by Sarah Lark
That day, however, there was no chance that Paul would reach school during class. The boy was too far away for that; as soon as he had noticed Ruben turn conspiratorially to Paul’s sister, Fleur, he had glued himself to the two older children’s heels. Secrets, he knew very well, almost always involved something forbidden, and for Paul there was nothing better than catching his sister at some petty infraction. He had no compunctions about tattling, even if the results rarely proved satisfactory. Kiri never punished the adolescents, and even Paul’s mother displayed lenience when she caught Fleurette telling fibs or a glass or vase broke during one of her wild games. Paul rarely experienced such mishaps. He was naturally deft, and besides, he had practically grown up among the Maori. He had adopted their fluid hunter’s gait, their ability to sneak up on prey all but silently—just like his rival, Tonga. The Maori men made no distinction between the little pakeha and their own offspring. If there were children there, people cared for them, and it was among the hunters’ duties to instruct the youths in their art, just as the women taught the girls. Paul had always been among their most gifted students, and now those skills enabled him to sneak up behind Fleurette and Ruben unnoticed. It was a shame that their whispering was probably about one of the young O’Keefe’s secrets instead of some wrongdoing by his sister. No doubt Miss O’Keefe’s punishment for anything her son had done would not prove harsh enough to warrant his having to listen to her harangue about tattle-telling. He would have achieved better results by telling on the boy to his father, but Paul didn’t trust himself around Howard O’Keefe. He knew that Helen’s husband and his grandfather did not get along, and Paul would not collaborate with Gerald’s enemies; it was a question of honor. Paul only hoped his grandfather appreciated it. He made every effort to impress his grandfather, but the older Warden took little notice of him. Paul did not hold that against him. His grandfather had more important things to do than play with young boys—on Kiward Station, Gerald Warden was almost like God himself. But eventually, Paul would do something noteworthy, and then Gerald would have to notice him. The boy wanted nothing more than his grandfather’s praise.
As for Ruben and Fleurette—what might they have to conceal? Paul had become suspicious when Ruben had not taken his own horse but instead settled in front of Fleurette on Minette. Minette did not have a saddle on so there was room for both riders on her back. What a strange way to ride. Ruben took the reins while Fleurette sat behind him, pressing her upper body against him with her cheek tight against his back and her eyes closed. Her curly, red-golden hair fell loosely to her shoulders—Paul remembered that one of the shepherds had said she looked good enough to eat. That must have meant that the guy wanted to do it with her—though Paul still only had a vague idea what that involved. One thing was certain: Fleurette was the last person he would ever think of for that. Paul couldn’t imagine the word beauty ever being used in connection with his sister. Why was she snuggling up so to Ruben? Was she afraid of falling down? Not very likely—Fleurette was an extremely confident rider.
It did not help that Paul had to get closer to hear what the two of them were whispering. How stupid was it that his pony, Minty, made such short, quick strides. It was almost impossible to bring her into tempo with Minette so as to be less noticeable. Fleurette and Ruben, however, were oblivious. They must have been able to hear his pony’s steps, but they weren’t paying attention to them. Only Gracie, Fleur’s sheepdog, who followed her mistress around as naturally as Cleo did their mother, cast suspicious glances into the brush. But Gracie would not attack; after all, she knew Paul.
“Do you think we’ll ever find these damned sheep?” Ruben asked suddenly. His voice sounded nervous, almost fearful.
Fleurette was obviously displeased to have to lift her face from his back.
“Yes, of course,” she murmured. “Don’t worry. Gracie will herd them together in the blink of an eye. We…should even have time for a rest.”
Paul noted with bewilderment how her hands played on Ruben’s shirt and her fingers felt through his buttonholes for his naked chest.
The boy did not seem unwilling. He reached behind him briefly and stroked Fleur’s neck. “Gah, I don’t know…the sheep…my father will kill me if I don’t bring them back.”
