In the Shadow of the Trees (15 page)

‘I can have food on the table in ten minutes.’

‘OK. I’ll just nip back to my place and find a clean shirt.’

‘Hey, Liam,’ I called after him, ‘bring your fiddle.’

I was being so very cool and self-controlled. When he returned from the woolshed I opened a bottle of wine and served up. It wasn’t until we’d both started eating that I asked the question.

‘So, did you find out anything?’

‘Well, yes and no. It’s a bit like the stuff from Ireland. Lots of accrued wealth with no explanation. A family that kept itself very much to itself, bred in small numbers and lost its womenfolk in tragic circumstances.

‘First off I went to the council offices and asked about land registration records. The chap there was very helpful. I told him
I was tracking down my forebears who’d once owned land in the area before moving to the South Island. I said I believed the land had been sold to a family of Sullivans and if I could fix a date for the transfer of deeds it would help trace the Connors’ movements.’

‘That was good thinking.’

‘Yeah, I thought so too. Apparently all the historic records are now under a department called Land Information New Zealand and have all been moved off to the city or somewhere.’

‘Oh, that’s a bugger.’

‘No, that’s good. The purpose being that all registration information can be accessed by computer, as can all the associated archive material. Much quicker than looking through rooms full of old documents. He did most of the work for me, all part of the service he said. Mind you, it’s still that slack time in the holiday season—just a skeleton staff on, and I think he was glad of something to do. What’s this I’m eating?’

‘Chickpea and spinach fritters.’

‘Oh. Right. Anyway, he invited me into his office and even made me a cup of tea. Obviously knew what he was doing because he tracked it all down quite quickly. Strangely enough there
was
a Connors who sold land to the Sullivans around about the turn of the century, a common enough name and nothing to do with me as far as I know, but it did give my story a bit of credence. He traced it forward and found that same section is still part of the Sullivan estate. He downloaded it all and printed it out for me. There’s a pile of papers and maps that we’ll have to look through. But from what I gathered, they simply moved in and started buying up land. First one large block, enough to make a decent farm, and then they added more acres every few years until quite recently. That was about it.’

‘Oh. So then what?’

‘I’d been there quite a time so I grabbed a sandwich and went
straight to the local newspaper office. Opposite story there. They were short of staff and couldn’t spare me the time. Which was again good, because they left me alone with the microfiche and I didn’t have to make out I was looking for Connors.’

‘So, did you find anything there?’

‘Not really, although I was able to confirm the births and obituaries from the dates we already had.’

‘What about Jason and his mother?’

‘Yes, there was the birth of Jason in 1983. I searched all through 1987, which was when we figured she dropped out of the picture, but no mention of a death or anything. Then I scanned through masses of back issues from around the significant times but found nothing. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack, but, even so, I expected there to be regular mentions of Sullivans, seeing they were the biggest landowners in the area. All I found was a few articles about prize-winning bulls owned by a Mr Sullivan and other stuff to do with farming, all very impersonal. But the newspaper people did say that most of their early records, like stuff from the 1800s, have all been passed over to the museum. There it’s been set up as an archive display along with loads of photographs. So that might be worth a visit.’

‘You didn’t go there then?’

‘Well no, by the time I got out of the press office it was after four o’clock and I had to get back to see the sexton. Would you pass the salad?’

‘You want some more fritters?’

‘Yeah, I wouldn’t mind. They’re not bad when you get used to them. You want some more wine?’

‘Please. What about the sexton, did he tell you anything?’

‘Oh, the man’s an archive in himself—he must have been there when they built the church. Mr Withers is his name and he looks like he’s about to crumble into dust. But fiercely independent and defensive of his responsibilities. Insisted on
unlocking the cupboard and getting the books out himself, even though it took him half an hour to find the keyhole and the old volumes weighed more than he did. I stuck to the same story of tracing the Connors, so when I said I was working on the Sullivan place that led us neatly into the Sullivan family history.’

‘And, did he tell you anything?’

