Toward the Sea of Freedom (55 page)

The reverend was not exaggerating. Dunloe’s bank was in a new three-story building of Oamaru stone, a white limestone, and it was as centrally located as the church would someday be.

“The rent must be unaffordable.” Kathleen worried, but Claire would not be deterred.

“London fashion is also unaffordable here,” she laughed, managing to win over Mr. Dunloe at the same time.

The tall blond man seemed quite taken with the two women. He greeted each of them with a kiss on the hand, which made Kathleen blush. She only knew of such things from her landlords in Ireland; it was not common in her circles. Claire, on the other hand, blossomed when the banker invited them, and the reverend, too, to tea right after they met. The drink did not meet the standard of a fine house, however; the Maori maid had let it steep far too long, and she did not serve it correctly. The dark-haired, somewhat plump girl did not seem at all comfortable. She looked out the window incessantly—apparently she found the prospect of working on the second floor frightening.

“You can’t find any servants here,” Mr. Dunloe said apologetically.

At that Claire seized the teapot. “If you’ll allow me,” she said amiably. “Come along, girl. What’s your name? I’ll show you how to do it right.”

Claire disappeared into the kitchen with the completely willing Haki. In Claire’s absence, Kathleen tried to turn the conversation over to the reverend. She felt unsure of herself in the fine salon furnished with English furniture. But Mr. Dunloe was enthusiastic about her designs and would not be distracted from talking about them.

“Very tasteful, if not the latest fashion,” he declared—after all, he had just arrived from London. “You need a few new magazines for inspiration. And material; you’ll need to purchase material. I can give you contacts in London. Without a doubt, the business has a future. You’ll make more money than most of these poor devils mining for gold. In addition to clothes, I would offer a few accessories as well. Think about it: soon a few adventurers who actually find gold will be going in and out of my bank. They’ll be in a spending mood, but of course they won’t know their sweethearts’ measurements well enough to order a dress straight away. But a little hat, a silk handkerchief, a purse . . . Believe me, Mrs. Coltrane, here in the city, this will be the true gold mine.”

Just then Claire came back in with a fresh pot of tea and Haki trailing behind her. “Then we’ll name our store Gold Mine Boutique.” She smiled and turned back to the Maori maid. “Look, Haki, this is how you stand next to the gentlemen when you fill their cups. Then no one will get burned if there’s a splash. Don’t always look out the window, child. The house isn’t going to fall down.” Claire shook her head, indulgently but decisively. “Mr. Dunloe, the girl is handy, but she’s scared to death up here. Why don’t you give us Haki to help with the store, and you can look for a maid without a fear of heights? I’ll show the next one how to make tea properly, first thing.”

Matters with the business were coming along well, but while Claire was bubbling with joy at their new opportunity, Kathleen felt empty when Peter Burton said good-bye before setting out for the Tuapeka River.

“You’ll never get all of that in one go,” Kathleen said unhappily when she saw all the materials he had gathered for his tent mission.

The reverend nodded. “I will, but I’ll have to lead the horse. It’ll be fine; don’t worry. I just need a packsaddle.”

Kathleen looked at the ground. She hated her shyness. She had not been like this before. But the years with Ian—whom she had never liked to look in the eye and who would punish her if she looked, even plainly, in any man’s direction—had done their damage.

“If you . . . if you would do me the kindness, I’d be happy to give you my mule,” she said quietly. “I don’t need it anymore, after all, now that we live in the city.”

Peter Burton’s face brightened—not because of the mule, though it would be a great help, but rather because Kathleen was thinking of him. She was so often detached, but just now it did seem she cared for him after all.

“I’m happy to accept, Kathleen, and I’ll take good care of it,” he said formally. “Kathleen, would it, I mean, would you find it unpleasant? I would like to kiss you good-bye.”

He did not want to admit it, but the path ahead horrified him—the filthy gold miners’ camps and serving the men there. Peter Burton was an affable man. He liked all facets of the priest’s office—from the clever sermons to dancing at weddings, from the sympathetic accompaniment of the dying to the baptizing of new parishioners. But he could see clearly what was awaiting him: Drunks he had to prevent from fighting, desperate men who had left house and home to look for gold and yet did not become rich. The sick, the lonely, the abandoned, idlers and dreamers, petty scoundrels, and hardened criminals. Peter Burton thought his God owed him at least a beautiful dream before sending him into this strange and hostile world.

Kathleen looked up at him timidly. “Why?” she asked.

Peter lifted his hand. He would have gladly stroked her cheek, but her gaze became even more anxious as he neared her face. So he only stroked her hair, so gently and carefully that she hardly could have felt it, though he felt the softness of her locks. That would have to do. God was not very generous.

“We’ll put it off,” he sighed, “until you don’t ask anymore.”

Gold Mine Boutique became a success as soon the first fabrics from London, the latest magazines, and a few selected accessories adorned the displays. The wives of the bankers and businessmen came first, then those of the craftsmen, and finally even the ladies from the grand sheep farms in the interior. Most of the sheep barons were now expanding their businesses to include cattle. The appetite of the gold seekers for steak was insatiable, and even if only a very few really became rich, that sufficed, for the time being, to create a demand for good food and whiskey.

