In the Land of the Long White Cloud (99 page)

Lucas Warden must have been a strange man. Only now did James realize how little he had known him and how close the shepherds’ mean-spirited remarks had come to the truth. But something in Gwyneira had really loved Lucas, or at least respected him. And Fleurette’s memories of her would-be father were also full of warmth. James began to feel regret and sympathy for Lucas. He had been a good, if also a weak man, born in the wrong place at the wrong time.

James directed his horse toward the Maori village on the lake. He could have gone on foot, but he was here on an official mission, as Gwyneira’s negotiator, so to speak, and felt safer—and above all, more important—on the four-legged status symbol of the
pakeha
. Besides, he liked the horse. Fleurette had given it to him: it was the son of her mare Niniane with a riding horse of Arab lineage.

McKenzie had been expecting to run into a blockade between Kiward Station and the Maori village. After all, Leonard McDunn had reported something to that effect, and Gwyneira was also aggravated by their attempts to cut her off from the road to Haldon.

James, however, entered the village unmolested. He was just passing the first buildings, and the great meeting hall was coming into view. But the mood in the camp was decidedly strange.

There was none of the antagonistic defensiveness and defiance that Gwyneira, but also Andy McAran and Poker Livingston, had spoken of. Most surprisingly, there was no sense of triumph over the governor’s decision. Instead, James got the sense that they were tensely waiting for something. People did not crowd around him, amiably looking to chat as they had during his previous visits to the village, nor did they seem threatening. Though he did see the occasional man with warrior tattoos, they all wore shirts and pants, rather than traditional outfits and spears. A few women were taking care of the daily chores, trying hard not to make eye contact with the visitor.

Finally Kiri stepped out of one of the houses.

“Mr. James. I hear you here again,” she said formally. “That is great joy for miss.”

James smiled. He had always suspected that Kiri and Moana knew the truth.

But Kiri did not return his smile. Instead, she looked up at James earnestly as she began to speak again. She chose her words with care, almost caution. “And I want to say…I’m sorry. Moana also sorry and Witi. If peace now, we happy to come back to house. And we forgive Paul. He changed, Marama says. Good man. For me good son.”

James nodded. “That’s nice, Kiri. For Paul too. Mrs. Warden hopes he’ll come back soon.” He was surprised when Kiri turned away.

No one else spoke to him until James reached the chief’s lodge. He dismounted. He was sure Tonga must have heard of his arrival, but the young chief was apparently going to make him beg.

James raised his voice. “Tonga! We need to talk. Mrs. Warden has received word from the governor. She would like to negotiate.”

Tonga stepped slowly out of his lodge. He was wearing the outfit and tattoos of a warrior but not carrying a spear. Instead, he held the Sacred Ax of the chieftain. James recognized the traces of a brawl on his face. Was the young chief’s position no longer definitive? Did he have rivals within his own tribe?

James held out his hand to him, but Tonga did not take it.

James shrugged. OK then. In his eyes Tonga was behaving like a child, but what else could you expect from such a young man? James decided not to play his game and to remain polite no matter what. Perhaps he could appeal to the man’s sense of honor.

“Tonga, you are very young and yet already chief. That means your people regard you as a reasonable man. Mrs. O’Keefe also thinks highly of you, and what you’ve achieved with the governor is remarkable. You’ve shown courage and tenacity. But now we must come to an agreement. Since Mr. Warden isn’t here, Mrs. Warden will negotiate in his stead. And she vows that he will stand behind whatever she agrees to. He will have to. After all, the governor has given his decision. So end this war, Tonga! For the sake of your own people as well.” James held his hands out to the side. He was unarmed. Tonga must see that he came in peace.

The young chief stood up even straighter in his already tall frame, though he was still shorter than James. He had also been shorter than Paul, which had bothered him his entire adolescence. But now he
carried the title of chief. He need not be ashamed of anything. Not even for Paul’s killing.

“Inform Gwyneira Warden that we are ready to negotiate,” he said coolly. “We entertain no doubts that her agreements will be kept. Mrs. Warden has been the voice of the Wardens since the last full moon. Paul Warden is dead.”

“It wasn’t Tonga,” James said, holding Gwyneira in his arms as he told her of her son’s death. Gwyneira heaved dry sobs. She found no tears and hated herself for that. Paul had been her son, but she could not cry for him.

Kiri silently set a pot of tea on the table for them. She and Moana had accompanied James to the house. As though it had been agreed upon, the women took possession once more of the kitchen and office rooms.

“You can’t blame Tonga for it, or the negotiations might break down. I think he blames himself. As I understand it, one of his warriors lost control of himself. He saw the dignity of his chief under threat and stabbed Paul—from behind. Tonga must be ashamed to his core. The murderer did not even belong to Tonga’s tribe. So Tonga had no control over him. That’s why he wasn’t punished. Tonga only sent him back to his people. If you want, you could have the incident investigated by the police. Tonga and Marama were witnesses and wouldn’t lie in court.” James poured tea and a good deal of sugar into a cup and tried to hand it to Gwyneira.

Gwyneira shook her head. “What would that change?” she asked quietly. “The warrior saw his people’s honor threatened; Paul saw his wife threatened; Howard felt insulted…one thing leads to another, and it never ends. I’m so sick of it all, James.” Her whole body trembled. “And I would have liked so much to tell Paul that I loved him.”

James pulled her close. “He would have known you were lying,” he said softly. “You can’t change that, Gwyn.”

