by Lark, Sarah
James McKenzie was likewise cheered to see Gwyneira when he returned from the sheepherding. The two amply celebrated seeing each other again, during which time Gwyneira put her concerns about Kura into words.
“She still prances about brazenly with those Maori boys, even though Miss Witherspoon keeps reprimanding her for it. When it comes to behaving appropriately, her head is somewhere else entirely! And Tonga wanders around the farm from time to time as though it will soon belong to him. I should not let him see that it drives me mad, but I’m afraid he can tell.”
James sighed. “The way it looks, you’re going to have to marry that girl off soon. It doesn’t matter to whom. She’s always going to cause trouble. She has this… I don’t know. But she’s a sensual one.”
Gwyneira gave him an indignant look. “You find her sensual?” she asked mistrustfully.
James rolled his eyes. “I find her to be spoiled and insufferable. But I don’t have trouble recognizing what other men see in her. And that would be a goddess.”
“James, she’s fifteen!”
“But she’s developed remarkably fast. Even in the few days we were out herding, she’s filled out. She’s always been a beauty, but now she’s turning into a beauty that drives men crazy. And she knows it. Although I wouldn’t spare a thought for this Tiare. One of the Maori shepherds did some eavesdropping on them the day before yesterday, and apparently she was treating him like an untrained puppy. No chance of her sharing a bed with him. The boy is the object of jealousy, but he also never hears the end of it from Kura and the other men. He’ll be happy when he’s rid of the girl.” James drew Gwyneira back into his arms.
“And you think she’ll find another one right away?” Gwyneira asked, unsure.
“One? Don’t joke! If she so much as wiggles her pinky, there’ll be a line all the way to Christchurch!”
Gwyneira sighed and snuggled into his arms.
“Tell me, James, was I really… um… sensual too?”
The freight wagons finally arrived in Christchurch, and Ruben’s drivers reached Kiward Station driving two gorgeous teams of cart horses pulling heavy covered wagons.
“There’s space to sleep in there too,” one of the drivers explained. “If we don’t find any lodging on the way, the men can sleep in one wagon, and we’ll let you have the second, madam. If that’s to your satisfaction.”
Gwyneira was satisfied. She had slept in less comfortable places in her life and was looking forward to the adventure. She was in high spirits when the chaise, pulled by a brown cob stallion, took its place behind the covered wagon.
“Owen can cover a few mares up there,” she said, explaining her decision to harness the stallion. “So that Fleurette’s pure-blood cobs don’t die out.”
Kura, to whom she had directed these words, nodded apathetically. She had probably not even noticed which horse her grandmother had chosen. Kura cast much more interested glances at the young freight-wagon drivers—glances that were returned with no less enthusiasm. The two young men immediately set about courting Kura—or better yet, worshipping her. Yet neither dared flirt openly with the little beauty.
Gwyneira’s enthusiasm for the trip grew still more when they finally left Haldon, the nearest town, behind them and headed toward the mountains. The snow-covered summits and the endless grassland of the Canterbury Plains that stretched out like a sea had fascinated her ever since her arrival in her new homeland. She could still clearly remember the day she had come over the Bridle Path between the harbor town of Lyttelton and the city of Christchurch—on a horse instead of a mule, which the other London ladies she had come with on the Dublin were riding. She still remembered how that had vexed her father-in-law. Yet her cob mare, Igraine, had brought her safely through the landscape, which had seemed so cold, rocky, and inhospitable that one wanderer had compared it to the “hills of hell.” But then they had reached the highest point, and in the flatland before them lay Christchurch and the Canterbury Plains. The land where she belonged.
Gwyneira held the reins loosely as she told her granddaughter about her first encounter with this country. Kura let the words bounce off her with no comment whatsoever. Only the mention of the “hills of hell” seemed to register. It reminded her of the ballad “The Daemon Lover,” and she even began to hum the song.
