Toward the Sea of Freedom (68 page)

Kathleen opened the door as far as the chain would allow. She peeked out and saw a police officer on the other side.

“Did, did my son . . . ?”

The young sergeant bowed politely.

“Good morning, madam. I’m sorry if I startled you. Surely you’re not used to the police . . .”

“Has something happened to my son?” screamed Kathleen.

The sergeant shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, madam. Mrs. Kathleen Coltrane?”

Kathleen finally opened the door. “Pardon me. I . . . I . . .”

“I’m Sergeant Jim Potter with the Dunedin Police, and I need to ask you to accompany me or another officer to Tuapeka today, or tomorrow at the latest.”

Kathleen reeled. Could Ian have gotten the police to take her back to him?

“It’s concerning the identification of a body,” Sergeant Potter continued.

Kathleen caught herself on the door frame. “The, the reverend? Peter, Peter Burton?”

Sergeant Potter shook his head. “No, no; it’s about a prospector. Please do sit down, Mrs. Coltrane. You look very agitated, and the news I have for you will only disturb you more. I could be . . . indeed, it is very likely that it concerns the death of your husband.”

Kathleen proceeded as if in a trance as she told Claire why the officer had come and asked her to tell Sean he could ride to Tuapeka if he wanted but that she preferred he stay in Dunedin with Heather. She changed her clothes, packed a few dark dresses into her travel bag, and gathered some money and papers she thought might be necessary in regard to her marriage and Colin. By the time she followed Sergeant Potter out, she was almost at ease.

Claire wished she could go with her friend. Kathleen’s sudden calm was just as alarming as her recent hysteria had been. Claire reminded herself that Peter Burton would be there. And the reverend was reliable. Before he allowed the police to contact Kathleen, he surely would have confirmed the dead man really was Ian Coltrane.

A few hours later, Kathleen stood in front of the Tuapeka butcher’s icehouse, where Ian’s body was stored. Naturally, his identity was known, but Peter Burton had insisted that Kathleen bear witness to the dead body. He was sure she would need to see Ian’s corpse to believe she was truly free.

“Are you ready, Mrs. Coltrane?” asked Sergeant Potter.

Kathleen nodded and followed the officer into the icebox. Ian’s coffin was among sides of beef and ham hocks. Kathleen shivered as she eyed the corpse closely. They told her he had fallen off a cliff, but she noticed there was only some scraped skin that seemed hardly to have bled. The only serious injury was to his temple. It didn’t look to Kathleen as if Ian had fallen to his death; it was more like someone had smashed his skull with an extremely hard object.

“He must have fallen,” said Sergeant Potter. “On a rock, perhaps. I’m sorry, Mrs. Coltrane, not a pretty sight. But is it . . . ?”

She nodded. “It’s Ian Patrick Coltrane,” she said calmly. “My wedded husband. And I, I would like to speak to the reverend now, before I, before I retrieve my son.”

Peter Burton shut his office door behind Kathleen after Sergeant Potter brought her in. The reverend reached out to take Kathleen in his arms, but she pulled away from him.

“Was it you?’ she asked quietly.

Peter Burton looked at her, uncomprehending. Then he understood. “No! How could you think that, Kathleen? I’m a man of God. I, heavens, I thought about it, of course, when I saw how afraid of him you were. But there would have been other ways of dealing with Ian.” He put his hand on hers, but she withdrew it from him.

“Then who was it?” asked Kathleen. “Don’t talk to me about cliffs, Peter. I’m an expert on beatings. Ian practiced his boxing on me for years. I know what it looks like when a fist strikes you on the temple. And I know that one usually doesn’t land on the temple when thrown to the ground. I doubt it would be different if a man slipped or fell. So, who was it, Peter?”

The reverend looked at the floor. “A young woman who lives with one of the prospectors—and ostensibly with the aid of a Maori warrior spirit. In any case, with a Maori war club, and she knew how to swing it. Your husband had attacked and raped her beforehand.”

Kathleen bit her lip.

“There’s more. A good friend of the woman’s had just died. It is an awful story, and it would not help anyone if everything became public. I can recount it to you, of course.”

Kathleen declined. “So she hit him with this club. And then she . . . then she threw him off the cliff?”

“With my help,” admitted the reverend. “It was self-defense, Kathleen, I swear. I’d not conceal a murderer. There’s a lot resting on keeping the location of the act a secret. And the woman . . .”

“Has suffered enough,” said Kathleen tiredly. “I understand. Maybe you’d tell her she has my sympathies?”

Peter rubbed his forehead. “She doesn’t know that he still has family—aside from Colin, that is. And I think it’s better that way. Otherwise, it would just make her think about it more. Besides, she’s not here. She’s panning for gold in the mountains.”

Kathleen nodded. “Yes. Now I’m free?” she said flatly.

Peter nodded. “You have nothing more to fear. And I, Kathleen . . .” Peter stopped briefly, wondering if he should dare say what he wanted. There was no reason to delay, and it might comfort and soothe her. “I never asked you, Kathleen, because I did not want to press you. I knew it was a secret. But now, since there’s nothing more keeping us apart, Kathleen, I love you. Would you marry me?” Peter Burton looked at her expectantly.

