In the Land of the Long White Cloud (57 page)

Even Rongo Rongo laughed at her mistress’s fears. “No, there’s only one baby in there. But beautiful, strong. No easy birth, miss. But no danger. My grandmother says it will be a gorgeous baby.”

When the pains set in for Kiri, Rongo Rongo disappeared. As an ardent student of Matahorua, she was, despite her youth, much sought after as a midwife and spent many nights in the Maori village. This time she came back toward morning, looking pleased. Kiri had given birth to a healthy girl.

Just three days later, she showed her baby off proudly to Gwyneira.

“I her name Marama. Beautiful name for beautiful baby. Means ‘moon.’ I bring her with me to work. Can play with baby from miss!”

Gerald Warden would surely have his own opinions about that, but Gwyneira did not comment on the remark. For a while now, Gwyneira had no longer found it difficult to defy her father-in-law. Gerald generally ceded ground silently. The power relations on Kiward Station had shifted without Gwyneira’s really understanding why.

This time no one stood in the garden as Gwyneira lay in pain, and no one waited anxiously in the salon. Gwyneira did not know whether anyone had informed Gerald of the imminent birth and would not have cared either way. The old man was probably spending another night with a bottle in his room—and by the time it was over, he would no longer be capable of comprehending the news, regardless.

As Rongo Rongo had predicted, this birth did not go as smoothly as Fleurette’s. The baby was considerably larger—and Gwyneira was unwilling. With Fleurette she had yearned for the birth, hung on the midwife’s every word, and striven to be a truly shining example of motherhood. With this birth, she let everything happen to her in a
stupor; at times she bore the pain stoically, at others with defiance. The entire time, she was plagued by the memory of the pain under which this child had been conceived. She thought she could feel Gerald’s weight on top of her again, that she could smell his sweat. Between the pains, she vomited several times, felt weak and beaten down, and finally cried out in anger and pain. By the end she was totally drained and wanted nothing more than to die. Or even better, that this being that held tight in her womb like an evil parasite should die.

“Just come out,” she moaned. “Just come out and leave me in peace.”

After nearly two full days of torture—and, toward the end, of almost maniacal hatred for everyone who had done this to her—Gwyneira gave birth to a son. She felt nothing but relief.

“Such a beautiful little boy, miss!” Rongo beamed. “Like Matahorua said. Wait, I’ll wash him off, and then you can hold him. We’ll give him a little time before we cut the umbilical cord.”

Gwyneira shook her head wildly. “No, cut it, Rongo. And take him away. I don’t want to hold him. I want to sleep…have to rest…”

“But that you can do in minute. Look at baby first. Here, isn’t sweet?” Rongo had expertly cleaned the baby and laid it at Gwyneira’s breast. He was making his first suckling motions. Gwyneira pushed it away. Fine, it was healthy, it was complete with all its tiny fingers and toes, but she still didn’t like it.

“Take it away, Rongo!” she demanded with authority.

Rongo did not understand. “But where should I take it, miss? It need its mother!”

Gwyneira shrugged. “Take it to Mr. Warden. He wanted an heir; now he has it. He should figure out what to do with it. Just leave me in peace. Will it take long, Rongo? Oh, God, no, it’s starting again…” Gwyneira moaned. “It can’t really take another three hours before the afterbirth comes out.”

“Is now tired, miss. Is normal,” Kiri said in a conciliatory tone when an anxious Rongo came into the kitchen with the baby. Kiri and Moana were busy cleaning up after the dinner that Gerald had taken by himself. Little Marama slumbered in a small basket.

“That isn’t normal!” Rongo contradicted her. “Matahorua has brought thousands of children into the world, but no mother has acted like Miss Warden.”

“Oh, every mother is different,” maintained Kiri, thinking back to the morning when she had found Gwyneira lying on the floor in her room in a torn dress. There was a great deal to suggest that this child had been conceived that night. Gwyneira might have her reasons for not loving it.

“And what I now do with it?” Rongo asked hesitantly. “I can’t take it to Mr. Warden. He can’t have children around him.”

Kiri laughed. “Baby needs also milk, no whiskey. Start with that soon enough. No, no, Rongo, leave it just here.” Calmly she unbuttoned her servant’s dress, unveiled her plump breasts, and took the child from Rongo’s arms. “That now better.”

The newborn began to suckle greedily at once. Kiri rocked him gently. When he finally fell asleep at her breast, she laid him next to Marama in her basket.

“Tell miss, it well looked after.”

Gwyneira did not even want to know. She was already asleep and did not ask about the baby in the morning either. Only when Witi brought in a bouquet of flowers and gestured at the card hanging from them did she show any reaction at all.

“From Mr. Warden.”

An expression of revulsion and hatred, but also of curiosity, crossed her face. She tore the card open.

I thank you for Paul Gerald Terence
.

Gwyneira screamed, flung the flowers across the room, and ripped the card into shreds.

“Witi!” she ordered the shocked butler. “Or better, Rongo, words won’t fail you! Go immediately to Mr. Warden, and tell him the baby will only be named Paul Terence, or I’ll strangle it in the crib.”

Witi did not understand, but Rongo looked horrified.

“I’ll tell him,” she promised quietly.

Three days later the Wardens’ heir was baptized Paul Terence Lucas. His mother stayed far from the celebration; she was indisposed. But her servants knew better. Gwyneira had yet to even look at the child.

