Isle of Tears (11 page)

Mr Heath smiled brightly, even though his fatigue was evident. ‘So what can I do for you today, Miss McKinnon?’

‘It’s aboot ma father, and oor land.’

Mr Heath inclined his head to indicate that she should continue.

‘I’m wantin’ tae find oot aboot the payments.’

‘Regarding his loan with us, I presume?’

‘Aye,’ Isla said. ‘I’ve the papers here.’ She reached inside her blouse and withdrew the packet in its oilskin wrapping.

‘May I see, please?’ Mr Heath asked, leaning forward in his fancy swivel-chair.

Isla stood, crossed to the desk and handed him the packet. Mr Heath unfolded the oilskin, then spent a few minutes scrutinizing the contents.

Finally, he looked up. ‘May I ask why have
you
come to see me today, Miss McKinnon, and not your father?’

‘Ma father is deid, sir. Kilt by the Maori a few weeks ago. And ma mother.’

Mr Heath looked appalled. ‘Oh dear, how absolutely shocking! Please
do
accept my condolences, Miss McKinnon. These surely are terrible times we’re living in. Have you informed them at the barracks? You must, if you haven’t already. But, may I ask, how did you escape? Although what a blessing it was that you did.’

‘Ma brothers and sister and I hid in the cellar.’

Mr Heath shook his head mournfully. ‘I really don’t know what to say. Do you have other family in New Zealand?’

‘We’ll be goin’ up tae Auckland soon,’ Isla lied.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, my dear.’

‘Thank ye. But ma father’s land, Mr Heath. Where do we stand wi’ that?’

Mr Heath swivelled his chair and reached for a fat ledger book on the shelf to his right. He opened it on his desk and ran a finger down the page.

‘Oh dear. I’m sorry, Miss McKinnon, but I note that the last instalment on the loan has not been paid. It was due on March the sixteenth.’

‘Aye. Ma da was deid by then.’

Consulting a calendar, Mr Heath said after a moment, ‘Which means, unfortunately, that the payment is now exactly one month and five days overdue.’ He regarded Isla sympathetically. ‘And
would I be correct in assuming that you don’t have the money to pay the arrears?’

‘How much is it?’

Mr Heath told her and she almost fainted. They would never be able to come up with that much! But then, she’d always known that, hadn’t she? Her dream of holding onto Braeburn seemed doomed to remain just that. But perhaps something could be salvaged.

‘Is there any money in ma father’s bank account?’

Mr Heath consulted the ledger again, and said, ‘I’m afraid not.’ Rather too quickly, Isla thought.

‘May I see, please?’ she asked.

‘Oh. Yes, of course,’ Mr Heath replied, although Isla was sure she saw a flicker of unease cross his face.

She perused the latest figures in the ledger and frowned.

‘Forgive me, Miss McKinnon, but can you read?’

Isla could read, and quite well, but she didn’t have a good grasp on numbers, especially when they were presented in column after column like these ones were.

‘Does it no’ say here that there’s twenty-seven pounds in ma father’s account?’

‘I really am afraid not. It says that your father
owes
the bank twenty-seven pounds.’

‘But it’s written in black. Does that no’ mean credit?’

Mr Heath looked even more uneasy and, Isla thought, shifty now as well. ‘I’m sorry, but no. Black means debt,
red
means credit.’

Isla looked at him hard, sure that he was lying. And if he was, she knew why: if there had been a run on the bank over the last few days, he probably couldn’t afford to release the money to her. It would easily be enough to cover the outstanding loan repayments, though, and several future instalments.

‘What if I could pay the arrears?’ she said.

‘You can’t, unfortunately. The loan is in your father’s name.’

‘But what will happen tae the land?’

‘I’m very much afraid that the bank will have to foreclose.’

‘Take the land back, ye mean?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

Isla was silent for a long minute. Then she said, ‘So am I, Mr Heath,’ and stood up. ‘Thank ye for your time.’

When she’d gone, Mr Heath rested his elbows on his desk, covered his face with his hands and sighed despairingly.

Niel was incensed. ‘He cannae do that, can he?’

‘Well, he just did,’ Isla said tersely. She wanted to weep with frustration and anger, but refused to succumb to tears.

‘So what now?’

‘We go back tae Waikaraka.’

‘Shite,’ Niel swore, then spat in disgust. ‘Typical bloody Sassenachs.’

