Isle of Tears, page 9
From the moment they had travelled beyond sight of Waikaraka’s gardens, the tension between Niel and Tai grew palpable. Tai kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter, telling grandiloquent stories of what he’d been doing while he’d been away and pointing out various trees and plants to add to the McKinnons’ growing knowledge of forest lore, while Niel brought up the rear in sulky silence.
After several hours, he finally said exasperatedly, ‘Can ye no’ shut up for a bit?’
Tai stopped. ‘Why?’
‘Because I cannae hear masel’ think, that’s why,’ Niel grumbled.
‘What is it you are thinking about?’ Tai asked.
‘Just…things!’
Tai exchanged a quick but amused glance with Isla, who was trying to keep a straight face, very aware that if she did not Niel could well sulk for the entire trip. ‘Then I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not mean to interrupt your thoughts.’
Enraged by Tai’s smirk, and aware that he was behaving childishly, Niel only grunted and pushed his way past him, then set off at a cracking pace.
Tai shrugged, and they filed off again.
Half an hour later, Tai tapped Isla on the shoulder and whispered, ‘He is going the wrong way.’
And he was. They had come to a fork in the track several minutes ago, and Niel, not knowing the area at all but refusing to acknowledge the fact, had taken the wrong path.
‘Shall I tell him?’ Isla whispered back.
Tai shook his head. ‘No, I will. Niel!’
Ahead, Niel stopped and looked back, his face thunderous.
‘I would like to make a suggestion.’
Niel opened his hands as though he couldn’t care less, although Isla, who knew him well, could see the tension in his shoulders and the whiteness around his mouth.
‘There are two tracks out to the coast,’ Tai explained carefully. ‘This one, and the one we just passed. This one is more difficult. I think you should consider taking the easier track. Not for yourself, of course, but for your sister.’
Isla knew she was capable of traversing any sort of terrain that Niel could manage, but held her tongue.
Niel gave the proposition serious consideration, then said finally, ‘Aye, perhaps you’re right. We’ll take the easier track. For Isla.’
As her brother took the lead again, backtracking to the fork, Isla whispered to Tai, ‘Are there two tracks tae the coast?’
‘No, this one only goes to the mountain.’
Isla knew that the mountain was due south, not west, where New Plymouth lay. She felt a sudden rush of gratitude towards Tai, for his kindness and for his discretion, which she hadn’t realized he possessed. And when she mouthed ‘Thank you’ to him, he gave her a smile that was so full of something she couldn’t name that she blushed and turned away.
They walked until midday, according to Donal McKinnon’s watch, then halted for food and a short rest before setting off again, hoping to reach the outskirts of the tiny settlement of Manutahi, ten or so miles from New Plymouth, by nightfall.
By the time they stopped for the night, Isla’s feet and back were aching; she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and the sole of one of her boots had almost come off. It flapped as she walked, and tripped her repeatedly, causing her to curse silently every time she stumbled. She also had a stiff neck and shoulders, caused, she suspected, from the tension of having to keep quiet on the track in case imperial troops were about, or, equally dangerous, roaming trigger-happy vigilante settlers. Manutahi, however, appeared to be deserted.
That afternoon they had passed half a dozen burnt-out homesteads and farm buildings surrounded by paddocks empty of livestock, evidence that Maori raiding parties had been in the area. Isla felt vaguely sorry for the worry and harm that had befallen the area’s settlers, but she knew that the British were just as busy torching Maori villages and crops. She felt strangely detached from everything that was happening around her, and she wondered if her lack of compassion came from her own gnawing, bone-deep sorrow. Hearing echoes in the plight of the Maori of what had happened in the Highlands, she probably sympathized more with them, if she thought about it. They stood to lose not just their homes, but the land that had sustained them for centuries and, she was beginning to understand, that represented who they were, not just where they lived. But still, it was not her conflict; her job was to look after her brothers and sister.
Supper was bread, cold meat, and cold cooked potatoes, as Tai counselled against lighting a fire. Afterwards, by the light of a small oil lamp, he attempted to mend Isla’s boot, winding a length of harakeke twine around it and announcing that he hoped it would hold until they reached New Plymouth.
