Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

  “Good. Now, onto number two. But careful, Maaka, this one’s crazy.” As Poker moved to start climbing the wall of the next pen, the bull inside rolled its head about and pawed threateningly at the ground.

  “Let me do it, Poker! I’m faster!” The exuberant young Maori had already clambered up the wall before the older man had found the right footing. With a dancer’s grace, Maaka balanced on the wooden divider.

  William just wanted to be done with the whole business. The flames were coming closer, the smoke was getting thicker, and the men could hardly breathe. But neither Poker nor Maaka seemed to even consider sacrificing the bulls.

  William held Maaka by the belt as he had held Poker before, while the old hand went on his own to see to the third bull, a youngster bound to its pen with a rope instead of a chain. Poker used his knife to slice through the rope from above, and Jack McKenzie, who had just entered the barn, opened the stall. As a result, the bull had already stormed out before Poker could even climb back from the feed trough to the gate to set the animal free. Jack and Poker then went to work on the gate of the last pen, which appeared to be stuck. Meanwhile, Maaka was still struggling with the chain on the wild bull, which had only grown more panicked since the other bulls had taken off. The boy leaned forward recklessly, almost floating over the stall’s walls.

  William did not know whether Maaka was first struck by the bull’s horn or his own precarious seat on the divider was to blame, or if the belt that he was holding onto gave way. It could have been the shaking caused by the collapsing haystack that disturbed their balance. William would never know if he felt himself fall or heard Maaka’s scream first as the leather belt slid from his hand. But he saw the boy fall between the hooves of the bull as William landed in a corner of the pen himself—safe from an attack as long as the animal was chained up. But then he saw that the bull was free. Maaka must have undone the chain just as he fell. Once the bull realized it was free, it tried to flee, but the pen was still shut. While Poker and Jack struggled with the locking mechanism, the bull ran around its stall in a crazed panic. It stopped short when it caught sight of Maaka, who lay scrunched up on the ground, trying to shield his face. The boy whimpered as the bull’s massive, horned head approached him.

  “Distract the beast! Damn it, Mr. Martyn,” Poker howled, turning the bar on the pen’s lock. It hardly budged.

  William stared as though hypnotized at the gigantic animal. Distract it? Then the beast would charge at him. He would have to be crazy to do such a thing! But the injured boy was crawling toward him in a panic.

  “Look here, Stonewall!”

  William saw out of the corner of his eye that Jack McKenzie was waving a blanket in front of the gate to draw the attention of the animal away from Maaka. Dead tired, Jack flung himself against the stall’s wall. As he did so, the lock finally gave way, and the door swung open. The bull did not realize this right away, however, and continued to focus its wrath on Maaka. Lowering its horns, the animal was preparing to strike… when Jack threw the damp blanket onto the animal’s hindquarters and started dancing around behind him like a torero.

  “Look here, Stonewall. Come here!”

  Poker roared something from the gate, apparently wanting to call the boy back. But Jack stayed where he was and continued goading the bull, which turned around very slowly.

  “Come get me! Come on,” Jack provoked him—and spun around in a flash when the animal finally began to move. As the wiry boy dove in a single leap over the fence to safety, Stonewall finally saw the opening in the pen. The bull shot out of its stall past Poker Livingston and finally made it outside. The men in front of the barn must have heard the screaming, because helpers streamed inside. Flames had lit up the barn. As William started coughing, he was seized by a couple of strong Maori workers and dragged outside. Two other men carried Maaka away, and a third supported a hacking Poker.

  As William, gasping, breathed in the clear late-afternoon air by the lake, he was only peripherally aware that parts of the barn were collapsing behind him.

  Although several men were tending to Maaka and Poker, William’s helpers didn’t even give him a chance to catch his breath before one of them pulled William abruptly to his feet. Once again, his men had markedly failed to show him any respect.