As Gwyneira listened, she wondered which branch of the family Kura had inherited her extraordinary musical talent from. Certainly not from the Silkhams, Gwyneira’s family. Though Gwyneira’s sisters had played the piano with more enthusiasm than she had, they had not done so with any greater skill. Her first husband had possessed considerably more talent. Lucas Warden had been an aesthete who played the piano beautifully. But he had surely gotten that from his mother, and Kura was not related to her by blood.
Gwyneira preferred not to think any more about the convoluted relations within the Warden family. It was probably Marama alone, the Maori singer, who had passed on her talent to Kura. It was Gwyneira’s own fault for having bought the girl that confounded piano after having given away Lucas’s instrument years before. Otherwise, Kura might have limited herself to the traditional instruments and music of the Maori.
The trip to Queenstown lasted several days, and the travelers almost always managed to find nightly lodging at one farm or another. Gwyneira knew just about every sheep breeder in the area, but even strangers were generally taken in hospitably. Many farms lay in seclusion on rarely traveled paths, and the owners were excited about every visitor who brought news or carried mail—which the O’Kay Warehouse’s drivers, who had taken this route for years, did.
The travelers had almost reached Otago when, in the open country, they had no other choice but to make camp in the covered wagons. Gwyneira tried to make an adventure out of it in an attempt to draw Kura out; up to that point, she had mostly sat glumly next to Gwyneira, seeming to hear nothing except the melodies in her head.
“James and I often lay awake during nights like this and listen to the birds. Listen, that’s a kea. You only hear those here in the mountains as they don’t come as far as Kiward Station.”
“In Europe there are supposed to be birds that can really sing,” Kura remarked in her melodic voice, which was reminiscent of her mother’s. But where Marama’s voice sounded light and sweet, Kura’s was full and velvety. “Real melodies, Miss Witherspoon says.”
Gwyneira nodded. “Yes, I remember them. Nightingales and larks… they sound lovely, really. We could buy a record with bird sounds. You could play it on your gramophone.” The gramophone had been Gwyneira’s present to Kura the Christmas before.
“I’d rather hear them out in nature,” Kura sighed. “And I would rather travel to England to learn to sing than to Queenstown. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do there.”
Gwyneira took the girl in her arms. In truth, Kura had not liked that for years, but here, in the grand lonesomeness beneath the stars, even she was more approachable.
“Kura, I’ve already explained it to you a thousand times. You have a responsibility. Kiward Station is your inheritance. You have to take it over or pass it on to the next generation if it really doesn’t interest you. Perhaps you’ll have a son or daughter someday for whom it will be important.”
“I don’t want children. I want to sing!” Kura exclaimed.
Gwyneira brushed the hair out of her granddaughter’s face. “We don’t always get what we want, sweetheart. At least not right away and certainly not now. You must move on, Kura. A conservatory in England is out of the question. You’ll have to find something else that makes you happy.”
Gwyneira was thrilled when Lake Wakatipu finally appeared before them and Queenstown came into view. The journey with a sullen Kura by her side had seemed to grow increasingly long over the last few days, and by the end, she had entirely run out of topics of conversation. But the sight of the prim little town, the mountain backdrop, and the massive lake immediately revived her optimism. Perhaps Kura only needed some compa
ny her own age. She would certainly find common ground with her cousin Elaine, who had always struck Gwyneira as quite sensible. Maybe she would be able to set Kura’s head on straight. Her spirits buoyed, Gwyneira pulled ahead of the freight wagons and steered the elegant Owen onto Main Street. She received quite a bit of attention, and many settlers who knew her from previous stays called out greetings.
When she saw Helen’s former charge standing outside talking with a girl, Gwyneira finally brought the stallion to a halt in front of Daphne’s Hotel. She, too, had known Daphne for over forty years and had no reservations about interacting with her. Daphne’s appearance unsettled her a bit, however, as she seemed to have aged since Gwyneira’s last visit. Too many nights in a smoke-filled bar, too much whiskey, and too many men—in Daphne’s line of work, one aged quickly. The girl next to her, however, was a beauty, with long black hair and snow-white skin. It was a shame that she wore too much makeup and that her dress was so overloaded with flounces and frills that her natural beauty was not so much supported as submerged. Gwyneira asked herself how this girl had ended up in an establishment like Daphne’s.
