Call of the Kiwi (2 page)

“I shouldn’t have let her send the photo with the horse. But she just had to have it. She was so happy about the pony.”

Gloria was photographed for her parents once a year. Though she generally she wore a stiff Sunday dress, Gloria had insisted on having her latest photo taken on her new pony.

“I should at least have insisted on a sidesaddle and riding dress.”

James took her hand and gently brushed his lips on it.

“You know how Kura and William are. Perhaps it’s just time. They had to remember someday that they have a daughter.”

“It’s about time!” Gwyneira cursed. “But why didn’t they consult with us? They don’t even know Glory. And straight to boarding school! She’s so young.”

“English children go to boarding school at four,” he reminded her. “And Glory is twelve. She’ll manage. Maybe she’ll even enjoy it.”

“She’ll get homesick.”

“All the girls must get homesick at first. But they get over it.”

Gwyneira flared up. “If their parents live twenty miles away, that’s fine, but for Glory it’ll be eighteen thousand. We’re sending her half a world away to people she doesn’t know or love!

“Can’t we just pretend we never got the letter?” she asked, leaning against James.

“Gwyn, my love, this is probably all William’s doing. He likely fancies the idea of marrying Gloria off to some earl.”

“If only Gloria wouldn’t be all alone,” Gwyneira sighed. “The long passage by ship, so many foreigners.”

“What if we were to send another girl along?” James considered. “Doesn’t she have any Maori friends?”

Gwyneira shook her head. “You don’t really believe that Tonga is going to send a girl from his tribe to England,” she said. “Besides, I can’t think of anyone Gloria is close to. But, yes”—Gwyneira’s face brightened—“it’s a possibility.”

“Who?”

“Lilian. She’s rather young, of course, but she got along well with Gloria when Elaine was here last year. And Tim went to school in England, so he might warm to the idea.”

James smiled at the mention of Lilian’s name. Gwyneira’s great-granddaughter Lilian, Elaine and Tim’s eldest, was redheaded, lively, and spirited, just like Gwyneira, Fleurette, and Elaine. Although Gloria had initially been a little shy when Lilian had come to visit the year before, Lilian had quickly broken the ice. She chattered about school, her friends, and her horses and dogs at home. She raced Gloria on horseback, and she made Gloria teach her Maori and take her to visit the tribe on Kiward Station. It was the first time Gwyneira had ever heard Gloria giggling with another girl.

“Lilian is so much younger than Gloria,” James offered for consideration. “I can’t imagine that Elaine will be ready to part with her. Regardless of what Tim thinks.”

“It doesn’t cost anything to ask,” Gwyn said resolutely. “I’ll write to them straightaway. What do you think: should we tell Gloria?”

James sighed and ran a hand through his scraggly hair—a gesture of his that Gwyneira had always loved. “Not right away,” he said finally. “But soon. It’ll be hard for her if she shows up midyear.”

Gwyneira nodded. “But we have to tell Miss Bleachum. She’ll have to look for a new position. Damn it, we finally have a tutor who actually earns her keep, and then this happens!”

Sarah Bleachum had been teaching Gloria for years, and the girl was very attached to her.

Miss Bleachum had attended the teaching academy in Wellington. She loved the natural sciences and had passed on her passion for New Zealand’s flora and fauna to Gloria. They spent hours buried in books on the subject. Would Gloria’s teachers and fellow students be able to appreciate her enthusiasm for insects and animals in an English girls’ school?

2

I
t’s all right; I can get out on my own.”

Although Timothy Lambert had just rejected the help of his servant, Roly, he found it especially difficult that day to swing his legs onto the gig’s footboard, put his leg braces on, and then find solid footing on the ground with the help of his crutches. He felt stiff and irritable—which was almost always the case when the anniversary of the accident to which he owed his handicap approached. This would be the eleventh year since the collapse of the Lambert Mine, and like every year, the mine management would hold a small memorial on the anniversary. The victims’ surviving relatives and the coal miners working in the mine appreciated the gesture, but Tim would be the center of attention as Roly O’Brien once again told the story of how the mine owner’s son had rescued him. Tim always hated watching the expressions on people’s faces, which alternated between hero worship and horror.

While Roly led the horse into the stable, Tim limped up to the house. As it did every time, the sight of the isolated white wood building lifted his spirits. He had had the simple structure built after marrying Elaine—despite the protests of his parents, who had advised him to build a more suitable residence. Their own villa closer to town was much more in keeping with the proper image of a mine owner’s residence. But Elaine had not wanted to share Lambert Manor with Tim’s parents, and the grand two-story estate, with its open staircases and bedrooms on the upper floor, hardly suited Tim’s needs. Besides, he wasn’t really a mine owner; most of his shares in the business belonged to the investor George Greenwood.

