His smile slipping slightly, Haunui came down the garden path.
‘Reverend Kereha not feeling good?’ he asked.
Kitty set her sewing aside and stood up. ‘It doesn’t seem to be one of his better days, no.’
Haunui pointed his finger at the side of his head and made a twirling motion.
‘Well, yes, unfortunately,’ Kitty said, feeling marginally disloyal. ‘Is it that obvious?’
Haunui nodded.
‘To everyone?’
Haunui nodded again. ‘It is said the demons he preaches about are living in him.’
Kitty frowned. Uncle George’s behaviour had become a little odd lately, and his sermons did focus rather persistently on redemption and salvation—or rather, what would happen to people who were not redeemed or saved—but she hadn’t realised that other people were beginning to comment.
No, she corrected herself, her uncle’s behaviour had become very odd. She’d never been frightened of him, not even as a child, but these days she found herself loath to be alone with him, or even share food at the same table. He had become…fraught somehow, moody, secretive and very short-tempered, and some days she believed she could feel him almost vibrating with whatever was consuming him. Fortunately for her, he spent all his spare time in his study poring over his religious books, so she really saw him only at meals, but even that was too often.
She had asked her aunt several weeks ago whether her uncle was feeling well, but Sarah had replied that he was simply doing his best to fulfil his duties, especially when Reverend Williams was away from Paihia and George had to step in for him.
‘But don’t you think some of his behaviour is a little, well, strange?’ Kitty had asked.
She was alluding to George’s recently developed habit of saying grace not just before every meal, but also before every cup of tea or scone or pikelet. And it wasn’t just grace, either; it included substantial tracts from the Bible, which he insisted must be listened to by everyone in the house, whatever they were doing. By the time he’d finished, the repast had invariably gone cold.
There were other things, too, and now a new eccentricity: he had to have the cutlery laid exactly so many inches apart and away from the edge of the dining table; otherwise he wouldn’t sit down to eat. When he was served his food, the plate had to be placed with the meat on the side furthest away from him; if it wasn’t, he would refuse it. Furthermore, if his potatoes happened to touch his cabbage while he was eating them, or gravy from the meat dribbled across and contaminated his peas, the whole lot had to be removed and a new helping served on a clean plate. And another grace said.
His behaviour was beginning to drive Kitty almost as insane as she suspected he was becoming. As a consequence, and because of his perpetual short temper, the atmosphere in the house was now always strained and oppressive. Kitty would dearly have loved to go and live somewhere else, but she couldn’t because her uncle was her guardian and he would not, she already knew, give his permission.
To Kitty’s question, Sarah had responded, ‘No, I do not think Reverend Kelleher’s behaviour is odd, and I’ll thank you not to mention it again’, and that had been that.
But Kitty knew her aunt was worried by her husband’s behaviour—she could see it in the new lines forming on Sarah’s face and the way her mouth quivered whenever George became upset.
She mentioned it to Rebecca one day, who acknowledged that George certainly was an ‘unusual man’, but also said, not unkindly, that it probably wasn’t any of Kitty’s business how her uncle behaved, and that everyone felt his demonstrative and theatrical sermons were a good thing because they encouraged the Maoris, who always enjoyed a spectacle, to come to church.
It was also clear, however, that the Maoris saw quite plainly that something was wrong with George.
‘Are people frightened of him?’ Kitty said to Haunui now.
‘The children perhaps, not the elders,’ Haunui replied, shrugging as though lunacy was just one of those things you had to put up with in the community from time to time. ‘I have brought something for you. Come and see.’
Kitty followed him out to the cart. The boys from the workshop were grinning widely, and even Flash seemed pleased with himself.
Intrigued, she asked, ‘What is it?’
Haunui whipped the blanket off with a flourish, revealing the burnished doors of a large cupboard lying on its back in the cart. ‘For your bedroom,’ he said, grinning hugely. ‘I made it in the carpentry.’
