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  At last our horses found firmer footing and pounded up onto a shingle bank, and the rest of the channels were not as deep. The horses were changed at a cluster of huts, and more showers escorted us up Arthur’s Pass and down to Otira. Waterfalls cascaded over rock faces and in places men were clearing slips and boulders from the narrow road. On the steep zigzag I caught glimpses of the horses, swinging to the very edge of the sheer drop to haul the coach around each bend. The coachman called to them by name to encourage them, but you could catch their tension, having the huge vehicle on their hocks.

  ‘We’re down!’ laughed Bess, as we left the mouth of the gorge at a spanking pace.

  There were more changes of horses, more creeks to cross, and a steady rain settling in. The Taipo ford was closed as the river was rising, so we slept the night at the hostel there, and Bess and I talked the hours away. It was as if I had known her for years; we had so much in common.

  ‘When you marry and go inland, who will teach the children?’ she asked, propped like me on one elbow, to see me from her bed.

  ‘I expect Mother will. She taught us older ones plus the Kozan boys and two Winchesters.’ I recalled those hours around the kitchen table. ‘Now there are only four youngsters. There’s Ged, short for Gerard, the ring-leader in daring deeds, and Bridie the mischief-maker. Seamus and Rawi are inseparable youngsters — Seamus known as Whistle since a toddler. Whenever the men whistled the dogs, Seamus came running as well.

  ‘Rawi boards with his maternal grandparents, the O’Neills, for schooling, and he helps with house and yard duties for the old couple. Whistle has become fluent in the Maori language, too, which hasn’t helped class discipline.’ I smiled. ‘Rawi’s whanau live in Bruce Bay.’

  ‘His what?’ Bess asked.

  ‘Oh, sorry! His family. He’s Maori. But I’ve talked too much.’

  I saw her smile in the candlelight. ‘Never. I feel that I know each one.’ She paused then said, ‘I wish I was to travel south with you. From all accounts my own position is to be a demanding one. Three undisciplined boys.’ She sighed. ‘Are there many settlers at Swag & Tucker?’

  I did a quick mental tally. ‘About eighteen adults. The intriguing thing is that we’ve come from all parts of the world. Kendricks are from Southern Ireland, Winchesters are Welsh-English, Kozans from Greece, O’Neills are Maori-Irish, Buzz American, Spider Scottish, and only the Ross couple were born in New Zealand.’

  Bess laughed. ‘What an amazing settlement. No feuding?’

  ‘None. Just a few Irish flare-ups but no time for feuding. We all work together and give support in “trouble” times.

  ‘And now you. Where do you come from?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m a born New Zealander like you. My parents were English.’

  For a while we fell silent, then I said, ‘We must keep in touch. Will you write to me?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s wonderful to have a friend — even at a distance. I’ve felt so alone at times lately.’

  She blew out the candle and I listened to the rain drumming on the roof and tried to imagine how she must feel.

  ADDINGTON GAOL

  Across the South Island in Christchurch, a heavy door slammed shut and the cell interior melted into darkness as the feeble light from the passageway was cut off.

  John Southern, as he was known to the settlers of Swag & Tucker, felt for the bed beside him and sat down slowly, mentally drained. It had been a long day in the High Court for their crimes committed in Christchurch, before he and Red Lucas had crossed to the West Coast a few years ago. He still wondered how the crimes had been traced to them but no doubt he would hear before the case ended.

  Gradually his eyes adjusted to the feeble light from the high barred window and the small grill on the door, and shapes emerged. He hated the long hours of semi-darkness with only his thoughts and schemes to keep him sane.

  He stretched tired limbs as best he could with the restriction of hand manacles, and breathed, ‘Well, I’ve fooled them all … lawyer folk, jury folk, those bloody Kendricks, and even me old mate, Red Lucas.’ His mouth widened into a satisfied and cruel grin. If there had been more light in the cell it would have shown a violent contrast to the features of the apparently gentle middle-aged man who had stood in the dock all day. His tinted spectacles had helped to conceal the hardness of his eyes.

