Call of the Kiwi (21 page)

She had been so cold and exhausted by the end that she could hardly swim. She held herself just above water, and let the swelling tide carry her in.

When she awoke it was evening. She sat up, a little dazed. She had done it. She had escaped the steward and the harbor police. Gloria wanted to laugh hysterically. She had reached the other end of the world and was only two thousand six hundred miles from New Zealand—not counting the land that stretched from Darwin to Sydney. Gloria did not know whether ships sailed between the Northern Territory and New Zealand’s South Island, but from Sydney, she knew one could travel to Lyttelton.

Suddenly Gloria felt a gnawing hunger. She had to solve that before anything else, even if it meant stealing something edible. But that meant she would have to go into town, and her clothing was still damp; she would stand out if she slunk through the streets. Gloria pulled off her wool pullover and spread it on the sand. She did not dare take off her shirt and pants, however desolate the beach might seem. But as she turned out her pockets to dry them faster, she felt damp paper. When she drew it out, she looked in bewilderment at the ten-dollar bill, Harry’s “good-bye present.” Her share in her sale to the steward.

Gloria smiled. She was rich.

10

W
hen Lilian finally made it back to Greymouth after an extended stay on Kiward Station, during which she helped her mother bury both James McKenzie and Charlotte, she was determined to be put to work.

“What do you want to do in the mine, birdie?” Tim asked, smiling. Though he would be delighted to have his darling daughter around him every day, he could not come up with any tasks for her off the top of his head.

“Whatever a person does in an office. Writing receipts, calling people.” Lily had no fear of the new telephone that now had a place in every office. “I can do anything your secretary can do.”

“And what will we do with my secretary?” he teased her.

“Maybe we need more, you know,” she said vaguely. “Besides, there’s plenty to do down in the mines.”

Lilian began by taking over all the telephone operations, and, in no time, she had twisted her callers around her little finger one after another. She refused to take no for an answer from suppliers or shippers. The businesses in Greymouth were already used to being bossed around by a woman, though what Florence Biller approached with hardness, Lily managed with charm. For that reason alone, young business partners in particular expedited deliveries in order to get to know the girl with the bright telephone voice. And Lilian did not disappoint, taking the time to entertain them when they had to wait for her father or the foreman. Even interacting with the miners came easily to Lilian, though she, too, had to endure the superstitious stories about women in the mine.

Lilian tore through the office, taking on any task she could think of. Though she scalded herself constantly when brewing coffee, she quickly figured out how to keep books. Unlike the older office workers, she was excited by novelties like typewriters and learned to type in record time.

“It goes a lot faster than writing by hand,” she said blithely. “You could write good stories with one of these.”

Lilian’s good spirits never failed to cheer her father up. Winter was always hard on him, and his hips and legs hurt unbearably in the cold, but the offices could hardly be shut against every draft. Chronically overworked during that first year of the war, he occasionally took out his bad mood on his secretaries, but with Lilian’s presence that got better. Not only because he loved her, but also because she made fewer mistakes. The girl was clever and showed interest in running the enterprise. She asked her father dozens of questions on the way to work and often had the relevant documents ready for him before Tim had even explained to the office workers what he needed.

“We should have had her study mine engineering,” Tim said to his wife as Lilian explained the concept of a hoisting tower to her little brother. “Or business management. I’m starting to believe that she could put some fear into Florence Biller.”

Lilian had no real ambitions when it came to mine management, however. Working for her father was nothing more than a game for her. She wanted to do everything as well as possible and did so, but she did not dream of reviewing balance sheets the way Florence had at her age. Lilian still dreamed of love, though there were few suitable young men among Greymouth society.

“You’re still too young anyway,” Elaine told her when she complained about it. “First grow up, and then you’ll find a husband.”

Spring came and went without any possibility of romance for Lilian. To distract herself, she combed her parents’ bookshelves. Fortunately she shared her mother’s taste for romantic literature. Elaine did not complain when she ordered the latest novels from England—on the contrary, mother and daughter yearned with the heroines for their beloveds.

“Not that they have anything to do with reality,” Elaine felt compelled to clarify, but Lilian dreamed on undeterred.

“You’ll have the chance to dance on Sunday,” her father said one day while Lilian was once again swooning over the debutante balls and dramatic entanglements in one of her novels. “If only at the church picnic. We also have to make an appearance at the charity bazaar. The Billers will be there too. As it happens, their oldest is back from Cambridge.”

“Seriously? He’s still so young. Did he graduate already?” Elaine was surprised.

“He’s rather a high achiever. Like his father.”

“Like hi
s . . .
? Oh, Lily, run to the pantry and fetch some more cookies. Check the jar on the second shelf to the left.”

Lilian left in a huff. She knew when she was being sent out.

