Call of the Kiwi (33 page)

Gloria tried to cling to that.

The shopping trip the next morning proved arduous. Gloria didn’t even want to leave the hotel, and when Gwyneira finally succeeded in dragging her into a store, she turned to the ugliest, biggest, and darkest dresses.

“When you were young, you liked to wear pants,” Gwyneira said. She didn’t back down until Gloria agreed to try on one of the almost shockingly modern pant-skirts, which the suffragettes had made popular for women who rode bicycles or drove cars. In England the trend had almost run its course, but in New Zealand, the loose-fitting pant-skirts were the latest thing. They suited Gloria brilliantly; she looked into the mirror amazed. A completely different girl stared back at her.

Gwyneira insisted that Gloria buy the pant-skirt and that she keep it on for the train ride, being very practical for such an occasion. Gloria squirmed, however, under the appraising eyes of the other passengers. Even Gwyneira could hardly take her eyes off Gloria when she was finally sitting across from her in their compartment.

“Do I have something on my face?” Gloria finally asked, annoyed.

“Not at all. Sorry to stare, dear. But, the resemblance is uncanny.”

“Resemblance to whom?” Gloria asked gruffly.

“To Marama,” she replied. “Your grandmother. And your grandfather, Paul. Unfortunately there aren’t any photographs of them; otherwise, I could show you. It’s as if someone laid their images on top of each other. Sometimes I see Paul when I look at you from the right and Marama when I look from the left.”

In fact, Gloria’s features reminded her more of Marama than Paul. By Maori standards, her wide face with the high cheekbones was quite pretty, and her figure matched exactly with the ideal of the natives. Her grouchy, withdrawn gaze, perpetually slightly furrowed brow, and tensely parted mouth reminded Gwyneira of Paul. He, too, had been angry at the world. Gwyneira felt a pang of fear.

At Gwyneira’s express instructions, a chaise with two cobs was awaiting them at the train station. Maaka had argued that the trip would go more quickly in the car, but Gwyneira had insisted that Gloria would be happy to see the horses.

Gloria’s countenance did indeed brighten for the first time when she spotted the cobs. She stopped in alarm, however, when she saw that Maaka was driving.

“
Kia ora
, Glory,” the foreman said, greeting her warmly. “
Haere mai
. We’re very happy to have you home.” He beamed, but Gloria seemed to find it difficult to thank him.

“Come on, Glory, take a look at the horses,” Gwyneira said, calling the girl back to herself. “They’re half sisters of Cuchulainn’s. Ceredwen is Raven’s too, the horse I used to ride, and Colleen i
s . . .
” She rattled off a pedigree.

Gloria listened. She seemed to remember the horses, and her face displayed more interest than it had during all the family stories Gwyneira had tried to entertain her with on the train.

“And Princess?”

“She’s still around. But she’s a bit too light for this coach.” She was going to continue, but then all conversation was drowned out by deafening barking. Suddenly the dog that Maaka had tied up beneath the box could smell them.

“I thought I’d bring her along, Glory,” he said, untying the leash.

Nimue shot toward the women, and Gwyneira bent over to greet her as she always did. But the dog had no eyes for Gwyneira. Almost howling with joy, she leaped up on Gloria.

“My Nimue?” Gloria kneeled down onto the street, forgetting her new clothes. She hugged the dog to her heart, and Nimue covered her in wet kisses. “But she can’t be. I was afraid.”

“That she was dead?” Gwyneira asked. “So that’s why you didn’t ask about her. She was still very young when you left, and border collies live a long time. She might live another ten years.”

Gloria’s face lost all its reserve and stiffness. So there was someone she loved.

Gwyneira smiled at her. Then she took her place on the box.

“Will you let me drive, Maaka?” Gwyneira asked.

He laughed. “I figured I’d have to give up the reins, Mrs. McKenzie, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay in Christchurch anyway. I thought I’d stop by Mr. Greenwood’s office for the wool receipt, you know.”

“And Reti’s charming daughter,” Gwyneira teased him. It was an open secret that Maaka was in love with the daughter of George Greenwood’s business manager, Reti. “Feel free to stay here, Maaka, but don’t do anything stupid. The girl was raised according to Western tradition. She’s waiting for a proposal with flowers and chocolates. Maybe you could even write her a poem.”

