by Lark, Sarah
It was a shame she didn’t know where Emere had gone off to for her spirit summoning. Elaine didn’t trust her. Though Emere appeared to hate the Sideblossoms, she had served them loyally for years. There had to be a reason she continued to allow John Sideblossom to sleep with her instead of running away. Did she love him, or had she loved him once? Elaine did not want to think about it, but either way, she would have felt safer if the old Maori woman had been far away. It would be much better if no one saw her.
But then she heard the flute. Emere was once again playing in that confusing hollow-sounding tone with which she conjured the spirits. Evil spirits, from the looks of things. But none of that mattered now. Elaine sighed with relief when she heard the flute. The music was coming from somewhere in back of the house, and as long as Emere continued to play, it would be easy to avoid her.
Elaine led her mare into the aisle of the stable—and stopped, aghast, when she saw Thomas at the entrance. His shadow loomed threateningly, framed against the sunlight outside. He was rubbing his forehead—as he so often did when he heard Emere’s flute. But that day he had no need of spirit voices to whip himself up into a frothing rage.
“Hey now. Another ride? I knew it was worth checking up on that sweet wife of mine. With all the sheepshearers on the farm, one doesn’t leave such a lusty little thing unattended.” Thomas grinned sardonically, but his hand moved as if by force to his ear in an apparent attempt to muffle the sound of the flute.
Elaine squared herself. She needed to gather her courage. There was no going back.
“I’m not interested in your sheepshearers,” she said calmly, guiding her hand slowly toward the pocket where the revolver was stored. Emere’s playing sped up. Elaine felt the heavy pounding of her heart. “And I’m not going for a ride. I’m leaving you, Thomas. I don’t want any more to do with your jealousy and your strange… little games. Now let me out!”
She moved to lead her horse past him, but Thomas stood with legs spread in front of the exit.
“Well, look here, your puppy’s growling!” he yelled, laughing.
Callie began to bark wildly as though on command. She easily drowned out Emere’s flute playing, which seemed to relieve Thomas. He took a step toward Elaine.
Elaine drew her weapon.
“I’m not joking,” she said with trembling voice. She would not relent. She could not! It was not worth thinking about what he would do to her if she went back now.
Thomas’s laugh boomed. “Oh, a new toy!”
He pointed to the revolver. Callie barked even louder, and, in the background, the notes that Emere was drawing from the flute were vibrating.
Then everything happened in a flash. Elaine, terrified, removed the weapon’s safety just as Thomas lunged at her. But his attempt to take her by surprise came too late. Elaine pulled the trigger, uncertainly, holding the gun in one hand. She did not know if she hit him, but Thomas froze with a look of disbelief. She grasped the pistol with both hands, and with ice-cold concentration, she aimed it at her husband again. She meant to hit his chest, but the revolver seemed to develop a life of its own when she pulled the trigger. The recoil forced the barrel upward. And then she saw the blood spray. Thomas’s face exploded in a fountain of red before her eyes. He did not scream even once. He just fell to the ground as though struck by lightning.
“You shall be damned!” Thomas heard Emere’s voice. He knew he was not supposed to follow the spirits’ song. Had she not always told him that he would only be safe in his nursery when she called the spirits? But he was curious, and he was now eight years old. At that age, a boy had to summon the courage to stand up against threats. At least that is what his father had told him. And so he had followed Emere one night when she mistakenly believed he had fallen asleep to the deep, hypnotic sound of the flute. However, Emere was not meeting with any spirit. It was his father who approached her in the garden. She seemed strangely unsteady, as though she did not know whether she should stay or run away. And then his voice.
“Didn’t I call you?”
Emere turned around to face him.
“I come when I want.”
“Oh? So you want to play these little games.”
What Thomas saw next was burned into his memory forever. It was repugnant, but also… thrilling. It was almost as if this secret observation allowed him to share in his father’s power. And what power it was. His father received the affection Thomas yearned for so desperately. Emere embraced him and kissed him. But she had to be forced, subdued, in order to do it. Thomas longed to possess his father’s power, longed to be able to force Emere like that. Finally, his father left her lying there. She whimpered. She had been punished…
And then the flute sounded. The spirit’s voice. Thomas should have fled. Then Emere would never know that he had seen her defilement. But he stayed, stepped nearer even. He would have liked to…
And then she turned to face him.
