Call of the Kiwi (18 page)

“A good day to you, Mr. McKenzie. Couldn’t wait to see Miss Lambert? But Mrs. McKenzie won’t be back quite so soon.”

“I think I’ll ride out to meet them. Would you saddle me a horse?”

Maaka hesitated. “A horse, Mr. McKenzie? But it’s been months since you rode.”

“Then it’s about time, isn’t it?” James walked over to his brown gelding and patted his neck. “Did you miss me?” he asked. “Back in the day, when Gwyn arrived, I was riding a gray horse.” He smiled at the memory.

“If you want a gray horse, one of the new shepherds has a roan. He’d certainly let you borrow him. It’s a handsome horse.”

He laughed. “Why not? Another gray horse.”

He waited until Maaka had saddled the roan, and then bridled the horse himself.

“Many thanks, Maaka. Gwyn will be amazed.”

James felt himself seized by youthful enthusiasm as he led the horse out. For once his bones were not betraying him. If only his heart were not dancing so strangely. Something wasn’t right. He felt a twinge that spread through his arm. Maybe, James thought, I shouldn’t ride. But, what the hell? What does Gwyn always say? “When you can’t ride anymore, you’re dead.”

James mounted the horse and trotted down the road to Christchurch.

“Really? I can hold the reins?”

Although Lilian knew how to ride, she had never driven a carriage, and the mare pulling Gwyneira’s chaise was no tired nag.

“It’s quite similar to riding. Only you mustn’t fall into tugging at the reins. They’ll seem to get longer and longer, but it doesn’t make much of an impression on the horse,” Gwyneira explained, happy about Lilian’s interest.

“A lot of people are buying automobiles now,” she said to Elaine while Lily concentrated on managing the reins. “But I can’t get used to the idea. I tried, of course. They’re not hard to drive.”

“You drove a car?” Elaine laughed. “Yourself?”

Gwyneira looked at her reproachfully. “And why not? I’ve always driven my own carriages. And believe me, compared to a cob stallion, an automobile is a lame duck.”

“We have one ourselves now. After Florence Biller drove past so proudly in hers, Tim could not resist. Total nonsense. He can’t even drive it himself in his splints, even getting in is difficult, and it’s hell on his hips. But he’d never admit it. Roly is thrilled by the contraption, as are the boys. It’s a toy for men.”

Lilian had brought the horse under her control and had it moving at a brisk trot.

James saw the mare trotting along up ahead. It looked like Gwyneira was holding the reins, always going at top speed, and Igraine loved to accommodate. Wait, was that Igraine? He thought hazily that this horse must have a different name. Igraine had come from Wales with Gwyn when she was young. She could not still be alive.

But there she was, that distinctive head, those high movements, that long mane blowing in the wind. And Gwyn on the box, such a beautiful girl, how young she was, and that red hair, the alert expression, the shining face radiating the pure joy of the speedy ride and the responsive horse.

In a moment she would see him and her eyes would light up as they always did. James raised his hand to wave. At least that’s what he wanted to do. But his hand did not respond. Then his head began to spin.

When Gwyneira saw the roan trotting up ahead, she, too, first thought it was an illusion. James on his old horse. But he should not be riding, h
e . . .

Gwyneira saw James sway. She called to Lilian to stop the carriage, but he was already falling off by the time the girl succeeded in stopping the mare. The roan came to a stop obediently beside him.

Elaine wanted to help her grandmother, but Gwyneira pushed her away as she leaped out of the chaise and ran to her husband.

“James! What’s wrong, James?”

“Gwyn, my beautiful Gwyn.”

James McKenzie died in the arms of an aging Gwyneira, but his eyes were filled with the image of the Welsh princess who had stolen his heart so many years before.

Gwyneira only whispered his name.

7

G
loria learned weeks later of the deaths in her family. The mail route from New Zealand to the United States was complicated, and, moreover, the letters arrived at Kura’s concert agency in New York, which had to locate the troupe before forwarding the letters. The news reached them in New Orleans, a lively city that thoroughly electrified Gloria’s mother. On the streets dark-skinned people played a jarringly different sort of music, and when Kura was not taking the stage herself, she was dragging William through the nightclubs of the French Quarter, listening to that strange music called jazz, and dancing.

