by Lark, Sarah
“Servants hold their tongues while their betters speak, Nandi. Those, you see, are the fundamental principles of a civilized household. Isn’t that how it is in South Africa, Dorothy?”
Doortje opened her mouth but then closed it. In South Africa, she had thought Nandi too stupid to join in, and besides, she would never have learned to read. Nor would they have been discussing a novel, but at most the Bible, on which no differing opinions were tolerated.
“I’d be careful, Juliet,” Matariki replied instead. “The book depicts quite nicely how masters are sometimes forced to rely on the kindness of servants. If Nydia hadn’t led Glaucus and Ione to the port, they would have died in the volcano’s eruption. Atamie, do tell Juliet a bit about volcanic activity in New Zealand.”
The others laughed. Only Nandi stared at the ground. “I wouldn’t let you die in a rain of ashes, Mr. Drury,” she said quietly and very seriously to Patrick while Atamarie described the last eruption of Ruapehu. “Nor little May.”
Patrick smiled at her. “I know, Nandi. And I certainly don’t think it’s right that the slave kills herself at the end of the book. Mr. Bulwer-Lytton should have found some way of making her happy.”
“Should I help you unlace?” Kevin asked Doortje when he later entered the small room they were sharing. “You looked beautiful tonight, but you really don’t need to wear a corset here. Mother doesn’t, and Matariki and Atamie certainly don’t.”
Doortje allowed him to open her light-blue dress printed with flowers. It was an afternoon dress, but still too formal for a family dinner. Matariki had told her the same, but Doortje did not want Juliet to outshine her. That evening, Juliet had been wearing her dark-red dress. A clear signal to Kevin. To the others, just another appearance in a dress that was far too provocative. Doortje’s dress was not that. It had a rather high neckline and emphasized her natural beauty with its friendly colors.
“You like how it looks?” Doortje asked uncertainly. “You like how I look?”
Kevin smiled. She had never asked that before. He dared to kiss her shoulder when the dress slid over it. Doortje flinched but did not pull away.
“I always like how you look, but in this dress especially. Although you’d look even better without any dress.”
Kevin continued kissing her neck and shoulders. Before, she had always pulled away immediately. Though she was available to her husband at night if he desired, she awaited him in a modest nightgown under the sheets. Now, the light had not even been put out.
“Do you like that?” he asked her gently between kisses.
Doortje turned to face him shyly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’ve—in the Bible, it says—”
Kevin sighed.
“No, it’s not what you think,” Doortje said. “I’ve read the Song of Solomon, the Song of Songs.”
Kevin grinned. “Well, I don’t know it by heart, but if I recall, isn’t there talk of two breasts like baby goats?”
He pulled her dress all the way off, loosened her corset, and let his lips wander from the neckline down to her breasts.
“Like twin deer,” Doortje whispered, and felt her breathing quicken with his caresses. “And it’s—it’s in the Dutch Bible too.”
“Why shouldn’t it be? It is the most beautiful Bible, isn’t it, my dear? At least that’s what you’re always saying. When we get back to Dunedin, I’ll look for the passage and learn it by heart, I promise.”
Doortje pressed her body against his. “No, you’d pronounce it all wrong anyway. Like ‘Mejuffrouw van Stout.’”
Kevin picked her up and carried her to bed. “Mevrouw Drury. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Doortje nodded. “Just right,” she said happily.
Juliet saw at first glance that something had changed. There was a new intimacy between Kevin and Doortje when they came to breakfast. They laughed together, their eyes shone—and Matariki, who likewise noticed, looked like the cat that got the cream. Juliet fumed.
“What’s on the docket for today?” she asked the group with feigned cheer as she bit into her honeyed toast.
Juliet was again wildly overdressed. Doortje was wearing a loose dress from Parihaka, a present from Matariki.
“Well, we are going up to the village,” Matariki replied. “I want to visit my friends, and Atamarie is apparently dying to learn more about kite making, even though I thought she knew everything. Still, she wants to check whether a particular tohunga has arrived.”
“Mom,” Atamarie moaned.
“And you wanted to show me the village,” Doortje said. “The carvings on the houses and—”
Matariki nodded proudly. She did not mention how Doortje had previously lived for weeks on Elizabeth Station without paying her neighbors a single visit.
“You’ll see, it’s very different from the kraals in South Africa,” Kevin said. “A completely different building style, and not really comparable to the huts in Polynesia, right, Riki?”
“I’ve never been to the islands where the Maori originally came from,” Matariki said, “but I know it’s much warmer there than here. So, people would have built airier huts, perhaps more like your people’s, Nandi. Wouldn’t you like to join us? I’m sure Juliet can look after her daughter herself for once. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, Juliet. Otherwise, it’ll be embarrassing later when May doesn’t recognize you at parties.”
Juliet looked daggers at her sister-in-law. But she also saw her chance. Kevin would surely accompany the women. And Patrick had work to do on the farm.
“Actually, I’ll come too,” she declared. Lizzie almost dropped her coffee cup in surprise. “If it doesn’t bother all of you, of course. I’ve always been interested in carvings.” She smiled sarcastically. “Statues of the Greek gods, for example, or David.” She let her gaze wander over Kevin’s body.
