Henry’s heart was pounding as he rode towards Bluebell Cottage with the bag of gold slung across the saddle.
We’re rich! We can buy the farm!
There was a horse tied up outside. Who is here?
He covered the sack of gold with a blanket and held it by his side as he entered the cottage. There in the kitchen, chatting with Henry’s mother, was Doctor Zephaniah Smith.
Henry had not spoken to Smith since the doctor had brought his fingerprinting gear into prison and discovered that Burgess was not the man who killed his wife.
He had seen Smith on the hill overlooking the prison. And now, here he was.
Hide the gold!
“Doctor Smith!” Henry strode forward to greet him, flicking the blanket-covered sack into the corner.
Smith smiled and grasped Henry’s hand. “Henry!”
“It is wonderful to see you, sir.”
“How is your sketching, Henry?”
Smith had not let go of Henry’s hand.
“Ah – I haven’t been doing that so much lately. I –”
“Perhaps you have your mind set on a new career?”
“A new career?”
Henry peered out into the garden.
Is Miriama here? He searched his mother’s face.
“Yes, a career as a physician, Henry. I believe it is your calling.”
“A physician? Ah –”
“A painter can reflect the world, Henry, but a physician can help to change it.”
“Mmm.”
Doctor Smith chuckled. “You have your mind on something else, I can see.” He released his grip and pointed out into the garden. “Yes, I have brought Miriama home.”
Henry turned and saw her, out in the back yard.
“Miriama!”
He did not immediately run out to see her: Miriama was standing at the fence line, talking to two elderly Māori women on Chadwick’s land.
“Who are they?” he asked his mother.
“Miriama’s aunties. They’ve come to see that she is well.”
Henry watched impatiently as Miriama pressed noses with the two women, who then turned and walked off towards a larger group of Māori men and women further up the slope. He ran into the garden.
“Miriama!”
She turned: a young woman, no longer dressed as a man.
You are beautiful.
“Henry!” She looked at his stiff leg and the walking stick. “Are you in pain?” she asked.
“I’m getting used to it.” He pulled her towards him and embraced her.
She melted into him.
“Are you here to stay?”
Miriama nodded, smiling.
“We can set up home, Miriama,” he blurted out. But she held up her palm in a “stop” sign.
“After we see the Queen.”
“The Queen?”
“Yes,” said Miriama. “She needs to know what is happening.”
“What is happening?”
“The kiore – our native rat. It’s being pushed out by the white man’s rat.”
“What’s the rat got to do with anything?” Can’t we talk about you and me?
“The same thing is happening to my people,” said Miriama.
“What – you’re getting pushed out by rats?”
“No, Henry. But so many white people are coming to Aotearoa. And Māori are losing their land, their culture. Everything.”
“It doesn’t need to be that way,” Henry countered. “Surely.”
Miriama nodded. “I choose to believe there is hope.”
Why are we talking about these things? He put on a bright face and stood back to admire Miriama.
She gave a small smile. “No more hiding. No more… mask.” Her slender fingers demonstrated a veil being drawn aside.
“I’m glad,” said Henry. “Very glad.”
He turned at the sound of Smith’s horse galloping away. Good – no questions about the gold.
He looked into Miriama’s eyes. “Miriama – something wonderful! I haven’t told mother yet, but –” He checked his mother was busy in the kitchen. “I’ve got enough gold to pay for the farm! We won’t have to sell it.”
“Gold?” Miriama’s smile froze.
“Yes. It was a gift. From a friend.”
“A friend?” Miriama removed her hands from his.
Should I tell her?
“Burgess,” he said.
“Burgess!” Miriama backed away.
“Yes, Burgess,” said Henry. “He wants me to have it.”
Why isn’t she excited? “We can buy the farm!”
Miriama pursed her lips.
“The gold – this is a good thing he’s done,” said Henry. “It’s his dying wish – for me – for us! So we can save the farm.”
Miriama narrowed her eyes. “And how did Burgess get the gold?”
“Can’t you be excited for us?” Henry took a quick look at his mother, busy in the kitchen. “This’ll change our lives.”
Miriama dropped her eyes to study the ground.
“The men who found the gold are dead,” argued Henry. “They don’t need it. And we do.”
He touched Miriama’s hand. She pulled away.
His mother called from the cottage. “Miriama?”
“It’ll break her heart if she loses the farm,” Henry hissed.
Miriama gave him a long look. “Better to lose the farm than lose your soul,” she said.
Lose my soul? “Is that another one of your ‘proverbs’?” Henry stalked off to the far end of the garden and poked the dirt with his walking stick.
Miriama went back inside the cottage. Henry looked around, muttering, at the hens pecking in the dirt. Alberta needed hay. The vegetables were struggling. The fence sagged. We are so poor. The gold will change everything.
In the cottage, the two women looked out at Henry as he paced around. His mother put an arm around Miriama. Henry glared at them. He hobbled to the fence and contemplated the broken section. Yes, yes – I’ll fix it tomorrow.
He flicked weeds with his walking stick and saw, clinging to a rock, a tiny South Island edelweiss. It was not yet summer, but there it was – a delicate flower shining cheerily among the weeds. He glowered at it.
Someone had placed an edelweiss in the posy Burgess held in the moments before he died. Is this a sign? What does it mean?
Thoughts of Burgess and his gang hammered at his brain. The threats. The violence. The screams of the dying men. Burgess’s own confessions. The gang huddled around their campfire, examining the gold for which they had slaughtered four men.
Henry licked his dry lips.
He looked up to see Miriama and his mother watching him from the kitchen window.
Yes, I know. There’s blood on that gold.
He straightened up, drew his breath, and returned to the cottage.
He walked into the kitchen. “You’re right,” he said. “The gold should be returned to the murdered men’s families.”
He took Miriama’s hand. “We may lose the farm, but it won’t be the end of the world.”
Miriama squeezed his hand and smiled.
“We will manage,” said his mother calmly. “And look.” She lifted Smith’s leather bag onto the table. “Doctor Smith said it was yours.”
Henry stared at the doctor’s bag with its distinctive bullet hole, and the embossed ‘Z. Smith’. He grinned. That bag and I have had some terrifying adventures!
Inside the bag was a sturdy, leather-bound book. Henry lifted it out and examined the title: A Manual of General Anatomy of the Human Body.
“Doctor Smith seems convinced that you’ll make a fine doctor,” said his mother.
“You don’t sound so sure, mother.”
“No no, I am. Far better to be a physician than a writer of dime novels.”
Henry bit his lip. He took the stethoscope out of the bag, put the ear tips to his head, and spoke into the diaphragm. “Doctor Appleton will now see his patients,” he said in his deepest voice. Perhaps one day?
The women giggled.
“Doctor Smith has promised to help us,” said his mother.
“What do you mean –’us’?”
“He said he will help us buy the farm.”
“Buy the farm?” Henry gasped.
“Yes,” said his mother. “Buy the farm and never see that nasty man Chadwick again.” She pulled Miriama and Henry towards her. “We have much to be grateful for.” She closed her eyes in prayer. “Dear Lord, we thank you for our good fortune.”
They all said “Amen!” with conviction.
“And,” Henry’s mother continued, “we pray for the souls of the men who were hanged today.”
“Also,” said Miriama in a quiet voice, “we pray that Burgess might receive forgiveness.”
Henry saw, held between Miriama’s fingers, a tiny flower – a South Island edelweiss. Strange! But he had no time to dwell on it.