by Sarah Lark
He kissed her again, leaning her against the trunk of a tree and pressing his body against hers. Perhaps she’d give in and let him open her bodice. As Oliver felt for the buttons, voices and hoofbeats broke through the darkness of the early night.
Carol freed herself from his arms. “Horses are coming!” she cried. “And I think—” She dashed along the riverbank toward the three riders who were approaching. “Mamida! Kapa!”
Oliver followed his fiancé slowly. He knew that Mamida was the twins’ name for Ida, to differentiate her from their other mother, Cat, whom they called Mamaca. It surely wouldn’t be appropriate to disturb their reunion, even if Carol wasn’t acting ladylike when she jubilantly threw her arms around Ida. Just as unabashed, she returned Karl Jensch’s embrace, although the man was definitely not her biological father. Oliver thought that relationships in general were treated far too casually at Rata Station. Just the way the girls referred to their parents! Mamida, Mamaca, Kapa . . . it all sounded far too exotic—and childish. Oliver had been stopped at ten years old from calling his parents Mummy and Daddy, and instructed to address them as Mother and Father instead.
“What are you doing alone here in the dark?” Ida asked. She was a slender woman, who now, in the coolness of the evening, was wrapped in a shapeless riding coat. “Oh, you’re not alone!”
Ida’s voice hardened at the sight of Oliver. At Rata Station, things were definitely less formal than they were at the Butlers’, but Oliver knew that Ida came from a very devoutly Christian German family. She must not be pleased to find her daughter alone with a man on a moonlit riverbank.
Oliver bowed formally. “Mrs. Jensch, Mr. Jensch, please rest assured that in no way did I come too close to your daughter.”
“You didn’t?” Karl Jensch asked with a smile.
He was a tall, thin, but strong-looking man with curly blond hair, which he wore longer than usual, like his friend Chris Fenroy did. It poked untidily from under his broad-brimmed hat and gave him a rakish air.
“Then something must be wrong with you, young man. With a girl as pretty as Carol, and the moonlight—” He smiled. “The two of you have been engaged for a couple of months, haven’t you? So, what exactly were you doing out here without getting too close to her? Counting sheep?”
Oliver squirmed under Karl’s teasing look. But Carol leaned against him with a smile.
“Of course he got too close to me, Kapa!” she said. “But not too too close. It was just right.”
Oliver could hear the grin in her voice, and Ida and Karl returned it.
“Can we go home already?” The bright soprano voice came from above. A third rider hadn’t gotten off her horse. “I mean, can we ride into the yard, put the horses in the barn, and go in the house? I’m dying of hunger.”
“Mara! My goodness, you’ve grown so much!” Carol greeted the girl just as enthusiastically as she had her parents. “You’ve met my sister before, haven’t you, Oliver?”
Oliver looked up at Margaret Jensch, his breath catching in his throat. Of course he’d met Mara, and she had always been a pretty little child. But now . . . The foyer of the White Hart Hotel also had beautiful goddess statues, but none of them compared to the girl perched on her horse in the moonlight like an apparition. And a white horse, at that. The sight made Oliver think of fairies.
“I—I’m enchanted,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from Mara’s delicate face with its Madonna-like features, long black hair, and huge eyes with dark, arched brows.
Karl rolled his eyes. He had obviously noticed the effect his daughter had recently begun to have on men.
“Then you can take my horse,” Mara instructed Oliver casually.
She dismounted and handed Oliver her reins as though he were a groom. She wasn’t very tall, but she held herself straight and smiled with self-assurance. The girl also seemed to be aware of her effect on men and obviously knew how to use it.
Chapter 6
The reunion at Rata Station was so cheerful and noisy that Oliver felt uncomfortable. His mother surely would have been appalled at all the hugs and kisses, laughter and teasing. Ladies and gentlemen should act more distinguished. It made Mara’s aloofness seem even more attractive. She didn’t rebuff her family’s embraces, but seemed to be wishing she were somewhere else. Oliver offered to carry her bags into the house, but she declined.
“They can stay outside,” she said. “We’re sleeping in the stone house.”
