Bless him. He had forgotten he had told us ‘two years’ from that wonderful October evening of Nik’s proposal. With this later ruling I was well satisfied.
PORT LEVY
Southern had spent three weeks in the tiny cave, only emerging after dark to collect wood and to pace to and fro, exercising bruised muscles. There had been enough food to feed a man for several weeks but he rationed it carefully.
By the third week his hair had grown to an acceptable length and a scruffy beard altered his appearance completely. Gone was the timid prisoner. Without the spectacles, his eyes were cold and steely, and to complete the disguise, he had rubbed walnut onto his arms and face so that to all appearances he was a rough labourer.
This was to be his seventh disguise, but the eighth would be his greatest challenge. The disguises were his delight and pride, almost overshadowing the reason for them.
He was ready for the next part of his plan. On the far side of Banks Peninsula, where the long waters of Lake Ellesmere nibbled at the plains, lay scattered farms and villages. One holding not far from the western shore of the lake was run by one Kelvin Kellaway. Here Southern would have all the time in the world to perfect his disguise before he set off to South Westland.
When Southern had arrived in New Zealand from Australia ten years ago, he had met up with Kell, and the two scoundrels formed what could be called a bond, rather than a friendship. Kell was a shrewd man and clever enough to avoid the interest of the police during a number of illegal incidents.
By 1883, Southern had sent him gold to dispose of in the city, and in return Kell received payment for banking the proceeds under a false name. The documents were then forwarded to Southern who hid them carefully at each new camp, together with the ownership papers for opals and gemstones brought from Australia and also held in the bank.
Now, with Kell’s help, he intended to rescue these documents from the area of his last campsite near Swag & Tucker, together with the gold he had stolen from the community who lived there.
One early morning, he slipped across the track and when dawn broke he was high above Port Levy, taking his bearings for the rough track that crossed the slopes of Mt Evans and Mt Herbert to Kaituna Valley close to Lake Ellesmere.
He gazed down into the valley where he had worked in the mill so long ago, and breathed a pledge to himself: ‘I’ll get that gold and those papers even if it takes me a year.’
In a frosty dawn during the first days of September, Southern crouched behind a cowshed and watched the Kellaways’ household come to life. Only when he was quite certain that there was no strange man amongst the three people, did he accost Kell as he crossed the yard.
‘Where the flamin’ hell ’ave you come from?’ hissed Kell. ‘I thought you’d drowned. It was all in the news sheets … what ones we could get.’ His sharp eyes searched for what he recalled of the man he’d known five years ago. ‘The police haven’t found your body yet so I should’a known you’d turn up here. Come in, me old mate. You look fair tuckered.’
‘Hold it.’ Southern made no move. ‘Who’s the woman and child?’
Kell grinned. ‘I’ve gone up in the world; got staff now! She’s me housekeeper — hard worker, good cook, worth keeping — frees me if I go to town on a job.’ He winked at Southern.
‘Nothing else?’ Southern’s eyes glinted.
‘Not for me nor you.’ Kell’s glance was warning. ‘The lass is hers and no trouble to anyone. They’re off-bounds so watch it.’
Southern shrugged and changed the subject. ‘Police been here?’
‘Not a sign of them.’ Kell tilted his bearded head and laughed. ‘They’ll never suspect you and me are mates. Bloody hell … I’m as clean as a plucked chicken these days, waitin’ to hear from you.’
Southern lifted the swag from his back and returned the grin as they walked across to the farmhouse. Kell’s smile faded, though. He wished his ‘mate’ anywhere but on his farm.
Chapter
– Thirteen –
We chose a settled stretch of weather and rode inland with as much chatter and laughter as Chaucer’s Canterbury pilgrims. Wag danced at the horses’ heels, and Little One, perched on the saddle in front of Father, bubbled with excitement.
As we reached the cleared land under the foothills, crossing last year’s burn-off with its tangle of scorched stumps and regrowth, we caught our first glimpse of the growing settlement.