Isla had to agree, pushing to the back of her mind the kindness of Molly and Albert, who had very clearly been English. ‘Come on, then. Tai will be waiting for us.’

But when they reached the piquet on the outskirts of town, they were stopped and told to go back.

When Isla asked why, a soldier said impassively, ‘Colonel Gold’s orders. Settlers are allowed in, but no one’s allowed out again. Too dangerous, innit? Too many of them bloody Maoris runnin’ about.’

Isla held her tongue and tried to stare him down, but it was no use.

‘C’mon, back yis go,’ the soldier said, gesturing with his bayonet.

So they walked back through town, then followed Gover Street until they reached the beach, where they turned right and kept going along the sand until they came to the stockyards near the headland. Turning inland again, they walked out of New Plymouth the way that anyone could have also walked in, even a large Maori war party.

Keeping well clear of the town limits, an hour later they reached the spot where the day before they had left Tai. Except that he wasn’t there.

Trying to quell the bubble of panic rising in her chest, Isla asked Niel if he was sure this was the right place. Seeing the expression of alarm on her face, he pursed his lips and gave a high, clear series of whistles that sounded exactly like the call of a bird, then stood there looking inordinately pleased with himself.

The whistle was returned, and a minute later Tai emerged from a stand of bush not far away. As Isla let out a sigh of relief, he grinned widely.

‘I said I would be waiting,’ he reminded her.

‘Aye, ye did. And I’m glad tae see ye.’

‘And I you. Kei te pehea koe? Did you attend to your business?’

‘We are fine, but I think we’ve lost oor father’s land,’ Isla replied, and told him what had happened.

Tai shook his head in commiseration. ‘I am very sorry about that. I know how your heart must hurt.’

And suddenly Isla realized exactly why the Ngati Pono were so willing to go to war to keep their lands.

By three o’clock, they had almost reached Manutahi on the homeward journey when Isla asked to stop so that she could rest for a minute, easing her peke off her shoulder and subsiding onto a ponga log.

Concerned, Tai watched her as she sat listlessly, panting slightly and lifting her hair so that the breeze could blow across her neck. ‘Do you not feel well?’

Isla coughed, and winced. ‘I feel hot and ma throat hurts.’

Tai exchanged a worried glance with Niel. ‘Was there sickness in the town?’

‘Aye,’ Niel confirmed, ‘but we didnae hear what it wis.’

Tai squatted before Isla, noting her unnaturally bright eyes, her flushed cheeks, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. ‘Can you go on?’

Isla nodded. ‘Aye, just give me a minute.’

Tai gave her a lot longer than that, and when she was ready he shouldered her peke as well as his and took her hand. ‘As soon as we come to a stream, drink as much as you can.’

But instead of stopping near Manutahi for the night, Tai suggested that they press on for as long as they could. In an aside to Niel, he explained that he wanted to be as close to Waikaraka as possible when they did stop, in case one of them needed to go for help. Niel, his eyes wide, agreed.

‘What’s wrong wi’ her?’ he asked, increasingly alarmed by the sight of his sweating, flushed sister.

‘I do not know,’ Tai replied, looking unsure of himself, for the first time in Niel’s experience. ‘I do not know what this means.’

During the next two hours Isla fell over twice, and after the third time she mumbled that she didn’t think she could get up again. So Tai and Niel made camp, and set about making Isla as comfortable as they could. While Tai went off to find water, Niel held her hand and told her that everything would be all right, and not to worry because he would look after her.

By the time Tai returned she had fallen asleep, but her laboured breathing was now accompanied by a frightening rasping sound in her throat. And that was when Niel really started to panic.

‘Why’s she makin’ that noise? Can she no’ breathe? Should we sit her up? Help me sit her up, will ye?’

‘Isla!’ Tai said loudly, and gently shook her shoulder.

Isla stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Are we home?’

‘Not yet. You were making a strange noise. Can you breathe properly?’

Isla’s eyes closed again. ‘I’m verra thirsty.’

Niel dipped a tin mug into the billy and held it to Isla’s mouth. She lifted her head and greedily slurped at the water, spilling it down her chin and neck, then Tai helped her to sit so she could finish it.

‘More,’ she demanded.

