Call of the Kiwi (9 page)

Gloria was too preoccupied to answer. If the reverend did not love Miss Bleachum, he probably would not marry her. She would go back to New Zealand and look for a new job. Then what would become of Gloria?

Sarah Bleachum was not enjoying the parish’s summer festival. Mrs. Buster had assigned her to the local matrons’ table, where she was making dull conversation after having overseen the charity bazaar and the bake sale. Obliged to buy something herself, she was now in joyless possession of an egg cozy knit by Mrs. Buster and a crocheted cover for her teapot. She saw the reverend from afar, chatting with a few men, and then with Miss Arrowstone, who had come with nine students and two teachers.

Then Brigit Pierce-Barrister, looking like a plump nymph, came over and started fawning over the reverend. Her dress seemed much too childlike for her already fully developed figure, and Sarah wondered why Miss Arrowstone did not make the girl put her hair up.

Brigit said something to Christopher, and he answered with a smile. Sarah felt a prick of jealousy. Which was nonsense, of course. The girl might swoon over him, but the reverend would never encourage a seventeen-year-old girl.

Sarah considered whether she should stand up and stroll over to the Oaks Garden table. But Christopher would chide her again for that—and Sarah hated to arouse his displeasure. At first she had not made much of occasionally chafing him, but ever since they had admitted their love to one another, Christopher “punished” her more subtly instead. If Sarah angered him with some word or deed, he would not look at her for days, or refrained from holding her hand in that gentle, heartwarming way—and he certainly would not take her in his arms and kiss her.

Sarah had never thought about caresses before. She had not dreamed of men as some of the other girls at her teaching school had admitted to doing, and she rarely stroked her own body secretly under the covers. She had only experienced burning desire for the first time with Christopher, and she suffered when he kept her at a distance. In her imagination she experienced his kisses again and again, heard his deep voice uttering tender words.

Sometimes the word “obsessed” passed through her mind, but she shied away from thinking of her love for Christopher that way. “Enthralled” was better. Sarah dreamed of finding total fulfillment in Christopher’s arms, and wished she could better express her desire to him. Though she had frozen when Christopher first touched her, she now seemed to melt. In such moments she could not wait to fix a wedding date. Christopher seemed to have no doubt that she would say yes, and he evidently did not think a romantic proposal necessary. There were times when that enraged Sarah, but as soon as he touched her, she calmed down. She thought perhaps she should just talk to him honestly. But then her pride would triumph over her weakness.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the band gathered and called for a dance. Sarah expected Christopher to come over to her, but instead he asked Miss Wedgewood to dance. After leading the music teacher in a waltz, it was Mrs. Buster’s turn. And so it went.

“There, now you see. He’s not dancing with Miss Bleachum,” Lilian whispered triumphantly to Gloria. “He doesn’t think much of her.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s in love with Mrs. Buster,” Gloria remarked.

“Of course not. But he can’t just dance with the ones he’s in love with. That would attract attention,” Lilian explained precociously. “Just watch, he’ll dance with a few more old ladies and then with Brigit.”

Indeed, after leading several more “pillars of the community” across the dance floor, Christopher returned to the Oaks Garden table, where Brigit enthusiastically handed him a glass of iced tea.

“You’re a good dancer, Reverend,” she said, smiling coyly. “Is that proper for a man of God?”

Christopher laughed. “Even King David danced, Brigit,” he replied. “God gave his children music and dance that they might enjoy them. Why shouldn’t his servants take part in that?”

“Will you dance with me then?” Brigit inquired.

When Christopher nodded, even Gloria saw the spark in his eyes.

“Why not?” he said. “But do you know how? I didn’t know Oaks Garden offered dance lessons.”

Brigit laughed and winked. “A cousin back in Norfolk showed me how.”

She laid her hand lightly on the reverend’s arm as he led her onto the dance floor.

Gloria glanced at Sarah, who was also watching the scene unfold. Although she appeared relaxed, Gloria knew her well enough to recognize that she was angry.

Brigit leaned into Christopher’s arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world and skillfully followed his lead. Although there was nothing improper in the way he held her, it was clear that he was not merely fulfilling an obligation.

“A lovely couple,” Mrs. Buster remarked. “Although the girl is much too young for him. Don’t you dance, Miss Bleachum?”

Sarah wanted to reply that she would love to dance if she were asked, but she refrained. For one, that would have been unbecoming, and for another it was not even true. Sarah was no great dancer. It was embarrassing to put herself on show with her glasses on, but without them she was almost blind. If only she were not feeling a burning desire to be wrapped in Christopher’s arms on the dance floor like the impertinent little Brigit.

The reverend didn’t believe it would be proper to dance more than two dances with one partner, especially one so young. So Christopher withdrew from Brigit after the waltz and led her back to her table. As he pulled her chair out for her, he heard the two girls whispering at the next table.

“You see, he’s in love with her,” Lilian declared triumphantly. “I told you so. He hasn’t even looked at Miss Bleachum.”

