Tamar (51 page)

She looked up to see Riria watching her closely. ‘Are you really all right?’ her friend asked.

Tamar nodded, although the lines of sorrow etched on her pale face betrayed the depths of her pain. ‘I will be, Riria. I have Andrew and the children, you and John are here now, and Joseph’s coming soon. Yes, I will be, eventually.’

Joseph steadied himself as he walked down the wide hallway to meet his mother. She darted out of the kitchen at the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor, and hurried into his arms, weeping.

He was easily taller than her now, and he sent an impassioned glance towards Andrew over her head; he adored his mother, and it hurt him terribly to see her in such pain.

‘We lost her, Joseph. We lost our little girl,’ she sobbed into his shoulder as he held her.

‘I know, Mam.’ He didn’t know what else to say. ‘I came as fast as I could.’

Tamar nodded and pulled back. ‘I know you did, my love.’

Joseph said nothing. Instead, he put his arm around his mother and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she blew her nose.

Andrew cleared his throat and said, ‘John and Riria are here. They arrived yesterday.’

‘I’d better say hello, then,’ said Joseph.

‘And when you’ve had a rest and something to eat, I’ll take you up to see Brigid,’ added Tamar.

Joseph had met John and Riria when he had been staying at Kenmore. He had taken to Riria immediately, but felt ill at ease with John. In fact, he had been slightly rude the first time they met. Joseph had only been ten, distrustful and slightly in awe of the balding
Pakeha takuta
, until Andrew had taken him aside and bluntly catalogued the charity John had given, and was still
giving, to many of the Maori people of Auckland. Joseph revised his opinion, and began to notice things about his mother’s friend he rather liked; the man’s compassion, his integrity and honesty, and, most of all, his constant good humour. They now got on very well, although they never saw each other often enough to consider their relationship a true friendship. Joseph liked John and Riria’s children, too; they were bright and happy.

After several cups of tea and three large sandwiches, Tamar took Joseph to visit Brigid’s grave.

Arm in arm they walked up the gentle hill behind the house, and opened the gate in the wrought-iron fence enclosing the small cemetery. His half-sister’s grave was pathetically small, and Joseph felt his eyes prickle with tears as he gazed at the flowers piled over the little hump of fresh soil. There was no headstone, but no doubt there would be soon.

‘I’m so sorry, Mam,’ he said, taking Tamar’s hand.

Tamar nodded but said nothing; her tears were still very close, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Joseph closed his eyes and began to murmur a
karakia
. As Joseph concluded his prayer, there came the gentle laughter of a fantail. They both turned and spied the small bird, perched with its black and yellow tail splayed, on a low branch of a nearby tree.

‘Ah,’ said Joseph. ‘
Te piwakawaka
. A good sign.’

‘Why?’ asked Tamar.

‘He arrives to accompany the souls of the recently dead to the underworld. Brigid is beginning her journey, and she will not be alone. Can you not feel her?’

Holding herself perfectly motionless, Tamar strained with every nerve of her being to feel even a whisper of her daughter’s spiritual presence. As a gentle breeze lifted her hair about her face, a small smile played on her lips. ‘Yes.’

Tamar remained with her eyes closed for some minutes until
the fantail launched itself into the air and swooped past her, one small wing almost touching her shoulder. They watched in silence as the bird flew away.

‘She’s gone now, hasn’t she?’ Tamar said.

Joseph nodded. He gently took his mother’s hand, and they walked back to the house.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

October 1899

N
ame and age, lad?’

‘Joseph Deane, sir. Twenty-three, sir.’ A lie.

The interviewing officer, the Hawke’s Bay district commander of the New Zealand Volunteer Force, squinted warily at the young man. He’d seen him once or twice on training exercises but had never met him.

‘Race?’

‘European.’

The commander tapped his pencil lightly against the side of his nose. If this boy was a twenty-three-year-old European, then he was a monkey’s uncle. There were express instructions from the British Colonial Office to exclude native troops. Apparently, it was a ‘white man’s war’. But Dick Seddon didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and volunteers
had
been called for, so why shouldn’t this boy go to South Africa and fight for the Queen? He looked fit, more than met the height requirement of five feet six inches, and seemed keen. ‘Can you ride and shoot?’

