HAEATA.

Otago Witness, Issue 3034, 8 May 1912, Page 82

HAEATA.

By Ida M. Batten. j

She was tall, slim, and graceful, with large limpid eyes, black as night, red lips parted over pearly teeth, and dusky hair rippling round her perfect oval face—but she was a Maori. Haeata's home was near New Plymouth, and one might see her as she walked into the town carrying little flax kits of strawberries for sale. She was well-known to the townspeople, and few could resist buying when Haeata came to sell. One morning she called at a newlybuilt house, and in answer to her knock the door was opened by a fair, handsome young man in tennis flannels. On Haeata's part it was a case of "love at first sight," and certainly Fabian Grey was charmed by the beauty of the girl who stood before him. For a few seconds Haeata forgot her mission, until Fabian's good-natured "Te na koe" aroused her. She bent over the little baskets and, removing the leaves which icovered the luscious fruit, she said, "You want the strawberry?" He brought several baskets of the fruit, and while he was making his selection Haeata noticed the fair curling hair and bright blue eyes, so different from those of her own people. "What is your name?" he asked. "Haeata," she replied. "Hae-a-ta?" he said slowly. She nodded and smiled. " And what does that mean?" he questioned. "What does the Pakeha say for that?" She understood, and, raising her hand and pointing towards the east, she said, "The dawn—the splitting of the day—the sunrise, you know.'" "I see, Haeata, a lovely name, and it suite you well. Come again soon and bring me some more of your strawberries." From the house a woman's soft voice called, "Fabian." "All right," he answered; "I'm coming!" Haeata turned away, and for some weeks she saw no more of Fabian. She called at his house several times, but there appeared to be nobody at home. But he was the subject of many a long daydream, as Haeata sat at the edge of the creek that ran through her father's land, and although several young Maoris offered her their love, she would not listen, for all her thoughts were of Fabian. The fed Europeans who visited the little settlement showed their admiration for the lovely young Maori in unmistakable ways, but their advances were met by a quiet dignity which repelled the boldest. One never-to-be-forgotten Sunday afternoon Haeata was lazily swinging her poi by the creek when she heard voices in the bush. As she looked up several young men came into view, and amongst them was Fabian. She rose from her seat in the ferns and greeted them. "Why, Haeata, is it really you?" cried Fabian in astonishment. "This my place," she replied, raising her heavily-fringed eyes to his, "you come and see the strawberry garden?" There was some chaff when Fabian's friends discovered that he knew the beautiful Maori, although he laughingly assured them he had seen .her but once before. Haeata only partly understood their conversation. When they talked slowly, to understand was easy enough, but this quick interchange of sentences was puzzling. In spite of this, she was deliriously happy. She accompanied them round the gardens with her father and guided them through the corn plantation to the apple orchard. Fabian walked beside her, chatting pleasantly, and admiring the ferns and plants in their pathway. She told him the Maori names of them, and laughed with delight at his attempts to pronounce her language. At length, when they had gone, Haeata sought her favourite place in the bush, * and, looking towards the gorgeous sunset, she recalled every careless laughing word of his, and in her ignorance wondered if the time would ever come when he might care for her perhaps as much as she cared for him. After this first Sunday Fabian frequently rode out to the settlement, to spend an hour or two with Haeata. It was a pleasant way to pass an afternoon, and the idea that by so doing he was awakening ' the love of the Maori never for an instant entered his thoughts. But now the days were shortening, and soon winter came, so Haeata's journeys to New Plymouth ceased for a time, and Fabian saw no more of her. All through the long months Haeata thought of Fabian and lived again in memory the happy hours she had spent at his side. With the coming of spring her journeys began once more, and at last she stood at the gate of Fabian's home, with a bundle of small flat kits, the result of many an hour of work during the winter months. She had no idea of the picture she made as she walked up. the pine avenue, in her short scarlet skirt and white blouse, with a red handkerchief loosely tied round her pretty head. Fabian never forgot her as she looked that spring morning. He was on the verandah chatting to his wife and playing with his little son. For one second as Haeata saw them her heart seemed to stop beating, and a look of anguish crept into her dark eyes. But only for a moment. With one slim bare foot on the verandah step she greeted him. Fabian greeted her warmly, and, introducing his wife, said, "This my wife — wahine, —you understand, Haeata?" The shock was almost too much for the poor girl ; never had she dreamt that he was married. For a second everything looked black, and their voices seemed miles away. With the one thought that she must hide her face, she turned to the little child, whose fancy was caught by the bright skirt she wore. He stretched out his chubby ' little hand to her, and she took it in her slim, brown one and stroked it gently —so white it was, and so small.

