by Sarah Lark
Fleurette nodded. “Her daughter. And Gracie here is Cleo’s daughter. Naturally, they look alike.”
James laughed. “A real family reunion. Friday is also Cleo’s daughter. Gwyn gave her to me as a going-away present.”
Again that tender expression in his eyes when he spoke of Gwyneira.
Fleur pondered. Wasn’t her conception supposed to have been strictly business? James’s face suggested otherwise. And Gwyneira had given him a puppy as a good-bye—when she was otherwise always so possessive of Cleo’s progeny? For Fleur, this was all very revealing.
“My mother must have liked you a great deal,” she said carefully.
James shrugged. “Maybe not enough…but now tell me, Fleur, how are you? And old Warden? I heard the younger one was dead. But you have a brother?”
“I wish I didn’t!” Fleurette exclaimed fiercely, becoming aware as she said it of the happy fact that Paul was only her half brother, after all.
McKenzie smiled. “So, the long story then. Would you like tea, Fleur? Or do you prefer whiskey?” He lit the fire, put on water to boil, and took a bottle out of his saddlebags. “Well, I’m going to help myself to some. To being spooked by a ghost!” He poured the whiskey in a cup and raised it to her.
Fleurette considered. “A little gulp,” she said finally. “My mother says it sometimes works like medicine.”
James McKenzie was a good listener. He relaxed by the fire as Fleur told the story of Ruben and Paul, of Reginald Beasley and John Sideblossom and how she wanted neither of them for a husband.
“So then you’re headed to Queenstown,” he concluded. “To look for Ruben. My God, if your mother had had so much pluck back then…” He bit his lip, but then went on calmly. “If you like, we can ride a ways together. All this business with Sideblossom sounds a bit dangerous. I think I’ll take the sheep to Dunedin and disappear for a few months. We’ll see, maybe I’ll try my luck in the goldfields!”
“Oh, that would be lovely,” Fleur mumbled. James seemed to know what he was talking about when it came to gold. If she could get him to work with Ruben, perhaps the adventure might meet with success.
James McKenzie held out his hand to her. “So, to a successful partnership. Though you do know, of course, what you’re getting yourself into. If they catch us, the jig is up, since I’m a thief. According to the law, you have to turn me in.”
Fleurette shook her head. “I don’t have to turn you in,” she corrected him. “Not as a family member. I’ll just tell them you’re…you’re my father.”
James McKenzie’s face lit up. “So Gwyneira told you!” he said with a radiant smile. “And did she tell you about us, Fleur? Did she maybe tell you…did she finally say that she loved me?”
Fleur chewed on her lower lip. She couldn’t repeat to him what Gwyneira had said—though she was now convinced that her mother hadn’t told her the truth. An echo of the light she saw in James’s eyes had been in her mother’s too.
“She…she’s worried about you,” she said finally. Which was the truth. “I’m sure she would like to see you again.”
Fleurette spent the night in James’s tent, and he slept by the fire. They wanted to set out early the next morning, but they still took the time to fish in a stream and bake flatbread for the journey.
“I don’t want to take any breaks until we’ve at least put the lakes behind us,” James explained. “We’ll ride on through the night and pass the inhabited areas during the darkest hours. It’s rough, Fleur, but up until now it’s never been dangerous. The big farms lie out of the way. And on the small ones, people look the other way. Sometimes as repayment, they find a good lamb among their sheep—not one that can be traced back to the big farms, but born here. The quality of the little flocks around the lakes just keeps getting better.”
Fleur laughed. “Is this path through the streambed the only one out of the area?” she inquired.
McKenzie shook his head. “No. You can also ride south along the foot of the mountains. This is the easier path; the land begins descending here right away, and eventually you simply follow the course of a stream to the east. However, this path takes longer since it takes you to the fjord land rather than the Canterbury Plains. It works for an escape route, but it’s not good for everyday use. So, saddle your horse. We’ll want to get going before Sideblossom picks up our trail.”
James McKenzie did not seem all that concerned. He herded the sheep—a good number—back the way they had come the day before. The animals reacted unwillingly to being driven from their accustomed pastures, and James McKenzie’s “own” sheep bleated in protest as the dogs herded them together.
On Kiward Station, John Sideblossom did not waste any time tracking down the horses that had been swapped out. He did not care whether the men rode workhorses or livestock—all that mattered was that they got going. This became even more important to him when the men discovered Fleurette’s escape.
“I’ll have them both!” proclaimed John, glowing with rage. “The bastard and the girl. He can be hanged at our wedding to celebrate. All right, let’s go. Warden, we ride—no, not after breakfast. I want to be after the little beast while the trail is still fresh.”
That proved to be hopeless. Fleur had left no trace. The men could only hope they were on the right track when they rode in the direction of the lakes and Lionel Station. Gerald suspected, however, that Fleur had fled into the highlands. He sent a few men on fast horses to Queenstown, but he wasn’t counting on their success. Niniane was not a racehorse. If Fleur wanted to outpace her pursuers, she could only do so in the mountains.
“And where exactly do you mean to look for McKenzie?” Reginald Beasley asked despondently when the company finally rode into Lionel Station. The farm lay idyllically by a lake; behind it rose a seemingly endless range of mountains. James McKenzie could be anywhere.