Kathleen’s head was spinning. This was all too much for one day. And how could he rush her so? She fell back like a shying horse. “Peter, not now,” she whispered. “It’s, it’s too soon. I, I like you very much, Peter. But you’re a pastor, an Anglican, and I’m Catholic. And I have three children. Oh God, I have three children again.” Kathleen braced herself. “Peter, I need to see to Colin. This is all difficult enough anyway. Give me time, Peter. I’ll need time.”

Peter Burton scolded himself for his haste. Of course she would not throw herself in his arms immediately. She would again need a friend, a confidant, a father for her children—but not yet.

“Come,” he said, “let’s look for Colin. He’s been holed up in his tent since his father was found. I haven’t told him anything about you so far. I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic.”

Kathleen followed him, but she doubted Peter was right about Colin. He would mourn for his father—and even more for the freedom he had had with Ian. He probably would not be overjoyed about returning to her.

Over the next few days, Kathleen took over Ian’s personal effects, which consisted of an ounce of gold, two horses—worth a small fortune according to Colin, but Peter quickly placed them in the “slaughter house or charity” category—and her son. As she had anticipated, Colin proved difficult. He had no interest in returning to Dunedin with his mother, wanting instead to dig for gold and run his father’s business. Of course, he was only fourteen and could not be left to do any of this alone.

So Kathleen exchanged the gold and sold Ian’s covered wagon, turning over the proceeds to Peter Burton for her husband’s burial and the care of the horses, which could perhaps still make themselves useful around the church. After the funeral, Peter drove Kathleen and Colin to Dunedin.

It was a mournful journey; Colin was doggedly silent, and Kathleen was lost in her own thoughts. To make matters worse, Colin gave Peter an evil glance when he kissed Kathleen good-bye. The reverend worried as he directed his horse back to Tuapeka. Kathleen was free of Ian Coltrane, but it seemed that Colin was merely biding his time to take the man’s place—not in her heart, but as the source of her fear.

Only that did not prove so easy, largely because Sean had no intention of permitting his returned brother any impertinence. He clearly played the man of the house, which amused Kathleen and Claire and which at first made it easier to live with Colin. But Colin was used to doing as he pleased, and soon, he was disobeying Kathleen and earning his teachers’ complaints: Colin was disruptive, arrogant, and sometimes absent entirely.

The teachers occasionally asked Sean, who remained a star pupil, to talk to his brother, but any attempt he made at this resulted in fights. Colin won effortlessly; he was far more practiced in fistfighting than Sean.

Even Peter Burton, who visited as often as he could and who tried to foster a relationship not only with Sean and Heather but also with Colin, got nowhere. Colin Coltrane did not like to be bossed around—not by teachers, not by the Anglican pastor or the Catholic priest, and least of all by his mother and brother. Kathleen knew that it was futile to keep Colin in school.

With Peter Burton’s help, she turned to Donny Sullivan, the Irish stable owner, for an apprenticeship for Colin. Short, fat Sullivan—once a zealous congregant of Peter Burton’s but now a member of the newly founded Catholic parish—was willing to give Colin a chance. He could sleep in the stables and assist with the horses, and most importantly, ride them.

At first, Kathleen was skeptical, since Sullivan traded horses on the side as well, but both Peter Burton and Father Parrish, the Catholic priest, reassured her. Donny Sullivan was as honest as anyone in his profession could be. Occasionally, he took a higher price from a rich city boy than the horse he sold was worth, or he shaved two years off when he gave a mule’s age, but he did no outright swindling, and he never foisted a horse on anyone if it wasn’t a good match. Sullivan had thoroughly satisfied customers, and he was proud of that.

That is, until he hired Colin Coltrane. After three months, Sullivan told Kathleen he needed to let Colin go.

“It’s not that he doesn’t know about horses, Mrs. Coltrane,” said Donny. “On the contrary—the boy knows more than I do. But I always have to stop him from working on the teeth of the horses I plan to sell, to make them look younger, and from fiddling with their shoes to make them walk more elegantly. He knows all of a swindler’s tricks but doesn’t understand why I don’t use them. I can’t leave him alone with the customers. He hardly opens his mouth but he makes them think their horse’s no good. Most of them want to trade their horses in right away, and usually for some half-wild young stallion that looks sharp. But I’ll have to deal with it when some Sunday rider breaks his neck. I’m sorry, Mrs. Coltrane, but the boy lies like he’s breathing air. Yesterday, he sold old Monty Robs—you know, that prospector who’s trying his hand at farming in Waikouaiti—that little horse I had set aside for Mrs. Edmunds’s daughter.”

Kathleen nodded. Chloe was supposed to get a pony for her birthday, and Claire had been looking for the right horse for weeks. She thought she’d found it in Donny’s little chestnut horse.

“He told Monty he could plow his whole farm with the little thing and that it’d barely eat anything.”

Kathleen burst into bitter laughter. She was reminded of Matt Edmunds’s donkey. Donny Sullivan smiled. He could not resist a beautiful woman, and Kathleen was captivating, but he would not keep her good-for-nothing son on just for that.

“Sure, it’s a bit funny, but the man was relying on our advice, and he got cheated. If he spreads the word, my good reputation will soon be ruined. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find him another apprenticeship.”