“W
hen are you finally going to introduce Paul to me?” Helen asked impatiently. Naturally, Gwyneira was not able to ride immediately after giving birth, and even now, four weeks later, she came with Fleur in the coach. However, this was her third visit, and to all appearances she had recovered from the strain of the delivery. Helen only wondered why she did not bring the baby along. After Fleur’s birth Gwyneira had not been able to wait to show off her little daughter to her friend. Yet she hardly mentioned her son. And even now, when Helen inquired about him explicitly, Gwyneira only made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

“Oh, soon. It’s tiresome, carrying him around, and he cries all the time when you take him away from Kiri and Marama. He feels comfortable with them, so what’s to be done?”

“Well, I would like to see him at least once,” admitted Helen. “What’s with you, Gwyn? Is there something wrong with him?”

Fleurette and Ruben had set off on an adventure right after Gwyneira’s arrival, and the Maori children would not be coming that day because of some celebration in their village. Helen figured that this was the ideal day to press Gwyneira to tell her the truth.

She shook her head disinterestedly. “What could be wrong with him? Everything is there. He’s a strong baby—and finally a boy. I’ve fulfilled the duty expected of me.” Gwyneira played with her teacup. “And now, tell me what’s new. Did the organ for the church in Haldon finally arrive? And will the reverend finally allow you to play it since he hasn’t found a male organist?”

“Forget the stupid organ, Gwyn.” Helen took refuge in impatient words but felt helpless. “I asked you about your baby! What is
going on with you? You talk about every puppy with more excitement than you talk about Paul. And he’s your son, you know…you should be over the moon with happiness. And what about the proud grandfather? In Haldon they’re already whispering that something’s not right with the baby because Gerald hasn’t bought a single round to celebrate his grandson.”

Gwyneira shrugged. “I don’t know what Gerald’s thinking. Can we talk about something else now?”

Determined to relax and enjoy herself, she took a tea biscuit.

Helen would have liked to shake her.

“No, we can’t, Gwyn. You’ll tell me right now what’s going on! Something must have happened with you or the baby or Gerald. Are you angry with Lucas for leaving you?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “Oh that, that’s ancient history. He must have had his reasons.”

In reality she did not know how she felt about Lucas. Though she was angry because he had left her alone in this quandary, she could understand his flight. Yet Gwyneira had not felt much of anything since James’s departure and Paul’s birth; it was as though she were keeping her thoughts and feelings under a bell jar. If she did not feel anything, she would not be vulnerable.

“Those reasons didn’t have anything to do with you? Or with the baby?” Helen drilled further. “Don’t lie to me, Gwyn, you have to clear this up. Otherwise, everyone will be talking about it. In Haldon they’re already whispering, and the Maori are talking too. You know they raise their children communally; the word ‘mother’ does not have the same meaning for them as for us, and Kiri does not find it strange to care for Paul as well. But the lack of interest you show your baby…you should ask Matahorua for advice.”

Gwyneira shook her head. “What advice is she supposed to give me? Can she bring Lucas back? Can she—” She stopped short, shocked. She had nearly given away more than anyone in the world was ever allowed to know.

“Maybe she could help you get along better with the child,” Helen said. “Why don’t you breastfeed it? Are you not producing milk?”

“Kiri has enough milk in her for two,” Gwyneira said dismissively. “And I’m a lady. It’s not common for women like myself to breastfeed their children in England.”

“You’ve gone crazy, Gwyn.” Helen shook her head. She was slowly growing angry. “At least think of better excuses. No one believes all that about your being a lady. So, once again: did Lucas leave because you were pregnant?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “Lucas doesn’t know anything about the baby,” she said quietly.

“So you cheated on him? That’s what they’re saying in Haldon, and if it keeps up—”

“How many times do I have to tell you, damn it? This damned baby is a Warden!” All of Gwyneira’s anger suddenly burst forth, and she began to sob. She didn’t deserve any of this. She had been so discreet about Fleur’s conception. No one, absolutely no one doubted her legitimacy. And now the real Warden was supposed to be the bastard?

Helen thought hard while Gwyneira wept. Lucas knew nothing of the pregnancy—and Gwyneira’s problems having children up until then lay, in Matahorua’s opinion, with him. So if a Warden had impregnated her with this child, then…

“Oh God, Gwyn…” Helen knew she could never speak her suspicion aloud, but now she could see it all clearly for herself. Gerald Warden must have impregnated Gwyneira—and it did not look like it had been accomplished with her friend’s approval. She took her friend in her arms to comfort her. “Oh, Gwyn, I was so stupid. I should have known right away. Instead, I’ve been torturing you with a thousand questions. But you…you have to forget all that now. Regardless of how Paul was conceived. He’s your son.”

“I hate him!” Gwyneira sobbed.

Helen shook her head. “Foolish girl. You can’t hate a little baby. Paul can’t help whatever happened. He has a right to his mother, Gwyn. Just like Fleur and Ruben. Do you think his conception was much fun for me?”

“At least you did it of your own will!” Gwyneira erupted.

“The baby doesn’t care. Please, Gwyn, at least try. Bring the little fellow along, introduce him to the women in Haldon—try to be a little bit proud of him. Then the love will come.”