Isle of Tears (4 page)

Jean shrieked and threw herself directly at the leaping, growling shadow.

Niel gave a piercing whistle. For a second everything was silent again, then Jean, her arms wrapped around Laddie’s neck, pleaded, ‘Dinnae shoot him!
Please
, dinnae shoot him!’

Guns still raised, the men eyed Laddie warily, who directed a low, ominous growl at them.

‘Bha duil agum gu robh è marbh,’ Niel muttered in amazement.
I thought he was dead.
A second later, he let out a strangled little sob of relief.

Laddie’s tail wagged wildly as Isla buried her face in his damp, matted fur. He stank like a swamp, but she was utterly delighted to see him.

‘Oh Laddie, bha duil againn gu robh è marbh,’ she whispered against him:
We thought you were dead.
Then she froze as her hand encountered a wound on his flank, the hair around it stiff with dried blood. ‘The è air a goirtaich,’ she blurted.
He’s been hurt.

Niel, his hand resting protectively on Laddie’s bony head, nodded grimly. ‘Aye, tha è collach gu rian pelleir sin,’ he said,

glaring at the Maori leader.
It looks like a bullet’s done that.

Isla beckoned to Jamie. ‘Seall, thainig Laddie na air toir!’
Look, it’s Laddie come to find us!

Jamie blinked at the dog as though he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Slowly, he moved closer and put out a tentative hand to touch one of Laddie’s ears. His tongue lolling, Laddie grinned at Jamie.

Suddenly, Jamie gave a long, rending wail of despair, then collapsed on his grubby knees in a fit of sobbing. Isla knelt next to him and pulled his head against her chest, crooning nonsense words and rocking him, noting with a surge of anger that the Maori were looking on without a hint of the guilt any decent human being should be feeling.

Finally, Isla lost her temper. Clutching Jamie even more firmly, she shouted recklessly in English, ‘What are ye lookin’ at, eh? Ye nosy buggers.
You
did this, ye bastards! Can ye no’ just leave us in
peace!’

But, with a wary eye on Laddie, the leader simply indicated with the barrel of his rifle that they were to get up and keep walking.

They walked for perhaps another hour, until they came to a small camp almost hidden in the bush.

It was difficult to be sure, but there seemed to be around a dozen Maori in the camp, including two or three women. When the leader motioned for the McKinnon children to sit, they huddled together in the fire-brightened gloom. Jean and Jamie fell asleep immediately, Laddie keeping guard at their feet. His
amber eyes glittered as he looked warily around, occasionally growling deep in his throat.

Isla watched as the leader conversed with the others, pointing towards her and gesturing animatedly. He handed something to a woman sitting near the fire, then, as his story evidently unfolded, they all turned to stare.

‘What’s he saying?’ Niel muttered. ‘Showin’ off, likely.’

Isla didn’t respond; the woman had risen and was now approaching, a basket in her hands. Taking care to keep well clear of Laddie, she offered it to Isla. She had black wavy hair that fell almost to her waist, large dark eyes and darkish skin, although it was hard to judge the depth of the colour in the poor light. There was a pattern tattooed on her chin, as Isla had seen adorning some of the Maori women in New Plymouth, and she wore a skirt and blouse, and a knotted kerchief around her neck. She might have been in her late thirties, but again it was hard to tell.

Isla glanced into the basket, which contained meat and bread and an assortment of wilted leaves and stalks, but didn’t take it.

The woman set the basket at Isla’s feet and went back to the fire, then returned with a billy filled with water. Laddie sniffed at her suspiciously. When Isla didn’t move, she knelt and said, ‘Please eat the food.’

Startled, both Isla and Niel stared at her.

The woman gestured at the basket. ‘Please eat. And drink the water.’

‘Ye speak English?’ Isla said.

‘Ae.’ The woman pointed to the man Isla thought of as the
Maori leader. ‘Wira said you have not eaten for many hours.’

Isla said immediately, ‘Your men kilt oor mother and father. We’ll no’ be eatin’ your food.’

The woman frowned, lines appearing on her wide brow. ‘I am sorry?’

‘Are ye deaf?’ Niel said rudely.