Christopher froze. That redheaded imp! Damn it! Was the attention he had paid to Brigit really so obvious, or did this girl simply have a sense for entanglements? Regardless, she was chatty. If he did not want to fall into disrepute, he would have to come up with a solution. Christopher thought of the bishop’s latest reprimand. If one more story made it back to his superior, it could cost him his post. And Christopher liked Sawston so much. He took his leave of the Oaks Garden group and sauntered over to Sarah.

“Would you like to dance, my love?” he asked.

Sarah nodded, smiling radiantly, though she had looked hesitant before. Did she suspect something too? Christopher took her hand. He had to follow through now. Had he not long since decided that Sarah was the wife God had chosen for him? It was time to accelerate matters.

Sarah removed her glasses and, half-blind, followed her cousin onto the dance floor. Sarah completely surrendered to his lead, but Christopher felt like he was holding a flour sack in his arms. Either he had to drag her or she stepped on his feet. He nonetheless forced himself to smile.

“Quite a festival, my love,” he remarked. “And you had a big part in that. What would we have done without your help?”

Sarah looked up at him, but his face appeared blurred. “But I hardly get to spend time with you,” she complained gently. “Do you have to dance with all these women? Mrs. Buster has already commented on it.”

Hot and cold flashes passed through Christopher. So the old witch had noticed something too. There was no helping it. He would have to take the plunge. “Sarah, my love, Mrs. Buster will use any opportunity to spread nasty gossip. But if it’s all right with you, we’ll give her some good news to take with her too. I’d like to marry you, Sarah. Would you have anything against announcing it to the whole world?”

Sarah blushed and stopped dancing. He had finally asked! A tiny stirring within her still protested—Sarah considered a marriage proposal to be a rather intimate affair. She would also have expected that Christopher would want to hear her accept before he broadcast it. But these stirrings belonged to the old Sarah, the woman she had been before she knew true love. Sarah tried to smile.

“Please, I’d like, well, I have nothing against it.”

“Miss Bleachum looks like she ran into a door,” Lilian remarked.

The reverend had just asked the band to pause and from the dais announced that he had just officially engaged himself to Miss Sarah Bleachum. Sarah looked like she wanted to disappear, and her face was flushed.

Gloria felt for her. It had to be terrible to stand up there and be stared at by everyone. Several women in the crowd—Brigit among them—looked decidedly unenthusiastic at the news, but Gloria was happy that Miss Bleachum would remain nearby—to comfort her and dictate the letters she sent home so no one would notice how unhappy she was.

“I don’t think she looks happy,” Lilian persisted.

Gloria decided not to listen to her cousin.

8

C
harlotte thought Jack was overreacting with regard to his concerns about Gloria.

“Yes, she writes a little stiffly,” she acknowledged. “Especially compared to Lilian—she sounds like a little whirlwind. But Gloria is thirteen. She has other things to do besides put profound thoughts to paper. She probably just wants get it over with quickly and doesn’t even think about what she’s writing.”

Jack frowned. They were in the train from Greymouth to Christchurch and had just been discussing the highlights of their honeymoon. Caleb Biller had proved to be an exceedingly stimulating conversation partner for Charlotte and had suggested several excursions. Once or twice he even accompanied the young couple to meet Maori tribes he knew.

“You’ll go far as a researcher,” Caleb said. “Hardly anyone has bothered with the sagas and myths. Kura and I were more interested in the music, and I was intrigued by their wood crafts. But it would be well worth your while to save the old stories before they become interwoven with more recent events. Obviously it’s in the nature of oral culture that it adapts to the changing times, but they’ll eventually regret it. It will be good to have the old tales preserved.”

Charlotte was proud of the praise and dedicated herself to her studies with greater zeal. In the meantime, Jack had resumed his old friendship with Elaine. Their talk returned again and again to the two girls in England—and Jack’s concern for Gloria grew as Elaine told him more about Lilian.

“Gloria isn’t just being superficial,” he told his wife. “On the contrary, she tends to reflect too much when she’s busy with something. And she was always full of life on Kiward Station. But there are no questions about the sheep or the dogs. She loved her pony, but hasn’t even mentioned her. I can’t believe that she’s given all that up for the piano and painting instead.”

Charlotte smiled. “Children change, Jack. You’ll see that yourself when we have our own. The sooner the better, I think, or did you want to wait? I’d like a girl first and then a boy. What do you think? Or would you prefer a son first?” She was playing with her hair and preparing to undo her braid. As she did she cast a meaningful glance at the wide bed that dominated George Greenwood’s parlor car.

Jack kissed her.

“I’ll take whatever you give me,” he said tenderly, picking her up and carrying her over to the bed.

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you just write her?” Charlotte asked. “Write her a personal letter, not one of those long inventories Gwyneira sets down every few days: ‘According to the last counts, Kiward Station has a stock of 11,361 sheep.’ Who cares about that?”

Jack immediately felt better at the thought of writing to her. But just then, he had other things to do.