The sad news from Kura’s old homeland interested her little. Neither William nor Kura had known Charlotte, and James McKenzie had never been especially warm to them—a mutual feeling. Gwyneira had not felt up to spreading the news, so Elaine had written to their relatives on her behalf. She addressed the letter to the “Family Martyn.” To write separately to Gloria seemed unnecessary, and therefore Gloria did not even learn the details. When Kura informed her almost casually that her great-grandfather had died, she was astounded at her sorrow.

“Are you crying, Gloria? He wasn’t even your real grandfather. And he was over eighty. That’s the way of the world. But I can sing that mourning-
haka
tonight. Yes, that suits New Orleans, it’s a little morbid.”

Gloria turned away. Even James’s death would be misused to gain sympathy for Kura. Tamatea expressed her condolences to Gloria.

“He was a good man. The tribes always treasured him.”

Gloria only gave in to her sadness when she was alone, which was rare. In the hotels, she shared the suites with her parents and spent the endless train rides quartered with the young dancers. Each prettier than the last, they were all “modern young women,” proud of earning their own money and being free and untethered. Shy, plodding Gloria seemed to them a relic of past times, and they teased her about her English boarding-school education and her prudishness.

Her only friend was Tamatea, but even she was getting appreciably on Gloria’s nerves. Tamatea was astounded by the endless cotton and sugarcane fields and tried to make Gloria excited about them. But Gloria had long since decided not to like anything about America. She preferred reading to looking out the train windows. Tamatea watched with concern as the girl sank ever deeper into a whirlpool of self-hatred and self-pity. Tamatea thought that Gloria would like the West. It wasn’t green like the Canterbury Plains, but the red and blue mountains shimmered beyond the sunburnt grasses. There were horses and cattle, and the small, simple towns resembled Haldon.

But Gloria hardly dared stroll across a dusty street alone or look at the horses that had yet to be replaced here by cars. People recognized her at once as a member of the ensemble and so stared at her like an exotic animal. Gloria yearned for the end of the tour, but that was far off. Once they reached San Francisco, they were scheduled to return straight to New York by train, and Gloria was wishing for a direct passage back to New Zealand from there. She was no help at all to the troupe, and she desperately hoped that her parents would finally accept that she was expendable. Gloria belonged on Kiward Station.

San Francisco was a booming city. With its many Victorian-style buildings, it reminded Gloria of Christchurch, and she liked it more than New York or New Orleans. They had one last concert ahead of them before returning to New York, and William called the whole troupe together right before it began.

“I have some news to share with you. As you all know, we had originally planned to bring the tour to a close the day after tomorrow. My wife and I wanted to return to Europe. But with war still raging, our European tour plans have been cancelled. So Kura’s concert agency offered to extend our stay in the States. How exactly we proceed will depend on all of you. If you would like to extend your engagements, we’ll be moving on to Sacramento, Portland, and Seattle, then Chicago and Pittsburgh. The agency will work out the exact schedule. If you would like to terminate your contracts, then we’ll have to return to New York, hire new dancers, and start again from there. So, what do you think? Care to keep going?”

The dancers cheered in agreement.

“What about me?”

William’s revelation to the dancers had left Gloria frozen. Back at the hotel, where her parents were enjoying a post-concert drink, she managed to voice her anxiety.

William looked at her in amazement. “What about you? Why, you’ll be coming with us; what else would you do?”

“But I’m of no use here.” Gloria wanted to say more but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

Kura laughed. “Of course you’ll make yourself useful. And even if you don’t, you can’t return to Europe.”

“There’s no war at Kiward Station.” Gloria wanted to scream, but it came out as little more than a whisper.

“Ah, so you want to go back to that sheep farm.” William shook his head. “Gloria, sweetheart, New Zealand is halfway around the world. We couldn’t possibly send you alone. And to what end? You’re getting to know the world here, child. There’ll be plenty of time for shearing sheep if that’s what you really want to do. Just imagine, when we return to Europe after the war, you’ll see France, Spain, Portugal, Poland, Russia. Perhaps we’ll finally buy that town house in London. Yes, I know, Kura, you don’t want to settle down. But just think of the little one. She has to have a debut suitable to her station. Someday you’ll find a nice man and you’ll marry. You were raised to be a lady, Gloria. Not some sheep farmer.”

Gloria did not respond. Her face had drained of color, and she couldn’t speak. A tour through Europe, a town house in London, debutante balls. When Kura and William had brought Gloria to England, they had never meant to send her back. She was to stay forever and ever, and though she might someday inherit Kiward Station, Kura would more than likely sell it as soon as Gwyneira died.

