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

by Lark, Sarah

  “You see, where a practiced seamstress makes fifty stitches, this little work of wonder manages three hundred. In any woman’s hands. Would you like to give it a try?”

  The man let his gaze wander over the circle of women and girls who stood around him like a class of eager schoolgirls. He finally selected a darling little blonde girl. She blushed immediately.

  “Can I really?” she said hesitantly.

  The young man ran a hand through his curly dark hair with a smile.

  “But of course, my lady. You can do the machine no harm. On the contrary! In such beautiful hands, it will run without a hitch.”

  Flattered, the girl sat down in front of the machine and began to crank the lever. She did not appear to be too successful however, and let out a shocked cry when something went wrong.

  “Oh that’s nothing, my lady. The thread occasionally breaks when you’re just getting started. But we’ll fix that in no time. Look here, we simply thread it through, and here, and here, and then through the needle again. It’s that simple. Now try again. But this time, don’t hold tight to the material. Just guide it. With a gentle touch. That should come easily to you.”

  While the girl gave it another try, William approached, his glass in his hand. He was taller than most of the girls and could easily see over them. The little machine looked a bit like a large insect bending its head hungrily over its prey and biting its teeth into it repeatedly. The “prey” proved to be two pieces of fabric and the teeth, a needle that was pushing through the material at lightning speed, binding the pieces with a clean stitch. Things did not appear to be going well for this seamstress, however.

  “Let me try,” said an older woman, and the girl made room for her. As the woman turned the crank at a more relaxed tempo, the needle slowed its dance and made a series of straight, even stitches. The man could hardly contain his enthusiasm.

  “There you have it. You’re a natural talent, my dear woman. A few days’ practice, and you could be sewing your first dress. Well done!”

  The woman nodded. “Truly, it’s a wonder. But a hundred dollars is a lot of money.”

  “Tut, tut, my dear woman. Do not look at it that way. Naturally, the expense seems daunting at first. But think of what you’ll save! You’ll be able to sew your whole family’s clothes. You’ll be able to sew curtains, linens, and even spiff up older items to make them like new. Take a look!”

  The man took his seat at the machine, drew out a simple child’s shirt and some lace from a stack of materials he had at hand, and measured the length with skilled movements. Then he placed the lace and the shirt under the needle of the machine. After rattling away for a few seconds, the neckline of the shirt had a tidy band of lace. The women reacted with astonished cries.

  “There, is that not good as new?” trumpeted the man. “And think what a lace shirt costs. No, no, a sewing machine is not an indulgence. It pays for itself in no time. Many of my customers even make a little business out of it and are soon sewing dresses for their friends and neighbors. Besides, you don’t have to pay for it all up front. My company offers installment plans. You pay something now and then a few dollars each month after that.”

  The man spoke with an angel’s tongue until every woman and girl was perishing to try the device. The salesman patiently let them use the machine, one after another, and had a flattering word for each of them. He laughed at their little mistakes and praised their tiny successes to high heaven. William found it exceedingly entertaining to listen to him.

  In the end, three women placed orders, and two others explained that they first had to talk to their husbands.

  The man looked very pleased when the group finally dissolved. William approached him while he was packing the machine away.

  “That’s a fascinating machine,” he remarked. “What do you call it?”

  “A sewing machine,” repeated the man. “A certain Mr. Singer invented it. Well, he didn’t invent it so much as introduce it to the market. At affordable prices. In installments even, when that’s what the ladies want. Sew now, pay later. Brilliant!”

  William could only agree.

  “You don’t build the machines yourself then? Might I buy you a drink, Mr.…?”

  “Latimer, Carl Latimer, at your service. And I’d gladly take a whiskey.” Carl Latimer pushed his neatly packed sewing machine aside and made room for William and the bottle of whiskey. Only then did he answer William’s question.

  “I don’t build the machines myself, of course. Nobody could do that for a hundred dollars. It’s quite a complicated box of parts. How many patents do you think went into that? The inventors are to some extent still fighting it out over who stole what idea from whom. I don’t bother with all that though. I’m a sales representative. I just bring the thing to the people, specifically the women.”

  William poured him another glass.

  “Sales representative?”

  “Like a Bible salesman,” Carl Latimer responded, smiling. “I did that for a while too, but it was not nearly as interesting or as profitable. But in the end, the same principle applies: you go from house to house and tell the people that buying this product will lead to their everlasting happiness. In the towns, you can spare yourself the time-consuming house-to-house work. Like you just saw, the women in town come to my demonstrations entirely of their own accord. But I generally travel from farm to farm and show the machine to the women there individually.”

  “But then you don’t sell as many, do you?” William asked.

