Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

  “Prayer and modern medicine complement each other nicely,” he replied. “How does it go? Help yourself, and God will help you. Really, that ought to be in line with your philosophy. So, will you go? Or don’t you trust Sophia and me?”

  Doortje swallowed. Then she left without a word.

  Kevin himself prayed that night more fervently than ever before in his life, but for naught. Little Mees visibly worsened. Sophia did the best she could for him, and in the morning, Nandi also came to help.

  “He know me. With me calmer,” Nandi claimed, and Kevin allowed her to help, although Mees was far too sick to recognize anyone anymore.

  To Kevin’s horror, Thies was hardly doing better. Doortje brought him with the help of two other Boer women. She could not have carried him alone. Dr. Greenway, more experienced with typhus than Kevin, shook his head.

  “It would take a miracle for him to pull through. It’s a crying shame. Finally, one of the women brings herself to let us help, but it’s too late.”

  Kevin refused to believe that. He fought desperately for the life of the van Stout brothers while Greenway cared for a little girl one of the other women had brought along. This was the day’s single glimmer of light. Little Wilhelmina was undernourished and had a nasty cough, but she could certainly recover. Greenway lodged her and her mother in one of the smaller sickbays, separated from the black patients.

  “Those white nurses are supposed to come soon, aren’t they?” he asked Kevin around noon.

  Kevin was in the middle of changing the infusion bag at Mees’s bed. Doortje was making a vinegar poultice following his instructions. She had not spoken to him since that morning. Her stoic face filled Kevin with reluctant admiration. Her stubbornness drove him crazy, but the dignity with which she bore her fate was impressive.

  “Dear heavens, the nurses! They’re arriving today. Someone needs to fetch them from the train. But I can’t possibly go now. Couldn’t you?”

  Greenway looked down skeptically. His smock was filthy, and he was drenched in sweat from toiling in the stuffy tent.

  “I’d have to spiff myself up first, or I’ll scare them for sure,” he remarked. “Besides, Sophia just told me we have three new patients. The Boer women are finally giving in and bringing their children.”

  Doortje spun on her heel. “We are not ‘giving in,’ Doctor,” she said sharply. “We are simply bending to force. In our row of tents alone, twelve people have died in the last few days. I hope it makes you happy to have broken our pride.”

  Kevin began a reply, but then gave it up. He was tired of repeating himself. And right now, he had another problem.

  “I’ll call Vincent,” he said, getting up. “He’ll complain again about having to help us so much that he hardly gets to his own work, but I imagine he’ll enjoy picking up a few girls instead of just giving horses enemas all the time.”

  Kevin tried desperately for another two hours to save Mees van Stout. He tried to bring the fever down and gave cardiotonic and other treatments against diarrhea. Dr. Greenway shook his head at the waste. The camp hospital was perpetually short on medicine, and he had long made it a habit not to squander the supply on the obviously dying. When a patient arrived in the last stage of typhus, he kept them warm and clean but limited treatment to the infusion of liquid. He viewed Kevin’s struggle as senseless, and was right, of course. Mees died that afternoon in Nandi’s arms. Doortje was caring for Thies, who still recognized her sometimes. His illness, however, was on a very rapid course. Greenway assumed he would follow his brother that same day.

  “Has anyone seen to the mother?” the doctor asked as he accompanied Kevin from Mees’s deathbed to Thies’s sickbed. “One of the neighbors said she was also doing very poorly. And she’s cursing her daughter for not being with her.”

  Doortje had heard these last words. She stroked Thies’s hair once more and stood.

  “I will go to her now. But it was her decision. I—how is Mees doing?” She did not collapse when Kevin gave her the news, nor did she cry. Only trembling hands betrayed her pain. “Then I will go,” she whispered.

  Kevin wrestled again with his desire to pull her close. “Doortje, I did what I could. I—I even prayed.”

  He thought he saw a trace of warmth in her eyes.