Maaka frowned. “I’d never propose to a girl that dumb. She doesn’t want some
tohunga
who tells her stories, and she’s no child you win over with candy. Flowers bloom over the whole island in spring; it’s bad luck if you pluck them without reason.” He smiled. “But I’ve got this.” He pulled out a jade stone that he’d whittled into a small god. “I found the stone myself. My spirits have touched it.”

Gwyneira smiled. “How lovely. She’ll like that. Say hello to Reti for me, and to Elizabeth Greenwood if you see her.”

Maaka nodded and walked off with a wave good-bye.

Gloria had listened to the conversation stone-faced, further tensing up when Gwyneira teased the young man about his flirting. Had she been unhappy in love?

“Did a man ever give you anything, Gloria?” she asked gently.

Gloria, her dog pressed against her, glared at Gwyneira hatefully. “More than I cared for.”

She did not say another word for many miles.

Gwyneira likewise kept quiet while the mares trotted through the Canterbury Plains. Though it might have been wise for them to stay at the White Hart in town, it was a beautiful, clear night and the sky was full of stars; the Seven Sisters twinkled above them.

“
Matariki
,” Gwyneira said. James had taught her the name a long time ago.

Gloria nodded. “And
ika-o-te-rangi
. The Milky Way. The Maori call it the ‘heavenly fish.
’
”

“You still remember how to speak it.” Gwyneira smiled. “Marama will be happy. She always feared you would forget your Maori. She thinks Kura’s forgotten the language. Which I think is strange. She sings in Maori, so how could she have forgotten the words?”

“Not the words,” Gloria said.

Gwyneira shrugged. Soon the sun would rise, and they were approaching Kiward Station. She was sure Gloria must recognize the pastures and the lake they were passing.

“Can I drive?” the girl asked hoarsely. Her desire to steer the cobs on the approach was so great that she even let go of Nimue.

Just as Gwyneira was about to hand over the reins, she recalled the day Lilian returned from England. With Lilian’s laughing eyes and her hair blowing in the wind, Gwyneira had been wholly caught up in her great-granddaughter’s joy in the horses and the fast ride. And then James had come galloping toward them on that gray horse. Suddenly, Gwyneira could not bring herself to hand over the reins. It had brought bad luck before.

“No, better not.” Gwyneira’s fingers clenched the reins.

Gloria’s face hardened. She did not say another word until they reached the stables. When one of the shepherds greeted the women as they pulled up, she wanted to disappear.

“Let me unharness them for you, Mrs. McKenzie and Mis
s . . .
Martyn?”

The man was still young, a white man. He had not known Gloria as a child. His eyes widened at the sight of the young woman in the chic pant-skirt—he had never seen a lady dressed like that before. While Gwyneira saw in his expression fascination and admiration, Gloria saw nothing but naked lust.

“Thank you, Frank,” Gwyneira said, handing him the reins. “Where’s Princess at the moment? Miss Martyn would like to see her straightaway. She was her pony as a child.”

“In the paddock behind the stables, Miss,” Frank Wilkenson said. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to take you. She’d cut a good figure pulling a light gig.”

Gloria did not say anything.

“You do know how to drive a carriage, don’t you, Miss Martyn?”

Gloria cast a sour look at Gwyneira.

“No,” she said shortly.

“Well, you certainly made an impression on him,” Gwyneira said, attempting a light gibe in an effort to lighten the girl’s mood. “He’s a nice young man and very skilled with horses. I’d think about his offer. Princess would make a good driving horse. I’m an idiot for not having thought of it myself.”

Gloria seemed to want to respond, but she changed her mind and followed her great-grandmother in silence. Her face only brightened again when she saw the chestnut mare outside next to the other horses.

“Princess, my love.”

Though the horse did not recognize her former mistress—after eight years that would have been too much to ask—Gloria knew not to expect her to and did not hold it against the animal. She stooped under the fence and went up to the mare to stroke her. Princess let her and even rubbed her head briefly against Gloria’s shoulder.

“I’ll clean you tomorrow,” Gloria said, smiling.

Gloria returned to Gwyneira with a radiant look on her face.

“Where’s the foal?” she asked.

“What foal?” But then Gwyneira suddenly recalled the horse Jack had promised Gloria she could ride when she came back.

Gwyneira bit her lip.

“Gloria, dear, I’m sorry, bu
t . . .
”