by Lark, Sarah
Chapter 12
“And what’s going to become of your brother and Rosie’s funny fiancé?” Atamarie inquired. She was sorry not to have accompanied her friend to Christchurch after all, and especially loved hearing how Roberta’s kindly veterinarian had gone berserk when they’d discovered Joe’s cheating. “Which one’s going to jail?”
“Neither,” Roberta said, happily playing with her engagement ring. “Harry, the stableboy who was on the trail of this Finney character, really did find him. And naturally, he squealed on his employer to both Lord Barrington and the police. He hadn’t made just Trotting Diamond sick, but all the horses Rosie was training. It was simple—they were all in his lordship’s stables. Joe even admitted it. But he played it off as a prank. He swears he didn’t want to hurt any person or animal, just ruin Rosie’s reputation as a trainer. In the end, he hoped he’d be able to buy Trotting Diamond and get the other horses back to train. There’s a lot of money in it, you know.”
“But he’s not going to jail?”
“Chloe and Rosie withdrew the complaint,” Roberta reported, “and in return, Joe’s going to forego pressing charges against Bulldog for the beating. He would have been in more trouble than Joe, otherwise. In principle, once Joe’s recovered, he can keep his stables—if anyone’s stupid enough to entrust him with horses. Vincent says people at the racetrack are claiming he plans to emigrate to Australia.”
“The farther, the better! Now the field’s clear for Rosie.”
Roberta shook her head. “Rosie’s career as a trainer is over. In that sense, Joe achieved his goal. After the scandal, she can’t pretend to be ‘Ross Paisley’ anymore. It was in the papers that ‘he’ is a she. It was an open secret before, but now it’s been raining complaints from other racing clubs. Rosie gave up her license. She doesn’t want to race anymore, anyway. The climate at the track is too rough for someone who truly loves horses. Instead, Rosie’s driving four-in-hands pulled by cold-bloodeds. Mr. Tibbs is joking he’s finally got the fastest delivery service in New Zealand.”
“Well, the main thing is everybody’s happy.” Atamarie leaned back and lifted her face to the wan winter sun. It was not raining for once, and the two women had found seats in the garden of the little café near the cathedral. “Are you going to come with us to visit the Ngai Tahu?”
Roberta shivered. “For Matariki? To sit around outside, staring at the sky and freezing while you flirt with Rawiri?”
“Kevin and Doortje are coming,” Atamarie said slyly. Even a week before, this revelation would have caused Roberta an immediate reconsideration. Now, however, she only looked annoyed. “And Patrick and Juliet.”
Roberta had not yet told her friend what she’d seen. “Doortje should keep an eye on Kevin,” she began cautiously.
But even as she was formulating her words, Rawiri entered the garden.
“Here you two are,” he called, and touched his forehead and nose lightly to Atamarie’s. A hongi, although there really was no call for a formal greeting here. But Rawiri shied away from a kiss. Until Atamarie had made her decision, he would not impose. “Why are you two sitting out here in the cold?”
“We’re practicing for Matariki,” Roberta joked. “Atamarie wants to take me along, but I don’t want to go.”
“It really is very uplifting,” Rawiri enthused. “At least when it’s a clear night. All the singing and dancing, the kites—don’t you have any greetings to send the gods in the heavens? Special wishes?”
“There’s nothing more for me to wish for,” Roberta said, holding out her engagement ring to him.
Rawiri smiled. “We should all be so lucky. Atamie, Professor Dobbins has written to me. He really would like me to give a presentation on the Wright brothers. And to organize a seminar on Maori kite building, if you can imagine. Moreover, he’d be happy to take me on next semester as a student. So, if you wanted . . .”
Atamarie’s face clouded over. She, too, had received mail from Dobbins. He was again offering her a job as a research assistant, which was very generous. Her applications for other advertised positions had proven that female engineers were not exactly in demand.
“I wrote”—Rawiri pulled his jacket tighter around himself as if trying to hide in it—“I also wrote that I wouldn’t have anything against working with Richard Pearse.”
Both women sat up, alarmed.
“You did what?” asked Atamarie.
