Lizzie, Love Page 3

  James has got the idea into his head that he wants to be a farmer when he grows up. He is always talking about Mr Davis, over at Te Waimate, and the great job he is doing, breaking in new land for cultivation. I think Papa is very pleased that he is interested and is already talking about trying to purchase some land from one of the chiefs for any of you boys who want to be farmers. I can’t see you wanting to do that though. Perhaps you’ll be a teacher. What will any of us do? I hope you don’t decide to stay in England. Please don’t do that, Henry. I would miss you dreadfully.

  1st December,1833

  At last a ship has come, The Elizabeth again! My ship! She is leaving for Port Jackson tomorrow. I am finishing this letter in a rush, to tell you the great news. We have a new little brother who was born a month ago on the 26th of October. He is called Samuel Marsden Kemp, shortened to Sam of course. He is quite beautiful.

  Mama has not been too well since he was born, she looks very thin and tired and seems so sad, not at all as she usually is. Papa told me that she needs lots of rest and asked me to help look after Sam until she is better. That is no problem, in fact I love it. Every morning I bath him and change him into his day clothes. I wash his night clothes out by hand and hang them to dry before school starts. In the afternoon I amuse him and play with him. He has just started to smile a bit. I’m sure he knows me.

  Mr Nesbit made him a wooden rattle. Sam tries to hold it but his fingers are too small, in fact his fingernails are hardly there. My main problem is that I cannot carry him about with my crutches. Mr Nesbit is very kind though, and if it is a fine day he comes and carries Sam, in his cradle, down by the river. Sometimes he takes him into the garden, or whenever he is working on the stone store, so that he gets some fresh air.

  It is getting warmer now Christmas is only a few weeks away. I expect you are getting colder and colder. Mama keeps on worrying whether your clothes are warm enough.

  Mere and Titohea Reo have been looking after the house and the native girls. James and Richard are both going over to school with Mr Brown at Paihia, as you used to, and coming home for weekends. Mary Ann sends her love and asks, ‘What are clothes like in England now?’ William is starting to write quite well. He wants to put a little on the end of this letter.

  From your loving sister,

  Elizabeth.

  Dear Henry,

  I hope you are well. I am well, so is the cat. James finished the boat, it sails well. I caught three fishes off the wharf on Tuesday.

  Love from

  William.

  CHAPTER 5

  A flight of wild ducks alighted on the surface of the river, skidding to a halt in a flurry of wings and water. Elizabeth dropped her sewing onto her lap and watched them. Richard Kemp and young Tamati Reo sat on the bank, their fishing lines drifting idly in the river. The ducks dipped and preened and flung up sparkling sprays of water.

  ‘They’re good to eat,’ said Tamati, after watching them for a while.

  ‘Mmm,’ agreed Richard, ‘but they’re hard to catch. Except with a gun. How do Maori catch ducks?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do they trap them or spear them like pigeons, or what?’ persisted Richard.

  ‘I don’t know,’ repeated Tamati. ‘I’ve never seen them caught.’

  ‘There must be a way.’

  ‘I know how to catch weka,’ Tamati volunteered.

  ‘But they’re not weka, are they? They’re ducks.’

  ‘There are weka over Rangitane,’ said Tamati.

  ‘But you know you’re not allowed that far away,’ Elizabeth cut in. ‘Besides, it’s Tareha’s land.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Tamati. ‘Pity, eh! Weka are easy to catch.’

  The boys sat in silence for a while. Then Richard pulled up his line and examined the bait.

  ‘They haven’t even nibbled. There’s nothing here,’ he said, rolling up his line.

  Tamati was lying back against a tree root looking up at the water-light dappling the branches.

  ‘You ever seen Tareha?’ Richard asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You seen him, Lizzie?’ Tamati asked, turning his head.

  ‘Not that I can remember.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s odd? We often hear about him but we’ve never seen him,’ reflected Tamati. ‘They say he’s a giant.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘Henry used to tell us terrible tales about him. I think he just made them up, like fairy stories.’

  ‘My father did that too. He used to say, “Tareha will catch you with his great long arms and put you in a hangi and eat you!’ Both the boys laughed.

