Riria took the baby from Tamar as she rose shakily to her feet. She held on to Riria’s arm, leaned over and retched hollowly. ‘I smell,’ she said distractedly, wiping her face on her already filthy nightdress. ‘And I’m cold.’
Riria went to the wardrobe and pulled out several pairs of Peter’s work trousers, two shirts and two heavy work jackets.
‘We will wear these, to keep warm. We cannot travel fast, it will take us several days to reach Kainui.’ She opened one of the dressing-table drawers and extracted a pile of folded towels. Handing them to Tamar she said briskly, ‘Put on the trousers and fold one of these between your legs. You will bleed for a few days.’
Tamar took off her nightdress, clamped a towel between her thighs and changed into Peter’s trousers and shirt. The trousers felt odd against her skin and were too big, but they were warm. Riria also donned a pair of trousers, a shirt and a jacket, then went to the basin and washed as much blood as she could from her own hair.
‘Dress the baby,’ she ordered, then went to fetch her backpack and heavy coat.
Tamar, moving sluggishly, unwrapped the baby and dressed him in a haphazardly folded cloth nappy and as many clothes as would go on him, then folded the blanket around him and placed him gently on the bed. He lay there blinking, then opened his mouth and cried. Tamar picked him up then sat down gingerly and put him on her breast. She watched dazedly as Riria came back and began stuffing items into her pack.
‘We will take the baby’s clothes, the cloths for your bleeding, some food and water and a billy. You will have to leave everything else.’
Tamar shrugged vacantly. Recalling Peter’s expression of cold hatred as he had knocked her down, she felt her own anger beginning to ignite, although it felt muffled and somehow far away. She said dully, ‘There’s nothing here for me any more. I’m ready.’
They hurried through to the back of the house and Tamar waited while Riria caught their horses in the dark and saddled Tamar’s; she would be unable to ride without a saddle. She helped Tamar onto her mount and handed her the swaddled infant. A wave of dizziness swept over Tamar and she almost dropped him.
Riria stood and thought, then ran back into the house, emerging a minute later with a bed sheet, which she fashioned into a sling. She motioned for Tamar to hand the baby back to her in exchange for the sheet. ‘Tie it around your middle and over your shoulder.’
Tamar did as she was told and when Riria handed the baby back she saw how she could place him inside the folds of the sheet against her chest and still have her hands free. Riria mounted her own horse and they rode in single file through the gate where they turned right onto the track up into the black, bush-clad foothills of the Waitakere Ranges.
Tamar did not look back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Their journey to Kainui on the west coast took three nights and almost three full days. Tamar soon became feverish, her skin flushed and damp. She was still bleeding heavily and Riria had to wash her sanitary towels several times. The baby seemed content to sleep, wake, cry and be fed, then sleep again. Tamar’s milk had come in but Riria worried that if she developed an infection, the baby would be harmed by nursing from her. However, they had nothing else to feed him with and he could not go without.
The gash on Tamar’s head was causing her fever. Riria had first inspected the discharge from between her legs but the blood was clean and not foul-smelling, so she assumed that was not the source of the problem. She was deeply relieved as she had seen several women die from such complications after childbirth. The wound on Tamar’s head, however, was a different matter.
The first time Riria had unwrapped the bandage the edges had not closed over the bone and were puffy and red. By the evening of their first day, a thick greenish pus oozed from it. She gently pressed the area to expel as much as she could, Tamar yelping with pain, but knew she had not cleared it all. Before she applied a clean bandage, she made an infusion of pukatea bark in the billy over a small fire. She soaked a fresh strip of cloth in the dark liquid, then tied it around Tamar’s head and face, hoping the curative properties might help clear the infection.
Tamar was unable to eat by the second day and barely able to sit on her horse, so Riria slung the baby around her own chest. It rained heavily throughout the day and the rough track was slippery and dangerous. By late afternoon Tamar was delirious and Riria stopped for the night. She made a small bivouac, lit a fire and prepared a basic meal.
