Skylark
Page 23
After a series of delicate interventions by Mattie, Samuel has been persuaded to take up the reins again and report his father’s part in the war against ‘that blackguard Titoko Waru’ [sic]. It becomes clear that Samuel has also quizzed his stepmother, Mattie, about her feelings during the war. Samuel has, I believe, become accepted among the family as a talented writer, one who can be trusted to turn the dramas of the times into ‘a good yarn’.
Mattie has consistently written the name of the Maori leader as Titoko Waru. I have converted this to the now commonly accepted Titokowaru. E. de M.]
Jack looks up from his desk at the knock. The flame of the candle flickers then rises again as the door opens and Matiu enters on silent, bare feet without waiting to be invited. He’s breathing heavily and carries a flax kete filled with vegetables, which he lowers quietly to the floor.
‘Mr Lacey,’ he whispers. ‘Please go away now.’
Jack sighs. Matiu has been trying to persuade him to leave the farm for the safety of Whanganui, or at least Kai Iwi, for the last week.
‘Matiu, we are well south of the troubles,’ he says, also keeping his voice down. Mattie has had a long battle with baby Bert, who thinks the nights are the best times for being noisy. ‘And anyway,’ he adds, ‘your folk are friendly. They wouldn’t turn against us.’
Matiu looks at the floor. ‘Here are potatoes and maize from my hapu. Gift.’
This surprises Jack. He is used to procuring vegetables and meat from the Nga Rauru families further up the valley, but it has always been a strictly commercial transaction.
‘Thank you,’ he says, waiting for the request for horse feed or a bridle.
None comes. Matiu shifts from one foot to the other. ‘Mr Lacey, your army is beaten. Titokowaru is victorious. At Moturoa.’ He clears his throat, nervous at bringing such dire news.
This announcement brings Jack to his feet. He crosses the floor and looks closely into Matiu’s eyes. Perhaps his groom has been drinking. Matiu looks steadily back. There’s a touch of pride in his response which unsettles Jack further. ‘True, boss. No doubt. Many losses. Your troops are retreating now, away from Wairoa. Mr Lacey, please. Go away.’
Tears glitter in Matiu’s eyes. Jack has never known him other than cheerful and hardworking; his wife and little boy friendly; his old mother, on her few visits to the farm, generous with her herbs and advice for ailments.
‘Will your people not protect us?’ asks Jack. ‘Would Titokowaru dare attack those protected by Nga Rauru?’
‘Oh, Mr Lacey,’ says Matiu sadly, ‘you are not noticing what is happening. Our people fight with Titoko now.’ He gestures widely towards the east. ‘All up the valley, only old women and children left. We have joined Pai Marire.’
Jack begins to fear that Matiu tells the truth. For some days now there has been no traffic from further up the valley: no cartloads of produce; no women and children singing as they walk down to the market at Weraroa. ‘Would you fight the Pakeha?’ he asks Matiu. ‘Surely you cannot.’
Matiu draws himself up then. ‘I will never attack you or your family. No. Never. You are our Pakeha. All Nga Rauru from Waitotara River will not harm you. But the Nga Ruahine don’t know you, Mr Lacey, and they are coming soon, soon.’ He balls his large fists and then suddenly opens them; the fingers vibrate. ‘I myself will fight with Titokowaru. He is stronger than the Pakeha. He will win. Our tribe has given word to him. Already my cousin’s father is dead from a Pakeha bullet. Your Colonel Whitmore’s militia has killed him.’
Matiu has regained his composure. He stands proudly now. ‘We will take back our land which was stolen.’
‘I bought my land fair and square, you know that.’
‘But many did not, you know that.’
Jack is astonished. He has never suspected such feelings from Matiu. Respect is what he has expected, and received, from his groom. Also friendship. This boldness is utterly new. Where has it come from?
Matiu suddenly grins. ‘Our leader, Titoko, has more than one wife. Perhaps you should join him too!’
This is too much for Jack. He raises his hand to strike his groom, thinks better of it, and shoves him out the door. Matiu leaves, laughing.