‘No, I am not deaf. But you do not make sense.’

Gesturing angrily at the man named Wira, Niel blurted, ‘There’s no’ clearer way tae put it. Him and the others, they muddered oor parents!’

‘I do not think so,’ the woman responded.

‘Aye, we
saw
them,’ Niel insisted.

‘Did you?’

‘Aye, we did!’

Isla felt a twinge of doubt. ‘We
heard
them. We heard shooting. And when we got back tae the hoose, your men came.’

The woman shook her head emphatically. ‘No. Wira said your mama and papa were dead when they entered your house. On the floor. So they buried them.’ She groped in the pocket of her skirt and passed several items to Isla: her mother’s wedding ring, cleaned now of blood, and the watch her father had always carried. The woman added, ‘Wira removed them before the burying. He thought you might want them.’

Isla gave the watch to Niel, then inspected the narrow gold wedding band before slipping it onto the ring finger of her right hand. Turning away from the woman, she whispered, ‘Mam had it on when we found them, aye?’

Niel nodded.

‘So it must have been them that did the burying. Why do that if they’d just kilt them? Why no’ just leave them?’

He shrugged, but to the woman he said tersely, ‘I still dinnae believe ye.’

She gave a small sigh. ‘I know it is a hard thing. But my people were not responsible. I am very sad for you.’

His voice rising, Niel demanded, ‘So who
did
kill them, eh? Tell me that?’

‘Wira said they heard three shots. Then they saw a man running away, a Pakeha man with a brown and grey beard, very bushy. There was blood in it. He was carrying a gun. Wira said he had—’ The woman stopped, evidently thinking better of what she’d been about to say.

Isla felt thoroughly confused. ‘Then why have we been captured?’

‘Captured?’ The woman looked most indignant. ‘But you have not been captured.’

‘Aye, we were so,’ Niel responded angrily. ‘And brought here. Why?’

The woman’s face softened again. ‘You have no mama and papa now, ae? So Wira brought you with him. We, the hapu, will whangai you.’

Isla shut her eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of everything. ‘What does that mean? Whangai?’

The woman thought. ‘I do not know the English word for it. Your matua, your parents, have gone, so now you are…’

‘Orphans,’ Isla said flatly.

‘Ae, orphans. So we will feed and care for you and teach you and…you will be one of us. All of you.’

‘But why would ye want tae do that?’ Isla asked disbelievingly.

The woman shrugged and said matter-of-factly, ‘It is the way of things.’

Isla gestured towards Wira. ‘Then why’d he no’ say so? Does he no’ speak English?’

‘Ae, but not yours. He cannot understand the way you make your words.’ The woman rose to her feet, her long hair swaying. ‘But sleep now. You will be tired.’

When she’d returned to the fire, Niel said, ‘D’ye believe her aboot the man wi’ the beard? Should we wait ‘til they’re asleep and escape?’

Isla realized, to her surprise, that she did believe the woman. ‘Jamie and Jean need tae rest. And so do we. I think we should wait ‘til morning.’

Niel didn’t argue with her. Instead, he inspected the contents of the basket and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, began to eat.

Isla selected a piece of bread: she didn’t feel like eating at all now, but knew she had to keep up her strength: she would need it in the coming days.

‘Mr Tulloch has a bushy brown beard wi’ grey in it,’ she said after a few minutes.

I
sla’s muscles protested mightily when she awoke the next morning, as though all the fear and pain of yesterday had conspired to gather in her flesh and poison it. The others were still asleep, Niel curled protectively around both Jamie and Jean, but Laddie was awake.

He accompanied her as she went to find the stream that she had guessed would be nearby. She desperately needed a wash; she was filthy and knew she smelled. But first she dropped to her hands and knees and drank deeply of the cool, clear water, almost smiling as beside her Laddie did the same.

Her thirst slaked, she set about untying the mess of sodden rags between her legs, then submerged the lot, watching as the blood from them was caught up by the sluggish current and wafted away downstream.

‘You have the mate marama,’ a gentle voice behind her said.

