Chapter Forty-Two

Three weeks after Donald’s blunt diagnosis of Mai’s condition, Henry and Mai were married, with Donald and Jimmy as witnesses.

The only thing marring Henry’s happiness, as they celebrated their wedding breakfast with a small gathering of people in the back room of the Emporium, was the absence of Poppy, and the knowledge that she was at that very moment hundreds of miles away on her homeward journey to England.

It made no sense that he’d crossed the world to find her, then, having done so, had gone off and left her. He’d hurt Poppy badly when he’d left Charleston, he knew that; but Mai had got into his blood, and from the first time he’d met her and seen her beautiful shy smile, he’d known there would never be anyone else for him.

He’d thought he’d be able to make it up to Poppy by visiting her often, but now that was impossible. Business was booming though, he reflected, cheering up, and one day, maybe sooner rather than later, he’d be able to afford to take Mai, Wiremu and the new baby to England for a holiday. Never for good, mind — his life was now here in New Zealand with Mai.

Unless, he thought, suddenly anxious, Mai yearned for something different.

‘I promise I’ll take you to China one day, Mai,’ he promised, squeezing her hand as Jimmy made a toast to the bride and groom.

‘China was Grandfather’s dream, Henry, not mine. Wherever you are is where I shall always be,’ she whispered, blushing as Jimmy, overhearing, winked fondly at them both.

Henry thought of Donald’s warning all those months ago. You may as well be standing on opposite sides of a raging river. Try crossing it and you’ll drown.

Well, he and Mai had proved him wrong. They hadn’t drowned under the tide of bigotry and dire predictions for their future. They’d crossed the river and found their way home. His heart threatening to burst from his chest, Henry held Mai’s hand tightly, noting how cheerful Donald looked sitting up in old Prudence’s invalid chair. Grinning, Henry thought of the to-do the chair had caused when it had arrived in town on Hugh Doherty’s dray.

‘I happened to be at the wharf in Hokitika when they unloaded it, Henry,’ said Hugh. ‘Offered to bring it with me. Damned awkward thing to cart.’ Hugh had deposited the chair on the ground and several children, awed at the unusual sight, had scrambled onto it.

‘Get off, you cheeky young beggars!’ Henry had growled.

‘Let them be, Henry,’ Mai had said, smiling. ‘You can push them as far as Donald’s. They surely can’t harm it.’

And they hadn’t, but a procession of giggling children had followed them down the street, their mirth bringing shopkeepers and customers out to the street, wondering at the commotion.

After the wedding toasts and speeches, Mai drew Henry’s attention to Donald. ‘His voice is hoarse and he can barely keep his eyes open. It’s time we were all leaving,’ she said. ‘He needs to rest.’

As they said their goodbyes, Donald motioned for Henry to come closer. ‘It’s been a grand day, Henry.’ Weakly, he grasped Henry’s hands in his own. ‘And I thank you for including me in it.’

‘Donald, man. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.’ Henry struggled to contain his emotions.

‘Lad, if I could take back the trouble between us, I would do so gladly. I did it for the best. I thought no good would come from any union between the pair of you. I was wrong. She’s a good lass and she does you proud.’

That night, after Mai and Henry had made love for the first time as man and wife, Mai lay back on the bed, marvelling at the difference between this wedding night and the one she’d endured with Yan Gar Chan.

She thought of Henry’s gentleness as he’d stroked a hand over her rounded belly, his soft caressing of her breasts, contracting the muscles of her stomach until tiny pearldrops of milk had appeared on her nipples, glistening and cleansed by his lips. The whispering fondling between her thighs until she cried out. Her body craving his entry, welcoming him.

And now, instead of listening to the drunken snoring of Yan Gar Chan, terrified it would stop and she’d be subjected to more of his savage cruelty, she lay secure and loved with Henry beside her.

 

Lightly stroking his fingers across Mai’s cheek, checking that she was asleep, Henry quietly pulled up the covers.

She was his wife now.

Wife! He felt fit to burst at the very word. What with that, the baby on the way, and he and Donald friends again, he couldn’t remember ever having been as content. Except for Donald being poorly, life had never been so good.

The thought of Donald virtually confined to that dismal room for what was left of his life hit Henry hard in his gut. He ached with regret for the time wasted because of his stubbornness.

Life would change for him and Mai once Donald passed on. Folk would probably go all queer about Mai again once they didn’t have the fear of eviction or loss of employment. Most of them would more than likely take their custom elsewhere. But that eventuality no longer worried him. He’d long ago come to a decision about their future.

