Then the door was slammed in his face, and he listened to the tramp of boots as the warder retreated; every step echoed.
‘Twenty years! Bloody hell!’ he cursed under his breath. ‘Not if I know it, though. I’ll get out somehow … by God I will!’
Chapter
– Four –
When Tom Condon had departed, Father sorted the bundle of letters. He looked up at me with a smile. ‘There’s one here for you, Mary.’
‘For me?’ I had received only four or five letters in my life. ‘Is it from Brendan?’
‘Nay, lass. He sent one to the family last mail-day and will be finding it hard to write between studies. Perhaps next time.’
He passed over a slim, neatly addressed letter and I carefully slit it open with a knife in case I damaged part of the text inside. Then I noted the Greymouth address. I caught Father’s questioning gaze, for young ladies of sixteen do not receive personal letters without their parents’ knowledge. But he continued calmly with, ‘And how is young Bess enjoying her position as governess?’
‘If people will give me a chance to read this, I shall tell all.’ I sat down on the window seat and as I read, my smile faded.
No one spoke until I had handed the letter to Father.
‘Oh, Mother, she sounds so unhappy … at least, it’s what she hasn’t said that tells me all is not right. I know we knew her for only three days — not even that — but she’s the first real friend I’ve had. Somehow that made her seem special and we shared so much …’ To my horror, I almost mentioned the nightmare. I hastened to add, ‘before we went to sleep at night.’
Father glanced up. ‘No wonder you were tired both days.’ His voice softened. ‘I can’t see ought wrong in this letter but show it to your mother. Come Sean, we must away, back to the paddock.’
The room emptied as children, too, fled out into the sunshine to get beyond hearing before I rang the bell for lessons.
Mother read the letter and said slowly, ‘I see your meaning. If you were close friends, as you say, then this is indeed a formal letter. It’s as if she were writing to your father.’
She quoted bits:
‘My cousin informs me that I am to stay here until I legally inherit my parents’ money … I am a poor substitute for a tutor for the three boys who need a man’s understanding … I have but one half day free, but think Westland beautiful … I am busy each evening helping my cousin’s wife.’
‘Does she have no time for herself?’ I looked across at Mother.
‘Yet she says she is well and looking forward to Christmas. Why not write and ask for details of her work if that will ease your mind? It’s to be hoped her employers don’t read her letters before sending them to the post. You may need to think carefully on what you write.’
‘Oh, Mother! How shameful that would be.’
We looked at one another, feeling certain that this was exactly what was wrong with the letter.
At this point, Rowan Winchester came from their cottage next door. I smiled to see her excited expression. Rowan, although in her thirties, was more of an older sister to me.
‘Fiona! Mary! Wonderful news. Thomas is to come for a week over Christmas. You should see Mother’s delight.’
Thomas was the Winchesters’ middle son whom we seldom saw because he had been apprenticed to a builder up north when he was a lad. He was now an articled builder in Greymouth. We all liked Thomas with his wide smile, especially the children. If he was coming, there’d be laughter to cheer the settlement. Our mourning for Mrs O’Neill, and our disappointment over the gold, would be forgotten for a while.
I wrote to Bess that weekend so that Mr Condon could carry the letter on his return to Okarito. Mother approved of what I wrote but added a caution for me.
‘Lass, don’t take this young woman’s problems too much to heart. I know you’re concerned, and that is as friends should be, but you must know you can do nought to help.’
I paused in tying Little One’s Sunday apron ready for the prayer gathering and the rosary which were still being held in the O’Neills’ front room.
‘I know … I know, and that’s what hurts me. If you had met her you’d understand how helpless I feel.’
‘Oh, I do understand. It’s been on my mind since you read another side into her comments.’ Mother reached for her new bonnet and gave a little smile as she adjusted mine, for I always seemed to dress in haste. ‘Come … we’re late. Where’s my hymn book?’