That was another thing that Oliver found strange about Rata Station. There were two houses on the farm, one of which almost met Deborah Butler’s standards. It was made out of stone, at least, the local gray sandstone. It had two stories, and was built on a low hill that offered a lovely view of the river, meadows, and garden—if one could call it that. At Rata Station, no one bothered with decorative gardening. There were only a few beds of vegetables and medicinal herbs. After Chris Fenroy had started the farm, he’d had the house built to please his wife, Jane. But when Jane had left Chris for the Maori chieftain—an event that had actually caused Deborah Butler to faint in shock—Chris and Cat had moved into a much smaller wooden house on the edge of the river. They’d left the stone manor house to Ida and Karl, and Carol and Linda had their rooms there as well. It would have been easy for Oliver to sneak into his fiancé’s room if she’d wanted him to. The young man felt a quick stab of regret, but then turned to Mara again.
“I’d be glad to carry your things over later,” he said.
For now, everyone had convened in Cat and Chris’s cheerfully lit house. Carol and Linda were helping Cat quickly prepare an improvised meal. As there wasn’t enough seating for all, Mara sat down with natural grace on one of the colorful, handwoven rugs. Oliver took a chair opposite her. Now he could see the girl in good light—which only served to magnify her charm. Mara Jensch looked much more like her mother than Carol did. She had dark hair and a widow’s peak, which made her face look heart-shaped like Ida’s. But Mara’s cheekbones were more defined, like her father’s. Her fine features made the gauntness look exotic and almost ethereal, especially next to her strong, sweeping eyebrows and thick dark eyelashes. Her eyes were a captivating shade of sea green, but not like the sea lit by sun. They were more the color of the shadows that clouds cast on the water. The girl had cherry-red, finely formed lips; while not as sensual as Carol’s or Linda’s, they were just as attractive.
Oliver felt almost irritated when Carol sat down by his feet and carefully leaned her head against his knee. Resigned, he tore his gaze from the beautiful girl who was much too young for him, and played inconspicuously with Carol’s blonde hair. The others seemed not to notice, or at least pretended not to. Linda smiled to herself.
Mara paid just as little attention to Oliver as she did the rest of the family. At the moment, she only had eyes for the plate of sandwiches that Linda had just put on the floor. She’d obviously never heard the rule that a lady should eat like a sparrow in public. Mara ate heartily and drank three glasses of cold tea. Cat had brought out a bottle of wine for the adults. She gave Carol a look.
“We will talk later, young lady!” she whispered, but seemed to forget about the stolen wine when Ida smiled mysteriously and opened her saddlebag.
Ida herself almost never drank. Where she had grown up, alcohol had been frowned upon. But she knew Cat’s weakness for a good drop. She delightedly pulled out two bottles, and even accepted a glass when Karl filled one and handed it to her.
“Let’s drink this one; they recommended it at the White Hart,” he said. “Actually, we wanted to bring a bottle of champagne, but I was afraid it wouldn’t survive the pounding in the saddlebags.” Karl raised his glass, looked around at everyone, and then allowed his eyes to rest lovingly on Ida’s. “To Korora Manor!”
Ida smiled back. “To Korora Manor!”
“To what?” Cat inquired. “Does this have something to do with the news that you wrote about, Ida?”
Ida nodded. “You shouldn’t gi
ve it all away at once,” she said, scolding her husband. “I thought we could discuss it in a quiet moment. We don’t even know how Cat and Chris feel, and—”
Karl shrugged. “Don’t worry so much, Ida. Cat and Chris will be happy for us. They—”
“What will we be happy about?” Chris asked, taking a sip of the wine.
Ida and Karl exchanged a look, as though each wanting the other to break the news.
Mara sighed. “Mamida and Kapa are buying a house.”
“Mara!” Ida scolded.
Mara shrugged. “Mamida, if we wait until you come out with it, I’ll never get to bed tonight, and I’m already falling asleep. So please just tell them all about your dream house in Whangarei, and the beach and garden, and everything that makes you so happy about it.” She yawned demonstratively. “Kapa and Mamida are moving away,” she announced. “But I’m staying here. I don’t want to live on the North Island. You promised I don’t have to, right, Mamida?”
Ida sighed. “Yes, we really are buying a house. But first we have to discuss it with Chris and Cat before we know if you can actually stay here.”