So that was it. The sheep had gotten away from Ruben once again. Paul could even picture which ones. On the way to school the day before, he had seen the amateur repair job done to the fence holding the young rams.
“Have you at least fixed the fence?” Fleur asked. The two riders crossed a brook to an especially lovely bank covered in grass, screened by rocks and nikau palms. Fleurette removed her small brown hands from Ruben’s chest and reached nimbly for the reins. She brought Minette to a halt, leaped from her back, and threw herself in the grass, where she lounged provocatively. Ruben tied the horse to a tree and lay down next to her.
“Tie her down tightly or she’ll be gone in a heartbeat,” Fleur told him. Her eyes were half-closed, but she had still noticed Ruben’s inept knot. The girl loved her beau, but she was as distressed about his lack of practical skills as Gwyneira had once been about the man Fleur took for her father. Ruben had no artistic pretenses though, wanting instead to go to Dunedin to study law at the university being organized there. Helen supported her son’s vision—erring on the side of caution, he had not yet presented his plans to Howard.
The boy got reluctantly to his feet to see to the horse. He did not hold Fleur’s assertive nature against her. He knew his own weakness as well as anybody, and he was awed by Fleurette’s practical capabilities.
“I’ll take care of the fence tomorrow,” he muttered, which made Paul shake his head uncomprehendingly. If Ruben just enclosed the rams in the same broken pen again, they would run away again by morning.
Fleurette said something to that effect. “I can help you, you know,” she offered, and then they were both quiet. It annoyed Paul that he could not see anything, so he finally crept around the stone to get a better look. What he saw made him catch his breath. The kisses and caresses that Fleur and Ruben were exchanging beneath the trees looked rather like what Paul thought “doing it” was! Fleur lay in the grass, her hair spread out like a radiant web; on her face was an expression of pure delight. Ruben had opened her blouse and was stroking and kissing her breasts, which Paul also gazed upon with interest. It had been at least five years since he had seen his sister naked. Ruben too seemed happy; he was obviously taking his time and was not thrusting his body repeatedly like the Maori man Paul had once observed with a woman from afar. He also was not lying on top of Fleur but next to her—so they couldn’t actually be doing it yet. But Paul was certain that Gerald Warden would be extremely interested.
Fleurette had put her arm around Ruben and was stroking his back. Then her fingers began to reach under the band of his breeches, caressing him below. Ruben moaned with pleasure and threw himself on top of her.
Oh, so they were…
“No, dearest, not now.” Fleurette gently pushed Ruben off her. She did not look afraid, but rather, decisive. “We have to save something for our wedding night.” Her eyes were now open and she was smiling at Ruben. The young man returned her smile. Ruben was a handsome boy who had inherited his somewhat austere, masculine features from his father, as well as his dark curly hair. Otherwise, he mostly took after Helen. His face was narrower than Howard’s, his eyes gray and dreamy. He was tall, more lanky than stout, with wiry muscles. His gaze exhibited desire, but it looked more like anticipation than naked lust. Fleurette sighed happily. She felt loved.
“If there ever will be a wedding,” Ruben finally said, concerned. “I don’t imagine your grandfather and my father would be too happy about that.”
Fleurette shrugged. “But our mothers won’t object,” she said optimistically. “Then the others will have to accept it. What do they even have against each other? A feud like that across the years—it’s crazy!”
Ruben nodded. He had a more even-tempered na
ture than Fleurette, who got worked up more quickly. He couldn’t rule out that Fleurette herself might be capable of bearing a lifelong grudge as well. Ruben had no trouble picturing Fleurette wielding a flaming sword. He smiled but then became serious again.
“I know what happened!” he revealed to his beloved after a moment. “Uncle George got it out of that talkative banker in Haldon and then told my mother. Do you want to hear it?” Ruben played with one of her red-gold strands of hair.
Paul pricked up his ears. It was just getting better and better. It looked as though he was not only going to learn Fleur and Ruben’s secrets but also the details of the family history.
