by Lark, Sarah
Kevin got up. “More like damnation. Juliet, this won’t happen again. It can’t.”
Sure of victory, Juliet smiled. “Don’t worry. Not tomorrow or the day after. We probably won’t come back to Dunedin for a few weeks. But then, I’ll be lying in wait somewhere.”
Kevin would surely be happy to hear about her visit to Kathleen—she only hoped he would not be upset about the two new dresses and the corset she had acquired. Kathleen had driven her and Abe back to town in her chaise—she was horrified that Doortje had pushed a pram the whole way out—and had taken the opportunity to guide her into a lingerie store and then to the Gold Mine.
“Unfortunately, whoever wants to be beautiful this season has to suffer,” Kathleen had explained. “I regret that the reform style did not win out, but if you insist on it against the prevailing fashion, Juliet will keep teasing you. In this dress, though”—Kathleen and Claire stood admiringly in front of Doortje, who was trying on a shimmering deep-blue satin dress with a row of aquamarine buttons and appliqué—“in this dress, all eyes will be on you.”
But Kevin’s eyes that evening were unsteady at best. He acknowledged Doortje’s purchases only curtly, which exacerbated her guilt. The bill really had been exorbitant. He only picked at his food and afterward withdrew immediately back into his practice.
“I have a few more things to work on, Doortje. Don’t be mad.”
Doortje remained behind, confused. He had been so attentive just that morning. And she really did want to speak with him. About Violet, maybe, and the women in the parish. Frustrated and a little sad, Doortje went to bed early and took the book of manners with her. Over the next few days, she studied it assiduously. Juliet would not show her up again.
Doortje’s next encounter with Juliet was a triumph—Kathleen and Claire had not exaggerated the dress’s effect. Two weeks later, Patrick and Juliet had come once again to Dunedin for a weekend, and at a Saturday evening dinner at Heather and Chloe’s, Doortje outshone everyone. Roberta Fence was another big surprise. She, too, was unexpectedly wearing a corset, and her chocolate-brown dress with cream-colored lace was genuinely breathtaking. Kevin paid Roberta compliments, which seemed to make her glow. But then she saw Doortje in her new finery. The woman was so beautiful, and Kevin’s eyes shone so undeniably when he looked at her—Roberta had to accept yet again that there was no chance of claiming her old love. Doortje was assimilating.
Roberta sighed, but she was determined not to hold it against Doortje. So, she chatted especially warmly with her, asking about life on Elizabeth Station and in Dunedin, and wondering at the glint in her eyes whenever she mentioned Juliet.
“Patrick lived on the farm with his wife. There wasn’t space for us,” Doortje said regretfully. “We then tried the old cabin, but Kevin wanted to come back to Dunedin after all.”
Roberta attributed her animosity toward Juliet to this displacement. Then, however, Patrick and Juliet entered the room—and perceptive Roberta was immediately alarmed.
Both Drurys stiffened when Juliet rushed in, wearing her dark-red gown—technically on Patrick’s arm, but as if dragging her husband behind her. Roberta saw a flash of fear in Doortje’s eyes, but also anger and resolve, while Kevin . . . Roberta could not interpret his expression. He seemed annoyed, yet he couldn’t look away—like most of the men. The low-cut dress was unquestionably not from the Gold Mine Boutique. Kathleen’s designs emphasized women’s beauty, but they were not obscene.
“Don’t gawk,” Chloe Coltrane teased Heather discreetly. “It’s enough that she’s walking all over the men.”
Heather giggled. “I know the type, dearest. She’d gobble up our sort as an appetizer and a few blokes afterward. But a little jealousy looks good on you, Chloe Coltrane.”
During dinner, the hostesses made friendly conversation with their respective dinner partners. Chloe had mixed the group colorfully. Patrick sat next to Roberta, while she had assigned Juliet an older merchant. Though Donald MacEnroe was a moderate adherent of the Church of Scotland, flirting with seductive young women was apparently not outside his comfort zone.
Chloe had not thought Doortje ready for a stranger as a dinner partner. She sat next to Kevin and seemed to feel halfway comfortable. For the first time, she had no trouble with the order of forks, knives, and spoons beside her plate. Kevin, however, was distracted. He did try to entertain his wife, but Roberta noticed that his gaze kept sliding over to Juliet.