“You saw everything? And you’re not ashamed? You have it in your eyes already, Thomas Sideblossom. You shall be damned!”
Thomas’s face exploded.
Out of the corner of her eye, Elaine saw a red pool spreading around Thomas’s head. She didn’t dare move, though she no longer felt fear, only horror and cold. Callie whined, hiding in a stall. She was afraid of loud noises. Emere’s flute warbled unceasingly, its hollow notes swelling and ebbing.
“He’s dead; he’s dead.” The thoughts tumbled over each other in Elaine’s brain. She vacillated between the morbid desire to go to Thomas to be sure and the longing to run and hide in a corner of her room.
But then she realized that she would do nothing of the sort. She would do exactly what she had planned: take her horse and disappear.
Elaine did not look at the man lying on the ground again—not even when she had to lead Banshee over him. His mutilated face horrified her, and she already had enough horrible memories of Thomas to last her a lifetime. Banshee snorted, but then stepped over the body as though it were a log in the woods. Elaine thanked heaven that she did not step on him; that would have been too much. It was bad enough that Callie sniffed at him curiously. She had to reprimand the dog sharply to keep her from licking his blood. They reached the barnyard unseen, though Emere must have heard the shot. She could not have immersed herself that deeply into her flute playing. Elaine would have that gunshot in her ear forever.
Though Emere did not appear, the flute had ceased by the time Elaine left the stables. Was that a coincidence? Or had the old Maori woman gone off in search of help? Elaine did not care. She only wanted to escape. Swinging herself up on Banshee, she took off at a gallop. The mare wanted to take the most direct path to Wanaka, and Elaine no longer needed to avoid the shearing sheds.
Then the realization struck her, like a knife into her soul: she had shot her husband. She had aimed a pistol at an unarmed man and pulled the trigger with icy coldness. She could not even plead self-defense. It was no longer possible to flee to her parents and hide out there. She was now a murderer on the run. By the following morning, if not sooner, her father-in-law would file charges, and then the constable would be after her. There was no question now of riding back to Queenstown or even to the Canterbury Plains. She had to forget her friends and family, change her name, and start a new life somewhere else. How and where were a mystery, but flight was her only option.
Elaine turned her rather unwilling mare in the direction of the McKenzie Highlands.
Flight
CANTERBURY PLAINS AND GREYMOUTH
1896
1
My God, William, of course we could bring her back!” Gwyneira’s voice struck an impatient note, but she was having this conversation with her grandson-in-law for the umpteenth time. “This ensemble’s touring schedule is hardly a secret. They’re on the North Island, not in Timbuktu. But the question is whether that would do any good. You read her letter: she’s happy. She’s exactly where she wants to be and doing what she’s always wanted to.”
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“But she’s my wife,” William objected—not for the first time either—pouring himself a whiskey. It was not his first of the evening. “I have my rights.”
Gwyneira furrowed her brow. “What kind of rights? Do you want to take her by force? Theoretically you could, I suppose; she’s still a minor. But she would never forgive you. Besides, she would just run right away again. Or do you want to lock her up?”
William had no answer to that. Of course he didn’t want to lock Kura up, not that he would have been able to find a prison guard on Kiward Station. The McKenzies had accepted Kura’s departure—and the Maori did not get overwrought about this sort of thing. He could not even count on Tonga’s help. After all, there was a new heiress, in Gloria. Tonga had lost the game for this generation. Gwyneira, on the other hand, had triumphed and appeared to be almost happy for her granddaughter. Kura’s letter from Christchurch—delivered by George Greenwood after the troupe had already left for Wellington—had sounded euphoric, overjoyed. The opera ensemble had taken her in with open arms. Naturally, she wrote, she still had a great deal to learn, but the impresario, Roderick Barrister, was instructing her personally, and she was making rapid progress. They had even allowed her onstage on her very first night; she had sung the “Habanera” and earned a standing ovation.