“You won’t believe it, but the boy looks like Caleb,” Tim remarked. He knew Lainie loved gossip. “The same narrow face, the lanky frame.”

“But didn’t we all think it was her secretary?”

“I’m telling you what I saw at the hardware store. Matt told me I ought to look at the new crossbeams myself. And, well, Florence was there with the boy. All he has from his mother are his eyes; he seems very athletic. But supposedly he’s a bookworm. Florence had just scolded him—in public, no less—because he couldn’t differentiate screws from nails. She’s trying to bring him in line now. He’s supposed to help with the mine.”

“But he can’t have finished his studies.” Elaine did the math. “He’s Lily’s age, a little younger even.”

“They probably brought him back because of the war. His brother isn’t even going to England. They’re sending him to Dunedin, I heard. Europe isn’t safe.”

“This godforsaken war; does it seem unreal to you too?”

“Not when I look at our balance sheets. All that coal means steel. And steel means weapons, and weapons death. Cannons, machine guns, what an infernal invention. The poor fellows drop like flies in front of them. I could hardly tell you why.” Tim frowned. “I’m just relieved our boys are too little to get into any trouble.” The British army had recently begun recruiting in New Zealand and Australia, and the first contingent would be leaving for Europe soon.

By Sunday the constant rain had finally ceased, and Greymouth looked like it had been freshly washed. Yes, the mining sites marred the beautiful landscape a bit, but nature won the upper hand. Fern forests flourished up to the city limits, and the banks of the Grey River were full of romantic little spots. The church lay a little outside of town, and they passed by lush, green meadows on the way there.

“A little like England,” Lilian said, remembering the day of the boat race in Cambridge. Ben had proved to be right. The famous regatta between Cambridge and Oxford had been cancelled for the first time on account of the war. Even after Rupert’s graduation, Ben would not have had a chance to distinguish himself as a stroke.

The scene in front of the church looked exactly like what Lilian remembered from her childhood. Men were setting up tables; women were carrying picnic baskets and looking for shady places to deposit them during the church service. Since the weather was cooperating, the reverend had relocated the service outdoors. Excited children spread out blankets all around the improvised altar as their mothers and grandmothers decorated the tables for the bazaar that would take place later. Mrs. Tanner, who considered herself to be the most important pillar of the community, whispered with her friends about Madame Clarisse, the owner of the pub and brothel, who led her flock of easy women to church as she did every Sunday and apparently had no intention of skipping out on the picnic.

Elaine and her kitchen maid, Mary Flaherty, unpacked their basket while Roly and Tim discussed vehicles with the parish’s other car owners.

“You ought rather to help me with the basket,” Mary called to her boyfriend, Roly, who had just been boasting that the Lamberts’ Cadillac easily had more horsepower than the other cars. Roly acquiesced with a sigh.

Elaine greeted her mother-in-law, Nellie Lambert, with a forced smile and pressed her brood to curtsy and bow. Then the little boys disappeared into the crowd. Lilian joined a few girls who were picking flowers for the altar.

Shortly before the church service began, the Billers’ car pulled up. It was even bigger and more modern than the Lamberts’. While the men cast covetous looks at the vehicle, Elaine and her friend Charlene concentrated on the passengers. Matt Gawain had told his wife about the remarkable similarity between Caleb Biller and Florence’s oldest son, and both of them held their breath when Caleb and the boy alighted from the vehicle. They were not disappointed. Even the somewhat grumpy expression on the boy’s face reminded them of a young Caleb. Elaine could still vividly recall her first encounter with Caleb at a horse race. Caleb’s father had forced him to take part, and the young man had hardly been able to contain his fear and revulsion.

The younger Biller also seemed not to have come entirely of his own free will. As his mother cast indignant glances at him, his shoulders sagged in resignation. Though more muscular than his father, Ben was just as tall and thin. Florence assembled her family around her. She was a compact woman, with a slightly doughy face that was sprinkled with freckles, and she wore her thick brown hair tied back in an austere bun. Florence forced a smile as she pushed her three boys toward the pastor. While the younger boys performed a quick bow, the eldest proved reticent. But then he saw the girl winding flowers around the altar, and his eyes flashed.

The short, red-haired girl.

Lilian was arranging the last few garlands and eyeing the altar with a furrowed brow. Yes, that would do. When she turned to the reverend, expecting praise, she instead found herself looking at clear, light-green eyes, a longish face, blond hair. The boy had the thoroughly trained body of a rower, which grew taut as he recognized her.

“Ben.”

The boy’s expression reflected disbelief as well. But then an almost otherworldly smile spread across his face.

“Lily! What are you doing here?”