Agnes’s cottage had been whitewashed, another shed had been completed, and the Ross’s cottage had the beginnings of a garden behind a picket fence. And to the left on the rise above the creek were the first uprights for our cottage.
‘What a view you’ll be seeing across the valley.’ Mother smiled at my excitement.
‘If Nik’s away with cattle when we arrive, I’ll wait ’til his return before going up to the site, though it’ll be a test on my patience,’ I laughed.
‘It’s all so different to what I had imagined.’ Mother shook her head with disbelief. ‘So many buildings. Such a huge task to clear all this bush for future paddocks. Oh indeed, I’m proud of those young men.’
We followed the wide track, turning right for Katie’s cottage and leaving Mrs Kozan to ride across to Agnes who was now eight months pregnant. She was to return with her and travel on to Gillespies where her mother was a capable midwife.
After watching the delighted reunion of the two small girls, Father and Brendan rode on up to the yards where men could be seen working. Nik was not one of them.
But by the time we’d unsaddled and quenched our thirst with cups of tea, Nik had arrived and he escorted Mother and me to our cottage. If I had been eight years of age I’d have skipped along the track. Nik grinned at my excitement as we stepped between the uprights.
‘Front porch here where you can sit and embroider,’ he announced, to Mother’s amusement, waving his arm at two corner posts by a stack of shaped timber. ‘Living room through a door here, where you’ll be too busy to do handwork. Bedroom here to the left with the early sun preventing over-sleeping, and behind these two rooms we shall later build two more. Does that please you?’
‘No front parlour?’ I teased.
‘No frills at all. Visitors can sit around the table as we did at Swag & Tucker. I don’t intend to let you become another Mrs O’Neill with her formal “best room”.’
‘Oh, Nik, it’s perfect. And if it’s to be as sound a building as Katie’s it’ll be a dream come true.’
‘Dream or not,’ said Mother, ‘we must busy ourselves making rugs, and I must be sorting some china for you.’
‘My ma’s ordered a camp oven and cooking pots,’ smiled Nik. ‘And my father’s gift is to be a bed coming on the February supply ship … a big bed because we’ll be sharing it with the first batch of children.’
Nikolas pulled a straight face as I swung to confront him. ‘Don’t hit me!’ he wailed, and we all broke into laughter.
It was a happy day, with the evening meal eaten on the verandah so that we escaped the heat of the hearth. Beanpole folded himself onto the step like a Daddy-long-legs spider would, and Katie looked deliciously happy as she watched him, showing no discomfort from the child she carried. I wished that Bess and I could visit her as frequently as we had when she was at the bay.
‘How do you find company-keeping with Agnes?’ I whispered.
Katie chuckled. ‘Well enough, though I miss our laughs together. I doubt she has a great sense of humour, but she’s very capable and a generous soul. I’m counting the weeks until you come inland, Mary. It won’t be much later than April, surely?’
We were distracted by the two little girls running past, making the most of the last minutes before bedtime. When we adults were driven inside by mosquitoes three hours later, they were still whispering in their shared bed and had to be firmly hushed.
In the early morning, Mother and I strolled down to the creek, gazing up at the white-capped mountains touched with the delicate glow of a new day.
‘Will you be very sad to leave Swag & Tucker when the time comes to move inland?’ I asked, linking my arm in hers and watching a flock of pigeons swoop over the cleared slopes with a flurry in the outskirts of the bush.
‘No, my dear. This place already has the feel of home, especially now that most of our family are moving to Longridge. Just listen to those songbirds, will you? Morning song is always distant at home and I have indeed missed it.’ She glanced back at Katie’s place. ‘And I shall be able to make a flower garden here. No more sand and salt winds.’
It was a full and pleasurable day with time to flirt with Nikolas and time to enjoy Katie’s company. The children looked after themselves, and there lay the crisis that darkened that evening.