Rawiri lowered his gaze. “Well, I thought he might present on his flier and his attempts at flight, and I’d present the Wrights’. Something like a comparison.”
“That’s, that’s very magnanimous of you,” she murmured.
“Well, I wasn’t the one who flew, after all.”
“But you’d be giving him a forum.” Atamarie was becoming visibly excited. “He could introduce his work at last, get a little recognition. What did Dobbins have to say about it?”
Rawiri looked at her sadly. “He liked the idea, but he couldn’t reach Pearse. I’m sorry, Atamarie. I thought—I wanted to help you decide. But the gods play an unfair game. I’ll have to keep fighting a ghost.”
Roberta inhaled sharply. She liked Rawiri immensely—but she, too, had seen the light in Atamarie’s eyes at the thought of seeing Richard again.
“The ghost,” she said, “lives in Louden’s Gully, near Milton. About thirty miles from here, Atamie. You could take the train tomorrow.”
Atamarie and Rawiri forgot the cold as Roberta reported on her detour to Temuka. Rawiri listened with feigned calm, Atamarie with growing excitement.
“He didn’t marry Shirley?” she asked. “He—he up and left there?”
Roberta nodded.
“For you, it seems,” Rawiri said. “Why else would he move to Otago?”
“For me?” Atamarie leaped up, her eyes seeming to spray sparks. “But if he wanted to come for me, then he could have gotten out when the train stopped here. If he wanted to come for me, why did he buy another farm in another godforsaken dump? Louden’s Gully—do you know that area? It’s all hills. If you took off in an aeroplane, you’d fly down one hill and into the next. You can’t fly there. So, if he wanted to come for me, if he wanted me—” Atamarie turned away, fighting back tears.
Roberta looked at her friend. “Do you want him, Atamarie, or do you want to fly?”
Atamarie lowered her head. “I don’t know, Robbie. I don’t know. But I think if he wanted me—”
Rawiri stood. “Think about it, Atamie,” he said softly. “If you want to try again, then just go tomorrow. Talk with him; convince him to do the presentation.” He looked at Roberta, then back at Atamarie. “But don’t ask yourself if you want him or to fly. That’s the wrong question. You do want to fly, and you can fly. If he gives up on his dreams, that’s his business. Don’t give yours up for him.”
Atamarie thought harder than she ever had in her life. She caught a ride out to Elizabeth Station with Patrick and Juliet, who were traveling home after another weekend in town—and had an enervating journey while Juliet pouted about how much she hated going back to the farm. Patrick spent the first few hours trying to console her, but then gave up and got into an animated conversation with Nandi. She had become deeply engrossed in viniculture and asked Patrick countless questions. She expressed herself in perfect English and seemed quite happy—but she kept an anxious eye on Juliet.
Atamarie could imagine why. Juliet was horribly moody and surely took it out on her maid. Atamarie wondered what Roberta had wanted to say about Kevin before Rawiri arrived.
When they finally reached Elizabeth Station, Lizzie and Michael were delighted to see her—and Michael offered to lend her a horse the next day.
“Louden’s Gully is half a day’s ride,” he informed her. “The roads are paved and good for riding. Back then, it was also gold-mining territory, you see. But do you really want that man? Sorry, Atamie, but if you ask me, you’re chasing him.”
“Some men you have to chase a bit,” Lizzie t
eased her husband. “If I hadn’t followed you to Gabriel’s Gully back then, you’d still be digging in vain for gold.”
Michael laughed. “No, dearest, I’d’ve returned to making whiskey long ago. Besides, you didn’t need some friend to tell you where I was. You knew where to find me. I wasn’t ducking you.”
Atamarie looked at her step-grandfather, horrified. “You think he’s running away from me?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know him at all, of course. Maybe he’s running away from something else. But look at it from a farmer’s perspective: it’s the same if I work a farm in the plains or in Otago. Your young man just wanted a change of scenery. And not to hear or see anything from his past. For whatever reason.”
Atamarie added this to the subjects she needed to think about and withdrew to the waterfall. Rawiri, she thought, would probably ask the spirits. Had his generous offer of inviting Richard to a shared presentation at Canterbury College perhaps been providential?
Atamarie smiled. But why not?