The whole village seemed caught up in the preparations for the wedding of its beloved reverend, which was scheduled for early September. Sarah maintained her composure when Mrs. Buster insisted on measuring her for a stylish wedding dress and listened patiently as the mothers of her Sunday school students proposed that their offspring carry her train and scatter flowers. As diplomatically as possible, she informed them that Gloria and Lilian would do those things. Gloria, however, would have been more than willing to give up her claim.

“I’m just not pretty, Miss Bleachum,” she murmured. “People will only laugh if I were to be your maid of honor.”

Sarah shook her head. “They’ll laugh when I wear my glasses,” she explained. “Though I haven’t decided about them. Maybe I will leave them off.”

“But then you’d get lost on the way to the altar. And the reverend must like you with your glasses too,
right
?”

Gloria laid the stress on the “right.” She had long since given up hope to be loved for who she was. Though she believed the McKenzies when they said in their letters that they missed their great-granddaughter, she wondered whether they truly loved her. Or did it all have to do with the inheritance of Kiward Station? Gloria often brooded over why her great-grandmother had so easily kowtowed to the will of her parents. Jack had been against it, she thought, but then Jack had never answered her letter. He had probably forgotten her too.

“The reverend loves me with and without my glasses, Glory, just as I love you regardless of whether you look good in these ugly floral dresses.”

Lilian, on the other hand, was excited about her wedding responsibilities and spoke of nothing else. She would have liked to play the organ, but Miss Wedgewood took that on, though she always looked a little put out at the rehearsals.

Christopher Bleachum was content with the way things were progressing, though he always felt wistful when he saw Brigit at service. He had not revived his budding relationship with the girl. Now that he was officially engaged, he wanted to stay faithful. No matter how hard it would be, he was determined to be a good and caring husband—even if he thought Emily Winter had begun eyeing him with interest again. She had to know that Sarah was not the woman he had dreamed of all his life, but neither Emily Winter nor Brigit Pierce-Barrister was destined to be the wife of a pastor. Christopher thought it very Christian and exceedingly heroic not to look at the two women anymore and instead turned his full attention on Sarah. She had long since become putty in his hands; things were going far too smoothly to arouse him even a little.

As the big day approached, the parish bubbled with excitement. Sarah tried on her dress and wept when it would not fit. The overly sumptuous frills covering the dress made her look childish, and her few curves were lost in a sea of satin and tulle that stretched and bulged in all the wrong places.

“I’m not vain, but I can’t appear in front of the bishop like this,” she lamented to Christopher. “All due respect to the good will of Mrs. Buster and Mrs. Holleer—but they can’t really sew.”

Christopher saw the necessity of Sarah walking down the aisle in something appropriate.

“Emily Winter is a skilled seamstress,” he said. “She should be able to straighten it out. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Don’t you find it ironic,” Emily Winter remarked when Christopher knocked on her door with his request, “that I—of all people—should tailor the white dress for your virgin bride. She is still a virgin, is she not?”

Emily stood at the door to her house in a pose that had an instantly arousing effect on him. Petite but well-formed, she had gentle curves and a doll-like face with a soft, cream-colored complexion. Her eyelids hung heavily over her green-brown eyes, and her brown hair fell in thick tresses down her back when it was not tied in a low bun as it was now.

“Of course I haven’t touched her,” Christopher said. “And please, Emily, don’t look at me like that. I’m almost a married man, and our time together caused enough trouble.”

Emily emitted a raspy laugh. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

“It’s not about wanting, Emily. It’s about my reputation. And yours, you shouldn’t forget that. So, will you help Sarah?” Christopher tried desperately to hide his arousal.

“I’ll do the best I can with the little mouse. We should shroud her with a thick veil, right?” She laughed again. “Send her over. I know Mrs. Buster. The dress will have to be completely redone.”

Sarah appeared that same afternoon and wept all over again when she tried on her dress in front of Emily Winter. Emily raised her eyes to heaven. Another crybaby! But she would keep her promise. She quickly removed all the tulle and frills and prescribed a tight corset for Sarah.

“I won’t be able to breathe in that,” Sarah moaned, but Emily shook her head.

“A little breathlessness does a bride good. And the corset will boost your bosom and emphasize your hips. You could use it. You’ll have a completely different figure, believe me.”

Sarah watched with fascination in the mirror as Emily Winter pulled the dress in, tightened the skirt, and increased the décolleté.

“That’s too much cleavage,” Sarah protested, but Emily created a tulle inset that made the dress look high-necked while still drawing attention to Sarah’s finally recognizable bosom. Sarah felt much better when she left Emily’s house.

Sarah hardly recognized herself when she stood in front of the mirror on her wedding day. The dress fit like a glove. Although Sarah could hardly move in the corset, her figure was unbelievable.

Lilian and Gloria could hardly contain their excitement.

The girls’ bridesmaids’ dresses were not flattering. Mrs. Buster had insisted on pink dresses that clashed with Lilian’s red locks and made Gloria look plump.

Emily Winter had done her best in any case. And she would demand her pay from Christopher for her services.

Christopher Bleachum awaited his bride alone in the sacristy. The bishop was outside, and Sarah was still being preened by the women. Christopher paced nervously.