When the sun disappeared, she lay next to Tamar and put her arms around her to keep her warm, the baby between them. Wary of squashing or suffocating him, Riria stayed awake throughout the night, holding him to Tamar’s breasts whenever he woke and cried. Riria was comforted by the night sounds of the forest although Tamar tossed and muttered, sweat soaking her clothes. She was beginning to smell unpleasant. At times she tried to tear her clothes off, and at others she shivered uncontrollably. She had not spoken coherently for some time and Riria was concerned she would die in the night.
Just after the sun rose, Riria slipped and slid down to a nearby stream with the billy and brought back cold water. She dribbled some into Tamar’s mouth and used the rest to sponge her burning body.
Soon they were ready to go again but it was obvious Tamar was unable to ride. Riria spent the next hour making a litter out of branches and large nikau fronds. She tied the rough contraption securely together with slender supplejack vines and attached it to the saddle of Tamar’s horse.
When she had rolled Tamar’s limp body onto the litter and tucked her heavy winter coat around her, she unbridled her own horse, whacked him on the rump and sent him galloping down the track to find his way home. She estimated they were five or six hours away from Kainui, and hoped they would get there in time. Slinging the baby around her middle, she mounted Tamar’s horse and headed off.
The heavy rain returned, stinging Riria’s scalp as it pelted into her open wound whenever the track left the shelter of the trees. Her hat, she remembered regretfully, had been left behind; she wound her long hair and fixed it on top of her head with twigs. She stopped repeatedly to check Tamar, who was still burning with fever, muttering and asking for the baby, her mother and Myrna. Riria laid him on her chest so he could feed, but she suspected Tamar was unaware.
Riria sat on the wet ground with her head in her hands. She was in pain, exhausted and shaken by the events of the past few days. She was a strong and capable young woman, emotionally and physically, but she had been utterly terrified, convinced she was going to die. If that pig of a Pakeha had not been so drunk, he would have killed her with his first shot.
Over the past year she had watched him slowly losing his battle with alcohol. He had come to her room drunk half a dozen times since that first night, but had only raped her again on the two occasions he had been able to maintain an erection. She had not told Tamar as she hadn’t wanted to distress her during her final months of pregnancy. Because she hadn’t wanted to leave Tamar on her own with him either, she had stayed, assuming he would direct his physical needs towards his wife again after the baby arrived. She held no hope of improvement in his behaviour. She had seen the horrendous destruction wreaked by alcohol in some of her own people, the slow and insidious erosion of morals, responsibility and hope, and had no reason to suspect it would be any different for Pakeha.
As she tied the sleeping baby against her chest, she heard the sound of voices coming from further down the track. She stood very still, straining to hear, but when she realised the voices were speaking in Maori, she relaxed a little and waited.
When the travellers came into sight she saw her father, several younger men, and a woman of middle age. They were armed and looking warily about them as they came.
‘Father!’ she cried out, waving frantically. ‘Father, it is me, Riria!’
Her father, Te Hau, slid off his horse and hurried towards her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Your horse came home without you. We thought something had happened.’
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p; ‘It has,’ replied Riria. ‘But I am safe.’
‘That is good. Whose baby is that? Surely it is not yours?’ he said in alarm. ‘And what is wrong with your head? I see blood.’
Riria lifted her hand to her scalp. ‘I was shot.’
‘Shot! By whom?’ replied Te Hau, outraged.
‘It is a very long tale. I will tell you later. I think my friend is dying.’
Riria led her father to where Tamar lay, barely conscious and moaning feebly. ‘This is the Pakeha woman I was working for. The baby is hers.’
‘Where is her husband?’
‘Gone,’ replied Riria caustically. ‘He almost killed us.’
Te Hau’s eyes opened wide in rage. ‘Where is he?’ he demanded.
‘Father! I will tell you later! We must help Tamar.’
Te Hau motioned to the woman in his party. She hitched the skirts of her European dress over her knees, dismounted and hurried over. Squatting beside the litter she asked Riria, ‘What is wrong with her?’