Katie called Pennyweight when their teatime approached. Then Mother called Little One. Our gazes swept the partly cleared land in front of the cottage but there was no flash of white pinafore amongst the stumps and log piles.
‘I saw them both sitting on that larger tree stump some time back,’ said Mother with a frown.
‘And they came inside for a drink of milk and a biscuit,’ added Katie. ‘They asked for two because they were building a house for Father and would be very busy … I gather they meant Little One’s father.’
I walked over to the stump and then to the bushline beyond, calling as I went. The only sounds were the distant thuds of axes on the far side of the valley and the faint “Come! Come! Come!” of Agnes calling her cow for milking. Katie’s cottage was already out of sight behind undergrowth.
I picked my way back along the same route. Katie was calling down by the creek and Mother was walking up the track to Agnes. I hurried over to the punga cottage and peeped into Thomas’s hut. No little figures rushed to greet me. I began to feel anxious. Both children were usually so obedient, and if they had been hiding away for fun, they’d know not to tease us so long.
‘Mother,’ I called. ‘I think I’ll go over to the menfolk in case the children have gone to look for Father.’
‘Then I’ll go back to Katie. Oh Mary, I’m cross with Little One. She’s never done this before.’
The men rested on their axe handles beside completed fence posts, their faces serious.
‘I’ll go down to Katie.’ Beanpole strode away in his long, loping walk.
‘It’s best we finish for the day, just in case,’ said Simon, and Brendan mopped his damp forehead, looking relieved to stop.
There was no sign of the children when we reached the cottage. The men washed in the creek and gathered silently on the verandah with Thomas and Banjo Bill who had been shaping a totara log for house planks. Mother poured mugs of tea and Katie handed out bread and cheese while all eyes gazed intently across the burnt-off land.
‘I’ll take the line of the bush because I know where the tracks go in,’ announced Beanpole. ‘They can’t have gone far. Simon, would you decide who goes through the centre of the valley, and Nik, you cross the creek and take the far side?’
‘They wouldn’t cross the creek.’ Father shook his head.
‘No, but voices would carry from those cleared paddocks. I’ll take you with me, sir,’ Beanpole told Father. ‘The rest of you spread out across the valley where you can. We’ve still three hours until dark. No, Mary, you can’t come. You and Brendan can check at the back of Punga Cottage but I think you’ll find the bush too dense for them to penetrate.’
They picked up staffs and moved out into the partially cleared land. In less than five minutes they were all out of sight, hidden by the gaunt stumps and blacked trunks of last summer’s burn-off.
Brendan and I returned from our search and I longed to follow the men. Katie was pale and I knew how desperate she must feel because of her helplessness with the child she was carrying. One glance at Mother who was fingering her rosary beads in the pocket of her apron made my heart ache for both of them.
I tied Wag up as she thought everything a game for her benefit. ‘Useless dog,’ I told her. ‘Why aren’t you a bloodhound?’ And she wagged her tail happily.
We could hear the men’s voices calling near and far as we sat on the verandah keeping Katie company and trying to think of helpful comments. Mother told about the time when Kerry and I went missing and were found asleep in the sand-dunes, hearing nothing above the hiss and roar of the sea.
Nik’s calls came from the far slopes for a while and then faded as he moved down the valley. We busied ourselves with preparing a good stew for the men’s return, each of us taking turns to call from the door and then listen. Eventually all the men’s calls ceased, smothered by bush and the charred wreckage of the burnt trees. It was after dark when they returned in ones and twos, faces strained with concern.
Father put his hand on Katie’s arm and said gently, ‘Remember, lass, it’s a warm night, and it’s impossible that both children would be unable to answer our calls. I suspect they’ve hidden and will sleep now that the light’s fading. James has gone further but won’t be long away.’
‘But we must find them … they’ll be so frightened in the dark.’ Katie’s courage broke with tears. I was near tears myself as I thought of our Little One who hated the dark. Mother’s face was pale and tensed.