  “Are you hurt? No? Then, come, sir. There’s nothing more to be done here, but we need to herd the sheep elsewhere. And the cattle have to be put up somewhere. We just got word that Mrs. McKenzie is herding the steers toward the shearing sheds. The sheep needed to go there so that the cattle can go into these paddocks. And we have to work fast. They could be here at any moment.” As the man ran to the sheds, he turned around several times, as though to make sure that William was following.

  William was wondering why Gwyneira did not herd the cattle straight into the shearing sheds and was about to give an order to that effect. But the words died on his lips when he saw the tiny entrances to the sheds. Of course. The sheep were released more or less one at a time after being sheared and put through a bath, and only then gathered together again in the paddocks outside. The riders would never be able to get a riled-up herd of cattle through those narrow gates. At the moment, the sheep were proving unenthusiastic about the shift into the sheds, which was hardly surprising, as they did not have very pleasant associations with the shearing buildings. But the sheepdogs were doing most of the work anyway. William and the rest of the men merely had to direct the stream of sheep into the correct sheepcotes and shut the gates.

  At the time, William didn’t know much about how Gwyneira and Andy were herding the cattle, but he heard a great deal about their apparently spectacular efforts later, of course. They had caught up with and stopped the herd of steers just in front of the Maori village, turned it around, and driven it back, with only four riders and a sheepdog. Thanks to their efforts, the damage from the lightning strike was minimal. True, the cow barn was completely destroyed, but a wood building like that could easily be rebuilt, and the stores of hay had been all but exhausted anyway. Only a few of the Maori’s fields had been trampled, and Gwyneira would pay the damages. No animals had been lost, and the heifers had only suffered a few scratches and mild smoke poisoning. Only Poker and Maaka had come out of it any the worse off. The old farmhand had some bruises and a dislocated shoulder, while the Maori boy had a few broken ribs and an ugly head injury.

  “That could have turned out much worse,” mused Andy McAran when it was all finally over, and the cattle were chewing hay in their new paddocks. Jack and his friends had managed to drive the bulls toward the shearing sheds to join the herd of steers and were at that moment walking proudly among the workers. Jack’s assertion that in Europe you could make money for making bulls angry by waving a red cloth in front of them while a crowd watched made all the Maori boys want to grow up to be matadors.

  “How did that even happen?” Andy asked. “Maaka didn’t enter the stall with Stonewall, did he?”

  While Gwyneira yelled at her son, accusing him of endless stupidity, Andy McAran began to investigate what had happened. Jack and the other helpers couldn’t tell him anything though, since none of them had witnessed the accident, and Maaka himself was still not coherent. Finally, Poker, who sat on a blanket, still coughing, caught Andy’s eye.

  “The crown prince was a good… sorry, a good-for-nothing,” commented the old hand with a meaningful smile. Then his face took on a pained expression. “Could somebody snap my shoulder back into place? I promise not to squeal.”

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  Gwyneira had finished with her son and had rewarded the hardworking helpers with a barrel of whiskey. She had given the Maori women a sack of planting seed to thank them for their help. Now she was taking advantage of the walk back to the manor house to lay into William. She was soaked, dirty, in a very bad temper, and looking for a scapegoat. “How could you let the boy fall?”

  “I already told you. It was an accident!” William said, def
ending himself. “I would never—”

  “You never should have allowed the boy into the stall! Couldn’t you loosen the chain yourself? The boy could have died. And Jack too. But while those two boys tried to let the bull out, you sat in the corner looking on like a spooked rabbit!”

  He doubted that Poker had phrased it that way, so that expression must have come from Jack. William felt rage swelling inside him once again.

  “That’s not how it happened! I—”

  “That is how it happened!” Gwyneira broke in. “Why would the boys lie? William, you’re always trying to secure your position here, which I understand. But then things like this happen. If you’ve never worked with cattle before, why didn’t you say so? You could have helped with the bucket chains or with repairing the paddocks.”

  “I should have ridden with you,” William declared.

  “So that you could have fallen off your horse?” Gwyneira asked rudely. “William, wake up! This isn’t a business you can run like a country gentleman. You can’t simply ride out at your leisure in the morning with your gamekeeper and delegate the work. You have to know what you’re doing, and you should count yourself lucky that you have people like Andy and Poker who come to your aid. People like that are inestimably valuable. This isn’t Ireland.”