The Emporium was now so run-down it would cost a fortune to set it right. Jimmy wouldn’t be able to afford to do that, and Henry couldn’t see anyone else wanting to keep the place open. He’d offer Bramwell’s to Jimmy, to be paid back as he could afford it, same as Ben had done for him. He’d made plenty these past months. He’d see about buying some land and getting some market gardens going. It would be a wrench — he was a shopkeeper born, not a tiller of soil — but a living had to be earned and he was determined his wife and children would never know want.

It was Donald, rather than his own problems, that concerned him now. He’d keep that invalid chair until — he rubbed a hand across his eyes, easing their sudden stinging — until it wasn’t needed any more. He’d see that Donald’s last days were as pleasant as possible.

 

The next morning Henry called to see Donald as usual. ‘I’m glad to see you’re out of bed and dressed this morning, Donald, because

I’m taking you for a walk.’

Donald’s face flushed with pleasure.

‘Now, where would you like to go?’

‘Well, if it’s all the same, I’ve a powerful urge to see Bramwell’s Store.’

‘You have?’ Henry’s chest swelled with pride. Donald finally wanted to see Bramwell’s. But what if he didn’t like it? Before he’d taken ill, Donald’s Emporium had gleamed from top to bottom and every square inch of shelving had been filled with stock. Nowhere in the whole country would you have seen a finer store. His excitement now a nervous anxiety, Henry pushed Donald along the street.

‘Here, lad, stop, will you?’ Donald pointed to a vigorous rambling rose growing up one of the front corners of Bramwell’s Store. Nobody could recollect it being planted. But whether it had originally grown from seed carried by birds, or from a cutting carelessly dropped, it had flourished like a weed. Hardy, indifferent to the lack of care and vagaries of the seasons, it climbed up the side of the building without the aid of a trellis, a glorious blaze of red blooms sprouting from a network of thorny canes framed in cushions of green leaves.

‘That’s a grand sight, is it not, Henry? Would you mind picking me a flower for my buttonhole?’

Henry had never taken Donald for a man of such whimsical notions.

Donald sighed. ‘No doubt you’re thinking I’ve gone soft in the head, but it’s the wee things, the simple things in life, that give you the most pleasure, lad, and it’s taken me all these years to learn that. Just look at it, now.’ He gestured at the rose. ‘Without any encouragement or care, it’s quietly grown up and thrived. It’s an example to us all. A lesson in resilience.’

Henry picked a bud and handed it to Donald, watching as he slipped it through his buttonhole.

‘Right, I’m ready to see this jewel of yours, Henry.’

Feeling as if an axe were about to fall on his neck, Henry pushed the invalid chair over Bramwell’s threshold.

Donald looked all around the store, not a flicker of emotion showing on his face. Henry’s heart sank as the Scotsman silently appraised the shelves and counter. He realised how much Donald’s approval meant to him. And right now it didn’t seem that he thought too much of Henry’s store.

‘Mmm,’ Donald murmured, after what seemed an eternity. ‘It’s grand, Henry. Fitted out and arranged in the best Emporium tradition. You’ve done a fine job. I’d be proud if this was my store.’

Henry let out his breath. ‘You like it?’ he croaked. ‘You really like it?’

‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Donald managed a short rasping laugh before it turned into a coughing spasm.

 

‘He likes it, Mai,’ Henry said later, still elated at Donald’s generous praise. ‘Said I’d done a grand job. And there’s a queer thing. He was taken with that old prickly rose growing outside. Big bluff, gruff Donald! You could have knocked me over when he asked me to pick a flower so he could put it in his buttonhole. And, you know, I’ll swear his voice was stronger while he was looking at it.’

Every day, as long the rose flowered, Henry picked Donald a fresh bloom for his buttonhole before he took him for his outing.

‘Not today, Henry,’ Donald said one morning, after Henry had wheeled in the invalid chair and pushed it alongside the bed. ‘My bones feel like they’ve been broken and glued together. Maybe tomorrow.’

Henry doubted it as he looked at Donald’s face, yellow and lined with pain. He’d been dreading this day, knowing it was inevitable, yet he’d still harboured a glimmer of hope that Donald would miraculously recover.

 

‘I’m sure this is the only thing keeping him going,’ Henry told Mai, patting her stomach. ‘He wants to be around when it’s born. I want him to make it, but you’ve a good few weeks to go yet and I hate to see him suffering the way he is.’

Mai took Henry’s hands in her own, clasping them tightly, lending him strength.

‘We’re being selfish wanting him to stay with us when he’s so ill. We must let go of Donald. Set him free so he can go to his ancestors, become whole and well once more.’