Isla glanced over her shoulder; it was the woman from last night. In the early morning light, her skin was a deep caramel, and rather pretty. She was perhaps the same age as Isla’s mother, but not so weathered-looking.

‘Are ye followin’ me? I’d no’ leave wi’oot ma brothers and sister, ken,’ Isla said tetchily, pointing back in the direction of the camp. ‘I’d no’ leave them behind.’

‘I am sure you would not,’ the woman said agreeably. Then she asked, ‘Where did you come from? Before you came to this land?’

‘Skye. The Winged Isle.’

‘Is that near Scotland?’

‘It
is
Scotland.’

‘Ah,’ the woman said, as though something had just been confirmed. ‘The Scottish have a different way of speaking, ae? It is not like the English way.’

‘Aye, well, it’s Scottish English, no’ the Queen’s English. In Scotland we dinnae recognize the Queen.’

A flicker of a smile crossed the woman’s full lips. ‘And neither do we. What is your name?’

‘Isla. Isla McKinnon.’

‘And your brothers and your sister?’

‘The fair one, his name’s Niel. And the two weans: Jamie is the lad and Jean is the lass.’

‘They are mahanga?’

‘Beg pardon?’

‘Ah…the same. Born at the same time?’

Isla nodded.

‘But you are the eldest?’

‘Aye.’

‘Your golden hair is very beautiful,’ the woman said wistfully.

‘Oh.’ Isla was nonplussed. ‘Thank ye. What’s
your
name?’

‘Merearani Tamaiparea.’

It sounded a terrible mouthful to Isla, and it must have shown on her face because Merearani laughed. ‘I am usually called Mere.’

Isla felt her cheeks redden at being so transparent. Then, her heart thumping with nerves, she asked permission to do what she had been wanting to do since last night. ‘May I please feel the pattern on your face?’

Mere nodded, and Isla reached out with her fingers to gently trace the curved, black lines adorning Mere’s chin and the rims of her lips. The grooves were deep, and must have been cut with considerable force. ‘What d’ye call that, in your language?’

‘It is called a kauae, a moko of the chin. Moko means to tattoo.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Ae. But it is a mark of honour, so I did not mind.’

Isla lowered her hand. ‘My people used tae do that, too, in olden times. D’ye live near here?’

‘Not far away. We are travelling. We will reach our village this afternoon.’ Mere glanced up at the sky, where rain clouds were gathering. ‘If the weather remains fine.’

There was a long silence then while they stared at each other; Mere trying to imagine how the poor young Scottish girl was feeling, and Isla wondering whether she could, or should, trust Mere. She turned back to the stream and began to scrub her rags vigorously against a small rock.

‘How long have you been having the mate marama?’ Mere asked. ‘The bleeding?’

Isla thought it a very personal question, but answered it honestly. ‘This is ma first time. Mam showed me what tae do.’

Mere said solemnly, ‘That is a very sad thing, to become a woman at the same time that you lose your mother. I will say a karakia for you.’ She gestured with distaste at the rags. ‘You have brought nothing else with you?’

Embarrassed, Isla shook her head.

‘Then I will help. Wait here.’

When Mere had gone, Isla washed herself as thoroughly as she could, wishing fervently for some hot water and a piece of soap. She splashed water on her face, then undid her hair, combed her fingers through it and replaited it. By then Mere had returned, a black shawl draped over her arm and in her hand something that looked like pale, soft moss.

Isla looked at it. ‘What is it?’

‘Angiangi. Ngati Pono women use it to catch the paheke, the flow. When we put it inside it is called a kope.’

‘Ye put it in your…?’ Isla was stunned.

‘Ae. And then when we have finished with it, we bury the kope. But you must not let anyone see you do that. It must be very
well…disposed of.’

Isla wasn’t at all sure she wanted to use the moss in the way Mere was suggesting. ‘Can I no’ just wrap it in ma bit o’ cheesecloth?’ She held up the long, wrung-out strip.

‘Ae, I suppose,’ Mere replied, clearly not thinking it the best of ideas. ‘But you will have to replace it often, to avoid the odour.’

‘Well, that’s no’ an easy thing to manage, is it, in the bush?’ Isla said defensively.