  “I see things differently,” William stated brazenly. “I think it’s a question of leadership style.”

  In the last light of day, he saw Gwyneira rolling her eyes.

  “William, your old tenants have been on the land for generations. They don’t even need the landlords. They would keep the shop in order on their own—and maybe even do a better job! But here, you mostly have make do with beginners. The Maori are gifted shepherds despite the fact that sheep only first arrived in this area some fifty years ago with Gerald Warden. There is no tradition here. And the white shepherds are adventurers from the four corners of the earth. You have to teach them and no amount of arrogance will help with that. Just listen to me for once and stay quiet for a few months. Try to learn from James, Andy, and the others instead of insulting them all the time.”

  William wanted to make a retort, but they had reached the house by then and stopped the horses in front of the stables. Gwyneira led her mare in without a second thought and began to unsaddle it. The stableboys had probably left to celebrate with those who had helped put out the fire. The two of them could be grateful, though, that the house servants had not joined the impromptu party.

  William saw to his horse himself, wanting nothing more than a bath and a quiet evening with his wife. She, at least, could almost certainly be counted on to treat him with deference. Gwyneira retired early, and if Kura insisted on sitting at her grand piano for hours, William did not have anything against a private concert. He could drink whiskey while she played—and paint a mental picture for himself of the pleasures they would share in the bedroom later that night. In that arena, there were no problems at all. Every night with Kura was a revelation. The more experienced she became, the more refined her ideas for making him happy. She had no shame, loved with all her senses, and offered up her lithe body in ways that sometimes made even William blush. Yet her joy in loving was completely innocent and free. In that respect, she was a child of nature. And a natural talent.

  Gwyneira held the door to the manor house open for William and tossed off her drenched coat in the vestibule. “What a day. I think I’m going to pour myself a whiskey.”

  For once, William agreed with her, but they did not even make it as far as the liquor cabinet.

  Because instead of hearing the expected piano music and song emanating from the salon, they heard soft voices and heavy sobbing.

  Kura was hunched over the divan in tears. Heather Witherspoon was desperately trying to calm her.

  William let his gaze wander searchingly over the scene. On the coffee table in front of the sofa were three teacups. The women had evidently had a visitor.

  “You wanted this!” When Kura caught sight of her grandmother, she leaped up and glared at her, flushed with rage. “You wanted this! And you helped!” This last comment she directed at William. “You never wanted to go to Europe. None of you wanted me… me…” Kura began to sob again.

  “Kura, behave like a lady,” Miss Witherspoon said, more sternly this time. “You are a married woman, and this is completely normal.”

  “I wanted to go to England. I wanted to study music,” Kura complained. “And now…”

  “You wanted William more than anything. You told me so yourself,” Gwyneira declared curtly. “And now you should get ahold of yourself and explain to us why you suddenly don’t want him anymore. This morning at breakfast, you still looked happy to me.” Gwyneira poured herself a whiskey. Regardless of what kind of mood Kura was wallowing in, she needed a pick-me-up.

  “Really, dearest.” William had not the least desire for further complications on this catastrophic day, but he sat down next to Kura nonetheless and tried to put his arms around her. He thought she might ask why he smelled like smoke and was covered in soot, but Kura didn’t notice a thing.

  “I don’t want to… I don’t want to…” She sobbed hysterically. “Why weren’t you careful? Why did you…” She extricated herself from William’s embrace and began to beat on his chest.

  “Collect yourself,” Miss Witherspoon ordered her. “You should be happy instead of raging about. Now cease this crying and inform your husband of the news!”

  Gwyneira took a different approach. She turned to Moana, the Maori housekeeper, who had just come in to clear away the tea set.

  “Who came to visit, Moana? My granddaughter has fallen to pieces. Did something happen?”