  Carl Latimer nodded. “That’s right, but you do away with the costs of food and lodging. The ladies are always delighted to offer me their guest rooms—and you would not believe how often there’s a sweet little daughter or servant girl on hand to make the night more pleasant. And the sales really aren’t so bad. It’s all about picking the right farms. The smaller operations usually lack money, but they often latch on to the installment plan. If the woman thinks she can earn a little extra on the side with the machine, then she’ll be enthusiastic right away. On the bigger farms, they have money like hay, but the women are often bored and lonely. So I always show them a few French fashion magazines and lure them in with the idea that they could make those dresses themselves. I don’t mean to brag, but I always bring two or three women around. It’s a question of eloquence.”

  William nodded. The voice of the banker in Queenstown was in his ear again: “Stick to something you know.”

  “Tell me,” William said, raising his glass. “How does one become a sales representative? Do you need an education for it? Starting capital? Where did you even learn to use this machine anyway?”

  William earned the starting capital at the overjoyed coffin maker’s, honing his sales technique simultaneously. The demonstration model itself had to be purchased from a representative, and since he could not transport it on his horse, he would need a light wagon.

  Shortly after applying for a position with the company Carl Latimer worked for, he received an invitation to an introductory training in Blenheim. He learned the principle of the sewing machine, how to take the machine apart and put it back together, and how to make repairs in emergencies. Naturally, the future representatives—all, without exception, young, good-looking, and charming men—also practiced producing perfectly straight stitches and quickly learned to fabricate and decorate small articles of clothing.

  “It’s not enough to just sew. You need to astound the women, excite them—and nothing works better than putting a child’s dress together in a few minutes,” the teacher explained. But William was only half listening. He knew he would have no trouble convincing his customers. After all, he had always been able to talk. What had Elaine called that art? Whaikorero?

  William had finally found something he could do better than anyone else.

  Kura had always sensed that she could sing better than anyone else. Now her conviction that she was a gifted singer grew with each passing day.

  Although Roderick had ende
d their singing lessons—despite her efforts and compensation, he had lost interest and now preferred to take her on excursions to the local attractions in the towns they were staying in—she outperformed the other singers effortlessly. She managed greater highs and lows, and her voice now encompassed almost three octaves. She held her notes longer and never tried to overcompensate by singing more loudly than was indicated in the score. Even in the performance’s weakest piece, the Il Trovatore quartet, during which the other singers practically screamed at each other, her Azucena was not drowned out. Kura’s strong voice came through at normal volume, without strain, giving her the chance to fill her role theatrically as well. The audience bestowed her with a standing ovation every night, and her confidence soared. Kura, who had almost come to the decision that she would travel back to England with the ensemble, was shocked when Brigitte revealed that the ensemble would dissolve after the tour.

  “We were only engaged in New Zealand and Australia,” said the dancer, who had regained her old form. Kura felt something close to respect for Brigitte, who exercised with as much determination using the back of a chair for a barre as Kura practiced her scales.

  “You don’t really think anyone would want to see us in Europe, do you? Most of the singers are disasters, even if only Sabina knows it. After this, she intends to give it up and teach voice. As for the dancers, a few of the boys are talented, but most of the girls are just pretty. Roddy probably only chose them for their looks. A real impresario is critical in that respect. He wouldn’t be interested in your smile. He’d only care how you danced.”

  Or sang, thought Kura with a rush of fear. But she still firmly believed that she would make it in London too. After all, she was not alone; Roderick would certainly continue to help her. He undoubtedly had contacts in England and would probably be putting another troupe together for a new tour.

  And so Kura was in good spirits when they had finally left Australia and their boat arrived in Wellington. From there, they returned to the South Island; their ferry landed in Blenheim. Kura had no idea that William was sitting in a drafty warehouse on the edge of town, fighting with the obstinacy of a hand-powered sewing machine, at the very moment that the singers were disembarking and preparing themselves for the journey on to Christchurch. She did know, however, that he was no longer at Kiward Station. She had written to her grandmother sporadically and received the occasional letter from her when they stopped in one place for any length of time or when George Greenwood saw to the forwarding of their mail. She had not been informed of the exact circumstances of William’s departure, but her grandmother had written that Miss Witherspoon had likewise left the farm.

  Jack now has a new tutor, a very nice student from Christchurch. He only comes on the weekends, but he actually manages to get Jack and Maata excited for the Bello Gallico, whatever that is. And Jenny Greenwood is currently instructing the Maori children! Ostensibly, she’s thinking about taking a teacher’s exam, but if you ask me, she only applied for the position because Stephen O’Keefe wants to come visit for the summer. Do you recall how the two of them were whispering to each other at your wedding?

  Kura did not recall, nor did she care. Heather Witherspoon would not have been able to teach her anything more anyway. As for William, during the day she found no time to think about him, but at night she still missed him, even when she was sharing her bed with Roderick. That was happening less and less, however. Kura was losing interest in her older and rather dull lover. She no longer revered him as she had at first. She had become informed enough to recognize the weaknesses in his own singing and to know that he did not have any special talent. Even as an instructor, he was not as good as she had initially believed. When by chance she overheard a singing lesson that Sabina was giving Brigitte, she understood much better what she had to do. Nevertheless, she remained at Roderick’s disposal when he wanted her. She still needed him, after all. He was her ticket to London!