Sideblossom grinned. “We have a little scout!” he revealed to the men. “I think by now he’ll be ready to show us the way. Before I left, he was still…how should I say…a bit uncooperative.”
“A scout?” Barrington asked. “Don’t speak in riddles, man.”
John Sideblossom leaped from his horse. “Just before I left for the plains, I sent a Maori boy to fetch a few horses from the highlands, but he didn’t find them. He said they had run away. So we tried to…well, make him more talkative, and then he said something about a pass or a riverbed, something like that. Regardless, there should be some land that’s still free behind it. He’ll show that to us tomorrow. Or I’ll give him nothing but bread and water until the sky falls.”
“You locked up the boy?” Barrington asked, shocked. “What does the tribe have to say about that? Don’t stir up your Maori.”
“Oh, the boy’s worked for me for ages. Probably doesn’t even belong to the local tribe, and even so, who cares? He’ll take us to this pass tomorrow.”
The boy turned out to be small, starved, and scared witless. He had spent the days that John Sideblossom was gone in a dark barn and was now a jittery bundle of nerves. Barrington tried to make John let the child go first, but the farmer only laughed.
“If I let him go now, he’ll run away. He can sod off tomorrow as soon as he’s shown us the way. And we’re setting out early tomorrow, gentlemen, at first light. So go easy on the whiskey if you can’t hold your liquor.”
Comments such as these did not appeal to the farmers from the plains, and tepid representatives of the farmer barons like Barrington and Beasley had long since ceased to be enthused by their charismatic leader. Unlike previous expeditions to track down James McKenzie, this one seemed less like a relaxed hunting excursion and more like a military operation.
John Sideblossom had systematically combed the foothills above the Canterbury Plains. He now divided the men up into small companies, overseeing them scrupulously. Until that moment, men had believed this undertaking was about the search for James McKenzie. But now, since John already had a specific idea of where the thief was hid
ing, it occurred to them that they were actually on the trail of Fleurette Warden, which a portion of the men thought a waste of their time. Half of them were of the opinion that she would show up of her own accord soon. And if she did not want to marry John Sideblossom, well, that was her prerogative.
Regardless, they submitted, however unwillingly, to the farmer’s directions, giving up on their cherished notion of finding a good dinner and first-class whiskey waiting for them before McKenzie’s arrest.
“We’ll celebrate,” Sideblossom confirmed, “after the hunt.”
The following morning, the farmer waited for the other men at the stables, the howling, dirty Maori boy at his side. John Sideblossom had the youth walk out in front, promising him that horrible punishments awaited him if he tried to escape.
That hardly seemed possible. After all, they were all riding horses, and the boy was on foot.
Still, the boy was able to walk a good distance and hopped with light feet across the stony landscape of the foothills, which proved to be difficult terrain for Barrington’s and Beasley’s thoroughbreds.
At one point he no longer seemed to be as sure of the way, but a few sharp words from John Sideblossom caused him to cave. The Maori boy led the search party across a stream in a dried-out riverbed that cut like a knife between stone walls.
James McKenzie and Fleur might have been able to flee if the dogs had not just herded the sheep around a bend in the riverbed in front of them, in a spot where the riverbed had just widened. The sheep were still bleating heart-wrenchingly—another advantage for the pursuers, who fanned out at the sight of the flock in the riverbed in order to cut them off.
James McKenzie’s gaze fell directly on John Sideblossom, whose horse had stepped to the front of the company. The sheep thief stopped his mule and sat there, frozen.
“There he is! Wait, are there two of them?” someone in the search party suddenly yelled. The call tore James from his stupor. He looked desperately around for an escape route. He would have a head start if he turned around, as the men would first have to wade through the three-hundred-head flock of sheep crammed in the riverbed. But they had fast horses and he only had his mule, which, moreover, was laden down with everything he owned. There was no way out. Fleurette, however…
“Fleur, turn around!” James called to her. “Ride, like I told you. I’ll try to hold them off.”
“But you…we…”
“Ride, Fleurette!” James McKenzie reached quickly into his belt pocket, at which a few of the men opened fire—fortunately only halfheartedly and without any aim. The thief drew out a small bag and tossed it to the girl.
“Here, take it! Now ride, damn it, ride!”
In the meantime, John Sideblossom had directed his stallion through the flock and had almost reached McKenzie. In a few more seconds, he would notice Fleurette, who was still mostly hidden from view by some rocks. The girl fought back her strong desire to remain by McKenzie’s side. He was right: they didn’t have a chance.
Halfheartedly, but with clear instructions, she turned Niniane around while James McKenzie rode slowly toward John Sideblossom.
“Who do these sheep belong to?” the breeder spat out hatefully.
James looked at him unperturbed. “What sheep?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Fleurette could just make out John Sideblossom pulling him from the mule and striking him hard. Then she was gone. Niniane galloped at a breakneck pace into “McKenzie’s Highlands.” Gracie followed her, but not Friday. Fleur kicked herself for not calling the dog, but it was too late. She breathed a sigh of relief as Niniane set her hooves on grass—she had put the most dangerous of the rocky landscape behind her. She rode south as fast as the horse would take her.
