by Lark, Sarah
“Then?” James asked.
Gwyneira took a deep breath. “Then you, too, would be saying that heaven had sent him. James, he’s a proper gentleman who would insinuate himself masterfully into society here. You know these people. Even if the attempted assassination story were to come out, they would only find him all the more interesting. And he comes from a sheep farm. He’ll be happy to move in here. We can put him to work. Ruben says he’s handy. Perhaps someday he’ll run the farm with Kura at his side.” Gwyneira sounded more than a little wistful. Her conversation with William that afternoon had gone very smoothly. The young man, who had already been making a good impression in Queenstown, struck her as an ideal match.
“Gwyn, the girl is not going to do an about-face once she’s Mrs. Martyn.”
“What other choice does she have?” Gwyneira stated flatly. “When she gets married, she ties herself to Kiward Station. Willingly. And more strongly than before. Then she can’t simply sell the farm. And she can’t flee to the Maori and live in a hut.”
“You want to set a trap for her?” James was almost in a state of disbelief.
“She’s setting it herself!” Gwyneira declared. “We’re not making the match, are we? She’s meeting the young man of her own free will. If something more comes out of it…”
“Gwyn, she’s fifteen!” James said, troubled. “I obviously don’t care for her, but we owe it to her to let her grow up.”
“And act on her harebrained schemes? James, if she goes to England, and nothing comes of her singing, she’ll probably sell the farm out from under our feet.” Gwyneira was no longer drinking from her glass but pacing the room nervously. “I’ve lived here for forty years, and now everything hangs on a child’s whim.”
“It will be six years before she comes of age,” James said in an attempt to appease her. “What about Helen’s suggestion to send her to boarding school in England? Fleur mentioned it in her letter, and I thought it sounded entirely reasonable.”
“That was before William,” Gwyneira said. “And he strikes me as the surest solution. But of course nothing has been decided yet. I have not given him permission to court her, James. He may only accompany her to church.”
For two months, Kura was happy with William Martyn’s “official accompaniment.” Then she grew tired of the situation. It was wonderful, of course, to be allowed to see her beloved without secrecy, but there was nothing more in it than a stolen kiss or a few hastily exchanged caresses. Haldon was more conservative than Queenstown. There were no gold miners or whorehouses here, only the church society and the ladies’ socials. Who was “seeing” whom was minutely observed—even if Heather Witherspoon briefly lapsed in her attention, Dorothy Candler or her sister-in-law, or the reverend or his wife stood ready to keep their eyes on the young lovebirds. With overwhelming friendliness, of course. Everyone went out their way to be kind to the gorgeous Warden heiress, who had finally let herself be seen in the community, and the gallant who suited her so well. Dorothy sighed that there had not been such a lovely couple in the area since Gwyneira and Lucas Warden, and she could talk for hours about how as a girl she had served in the wedding.
Kura, however, did not want to sip tea and chat while everyone stared as though hypnotized at her hand held in William’s. She was pining away with desire and wanted to try out everything that Tiare had taught her about physical love with William. William, she assumed, likewise had a virtuosic mastery of the game; otherwise, he would hardly have been able to seduce her prudish little cousin into caresses on the lakeshore. If only there were a way to be alone with him for an hour or two! But her previously reclusive life ruled out any chance of that. Kura was afraid of horses—so a ride together was out of the question. She had hardly ever left the area around the main house—so she could not claim to want to show William the farm, the lake, the stone circles, or even the sheep. Not even the piano was in her private rooms. If she invited William to listen to her play, it would be in the salon and, as a rule, in the presence of Heather Witherspoon. Kura had attempted to sneak away a couple of times down the path to the Maori village to meet William there after he had ostensibly ridden home, but Miss Witherspoon always managed to stick close to her. Once Jack and his friends had followed her—and, while they were kissing, shot them with paper wads from their slingshots. The second time, they were caught by a couple of Maori who naturally spread the word immediately that Kura had a sweetheart. When Tiare had words with her about it, she did not deny any of it.
Tonga’s fit of choler concerned her more, however. The chieftain was far from pleased about this English immigrant who suddenly wanted to get his hands on the tribal land of his people.
“It is your duty to the tribe to return the land! You should marry one of our own, or at least bear the child of one of ours. After that you can do what you want!”
Tonga, too, knew about Kura’s lofty plans to become a professional singer, but the Maori viewed the situation differently. As long as Kura left an heir and did not hit upon the idea of selling Kiward Station while she was in Europe, in Tonga’s view, she could go wherever she wanted. However, the Maori chief feared the worst if Kura were left to her own devices. The natives knew nothing about the discipline of being a professional singer. They saw only an extremely sensual girl who already at the age of thirteen had been casting lustful gazes at the tribe’s youths. And now there was this Englishman. She had not shared her bed with him only because the pakeha had almost forcibly kept her from doing so. If the right man came along, she would give up Kiward Station for him out of simple caprice. Tonga would therefore have been just as happy as Gwyneira to tie Kura to the land—only not by means of a pakeha who reminded him painfully of his old rival Paul Warden.