That laughter chills Jack to his bones. Something fearful is in the air. His easy-going and compliant servant laughing at him! He sits down again at his desk, but now the silence no longer seems peaceful. For some minutes he gazes into the candle flame. Lily is God knows where. On his last visit to Whanganui he could discover no news of her whereabouts. Doctor Ingram has heard nothing. Upstairs his five children and Mattie are sleeping. He simply cannot believe that Mattie could be drawn into this wretched Hauhau business. Or could she?
As if she’s heard his thoughts, Mattie appears in the room, her glimmering nightdress the only thing visible in the low light. Jack smiles. There she is, though: his wife, so solid and reassuring, her hair loose, her voice quiet, loving.
‘I heard voices. Was that Matiu?’
Jack tells her the news. Mattie nods calmly as if she’s been expecting something of the sort.
‘Well, we must go,’ she says. ‘Matiu would not frighten us without good reason. I think we must go now, tonight.’
Jack gives her a quick kiss. She holds him tight for a moment, smiling. So steady and sure! No question of divided loyalty. No accusations or panic. Together they make their plans. Jack will bring the big cart around to the back yard. Mattie will quietly pack possessions and food, bedding and some few valuables. Also Lily’s trunk. Jack will bury the silver service and a box of crockery in the kitchen garden.
While Mattie is packing, Jack rounds up all the horses he can find in the dark and reins the two leaders to his own saddle. The rest will follow well enough. The house cow and pigs will have to be left to their own devices. Jack speaks quietly to Jess and Tup, the two dogs. They sit beside the cart, eyes gleaming in the moonlight, tongues lolling, watching every move. They will follow whether given permission or not!
Finally Mattie brings the sleeping babies down to the nest she has made in the centre of the cart. Only Bert startles and begins his bawling. Mattie quickly puts him to her breast, tying him there with a shawl so that her hands are free to drive the cart. Jack, mounted on Alouette, has brought his string of horses up behind the cart. His old rifle and his shotgun are at hand behind the saddle. He’ll be close if there are any problems. He raises his hand and she responds in the same way. Without another sound they move away, clopping quietly down the track towards Weraroa, Kai Iwi, Whanganui … who knows where they will be safe?
Jack notices that there are no lights at the neighbouring farms. Has everyone gone, then? Or are they all asleep? No dog barks as they pass. Jack’s farm is the furthest up the valley. Beyond him are only Maori settlements and bush. It’s strange that no neighbour came to warn him. Perhaps his strange household, or Mattie’s dark skin, has prevented neighbourly good manners? Jack wants to move faster but must keep the slow pace set by the cart-horse. Jess and Tup, trotting at his heels, whine a little. They feel something strange in the air.
Through open fields and patches of bush they move, meeting no one. The dark moonlight reflected off the winding river shows the way. They move quietly through Weraroa. The little settlement seems deserted! On though the dark they clop until, at dawn, they reach the houses of Kai Iwi. Jack breathes a sigh of relief. Here is Woodall’s Redoubt. Whitmore will not fall back this far, surely. They’ll be safe here, and close enough to ride back home to see to the cow and pigs, if things settle down.
Alas for Jack’s hopes. The Imperial troops guarding Woodall’s direct them on to Whanganui.
‘Listen, sport,’ says one bored sergeant. ‘Our orders are to send you on south. Our bloody orders are not to fight unless to protect you colonials. I ask you. We’re the ones trained in warfare but no, the local militias, who get drunk every night and then shoot their own men while aiming at the Maori, are ordered out. God Almighty, what a cock up!’
&nb
sp; Jack wants to argue, but is rudely rebuffed and sent on his way.
In the early morning the tired cavalcade arrives at Castlecliff. Here Mattie brings the cart to a halt and beckons Jack forward. The string of horses stamp and fidget. Jack has trouble holding Alouette still while he leans in to listen.
‘Jack,’ says Mattie in a clear, solemn voice, ‘when we reach Whanganui, I want you to treat me as your wife.’
Jack scratches at Alouette’s mane. ‘You are my wife.’
‘But not in the eyes of other people.’
The horses have now bunched up and are milling around the cart. Jack speaks to the dogs. ‘Jess! Tup!’
‘Jack,’ says Mattie. ‘Listen to me!’
‘I hear what you are saying, Mattie. But it is not so simple.’
‘Well, we will just have to live with “not so simple”, then. You will introduce me as Mrs Lacey, your wife. After all, Lily is the “not so simple” part of our life. I am the one always at your side. The mother of the children.’