‘I could’ve done that,’ Niel muttered, sitting cross-legged on the ground and cleaning beneath his fingernails with a twig.
Isla, who had had just about enough of her brother’s truculence, snapped, ‘Aye, but I didnae hear ye offer!’
Niel pointed the twig accusingly at Tai. ‘Because he didnae give me a chance!’
‘Ah, for God’s sake, Niel!’ Isla exclaimed. ‘Will ye no’ grow up! What does it matter who fixed ma boot?’
‘It matters tae me!’ Niel shot back, his face turning red. ‘I’m your brother, no’ him. I’m supposed tae look after ye!’
‘I do not want to be Isla’s brother,’ Tai said calmly. ‘I want to be her whaiaipo.’
Niel glared at him. ‘What?’
‘Her lover. I want to be her lover.’
Isla gasped, and her hand shot to her mouth.
In the weak lamplight, the blood drained from Niel’s face and he leapt to his feet. ‘Ye dirty bugger!’
Tai looked affronted. ‘I am not. I wish to be her husband.’
‘Ye’ll have tae fight me first!’
‘All right.’ Tai stood up. ‘If you want to.’
‘Aye, I do! I bloody do!’ Niel shouted, raising his fists and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Tai stepped around the lamp to face him, and Niel swung wildly: Tai ducked and Niel missed.
‘Stop it, the pair o’ ye!’ Isla cried, scrambling to her feet.
‘Keep oot o’ it, Isla,’ Niel warned as he bounced around, looking for a good angle from which to strike.
Tai threw a punch, although Isla noted that it wasn’t a particularly powerful one. It glanced off Niel’s shoulder and he retaliated with one of is own, a solid blow that struck Tai above the ear. Tai stepped out of Niel’s range, and waited.
Niel, who was several heads shorter than his opponent, lunged at him and, placing his hands on a surprised Tai’s shoulders, used them to propel himself upwards whereupon he smashed his forehead into Tai’s nose.
Tai staggered backwards, his hands clamped over his face, and sat down hard. Isla grabbed Niel by his collar and wrenched him away, ripping his shirt in the process.
‘Stop that, ye wee shite!’ she hissed at him. ‘That’s enough!’
Tai gingerly took his hands away from his face, as if afraid that his nose might come away, too, and inspected the mess of blood in his palms. ‘You are getting better at fighting,’ he remarked. ‘Did Harapeta teach you that?’
The fight shocked out of him by what he had done, and mesmerized by the thick stream of blood flowing over Tai’s upper lip, Niel replied in an unsteady voice, ‘Ma da did.’ He sat down himself, and put his head between his legs.
‘Well, I hope you’re proud o’ yesel’, Niel,’ Isla admonished in disgust.
Tai shook his head, then grimaced as pain flared in his nose. ‘Leave him. I was happy to fight. It is expected.’
Isla frowned, not sure what he meant.
Nasally, Tai explained, ‘I wish to court you. Niel is your nearest male relative. He objected, so we had to fight.’
‘And I beat ye,’ Niel said, although he didn’t sound particularly pleased with himself.
‘You did,’ Tai agreed, dabbing carefully at his nose with his sleeve.
‘Apologize, Niel,’ Isla demanded.
‘Sorry.’
‘Properly.’
‘I cannae, Isla,’ Niel said. ‘It were only what Da would have done.’ He turned to Tai. ‘Isla’s only fourteen, aye? She’s too young tae be…whatever ye said it wis.’
‘But she is not too young for me to want to be with her, is she?’ Tai replied rationally. ‘I can wait until she is ready.’
Deeply embarrassed by the way she was being so intimately discussed, and as though she wasn’t even present, Isla opened her mouth to speak.
But Niel beat her to it. Wearily, he muttered, ‘Aye, I suppose.’ Then added, ‘But I’m warning ye, she might look like a wee doll wi’ that hair and those bonny eyes, but she can be awfu’ crabbit when the mood takes her. Ye’ll be sorry.’
