Toward the Sea of Freedom (59 page)

Chris talked increasingly of finally getting back to work with them, but his return was questionable. He whittled a bit on pieces of wood, trying to help Michael with the design of a sluice box, but if he even reached for the lightest saw, he was bathed in sweat and coughing within minutes.

Michael grumbled that Lizzie, at least, should give him a hand with the box, but she resisted.

“Michael, it’s not worth it. This stream doesn’t have any gold in it. Or too little to make any serious money. It would be better to dig a bit. After all, there might be gold veins, if you’ve your heart set on this claim and no other. But as for the sluice box, I’m with the Maori: before I chop down a tree, I ask Tane, god of the forest, for permission, and he only grants it when I do something sensible with the wood. Here, Tane says no. And I’ll be damned if I anger him.”

Lizzie had found out where the nearest Maori tribe lived. She had guessed she would have to travel two days upriver to reach their camp, and she prepared to make the journey on foot. She had laden her horse with gifts for the Ngai Tahu and did not want to add her weight to the burden. Michael offered to accompany her or let her take his horse as a mount. But Lizzie declined both. She didn’t really like to ride, and his gray horse was so fiery that she did not trust herself to handle it. Although she would have enjoyed Michael’s company, the Ngai Tahu would trust her more readily if she came alone. Besides, she did not want to leave Chris alone in camp.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Michael.” She laughed as Michael hovered over her, checking on every bit of her preparations. “The Maori are friendly, and I’m bringing them gifts and greetings from their friends in Kaikoura. The
pakeha
present more of a danger here. But where I’m headed, probably no white has been before.”

Silently, though, she was happy about his concern. It seemed as if he was finally beginning to feel something for her.

Chapter 6

Spring brought new life to the gold miners’ camp. Ships began arriving in Otago Harbor again, and thousands of new adventurers rushed toward the Tuapeka River. New gold miners, and those who wanted to become them, also journeyed by land across the country.

Two of these travelers set out from Dunedin for their spring vacation: Rufus Cooper and Sean Coltrane. After months of their begging, even Mr. Cooper had finally given his permission for a visit to the reverend—though not before Peter Burton had sworn several times over that he would send Rufus back by the end of vacation.

The two had spent hours packing their horses with every possible camping and digging tool, though it had not been at all necessary. Kathleen and Heather were going to the camp, driving a wagon filled with tent canvas and provisions for the hospital—though two sleeping bags and a couple of shovels would also have fit in the bed, as Kathleen noted with a wink.

The boys rejected this, though.

“Real prospectors don’t have their mothers driving behind them,” said Sean, self-assured, which drew a laugh from Kathleen.

“It might be better if some of them did,” she said.

Kathleen was exceedingly optimistic that spring. She looked forward to the excursion into the mountains—and to seeing Peter Burton again, even if she would not admit it. And, against her expectations, she had settled into Dunedin well. At first she had panicked about being discovered—after all, she had found herself in a flourishing community. Dunedin had an elected city council and commercial regulations; Kathleen and Claire were properly registered, and their business was well known. If Ian had made inquiries, he would easily have been able to find her. Yet four years had passed since their escape. Ian must have moved on, and, moreover, Dunedin was no longer a town where everyone knew one another. The city was growing quickly and offered corresponding anonymity.

Kathleen now even attended theater performances and art exhibitions with Claire and Jimmy Dunloe. She had no problem affording the tickets. Gold Mine Boutique generated good profits from Kathleen’s designs and from the accessories Claire ordered from Paris and London. Kathleen wondered when Mr. Dunloe might finally make a marriage proposal and how Claire might react to that. But Claire never talked about even the possibility of it.

Kathleen had admirers of her own—or could have had them if she were not so reserved. She rarely appeared in public and only answered monosyllabically when men addressed her. Her extraordinary, now mature beauty could not be hidden, however. Though Kathleen dressed more simply than Claire, her gold-blonde hair and emerald-green eyes always made her the center of attention. For the first time in her life, Kathleen had time to care for herself. Her skin was no longer sunburned, her lips no longer chapped, and her hands no longer raw and worn.