For her part, Heather caught Roberta staring at Kevin. When the ladies strolled into the salon after dinner to drink coffee and liqueur while the gentlemen huddled for whiskey and cigars, she spoke to the young teacher bluntly.
“So, what’s that vet of yours up to, Roberta? An engagement’s just about due. You’ve already been back more than a year.”
Roberta was evasive. “Vincent’s gone to Auckland with the racehorses. He invited me to come, but that wouldn’t work, of course.”
“Come now, Robbie. Of course that would have worked, if you’d wanted it to.”
“The young man is really quite charming,” Chloe added.
“So, why aren’t you two in Auckland?” Roberta asked to change the subject. She was sick of hearing what a nice fellow Vincent was. “Shouldn’t you be cheering on Rosie and your horse?”
Chloe sighed theatrically. “Heather won’t let me. We have our contemporary women’s art festival coming up. It’s got a fantastic title: L’art au féminin. Heather came up with it.” She looked lovingly at her friend.
“But it was Chloe’s idea to make it such a grand event,” Heather added cheerfully. “We’ve even rented spaces outside the gallery. Aside from the art shows, there’ll be presentations by Violet and other women who fought for the right to vote. We’ll also have music: an all-female chamber group, a pianist, and Matariki will even be coming from Parihaka with a haka group and two female Maori artists. The Maori will have their own exhibition: jade carving and textile art. It’s quite an undertaking. No one’s done anything like it here. And then, a month before, Chloe comes to me about the Auckland Cup! I’m supposed to organize everything myself while she holds her mare’s little hoof?”
Chloe sighed. “I couldn’t have known Trotting Diamond would qualify. Otherwise, I would have scheduled the festival a month later.”
“Then it would just have conflicted with this new race in Christchurch. The New Zealand Trotting Cup, founded by a couple businesspeople from Christchurch, among whom I suspect a certain Bulldog. We’ll be going to that one. As will you, Roberta, no ifs, ands, or buts. We’re also dragging Sean and Violet. Violet has to see Rosie’s triumph. Perhaps Kevin and Doortje would also like to come, and—” Heather hesitated.
Chloe spotted Doortje standing alone on the other side of the room. “Please excuse me. I’m going to go rescue our foreign friend.”
Roberta seized the opportunity to broach the subject that really lay on her heart.
“I don’t like the way Kevin looks at his sister-in-law,” she said quietly to Heather.
“No one does,” she agreed, “at least, no one who notices. Most men seem blind and deaf on that score, but it doesn’t escape the women. Tomorrow, half of Dunedin will be gossiping again. Juliet’s aimed every weapon in her arsenal on Kevin. And Patrick watches like a wounded animal. I think he’s just hoping Nandi appears to ask for help with May—the little pipsqueak always makes a scene when she isn’t included in parties. Patrick makes his rounds, and then he flees to put May to bed, and Juliet has the field to herself. If she were my wife, I’d divorce her so fast, her head would spin. As for Kevin, he clearly loves Doortje, but he’s just a man—and not a terribly reliable one, alas.”
“Kevin is very reliable,” Roberta declared indignantly. “What he did in the camp was—”
“Robbie, sweetie, you still haven’t given up on him, have you? Heavens, child, wasn’t it enough to chase him all the way to South Africa?”
Roberta cringed. She had told herself no one knew about he
r secret love.
“Robbie,” Heather said as gently as she could, “you’re beautiful and clever and would be a wonderful partner for anyone. But Kevin, he’s only interested in difficult women. He used to fall for the artists we featured at the gallery, one after another. He liked them even better if they weren’t interested in male companionship. He did everything he could to turn them. It was embarrassing. Once he caused a real scene when he did get one of them into bed, and her girlfriend—I thought they were going to duel!” Heather checked for Doortje, but she was still chatting politely with Chloe. “At any rate, our Dr. Drury needs witches like Juliet or tough nuts like Doortje. He would never make you happy, Robbie. You’re grown now, and he’s married. It’s time to accept that.”