“Daphne!” she called. “One has to grant you: you have an eye for pretty girls. Where do you get all of them?”
Gwyneira stepped out and gave Daphne her hand.
“They find me, Mrs. McKenzie.” Daphne smiled, returning her greeting. “Word gets around when the working conditions are right and the rooms are clean. Believe me, it makes the job much easier when only the boys sting you and not the fleas too. But even my Mona here is nothing compared to the girl with you! Is that your granddaughter Kura? Well, man alive!”
Daphne had only meant to cast a quick glance into Gwyneira’s chaise, but then her eyes had stuck on Kura, which was usually only the case with men. Kura didn’t respond, however; she stared straight ahead. Daphne was without a doubt one those women Miss Witherspoon had warned her about.
After her initial excitement, though, a look of concern crept across Daphne’s feline face.
“No wonder you have trouble with this girl,” she remarked quietly before Gwyneira climbed back into her carriage. “You should marry her off as quick as you can!”
Gwyneira gave a somewhat forced laugh and signaled her horse to trot onward. She was a little vexed. Daphne was unquestionably discreet, but just who might Helen and Fleurette have told that Gwyneira and Marama felt hopelessly outmatched?
Her anger dissipated, however, as she approached the facade of the O’Kay Warehouse and saw Ruben and Fleurette speaking with the freight wagon drivers. They both turned to her when they heard Owen’s powerful hoofbeats, and a moment later, Gwyneira was embracing her daughter.
“Fleur! You haven’t changed at all! I still always have the feeling that I’ve traveled back in time and looked in a mirror when I look you in the face.”
Fleurette laughed. “You don’t look as old as that yet, Mother. I’m just not used to seeing you not riding a horse. Since when do you travel by carriage?”
Whenever James and Gwyneira visited their daughter together, they liked to just saddle two horses, as they both still enjoyed nights together under a tent of stars. They preferred to travel during the summer, though, after the shearing and herding of the sheep up into mountain pastures, when the weather was considerably more consistent.
Gwyneira made a face. Fleurette’s observation had reminded her of her rather unpleasant journey.
“Kura doesn’t ride,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed. “So, where are George and Elaine?”
Elaine and William’s relationship had solidified in recent weeks. Which was hardly a surprise since they saw each other practically every day. Elaine also helped out in the O’Kay Warehouse, of course. And after work or during their lunch break, there was always one excuse or another to be together. Elaine surprised her mother by suddenly throwing herself into an array of domestic activities. There was always a pie that needed baking so that she could casually offer William something for lunch, or she would invite him to a picnic after Sunday service and spend the entire day before preparing various treats. William now kissed her more often, which did not, however, lessen the kisses’ appeal. Elaine still felt faint with happiness whenever he took her in his arms, and she simply melted into them whenever she felt his tongue in her mouth.
Ruben and Fleurette tolerated the romance between their new bookkeeper and daughter with mixed feelings. While Ruben viewed the matter with a certain goodwill, Fleurette remained concerned. William had settled seamlessly into his new job. He was intelligent, he knew how to manage accounts and keep books, and he quickly learned the difference between managing a farm and a store. Beyond that, he won customers over with his fine manners. The women in particular were happy to have him wait on them. Ruben would not have had anything against a son-in-law like that—had he appeared a few years later. For the moment, however, Ruben O’Keefe was forced to agree with his wife. Elaine was too young for a more intimate relationship. He had no intention of allowing her to marry yet. As a result, it came down to the young man’s willingness to wait. If William could summon a few years’ patience, all would be well; if not, Elaine would be bitterly disappointed. While this was precisely what Fleurette feared, Ruben saw things more equanimously. With whom exactly was William going to run off? The other respectable girls in town were even younger than Elaine. And any of the new settlers’ daughters from the outlying farms were out of the question: Ruben did not think William the type to fall head over heels for a girl without means, with whom he would have to start from scratch. After all, the young man harbored few illusions about the ways of the world, a faculty to which he owed his position in the O’Kay Warehouse.