While the gold seekers were celebrating in the taverns, cookshops, and whorehouses, higher society attended balls and concerts and met in fine hotels. Once again, Kathleen could not keep up with the sewing for all the dresses. As in Christchurch, she hired women to help and limited herself to designing. She hardly appeared in the shop. Claire managed it with the charm and assured appearance of a lady, and she enjoyed it with all her heart. With her first sizeable check, she bought a thoroughbred horse for her old sidesaddle and from then on would ride every Sunday with Mr. Dunloe, whom she also liked to accompany to evening events and matinees. Cute and lively Claire would wear the most daring designs from Kathleen’s collection and was the best advertisement for their business. She flirted unabashedly with Jimmy Dunloe—which unsettled Kathleen, but she trusted that Claire knew what she was doing.

Sean and the girls likewise flourished in their new schools. Thanks to Claire’s lessons, Heather and Chloe skipped two grades and grew even closer than they’d already been, because the older girls didn’t welcome them. Sean no longer mentioned Ian, and the girls seemed to have almost forgotten their time on the Avon. Sean did miss the reverend, however.

“Can’t we ride out to visit him during break?”

Kathleen and the Coopers heard these questions almost daily from their boys, although for Rufus it was more about seeing the gold mines than seeing Peter Burton again. Thus, the Coopers were reluctant to allow it. They feared losing their adventurous son in the miners’ camps. But Kathleen trusted Sean. She smiled when she thought about how she would not have let Michael ride out there alone. He would surely have fallen for the call of the gold.

Chapter 3

“What do you think, Elizabeth? Should I ask for Claudia’s hand now or once I get back from the gold mines?” Ronnie Baverly was no longer completely sober, but he asked the question very seriously.

Lizzie sighed. She had long since gotten used to her customers coming to her for advice on every possible life problem. But could she help this man?

“Ronnie, she won’t take you until you lay ten ounces of gold in front of her,” she said finally. “She’d rather stay in the Green Arrow. Aside from that, I can’t hear the words ‘gold mine’ one more time. What do you all expect from digging around in Otago? None of you have ever even held a shovel.”

That was an exaggeration, of course. Many of the men Lizzie had seen set out for Otago over the last few months originally came from the country, like Michael, and the handling of tools for digging was not new. However, at least in Lizzie’s opinion, there was more to gold digging than two strong hands and a shovel. She had not forgotten anything she had learned about viniculture, and one of the most important things to know was that vines would not grow just anywhere. In some places there were nutrients for the plants, and in others there were not. It was the same for gold. You had to know the area, which river carried gold and why. Digging just anywhere seemed senseless to Lizzie, and digging where all the others were already doing it promised just as little success. But she could not sway her male customers with such arguments.

“In Otago, you don’t need shovels, Elizabeth,” Ronnie said. “The gold lies out in the road. Truly, if the Maori were so inclined, they could pave their paths with it.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. She was thoroughly tired of this story, but the men believed it. In truth, if Ronnie did not quickly find money to afford a wedding for Claudia, the blonde prostitute would move to Otago faster than he could. One of Kaikoura’s three old taverns had closed for lack of customers. The men, who had once worked at the whaling station and then mainly in agriculture, moved to Dunedin in droves. Lizzie did not like to admit it, but even her business had been showing considerable losses the last few weeks. Kaikoura’s population was shrinking, and Lizzie was once again struggling against fate. If things continued this way, she would not be able to maintain the Irish Coffee much longer—the more so since Michael showed little intention of sitting out the crisis. On the contrary, he, too, wanted to make his way to Otago sooner rather than later.

Lizzie was deeply satisfied with her life as a barkeeper, and so far, they had not been bothered about their distillery. Their business together brought in enough to live and afford modest luxuries. Lizzie owned handsome clothes and Michael a good horse. They had a wagon for deliveries and purchases. She was good friends with the local Maori tribe; her business had also brought the Ngai Tahu modest wealth. With Michael’s direction, the Maori learned grain farming and barley malting. Thus, the distillery was independent of the farms in Canterbury. That proved a particular blessing in those weeks. The grain prices in Canterbury had soared astronomically since the gold find. It was barely possible to provide for the masses that flooded Otago.

Above all, Lizzie was respected and beloved as a citizen of Kaikoura. She was attending church again and took part in the preparation and management of charity bazaars and collections for the needy. The other women looked beyond her past; many of them had also come to Kaikoura as prostitutes, only becoming respectable after marrying this or that merchant or craftsman. The women looked at Lizzie skeptically because she had chosen another course, but her friendly manner and heartwarming smile assured her the friendship of the reverend and the most important society ladies. They had long known that Lizzie did not have eyes for the menfolk, but they were split on why they thought that was. The majority truly believed in a secret relationship with Michael, who openly courted her.

If it were not for Mary Kathleen, who still moved like a ghost through Michael’s dreams, Lizzie would long ago have surrendered. She was afraid of the night in which he might call the name of the woman he loved. She could not bear that again. It would break her.

A few dreamers in the parish imagined an unhappy love for Lizzie, perhaps even with a native. After all, they knew she had friends in the Maori camp and spoke their language. Lizzie did still think occasionally of Kahu Heke, but she had not heard anything from him. At least it was calm on the North Island. The wars Kahu had predicted so far had not happened.

Lizzie heard the covered wagon in front of the tavern before Michael even arrived with the new whiskey delivery. The wagon horse whinnied excitedly. Lizzie treated it to some bread or sugar whenever it arrived at the tavern, and she went out to reward it for its loud greeting. Right away, she saw that Michael’s own horse was hitched to the back of the wagon. He stepped down from the box and kissed her on the cheek.