‘Nothing new, but he did throw some light on things we’ve already discovered. He knew about the early times when Michael Sullivan first arrived. Apparently that man’s quite a legend in these parts.

‘It seems there were numbers of people fetching up and wanting to buy land. But Michael came with money and official letters and got straight onto this government chap who negotiated a good piece of property for him. Apparently Michael actually knew what he was doing. There were lots who didn’t, middle-class dreamers who came for the adventure. They knew nothing of land or farming and bought up a few acres, not enough to grow a profitable crop even if the soil had been suitable. Despite all their struggles, most of them went under. Sullivan had money and hired the labour to clear the ground quickly and started raising cattle. Whenever one of his neighbours gave in, he bought their plot. Mind you, he gave a fair price, by all accounts, and helped them resettle as best they could. Some went back home, others stayed and fared much better by setting themselves up in business.

‘Meanwhile the Sullivan estates grew and grew, as did their bank balance, until the 1960s when Tom Sullivan, that’s our John Sullivan’s father, bought up that last little patch of orchard. Got it from a newly widowed woman who needed money more than oranges. Paid her almost twice what it was worth. The Sullivans are well respected. Nothing can be said against them, it seems, yet no one knows much about them.’

‘That doesn’t help us though, does it?’

‘No, but it does echo the story that came from Ireland. Also, now this is the interesting part, being with the Church and Church history, Mr Withers knew something about the burials. Shall I put the kettle on for coffee?’

‘No, it’s OK, I’ll do it. Go on, what about the burials?’

‘Well, there’s definitely something odd there. The way the Sullivan men reacted when their wives died. And the women too. Something happened to them when they came to live here. It’s as if the place affected them in some way.’

‘It sounds like you’re beginning to agree with me?’

‘Yes, I admit you may be right. But I’m still not jumping to any conclusions. It may simply have been the isolation of the place and the way they kept themselves separate from the community. Enough to send anyone stir crazy after a while.’

He looked hard at me. I looked down at my plate, pushing the food around aimlessly.

‘So, what about the men? What did they do?’

‘Well, according to Mr Withers, Michael married Anne two years after he arrived here. Their first child died after a few months—a poor wee thing, by all accounts, and not expected to last long. Nothing unusual in those days. Anne immediately fell pregnant again and the mother, Katherine, was already on her way to join them.’

‘That’s what Trevor Benson told me. I met him at Maggie’s place. Remember, you were at the bar talking with Sullivan.’

‘I remember,’ said Liam. ‘I wondered what you were up to.’

‘Asking if he knew anything about the gravestones, that’s all. So what else did old Withers say about Anne?’

‘Well, as Trevor probably also told you, Anne had a son, David, and after that she went a bit strange—at least that’s what was said. Just as well the mother was there to look after the little one. Anne kept wandering off, spent a few nights in the bush and they had to send the men out looking for her. Eventually there was that accident with the horse.

‘It seems Michael lost the plot completely when they found her. He insisted she be buried where she lay, even dug the grave himself. Now, it wasn’t really on to do that. As you pointed out, there’s a church nearby and there seemed to be expectations of a decent Christian burial. But by the time the local priest, or whatever he was, found out what was going on, the deed was done. When he tried to visit the grave Michael drove him off with a shotgun. It was after that Michael and his descendants started closing in on themselves.’

‘Was there anything suspicious about her death? Who found her?’

‘Who could say now? But it seems there was a whole bunch of people out looking for her and she’d been dead a while when she was found. Mary, now that’s another matter.’

‘I thought she died of pneumonia?’

‘Not that simple.’

Liam pushed his coffee mug to one side, making room for a sheaf of papers he had brought to the table.

‘Now, let’s see if I’ve got this right.’ He spread the pages, scanning the notes he had made. ‘Yes, now Anne died in 1866. Michael survived until 1913—he was eighty-one when he died. Meanwhile David, their son, married Mary in 1902 and she died in 1905, a year after giving birth to Tom. There’s an official note of her death, but no death certificate.’