“Daddy!” Lilian threw open the door. Tim’s oldest son, Rube, appeared behind Lilian, looking disappointed because Lilian had once again been the one to open the door for their father.

“Daddy! You have to hear what I was practicing today.” Lilian loved to play the piano, though she did so with more enthusiasm than skill.
“ ‘
Annabel Lee
.
’
Do you know it? It’s really sad. The woman is sooo pretty, and the prince loves her awfully, but then—”

“Girl stuff,” Rube complained. Though he was only seven years old, he already knew what he was supposed to think was absurd. “Check out my train, Dad! I built the new engine all by myself.”

“That’s not true. Mummy helped you,” Lilian said.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t hear the word ‘train’ anymore today.” He tousled his son’s red-brown tuft. Though all four children had their mother’s red hair, the three boys otherwise looked more like Tim.

Tim’s countenance brightened when his wife appeared. She was still beautiful, with shining green eyes, pale skin, and untamable curly red locks. Her ancient dog Callie trotted behind her.

Elaine kissed Tim softly on the cheek. “What did she do this time?” she asked by way of greeting.

Tim furrowed his brow. “Are you a mind reader?” he asked, confused.

Elaine laughed. “Not exactly, but you only make that face when you’re contemplating a new way of disposing of Florence Biller. And since you don’t normally have anything against trains, it must have something to do with the new rail connection.”

“Precisely. But let me get settled first. What are the little ones up to?”

Elaine snuggled up to her husband so that he could surreptitiously lean on her and helped him into the living room, where she removed his jacket before he sank down into one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace.

“Jeremy drew a sheep and wrote ‘ship’ underneath,” Elaine explained. “It’s hard to say whether he wrote or drew the wrong thing.” Jeremy was six and learning his ABCs. “And Billy managed four steps at a go.”

As if he wanted to prove it, the little boy waddled toward Tim, who picked him up, pulled him onto his lap, and tickled him.

“Just seven more steps and he can get married,” Tim said, laughing and winking at Elaine. When he had relearned to walk after his accident, his first goal had been eleven steps—the distance from the church entrance to the altar.

“Don’t read anything into that, Lily,” Elaine said to her daughter, who was preparing a question. Lilian dreamed of fairy tale princes, and “wedding” was her favorite game. “Why don’t you go to the piano and send ‘Annabel Lee’ to the angels one more time while Daddy tells me why he suddenly doesn’t like trains anymore.”

Elaine poured Tim a whiskey and sat down next to him. He rarely drank, but that day he looked so exhausted and aggravated that she figured a drink might do him good.

“Florence has been negotiating with the railroad company without bringing in the other mine owners. I found out accidentally from George Greenwood. He has his hands in rail construction too, which enables us to negotiate much better terms. But Florence seems to hope that everyone in Greymouth will just ignore the new tracks so that the Billers will be the only ones to enjoy improved coal transport. Matt and I have asked for a rail connection for the Lambert Mine as well, but I reckon that Florence will have her own depot in a matter of weeks.” Tim sipped his whiskey.

Elaine shrugged. “She’s a savvy businesswoman.”

“She’s a beast!” Tim moaned. Florence Biller ruled her husband’s mine with an iron hand. Her foremen and secretaries trembled before her—although there were rumors that one young office employee was treated with favor. Over and over again, one of her employees played the favorite for a short time—three times altogether up until then. Tim and Elaine Lambert, who knew a few secrets about Caleb and Florence’s marriage, had come to their own conclusions since Florence Biller had three children.

“I have no idea how Caleb can stand her.” Tim set his glass on the table and began to relax.

“I think her machinations must sometimes be embarrassing to her husband,” Elaine said. “But on the whole, he probably doesn’t care. She leaves him alone as he does her—that was the agreement, after all.”

Caleb Biller had no interest in managing his family’s mine. He was a private scholar and expert in the field of Maori art and music. He had not wanted to marry, but, lacking the courage to live out his real desires, he had negotiated a marriage to Florence in which they could both be halfway happy. Though he was the nominal head of the Biller Mine, Florence let him pursue his Maori studies and he gave her the chance to be the businesswoman she had always wanted to be.

“I just wish she wouldn’t manage her business like a pitched battle,” Tim sighed. “I understand she wants to be taken seriously, but she’s not the only one.”

Early on, several suppliers had tried to use his handicap to deliver inferior goods, assuming that Tim couldn’t oversee the deliveries. Tim, however, had eyes and ears outside of his office. His representative, Matt Gawain, kept a close eye on things, and though Roly had never set foot in a mine again after being buried in one for two days with Tim, he worked with the miners above ground whenever Tim didn’t need him.

Tim had become a highly respected boss, and no one tried to take advantage of him anymore. Surely Florence Biller could have made peace with all her male competitors, but she instead continued to wage her war with undiminished energy. She wanted not only to make the Biller Mine the leading mine in Greymouth but also to rule the entire West Coast—if not the country.