Chapter Five
The following morning Isla awoke to the unpleasant sensation of rain dripping onto her face through the ponga branches they’d used for shelter. Crawling out from beneath them, she saw that the dawn was grey, the sky promising rain for a few hours yet.
Still angry at both Tai and Niel for treating her like a chattel, she refused to speak to either of them for several hours. When she finally did, it was only to say that her boot had fallen apart completely. Refusing Niel’s offer to lend her his, she took hers off and stuffed them into her peke in case they could be mended, and plodded on with bare, cold feet.
By midday, Tai remarked that they were nearing the outskirts of New Plymouth, which Isla had already surmised as they’d passed a growing number of farmhouses, all apparently deserted. They’d encountered no one else all day, friend or foe, but they had been avoiding established tracks since they’d started out that morning.
Cresting the ridge of a low hill an hour later, they stood and surveyed the town of New Plymouth below them, and the slate grey ocean beyond it. Much of the vegetation had been cleared from in and around the town some years earlier, and the streets could be clearly seen laid out in a tidy grid. Looming over the township, on the flattened summit of a hill, stood what Isla knew to be the Marsland Hill Barracks, a collection of sturdy corrugated-iron buildings surrounded by a formidable stockade and home to detachments of the 58th and 65th Regiments.
She squinted until she could make out Devon Street, the town’s main thoroughfare and business district, which she knew from previous visits. ‘The main street looks busy,’ she remarked.
‘It should,’ Tai replied. ‘There are said to be four thousand people in the town now, and almost as many soldiers.’ He eased his peke off his shoulder. ‘When do you expect to be finished with your business?’
‘I cannae say. It depends on how long it takes tae speak wi’ the bank manager. Maybe this afternoon, maybe no’ ’til tomorrow.’
‘Where will you sleep?’
‘Cannae say that, either. We’ll find somewhere.’
‘I will wait for you. For as long as it takes.’
‘Here?’
‘No, it is too open here. But if you come back to this place, I will see you.’ Tai smiled then, a private smile just for her, and tentatively touched her arm. ‘Do not worry, Isla, I will wait for you.’
Twice, they were stopped by soldiers as they walked along the road leading into the township; and twice Isla had to tell the tale she and Niel had agreed upon—that their parents had been brutally murdered and now they were seeking protection from the Maori. The tears in her eyes, however, were genuine.
The first thing that struck them as they entered the town proper was the stink: the air was heavy with the all-pervading odour of shite.
Niel held his hand over his nose. ‘The drains must be overflowing. ’
Isla wasn’t surprised: there were people everywhere, civilians and soldiers alike. The wide street they were traversing was potholed and muddy from the rain that morning, and wagon wheels and the hooves of horses and other livestock had churned the mud into a sticky, malodorous mess. There were a few verandahs fronting the shops on Devon Street, but beyond the boardwalks beneath them the paths were as mucky as the road. Brougham Street, rising gently at a right angle to Devon Street, was no better. Women were picking their way tentatively across the mud, their skirts held high; and men’s boots were caked with it.
She looked down at her ragged dress and filthy bare feet. ‘I need some new claes. I cannae go intae the bank looking like this. They’ll think I’m a pauper.’
‘Have ye any money?’ Niel asked, knowing she hadn’t.
‘No. I’ll have tae find some other way.’
‘Ye mean steal them?’
‘Maybe.’
‘That’s a sin, Isla.’
‘Aye, I ken.’
‘What would Da say, if he ken ye were stealing?’
‘“Thank ye for going tae the bank aboot ma land,” probably.’
Niel looked doubtful. ‘It says in the Bible, “Thou shalt not steal”.’
Isla shrugged. ‘Dinnae worry. I’ll no’ go tae Hell.’
Niel couldn’t respond to that. ‘Will ye try a shop?’
Isla shook her head. ‘A washing line.’
It took them only twenty minutes to find a suitable property. They walked up Brougham Street towards Marsland Hill until they came to a house with a washing line in its back yard. On it hung a range of children’s and adults’ clothing, and a selection of undergarments.