Gloria saw an endless sequence of humiliations before her: “Is that Mrs. Martyn’s maid?”; “No, you won’t believe it, but that’s her daughter!”; “That oaf? She certainly doesn’t take after her mother.”

Gloria inhaled deeply. Though she wanted to speak her mind, there was nothing that would change her parents’ minds. She would have to act, and alone.

The next morning Gloria wandered down to the bay. When she reached the docks, she headed for the passenger steamers. There were always luxurious first-class accommodations that required dozens of service workers. Though most of them were men, Gloria knew the stewards didn’t make beds and peel potatoes. There had to be chamber and kitchen maids.

Gloria hoped to be able to hire herself onto such a ship and earn her passage. If only she knew which of the ships was bound for New Zealand. She paced uncertainly along the docks, which were busy with men working away, but Gloria could not bring herself to talk to anyone. Suddenly a gangly young man in sailor’s clothing stopped in front of her and fixed his eyes on her curiously.

“Well, sweetheart? Gotten lost, have we? You won’t make anything here, and if the coppers get a hold of you, there’ll be trouble. Better try your luck at Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“I, which, er, ship here is bound for New Zealand?” Gloria asked.

“Off to the Kiwis, are we? That’ll be tough, dearie.”

Gloria bit her lip. Her father had said the same thing. Was there really no way to get from San Francisco to Polynesia?

“Look, girlie, we’re here.” The sailor squatted down and drew a map in the dust of the street. “And there, on the other side of the world, is Australia.”

“But I want to go to New Zealand,” Gloria repeated.

The man nodded. “New Zealand is real close to there.”

“Two thousand six hundred miles.”

The sailor made a dismissive hand gesture. “Hopscotch compared to the distance between here and Australia. For one, you have to get to China first. Which isn’t hard. Practically every week there’s a ship headed that way. But then: Indonesia, Australia, and from there, Kiwi land. But it’s not worth it, sweetie. Believe me, I’ve been there. On what they call the South Island. On the one side, a few towns that look like good old England, a few pastures and sheep; on the other, coal mines and pubs. You could earn a little bit there. But—and no offense—girls like you are a dime a dozen there.”

Gloria nodded, far from insulted. “I do come from there, after all.”

The sailor roared with laughter. “Well, then you’ve traveled a long way, and hopefully you’ve learned something.” He looked at her searchingly. “You’re almost worth a try. You look clean, I suppose, and you’re attractive. A little Polynesian, eh? I always liked the girls there, more than the scrawny birds that sell themselves here. So, how about it? What do you want for an hour around midday?”

Gloria looked at the man, taken aback. She did not need to look up to meet his gaze. He was about her size. Her heart warmed at the thought that he had called her “attractive.” But he was also peculiar. Regardless, Gloria did not want to lose sight of this opportunity.

“I, I need to find a ship first. And work, because I, I don’t have much money. You say I need to go to China first? Maybe you can help me. I was thinking of a passenger ship. Those need a service staff, after all.”

The sailor rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, nobody with all five senses takes a cruise to China. Only freight ships go there. Like me, I’m going with the Pacific Mail Steamship Company. Abalone to Canton, tea and silk back. But my captain doesn’t hire girls.”

“I’m strong. I could work on deck or unload freight.”

The sailor shook his head. “The problem, dearie, is that half the crew think a woman would bring bad luck on board. And where would you sleep? Sure, the boys would fall over themselves for a cabin with you, bu
t . . .
”

The man stopped short. Then he let his gaze wander over her face and body. “Hmm, I just had an idea. You really don’t have any money, sweetheart?”

Gloria shrugged. “A few dollars, but not much.”

The sailor chewed his lip, giving his face a rodent-like appearance.

The man appeared to have reached a decision. “That’s a shame. Because you’d have to make the risk worth my while if we really carry out what just went through my head. If it gets out, then I’d be sitting without a job in Canton. If the captain didn’t just throw me overboard.”

Gloria’s gaze clouded. “Can he do that? I mean, you’d drown.”

The sailor looked like he was trying to hold back his amusement, but he kept a straight face. “Of course he can, girlie. On his ship he has absolute authority. If he finds you out, he’ll keelhaul you—and me too. So, how badly do you want to go to China?”