The resemblance didn’t stem from their physical appearance, since Paul had been dark-haired and shorter than William, but there was something in the manner of the newcomer, in the way he simply ignored the Maori workers on the farm. There was the impatient hand holding the reins of his horse, his lordly mannerisms. Tonga had a bad feeling about him, and he had made that clear to Kura. Not very diplomatically, as Gwyneira reported to her husband with a grin after Kura had complained earnestly to her about the chieftain. While Gwyneira remained just as taken with Kura’s admirer, James made observations along the lines of Tonga’s.
Regardless, Kura was disappointed. She had imagined the “official accompaniment” differently. Neither attending the spring festivals on neighboring farms nor dancing in Haldon that October held any charm for her whatsoever.
It was not all that different for William, though he enjoyed the festivals. The invitations to neighboring farms and to Christchurch interested him most of all, as they offered him the chance to get to know new people, who were generally happy to show him their property. In this manner, William gained an overview of the sheep husbandry business in the Canterbury Plains without asking nosy questions. After a few months, he considered himself to be more than capable of managing such a farm and was eager to try his luck as a “sheep baron.” His job in the Candlers’ shop was noticeably dull by comparison.
Yet, even among his hopes for Kiward Station, it was Kura he longed for above all. He awoke every night from dreams of her, and then had to stealthily change his sheets so that Dorothy’s sister-in-law might not giggle and spread word that, unbidden, his firm virility unburdened itself nightly. When he saw Kura, even his beautiful words failed him; at that point, he was nothing more than feeling and longing. Sometimes he could hardly conceal the erection that the very sight of her set off. He had to have the girl. Soon.
“Dearest,” he said one day when they were out of hearing range of Haldon’s residents. The monthly parish picnic included boating, and William was rowing his sweetheart around Lake Benmore. Granted, always within sight of the shore and at least three other boats, in which other young couples were suffering the same tortures. “If you really don’t want to wait, we’re going to have to get married.”
“Get
married?” Kura asked, appalled. Until that moment, she had never considered such a thing. She simply dreamed of living out her passions—and celebrating her triumphs as an opera singer. She had not exactly been wracking her brain about how it would all work together.
William smiled and—something that had only recently been permitted—put his arm loosely around her. “So you don’t want to marry me?”
Kura bit her lip. “Can I still be a singer once I’m married?”
William shook his head in bewilderment. “What a question! Love will make your voice come into full bloom for the first time.”
“And you’ll come to London with me? And to Paris?” Kura leaned back on his arm, trying to bring herself as close to him as she could.
William swallowed. London? Paris? But then again, why not? The Wardens were rich. Why should he not promise her a European voyage?
“But of course, my sweet. With the greatest pleasure. Europe will be at your feet.”
Kura turned gracefully, still wrapped in his arm and, facing away from prying eyes for a moment, kissed his shoulder and his neck.
“Then let’s get married soon,” she purred.
In principle, Gwyneira’s entire plan fell into place with William’s marriage proposal, but when he formally asked for Kura’s hand so soon, she could no longer ignore her conscience. In the end, her love for Kura triumphed over her love for Kiward Station. James was right. She had to offer the girl the choice between marriage and an artistic career, regardless of her personal feelings on the matter.
So she asked Kura, albeit reluctantly, to have a talk and laid out Helen’s plan for her.
“Go to school in England for two years. We’re looking for a boarding school where you can take singing lessons. If a conservatory takes you after that, you can study music. You can always marry then too.”
Gwyneira was convinced that Kura would forget William after her first year at school, if not well before, but she did not tell her that.
Kura was decidedly unenthusiastic, even though she would have been thrilled if her grandmother had made her a similar offer even just a few weeks earlier. As it was, she stood up defiantly and started pacing around the room impatiently.
“You just want to stop me from marrying William!” she accused her grandmother. “You don’t think I can see that. You’re no better than Tonga!”
Gwyneira looked at her, confused. Tonga’s and her intentions were rather at odds. As far as she could tell, William made the Maori chieftain see red, but perhaps that was still better than Kura leaving Kiward Station.
“I’m just waiting for you to propose turning me into a broodmare too!” Kura kept hurling accusations until Gwyneira could hardly keep up. “But all of you are mistaken. Wild horses could not drag me away from here without William. And I have no intention of getting pregnant right away. I will have both, William and my career. I’ll show you all!”
Kura looked pretty as a picture when she was angry, but that made little impression on Gwyneira.
“You can’t have it both ways, Kura. New Zealand wives don’t stand on European opera stages. Especially not when their husbands enjoy the title of ‘sheep baron.’”
Gwyneira bit her lip. That last remark had no doubt been a mistake. Which did not escape Kura.
“So you admit it? You think William is after my dowry! You think he wants Kiward Station, not me. But that’s where you’re mistaken. William wants me—me and only me. And I want him.”
Gwyneira shrugged. No one could accuse her of not trying.
“Then you can have him,” she said calmly.