“That’s statuary,” Atamarie corrected her through a mouthful of food. “Sculptors chip away at marble. Maori generally carve wood. Or pounamu jade.”
“But primary sex characteristics are also found on our tiki,” Matariki noted drily. “So, Juliet will no doubt get her money’s worth.”
To her surprise, Nandi suppressed a chortle. Doortje and Lizzie did not know where to start with the innuendo. Matariki, however, wondered whether Nandi was taking a page from Violet and had begun to read dictionaries.
Lizzie remained at home with the children while Kevin accompanied the women up to the village. It was drizzling, and Matariki and Atamarie threw angry looks at Juliet, who made her way slowly in that ludicrous outfit and had her maid shield her from the rain with an umbrella, while Nandi and the rest of the group slowly froze in their wet wraps and shawls. Only Doortje did not seem to notice the cold. She radiated from the inside out.
Juliet shoved herself next to Kevin while the women chatted.
“We need to talk,” she whispered.
“Yes, we do,” he agreed. “Maybe we’ll get a chance in the village. It’ll be quick.”
Juliet smiled.
After a while, the village came into view. It was enclosed with a low fence, surrounded by pens. The Ngai Tahu bred sheep, too, and theirs did not come much behind Michael’s in quality.
“Construction on the South Island is less elaborate than on the North Island,” Matariki began. “The region is colder and less fertile. That’s why the tribes wander so often, so they can hunt and fish elsewhere. It’s also less populated. Tribes encountered one another rarely, and there were hardly any military confrontations. But this tribe here is rich, due to its animal husbandry, so there’s no shortage of food. At most, people go wandering for pleasure or to acquire knowledge, and then, not with the whole tribe. So, this iwi has become settled and has built some very beautiful buildings.”
Only a few people were out in the rain, but news of the visit spread quickly. It did not take long for the women to find themselves surrounded by the villagers. Matariki, Atamarie, and Kevin exchanged hongi with half the village. The villagers marveled a
t Nandi. Many, particularly older people, had never seen a black person. They admired Nandi’s skin and laughed at Juliet’s corseted figure.
“Just what do you pakeha like about such skinny women?” asked the chieftain.
Kevin laughed. “Men don’t set the fashion. The ladies decide it among themselves. But believe me, ariki, it’s fun to open a laced-up present at night.”
Atamarie had eyes for only a gentle-eyed, slender young man thronged by a horde of children.
“Come on, Rawiri, we have to finish our kites. Otherwise, Matariki will come, and we won’t be able to send greetings to the spirits.”
“You’re also a tohunga for manu?” asked a little girl skeptically.
Rawiri put his finger to his mouth. “She’s much more than that,” he whispered, as if revealing a secret. “Atamarie can fly. But come along now. Let’s keep working on the kites. Are you coming, Atamarie?”
Atamarie crossed to him, and placed her nose and forehead against his face as he bent down to her. Then she opened her lips.
Rawiri proved that he had also mastered kissing in the pakeha fashion.
Chapter 2
Juliet seized the first opportunity to pull Kevin into one of the empty lodges. The rain had stopped, and the villagers were pursuing their occupations outside. Most of the men set out to hunt and fish. Ample meat was needed for the imminent festivities. The village women had claimed Matariki, Doortje, and Nandi. Haikina and the others wanted to hear about Parihaka—and the elders bombarded Nandi with questions about her homeland.
Kevin looked around to see if the coast was clear before he followed Juliet into the richly decorated building.
“Oh, how good it is to finally be alone,” she sighed. “Being cooped up on that farm makes me sick. We should also give up the apartment in Dunedin. A proper town house, Kevin, with servants’ quarters in the basement and guest rooms . . .”
Juliet went toward him and moved to put her arms around his neck. Kevin pushed her away.
“Juliet, please. I don’t want to anymore.”
Juliet scoffed. “You’re repeating yourself.”
Kevin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Juliet, but I’m very serious this time. I’m never again going to—”
“Don’t worry. You don’t have to do a thing.”
Juliet lowered herself in front of him, thrust her hands under his shirt, and undid his pants.
“Juliet!” Kevin tried to pull away and almost knocked over a statue of a god as he did. But she had already bared his sex and was beginning to rub herself on him. “Juliet, really. It’s over. You—”
“It’s over when I say it is.”
Kevin was in danger of losing himself again, but then pulled himself together and grabbed her by the shoulders to push her away. Neither he nor Juliet heard the door.
“Kevin.” Doortje and Matariki stood in the doorway of the meetinghouse. Matariki turned away. Doortje, however, stared openly.
“Kevin, what—what are you doing?”
Juliet laughed as she slowly stood up. “What does it look like, little Dorothy?”
Doortje struggled for words. Her eyes were wide, and she felt lamed, empty, and cold. Juliet straightened her dress and brushed back her hair while Kevin desperately tried to close his pants as discreetly as possible.
“You really ought to know how it goes,” Juliet purred, “as a married woman. And before that, you weren’t exactly a blank slate. Or have you forgotten Colin? Dear Colin Coltrane. Before you, he made sweet Chloe a happy woman, before that, the charming Matariki. Did you never tell her about that, Matariki? About the father of your daughter?”