  Elizabeth looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Mama told me that Tareha was so big he couldn’t get through the door of our house.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anybody who couldn’t get through a door, have you?’ said Richard, scornfully.

  ‘No. But Mama doesn’t tell lies.’

  ‘When we were little we believed them, but not now. I expect she was just telling a good story,’ said Tamati.

  ‘What if we did go over to Rangitane for weka? The river’s the boundary to Tareha’s land. We could stay on this side and if we heard anybody come we could just run back quickly.’

  ‘You aren’t allowed,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘No, I s’pose not,’ said Richard. He turned his back on her and faced Tamati. ‘Come on then, Tamati, we’ll go up the river and see if they’re biting up there.’ They picked up their gear and walked down to the stepping stones that crossed the river.

  ‘Now don’t you go to Rangitane,’ called Elizabeth. ‘Papa will be furious if you do.’

  ‘Who’d tell him?’ taunted Richard.

  ‘I would.’

  ‘No, we’re going up the river, aren’t we, Tamati?’

  Tamati nodded and grinned.

  Elizabeth watched them gain the opposite bank and walk upstream to the bush. She did not quite trust them. But what could she do?

  Elizabeth had a bad day. She had to unpick a length of sewing when she found that she had sewn it inside out. She dropped a cup and broke it. She cut her finger sharpening a quill pen and it bled on her new apron. Everything went wrong.

  Later that afternoon as she was walking out to the cattle yard, to take a message to her father, she saw Richard and Tamati. They were with a group of Maori, coming down the far bank of the river. All the tensions of the day crystallized.

  ‘I knew it,’ she exploded. ‘Those stupid boys.’

  Hearing Elizabeth, her father looked up and followed her gaze.

  ‘Tareha!’ He dropped his tools and went to meet the party as they came over the stones.

  Elizabeth gaped. Seeing the leader of the group standing beside her father, she knew that he must be at least seven feet tall, with a girth so enormous that she didn’t even try to think what he must weigh.

  Richard and Tamati had collapsed, panting, onto the grass. Mr Kemp looked at them dubiously, but addressed the chief. ‘Welcome, Tareha. It is many years since you last visited us.’

  ‘I do not like coming here,’ he replied bluntly. ‘The ghosts of the past rise before me. The mana of this river washed many war canoes when we went with Hongi, that great warrior. I still see them. If it were not for your son I would not be here.’

  ‘Richard?’

  ‘Aie, and this boy of Tamati Reo’s. Have they not been taught that my land is my land? That my birds are my birds?’

  ‘They have been taught.’

  ‘Why is it then that they come onto my land and kill my birds?’ He pointed to a man behind him who held up a bunch of dead weka.

  Richard was still lying on the ground. He must have heard — as Elizabeth did — the sorrow in their father’s voice.

  ‘Is this correct, Richard?’

  Richard mumbled into the grass.

  ‘Stand up! You too, Tamati.’

  They crept to their feet and stood with heads hung low.

  ‘You both kno
w your catechism. Tamati, what is the eighth commandment?’

  ‘Thou shalt not steal.’

  ‘Richard, the tenth?’

  ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, nor his wife, nor his ox nor his ass…’

  ‘Nor his birds. Say it!’

  ‘Nor his birds,’ they muttered in unison.

  Mr Kemp turned to Elizabeth, ‘Lizzie, go and fetch Thomas Reo. And bring my quince stick.’ Then as an afterthought, ‘No need to bother your mother.’ He spoke again to the chief. ‘I’m sorry this has happened, Tareha. They shall be beaten and shall also make retribution to you.’

  ‘That is what you would do, wouldn’t you? Beat little children, eh? No Maori would hit so small a thing!’

  Elizabeth hobbled back to the house as quickly as she could while the men’s voices continued in a rising tone of argument.

  When she reached the front door her mother was already there. ‘Lizzie,’ she asked with agitation. ‘Who is that talking with your father?’

  ‘It’s Tareha,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Oh, dear Lord, what does he want?’

  ‘Richard has done something to annoy him, but don’t worry. Papa said not to worry you with it; he can manage.’