Kitty stepped closer. ‘It’s an armoire!’ She ran her hand over the satin-smooth surface, marvelling at the intricate patterns Haunui had carved across the top and on the curved legs. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful, Haunui, it really is! Thank you!’
‘To put your clothes in,’ he explained.
Kitty nodded happily; at last, she could take her poor, crushed dresses out of her trunk. Two presents in one day and it wasn’t even her birthday—how extraordinary!
Haunui beckoned to the boys and climbed onto the cart. Flash staggered slightly and gave Haunui a long-suffering look over his bony shoulder. With the boys each holding a corner at the base of the armoire, Haunui picked up the top end and, grunting, lifted it off the back of the cart. Once it was deposited on the ground the right way up, Kitty realised how big and solid it was and wondered how they would get it up the stairs.
With much groaning and staggering, and a bit of swearing in very clear English, the armoire was carried up the garden path, onto the verandah and into the front hall, where it stood while Haunui regarded the narrow stairs thoughtfully.
‘Arse first, rest on landing, then head first to top,’ he said eventually.
Kitty grinned, pleased that her aunt was out.
They managed the manoeuvre with only two dents in the timber walls, which Kitty thought could easily be disguised with a bit of white paint. George stuck his head out of his study at one point, barking at them to keep the noise down but apparently not even noticing the new piece of furniture. The boys looked at each other and giggled, but Haunui ignored him.
The armoire fitted into Kitty’s bedroom nicely, and she immediately took her dresses—the ones she would wear when her period of mourning was up—out of her trunk. They smelled a little musty, but airing would fix that. She hung them over the rail Haunui had thoughtfully fitted inside the cupboard. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Perfect!’
Haunui’s homely face beamed with happiness, but all he said was, ‘Get off Miss Kitty’s bed’ to the boys, who were seeing how much bounce they could get out of the old springs.
Downstairs, Kitty offered them all a cup of tea and some of Sarah’s date loaf. Haunui had four pieces.
‘Is Wai here?’ he asked, crumbs flying out of his mouth.
‘She’s gone to help Jannah Tait. One of her housegirls is sick and she’s in the middle of putting up her marrow and ginger chutney.’
More giggles from the boys.
‘She will be home when?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you call in on your way past?’
Haunui shook his head. ‘Mrs Tait does not like me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she does, Haunui.’
‘I am sure she does not. I was looking at her chickens the other day and she told me to go away.’
‘Well, I’ll tell Wai you were asking after her.’
Haunui nodded. ‘Is Amiria with Wai?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Kitty thought for a moment. ‘Actually, I don’t know where she is.’
Haunui’s face darkened but he said nothing.
‘Your uncle was asking after you yesterday,’ Kitty said to Wai, feeling guilty because she’d forgotten to mention it until now.
‘What did he want?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps just to say hello? Look, are you sure we won’t get caught?’
They were at the eastern end of the beach where the fishing waka were always hauled up when not in use. Kitty looked across the water at Kororareka on the other side of th
e harbour, and decided it really was a very long way. Amy insisted it wasn’t, that anyone could paddle that far without too much effort, but Kitty had her doubts.
‘What if you get tired halfway there?’ she said.
‘I won’t. You will be doing the paddling,’ Amy replied matter-of-factly.
Aghast, Kitty said, ‘Me? I can’t paddle a waka!’
‘Time to learn,’ Amy said as she and Wai pushed a small canoe off the sand and into the water. ‘Get in,’ she added when it was a float.
Kitty sat down, pulled off her boots together with her stockings and threw them into the waka, then hoisted her skirts to her knees and waded into the sea. The water felt very cold against her skin and the sharp shells buried in the sand scratched her soft feet. When she was settled in the centre of the waka she glanced around to make sure no one had seen them. Uncle George was closeted in his study as usual and Aunt Sarah had gone with Jannah Tait to the Kerikeri mission store to buy fabric for curtains, sheeting, thread and a new cream jug to replace yet another one that had gone missing, but someone else—someone nosy—might be down at this end of the beach.