‘There, there, lass,’ said Father gruffly. ‘We’ll be taking turns to call from vantage points all night and it will be light again at five of the clock. There’s naught else we can do over such rough ground in the dark.’ He looked relieved as Beanpole came up the steps.
Beanpole led Katie inside, and while we served a hot meal, the men organized listening watches in case the girls cried out in the night. Those free went away to sleep after eating. The others moved out to three places above the valley, to decipher the weird bird calls in the night in case any one was the cry of a child.
Mother and I shared the bed in the back room, trying to hide our anxiety. We whispered for ages, placing ourselves in the children’s shoes, to work out where they might have gone.
‘I wonder if they’re too frightened to answer the calls,’ said Mother. ‘They might be fearing a punishment.’
Or they might be frightened of someone in particular, I thought. What if John Southern was about? Oh, dear God, surely he wouldn’t touch them, even if he had reached here. Unless … two little hostages to gain his freedom to rescue the gold? No! I clenched my hands in desperation.
Mother touched my arm. ‘What is it, Mary? What has upset you? Tell me, dear. Please? Have you had an idea where they might be?’
I took a long breath to hide a sob as my mind skittered to and fro for some answer that would not increase her alarm. The river … yes, the river. Aloud, I continued, ‘Oh, I just feel so angry at our helplessness. My mind finds impossible answers, but could they have crossed the river at the shallows and explored along the bushline?’
‘They would have heard Nik calling,’ sighed Mother. ‘At least we can be relieved that they’ve been told and told what to do if they are lost — stay where they are, find a dry nest by a tree to keep warm, curl up and wrap their arms around themselves — and when they hear voices, to call out. Little One’s intelligent, almost six. She knows what to do. Why haven’t they answered?’
This brought other questions until we completed a circle with, ‘But why don’t they cry out?’
I shook my head, dreading that my answer be the right one. I must tell Nik or Father as soon as it was light.
Our whispers ceased but I doubt that Mother slept a wink for at one point she was pacing the floor. I begged God to help us: to make sure that nothing terrible had happened to either child, and oh, how I longed for daylight and action.
Surely the children would have screamed if they saw Southern; but how would he catch them both, even by surprise?
It was then that I realised a detail about yesterday’s search: after the initial calls, the children had heard only men’s voices. What if I went out on today’s search … the only one to call?
I sank back on the pillow and the next thing I
knew was Mother shaking me gently. ‘Dawn’s coming, dear. We’ll make hot drinks and porridge for the men. Beanpole is already away.’
I blinked eyes that seemed filled with gravel, and then I remembered my last thought before sleep.
‘Mother, I must join the search. They know my voice whereas they’ve never before heard Thomas, Banjo Bill or the others shouting, as they did until darkness.’
‘But they know their fathers’ voices.’
‘Yes, but both men took the same track, and it’s possible that their voices didn’t reach them.’
‘What if the girls heard only Banjo Bill’s gruff voice, or even Nik’s deep one?’
Mother looked at me with faint hope in her tired eyes. ‘You could be right. You and I will follow the creek, taking only one man, and we’ll be the ones to call.’
And that’s what we did, after much argument. The light was seeping into the valley as we set off with Father through the devastated timber. Mother and I called alternately and after half a mile we separated to cover a wider area. I took the banks of the creek, making quicker progress over open ground.
‘Penny! … Pen—ny!’ I called. ‘Lit-tle One! Where a—re you?’
Was that a faint cry or just the call of a bird? I halted and cursed the creek for its noisy chatter. ‘Mar—y!’
A thread of a call came from the centre of the valley ahead of us.
‘Mother!’ I shouted. ‘They’re in the centre somewhere. Keep calling.’ I scrambled over a tangle of unburnt branches, blinded by tears. ‘We’re coming, dears. We’re coming.’
Two tear-streaked faces looked up at me from a nest of dried fern and in a moment Mother clasped them to her, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks.
‘Where’s Father? Oh, the blessed relief to see them safe!’
‘He’s gone to call Beanpole.’
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