  Moana’s entire wide face was beaming. She, at least, did not seem perturbed. “I not listened, mistress,” she explained happily. She then lowered her voice as though to tell her a secret. “But was Miss Candler. Miss Witherspoon send for her, for Kura!”

  “Francine Candler?” Gwyneira’s troubled expression brightened. “The midwife in Haldon?”

  “Yes!” sobbed Kura. “I hope you’re all happy! You’ve managed to pin me down to your damned farm! I’m pregnant, William. I’m pregnant!”

  William looked from Kura weeping, to Miss Witherspoon embarrassed, to Moana excited. Lastly, he looked at Gwyneira drinking her whiskey, who had a look on her face like the cat that finally got the canary. Then she returned his gaze.

  William Martyn realized that at that moment Gwyneira McKenzie forgave him everything.

  6

  While William Martyn was securing his position on Kiward Station, Elaine O’Keefe and Thomas Sideblossom’s wedding was taking place in Queenstown.

  The atmosphere was a little tense, however, especially when the bride’s mother had to join the groom’s father for an obligatory waltz, during which Fleurette O’Keefe acted as though she were being forced to dance with an oversized weta. At least that was how Georgie put it, earning a reprimand from his grandmother Helen. Ruben found the remark quite apt, though he noted that Fleurette had never really feared touching the giant bugs—unlike John Sideblossom.

  Ruben, however, enjoyed his dance with Thomas’s still-green stepmother. Zoé Sideblossom was hardly twenty years old and was indeed very pretty. She had curly golden-blonde hair, which she wore up for the wedding, since otherwise it would have fallen to her hips. Her face was aristocratic—pale and symmetrical—her eyes a deep brown that seemed to detract from her hair and complexion. The young woman was polite and well-bred. Ruben could not confirm Leonard McDunn’s judgment that she was beautiful but ice-cold.

  When it came to beauty, though, the bride shone above the rest that day. Elaine wore a sumptuous white gown with a wide skirt that was so tightly corseted at the waist that she could hardly eat a bite of the wedding feast. Her face seemed to shine with an inner light, and her hair gleamed beneath her lace veil and a garland of white flowers. James McKenzie assured her that he had never seen a lovelier bride, except for perhaps Gwyneira, and f
or Elaine, that was the nicest compliment she could have received. After all, the last bride her grandfather had seen was Kura. Elaine’s wedding was on par with Kura’s in both size and grandeur. George Greenwood had come with his whole family—no doubt in part thanks to Jenny’s urgent pleading, as she was eager to pursue her acquaintance with Stephen. They hadn’t been out of each other’s sight since the Greenwoods had arrived.

  “Well, I guess we know who the next bride will be,” James McKenzie teased Jenny’s proud father.

  “I would have nothing against it,” George said. “But I think the young man wants to finish his studies first. And Jenny is still very young—though that doesn’t seem to stop them.”

  Thomas and John Sideblossom behaved irreproachably throughout the festivities. John even managed an almost-polite greeting to James McKenzie. Fleurette had feared the worst. John, after all, had been the one to corner her father and drag him to court back in his livestock-thieving days. Though James had his own reasons for hating the groom’s father, Fleurette had much more faith in her father’s ability to control himself. He kept his distance from John Sideblossom, especially as the evening advanced and the whiskey began flowing in streams. Though Fleurette knew that John could imbibe prodigious amounts without anyone being able to tell, she nevertheless kept a watchful eye on his alcohol consumption that night. He behaved quite well, though, only strengthening his grip on his wife’s arm from time to time when she dared to talk or dance with another man.

  Inger—who had turned down the role of Elaine’s “maid” of honor due to her large stomach—noticed that Thomas Sideblossom was behaving similarly with his new wife. He did not let Elaine out of his sight, and he became increasingly possessive as the night went on. Elaine, by contrast, was almost acting like her earlier self. She was boundlessly happy about the successful party, the kind and admiring looks of the guests, and all the compliments she received. But naturally, she was very nervous, as well. Her wedding night loomed ahead of her, after all, and Thomas had booked the largest room in Helen’s hotel.