  Even the Kendrick family’s evidence had not altered the jury’s opinion, and by the end of that trial all were convinced that Red was the leader and he the unwilling accomplice. His acting had been convincing after eight months of practice in this disguise, and he had noticed with satisfaction the witnesses’ frustration. Those years on the Australian stage had taught him much in the art of disguise.

  He forced his mind back to the present. They were now over halfway through the case. The final sentencing was fast approaching. His mouth set in a grim line as he tried to estimate what the sentences would be.

  ‘One day, I’ll return to get that bloody gold and my documents, and those damned Kendricks will never know I’ve been there,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘Mind you, if I get the chance, I’ll take young Mary with me … willing or not!’

  Chapter

  – Two –

  The Taipo Hostel responded to the weather with sounds that reminded me of our coach journey. The windows of our room creaking and rattling became the grind of the iron wheels on the rough road, and the jingle of harness. The wailing wind surged down from the mountains and shook the building so that I could imagine voices crying out, horses galloping, and an atmosphere of haste and fear.

  It was the perfect background for a bad dream. My tired and muddled thoughts drifted through the noise and into nothingness, and from there into the depths of a nightmare.

  I was standing in a large building, completely alone. I had been frantically searching for someone called Bess. Vaguely, I associated her with a coach ride. But that was impossible, because here was I in a long corridor with closed doors every few yards and no sign of life anywhere. I was apprehensive about knocking on one of the doors because it was night and everyone must be sleeping.

  I began to worry about where I’d left my carry-basket and cloak. Were they safely under cover?

  The wind shook the building and one of the doors opened slightly, but no one appeared. I approached it cautiously and peered into an ill-lit room, empty of furniture except for a bench against one wall and a small window catching a distant flash of lightning.

  I stepped inside and felt a surge of fear as the door closed behind me. I darted back to it but there was no handle. I pounded on the door and shouted for Bess.

  Why was I here with no family? No Nik! The whole building seemed unnatural, almost evil. There was something frightening about that door. I was about to see if I could open the window, but then I stopped, rigid. The door was wide open again and a figure was standing in the entrance: a man, shadowy in the half-light.

  Terror made my spine tingle. I knew deep inside that he was the cause of all my present fears. I cried out again, but no one answered.

  The figure moved slowly towards me. I shrank against the wall. Desperately I searched for an escape but the only door was behind him.

  When he stopped, I strained to see his features, hidden by the peak of his cap.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  There was a brief, chilling laugh and a husky voice spoke my name. As he removed his cap, I knew the voice as one I would never forget.

  ‘John Southern!’ I whispered.

  He was now so close, my heart seemed to stop beating. His eyes were like a snake’s watching its prey.

  Suddenly I heard voices beyond the doorway, and a woman’s voice shrilled, ‘E’s goin’ to escape! E always does. E’s clever, ’e is!’

  She laughed, and the other voices faded as I tried to shout again for help. But my voice seemed paralysed.

  ‘Oh! Dear God!’ I breathed, ‘Help me! Tell me it’s just a dream?’

  Southern leered at
me and whispered viciously, ‘Aye, Mary Kendrick. I’m returning for the gold. How could I forget you and your lovely family who put me in prison! But I shall escape, and no one will know until too late that the gold has gone. You’ll be there when I come, and I’ll take you with me when I leave. No one will see us go … no one … no one!’

  The words and the scene faded into darkness. ‘No! No!’ I cried.

  I heard a woman’s voice, and a child crying in fear, then the sounds altered to the creaking of the Taipo Hostel window. There was a sudden flash of a candle being lit, and Bess was hastening to my side.

  I was sitting bolt upright in the bed, clutching a blanket as if it was a lifeline. I stared at Bess’s face, white in the candlelight, and for a moment wondered who she was. The one who laughed?

  ‘Has he gone?’ I whispered, too frightened to move.

  Bess hesitated, confused. ‘Oh, Mary, who? There’s no one … just us. The door is locked and your Father is sleeping across the passage.’

  She set the candlelight flickering around the small room. ‘See? Nobody!’

  She placed the candle on the vanity between our beds and sat down beside me.