Kura’s success, as Gwyneira silently mused, might also be traced to her outward appearance, but in the end it did not matter. Kura was enjoying herself and making money. As long as her success lasted, she would not spare Kiward Station a thought.
“Give her a little time, boy,” James said appeasingly, holding his glass out to William. Gwyneira had not noticed, but William had just drained his third whiskey. James had been listening to the dispute for half an hour and felt that he had earned a drink. “Running after her now won’t do any good. Besides, you obviously had a fight before she took off, isn’t that so?”
William and Heather were still the only two who knew what had happened the night Kura set out, and neither wanted it to become common knowledge. Kura’s departure had marked the end of their relationship, at least for the time being. William had not touched the governess since his wife had left him and did not feel inclined toward any intimate conversation with her. No one seemed to suspect anything—and William knew that it was in his best interest to keep it that way.
“Exactly! Just let her take part in this tour,” Gwyneira said. “After that, we can see. The other singers’ return trip is already booked anyway; George assured me of that. The organization is bearing all the travel expenses. If Kura wants to go on to England afterward, she will either have to pay using her own wages or ask me for money. We can revisit the matter then. But peacefully, William. I don’t want to lose another granddaughter!”
This last comment made everyone go quiet. She was referring to the tragic story of Elaine, which Gwyneira and James had only recently learned about. Gwyneira had gotten very worked up but hadn’t condemned Elaine at all. The same thing could have happened to her; after all, she too had stood before John Sideblossom with a gun in pointed at him. Though the circumstances had been different, Gwyneira was convinced that Elaine must have had good reason for defending herself in such a manner. But she didn’t know why the girl had not sought her help. Kiward Station was isolated. They could have hidden Elaine for a while as they looked for a solution. An escape to Australia or even England could have been arranged. Elaine’s disappearing without a trace wore on Gwyneira’s nerves. It was out of the question that they should also lose contact with Kura!
William took a few, somewhat smaller, gulps of his whiskey. He would have liked to chase after his wife now rather than later—that sly Roderick Barrister was not letting her sing out of the kindness of his heart. He was undoubtedly hoping for something in return for allowing Kura onstage so soon. And he was “instructing” her himself. In what art? Not only was William’s pride wounded, but he was also seething with jealousy.
On the other hand, he could hardly counter Gwyneira’s arguments. Yes, it was embarrassing to sit there as an abandoned husband. But if he forced Kura to return, the first thing she would do was tell everyone why she had left—and William would be dead to the McKenzies.
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he inquired, drunk and nearly in tears. “I mean, I…”
“You continue on as before, though you would be most welcome to care a bit more actively for your child,” Gwyneira informed him. “Beyond that, challenge yourself to learn your work properly and make yourself useful. Let us assume that Kura is just taking a trip. She is getting to know the world a bit, exercising her gifts, and will return in a few months. You must look at it that way, William. Anything else would be nonsense.”
That was easy for Gwyneira to say, but if William’s life on Kiward Station had already had its perils before Kura’s departure, it now became unbearable. The workers, who had once mocked his failings as a sheep baron with some degree of discretion, now leered openly. Apparently, or so they whispered, the “crown prince” lacked certain skills outside of the stables too—he didn’t appear to have what it took to hold onto a gem like Kura for long.
“Good-for-nothing!” said Poker Livingston, who had been showing up at the farm more regularly. The more easygoing Andy McAran listened to William’s orders and ideas with a neutral expression, but then just did whatever he thought was right.
To William, the Maori were the worst. When the tribe had returned from its migration, the men resumed their work at Kiward Station. William, for his part, ignored them. They had always accepted him, however begrudgingly, as a member of the local pakeha tribe, but with Kura’s departure, he lost all authority. It didn’t matter whether William expressed his demands calmly or by screaming—most of the Maori simply looked right through him.
That drove William mad, all the more so because he was getting less and less sympathy from Gwyneira. She had noticed that he was drowning his anger in whiskey and had taken to criticizing him for that.
