Song of the Spirits (48 page)

Over the next few weeks, Elaine grew more accustomed to Greymouth, and she had to admit that Charlene was right: it was not the worst life—nor was it the worst town. Since she only worked at night and her little room did not require much housekeeping, Elaine had a good deal of time during the day to saddle up Banshee and explore her new surroundings.

She wandered through the mountains and fern forests and looked in awe at the lush green of the occasionally junglelike landscape that resulted from the almost daily rainfall on the gray river. The sea fascinated her, and she was enraptured when she stumbled upon a seal
rookery one day. It was incomprehensible to her that the Coasters had slaughtered these animals and sold their fur only a few decades before. People had turned to industry and coal mining in the Westport area since then. There was even a railroad, which on bad days Elaine watched pass by full of longing. The Midland Line connected the West Coast with Christchurch. After just a few hours’ ride, she could be with her Grandmum Gwyn.

Elaine only rarely allowed herself such musings. It hurt too much to think about what her parents and relatives must think of her now. After all, she had never had a chance to tell anyone about Thomas’s cruelty. No one could possibly have any compassion for her.

Whenever Elaine thought about the deed itself, however, she felt no remorse. In fact, she had no feelings at all about that morning in the stables and instead viewed the events from a peculiar distance, almost as though it were a scene in a novel. The roles had been assigned just as clearly as they were in those stories: there was only good and bad. If Elaine had not killed Thomas, sooner or later he would have killed her. For that reason, Elaine considered her act to be a sort of “preventative self-defense.” She wouldn’t have done anything differently had she been given the chance.

She was nevertheless astonished that the spectacular story of the husband who’d been murdered on the Pukaki River had not made it to the West Coast. She had expected news of that kind to spread quickly, and had been afraid that they might send out a wanted poster with her name on it and maybe even her picture. But nothing of the sort happened. Neither the whores nor the respectable ladies gossiped about a murdering spouse on the run. Elaine accepted it as a stroke of good luck. Slowly, she adjusted to life in her new home. She did not want to have to flee again. People greeted her on the street now, the men politely and the women fleetingly and somewhat reluctantly.

Regardless, Elaine could no longer be ignored, since she had finally found the courage to speak to the priest about a second instrument in town, orphaned until then. Inside the church stood a brand-new organ, but the parish had been torturing itself without accompaniment through church songs, which often came out far off-key.

Having long since heard that the young pianist in the pub was not “for sale,” the priest did not long hesitate before accepting Elaine’s offer to play.

Though Elaine could not see her from the gallery, when she opened her first Sunday service with an energetic rendition of “Amazing Grace,” she thought she could feel Madame Clarisse’s smile on her back.

W
hile Kura traveled through Australia with the opera ensemble, William and Heather continued to go bed together ever more brazenly. No one seemed to care what the two of them did at night, especially since William kept his distance from the bar for a few weeks. Though she did not make the connection to his love life, Gwyneira observed with relief that he had become more even-tempered, and he rarely picked a quarrel with the workers, even the Maori. Though he continued to demonstrate little talent for farmwork, he occasionally even allowed the workers to teach him something instead of simply giving orders. James thought this was a result of William’s disgraceful sheepherding debacle with Major Richland. In any case, James kept William busy with routine work, freeing himself up for more important matters and enabling him to enjoy his hard-won peace. A few things struck James as odd, however. For instance, the grand piano in the salon was being played again. Though no one really cared to hear it, Heather offered to play for the family. William alone encouraged her, claiming to feel closer to Kura through the music. He had her face and form before his eyes again, he explained, which caused Heather’s features to narrow disapprovingly. The two of them resumed their evenings together in the salon, and William renewed his consumption of whiskey.

“Can’t we get rid of that Miss Witherspoon?” James groaned as he genteelly held the door to their apartments open for Gwyneira. Heather had been playing Schubert songs downstairs for hours. “We don’t really have a use for her anymore now that Kura’s gone.”

“Who is going to teach Jack and the Maori children?” Gwyneira asked. “I know, I know. She doesn’t exactly excel at that, but if we
send her on her way, we’ll have to find a replacement. Which means advertising in England again, waiting for applications to arrive, and then my having to make another guess.”

“We’d have one criterion less at least,” James said grinning. “Neither Jack nor Gloria have any interest in the piano. But seriously, Gwyn, I don’t like William spending half the night alone with Miss Witherspoon in the salon. Especially now, when Kura is away. She’s clearly trying to seduce him.”

Gwyneira laughed. “William the gentleman with that plain little thing? I can’t imagine it. That would be a real downgrade after Kura.”

“But the plain little thing is at hand,” James offered for consideration. “We should keep an eye on it.”

Gwyneira laughed. “Wouldn’t you rather take advantage of the fact that I’m at hand?” she teased. “All those love songs have made me quite sentimental.” She undid the buttons of her dress, and James kissed her softly on her bared shoulder.

“Then all that noise at least did some good,” he murmured.