Jack sees that she is right. No doubt everyone murmurs when Lily disappears. But he so loves Lily! Is so proud to visit with her and hear her sing in the parlours of friends. How can he possibly now introduce Mattie as his wife?
‘Mattie …’ he pleads.
The horses are getting out of hand. The laden cart of another fleeing family is trapped on the road behind them. There are shouts.
‘Promise!’ Mattie is unwavering, her hand pulling fast on the reins. ‘Jack, in all this pandemonium, it will be easier to announce me as your wife. These folk will be busy with their own fears.’
Out of desperation, Jack promises, hoping that somehow he will be able to smooth over the issue. Their strange life all seemed possible — even logical — when Lily proposed it. Without her, it becomes a hopeless tangle.
While Jack seeks pasturage for the horses, Mattie knocks on the door of Mr Dunleavy’s Whanganui Hotel. A Miss Dunleavy answers the door.
‘Dearie me!’ she cries at the sight of Mattie’s laden arms. ‘We’ve no decent rooms left at all, let alone any suitable for babies.’
‘There are three more in the cart,’ says Mattie, ‘and my husband who is seeing to the horses.’ She smiles. ‘If you are busy, you might need an extra groom. He is very experienced. Please could you help us? We can pay.’
Mr Dunleavy appears behind his daughter: a rotund cheerful man, wiping his breakfast from his beard. ‘A groom, eh? Now then, now then, let us see. Would you be willing to set up above the stables, my dear? We can provide board and will make up your mattresses there. One pound five shillings a week for you each.’
‘The babies would be free, of course?’
Mr Dunleavy hesitates.
‘And Jack would be paid for his grooming?’
Mr Dunleavy frowns. ‘You are not in a position, I think to bargain, Mrs …’
‘Lacey.’
‘Oh!’ says the daughter. ‘Jack Lacey, the horse trainer?’
‘My husband.’
The hoteliers glance quickly at each other.
‘Perhaps,’ says the big man, less cheerful now, ‘we will wait for Jack.’
Mattie nods grimly. ‘I would like to inform you that the woman you might see on his arm in this town is his friend — his good friend — Miss Lily. I am his wife. These are his children.’
Mr Dunleavy clears his throat. Spits. ‘Might I ask what tribe you support in this wretched war?’ His tone is decidedly chilly now.
‘I am of the Whanganui River Maori, whose kupapa fight with you against Titokowaru.’ Mattie speaks firmly. In truth she has no idea whose tribe she might belong to.
Bert’s bawling has now reached a crescendo and the other babies have joined in. Mattie is suddenly too tired for any more argument. She produces three sovereigns from the purse around her neck and holds them up wordlessly. They are persuasive enough.
When Jack returns without his string of horses, Mr Dunleavy is busy with two other families seeking refuge, and Mattie is settling blankets over nests of hay above the stables. Mattie is right as usual: the interesting news of Jack Lacey’s ‘second’, Maori wife is passed over in the midst of all the panic and overcrowding, the fear and hunger, the daily dead and wounded that overwhelm the citizens of Whanganui.
For a week Jack works as groom for Mr Dunleavy, but he chafes at serving another. By now he has sold all his horses to the militias. A new mounted section of the militia is being formed: one at Kai Iwi under Bryce, the other in Whanganui itself. Everyone is hoping the smart new cavalrymen in their uniforms, their sabres flashing, spurs jingling, will turn the tide.
Jack enrols with Bryce whom he knows, and is happy enough to strut with the others. He receives two shillings and sixpence a day and his rations, uses some of their earnings on a new carbine and sabre, and comes to the loft over the stables now and then to check on Mattie and the children. Mattie suspects he is avoiding the issue of his ‘wives’ by living with the other cavalrymen in one of the newly erected blockhouses dotted around Whanganui. Often he’s away on manoeuvres at Kai Iwi.
One night, on a rare visit to Mattie, he sits glumly beside her in the hay, not his usual cheerful self at all. He regrets, he says, joining Bryce’s cavalry. ‘The man’s a bonehead,’ he says. ‘Rough with his horses and lenient with his men. Should be the other way around.’ The previous night a few men, Jack among them, were ordered out to ride towards Titokowaru’s pa at Tauranga Ika. They were not to engage in combat but were to report back on activity, on signs of fortifications, numbers of fighters and so on.