  “I know,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 11

  The long train ride to Karenstad was beginning to wear on Roberta, although the view out the window remained impressive, and Daisy and Jenny were charming company. But Roberta could hardly believe that her voyage was coming to an end—and that only a short time separated her from a reunion with Kevin Drury. The whole thing seemed a marvel. So far, everything had been far too simple. And now she would be working with him. Kevin would no doubt notice Roberta, talk to her, get to know her—and maybe even fall in love with her.

  Roberta’s heart beat fast at the thought of it. But she also felt a bit queasy. She had not seen Kevin in so long—what if her feelings had changed? Maybe she would not feel this burning in her chest anymore when she saw him, maybe the sound of his voice would no longer give her goose bumps, and she would not feel electrified when her hand accidentally brushed his. Again and again, she felt for the stuffed horse in her bag and was holding it tight when the train pulled into Karenstad. It was an ugly little town, but Lord Milner’s secretary had already told them that. In fact, he had urgently advised against this camp—there were others in much lovelier regions, in which conditions were supposed to be less chaotic. Emily Hobhouse’s protests had already had some effect, particularly in the larger, more centrally located camps. Roberta, however, had been set on Karenstad, and Daisy and Jenny came along enthusiastically. Daisy was hoping for romance, and Jenny had never intended to make things easy for herself. She was also happy about the news that Karenstad had a black camp as well.

  “One of us will work with the whites and the other with the blacks,” she declared. “What about you, Roberta? Are you going to open a mixed school?”

  Roberta did not answer. She had not even thought about it, too distracted by dreams of Kevin. And now, the train was stopping and—Roberta hoped deep down that he would be there to welcome them himself and thank them for the donations. The crates should already have arrived. But now, at the last moment, she was seized by fear. What if he wasn’t happy that she was there? What if he found her presumptuous? Roberta dawdled with her luggage while Daisy and Jenny rushed to the exit and peered out curiously.

  “Hey, is that Kevin?” asked Daisy, pointing to the platform. “He looks pretty good in his uniform, dashing even. Although, aren’t the camps under civilian management now?”

  Roberta, too, was now in a hurry to get off the train. It would not be right for him to speak with Daisy and Jenny first. She could not be shy. She must—

  Roberta tugged a bit on her elegant, dark-blue traveling outfit and then stepped determinedly onto the platform. Kevin Drury was not waiting for her, though. Instead of his angular, adventurous face, she was looking at a good-natured countenance with friendly gray eyes framed by short, wavy blond hair and full eyebrows. Attractive and manly in his khaki uniform, this kind, wiry man was, nevertheless, unequivocally not Kevin Drury.

  Roberta tried not to be disappointed. It was completely appropriate for Kevin to send a colleague. The insignia on the man’s lapel did, however, identify him as a medical officer. Yet, a V stood out beside it.

  The man came over to them and gallantly helped Jenny from the train. “Ladies, I’m Dr. Vincent Taylor, and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to Karenstad. You’re urgently awaited. There’s a great deal to do here. Dr. Drury, the camp director, begs your forgiveness. He’s taking care of two deathly ill children.”

  “But you were able to make it?” Daisy began flirting at once.

  The doctor smiled. “My patients are easier to please. They’re generally in better condition than the inmates, and in serious cases, I have plenty of orderlies at hand.”

  �
��So, you work here in town?” asked Jenny. “You treat the British soldiers?”

  Roberta was busy dragging her suitcases out of the train. One of them still contained donations from New Zealand that had been forgotten during the earlier transport. Now, Dr. Taylor took them from her. He seemed to forget Jenny’s question when he saw Roberta’s face. Roberta was startled by the expression in his eyes. Surprise? Amazement? Joy? She lowered her gaze. Had she stared at him? Had he stared at her?

  “For-forgive me,” he whispered. “You are—”

  Roberta blushed, but then forbid herself to be self-conscious.

  “I’m Roberta Fence,” she said firmly. “The teacher.”

  “My name’s Vincent Taylor,” the young doctor repeated—and then seemed to find his way back to reality. “Forgive me.” He now turned to Jenny. “What was—what did you want to know? Oh yes, the British soldiers.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t call them that. They didn’t choose to serve. But they do work for the army. I’m the veterinarian here, Miss—?”

