Toward the Sea of Freedom (26 page)

Ian’s customers reported about Port Cooper, and this interested Kathleen. She still missed Pere and her other friends in the little town, which, though it had also been called Port Victoria, had received yet another name. Now the town was to be called Lyttelton, after an important man in the Canterbury Association, and the tiny settlement was slowly growing into a city. The traffic through it to Christchurch brought money to Lyttelton.

John, the smith, had established a transport service for the new settlers, which the well-off immigrants liked to use. For a certain fee, one could be led over the Bridle Path on a mule. John did not buy his mules from Ian, however, which embittered Ian enough that he thought the better of cheating John’s competition in Christchurch. Ian provided the man with beasts of burden that were healthy and strong. Yet he could not prevail. John simply had a better location in Lyttelton; he was immediately at hand when ships arrived.

Now Lyttelton had a tavern and a hotel, and recently, a pastor had settled there as a doctor. News of this filled Kathleen with envy: she was due in a few weeks, and this time there was no hope of Pere or another midwife—let alone a doctor—to help with the delivery. Theoretically, Ian could call somebody from Christchurch, but the Coltranes hardly knew anyone there, and Ian took no steps to make new acquaintances. And there was nothing to guarantee Ian would even be home when Kathleen gave birth. He promised not to ride away during the time in question, but if the baby was early, Kathleen would be alone. She simply tried not to think about it.

Kathleen checked the fences near the house, work she hated, and not just because her belly hampered her. After an hour, she was already bathed in sweat, although it was winter—a cool, dry, day in June, unusually sunny for the season. Anyone who had an eye for natural beauty could enjoy a distant view as far as the majestic southern mountains and even make out individual peaks. Kathleen only knew the name of the tallest: Mount Cook. In Port Cooper, Pere had told her everything about the local bay and the Port Hills that separated Lyttelton from Canterbury. Here in the plains, there was no one to teach her. For Kathleen, the mountains and plateaus had no names, and she did not bother to name the landmarks.

Little Sean excelled at this, however. He had begun to talk early. So he would dub a copse in the middle of which a natural clearing appeared the “Fairy Place,” and a large rock standing in the middle of a meadow “Leprechaun.”

The children were good company as she worked. Colin would attentively hand her a tool while Sean tried to teach the dog to shake hands.

“Good boy, give me good paw,” he explained to the agreeable but completely useless mutt.

Recently, Ian had come to believe he needed to teach his sons manners. “It impresses the customers,” he once said. “Especially the higher class. For the farmers, it mostly doesn’t matter how you lot act. But the gentlemen like a ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir.’ ‘How good you look on the horse, sir.’ ‘Of course, this is no horse for a farmer, sir, it’s got too much vim. But if anyone can tame it, it’d be a master rider like you, sir.’ And at that, you’d bow and smile.”

At thirteen months, Colin hadn’t understood anything his father was saying, but he liked to laugh and imitate Ian bowing. Sean, however, had furrowed his brow. He was two years old and asked questions all the time.

“Some can tame a horse, some can’t,” Ian had said, more to himself than anyone. “The main thing is the customer believes he can. When it turns out he can’t, well, at least he’ll come back and admit it. And, boys, if the man comes right back with the horse, give him your good hand and bow.”

“What’s that, good hand?” Sean had inquired, though he risked a slap for being insolent. “Other hand good too.”

Now the dog he was trying to teach seemed to be having similar trouble understanding the difference. When he raised a paw at all, it was the left one. But Sean was distracted anyway. Over the path that led from the farm to Christchurch, a donkey was trotting toward them, a conspicuous little animal with friendly, upright ears. It was properly bridled and bearing a rider who looked no less strange than her mount.

As they approached, Kathleen could see the woman was young, somewhere around her own age, so about twenty. She was thin and delicate. However, Kathleen immediately thought she recognized the first signs of a pregnancy. The waist of the elegant brown velvet riding dress seemed to be a little high, and the fabric strained a bit around the breasts. However, the woman sat very elegantly in her English sidesaddle—a relaxed, upright posture like the one Lady Wetherby in Ireland also had. On a donkey, one so small at that, both the large saddle and the prim appearance of the rider seemed more than out of place.

Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh when she caught sight of her. The young woman returned the laugh at once. She had a lovely smile and a little nose set in an oval face framed by a few dark-brown corkscrew curls, which had come loose from under her hat. Her friendly brown eyes looked out from strong brows and thick eyelashes.

“Hello,” the rider greeted her, bowing and graciously lowering her hand, which held a riding crop. Kathleen also recalled this gesture from the lady in her homeland. “How lovely to meet another person. And a woman at that. Even if you laugh at me first thing. I do admit I must look a little like Sancho Panza on his donkey.”

“Like who?” Kathleen asked shyly.

The young woman ignored the question. Instead, she looked over Kathleen and the children inquisitively.

“Well, I see your two knights are still too little to help me from the saddle,” she said regretfully before gliding nimbly down from the donkey without help. Smiling, she approached Kathleen.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Claire Edmunds, of Stratford Manor, farther upriver.”

“Stratford Manor?” asked Kathleen, awed. That sounded grand. The houses of many wealthy Englishmen in Ireland also had fine-sounding names.

“Well, yes, after Stratford—Stratford-upon-Avon, you know. Shakespeare’s hometown. Such foolishness, calling the river the Avon and then the city Christchurch. Bigoted folk, all of them would-be missionaries. Anyway, I named the farm. Sounds better than Edmunds’ Farm, don’t you think? My husband laughs at me for it, though. What do you call your farm?”

Kathleen shrugged. “Coltrane’s Livestock Trade,” she said. “I’m Kathleen Coltrane.”

Claire Edmunds furrowed her brow. “Ah yes, your husband sold Spotty here to mine.” She pointed to the donkey.

Kathleen now recalled having the animal in the stables for a short time.

“A nice animal,” Claire continued. “But your husband ought not to have told mine that this little fellow could do all the farm work. He claimed he was worth two mules in front of a wagon or a plow.”

Kathleen blushed. “My husband . . .”

“Is a horse trader. I understand; they all lie. One simply can’t believe anything they say, and Spotty makes that plain. But Matthew has no notion of horses. And, of course, he doesn’t listen to me.”

“Spotty?” asked Sean, stroking the donkey’s nose.

Claire nodded. “Indeed. And what is your name, young man?”

Sean held his hand out to her—the left, unfortunately, but he bowed. “Sean, Madam.”

Claire Edmunds laughed and shook Sean’s hand blithely. “What a sweet child. And so well raised. So, as I was saying, I’m not angry about all that with Spotty.
Au contraire.
Since he can’t do farm work, I have him to myself.”

“Your saddle’s funny,” said Sean.

“It’s from England,” Claire explained. “I brought it with me. I would have loved to bring my horse too, but we could not afford it.” Her face became sad. “But what can you do? It’s not important for happiness.” The woman looked cheerful again. “In any case, I have my saddle and my riding dress—and Spotty. And I’ve finally found a woman who does not live so far away and with whom I can talk.” She looked questioningly at a daunted Kathleen. “You will talk to me, won’t you?”

Kathleen smiled and decided she could not afford to be shy. “Of course,” she said. “You’re the first woman I’ve seen in seven months, and I’m not supposed to talk to you? I’m just a little surprised.”

Claire nodded, understanding. It did not seem to be any different for her. A mischievous smile flitted across her face. “Nothing wrong with that. But you ought to think of inviting me to tea now, as I’ll need to go soon. When my husband comes home in the evening, he has to eat right away. I take that very seriously, the fastest way to the heart being through the stomach.” Claire made this assertion sounding thoroughly convinced. “It’s just I can’t cook very well,” she admitted.

Kathleen laughed and invited Claire into the house. The other woman took her little hat off, revealing a thick knot of dark hair, which she loosened, freeing her corkscrew curls. Kathleen wondered how she would look with such a hairstyle, and suddenly she was aware of her worn dress and her stringy hair.

