Call of the Kiwi (58 page)

Gloria had stiffened from simply having touched Kura’s letter, so Jack pulled her to him.

“I would never have dared to love you in this way,” he said into her hair, lost in thought.

Gloria broke away and looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“If they had not sent you to England,” Jack said, “were you to have remained here and never grown up in my eyes, I would have loved you, but like a little sister.”

“I understand. I would have been
tapu
for you. That might be. But am I supposed to get down on my knees now and thank my parents?”

Jack laughed. “At least don’t be so mad at them. And you should read the postscript.” He picked up the letter and placed it in her hand.

Gloria looked uncomprehendingly at the few words tacked on to the letter: Kura Martyn planned to ask Gwyneira to have a deed drawn up. She intended to sign over Kiward Station to her daughter for her wedding. Gloria wanted to say something but could not summon any words.

“Aren’t you afraid now that I’m just marrying you for all those sheep?” Jack asked with a smile.

“That could still work,” she replied. “Think of Grandmum. She’s lived a long and happy life with her husband’s sheep.” Gloria smiled and reached for Jack’s hand. “Now come, we’ll let her know. She’ll have her first really good night of sleep in decades.”

The wedding took place on a radiant summer day. Although Elaine was heartbroken that she didn’t get to play the bridal march at the wedding—Gloria was adamant about no pianos—Marama paid tribute to
pakeha
tradition by playing Western music on the
putorino
flute and sang Maori love songs in her ethereal voice.

“That was beautiful,” said Miss Bleachum, who had been one of Gloria’s bridesmaids. She appeared happy and looked youthful in a fashionable pale-blue dress. Dr. Pinter had accompanied her to the wedding and was the obvious reason for her joyful state. He had put on weight, and his strained wartime demeanor had given way to a relaxed and serene manner. He informed Jack that he was operating again.

“We’re opening a children’s hospital,” Miss Bleachum told him. “Robert inherited a little money, and I’ve saved mine. We bought a gorgeous house that’s wonderfully suited to the work. The children can’t go straight back to school after their operations, so I can teach them. It would have been hard for me to give up my profession.”

She blushed as she spoke these last words.

“You’re getting married then?” Jack asked. He knew it, of course, but he still enjoyed make her blush. “And here we’d hoped you’d soon be returning to us.”

Gloria helped her get over the awkwardness by introducing Dr. Pinter to Wiremu. Unlike Tonga and the tribe’s other dignitaries who had shown up in traditional Maori clothing, Wiremu was wearing a suit.

“Wiremu studied medicine. Perhaps you need an assistant in your hospital?”

Dr. Pinter’s gaze fell on Wiremu’s tattoos. “I don’t know. He might scare the children.”

“Nonsense,” Sarah responded, beaming. “On the contrary. He’ll give them courage. A big, strong Maori warrior on their side. Children need that. If you’re interested, you’re more than welcome.”

Sarah held out her hand to Wiremu. Dr. Pinter did the same.

Tonga watched his son with every sign of disapproval. Finally he joined Gwyneira.

“I can congratulate you once again,” he remarked. “First Kura, now Gloria.”

“I didn’t choose either of their husbands,” she replied. “And I never wanted to play this game. Kura was always different. You would never have held on to her, even if she had married a Maori. Just as I couldn’t hold on to her. But Gloria came back. To me and to all of you. She belongs to this land. Kiward Station i
s . . .
what do you call it? Her
maunga
, right? You don’t need to bind her to the tribe. Her roots are here. And Jack’s too.” She followed Tonga’s gaze to his son. “And Wiremu. Perhaps he’ll come back at some point. But you can’t force him.”

Tonga smiled. “You’re getting wise in your old age, Mrs. McKenzie. Well, tell the couple that they should come to the
marae
at the next full moon. We’ll carry out a
pohiri—
to greet the new member of the tribe.”

“The new member?” Gloria did not understand.

“Not a brand-new one,” Rongo said. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. But Jack as Gloria’s husband.”

“So how did things go with Florence?” Elaine asked.

Tim Lambert had only arrived on Kiward Station that morning and had not yet had a quiet word with his wife amid all the preparations. Now they sat together with Elaine’s parents and Gwyneira at a quiet table far from the dance floor where Roly and Mary were twirling about.