  ‘The silly boy.’ She squeezed her apron between her hands.

  ‘Tamati too,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Papa sent me to get Thomas.’

  ‘He’s in the kitchen.’ Mrs Kemp turned back into the house. ‘Thomas,’ she called, toward the open door, ‘come quickly. Those silly boys. It’s Tareha!’ She set off down the steps with Thomas following.

  Elizabeth took up the long pliable quince stick that always stood, as a warning, in the corner by the door.

  The heated voices of the two men could still be heard. The boys stood to one side as though forgotten. Tareha had turned his back on the group and was gazing down the inlet, his heavy voice speaking almost in lamentation.

  ‘The only reason I leave you alone is because Hongi wished it,’ he was saying. ‘What would he say now? Hongi, who lies unavenged because of you. He who righted every wrong with utu. It is you who have put such weakness into their knees and into their minds.’ He gestured angrily towards the Maori pa which could be seen further down the inlet. ‘You and your God. Aie, aie, aie,’ he moaned. ‘Why did he listen to you? Why?

  ‘With him, life was worth something. So many battles. So much glory, aie, aie. Why did he protect you? You beaters of children, you bringers of disease, you destroyers of our ways.’ He turned back to the group with such a bleak expression on his face that, for all the horror of his words, Elizabeth almost felt sorry for him — until he turned and saw Mrs Kemp, and his lips suddenly stretched wide in a mirthless smile.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Kemp,’ he said slowly. ‘It is many years since we met. Perhaps you still live by our laws?’

  With a sudden movement he grabbed Richard around the waist and swooped him up into the air, holding him horizontally above his head. It happened so quickly that everyone was bereft of speech.

  ‘What I have I hold, Mrs Kemp. Isn’t that the law you use?’ he roared. ‘I shall take him home and he shall work for me. Isn’t that fair exchange, Mrs Kemp?’

  Elizabeth stared up at Richard, terrified by his precarious position. His limbs swam through the air. She was astonished to see him smile and then shriek with laughter. Not just a timid giggle but a raucous screech that went on and on.

  Tareha was as suprised as any one. He dropped his arms and held Richard level with his face. ‘You are laughing?’ he said in bewilderment.

  Richard went on snuffling and wheezing.

  Elizabeth knew what it felt like to get the giggles, however inappropriate. When the laughter kept on rising up to your head like bubbles that had to escape.

  Tareha lowered Richard to the ground where he collapsed, snorting, into the grass. They all stood around, looking at him in amazement.

  Mr Kemp was the first to find his voice. ‘I shall bring him to your place to do some work in repayment,’ he said.

  Tareha looked puzzled. ‘I do not want repayment,’ he said. ‘Beat your child if you wish.’ He turned abruptly and strode toward the river crossing. ‘Come!’ he called to his followers.

  The group from the mission stood and watched him go, not quite sure what had happened. They saw him pause on the opposite bank and look back. He gave orders to one of his men, who detached himself from the knot of people and came jumping back across the rocks, a flax kete in one hand. He came straight to Richard and thrust the kete into his hand. It was full of kumara.

  ‘From Tareha, for the boy who laughed in the face of danger,’ he said, then turned and leapt back across the river.

  CHAPTER 6

  They went back to the house. Richard and Tamati were taken to the schoolroom and the beatings duly administered. Mere led Mrs Kemp into the dining room and helped her onto one of the dining chairs. She rested one elbow on the table while her hand covered her eyes. She had gone an odd ashen colour and was shivering. Mere knelt beside her and rubbed her other hand, talking quietly. Elizabeth hovered near.

  Finally Mrs Kemp spoke. ‘Did you hear him, Mere? He said, “What I have I hold.”’

  ‘Yes, he couldn’t mean it,’ murmured Mere.

  ‘Why did he say that? What was that about?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘It was about me,’ said Mere unexpectedly. ‘I was his slave once, captured in Hongi’s war, many years ago. I ran away. I came to your mother and I asked her, if he came looking for me, to say, “What I have I hold”. It is our rule. You see, if a runaway slave is found by anyone else, the slave is then that person’s property. He was furious. He planned to take me as a slave wife as is sometimes done. The words were enough, but your father bought me as well. With a blanket, a shirt and an axe. That is what I am worth. Tareha took them. He was making the best of the situation, but his mana was damaged and he never forgot.’