‘No death certificate? But I thought you weren’t allowed to bury people without…Oh, I see, of course it was another DIY job. Trevor said she was found wandering about the hills in a rainstorm and caught pneumonia. Called away by Anne’s ghost, or so they reckon.’

‘Something like that,’ he agreed. ‘It seems she’d taken to wandering about at night. Apparently there were problems after the child was born. Mary never seemed to recover her strength. Her eldest sister, who’d been widowed by then, moved in after the birth and helped look after the child. Apparently
the Sullivan men weren’t best pleased having an outsider, but the child and the house needed tending to so there was little they could do about it.

‘When Mary was found, it was the sister who insisted the doctor be sent for. He diagnosed the pneumonia and didn’t hold out much hope. She held on for a few days and only David Sullivan was with her when she died. The first the sister knew about it was when she found him carrying Mary down the stairs all wrapped in a sheet. He said he was going to bury her. Of course there was an almighty row. The sister wanted her put back in the bed and the priest sent for. But Sullivan would have none of it, wouldn’t even let her see Mary’s body. It was like he’d gone a bit crazy. So the sister, she gets on a horse and rides off to fetch help. However, while she’s gone, David goes ahead and buries Mary himself.’

‘Was he allowed to do that?’

‘No, of course not. By then there were proper laws in place concerning disposal of bodies. Home burials were definitely out of order unless a designated site couldn’t be reached within a certain time.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Well, partly to do with the Church I suppose, but also for hygiene reasons. There were a lot of contagious illnesses still doing the rounds then, like diphtheria and cholera. I suppose you’d get diseases in the ground. Then it was a matter of rotting bodies contaminating the waterways and so forth. Plus they didn’t want some unsuspecting farmer digging up the previous owner’s granny.

‘However, he went ahead and buried Mary anyway. When the sister returned with the police, both David and the body were gone. By the time they’d tracked him down it was too late, the deed was done. Of course the authorities weren’t easy with this. The doctor was interviewed and confirmed that Mary had been ill and hadn’t been expected to live. But as it had been several days
since he had last seen her and, as there was no body to examine, he refused to issue a death certificate.’

‘Surely they would have exhumed the body?’

‘You’d have thought so. But somehow David managed to talk his way around it. Remember, he would have been quite a prominent figure by then. It was a tight community that relied on his generosity. And although his actions were out of order, there was no reason to suspect anything wrong with her death.’

‘So nobody actually saw the body. No one really knew how she died.’

‘No one—except David Sullivan.’

For a long time we sat in silence. The sun had set long ago and the room was swathed in shadows. I couldn’t see Liam’s face and was glad he couldn’t read mine. Eventually I fetched a candle and set it in the centre of the table. A draught from the window caused the flame to stretch tall and thin, so that the circle of light fell on the papers Liam had spread around. He started to look through them again.

‘There’s nothing to say what happened to Mary’s sister after that, or how the son was brought up,’ he said. ‘David never married again. He died in, let me see, here, 1940 aged seventy-five.’

‘I suppose in the meantime Mary’s son, Tom, got married.’

‘That’s right. This time it was Jane. Tom and Jane, of course, were John Sullivan’s parents. She committed suicide when he was two years old.’

‘Hell, no! Why? How?’

‘Why? God only knows. How? It seems she tried to cut her wrists, then hung herself. They took her down from one of the big trees out the back of the house. This time of course the police were involved and there was an inquest, the whole bit. “Suicide while the state of her mind was disturbed”, as they say. After the verdict, old Tom managed to get permission to bury her with the other two. Claimed it was an official family plot, that it had
been consecrated and was all quite legal. Mr Withers reckoned that was all nonsense, but a powerful landowner like that, and it being such tragic circumstances, no one argued. Besides, in those days suicides weren’t welcome on hallowed grounds so she couldn’t have gone in the churchyard anyway. Probably saved a lot of embarrassment all round.’

‘Did your Mr Withers know anything about Jason’s mother?’

‘I asked if he remembered her and he said he did. Very pretty girl, he said, bit strange. Didn’t go to church.’