Kathleen’s nightmares became rarer, and she began to forget Ian’s insults and abuse. Over time, she was able to start to look people in the eye again. Nevertheless, she still struggled with feelings of guilt—more so since the new Catholic priest in Dunedin did not absolve her of them.

“You should not have left your husband,” he admonished her after her first confession. “No matter what happened. What God has joined, let no man tear asunder. You should have stayed with him and tried to be a good wife to him.”

Father Parrish would not hear Kathleen’s objection that she had tried that long enough. He advised her to return to Christchurch, but Kathleen’s submission to God did not go quite that far.

“But God didn’t join you. It was pure contingency,” Claire said later, in support of Kathleen’s perspective. “Rather, God led you to that Michael fellow. You should have married him. Couldn’t you have gone with him to Australia?”

Kathleen had never thought of that possibility, but it was too late now anyway. She now saw herself as well on her way to committing an even worse sin than leaving her abusive husband. Every time Peter Burton came to town, her affection for him grew. He made her laugh, entertained her with stories from the gold miners’ camp, and always concerned himself with Sean and Heather. He was patient and never pressured her, and whenever he offered his arm on a walk, she felt relaxed and safe. When he took her hand, or when his leg unintentionally brushed hers as he climbed into the buggy, her heart beat faster. It was not the violent longing she had felt for Michael, but something was there—when Peter Burton came to town, she felt younger and lighter and danced through the day.

Sometimes, when she was sitting over her sketchbook and nothing was coming to her, she would catch herself drawing a picture of Peter Burton: His steep, somewhat crooked nose—he’d broken it boxing in college; his full lips; his oval face; light-brown hair that constantly fell over his forehead. His friendly, peaceful eyes—which could, however, flash vivaciously when something touched him. Because she finally ventured to hold his gaze long enough to study his eyes, Kathleen now knew that they were brown, the specks within them amber-colored.

Kathleen tried not to think about the possible consequences of her feelings. But she allowed herself pure joy at their reunion in the camp. She was driving up for the first time. Peter had not wanted visits in Gabriel’s Gully—that is, not from a lady. But the new camp was supposed to be more civilized. A few gold miners had sent for their wives and built cabins, and the reverend was even teaching reading and writing to a few children every day.

“You’ll see, Ma. After vacation, we’ll be rich,” Sean declared now as he trotted ahead with Rufus.

Heather snuggled against Kathleen. “Do you think I could pan gold too?” she asked.

Kathleen nodded. “I’m sure. Reverend Burton will show us how, and then we two will find more gold than all the boys together.”

When they arrived, Kathleen could hardly believe her eyes. The new settlement had grown into a small city, and Peter Burton’s church and community center were at its core. The women immediately recruited Kathleen: the hospital, the kitchen for the needy, the school—all needed helping hands. There weren’t many women in the camp, but now there weren’t only prostitutes. The helpers in Peter’s parish were the wives and daughters of the chandlers, postmen, and bankers. The wives of the gold miners rarely contributed in the community because they mostly worked at the mines as well, just as hard as the men. Many did not last long, suffering miscarriages and accidents or growing too pregnant to work the mines. The first night after her arrival, Kathleen helped with two births—though she would have preferred to spend the evening with Peter.

While Kathleen and Peter had been intentionally reserved at their reunion, people were already talking about their relationship.

“My, but you’d make a lovely pastor’s wife,” said the wife of the general-store owner. Kathleen soon discovered the other women in the community had ideas about a wedding. She would have to be careful. It did not bear thinking about what would happen if these good women learned she was Catholic.

Still, Kathleen was happy during her days spent at Peter Burton’s side in the new settlement of Tuapeka. She was hardly ever alone with him, but it filled her with joy to watch him interact with his community and to help him in whatever ways she could.