Tim regarded his wife with an almost anguished expression. “Well, we’re still not friends. But I think she understood where we stand—she’s first and foremost a businesswoman. She’ll agree to our suggestions.”

Ben and Lilian’s visit to Greymouth had not gone off without some tension. Lilian had hoped that Florence Biller would fall for her baby’s charm just as her own parents had, but Ben’s mother was cut from a different cloth. She looked at little Galahad with more suspicion than admiration. Almost as if she were already weighing whether he would be as much of a failure in her eyes as his father and grandfather. On the other hand, she had to accept the facts. Gal was one of the heirs of her mine—as well as one of the heirs of Tim’s. In any case, Florence had to give up her ruinous rivalry with the Lamberts and close her coke furnace. In exchange, Tim had suggested that they open the planned briquette factory on her property.

“The rail connection is much better, and the land has already been reclaimed. We wouldn’t need to clear any more forest, which makes everything cheaper. And Greenwood Enterprises can invest in you as easily as in me. We’d need certain assurances, of course—which absolutely excludes any family feuds.”

They had sealed the agreement with a glass of whiskey, which Florence gulped down a bit too hastily. But she held it, Tim observed, like a man.

“That all sounds very good,” Elaine said, looking over at Lilian and Ben. Ben was conversing with Wiremu while Lilian chatted with Gloria’s former governess. Florence crossed the room to greet them, and just as she was out of earshot Elaine added, “We can’t complain about Ben. He seems to really love Lilian. If I only I had the slightest idea what she saw in him!”

“Enlighten me if you ever figure it out,” Tim responded, “but I’m afraid you’d do better solving the riddle of the pyramids.”

“Now even Miss Bleachum’s getting married,” Lilian said, laughing. While Ben was chatting with Wiremu and Jack was forced to drink whiskey with a few neighbors, Lilian and Gloria sat down at the family table. Lilian was in high spirits.

“Will she still have children too? She’s not exactly young anymore. And Dr. Pinter, well, it’s a mystery to me what she sees in him.”

“What do you see in Ben?” Gloria asked casually. She just wanted to shield her beloved Miss Bleachum from any gossip. She did not notice that all the other women at the table were holding their breath in anticipation.

Lilian furrowed her brow. She seemed to be considering the question.

“I always thought you would marry someone like one of your heroes, the ones in all those songs and stories and all.”

Lilian sighed. “Oh, well, all those adventures are wonderfully romantic when you read about them, but in reality, it’s no fun to be as poor as a church mouse, without a proper home, and no idea where to go.”

“Oh really?” Elaine asked, amused. “Who would have thought that?”

Elaine’s mother, Fleurette, and Gwyneira both fought back a laugh, and even Gloria made a face. Lilian, however, did not seem to notice the irony at all.

“No, really. Terrible things are always happening to heroes. If Ben were to take to the sea or something, I would worry about him all the time.”

“And what does that have to do with what you see in him?” Gloria asked. She could not always follow Lilian.

“Well, I never need to worry about Ben,” Lily said blithely. “In the morning he goes to his library and studies South Sea dialects—and the most exciting thing he has planned is an excursion to the Cook Islands.”

“And what about the lovely South Sea island women?” Elaine teased her. “He does know ‘I love you’ in at least ten different dialects.”

Lilian giggled. “But first he would need to exhaust the topic of the principle of couple formation out of emotional impulses in individual cultural groups, and research its possible practical or mythological roots and discuss pictorial depictions of sexual relationships in the geographical area in question with other researchers. By then the girl would be so bored, I’d have no reason to worry.”

The others laughed openly, but Lilian did not seem to take offense.

“And you don’t get bored?” Gwyneira asked. Her eyes flashed vivaciously.

“When I get bored, I have Galahad. And Florian, and Jeffrey. The new one is named Juvert.”

She listed the protagonists of her books. “And when I have to continue writing at night because my hero is trapped somewhere or has to save his girl from some horrible calamity, Ben doesn’t mind if he has to cook.”

“Real heroes shoot the rabbit for dinner too,” Gwyneira teased. She thought of James and the happy times when he had fished and hunted for her and then roasted his prize on the fire.

“And afterward they leave the intestines lying all over the place,” Fleurette remarked drily. “I know what you mean, Lily. Your Ben is the greatest.”