She nodded. “I’ll have to live with it, and I’ll hate myself for it every day. Love is so strange. I couldn’t feel anything for Paul, but Marama loved him…as naturally as she breathed air, and unconditionally, no matter what Paul did. She was his wife, you say? Where is she? Did Tonga do something to her?”

“I take it that she was officially Paul’s wife. Tonga and Paul fought over her in any case. So for Paul, it was serious. Where she is now, I don’t know. I don’t know the Maori’s mourning ceremonies. Probably she buried Paul and then withdrew. We’ll have to ask Tonga or Kiri.”

Gwyneira squared herself. Her hands were still trembling, but she managed now to warm her fingers on the teacup and to raise the cup to her mouth. “We need to find out. I won’t let anything happen to the girl as well. I need to go to the village as soon as possible. I want to put all of this behind me. But not today. Not tonight. I want tonight to myself. I want to be alone, James…I need to think. Tomorrow, after sunrise, I’ll talk to Tonga. I’m going to fight for Kiward Station, James. Tonga isn’t going to get it!”

James took Gwyneira in his arms and carried her gently to her bedroom. “Whatever you want, Gwyn. But I won’t leave you alone. I’ll be there, tonight as well. You can cry or talk about Paul…there must also be some good memories. You must have been proud of him occasionally. Tell me about him and Marama. Or just let me hold you. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But you’re not alone.”

Gwyneira wore a black dress when she met Tonga on the lakeshore between Kiward Station and the Maori village. Negotiations were not carried out in closed rooms. Gods, spirits, and the ancestors would act as witnesses. Behind Gwyneira stood James, Andy, Poker, Kiri, and Moana. Twenty warriors looked on grimly behind Tonga.

After a few formal greetings had been exchanged, the chief expressed his regret over the death of her son—in measured words and perfect English. Gwyneira could hear the traces of Helen’s schooling. Tonga was a strange mixture of savage and gentleman.

“The governor has decided,” Gwyneira said in a steady voice, “that the sale of the land now called Kiward Station did not correspond in every respect to the policies outlined in the Treaty of Waitangi.”

Tonga laughed mockingly. “Not in every respect? The sale was against the law!”

Gwyneira shook her head. “No, it was not. It occurred before the ratification of the treaty that assured the Maori a minimum price for their land. One could not violate a treaty that did not yet exist—and that the Kai Tahu, moreover, never signed. Nevertheless, the governor finds that Gerald Warden cheated you when he bought the land.” She took a deep breath. “And after a thorough examination of the documents, I have to agree with him. Gerald Warden paid you off with pocket money. You only received two-thirds of the minimum sum you were entitled to. The governor has now determined that we must either pay the rest of this sum or give back a corresponding portion of the land. The latter seems more just to me since the land will fetch a higher price today.”

Tonga looked her over, leering. “We feel honored, Mrs. Warden,” he remarked, and hinted at a bow. “You really mean to share your valuable Kiward Station with us?”

Gwyneira would have liked to give the arrogant brat an earful, but now was not the time. So she got a hold of herself and continued with as much composure as she had begun. “As reparation, I would like to offer you the farm known as O’Keefe Station. I know that you often wander across it, and the highlands there are richer in hunting and fishing grounds than Kiward Station. On the other hand, it’s less suited to raising sheep. Thus we would all be served. In terms of area, O’Keefe Station is half as large as Kiward Station. You would thus receive more land than the governor granted you.”

Gwyneira had formulated this plan almost as soon as she had heard the governor’s decision. Helen wanted to sell it. She was going to stay in Queenstown, and Gwyneira could pay her for the farm in several installments. That way Kiward Station would not take a hit from the reparation payments, and no doubt it was more in keeping with the
late Howard O’Keefe’s desires, for the land would go to the Maori and not the hated Wardens.

The men behind Tonga whispered among themselves. It looked as though they took great interest in her suggestion. Tonga, however, shook his head.

“What grace, Mrs. Warden. A piece of less valuable land, a dilapidated farm—and the stupid Maori should feel lucky, eh?” He laughed. “No, I pictured things a little differently.”

Gwyneira sighed. “What do you want?” she asked.

“What I want…what I really wanted…was the land on which we stand. From the road to Haldon to the dancing rocks.” That was the area between the farm and the highlands that the Maori called the stone circle.

Gwyneira frowned. “But our house is on that land! That’s impossible.”

Tonga grinned. “I said that’s what I wanted…but we owe you a certain blood debt, Mrs. Warden. Your son’s death is my fault even if he did not die by my hand. I didn’t want it, Mrs. Warden. I wanted to see him bleed, not for him to die. I wanted him to watch while I tore his house to the ground—or took up occupancy myself! With Marama as my wife. That would have caused him more pain than any spear. But so be it. I have decided to spare you. Keep your house, Mrs. Warden. But I want all the land from the dancing rocks to the stream that separates Kiward Station and O’Keefe Station.” He looked at her presumptuously.

Gwyneira felt as though the ground was giving way from under her feet. She turned her gaze from Tonga and fixed it on James. Her eyes reflected confusion and desperation.

“Those are our best pastures,” she said. “The three shearing sheds are there. It’s almost all fenced in.”

James stepped forward and put his arm around her. He looked at Tonga sternly.

“Maybe you two should take some time to think things over some more,” he said calmly.

Gwyneira straightened. Her eyes sparked.

“If we give you what you want,” she exclaimed, “we might as well just hand Kiward Station over to you. Maybe we should do it too! There won’t be another heir. And you and I, James, we could just concentrate on Helen’s farm.”