‘No, after that one died!’ said Joseph in exasperation.
‘Oh Joseph!’ exclaimed Tamar, becoming cross. There was a limit to how frank she was prepared to be, even with her son. ‘Ask me in ten years’ time. You’re too young to understand!’
‘Papa said to Uncle Te Kanene he is very fond of Mama Parehuia, but it is you he thinks about when he is having a whawha tupere.’
‘A what?’
Joseph, his face a portrait of childish innocence, made a pulling gesture near the base of his belly.
‘Joseph!’ Tamar was horrified.
‘He did, Mam! I heard him!’
‘Well, I think that’s enough of that sort of talk!’
The boy responded enthusiastically, ‘Uncle said that too! And he said Papa would do well to remember what happened last time he had ideas like that!’
Tamar had had enough of this conversation, which she was finding more than a little disturbing. Not the sex — she was, after all, a retired madam, although she felt Joseph was too young to have knowledge of such issues — but the fact she still featured so predominately in Kepa’s sexual desires. How many other people had her son blurted this out to? ‘Have you mentioned this to anyone else, Joseph?’
‘No,’ he answered truthfully.
‘Good,’ said Tamar, immensely relieved. ‘Let’s get you something to eat then, shall we?’
January 1888
‘What will you do about Joseph when the baby comes?’
‘How do you mean?’
Andrew and Tamar were relaxing in their bedroom at Kenmore. Summer was at its sweltering peak and Tamar was stretched out on the chaise next to an open window, dressed in a light cotton dress and with her feet bare. Such was the size of her stomach these days she was forced to recline on her side supported by a pillow; resting flat on her back made her legs go numb and she had great difficulty getting to her feet.
‘Well, you won’t be able to travel into town to visit him, will you?’
‘Why not?’
Andrew looked a little shocked. ‘There’ll be the confinement after the child arrives, then you can’t travel backwards and forwards with a tiny infant.’
‘Maori women do it all the time.’
‘Not with my heir, they don’t. I think you should wait until he’s not quite so new before you start trotting him all over the countryside.’
‘You’re convinced it will be a boy, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, and don’t change the subject. Why not have Joseph here? Just for a while, anyway.’
‘Yes, I suppose I could. I want him to get to know our baby. He’ll be a half-brother to the child after all.’
‘Och, I understand that, Tamar. I just don’t think it’s necessary for you to travel for a while.’ He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the tip of her nose. ‘Humour me, darling, please. Or I’ll be forced to put my foot down.’
He was serious and Tamar knew it. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. We’ll sort something out, then, shall we?’
She kissed him back and he hugged her as tightly as her swollen belly would allow.
‘Good. And it’s time we talked about getting some help in the house, too.’
Tamar raised her eyebrows. ‘Have you talked to Jeannie about that? She takes a lot of pride in what she does.’
‘She won’t have to give it up. She’ll just be doing less of the physical work. And she’ll have someone to order around. She’ll enjoy that.’
‘Andrew, that’s unkind.’
‘Perhaps, but I know my sister. And there will be a lot of extra work with laundry and what have you.’
‘Yes, I suppose there will be, especially if there are more babies after this one. Talk to Jeannie. If she’s happy about it, then so am I.’
Jeannie was not averse to the idea of employing a housekeeper, providing she retained overall control of the household. Secretly she was thrilled; she was longing for Tamar and Andrew’s baby to be born and intended spending as much time with the infant as she could. She’d been knitting and crocheting and embroidering for months. Her union with Lachlan remained childless, and to alleviate her disappointment she planned to lavish attention on her new niece or nephew.
Five women were interviewed for the position. Two were atrocious, two would have done, but the fifth and final applicant was judged eminently suitable by both Tamar and Jeannie. Her name was Mrs Nora Muldoon, she had excellent references, and appeared to be what was commonly referred to as a ‘treasure’. She could cook, clean house, had experience supervising staff, and was accustomed to managing children. Fifty-two years old and widowed for the past ten, Nora Muldoon was an unusual-looking woman, short and wide across the middle with a receding hairline and a face that for some reason only moved on one side on the rare occasion she smiled. She had one grown son, seeking his fortune somewhere or other in New Zealand, but had not remarried because she didn’t believe she would find a man of her dearly beloved but sadly departed Harry’s calibre; and anyway, she couldn’t be bothered.