Cat smiled at her friend, who was obviously frustrated with her teenage daughter. She remembered only too well how Carol and Linda had gotten on her nerves at that age. But this conflict was very easy to solve.
“How could we have anything against Mara staying?” she asked kindly. “This is her home!”
Karl bit his lip. “I hope you’ll still see it that way when . . . Well, we should really talk in private among the four of us.”
Cat and Chris looked at each other. If the house in Whangarei was really Ida’s dream house, then it probably wasn’t cheap. That meant Karl would need money, and most of his fortune was invested in the farm.
Cat stretched. “Whatever you’ve got planned,” she said warmly as she reached for Ida’s hand, “you won’t have to worry about Mara, or Carol and Linda either. The children all belong here. Now tell us, Ida! You really plan to leave us? For a beach house on the North Island? The Whangarei area is the northernmost tip of Aotearoa, isn’t it?”
Cat used the Maori name for New Zealand, just as she preferred to use the original names for the rivers, mountains, and villages of the country. She felt the European settlers’ desire to rename everything showed a deep lack of respect for the Maori.
Karl shook his head, obviously glad to move on to a less volatile topic. “No, the house is a good bit farther south, between Cape Reinga and Whangarei.” Cape Reinga was the northernmost village in New Zealand, and Cat knew about it from the Maori myths. According to the legends, the souls of the dead started there on their journey to paradise, to Hawaiki. “But it’s in Northland, on the east coast. Our house is in Russell—you would know it as Kororareka, Cat.”
Cat nodded. Kororareka was one of the original pakeha settlements in New Zealand, but it hadn’t always had the best reputation. At first, it had been a port of call for sailors, whalers, and escaped prisoners, and later a focal point for Maori revolts. More recently, it had been renamed after Lord John Russell and become a peaceful, pretty town in the midst of the breathtakingly beautiful landscape of the Bay of Islands.
“It’s a dream,” Ida said as her youngest yawned again. “It’s a cottage on a small bay, with a view of the sea and a little beach.” Ida’s clear, porcelain-blue eyes glowed. “The sunset over the sea is—is just—”
Karl smiled. “Almost as beautiful as it was in Bahia.”
Both Karl and Ida had come to New Zealand on a brig called the Sankt Pauli, and on a stopover in Brazil, Ida had fallen hopelessly in love with the climate and beaches of Bahia. Back then, Karl had asked her to run away with him and stay there, but she hadn’t dared to defy her father and abandon her arranged engagement. Ever since, through all these years on the rainy South Island, Ida dreamed of sun-drenched beaches. Then she’d accompanied Karl on surveying trips to the North Island and discovered its subtropical climate.
“It’s a stone house, the kind I’m told they build in Ireland. The seller is Irish, too, a Catholic priest. He was one of the first missionaries in the area. Now he’s old and longing to go home, he says, back to his roots. He wants to die in Galway.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t remember what the weather’s like there,” Chris said doubtfully.
Chris had been born in Australia, where he’d worked as an interpreter for the governor, and he’d often had contact with Irishmen who told tales of their island’s wet climate.
Karl shrugged. “He’s quite bitter. The Maori mission didn’t work out as he’d hoped. And the local pakeha are not exactly behaving like good Christians. In any case, he wants to go back to Europe. He was very happy to be able to sell his house. And it’s in wonderful condition.”
“The yard is fantastic,” Ida said enthusiastically. “Father O’Toole had a vegetable garden, an herb garden, and a lot of flowers. Of course, I would change a few things.”
“But at least the hard work has already been done,” Karl said. “Ida wouldn’t have to strain herself to take care of it, and the housework won’t be a problem either. The cottage is just the right size for us. There’s a parlor, a large kitchen, two bedrooms, and a guest room. Enough space if all of you should ever manage to come together for a visit.” He smiled invitingly, although it would be quite unusual for all members of a farming family to leave their farm at the same time. “There’s even a barn that could easily be converted into a sheep stall and cheese dairy.”
“You want to make cheese again?” Cat asked Ida. “I thought we’d figured out that it wasn’t profitable.”
Originally, Ida had run a cheese dairy at Rata Station. Only after it became clear that the economy of the Canterbury Plains would be based on wool had the women finally given up.