  ‘Could he have kept Richard like Mama kept you?’

  ‘No, of course not. He wasn’t a runaway slave.’

  ‘He was a thief,’ said Mrs Kemp.

  ‘It still doesn’t apply. Truly,’ said Mere earnestly. ‘Lizzie, see if Titohea is in the kitchen. She may have gone with Thomas and Tamati, but if she is there, ask her to make some more tea. Nobody drank the last pot.’

  Elizabeth went through to the kitchen and found Titohea, Tamati’s mother, obviously just as upset as Mrs Kemp, but taking it out on a large burnt pot which she was scouring with fierce strokes. Elizabeth delivered the message and returned to the front room. Her father was there with a firm hand on the shoulder of Richard, who sobbed as he apologized to his mother.

  ‘Right! To your room now. Stay there and dwell on your foolishness until the morning.’ Mr Kemp gave him a slight push towards the door.

  Elizabeth listened to his slow feet ascending the stairs. What a fuss it had all caused. ‘I should have stopped them this morning,’ she muttered.

  Her mother caught the words and turned on her abruptly. ‘What do you mean, Lizzie? You knew they were going on this crazy expedition?’

  ‘Well, not exactly.’ Elizabeth faltered, surprised by the sudden fury in her mother’s voice.

  ‘Not exactly?’ repeated her mother. ‘Lizzie, if you had any idea of where they were going, you should have told us.’

  ‘I didn’t know, truly I didn’t. They just hinted, and I couldn’t have stopped them anyway.’

  ‘Oh, you silly girl. Look at all the bother you have caused.’

  ‘But, Mama …’

  Her father intervened. ‘Charlotte dear, it isn’t Lizzie’s fault. More likely mine.’

  ‘Yours?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve left Tareha alone all these years. Fear I suppose. But there should be no fear in the Lord’s work. I shall go to him soon. I must try to understand him. He is obviously confused.’

  Titohea came in with the tea and Elizabeth took the opportunity to escape out onto the verandah. Sarah was there, playing with her wooden doll, tr
ying to tie a piece of rag around its head to resemble a bonnet. Elizabeth plonked herself down on the top step. She plucked a few heads from the lavender bush that grew by the step, crushed them in her hand, and threw them onto the path. Isaiah, the cat, sidled up and rubbed the top of his head against her hand. She lifted him onto her knee and buried her face in the warmth of his black fur. She felt furious and miserable at the same time. How could her mother accuse her when Richard had been the culprit? It was so unfair. Why had she to take responsibility for their behavior?

  Footsteps came through the door behind her and she felt a small body sit down hard on the step beside her. It was William. ‘Lizzie, will you hear my text? I’ve got to have it learnt for Sunday School tomorrow, but everybody’s so disagreeable. Richard’s shut himself in his room. Mama told me to go away for now and I can’t find Mary Ann anywhere. Please?’

  Elizabeth held out her hand for the scrap of paper, grateful to have something to occupy her mind. ‘Alright, go ahead.’

  William took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. ‘God is love. And he who liveth in God … um … liveth in love …’

  ‘Wrong way round,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Loveth in live?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. He who liveth in love, liveth in God.’

  ‘And God in him,’ concluded William triumphantly.

  ‘Now, right through.’

  ‘God is love, and he who liveth in love, liveth in God, and God in him.’

  ‘Good, now once more.’

  William repeated it.

  Elizabeth returned the scrap of paper. ‘You seem to know that.’

  ‘But I don’t know what it means.’

  ‘It sounds like poetry. I like poetry,’ said Sarah, as she wrapped her doll in a bit of old blanket and cradled it in the crook of her arm.

  ‘Here, hand it back.’ Elizabeth held out her hand. She read it twice. The words jigged before her eyes, making less and less sense the more she looked at them. How could God live in a person; he was much too big for that.

  A thin wail came from the upstairs bedroom. It was Sam, and with a sense of relief, Elizabeth made his cry an excuse to go back inside.