‘What could we see in the dark anyway?’ says Jack, slumped and sad in his now dirty uniform. ‘The others couldn’t take anything seriously. The Maori would have heard us coming a mile off. They’re up by Handley’s farm, just into the bush. All our troops could talk about was what sharp shooters they were — nonsense — and how frightened the Maori would be when they rode in with their sabres flashing. Their heads are in the clouds, Mattie. Our Maori up the valley ride better than any of them. It breaks my heart to see them saw away at their horses’ mouths, ride them at ditches with never a thought to what lies on the other side.’ Jack sighs. ‘I’m ashamed,’ he says.
Not a sentiment Mattie has ever heard before from her easy-going husband. She pats his limp hand, but has little time for comforting a grown man. Five babies up here in the loft are often more of a handful than she can bear. She has begged a handcart from the Dunleavys and this morning set out to tour the town, with all five tucked in like sardines in a box. A soft wind blew up the river and for an hour she could forget the squalor and noise of the hotel and its stables. But then, as she turned up Victoria Street, away from the river, she was confronted by ragged and hungry settlers, begging for food at the doors of the more established houses. Begging! What have we come to? Why have Titokowaru’s Maori turned so fiercely against us?
Mattie is unsettled by thoughts of her own mixed blood. Brought up by the nuns, she has never questioned the idea that the white man’s civilised way, his religion and customs, are superior. Now it seems that this Pai Marire of Titokowaru is stronger. The white men are frightened and hungry. The town is in disarray. Mattie returns to the river; watches it flow clear and green, slowly, peacefully, towards the sea. The babies sleep in their makeshift cart. Oh, let this all be over. Let us go home to our farm. Let Lily come back.
And lo, Lily does return. One wet afternoon, when Mattie is driven to distraction in her crowded loft by babies who will not settle and washing that will not dry, Lily is suddenly there, her smiling face popping up through the hatch.
‘Here you are! Doctor Ingram said you were here. Oh Mattie, what a pickle!’ Lily laughs, somersaulting into the hay, picking up one baby then another, hugging and kissing them, singing a snatch of this and that, and then plumping down beside her friend as if she’d never been away.
‘The Ingrams say we might have to go south! Surely not,’ says sprawling Lily, plucking a straw from her hair and chewing on it.
‘They are organising the evacuation of children and want to know if I want Samuel and Phoebe and Teddy to go too. I said no.’ She looks at Mattie, suddenly sober. ‘They are confused about us, about who is the wife.’
‘I am the wife. I am living here as Mrs Lacey.’ Mattie wishes her voice wouldn’t shake so much, but she’s exhausted. Feeding so many hungry sucklers has drained her. She feels like some dried and cracked landscape, good for nothing.
Lily notices the tears, hugs Mattie. ‘Oh dear Mattie, forgive me. You are the wife, of course you are. I’ve left you too long, but now things will be better. I’m back.’
‘But for how long?’ wails Mattie.
Bert hears his mother’s distress and joins in vigorously. Soon Samuel adds his whimper.
‘Oh what a pickle, sings Lily in a funny, high voice, which brings a smile to some faces, including Mattie’s.
Dearie dearie do,
Bert’s crying loudly
Sammy’s crying too
Shall we all start crying
Boo, hoo, hoo!
In no time they are laughing and joining in — ‘Boo, hoo, hoo!’
At that moment Jack’s head appears in the trapdoor. His face is muddy and pale. The smart cavalry hat is missing. He climbs the ladder heavily, one-handed. The other hand drips blood. Where the sleeve of his uniform is slashed, a raw and bloody wound glares through the material.
Both women cry out. Babies forgotten, they stumble through the straw and guide Jack to a hay bale, where he sits, head hanging, dry sobs shaking him to the core. Mattie and Lily look at each other. There’s more to this than a flesh wound. Jack has been hurt often enough, breaking in horses, but has always brushed off the damage as part of life. Carefully they remove the jacket. Jack picks it up with his one good hand and flings it, cursing, to a far corner of the loft. The wound is not too serious. Lily dashes water over it. Mattie uses a clean piece of cotton — one of the babies’ napkins — to bind the lips of the cut tightly together. Later they will get Doctor Ingram to stitch it.