Mrs Muldoon had been employed at Kenmore for just two weeks when she came across Tamar doubled over in the parlour one morning, her face turning an alarming maroon colour. Mrs Muldoon knew immediately what she was seeing.
She hurried over and patted Tamar on her hunched shoulder. ‘Coming early, is it? You sit there, Mrs Murdoch, and I’ll send Mr Murdoch to fetch the midwife. Don’t fret now, giving birth is as easy as pie if you can manage to relax, even with your first.’
Tamar wasn’t in the mood to divulge this would be her second child.
Andrew was enjoying his pipe in the sunshine when Mrs Muldoon found him. Tamar could hear his exclamation from where she was sitting in the parlour, and he rushed in a moment later.
‘My God, Tamar. Why didn’t you say something at breakfast?’ he asked, crouching in front of her.
‘This wasn’t happening at breakfast,’ said Tamar through gritted teeth. ‘It’s just come on. I think you’d better go for Mrs Platt. Now.’
Mrs Platt was the midwife. Normally an unflappable man, Andrew leapt up, took three steps backwards, turned in a full circle until he was facing Tamar again, then waved his arms ineffectually. ‘Where’s my hat?’
‘Oh, sod your hat,’ said Tamar. ‘Mrs Muldoon, fetch Lachie and ask him to go with my husband. And can you get Jeannie, please? She can help me upstairs.’
Mrs Muldoon nodded and left the room.
Andrew looked desperately worried. ‘Will you be all right? We’ll be gone a good hour and a half.’
‘Of course I will. I know what to expect, and Jeannie and Mrs Muldoon are here. I’ll be fine, Andrew. Now, can you go away please. I’m rather busy.’
Andrew kissed Tamar on the cheek and hurried out. Tamar could hear him yelling to Lachie as he clattered down the hall.
Between them Jeannie and Mrs Muldoon assisted Tamar upstairs where she changed into a cotton nightgown and settled into bed. She got up fifteen minutes later and started pacing the room, finding the contractions easier to manage if she was moving around. Mrs Muldoon left to fetch clean sheets and cloths, and to start the copper boiling for hot water.
‘Nervous?’ asked Jeannie, who was.
‘No,’ said Tamar, who wasn’t.
Mrs Platt arrived two hours later, examined Tamar and pronounced her progress ‘just dandy’.
James Andrew Murdoch was born at a quarter past four that afternoon. His parents were delighted beyond words, although his mother was extremely tired; ‘wee’ James had turned out to be not so wee, and Tamar felt as if she had been run over by a team of bullocks. Gathering her new, tightly swaddled baby in her arms, she looked down into his creased little face.
‘Hello, little man,’ she said, in love with him already.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
June 1893
Joseph, settled comfortably against a tukutuku panel in Maungakakari’s richly decorated wharenui, was dying to pick his nose. He knew, however, that the moment his finger strayed anywhere nea
r his nostrils, his great-uncle Te Kanene would clip him across the head and tell him to get outside and blow his nose, which would be very embarrassing. Almost twelve years old now, he balked at the thought of public humiliation and sniffed vigorously instead, drawing a sharp look from the hawk-eyed, bat-eared old man.
Joseph yawned until his jaw cracked. He had spent the past two days at Kenmore visiting his mam and his new half-sister, and had risen early to ride back. Very proud of the two-year-old colt his father had given him as a mark of his approaching manhood, he refused to admit he was exhausted and his balls hurt from riding bareback. It had been worth it; his new half-sister, Keely Jean Murdoch, was very appealing with her bright blue eyes and thick auburn hair.
He had a sackful of half-brothers and -sisters. His father and stepmother Parehuia now had another child, a boy named Haimona, and his foster parents had also produced two children. Keely was his mother’s fourth child (counting himself), as after James had come Thomas Kevan in 1890. James and Thomas were still too young to be interesting. Joseph preferred the boys from his village, friends his own age, but he was very fond of them. He had been visiting Kenmore for several years and was comfortable there, despite differences between life on the wealthy sheep station and Maungakakari.