I looked at the auburn-tinted, grey hair peeping under the rim of the new bonnet we’d bought her, and thought how young she looked to have an eldest son of twenty-two years.
Christmas had all the joy of the season. There was ample food and drink despite the hard times, and Thomas Winchester brought candy and small gifts for all the children as well as the older folk. We sang carols all Christmas Eve on our front verandah, and I felt guilty for thinking that no longer need I face the reproving glance of Mrs O’Neill each time I laughed.
After the midday roast dinner and plum pudding, then — as Paddy called it — ‘a snore-off’ during the heat of early afternoon, we straggled down to the beach for games with the young ones while the tide was ebbing.
Nikolas and Kerry spent the day with us, and Father allowed Nik to walk me to the top of the headland where we looked across to the flooded forest, and for the thousandth time wondered where the gold had been hidden. I longed to tell Nik about Southern’s dream-threat but thought he might simply laugh it off.
‘I’ve been talking to Thomas about building a house at Longridge, and how much it would cost.’ He glanced at me to see my reaction.
‘A real home … not a punga hut?’ My eyes widened with delight.
‘Aye. Just a small house but made from pitsawn timber. One that could be extended if cattle prices are good … and if a family arrives.’
‘When a family arrives,’ I corrected him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
‘And how large a family had you planned?’
I turned to face the breeze as it explored its way through the flax and the wind-stunted trees, as if giving the question thought. ‘Well, I’d like four Geds and a handful of Bridies and perhaps a few like you and me.’
Nik put a hand to his forehead. ‘Perish the thought! Ged and Bridie … the wild boy and the trouble-making young lady.’
We laughed at the picture of a feuding household, then turned to serious matters.
‘What did Thomas say?’
‘He sounds interested. I’ve banked a bit of money, and in May we’ll be driving our first mob of cattle north to the saleyards. The prices we get will tell us whether farming has a worthwhile future in these isolated valleys.’
‘How much does a two-roomed house cost?’
‘He told me a four-roomed cottage in a town costs about a hundred and twenty pounds, but though we have ample timber, window glass and other materials may be difficult to transport down here. We’d need a sawpit and men to shape the planks because we’d be too busy working cattle and clearing land to help with building. Simon wants to build before the winter now that he’s marrying, and in time others will move inland, too.’
I turned to face him. ‘Oh Nik! Will Swag & Tucker cease to exist?’ I found it hard to accept changes. I knew they were inevitable but the beach settlement would always be home in my mind … or would it?
‘There’ll be some who stay for the slim gold takings, but I can see your family moving inland. Your father is at heart a farmer and his gold fever is cooling as he grows older.’
‘And the Winchesters?’ I asked.
‘Ah, that’s a hard one to answer. I fear Badger’s drowning has taken the zest for Mr Winchester to break in land at his age. Badger was the one full of enthusiasm for cattle farming.’
‘A pity all the rest of his family went into city professions … teaching, surveying, building.’ I chewed at my lower lip. ‘I suppose Rowan will go with them. Oh, I shall miss her so if she goes to town.’
‘T
hat we don’t know. Even Thomas is not sure of their plans. At present, the old folk will stay as long as your parents are here, I should imagine.’
Mr Winchester, Nikolas and Father took Thomas inland to show him the progress in land clearance. I longed to ride with them but I was needed for a dozen summer jobs and found each one frustrating because my thoughts were at Longridge.
We had found during the previous summer that an increasing number of travellers needed beds for a night. The O’Neills’ house was seldom empty, and Father said one evening after the last two beds at Winchesters’ were taken by some mountaineers, ‘We’ll need to put a signboard on O’Neill’s verandah saying Swag & Tucker Hotel.’
‘And charge a fee, I should hope,’ said Mother with unusual crispness.
Father looked at her with surprise. ‘But we couldn’a do that.’
‘And why not? We have little enough food to spare before the next shipment comes. We all bed-and-board these folk, wash linen, paddock horses, and many of them are strangers.’