‘A fever. I think her blood is poisoned.’
The woman, named Atawhai and the healer for her community, pressed her fingers against Tamar’s jaw under her ears, in her armpits and around her groin. Tamar’s sanitary towel was leaking and blood had seeped into the crotch of her trousers. Atawhai also noticed her swollen, milk-filled breasts. ‘When was her baby born?’ she asked.
‘Three days ago,’ replied Riria. ‘I think the wound on her head is infected.’
Atawhai quickly unwound the bandage on Tamar’s head, sniffed, then wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘Yes, this is the source of the poison. How long has she been like this?’
‘Two nights and days. I did not know what to do for her.’
‘You have done well to get her this far, child,’ Atawhai replied. ‘We must take her to the village, or she will die soon. There are some things we can do that might save her.’
She stood and clicked her fingers at two of the young men waiting silently on the track. They dismounted and came over to her, rifles slung over their shoulders, their feet slapping in the mud.
‘She needs to be taken to the village. If we make the horse run she will fall off so you will carry her.’
The men took off their weapons and laid them on the litter next to Tamar, then bent and picked her up effortlessly and started off down the track in a slow, smooth, synchronised jog, the litter bouncing gently between them.
The rest of the party followed behind, leading the riderless horses. An hour later they came out of the bush onto cultivated land near the coast, and were soon walking through the large gardens which surrounded Kainui. As they rode through the high, intricately carved gateway in the punga fence encircling the settlement, a group of adults followed by a tail of curious, large-eyed, raggedly dressed children came to meet them. Riria handed the baby, bawling at the top of his lungs, to an old woman standing at the front of the group, dismounted and stretched her legs and back wearily.
‘He is hungry,’ she said to the woman, nodding at Tamar, still on the litter on the ground. ‘He needs to feed.’
The woman carried the baby over to Tamar’s prostrate and silent form and placed the infant at her breast. Riria squatted down as well and took Tamar’s hot, damp hand. ‘It will be all right now,’ she said quietly, though she doubted Tamar could hear her. ‘We are safe.’
Atawhai squatted next to her. ‘She is very sick,’ she said. ‘She may die. Are you prepared for that?’
Riria moved her head in a barely discernible nod, and looked pointedly away.
Tamar and the baby were carried to a small wooden building some distance behind the big carved and decorated wharenui, or meeting house, that dominated the village. Inside, she was laid on a low platform topped with a thin mattress stuffed with raupo and raw wool, as Atawhai issued orders to the women who had followed them. The baby was removed from Tamar’s breast, much to his indignation, and handed to a young woman whose own breasts were swollen with milk; mollified, he fastened his small mouth to her large brown nipple and shut up instantly.
Tamar’s filthy clothes were removed and a basin of water placed on the compacted earth floor. As Atawhai began to sponge Tamar’s body, she shook her head. The Pakeha girl was far too thin, her pale limbs scrawny and limp. Her pubic hair and thighs were caked with filth, and she smelled dreadful. But like Riria, Atawhai did not think the girl carried an infection inside her, which was remarkable given the circumstances.
She removed the bandage from Tamar’s face and head and gave the wound a thorough wash and examination. If this girl survives, Atawhai thought sadly, she will no longer be known for her beauty.
The deep gash started an inch below Tamar’s hairline on the right side of her forehead, travelled down towards her right jaw, dissecting her eyebrow and nicking her swollen upper eyelid, then bit into her upper cheekbone before it stopped several inches from the base of her right earlobe. Atawhai hoped the infection had not set into the bone; if that happened, there would be little hope. As it was, she doubted the girl would be alive tomorrow.
She removed as much infected matter from the wound as she could, thankful her patient was still unconscious, and gave the order for several medicinal infusions and a poultice to be prepared. When they arrived in a series of small bowls, she bathed the wound with a dark, sharp-smelling liquid then applied a greenish grey paste to the bone and around the puffy edges, before wrapping a clean cloth around Tamar’s head and across the right side of her face. Riria then lifted Tamar’s head and torso so Atawhai could pour small amounts of another infusion into her mouth; much of it spilled down her chin and neck but enough went in to satisfy Atawhai. She also massaged Tamar’s swollen breasts and expressed some of the milk to ease the pressure.