Claire seemed to read her thoughts. “I don’t have that many good dresses either,” she confessed. “In truth, really just this one, since I haven’t had it on since I left home. And it won’t fit me much longer. Nor the others. Matthew says I should simply sew myself a new one, but I don’t know how.” Claire sighed. “Anyway, I dressed up today to go riding. And I even found someone.” Her face brightened. “Matthew will be very happy for me. He’s so considerate! Truly, you know . . .”

“So, where was your home, originally?” Kathleen inquired.

“Liverpool,” Claire answered at once. “How about you? You’re Irish, are you not? Matthew said something like that.” She blushed.

Kathleen had to laugh again. “‘Those damned Irish.’” She imitated in a deep voice what Matthew Edmunds was almost sure to have said: “‘Thieves and cheats, the lot of them.’”

Claire giggled, at ease. “Quite close,” she confirmed. “I just didn’t want to say it and insult you. And I’m sure not all Irish are like that. Surely many are very . . . nice.” She bit her lip and changed the subject. “Tell me, you wouldn’t happen to be a midwife, would you? I, I’m having a baby, you see.”

Kathleen swallowed. In her homeland, people were not nearly as prudish as in England, but even the Irish would not have broached the subject of childbirth after a mere half hour of acquaintance. Only Pere spoke so casually about having children.

Claire blushed again. “I’m sorry. Certainly that wasn’t proper. But I really must go soon, and it weighs on my heart. Mrs. Coltrane, I . . . I have no idea how the baby will get out.” She bit her lip.

Kathleen should have been moved by her embarrassment, but Claire amused her. They were the same age, but this girl seemed so innocent and naive. It was hardly imaginable that she was married and soon to have a baby.

“Well, out the same door it came in, generally speaking,” Kathleen answered drily.

Claire looked at her, disbelieving. “You mean there, where my husband . . . but, but it’s not big enough. It’s hardly big enough for my husband.” Her face was now completely red. She looked like a ten-year-old in Father O’Brien’s classroom.

Kathleen smiled. “Claire! May I call you Claire?” She could hardly call this girl Mrs. Edmunds. “I hope it’s all right if we call each other by our first names at this point. The entrance widens.”

“You’re sure?” Claire asked suspiciously. “I know I’m ignorant in these matters. My father’s a doctor, but one simply does not talk about such things with her father. My mother would have an attack of asthma if I asked her something like that.”

“I’m sure,” Kathleen soothed her. “You don’t need to worry about that. But someone gave you away in marriage. Did no one tell you anything about having children?”

Claire chewed on her lower lip. “Strictly speaking, no one gave me away,” she said. “I gave myself away. Really, I was supposed to marry my cousin; he’s going to be a doctor and take over Father’s practice. But he’s a boring oaf. Well, and then I got to know Matthew.” An otherworldly radiance spread over Claire’s face. “In the city, at market. Kathleen, he’s so funny. He was always making me laugh. And he tells such lovely stories. About all his travels—imagine, he’s been to America! And to Hawaii. And Australia. But New Zealand was best, he said back then. A little like England, but everything new, no bigwigs, no limitations—Matthew wanted to buy land and settle. With me! Oh, Kathleen, it was so romantic when he asked me. And the way he described everything. The river here, the Avon—don’t you think it’s a sign? I’m Juliet; Matthew is Romeo. But my parents would never have accepted it. So I simply did it.”

Claire got up and assumed a histrionic posture. “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”

She beamed.

Kathleen frowned. Was her new friend crazy?

Claire looked just as taken aback. “Don’t you know it?” she asked, disbelieving. “Shakespeare.
Romeo and Juliet
. It’s a very famous story. Don’t you have any romance over there in Ireland?”

Kathleen did not reveal her romance with Michael or their time in the fields by the river. Nevertheless, she learned every detail of Claire’s flight from her parents’ house, her precipitous wedding in London, and her voyage to New Zealand.