  “Harris,” Jenny said with a laugh. “So, you treat dogs and cats?”

  “Horses! The dog-and-cat department in the British Army is rather small. But now, come, I’ve borrowed a halfway-comfortable vehicle. And two of my recovered patients.” He pointed to a hay wagon, which offered two rows of seating, pulled by two bays. “If you’d be so kind.”

  Roberta wanted to lift up her suitcases, but Vincent took them from her, brushing her fingers as he did. Both pulled their hands back quickly. Roberta smiled shyly and was again unsettled by Vincent’s gaze. He looked at her like Kevin had looked at Juliet. But that could not be.

  “Forgive me,” he said again.

  Roberta left the suitcases to him. She took a seat beside Jenny in the second row while Daisy swung up next to Vincent on the box.

  “I’ll see more from here,” she declared cheerfully. “I’m absolutely fascinated by this country. Is it far to the camp? Will we go through the wilderness?”

  For a while, the wagon rumbled down well-traveled paths between the train station and the town. Aside from cheerless army buildings and tents, there was not much to see. Daisy, however, quickly drew the young veterinarian into an animated conversation about Transvaal’s flora and fauna. Robert felt admiration and something like jealousy. She could not chat so easily with strangers herself.

  “And you, Miss Fence?”

  Roberta was startled from her thoughts. “What?”

  “Do you like it too?” Vincent repeated his question. “South Africa?”

  Roberta winced. She had not thought much about it so far. He was going to think she was stupid and maybe tell Kevin so.

  “I, yes, I do. It’s very pretty,” she murmured. “But also, very difficult. Well, they say the people are difficult, and the war . . .”

  Vincent Taylor nodded seriously. “Yes. The disconnect is sometimes frightful. The beauty all around and the, well, stubbornness of the people. You’d be tempted to think this vast country, this wonderful nature, would fill one with humility.”

  But Roberta wasn’t having it. She had grown up as the stepdaughter of an attorney who worked on Maori land rights.

  “Some men see nature; others see resources,” she replied. “Or farmland. It’s always like that. One person sees a kauri tree and thinks of the stories of Tane Mahuta; the next thinks of lumber and the price of wood.”

  Vincent turned around to Roberta. “Very true, Miss Fence. You’ve put it wonderfully.”

  “Some see a person,” Jenny added, “while others just see labor.”

  They were then passing a supply depot, in front of which a few black workers were loading sacks into a wagon. The men looked undernourished and despondent.

  “And yet, really, it’s their land,” Roberta observed.

  She wondered how the black population had lived here before the Boers invaded.

  “The situation with the blacks really is a big problem here,” Vincent said, and told them all about Kevin’s attempts to reform the camps.

  At Jenny’s cheerful offer to work in the blacks’ camp, he reacted happily but not as euphorically as he had at Roberta’s commentary. This did not go unnoticed by Daisy.

  “Well, you’ve won someone over,” she whispered to Roberta as Vincent exchanged a few words with some approaching riders. “The veterinarian’s already eating out of your hand. Now, you just need to impress Kevin.”

  Roberta blushed. She liked Vincent Taylor very much, but he did not have anything approaching Kevin’s effect on her. Vincent now drove the wagon over unpaved paths, and Jenny complained about the dust clouds.

  “It’s even worse in the camp,” Vincent said. “Intolerable, really. But, honestly, everything there is.”

  “Well, now that we’re here,” declared Daisy, “we’ll take care of that.”

  A half hour later, they drove through the camp gates. The watchmen looked bored. They eyed the female newcomers hungrily but kept bawdy remarks to themselves. And then Roberta and the nurses spied the first Boer women and children. Haggard forms in threadbare dresses that hung loose from their scrawny bodies. Most of them were barefoot or wore oft-patched shoes, but almost all clung to the tradition of wearing a bonnet, no matter how dirty.

  “The children aren’t even playing,” Roberta noted as they drove between the rows of tents—round tents colored reddish by the ever-present dust, with primitive cooking stations in front. “And the women, didn’t they have proper houses before?”