Satisfied that they had not been discovered, she said, ‘So, what do I do?’
Wai climbed in, sat down in front of her and picked up a paddle. Under their combined weight the waka grounded, but Amy, still standing knee deep in the water, gave the stern an almighty shove then clambered in, settling behind Kitty as the waka began to glide away from the beach.
‘Watch,’ Wai said. She held her paddle across her knees with her hands on the shaft about two feet apart. Then, lifting it, she dipped the blade into the water with exaggerated slowness. She repeated the action several times, and the waka moved forwards and slightly to the right. ‘See? Easy. You do it on the other side.’
Behind her, Kitty lifted her own paddle, jabbed the blade into the water, connected with sand, and dropped it.
‘No!’ Amy said crossly as she retrieved Kitty’s paddle. ‘Not so deep!’
Kitty had another go, this time with more success. Wai kept her pace slow until Kitty started to get the hang of it, doing her best to dip the paddle into the sea with strong, measured strokes. Then the waka dipped and surged forward as Amy also began to paddle, using hers as a sort of rudder on both the left side and the right.
Kitty felt a delighted grin spread across her face as she found her rhythm. The waka skimmed across the waves, dipping and rising a little as they moved out into deeper water. Kitty felt almost as though she had become part of the sea. Without breaking her own concentration, she watched the deft but graceful movements of Wai’s shoulders in front of her and wondered how Wai could paddle so confidently knowing what would probably lie in store for her if her father ever found out.
The excursion to Kororareka had been Amy’s idea. She had somehow managed to convince the others that they would be gone for only two or three hours, that no one would know, and that they really should go and see what the missionaries were all complaining about. Kitty had been surprised to learn that Amy had never been to Kororareka, given her propensity for wandering and her obvious lack of interest in her own virtue or moral salvation, but Amy insisted she’d only ever been as far the ships anchored in the harbour and was dying to see what a Devil’s playground looked like.
Kitty had to admit that she was, too; and so, clearly, was Wai, who hadn’t taken much persuading. They wouldn’t stay long, they told themselves, just enough time to see what was there. According to Amy, they wouldn’t be there long enough to be noticed, and if they were they could always say they were on an errand. The Paihia women very seldom went to Kororareka, and if they ran into one of the men Amy could pretend she had a message from Tupehu for the Kororareka Association of Vigilantes. The missionaries approved of and supported the association, so they would probably get away with that. It had all sounded very reasoned and logical.
Now, though, after more than half an hour of paddling, Kitty was starting to regret the decision as the muscles in her shoulders and back began to protest mightily. She wondered how the Maori fishermen who went out from Paihia to set nets in the deeper waters beyond the heads ever managed to paddle so far.
But she could see that they were almost there. They hadn’t gone near any of the ships anchored in the channel in the harbour, but here, closer to Kororareka, they wouldn’t be able to avoid passing at least one or two. They weren’t the only people out, however—there were plenty of waka pulled up on the sand in front of the little settlement—so perhaps no one would notice them.
But, at the first ship they came to, they were hailed by several sailors hanging over the rail and waving out at them.
‘Hey, lassie!’ one of them yelled in a Scottish accent. ‘Dinnae go, I’ve something here ye might like!’
Kitty felt herself go red and concentrated on paddling until they were past.
‘Was he talking to me?’ she asked Amy indignantly when they were a safe distance away.
‘Probably. Take off your hat and let your hair down to look like us.’
Kitty did as she was told, but the wind caught her bonnet and soon it was yards away, bobbing up and down on the swell like some sort of deformed seabird.
‘Oh dear,’ she said.
Amy shrugged. ‘Get a new one.’
Kitty frowned. She would have to—she only had the one black one. But she had to admit that the wind’s firm fingers on her scalp, snatching up and tossing her long hair about, felt rather nice. Wai and Amy were lucky they didn’t have to wear a bonnet every time they left the house. Or gloves. Sometimes she very much envied the girls their freedom.