War

C
ANTERBURY
P
LAINS
, G
REYMOUTH
, G
ALLIPOLI
,
AND
W
ELLINGTON

1914–1916

1

W
hen her clothes had dried, Gloria dragged herself into town. She was half-dead from hunger by then. It was getting cool, and she needed something to eat and a place to sleep. Finding food was not difficult. There were plenty of restaurants, tearooms, and cookshops in the harbor town. Gloria was careful not to come too close to either the harbor or the adjacent red-light district. She likewise avoided places where mostly men were sitting, regardless of how appetizing the odors coming from the kitchen were, or that she was dressed as a boy.

She came upon a small tearoom operated by a woman. It was almost empty, with only a few elderly customers. Gloria relaxed. It looked like several of them had been served a thick stew. Gloria shyly asked for a meal by pointing at the others’ food, and the owner brought Gloria a large bowl of stew. She observed with pleasure how the apparent young man wolfed down the food.

With an almost conspiratorial smile, she fetched him seconds.

“Here, boy, it looks like you haven’t eaten in days. What did you do, swim here from Indonesia?”

Gloria turned crimson and focused on lowering her voice. “How did you know that
I . . .
”

“That you came off a ship? That’s not hard to figure. First off, I’d have noticed a boy as cute as you if you came from here. And what’s more, you look like a seaman who’s just disembarked. Your hair’s just screaming for the barber, boy. You’ve still not much of a beard, though.” The woman laughed. “But you’ve taken a bath. That’s a good sign. And you haven’t taken to whiskey. All very praiseworthy. First time aboard?”

Gloria nodded. “But it was awful,” she blurted out. “I, I’d like to stay on land now.”

The woman nodded understandingly. “So, what do you want to do now?”

Gloria shrugged. Then she gathered up all her courage.

“Would you know where I could find a place to sleep? I don’t have much money,
I . . .
”

“I might have thought so. They hired you on for a few cents, the crooks. And then didn’t feed you properly. Now you’re just skin and bones. You can come again tomorrow, on my word, and I’ll give you a good breakfast. As for places to sleep, the pastor at the Methodist church has a few habitations for men. Anyone who can makes a small donation, but if you don’t have the money, no one will say anything.”

She headed nervously over to the church on Knuckey Street. The pastor, a tall, blond man, was holding a scarcely attended service. Gloria glanced uneasily at three ragged-looking men in the second pew. Were they the guests at the men’s lodging?

Gloria prayed politely but declined to sing along to the closing hymn. “Jack” was still young, but his voice should already have broken. As service ended, she sought the reverend and stuttered through the story she had told the woman at the tearoom: “Jack,” a native New Yorker, had hired on to a ship to Darwin looking for adventure. The captain had exploited him, and the other men had been unfriendly.

“The way you look, they might just as well have been too friendly,” the pastor remarked grimly. “You ought to thank God for having come out of that with your body and soul intact.”

Gloria did not understand what he meant but reddened nevertheless.

“You’re clearly a good boy. But you get your hair cut. Tonight you’ll sleep here. We’ll see about the rest tomorrow.”

Gloria had almost hoped for a room to herself, but the men’s lodgings proved to consist of five bunk beds crammed in a small, bare room; a crucifix on the wall provided the only decoration. Gloria sought out a bed in the furthest corner, hoping to be left alone, but as evening progressed, the room filled with “guests” of various ages. Once more Gloria found herself enduring the stench of unwashed bodies and men’s sweat. At least it did not reek of whiskey; the reverend made sure of that. A few of the men played cards, while others chatted. An older man who had taken the bunk across from Gloria’s attempted to draw her into conversation too. He introduced himself as Henry and asked for her name. Gloria answered monosyllabically, on her guard. This proved wise. Henry, apparently a seaman, did not swallow her story as readily as the undiscerning man of God.

“A ship from New York to Darwin? There’s no such thing, lad. It’d have to sail half the world.”

Gloria blushed. “I, they, they went to Indonesia first,” she stammered, “to take on some cargo.”

Henry frowned, but then began telling stories about his own trips, all of which had to do with his seemingly unending loneliness on board. Gloria hardly listened. She regretted her decision to stay the night, but at least it seemed safe enough.

Or was it? Once the oil lamps had been put out and Gloria had curled up to sleep, she felt a hand stroking her cheek. It was all she could do to keep herself from screaming.

“Did I wake you, Jacky?” Henry’s voice, rather high-pitched for a man’s, was near her face. “I was thinking, such a sweet lad, maybe you’d keep me warm tonight.”

Gloria panicked.

“Leave me alone,” she whispered sharply, not daring to scream. In her overheated imagination, she feared that they all might pile onto her. “Go away! I want to sleep alone.”

“I won’t tell the reverend about your ship to Darwin. You see, he don’t like to be lied to.”

Gloria trembled. She did not care what the geezer told the reverend. She only wanted to get away. But if he forced her “to be good to him,” he’d find out she was a girl. With the courage born of desperation, she pulled back her knee and struck the man between the legs.

“Get gone,” she growled.