Isla and Niel opened the gate and approached the front door. Isla knocked sharply. When there was no response she did it again, waited for a minute, then cautiously opened the door and stepped inside.
‘Good afternoon!’ she called. ‘Is there a body in the hoose?’
But there was no indication that anyone was home.
Isla told Niel to keep watch outside, then went through the main room and out the back door into the yard. She casually felt the garments to see if they were dry, which they weren’t quite, then helped herself to a skirt and a blouse, a dress for Jean, breeks for Jamie and a shirt each for him and Niel, then went back into the house. Her heart thumping wildly at her own cheek, she hoped that anyone who might have observed her would assume she was staying in the house. She quickly changed into the skirt and blouse and, stuffing everything else into her peke, strolled back down to Devon Street with Niel, praying that God would forgive her for what she had done. And that they wouldn’t encounter the clothing’s original owners.
But she felt even worse about what they did next. In a general store, its shelves looking very depleted, she spotted a pair of boys’ work boots approximately her size. Telling Niel to wait a few minutes then grab them and run out of the shop, she moved towards the rear of the store, near the counter, and pretended to examine a selection of buttons. When Niel, his face pasty white, snatched the boots and raced for the door, the shopkeeper darted out from behind the counter and pounded through the shop after him.
Outside, Isla found him gripping Niel by the back of his shirt, which had ripped even further, and demanding the return of the boots. Niel was belligerently standing his ground, but his eyes were round with fear.
‘Excuse me, Mister,’ Isla said breathlessly, ‘but that’s ma brother. I’m verra sorry, but he’s been doin’ that since oor parents were kilt. Dinnae worry, I can pay.’ She opened her hand and offered the man a half-sovereign.
The shopkeeper looked from the money to Isla, and back to the money again.
‘Killed, you say?’
‘Aye, by Maori raiders. Just this last week.’
The man sighed and relinquished his grip on Niel’s shirt. ‘I’d normally be calling for the constabulary, I would, but seeing as what you’ve just told me…’ He took the half-sovereign and slipped it into the pocket of his apron. ‘I’ll keep the change for compensation, mind.’
‘Yes, sir, thank ye, sir,’ Isla said, and dragged Niel off up the street before the shopkeeper could change his mind.
In a nearby alleyway, she wiped her feet on a patch of ragged grass then slipped on the boots, tying the laces snugly as they were slightly too large for her.
‘Where’d ye get the money?’ Niel asked, perplexed.
‘I stole it oot the till when the man wis chasing ye oot the shop.’
‘I dinnae like this, Isla.’
‘Neither do I, but we’ve no’ a lot o’ choice, have we?’
With some of the remaining money they treated themselves to a pasty each from the bakery, although Niel complained that there was more onion and breading in his than meat, and several hot cups of tea.
Feeling better for the food, Isla led the way back to the post office in Brougham Street where she knew the New Plymouth Savings Bank was housed.
Inside, she approached the counter and asked to speak to the bank manager.
The clerk, a morose young man with a straggly, drooping moustache, asked why.
‘Because I want tae see him,’ Isla replied patiently.
‘May I ask what your business is?’
‘It’s aboot ma father’s land. And his loan wi’ this bank.’
‘Your father’s name is…?’
‘Donal McKinnon. Of Braeburn.’
The clerk eyed her suspiciously, then told her to wait while he ascertained whether the manager was able to see her.
‘I’m sorry but Mr Heath is not available,’ he said when he returned. ‘But he said he may be free at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, if you care to come back then.’
Deflated, Isla nevertheless said that she would, and thanked him for his help.
‘Now what?’ Niel said outside.
‘We’ll have tae find somewhere tae sleep, I suppose.’
They wandered around the town for several hours. The streets were crowded with people milling aimlessly, as though they had no place to go. And perhaps they haven’t, Isla thought, as some appeared to be settling down for the night, their belongings piled next to them, beneath the scanty shelter of shop verandahs. Many of the men were armed, and everyone seemed exhausted and ill at ease.