  Tears were beginning to slide down my cheeks: a rare happening for me. I think they were tears of relief at Bess’s reassurances.

  ‘Mary,’ she said quietly, ‘no one entered this room, I’m positive about that. You must have had a terrifying nightmare. You woke me when you cried, ‘No, no!’ and I saw no one, only you.’

  ‘It seemed so real,’ I whispered. ‘I saw John Southern as close … as close as that candle.’

  ‘John Southern? The man on trial last week? How horrid. But he’s in gaol, remember?’

  ‘Oh, Bess, I’m sorry … so sorry. I know it was a nightmare, but I’ll never forget the terror of it. You see, ever since the robbery I’ve thought it likely that Southern would come back for the gold; now even his imprisonment hasn’t banished the dread of that possibility. What if he escapes?’

  Bess took my hands in hers. ‘Tell me what happened in the dream. Let me understand what you saw.’

  So I described everything in breathless sentences: my fear; Southern’s evil delight in all that he said; the horror of the woman’s message that he would escape from prison; and Southern saying that he would take me with him when the gold was recovered.

  Bess was silent for a moment, as if struggling to visualize it all.

  ‘One thing to hold onto,’ she said gently, ‘is the fact that he could never have been here physically. We’re hundreds of miles from Christchurch.’

  ‘I can see that now, ‘I whispered. ‘And I know the fear will fade with time. Oh, Bess! You look as shattered as I feel!’

  Our eyes met and we shared a smile. Bess stood up and pulled the curtain aside. Dawn was painting pale edges on the now-distant storm clouds.

  ‘Oh, the bliss of daylight after such fears,’ she said. ‘Someone’s just taken a lamp to the stables. We’d better get dressed.’ She sounded relieved and I could see that she expected all to return to normal with the new day’s activities.

  I wiped my damp cheeks. ‘I expect I look like a wet rag. I’ll have to say I’m stricken with a migraine.’ I looked at her and gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, Bess, I’m going to miss you so much. I feel that I’ve known you forever.’

  I began to dress, but I could sense that my nightmarish fears about John Southern were merely in abeyance. They would lurk and taunt me for months to come.

  Father greeted me at breakfast with, ‘My word, lass, you’re looking peaky this morning. Too much talking till the late hours.’ And he shook a finger at us.

  I managed a wan smile and reassured him, ‘Just a slight headache, Father. I shall be fine once we start, indeed I shall.’

  Bess was seated beside me in the coach but we had little chance for talk beyond comments on the scenery. We were both fatigued by the sudden early start to the day. It was a very sad moment when we parted at the Empire

  Hotel in Hokitika. I watched her board the coach for Greymouth, both of us waving until it swung around a corner. We were teary-eyed, and each had fears for our futures.

  Every mile we travelled south by coach and dray helped the nightmare to fade. After all, I was in no possible danger from Southern … unless he escaped.

  As home drew closer, I enjoyed the surges of excitement that swept through me. Rivers were high but the coach made all the crossings and by the time we transferred to the dray at Big Wanganui River, the sun had been shining for a second day.

  We reached Okarito on the coast in late afternoon, and I searched the small clusters of men waiting for the mailbags and luggage to be unloaded. There were no familiar figures as we climbed stiffly from the dray and farewelled the four other travellers. It had been a long, bone-shaking ride, and the disappointment was sharp at the end of such a journey. Nikolas had promised he would come to meet us, and I wondered what had happened.

  We were just stepping into the front room of the accommodation for dinner, when the door swung open and two bearded men strode in, consternation on their faces. Simon Kozan and Nikolas! I was swept off my feet by Nik, avoiding a glance at Father but feeling his disapproval at the public display of affection.

  ‘Oh, Nik. I’ve missed you so,’ I breathed in his ear.

  He held me at arms’ length and chuckled, ‘And you being used to seeing me every other day.’

  Every other day? We were fortunate to see each other for a few hours in ten days. Hardly a romantic arrangement, for Nikolas came out to the bay only when stores ran low.