‘It is if you use the kope in the correct manner. And as you are tapu while you have the mate marama, you must not share your sleeping space with others, step over a man, or work in the gardens, or cook or hunt, or collect kai moana. Kai moana is food from the sea. Tapu means that you are in a state of uncleanness,’ Mere explained. At Isla’s offended expression, she added, ‘Not you yourself, but what your body is doing. Old blood can cause sickness. Is that not common sense? Do you not have similar rules where you come from?’

Still vaguely offended, Isla said nothing, but privately concurred that in Skye folk had observed similar practices. While she fiddled about with the moss, she asked, ‘How is it ye speak such good English?’

‘I was made to speak it when I was a young house girl for a Scottish woman, Mrs Henderson. It is why I can understand you, but the others have difficulty. Before that the missionaries taught me, as they have taught many.’

Isla looked at her suspiciously. ‘You’re no’ a Catholic, are ye?’

‘No. The missionaries were Wesleyans.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Isla brightened. ‘They’re no’ that different from the Kirk.’

But Mere didn’t seem terribly interested in any religious connections she and Isla might have. ‘Your skirts are stained with the paheke, Isla. You must wash them. You must not let the men see it.’

Isla inspected the back of her dress and saw to her horror that the blue and green gingham was indeed stained with blood. Her face burned, and she prayed that no one else had seen her leave the camp this morning. Hurriedly, she unbuttoned the dress and stepped out of it, followed by her chemise and drawers, grateful that Taranaki summers were too hot for petticoats.

Mere took the dress from her and handed her the shawl. ‘Wrap yourself in this. I will clean the gown and you can wash the underthings.’ She knelt at the side of the stream, laid the dress over a rock and began to scrub at the stain.

They worked in silence for some minutes, until Mere said, ‘I know you think that Wira killed your mama and papa, but he did not. I know it.’

Isla didn’t respond, but scrubbed even harder at her drawers.

‘I know it because he is my husband,’ Mere continued. ‘And he would not lie to me.’

After a moment, Isla sat back on her haunches, looked at Mere and allowed the blackness that was in her heart to show itself. ‘I believe ye, and I think I ken who did do it. And, God help me, when the time is right, I will kill him.’

Mere smiled. ‘Ae, and that is as it should be.’

When Isla told Niel she thought they should stay with the Maori, for a while at least, he objected strongly, insisting he wanted to go back and find Tulloch.

‘Aye, and then what?’ Isla said. ‘A thirteen-year-old lad and a lassie no’ much older? We’ll no’ be able tae kill him with oor bare hands.’

‘We’ll take Da’s rifle.’

‘We willnae. Mere says it’s needed.’

‘What for?’

‘In case o’ war.’

‘That was Da’s rifle.’ Niel kicked angrily at the base of a crumbling ponga, his frustration bubbling over. ‘And if there is tae be a war, we’ll be on the wrong side o’ it. We should go tae New Plymouth, wi’ the other white folk.’

‘And who will look after us there, Niel? We dinnae ken anyone, and no one kens us.’ Isla grasped Niel’s shirt and turned him around to make him look at her. ‘Look, these people didnae kill Mam and Da, and they’ve offered tae take us in. It’s more’n we’ll get from the folk in town, I’m sure o’ it. And if there’s tae be fightin’ we dinnae have tae get caught up in it.’

‘That’s easy for ye tae say,’ Niel grumbled.

Angry herself now, and, to be truthful, still very apprehensive about the idea of staying with the Maori, Isla snapped,
‘You’re
only saying that because Da used tae say it. Ye dinnae even ken what it means. It’s
no’
easy for me tae say, Niel. But I’ve the weans tae
think aboot.
I’m
the head o’ the family now. What if we leave here and cannae feed them? What if we cannae
protect
them? D’ye even ken which way New Plymouth
is
from here? We’ll be lost before we’re ten minutes oot.’

From the look on Niel’s face, Isla saw that he knew she was right.

He sat down with his back against the ponga. ‘But who are these folk? They could be sworn enemies o’ Queen Victoria for all we ken.’

‘We dinnae owe an English queen anything, Niel. We never have.’