Doortje began to tremble. “That’s not true. With him, I never—no one here knows about—about that. I—”
Juliet had hit the mark and now turned the knife.
“And good Kathleen, the pastor’s wife? Does she not know you’ve made her a grandmother? But she must, Dorothy. Your son is her spitting image.”
The meetinghouse began to spin before Doortje’s eyes. She saw Colin Coltrane’s face again before her, his broken, scarred face bent over her in mad, evil lust. It was nothing like Kathleen’s or Atamarie’s. But their hair, that metallic blond like Abraham’s—Doortje had noticed that. And now Juliet was saying that everybody knew. Everybody knew her shame. What was worse, Juliet clearly assumed she had given herself freely to that monster.
Doortje let out a strangled cry. She gave Kevin a look of horror. Then she spun around and fled.
Kevin looked into Juliet’s smug face. In a fit of desperate rage, he slapped her across it.
“Kevin,” Matariki shouted, and rushed to restrain him. “Leave her. It’s too late for that. You need to catch Doortje. You—we—need to explain everything to her. Heavens, how could you be so stupid?”
The rain had set in again, and the village women had returned to their houses or gone into the cooking lodges. It was time to prepare lunch. The men were not yet back from the hunt. And Doortje was nowhere to be seen.
Kevin and Matariki ran through the whole village to look for traces and witnesses, but they found neither. Atamarie and Nandi were squatting in a cooking lodge where the women were listening to Nandi describe dishes from her homeland.
Atamarie did not understand Matariki’s panic. “She can’t have gone far,” she said. “She’s probably bawling it out somewhere. I’m sure she’ll come back. God, Kevin should be so ashamed.”
Matariki left her clueless daughter and ran back to Kevin. But he had made no further progress. The ground in the village was packed firm, and so many people walked around the meetinghouse that Doortje’s tracks could not be discerned. At least, not by Kevin, who was no great tracker—and moreover, completely hysterical.
“Riki, if she hurts herself—” Tears welled in his eyes.
Matariki put an arm around him. “Now, stay calm. Nothing will have happened so quickly. Do you think she’s capable? As religious as she is?”
Kevin saw Johanna’s pale face before him, her long, wet hair, after they had pulled her from the river. The other van Stout sister had been just as religious but not able to live with her shame. Doortje had managed once, but would she succeed a second time?
He nodded.
Matariki looked around. She herself would have known exactly where to find a lake or a cliff. Doortje, by contrast, must have run blindly into the woods.
“We need good trackers,” she said. “Hemi and Rewi and Tamati.”
The hunters would surely be returning soon. During the rain, both birds and rabbits hid themselves. Until then, there was little to be done.
Matariki went back into the meetinghouse to confront Juliet. It would not do any good, but she needed to vent her anger and helplessness.
Juliet, however, had also disappeared.
It took an hour for the hunters to return, but then they found Doortje’s trail quickly. The young woman had gone straight through the woods in the direction of the mountains. She must have avoided the trails. She had run at first, but then the underbrush and the incline slowed her down. Kevin climbed doggedly behind the hunters. He knew precisely where this ascent ended. By chance, Doortje had run up a mountain that, on the other side, abruptly dropped down to a valley. The view was breathtaking, and the Maori considered the place tapu—sacred. They went there to meditate and to unite their souls with the landscape.
Kevin had been to this overlook only once, together with Patrick as a boy. The two of them had read about the spectacular climbing of mighty mountains and had been planning to lower themselves down the precipice on a rope to prepare for Everest. Hainga, the area’s wisewoman, had stopped the boys before they fell to their deaths. They were immediately in double trouble—with Michael and Lizzie for their stupidity and with their Maori friends for violating the sacred cliff.
“Her trail ends here,” Hemi declared when, after they had done a roughly one-hour climb, the forest cleared, revealing a view of the gorge.
Despite the rain, th
e vista was impressive. Far below them meandered a stream, and beyond that, a valley stretched out toward forested hills. On the horizon, they could just make out the snow-covered southern mountains.
“She could have run off to the left or right,” another hunter said, “but I can’t find any further trace of her.” The ground was rocky, but worn smooth by countless tohunga and their adepts who had come here. “Perhaps she simply went back along the trail.”
Doortje had fought her way through the forest, but there was also a well-trod path back to the village. She would have to have seen it.
“That seems likely in this weather. She must be completely soaked by now.”
The man followed the path for some distance, looking in vain for further tracks. Hemi and Kevin peered down the cliff.
“What was she wearing?” Hemi suddenly asked. His voice sounded strained.
“A dress woven in Matariki’s tribal colors.” Kevin could still picture his wife and the way she had beamed at him at breakfast. They had finally managed to find their way to each other. Everything had finally been good. And now this. And it was all his fault. “And a wool shawl over that. Lizzie’s wool shawl, the old blue one.”
She had looked so beautiful as she had wrapped herself almost from head to toe in the long shawl.
“In the Orient, women hide their hair from everyone but their chosen husband,” he had said. “It’s an honor to me that you now uncover your head for me even in public.”