“Mr. Martyn?” James McKenzie called out just as William was stepping out of Kiward Station’s main house with a radiant look. Gwyneira had just told him that she accepted his marriage proposal. As long as Kura’s mother had nothing against it, she would begin the wedding preparations.
James knew that, of course, and had been in a bad temper for days. Gwyneira had asked him to stay out of the matter, but he could not restrain himself from sounding William out one last time as fully as he could. He stepped in front of William and rose up almost threateningly before him.
“You don’t have any plans at the moment, do you? Aside from perhaps celebrating your success, I take it. But you’d be celebrating the pig in a poke. You’ve yet to even see Kiward Station. Would you be so kind as to let me show you?”
William’s smile froze. “Yes, of course, but—”
“No buts,” James broke in. “It’d be my pleasure! Come, saddle your horse, and we’ll take a little ride around.”
William did not dare object. Why would he? He had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to look around Kiward Station for weeks. Though he would have preferred a different guide than Gwyneira’s grim husband, nothing could be done about that now. Obediently, he walked over to the stables and saddled his horse, something he no longer usually did himself. Normally some Maori youth working about the stables took over that task. However, he did not think it wise to delegate that day, as James McKenzie would likely have made some snide remark. He waited patiently with his bay horse in front of the stables as William led his horse out.
Without a word, James first set out toward Haldon. Then he turned off the road and started riding toward the Maori village. When William saw the settlement for the first time, he was surprised. Instead of the primitive huts or tents he had expected, he found himself in front of a well-built meeting hall decorated with carvings directly beside the lake. Large stones next to an earthen oven offered places to sit.
“The wharenui,” James remarked. “Do you speak Maori? You should learn it. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to consummate the wedding ceremony according to the rites of Kura’s people, in addition to the regular celebration.”
William made a disgusted face. “I don’t believe Kura sees these people as her own,” he observed. “And I have no intention whatsoever of lying with Kura in front of the whole tribe as their laws dictate. That would go against all decency.”
“Not among the Maori, it wouldn’t,” James said comfortably. “And you wouldn’t really have to lie with her in public. It’s enough to share your bed with her and then eat and drink with their people. It would make Kura’s mother happy. And it would get you started on the right foot. Tonga, their chieftain, is particularly displeased about the fact that you’re marrying into this family.”
William gave James a lopsided grin. “Well, you and Tonga have that in common then, don’t you?” he asked provocatively. “But what does that mean? Should I expect a spear in my back?”
James shook his head. “No. These people aren’t generally violent.”
“Oh, is that so? What about Kura’s father?”
James sighed. “That was more or less an accident. Paul had provoked the Maori to the point of violence. In any case, his murderer wasn’t from around here. He was an underage fool from John Sideblossom’s farm who’d had bad experiences with the pakeha since he was a child. Paul wasn’t even paying for his own sins when he died. Tonga has explicitly expressed his remorse for Paul’s death.”
“Oh, he certainly showed plenty of that,” William said.
James did not respond. “I only mean to say that it would be better for all involved if you had a good relationship with the Maori. I am sure it’s something close to Kura’s heart as well.”
In reality, James was of the opinion that nothing lay close to Kura’s heart except the fulfillment of her own caprices, but he kept that to himself.
“Then Kura should tell me so,” William declared. “For all I care, we could invite these people to the wedding. There will be a party for the workers, won’t there?”
James inhaled sharply but said nothing. The young man would learn soon enough that Tonga and his people most definitely did not view themselves as the Wardens’ “workers.”
At that hour in the afternoon, the Maori camp was largely empty. A handful of old women could be seen preparing dinner and watching the children playin
g in the lake. The rest of the tribe was elsewhere; some worked for the Wardens, and others were out hunting or in the fields. As it was, William saw only a few wrinkled and tattoo-covered faces, which would have struck fear into him had they belonged to younger people.
“Ghastly, those tattoos!” he remarked. “Thank God no one decided to disfigure Kura that way.”
James smiled. “But you would, doubtless, have loved her anyway, isn’t that right?” he teased. “Don’t worry. The young Maori aren’t tattooed anymore—aside from Tonga, who had himself tattooed with the chieftain’s symbols to provoke a reaction. Originally, that was how they showed which tribe they belonged to. Each community had different tattoos, like the English nobles’ coats of arms.”
“No one ever tattooed those into the children though,” William said excitedly. “People are civilized in England.”
James grinned. “Ah yes, I forgot the English were taught their arrogance in the crib. My people saw things differently. We Scots would paint ourselves blue whenever we went against the occupier. What did the real Irish do?”
William looked as though he were ready to leap at James.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “Do you mean to insult me?”
James looked at him innocently. “Insult? Me? You? Where did you get that idea? I just thought I’d remind you of your own roots. Besides, I’m only giving you good advice. And the first thing is: don’t make enemies of the Maori!”
The men were now riding through the camp, past a long sleeping lodge, several storehouses on stilts—patakas, James explained—and a few single-family homes. James greeted the old people and exchanged a few jocular words with them. A woman appeared to ask about William, and James introduced him.
The old women then whispered to each other, and William caught the name Kura-maro-tini a few times.
