Song of the Spirits (20 page)

Gwyneira shrugged. No one could accuse her of not trying.

“Then you can have him,” she said calmly.

“Mr. Martyn?” James McKenzie called out just as William was stepping out of Kiward Station’s main house with a radiant look. Gwyneira had just told him that she accepted his marriage proposal. As long as Kura’s mother had nothing against it, she would begin the wedding preparations.

James knew that, of course, and had been in a bad temper for days. Gwyneira had asked him to stay out of the matter, but he could not restrain himself from sounding William out one last time as fully as he could. He stepped in front of William and rose up almost threateningly before him.

“You don’t have any plans at the moment, do you? Aside from perhaps celebrating your success, I take it. But you’d be celebrating the pig in a poke. You’ve yet to even see Kiward Station. Would you be so kind as to let me show you?”

William’s smile froze. “Yes, of course, but—”

“No buts,” James broke in. “It’d be my pleasure! Come, saddle your horse, and we’ll take a little ride around.”

William did not dare object. Why would he? He had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to look around Kiward Station for weeks. Though he would have preferred a different guide than Gwyneira’s grim husband, nothing could be done about that now. Obediently, he walked over to the stables and saddled his horse, something he no longer usually did himself. Normally some Maori youth working about the stables took over that task. However, he did not think it wise to delegate that day, as James McKenzie would likely have made some snide remark. He waited patiently with his bay horse in front of the stables as William led his horse out.

Without a word, James first set out toward Haldon. Then he turned off the road and started riding toward the Maori village. When William saw the settlement for the first time, he was surprised. Instead of the primitive huts or tents he had expected, he found himself in front of a well-built meeting hall decorated with carvings directly beside the lake. Large stones next to an earthen oven offered places to sit.

“The
wharenui
,” James remarked. “Do you speak Maori? You should learn it. And it wouldn’t be a bad idea to consummate the wedding ceremony according to the rites of Kura’s people, in addition to the regular celebration.”

William made a disgusted face. “I don’t believe Kura sees these people as her own,” he observed. “And I have no intention whatsoever of lying with Kura in front of the whole tribe as their laws dictate. That would go against all decency.”

“Not among the Maori, it wouldn’t,” James said comfortably. “And you wouldn’t really have to lie with her in public. It’s enough to share your bed with her and then eat and drink with their people. It would make Kura’s mother happy. And it would get you started on the right foot. Tonga, their chieftain, is particularly displeased about the fact that you’re marrying into this family.”

William gave James a lopsided grin. “Well, you and Tonga have that in common then, don’t you?” he asked provocatively. “But what does that mean? Should I expect a spear in my back?”

James shook his head. “No. These people aren’t generally violent.”

“Oh, is that so? What about Kura’s father?”

James sighed. “That was more or less an accident. Paul had provoked the Maori to the point of violence. In any case, his murderer wasn’t from around here. He was an underage fool from John Sideblossom’s farm who’d had bad experiences with the
pakeha
since he was a child. Paul wasn’t even paying for his own sins when he died. Tonga has explicitly expressed his remorse for Paul’s death.”

“Oh, he certainly showed plenty of that,” William said.

James did not respond. “I only mean to say that it would be better for all involved if you had a good relationship with the Maori. I am sure it’s something close to Kura’s heart as well.”

In reality, James was of the opinion that nothing lay close to Kura’s heart except the fulfillment of her own caprices, but he kept that to himself.

“Then Kura should tell me so,” William declared. “For all I care, we could invite these people to the wedding. There will be a party for the workers, won’t there?”

James inhaled sharply but said nothing. The young man would learn soon enough that Tonga and his people most definitely did not view themselves as the Wardens’ “workers.”

At that hour in the afternoon, the Maori camp was largely empty. A handful of old women could be seen preparing dinner and watching the children playing in the lake. The rest of the tribe was elsewhere; some worked for the Wardens, and others were out hunting or in the fields. As it was, William saw only a few wrinkled and tattoo-covered faces, which would have struck fear into him had they belonged to younger people.

“Ghastly, those tattoos!” he remarked. “Thank God no one decided to disfigure Kura that way.”

James smiled. “But you would, doubtless, have loved her anyway, isn’t that right?” he teased. “Don’t worry. The young Maori aren’t tattooed anymore—aside from Tonga, who had himself tattooed with the chieftain’s symbols to provoke a reaction. Originally, that was how they showed which tribe they belonged to. Each community had different tattoos, like the English nobles’ coats of arms.”

“No one ever tattooed those into the children though,” William said excitedly. “People are civilized in England.”

James grinned. “Ah yes, I forgot the English were taught their arrogance in the crib. My people saw things differently. We Scots would paint ourselves blue whenever we went against the occupier. What did the real Irish do?”

William looked as though he were ready to leap at James.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. “Do you mean to insult me?”

James looked at him innocently. “Insult? Me? You? Where did you get that idea? I just thought I’d remind you of your own roots. Besides, I’m only giving you good advice. And the first thing is: don’t make enemies of the Maori!”