  Simon was talking to Father — a different Simon, for he was speaking in long sentences, with even a smile instead of his usual reserved nods. I raised my eyebrows to Nikolas.

  It was his turn to breathe into my ear. ‘Romance is catching. Must be the sea air. Simon has got himself engaged to be married, too.’

  ‘No! I don’t believe … oh, Nik, who is she? Do I know her?’ I beamed across at Simon and the poor man reddened and turned back to Father.

  ‘She’s a Gillespies Beach lass — Agnes O’Malley.’

  ‘Oh, I am pleased. I’ve heard she’s a kind girl and a good worker. Mother knows her parents and says Agnes is the pick of that large family. When did they meet? And how did Simon get enough courage to ask her?’

  ‘You’ve the cheek of the devil in you, Mary Kendrick.’

  ‘You sound like Mrs O’Neill,’ I laughed.

  His face became serious. ‘Oh, aye. Mrs O’Neill. She’s been rather poorly lately … the shock of the robbery still with her, they think.’

  I hastily quenched my excitement. ‘Oh, how sad. Mother’s all right though, isn’t she? And the others?’

  ‘All’s well in both settlements, or ‘fine and dandy’ as the peddler would say, and the Kendrick children are waiting in dread of your return.’

  I pulled a face at him, and Father seemed to think it was time I returned to his side.

  The two men had intended staying with the Wallaces at Waiho ferry until the morrow, as a rumour had gone south that our coach had been delayed because the rivers were up. Then a traveller had passed and said that the dray would reach Okarito by afternoon. They’d saddled up and ridden as fast as they could with three horses on halters.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from Nikolas all evening as Father told them of the trial and our adventures on the road. Then the two Kozans told us the farm news and of happenings at Swag & Tucker.

  ‘We’ve decided on a name for the Kozan farms,’ announced Nikolas. ‘It’s to be Longridge, after the forested hill that shelters us. Do you approve?’

  I reflected on the word and nodded, and Father spoke for both of us, ‘An excellent choice. Gareth and I must choose ours now.’

  ‘Longridge,’ I murmured. ‘My future home.’

  Next day, pausing only for the tide to turn, we set off along the beaches and around the headlands for home. Father would not countenance my riding behind Nikolas, and I knew better than to arg
ue after my first asking. My married status in two years would be the first chance I’d have of doing that. Oh, lucky Agnes who would be marrying in February, a mere three months away.

  The ferrymen all appeared to the men’s call so we made good time. We slept the night with the Carroll family at Gillespies Beach and I struggled with suppressed yawns as our hosts caught up on city news and gossip from all points north. Isolation welcomes visitors and keeps talk going until the midnight hours, so eager are our families to break the loneliness.

  Mr McIntosh ferried us over the Cook River with the stores, and the horses swam on halters. I fidgeted with excitement as the men reloaded the stores and then we were away on the last stage over the bush-clad ridge. The horses knew that they were nearing home and the pace was fast.

  At last I caught a glimpse of the old kamahi guarding the track exit, and in a dozen paces the bay opened out around us in a dazzle of sunshine and colour. There was Kozan’s cottage where Nik’s father was ferryman for Big Jack River, and in the middle distance beyond the crossing were the scattered roofs of Swag & Tucker settlement, with smoke wisping from chimneys as midday meals were prepared.

  This was a mining beach but in the twenty-three years our families had lived here, the fine gold had dwindled as the leads were dug out. The men still worked the claims, called paddocks, often digging down six feet or more to follow a lead. Now there was little left, and the next generation of young men had moved inland to clear bush for farming.

  I ran my gaze across the greens and browns of the swampland behind the settlement, searching for Katie Ross’s cottage on the forested ridge. Each beloved landmark had a story to tell me. This was my home and I had known no other.

  By the time Mr Kozan had us passengers onto the ferry, there were five children and a dog jumping up and down like so many grasshoppers on the far bank. The excitement was infectious and my throat felt constricted as I caught sight of mother’s greying head and Rowan Winchester’s golden one bobbing along the track through the flax — Rowan my best friend and confidante. If only Brendan had been with us.