‘Of course, sir. I am proficient in both.’

An educated one, too. Where the hell were they coming from, these literate, well-spoken Maoris? ‘You’ll have to pass tests.’

The young man nodded.

The commander made up his mind. ‘Righto then, lad. Sign here. There’s a contingent of two hundred leaving in three weeks. Report to the railway station by ten in the morning next Monday to catch the train to Wellington. There’ll be provision to have your horse transported. I assume you have your own mount?’

Joseph nodded and signed the piece of paper the commander thrust across the table at him, deliberately substituting Kepa with Deane as his surname.

He had not discussed his decision to volunteer with anyone. His father would not be pleased, he knew, and both of his mothers, Mereana and Tamar, would hit the roof, but it was his decision. He would have to break the news to them as soon as possible, although he wasn’t looking forward to it. He had lied about his age — he had only recently turned nineteen but was big and mature-looking for his years — and he knew the commander could have looked up his records, and checked his ethnicity, but he hadn’t, which Joseph took as tacit approval. And if the commander of the district’s Volunteer Forces approved, then his parents would have to as well.

Outside, Joseph stopped to compare notes with a handful of other young men who were also volunteering, then untied his horse from the hitching rail, swung into the saddle and trotted down Dickens Street, his head high. He felt elated at the prospect of going overseas to fight, but nervous as well, which he took to be a healthy sign. Te Kanene, who had fought alongside Te Kooti in the early 1870s, and the fearsome Titokowaru in Taranaki before that, said that any man who claimed to be unafraid of battle was either a fool, a liar, or simpleminded.

‘You have what!’ exclaimed Kepa, whirling about to face his son.

‘I’ve volunteered to go to South Africa. To fight for Queen Wikitoria.’

Kepa shook his head slowly and sat down. ‘You
stupid
boy. It is not our war and
she
is not our queen.’

Joseph stared straight ahead, refusing to catch his father’s eye. He would not be dissuaded.

‘Why?’ his father demanded. ‘Eh?
Why
?’

Joseph remained silent.

‘Is it because all your sheep drover friends are doing it? Speak up, boy! If you are old enough to fight someone else’s war, you are old enough to explain your reasons.’

‘Because I want to. Because all my
tupuna
were
toa
, and now it is my turn to become a warrior. It is my right,’ Joseph shot back.

Kepa was unconvinced. ‘Not everyone has to be a warrior to prove himself. I have not been to war, and I have plenty of
mana
.’

Yes, thought Joseph, but you sailed all over the world doing all sorts of illegal, adventurous and dangerous things. And that never did you any harm.

‘I forbid it,’ said Kepa.

‘It’s too late. I’ve signed,’ Joseph replied stubbornly.

‘You are not old enough.’

‘I lied.’

Kepa glared at his son. Although he had fathered three children, this boy was his first-born and he cherished him dearly. ‘I suppose you said you are
Pakeha
?’

Joseph nodded.

Kepa snorted in disgust. ‘Let them fight their own wars. This argument in South Africa about who owns the goldmines has nothing to do with you.’

‘Perhaps not, but where else am I going to find a war?’

There are plenty here still to fight, thought Kepa, although the weapons are words and laws, not guns and bayonets. He should
never have condoned his son joining the Volunteers, although the boy had done
that
behind everyone’s backs as well. He had definitely inherited his mother’s obstinate independence, there was no doubt about that.

‘Have you told Mereana?’

‘Not yet.’

There was a short silence as Kepa caught the pleading look in his son’s eyes. ‘Do not look at
me
!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am not telling her!’

He and Joseph had both been on the receiving end of Mereana’s volatile temper, and they knew she would not be at all happy about her foster son’s latest escapade. No doubt she would blame
him
, Kepa reflected sourly. ‘You had better go and tell her before she hears from someone else. You know that will only make it worse.’

Joseph nodded, picked up his hat and turned to leave his father’s house.

‘When do you leave?’

‘Monday. On the train. We are to be equipped and trained in Wellington.’

Kepa looked at his beautiful, vital, intelligent and headstrong son and felt his heart ache with love, pride and fear. ‘We will talk before you go,’ he said gently.