Tonight the elders were hosting a hui from the greater Hawke’s Bay area. Joseph was old enough to sit in the wharenui and listen to the old men, but his attention was wandering; whatever was up his nose was driving him to distraction. He waited until the speaker had finished, then quietly moved towards the door.
Te Kanene watched him leave. The boy was growing up. Already tall, he looked very much like his father at a young age, although paler of skin and his eyes had retained the deep green inherited from his mother. Te Kanene worried about him. A perceptive and intelligent child, he was beginning to develop a mind of his own. His father had one too, Te Kanene reflected sourly, of which Joseph himself was at least one result.
Maori boys were encouraged to grow up quickly on the East Coast, and Te Kanene could see a time fast approaching when Joseph would no longer be content playing childish games with his friends. Joesph was a keen and able student but had become bored with his lessons. He now spoke, read and wrote both English and Maori effortlessly, knew his arithmetic backwards, had an interest in European history, and couldn’t care less about geography. But it was more than that; Te Kanene sensed a restlessness, something that flowed deeper in his veins than the desire to hurry up and be a man. Whatever it was, Te Kanene suspected it had come from his parents. Such a combination of intellect, physical attractiveness and stubborn independence could be a good thing, or it could be a disaster, especially in a boy not dark enough to be Maori, but nowhere near the right shade to be Pakeha.
Te Kanene tried to turn his attention back to the white-haired elder gesticulating with his walking stick and expounding at length on the sitting of the first Maori Parliament at Waitapu, but found his mind drifting back to the boy. Joseph was enrolled at Te Aute College next year, and hopefully his studies would keep him out of trouble, but until then something would have to be done with him. Of course, his father had been sent to sea, but at an older age and, unfortunately, too late to prevent him from committing his ill-advised and far-reaching indiscretion with Joseph’s mother.
Te Kanene nodded almost imperceptibly. Perhaps that was the answer; he could send the boy away for the next six months on one of the family’s trading vessels. Up and down the coast, and possibly across to Sydney. That should keep him occupied, or at least limit the strife he could get himself into. He would have to be under the watchful eye of someone who could be trusted, but Te Kanene had just such a person in mind.
He sighed inwardly; he was getting too old for this. His older brother Te Roroa headed the whanau, but had delegated the tricky business of running the family to Te Kanene. Over the years he had also built up the shipping business — now managed by Kepa — to a point where it would continue to earn the family a comfortable income. Perhaps it was time for him to step down. Then he could see out the rest of his days in peace, sitting on the sunny verandah of his new European-styled house in the village, worrying about nothing more than what his wife would place in front of him on the dinner table. He was in his early sixties now and had to admit, even if only to himself, the prospect of retirement was attractive.
Outside, having energetically cleared his nostrils, Joseph breathed in the cool, fresh air and, with it, the delicious smell of hot pork. He spied his friends Wi and Ihaka loitering near the newly opened hangi pit, waiting to carry the baskets of meat and vegetables into the wharekai, and hurried over to join them. You never knew when a stray kumara might fall out. He was given a job immediately, and followed the others towards the dining hall, a basket balanced on his shoulder and the smell of freshly cooked meat wafting pleasantly about his face.
A group of elderly women sat in the porch of the wharekai, blankets around their shoulders and woven mats beneath them to keep them off the cold ground. Four were kuia from Maungakakari and the other three were manuhiri, visitors. One was a truly ancient woman Joseph had seen before, at another village. She was a healer of considerable skill and rumoured to have the gift of divination. No one knew exactly how old Te Whaea was and her frightening reputation had long been employed by exasperated parents when their children would not behave.
Joseph was staring at the old woman, half in fear and half in fascination, when she suddenly looked straight at him. He averted his eyes, but tripped and almost fell. The women cackled with glee and Joseph felt himself going red. Ihaka elbowed him in the back and laughed. ‘She will get you!’ he taunted as he dumped his basket on a table inside the wharekai. ‘Te Whaea will come for you tonight and steal you away!’
‘Oh, shut up!’ said Joseph, feeling foolish.