The next morning, she rode into the mountains. She quietly sang the traditional songs as she went in search of a raupo bush, and asked the gods reverently for permission before cutting a few leaves. Atamarie did not make a big kite, but she put a lot of effort into the frame of manuka wood and carefully calculated the wingspan of the birdman. The manu should not only be capable of flight but also beautiful. Without quite knowing why, Atamarie intoned the old prayers and songs while she cut the pieces and bound them together. But that night, when she lay beside the fire in her sleeping bag, looking up at the stars, she let her thoughts wander. Taku and toku—the past and its importance. How often had she traveled to Richard, how often had she comforted him, encouraged him, helped him? And how often had he done those things for her? They had shared passion, and it had been lovely. He had touched her heart. But what about her soul?
Atamarie considered how he would fit into her pepeha, her description of her life, if she had to give one. Could the past be the future for him? What anchored him in the present? Atamarie could not discern any maunga, any mountain, in the real or figurative sense, that held Richard back or kept him grounded. Just a broom hedge—the symbol of his failure.
She wavered between laughing and crying when, after three days of work and just before Matariki, she let the kite fly. It somehow resembled Richard. Birdman—the Maori had called him that. A being between heaven and earth—perhaps worthy of admiration, but nothing that could find its place in the here and now.
Atamarie followed with her eyes. She held it on a single aho tukutuku. Not she, but the gods should steer it. At first, the wind seemed gentle and pleasant. The birdman rose quickly as Atamarie sang. But then she fell silent and waited. The kite swayed. It pulled at its line. Atamarie held it fast. Then, a gust of wind seized it. The manu shot to the side. Atamarie tugged on the rope, but she knew that she could not stop the crash. It was hard to let go. The kite seemed to stabilize briefly as she let the line slide between her fingers. It rose steeply into the sky, but then it faltered. Atamarie saw it fall and disappear somewhere in the brush. It was not a broom hedge. But in her people’s beliefs, the spirits dwelled in every stream and bush. Their judgment had been passed.
Atamarie did not look for her kite.
Nor did she ride to Louden’s Gully.
The Return of the Stars
Lawrence,
South Island
1904
Chapter 1
Kevin Drury had never been so ashamed as that evening when Roberta Fence stumbled into his office. Roberta, of all people, the girl who had idolized him her whole life. He did not want to imagine what she thought of him now. Kevin hated himself for cheating on Doortje. Especially as there was no longer any excuse for it, if there ever had been. Doortje was thawing, she was finding her way in her new world, and she seemed ready to love Kevin. Or to admit that she loved him already.
Juliet, on the other hand—Kevin had known even before fleeing to South Africa that there was no love between them. They could have ended the affair without any trouble if Juliet hadn’t been fixated on the idea that she could exchange Patrick for Kevin like a pair of shoes. And Kevin kept playing into her hands. But now, he swore to himself, that was over. Since Roberta had caught the two of them, he had successfully avoided Juliet. Their next encounter would take place at Elizabeth Station. Matariki was to be another family reunion. Lizzie wanted finally to have all three of her children back in the farmhouse, even though it would be bursting at the seams. There would be no opportunity for Juliet to catch him alone—at least not for more than a few minutes. No longer than necessary to tell her that it was over for good.
Kevin was brooding about that while he steered his carriage toward Lawrence. He sat on the box, while Matariki and Doortje chatted behind him and played with Abe. Matariki loved the little boy. He did not remind her of Colin. She had long ago finished with that story. And for Doortje, it was a blessing she had never seen the man before his face was deformed.
Doortje, at any rate, seemed to have overcome the trauma of Abraham’s conception and not to hold it against the child. She was a good mother, or at least what her people understood a good mother to be. Matariki was just then trying to loosen her ironclad principles about a child’s upbringing.
“Oh, come now, he’s not going to become a coward just because you pick him up and comfort him when he cries. Maori children are constantly being cuddled and carried around, no one beats or frightens them, and still, the boys grow up to be brave warriors and the girls powerful leaders. Did you know we have women chieftains? Once, there were many more. The English were a bad influence on that. They simply did not take the women ariki seriously. So, few were elected. Maori tribes think practically. However, I can still show you war clubs and other weapons made for our women. We can fight just like your people, even though we’re affectionate with our children.”