‘And Gillespies Beach has two hotels.’ I thought the idea a challenge, and we needed an income after last year’s disaster.
‘Whenever the Cook or Awakirikiri Rivers are high we have to take in folk, sometimes for two days or more,’ added Sean. ‘I can see Mother’s point. We should at least be charging a small fee as a guest house.’
‘A large fee,’ I said, thinking of the depletion in our vegetable garden.
‘Hm!’ grunted Father and began to fill his pipe. ‘I’ll have a yarn with Gareth. It sounds reasonable. It’s not as if we’ve found new leads of gold in the paddocks lately. And there’ve been big expenses since the robbery.’ He didn’t mention Brendan’s schooling but we all knew what a worrying time this had been.
At that point, the young ones returned from the horse paddock with the surveyor and his assistant who were to spend the night with us. I’m sure all of us had the afternoon’s discussion in our thoughts as we watched the men eat second servings.
LYTTELTON PRISON
John Southern, prisoner 362, had completed his first month in Lyttelton Gaol and had now received a mattress for his narrow bed. Four long weeks of solitary confinement, with little exercise and no mention of what work he would be given, had lowered his morale.
There was no peace from banging doors and shouted orders. The strong smell of disinfectant and the monotonous meals sickened him. But the hardest thing to accept was the lack of communication with other inmates.
The Inspector of Prisons had recently reformed prison discipline and inmates were now isolated from each other. No man was to speak to the man next to him, at meals, at work, or during the brief exercise period in the wide quadrangle. He considered education unnecessary except for a trade, and reading was not for pleasure.
Southern, hearing this from a warder, had sworn under his breath. He felt like a wild animal caged. Hard labour would mean physical work to the fullest extent but, until it started, even that outlet was denied him.
The hot day was nearly over. He watched a seagull float for an instant beyond the bars of his high cell window. He longed for the fresh harbour breeze outside. It had been a stifling day, with warders’ tempers shortened and oaths rife along his row of cells. A steamship must be leaving because its siren hooted three times, and very faintly on the still air he could hear the rumble of its engines.
He mouthed soundless oaths as coarse as those he’d been hearing since the six o’clock lock-up. Over the last weeks it had been almost impossible to maintain his act of broken gentleman, but he had succeeded. If he could do so for four weeks, he could continue for four months, and then four …
No. He couldn’t face all that time. He vowed he’d be gone from here by four years or he’d be carried out in a box to the prison cemetery.
Chapter
– Five –
February came in with sparkling blue days and it was well nigh impossible to tie the children to their copy books at the kitchen table. In order to stop the whining voices, I sat them on the verandah for spelling bees and a question game of mine, What can you see? This ran as follows:
‘What can you see, Whistle?’
‘A bee on the flower by the step.’
‘Rawi, what do you know about bees?’
‘They sting but they make honey.’
And the questions and answers continued until they knew a lot about the subject.
Then, ‘Bridie, what can you see?’
‘The window in the boys’ room that needs cleaning.’
‘What do you know about glass?’ And so on.
I was always surprised at the amount of knowledge gained, especiallly when Mother or Rowan joined in and took over the encyclopaedia that I referred to for extra information.
But every day now, uppermost in my mind, was Simon’s approaching marriage to Agnes. I carefully unfolded my new bodice and skirt that Mother had stitched for the Gillespies Beach dance last August. That was when Badger Winchester had drowned crossing the Awakirikiri River, and the settlement had gone into mourning. The dance was not mentioned again.
I hung the garments on the clothes-line to blow away the strong scent of camphor balls, and I polished my dancing slippers so often that Mother said I’d wear the leather away.
Looking back now, I think the preparations and the ride to Gillespies on Sean’s horse, with Nikolas riding beside me, were as exciting as the wedding itself. Even Father smiled at my happiness, and Mother remembered what it felt like to be of dancing age.