“Are you joking?” Fleurette asked. “I’m dying to know! Why haven’t you told me until now?”
Ruben shrugged. “Could it be that there was always something else we could have been doing?” he asked mischievously, kissing her.
Paul sighed. No further delays, please. He would have to leave soon if he wanted to be halfway on time getting home. Kiri and Mother would ask questions if Marama came home alone—and then they would find out he’d cut class.
But Fleur too wanted to hear the story more than sweet nothings. She gingerly pushed Ruben away and sat up. She snuggled up to him while he spoke, taking a moment to rebutton her blouse. It had probably also occurred to her that it was time they went to look for the sheep.
“So, my father and your grandfather were already here in the forties when there still weren’t many settlers, just whalers and seal hunters. But back then there was still a great deal of money to be made in those industries, and the two of them were very good at poker and blackjack as well. In any event, they had a fortune in their pockets when they arrived in the Canterbury Plains. My father was just passing through on his way to the Otago region, having heard some whispers about gold. But your grandfather was contemplating a sheep farm—and tried to convince my father to invest his money in livestock. And in land. Gerald established good relations with the Maori straightaway. He started haggling with them from the get-go. And the Kai Tahu were not exactly disinclined. Their tribe had sold land before, and they got along well with the buyers.”
“And?” asked Fleur. “So they sold the land…”
“Not so fast. While the negotiations were dragging on and my father couldn’t decide what to do, they were staying with these settlers—the Butlers, they were called. And Leonard Butler had a daughter. Barbara.”
“But that was my grandmother!” said Fleur, becoming more interested.
“Right. Only really she should have been my mother,” Ruben explained. “My father was in love with her, and she loved him as well. But her father was not so enthusiastic about the match. My father thought he needed more money to impress him.”
“So he moved to Otago and found gold but in the meantime Barbara married Gerald? Oh, Ruben, how tragic!” Fleur sighed at the romantic tale she had envisioned.
“Not quite.” Ruben shook his head. “Father wanted to make the money then and there. It came down to a card game between Father and Gerald.”
“And he lost? Did Grandfather win all the money?”
“Fleurette, just let me tell the story,” Ruben said sternly and waited for Fleurette to nod apologetically. She was clearly impatient to hear more.
“Father had already declared himself ready to be a partner in Gerald’s sheep enterprise—they even had a name for the farm: Kiward Station, from Ward-en and O’-Kee-fe. But then he not only lost his own money but also what Gerald had given him to pay the Maori for the land.”
“Oh no!” Fleur cried, understanding at once why Gerald was so angry. “No doubt my grandfather wanted to kill him.”
“It turned into quite an ugly scene,” Ruben explained. “In the end, Mr. Butler lent Gerald some money—so that he would not lose face before the Maori since the land had been promised to Howard and himself. So Gerald acquired a portion of the land that now forms Kiward Station, but my father did not want to be left behind. He still harbored hopes of marrying Barbara, you see. So he put his last penny into a piece of rocky land with a few half-starved sheep on it. Our wonderful farm. But by then, Barbara had long since gotten engaged to Gerald. The money that her father had loaned your grandfather was her dowry. Later she inherited the land from old Butler. Which is why it’s no wonder that Gerald rose like a meteor to become a sheep baron.”
“Or that your father hated him,” remarked Fleur. “Oh, what a terrible story. And poor Barbara! Did she every really love Grandfather?”
Ruben shrugged. “Uncle George didn’t say anything about that. But if she had initially meant to marry my father…then she could hardly have fallen instantly in love with Gerald.”
“Which Grandfather now holds against your father. Or did he hold it against him that he was then forced to marry Barbara? No, that would be too horrible!” Fleur had turned pale. Dramatic tales always struck a chord with her.
“Anyway, those are the secrets of Kiward Station,” Ruben concluded. “And in spite of this legacy, we want to go before my father and your grandfather soon and tell them we want to get married. Auspicious beginning, don’t you think?” He laughed bitterly.