Ida smiled. “I always enjoyed making cheese,” she said simply. “More than any other work. Of course, it won’t be a large business. I thought perhaps I’d have fifteen to twenty sheep I can take care of by myself. And distribution won’t be a problem because the house is close to the town. I could sell my cheese to the grocer there, or sell it myself at the farmers’ market. I would love that!”
Oliver furrowed his brow at Ida’s happy glow. His fiancée’s mother a cheese maker and market woman? He could well imagine what his mother would have to say about that.
But Cat was happy for her friend. She knew that Ida had felt superfluous after the dairy sheep were gone. But Rata Station had only become truly lucrative when it focused fully on sheep bred for their wool.
“But you’ll be back for my wedding, won’t you?” Carol asked. She was a little surprised and annoyed that her mother had decided to move to the other end of the country without discussing it with her first.
Ida nodded. “Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. And as I said, we have plenty of space. For you and Linda, and for Mara. From now on, you’ll have two homes. You’re welcome at Korora Manor anytime.”
“Well then, let’s drink to Ida and Karl, their new house, and their new business,” Chris said cheerfully, and filled the wine glasses again.
Mara let out another yawn. “Does anyone mind if I go to bed?” she asked. “We were riding all day, and I’m bone-tired.”
“We are too, actually,” Linda said, and cast Carol a meaningful glance.
Oliver had stopped playing with his fiancée’s hair, and his hands had begun to work their way down her neck. In an unobserved moment, they had even drifted below the neckline of her blouse. She was pink with excitement. At any minute, Cat, Chris, Ida, or Karl might notice what was going on. Mara was smirking at her sister, but Linda thought Oliver was going too far. It would be best to put an end to it for the evening.
Ida and Cat nodded.
“Go on over, then,” Cat said. “Your bed is made up, Mara. And your room is ready too, Ida.” She smiled tenderly at her partner. “It’s not as though Chris used the house very much while you were gone.”
The agreement between Cat and Chris w
as that they would live separately, and just “visit” each other often. For that reason, Chris’s bedroom was in the main house, but he’d been sleeping in Cat’s home for years.
Oliver stood politely when the girls got up. Clearly disappointed, but also very properly, he wished his fiancée and her sisters a good night.
“I thought you were going to carry over my things,” Mara said.
She looked meaningfully from Oliver to Carol, and her eyes flashed conspiratorially. Mara was paving the way for more stolen moments for the couple.
However, Karl saw through her ploy and shook his head. “It would be better not to tempt the young man,” he said calmly. “No disrespect intended, but I’m not going to send you into a house with three girls, unchaperoned.” His teasing smile took the sting out of his words. “I’ll bring over your things, Mara,” he told his daughter.
Everyone laughed, but Oliver felt as though he were being reprimanded. He had secretly hoped that he’d be offered a proper guest room in the main house after the Jensches’ return. So far, he’d been on a Maori sleeping mat in a kind of wooden shed next to Cat’s house. The accommodation was barely more than a storage space, and entirely unacceptable as guest lodgings. Oliver knew there were plenty of properly furnished rooms in the main house that met even his mother’s high standards. His own family had sometimes spent the night there when they traveled to Christchurch for the sheep breeders’ meetings. But leaving Oliver without a chaperone in a house with his fiancée was out of the question, even for liberal Cat. Oliver excused himself with clipped words and moved to go. His hostesses didn’t notice his disconcertedness, and wished him a good night. Cat and Ida had much to discuss; Carol’s fiancée would have only been a distraction.
Chris Fenroy winked at Karl Jensch as Oliver left the room. “Once you’ve got the girls settled, come out to the barn to check on the horses.”
Karl nodded and returned his wink. Oliver thought this was all very strange. Over the course of a sociable evening with friends and business partners, his father also liked to retreat with the men to drink whiskey and smoke cigars. But that’s what a study was for! Chris and Karl seemed to prefer to meet in the barn, and would probably pass a bottle back and forth like the drovers. Perhaps his mother was right: Chris Fenroy might have noble blood, and the others were clearly sheep barons, but his fiancée’s family didn’t take their social standing seriously. It was good that Carol would soon be under his mother’s wing.