No one would catch up with her again.
7
Queenstown, Otago, lay on the edge of a natural bay on the shore of Lake Wakatipu, surrounded by rugged and imposing mountains. The landscape surrounding it was overpowering, the massive lake a steel blue, the fern forests and pastures expansive and luminous, the mountain range majestic and raw and still virtually unexplored. Only the town itself was tiny. In comparison to the handful of two-story houses that had been quickly thrown up here, Haldon seemed like a big city. The only building that stood out was a three-story wooden structure whose sign read “Daphne’s Hotel.”
Fleurette tried not to be disappointed as she rode down dusty Main Street. She had expected a larger settlement. After all, Queenstown was supposed to be the center of the gold rush in Otago at the time. Then again, you could hardly pan for gold on the main drag. The miners probably lived on their claims out in the wilderness around the town. The small community would make it that much easier to find Ruben. Fleur stopped boldly before the hotel and tied Niniane in front. She would have expected a hotel to have its own stables, but from the first step inside, she could see that this place looked quite different from the hotel in Christchurch where she had occasionally stayed with her family. Instead of a reception desk, there was a bar. The hotel seemed to be partly a pub.
“We’re not open yet!” a girl’s voice called from behind the counter when Fleur stepped closer. She saw a young blonde woman, busily engaged in some task. When she got a look at Fleur, she looked up in surprise.
“Are you…a new girl?” she asked, taken aback. “I thought they were coming by coach and not until next week.” The young woman had soft blue eyes and very pale, delicate skin.
Fleurette smiled at her.
“I need a room,” she said, a little thrown off by the strange reception. “This is a hotel, right?”
The young woman looked Fleurette over in astonishment. “You want…now? Alone?”
Fleurette blushed. She knew it was unusual for a girl her age to be traveling alone.
“Yes, I just arrived. I’m trying to meet up with my fiancé.”
The girl looked relieved. “So your…fiancé is coming soon.” She said the word “fiancé” as though Fleur had not quite meant it seriously.
Fleur wondered whether her arrival was all that strange. Or was the girl not quite right in the head?
“No, my fiancé doesn’t know that I’m here. And I don’t know exactly where he is. That’s why I need a room. I at least want to know where I’ll be sleeping tonight. And I can pay for the room; I have money.”
That was true. Fleurette was not only carrying her mother’s money with her—but also the purse James McKenzie had thrown to her at the last minute. The bag contained a small fortune in gold dollars—apparently, everything that her father had “earned” over the last few years from his livestock theft. Fleur wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to hold on to it for him or keep it for herself. But she could worry about that later. For the time being, her hotel bill would not be a problem.
“So you want to stay the whole night?” asked the girl, who clearly must have had something wrong with her. “I’ll fetch Daphne for you.” Obviously relieved at this thought, the blonde disappeared into the kitchen.
A few minutes later a somewhat older woman appeared. Her face was just beginning to show its first wrinkles and the traces of too much whiskey and too many long nights. But her eyes were a bright green and lively, and her voluminous hair had been pinned up saucily.
“Well look, a redhead!” she said, laughing when she caught sight of Fleur. “And golden eyes, a rare treasure. Well, if you wanted to start with me, I’d take you on at once. But Laurie says you just want a room.”
Fleurette told her story once more. “I’m sure I don’t know what your employee finds so strange about that,” she finished, a little annoyed.
The woman laughed. “There’s nothing strange about it; only Laurie isn’t used to hotel guests. Look, child, I don’t know where you come from, but I’d guess Christchurch or Dunedin where rich people bed down in nice hotels. Here the emphasis is on the ‘bed,’ if you see what I mean. People rent the rooms for an hour or two, and we provide the company to go with them.”
Fl
eurette began to glow red. She had fallen in with whores! This was a…no, she did not want to even think the word.
Daphne observed her with a smile and grabbed her tightly when she moved to storm out. “Now, wait a minute, child! Where do you think you’re going? You don’t need to be afraid; no one’s going to rape you here.”
Fleur stopped short. It probably was absurd to flee. Daphne didn’t look frightening—nor did the girl from a moment before.
“So where can I sleep? Do you also have a…a…”
“An honorable place to sleep?” Daphne asked. “I’m afraid not. The men who pass through here sleep in the rental stables next to their horses. Or they ride straight into one of the gold prospector camps. There’s always a place to sleep there for a new fellow.”
Fleur nodded. “Fine. Well…then I’ll do that too. Maybe I’ll even find my fiancé there.” Pluckily she took her bag and moved to leave again.
Daphne shook her head. “I think not, dear. A child like you alone among one hundred, two hundred men who are starved to the breaking point—after all, they only earn enough to afford a girl here every six months at most. Those are not gentlemen, little miss. And your ‘fiancé’—what’s the boy’s name? Maybe I know him.”
Fleurette blushed again; this time from indignation. “Ruben would never…he would never…”
Daphne laughed. “Then he would be a rare exception among his species. Believe me, child, they all end up here. Unless they’re queer. But we don’t want to make that assumption in your case.”