“Is there anything to eat?” Tim asked his wife.

Elaine nodded. “In the oven. It’ll be a little longer. I wanted to talk to you about something beforehand.”

Tim noticed that her gaze flitted over to Lilian.

Elaine turned to the girl just as she was closing the piano.

“Very nice, Lily. We’re all deeply moved by Annabel’s fate. Could you and Rube set the table now?”

Once the children had left the room, Elaine pulled a letter from the folds of her housedress.

“Here, this came today. From my grandmum, Gwyn. She’s rather beside herself. William and Kura want to take her Gloria away.”

“Now? They’ve only ever cared about Kura’s career and suddenly they want to be a family?”

“Not exactly,” Elaine said. “They want to send her to boarding school in England, supposedly because my grandmother is letting Gloria’s ‘artistic-creative’ side wither.”

Tim laughed. “They’re not entirely wrong there. Nothing against Kiward Station, but it’s not exactly a bastion of art and culture.”

“I didn’t get the feeling Gloria was missing out on much. The girl seemed totally happy to me. A little shy, though. In that respect I can understand my grandmother. She’s worried about sending the girl alone on such a journey.”

“And?” Tim asked. “What does that have to do with us?”

Elaine handed him Gwyneira’s letter. “She’s asking if we wouldn’t like to send Lilian with her. It
is
a renowned boarding school. And it would make it easier for Gloria.”

Tim studied the letter carefully. “Cambridge is always a good address to have,” he said. “But isn’t she a little young? Besides, boarding school costs a fortune.”

“The McKenzies would bear the costs,” Elaine said. “If only it weren’t so far away.”

Lilian entered the room wearing an apron that was much too big for her. Though Lily’s freckled face was impish, her eyes were dreamy. She wore her fine red hair in two long braids, and in her giant apron, she looked like a sprite playing at being a maid.

“The table’s ready, Mummy. And I think the casserole is too.”

“We’ll talk more later,” Tim said, letting Elaine help him out of his chair. “First we need to feed the hordes.”

After setting her youngest down in his high chair, Elaine went into the kitchen to get the food. Just as she was about to call everyone in, Lilian appeared in the doorway. The girl’s whole face was radiant, and she was waving Gwyneira’s letter, which Tim had carelessly left on a table in the living room.

“Is it true?” she asked breathlessly. “Grandmum Gwyn is sending me to England? Where the princesses live? And to a boar
i . . .
boarn
i . . .
to the kind of school when you can annoy the teachers and throw midnight parties and things like that?”

Tim Lambert had described his boarding school days to his children as a series of escapades and adventures. Lily could hardly wait to follow her father’s example.

“I may, mayn’t I? Mummy? Daddy? When do we leave?”

“You don’t want me here anymore?” Gloria’s wounded look flitted from one adult to the other, and tears glimmered in her large, porcelain-blue eyes.

Gwyneira could not bear it. She could have cried herself as she embraced the child.

“Gloria, how can you say that?” James said, yearning for a whiskey. Gwyneira had decided to inform Gloria of her parents’ decision after dinner.

“Everybody goes to school,” Jack said, trying to placate the girl. “I was in Christchurch for a few years myself.”

“But you came back every weekend!” Gloria sobbed. “Please, please, don’t send me away! I don’t want to go to England. Jack—”

The girl looked imploringly at her longtime protector. Jack sat uncomfortably in his chair. It wasn’t his fault. On the contrary—Jack had spoken out unequivocally against sending Gloria away.

“Don’t do anything right away,” he had advised his mother. “A letter can go lost. And if they write again, tell them in no uncertain times that Glory is still too young for the long journey. If Kura insists, she should come and get her.”

“But she wouldn’t be able to, just like that,” Gwyneira had objected. “She has concert obligations.”

“Exactly,” Jack had said. “Glory will have gained at least two years. She will be almost fifteen by then.”

Gwyneira had seriously considered Jack’s suggestion, but she wasn’t as confident as he about what to do. Although Gloria was the heiress, Kiward Station nevertheless still belonged to Kura Martyn. If Gwyneira opposed her wishes, all it took was a signature on a deed of sale and Gloria along with the entire McKenzie family would have to leave the farm.

“Kura doesn’t think that far ahead!” Jack had said, but James McKenzie could understand his wife’s fears. Kura may not give a thought to the farm and who owned it, but William Martyn was more than capable of forcing their hand.

“You’ll be back soon,” she explained to Gloria. “The passage is very quick; you can be back here in just a few weeks.”

“During vacations?” Gloria asked hopefully.

Gwyneira shook her head. She could not bring herself to lie to the girl. “No, the vacations are too short for the round-trip journey.”