She kept her head well down as they passed the next ship and, although three or four sailors watched them interestedly, no one called out.
Finally they reached the beach. They dragged the waka far enough up the sand so that it wouldn’t float away when the tide was high in an hour’s time, then Kitty sat down and put on her boots and stockings.
Disappointingly, the rough road running parallel to the beach and lined with an assortment of houses, huts, grog-shops and stores was not crowded with sailors having brawls, prostitutes plying their trade, or hawkers selling all sorts of rubbish no decent God-fearing person would want to buy, although they could hear voices and singing coming from somewhere nearby.
‘It’s not what I expected,’ Kitty said.
‘No, it is not,’ Amy agreed.
But just then, a shop door burst open and a man came stumbling out to sprawl face down in the dusty street. Coughing and spitting, he staggered to his feet and wandered off around the side of the shop, leaning with one hand against the wall to throw up.
Heartened, Amy declared, ‘I am thirsty’, marched towards the shop door, and disappeared inside. A second later there was a great cheer and she reappeared looking, for the first time since Kitty had known her, slightly flustered.
‘Not that one,’ she said.
They walked on until they came to a cottage with a front door painted a startlingly bright red. Inside, the curtains twitched.
‘I wonder who lives there?’ Kitty said, intrigued.
They soon found out: without any warning whatsoever, the door opened and a tall girl with very blonde hair rushed out.
Kitty stared; she couldn’t help herself. The girl was wearing a shiny dress the acid green of new leaves, the bodice cut very low and her white breasts spilling out, almost but not quite revealing her nipples. The dress was sleeveless and very tight about the hips, and only came down to the girl’s calves. On her feet she wore red button boots with sharp little heels. There were fading bruises on her arms as well as dozens of brass bangles, and her long hair was pinned up with an enormous black silk rose with a peacock feather sticking out of it. She looked no older that Kitty herself but was deathly pale, as though she spent her days indoors and came out only at night.
‘Oi, you lot, get out of here!’ she screeched.
Kitty took a step back.
‘Go on, piss orf! Thi
s is our patch!’
From the gloomy interior of the house came another girl, this one dark-haired and dressed in a bright blue gown with frills around the hem, just as revealing as her friend’s.
‘Yeah, go on, sling yer ‘ook,’ this one said, nodding emphatically.
A round of applause came from across the street. Turning, Kitty saw that a dozen or so men had come out of a shop to stand on the verandah, tankards in hand, and watch the show.
Amy’s chin went up. ‘We are not whores!’ she declared, which Kitty thought was a bit rich coming from her.
‘Nah, you’re too ugly!’ the fair girl yelled. ‘You aren’t,’ she added, looking Kitty up and down, ‘but you got to get rid of that black frock. It don’t suit you.’
‘You are so a whore,’ the girl in blue said. ‘I seen you on a ship about a month ago!’
‘I am not!’ Amy replied, and marched up to the girl and slapped her face.
‘You bloody bitch!’ the girl spat, although her words were drowned by the cheering of the men across the street. She lifted her arm to retaliate but Amy skipped out of reach, her fists up in front of her face. When the girl charged, Amy hit out and punched her. The girl sat down hard, wailing, with her hands clamped over her bleeding nose.
‘Here, you bloody cow!’ the blonde girl shrieked and lunged for Amy. But Amy had moved well out of range, although she hadn’t lowered her fists.
Kitty was horrified. ‘Amy, come away! Leave them!’
Wai darted up, grabbed Amy’s arm and did her best to drag her cousin back out on to the street.
‘I am not a whore!’ Amy insisted.
‘Amy, come away now!’ Kitty snapped.
Reluctantly Amy gave the blonde girl a last evil glare and walked away, much to the disappointment of the men on the verandah.
Kitty Page 11