While William and Heather’s relationship was good for his acclimatization to life on Kiward Station, Heather’s own efforts to ingratiate herself to her employers grew rather lax. The longer her love for William persisted, the more secure she felt. With every month that ticked by without Kura’s return, she grew more hopeful of binding William to herself forever. He would eventually grow tired of waiting for Kura, particularly since he did not feel at home on Kiward Station. Then surely their marriage would be dissolved, and the way would finally be clear for William to commit himself fully to Heather. Besides, more than three years had passed since William had left Ireland. His deeds there had undoubtedly long since passed into oblivion, and he would surely be able to return. Heather saw herself striding into his parents’ house at his side. They would no doubt be delighted by their son’s choice, for she had been given a first-class education and was from a good family, though fallen on hard times. She would exert
a moderating influence on William, who would certainly not get involved in any further scandals on his father’s land. Perhaps he would even find a position in the city—Heather would like that even better.

In any event, she obviously considered teaching dirty native children to be beneath her dignity and made even less of an effort toward them than before. She could not neglect Jack, of course. He was meant to go to Christ’s College and could not be allowed to fail the entrance exam. But she taught him strictly and without enthusiasm. Jack completed his assignments but took no joy in doing so. That didn’t strike Gwyneira as particularly unusual, as she, too, had hated her lessons as a girl. James, however, who had never enjoyed the benefit of a first-rate education, thought it a shame and continued to insist on dismissing Heather Witherspoon as soon as possible.

“Look, Gwyn, of course I understand that Jack doesn’t want to learn Latin. But he’s always been interested in history, and animal and plant biology. He used to say he’d love to be a veterinarian. I could definitely see him pursuing that if he doesn’t take over Kiward Station. But Miss Witherspoon is driving out all his interest in books. And she’ll do the same to Gloria. Get rid of her, Gwyn. Just get rid of her!”

Gwyneira continued to hesitate. Then, however, Heather Witherspoon’s lack of interest in her work did one day—if by a detour—result in her and William being discovered.

Gwyneira McKenzie frequently sold sheep for breeding, sometimes entire flocks, to other farmers. Gerald Warden had begun the practice after he had created the ideal wool producer for the Canterbury Plains by crossing Romney, Cheviot, and Welsh Mountain sheep. His animals were robust and self-sufficient, and the ewes and their lambs spent the whole summer loose in the highlands without any significant losses. They produced wool of consistently high quality, and were easy to feed and simple to handle. It was no surprise that other breeders were chomping at the bit to enrich their own flocks with these animals. In
fact, many of the sheep that grazed throughout the Canterbury Plains and Otago could be traced back to Gerald Warden’s breeding stock.

No one in the remote northeastern part of the South Island had ever shown any interest in Gwyneira’s sheep. Husbandry was still in its infancy there. But a certain Mr. Burton of Marlborough suddenly contacted her. Though he was a war veteran like Major Richland, he obviously had more ambition with regard to informed sheep breeding. Gwyneira immediately took a liking to the lively old gentleman. Slim and sinewy, Burton was a spirited rider and a good shot—he surprised his hosts straight off with three rabbits, shot “in anticipation.”

“They’re yours. I shot them on your land,” he grinned. “I presume their death does not aggrieve you too much.”

Gwyneira laughed and had the animals brought to the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to bring your dinner with you,” James joked. “Do you have a rabbit problem up north too, or are the foxes taking hold there?”

It wasn’t long before Mr. Burton and James were deep in conversation—for once, William did not dominate. Gwyneira noticed how animated James was as he chatted and joked with the farmer from Marlborough. Finally, here was someone who did not know about his past as a rustler and who simply accepted him as the foreman of Kiward Station. Jack, too, seemed to like Mr. Burton from the first, and asked him all about the animals in the jungles around Blenheim and the whales in the Marlborough Sounds.

“Have you really seen one, Mr. Burton?” he asked eagerly.

Mr. Burton nodded. “But of course, young man. Since they stopped hunting the critters so much, they’ve become rather trusting. And they really are big as houses. I would never have believed it. You read about it, of course, but when you encounter one in a boat suddenly made tiny by comparison, you learn respect for the whalers who throw the harpoon instead of running away!”

“The Maori hunted them from their canoes,” Jack informed him. “That must have been exciting.”

“I found whaling loathsome and disgusting,” James said. “When I arrived on the West Coast years ago, whaling was considered the
surest way to make money fast, and I gave it a try, but I didn’t have it in me. Like you said, Mr. Burton, the whales are too trusting, and I just couldn’t bring myself to jab a spear into something that just wanted to hold out a friendly flipper to me.”

Everyone laughed.

“Do they have flippers?” Jack wanted to know. “They’re mammals, after all.”

“You should come visit sometime and see for yourself, young man. Perhaps you can help herd the sheep our way after your mother and I talk business tomorrow.” Mr. Burton cheerfully raised a glass to Gwyneira. He did not seem to have any doubt that they would reach an agreement.

Indeed, they did raise their glasses to the acquisition of a stately flock, and Mr. Burton repeated his invitation. Jack and his friend Maata had already helped herd the sheep together for him, and the boys’ use of the sheepdogs had impressed Mr. Burton. He acquired two border collies straightaway—and, winking cheerfully at Jack, claimed to desperately need help with their training. The boy could hardly contain himself.

“I can go, can’t I? Right, Mum, Dad? Maata can come too. It’ll be an adventure. Just wait, we’ll bring a baby whale back and put it in our lake!”

“The whale’s mother will be thrilled,” Gwyneira said. “Just as I will be. You have school, Jack. You can’t just go on holiday.”