  Roderick Barrister was seriously considering taking Kura to England. The girl was exceptionally talented and, moreover, a joy in bed. When his partner took the stage, there could be no doubt where the real talent lay. Although her full potential had yet to be reached, she already sang far better than he did. The Australian audiences had given Kura her due by granting her more curtain calls. Roderick could live with that, but he had no illusions about London; people would boo him off the stage. If he took Kura with him to England, he would have to build his future on her as her teacher and impresario. Roderick was confident that he could make her sufficiently reliant on him that she would not take on an engagement or sign a record contract without his advice. After all, the girl was barely eighteen. She needed a paternal hand to guide her and negotiate her contracts. That could bring in a good deal of money, probably more than Roderick would ever earn as a singer. Indeed, everything pointed in its favor—if only it were not for his overwhelming desire to be onstage himself!

  Roderick loved the stage. He was addicted to the feeling of expectation when the curtain rose, the hush in the audience before the music began, and the applause—more than anything, the applause! If he cast his lot with Kura now, he would never again experience that. At least not directly. He could imagine standing backstage and enjoying the delirium with her. But it would not be the same. It would be a secondhand life, a performance from the second row. And if Roderick were honest with himself, he was not ready for that. Not yet. Maybe if he had come across Kura five years later. But he still had his good looks, which were enough to get him engagements. He was young enough to withstand tours like this. Perhaps another one would come his way in the future. He should make it a point to look for one. Maybe he would eventually tour through India or Africa.

  When Roderick stood on the stage, all his plans and thoughts left him. The applause was better and more satisfying than anything he had ever experienced, even more beautiful than sex. As he fell further behind Kura vocally and people looked at him less, his love for Kura dissolved—insofar as it had even been love and not lust.

  After their last performance, he decided not to take Kura with him. She should make her career in New Zealand, he thought; she would manage that without question. And if she came to London someday, there might be a second chance for them then.

  He didn’t want to anger her, though, so he determined it was better not to tell her too soon.

  Gwyneira attended the final concert in Christchurch together with Marama. She had wanted to bring James, Jack, and most of all, Gloria. Marama agreed that it would be good to bring Kura and her child together. James, however, refused categorically to pay to hear Kura’s singing, and Jack strongly opposed exposing Gloria to it.

  “She’ll probably cry when Kura sings,” the boy said. “But I suppose we haven’t tried it in a while. She might stay quiet, and then Kura might think she has talent. You never know what will run through her head. What will we do if she suddenly wants to take Gloria to England?”

  “She is her mother,” Gwyneira objected halfheartedly.

  James shook his head reluctantly. “When the boy’s right, he’s right. She’s never cared for the child, but Gloria’s bigger and prettier now, and Kura could get some crazy idea in her head. It’s better not to take the risk. If Kura wants to see her daughter, she can come to Kiward Station. The ship is not leaving for England first thing tomorrow.”

  Though Gwyneira considered that a sound argument, Marama remained of the opinion that they should at least try to get Kura to take an interest in Gloria. Erring on the side of caution, Jack found his own solution to the matter: he disappeared with the little girl on the day of the trip. He had recently started setting her in front of him on his horse, so looking for them would be useless. The pair could be miles away.

  “I’ll bend him over my knee when he gets back,” James said when the women finally departed, with a wink at Gwyneira. He would more likely congratulate his son instead.

  Marama had only been to Christchurch a few times and quickly forgot about t
he minor disappointment once they were on their way. The women chatted about the weather, the sheep, and Gloria’s development, but they did not have much in common anymore. Marama had completely melded into her tribe, teaching some reading and writing, but she mostly focused on dance and music. The newest books out of England, the latest discoveries, and current events no longer interested her as much as they had when she had lived with Kura on Kiward Station.

  The excursion was nevertheless quite congenial. They arrived in Christchurch early and had time to freshen up before the concert. Naturally, they would have liked to have visit with Kura, but they did not get a chance. Apparently, the singer needed to concentrate before she made her entrance. Instead, Gwyneira met Elizabeth Greenwood in the lobby of the hotel with her youngest daughter, Charlotte. Gwyneira had to smile. The light-blonde, delicately framed girl was almost a perfect replica of the little Elizabeth she had met so many years before on the Dublin.

  “I’m so excited to see Kura,” Elizabeth said cheerfully when the women had sat down to a cup of tea. “Everybody is raving about how beautifully she sings.”

  Gwyneira nodded, but she felt uncomfortable. “People have always raved about her,” she said guardedly.

  “But George thinks she’s further developed her talent. At least that’s what the impresario says. George doesn’t really understand anything about music himself. He thinks the man is going to take her back to England. What do you think about that? Are you still her guardian?”

  Gwyneira sighed. So people in Christchurch were already talking about Kura and the “impresario.” Well, William had seen that coming. But now she had to answer with some diplomatic tact.