Roberta hung her head in shame.
She watched as Claire Dunloe now approached Juliet, separating her with gentle force from the men’s side of the salon and herding her toward the women. Doortje had been performing beautifully, but as Juliet made a beeline, she became visibly nervous.
“Dorothy. How nice to see you again. And dressed like a grown-up this time. But doesn’t the corset squeeze your little heart, my dear?”
“We Boers,” Doortje shot back, “are rather tough. We’ve survived more than a few laces and gibes. Most of all, Juliet, we never give up.” She paused a moment to let her words take effect. “And besides, Dorothy’s house strikes dead the Witch of the East, and later she destroys the Witch of the West. So, take heed, Juliet. And remind me, which direction is New Orleans from here?”
Doortje arched an eyebrow at her sister-in-law, spun on her heel, and crossed to Claire Dunloe and Kathleen Burton. Juliet was left with her jaw hanging open.
Heather, Chloe, and Roberta looked at each other, astounded.
“To think I never believed Kevin when he said Doortje had threatened him with a gun,” Heather said. “Juliet really should take heed. She’s a good shot.”
Awakening
Parihaka, Auckland,
North Island
Dunedin, Christchurch,
Temuka,
South Island
1904
Chapter 1
The full moon once again hung over Parihaka, making the sea shimmer and bathing Mount Taranaki in a ghostly light. A priest carried out a full-moon ceremony and pleaded for the goddess Hine-te-iwaiwa to bless the pregnant women in the village.
Matariki would have liked to sit with the children and tell them about the phases of the moon—the scientific explanation, yes, but also the Maori myths and the moon’s importance to the Polynesians for seafaring. That night, however, she could not give herself over to the dreamy and festive atmosphere. She was determined to put her foot down with Atamarie.
“It can have something to do with the moon?” Atamarie was asking the healers she sat with. “I never noticed anything.”
“There’s a reason that madmen are called ‘lunatics’ in English,” said Makutu. “I often can’t sleep during the full moon.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes he slept like the dead, and sometimes . . .” Atamarie frowned.
Matariki sighed. Over the past weeks, Atamarie had been desperately trying to interpret her experiences with Richard. It was normal—her daughter, previously spoiled by life, had been disappointed for the first time. But Atamarie seemed to view the unhappy affair as a personal failure, and Matariki felt enough was enough.
“You’re repeating yourself,” she said sternly after sitting down next to her daughter. “At this point, we all know Richard Pearse’s peculiarities. But no one can explain them.”
“Well, Omaka had a very coherent theory before, something about a taku and toku—well, when you take that out of its pepeha context—”
“Atamarie!” her mother exclaimed. “You can’t analyze your people’s spirituality like an engineering problem. You keep trying to isolate the broken cog so you can repair it and make everything turn out differently. But it won’t, Atamarie. Stop already. You can’t hide yourself away in Parihaka and obsess about a lost love.”
“But that’s not at all what I’m doing,” she said with a pout. But she knew her mother was right.
Atamarie had always demanded clear answers and had usually found them. Professor Dobbins had actually been the very first person she had told about Richard’s last flight—and her confrontation with him and Shirley.
After leaving Temuka, she had taken the train back to Christchurch. She had been angry and desperate, disappointed and hurt. She did not shut her eyes that night, and showed up for class the next day looking wrecked. Generally, Dobbins kept a studied distance from students’ personal problems, but he invited Atamarie to his office after asking an assistant to reschedule the exams he had meant to administer. Atamarie thought fleetingly that the exam takers would hate her for that, but then, in her exhaustion, she poured out the whole tale.
“I’m so angry with myself, Professor. It was egotistical of me. If we had done our demonstration a few days earlier, if I hadn’t insisted on taking my exams first—”
Dobbins shook his head and set a steaming cup in front of Atamarie. “Have some coffee, Miss Turei. You look as if you need it. And for heaven’s sake, don’t blame yourself for Pearse’s failure. This isn’t even the first time.”
“Not the first time? I mean, sure, he went through a phase after the first flight ended in the hedge. But in between—”
“In between, he’s always stable, easygoing—and then one day, he falls back into melancholy. Richard is undoubtedly a genius, but also, very, hmm, unstable. I always thought you did him good, Atamarie.”