‘We will give her kohekohe to dry her off,’ she said, thinking out loud. The young woman sitting on the floor nursing Tamar’s baby nodded placidly, her munificent breasts sufficiently productive to feed her own infant plus another.
When Atawhai had finished, she covered Tamar with several blankets and sat back on her heels. The coming night would be the test of this girl’s spirit. If the fever broke and the girl survived until morning, she would probably live. If not, then they would have to bury her in their own urupa, high on the hill overlooking the sea.
Riria rose early the next morning and walked from her family whare to the village privies, moving slowly as she was stiff and sore. Atawhai had cleaned her scalp wound the previous evening, saying it should heal well and her hair would probably grow over the scar, and that she was lucky to still have her brains inside her head. Riria was not bothered by the thought of a scar, but she had been worried her hair might not grow back; she was not vain about many things, but she was proud of her long, thick tresses.
As she sat on the privy enjoying the first bowel movement she’d had in days, she yawned until her jaw cracked. She had been up late talking to her father and the village elders, although her deep, personal shame would not allow her to mention the sexual assaults. Her father had been incensed and was all for taking a taua, or war party, to hunt this Montgomery Pakeha down and claim utu, but she had asked him to wait until Tamar’s future became clear.
Riria knew from experience that when her proud and impetuous father calmed down, he would see the man was not worth a death sentence from a Pakeha court. In a white man’s court, in the case of a Maori killing a Pakeha, no circumstance would be accepted as mitigating; her father would be sentenced to death without a moment’s hesitation. Furthermore, Riria had her own plans for Mr Pakeha pig Montgomery, but she kept these to herself.
The issue of the baby’s parentage had caused some consternation. The elders knew Te Kanene and were aware of Kepa’s status amongst his people.
‘That boy is too handsome for his own good,’ Te Hau said. He was sitting cross-legged next to the central fire in the wharenui. ‘This is a stupid and foolish action he has taken. It has already almost cost the lives of three people, including my precious
daughter Riria, and it will go on causing trouble. He has thought with his penis, that boy, instead of with his head.’
The elders had muttered in agreement. To be sexually active was one thing, but to impregnate a woman, and a Pakeha one at that, was definitely another, and much more serious. The woman herself was not important, although Te Hau’s daughter seemed to have formed a friendship with her, but the resulting child was; he was the grandson of a powerful chief and must be raised as such, by his own people.
Riria looked from face to face through the flickering flames and the spiral of fragrant smoke twisting lazily up through the chimney opening, searching for any indication of what the elders might be thinking. ‘She will want to keep her baby,’ she said boldly.
‘She cannot,’ Te Hau snapped. ‘She does not know how he should be brought up. Because of who he is, there will be many things he will need to learn. He must go to his own people. I hear Te Kanene is expected at Tinopai in the Kaipara Harbour in a day or two. I will send a message. He can have the responsibility of it. It is not our decision to make.’
‘She will be heartbroken.’
‘She will probably be dead by tomorrow so it will not matter,’ Te Hau replied bluntly.
Then, at the anguished expression on Riria’s face, Te Hau’s own tattooed features softened. ‘Daughter, you know the child must be raised by his own family. We cannot do it and neither can his birth mother. If she recovers, she must go back to her own people and forget her son. She must consider him dead. That is the way it must be.’
Riria knew he was right but could not prevent herself from imagining Tamar’s utter despair. ‘Where is Kepa?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Ingarangi, so we hear,’ one of the elders replied. ‘On business for Te Kanene. He went six months ago and is not due back until year’s end. And probably just as well.’
England, Riria thought disgustedly. Does he have no sense of honour? He said he would take responsibility for his actions but he has run away! She frowned angrily as she got to her feet and bid the men around the fire a terse good night. They stared after her retreating back in silence.
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