‘Now
you’re
just copying what Da used tae say.’

‘It’s what I believe. It’s what
you
believe, too, so dinnae go denying it.’

‘Disnae mean we have tae get in a war aboot it.’

Isla let out a long sigh, struggling to keep her temper in check.
‘If
there is tae be a war, we willnae be in it, no’ if we dinnae want tae be. But we
will
be looked after. And Niel, I cannae think what else tae
do.’
She sat down herself then, on the verge of tears, swallowed hard and asked in a wobbly voice, ‘Where are Jamie and Jean?’

‘A woman took them away. She said she was gonnae give them a wash and something tae eat.’

Isla gave her brother a sharp, shocked look, and Niel’s face paled as he belatedly realized he shouldn’t have let the twins out of his sight.

Isla was on her feet in a second, but at that moment Jamie and
Jean appeared on the other side of the camp.

Jean waved, and announced loudly as she approached, ‘A nice wifey took us tae do a wizzle in the trees. And we’ve just had oor breakfast. It wisnae verra good, though.’

‘It wis meat and tatties, but they were cold,’ Jamie added, and Isla realized with a surge of relief that it was the first thing she’d heard him say since the horror of the previous day. She gave Jamie a quick hug and asked Niel why he hadn’t gone with his brother and sister.

Niel hung his head and mumbled, ‘I didnae want tae, ’til ye came back safe. I didnae ken ye were gone ’til I woke. And then that wifey said she’d look oot for the weans.’

Isla felt her heart ache as she realized how overwhelmed and ineffectual he must be feeling. ‘It’s all right. I went tae the stream tae clean up. Mere came wi’ me.’

‘The one who gave us the food last night?’

‘Aye. She’s merrit tae that one Wira, the leader.’

As if in response to his name, Wira appeared. He was carrying Donal McKinnon’s rifle.

Very slowly and carefully, as though Niel and Isla were imbeciles, he said, ‘We are leaving for our village. Will you come with us?’

‘Ye dinnae need tae say it like that. We’re no’ a pair o’ dunderheids, ken!’ Niel retorted, eying his father’s rifle sourly.

As Mere had commented, Wira appeared thoroughly baffled by Niel’s accent and didn’t seem to know how to respond.

In the end, Isla sighed and said, ‘Aye, we’ll be coming wi’ ye.’

It took them another day and a half to walk to the village, heading more or less north-east now, according to the position of the sun.

On the morning of the second day, Mere asked Isla, ‘Does your heart hurt with your grief?’

Isla said yes, and it did, but in a strange, muffled sort of way, almost as though the events of two days earlier had happened a very long time ago. But when she told herself that her mother and father were dead—that someone had
murdered
them—she still could not fully comprehend the fact. There was a sense of missing them, of course; but it was more as though they had simply gone away for a while and would be back soon. But now and then, when she was least expecting it, an image of their still and bloodied bodies would rush into her mind and she
would
understand, and the knowledge would hit her like a kick to the stomach. She tried to explain it to Niel, and he said he felt the same way. Jamie and Jean, though, seemed not to understand that their parents had gone forever. Jean wondered aloud if anyone had told Mam and Da where they were, and Jamie wanted to know what his father was going to say when he found out someone had taken his rifle.

‘It will never really pass,’ Mere said gently, ‘but the hurt will become less. You will learn to live with it.’

Isla doubted it, but she nodded anyway. And even if the hurt did fade with time, her anger wouldn’t, and she didn’t want it to.

She wanted to nurture it until she found a way to use it to avenge her parents’ deaths. Somehow the thought gave her a kind of comfort, and she clung to it resolutely.

When the sun was almost directly overhead, and the terrain over which they were travelling had gradually become less rugged, Mere announced that they were approaching her people’s kainga.

‘Our village,’ she amended at Isla’s questioning look. ‘You will have to learn to speak Maori, I think.’

Isla was struck by a sudden and not altogether welcome thought. ‘It’s no’ on the Peka Peka Block, is it, your village?’

‘No, we are south of the Pakeha surveyors’ pegs,’ Mere replied. ‘But some of the Peka Peka land is ours.’