He plonked his own basket next to Ihaka’s. Sometimes his friend really got on his nerves; he never knew when to stop. Of all those who teased him when he decided to only answer to the name Joseph, Ihaka had gone on about it the most. They had even come to blows when Joseph finally lost his temper after Ihaka accused him of denying his Maori heritage. They came out of that with bloody noses and didn’t talk to each other for days, something that hurt Joseph far more than his injuries. He and Ihaka were best friends and he couldn’t understand why his European name upset the other boy. Eventually Te Kanene took Joseph aside and pointed out that because Ihaka’s skin was very dark he would always be excluded from Pakeha society. Joseph was more likely to be accepted, and Ihaka was frightened he would lose his friend. Since then Joseph had been more tolerant of Ihaka’s teasing.
Joseph shrugged and added offhandedly, ‘She is only an old woman. None of what they say is true.’
‘Oh, yes it is,’ shot back Wi, looking shocked. ‘She can look into a person’s eyes and see what will happen to them!’
‘That is only a children’s story,’ replied Joseph, sounding more confident than he felt.
‘It is true! My grandmother swears it!’
‘Then I will ask Te Whaea to divine our futures,’ said Ihaka, and without waiting for a response he hurried out of the dining hall.
Joseph glanced at Wi, who looked nervously back, and they followed Ihaka into the late-afternoon sunshine. They found him squatting in front of the old women. As they approached he rose, with a mischievous grin. ‘I have asked her, Joseph. She will tell your future first.’
Te Whaea beckoned to Joseph to sit. He moved reluctantly towards her, feeling apprehensive. Almost twelve years of hearing tales of ghosts and fairies and angry gods had made him as superstitious as anyone else in his village, despite his claims to the contrary.
Close up, Te Whaea looked even older. Her face was wrinkled like the pebbled bed of a river, and the moko patterning her lips and bristled chin had faded and spread with age. One eye was sunken and watery, the other blinded by a milky membrane. There was not a single tooth left in her head and her white hair hung over her bony shoulders. She also sm
elled, and Joseph involuntarily leaned back as she bent towards him and stared into his face. As she scrutinised him, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. What was she looking at? What was she looking for? Without preamble she opened her gummy mouth and spoke. ‘You are not full Maori,’ she declared in a voice like wind in dry reeds.
There was a moment’s silence, then Ihaka exclaimed, ‘Ea! Everyone knows his mother is Pakeha. Look at his green eyes and light skin. This is not magic!’
One of the old women reached out with her walking stick and struck Ihaka’s bare shins. ‘Do not be cheeky, boy!’ she reprimanded. ‘Have respect for your elders!’
Ihaka sat down hurriedly, but Te Whaea appeared not to have heard, her single functioning eye still gazing at Joseph. She thrust a gnarled forefinger at his face and spoke again. ‘You will live between two worlds, but you will come to a crossroads. Choose your path wisely, or you may lose yourself forever. But you have many things to do before that.’ She hawked and spat onto the ground, closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. ‘When the wars come, to lands and shores and seas far away, you will fight first for the Pakeha queen, and then the Pakeha king. There will be untold carnage and the world will weep.’
Pakeha king? Joseph had no idea what she was talking about. He looked uneasily at his friends, an uncomfortable frisson of fear wriggling down his spine, but turned back when the old woman spoke again.
‘Your blood will spill onto the soil of another people, but you will honour the mana of your ancestors.’ She sat utterly still for a moment, then shook her head sharply before adding almost casually, ‘One of your brothers will die in battle. I do not see your ultimate fate. That is all.’
Joseph realised Te Whaea had finished and got dazedly to his feet. As he did, the old woman scratched her skinny rump through her dusty black skirt, glanced disparagingly at Wi and Ihaka and rasped, ‘Next.’
Both boys stood quickly and began to back away. ‘I have changed my mind,’ muttered Ihaka.
‘So have I,’ agreed Wi. ‘Thank you,’ he added politely before he turned and ran off, followed closely by Ihaka who had, temporarily at least, lost his bravado. Joseph forced himself to walk after them, refusing to let anyone see how shaken he was by Te Whaea’s words, even though he hadn’t understood most of what she had said.
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