Too loud. The men all around were stirring. But to her amazement, they took “Jack’s” side.

“Henry, you pig, leave the boy in peace. You heard him; he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Henry groaned, and Gloria succeeded in pushing him away, evidently pushing him into somebody else.

“
’Aven’t ’ad enough yet, you queer bastard? You can get a beating ’ere too if you want.”

Gloria did not understand but sighed with relief. Not wanting to take any more risks, she retreated to the water closet with her bed linens and engaged the bar lock. Then she huddled in her sheets as far from the urinals as possible. In the morning, she left the church before anyone awoke. She did not leave an offering. Instead she sought the nearest store and invested three of her valuable dollars in a knife and sheath she could affix to her waistband.

Next came the lice. The brief submersion in the sea had not taken care of them. With some reluctance, she entered a pharmacy and asked for the cheapest possible cure.

The pharmacist laughed. “The cheapest thing would be to shave your head, son. You need a haircut anyway. You look like a girl. Quick as you like, no hair, no lice. And follow it up by powdering your head with this.” He handed some medicine over the counter.

Gloria bought the powder for a few cents, found a barber, and had her head completely shorn. She did not even recognize herself when she looked in the mirror.

“It’ll grow back, lad,” the barber laughed. “That’ll be fifty cents.”

Gloria felt strangely free as she headed toward the tearoom. She desperately needed a good breakfast and was prepared to pay for it. Her new friend kept her word, however, and piled baked beans, eggs, and ham on a plate at no charge.

“A little shorter would have been proper, but shaved bald! The girls won’t like that, young man.”

Gloria shrugged. As long as it didn’t bother possible employers, she didn’t care.

Finding a job proved difficult, however. All the more so because Gloria would not brave the harbor. Plenty of work could be found on the docks—people were always looking for help loading and unloading—but Gloria stuck to the town, to no avail. Ragged boys like Jack whom no one could vouch for were regarded with distrust. After half a day of looking in vain, Gloria almost wished she had not left the Methodist church so heedlessly. The pastor could surely have helped her. But her fear of Henry and the other men was stronger. She invested a few more precious cents in a room in a small inn. For the first time in months, she slept peacefully, alone and entirely securely between clean sheets. The next day, she was able to take the place of a messenger boy who had not shown up to work. She carried a few letters and packets from one office to another, earning just enough to keep her room another night. Though she managed to get a few more odd jobs in the following days, her financial situation was growing dire. Of her ten dollars, only four remained. A journey to Sydney was unthinkable unless she walked there.

So that is what she did. There was nothing for “Jack” to earn in Darwin. Hence Gloria set out along the coast, trying to find short-term work in smaller settlements. There were sure to be farms, she hoped, that needed a stableboy. Or fishermen who needed help with the catch.

Alas, all her hopes proved illusory. After two weeks, “Jack” had covered only a hundred miles, and all her money was gone. Crestfallen, she wandered the alleys of a tiny harbor town. Once again she had no place to sleep, and hunger gnawed at her. But she only had five cents left. She couldn’t even get a meal in the dive she was just passing by.

“Hey, kid, wanna earn a few cents?”

Gloria started. It was a man on his way into a dubious-looking pub. She couldn’t make out his face in the dark, but his hand was reaching into his pants.

“I’m a boy,” Gloria whispered, feeling for her knife. “
I . . .
”

The man laughed. “Well, that’s what I was hoping. I don’t want anything with girls. I’m looking for a strapping lad to keep me company tonight. Come this way. I pay well, you know.”

Gloria turned on her heels and ran until she was out of breath; then she collapsed on a bridge that spanned a river that flowed into the sea. Two skimpily dressed girls were strolling between the bridge and the harbor wall.

“Well, handsome? Looking for company tonight?”

Gloria fled anew, running until she stumbled onto a beach, sobbing. There were probably crocodiles nearby, but she didn’t care. She lay trembling in the sand for a while, but then she began to think. She needed to get out of Australia. But it seemed hopeless to try and raise the money for the journey by honorable means. “Jack” might have scraped by working temporary jobs, but she could forget about a ticket to New Zealand.

The cynical voice of the steward came to her: “Just do what you’re best at.”

Gloria whimpered. But she could not deny it: she had never been paid much for anything except being “good” to men. Without Harry’s ten dollars, she would not have survived. And if she worked for herself, there was clearly money to be made.

Gloria sat up. She had no choice. She had to try. It was undoubtedly dangerous—the other girls would not be happy about the competition—but there were many things normal whores would not do. Gloria likewise felt shame, pain, and fear from performing these acts, but there was nothing the men on the
Niobe
had not demanded of her. She had survived that, and she would weather this too.

Gloria felt sick, but she rummaged through “Jack’s” bundle for the only dress she had and was relieved to find a hat as well. Reluctantly she put them on and strolled toward the bridge.