“His family thought the opposite,” muttered Atamarie.
Dobbins shrugged. “Maybe they’re right. I’m an engineer. If you give me a stuttering motor, I can take it apart and find out what’s wrong. But a melancholic person? That was, by the way, the reason he lost his position as a research assistant here. I don’t know how he explained it to you, but money was never the issue. A talent like that, we would have made it work somehow. But he retreated to Temuka and did not come back for a long time. Later, he reappeared, making excuses about family problems and, and, and. Well, I took him along to Mount Taranaki. Then he told me about the farm he had received.”
“He could have sold it,” Atamarie exclaimed.
The professor raised his hand. “He could have done many things. But he didn’t. And that most certainly is not your fault, Atamarie. Don’t drive yourself crazy over a few days’ delay. Richard flew a year before the Wright brothers. He had plenty of time to announce it, and to patent his aeroplane. But he didn’t. You are in no way to blame.
“First things first, let’s get your last exam out of the way the day after tomorrow. And after that, think about what you want to do. You have money, yes? Why not go to Europe? There’s a lot of research being done there on aeroplane construction. Or the United States. Seek out the Wrights.” Dobbins laughed. “Maybe you’ll fall in love with one of them. They also seem to be difficult men.”
“I can’t exactly marry them both,” she noted drily. “As for Europe, women aren’t even allowed to study there. And certainly not engineering. The men wouldn’t take me seriously.”
Dobbins made a face. “Do you know what a man would have done in your position? Or, at least half of your fellow students here?”
Atamarie looked at him inquisitively.
“They would have claimed all the glory for themselves. If you had flown, Atamarie, it would have been sensational. Not only would you have made your friend’s invention public, but you would have brought your sex forward by leaps and bounds.”
“But I would have betrayed Richard. He would have been named in all the announcements, of course, but he would have stood in the second row.”
“Instead, he betrayed you. And now he’s not even in the announcements. But nothing can be done about it now. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, my dear Miss Turei. Be sure to get some rest before your exam.”
Atamarie
had passed her last exam with distinction—despite spending the intervening two days in the library reading everything she could find on the subject of melancholy. Some symptoms applied to Richard. Others did not. Regardless, she did not find any medical explanations for the malady or insights into relieving it.
And so, the day after the exam, Atamarie set out for Parihaka to seek spiritual explanations. She spoke to Maori healers, but they could only tell her that this state of sadness was called kainatu, and one should leave those affected in peace. There were theories, of course. One renowned healer explained that people affected by kainatu could not bear the sight of nga wa o mua—the future that emerged from the past. The principle of taku and toku was highly complicated, and Atamarie had only a limited grasp of it. The tohunga recommended first finding out everything about the affected’s ancestors, conjuring the canoe with which they came to Aotearoa, and seeking the root of the evil outside of time, so to speak. Atamarie would have dismissed that as nonsense just a few months before, but now, she pondered it endlessly. Until Matariki put her foot down.
“You’re starting to seem affected by kainatu yourself,” Matariki scolded. “Whatever the reason this young man is strange, let that Shirley person worry about it. You’re coming with me to Dunedin to see Roberta and to get to know Kevin’s wife. The reports from Kathleen and Violet are wildly contradictory. Besides, we’re going to take part in Heather’s exhibition of female artists. I told you about it, remember?”
“But I’m not an artist,” grumbled Atamarie.
“Even as a little girl you wanted to reinvent the weaving frame,” Matariki said. “We know you don’t lack creative imagination. Why don’t you make a manu?”
“A kite? That’s really more Rawiri’s thing.”
“But he’s still not here,” noted Matariki.
She had nursed the suspicion for a while that this, too, was holding her daughter in Parihaka. Atamarie was waiting for Rawiri—whether recalling his dogged courtship or just wanting firsthand information on the Wright brothers, Matariki did not know. Rawiri had written her about the historic flight, describing everything precisely. Of course, he could not know he was salting her wounds. Matariki had not asked Atamarie about the contents of the letter, but she had spoken with Rawiri’s mother, who had also received mail from her son.