“How do you mean to provide an example to the men when you show up late and hungover in the morning? I don’t like it either, William. Above all, I don’t know how I should act. If I defend you, I turn myself into a laughingstock and lose authority with the men. But if I concede that the men are right, you hold it against me and sink deeper into your whiskey. It has to stop, William! I’ve had a drunk on the farm before, and I won’t let it happen again as long as I have any say in the matter.”
“And what do you mean to do, Gwyneira?” William asked mockingly. “Throw me out? You could do it, of course, but then you’d lose Gloria. Because, naturally, I’d take her with me.”
Gwyneira forced herself to remain calm. “Then start learning to cook porridge,” she replied nonchalantly, “and think about who will want to give you a job when you’ve got a baby in tow. How do you even mean to travel with Gloria? Do you plan to stick the girl in a saddlebag?”
Her speech struck William dumb, but later, Gwyneira confessed to her husband that his threat had filled her with fear.
“It is true that we have no right to the child. If he were to take her with him, we would have to support them, maybe send him money each month to pay for a nanny and an apartment.”
James shook his head. “Gwyn, dear, don’t panic,” he said, attempting to soothe her by stroking her hair. “You’re being absurd. Thank God our Billyboy didn’t hear you say that. But you don’t seriously believe that our would-be sheep baron would allow himself to be supported by you? Where would he go with Gloria once word had gotten out? And what would he do with her? Dear God, he doesn’t even know how to hold her. He would never take her with him, especially since our Mrs. Whealer is no serf he can simply order to accompany him. Besides, the girl still has a mother. You could turn to Kura. She must care enough for her daughter to hand custody over to you. Any court would decide in her favor. So don’t drive yourself mad.” James pulled Gwyneira into his arms, but he did not altogether succeed in calming her. She had felt so s
ure of her position. But William was getting out of control.
For the first few days after Kura’s departure, Heather Witherspoon had slunk around like a whipped dog. She could not understand why William had suddenly rebuffed her and, moreover, so rudely. It was not her fault that Kura had caught them. On the contrary, she had easily figured out Kura’s strategy that night and made hints to William about it. But he had been too drunk to understand and unwilling to let himself be manipulated by his wife.
“I don’t come crawling whenever she whistles!” he had declared in a state of drunken agitation. “And… and I’m certainly not going to take her to Christchurch. She can swing her hips until the sky falls. I’ll take her when I want and not when it suits her.”
Heather had not tried to persuade him further. No one could ask that of her. She loved him, after all. It was not right to lay all the blame on her.
Yet Heather had long since learned that life did not always work out according to what was right, and so she fell back on her tried-and-true strategy: she would wait. William would eventually come around; at some point he would need her. She did not believe that Kura would return. She was basking in success for the first time in her life, and if she needed a man, she would look for one where she was. Kura-maro-tini was not dependent on William Martyn. And if Heather did believe in love, it was in the love she felt.
Kura had already found her man—even if she would not have described her feelings for him as love. But she certainly admired Roderick Barrister: he embodied the fulfillment of all her dreams of success and career. For one, he could initiate her into the mysteries of opera singing, much more deeply and intensively than Heather Witherspoon ever had with her three music classes in Switzerland. In addition to that, he had power—the ensemble followed his orders with a devotion like nothing Kura had ever seen before. There were masters and servants on Kiward Station, of course, but Kura had taken for granted the high-handedness and self-assurance of the workers that had so confounded William. Slavish obedience was not wanted on sheep farms; whoever worked there had to be able to make decisions for themselves. In Roderick Barrister’s ensemble, however, only one person’s opinion counted: his. He could make ballerinas happy by promising them another solo, and even fully trained singers like Sabina Conetti dared not contradict him when he put a novice like Kura before them. Roderick Barrister’s favor, Kura quickly learned, had much to do with the physical exertion of the ensemble’s female members. The ballerinas often spoke of how Brigitte was allowed to sing the Carmen piece only because she let the impresario have his way with her. A close-lipped midwife in Wellington did away with the unwanted consequence of the affair.