"He likes you, Haeata," said Fabian, who, noticing how fatigued she looked, put it down to her long walk. Haeata smiled bravely although the tears stood in her eyes. How far he was from her—a Maori. She selected a pretty poi ball and dangled it in front. of the child. He laughed with delight, and she gave it to him. Mrs Grey talked to her kindly, and showed great interest in her, and when Haeata turned to go asked her to come again. The baby cooed "Ta-ta," at his mother's bidding, and Fabian said "Good-bye, Haeata." How her own name on his lips thrilled her heart. Now she was once again facing .home with that one thought burnt out her brain—that he was married. Over and over again she whispered it to herself — Married, married! Oh, if she had but been white she might have been his wife. At the thought her eyes flashed and her rounded bosom heaved. But what was_she to him? Only a Maori, a strawberry girl—nothing more. That night she stole from the whare to the bush, and, resting on the sweet cool ferns, once more she thought of Fabian. \v as it right to love him now that she knew he belonged to a white woman? Her love could not harm him. Ho knew nothing of it. Never once did she blame him. Her own loyal nature could see no bad in the man she loved ; he had never once suggested love-making to her—never once. Had she been white, would he have admired and loved her? Ohl how hard it was to have no chance. And her throat swelled and the tears came. She looked up to the bright stars and thought of her teacher's words that beyond the stars was a beautiful place called heaven, where dark and white were always happy. Ah, yes, but she wanted his love now—now while she was warm, beautiful, and loving, not when she was cold and dead. She wanted to feel those white hands caressing her hair, to see those blue eyes looking with love into hers, to hear that voice whispering tender words of love to her. But, no! it could never be. Now Fate stepped in and solved the weary puzzle for Haeata. One afternoon she gathered the ripest strawberries and placed them in their little flax baskets, plucked some scarlet poppies and twined them in her .black hair, then once more turned towards the town. It was late, and perhaps Fabian would be at home. "Fay-be-an," she whispered as she walked along the .white, dusty road, at least she might see him sometimes; that could not "be wrong. As she came in sight of Fabian's house she saw his little 6on run out into the road. He seemed to be alone. She would give him some fruit, the tiny darling—his little son. But surely it was not safe for him to be alone on the road. Where could his parents be? She quickened her steps, and then stood turned to stone at the sight of a pair of runaway cart horses galloping straight to where that little white figure stood! God! he would be'killed! She dashed towards the horses, everything forgotten but the mad desire to save his child. Leaping at the bridles, she caught them, and with new-born strength held on to them and turned the horses aside, and so brought them to a standstill. But the cruel hoof struck her, and she fell fainting to the ground. T.he sight that met Fabian Grey's eyes was seared into his memory for as long as life lasted—the horses, foam-covered and quivering with fright, and the Maori girl lying senseless beside them. He sent one of ' the crowd for a doctor, and carried her gently into the .bouse, while a woman standing near lifted the terrified but unhurt child. He laid her on the bed, and bathed her forehead and stroked her luxuriant hair where t.he scarlet poppies were dying. "Poor girl, poor girl," he murmured. Suddenly the glossy lashes quivered and the eyes opened and recognised the face she loved so well. Was it joy that flashed into those lovely eyes? Her lips moved, and he bent to catch the words. "Nui atu taku aroha ki a koe." Maori! And he couldn't understand it. But on© word, "Aroha," he recognised, and that he knew meant love. "Love, Haeata?" he said, "you love the baby?" She closed her eyes in dissent. He thought she was dead, but no! once more the dark eyes looked into his. then the truth flashed UDon him. "Me? Haeata, you love me?" he asked. Then joy unspeakable flashed from their dreamy depths, and he bent and pressed his lips to hers. Thfi lovely features relaxed into a smile, and Haeata's last breath fluttered.against his cheek.