Niel gave her another mugful, then set the billy over the tiny fire to which Tai had consented. He also offered Isla a piece of cold potato, but she turned her head away: putting some aside in case she wanted it later, he and Tai ate what was left.

‘He aha te taima?’ Tai asked when they had finished their meal.

Niel retrieved his watch and held it near the flames so he could read the dial. ‘Nearly half past nine.’ He looked at Tai. ‘We’re gonnae have a long night, aye?’

Tai agreed. ‘I will watch over her.’

‘Aye, I will too.’

In the end, they took turns. Isla slept fitfully, but they woke her regularly to give her water. As the night progressed, she coughed constantly and began to cry out, for both her mother and her father, which made Niel weep, although he tried to hide it from Tai, and she ceased to respond to their gentle questions.

By the morning, she was worse. The flesh beneath her jaw had swollen grotesquely and she seemed nearer unconsciousness than sleep. When the sun rose, Tai gave Niel detailed instructions about how to get back to Waikaraka, and told him to run as fast as he could and bring help.

When he’d gone, Tai checked that his shotgun was loaded, then lay down beside Isla, covered them both with a blanket and curled himself around her, doing the only thing he could think of to still the tremors racking her body.

Some time later he woke with a terrible start, horrified to realize that he’d fallen asleep himself. Quickly he rolled Isla onto her back, relieved beyond measure to find that she was still breathing, albeit shallowly and accompanied by the hideous rasping noise that had worsened during the night. She hit out at him and muttered something incomprehensible about this not being a battlefield and that he would die after all.

Convinced now that she might very well die before Niel could return with help, Tai made a decision. Leaving everything at the campsite except his shotgun, he wrapped her in the blanket, picked her up and set off with her along the track. For such a slender girl she seemed very heavy, and he wondered how far he’d get before he fell over himself. When he did, after an hour of stumbling along, Isla didn’t even wake. He forced himself to go on. By midday, the muscles in his legs were cramping constantly, his arms, back and neck were in agony, and sweat poured down his face and chest. But still he staggered on, making all sorts of deals with gods—both Christian and Maori—that he would do anything they wished if he could just get Isla back to Waikaraka in time. At one point he began to weep, as the limp, unresponsive weight in his arms told him that the life spark of the girl he loved above all others was dimming.

Mere, Niel, Wira and Harapeta found him mid-afternoon,
sitting exhausted at the side of the track two hours out from Waikaraka, his back against a tree and with Isla’s head resting in his lap. He was murmuring to her quietly and gently stroking her face.

Mere fell to her knees, and cupped her hands lightly around Isla’s distended throat. ‘How long has her neck been like this?’ she asked without looking up.

‘Since this morning.’

‘And has it become worse throughout the day?’ From the corner of her eye, Mere noticed Wira and Harapeta moving closer and commanded,
‘No!
Stay back!’

‘Ne te aha?’ Harapeta asked, perplexed.

‘Because whatever is wrong with her may fly from her to you!’ Mere snapped, fear making her terse. ‘We have seen it before, ae?’

Wira stopped in his tracks, grimly recalling the flight of his people to Puketeitei ten years before.

Suddenly his wife turned on him. ‘This is
your
doing, you foolish, prideful man!’

‘Kaua koe e korero pena mai ki a au!’ he shot back.

‘I
will
speak to you like that! It was you who wanted them to go to the town!’

‘I did not know there would be disease there!’

‘Ae, and now it is here as well.’ Mere turned back to Isla, gently pressing her throat and laying her head against Isla’s chest to hear the laboured breathing. ‘I do not know what sickness this is,’ she said eventually. ‘Wira and Harapeta, make a whataamo to carry her.’

While her husband and son fashioned a litter from the slender trunks of several manuka lashed together with twine and covered with ponga branches, Mere interrogated Tai about whether he felt well and gave his neck a thorough prodding, pronouncing that he didn’t seem to have the illness himself. Yet.

Niel didn’t appear to have any symptoms either, and Mere allowed herself to relax, although only a fraction.

‘You and Niel will carry her back to the village,’ she ordered Tai, then turned to Wira. ‘You and Harapeta, go back now. Tell Ngahere to prepare one of the whare beyond the fence. Tell her to put in clean bracken, mats and blankets. And a lamp for the night and fresh water. Tell the people that no one is to go near the whare when we get there. It will be tapu. And no one is to come beyond the fence while we are putting her there. Do you understand?’