The men were now riding through the camp, past a long sleeping lodge, several storehouses on stilts—
patakas
, James explained—and a few single-family homes. James greeted the old people and exchanged a few jocular words with them. A woman appeared to ask about William, and James introduced him.

The old women then whispered to each other, and William caught the name Kura-maro-tini a few times.

“You should now say
kia ora
to be polite and bow to them,” James said. “In reality, they rub noses together, but I can tell that would be asking too much.”

He exchanged a few words with the women, who giggled.

“What did you say?” William asked suspiciously.

“I told them that you’re shy.” James seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. “Now, go on, say hello.”

William had turned red with anger, but repeated the greeting politely. The old women seemed genuinely pleased and, laughing, corrected his pronunciation.

“
Haere mai
!” called the children. “Welcome!”

A little boy gave him a tiny piece of jade. James thanked him exuberantly and made William do likewise.

“That’s a
pounamu
. It’s supposed to bring you luck. A very generous gift from a little boy, one you should plan to be on good terms with by the way. He’s Tonga’s youngster.”

The boy already had the bearing of a chief and accepted the gratitude of the
pakeha
with great majesty. Then the men left the village. The land around the camp had not been put to use by the Wardens, and the Maori had planted a few fields and gardens. A short while later, they rode past some large paddocks, some of which held sheep.
As the rain had set in again, the animals were crowded into the paddocks’ shelters, where hay was provided as fodder.

“There’s enough grass in the pastures for most of the sheep even in winter,” James explained. “But we feed the ewes more. That way the lambs are born stronger and you can herd them into the highlands earlier, which saves on fodder. This is where we keep the cattle too. We’ve increased the number we breed since the refrigerated ships have started going to England. Before, the meat could only be delivered to Otago or the West Coast—thankfully, gold and coal miners have always been blessed with a healthy appetite. But now these ships with cooling contraptions sail for England. It’s a good business. And Kiward Station obviously has no shortage of pastureland. The first shearing shed is over there.”

James indicated a large, flat building that William would not have known what to make heads or tails of a few weeks before. He had since learned from spending time on other farms that this was a dry place for the shearing companies that traveled from station to station in the spring to shear the wool from the sheep.

“The first?” William asked.

James nodded. “We have three in all. And we need the shearers for three weeks. You see what that means.”

William grinned. “Quite a few sheep,” he said.

“More than ten thousand at the last count,” James said, adding, “Happy?”

William was incensed. “Mr. McKenzie, I know what you’re insinuating. But I don’t care about your damned sheep! I only care about Kura. I’m marrying her, not your livestock trade.”

“You’re marrying both,” observed James. “And don’t try to tell me you don’t care one way or another.”

William flared up at him. “Do I care one way or another? I love Kura. I’m going to make her happy. Nothing else matters. I want to be with Kura, and she wants to be with me.”

James nodded, though he did not look convinced. “You’ll get her all right.”

Q
UEENSTOWN
, L
AKE
P
UKAKI, AND
C
ANTERBURY
P
LAINS

1894–1895

W
illiam Martyn and Kura-maro-tini Warden were married shortly before Christmas in the year 1893. Their wedding was the most glorious celebration to be held at Kiward Station since before the death of its founder, Gerald Warden. It was the height of summer, and so the hosts had made it a garden party. Gwyneira had supplementary tents and pavilions set up as a defense against any possible summer rain, but the weather cooperated. The sun competed to outshine the guests, who arrived in great numbers to celebrate the couple. Half of Haldon was present, the perennially sniffling Dorothy Candler chief among them, of course.

“She bawled her eyes out at my first wedding too,” Gwyneira told James. The residents of the surrounding farms had come for the festivities as well. Gwyneira greeted Lord and Lady Barrington and their younger children. The older ones were off studying in Wellington and England, and one of their daughters had gotten married on the North Island. The Beasleys, once their nearest neighbors, had died without direct heirs, and their distant relatives had sold the farm. A Major Richland, a veteran of the Crimean War, had taken over the farm’s sheep and horse breeding and ran them in just as “gentlemanly” a manner as had Reginald Beasley. Fortunately, he had capable overseers who simply defied the would-be farmer’s more absurd orders.

George and Elizabeth Greenwood came from Christchurch, accompanied only by their daughters. One of their sons was still studying in England, while the other was finishing up practical courses at the Australian branch of the family’s trading house.

Their older daughter, Jennifer—a somewhat shy blonde girl—lost all ability to speak when she stood face-to-face with Kura-maro-tini.

“She’s beautiful,” she merely whispered when she saw the bride in her creamy-white gown.

That was undeniable. The dress, which had been tailored in Christchurch, highlighted Kura’s perfect form without being indecent. She wore a garland of fresh flowers in her hip-length hair, which she left down. That made a good enough veil on its own. Although she looked almost as disinterested as at any other celebration she had ever graced with her presence, her skin shimmered, and her eyes sparkled whenever they fell on her future husband. When she walked toward the altar, her movements were as graceful as those of a dancer. However, there was one small problem to solve before the bishop, who had traveled from Christchurch, could marry the couple under the flower-decorated canopy.