Peter Burton, himself, was somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to have more time for Kathleen, but while she was visiting, new arrivals were overrunning the camp. The reverend was needed everywhere at once to give advice and enforce rules for staking claims and pitching new tents.

Kathleen also worked hard, and when Peter Burton pulled up in front of the community center, he found her washing vegetables for the charity kitchen. “Now, at least ride along,” he said. “The day seems made for a picnic.”

Sean and Rufus had set out early in the morning to search for gold, their saddlebags stuffed with provisions, and Heather had gone along with them. Kathleen’s “little girl” was now thirteen years old and not so easily left behind, and, to the boys’ aggravation, she was a skilled gold panner. She had panned thirteen pounds’ sterling worth of gold from rivers and streams in their first week—miles ahead of her brother, of course—and now felt rich.

Just as Kathleen looked about to make the excuse of not leaving her work undone, Peter offered up the chance at another task.

“I need to pick up wood from the other end of camp,” he said. “The men have felled trees to make room for more tents, and they want to offer us the lumber. If I can find a few people to help, we’ll put up a solid building for the hospital, at least for the women’s section.”

Finding such helpers would be difficult, since the men went off to the gold mines every morning. Still, the lumber had to be brought in, and Kathleen climbed up next to Peter on the wagon. As he steered his team safely through the camp, he chatted with Kathleen, whom he liked more every day. She finally seemed to feel safe, she liked her work, and everything seemed to be in order in Dunedin. She even laughed quite openly when he made a joke. And she was beautiful.

It was a sunny but windy spring day, and a few strands of Kathleen’s hair had come loose. Peter ventured to brush them tenderly back into place. Even a few months before, Kathleen would have shied away, but now she nuzzled her face against his hand. Cautiously, he let his arm wander down around her shoulders, and he pulled her closer to him. Kathleen looked up at him, and he lost himself in her radiant eyes.

Kathleen gave the reverend a tender smile—but in an instant, her expression, relaxed and illuminated by inner joy a moment before, warped into a grimace of horror.

“Drive,” she whispered to Peter. Her hands reached for the reins. “Drive, fast. Faster. I have to . . .”

It sounded so urgent that Peter spurred on the mules without asking—though not without looking over his shoulder. Something Kathleen had spied when she looked over at him had scared her to death. So much so that now she shrunk down beside him and hid her face. It seemed almost as if she wished she could crawl under the box.

Peter could not see anything that should have provoked this reaction. On the side of the street, a completely normal scene for Tuapeka was unfolding. Two new arrivals—a dark-haired man and a blond boy who looked to be thirteen or so—were starting to unload their wagon, and the man was arguing with his neighbor about the placement of his tent. None of them had taken notice of Peter’s wagon, let alone Kathleen.

“What’s the matter, Kathleen? Talk to me, please.”

“Stop, stop the wagon, please,” she mumbled. “Yes, yes, here’s fine. I, I’m sorry, Peter, but I, Sean, the children. I’ll, I’ve got to . . .”

Kathleen leaped from Peter’s wagon and ran as if the Furies were on her heels.

Had he done something to scare her? No, it had to be something else. Quickly and decisively, he turned his wagon around to head back to camp. He needed to find Kathleen and get out of her what had shaken her to her core. It looked as if she were running to the church—an indication that it was not him from whom she was running. Between the tents there were shortcuts. She would get there before Peter could with his wagon. The reverend looked once more at the place where Kathleen had frozen. The man and the boy had disappeared. Apparently, their angry neighbor had won out and they had to pitch their tent elsewhere. Could Kathleen’s panic have had to do with the two of them? Or was it the neighbor? But what could she have to do with that old good-for-nothing curmudgeon from Australia? Peter Burton decided to find out later. Deeply unsettled, he shook his mules’ reins and did not stop until he reached the hospital and church.