For that reason Ruben loosened the reins—and Fleurette acquiesced with gritted teeth. They both knew from their own experience that young love could hardly be controlled. Their own story had been far more complicated than Elaine and William’s dalliance, and their father and grandfather’s resistance had been far greater than Fleurette’s displeasure. In spite of all that, they had come together. This country was large and societal control minimal.
Early in the morning on the day of Gwyneira’s arrival in Queenstown, Elaine and William had set off on a long errand together. William had offered to take a shipment of goods to a distant farm, and Elaine was accompanying him with a collection of clothing and petty wares from the store’s ladies’ department. The farmer’s wife would then be able to look at and try on the goods at her leisure—and ask Elaine’s opinion. It was a service that Fleurette had offered since the earliest days of the business—and one that the farm women had enthusiastically taken up. It offered isolated women not only the opportunity to shop but also a chance to catch up on the gossip and news from town, which always sounded different when it came from another woman’s mouth rather than from the wagon drivers.
Naturally, Elaine had organized a picnic for William, for which she had brought along a light Australian wine out of her father’s stock. The two of them feasted like royalty on an idyllic cliff by the lake while listening to the giant’s heartbeat that caused the water to rise and fall. Afterward, Elaine even allowed William to open her dress a little bit to caress the small buds of her breasts and cover them with little kisses. She was so fulfilled by this new experience that she could have joyfully embraced the whole world. She hardly took her hands off William, who—equally satisfied with the day’s course of events—serenely managed the team’s reins. That is, until the two mares raised their heads and whinnied at a dark-brown horse in front of the store. Elaine recognized the stallion right away.
“That’s Owen! My grandmother’s stud! Oh, William, it’s wonderful that she brought him. Banshee can have a foal now! And look, Caitlin and Ceredwen want to flirt. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Caitlin and Ceredwen were the cob mares pulling the light goods wagon, which could now only be kept in line with some effort. The four-legged ladies knew exactly what they wanted. William pursed his lips indignantly
. Elaine was unquestionably well-bred but sometimes she behaved like a common farmer’s daughter! How could she speak about breeding so brazenly and in public? He considered whether he should chide her, but Elaine had already sprung from the wagon and was hurrying over to the handsomely dressed older lady, easy to recognize as her grandmother. While Fleurette revealed what Elaine would look like at forty, Gwyneira now gave a view of her at sixty.
William vacillated between a smile and a sigh. This was the only drop of wormwood in his courtship with Elaine: if he decided to marry her, life would hold no more surprises for him. His work and private life would move forward like a train on the tracks.
He stopped the team behind one of the heavier wagons and was careful to secure the draft horses well. He took measured steps on his way to be introduced to Elaine’s grandmother, and her cousin. Probably another version of a redhead with hourglass form.
Meanwhile, Elaine was greeting her grandmother, who had just let go of Fleurette. From the look of it, she had just arrived.
Gwyneira kissed Elaine, pressed her tight to her, and then held her out for a moment to get a look at her.
“It’s definitely you, Lainie! And you’ve gotten so pretty, a real woman! You look just like your mother did at that age. And I hope you’re just as much of a tomboy too. If not, I’ve brought the wrong present… Where is it anyway? Kura, do you have the dog basket? What are you still doing in the carriage anyway? Come out and say hello to your cousin!” Gwyneira suddenly sounded a bit irritated. Kura did not have to make it so plain to all just how very little she cared about this visit to Queenstown.
But the girl had only been waiting for an invitation. Serenely and with lithesome, graceful movements, Kura-maro-tini Warden alighted from the carriage to take possession of Queenstown. And she noticed with satisfaction that her entrance did not lack for effect. Even on the faces of her aunt and cousin she detected a look of amazement that bordered on awe.