  Vincent nodded. “They did, and they were exceedingly tidy. Army command likes to depict the Boers as primitive, and they don’t really shine in education, but neither do the rural populations in England and New Zealand, right? Regardless, it’s a barefaced lie to claim they’re better off here than on their own farms. Especially considering the outbreaks. With all the cholera and typhus, consumption, gangrene of the lungs, our doctors are powerless. Look, we’re coming up on the main buildings. There’s the hospital—primitive construction, I know, but it does the job. The guards and doctors sleep in the few solid buildings. That flat one in front there is the office and also Dr. Drury’s residence. Let’s see if he’s in.”

  The women followed the veterinarian somewhat shyly across the bleak square between the houses and the hospital. Vincent opened the door to Kevin’s house without knocking. It led into a vestibule and then directly into the office. All the rooms were unoccupied.

  “Do they not lock up here?” Daisy asked, surprised.

  “Doesn’t seem like it,” Vincent observed. “Probably there’s nothing to steal. And the women aren’t thieves either. As I said, these are extremely proper people, even if their culture and beliefs are different from ours.” Vincent knocked on the door to Kevin’s apartment, but no one was there either.

  “He must be at the hospital. Hopefully that child didn’t die on him. He was giving it his all.” Vincent was half talking to himself as he led the women back outside, closing the door behind him. “Never leave doors ajar. Otherwise, the dust and flies will get in,” he advised the women. “And you’ll be tempted—the air doesn’t get in through closed doors either. Especially in the tents, the heat quickly becomes unbearable when there’s no air circulating.”

  Vincent walked toward the hospital, and Roberta felt her heart hammering. Soon, soon, she would see Kevin again soon.

  The veterinarian led them to the hospital entrance but allowed a young Boer woman the right of way. She kept her head down, but Vincent seemed to recognize her at once.

  “Good day to you, Miss van Stout,” he said. “I heard about your brother. It was wise of you to bring him here.”

  The woman looked up, and Roberta saw her pale, careworn face, which was nevertheless of a rough beauty. The young woman’s eyes were a fascinating blue, like fine porcelain. And as thin and embittered as she now was, her features were still charming somehow.

  “He died earlier,” she said tonelessly. “And my mother . . .”

  Vincent held the door op
en for her. “I’m very sorry, Miss van Stout,” he said softly. “I’m sure Dr. Drury did all he could.”

  The woman made no reply, just moved determinedly toward the rear section of the hospital while Vincent first showed Roberta and the nurses the larger rooms and the treatment area. Here, too, they saw neither hide nor hair of Kevin, but they did receive a first impression of the conditions. The Boer women may have given up their resistance to the treatment of black patients in this hospital, but they still enforced a clear hierarchy: in one section of the room, white women and children lay in their beds; in the other, the blacks, especially black children. The whites’ beds were furnished with blankets and pillows; the black children had only piles of rags on which to rest their heads. Their covers looked more threadbare than the whites’. The black nurses seemed complicit in this. Jenny looked like she might cry.

  “There are smaller rooms for the most seriously ill,” Vincent explained, leading the women through the sickbays toward the back. “Drury and Greenway will be there.” A moment later, he pulled aside the curtain that separated one of the four smaller sickbays.

  Roberta would never forget the image that presented itself to her here. Kevin Drury, somewhat thinner but still elegant and handsome with his tangled black hair and his angular face, was just standing up from the child’s bed. He turned to the woman Vincent had addressed as Miss van Stout. His face took on an expression of helplessness, despair, and—love.

  “Doortje, Doortje, I, your, Thies—”

  He could not get it out, but the woman saw that the child had died. She faltered. And that was when Kevin took her into his arms.

  Roberta felt something break within her. She had traveled halfway around the world to see Kevin Drury again. But she found him just as she had last seen him—in the arms of another woman.

  Yet, Doortje van Stout did not willingly snuggle into his arms as Juliet LaBree once had. In fact, the woman only submitted to the embrace for a few heartbeats, just long enough for Roberta to recognize her surrender. Then she freed herself abruptly, casting a hateful look at him and another woman whom Roberta only now noticed. A beautiful young woman with deep-black skin. She had been sitting in the shadows, holding the child’s hand.