Kevin smiled at his sister’s efforts, which were slowly having an effect. Doortje had not said a word in opposition to celebrating the heathenish New Year festival with the Ngai Tahu. On the contrary, she seemed excited about it. And she had even gotten along with Lizzie at their last family get-together. If she did not turn up her nose at Haikina and the other Ngai Tahu this time, she would surely get a second chance on Elizabeth Station.
Kevin was determined not to mess this up. He would end his relationship with Juliet and then speak to Doortje about the Coltrane matter. He caught himself whistling a cheery tune as Silver handled the hills between Lawrence and Elizabeth Station with his accustomed verve. The future was bright. He would finally put his life in order.
A weight was lifted from Matariki’s heart when Atamarie met them at Elizabeth Station. She had spoken with Roberta and Rawiri after her daughter’s precipitous departure from Dunedin, and she’d shared their fears: another attempt with Richard, disappointment, and further tears and doubt. But at last, her daughter seemed to see things clearly. Atamarie greeted her happily, was looking forward to the festival, and asked when Rawiri would arrive. Now, Matariki could only hope that he had not changed his mind and returned to Parihaka instead of participating in the festival here as planned.
There had been a skirmish about where to lodge Juliet’s maid. Normally, Nandi slept in Matariki’s old room, but since Atamarie and her mother were visiting, Juliet wanted to put Nandi in the barn or the hallway outside their rooms. Lizzie had been incensed.
“Under no circumstances is it acceptable that she sleeps outside your door like a dog, Juliet. And the barn? Poor thing would freeze to death. Not to mention the baby—unless you’re offering to take May for once?”
Lizzie had fetched a children’s bed from the attic and shoehorned it into the little room. And when Atamarie came back from the mountains, she unrolled her sleeping bag on the floor next to the two beds. Nandi was shocked at the prospect of sleeping in a bed while a white girl lay on the floor.
“I’m not white,” Atamarie assured her. “I’
m Maori. And what does skin color have to do with a bed? Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and this is usually your room.”
The three women got along brilliantly, and little May was spoiled by all.
Doortje demonstrated her newly learned diplomacy by not even addressing the subject, but perhaps the icy stares coming from Juliet’s direction already gave her enough to manage. Lizzie had put Kevin, Doortje, and Abe in Kevin’s childhood room, and Juliet took umbrage at that. While living on Elizabeth Station, she had claimed Kevin’s old room as her personal “dressing room” and tended to sleep there as well. She “visited” Patrick in his room or reluctantly let him into hers. She had long since disabused him of his dream of falling asleep in her arms.
“We all need to squeeze in for a few days, Juliet,” Lizzie said, “but a family reunion like this is worth it. I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.”
But Juliet was determined to ruin everyone’s mood with her pouting and her occasional caustic remarks about the size of Elizabeth Station. A manor house that offered only four bedrooms was unthinkable to the plantation owner’s daughter.
“We should be thinking about building additions, or, better yet, building anew,” she declared.
Michael and Lizzie bore it with composure. They, too, had grown accustomed to Juliet’s moods.
“I simply cherish the thought that someday she’s going to run away again,” Lizzie confided in Matariki. “She is wretchedly unhappy here and means to make us unhappy as well. I guarantee she’s only waiting for a suitable opportunity. When the right man appears, she’ll disappear again.”
Matariki wasn’t so optimistic. The looks Juliet still gave Kevin suggested she’d already set her sights on the “right man.”
Indeed, on the evening of his arrival, Juliet did not let Kevin out of her sight. Intoxicated at being together again and also from Lizzie’s wine, the family members all talked over one another. Atamarie talked about Roberta’s engagement and her adventures in Christchurch, Matariki about the successful art festival, and Patrick about a curious encounter with a sheep baron in the hills who was interested in Michael’s flock. Matariki drew Doortje into the conversation, asking about the last book she had read—and Nandi provoked a minor scandal by eagerly joining in. She had also devoured The Last Days of Pompeii and now offered her opinions. Doortje looked stern but did not rebuke her, whereas Juliet reprimanded her sharply.