At Trentham, Cissie gazed for the hundredth time up at the fading sky.
Surely they couldn’t be too much longer. She’d been jubilant less than an hour ago when the lighthouse-keeper’s report from Stephen’s Island had been announced. It had been the same all evening. The New Zealand Government Radio Service continued to send reports of sightings of the Aotearoa from Foxton, Porirua, and Jackson’s Head, even as far north as Featherston and Paekākāriki. The radio broadcaster announced each of these updates to the uproarious applause and cheering of the Trentham crowd, which at its peak was 10,000 strong. Over the following hours this number had shrunk to several hundred and continued to dwindle. Where on earth could the Aotearoa be?
The cheery smile on her face had become fixed. She dared no