The marriage ceremony, with Father McManus officiating in the little wooden church that formed the centre of their larger community, was all that I had imagined. Agnes had blossomed into a radiantly happy bride, with her brothers and sisters clustered around her, teasing and touching her gown.
I sighed as I realized that it would be at least fourteen months before I, too, would be standing before the priest to make my vows. And even that depended on whether Father would let me marry at eighteen and not make me wait the full two years from Nik’s asking permission. Glory be, that would make it twenty months!
After the marriage ceremony and the feasting, we danced around a gaily decorated classroom to an orchestra of fiddles, flutes and squeeze boxes. And Nikolas whispered in my ear, ‘Happy?’
I chuckled and replied, ‘Absolutely! Especially when Father’s gaze is distracted from us.’
For once, there were no fears in my mind. The nightmare had almost faded away, but this altered when Nik continued, ‘Your father has mellowed these past weeks, though. I think he no longer worries about those men and the gold theft.’
I hesitated before I said, ‘But I do.’
‘Why? They’re locked up in prison hundreds of miles away.’
‘I don’t know why … it’s just a fear that haunts me now and then.’
I looked up at him for reassurance, and his expression was concerned. ‘Surely time will drive that away. Remember, too, that you womenfolk will never be alone again. That should help.’
It did, but the shadow was there and we danced on in silence.
My spirits lifted when I saw Mother and Father waltzing together, and they smiled as Nikolas swung me in close circles to their side.
When the dance finished and I sat with Mother, I felt shy watching the girls of my own age with their light-hearted confidence. Several made glances at Nikolas even though all knew that he was engaged to me. Mother smiled when I voiced the fact that they had eyes only for the menfolk.
‘If you had no Nikolas, my dear, your eyes would be for the menfolk, too. ’Tis human nature, especially when dances occur so seldom. Now, who has your next dance?’ She glanced at my card and added, ‘Hmm, this Nikolas Kozan seems to be a persistent young man.’ And we both laughed.
Nevertheless, I danced with Andreas, Kerry, Mr Carroll and Father, so Nik did not monopolise me.
We spent the night with the Carroll family — several of us girls sleeping on pallets on the floor of their front room.
The verandah was reserved for some younger menfolk, but the curtains were drawn tightly across the window and I’m sure Mr Carroll slept with one eye on our door. There was a buzz of chatter about the dance, but the voices soon ceased for it was long after midnight.
We rode home with the newly-married couple and all the Kozan family — a long line of mounted figures chatting and laughing in competition with the songbirds as we followed the narrow track through the cool bush. The young couple paused for a meal at Kozans’ before they rode on up the valley to Longridge with two packhorses. The boys had built a little slab totara cottage for them until their real house was finished.
‘When does Thomas return to build it?’ I asked Nikolas as we waited for his father to ferry us across the river.
‘Within a week, allowing for river crossings.’
He looked so pleased that I accused him with, ‘You’re keeping something from me.’
‘Now, why would you think that? When have I kept secrets from you?’
‘Dozens of times … and lied to me as well. Do tell me.’
‘And how many secrets do you keep? I shan’t comment on the countless lies.’
No amount of questioning gave me a hint of his secret, so I could only glare at him as the boat was pushed off and horses’ halter ropes were put into our hands. Nikolas waved cheekily and strode back up the paddock to his mother.
It was Mother who gave me Nik’s news as soon as the children were dismissed next afternoon. She had been humming at the kitchen bench for all of an hour and I was suddenly aware that this was the first time she’d done so since the robbery.
The children scattered like a flock of dusty sparrows, and I crossed to accept the mug of tea she had poured ready for me.
‘It’s lovely to hear you sing again, Mama dear. It’s been a long time and we’ve missed it.’
‘And I’ve cause to sing. Sit you down at the table while we’re blessedly alone, and I shall be telling you.’ She swung the large cauldron of mutton stew over the glowing fire, having adjusted the chain until it was held at the right height.
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