Even less auspicious when Gerald got wind of it beforehand, thought Paul with perverse delight. This excursion into the foothills had proved more fruitful than he ever could have hoped. But for the time being, he had to plot his escape. Noiselessly he skulked back to his horse.
2
Paul reached the O’Keefes’ farm as class ended. He did not dare cross Helen’s path, so he waited around the first bend for the other children from Kiward Station. Marama smiled happily at him and climbed up behind him on the pony without asking any questions.
Tonga observed this with an ill-humored countenance. That Paul possessed a steed, while he had to walk the long way to school or take up residence with another tribe during the school year, was salt in his wounds. In general, he preferred doing the former because Tonga liked to be in the middle of the action and didn’t want to lose his enemy from his sight for a moment. Marama’s friendliness toward Paul was another thorn in his side. He felt her fondness for the boy was a betrayal—a view that few of the adults in his tribe shared. For the Maori, Paul was Marama’s adopted brother whom she naturally loved. They did not view the pakeha as adversaries, nor did their children. Tonga, however, was beginning to see things differently. He had recently begun to covet many of the things that Paul and the other whites took for granted. He would have loved to own horses, books, and colorful toys and to live in a house like Kiward Station. His family and his tribe—Marama included—did not understand that, but Tonga felt betrayed.
“I’m telling Miss O’Keefe that you cut class!” he called to his archenemy from behind as Paul trotted away. But Paul only laughed. Tonga ground his teeth with rage. He probably wouldn’t tell. It was not fitting for a chieftain’s son to lower himself to tattling. The mild punishment Paul would receive was not worth it.
“So where were you?” Marama asked in her singsong voice after the riders had distanced themselves sufficiently from Tonga. “Miss O’Keefe was looking for you.”
“I was learning secrets,” Paul explained importantly. “You won’t believe what I found out!”
“Did you find a treasure?” Marama asked quietly. It did not sound like it was going to be of much interest to her. Like most Maori, she did not make much of the things that pakeha viewed as valuable. If someone had held up a gold bar and a jade stone to Marama, she probably would have chosen the latter.
“No, I just said, a secret! About Ruben and Fleur. They’re doing it!” Paul waited expectantly for an admiring reaction from Marama. Which did not materialize.
“Oh, I already knew they were making love. Everyone knows that,” Marama replied calmly. She probably thought it completely natural that the two of them expressed their feelings physically. A rather loose sexual morality prevailed among the Maori. As long as a couple made love in private, no one paid much attention. If they
set up a bed together in the meetinghouse, then a marriage was considered consummated. It all transpired without any fanfare and generally without much negotiating by the parents. A big wedding celebration was unusual.
“But they can’t get married!” Paul raised the stakes. “Because of an old feud between my grandfather and Ruben’s father.”
Marama laughed. “But Mr. Warden and Mr. O’Keefe aren’t the ones getting married, silly; Ruben and Fleur are!”
Paul snorted. “You don’t understand. This is about family honor! Fleur is betraying her ancestors.”
Marama wrinkled her brow. “What do the ancestors have to do with it? The ancestors watch over us; they want the best for us. You can’t betray them. At least I don’t think so. At least I’ve never heard of such a thing. Besides, there hasn’t been any talk of a wedding.”
“Well, there will be,” Paul declared spitefully. “As soon as I tell Grandfather about Fleur and Ruben, there’ll be plenty of talk of it. Believe me!”
Marama sighed. She just hoped not to be in that big house at the time because she was always a little afraid when Gerald Warden flew into one of his rages. Gwyneira liked her and Fleur did too. She did not understand what Paul had against his sister. But the master of the house…Marama decided to go straight to the village to help with the cooking there instead of lending her mother a hand at Kiward Station. Perhaps she could mollify Tonga. He had looked at her with such anger earlier, when she had mounted Paul’s horse. And Marama hated it when someone did not like her.
