carmel waits in silence.

  ‘She might need a friend. A friend!’

  ‘The Sisters of Compassion have befriended her. And she has the comfort of the Blessed Virgin. Most certainly she does not need you. Good day. God bless and instruct you, Danny O’Dowd.’ Sister Carmel nods stiffly and re-enters the classroom, leaving him alone.

  Outside the rain is pelting now. Danny is glad of it. The sheeting water seems more of a blessing than Sister’s onslaught. He shelters under a tree, shaking. Is everyone going to condemn him like this? Surely he has shown only kindness to Bridie? Surely they don’t think … He drives a fist into the rough bark of the trunk, embarrassed by his own muddled thoughts. But of course they do. Everyone will think he lay with Bridie and is simply lucky the baby is not his. Everyone will feel sorry for Stella and the Morrows to have such an idiot — or worse — in the family.

  The rain stops. Danny stands there steaming in the sudden warmth. He looks up at the church. The windows are reflecting watery sunlight. Even they seem to be flashing scorn. He is still standing there, half hidden by the tree, when the children come out to eat their lunch.

  There is no sign of Bri
die or the baby.

  Danny walks away.

  IN FACT BRIDIE can see him but makes no sign. She is standing by the window of the little cottage next to the mission school. She rocks her baby. Sister Anne is sitting with her, busy with needle and thread. She sings a few notes of a lullaby and stops. Bridie smiles and repeats it. But when Sister Anne tries to string two lines together, Bridie cannot match her. Two or three notes of a song, two or three words. Nothing more. Little John begins to cry and Sister Anne sighs. This is where the battles begin. Bridie may be under the protection of the Sisters and the Blessed Virgin, as Sister Carmel has asserted, but all is not well with mother and baby.

  Sister Anne walks gently towards Bridie and her baby, singing as she comes. Sometimes the music will calm little John and he will fall asleep again. But not this time. Bridie backs away as Sister Anne holds out her hands for the baby. Cornered behind the bed, Bridie turns to the wall, whimpering, while the baby’s cries grow louder. Gently, singing still, Sister Anne takes Bridie by the shoulders and pushes her down until she is sitting on the bed. Bridie looks terrified. Slowly, slowly, Sister Anne lifts the mother’s smock and guides little John’s mouth to the breast. The baby snuffles and wriggles but finally begins to suck. This will always calm Bridie, and is the only way the Sisters can change and wash the little mite.

  The trouble is, he will not take the bottle. The little fellow is as wilful as his mother. With no breastfeeding woman in Jerusalem at the moment, there is no alternative to Bridie herself. Her milk is plentiful but the baby is not well, it seems. He cries often. Bridie cries with him. They sleep together in the same bed. Twice the Sisters have forced a separation, hoping that Bridie will forget and little John learn to take milk from a bottle, but mother and baby both became so agitated that the experiment was quickly abandoned.