Joseph smiled. It was all right.

‘So have you given your approval?’ asked Tamar as she handed Kepa a cup of tea.

They were in the parlour at Kenmore. He had brought Parehuia with him, and she sat on the sofa looking regal, calm and as stylish as usual in a smartly tailored European riding outfit. Andrew had stayed long enough to greet them, but left to visit a neighbour to
negotiate the cost of a boundary fence. These days he preferred to leave Kepa and Tamar to discuss matters concerning their son.

‘I had no choice,’ Kepa replied. ‘He had already volunteered by the time he informed me. You know what he is like. He will be here tomorrow to talk to you himself, but I thought we should warn you.’

‘Yes, well, it has come as a shock, I must admit,’ said Tamar. ‘Will he be in any danger?’

‘Yes,’ replied Kepa flatly. ‘I cannot see Kruger and Steyn backing down. The Boers won the first war in 1881, and that will encourage them to fight for their independence even more resolutely this time. Do you not read the papers?’

‘Yes, but I’m Cornish, remember, and I have about as much respect for English authority as you do, Kepa. But I suppose I’ll have to keep up with the papers now, if Joseph is going to be over there.’

Kepa nodded glumly. ‘The press is full of it. The whole of New Zealand seems to be delighted at Seddon’s offer of contingents.
Pakeha
New Zealand, anyway. Approval of his offer was roundly supported in the House, with only one dissenting vote in the Legislative Council.’

Tamar was silent as she busied herself cutting a tea cake into slices.

Kepa watched her. She had aged well, he thought. At thirty-seven and the mother of five children, she was still slender and beautiful, and still dangerously attractive. This, however, was not something he acknowledged to anyone but himself, although he suspected Tamar was aware of his feelings. He also suspected the attraction remained mutual. But he had a wife of his own now, a fine woman whom he respected and cared for deeply and who had borne him two beautiful children. Their relationship now pivoted around their son, although to Kepa’s surprise he found he liked
and respected Andrew; the two of them got on well whenever they met. If Andrew had any misgivings about his wife having contact with the father of her illegitimate son, he hid them well.

‘It’s not what I had in mind for him, going off to fight in a war,’ said Tamar with a slight frown.

‘I had hoped to see him make something of himself, perhaps even move into the political arena,’ said Kepa. ‘Te Aute educated him for that, and he certainly has the ability. The boy is a born leader. But no, he has to go trotting off all over the most godforsaken stations this part of the country has to offer, sleeping in sheep muck. It annoys me, Tamar. He could be doing so much more.’

‘I rather gained the impression he was enjoying the life,’ replied Tamar.

‘Oh, yes, he loves it. But that is not the point.’

‘Isn’t it?’ asked Tamar. ‘He is only nineteen. Why force him into something he doesn’t want to do?’

Kepa appeared not to hear. ‘I had thought it was time to bring him into the family business. Stupid boy.’

Tamar smiled wryly. ‘I seem to remember you gallivanting around the world when you were younger.’

‘That was different, I was older. I thought Te Aute would have fostered the boy’s brains, not dulled them,’ Kepa muttered crossly.

Tamar rolled her eyes. ‘We sent him there to further his education and broaden his mind. Well, now it has been broadened, and so have his horizons. The whole world is out there, and he wants to see it.’

‘Yes, but why did he have to pick a
Pakeha
war!’ complained Kepa, fidgeting with his teaspoon.

Tamar laughed out loud. Kepa was too used to getting his own way. ‘I don’t want him going either, but he is, so we should support him. Stop complaining and make the best of it.’

Parehuia smirked behind her teacup. She liked it when Tamar
told her husband off. She loved him dearly but he was getting to be more like his manipulative old uncle every day.

Tamar continued. ‘We’ll all go to the railway station to see him off on Monday. And perhaps we’ll go to Wellington as well.’

Joseph and his cohorts were given an enthusiastic and spectacular farewell by the people of Napier on the morning of their departure for Wellington. It seemed as though the whole town turned out to wave them goodbye, with a carnival atmosphere at the railway station as throngs of people, many clutching small Union Jacks, swarmed alongside the train.